With the bikes parked we joined the line for ‘Salida’ (exit) the muggy air making us feel sticky, this hadn’t happened in a while. Two hours later and the disinterested official was finally checking our documents. A small scuffle in the line to our left was getting a little out of hand. A truck driver, tired of waiting had pushed past the line and was now stood at the unmanned window only a few feet away and was demanding attention. Several guys had taken exception, and decided to do something about it. Sure we could have moved to a safer distance but ‘sod that’ we’d already waited for two hours. The arrival of two police officers with their weapons drawn seemed to quickly calm things down. “Ah well, that livend things up” Lisa mentioned off hand trying to make light of a situation that could have gone sour. It was time to leave.

5 km further on and the Colombian side came into view. We’d expected a few hassles and at the very least we’d prepared ourselves for a complete bike search. But no…nothing. The paperwork was a dodle and they loved the fact we had carnets for the bikes. Look out Colombia here we come!

Fast twisty roads eased us into Country 47. Every where dripping green foliage hung from fauna I’ve only seen in films. Neither of us said much we were too busy grinning like idiots.

A short way out of Pasto we’d hooked up with a Colombian playing on his shiny 1100 Virago. Fantastic we’ve now got our own private guide. With a little help we’ve managed to find a hotel with secure parking and even ducked the torrential downpour that had been threatening all day.

Dinner was courtesy of a local chicken joint.

The ‘catastrophe’ of the day.

This diary is being written (again!) two weeks after the events…why? We were having some real problems with the computer, enough so that we needed to repair Windows the operating system. Following system advice we opted for a repair and restore procedure. No warnings were forthcoming. No ‘attention copy important documents’ warning…nothing. Needless to say it all went very, very wrong. The procedure ended up completely re-formatting the hard drives. We lost everything. All the diary, the website, the sites I’d built for others, the graphics I built over the last 4 years, and our entire GPS track log and of course tons of other stuff. We will slowly account for the loss and trying and get back what we can from previous back-ups. Yeah we’re pretty suicidal!!!!!!

With any luck tonight we’ll be Popayan, one of Colombia’s oldest colonial city’s (Circa 1537). We’ll need the luck, without much sleep our concentration was suffering, both of us making silly riding mistakes. And mistakes here can’t be afforded. We’ve already decided that Colombian driving is some of the worst we’ve experienced in South America…and that’s saying something. I remember saying earlier that the worst were the Peruvians, then Ecuadorians….but nope…the winners in South America are the Colombians! They’re fucking suicidal! Overtaking on blind corners or with head on traffic they’ll simply sit alongside you, cutting in at the last minute when it dawns on them that their life is flashing before their eyes for a reason.

Buses try to overtake us and the vehicles in front when we’ve held back because it’s too dangerous! They have nowhere to go other than push us onto the dirt side or dip…!! Our language has become as imaginative as it has become obscene. If only there were more foul word to use, they us makes us feel better if only temporarily.

We left Pasto under a blanket of dark rain clouds. The Water-proof suit liners were already making us hot. By mid-day it was unbearable. Rain or no we needed to strip. Now our own heat was affecting our concentration. The change in temperature had been dramatic.

We’d have love to have taken more photos of this incredible landscape but with no verges or emergency lanes it was proving to be impossible to try and stop at the roadside for the luxury of a photo, we’d definitely be side-swiped and/or knocked over the edge by these awful drivers.

Popayan seems pleasant enough. A hive of activity even in the pouring rain. We found the main plaza easily enough and treated ourselves to a decent hotel right in town centre.

With the bikes parked up and our bags stowed it was time…for our first Colombian coffee. It was worth the wait. Strong and silky smooth, a good way to end the day.

We’ll head towards Cali tomorrow.

We got back on the road a lot later than we intended as we were invited to visit the owner of the hotels old colonial house just outside Popayan. This house was amazing….and had been in his family for around 200 plus years. Just like a museum.

We’d found our road easily enough when we left Edgar’s house, but we were getting royally soaked as the heavy rain hit and continued to pour.

We were having a bad time, Lisa’s glasses under her helmet had completed misted up and seeing out through the visors was almost impossible anyway. We were down to a snails pace and now concerned about the next idiot behind us driving into our rears. We’d already had a few close calls.

The route that should have smooth, fast and fabulous on a bike was now slick, slow and dam right scary. It was going to be a long day.

I’m not going into details, other than to say it rained non-stop. By the time we’d reach Cali we were soaked to the skin and cold. Our map of Cali was proving useless. Try as we might we could make absolutely no sense of the street naming system. Nothing made sense and the traffic was getting heavier. Well, it was rush-hour. Old habits die hard!!!

Edgar Senior had given us the name and address of his son’s restaurant in Cali and phoned ahead. We’d arranged to park the bikes over night in his garage and use the hotel opposite. Shit, we just wanted to stop. Manic traffic and soaking wet, this isn’t fun.

We’d ridden past he small exclusive restaurant twice and not even known it. Only with some good directions received did we manage to spot the aptly named ‘Mr. Simmonds Restaurant’. True to his word Edgar Junior was standing outside and had opened the gates ready for our arrival.

And, as he’d promised the small clean opposite was exactly that…inexpensive, clean and close by.

We’re both pretty tired, so instead of heading off tomorrow we’ll stay and try to get the computer sorted.