El Camino Real

While Whitney and I were at Mesa De Los Santos we heard about a backroads route directly through the Chicamocha Canyon. Unfortunately we received differing reports of the road conditions and everyone who had actually been there said there was no way we could possibly ride the motorcycle that way. I acknowledged that riding a difficult, technical route through a remote area with a passenger and luggage was a bad idea.

Awesome view from the top.

But I didn't think it'd be a bad idea under different circumstances. Gringo Mike had been to the bottom of the trail so I asked him to join in an ascent attempt. I climbed onto my Yamaha DT125 two-stroke from 1996 and he hopped on his Honda Tornado 250 with a street rear tire and we set off. Mike led the way, taking small detours to dip into singletrack and to point out a few waterfalls. We bushwacked through a cow pasture to end up at one of the most scenic viewpoints I've encountered in Colombia. As we descended into the canyon the temperature climbed - by the time we got to the town of Jordan at the bottom it was absolutely sweltering.

I cross the primitive bridge from Jordan.

This part of Colombia is crisscrossed with hand-laid rock trails from two centuries ago called “camino reals.” They were the highways of days past, connecting towns and serving as major trade routes but today they have fallen into disrepair from complete neglect.

We crossed the Chicamocha River on a rickety suspension bridge before looking around for what we thought could be an old camino real. We started up a flash flood wash that had some flat paving stones strewn in the sand and soon found that we were on a proper “camino real” - though we didn't know if we were on the right one. The trail was completely obliterated when it dipped into the next flood wash and we started to get nervous as we gunned our engines over rocks on the other side. The trail continued as a brief rock-strewn respite from the claustrophobic vegetation around us. Several sections were only ridable if we were able to stay on a balance beam of sequential rocks, elevated off the surrounding ground by 10-30 cm (4-12 inches).

At the next major rock garden Mike's clutch cable slipped making any “feathering” impossible. With sweat already dripping off us we knelt down to work on a hot engine with the sun beating on us. A mule walked up the path with it's owner and I thought how sometimes the simplest ways are the best. The mule carried on with no mechanical issues whatsoever.

Mike rides by the mule.

Once the clutch was fixed the trail opened up and we got an idea of what it must have looked like a few hundred years before. The camino real was two to three meters wide, hand paved with flat stones and constructed with purpose built water channels and well engineered switchbacks snaking up the side of the canyon. Mike found momentum to be his best friend so  I was left behind on my smaller bike. I crashed once but found the riding enjoyable and the views incredible.
I caught up to Mike when he stopped at an isolated house half way up the canyon wall. Music was playing and we could hear water running but no one was around. Mike optimistically estimated that we were near the end. Distance-wise we might have been close but he couldn't have known how difficult the trail was going to get.

Mike rides up the tame portion of the camino real.

As we continued the canyon walls got steeper and the camino real deteriorated. As the trail tried to match the steeper contours of the canyon walls some of the switch backs – built for people on foot – had steps making them extremely difficult to ride. Workers were running wires down the canyon stringing them across the trail at the perfect chokeline height. At one point we found the camino real had been completely buried by a landslide and we were left to negotiate a loose, rocky singletrack on the side of a cliff. With every stop, with every technical rock section, our energy levels crashed. It took about three minutes for me to transition from enjoying myself and taking pictures to complete survival mode conserving every calorie of energy and drop of water.

I got stuck on a ledge that my bike didn't have the power to get over, and once my momentum died things started falling apart for me. I sat there for probably 15 minutes trying with varying amounts of enthusiasm to get my bike going. I was thirsty, I was hungry, I was tired, and nothing was moving my bike any further forward. I was starting to think negatively and that wasn't helping anything. Finally I psyched myself up for one big push and got the bike moving. That one small victory got me stoked again, which was good because when I finally caught up to Mike he was in a bit of a predicament himself.

Mike had been stopped by a steep, stepped, rocky corner and had worked so hard at getting started again that he was nearly passing out. We took a couple minutes to gather our strength and then with Mike pushing and me working the throttle we managed to lift, roll, and cajole the bike up the steps in a few efforts.

I attempt to negotiate the corner that got Mike.

That was the last extremely difficult part but we barely had any energy to celebrate as we rode out the top of the canyon and into the town of Santos. I had popped my chain and Mike broke his clutch lever, but our bikes had survived the thrashing surprisingly well. 

Sweating, dirty, and bleeding, we found a tienda on the town square and ordered up some Gatorade, water, and any food with high sugar or salt content. As we started to come back to life Mike told one of the locals we had just ridden up the camino real from Jordan. We were immediately transformed from weird foreigners in a quiet town to crazy dirt bikers with hero-status. Everyone suddenly wanted hear stories, see pictures, and check out the bikes. One guy even wanted to send the pictures to the mayor in the hope some repairs would be made.

We rode the rest of the way to Bucaramunga on normal roads, ate everything in sight once we got there, and I had my second warm shower in as many months at Mike's friend's Casa Guane hostel. I wonder what else my little 125cc two-stroke motorcycle can do.

Tensión! Tensión!

While hanging out in one of the hostels a few weeks ago I talked to a guy who had done some local climbing, and to a girl, Whitney, that wanted to go climbing. The guy's pictures looked awesome so over the next few days Whitney and I talked more about seeking out this spot together.

Getting there

I was trying to slip the trip in between bike tours but it became apparent they weren't going to line up perfectly. Whitney said she was going Thursday so I took one last look at the tour schedule and decided to go as well. If a cool chick wants to hop on the back of my motorcycle and have an adventure in a foreign country, who am I to say no? I bought another helmet, filled up on gas, and after we combined our stuff into one bag we set off.

It took some time to get into the flow of driving on a Colombian “highway.” It's one lane in each direction with almost no straight sections, yet everyone is trying to pass. Coach buses, hazmat trailers, family cars, overloaded dump trucks, and an occasional donkey are all competing for position on steep hills and around blind corners.

Whitney was amazingly patient, even after an attempted pass left us in a very dangerous position. I promised I would never do that again and all I could hear from her was a laugh.

To get to the climbing spot I knew we would have to drive through the Chicamocha Canyon but I was completely unprepared for its spectacular beauty. Cresting a hill and looking to our left, Whitney and I both let out a simultaneous “Whoooaaa” as the canyon came into view.

I hadn't taken my motorcycle on any major adventures before and I was concerned it might not make it. I was right to be apprehensive because about a quarter of the way through the descent into the canyon my clutch failed. We stopped on the side of the road where I was able to cobble it back together so it was at least functional, though I tried to coast the rest of the descent in neutral and I was very delicate with it the rest of the trip.

We ended the first day riding in the dark under a full moon.

The view from our hostel. The cliffs on the right are the climbing spots.

Chicamocha Canyon

The natural beauty of the Chicamocha Canyon is incredible. As we continued descending we passed viewpoint after viewpoint, and since I was just coasting along in neutral I was able to take it all in. One of the coolest things for me was that the whole canyon was green, something I miss living in the American West. At the bottom on the canyon it started raining, but it was a light warm rain and simply quieted the noise of the road.

We climbed out the other side of the canyon, barely catching the sign for our turn to Mesa de los Santos. As soon as we hit the mesa a dense fog set in. It swirled around us as we rode, obscuring any view we might have had from the high altitude. We rolled along through undulating farm land as the sun set and a bright full moon grew above us. I was worried we were going to miss our hostel and was cold from damp cloths but it was still an undeniably beautiful scene.

Whitney spotted a sign for our hostel, where we were greeted by Mateo and Valentina. The told us all about the area and the great views so Whitney and I decided we'd wake up at 5:30 the next morning to watch the sun rise. Unfortunately it was quite foggy but it added an air of mystic beauty. By the time we woke up again at 8 the fog had burned off and we were treated to awesome views. The hostel even had a yoga room perched on the edge of the canyon where we could enjoy a cup of coffee or writing in a journal while taking in the view.

Morning view from the yoga room.

New routes are listed on the chalk board.

Climbing

My first job was in a climbing gym when I was 14 years old, and I've lived in one of the climbing capitals of the world for over a decade, yet I've never gotten into climbing the way I've gotten into other sports. I think this is largely because I'm terrified of heights, but I've spent the past few years pushing myself to get more comfortable in high places. This really paid off when I found myself at the top of a 60-foot wall, which was at the top of a massive canyon. I could actually look around and enjoy the view without breaking into a cold sweat or clinging to the rock with white knuckles. And the view was incredible. Most of the climbing was conservatively bolted Sport Lead so that added to my sense of security. I need to get back into climbing shape before going on any more multi-day climbing trips, but it's definitely something I could get into this summer. 

The Ride Home

Passing trucks on Colombian highways was a traumatic experience still fresh in our minds as we contemplated our return to San Gil. We had heard that trucks don't run on Sundays so we decided that was our best bet and set off. I was apprehensive because one of the Colombians said trucks run all the time, but as we got further and further into our trip without trucks I began to relax.

We rolled into the canyon and then back up the other side hugging the curves and enjoying the views. It was one of those rides where I just can't wipe the smile off my face and want it to go on forever. We stopped at a few lookouts and said hi to some mountain goats before cresting out of the canyon and continuing on.

Whitney overlooking the canyon as we left.

It started raining but the weather was warm so I wasn't concerned...until my throttle cable seized. Open. I pulled over and tried to free it but no matter what I did the throttle stayed on and was impossible to modulate. Our utopian ride was over. Once again, Whitney was amazingly chill and relaxed as we discussed limping the bike home or just taking a bus. We decided to limp the bike home so I started it up and as the engine reved out of control I shifted into gear and hoped for the best.
The rest of the way home I controlled our speed by using my cobbled together clutch – still broken from the ride to the climbing spot – to shift through the gears, in the rain.
Once we were within walking distance I started relaxing, and as we rolled into the driveway I breathed a sigh of relief.

The natural beauty of Mesa de los Santos and the Chicamocha Canyon was so amazing I'd go back in a second. It was unfortunate that the motorcycle had some issues, but it got us there and back so I don't care. And even though I had met Whitney just a few days before, she was an awesome travel partner and her relaxed attitude kept me grounded when dealing with the moto.

Great trip, can't wait for the next one.

-Climbing information-

Location: La Mojarra, Chicamocha Canyon, Santander, Colombia
Nearest city: Bucaramunga
Mountain Project profile here.
More climbing beta here and here.
More information about the national park here.  
Accommodations: Refugio La Roca  
Best international airports: Bogota D.C. or Medellin