Mocoa to Pasto

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Unbelievable.
I’m safely in Pasto, but getting here wasn’t what I expected. From every description I had good reason to expect the worst- but my imagination simply fell short of what exactly the second worst highway in South America actually looked like. At the moment my calves feel like jello, I’m having trouble walking, and strangely my forearms can’t hold things very well either. At the moment, I can honestly say i hope i never have to do anything like that again.

(So it begins in Mocoa)
Skip backwards to Friday morning:
I had been working for 3 hours and 30 minutes. In the first hour, I climbed 12km of paved road and 2km of dirt road. In the next 2 and 1/2 hours I had covered 12 more kilometers of nightmarish softball sized rocks and broken one pannier in the middle of a pouring rainstorm. Would my rims survive? The other panniers is looking desperate and bent out of shape, I wonder how long it will last (the other was lashed onto the rack with some accessory cord)? My right leg was worked from walking my bike up the portions I couldn’t pedal up in my smallest gear. I was resting in front of a small catholic memorial for one of the 400 people killed on this road so far and the driver looked at me intently. I had already had 3 other offers, he looked at me through the rain and said something that I obviously interpreted as “come on, you’re nuts!”. It was 1030am and I was already giving up, but mostly because I wasn’t sure I would have a bike left to ride if I continued.

(Still under my own power getting into the cloud forest)
Thus I met Jesus (“Hay-zoos”, for those not familiar with the Spanish pronunciation of the Christian name). We proceeded to rocket up the rough road in his high clearance truck with my bike in the back, he clearly had plenty of practice driving the difficult road. I got over my alarm when he stopped at a creek and proceeded to fill the radiator and cool the engine with water, but about 4km later (6km after picking me up) he stopped with a puzzled look in his eyes. We got out and looked at the front of the truck, both wheels pointed in towards the Mazda symbol on the radiator grill. Jesus’ driving had broken the steering linkage to the left front wheel. No bueno. It was 1115am.

(As we say, este muy bonita)
Some people might not feel the same sense of duty, but when the guy who just picked up your tired, soaked, and broken butt up on the side of the road is suddenly in the rough, I don’t bail. And so things got a bit more adventurous. We tried fixing the linkage a few different ways but ultimately at 1pm Jesus hitched a ride back to Mocoa with the broken part, got it welded and caught a bus back to the truck. As bad as the road is, it is the only link between the Magdalena valley and the Panamerican highway, so it sees an incredible amount and variety of traffic. Jesus got back around 4pm, we installed the part, and got moving around 415pm.
It still took us until 630pm to get to Sibundoy, where Jesus lived and I could get a hostel. Jesus had given me a ride approximately 50km, and I am certain I could not have made Sibundoy last night- I would have been better off trail-running there. I just can’t describe how long and consistently terrible the road was, I honestly cannot conceptualize riding a bicycle all the way up it. I took the ride because I needed it and I knew it.

(Broken truck parts in the middle of nowhere)

(Higher and higher, thanks to a mostly functional truck)
Sibundoy was a nice town and Jesus had dropped me at a decent, cheap hotel. I was still worked from the morning’s efforts, I had taken my normal full on attitude and given it my hardest for more than 3 straight hours. I ran Chicago marathon in less time than that. My hardest crossfit workouts have never been that long. Despite the lift from Jesus, the physical toll of such a difficult, steep road on a heavy bike had destroyed me in less than a morning. I ate a big meal and slept immediately (at 830pm).
This morning I woke up without an alarm at 530am and got moving. I thought today would be easier, and had no intention of getting a ride. I pedaled out of town around 7 in brilliantly cool, cloudy weather and started climbing again. I had information that I would climb from Sibundoy but hadn’t really pieced together just how much. It’s 65km from Sibundoy to Pasto, and I had thought it would be mostly downhill. I was wrong, and the error had a costly effect on my mental state. Maybe I was still mad about getting a ride, or just though that because I had gotten a ride that it would make today easy. I was wrong.
Leaving town crossed about 5km of gorgeous flat farmland on excellent pavement, then I started climbing. The paved road continued climbing for 20km of the steepest grades I have seen in highway construction. My legs were gassed almost immediately, but I was determined to get to Pasto under my own power. The paved road ended in some short flats and I got excited I might head downhill. Instead the road turned to wet mud and headed up for another 10km of hard climbing. I walked, I swore, I stopped to rest a lot, but I was determined to get the day done on my own power.

(Climbing out of the valley this morning)
The climbing did eventually end 35km from Sibundoy, but the dirt road continued down and controlling the bike without skidding out took a lot of effort and control. Shortly after starting down I noticed the balance of the bike change and saw that I had further broken the pannier from the previous day. The full story is that my rear left pannier has been trouble since day 2 of the entire trip- one of the top clips snapped while carting my stuff across Bogota. I replaced the clip with a piece of cord. That worked until Friday, when the other clipped snapped in the middle of a rainstorm. I had lashed used the portion of the clip that remained attached to the bag to lash both points into the rack but now one of the points I had used to lash had just completely ripped off the bag (I doubt the waterproof integrity of said pannier now as well). The last system I’ve got now is semi functional but I can see the wear pattern developing already. Moral of the story- just buy Ortleib panniers only, SunLite clearly isn’t ready for the big time.
I descended another 5km and finally got back to pavement for a bit. 20km outside Pasto I started one more climb. The description I had said 2km of gentle climbing. The reality was another 6km of full on Colombian road grades. I was livid, and it took everything I had left. Fortunately the last 15km into town was all downhill and I rolled in just after noon. I could barely make it across town to find the hostel. Getting the bike up the stairs was the last straw but I’m glad I did.
Im staying at a lovely place in the center of town (The Koala Inn) and was still able to enjoy my last real Colombian city. I found real coffee, a yummy lunch, and as a true treat, a gorgeous slice of carrot cake.

(Simply delicious)
I spent some time this afternoon looking for a new pannier (to no avail despite plentiful bike shops), and just got back from a dinner full of street food. In Bogota I was overwhelmed by the city, but getting here (Pasto is not small), I enjoy the bustle. I enjoy making do with my Spanglish. I enjoy wondering at the marketplace, dashing between cars in the street, and making small talk with the older lady sitting with me in the plaza. Maybe I’m really starting to get into this, or maybe I’m just thrilled to be here.
Thanks for following, if all goes
according to plan the next update should be from Ecuador!

Failure

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This is the third draft of this post, but I was sitting by myself at lunch and finally realized what I wanted to say.

(Sunset my first night in San Agustin)
As I biked into Neiva I wanted to quit. As I biked out of Neiva, I wanted to quit. 200km later, after getting chased by a guy with a machete and sleeping in a ditch (without a tent, in the rain, not actually sleeping), and pedaling another 60km STFU, I wanted to quit. But here I am, I’ve been on the road 650km and eight days. I am now convinced that I can do this. I have no doubts that if I needed to bike to Patagonia, I could do it.

I’ve been honest to admitting my doubts on this blog, but after a conversation with my brother and a close friend in Portland this morning, I realized that my doubts are not about the challenge or logistical problems. I realize that a while back I made a plan and that the plan said “travel abroad, alone, somewhere new, and love it.” When it came time to execute that part of the plan, I never allowed myself to ask the question- “what do I really want to do next?” “Do I have the energy to do what the original plan says?” “If this is the last time I have to be unemployed for a while, is this how I want to spend it?”. Of course, some of these questions cannot be answered without trying, but in the course of action, ignoring these questions aren’t the same as answering them.

I realized too that it is unreasonable to think that traveling here will simply “make me happy,” but that it is more important that traveling here will resonate with my inherent happiness in a new way. If it’s not, then there is nothing that says I must do this. The failure would be in “shoulding” myself (not my own phrase) to do something that isn’t the thing that resonates with me most strongly. I will need to find employment before I run out of money, and the only failure would be to get to that point and look back only to be unsatisfied with how I’ve spent my time (oh I “should” have done this).
What is failure? What is success? I pedaled up this monster hill without stopping but now my knee hurts. Failure or success? As with most things it depends on how you define it, but in the most objective light- so far I’ve covered road miles quickly, learned a lot, and had quality interactions. If I got on a plane to San Francisco tomorrow, it would be unfair to call my time here a failure.

I got to Mocoa yesterday, which is the end of civilized country in southern Colombia. The next two days will likely be some of the hardest riding on the continent if I am to believe what I’m told. 5,000 vertical feet of climbing in about 80km, mostly on dirt roads. Yesterday I got to town early and went for a very relaxed hike along a beautiful river. I noticed that today was the first time I’ve been hiking or swimming since I’ve been here. Today I opted to rest as its pouring rain and if I’m going to climb 5,000ft I want to see the view, so perhaps tomorrow will bring better weather. I’m riding through this place, but I’m not really exploring it- frankly I don’t have the energy. I find familiarity in the intensity of the riding, of fighting the hills, of racing the daylight, but on my hike I asked myself the question: am I having fun yet (does this resonate with my happiness)? And maybe so far it hasn’t.

Am I doing this for the wrong reasons, or is it that I just don’t know what my reasons really are? For now, I suspect I need the patience to see if the right reasons unfold, or if some of those questions about the plan need to get re-visited (and that’s okay!).

(Giving it some thought in the rooftop hammock).

Solo, Part 1

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(my apologies for the lack of photos, connectivity is tough, maybe more later)

This is my first really big solo trip, and while I´ve missed the companionship of traveling partners, recently I´ve had some experiences that highlight the advantages of traveling solo. Hopefully this post can provide a more detailed account of some recent events. In no particular order, a few points:

The language skills are all up to you- no leaning on friends, you have to say it, you have to hear it. NOLS likes to call it “experiential learning,” I tend to call it frustrating, embarassing, and often hilarious.
Getting chased off someone else´s land by a guy with a machete. When it´s just you, you are less threatening to the guy with the machete, and there is no one to argue with about the appropriate course of action- you just pack your things as fast as possible and leave. (Yes this happened, but really it´s not a big deal, he was probably just as scared as I was and was somewhat polite once I started to pack up my things and go. I still didn´t appreciate him waving a machete in my face…)
Pushing the bike. I´ve had some long days in the saddle and especially Thursday and Friday were really hot. I´ve managed to stay mostly not sunburnt but when it´s late and you have to keep going because you cannot camp on a military base, it´s nice not to have someone else to worry about pushing.

Of course having someone to talk to, someone to draft, someone to drink the water first, someone to boost your courage, or negotiate with the guy with the machete are all really nice things to have, I´m just not focusing on that right now. I´ve made good time from Bogota but have still enjoyed taking photos, taking siestas, and trying new food (cycling makes you eat on a very regular basis). Mileage for you touring nerds out there-
Wednesday: 137km, mostly downhill.
Thursday: 95km, all in the desert.
Friday: 35km, in the desert but mostly a rest day.
Saturday: 134km, including a 7km hillclimb, and lots of other hills.
Sunday: 90km, finishing with a 5km hill climb that might be one of the more awful physical things I´ve ever done (but I wanted that hill, and I got it without giving up!).

(many, many hills…)
I mentioned the challenge of getting out and down from Bogota, but the scariest and perhaps hardest stratest was the last 50km in Aipe through the desert on Thursday. It was already scorching hot by 10am when I left the last town- I thought I was ready, but the desert is a very humbling place. Aipe is where I eventually found the ferry to take me across the river to the undeveloped, and more beautiful part of the Tatacoa Desert, but about 5km outside town I bonked hard for the second time that day, and was lucky to have Barry and Carol Smith at the roadside to watch me bonk. The desert had bested me twice that day and it was just a bit scary. I had a couchsurfing contact in the next big city, Neiva, (where I posted last), which made Friday a really nice day.

(my leg of bug bites after two days in the desert)

Again thanks to Perly for showing me a less-coiffed, more authentic Colombian city and while there may not be “much to see”, I really enjoyed seeing how most people live and work. The road the past two days has been much hillier and the riding harder, though I´m grateful for the cooler temps and friendly locals (most of them cheer as I ride by). The topography has started to wear on me (and my bike) already. My freewheel is making a new scratchy clicking noise, and I´m having trouble managing an old left knee injury. That said, I´m taking today completely off to explore the ancient statues here and do a bit of bike maintenance.

My doubts are still rolling with me, but I´m pleased that they haven´t slowed me down. Moments of beauty seem to be more frequent as well, on Saturday I stopped in a beautiful town called Gigante and took my siesta in the square with three local cripples- I bought them ice cream, they share potato chips and we all laughed at the local boys chasing the local girls.

(classy open air church in Gigante)

(one legged man pretends to ride a bike)
The hardest part of Colombia will be crossing the Cordierra Central (the local bit of the Andes just to the west) and getting to Pasto. I may be able to post from Mocoa in the next day or two, but don´t be surprised if you don´t see new content until the end of the week- getting to Pasto is going to be an adventure.

(many, many churches…)

The Tatacoa Desert

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I’ll admit, I had given up on a small portion of my trip. One of the first things I had been looking forward to seeing seemed to be just out of reach. Life was still good, the flip flops were out, I had a beautiful camp next to a river, and the day was finally cooling off. The fact remained however that I was not going to find the ferry that would take me across the river to see the Tatacoa Desert- the maze of barbed wire and cattle ranches was confusing and I was exhausted.
Then I heard a voice, far away and in Spanish that I didn’t understand but the meaning was obvious. Antonio (it pains me that i don’t remember his actual name, but i couldn’t pronounce it anyway) wanted to take me to his town and show me his desert. I mustered just a bit more energy and followed him up river.

(First light on the last day of September)
He helped me load the bike, unload the bike, negotiate a cheaper fare and pointed me in the right direction on the other side. His face was genuine and caring and while I don’t know why he wanted to help me, I’m simply so glad he did.
I’m in a city called Neiva now, and I’ve chewed off my first bit of elephant (173 miles to be exact). This first portion of the trip was a perfect collage of what to expect for the rest of the elephant- some really crappy riding, some great riding, some weird camping, some great camping, lots and lots and lots of sweat, and an unbelievable excitement about cold drinks.
The two lane highway south from Bogota as good until it got to one lane in each direction of wall to wall trucks all struggling with the intense road grade. I was thrilled to be headed downhill, but the riding was terrifying and the diesel fumes coated onto my skin. I made good time and felt strong but the lowlands have been unbearably hot- I drip sweat while doing nothing.
I’m ending this blog on a short note due to the lack of internet here, not sure when I’ll have connectivity again but my awesome host Perly has been having trouble with the Internet and I’m scamming someone’s slow but free wifi.
Thanks for reading!

How to Eat an Elephant

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The common joke goes “How do you eat an elephant?”
“One bite at a time.”

According to GlobeFeed it is approximately 5,080 miles by road from Bogota, Colombia to Puntas Arenas, Chile. The number feels like an elephant to me, but tomorrow I take my first bite. I’ve got a map, a functioning alcohol stove, and a good feeling in my gut. To start, I’m taking a more remote, scenic, and hopefully safer route (it also happens to be shorter!) down the east side of the Cordillera Occidental mountains to a city called Neiva. Hopefully I can camp in the Tatacoa Desert (reported to be one of the best places for stargazing in the world), relax in some hot springs in Rivera, and see the UNESCO world heritage site in San Agustin. If that sounds awesome, you have no clue how excited I am to go do it.

The past two days in Bogota have seen my confidence rise- I’m using basic Spanish, feeling comfortable in the city, and enjoying good company. Yesterday I spent the morning studying Spanish and taking it easy after the weekend adventure. Then in the afternoon I discovered that I enjoy the city much more when I am on foot rather than on bicycle- I just didn’t think I was going to get run-over all the time (amazing!).

(Just out for a stroll)
I walked for about 4 hours, saw the National Capital buildings and most of the Candelaria, and then hunted down some extra bike tubes in the gritty market district. While not 700x32c, they are 27″x1.25″, which will be more than enough when I blow an inner tube in the middle of nowhere (FYI, I’m carrying four spare tubes, a dozen patches, and an extra tire- booyah).

(This Bolivar guy is big with the pigeons)

(Yours truly with Mr. Bolivar)

(The National Assembly building at Bolivar Square)
Today Richard and I got up early for a mega hike up the hills just west of the city. Truly beautiful, truly amazing. We had heard reports of robbers on the trail, so we packed almost nothing, but I insisted on bringing my camera. We didn’t have any trouble, and I was very happy to have photos of our destination.
Due to computing and photo issues I only have a few photos to share today, but I’m happy to announce that I’ve got my primary online photo dump set up here:
Skander’s South America Photo Dump

These are mostly out of order and uncaptioned, but picasaweb is the best way right now for me to share and backup ALL the photos I’m taking. Enjoy!

Most importantly I gotta give a huge shout out to Richard, Richard2, Daniel, Andreas, Edward, and Laurie for hosting me in an amazing place to crash the past few days. The support has been essential. Double thanks to Richard1 for being an awesome adventure partner. Thank you all so much!

The Least Important Thing

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My life abroad is contained in four panniers, a small backpack, and a bicycle. There’s not much room for unnecessary stuff- simple, just the way I was hoping for. Arguably the thing least applicable to bike touring in my bags are a pair of rock climbing shoes and a harness. This weekend, I realized they might just be the most important thing I brought.
Friday I moved my stuff across the city and into an awesome house of expatriates and travelers from around the world, again, fine people brought to me by couchsurfing. My previous host had other plans for the weekend, and after getting to know him I realized he and I have very different views of the world. My last post was somber, and accurately reflected that I was feeling down. He believed that my plan was folly, and didn’t seem to hesitate in voicing his opinions. Richard (who I am now staying with), first responded to my plans by lamenting that he could not join me immediately. He could however join me for a stellar weekend biking out to a town called Suesca, an idyllic yet touristy center for adventure sports, most notably rock climbing. If the first few days here were spent with the impression that my plans were not possible, Richard spent the next two days showing me exactly how to do just that.

We left early Saturday morning and raced out of the city to beat the impending traffic. Bogota’s extensive bike lanes saw us rocketing north and onto the main highway by 8am. Like most British kids I know, Richard really only bikes at one speed- breakneck. We followed a surprising stream of other cyclists amidst heavy traffic until the turnoff to Zipaquiera, our breakfast stop and glimpse of small town Colombian culture. Richard’s excellent Spanish landed us steaming tamales and fresh orange juice, and I took very good notes. We got to Suesca around 11am and easily found the climbing areas. Accessible, friendly, active, and gorgeous, it was an easy place to be completely happy with.

(downtown Suesca, a bit different than Bogota)

We grabbed a fresh juice and a few hours bouldering, then headed back to town for a hearty lunch (the main meal here). For some unknown reason I spent most of our following siesta wide awake and worried about my plans, I still didn’t believe that I could figure out how to survive and make my way south by bike. We got up around 4pm and headed back for another bouldering session. I slipped onto my shoes and quickly sent a problem I had struggled with earlier. Our previous session (immediately after 4 hours of biking) had been a little low energy, but with the send this session started to bring back the familiar, and affirming, feelings I have always appreciated from rock climbing. There were more failures, new problems, and harder sends that evening, and we climbed until dark, making new friends and finding new treasures in each nook of rock.

We headed back to town for a substantial dinner and catching up with some of the folks we met on the cliff. I shared photos from my blog, we swapped English/Spanish climbing words, and enjoyed a lightning storm across the valley. I couldn’t imagine a better Saturday night.
Sunday we were up early, grabbed a hearty breakfast, and found even more new bouldering terrain. My energy came back quickly and moving over stone I felt powerful and happy. We found a few friends who offered us their rope, and after the bouldering already done, I took the sharp end and put the draws up on a 5.10c. It was steep and runout, but I had a blast and it only furthered the local friendships we had already started to form. We said our goodbyes around 130, ate, packed, and headed back to the city. A more direct route brought us home in about 3h15m, and we quickly bought heavy rations for tuna-mac.
The moral of the story- the least important thing on my bike isn’t my rock gear, it’s the doubt in my head. It’s one thing I’m very glad to leave on the ground as I climb through this new experience. I’m sure it will be a continuing battle, but one that I believe I can win. Many thanks to Richard for a great weekend, and so many possibilities.

(Believe in your self!)

Bogota, Colombia

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I’m here, my stuff is here, and my bike works, but after two days I still feel like I’m on a different planet. Perhaps it’s not knowing any of the language, or the general intensity that is any city of 7 million people, but this experience has been mixed with equal parts of excitement, apprehension and being totally overwhelmed. I’ve spent most of my time just biking- getting to know the city (somewhat), getting a feel for how differently people interact, and seeing a few sites. Couchsurfing has both landed me places to stay and English speakers to converse with, for which I am very grateful. I met another American through the site and we toured the national museum together yesterday afternoon. A couchsurfing meetup last night made for an evening of friendly conversation as well as a taste of the extensive bus network here (it’s not recommended for gringos, or anyone, to bike after dark).
So far I haven’t had any reason to fear for my safety, though the urban biking requires a very high level of concentration, courage, and bike handling skills. That said, there is an incredible network of bike lanes and overpasses that makes crossing the city quite doable, even on my first day here.
Juan, my first host, lives in a quiet area on the north side of town with good views of the city and surrounding mountains. I appreciate the relative calm after a day exploring the denser parts of the city. In many ways, Bogota is what I expected- dense, busy, smoggy, and cultured. The density is the most challenging part- in the 5000 square blocks I have traversed by a variety of routes, I have found nowhere that isn’t busy. In many ways being here is harder than I expected and I’ve thought of home quite a bit. Why did I spend my last few months of unemployment away from my friends? Why did I think I could take on a foreign country and language solo? Why did I choose to come here of all places? Amongst the folks I’ve met the gringos think my bike tour is awesome, and the locals think I’m loco. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to doubting myself right now. It’d be easy to get back on the plane. I could justify giving up. But it would still be quitting. Don’t quit Skander, don’t quit.
I met a Brit named Richard at the meetup last night and he agreed to host me the next several nights. More importantly, he also knows a climbing spot outside the city and is willing to bike out there with me for the weekend. Neither of us have a rope, but he may know some others there and there is a hostel with the potential of meeting other folks as well. I don’t expect to have Internet there so hopefully there will be good stories when I get back on Sunday afternoon!
A few photos-

Me and the bike box at SFO

My host Juan and his Samoa pup, Yuki.

Getting the bike put back together.

Awesome cargo bikes abound!

Looking towards the south end of the city from downtown.

Looking across the north side from one of the many well placed bike overpasses.

Take-Off!

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This is just a quick note amidst packing and finalizing a few last details. My flight takes off at 12:55am tonight. My regular phone service ends at 12:01am tonight, so I’m not sure when the next post will be. That said, this blog and my email will be the best ways to get in touch with me. Also, new on the blog as of yesterday is my “Professional Information” section, designed to share some of my professional side. Please leave feedback on this new page- your advice might help me get back on my feet once I get back from this adventure!

I’ve had a great few days visiting my brother and sister-in-law in San Jose. I got to see both Dustin and my friend Tom, who is just starting grad school at Standford and might be the main reason I was able to graduate Northwestern. Check out Tom’s amazing sculptures on his website. Thank you all for following, and for all the support!

A few photos from the fun here in Silicon Valley:

The shiny new burnished orange bike frame (with no cracks!)

New tent! I never thought I'd buy a solo tent, but it's perfect for bike camping.

Me, the Cilogear pack, and bike repair gear. One of many photos I shot for insurance purposes.

It all fits! (just barely)

Loaded for the airport run tonight!

Even just the visitors lot at Apple has some unusually nice digs...

Beginning Again

The Saga of a Broken Bike

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“It’s great to see you, but I thought you weren’t in town these days Skander?”

It’s a common question as I’ve been in Portland for quite a bit longer than I expected when I originally sketched out the idea of being unemployed. For lack of any better adventures to tell about, and because I think I know how the story ends, I’ll add the “Saga of a Broken Bike” to the entries of this blog.

I flew back to Portland from Alaska on Monday August 1st, and immediately started searching for a touring bicycle. I had just sold both my extracycle and my road bike, so I had some cash to spend and wanted to find “the right bike” for what I planned to be a grand tour. That same day I rode a used Trek 520 and a brand new Surly Long Haul Trucker that were both in Portland. On Tuesday I drove to Seattle and rode a used TiCycles cyclocross bike, and drove to Anacortes to ride a used Fuji Touring bike. I bought the Fuji because it was a stellar deal and came with a set of good panniers, and a bunch of other extras. I took the Fuji on a quick tour, and came home Wednesday. The Trek still wasn’t out of my head, so I rode it again, and it still felt the best of the four bikes. I bought it, and put the Fuji on Craigslist.

The Fuji in Roche Harbor, while I was figuring out this bike was really too small for me.

After a few weeks of sweating, the Fuji finally sold, and I got the Trek dialed in and ready for a tour. Life was good. On August 28th, I left the Trek at a shop to get a new bottom bracket- a significant, but not worrisome repair. The shop called me back on September 1st to say that in the process of replacing the bottom bracket, they had found a crack in the frame. I got the frame shuttled up to one of the few people in Portland willing to try and weld it back together for me, but the prognosis was ugly. I was in Alabama at the time, and suddenly realized I wasn’t taking this bike to South America as soon as I got back. The opportunity to drive back from the east coast came up, so I took it because I knew I’d have some time on my hands.

Yup, cracked properly.

While on the drive, I contacted the original owner of the Trek, who immediately went to bat for me, and has continued to be most helpful in resolving the situation. He took the frame back to the Bike Gallery, and Trek agreed to replace the frame under warranty (to him, not me). Good news as I was driving across Wyoming, unfortunately with no information on how long the replacement would take, I got in touch with a contact in Bogota, and confirmed that I could buy a new bike there. I liked the idea of getting on my tour upon returning to Portland, and the thought that I could sell the newly warranteed frame on eBay for approximately the cost of a new bike in Colombia. While the idea of purchasing a bike in a foreign country with almost no spanish skills seemed daunting, it was decidedly better than waiting indefinitely in Portland.

Driving past the impeccable off-width climbing in Vedauwoo, WY wondering if I would ever actually get to bike tour.

I got back to Portland last Friday, September 9 and arrived to the question “they don’t make the same frame for that bike any more, you’ve got to go sit on the new frames and pick a size.” So my warranty had not started and one more step in the process. Bummer, but nothing else to do. Saturday I picked the new frame size, and hoped that Trek would get their butts moving. Monday, nothing- I packed gear, and planned to drive to San Jose on Wednesday (today), thinking I would have a friend pick up the new frame and store it, so I could get on with my life. Tuesday, just as I found someone on Craigslist that needed a ride to San Jose, I get word that new Trek frames won’t be available until November, but that Bike Gallery would strip the frame that I had sat on and rebuild the bike with my old components. Suddenly, for the first time in 3 weeks, it looked like I might have a functional bike on a predictable timetable. I realized it was awfully irresponsible to pawn of bike bitch-work on my friends, and after this much trouble, there was no way this Trek isn’t going to South America with me. So today I’m waiting, studying Spanish, toying with an alcohol stove, and hoping that I might have a bike on Friday and can drive to California on Saturday…

Killing time in Portland at the Widmer Oktoberfest really isn't so bad...

Good thing I didn’t buy a plane ticket yet. Thanks for following, and watch this space for more news!

stickthefeeling

engineering, adventure, and balance

Mocoa to Pasto

Failure

Solo, Part 1

The Tatacoa Desert

How to Eat an Elephant

The Least Important Thing

Bogota, Colombia

Take-Off!

Beginning Again

The Saga of a Broken Bike