The Longest Friday

So I may have mentioned previously that I was experiencing a minor issue with my cases smacking into my final drive unit when I hit major pot hole, a small mammal, or failed to slow down for a speed bump. A minor problem that could result in a major problem if I cracked the final drive casing. So I was going to get it fixed….a decision I arrived on quite some time ago, but I was busy, .doing stuff, you know… so it wasn’t until I got to Bogota and Victor (fellow Colombian paragliding friend) offered to help me find a welder to get r done.

In typical S American style of working your connections,.. Victor called his friend, his friend called his friend, and his friend called his friend who ran a fabrication shop specifically for motorcycles. As the first motorcycle over 250cc to enter the neighborhood, I got a lot of attention, great service and a complete solution to my pannier rack problem.

Its my opinion that no company offers a rack that does the job. The Jesse cases I have are bombproof (survived the wreck in CO) but the rack fails to meet my style of adventure riding like all the rest of the racks. So Hermes of Moto Marcos got the job done properly by taking two days to slice, dice, add and reinforce to create just the sort of frankenstein I require for a luggage rack. I’m looking forward to a serious test in Bolivia, where I’m expecting lots of low speed get offs and such general mayhem that makes a “shiny bike” rider shudder in loathing.

For all the success I enjoyed in fixing my rack, my aspirations for refitting on camping gear failed miserable. I left the only real outdoor store with my head hanging low. They had all the gear I “required” but it came at an extreme price,. As much as 3 times as much as I would pay in the States. It would seem that mountaineering toys in Bogotaare not yet available to the middle class yet. Hopefully some resourceful Colombian will start a sort of REI or MEC down here so everyone can start enjoying their own incredible natural resources. So I don’t have a fuel bottle, ice axe or crampons yet. That doesn’t stop me from going up, but I sure do miss a hot brew in the morning.

A few pics of Bogota are due.

Yeah,..er..um…not really sure whats going on in this picture,.. something to do with trained hamsters and Tupperware.  At any rate, I figured it deserved a place in this blog. Go figure.

So instead of having phone booths,..in Colombia you have phone dudes..and sometimes phone chicks (its  an equal opportunity industry:).  So in the picture this guy has about 6 cell phones chained to him. For 200 pesos you can make a call for 5 minutes.  That’s Colombian entrepreneurship for you!

With nothing further to keep me in the city, I made a run for Sopo. Victor gave me virtually inch by inch directions to the local flying site,  informed the local pilots I was coming and got permission for me to camp on the launch. He set me up for success!  

I would never have found my way with out directions. An alley way led off from one corner of town to a steep dirt road that led up into the mountains. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the ride. It was easy riding and I was soaking up the gradually cooling temperature as I ascended. I reveled in the transition from Bogotá’s throat searing diesel exhaust permeation to the crisp alpine air of the Pionono Mountains. For the first time since leaving Colorado, it felt a bit like home. I happily donned a sweater under my riding jacket and zipped up the vents.

Judging by the size of the road I was on I assumed I was about to arrive on a very backwoods type launch. Expecting a patch of dirt and maybe an old rug laid out for a launch zone, I was completely surprised by what I found.

Standing over a perfectly manicured grass launch was an impressive alpine villa with two enclosed patios encircled by a wall of windows offering a view that could just as easily been Estes Park in Colorado (well…, almost . It was a full facility show with restaurant, showers, bathrooms, gear rooms, even a paintball field in the canyon below launch.

The local pilots were hospitable and welcomed me to the launch. I should probably write more about this place, but I sank out like a rock three times, and I’m still a bit embarrassed about it. I actually sank out so fast on my first flight I found myself walled in by power lines and a canyon and had to bump in on a little horse pasture. There was serious wind gradient, and I came in hard on the airbag, not something I’d care to repeat. I guess flying is like riding, some days you’re on top of your game, and other days you shouldn’t get out of bed. I’ll have to come back later and properly learn the site. For now, I’ll post the picks of the site and these awesome pilots.

francisco dressed for success

My friends joked with me that I was bombing out because of my heavy motorcycle helmet.

sometimes there's a big difference between where you plan to land and where you actually land,..thats part of the fun of it

I was intoxicated by endless seduction of Bucaramanga. I came for three days and stayed for three weeks,… 21 days of rising out of my tent in the morning, hooking into my glider and stepping into the wind. Epic flying, wonderful people, great food, great weather, perfect camping site…I could go on forever.

But the grass was dying under my tent.

It was a reminder of how long I’ve been here and how far I had to go. There were only two options left,.. Leave immediately, or go down town to the immigration office and submit my application for Colombian citizenship.

As I packed up yesterday, Richie invited me to come ride with him up into the mountains, when I explained that I was rolling out, he insisted I stay, going so far to offer me a free bed in his hostel. Overwhelmed with his hospitality and looking for any excuse to stay just one more night, I gave in and stayed yet another day.

We had ourselves  a biker gang going on at the flysite hostel. I had talked with enthusiasm about this with a few bikers back in Panama. And to my surprise three of them showed up. Richie, also a fan of the motorcycle, invited us all on a ride up onto the plateau.

We explored new fly sites, ate the local corn cakes, tore down dirt roads, and generally enjoyed ourselves, that’s what you do out here, you enjoy yourself. Thanks Richie for the top notch tour.

And I cant leave the topic of bucaramanga with out mentioning these guys, so Richie is the dude on the right, the uber cool don of the flysite hostel. Then there is Matt the geologist, if you want to sky out in a thermal, just follow this guy,..works every time.  Good seeing you again Matt! -and thanks for guiding me into epic lift back in Golden BC last year.  Then there is Mike Dunn, a mountaineering hero in my book, having achieved first WINTER ascents of both Mt hunter and Foraker (can you say hard core!, and those were the leather boot days)

Mike is retired now from anchorage fire department,…by retired I mean he is a helli ski guide in the winter and flyfishing guide in the summer…..In your own words Mike….dont stop!

Also I have to mention the local gecko that lives in the rafters of the flysite hostel.  He’s the biggest gecko I’ve ever seen in my life.  He doesnt fool around with mosquitos and nats, we watch him wolf down full size cicadas and grasshopers.  he also talks to us on occasion from his hunting position on the ceiling, chirping away,… usually after he wolfs something down.  I’m not lying, this lizard actually chirps at us.  And he pooped on one of the visitors today, providing tremendous entertainment.  Getting crapped on by a Gecko is a sign of good luck in my book,…I present to you Das Gecko!

okay, just a few more pg pics

above photo- thats the flysite hostel launch,.. and those are my very sexy legs wiht some sexy wool socks….oh behave! 

So I did in fact escape the powerful seduction of Richie’s flysite hostel and Bucaramanga. A six hour ride took me through chicamocha canyon and into the mountains to Bogotá.

The riding is excellent, a two lane road, light traffic with non stop mountainous terrain for hours and hours. I slid to halt in Bogotá rush hour, choking on fumes and running in circles to find the hostel. But all things considered, it’s a pretty nice city and I’m loving the crisp cool climate.

I’m here to buy a camping stove fuel bottle and pump and return Victor’s cell phone (recovered from the “girls”). I might also see about a welder to reinforce my pannier rack. And if by chance an ice axe and crampons fall off a shelf at a camping store I might be convinced to head for the nearest snowcapped peaks to get another mountain flight in. I miss the windy summits, and I’m itching to do at least one climb to snowline or above in Colombia. We shall see what crosses my path tomorrow, it is Colombia after all.

For the record…..I didn’t solicit any hookers,… and the “extreme” part is an inside joke between David, Carrie and I. But we were in fact robbed by prostitutes on Easter night. It’s a weird story and probably fit to share.

Last Sunday, I jumped on the invitation to roll out to Chicamocha canyon with some Colombian pilots and launch off the rim. In this part of the country, Chicamocha canyon is a big deal. You could say it’s the Grand Canyon of Colombia. Several days prior I had experienced the best flight of my life as I topped out on one huge thermal after another. My confidence soared as my slow little wing and I topped out over 30 other pilots in enormous but forgiving thermals. Although luck was the biggest factor, I felt the like the greatest pilot this side of the equator. Now I was back at the canyon to do it again.

Running on a few hours sleep and fumbling with my malfunctioning helmet camera, I launched late with the last three pilots. Conditions were strong and very different from my previous experience. This time I found my self sinking out, with 30 pilots easily thermaling above me. A few other pilots were sinking out with me and we were working the canyon looking for lift. One pilot managed to find some lift and we all rushed in to grab what ever hot air we could. Just as I entered the thermal and began to rise, I heard a nasty popping sound and looked below me to see a tandem pilot desperately managing his wing after an asymmetrical collapse. A split second later, the bullet thermal hit me and a horrifying serious of collapses, spins and general mayhem ensued as I tried every trick I knew to stabilize the wing. The extreme turbulence was punching my wing so fast, my corrective actions weren’t fast enough and I was probably making it even harder for my wing to stabilize. After repeated failed attempts to straiten out, I went to my last resort of hands up- controls off, and let the wing recover on its own. A few seconds latter and some more bump and grind, I happily fell out of the nasty air and into smooth sink. About to lose my cookies, I had had enough and went strait for the landing zone down at the bottom of the canyon.

thanks for the photos Victor!

-notice my yellow wing sinking out in left hand corner

It was an emotional experience, my confidence from the previous day was crushed and it would take me another four days to feel comfortable flying again.

So that night the Colombians and I wrapped up a wild and difficult flying day with an enjoyable dinner, great conversation and excellent company. Running on a few hours sleep and a rough flying day, I was exhausted by 11pm. I locked up my wing and harness, plugged my laptop into the kitchen outlet and laid back in a nearby hammock. An hour later, an American I had met at this hostel showed up and happily informed me that he had arrived from town with the makings of a good party. A couple local gals another dude and a lot of booze were arriving to party it up on the launch overlooking the nightlights of Bucaramanga. Barely conscious, I mumbled from my hammock that it would take world crises to keep me from catching up on some desperately needed sleep. A little ruckus from the ensuing party motivated me to reposition myself back in my tent away from the night life.

I crashed hard that night and then awoke refreshed in the morning, excited for another awesome day in Bucaramanga. I walked into the communal area to stir up some caffeine for breakfast. My new Colombian friend, Victor, informed me that his cell phone was no longer in the kitchen were he left it. Immediately I felt under the table for my laptop and was horrified to reach into empty space. Over the next hour we realized that all of us had been robbed. I lost my laptop, camera, video camera, and external drive. The other guys lost iphones, passports, money, ect ect. The thieves even saw fit to take Mike’s bag of Oreos,…which is also a serious trespass in my book.

What had transpired over the night as we all lay asleep in our tents, was that the girls( hookers from downtown), had been invited in to party with “Jarred”. The gals slipped Jarred a date rape type drug, derived from a local tree. Jarred actually disappeared for over 24hrs with no recollection of what happened or where he went. With Jake disposed of, the girls got his key to the rooms and went through the hostel and campsite, lifting anything they could. They even got my bag of electronics located under my tent flap a mere two feet from my head as I slept. Needless to say, it was a rough morning.

Richie, the hostel owner and local pilot was furious. It was the first incident of theft at this site. The hostel is in a great neighborhood, walled in and protected by dogs. The only easy way for a criminal to infiltrate is to be invited in, just as the girls had been invited in by Jarred. An easy mistake for Jarred to make. He probably didn’t even know they were prostitutes. A hundred miles away Richie was on his phone working every street connection he had to locate the girls and recover our gear. Meanwhile, the Colombian pilots and I spent a few hours with the police filling out reports and answering questions.

The equipment was lost. I was confidant there was no possibility of ever seeing my laptop again. The real concern was for Jarred, as he was missing in action. For all I knew, he was in serious trouble. All his personal belongings were here at the hostel. 24 hours had passed and he was still missing and not answering his cell phone.

Although progress was painfully slow with the police, Richie’s street connections were proving to be effective. Jarred was found almost 48 hours later. He was okay, but had zero recollection on what had occurred over the last few days. Ultimately, a “friend” of Jarred was able to locate the girls. I don’t know how, or by what means, but Jarred proceeded to buy back all of our equipment from the hookers. Jarred is a good dude, who made a big mistake, and was doing all he could to make things right. So, amazingly here I sit with my lap top, with all my equipment returned to me.  There is of course a lot more to the whole story, which you can ask me about later…I gotta save some details so I can retell it around a campfire somewhere.

The hookers managed to erase all my photos off my camera, so I’ll have to get some photos from the Colombians and update this post next week with photos.

This situation was altogether positive since everything was returned to me and of course I got a good wake up call concerning securing my equipment.

This experience has in no way tainted my favoritism for Colombia. In fact, had my computer been stolen anywhere else, I’m sure I’d have never seen it again. I came to Bucaramanga for a few days, and now I’ve just realized its been a few weeks. Life is so good that its hard to walk away from it. My latest excuse for not leaving is that I’ve got my boots at a cobbler shop until Saturday to refit all the tread I’ve worn off. So,..looks like I’ll be here until this weekend.

I had such a good time with the Colombian pilots from last weekend that I am seriously considering taking up there invitation to come fly with them in their home town in Villavecincio. For longer term consideration, I’ve dropped the Venezuala idea in favor of Ecuador.

Since my camera memory was deleted by the “ladies”, I can only show a few pics that I’ve taken since I got it back. I had a good confidence building flight yesterday evening gliding around in soft conditions with my Alaskan friend Mike. I flew along the Mesa, making a couple of top landings at another launch sites then returning to the airspace above the hostel as the sun was setting. A couple of passes over a busy launch convinced me to pick out my own personal landing zone below. I homed in on a soft grassy hilltop pasture. The cows were feeding beyond an electric fence in the tree line leaving me plenty of room for landing. The evening’s dense stable air allowed for blissfully steep turns I worked my way down to the field. My feet brushed over the tree tops as I dropped softly into the pasture just as the sun was sinking behind the mountains.

This is where it got weird. As I pulled my helmet off and begin unhooking my risers, I noticed the cows were taking a great interest in me.

They were all lined up at the fence looking at me. The fact that they were right up on the fence suggested that the fence was not loaded (with voltage). It wasn’t long before one of the steers found a low section of fence and just stepped over it. The whole herd followed as the lead steer made its way over to my landing spot. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what could possibly attract cattle to me and my wing. Maybe my wing was the same color as the feed truck? I wasn’t really scared as they weren’t exactly American Long Horns, but the much tamer South American type. But it was a bit alarming; I was now almost surrounded by 40 head of cattle that seemed to be expecting something from me.

I rushed to fold up my wing before they trampled it. As pulled in my lines the cattle continued to push forward until they were standing over my helmet.

I scared them back enough to retrieve my helmet, gather up my equipment and make may way to the nearest fence. The whole herd followed me to the other edge of the field. I was relieved to find a solid barbwire fence that kept them from following me all the way back to camp.

I was dying to know just what Colombia was all about. I wanted to know and experience the country and culture, ……to look beyond its international image of guerrilla warfare and white powder market. Cartagena is a beautiful city, but as my Venezuelan friends pointed out, its not real Columbia,… it’s a tourist city. The real Colombia lies to the South and deeper into the interior.

Regardless of its cultural orientation, Cartagena (old section) is a romantic city with a glorious “Pirates of the Caribbean” type history. Aesthetically appealing colonial architecture in the old quarter is interspersed with medieval looking fortifications.

The original walls built to repel marauding pirates still encompasses the better part of the city and an impressive fortress built to protect new world treasure dominates the hill above town. Alley ways are lined by multi story three hundred year old buildings, each with its own unique and colorful paint and trimming. Flowers and vines hanging from every balcony shade the sidewalks providing an escape from the glaring tropical sun.

Sir Frances Drake himself had scene fit to raid this town for gold and booty. Lacking a pirate army myself, I refrained form looting and pillaging in lieu of infiltration by motorbike with my Canadian friend Randy. We took the liberty of riding our bikes up onto the wall surrounding the city for some kodaks.

The following day I took the title for picking the worst possible “senic”route as we drove for an hour through the roughest ugliest parts of poorer Cartegena, chocking on exhaust fumes and dodging buses all the way through. Never the less we got a good layout of the city and new enough to plan our exit routes into the interior.

Randy and I parted ways with a handshake and vague plans to link up somewhere on the other side of the world.

With full tank of gas I rolled South with an ambitious plan to arrive at Bucaramanga before sunset. The roads were decent, and the speed limit was “negotiable” as I like to call it…drive fast at your own risk. Traffic was light and the ride was nothing less the enjoyable. The first four hours shot me through a flood plain of broad rivers, swamps, and low scrubby forests.

Just as I came around a corner I found my way blocked by uniformed soldiers waving me over. I was a bit nervous, but relieved to notice thier Columbia Army insignia. I pulled over, took off my helmet and let loose the best weapon in my arsenal,…. a hearty smile and a friendly greeting. Turns out they only wanted to shake my hand and ask a few questions about my bike. They wouldn’t even look at my paper work,.. which is just fine by me.

After 4 hours the terrain changed to a cooler climate and a cloud capped chain of forested mountains rose up in the distance.

Enjoying the change of scenery, I hadn’t noticed a Toyota pickup suddenly arrive on my tail. The truck swerved madly into the oncoming traffic lane, and pulled up beside me with the horn blaring. All the while a gorgeous Columbian gal hung herself out the window and blew me a kiss as she passed by. It was at this point that I was absolutely certain that this was the best country I’d been to yet on my tour. I always enjoyed that that “Take it Easy” song by the Eagles, but it never truly made sense until now, even if it was Toyota hilux in  Columbia instead of flat bed ford in Winslow Arizona. A perception of Columbia was forming in my head and it would only get better.

When it rains down here, it really rains. Huge drops fall out the sky and sting your face as you ride. But it seems to go as fast as it arrives and I welcomed the wet cool down after long hours riding the hot lowlands. As soon as I descended out of a mountain pass into Bucaramanga I was dry again.

Bucaramanga is a large and fully modern city nestled into the mountainous countryside.

Within minutes I was deep into the urban jungle with little idea of were I was. I pulled over to reference my lonely travel guide, which was essentially useless for all but a one tenth of the city,…which I was clearly not in. All I had to work with was a telephone number of a local hostel. In Cartegena I’d scene cell phone stands on ever corner. (essentially a side walk entrepreneur with 5 or 6 cell phones chained to a table and available for passerbys to make call) However, rushing madly with traffic on a one way street, left little room for catching one of these cell phone booths.

I ultimately found a shop offering phone and internet services. Pulling off the road, I was immediately surrounded by crowd of people. Normally this is were my guard comes up and I start locking everything down, stealing myself against the expected impoverished hawkers and extortionists so common I central America. But this was different. These folks were just like folks back home and all they wanted was to chat with me and make conversation. My limited Spanish didn’t slow them down a bit. The fact that I only understood about half of what they were saying only seemed to add to the amusement it all. There were a lot of laughs and handshakes. As soon as they found out I was trying to find my way around their city, they all simultaneously attempted to help me. I eventually made it into the shop to make the call, while the folks outside took turns getting their picture snapped with my bike.

Armed with some impossible directions to the hostel, I pulled out my wallet to pay the cashier. No sooner had I received my bill, when a gentlemen outside rushed in and insisted on taking the bill. I was astounded by his generosity towards a stranger.

Back at my bike I was again pouring over inadequate maps of the city trying to figure out where this damn hostel was. Even with directions I was all but lost in this new city. Only a few streets are signed, almost all streets are one way, and numerous roads are closed for construction. Meanwhile the crowd continued to make recommendations and point to various streets in an attempt to assist me. At some point a gentleman out of the crowd decided that they would personally guide across the city to the hotel. His family came along for the ride as well and I received a first class escort across Bucaramanga to the hostel.

I can’t say enough good things about Colombians! My experience this far has led me to believe they are a friendly, warm hearted, self respecting, hardworking, and for the most part undeserving of the international bad press that the FARC guerrillas have beset upon thier country. Having been born and raised in the western United States, I could see a lot of similarities between our two cultures. But I’ve only been here a little over a week, and I’ve only seen a small portion of the country, so my generalizations of Colombia and Colombians require a broader range of experiences to draw any sort of accurate picture.

Regardless, I’ll always be thankful for the hospitality of Bucaramangans.

I’m currently camped at the Las Aguilas launch on the Rotuique Plateau (sp) over looking Bucaramanga.

It’s a budget pilot’s dream. The sun wakes me up in the morning and I roll out of my tent. I wolf down some scrambled eggs and bread followed by a cup of hot chocolate. After breakfast I step into my harness and launch up into sky, fly for a few hours, and then return to the same place I launched from a few feet from my tent. On the other side of the launch zone is a little restaurant that serves delicious chicken filled pasties and boiled potatoes. After lunch I’m back in the sky, soaring, thermaling, and honing my top landing skills. On most days the lift even continues after dark. I’m pretty sure that when paraglider pilot dies and goes to heaven, he ends up here.

David and I prep for launch

David was kind enough to show me where the sink was