I wander in to the next notable town, San Agustin, to visit the archaeological park and the stone sculptures of Gods and mythical animals of a little known ancient culture of the 1st-8th century A.D., carved in honour of the link with their ancestors and their spiritual powers. The ride in through a winding deep valley was fun and I stayed at a quiet Swiss-run place in the hills, setting up the tent for a few days. The lively market was also an interesting place to spend time chatting to old men over coffee and load up on soup entrees and a rice, vegetable and meat dish which the Colombians seem to do well.
After riding on and spending a couple days in Mocoa, an Amazon gateway town, I take off for the long infamous road to Pasto which I'd read much about, the surface wouldn't be too much of a problem as long as I didn't experience heavy rains. I left early on a clear morning and hoped for the best. The dramatic 80km path is known locally as the devil's trampoline, the road is continuously twisting and climbing through the valleys of the Cordillera Central, inclining 3,000m before finishing lower at Pasto.
For hours I slowly ride the gravel and dirt one-lane road, choosing my path carefully and listening out for trucks approaching the blind corners. I'd read a few stories about landslides and trucks falling off the cliff.
Gentle waterfalls and shallow rivers dominated the path, never too deep to cause a problem
A memorial to the Virgin Mary in the cloud forest, locals stop to light a candle and pray. From this point near the top my camera stops working, because of the humidity I think and I miss photo opportunities of the mile long hairpins hugging the mountain where the road meets within 30m on the other side and the cliffs which fall hundreds of metres. I cruise beneath overhanging cliffs and ride through the misty clouds which makes it difficult to see oncoming trucks, watching out for the faint headlights. They always seem to be in a hurry and assume I'll just simply pull over into the soft gravel on the road's edge. The summit at over 3,000 metres includes a police bunker and a coffee break in the light rain.
Sixto against the carved out Andes
I take breaks at the beautiful Laguna de la Cocha for a coffee and at a farmhouse with a sign for trout for sale. The lovely old lady invites me into her house and proudly shows me her trout smoking set up in the back room before I buy a large one for snacking on for the following days. Finally I reach the asphalt after descending through the clouds. I spent my last night in Colombia in Pasto, one of the most miserable highway towns I can recall - barred up convenience stores, rubbish littering the streets, vandalism, nothing but fried chicken for dinner, shady characters roaming the streets. It reminds me of the grim and uninviting highway towns I've stopped in when I ride till dark and stop at the nearest hotel sign - Yazoo City, Mississippi; Orange Walk, Belize; Guaimaca, Honduras come to mind.
Stunning Las Lajas church built in the valley in Ipiales on the Ecuadorian border
