| Rio Piedra Loop | ||||||||||||||
This is another in my series of big bike excursions. I’ve been scoping a possible loop route that begins and ends in Aracataca, but travels up along the Aracataca River, hikes across the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and then comes down Rio Piedra to Fundación, and thence back to Aracataca. The route is a potential adventure tourism trail because the loop follows one river basic up and another down, touches on the sierra and combines villages and more remote areas, or at least that is how it looks on a map.
On Google it looks feasible, but lines on a map don’t equal well maintained roads. The total distance is 50 km, shorter than my trip to the Cienega, but involving some steep climbs and roads likely to be less travelled. As in all my trips I asked around Aracataca if anyone has done this, but I can't find anyone. I'm not the only person to bike in this area, but the majority are farmworkers and I don't know who to ask. I have been over the first part of the route a couple times. From Aracataca I headed south a short distance on the road to Fundación, turning left on unpaved road going east through several kilometers of Palm Oil plantations, boggy with irrigation. This dirt track crosses Highway 45 (Santa Marta to Bogota) and continues east through a hamlet called Macaraquilla. This area, like many others, is a mix of hot, parched pasture that is not irrigated and smaller areas of irrigated crops that include palm oil, papaya and yucca. The unpaved and very rocky road climbs gradually over about 10 kilometers.
To this point there is a small trickle of travelers in trucks, donkeys, bicycles and mostly motorcycles. Macaraquilla has a K-8 school in deteriorated condition, a health clinic that hasn’t been staffed in a few years, a small and unannounced store that sells a few essentials and a collection of small farms. There is no village center. The river is not far away, but most of the area is extremely dry.
I take a right branch in the road and traffic falls ceases altogether. The condition of the road is also declining, with more rocks and sand along with steeper slopes. This section of the journey continues east, but is also beginning a slow arc to the south. I gain elevation in fits and starts, having to walk sections that combine slope with rocks and sand. The change in elevation is accompanied by a slight drop in temperature, but many farmers are burning their land which contributes to the sense of overwhelming heat.
This is supposed to be the end of the dry season so burning is a means of clearing old scrub in anticipation of new growth with the pending rain. Several years of drier than normal conditions make burning more an act of faith or a risky gamble on the weather. The risk is not inconsequential. My track winds up to an area called Las Cascadas or The Cascades. This is something like riding a bicycle up to the bottom edge of a range of mountains. Going further east would mean carrying the bicycle up a steep dirt trail. I can't tell whether there is anything beyond this front range. Unfortunately the track is also closed at this point by a barbed wire gate. These are pretty common and usually intended to keep cattle in rather than people out, but this spot is pretty remote. I called out over the course of about 5 minutes to a nearby house to see if I could enter. A dog came to greet me, but wasn’t very friendly. Eventually the owner wandered out and was at first confused by the gringo at the gate, but invited me to sit on his porch where we talked and I recovered a little from the heat and rough cycling.
Las Cascadas used to be a more active area with a better functioning road, more neighbors and more agriculture. A combination of social, political and environmental factors has contributed to the decline of economic vitality. The most recent epoch of political instability visited bands of left-wing guerillas and right-wing para militaries in this area. Local people were displaced even as other “displazados” arrived seeking safety. The government invested in roads to support security operations, but then reduced maintenance when violence subsided. Finally, deforestation and burning have reduced the water-retaining capacity of the hills leading to flooding when it rains and drought when it doesn’t. This farmer was the only person still living full time in the area. Others come on foot or by motorcycle to work their land. The road that reached the farmgate ended shortly thereafter. The farmer warned me that all that remains is a single dirt track with brush, some of which I could ride and some of which I would need to walk. He also warned me of some places I might get off the track. Others still used this route, mostly on foot or burrow. He said he didn’t go into town often as he had no money to spend. This is a pretty common sentiment in rural areas.
I pressed on alternatively riding and walking. The brush as much as the topography turned out to be a problem. The sticks and branches tangled the chain gears requiring frequent stops to pull them out. At one point the trail becomes much more difficult with a steep drop to a stream bed and equally steep climb out. I’m not so much climbing any longer as working my way along the bottom edge of the Cascades. I reached a very large area where three young men were finishing a large burn. As always it’s a spooky peddling along the edge of burning fields and hot cinders, but at least this one is tended. Normally I don’t see anyone, just smoke and ash. I continued on the trail headed down an exciting little hill on a very narrow single-track to a dry stream bed. Upon arrival I was flummoxed. There was no trail beyond the streambed. I was pretty nearly worn out as this was about the 25 km point, much of which had been up hill, hot and rocky. My phone's GPS showed where I was, but Google Maps requires 3G access to see detailed background. All I could see was a dot for my current location and what appeared to be a river some distance away. My two liters of water were about 2/3rds consumed, it was getting pretty late, and just to add to the moment, my rear tire went flat. I rested a bit more, wondering whether I’d be camping there that night or if someone would happen by to explain where the trail might be, but I finally decided to backtrack. I pumped up the tire, but had to carry the bike in any case as the trail was too steep and narrow for riding. I got back to a gate where I went left. By luck I met the owner who was arriving by another route and the owner indicated that going through the gate would send me on a much better road all the way down. The tire was already flat again.
I replaced the tube (always carry a spare) and enjoyed a bouncy ride through dry grazing fields and farms to a bigger road. That road marked my arrival at Rio Piedra (Rock River). A family living at the intersection called me over, introduced me to another family and before long I was sitting enjoying a “tinto” – coffee and talking about crops, irrigation, road construction and the usual things that occupy my thoughts. One farmer / land owner controls a large swash of river-frontage where he is replacing an older papaya orchard with corn and yucca. They also offered me a bag of water (the best way to buy potable water). It was a wonderful turn-around from 30 minutes earlier. The farmer's wife turned up shortly there-after and it turns out I know her, with us having engaged in an uncomfortable disagreement over water rights about a month earlier. She works in the same mayoral office where I am located, but in a different department.
It was really getting late at this point and I was still only about half way on my 50 km adventure, but I made a side trip back up the river to the village of Piedra Negra. Here too there are the essentials, one school, one (unattended) health clinic, one store and one pool hall/cantina. The river winds through town and is really scenic with a large boulder in the center from which young people were swimming. The store didn’t sell water, so for the first time in many years, or perhaps ever, I bought a bottle of Gatorade. I was shocked by how much that one bottle helped.
I headed down the next 15 kilometers at a quick clip bouncing over rock and sand. This is the first road I have been on that has kilometer posts all along the way. I was counting down as I pushed as hard at the gatorade would allow, making up for lost time. I reached Boca Toma and had another flat tire. Fortunately I was by an irrigation ditch, to managed to cool off a little and patch the tire. A motorcycle stopped by me. Because there is a history of armed robberies (called atracos) just about everywhere in these rural parts, I'm always on my guard. It seems pretty silly, but bad things happen. The motorcycle was having some electrical problems and I ended up lending tools to the rider so that he could fix them. After he finished his project and I patched my tire we headed down the remaining kilometer together. He was quite concerned that I not get lost again and wanted to show me where to turn. He invited me to his farm sometime in the future, above Rio Piedra, where he has orange trees. So much for being robbed.
I still had more than 10 km, but following advice, I took Highway 45 with a good paved shoulder. It would be an ideal place to ride, but huge trucks and buses speed by, creating moments of terror on an otherwise lovel parkway. With evening advancing it started to rain a little. I think this is the first rain in three months, refreshing but not a great time to be on a highway on a bicycle in the advancing evening. I turned off on a dirt road that crosses to the Fundacion-Aracataca highway and bounced back to the house as evening set. All of these trips are enlightening. In this case I witnessed environmental, economic and political changes, potentially maladaptive human responses, political battles, infrastructure challenges, and also friendly and generous people, and interesting venues for adventure tourism. It’s all at hand, but still a puzzle to be worked-out. |
