Santa Cruz de Mon Pox to Sasaima

We’re staying in the old part of Bogotá, and as we wandered around, we found it to be lively and quirky. But let’s be real—the bus ride and altitude have hit us.

Tonight? An early one. Eyes are shutting!

"Babe, it’s like Christmas!" I exclaimed as I dug out long-lost clothes that had been along for the ride but never worn.

Bogotá’s climate was a refreshing change, like a New Zealand spring or autumn—cool mornings and evenings, pleasant days. No more melting into a human puddle like in the north!

This morning, we headed to Monserrate, a place Colombians hold dear—a mix of spirituality, nature, and culture, perched at 3,100m, overlooking the city.

We opted for the Funicular, a train that goes straight up the mountain. Only problem? Half of Colombia had the same idea.

Now, let me be clear—I don’t do crowds, queues, or over-sensory chaos. Yet, here I was, shuffling through a mass of people for an hour just to get into the ride. At least the views from the Funicular made up for it!

At the top? More crowds and blocked-off nature walks. So, we checked out the Basílica Santuario de Monserrate, took some quick snaps of the city, and nodded at each other—yep, time to escape.

Catch? Another hour-long queue to get back down.

Bogotá redeemed itself on the walk back. Stalls, epic street art, and locals connecting—this was the city’s real energy, and we soaked it in.

I was buzzing for the afternoon’s free walking tour, ready to dive into Bogotá’s history. We showed up at the meeting spot… only to be told it was cancelled.

Yes my bottom lip hitting the ground! OK!

Bright side? We drowned our sorrows in Chicha, the traditional fermented corn drink. Surprisingly tasty!

Another win? Our altitude sickness prevention plan worked. We’d been taking altitude pills since our bus ride, and so far, no woozy heads or breathless struggles.

And the best news? Tomorrow, we ride!

"Babe, I think I’ve been glutened!"

(FYI I'm gluten free)

"Yeah," Maree replied, not missing a beat. "You were letting off some pretty toxic odors in your sleep!"

Not exactly the ideal start to a day full of excitement—we were finally hitting the road again and camping tonight! But my gut had other plans. Cramps, exhaustion, and an ongoing gas leak. Still, I wasn’t about to let that stop us.

Unbeknownst to us, it was a public holiday in Bogotá. And on Sundays and holidays, the city closes its main road to motor vehicles, leaving it open only to cyclists and pedestrians.

What. A. Sight.

It was bike heaven—from Lycra-clad roadies to mountain bikers to families cruising on vintage two-wheelers. Bogotá had nailed it with this initiative, and we were stoked to be part of it.

We stopped at a biker-friendly café for breakfast—coffee and enchiladas for Maree, protein shake for me (my stomach wasn't ready for solid food yet). We sat back and watched the endless flow of cyclists, each one refuelling before hitting the road again.

Then, the climb began—400m of uphill grind. But what should have been a gruelling battle felt uplifting because everyone was doing it. Cyclists of all ages, backgrounds, and fitness levels powered their way up, cheering each other on.

At the summit, it was a full-blown cycling festival—music, cafés packed with exhausted but grinning riders, and that collective high of making it to the top.

Then the down hill to die for!! Yeah baby!

As we cruised along a young guy on a retro road bike cruised up beside me.

"Where are you from?" he asked, his English crisp. "That accent... it sounds familiar?"

Turns out, this was Sam from West Auckland—a fellow Kiwi, in Bogotá studying for a year.

"I’m off to find an abandoned cement factory that’s meant to be haunted," he grinned. "Wanna come?"

It was 5-6km off our intended route, but how could we say no? A haunted factory, a random Kiwi connection, and a little detour? Absolutely.

We pedalled together, chatting away in full Kiwi slang—something we hadn’t done in months. Even Sam, after all his time in Colombia, hadn’t met another New Zealander.

Halfway there, I hit a wall—gut pain, fatigue, the whole works. I collapsed onto a patch of grass, waving Maree and Sam on to chase ghosts without me.

When they returned, mission accomplished, I pulled myself together, got back on my bike, and we parted ways. Meeting Sam had been an unexpected highlight.

The rest of the day was a mix of rolling hills, winding roads, and changing landscapes. It felt like we’d crossed into a different country.

Gone were the cowboys herding cattle, the horse-drawn carts, and the rustic villages.

Gone were the bikes used as daily tools—instead, we saw sleek road bikes and weekend warriors.

The roads were smoother, the infrastructure more developed, the vehicles newer. But what we missed the most? The roadside food stalls and humble menu del día restaurants.

Instead, it was real stores and fancy cafés. Funny what you grow accustomed to.

Exhausted, we finally rolled into Guatavita, a lakeside town, and hit up a local supermarket for supplies before heading to Zona de Camping La Esperanza.

The family running the campsite welcomed us like long-lost friends, and suddenly, the day’s exhaustion melted away.

It was a perfect end to the day—beautiful people, a peaceful spot to pitch our tent, and the promise of adventure ahead.

Yesterday was a brutal slog—altitude, scorching sun, long miles, and my gut still recovering. By the time we rolled into camp, I was wrecked.

So today? We stayed put.

Acclimatization we will call it!!

A slow morning of mooching around camp turned into a surprisingly rich day of exploration.

I discovered there was an ecological trail and was keen to check it out.

To reach the ecological trail, we wandered through Guatavita, a place that felt… different.

In the north, we’d grown used to a certain smell—not bad, just distinct. Rubbish piles along roadsides, Coca-Cola-sponsored debris, and roadside burn-offs.

Here? Nothing.

No roadside fires. No lingering scent of singed plastic. No discarded Coke company bottles forming their own makeshift landfill. It was clean. Whatever systems were in place, they were working.

But Guatavita wasn’t just tidy—it had history.

We stumbled upon the ruins of the old town, complete with an amphitheater, a market square, and of course, a church. A town with a past, beautiful to wander through.

But on researching found this was a replica built in the 1960 giving the was submerged when the Tominé Reservoir was created.

The ecological walk took us around the lake, weaving through bushland that felt oddly familiar. Hebe, kiekie (like) and wild grasses—plants that reminded us of New Zealand.

It was a small but striking connection to home, hidden in the Colombian wilderness.

By afternoon, our stomachs called for creativity. With a bit of imagination, we transformed maize arepas into mini pizzas—a fusion of Colombia meets Kiwi ingenuity.

Bellies full, we leaned back, breathed in the mountain air, and let the our bodies relax.

Today was a good call.

I woke up feeling relatively good… until I started moving.

Oh, you’re still here, I thought.

It’s like an alien has taken up residence in my stomach—mostly dormant, but now and then, it stretches out and jabs me with its long, sharp toenails. That, and let’s just say my number twos have taken a turn for the fluid.

Maree suspects it’s more than a gluten reaction. Shhhhh I don’t tell her she’s right!!

Despite my insides staging a rebellion, the morning ride was surprisingly nice.

Pleasant temperatures. Pleasant undulations. Pleasant lakeside views.

At Sesquilé, we screeched to a halt outside a bakery overflowing with Maree’s favorite kind of goodness.

I wasn’t feeling up to food, but logic dictated that if I wanted to get anywhere today, I needed fuel. So, I forced down an enchilada, hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt me.

Before leaving Bogotá, we hit an ATM and ended up with 100,000 COP bills—great for a high-stakes poker game, terrible for small-town transactions.

We needed a bank.

Maree spotted an open branch in Sesquilé, so I went in, expecting a simple exchange.

Instead? Chaos.

People stood everywhere, desks filled with tellers, and no clear line to stand in.

I watched as locals entered, went to a touch screen, and walked away with a ticket.

Ah-ha. Step one: get a ticket.

Except… the screen was in Spanish.

I hesitated, trying to decipher the options, when a kind local took pity on me. After an embarrassing mix of charades and broken Spanish, she sorted me out.

Ticket in hand, I waited for my number to appear on the screen.

When it finally flashed up, I had to physically restrain myself from yelling, “BINGO!”

Stepping out of the bank, wallet now stuffed with small bills, we hit the road toward our next stop:

A 10km, 300m climb later, we reached Zona Camping Amanita.

The place? As basic as it gets.

A cow paddock beside a lake, no frills, no luxuries. Maree, however, was in heaven.

Why?

Because she got to build a campfire.

What a cool place to wake up—quiet, with the lake’s morning mood enveloping us.

Since leaving the northern human rotisserie (where we had to get up and on the road early to beat the heat), we’ve embraced a more relaxed morning rhythm.

The temperature hovers around 18–20°C all day—a sweet spot between too hot to move and too cold to function.

Our bodies still wake us at 6 a.m., but there’s no rush.

I roll out first to take care of business and put coffee on the stove. Once brewed, it’s back to the cocoon (sleeping bag) and into slow sips, quiet chats, and watching the world wake up.

This morning, Maree was extra excited—she got to cook breakfast over a fire, one of her favorite things in the outdoors.

A hot plate of Maree-made arepas, avocado, and—of course—more coffee, and we were ready to roll.

Except… I wasn’t.

Running on Empty (Literally)

I had no energy.

I couldn’t even push my bike up the hill out of camp—Maree had to help.

And TMI… my bottie was now running.

We made a call: Suesca was 20km away. We’d find a cheap hotel where I could rest up.

Near Suesca, we met two guys carrying climbing gear.

Climbing? In Colombia?

Turns out, Suesca is a world-class climbing destination, that only a few have knowlege of. They told us about Campo Base, a campground tucked away down the railway tracks, accessible only by foot (or bike).

Curious, we followed the train tracks, and suddenly, beside us…

Towering rock walls. Crags that looked perfect for climbing.

If I were a climber, I’d be losing my mind right now.

Instead, I was just losing my will to move.

Luckily, Campo Base Suesca was exactly what we needed:

A tranquil, well-kept campsite with all the essentials.

The perfect place to recoup, recover, and recharge.

“I think this is the most relaxed we’ve been on the trip so far,” Maree mused.

“Yeah, babe, super relaxing having to sprint to the loo every five minutes!” I joked back.

But I knew what she meant.

Campo Base Suesca just had that energy. Quiet, tucked into nature, with a small, friendly tangle of other campers—an American, a Bogotano, and a French guy, all climbers. Good chats, easy company.

Then came the bonus prize.

On a firewood hunt, Maree stumbled across a forgotten wilderness area—El Turpial.

We followed overgrown trails, crossed an Indiana Jones-style bridge (yes, showing my age!) and stumbled upon what seemed to be an old, abandoned campground.

Today was my turn to recover—a cycle of upright moments and deep rest.

Maree? She happily lost herself in the simple joys of camp life—fire, coffee, and the quiet magic of the place.

We were a little sad to leave our climbing sanctuary, but Sasaima was calling.

Maybe it was because it was Friday, but as we rode out, climbers were everywhere. Small groups scaling rock faces, more walking in, gear slung over their shoulders. The weekends here must absolutely ooze climbing.

Instead of heading back to the main road, we opted for a back route—rolling farmland, lush green paddocks, and actual fences. Down south, farming looked more "modern"—no more cowboys herding cattle or families grazing small flocks.

Then came our first hill—only 200 meters up!!!!

At the top, a tiny roadside café. While waiting for Maree, I found myself joking with the older man running it. It’s amazing how much more Spanish I understand now. First, he teased that I needed a cigarette. Then, when Maree arrived, he asked if we were married. I pointed to her and gestured to my ring finger.

Somehow, he took this as a proposal—to him!

The descent was glorious.
Until it wasn’t.

About two-thirds of the way down, I had to slam on my brakes for a truck. My rear wheel had completely locked up.

I hopped off and found my tent had somehow jumped out of its cradle and jammed my wheel. Lady Luck was on my side, If it had been 10 seconds earlier when I had been barreling full-speed down that hill, my face would have definitely met the road.

A quick check—no broken spokes, no damage. Just a lesson learned: always check your gear before steep descents.

And because the universe loves balance, Maree soon pulled up—a massive rusty nail stuck in her tire.

This is where tubeless magic kicks in.

I dug out a plug from my repair kit, yanked the nail out with my multi-tool, took a deep breath, and stabbed the plug into the hole.

Pumped the tire back up—
BOOM, BABY! We were rolling again.

At Zipaquirá, Maree found a route that would keep us off the main road. We should have known what was coming.

A 350m climb followed by a series of rolling hills all the way to Tabio.

After days of eating next to nothing (thanks, stomach bug), I was a wobbly mess by the end.

So when we found a not-so-cheap hotel, grabbed a couple of beers, and collapsed into relaxation—
it felt damn well deserved.

And the best part...we had our first hot shower in a month. Heaven!!

We've settled into a couple of new routines—as you know, a more relaxed start to the mornings and now it seems a brutal hill climb to kick off the cycling day.

Being a Saturday, we found ourselves joined by half of Facatativá on the way up—cyclists of all ages grinding their way to the top. It was great motivation to keep pushing.

And waiting at the summit? Three elderly women—they looked so similar they had to be sisters.

They were selling freshly squeezed orange juice, made by hand, to order.

Fantástico!

From there, the ride was a pleasant cruise with just enough undulation to keep things interesting.

Then we reached Facatativá and, trusting Google Maps, decided to check out a campground we had found.

Just one thing stood in our way!!

The hill up to it was so steep, we had to push our bikes.

And when we finally got there?

The place didn’t exist.

Ok two things!!!

So, we whizzed back down and did the sensible thing—found a cheap hotel instead.

And just when we thought the day was done, we got a little treat…

Another hot shower!

Two in two days? This was getting fancy.

I woke up absolutely fizzing.

Here’s your polished piece with a bit more flow and I woke up absolutely fizzing.

I woke up absolutely fizzing.oke up absolutely fizzing.

Thirty-five kilometers to Sasaima—thirty of them downhill.

1,000 meters down!

Yeah, baby!

Of course, Colombia wasn’t going to let us off that easy. The day still kicked off with our now-customary grind: five kilometers and 200 meters of climbing. But after that? It was all about the descent.

1,000 meters down. Watch out!

Eager to chase the thrill (and beat the forecasted heavy rain), I rallied Maree to get a wriggle on. For the first time since arriving in Colombia, the skies promised a proper drenching by late morning.

The descent was pure, unfiltered joy. The kind that has me grinning like an idiot, whooping into the wind as our wheels devour the road.

By the time we rolled into Sasaima, we were buzzing. Half an hour later, the heavens opened. Sheets of rain pounded the streets, but we were already tucked into our accommodation. Perfect timing.

With an unexpected free afternoon, we turned our attention to our faithful steeds—giving them a well-earned clean and tune-up. But the real highlight of the day? A chance encounter over a simple cup of café tinto.

While sipping our coffee, we struck up a conversation with two locals who owned a small farm. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, they’d invited us to stay. We happily offered to work in exchange for food and shelter.

So, after our ecological conference, it looks like we’re trading pedals for pitchforks!