Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Into October and the day starts early again, as we leave for the airport at 6.45am, having had a quick breakfast and thrown the rest of my belongings into the large bag I used to bring them out to Anchorage and which has been sat in the van since then. Crammed into 2 minibuses, the group, minus Aaron, Chris and Danielle who are catching a later flight (Aaron as he needs to go to the US embassy to get more pages inserted into his passport, Chris & Danielle as they're arranging for her bike to be sent home), Jeff (who's getting the van to Ecuador and flying directly there to get it out of the docks, as it's too big to fly) and Kevin (who left yesterday), are all excited at the prospect of going to Columbia...

It's odd, checking in at an airport after so long travelling and crossing borders by road. Personally, I don't like the disconnection that happens when you hop from one country to another via plane, as the transition from one airport to another is lame (they all look pretty much the same) and the sudden shock of being somewhere else, as opposed to seeing it change as you cross the border, always knocks me off balance. But here we are, sat in another airport, as I've done on many occasions with work over the years, idly surfing the web or reading and waiting, waiting, waiting... only this time, we're not heading to some boring conference or tedious meetings, we're heading into the country that strikes fear into the hearts of many – Columbia – home of drug lords, kidnappers, and surely a country we should be very afraid of...





Eventually our flight was called and we boarded, stuffing helmets in the overhead bins before sitting down to attempt the sudoku in the in-flight magazine (which I couldn't read as it was all in Spanish) to while away the hour or so the flight took. The landing in Bogotá, was just like any other landing anywhere in the world, passengers getting up and blocking the aisles before the pilot had turned off the fasten-seatbelts sign, then the long queue at immigration to get our passports stamped (some guys got the 3rd degree about what they were doing, I was asked nothing), and then the wait at the carousel for our baggage. All of which went smoothly, with no signs of drug-lords or kidnappers, just a few soldiers in camouflage suits (they were still easy to see, as it was jungle camouflage not airport camouflage). Kevin then arrived with a mini-bus and the local agent who spoke excellent English and we started ferrying riders to customs to start clearing the bikes, whilst the pillions went with the luggage to the hotel. At customs, there were more local fixers who queued up getting the right forms, which we then signed and we sat around waiting whilst the wheels of the big customs machine ground slowly on.... and on... and then we were evacuated from the building as a test, joining all the local workers on the grass whilst we were counted before going back inside and waiting some more...

Finally we got to sign the permits and then it was time to go over to the warehouse to get another form completed and signed before being re-united with our bikes. The warehouse was designed to handle normal freight, that is taken from the aircraft through the warehouse and loaded directly into the back of trucks, so the warehouse floor is at the height of the truck's cargo floor, meaning that we had to ride the bikes down a corridor, round a 90-degree turn and then down some stairs outside into the car park... once again I found myself laughing at the absurdity of things we have to do with our bikes...





We all managed to get our bikes down the stairs without incident, Jim's Suzuki's ground clearance the only minor issue, but when Nigel went to park up he clipped Julia's bike with his panniers and toppled over in the car park (having done the same at the golf club, and in the underground car park at Zacatecas he's now known as “car park Nigel”)....





We then rode our bikes through the rush-hour traffic of downtown Bogotá, the streets full of little yellow taxis all changing lanes like they were scooters, and scooters playing chicken weaving in and out of the traffic, whilst we rode like London couriers, trying to keep Kevin in sight (he was the only one who knew how to get to the hotel). We all arrived safely and parked the bikes in the underground car park before checking in and hitting the bar for a much needed beer (or two).

We were expecting to meet the Bogotá Boys – Tony Mac, Non-Santa Phil, Simon and Pertti Pigg (yes, that's his real name, he's Finnish) – who are joining our group here for the ride to Ushuaia and on to Buenos Aires. They had flown in yesterday and gone to customs at 8am this morning to get their bikes, which had been flown direct from the UK. Seems they got the one awkward Columbian customs guy, as it took them until gone 5pm to get their bikes cleared, then they all got lost trying to find the hotel, with Simon last to arrive at 7.45pm... So whilst most of our group had gone into town to eat, Nick, Gerald and I stayed with the new arrivals and caught a couple of taxis to a steak restaurant nearby, where we had an excellent meal and a good chin-wag, before returning to the hotel for one last beer (from Simon's mini-bar as the hotel bar had inexplicably closed) and off to bed...





And we still hadn't been kidnapped or seen any drug barons...