Decision Trees

Turbana – Tolu – Sahagun, Colombia

Colombia is the wettest country in the world, with an average rainfall of 3,240 millimeters – or 3.2 meters. For perspective, Minneapolis – which is a pretty wet place – averages .78 meters of rain per year – or about a quarter of what Colombia gets. Or, thinking of this in snow terms, at 10 inches of snow per inch of rain this would equate to about 32 meters of snow – or about 105 feet. Minneapolis averages about 4 feet. 

So you would think that water would not be an issue. 

Wrong!

I had been drinking the water in Cartagena because the advisories said that you can pretty much trust the water in big cities in Colombia – but in smaller towns, not so much . . . 

This urban/rural divide has led to a bit of a tough transition back onto our bikes. 

We left Cartagena and biked like 20 miles or so the first day out after leaving late because the kids had their flight delayed. No problem that day. We had our bottles filled from Cartagena and the ride wasn’t long enough to really put us in water-debt. 

The next day – yesterday – we ended up biking about 75 miles. And it was hot. I mean seriously hot. I know some people say it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. But in Colombia, it’s the heat AND the humidity AND the sun. It’s one thing if you’re hiding in the shade – like all sensible Colombians seem to do in the afternoon. Even then, it’s super hot – but it’s not quite as crazy. 

But if you are foolish enough to be biking in the heat of the day – basically 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. – you are going to be baking. 

And even then, it’s not necessarily that big of a deal – if you are slathered in sunscreen and you are drinking copious amounts of water – like maybe from a fire hydrant. 

Sadly, we were seriously off of our drinking game yesterday.  

A little parenthetical here . . . Some of this may seem obvious from your standard in-your-own-country on-routes-you’ve-biked-before point of view. But I’ve been thinking about how decision trees get all messed up when you’re traveling in foreign lands. Or at least they do for me. 

This water issue provides a great example . . .

Remember, we’re coming off of several weeks of drinkable tap water. Costa Rica, Panama, and Cartagena were all good. Want water? Fill your bottle at the tap.

And then mix in each country’s strange (to us) idiosyncrasies. In Colombia’s case, first, there are no convenience stores here in the way that we think of them in the States. For some reason Colombia’s gas stations have no store attached to them. Just pumps. No cigarettes. No candy bars. And definitely no water. 

There are little tiendas that sell some stuff. But they barely seem to sell water at all. And when they do it’s in these little bottles. No liters around here . . . Which is so weird – considering that Colombia has more water falling from the sky than anyplace on Earth. But whatever, that’s the reality of it.

Anyway, after having a nice breakfast at the hotel/truck stop place we were staying at yesterday morning, we head out. Now, usually I try to drink like a liter or so of water before we even leave the hotel. But with no faucet-fill and no liter jugs I probably only drank a quarter of that. I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing to order four bottles of agua for one person . . .

The problem just compounded as the day wore on. We would stop, get two or three (small) waters, and push on. In other words, not enough. But, of course, we didn’t realize this until later. After all, we were drinking several bottles of water.

And then there was another compounding factor: Colombian food. Tons of fried stuff – empanadas, arepas, these fried cheesie breadstick things. The kind of food that sucks the liquid right out of you. I mean, it can be good while you’re eating it. But then, three miles down the road you are shriveling up like a raisin – or, in this case, like a raisin’ in the sun . . . And not just any sun – we’re talking equatorial sun – which never takes a break . . .

As we ride along I’m starting to get kind of headachy and I’m drooping pretty good on the bike. But I just figure it’s our first real day back riding and we have some extra weight again now because we have our camping gear back. I’m just reacclimating . . .

Eventually we pull into the town we had originally been thinking about as our destination – San Onofre – which is about 54 miles into the day. 

“I guess it’s only like 20 miles more and we would be in a beach town by the ocean,” Diana says – probably imagining a refreshing swim to Panama and back upon arrival.

I’m drooping, but I haven’t yet entered full-on death march stage. Just enough so that my judgement is impaired . . .

”Sure, I guess it’s only 2 or so. Sounds like a good plan.”

So we keep going. And the thing is, there’s something about being in water debt that creates kind of an inertia. You would think your body would be demanding water and you would, logically, decide to drink more. Duh! 

But that’s not the way it works – at least with me. 

The signals I’m getting are more like: “Headache, tired legs, sore back, no energy, don’t want to keep going . . .” Nothing about water. And I’m in no state to actually think things through logically . . .

And the signals are getting a little stronger with each passing mile . . .

But, of course, a bad situation can always be made just a little bit worse . . . 

A mile or two into our extra trip to the beach town Diana declares that she has a flat tire. Especially irritating, because we just bought these super fancy German tires that are supposed to be basically flat-proof. 

But what can you do? 

We stop, we try to find a little patch of shade, we take the wheel off and inspect the tube. Turns out that we (I) foolishly used a tube that we had previously patched. The patch had been fine – but apparently it’s now so hot that the glue stopped working. 

At least it’s not the super fancy new German tires . . .

Nothing like adding just a little bit more time out in the sun and heat. 

My head is starting to throb – and with each new pulse of thick, hot blood I’m feeling less and less excited about the rest of our ride . . .

We go a few more miles before some operator error on my part causes yet another problem. We had been going up a hill and I was shifting down with the front derailleur and up with the rear at the same time. The stars aligned and the chain ended up completely wedged in all kinds of bad ways. 

Fortunately, I have just enough mental fortitude left to stop pedaling – so that the chain doesn’t break. We stop, and I pull the chain back into position and start up again. But now there’s a rapid clicking noise emanating from my drivetrain. 

We stop again. 

I guess when the chain wedged itself around the front derailleur I didn’t stop pedaling quite fast enough – and the chain kind of broke this chain guard thing so that now it is flapping against the small chain ring – causing the clicking noise. 

I’m really not sure how important this part is. Seems like it’s just there to guard against your chain coming off – but I’ll need to consult with Chip T or Dave P or one of our other resident bike experts to really know. But that’s for another day. At this point it’s about 837 degrees; I’m not sure whether that’s Fahrenheit or Celsius, but does it really matter? 

I’m in no mood for this. The obvious solution? Duct tape!

Fortunately, I have some of this magic stuff in our repair kit. I even had the foresight to re-load on duct tape when we were in Costa Rica; I had used most of my reserves repairing the homemade basket that I threw away a few days ago . . .

Wipe the considerable layers of dirt off of the frame, wrap the duct tape around the offending part – pulling it back away from the chain ring – and we are all good. No more clicking. 

We end up limping into the crazy town of Tolu around 4:30 – just as the worst of the heat is ending. 

You know how your phone asks about low power mode when the battery gets below 20%? And they tell you not to leave your phone out in the sun. I’m at like 2% and I’ve definitely been left in the sun. Systems are shutting down. It’s not good. 

Worse, the headache is now horrible. And Tolu – like apparently all Colombian towns – has the volume at full throttle. It really is incredible how good these people are at noise. Juke boxes at full blast. And I don’t mean American full blast. No, these things are all amped up. I think when they turn them on they have to have some extra generators going because these things each take about a megawatt to run. 

Add in the trucks and the motorcycles. And don’t forget the horns. Never forget the horns. 

Combine them all and it’s enough to make an already-throbbing head about explode . . . Maybe envision being at a concert where they’re pumping AC/DC from one side and Van Halen from the other . . . It’s just all blended together in a discordant wall of sound.

Fortunately, Diana goes out front to pull me along, and she has the map ready on her phone – so all I need to do is follow her cute little butt. But I’m not thinking cute at this point. I’m just thinking done . . .

I never did recover yesterday. Ended up going to bed at 7:30. No beach. Just me and my air conditioning and my pillow . . .

And that’s why I missed the blog report. 

So don’t complain . . .

Today’s ride? Beautiful. A little more hilly. But with a lot – and I mean a lot – more water. We probably went through fifteen of the smaller Colombian bottles in addition to the three liter bottles I managed to find at the grocery store this morning. We hate all the plastic – but not much you can do on that score. (We’ll have to have a whole garbage discussion one of these days . . .)

And we only went 54 miles today – very nice. We were done by 12:30 or so – and now we’re hiding in our little $16/night room with the AC on.

Which brings me to one more, related, note. There’s a reason that us Americans use more CO2 per person than anyone else on the planet. Among other things – like driving motorcycles, scooters, or horses instead of cars – as far as I can tell most Colombians don’t have any air conditioning at all. I guess they’re not usually biking all day – but still. It is HOT around here. No wonder they take their siestas. 

I know, I know. I should know my audience . . . Many of you would LOVE to have 90 degrees right about now . . . 

But all I can say is: Be careful what you wish for. When it’s cold you can put more clothes on. When it’s this hot there’s nothing to be done. You can only get so naked.

Don’t worry about us though. At least for now I’ve learned my lesson on drinking water. And we’re heading toward the mountains and a more temperate climate . . .

Any Colombian delicacies we should be looking for?

I did want to add one final thought. This post is mostly about water issues, and Steve S – one of our faithful readers – sent me this article on some problems that they’re having with the Panama Canal. The new super-locks are, I guess, causing some problems. Basically us humans are super good at wrecking our environments. 

In this case the new locks are letting in enough fish and water that ocean invasives are taking over Lake Gatun and there is some fear that certain species will make it all the way across the canal now – which would cause even more problems on the opposite side. Here’s an article that Steve sent. Definitely worth the read if you have become more interested in Panama and the canal, as we have . . .