Riding out of Colombia

The ride to Pasto went from very pleasant, to spectacular, to miserable in the final miles in a cold downpour. As we eventually made our way into the countryside, we passed through rolling hills and sweeping corners. It was a fine Sunday morning, and large groups on cyclists were out on their long Sunday ride. In the Tour de France, Colombian riders have historically been great climbers, and as our day wore on, the reason was clearly apparent. Once again, we were ascending into the bright green, steep mountains. We were reminded of the great temperature variations with altitude changes. When riding at 10,000 feet, the temperatures were in the 50s (F), but as we descended into the valleys, the temperatures climbed into the 90s, which naturally poses a dilemma as to what to wear. This proved more than academically interesting as we approached Pasto in the low 50s, and the skies opened up with rain. When we eventually found our lodgings for the night, we were cold, wet and definitely ready to dismount. The name of our hostel will remain unmentioned in keeping with Harry’s mother’s admonishment: “if you can’t say something nice….” The hostel neither had space for parking, nor had any arrangement with a nearby parking facility. Hence, we set out in search for a safe place to secure our bikes in the cold rain. After circling the blocks of one-way streets, we found a seemingly dubious looking gated parking lot where we apprehensively left our bikes, six blocks from our hostel. On the following morning, we were relieved to find our bikes as we left them, and I was gratified when the attendant, with a beaming smile, handed me my soaked gloves that I had left on the ground the night before as I was putting the cover on the bike. This was just one more instance of the helpful and friendly treatment we received from the people of Colombia.