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**Ride4Adventure** · #6 29 Oct 2011

Day 8 Guamo to Neiva Colombia

Good morning Colombia.
I got to bed early last night in anticipation of a long day of traveling . My sleep was interrupted several times during the night by a couple of roosters who started crowing at odd hours of the night. I saw the birds earlier yesterday wandering around the hotel courtyard. Not being a country person I did not realize that our feathered friends crowed so much at night. I thought they just crowed early in the morning. Maybe during the night they were feeling horny and were just calling out to their lady friends.

Looking out the window of my hotel room to the busy highway in front of the hotel I could see that it was going to be another great day for riding. I found my bike in the hotel lobby parked where I had left during the night. As I was packing my gear onto my bike in preparation for an early departure, the hotel guy showed up, he asked if I wanted breakfast, I told him I would get breakfast in town, he insists that I have breakfast here and that there were no good restaurants in town anyways. So I relent and agree to have breakfast here. There is another hotel guest seated at one of the tables in the breakfast area just off the lobby. He asks me in broken English to join him. His English is worst than my Spanish so I start talking to him in Spanish but he says he prefers to practice his English. I look down by his chair and I can see what looks like a set of canvas motorcycle panniers. There is another small motorcycle parked in the hotel lobby beside the Aprilia. I point over to the bike and asks him if the bike was his. He says that he is a salesman for an agricultural company and the motorcycle is the company vehicle he uses to get around. While we were talking I asked him what he got charged for his room, he tells me 35,000 pesos which is 5,000 pesos less than what I was being charged, and also his room rate included a full breakfast, so it just confirmed my earlier thought, I was given the special foreigner’s rate. As I got ready to leave I went over to pay the hotel keep for my breakfast, even though I knew I was being overcharged, I was not about to make a big deal over $6.00 but when I went to pay the hotel guy says to me that I used the swimming pool yesterday and there was an extra charge of 4000 pesos for that on top of the 5000 I owned him for breakfast. I handed him what I owned for breakfast and told him the gringo was not paying anymore. I get the rest of my gear on the bike and as I am reeving up the engine getting ready to leave, the hotel guy comes running out, he hands me a bunch of business cards for his hotel asking me to tell all my motorcycle traveling friends about his hotel, I nod my head and rode off.

To All International Travellers to Colombia

Hotel La Floresta Sucks

From the hotel to the town of Guamo was about a kilometer, the traffic on the roadway going into town was completely congested with large trucks and buses. I don not know if it is by design or not but traffic coming into any little town or village is forced to slow down to a minimum speed and forced to pass through narrow and congested streets in the center of town. Buses driver think nothing of stopping in the middle of a crowded village street blocking all traffic to unload or pick up passengers and cargo. It must of taken me 30 minutes or more to get out of Guamo, the entire time I was stuck behind half a dozen trucks that slowly inched their along the narrow streets of Guamo.

I planned on following Hwy 45 south to Neiva with a side trip over to see the Tatacoa desert and the the nearby colonial town of Villavieja. The road south follows along a flat river valley of the Rio Magdalena.

Route Guamo to Villavieja Colombia

As you drive south the vegetation is becoming more sparse and the land more arid looking.

I think I may of located JuanValdez's lost burro

After riding for about an hour along Hwy 45, I came across a sign post with the words Tatacoa desert painted on it. The sign directed me to a dirt road that lead away from the main road and to the direction of the Magdalena river that I could see in the distance a couple of kilometers away. I followed the dirt road, which after a ride of a kilometer or so led me to a little village.

Pigs and dogs running around road in Colombian village

The place was no more than a collection of a few cinder block houses, with trash strewed all around and dogs and pigs roaming about. I continued down the road that eventually ended a a few kilometers away near the water edge of the Rio Magdalena. There was a van truck parked near the waters edge and 3 or 4 men were busy unloading what looked to be milk churns off a flat bottom boat. I parked the bike near what appeared to be a large steel barge that looked as though it might of been used for transporting cars or trucks across the river. It was now pulled up on the shore and not in use. I remember later talking to Mike from Motolombia about this and he commented that the government was trying to set yup a car ferry here to allow vehicle traffic to cross the Rio Magdalena river at this location but someone stole the steel cable that was strung across the river to be used by the barge and dismantled part of the tower structures on either side of the river where the cable was to be attached. So the only transportation was this flat bottom barge boat.

I stood by and watched the men as they completed the unloading of the boat. There was a young girl down near the boat with a motorcycle, she told me that she was waiting to cross the river on the boat. The fellow who ran the boat came up to me and asked if I wanted to cross the river with my motorcycle. I shrugged my shoulder and said I was not sure, I told him his boat looked pretty small and my bike was big and heavy and that it weighed 3 times as much as the little 100cc motorcycle that the young girl had. While all of this was going on I could hear the men in the truck talking, they must of assumed that the gringo did not understand Spanish. I head them say in Spanish “The gringo looks nervous about his motorcycle, I do not think he will go across the river”. I ignored them and asked the boatman what the price was for the crossing, he said 3000 pesos then quickly corrected himself and said 4000 pesos ( $2.00). I told him ok, he said that he would be ready to leave as soon as the men were done. I turned around looked over at the Colombian who had made the comment earlier and said “The gringo and his motorcycle are going across the river”.

Video crossing the Magdalena River with my motorcycle

I went over to where the Aprillia was parked and rode it down to where the boat was beached on the shore. I still was not sure about how we were going to about getting the motorcycle loaded into the boat. The boatman came over to me and told me to watch him as he loaded the smaller 100 cc motorcycle onto the bike. In a very choreographed series of maneuvers, he put the bike in neutral gear and then expertly rolled the bike backwards onto the 10” wide plank, over the top of the gunnel then held it there while his young assistant grabbed the back end of the motorcycle and held it in place while he got into position to maneuver the bike down a second plank inside the boat. It all looked pretty easy and I am sure that he had done this literary a thousand times or more before

Boatman loading smaller 100cc motorcycle into boat

but that was with a 200 lb motorcycle, the Aprilia burdened down with the panniers and all my gear probably hits the scales at over 600 lbs. This could be a real handful to get it on board the boat. The boatman told me to get down in the boat and be ready to grab the boat when it was being rolled down the plank, he and his assistant would look after loading the bike.
Right away I could see that this was not going to be easy. As soon as they rolled the rear wheel onto the narrow plank, the wooden plank twisted and contorted under the full weight of the Aprillia. Time for plan B. They found a block of wood and placed it under the plank for additional support so that it would not sag so much with the weight of the bike on it. That worked and they were able to push the bike over the top of the gunnel. I went over and helped them position the bike and slowly allowed it to descend down the ramp into the boat. Success.. we were all feeling pretty pleased with ourselves, we got the bike in the boat, did not bang up the bike and or drop it into the river.
Boatman directed his young assistant to stay in the front of the boat and keep a firm grip on the front of the bike while I steadied the back end of the motorcycle. The bike laid on its side stand positioned in the middle of the boat for stability. Boatman using a long pole pushed the boat away from shore and into the fast flowing current of the Rio Magdalena. From where we were to the other side of the shore was no more than a distance of a 1000 feet or so. Boatman went to the back of the boat and started up his 25 HP outboard engine and started to head over to the other side. Instead of heading straight across the river to our landing, he instead navigated the boat upstream across the current, once he was about half away across he throttled down the engine and let the current carry the boat down the river towards his landing area. The fast flowing river was full of floating debris and numerous deadhead logs. I watched a few of these half submerged logs go floating by our bow, I can imagine that getting hit by one of these submerged torpedoes would certainly have ruined my day. It took less than 10 minutes to make our was across the river. As boatman steered the boat up onto the shore, I held onto the bike as he ran the boat up onto the landing ramp. I am not sure if it was deliberate or not but he had drive the boat quit a ways up the earthen ramp that was his landing area. The bow of the boat was resting at an incline of at least 25 - 30 degrees. Young assistant got out and attached the small wooden planks on either side of the bow. Boatman now tells me that he wants me to start up the motorcycle and put it in gear, from his position in the boat he will walk the motorcycle up the plan using the power from the bike’s engine, my job is to hold onto the bike from the backside and keep the bike upright as he coaxes the bike up the ramp. OK.. he keeps repeating to me that he has done this a thousand times and not to worry. He lets out the clutch a little and the motorcycle begins to climb the ramp, we get the bike near the top of the ramp, the bottom of the bash plate is now directly over the top of the stern of the boat, I am at the back of the motorcycle with both hands firmly gripping the luggage rack, with the bike now on top of wooden plank, my arms are almost at head level and the twin exhausts from the Aprilia are inches away from my face, boatman pulls the clutch out and twists the throttle a bit too much sending a blast of hot exhaust right into my face. Suddenly the engine suddenly dies and the bike begins to roll backwards down the ramp, I quickly react and grab the bike, I am now pretty much holding back the full 600 lb weigh of the motorcycle by myself. Boatman is anxiously trying to restart the engine, it takes him 4 or 5 attempts before the Aprillia finally comes back to life. Between the three of us, with me doing most of the pushing we get the bike over the stern, down the other ramp and onto terra firma. The land area was covered in deep loose sand, not the best place to be trying to maneuver a heavy motorcycle. The landing zone was only an area about six feet by ten feet. I climbed on the bike thinking that I could ride the bike up the steep ramp from the shore, but discovered that my front wheel was lodged in a deep hole. I looked over at the boatman and down at the hole, I did not have to say anything to convey to him what I was thinking. “ Why the hell do you have a big f*cking hole in the middle of your landing ramp”. Young boatman assistant, held the bike upright as I wrestle the front wheel out of the hole and pulled the bike around so that it was now facing in the direction of the boat ramp. I started up the bike and rode it up to the top of the ramp and to a dirt road that led out of here. Boatman came over and I handed him his payment for the boat trip and gave him another 4000 pesos for his efforts, the poor fellow practically had a heart attach in helping me lift the bike out of the boat.

The road from here should lead me south and down and into the village of Villavieja
One of the reasons for my crossing over to this side of the river was to ride through the Taotacoa desert. The Taotacoa desert is one of the most arid areas in Colombia. Tourist come here to view the unique desert scenery, giant cacti, strange rock outcrops, eroded gullies and valleys. The area is similar in appearance to the badlands found in South Dakota and across southern parts of Alberta in Canada.

Before I headed off down the road to Villavieja, I had to take a moment to recuperate from my recent physical exertions in unloading the motorcycle off the boat. The temperature down here near the shores of the Magdalena river was well over 40 degrees Celsius. Dressed up in my full motorcycle outfit, it felt like I was in a hot sauna. I should have really looked at getting some proper hot weather gear for this trip.
The hard pack dirt road from the boat landing led into another little village, just as poor and impoverished looking as the one I had passed through on the other side of the river.

At first I was riding along a forested road that eventually came out onto an arid and treeless looking landscape.

[url=http://www.flickr.com/photos/48473336@N00/5991788285/]

I must of arrived into the Tatacoa desert. For the next hour I made my way through this hot dry desert landscape. I stopped a number of times to check out the vistas and walk amongst the tall cacti and strange looking rock formations. I am not sure if it was because of the stillness of the wind or that the area seemed complete devoid of any life, because the area seemed to have an eerie silence about it. Standing there in the middle of the Taotacoa desert and listening to the desert around you, you would not have head the sound of a single bird passing by, an insect chirping or the wind blowing across the desert floor.

The road wound itself across the Taotacoa desert, through hills and dry out gullies eventually ending near the town of Villlavieja. Its a small colonial town of some 8500 inhabitants. I made it a point to small in town for lunch. My passage into town was along a number of small narrow side streets that led me to the center of town. I found the town to be a bit underwhelming, no impressive buildings or sights that made any sort impression on me. I found a couple of restaurants on one side of the town square. As I was busy with parking my bike, a few Colombian locals who observed me as I rode around the plaza beckoned me to come over to where they were sitting. The pace of life is pretty slow in many of these little Colombian villages and any event such as a gringo riding into their town on a big foreign looking motorcycle would be a welcome distraction to them on this hot afternoon. I took a table in the restaurant and soon found myself befriended by a group of locals. As usual when I get stopped, everyone wants to where you are coming from, how big is your bike, how fast is it, how much does it cost and what I think about Colombian women. When I tell them I am from Canada, one or two of them in the group said they had a relative in Canada and if I knew them. As I ate my lunch and converse with a few of the locals in the group around around, I found out that one of them had worked on the same the same off-shore oil drilling platform I had some 30 years ago, neither of us of course recognized one another but he remembered the names of some of the American drilling crew whom I had worked with back then.

From Villavieja down to Neiva is about two hours of slow riding along a narrow highway. Not much f interest along the route.

I was glade the finally reach Neiva by late afternoon. I plan on spending the night here. Again I did not bother to make an reservations at any of the hotels. I knew from a google search I had done while preparing for this trip that all the main hotels where located in the downtown vicinity.. Neiva is the capital of the department of Huila. It is situated on the the Rio Magdalena, about a 5 hour car ride west of Bogota.With a population of 375,000 people it is a fair size city.

Not before too long I found myself in the middle of Neiva. I rode up to a taxi stand where there was a group of cab drivers standing around and asked them where I could find a good hotel, of course everyone had his own opinion about where I should go, but it seemed that all the better hotels were just a few block up the street from where I was.
I circled around the downtown streets for some time before I pulled up in front of the Hotel Andino.

In front of the Hotel Andino

It was on a narrow crowed side street but only a few blocks away from the center of town. I left the bike parked in front of the Hotel entrance and took my camera out of my tank bag thinking to myself, what isn’t there on the bike can’t be stolen. The young girl at the desk was busy painting her nails and seemed a bit miffed that I interrupted her while she was performing this all important task. They had some rooms on the second floor for 30,000 $ pesos ( $16.00). She brought me upstairs to show off the room. There was a row of rooms alone one side of the upstairs. Each room had a window covered by metal bars and a large steel latched door. I have wondered whether this place was was used as a prison facility. Inside the room was no more that 8 x 6 ft in size, just large enough to fit in a queen size bed and be able to swing the door open. There was a bath and shower with hot water and a TV pretty spartan looking, but at least it was clean and cheap. I asked where I could leave my bike for the night, at first the young girl suggested I just leave it parked on the street, I looked at here and shook my head and said that would be a very bad idea. While we were talking a older gentleman, whom by the way that the young girl deferred to him must of been her boss, said I could bring the bike into the lobby and park it there. There were 3 or 4 steps leading up to the narrow front door of the hotel. The door looked to be only a few inches wider than the width of my handlebars. I position the motorcycle directly in front of the door and was able to ride into the hotel foyer without bashing in to anything.
I removed all the bags and side panniers from the motorcycle and hoped that nothing on the bike would get stolen while I was here.

The Hotel Andino I found was only a few blocks away from the main commercial area of the city.

Interesting looking Hotel in Neiva

Main downtown area in Neiva Colombia

The main street street in the downtown area is closed off to vehicle traffic. The street is lined with shops and restaurants, bars and the like. The street was crowded with people and as it was a Friday night, all probably out looking for a good time. I went out in search for an ATM machine and was able to find one only a block or so from my hotel. There is no problem trying to find an ATM machine Colombia, just about every town and village in Colombia has one. Likewise as for Internet access, most hotels have free WiFi access or a computer in the lobby that guest can use
usually for a small fee.
For the rest of the evening I checked out a number of restaurant and bars, did I mention how very friendly Colombia woman are in this country. Lets just say that I had a very adventurous evening
in Neiva.

Tomorrow I head down to San Agustin

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