Today I went mountain biking. I got early and at 8AM, made my way to the shop where I had made my reservation yesterday. The bikes were being loaded and a few people were already waiting. We had to wait for a few more to show up, and then we hopped into two trucks and drove up the mountain for about an hour on a curvy, rocky gravel road with many potholes and washouts.
We were a group of eight plus two guides. Five French, two Germans, me and the Colombian staff.
For an hour we climbed, passing steep hills on either side with cattle grazing here and there, and meeting only a very occasional truck coming the other way, generally hauling milk cans down to market.
Eventually we reached our “staging area”, and after a short period of chaos, we all got our bike, helmet and gloves and we were on our way. They checked our brakes, made sure we knew to use the back one only, and said they weren’t too concerned about the gears, they said we wouldn’t need them much anyway.
Then we were off, downhill, 30 kms of standing up on the pedals, jumping over potholes, slowing down for curves and racing on the straightaway. Every few kilometres the front guide would stop and we would all wait for everyone to catch up. And we would take photos of the beautiful scenery.
About halfway, we stopped and walked through some sloping fields of “wax palms”, the tallest palm trees in the world. We came to a finca, a dairy farm, where we stopped for lunch and coffee, and then continued our descent.
After about 30 minutes, we came to a place where a narrow trail disappeared down a slope. This was the “test” to see if we were capable of handling the “extreme” descent. Five of us wanted to try it, and most of us stumbled our way through it, missing turns and slipping and more, but we all made it. My heart was beating fast, my wrists were already sore, and I was feeling an adrenaline rush.
We were told that there would be nine kms of similar terrain on the extreme descent, but with more rocky and slippery areas. Only two of us were interested in continuing, and I wasn’t really sure I should, especially since my insurance wouldn’t cover and cardiac issues. But by then they’d given me the shin and elbow guards to strap on, and I was committed. And the guide was reassuring, he flattered me and was sure I could handle it, and he said it was the most beautiful part of the route.
And he was right. I could handle it, mostly. If you call wiping out in the mud, going head over handlebars on a downhill (slow motion heistacop scheite), and losing my footing on a slippery clay descent and sliding down on my bum, making it. I made it. Almost all of it was doable and absolutely all of it was great fun.
And he was also right that it was the most beautiful section of the ride. We were in pine forest now, with a shady canopy above us and soft downy needles lying on the ground beside the trail. It really was the best part of an already wonderful ride. Unfortunately, I have no photos of this section, I was far too focused on making the next technical turn, keeping myself upright and keeping my bike from running off down the mountainside.
And when we finally reached the bottom and came to the truck waiting for us, I was muddy and sweaty and hungry and tired and elated like I haven’t been in a very long time.
