The 254 miles from Monteria to Medellin looked straightforward enough. Unfortunately, when it comes to roads, nothing is straight in Colombia and our motorcycling is extremely tough. Whilst the scenery is stunning, we have no photos for there’s no laybys, no photo stops, no opportunity. It’s all about making progress. It’s not a holiday.

The sting in the tail for this ride was the ‘Monstrous Mountains of Medellin’ after 150 miles, just when we were looking forward to the finish. 16,500 feet of ascent and 11,000 feet of descent before we entered the multi lane carraigeway that cuts through the city. It’s a bit like driving into Glasgow I thought 🙂

It was dusk and I was already at the limits of my endurance and, like the rest of the country, there’s no lane discipline, no consideration for others and absolutely no road sense. That may be a sweeping statement but it’s 100% true!

I have worked out the outside lane is probably the safest to progress. Inside lane is for carts, donkeys, banana sellers, stationary buses and those lost to this world. Middle four lanes were just a cacophony of crisscrossing vehicle madness.

Even in my optimum choice of outside lane, motorcycles would pass us on the offside, inches from the central concrete barrier. If I moved too far to the outside to stop these crazy overtakes then a car would squeeze alongside me in my lane. It’s not for the faint hearted. You must keep moving fast. Keep making progress.

As we approached a road toll station the six lanes divided into 12. It became a stationary sea of thousands of motorcycles, cars and gigantic trucks. As we waited in a mayhem of a queue, trying to edge our way to the motorcycle lane, a gigantic truck rear ended us. Now I won’t exaggerate, it was more of a kiss, a nudge than a hit. The bike jumped forwards a little and I managed to keep it upright. I was reassured that Susan wasn’t going to hit the ground this time. We were so tightly packed with vehicles all around she would likely roll onto a car bonnet.

Susan kept calm, said we were okay, it’s fine, let’s keep going. There it was again that angel in my head, I mean my intercom, cutting through my ranting and raving at the truck driver. I’m not sure the truck driver could hear a word I said and not even sure he knew he had hit us from his lofty cab position in the fading light. So we moved on. This was not a place to stop and assesses the situation. This was a time to get out of the bloody situation! So we did. We kept making progress.

Eight hours and 50 minutes after our departure from Monteria with only 50 minutes of breaks, we reached our destination. You will be tired of hearing about how tired we were but we were. We were tired.

No ‘first class bell boy’ this time to help us with the luggage from the underground car park. Only me. You see we have a fair division of work – Susan sorts out the check-in and I do everything else. Susan says it’s fair and who am I to doubt her judgement?

Once the panniers were in the room and without getting changed I went out on the Friday night streets of Medellin in search of beer and water. It’s so so hot walking in heavy motorcycle goretex trousers and boots in 30c. However, I have come to realise over the years I unparalleled stamina if beer is my goal.

Our hotel was in the middle of a nightlife hotspot and it was jumping with bars, music and party time people. I had swapped road mayhem for night life mayhem. I’m quite sure people looking at me thought I was dressed up for some wierd club scene. Then again, perhaps they really just saw an old man desperately looking for beer.

There were police everywhere and none of them knew where I could get beer. Friendly and nice to the desperate old man but they lacked beer intelligence. I was on my own. No help from my brothers in arms.

Eventually I stumbled on a grocer shop, bought beer and water then walked 20 minutes up a steep hill to get back to the hotel. As I crawled into our room dragging the carrier bag of beer and water I was greeted by Susan refreshed after a nice shower. I told you this division of labour worked out well!

That night dinner was a takeaway Domino’s pizza. Oh I know, half way across the world and it’s Domino’s pizza. However, we were busted. Again. And needs must.

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