“So put me on a highway,
show me a sign -
take it to the limit,
one more time.”
- The Eagles
From the shores of Cartagena to the sun kissed mountains of the Desierto de la Tatacoa, and crisscrossing the nose of the Andes — Colombia has it all.
It’s been fun riding across tolls, through tunnels, or over bridges on my bicycle — and across my first land border to Ecuador!
But what’s been most amusing is traveling with my two-wheeled chariot on some ferry rides, such as this one across Colombia’s mighty Magdalena river.
And yes - that’s a donkey, on an earlier boarding group.
In our final stretch in Colombia, we leave the gravel backroads (mostly) behind, and hop onto the Pan-Americana highway- an iconic road weaving northern Alaska to el fin del mundo Argentina, that we will be revisiting a few more times in later parts of our journey.
The highway is a character on its own that has been full of surprises for us around every corner.
I stopped for water at this corner kiosk, lured by this shopkeeper’s wide smile, and wondering why two goats were tied up on platforms.
A few minutes later, as I cooldown and sip my water on the side of the road, a car rolls up, and the driver pulls the window down and the customer exchanges some coins for a glass of freshly squeezed goat milk…
No almond milk option on the pan-Americana…
My new roommate for the leg, Mike, is a lovely retired professor of biochemistry who lost his wife of 30+ years to cancer a few years back.
“Everyone will face a cancer of some sort or another in their life…” Mike says.
His words shake me. We all face difficulties. We all face pain.
I think of how I have been fortunate so far in my life. Extraordinarily fortunate that I can be on this expedition, and because of the great hand I’ve been dealt, being born into the loving family I am a part of, and being able minded and bodied.
When I measure the mountains of misfortune I have hiked in comparison to Mike’s, although at the time they all scarred me deeply: the sudden loss of my uncle, a challenging breakup, an unexpected investment loss… they seem like hills in comparison to Mike’s Everest.
“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” Writes Gibran Khalil Gibran.
This truth holds for Mike, with his contagious smile and abundance of positive energy on our most difficult days.
Before we know it, we have our final day in Colombia, finishing with hours and hours of climbing on our last few days. Across on the Ecuadorian side of the border, we were greeted by more climbs across Ecuador’s volcano alley, sunnier weather, as well as a local Ecuadorian tourist agency and a police escort that will roll with us across the equator until Quito.
“You know Mark, the climbs don’t get any easier, you just get faster...” Says Kenny, our Scottish mechanic.
I think of how many hours or days we’ve spent climbing in Colombia, the tally is over 38,000 meters of vertical. And of course every climb is different, and although we’ve had a few crushing multi-day climbs, the descents provide a dose of amnesia for the struggle. I’ve never heard a single complaint that a downhill was too long…
There is nothing as exhilarating as descending effortlessly, hearing the wind whistling, and soaring on saddle surrounded by mountains. But while the climbs can last days, the descents only minutes.
I think of something my parents told me while growing up: “that everything worthwhile is uphill” and the story of the tortoise and the hare.
“Inspiration is not reliable. It’s about endurance. Doing it day after day when you don’t feel like it.” Says Tom, as we discuss both writing and climbing.
I think of how the investment loss I faced a few years ago seriously set me back in terms of preparing me for this trip, but how the pain from that setback had become a springboard to course correct my compass, to focus on endurance.
I wanted to get the summit. I still do. But “to live for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top.” Writes Robert Pirsig in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. And I was following the hare trying to get to the top quickly, while I should and now embrace the wisdom of the tortoise. Patient progression. Compounding. And more importantly, to be far more skeptical when I hear that it’s “all downhill.”
In the end, the tortoise not only wins the race, but by going slower there is more to see and absorb, and on our journey, everyday there is something new to notice, something new to learn.
But who wants to live on the side forever? Climbs are tough. And once you get up there it can be miserably windy and cold, and Kenny was right - none of numerous climbs we’ve faced have been easy.
The past few weeks have been the most I’ve ever ridden and climbed in my life, certainly more than I thought I could handle. While I’ve gotten stronger and a little faster, I have stopped checking how many more hundreds of meters it’ll take me until the top. It’ll take as long as it takes, I tell myself, I’m just going to keep peddling and remind myself that I get to do this, not I can do this - I now know I can.
Everybody wants to get the top: financially, physically, romantically, professionally, spiritually, socially, mentally, etc. but the sweaty struggle on the sides, not the glory on the summit are what I’m understanding is more worthy of respect.
That is a big part of what this journey means for me, is falling in love with the sides of the mountain, and to open myself more to be transformed by them.
To be committed to the process rather than the outcome.
To trust the tortoise.
Our few days through Ecuador’s volcano alley are marvelous, and the crowning climb of the trip for me (so far) was leaving Quito’s cute street and climbing on volcanic terrain to 3800m above sea level to the Cotopaxi volcano.
Despite the fact that all the riders share the physical journey, we are all on our independent inner journeys.
Take Klaus (46, Switzerland) who was smoking a pack (“minimum”) a day for 25 years, and hasn’t touched a cigarette since the trip started. Or Crum (60+, New Zealand) who had a stroke in January, and has been riding half days since the start until he builds enough strength to peddle full days.
Colombia has pushed us all.
But it’s for the challenges, the thrill of discovery mile after mile, the uncertainty behind every corner, the character of every climb, and the surrender to the process that I’m here.
Hasta la proxima, Colombia — gracias por todo.
Looking forward to continuing the journey from down the southern hemisphere.
