Today I saw life and today I saw death.

Day 5

With a wave adios to an industrious milk farmer and his picturesque pasture which we gladly called home for the night, we pushed optimistically northward toward Ubaté.

Distancing ourselves from the comfortable plano, our enthusiasm dwindled in conjunction with the bike lane which gave way to a crumbling shoulder of rocks and gravel and eventually a sharp grassy slope that traced the spine of a snaking highway.

The cow bell symphony of yesterday seemed a distant memory, replaced by the relentless rambling of milk trucks and impetuous buses, horns signifying an ebbing effort to stay to their lines on the ever increasing incline.

Every meter climbed intensified the burning in our chests, only to be rivaled by that in our legs and the parch of our throats. The pastoral valley quickly shed itself of its pretty green coating, exposing a rocky shale underbelly, shards of terracotta outlining the road, and tin homes dotting the hillside, seemingly abandoned long ago but for the occasional face shadowing a window, offering an inquisitive tilt.

Brick makers utilizing methods not seen in the States since the time of our grandparents, sent ribbons of black smoke swirling above a multitude of old stone stacks reminiscent of Fitzgerald’s Ash Valley, but absent of the ashen men who fueled those fires.

Water bottles as empty as our struggling stomachs and the Colombian sun high in the sky, our luck seemed to shift with the landscape. We arrived at a small village, immediately indulging in a huge feast, refueling on seven dollars and heading happily on our way. The dismal mountain-scape moulted into a scene reminiscent of puzzles completed with my grandmother as a child: verdant farms, lively haciendas and flowers running wild in every direction. The trek maintained its upward slant, but the scene was so beautiful that our spirits lifted, and our minds were free to wander.

We pushed through soft patches of clovers and dandelions, and witnessed the most colorful wild flowers nature could offer. Surrounded by abundance, I pondered the amazing mystery of this great world, the existence of things seen and not, as my thoughts turned to tomorrow when my sister would bring a new life into this world.

A chilling breeze carried with it a muffled cry, cutting through my thoughts, and calling attention to a women agonizing on a hilltop. Crudely woven tapestry blanketed the body of a second woman, exposing a face with features strong, round, and pale like the moon, with raven black hair flowing from all sides. Her face was clutched by the crying woman as their hair swirled and tangled in unison moved by the invisible breath of the mountain. Further ahead, young children busied themselves constructing what appeared to be a trellis in an area containing a scattering of decaying wooden crosses. The cloaked woman had passed away – this breathtaking hill to be her resting place. I paused and called to Matt as a shiver ran down my spine. This was the second deceased woman I’d seen outside of a funeral home. As the hill wore on, we passed roadside memorials for those who had fallen on this treacherous trail. Ranging from small unmarked crosses to elaborately tiled shrines, their meaning came crashing into my present and the whole of this trip became reality. The moon-faced woman on the hilltop surrounded by wildflowers and loved ones, overlooking her country; one can assume this was exactly what she wanted. With this it seems the cycles of life and death go on, as do the hills and valleys of our route.

The late afternoon sun spilled us over the peak providing the second wind needed to soar down the hill. A whole days earning flashed by in an exhilarating half an hour.

As dusk descended, we rolled into our destination: Ubaté, the milk capital of Colombia. A larger than life cow and storefront signage pointed to cheese factories, fabrica de queso, and milk on every block indicating we had made it. Seeking a place to sleep, in anticipation of tomorrow’s arrival of my unborn niece, and in appreciation for this life and all its wonder, we were grateful.

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