“Aren’t you a little too young to be doing this?” Asks one of the riders at the reception of our hotel in Cartagena.
You’re not even 60 yet…”
Our group is up at 5 am the next morning, descend with our boxes, bags, and bikes down to the parking lot. Group photo at 5:45, breakfast at 6, and we roll out of Cartagena about 6:30 am.
Our convoy is 33 cyclists, 18 full tour riders, planning to ride all the way down to Ushuaia (the small Argentinian town where the boats to Antarctica depart) while the remaining 15 stopping somewhere on the way (some to come back later for more cycling), plus about a dozen support staff.
The city is quiet as we roll out on a cloudy Sunday morning, but the clouds quickly fade and we find ourselves riding in close to 40 degrees celsius, fighting dehydration and the scorching heat.
We ride for about 4 hours covering a little over 90km, stopping for drinks at 45km and lunch at 60km before arriving to our campsite, the garden of a restaurant, before midday.
Despite the group’s older average age, I find myself inspired by the places they’ve gone and the distances covered on the saddle:
Istanbul to Beijing, Paris to Dakar, Cairo to Cape Town (a common one among the group, and how I first learned about our tour company while I was working in Sudan), Perth to Sydney, London to Moscow, and many others across Canada, Korea, Japan, the Himalayas, North America and now South America…
I’m the youngest in the group; followed by three other riders - and new friends - who are also below 50, and we have formed a little squad that I am endlessly grateful for. As I am in the bottom half of the group in terms of bike touring experience, I do find myself overthinking and overpacking compared to the pros. As I’m stretching in the afternoon after our second ride, one of the more experienced riders remarks with a wonderful British accent:
“O goodonya mate, doin some stretchin aye ya?”
“You’re welcome to join me” I reply.
“Nah. Imma have a beer” he says.
I have a lot to learn from them I think…
Thankfully day two is cooler, with overcast skies as we ride our way to our beach side campsite in the small fishing town of Tolú.
Our first night was rough. It was painfully hot, which normally, I would find unpleasant but manageable, but add the humidity, a rain tarp, and the dehydration and it feels like a sauna inside the tent.
I move my hammock to the beach on our second night with the hopes of catching a little breeze, but the mosquitos are unrelenting. Some of the other riders and staff pitch their tents closer to the water, as we all try and find relief from the heat, and about midnight I give up on the hammock and go find my tent too.
I am happier with my second night of 4 hours of sleep than the first, and feel grateful for the sound of the waves, and a morning swim before hitting the road for day 3.
Usted Argentino? Ask me some friendly police officers who find us at our lunch stop.
“No, soy egipcio” I reply.
The police officers suggest I have an Argentinian accent, which I credit to my wonderful Spanish teacher.
“Son todos gringos?” They ask me, I laugh and say yes and tell them about our adventure. They assume I’m one of the staff, given I’m younger, speak some Spanish, and noticeably not a gringo and ask if they can take some photos with the gringos having lunch.
“Si, claro.” I reply.
Day three is a longer ride, my longest ever at about 130km (80 miles), but thankfully we are rewarded with air conditioning at a decent little hotel and a rest day to follow.
There are only a few air conditioning remotes to go around, and Will (my roommate) and I decide to keep it at its coolest and get in our sleeping bags for the night.
Will is a wonderful roommate, who I met on the road earlier. He has a grandchild my age, despite our age differences we share a common love language: beer + cycling.
After our rest day in San Marcos, the small town that receives us for our first rest day, we continue into our fourth riding day. Due to some thunderstorms and flooding we ride half our planned route, and boat ourselves and our bikes for our first half.
We divide ourselves among the boats, and cruise across the wetlands in style for a couple of hours before finding our bikes and next campsite.
“You a birder” asks Toni-Anne, the rider in front of me on the boat, as we pass by some stunning birds on the ride, some eagles soaring above and other elegant herons, spoonbills, and storks on the sides of the water. One birder counted 22 different types of birds.
“No.” I reply
“I don’t think you’ll give a shit about birds until you’re about 50” she says.
I befriend our boat captain on the almost three-hour ride, as I have the seat closest to him. And he slows down slightly for me to discreetly relieve myself to the side of the boat without my fellow passengers taking notice.
We dock, have a quick lunch and start our ride at midday— unusual from our past few days, which is when we usually end.
We start our cruise and soon find ourselves in the middle of some traffic:
I find there is a resemblance of some physical and cultural features between some Colombians and some people back home in Egypt. And as we go deeper into the countryside, I am touched with the warmth and generosity we encounter.
Our boat driver, once we docked asked if he could give me a hug and wished me good luck on the journey.
“How would you describe the culture in Colombia in one word?”
I ask our Uber driver in Cartagena on our drive back to the hotel on the eve of our departure.
“Hermosa.” (beautiful) he replies.
Next stop: Medellin