Termales El Pino to Cali

'It doesn't feel like we have just cycled 400m up' I stated as we sat in the hot pool drinking our morning coffee.

Both of us had no aches or pains, except for my on going left arm issue. It felt a bit surreal.

We decided to have a laid back morning, we didn't have to check out of our camp till 1pm. So why rush. Plus it was 35km down hill to the next town where we planned to get a cheep hotel.

We needed to connect so we could make some inquiries. Even though it was a while away the boarder crossing from Colombia to Ecuador was on our minds.

We had heard there were still militia down around the boarder towns. We needed to make it safely into Ecuador which might be getting transport. Stay tuned.

I think the 1000m descent from the hot pools was by far the best I've had in Colombia so far.

The road was like an intermediate mountain bike track, it was so in disarray. Oh, I was fizzing, it was just amazing.

It was like mountain biking through the jungle. Either side was a lush green. I saw hummingbirds sit in front of me and waterfalls cascading down. It was a beautiful sight as I flashed by them.

As we hooned into the first little village called Galanzo, all I could smell was BBQ meat cooking.

I saw sausages hanging, and I was drawn—like a mozzie to a headlamp. Next minute, I saw an array of meat on a BBQ and slammed on my brakes.

“Babe, look!” I shouted.

“What?” she called back, pulling up beside me.

“Meat!” I said, wide-eyed and already halfway off my bike.

There were ribs, sausages, and great slabs of something unidentifiable sizzling away. The smoke curled up into the humid jungle air like some kind of carnivorous incense. It smelled like heaven.

We didn’t even hesitate—we parked up and sat ourselves down on the little plastic chairs, already salivating.

“Dos platos, por favor,” I said to the woman manning the grill, pointing at the works.

She smiled, and within minutes, we were tucking in. Meat, meat and more meat—piled high on a plate. I was so stoked I could’ve cried a little into my chorizo.

After our carnivorous detour, we rolled on with full bellies and slightly greasy fingers.

The descent continued to deliver—tight corners, leafy tunnels, and that wild, humid air rushing past us like we were flying.

By the time we hit the La Enea, we’d descended nearly 1000m and found ourselves in a whole new climate—hot, sticky, and buzzing with people.

We checked into a hostal, this timehaving to convince the owner he wouldn't be arrested if me and Maree shared a bed!

"Babe wake up,” Maree whispered.

It was the first morning of the trip where my body didn’t jolt awake at 6am. A small miracle. Maybe it was the jungle descent, the altitude, or the BBQ coma still clinging to my bones.

Whatever it was, I actually slept in—and I think my body was quietly begging for more of it.

We wandered out into town, blurry-eyed, in search of breakfast. Eventually we found the holy trifecta: huevos, arepas, and tinto. Solid. Enough to get the engine humming… or so I thought.

From the get-go, my body was not playing the game. My legs felt like old bungee cords. My brain was foggy. I was short-fused and spent.

I reckon this might’ve been my toughest day in Colombia so far—and yep, I’m including the brutal 4000m climb in that call.

It was one of those days where every little incline felt like Everest and every corner a new curse. I snapped at the wind, my pedals, the road… and probably Maree once or twice (sorry babe). But like the bloody legend she is, Maree kept me going—patient, calm, quietly egging me on like I was a tired toddler halfway through a tramping track.

We finally limped into Santa Rosa and I was on my last thread. I didn’t even make it five minutes into town before I needed to stop. I slumped into a chair, a fizzy drink in hand. wondering if I was about to cry, combust or just quietly disappear into the pavement.

We tried a hostel. Booked out.

Tried another. Nada.

For the first time this trip, finding a place to crash wasn’t easy. But just when I thought we’d be sleeping under a park bench with street dogs, we found it—Hostal Arraigo.

It was magic. Clean. Warm. A bed. Heaven. I could’ve kissed the pillow.

Today broke me a bit, I won’t lie. My mind was cooked and my body left the chat hours ago.

But that’s the thing about adventures—they don’t just test your legs, they test your head and heart too. And sometimes, you just need your teammate to drag you through the shitty bits till the sun sets and you’ve made it.

And we did!

Today was all about the rest, recharge, reset.

Maree, being the absolute gem that she is, got up and made the coffee and breakfast. I just lay there like a limp biscuit, soaking up the kindness. Sometimes love shows up as eggs on a plate and caffeine in a cup.

We had a lazy morning catching up with the world—messages from mates, a few laughs on social media, and a gentle stretch of nothingness. Bloody glorious.

Later, we wandered into Santa Rosa and found the local market humming with life. Among the stalls, we spotted her: an old lady with scissors in hand, snipping away with precision and poise. Her hands worked like they’d been cutting hair since dinosaurs roamed.

And that’s when Maree made the call—the long locks were coming off. She’s never had her hair cut, ever. But Colombia’s heat was getting to her, and it was time. In a flash, the scissors were flying, her curls were falling, and this beautiful woman transformed before my eyes. The señora gave me a cheeky tidy-up too.

I played assistant, sweeping up our shorn hair while we cracked jokes. It was one of those perfect moments—language barriers be damned.

We followed it with a coffee and hit the fruit stalls for our beloved mangoes and pineapples. Honestly, Colombia is fruit heaven.

We strolled the town square searching for the elusive Kono ice cream man—but no dice today.

Before heading back to our hostal, we popped in to visit Karaarne, a lovely woman who helped us yesterday when we were a bit lost and homeless. She’s Colombian but lived in the U.S. for years and speaks English like a pro. We just wanted to say thanks and swap smiles.

Then the skies opened up and rain chased us back to the hostal. I got comfy in the kitchen and whipped up my legendary nachos.

Maree’s new haircut, the sound of rain on the roof, and hot cheese—what more could you need?

Today I got invigorated, inspired, and energised—by a complete stranger. But more on that in a minute.

First up, the morning. We rolled out of our hostel and straight down a street that looked like a mini Baldwin Street (you know, the crazy-steep one in Dunedin? Google it if you’re not from NZ). At the bottom, I realised I’d left my sunglasses—prescription, of course—sitting next to the water purifier. Not ideal.

Maree chilled with the bikes while I slow-marched my way back up to retrieve them. Good warm-up, right?

We’d planned a cruisy day, mostly downhill with some undulates—yes, that’s a word now—all the way to Cartago. The road was mellow, spirits high. Then, out of nowhere, a young woman on a motorbike pulled up beside me.

She was curious about our bikepacking setup and said she’d love to do something similar one day but was scared. We told her we’d stop at the next café for a brew and a chat. And we did.

Turned out Natalia is Colombian videographer with big dreams and a bit of self-doubt. We talked about fear, about how we still feel it—daily, in fact—and how that’s what makes adventures real.

We shared stories, laughs, and contact details. Told her that whether it’s now or ten years from now, she can reach out if she ever wants help or motivation to take that first leap.

It was one of those simple yet powerful exchanges that fills your cup.

The rest of the ride into Cartago was uneventful. Not much to report other than our hotel smelling like it had been doused in a bouquet of artificial toxic flowers. My sinuses weren't stoked!!

Oh, and one last thing—we've been chatting about what comes next. From Cali, we’ll need to be on a main highway to reach the border with Ecuador, and neither of us is fizzing about days of traffic and trucks. So we’re considering bussing to the border and kicking off our Ecuador chapter from there. Nothing locked in yet—stay tuned!

Today turned into a bit of a thinking day. Maybe it was the long, mostly flat road into Cali. Maybe it was the fact that both Maree and I went full autopilot and completely missed our planned turnoff onto a quieter secondary road. Whatever it was, my brain decided it was time to chew over everything we've been through in Colombia.

It actually started over breakfast.

I ordered my food in Español. Not just awkward mumbling—actual Español. The waitress didn’t stare blankly at me like I’d just spoken Martian, and when she replied, I understood her too. Nothing flash, but it worked. A month ago, all I could manage was a dodgy “¿Cuánto cuesta?” and then I’d blank out the second someone answered.

Now I can hold down simple conversations, order food, ask for directions... it feels like a win.

Then, while sipping my tinto, this older bloke in full lycra rolled up on his bike, sat down, and started chatting with us. We managed a good convo, swapping stories about cycling and where we were from. Again, nothing fluent—still broken Español —but it worked. That little exchange made me realise how far we’ve come since stepping off the plane.

Back then we were clueless gringos—green as. Struggling with the heat, the hills, the language, the logistics of finding food and a safe place to sleep. But we’ve ridden through all of that. And not just survived, we’ve thrived.

We’ve laughed, cried, climbed ridiculous mountains, nearly cooked ourselves in the heat, and still managed to soak in every wild, beautiful bit of this country.

We didn’t do the standard tourist trail. Nah, we got amongst it. The raw, unfiltered Colombia. And I reckon that’s been the best part.

Maybe I’m reflecting today because we’re reaching the tail end of this chapter. We’ve both decided that from Cali we’ll likely jump on a bus to the boarder of Ecuador.

Feels like Colombia’s giving us this last easy day to look back and say, Look at what you bloody did.

And honestly? I’m stoked.

Today we were back out on the main road, inching our way closer to Cali.

About 100km still to go—not that we were planning to smash it all today, but every pedal forward counts.

Roughly 15km in, we rolled into a small town, both of us starting to get that low-blood-sugar glaze in our eyes. Last night’s mediocre meal had left us running on fumes, so we pulled over to hunt down some grub. But here’s where things took a

Marie and I have both decided we have alter egos that come out when conditions are prime for a meltdown. Mine’s Laura—my middle name. Hers is Murray. And let me tell you, Laura and Murray are pieces of work.

They appear when we’re hangry, overheated, stuck on motorways, or navigating chaotic cities. And today? Tick, tick, tick, tick. Hungry? Check. Hot? Check. On a motorway? You betcha. Murray and Laura made their grand entrance. And when they’re out, it’s snappy remarks, passive-aggressive sass, and full-blown sarcasm. They bicker. They ignore each other. They are not good travel buddies.

So there we were, sightseeing in a town neither of us could focus on, both of us in a proper grump. Eventually, like a beacon of hope, we found a little eatery dishing up arapa and carne. Sounds basic, but it was pure magic. It made Laura and Murray disappear instantly, like toddlers pacified by snacks. Just like that, all was good again.

The rest of the day was cruisy riding along the motorway. But for both of us, traffic noise is sensory overload central. The constant hum and honk and roar gets under our skin. So around 1pm, we pulled off into another small town for a drink. Cold, fizzy goodness restored our spirits again—round two of the resurrection.

After the break, we cruised another 10km toward a town that supposedly had three hotels listed on Google Maps. We arrived. We searched. We looped the whole place. Nada. Zip. No hotels. A local pointed us back toward the highway and said there was a motel. Sweet as, we thought—beggars can’t be choosers.

We rode out and met three people in the fore court, clearly they worked there. In our best Spanglish, we asked for a room for two, one night, double bed. Easy stuff—we’ve got this down by now. But something wasn’t clicking. They were looking at us funny, saying stuff we didn’t quite catch.

Then, like a knight on a motorbike, a young Colombian dude pulled up. He spoke a little English and quickly filled us in.

“Oh no,” he said. “Motels are for... ya know... short time visits.”

Turns out, Colombian motels aren’t for overnight stays. They’re for, well... hooking up. Lovers’ lane, privacy style. Not exactly what we were after.

This legend of a guy offered to show us the one actual hotel in town—nowhere to be found on Google Maps, of course. He led us through winding little roads, and boom—there it was. Cheap, cheerful, clean. Perfect.

And the cherry on top? When we got to our room, not only did we get the standard bar of soap... but also a balloon. At least, I think it was a balloon. Shaped suspiciously like a condom. Is a condom a balloon? Could be. Guess that’s up for interpretation. Either way, cheers Colombia.

Later, as the sun dipped, we wandered into the town square. The place was buzzing—Saturday night fever, Colombian-style. Food stalls, icy lemonade, someone selling cologne (why not?), and a full-blown Easter religious ceremony in full swing. Candles, robes, sombre music. It was pretty stunning.

We scoffed some tasty papa covered in meat, washing it down with lemonarda and watched the ceremony for a bit. Neither Marie nor I are religious, but we’ve got big respect for others’ beliefs. After soaking in the moment, we quietly snuck out the back and strolled back to the hotel under a soft, golden dusk.

Full bellies, quiet minds, and the day ending a whole lot better than it began. Even Murray and Laura would agree.

Today was adopt-a-Kiwi-chick-on-a-bike day. But first—breakfast.

We headed back to the town square where the Easter Sunday service was already blaring across the town from giant speakers. The square was alive with that small-town buzz, and we picked the bakery everyone seemed to be queuing at.

We sat down, ordered our usual—eggs, and café negra.

We ended up sitting next to a mum and her son, who tried their best to spark up a conversation. Espanol met English, and somehow we made it work. After breakfast, we said "ciao" and headed off to D1 for some agua grande to fill our bottles before hitting the road.

As we left the D1 lo and behold, we bumped into the mum and her son again—this time with dad in tow, and all of them on bikes! They were heading to Rozo, the next town, 15km away. Their bikes were... well-worn, let's say. But the family spirit was strong, and it seemed like they wanted to ride with us. Bloody neat.

A few kilometres in, I gestured to the son, about 14 years old, to try my bike. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. So we swapped bikes, and off he went. The joy in his face as he pedalled was absolutely priceless.

His old bike clanked and cranked as I pedalled hard to keep up. Seeing him fly on mine gave me all the warm fuzzies.

A little further on, I turned toMariee and said, "Give Mama your bike."

Mama was on a single-speed rust bucket, with no breaks. When Mama hopped on Marees, her whole face just lit up. She was glowing, flying down the road, waving at everyone she knew like she’d just won Lotto.

I couldn’t stop smiling. Honestly, that moment—watching her light up, seeing the pride in her eyes—might just be the biggest buzz I've had this whole ride through Colombia.

Eventually, we had to part ways with our adoptive Colombian whānau. There were big hugs all around, a few tears hiding behind sunglasses, and then we pedalled off with full hearts.

Cali was only another 15km away, and we wjonehanging for coffee. We rolled into town only to find it was completely shut down—classic Easter Sunday vibes. Felt like 1980s New Zealand all over again.

Then along came Fernando, an older gentleman in lycra, perched proudly on his bike. He sussed that we were after coffee, signalled for us to follow, and began what we can only call the grand tour of Cali. I'm pretty sure he didn’t know where he was taking us, but he was committed to the coffee hunt, and we were happy to roll with it.

Eventually, we spotted a café and pulled over. We invited Fernando to join us as a thanks for his efforts. He accepted, and over tinto, we shared more Spanglish and laughter. Another serendipitous meeting. Another kind-hearted Colombian.

After coffee, we said goodbye, found our way to Sandalio hostel, and settled in.

Today marked the end of our pedalling chapter in Colombia. We've decided to take a bus to the Ecuadorian border from here. So how else to wrap up such a meaningful day? We sat outside a little tienda, cracked open a couple of cold beers, and toasted the journey so far.

From strangers to connections, from hangry alter egos to heartfelt hugs, Colombia has given us chaos, colour, and connection. And for that, we are so bloody grateful.