I’m starting from the end of this story because it’s Cartagena, a pleasant and a happy place for us. It took three days motorcycling from Villa de Leyva to reach Cartagena. From Bogota northwards it was our journeys end. It’s also the start our journey south to Ushuaia.

Our journey north to Cartagena was rough, tough and at the of each day Susan had had enough. Rough, tough, enough.

The humidity and heat increased significantly as we journeyed. The roads rose and fell, turned and twisted unrelentingly. Each new day easily became the new hardest day I’ve ever motorcycled.

On day two, we travelled 163 miles from Villa del Leyva through the Chicamocha Canyon (deeper than that big canyon in Colorado). 163 miles in eight hours with only two short rest stops (totalling 33 minutes). Official speed limit for the majority of the route was 20mph and we curved over a thousand bends and overtook several hundred very slow moving heavy lorries.

You may ask yourself why didn’t ‘bif’ stop and rest. Well the road was narrow and off tarmac it was rutted uneven soil. No place to put down a motorbike kickstand. When a suitable place did appear we had inevitably just overtaken a dozen heavy lorries and we just could not let them back in front. We just had to go on. It was tortuous.

Our second rest stop at the bottom of the canyon was only 20 miles from the finish. I bought Susan an ice cream to lift her spirits and I can genuinely say I didn’t laugh when she had difficulty eating the ice cream because her hands were shaking. She got more on her nose than in her mouth. Oh I know another story where everyone thinks ‘oh poor Susan’. It’s okay though for as I watched her banging the ice cream off her nose I thought of a solution – next time I’m buying her an ice lolly! I’m a compassionate ideas factory.

It’s not to say I was standing at the garage without my own problem. You see as we were leaving Villa del Leyva I clicked a switch on the bike to adjust the electronic suspension. A warning sign came up saying the suspension was knackered (that’s not a BMW technical term) and to drive to the nearest BMW garage! Jeez there is only a handful of such garages in the whole of South America!

Well I had two options – deal with it or ignore it. This big brave man decided to ignore it. So as I watched the ice cream dripping off ‘oh poor Susan’s’ nose I had my own issue at the back of my mind – 17,800 miles to go and our suspension was not happy with our luggage, Susan and big lardy boy.

Once we reached Bucaramanga we checked into a nice hotel and, the following day, set off hoping for better things. What happened next made me nearly cry. Big lardy cry baby with broken suspension.

We followed the sat nav out the city. Actually we have two sat navs working at the same time. Now you’ve got to understand these city roads are chaos and once you miss a turn the sat nav should try to get you back on the right road. Or it could just find you a new route altogether. Well that’s what the bloody sat navs working in concert did. Big lardy cry baby lost with broken suspension.

I knew we were in trouble when we motorcycled high into the Bucaramanga mountainside right into a favela. That’s a very working class area where two gringos really shouldn’t be taking a big expensive bike. Luckily I wasn’t wearing my Gucci leather motorcycle outfit today.

The favela is built on a mountainside and consequently the roads are say 12 feet wide and sloping 25 – 35 degrees. I’m being conservative. They’re steep. Very steep. After forcing the bike up a few short steep streets I stopped and asked a local woman if the way ahead was clear. ‘Moto roadeo alongo’ I shouted in my best Spanish whilst gesturing up the hill. I told you I was a language melting pot. ‘Si si ‘ she replied and gestured up the hill. It was dry rutted mud and I ‘gunned’ the bike up the short slope and stopped on the first bit of flat ground (6 foot by 8 foot) I had seen in ages.

I looked at the onward road. It was like a blinking goat track tracing its way on a mountainside. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take a photo because honestly you would say ‘fu*k me’. Yes I’m sure locals on their scooters can scoot along it but certainly not this bike with our luggage, Susan and lardy boy!

I should apologise at this point for the profanities. However, I feel I need to convey, as much as I can, my feelings. And at this time I wasn’t thinking ‘golly gosh look at the road ahead’. No I was thinking what the fu*k am I going to do now?’

Right at this time, the voice of an angel entered my head. Actually, it was Susan on the intercom. ‘ Shall I get off’. Yup she was right we had to do a 24 point turn and head back down. The woman at the bottom saw us return and shrugged her shoulders. I know what she was thinking ‘grande wimpo gringo’!

One narrow escape. You would think we then got it sorted and that’s the end of the story. Well no. For it got worse!

Susan suggested looking at Google Maps. Yes that’s a good idea. Susan was being calm in a storm whilst I was crumbling. Maybe Google can give us an alternative way out of this favela helter skelter.

‘Turn left’ said Susan sitting on the back looking at her phone. I did. I was then committed to a 35 degree downhill. More profanities. We reached the bottom. ‘Turn right’ Susan said. What was in front of me was a two foot rain ditch across our path and the road I was to turn right onto was two foot wide. Even if I was stupid enough to try to force the bike over the ditch I would continue in someone’s front room.

I braked to a halt, struggling to keep the bike upright, with Susan behind me so high up she looked like she was sitting on my shoulders.

‘Shall I get off’ – there it was agajn, the voice of an angel in my head telling me the next thing to do. ‘Yes’ I squeaked.

Susan took command whilst I sat on the bike, gripping the brakes, trying not to pee myself.

Susan approached a young lad sitting in a nearby delivery van and asked for help. The young lad couldn’t move because his job was to sit on the footbrake as the handbrake wasn’t enough to hold the vehicle. I told you it was steep! When an ‘old delivery guy’ got back they found some rocks to put under their rear wheels and came to help.

Between the four of us we turned the bike to face up the hill. I’ve no idea how we did it without the bike falling over and if it had I’m sure we would have needed a winch to get it up again.

Then the ‘old delivery guy’ asked us to follow him and he led us out of the favela to a main road and our route out the city. We gave ‘old delivery guy’ a sizeable tip and he hugged and kissed us both and then blessed us for the journey ahead. Thank you ‘old delivery guy’.

Anyway, that’s some of the happenings on our way to Cartagena and I’m going to end back at our happy place. Here’s an actual photo of our ’boutique hotel’ and it’s ‘shabby chic’ look.

Cartagena for 3 nights. Bike parked up for 3 days. Suspension error code firmly buried in the sand. Susan back to eating ice cream like a grown up. Everything’s good.

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