Something is amiss? Amongst beauty

Dear friends and family,

After Salento I rode first up and then down to the next little tourist town: Filandia. It was lovely as it had the same feel as Salento but with only a portion of the tourists and almost none from out of country. I enjoyed a couple of days wondering around town and sampling the good restaurants. I met one man who grew up in Colombia, worked a career in Toronto, then returned to buy a restaurant/coffee shop/microbrewery in Filandia. Had a cool vibe to it, so I spent the afternoon sipping a beer and writing there. While there I met a retired couple, again born in Colombia, worked union jobs in New York City, then returned home to retire. Made me think how much most Colombians that I met love their country. I heard a song on the radio this morning about loving Colombia. I wonder if that sort of thing has an effect?

Now I was off to the nontouristic part of the country for a few days, back down to 3000 foot elevation where it’s hot and sugar is grown. It is called the Cauca River Valley. This river provides irrigation to hundreds of miles of farming land. I wanted to see it and also approach the mountains from a different angle than the freeway heading north. Was lovely riding here. With training at altitude I felt like I could fly here while lower.

I followed this up with nice long and steady rides, feeling strong as I descended more than climbed, but still had plenty of strong ascents. Working class towns, no tourists, cheap prices, friendly people, all a good fit for me.

Then when I got to Viterbo the serious planning started. It would be three days of climbing. Day one of three thousand feet, day two of only two thousand, but over a shorter, steeper range, and day three, the final ride and climb of my entire trip. Cap it off by 40 miles of rough dirt road, climbing to ten thousand feet, with 4700 feet of climbing. What an entrance I would make into Jardin, after those successes. 

Small (subconscious)voice saying “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Conscious guy back “I’ve been riding here for months now, and I’m really feeling strong”

Small voice “Altitude, heat, 25% grade!”

Conscious “I passed a biker yesterday while riding and he had no packs”

Meanwhile, deep within the “gut brain” defined as The enteric nervous system that regulates our gut is often called the body’s “second brain.” Although it can’t compose poetry or solve equations, this extensive network uses the same chemicals and cells as the brain to help us digest and to alert the brain when something is amiss.

Gut control (GC) to worker bees (WB) “hey kids, better get ready, someone’s not listening to subtle messages”

WB back “what should we do to get his attention?” “ we could give him a belly ache for a couple of hours”

GC “this guy, he doesn’t listen well, we better give him something serious”

WB “Ok, boss, how about a seven out of ten gut check?” “That’s pretty serious”

GC“if we don’t give him the whole treatment, he won’t get it”

WB “that’s a pretty serious ask. It is going to be painful, uncomfortable and worrisome”

GC “ he could actually kill himself by what he’s planning, so we have to do our job”

WB “We get it, hoping he’s sitting down, preferably on porcelain”

And they did and I was. All night. It was painful, uncomfortable and worrisome. A fellow bike packer I met virtually got a serious case of gastritis about a month ago and spent three nights in the hospital. I don’t even know if there is a hospital in this town. 

Two days, later, after realizing that the aftermath of my case of turista left me too weak to even pedal a few miles, I made arrangements to have a truck and driver ferry me over the pass. It seemed expensive at the time, but cheaper options would take more energy out of me than I had by taking  several bus rides and taxis to get there.

This morning my driver, with his brand new Dodge Ram 4WD pickup, was ready at the appointed time. It took only about ten miles into the drive, while still on paved road,  that I realized the folly of my thinking. On my best day, I would be struggling to make these hills so far: steep, hot, hard. 

Once we turned onto the dirt road (trail?) over the pass, it dawned on me, that no, it wasn’t bad fish, too much sugar or tap water being used for food, or maybe all of those, but the resistance of my gut brain having other thoughts. Hence the above story. 

There was nothing up here but forest and dirt. Yes, a few cars and motorcycles, but no place to find shelter, no food available. I realized that there was zero chance that I could have made it. Hard for me to wrap my head around. I was feeling strong. I am feeling fit. I read a blog about other bikepackers that did this same trip (they were three quarters of their way around the world by bike and they were, ahem, 25 years old). Something to face head on. Hard reality. Do you get the idea that the folly of my thinking really hit me?

Who could have thought that a bad case of traveler’s diarrhea could be the best thing to happen?

“Ok, I get it. Now, enjoy the journey” said Conscious guy, loud enough for small voice, GC and WB to hear.

“ I’ve learned a lesson”, I ended with as I thought I heard a snicker from deep within.

What an amazing ride. Only a few quick views as the trees were so dense around us. Great driver, going slow enough to protect his new truck’s springs and shocks. It was all uphill for twenty miles of really rough road then all downhill into the valley where Jardin is perched.

I wasn’t sure how many days  to book my room for as I checked in, so I told them I’d let them know later. When I hauled my bike in bag to my upstairs room, opened the balcony door onto the town square and was treated to a horse giving a dance to tourists sitting outside, made me start to count the days available to stay here before my flight out of Medellin, a city of over two million. Hmmm.

Sending love,

Charley