Project VELAIA

So after spending 2 hours on the Plaza in Malaga, enjoying the friendly and communicative people and deeply breathing the atmosphere of this small town in the mountains we got going again, starting into a long downhill, passing SAN JOSE DE MIRANDA after five minutes and descending faster and faster on a steep road towards Tipacoque. But not too fast! Elmar’s break pads had been through and we had to stop and exchange them - you don’t wanna go into a steep downhill on a pretty bad road with no power on the brakes!

The countryside changed dramatically again, descending down from the green fields and green trees into a valley where cacti grow and people dry tobacco plant leaves. Down in the valley on 1200 m altitude it’s hot, there are no trees but bushes and a lot of brown soil.

In Tipacoque we had a short lunch dinner and tried to sit out the heat in the restaurant and make it less wearying by drinking a lot of cold drinks.

But we hadn’t been in the valley to stay: just after the village we cycled on a bridge leading over a small river. In the corner after the bridge there was a fat layer of dust on the road, 5 to 10 centimeters at times. This reminded me a lot of the situations in parts of Kyrgyzstan and Tibet, only the color was a bit more brownish, not the same gray I had a year ago in the Pamirs and on the Tibetan plateau.

Climbing up the western side of the valley we got a few nice views, especially when suddenly (after one hour of climbing of course) a vertical wall appeared falling down 200 m into the valley. We continued a bit further along this wall to our left and found a nice spot to pitch the tent, just 50 meters away from the vertical drop on a part of a previous version of the road we’d been on. But we were not alone: A friendly farmer, his wife and friend and a dozen cows were curious about the strangers with the strange bike and watched us pitch the tent and cook dinner.

Just in time to watch us bring down the tent the next morning the friendly old farmer came back from the nearby village. In many other nations, especially the western developed countries it’d be unimaginable to just take off one or two hours from work, but down here in South America life goes at a different pace with obviously different priorities - an observation we’ve made several times now. If people are interested they just interrupt their work for a while, watch us pass, shout a few questions (mostly “de donde van” and “de donde son ustedes” - they want to know where we’re from, like the “atcudda” that still echos through my head from passing Uzbekistan) and wave as a small thank you for the change in their probably often quite monotone workday. The policemen change their schedule to see us cycle by a second and sometimes even a third time and car drivers stop, turn around or even follow us at a slow speed.

One especially for my father on the recumbent extremely annoying thing is the continuous usage of their horns to draw our attention towards them. But I have to admit that I’m impressed by the endurance with which my father still explains everything to every interested person in detail: Maybe it was similar with me but by the time I had arrived in China my patience had gone down extremely and the only things I continued explaining to the Uyghur, Tibetans, Chinese and Mongolians were the strange pedals and the “san” (three) headlights. I wonder whether that’ll change during the next few months of cycling. The way Elmar holds out his left hand while cycling reminds me a lot to the pope in his special “Papamobil” when taking a bath in the masses

Sitting in a small cafe at the morning a young neighbor boy had birthday and got a big present: a bicycle! The only problem was they couldn’t find a pump … so I had to help out with my small one and inflate the tires. But something still didn’t work out and two soldiers sitting nearby took part in getting the bike going - at the end 8 or 10 people stood around and participated in getting the bike going!

To refill our water reserves we bought a “5 litros bolsa de agua” - yes, true, they are selling their water, juices and sometimes even milk in bags. Water comes in 300 or 350 ml and 5 l bags and milk in 450 or 900 ml bags. Later on in Soata we bought a lot of fruits for refilling our energy storage on the road and filled up a last time in Susacon, now on 2600 m altitude already.

(election advertisement between cacti)

But the day was not over yet! We heard loud bangs from the mountain in front of us and pessimists could have thought the FARC, the major guerilla group in Colombia, would attack - far away from that! A group of men were throwing hand sized metal cups towards a target, namely a box aligned in a 45 degree angle and filled with mud. In the center of the mud there was some kind of explosive that caused the bang when hit.

The day ended on 3400 m altitude in a wide valley. We put the tent on a green field next to a farmer house and hoped for a reviving night. But it was not that easy! One of the dogs of the family we camped beside was totally upset with us pitching the tent in his empire and when we’d just finished dinner and writing diaries the dog approached us barking with no end. When he came to close I got up and threw a massive stone after him. But that only brought temporary relief and only 5 minutes later he came even closer to the tent. Elmar was right when he said to me that he might bit the tent and damage it thereby, so I got up a second time and swore to myself that this time I would do the job right. So I chased the beast for 10 minutes in the wet and cold night, throwing all the stones I could get in my hand. I was so angry about this monster stealing my sleep that I fired the stones after him like from a machine gun. Finally when he had fled several times around the house and decided that that wouldn’t increase the distance between the two of us he ran away and I could only see the reflections from my LED headlight in his eyes - not a K.O. but I was definitely the winner! Silence.

Unbelievable! Just 2 hours after starting the next day another beast declared war with us, but I still had some of the totally “unbuddhis” dog-hate from last nights devil in my heart and already 3 spare stones in my pockets. I managed to land all three stones in the dog, a 3 - 0 win, strike!

Somehow we had the 150 000 city of Tunja as a unspoken target, but we didn’t know what’s been in front of us: 1400 altimeters with an unending up and down, 70 km of road works and extremely crazy drivers, dark congestion clouds from factories beside the road and as if that was not enough my father hit the wall (”Hungerast” in German) and we had to do a quick “cookie recharge” beside the road as there was no restaurant for miles and miles! The altimeter didn’t show 1400 altimeters but 46 4000! And that was only after it had hit the 99 999 altimeters 10 minutes before arriving at the restaurant - the reason for that: almost empty batteries of the VDO MC1.0 caused the altimeter to disfunction.

Half an hour after dark we eventually made it into the city center and inspected two hotels. Dad decided to stay in the Hunza hotel and I was absolutely fine with that decision: a 4 star hotel with warm water like from a waterfall, almost like a water massage! The room was big and we had a nice view on the western part of the city. And breakfast was included, so we had something to dream from during the long night

And we ordered a vegetarian family pizza, bigger than my father, together with 1.65 l of pepsi to the room and wolfed more than two thirds of it down within an hour - what a filling experience.

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