Hey, We gotta get going!

We took our time getting back to Lima for our flight northward to Bogota. We skipped a tourist attraction about 45 min outside the city with the intention of hitting it up during our final days. We arrived late at night to the Hostal Internacional.  Remarkably, they had kept our piece of luggage for the entire four months we'd been gone.  Our coffers were full with last minute tourist souvenirs from Peru for family and friends. We needed the extra room that the suitcase provided.

Early the next morning we hopped on the bus northbound to the Plaza Norte to transfer to Zipaquirá.   We walked up the Camino de Sal through the atrociously touristy entrance. Vaulting above the entrance is a four story tall fake climbing wall in the shape of a tree, mazes, and other muses. Luckily we were there on a weekday and we would not see the fantastic crowds that take up the area each weekend.

We descended into the mine 1800 feet below the surface and found this:

Hey, Bikes shouldn't sound like that.

Two hours south of Cali lays Popayan. The city is known for being one of the most picturesque in all of Colombia. The town is also known for its offerings of a free mountain bike ride share, and hikes into the national park to see active volcanoes. We should have chosen the volcano because it would have been considerably safer considering how the day went.

We were driven an hour outside of the town to some thermal springs. The springs were surprisingly nice considering that the water was a putrid color of green and smelled of rotten eggs. We soaked for a couple hours alternating between the hot water and the absolutely freezing cascade shower in an attempt to prevent ourselves from smelling like a Denny's line cook.


After we melted the stress away from our month long vacation in the pools, we embarked on the 30k "downhill" route back to town. The HostalTrail provided us with mountain bikes that appeared tough enough to make the way back. We speed through the first kilometers passing through a town, several waterfalls, and other breathtaking sights. Suddenly the tail of my bike became squirrelly and a thwap sound emanated from the tire every several seconds - my tire had gone flat.

The bikes were equipt with a spare tire and pump in the event of such a misfortune. We sat on the side of the road taking the tire off and replacing the tube. Overloaded trucks carrying everything from livestock to produce sped by at a distance that was unnerving. Comically we tried to figure out the world's hardest bike pump and how there is a definite difference between a Shrader and Presta valves. We finally got the tire in and pumped up, put the tire back on and prepared to set off. The replacement tire was flat. We undid the tire again and inspected the tube finding that it had previously been mended twice before. Luckily Dan, a British guy we'd met that morning, also had a tube. We tried that one too with the same result of a slow leak. Finally we used the third and last tube in our emergency kits and it held. 

We set off for a rather enjoyable downhill section which concluded around a bend with a hill. Naturally as any cyclist would've, I downshifted to prepare for the hill. Pink, grind, boom, bang. The bike almost launched me, it stopped so quickly. The derailer had snapped off and become wedged between the spokes and frame.

There was no emergency kit provided for the derailer and we were still 20k away from home. I ended up tying the chain to the frame, dropping the seat and scooting using one leg to propel. Sadly, I could not make it up the numerous by scooting alone, so I walked the bike a good way of the remaining distance.

Dan had ridden ahead to send back a recovery party for me. As I reached the outskirts of town the same truck that dropped us off pulled up. The driver was astounded we'd made it that far, and in good time too.

Hey, This is how Guatapé should be done.

We bolted early in the morning from the hippie den to another hostel. This time I booked without Rob's input and we got two beds in a dorm in town and on the water. We were greeted warmly by Nick the owner of Lakeside Hostel. He showed us around the warm and comfortable three floor hostel he had built himself. He agreed to take our bags despite it being before 8am and freed us to explore.

First, we went to checkout breakfast on the roof top terrace. Before we had received our delectable breakfast burritos, we notified Nick we were planning on a longer stay.

Wound the hostel offered tons of activities in the area including paintball, yoga, hiking, kayaking, and more. We were even more thrilled to hear they'd have the Bronco game on in the bar upstairs. When we arrived back that evening the hostelers and a few expats had thrown together a potluck for the game.

We hit the lake in a kayak the next day once could muster. The lake was an endless maze of channels and hidden coves. Hours later we returned, me completely sunburnt despite sunscreen, completly exhausted and arms aching.

We learned another important lesson, location, location, location.