In Ubate we camped, but not in an area designated “Zona de Acampar,” not a farmer’s field, not down a secluded path far from the main road; no, we set up our big yellow tent in the town square right next to a children’s playground within sight of restaurants, a casino, a couple bars, and most importantly La Estation de Policia. Needless to say we were a bit out of place, but the feeling dissipated with each group of locals who would inevitably mention the spectacle with a laugh in passing.

 

Our bikes, mangled up in a small tree brought us little peace with regard to the safety of our transport. It turns out a pack of dogs that converged on our camp would offer the relief we required. Throughout the night we awoke to hear one of the dogs, a mid sized German Shepard mix; rile and bark at a passerby just to resign to his position at the foot of our door and fall asleep again with a quiet snore.

In the morning Mel and I packed our belongings and hoped – no prayed – for a day unlike the one before plagued by peaks for which we were not quite prepared. Our satellite service and mapas topografico ensured an easy first half traveling the main highway, so we moved along.

We quickly realized that the easy riding ciclorutas of Bogota were behind us, and that we were left once again to cycle sporadic shoulders. As a result, we moved off the central circuit to an unassuming road, rural in composition, that followed a sinuous valley through the mountains to Villa De Levya, or so was our assumption.

The rough and winding, but mostly level passage opened to some of the most beautiful landscapes we had been blessed to lay eyes on thus far, and was a welcome respite from those of the day before. This held true until the sun began to slip behind the mountains reflecting from the Laguna De Fuquene in the distance; a sight that held us so captive we failed to assess the peaks at our back.

After stopping to ask for a place to camp with no success, and realizing that our selected route did not lead to Villa De Leyva, but rather Ráquira, a community in the throes of celebrating El Dia de las Velitas, The Day of the Candles, we committed to continue a further 7 miles despite the dimming light.

To our dismay, what was once a slightly bumpy, but favorably flat thoroughfare transformed to a grueling uphill battle through dirt and gavel which had eroded over years of exposure to small boulders held precariously in place by loose rock. The path was not rideable by any means, so we forced our 65 pound cargo up 100 yards at a time before pausing for water or to slow our pounding hearts which spasmed with ravenous intensity.

Hours later we ran into a pair of locals on motorcycles traveling home from Ráquira. Wild eyed with the smell of alcohol on their breath, they seemed just as happy to see us as we were them. They welcomed us to Colombia with excited handshakes and questions fired in rapid succession we scarcely understood. Our feelings about the course just traveled were confirmed by the look of surprise mixed with horror when they realized we had made the trek with our bikes in tow. We were fortunate to have run into them at that moment as the road forked several times over the next kilometer, each branch unmarked on our map. Our new friends were kind enough to ride ahead of us as guides to the one down which we would eventually find Ráquira.

We parted ways with a grateful wave and were happy to see that the way down was mostly tame, rideable – yes, but absent of light, and rocky still. Each switch back gave way to slanted slopes of varying severity which tested our grip and our brakes as we made the decent. When we reached the crescent of the final hill, the lights of the town illuminated the night sky and our eyes brightened at the prospect of the warm shower and comfortable bed we would not be denied after a day like that one.

 

Click below to see our photos from this leg.