When I awoke before dawn in the dirty little port town of Turbo it was still dark, and I watched the silhouetteds of a group of black fisherman unload their catches from their long narrow boats. Turbo is in a large bay and across it the bay reaches up to the Choco region of the Darien Gag and then up into Panama. The light came so slowly that it startled me when I realized that I could see more than outlines, and a light pinkish hue in the East revealed dark clouds that meant rain, but before I saw this I could feel it coming with the heavy air. I pulled up under a wall-less cafe and watched the downpour as it streamed off the corregated tin roof and glossed over the dusty streets. I waited it out, reading, writing, eating fruit and fresh bread and sipping hot sweet coffee from a tiny plastic cup. So much for my early start.
The rain stopped and I was rolling by 9:30, and the first 10-kilometers were divine. Life sprung to action with the ceasing of the rain and I rode out through dripping banana plantations on supremely flat, beautifully paved roads. Then the pavement ended and my perspective changed. Life sucked! I was furious that I'd chosen this remote route to Cartagena up the coast when I knew all along that much of it was unpaved. The road was paved with nothing but rocks and potholes, and anything faster than 12-kph rocked me and my bike to oblivion. I was immediately as mud soaked to the core as well as from any cyclocross race I'd done, and I could hear, maddeningly, my gears and chain grinding away from the dirt. I was reminded of all the other bad roads I'd riden and had similarly cursed, and so I was frustrated that I hadn't chosen the easy route up through Sincelejo as was recommended to me. It wasn't long before I settled in tough and began to enjoy the amazing scenery: such a contrast to the Colombia that I'd known. Indian-like villages, African-like people. 110 of the 120-kilometers that I rode that day was over this sort of terrain, and I felt heroic when I finally pulled up in the dark to a beach I could not see, but the roll of surf was sublime. Within minutes I was showering and my order had been placed for Bandeja Paisa of fish with beer.
I´d pulled up to the right place: Alfred was an amazing host and his friends visiting from Medellin were equally as generous. For the next two days I camped on the beach for free, and virtually all my meals and beers were paid for by guests who fought over who would pay for me. It was an incredible couple of days, but I made up for these days of relaxation -- swims in the sea, food, beer, siestas in hammocks, repeat -- over the following 4-days in which I laid down nearly 600-kms through some of the most intense heat. These are days that I will remember: very long, very hot days with intermittant swims from sandy beaches.
120-kms, 170-kms, 135-kms, 120-kms, 118-kms... God only knows how many hours, but many days I rode well into the night.
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