el cocuy colombia

El Cocuy – An Alpine Paradise in its Death Throws

 

 

            Alien frailegon plants litter the sub-glacier landscape, their stocks pushing soft bunny-eared leaves skyward towards the waxing moon. Retreating glaciers relinquish century old ice in a calming dribble, never to return. Clouds race past. Rain, ice, and snow falls. A stray dog lies beside me, soaked to the bone, wining to the wind. Water drips into my bivy bag, dampens my down, and cools my body, as I lay in the dark questioning much - Why do the hills call me? What do they give me? And why didn’t I carry the tent up the short three hour approach?

I haven’t climbed in months, have been firmly locked in the tourist-trail-party-scene of Central America, and am left asking the questions many climbers ask of themselves after a period of inactivity. I soon find my answers as a chill star-studded sky greats my 4:00am alarm. I push hard, fearful of the unstable weather of the Amazonian  wet season, and am rapidly greeted by the familiar iron taste, and penning headache of un-acclimatised exercitation. Keen on some rarely travelled terrain I weave crevasses, traversing towards a mixed face I know nothing about. My body quickly remembers the mechanical swing of an ice axe, the solid kick of a crampon, and the desperate glove-in-mouth-crimp-mantel as adrenaline pumps, rope-less above a crack ridden death.  In 1980, during the first ascent, the glaciers stretched over 2000 linear feet lower into the valleys, and this face was uniform ice soaring to the summit.   It is now solid M4.

Clouds blanket the eastern Amazon side of the range, and the sun warms the crevassed and cornice ridge I must now traverse. I summit, weave cornices, duck under seracs, and then summit again – a slightly higher peak this time. Alpine faces, never to feel the swing of an axe, hear the ping of a piton, virgin and pure, plunge into a now nearly un-accessible valley.

I have found my peace, and have answered all the questions I was only recently asking. 

Colombia has big icy mountains, impossibly steep big walls, and beautiful remote alpine valleys, but it is nearly too late for the world to discover one of the best kept secrets of the Andes.

 



that 800m snowy face seems to be unclimed

 

Near the Venezuelan border in north eastern Colombia exists the national park of El Cocuy.  Within the park there are 23 snow covered peaks, many with steep faces and alpine couloirs waiting to be discovered. The highest peak, Ritacub Blanco soars to 5410m.

With the quickest glacier decay rate in the world, 25 linear meters a year, the clock is ticking for alpine climbing in this unique park. Full glacier extinction is predicted by 2025.

 

Beta

Access – Since October, 2013 access to the bigwalls on the eastern side of the range has become difficult. The northern and southern trails into the secluded valley are closed because of instable relations with the local indigenous tribes. It is still possible to climb on the faces, but the approach is more involved.  Hopeful climbers must traverse over from the western glaciers, and rappel into the valley. Local guides claim they can gain you access to the east side via the standard, now closed hiking trails, but the legality of their claim is questionable at best.  Currently three trails allow access to the western side of the range.

Getting there – I drove a motorbike from Edmonton Alberta, but flying to Bogata is probably quicker. Bus 10 hours north to the small colonial town of El Cocuy, buses leave daily.  From the town hire private transport into the mountains, or jump a ride on the milk truck that does the trip into the mountains every day of the year.

Food and fuel – Basic mountain food can be purchases in El Cocuy, along with fuel canisters, and gasoline. White gas (“bencina blanca”)  can be more problematic, try searching for paint thinner.

Gear – Crampons, warm clothing, ice axes and basic glacier walking equipment can be rented in town. A good topographical map is available for 10 dollars (COP$ 20 000). It shows hiking trails, camping areas, access roads, and even milk truck times along its route. Guides and pack horses are readily available.

Season – The dry season runs from mid December to the end of March. The rainy season settles in pretty heavy after that and clear days are rare.  This was historically the high season, but with the closure of the once popular 6 day trek through the eastern side of the range tourist activity is minimal, and the local economy is suffering.

Formalities – A permit is required to climb or hike in the park, and is normally asked for at trail heads. Purchase one in town for a fee of 25 dollars (COP$ 50 000).  The permit is said to be valid for only 6 days, but like most things in Colombia the rules are fuzzy, and multiple permits and extensions are easily accomplished.

 Here are links to all the info I have been able to find on established routes in the park, everything is very rarely climbed with the exception of the normal route on ritacub blanco,  the normal route on pan de azucar, and the 5.8 rock line up the 70m east side of pulpito del diablo

 

http://climbingcolombia.blogspot.com/2012/04/sierra-nevada-del-cocuy-climbing-part-2.html

http://climbingcolombia.blogspot.com/2012/04/el-cocuy-climbing.html#

http://climbingcolombia.blogspot.com/2012/04/pan-de-azucar-normal-route-to-get-to.html#

http://www.alpinist.com/doc/web12w/newswire-pfaff

http://aaj.americanalpineclub.org/2010/08/colombia-ritacuba-blanco-tierra-de-condores/

http://publications.americanalpineclub.org/articles/12198419601/print

 

central america

Central America

What happens when climbers don’t climb? – We dance, and we sing, and we have a really really REALLY good time! No splitters or slabs, pillars or glaciers in Central America....But there are girls and parties, scuba and culture..and way, way too many borders.

I’ve spent weeks...no months, and continents just trying to start writing about this rollercoaster ride of a journey..It’s been insane, I’ve been down, been up..and lived experiences I’m still left questioning..and probably always will.

- - - - - - - Belize - - - - - - - -

 

I easily crossed into a commonwealth country, a pirate safe haven, and a radically different culture.  I was surprised by a few things in Belize; firstly the people are amazing, secondly the country is dirt poor. Roads are barley chip-sealed, and the general public are barley scraping by. Certainly someone’s getting rich form the expensive tourism, and natural resources of the country.

I stayed away from the cay’s, mainly because of cost..Belize ain’t cheap. I spent a night in what seemed to be a pay-by-the-hour brothel, then checked out crooked tree wildlife reserve. With not much else to do, and not wanting to blast through the tinny country, I headed into the jungle to the Mayan ruins of Karacol. I drove deep into the jungle, passed military bases, through deep mud ruts, and skinny bridges, to the ancient city. I wondered jungle tracks for nearly two days of full value driving, found a 1000 foot waterfall, went swimming, and had lunch with a nice Canadian family.

Belize was nice, but there’s really not too much to do. I crossed back into spanishlandia aka Guatemala after 4 days of English sort-of speaking bliss.

ancient ceiba tree

Belize high country

     - - - - - - -Guatemala - - - - - - -

 

I went to Tikal..big surprise right. It was nice, the best of the ruins I saw. Set deep in the misty jungle; steep temples tower high over the canopy, howler monkeys throw their shit at posh tourists, and it’s not actually that busy. It is a must see.

Oh and the border went fine, no scams, no bullshit, and no mandatory insurance, but lots and lots of bug guns.

wait...whats crossing?

So out of all Central American countries Guatemala’s mainland is by far the most interesting. The scenery is breathtaking, and the large population of indigenous people give a real feel of proper traveling. It is also the hardest to navigate in. The 8 hour drive to semuc champey soon turned into 2 days.

I was getting travel weary, and 10 hours of missed turns, bad directions, and hours of backtracking didn’t help. I had to dig deep, but with no other options I kept going. Night had fallen 2 hours ago. I was beat, and winding mountain roads, but my destination was only 60 km away. Smooth pavement turned to large loose rocks, decision made... time to camp. I woke to 15 nice machete welding men walking past my tent, but of course no harm done. The next 60 km proved to be the most challenging road I’ve driven to date; large loose rocks, steep grades, and even steeper drops. I nearly kissed the pavement in relief after 3 hours of first gear rock bouncing.  I stopped for some food in a Mayan town along the road and soon had 60 people watching me; I may have been the first white guy on a motorbike they’ve seen. After missing another turn, backtracking, and eventually finding a hostel, I had a nap.

To paint a mental picture of the beauty of semuc requires literally ability I’m surely not capable of. A raging jungle river plunges underground, at the same time spring water forms turquoise pools and small waterfalls on top of the now underground river.

Guatemala was a highlight of Central America, and every traveler agrees that it’s a stunning country. I regret to have spent only 5 days there.

-      - - - - - Honduras - - - - - -

Using oncoming busses for navigation in the sign-less world of Guatemala, I nearly on-sighted the sexy, curvy drive to the border. Having heard of many Over-Landers being scammed, I was nervous about this one. After a quick check out of Guatemala, and being told I couldn’t re-enter for 90 days, I realised Honduras had all the power...and I hadn’t an option available.  An insane number of photocopies, a few acceptable fees, and I drove through a quickly setting sun to Copan Ruins.

I didn’t even see the ruins that that make the town famous. Instead I flirted with a group of French Canadian school girls and went to bed. Travel exhaustion was at its peak.

The drive to La Cieba, and access to the Bay Islands, didn’t start off the best. I screwed up leaving town, even after asking several people for directions. Guatemalan border guards kindly turned me around after one hour of jarring dirt road driving.  Two hours latter I was right back where I started...

I managed not to get murdered crossing through San Pedro Sula, the world’s most murdous city  (one in 5000 yearly). With the bike hopefully safe behind the barbed wire of an empty hostel, I headed off to the party-scuba paradise of Utila.

The 3 lies of Utila: 1) I’m leaving tomorrow 2) I love you 3) I`m not going out tonight

The island of Utila is a traveler’s vortex sucking people in for months if not years. It was without a doubt the highlight of my time in Central America. I did my opened water scuba certification. Breathing underwater for up to an hour was the strangest feeling I`ve had in a long time, and the sea life was absolutely mind blowing. The partying was also mind blowing...some of the craziest times of my life?

My Utila daily schedule: 6:30am alarm, 7:30am-4:00pm dive course, 5:00pm-10:00pm sleep, 11:00pm-5:00am party....repeat..

Needless to say my body hated me as I stumbled onto the rocking ferry a week later.  I had to say good bye to some amazing friends on the island, little did I know they would come join me 2 days later in Nicaragua.

 

- - - - - - Nicaragua - - - - - -

miss you guys!!

I spent the most time of any Central American country here, had the wildest, blurriest parties, with the craziest crew, and said the hardest goodbyes.

I assume the border went smoothly because I can’t remember a thing about it. I do remember clipping a guy’s backpack nearing Leon at night, at the end of the 12 hour drive from La Cieba. He probably shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road.

Anyways, I of course did the standard tourist thing there is to do in Leon; I went volcano boarding, AKA sliding down a sharp gravel covered hill on a small piece of wood and nearing speeds of 90 kph. Don’t worry its safe only a few people have broken their hands, arms, feet and backs.

 

My amazing British friends and party crew showed up a day latter. Our next couple nights may or may not have involved the following: salsa dancing, a broken plastic chair, a Norwegian pole dancer, a shoe-less night, mutually falling in love and walking away in the span on 4 hours, a grindy lesbian dance party, and a really pissed off hostel night watchman.

It was a rough, shaky, and sweaty drive to San Juan Del Sur on 30 minutes sleep, and despite the best efforts of a particularly slick oil patch I managed to keep it on the road. I seem to remember seeing Granada, Nicaragua’s colonial gem on the drive.

We went to a music festival Saturday night then hit the infamous SUNDAY-FUNDAY.

Sunday-Funday is basically exactly like being in a modern music video. Three hundred sexy travelers, striped near naked, are ferried from pool party to pool party, as the drinks flow, and music pumps.  We started at 2pm.

One more party night as part of the ever-lasting binge: St. Patty’s day at an Irish run hostel called Little Morgans, on the island of Ometepe, with all you can drink rum punch for 10$.

Ya.. We slept for a couple days after this one, and what had turned out to be a nearly continuous week-long party.

I said some really, really hard goodbyes.. I miss you; Chris, Laura, Alex, Dan and Jules!! Much love.... but I had a boat to catch and a continent to explore.

 

sunset volcano boarding!!!

-      - - - - Costa Rica - - - - -

sunset headding into Corcovado

Another border I don’t remember, so it must have gone smoothly, I was getting pretty good at these by now.  My head was filled with mixed emotions. I was alone once again... somedays I feel like I’m spending my entire life saying goodbye..

I headed out to a small surf town called Malpais, of course the road turned to brutal washboard just as the sun set. I made it to the town by 10pm and camped on the beach. Where I witnessed literally millions on Hermit Crabs scuttling to the beach from the forest edge, participating in what seemed to be a massive orgy?? I woke to spider monkeys jumping from branch to branch over my head.

I forced out a 4 hour detox beach run in 40 degree heat, and then hit to road to panama, realising quickly that I can’t even afford to eat in this little piece of the United States.  I checked out the jungle peninsula of Corcovado National Park for a day and a half of full value off-road driving, at one point crossing a river so deep that my panniers floated my back wheel, the ran for the border.

Costa Rica is nice, but way too americanised, and doesn’t offer anything that Panama doesn’t for a fraction of the cost.

55 chev driving fron san fransico to brazil

-      - - - - Panama - - - - -

What a crazy border, set in what appears to be a duty free version of a New Delhi street market. One also has to show 500 American dollars in cash, and normally a departing plane ticket back to one’s HOME COUNTRY, not just a different country, to enter Panama. I luckily had a grand of American bills that I nicely passed back the line of tourist, and I was accepted into the country without a plane ticket because I was traveling overland. For the average travelers there are several print shops around that will whip you up a “plane ticket” for a few dollars.

I spent the night on a nice desolate beach near Bocas Chicas, on the pacific coast, and then drove a stunning mountain road to the Caribbean side, and the party arcapeligo of Bocas Del Toro.

I left my bike on the mainland and took a water taxi out to the island. My 2 short days there were mostly spent on skype with my banks and western union trying to get my own money. I needed 1200 dollars in cash to pay for the sail boat I was about to get on to Colombia.  It came through literally at the absolute last moment.  I had a great couple final party nights; power hour-60 shots and 60 80’s songs in an hour, and had a great night at the Aqua Lounge doing double front flips off a swing into the warm ocean with a pretty Alabama teacher with an insanely sunburned butt.

Once again running off little sleep I ran 10 hours south towards Panama City, and my rapidly departing boat.

I crossed the canal, and made it through the amazingly beautiful modern city of soaring white sky scrapers with little problems. But then I hit the southern toll highway where I had the pleasure to meet the most unfriendly women in all of Central America. She informed me that I couldn’t pay in cash and needed a digital pass..Ok.

“Where can I get this pass?”

“I don’t know...somewhere in the city...back there...you have to turn around” she said in Spanish

“You really want me to drive against 5 lanes of oncoming traffic?.... really?”

“Yes...turn around”

OK, fine..I did a 6 point turn in the toll lane, cut across 5 lanes of oncoming traffic, exited off the highway, then with no other possible roads south, entered the highway and blew the toll and 3 others LIKE A BOSS. I’m not dealing with your bullshit panama!!

I met up with a few Americans on KLR 650’s.  We drove a rollercoaster ride of a road to the coast, and our waiting sail boat.  Dan’s sub frame bolts broke on the drive...but it was quickly fixed with a ratchet-strap.

bike repair stop with Dan, Steve, and Nick

 

-      - -San Blas Island Sail  to Colombia - - -

We man-handled our land-loving beasts into what can only be described as large canoes, two bikes per boat.  Then beat onshore swells out to the waiting sailboat the Independence, and hoisted the bikes onto their home on the back deck of the boat.

Cory Hall doesn't always drink beer while holding his 700 pound motorcycle with one arm on a motorized canoe in the caribbean. But when he does... he drinks warm Balboa - Stephen Chalberg

 

I did a lot or research when picking a boat, there are lots of horror stories out there, and it’s a fairly pricy trip (1100$ US for passenger and bike).  But it was a win, what an amazing trip with such great people.

Us crazy biker guys showed up a day before everyone else to load the bikes. We spent the night on an island with the local Kuna people, then set sail the next day.

The trip consists of 3 days in the tropical perfection of the San Blas, then a 40 hour open ocean sail to Cartagena Colombia. I can’t say enough about how amazing the trip was; great friends, crazy...crazy parties, snorkeling, beach volleyball, great food, and a cuddle night on deck in 40 foot seas I’ll soon not forget!!

Andrea...miss you lots...see you in bolivia

 

60 feet up the mast

 

 

colombia..after 40 hours of 40 foot seas

 

mexico

MEXICO

Rain drizzled down, as my hands slowly froze in ever increasing increments of pain. The endless expanse of Texan interstate stretched interminably ahead. Nerves were high. What was I doing? And why was I doing it?.. Adventure perhaps? The call - the longing for unknown sights, vistas, and experiences? – The Mexican border loomed dead ahead.

“Why are you going there?!?!? Your going to get shot-stabbed-raped-decapated-toutured-harassed-inprisoned!!” said nearly everyone I’d met in the last 3 months of motorcycle travel through AMERICA-FUCK YA!

I crossed the border, was literally just waved through, and that was it, into Mexico, and on to the rest of Latin America...No big deal.

I spent an hour aimlessly wandering around the border area searching for immigrations-you’d think there’d be a sign. Nope. Eventually got my passport stamped, got a tourist card, passed a couple of military checkpoints, then a police checkpoint, and hit the road – N.L.#1 to be exact, an absolutely empty stretch of narrow, pothole filled tarmac running due south for hundreds of miles. I crossed the mountains to Sabanis Hidalgo - not the Hidalgo I hoped it was - realised my mistake, and kept going south. I had told myself I wasn’t going to drive at night in Mexico, and one shouldn’t, it’s bloody spicy. But of course darkness slowly crept on, as I weaved through dense traffic in the northern outskirts of Monterrey - Mexico’s second largest city – absolutely lost in every way. I was where my National Geographic map told me Hidalgo was, but Hidalgo wasn’t there. I asked for directions - well...just pointed to the town on my map - backtracked, and hit and scraped over endless topes – Mexico’s famous super-speed-bumps.  Asked for directions again, went back where I just was. After a couple more rounds of directions, and hand drawn maps, I thankfully, eventually made it to Hidalgo, and the camping at La Posada. It was ten o’clock at night and I was absolutely shattered.

Lessons learned on day one of Mexican driving: Topes are mean. Road signs and signals are merely a suggestion and may be completely wrong. Trains cross without warning. Maps can be wrong in every way. Roads may end without warning.  Dogs will try to bite your ankles.

It was a hard day...the next one was spent in posh hot springs.

 El Potrero Chico – “A sport climbing paradise of soaring limestone cliffs”.

I spent 6 days in Potrero; running, soloing long routes, roping up for some hard sport pitches, and partying the nights away. It’s funny how the days of motorcycle travel stand out in my mind; where as, the climbing days in Potrero assimilate into the normalities of my life, a life that’s far from normal. That’s not saying I enjoy one over the other.  I soloed 4 long multi-pitch 5.10’s; treasures, dope ninja, poncho via, and yankee. With treasures of the sierra madre (5.10c 7 pitches), and an onsite of poncho villa rides again (5.10c 5 pitches) standing out as exceptional quality. I didn’t really do too much cragging, and to be honest I don’t really think it’s that good, certainly no different than anywhere else in the world. I did somehow manage to onsite a steep and dynamic 5.12b in the Surf Bowl called Guppie, for what may be my hardest sport onsite to date.  Life was easy in Potrero, with good friends and fun times. But I was starting to get lazy and complacent.

A long and winding road beckoned. Besides I really wanted to climb stalactites.

I pack slowly, more so because I was terribly hung-over, than I was sad to leave. It was time to brave the insanity of downtown Monterrey traffic, and I have to say it was an experience. Grab a handful of throttle and be aggressive. I weaved the oil slickened and polished roads, for what seemed like an eternity of exceptionally high stressful driving.  I managed only one wrong turn in a country that doesn’t seem to believe in street signs. Thankfully the density of the city subsided. Off the highway a road of rough, and snott slick cement wound narrowly upwards into the sierra, with grades over 30 percent - Defiantly the most amazing mountain road I’ve driven since India. I set up my tent in Kika’s Deposito, sat by the road and drank beer for hours. A day well lived!

I climbed with a couple French Canadians for two short days, at a place that deserves way more time. We spent the first day at La Boca, climbing a few good lined on slightly overhung limestone. Las Animas wall on day two was absolutely spectacular – thirty five meter lines up a 110 degree wall ,with tufas protruding in unimaginable size and shape in all directions.  Possibly north Americas best sport wall. I nearly onsited a 12a called Culo de Negro, but missed a hold mere feet from the anchor and took a good whipper. There is also a cave at El Salto that is said to be incredible. Put this place high on the tick list!

A day of unforgettable beauty, adventure, and challenge – Adventure motorcycling at its absolute best!

We left Salto in a convoy of sorts; heading west on forgotten mountain roads, then south on highway 57. I followed two Canadians in a Honda fit with plans of climbing in a few areas on our way to La Chonta – Mexico’s premier Cave climbing destination. That day’s drive was the kind of drive you live for when traveling the world by motorbike. We crossed numerous rivers of varying depth and flow, nearing loosing the Honda in a waist deep section of river, motor sputtering as water crept its way in. I’m glad the air intake on the Suzuki is tucked high under the tank. The wake of water pushed high over the sides of my windshield. I dared not let up on the throttle as I spun through large smooth beach stones pilled deep under the water. Soaked I popped out the other side.  We wound up a narrow concert road, passed canyons, lakes, and sleepy mountain towns the world has forgotten. The terrain slowly changed as snow peaked mountain gave way to meadows, and eventually desert, with Joshua Tree forest stretching for hundreds of miles in all directions.  We cruised down highway 57, a thousand foot high dust devil momentarily distracting us from the pot hole ridden road.

We climbed for only a day at Guadalcazar. A secret local place, with amazing stalactite caves and crags dotting the hill sides outside of town, again worthy of way, way more time. It was incredibly strange to be lost in a horizontal roof of rock icicles. Finding the bolts was a grope affair.

 

 

 

El Chonta bound – off to the world’s best cave climbing

Isabeau and I once again hit the 57 south, with plans of driving to Taxco, and the climbing at El Chonta in two days. I followed Isa into San Louis Potosi – a stunning colonial city - in search of some internet. I had to stay glued to her rear bumper so the taxis didn’t bully me out of the way, and often had to do some creative manoeuvring to get back behind her. We found internet, and some climbing store addresses in Queretaro where we hoped to get a Chonta guidebook, saw an amazing colonial city with its cobblestone streets and impressive churches, and got back to the highway.

After wandering Queretaro lost for an hour, we finally found a small bouldering gym – not exactly a store.  They were super helpful, and we soon had two more spots on our list; Aculco, and Jliotepec.

Aculco was in its self a marvellous small colonial town, with 80 foot basalt pillar climbing a short distance out of town. It seemed to be a rarely visited cliff in a country of gym rats and sport junkies.  We camped and climbed there for 2 days. The climbing wasn’t world-class, but there were some true splitters, and leading then on a single rack was defiantly cerebrally stimulating. I led 3 lines in particular that were super memorable 5.11+, 5.12- pitches.

 

 

The short ride from Aculco to Jliotepec was a memorable one. Flames licked my boot from the endless bush, and grass fires on the road sides - the smoke, fire, and decaying concert building more reminiscent of a war torn Middle East than central Mexico.

Jliotepec is the “local crag” of Mexico City. We showed up on a weekend and it was a shit show. The rock is low quality beach stone conglomerate, and the bolts always seemed to be out of the way and hard to get to. I won’t be back.  We did drink whiskey with some locals for a while so it wasn’t a complete waste.

We took the long way to Taxco, checking out, and driving up to snow line on the 4583m Cinantecal volcano. The countryside was breathtaking, passing through northern Californian pine forest somehow thriving in central Mexico. It was a step back in time 100 years, a place where fields are turned by horse drawn plows, and wheat is separated from the stem by hand and foot. As a result, Isa and I got into Taxco at 10pm - exhausted. We dropped 750 pesos (about 60 $) on the first room we found. The luxuries of a clean bed, hot shower, and internet were truly appreciated after 7 nights of free camping.

Taxco is by far the coolest town I’ve seen, ever. Once made rich by silver mining, it’s now mostly a tourist town. Countless white VW bug taxies buzz around the steep cobble stone streets, in reverse nearly half the time. The combination of century slickened cobblestones, steep roads, and slow traffic was a true test on the bike. We explored the charms and architecture of the town for two nights then headed off to check out las Grutas de Cacahuamilpa.  A two km long cave system that came highly recommended. The 100 foot high stalactites and stalagmites were really cool, but I couldn`t help dreaming of climbing them. Eighty three percent humidity wasn`t helping our hastily increasing gastro-intestinal issues.  We were both sick, incredibly exhausted, and had painful stomach cramps. What better time than to finally go to El Chonta.

In the blazing sun, weak from little food, little sleep, and a slowly fading illness, we hiked the 45 minutes up to the cave, and what a cave. It took me a while to get on a route, I wasn`t feeling top shape to say the least, but I onsited an 11a, then an 11c, then an 11c.  Feeling better we headed down to the bottom of the cave where I managed to onsite a 12b then a 12a. Climbing on crazy steep terrain littered with massive stalactites. I onsited a 12c, then a 13a called El Jaguar on day two – my hardest two onsites ever. I don’t know if the grades are soft or stalactite climbing suites me. The moves aren’t that hard but you do get really beat up. I’ve never seen the insides of my thighs that cut-up and bruised before.  We left and drove towards Puebla.  The 7 pitch 12d will have to wait for the next trip. Another place worthy of way, way more time!!

 

 

 

The end of the dream team – and another new beginning

Long trips seem to ebb and flow in many different ways.  And one of the main defining factors of traveling is who you meet along the way. The friendships you build and the inevitable goodbye - To travel with someone for weeks with no preconceptions, and no promises or plans beyond the next few hours it a true joy.  At the last minute I decided to follow Isabeau and Gab to Guadalcazar, with vague plans of Isa joining me for El Chonta. We climbed in 4 areas, spent 2 weeks traveling together, and had a hell of a lot of fun. She’s stoked, and somehow leading 5.11’s after just 6 months of leading outside.

We had gone to Puebla to meet up with Isa’s friend, and to climb the 5636m Pico de Orizaba. Her friend was sick and in a different city, and our combined stoke for walking uphill was lacking – we wanted the beach, and I wanted to get some miles in.  Argentina suddenly felt really far away.  I got another top lid for my aluminum side boxes made - the old one fell off?  The shop made it in under 24 hours and I was only out 43$ Canadian. I said goodbye to another good friend and hit the road again.

Leaving Puebla I followed a sign for Veracruz HWY #150, and merged onto an empty freeway – clue number one. I looked up at a speed limit sign, 90 kph, and then looked down. Fuck!  I slammed on the brakes, ABS chattering, and then dropped off the end of the road into dirt and construction debris. What kind of a country signs a highway that’s not even built! If it were night I would be dead. Back on track, I rode through desert and along mountain switchbacks, backed by the snow capped Pico de Orizaba.  I encountered the strangest road system to date. On a particularly steep section of switchbacks large white arrows were painted on the road indicating for you to change lane. It took me a few turns to figure it out – downhill traffic always takes the sharper inside turn, sometimes driving on the right, sometimes on the left side of the road, an interesting system to say the least.

Corrupt police..Finally

I turned left just as the light turned red, and was immediately flagged over by a police officer standing on the side of the road.

“This is going to be fun” I thought. He asked for my license, I handed him my international driving permit – something that was cheap and I don’t really need, because I knew what he was going to say.

 “That was a violation I’m going have to hold your license till you pay the fine on Monday” – It was Friday – “That would be bad you wouldn’t be able to continue south” He said in Spanish.

I didn’t care if I never saw my international permit again, so played along. He spent the next 10 minutes trying to explain to me that I need to bribe him often saying, “cash...money”.

I acted confused and repeatedly asked him for directions to the highway – “Donde esta ruta 150?”

His frustration was hilarious.  He eventually handed me back my permit and I went on my way.  Another good experience had in Mexico.

As night fell I made it to toll highway 145 south, and it was well worth the 20$ I paid in tolls. For the first time in weeks I cruised at 130 kph, feet up on the crash bars. No smashing Topes at 80 kph, no lanes ending in dust and adrenalin, no dogs, and proper respectful drivers. I broke my rule, a rule I`ve stupidly broken many times, and drove late into the night. Smooth roads, warm mist, jungle foliage, and a blood red rising moon my welcome company. I slept on the side of the highway.

Beaches, cenotes, and ruins - Tourists and American prices – but the roads are nice.

Driving by 6:30 am, I continued south, then east, then north, following the golf coast up onto the Yucatán.  I turned down a narrow dirt track towards the ocean, and found a perfect tropical paradise; palm trees and white sand stretched in both directions. It was the weekend and it was nearly empty. A large group of local girls all wanted pictures with me, I happily complied – you don’t get that on a Cancun beach. I continued up HWY 180, the road closely following the empty coast for hundreds of miles. Pelicans dove for fish as I stretched out my blinking fuel light for nearly 100km. I recharged in Campeche – another beautiful colonial city – for two nights at a great hostel.

 

 

 

The Edzna ruins were my first Mayan ruins. I climbed pyramids, and reflected on a once great civilization. The place was nearly empty. I took back roads towards Chichen Itza – Mexico’s most famous ruins, and one of the 7 wonders of the world. I slept down a dirt track in the jungle.  My 50 minute morning run brought me to a creepy deserted ranch, toothbrush still on the bathroom counter.  In a way it was more interesting that the Mayan ruins.

Chichen Itza was cool, and the ancient stone artwork was amazing. But the tour groups, tourist crowds, and vendors took a lot away from the experience. I continued towards Tulum, and then followed signs to Centoe Maya – cenotes are water filled limestone sinkholes dotting the Yucatan, some are caves and some are just swimming holes. It was a bust, guided tour only, and 49$US. They were nice though, and gave me directions to some cheaper local ones.

Number one highlight of the Yucatán for only 4.50$ can.

I climbed down a small hole in the ground, then descended a swinging set of suspended spiral stairs, 50 feet down to the water below. Water and light trickled through a couple of natural skylights in the cave ceiling. Stalactites and roots hung down to the water level. Best of all – I had the place to myself! Artificial lights illuminated the cave. I paddled a wooden raft around, swam, and climbed stalactites - Mind blowing place.

I wanted to check out the Coba ruins but they closed at 5pm. I continued to Tulum, and found a campground – its days severely limited – tucked between pricy hotels, right on the beach. It was a spectacularly beautiful area, with even prettier topless girls. I had hoped to spend a few days there, but I realised my Mexican insurance had expired. I had already been a month in Mexico, and it was time for a new country. After a lazy beach morning swimming in the warm Caribbean waters, I once again hit the road south.

I was searching for something, I didn’t know what, but I hadn’t found it yet. I drove 50 km out of my way to Mahahual, about as far away from Cancun as one can get on the Caribbean coast. I drove a winding dirt and sand track along the coast south, passed one private beach club after another - Which is bullshit because every beach in Mexico is public domain. When the buildings and fences faded to nothing I stopped, and set up camp in the strong onshore winds. I started to change into swimming shorts...wait why wear shorts? Naked to the world, under a star studded sky, with my own Caribbean beach paradise stretching to the horizon. I swam late into the night. I don’t know what I had found, but it was what I was looking for. On that night I was exactly where I wanted to be, living how I wanted to live, and absolutely everything was perfect.

I smoothly crossed into Belize the next day.