Hello friends, family and those we've met on the road! Welcome to the sixteenth edition of our newsletter, this time, once again, penned from Bogotá, Colombia.
First things first, I got some feedback that our last newsletter didn’t reach everyone on the list, perhaps because I chose a title for it that may have triggered some spam filters. Anyway, a move to a better platform was long overdue, so I’m now using Substack. Please let me know if you have any problems reading this post, and if you did miss the last one, you can find it here.
Anyway: we’re back in Bogotá. Don’t worry, we have moved since the last time we spoke. A lot, in fact. We took a bus up to the town of San Gil, where we met our old friend Chris Williams, before the three of us together threw ourselves wholly into Backpacking.com’s Oh Boyacá! route. (Chris is the reason this update comes with plenty of photos of both of us on the bikes. Thanks Chris!) It’s an almost entirely unpaved recorrido that features over 16,000m of climbing in 600km - that’s hilly. And to be honest, we (Suzie) were a little scared before starting. We haven’t tackled numbers like that since the Trans Mexico and after the flat, sweaty riding in Central, we weren’t sure what it would feel like to return to the relentless subidas and bajadas.
Thankfully, despite the brain-boggling numbers, we immediately discovered why this route is so popular with bikepackers and cycle tourists: the gradients are just this side of manageable, the surfaces are consistent for long stretches, and the views are incredibly rewarding. Whereas some steeper sections of the Trans Mexico felt very testing on our bodies no matter how slowly we pedalled, in Boyacá we found the inclines to be, well, fun. We weren’t constantly at an output of 100, which in turn allowed for the mental space to appreciate our surroundings; we took in the light at every time of the day, admired the rock formations, smelled the plant life, made cups of tea and worried about the rain clouds hovering threateningly overhead.
And rain it did. Having seen very few showers since the start of the trip, we knew we were due some sodden times in Colombia as we are here during one of the country’s wet periods, and at the extreme heights we achieved during the past three weeks (we peaked at well over 4,000m) there is rain all year round. Sadly our tent is no longer entirely waterproof and although the manufacturer is seeking to somehow honour our warranty claim, we’re still in a situation where camping isn’t quite as carefree as it once was. Chris is in a similar boat so together we used all our cunning to keep as dry as possible; we set up under trees of course, but also in a couple of covered sports fields and even a rock climbing gym. Everyone we encountered was keen to help us find a spot for the night, from the family with a patch of land who looked at us as if to say ‘whyever not?’, to Lina, the kind schoolteacher who helped us secure a safe night in Felipe’s disused casita. Despite the fact our Spanish is continually improving, Felipe’s accent proved a barrier too great, and Lina’s Spanish-to-Spanish translation was much appreciated. We ended up having one of our most memorable nights camping thanks to her; we spoke at length about the difficulties of teaching in a very rural community, and she brought us coffee and cakes to celebrate my birthday before we settled down to sleep among Felipe’s wheelbarrows and old storage boxes, happily out of the hammering rain.
The rain proved a little annoying, and demanded that we take time to dry off our bits in plenty of plazas, and that we retreated into accommodation more than we would normally. But the bigger problems were the secondary events caused by the downpours; we had to traverse a number of rivers, with two crossings in particular proving very difficult, and we also navigated a rather spicy landslide. With mud up to our knees, water up to our thighs and rock piles that went well above our heads, we found ourselves questioning whether we’d be able to continue on the route more than once. We were incredibly thankful for Chris’s presence during these times; he’s got no interest in risky behaviour, but he makes decisions about what is passable in a more timely manner than us, which imbued us with a much needed dose of confidence before setting off across a mangled riverbed. He is also a tall, strong person, meaning that Ed and him could brute force their way through some situations that would have proved more challenging had it only been the two of us. In the end we’ve got some great photos and have learned a lot about where our physical limits are for this kind of thing; we will definitely know in the future when we need to turn back, despite being very glad it wasn’t necessary on these occasions.
As I mentioned, the inclement weather is down to Colombia’s geography, and there’s always plenty of rainfall on the country’s páramos. These are areas at high altitude that are unique to the Andes - ecosystems that feature alien-seeming plants called frailejones by the thousand. We were delighted to cross three of these areas during our three weeks on the road, and each was more otherworldly than the last. Although we will encounter more patches as we head south and into Ecuador, it was really special to appreciate the páramos with Chris, who is finishing his trip in Bogotá. Although our camp at high altitude saw us get very soggy, it was still something we were all pleased to be able to accomplish on the ride.
Ed and I had a bit of a hard time on the final páramo ascent, struggling for breath and finding the climb considerably more difficult than the numbers on our navigation apps indicated. We’re hoping that we can build up some tolerance and, as a Frenchman we met in Alaska advised us, ‘make our blood good’ for our onward travels in Ecuador, Peru and on the Bolivian altiplano.
Right now, however, it’s hard to imagine the riding beyond Colombia, as this country has provided so much in the way of scenery and excitement. We transitioned from Swiss-seeming alpine scenes with plenty of livestock to moody, Donegal-esque mist and mountains (especially around El Cocuy national park) before encountering gritty mining towns in dramatic valleys and eventually abundant waterfalls and bucolic fields. The people, meanwhile, have been as generous to us as those in every other country we’ve passed through, but here the profound cycling culture certainly enhances how we are received. Boyacá is the region that pro cyclist Nairo Quintana is from, and everywhere we have met enthusiasts who are riding themselves, or simply keen to speak to us about this year’s upcoming Tour de France. At one point a policeman bought us coffees and proceeded to show us all the bikepacking Instagram accounts he followed. Cycling is absolutely a way of life here, even if touring is not quite the national pastime that road cycling and mountain biking are.
In particular we saw plenty of bikes on the roads around Villa de Leyva, a beautiful town that marks the end of the Oh Boyacá! route. After being in quite rural areas for a few weeks, this town’s stunning white-washed buildings, gigantic cobbled plaza and tourist infrastructure made it the perfect place to treat ourselves to a few rest days. A group of friends from home sent me a ridiculously generous gift of a hotel stay for my 32nd birthday, and Ed and I enjoyed our king-sized bed and roll top bath with aplomb. We were so pleased Chris was also up for treating himself, meaning we enjoyed delicious Boyacanese breakfasts (milk soup, since you’re asking) and luxurious lounging around together. I had no idea I needed it, but after over a year on the road, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that ice creams and soft sheets felt so good.
Another reason it was so nice to spend this time with Chris, aside from him just being great fun of course, was that it was lovely to reflect on our trip so far with him. We’ve shared many of the same experiences, even though most of them were not together, and his natural urge to take stock of a year well spent before he returns to the U.K. has helped us also take time to appreciate what we’ve accomplished since May 2022. It’s so easy to look ahead, but telling our tour anecdotes and browsing through old photos has served to remind us of how proud of ourselves we should be. We are certainly incredibly proud of Chris, and we will miss him sorely as we continue to pedal south. It’s okay though - we’ve already pencilled in plans for a reunion bike tour.
Toot or boot
The lack of vegetarian empanadas BOOT
The ready availability of bocadillo (guava jam snacks) TOOT
Saying goodbye to Chris as we leave Bogotá BOOT
Three weeks of amazing memories with him TOOT
Getting covered in mud during our first big river crossing BOOT
Realising it was the right day to stop early and recover in a beautiful little hotel in Onzaga TOOT
Still no Guinness on tap to satisfy Ed’s cravings BOOT
Winning an English-language pub quiz with new friends in a proper pub in Bogotá TOOT
Thanks and shoutouts
Chris!
Oli, Laura and our pub quiz team
Greg - really exceptional scouting in this section, thank you!
Lina and Felipe
The lads in the truck that gave us a 3km lift up the hill
Ramon
Polo
Diana at Hostal Casa Lantana
Roca Solidá
My birthday gift collective and all the friends and family that sent a little something for us to treat ourselves with!
About us
We are Edwin Foote and Suzie McCracken - thanks for signing up for our newsletter! Edwin is from England and Suzie is from Northern Ireland and normally we live together in Deptford, south-east London. We arrived in Fairbanks, Alaska, in May 2022 and are attempting to ride our bicycles the length of the Americas, hoping to finish in Argentina in 2024. If you have any recommendations of things we should do, people we should meet or places we should stay, we'd love to hear from you! Please reply to this email, leave a comment on Substack, or follow us on Instagram at ed_win and _suziemccracken.