Columbia. You don't wanna go there and get kidnapped ?

  Columbia.  Living On The Edge.

  I have lost count of the many warnings that I have received about Bandits and the drug Cartels that Columbia ONCE HAD. True, I am sure that the issue has not been totally eradicated, and in the remote parts of the country you could find trouble if you went looking for it. I write this blog retrospectively, I have been too busy you must understand !!! Columbia and its people only hugged me, and I stomped around many of the less salubrious places of the country, off the Gringo trail. When ever I stopped for any reason I was often mobbed, I could have been  a film star, the inquisitive Colombians only want to make sure that I was enjoying the experience and only wanted help me. I was even offered money for my trip, how's that ? That applies to the entire Country, not just an isolated part or incident.

The crumbling streets of the old city of Cartegena.

  Once we unloaded the bikes from the Stahlratte, Captain Lulu directed us to the Amber hostel in the old city. There was a totally enclosed back yard where the bikes could be safely parked. There were 11 of us in total, we all had to stay for a least the week end as Customs were slow to process the bike temporary import documentation, and without the doc's the compulsory insurance could not be purchased.

Busy again !!

  The time was well spent, somehow my fix it skills were detected, this is Crasher Nick's bike, the footrest had been broken away from the frame in the second accident of the trip. The front wheel was more of a challenge, seriously out of shape, it would play the part of a circus act. There were no worries though, Columbia has many motorcycles on its roads and an equal number of shop selling parts.

Rough old street, the Hostel was a few doors down. Not unsafe though.

Lovely old colonial buildings.

Anyone for tripe and brick dust ?

Town Square, in the restored area of the old city.

Much of the walled city is still intact.

The beer was cheaper in this part of town.

Cartagena Harbour, with the new city in the background.

One of many gatherings, patiently waiting for my return.

Beautiful country side in the northern part of Columbia.

That temperature gauge reads 100 deg F.

The harbour at Santa Marta, a working port.

The street that had every thing. Corner shop, Hotel, Whore House and the smell of wee!!!

The Caribbean coast of northern Columbia.

 Now, read this. Feeling uneasy of not having a spare clutch cable I searched several shops and then I discovered Olmar and his helpful girls at Motomax, Aguachica. He did not have the correct cable, but had parts to make one, or so he thought. No problem, he sent his personal serf out, and he returned 10minutes later with all the parts. Just what I needed, but Olmar refused payment and gave me a litre of oil as well. I bought him some cold beer and gave him a thank you note. He was so pleased.  The day before I was sniffing around for some tyres, the rear tyre on my bike is not a common in size in South America, as most bikes are only small and do not use the same size tyres. I saw a motorcycle shop with tyres on display, but nothing to suit me. No problem, said the man, jump on the back of my bike and I will find you what you want. And so he did, we flew around the back streets of Aguachica and found exactly what I wanted. Real people, real country, folk look after one another here.

Bikes and Horse drawn carts out number the cars.

Mule train in the Mountains.

A pile up around the corner awaits. 

Mini bus on its side, the race is over.

 The only truth that applied to Columbia was the standard of driving. The worst to date if I compare to my understanding of driving skills. Overtaking on blind corners, blind summits or on the outside or the inside of vehicles, in or out of town is all acceptable. Speed limits and school zones are all ignored and nothing is  enforced. Motorcycles are invisible, so your safe gap is an overtaking opportunity...... but I have to give 'em credit, when they are about to attempt a suicidal manoeuvre, the assassin will give the obligatory toot of the horn, which works on every vehicle no matter how poor the condition. But you live and learn, it is no good teetering around, you have to join in the mayhem and adjust. It really is fun when you get the hang of it.

 Like this, hold your breath, you don't want a lung full of the black exhaust smoke, and take 'em on the inside (right hand side). Easy, two at once !! Careful of the potholes though. Normally big enough to wreck a bike wheel.

Up in the hills, south of Bucaramanca.

 Coor,look at that what a wild camping opportunity, by the river too. It turned out to be nightmare, A single

 track road promised to take me to the river. After 45 minutes I was greeted with road works. The road

 gang were laying two concrete paths about two feet wide, just wide enough to accommodate the wheels of a truck or car. The road workers beckoned me onward, I was unsure.The concrete was reinforced with a lattice of steel bar that was staked in place with steel bars that projected vertically above the side shuttering and the ground by about one foot in height. Now this made interesting and risky riding, as the only way through was on the side with the sheer drop to the bottom of the canyon. I had about two foot of road to the edge, but my side panniers had to over hang the wet cement and the vertical stakes that were just low enough to clear the bottom of the panniers. I precariously edged my way downhill for about 100 metres when I was prevented from going forward by some over length stakes that would hit my panniers and push me over the edge. The concrete at this stage had set hard, so I booted the offending stakes over so I could pass. It was a skilful operation, if the stake did not bend I would probably push myself over the edge. But the worst was to come, what little of the road was left had now crumbled away, and had been replaced with 3 wooden planks about 10 feet long of unknown strength. A quick in helmet calculation worked it out that the bike and me could easily weigh 300 kg, but there was no turning back now as it was impossible to turn around as all I had was two foot of road on the edge. Looking around, I summoned a workman, I worked it out that he thought it was safe, I had to take his word, so I went for it, not looking down of course !! I am sure the planks creaked and groaned, but I made it and ahead, the narrow path could be seen to be a little more accommodating, room for a cement mixer and a pile of aggregate. The mixer and the pile was the end of the road for me, beyond that was a huge pile of rocks, an so it would appear that the last 200 yards of sweat and terror was wasted, some how I was now faced with another challenge on how to turn the bike around with no space. Help was at hand, the workmen had realised my dilemma, and shovelled some of the pile of aggregate away so as to give me more space. It still meant that I would have to make a twenty point turn, buy riding the front wheel up the pile and rolling back down again, no quite so scary as I had a few helpers to catch me should it all go pear shaped. Mission complete I retraced my edgy course, it was no easier going back. Regrettably I did not take any photographs, I do have an image or thee in my memory though !! Some thing had chewed a hole in my seat too. The light was now fading, I still had to find a place to stay, I bounced along a dusty old track that a signpost promised Cabina's (wooden cabins, or similar), but the grumpy landlady did not take to my dishevelled rustic appearance and refused me point blank. There is always another opportunity around the corner, an there was.

  Bogotá, the Capitol City. I had to go, just to say that I have been. The city sprawls for miles, the scruffy suburbs less than inviting, the spaghetti road layout and the animal drivers, lack of signposts all add to the err,....... thrill of getting there in one piece.  The city uses the grid system that makes for easy navigation once you have found your bearing. The streets are clogged with buses and lorries belching arid black smoke, that chokes you. I was literally pushed and barged by vehicles wanting my space, the road works and the one way streets made navigation difficult, now with my sometimes magical directional skills I found the historical centre, and a hostel that was recommended. The cost of a bed was not so good, and there was no parking, except a car park a block away. En route I found another hostel, half the price and I could take my bike inside. Perfect for a maintainance session, and I had a dormitory all to myself.

Old town Bogotá.

The grand old building of the hostel.

Cramped side streets. Packed with music bars. Glad I made the effort.

Restored old town centre.

Massive central square.

Bogotá, at 8000 ft above, cool, and when it rains it's heavy.

The Pacific Highway, truck , trucks and more.

A family outing, dog included.

  

 A bus stop brew up, these two folks passed buy on their motorcycle, stopped and came back to have a chat. So friendly and welcoming, he offered money to support my trip. I could not accept, but what kind gesture.