7 - 26 May 2024

• 7 May - Caucasia to Tarazá (39.7 mi, 64.0 km)

• 8 May - Tarazá to Puerto Valdivia (28.8 mi, 46.3 km)

• 9 May - Puerto Valdivia to Valdivia (10.6 mi, 17.1 km)

• 10 May - Valdivia to Ventanitas el Danuvio (11.6 mi, 18.7 km)

• 11 May - Ventanitas el Danuvio to Yarumal (12.2 mi, 19.6 km)

• 12-13 May - Rest days in Yarumal

• 14 May - Yarumal to Santa Rosa de Osos (28.7 mi, 46.2 km)

• 15 May - Santa Rosa de Osos to Medellín (53.5 mi, 86.0 km)

• 16-26 May - Layover in Medellín

Cycling Across La Paisa

The town of Caucasia - where we began this leg of our journey - sits on the northern end of a culturally distinct region of Colombia known as la paisa. As a result of centuries of relative isolation in the northwestern Andes, the people of paisa are widely considered ‘different’ from folks in the rest of Colombia. However, paisa culture isn’t expressed in visible qualities like a unique style of clothing or architecture. 

Instead, paisas are distinguished in large measure by how they behave (very proud, independent, and entrepreneurial), and how they talk (softly, fast, and with a lot of region-specific slang). Cultural historians attribute some of this to the fact that the northern Andes were an important center of Basque migration during colonial times (they say that the Andes reminded them of the Basque homeland in the Pyrenees mountains of Europe). Even today, many families in paisa have Basque surnames, and the way they speak Spanish is similar to the Basque region of northern Spain. 

Geographically, the town of Caucasia is a bit of an outlier in paisa, since it’s actually about 40 miles (64 km) away from the foothills of the Andes. However, it sits on the banks of one of Colombia’s most important waterways, the Cauca River, which drains most of the paisa region. The river’s central role in the exploration, settlement and economic development of the northern Andes provided the cultural glue that still links Caucasia more to the paisa region than to the other, Caribbean-focused communities farther downstream.

Cycling Along the Cauca River

After leaving Caucasia, our route followed the banks of the Cauca River upstream towards the mountains. The river was wide and muddy, lined with scrubby forests and pastures. Although we slowly gained elevation, the terrain remained fairly mellow. Occasionally we would cycle up a small rise to the top of a hill, with expansive views of the river below, and the steel-blue shadow of the Andes in the background.

From the earliest colonial days, gold was an important commodity in the region. Until the mid-1800s, gold mining was by far the most important source of income throughout paisa. Over the next 150 years, coffee production overtook gold in the regional economy. However, in the last 20 years, gold production has surged again. Interestingly, there are very few large mining operations in paisa. Instead, the vast majority of gold (as much as 80%) is produced by small, artisanal operations with less than seven employees. Also, there are very few hard rock mines. Three quarters of the gold comes from alluvial mines, which are essentially gold dredging operations in the rivers (not the best thing for water quality).

With all of the rain we had been having (including a morning drizzle as we departed Caucasia), the landscape kept getting greener. We rolled along through an endless series of low hills with lush pastures in the uplands, and extensive wetlands in the low-lying areas. At one point we were startled to see something completely different - a herd of domestic water buffalo. Some of them were lounging around in the grass near a deep pond. But quite a few of them were submerged in the pond - many in water up to their nostrils. It looked like a sight right out of Southeast Asia.

When we arrived in Tarazá (pop. 12,700) we were lucky to get one of the last hotel rooms in town. Most of the rooms had already been rented. We later learned that recent rains had caused the Cauca River to breach a containment dam downstream, causing more than 8,000 people to be evacuated. Approximately 1,600 homes were damaged or destroyed. The hotel rooms were occupied by Red Cross teams that were probably in the area to help with recovery efforts. 

A little before sunset we heard some music coming from out on the street. Someone was playing a flute, accompanied by a drum. It sounded like the kind of music that might be played for a religious procession, a wedding, or some other celebration. That made us curious, so we went outside to see what was happening.

About a block from our hotel, a group of teens was practicing a dance - probably the Cumbia (Colombia’s national dance). They weren’t fully dressed up in the fancy, traditional costumes. They wore street clothes. But each of the girls also wore a voluminous skirt, typical of the skirts used in folkloric dances. And the boys each had a straw hat that was used as a prop during the dance. We watched for a couple of minutes as the girls swished around in their skirts, while the boys paraded next to them in their hats. It was fun to see. We got the impression that they were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, perhaps at a local festival. 

The next day we continued our journey up the Cauca River. At first, the road climbed slowly upwards, over a series of low hills.

About an hour into the ride the terrain changed abruptly, and we entered a deep canyon with forest-covered walls.

Water coming off of the cliff face was so abundant that the people living along the road seized upon the idea of harnessing it to offer car and truck-washing services to passing vehicles. We saw many dozens of these roadside car washes, where someone installed a pipe in the hillside, which led to a hose, with a nozzle spouting a continuous stream of water into the air. The water was so plentiful that these entrepreneurs didn’t bother using equipment that could turn off the flow. In fact, the water spouts seemed to be a form of advertising - perhaps to demonstrate that the water pressure was sufficient to reach the tops of even the tallest trucks.

When we passed the first couple of these truck washes, we thought it seemed like a clever way to take advantage of a free, abundant, local resource. But by the time we had passed the 20th truck wash within a short distance, it became clear that the market was over-saturated. The cost of setting up one of these businesses was low enough that everyone had gotten into the game. There were so many of these truck washing stations that most of them sat idle for lack of business.

Into the Andes Mountains

In the town of Puerto Valdivia, we took a left turn across the Cauca River. From there we began our serious ascent into the Andes Mountains. We only cycled 1.7 miles more (2.7 km), climbing out of the canyon. But it was like getting hit with a ton of bricks. In the final 5% of the day’s ride, we gained three times as much elevation as we had in the first 95%.

It was a great feeling when we arrived at the combination truck stop/restaurant/hotel where we would spend the night. We plopped ourselves into a couple of chairs at the restaurant, and promptly downed a liter each in drinks, plus a couple of ice cream bars. While we were relaxing on the veranda, we spotted a small troupe of silvery-brown tamarins (a diminutive type of monkey). They were clambering around in the trees, on the cliff face across the road. It was a delight to encounter them so unexpectedly. Some of the smaller wildlife was pretty spectacular, too. A dazzling, orange and yellow tiger moth rested on a railing at the hotel for several hours.

It was at this restaurant where we had our first encounter with a real, paisa dialect. Over the past two years we had become pretty adept at talking with restaurant staff in Spanish. But we suddenly found it extremely challenging to understand our waitress. We had to ask her to repeat things several times, and in the end we still weren’t quite sure of everything she said. There was also a bit of confusion when we asked for a room in the hotel. Fortunately, there weren’t any serious issues, and we were able to have a delicious meal before checking in to our small, but reasonably comfortable room. 

Starting around 6:30pm a huge thunderstorm rolled through, lasting for several hours. It rained buckets. We imagined the Cauca River swelling even more within its banks, in the valley below.

Up and Up and Up

Over the next three days we would slowly make our way up into the heights of the Andes Mountains, gaining about 8,000 ft in elevation (2,440 m). The air was very damp, although we were lucky that it mostly rained during the nighttime. During the day, clouds clung to the sides of the mountains and nestled into the valleys below. Occasionally we rode through fog, and it didn’t take long before our clothes were completely soaked with a combination of mist and sweat. Several times a day, PedalingGuy would take off his shirt and literally wring out a big puddle of salty water.

Most of the homes and buildings along the road were fairly humble structures of weather-beaten concrete and wood. As is typical in rural Colombia, many people kept farm animals on their property or used horses for hauling heavy loads.

After the first, full day of cycling in the mountains, we stayed in the town of Valdivia (pop. 3,600) - a jumble of mismatched buildings perched precariously on the side of a mountain. We managed to secure a tiny hotel room facing into the valley below. The view from the veranda was amazing, and we thought it would be relatively quiet because it was away from the road. However, we failed to take into account that there was a car and truck workshop right outside our window. We were treated to a constant symphony of pounding and drilling, accompanied by the roar of truck engines that were left running for extended periods of time. Fortunately, it finally quieted down later in the evening.

The next day involved our biggest, single-day ascent in a long time. As we gained elevation, we started seeing lots of new plants.

After the first couple of miles from Valdivia, the climbing became very, very difficult. We stopped periodically to rest our legs and catch our breath, but the incline was relentless. Often there weren’t any good places to get off the road, so we just had to keep pushing. In the end, we took only one extended break, where we sat down by the side of the road.

As we cycled higher, the trees thinned out and we could see the of the top of a ridge in the distance. It seemed tantalizingly close, but it still took us another 2.5 hours to reach the summit. 

The final mile or so to the top was the most challenging. It was really steep, with no shoulder at all. In many places, the road surface was in bad shape, slumping, buckling and cracking under the weight of the traffic. There aren’t that many roads over these high mountains so all the traffic gets funneled together. A solid line of big trucks labored up the climb in slow motion, while all the other vehicles (cars, small trucks and motorbikes) tried to pass where they clearly shouldn’t - making the road that much more dangerous. We had to push our bikes up the steepest section near the top. Finally, we reached the summit of the Alto de Ventanas.

After that the hills were not so bad, and there was even a short downhill. In the final mile we passed the biggest waterfall we had seen yet. But we didn’t linger, because right next to the waterfall a group of guys was ‘mining’ rocks from a scree slope. Their method was to pile big, heavy rocks onto large plastic trays, then let them fly down the steep hill using the trays as a sled. The rock-laden sleds careened down the hillside, unhindered, in the general direction of a truck that was waiting to be loaded at the bottom. We took one look and decided it wasn’t worth taking the chance of being knee-capped by an out of control sled full of rocks. So we left quickly.

Arriving at the hotel in Ventanas, we got another room in the back overlooking the narrow valley below. But this time it was set far away from the road. That was a good thing, because the front side of the hotel was being used as another truck service center.

Over dinner in the restaurant next door, we were treated to the sounds of a mechanic using an impact wrench and an angle grinder to remove the lug nuts on a large semi-truck tire. In case you are not familiar with impact wrenches, they sound just as loud as jack hammers. Since the roadside restaurants are all open air, and the work was being done only a few feet from the restaurant, we had to wait until there were breaks in the action to talk to the lady taking orders. She would roll her eyes and stop talking every time the noise started, and patiently wait for it to stop. No one else seemed to mind, though, because everyone in the restaurant besides us was a trucker. The drivers seemed to like keeping an eye on their rigs from their dinner table, and for us it was interesting to see the work going on.

In the evening we had left the door to our room open to let the air flow through (there was no air conditioning). At one point the hotel owner passed by, and started chatting with us through the open doorway. Johnny was very gregarious, and seemed delighted that we were staying at his hotel. When he learned that we were from the USA, he beamed and told us he had an aunt who lived in Miami. Then he insisted that we face-time her on his phone, so that we could say, ‘hi.’ It was fun and awkward at the same time. His aunt answered the call. She was a sweet, elderly woman who seemed to enjoy the quick interaction. Johnny definitely loved every moment of it. 

Trust the Advice of Locals

After a quiet, restful night we were up and ready to depart at 6:15am. But when we went to return the room key, Johnny asked us which direction we were heading. When we told him uphill, he warned us that it was raining heavily in that direction. He said that one of his employees came from the next town, and told him it was raining hard. He also pointed to the sky in the direction we were heading, and we could see an ominous, dark gray cloud. 

After thinking it over for a moment, we decided to wait and see how the weather developed, and we both went back to bed. As predicted (by Johnny, not by any of the weather apps that have proven to be completely useless in Colombia), it rained quite hard for the next couple of hours.

Eventually there was only a light rain and the sky was definitely getting brighter. Not only had we dodged what would have been a real soaker of a rain storm, but we got some extra sleep while staying dry. We felt victorious when we eventually hit the road a little before 10am, and enjoyed clearing skies for the rest of the day. 

We continued cycling upwards through dense, montane forests and bright green pastures populated by well-fed cows. Numerous waterfalls cascaded into the valley below.

As we cycled into the town of Yarumal (pop. 30,000) we were confronted with a sobering sight. We stopped to admire a large mural, reminiscent of many that we have seen throughout Latin America. But among the now-familiar images of hard-working farmers, indigenous faces and symbols of nature was something completely different. On one side of the painting, a father points out something in the distance, beyond the farmers tilling their land. And when your eye follows the direction he is pointing, you can just make out a handful of small figures far away, on the side of a mountain. Those figures are carrying rifles, and look like soldiers preparing for war. It’s unsettling. 

Yet it’s part of the reality for the people who live in Yarumal. In fact, we had been told to be cautious and alert while traveling on the stretch of road between Puerto Valdivia and Yarumal, because armed groups that did not sign on to Colombia’s peace accords in 2016 still operate in the rural mountains on both sides of the highway (although traveling the highway itself is considered safe). The mural was a reminder of this simmering conflict, and we were glad to be emerging into safer territory.

The City of White Trees

We spent an enjoyable evening walking around the central plaza in Yarumal. It was surprisingly crowded with people, even though it is not a tourist town. Its prosperity derives in large part from its strategic location along the route between Medellín (Colombia’s second largest city) and the northern coast. It’s also a hub for the region’s agriculture. As such, the central plaza and surrounding streets were bustling with activity - families shopping, friends enjoying a coffee in one of the many cafes, couples out for a stroll, and kids playing games. 

The plaza itself was interestingly unique. Yarumal had hardly any flat land - everything was carved out of the steep mountains, with streets that soared and plunged over the hillsides. And that affected the plaza as well. It was built into the side of a hill, with several terraces that were connected by steep ramps or stairways. On each level, small shops were shaded by the town’s namesake trees - the yarumo blanca (white cecropia in English) - looking like tall, lacy umbrellas. At the very top of the hill, towering over the terraces, were the central cathedral and a very striking school, painted with bold beige an dark green stripes.

Unfortunately, our first night in Yarumal didn’t go so well. The city was very active and noisy on a Saturday night, with loud music, and tons of traffic on the narrow streets. The roaring noise kept us awake much of the night. We guessed that it was like a stereotypical frontier town, where many people would come into the city from the surrounding countryside and blow off steam on Saturday night. 

We briefly considered heading out the next morning to escape the noise. But PedalingGal wasn’t feeling very well, so we decided to simply change rooms instead. With the help of the very friendly ladies who ran the hotel, we were able to move to a room that was further back from the street, and hopefully more quiet. 

It was a good thing we didn’t leave, because as the morning progressed PedalingGal felt increasingly weak and started having stomach cramps. By 11am it was clear she had a fever, and spent most of the rest of the day laying in bed. We think her condition was triggered by an exceptionally bad pizza we had ordered for dinner the night before. (Pizzas vary dramatically in Latin America. One of the best pizzas we’ve ever had came from a tiny pizzeria in a small town in Baja, Mexico. The one we had in Yarumal, on the other hand, ranked near the bottom.)

Fortunately, by 4pm PedalingGal was beginning to feel well enough to go out for dinner. As we were getting ready, there was a knock on our hotel door. To our surprise it was two other cyclists, Rachel and Mike, from the UK. They were traveling from Canada to Peru on a tandem bicycle (that is, a bicycle built for two). In fact, PedalingGal had corresponded with Rachel back in December, regarding possible routes through southern Mexico. It was delightful to connect with them in person. PedalingGuy even chipped in, and helped them haul their big, tandem bicycle up the two flights of stairs into the hotel.  

You don’t see many people on tandems in South America, and this was the first one for us. Even though they were from the UK, Mike and Rachel’s bike was made by a US-based company we are familiar with called Co-Motion Cycles. They make especially nice bikes that we have had our eye on for a while. Some features that set Co-Motion bikes apart include advanced drive trains (Rolhof and Pinion) with belt drives, as well as having the option to add S&S couplers to the frame. This gives you the capability to easily break down the frame into pieces, which is particularly helpful when packing a tandem (or any bike) in a box for shipping.

We spent one more day resting in Yarumal, so PedalingGal could fully recover. That gave us a chance to see Rachel and Mike one more time as they were getting ready to depart the next morning. With everyone feeling better and more rested, we ended up visiting for quite a while - talking about bikes and routes further south in Colombia. PedalingGuy helped them lug their tandem bike back down the stairs to the street. And we agreed that we would try to meet up again in Medellín if our schedules overlapped.

Up and Over the Top of the Mountain

The road from Yarumal to Santa Rosa de Osos took us even higher into the Andes Mountains, with another big day of climbing. Surprisingly, there was a new feature on the landscape that we had never seen before (and actually, haven’t seen since). Many of the farms had extensive networks of trails that were completely covered by white, canvas awnings. It seemed like a huge amount of work to build those tent-like tunnels, which stretched for many miles. We wondered what they were for, and what could possibly justify the effort and expense to build them. Was it simply to provide sun protection for the farm workers? Or did they herd the cows through these trails among the fields? To this day, we still are not sure.

The day’s ride included more than 3,400 ft (1,035 m) of climbing. But the big deal was that after about 4.5 hours of cycling we finally crested the highest ridge we would encounter on our way to Medellín. At around 9,200 ft in elevation (2,800 m), it was cool enough to have us donning our sweaters. We had definitely left the steamy lowlands behind.

A Change of Plans, Crazy Traffic, and a Happy Ending

Our ride from Santa Rosa de Osos into Medellín didn’t quite go as planned. At the last minute the night before, we decided to cycle on the main highway into Medellín, rather than taking a secondary road (as we originally had planned). In some ways that made the ride a bit easier - not the least because the new route involved 1,000 ft (305 m) less climbing. But it also meant that we would be taking a road that we were less familiar with, so there was more room for things to go wrong. 

The day started out easily enough. When we were ready to depart at 6:15am it was raining pretty hard. So we ended up having about 1.5 extra hours to rest, while we waited for the rain to pass. 

For the next three hours of cycling, we made our way over a series of high altitude ridges. We were still riding through cattle country, and we passed at least one factory that looked like a big dairy processing plant. It made us wonder where all the milk goes? Cheese is very popular - a thick slice of white, semi-soft cheese is often served with both breakfast and dinner. But the yogurt and milk selection in Colombian markets has been pretty meager, even in larger stores.

Eventually we began the big descent to Medellín. We flew down the road, losing 3,000 ft of elevation (915 m) in half an hour - which included multiple stops to let our brakes cool. As we plunged down the mountainside, the valley spread out in a huge bowl below us. 

When we reached the valley floor, we turned onto a dedicated bike path that paralleled the main highway into Medellín. So far so good. But whenever we start to think that things are going better than expected, fate throws us a curve ball. 

The bike path was actually quite hilly. It was also fairly narrow, so it was tricky to maneuver around pedestrians. And as we progressed, there were more and more pedestrians. On top of that, there were constant, endless dips of 1-3 feet (0.3-1.0 m) as the bike path dropped into and climbed out of side streets and driveways - like riding over moguls on a ski slope. All of this made the cycling a bit more tiring.

In our last-minute planning, we figured we would stop at a hotel along this section of the road so that we could cycle the last stretch into Medellín the next day (when we would be fresher and the traffic would be lighter). But when we pulled up to the hotel we were aiming for, we hit a few snags. The room didn’t have air conditioning, and it faced westward so it would be hot. Worse, the only room available for us was on the 6th floor, and our bikes didn’t fit in the elevator. Things quickly seemed to turn against us, and we decided the best thing to do was to skip this hotel, and continue into Medellín.

Out on the street we had to decide how to handle this. It was already afternoon, and we had 22 more miles to go (35.5 km) before reaching the hotel where we had planned to stay in the city. 

Normally 22 miles in an afternoon would be quite manageable. However, we have cycled in enough large cities to know that a person’s cycling pace can get slowed down tremendously. Every once in a while you get lucky and find bike lanes that will allow you to zip along, but that tends to be an exception. Most of the time you end up doing much more work - picking your way around vendors, crumbling infrastructure, difficult and slow street crossings, etc., etc. Often the multitude of different roads means route-finding is much more difficult, requiring you to stop and double check directions which slows things down even more. It is easy to underestimate how long traveling across 22 miles of unfamiliar urban landscape can take. And since large Latin American cities can be quite hectic and chaotic, we always try to make sure to cycle through them when we are fresh and there is plenty of daylight, so that we can cycle at an relaxed pace.

But sometimes things happen (like a hotel that doesn’t work out) that require making the best of the situation despite your better judgement. So, perhaps unwisely, we made the decision to push on through into the heart of Medellín as the afternoon waned. To make sure we would have a place to sleep at the end, we made a last-minute hotel reservation on our phone. It was non-refundable, which meant we were now committed to cycling the whole 22 miles, hopefully before dark.

It was an adventure. For the next hour or so the route continued to be hilly, but the increasing number of cross streets, traffic and pedestrians slowed our pace to a crawl. Then, somewhere in middle of Medellín, things got worse. Occasionally there was a sidewalk we could ride on, but we were constantly having to work our way back and forth between the sidewalk and the road. Of course, it was not just an ordinary road, either. It was a huge, multi-lane thoroughfare with tons of fast-moving traffic, no shoulder, and numerous, dangerous side-road crossings. 

And then it began to rain. It was a light rain at first. But before long the rain was coming down hard. Big puddles formed at the road margins, and cars splashed us with road spray. We stopped a few times underneath overpasses during the hardest rain to allow the worst of it to pass. This slowed us down even more. The overpasses became surprisingly crowded with motorcycles - some had as many as 20-40 motorcyclists crowded together trying to shelter from the steady rain. 

To top it off, the rain caused PedalingGuy’s phone, which we use for navigation, to go haywire. The background map completely disappeared, making navigation impossible. He turned off his phone and put it away. That meant we had to rely on periodically checking our progress via PedalingGal’s phone to make sure we stayed on track. We were lucky that our route followed the main road for the most part. It was just another layer of stress we had to cope with until PedalingGuy got his phone working again. With many miles still to go, we stopped under another bridge overpass, hoping the rain would abate. 

Something we had failed to appreciate when deciding to cycle across the city in the afternoon was that Medellín is gigantic. And with a metro-area population of over 4 million people crammed into a narrow valley, it is very crowded. We stopped at one point to marvel at the scale of the housing developments that blanket the hillsides, but mostly we just tried to survive. It took us four hours to cycle the final 22 miles across the dense city in pouring rain, without our main navigation aid working, while dodging puddles, pedestrians, cars, motorcycles and the occasional dog.

It was a huge relief when we finally arrived at our hotel around dusk, and the check-in went without a hitch. We settled into our wonderful modern room (one of the advantages of larger cities), feeling like zombies from all the stress and effort. 

The City of Eternal Spring

We spent the next 10 days enjoying Medellín. Known as The City of Eternal Spring because of its year-round, mild climate, Medellín was a great place to rest and recharge. For many people, the city’s name is still closely tied to one of the most notorious drug cartels in history (the Medellín Cartel, which controlled most of Colombia’s cocaine trafficking in the 1980s). But since the cartel leader’s death in 1993, Medellín has gradually turned a corner to once again become a vibrant and generally safe metropolis. 

In fact, these days Medellín is more widely known for its innovative urban renewal programs (like the creation of a world-class public transportation system, and investment in an extensive network of sports facilities to provide safe places for youth). Art was sprinkled all over town, with most public spaces hosting statues. Any large wall that didn’t have a more formal mural was painted with colorful graffiti.

Like many Colombian cities, Medellín has a big cycling culture. Every Sunday, a number of the city’s major thoroughfares are shut to vehicle traffic for ciclovía, when only cyclists and pedestrians can use the roads. On one Sunday, we participated in the ciclovía, cycling roughly eleven miles (18 km) through the city streets. 

While we were out, we had the chance to meet up with Rachel and Mike, the cyclists traveling by tandem bike who we had met earlier in Yarumal. We had a blast, visiting with them for about two hours at a little cafe. We heard stories about their past cycling trips through Europe - including how they took along their sons when they were younger. The conversation also ranged widely on topics of interest to cyclists, like how to stay hydrated, equipment, and route choices. From Medellín our paths will likely go in different directions, but maybe we’ll meet up with them again down the road one day.

We’ve probably mentioned before how prosperous and busy malls are in Latin America (unlike the sad, empty places they have become in the USA). Colombia was no different. There were a couple of malls near where we stayed, and they were always full of people. On Fridays and Saturdays, it might as well have been the Christmas shopping season. Many people seemed to go to the mall just to hang out. In response, the malls have become not only places to shop but also community centers with free wifi, desks and tables for laptops and other facilities. The one closest to us had a small amusement park on one level, and half a dozen soccer fields on the roof (which were constantly in use).

During our time in Medellín we also had the chance to visit several of the city’s attractions, including the River Parks and the Botanical Garden. The River Parks are a relatively new, beautifully landscaped, and highly manicured greenway on both sides of the Medellín River in the heart of the city. Built in 2015 as part of Medellín’s ongoing investments public spaces, it still seems fresh and new. The Botanical Garden is older, with bigger trees and paths through lush undergrowth. Both were great places to find some tranquility within the busy city.

More Mountains Ahead

Our arrival in Medellín marked the end of our first crossing of the Andes mountain chain, but by no means the last. Medellín lies in a deep valley between two long arms of the Andes that stretch northward across Colombia, and just to leave the city would involve another big ascent. But the most epic climb of all lay a few more cycling days beyond that, on a dirt road that would take us across the much higher central range. After spending time in Colombia’s second-biggest city, we were eager to get back to traveling through the less crowded countryside. It was time to explore some more remote corners of this beautiful country.

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