Day 6: Anserma to Riosucio (by bike) and Jardin (via chivas)


RideWithGPS Details     ||     Distance: 19.7 miles     ||     Elevation gain: 2584'

The last stage of our cycling trip was short, ending with an incredible descent into Riosucio. However, once we loaded the bikes onto the top of the chivas for transport over to Jardin, the day's adventure truly began and offered us another dimension to the Zona Cafetera!

       ***PRO TIPS***
   1. It's a short, beautiful ride but a LONG, LONG day (if you continue to Jardin)!!
   2. There is ONE chivas per day from Riosucio to Jardin. It leaves at 3:00 pm from the bus station. Arrive no later than 2:30 and brace yourself for one of those life experiences!
   3. Eat lunch on the bustling main square in Riosucio.
   4. Stay a few days in Jardin and explore! In particular, go see the rare Gallito de Roca  and support the preserve on the edge of town. 


Perhaps because it comes without warmup, the initial climb out of Anserma is the hardest part of this route. Once out of town, the route continues to climb for almost 7 miles. The terrain promises to open up incredible views although the ridges and valleys were shrouded in clouds most of our day. We saw enough of the surrounding countryside to be sure the terrain here is different than what you've seen so far on this route - it's more rugged and more dramatic.

After summiting out just past San Clemente, you begin a 4 mile descent to La Cieba and a junction of the road to Quinchia. Although we didn't add it in, turning right here adds only 7 miles to Quinchia and back to the junction. From here, you begin the last climb of the trip which goes on for 3 miles. The summit is home to a small tienda. Stop for a cafe before the incredible descent into Riosucio.

Once you're down into the city, you'll need to go right on a side street to reach the upper main square. Yes, there are two town squares in Riosucio and the upper one is the more bustling center of town. The square is adorned with several restaurants, cafes and the church, of course!

No bikepacking adventure is truly over until you load you bike onto some form of public transport. Bring on the chivas ride to Jardin!

We thought it best to take our own rope to ensure our bikes were tied down to the top of the chivas. We find a hardware store on the square and inquire inside. After a few minutes, the store clerk whistles and a guy comes out of the back and receives instructions. He motions for us to follow and we navigate to the lower town square where he escorts us into a clothing store and points to me. Several young Colombians are eager to help, seeing my clueless sense of fashion. And then it hit us, ropa is not what we need!

First: where to catch the chivas. Navigate to the main bus terminal. We found attendants for some of the mini-bus companies and one particularly helpful local that spoke English better than our Spanish. He informed us that the chivas would depart promptly at 3:00 though I have no idea how they can accurately predict that given the ride ahead of you! He also told us to be there at least 30 minutes early to ensure they had space for the bikes.

There's no ticket for a chivas ride. Someone will collect your fare at some point along the way. When it arrives, hand them whatever needs to ride on top (your bike) and tote everything else onto the moving set of wooden church pews with you.

From here on, expect the ride of your life. Upon cranking the engine and fastening his seat belt, the driver, followed by every other chivas rider besides us, made the sign of the cross to ensure a safe journey. That may be typical in South America, though it made us both look at each other and simultaneously gesture "well, here goes nothing I guess".

Our journey began by hurk and jerk out of the bus station and up to the main road. The driver hopped out, slapped hands with another guy who jumped in the driver's seat, fastened his seat belt, and made the sign of the cross himself. Whew. As we climbed out of town and hit the gravel road, which soon turned to a washed-out surface with massive rocks for islands, a helper switched the in-chivas entertainment from the radio to a thumb-drive generated playlist of vallenato (which may sound akin to mariachi if you're familiar with Mexican music genres) festive enough to make you forget what was happening underneath you.

The scenery is incredible and the vegetation continues to be more indicative that we're in a high-elevation rainforest. As the chivas bumps and chugs along, we see large tracts of planted timber, radiata pine to be exact, presumably destined for North America as stock to make windows and doors. Houses, small villages (ie. a clump of 3 houses) and fincas are scattered among the rainforest and commercial forestlands. At almost every sign of life, someone calls out and jumps off the chivas and you realize this is a daily excursion for the people that live and farm in these mountains. Every day, down and back. Without really stopping the wooden beast of burden, some young guy swings on top and brings down a bag of stuff. Presumably this bag was full of coffee beans on the way down this morning. At one of these stops, a man boards with his dog, a boxer. The dog sits patiently, four feet from the chickens scurrying up and over the bags of coffee beans.

And then it happens. We pull into some side trail, turn around, and begin to back up the rutted, rocky road for what seems like a good distance. "Think they need the rear wheel drive to pull up some ridiculous grade or what?" About then, the engine shuts off and everybody else files off the chivas, taking their belongings with them. Before we can fully assess what's happening, one of our bikes is laying in the muddy road beside a stack of coffee bean bags. Someone looks at us and says "bus". I see nothing of the sort, nor can fathom how any vehicle other than a tractor or tank can handle this road. Everyone that was onboard with us is walking up the road. We grab the bikes and follow our fellow passengers, leaving the chivas behind as the small crowd that was gathered there, climbs on for the return trip to Riosucio.

We walk ourselves and bikes, through the clay mud clinging to our shoes and caking on the tires of our bikes. Liane has seen her share of washed out roads as a forest ecologist in the Pacific Northwest. Nothing prepared her for what was around the corner. We followed a narrow, and thankfully short, path amid cascading mud, with the hillside eroded away for hundreds of feet below us, to the awaiting charter bus backed up to the other side. Now we understood what the guy at the bus station in Riosucio was trying to tell us - we had to transfer to a bus mid-way. It struck me again that the locals do this twice a day.

We were last to reach the bus, not knowing what exactly was happening. And we have bikes. The luggage storage underneath the bus is full with everybody else's stuff. The driver looks at our bikes, motions us to get on - but, dude, we have bikes - and then grabs Liane's bike, after our apparent look of disbelief, and carries it on board. I follow his lead. In addition to bags of coffee beans, etc stacked up, the internal cargo now includes two clueless gringos standing with their bikes. Three minutes down the road, an older gentleman yields his seat to Liane. I'm sandwiched between the bikes and now have the duty to hold them both from crashing into passengers on the rockiest road ever known to be traveled by a charter bus. I've never been jostled more in my life, nevertheless, while trying to steady two bikes in the aisle of a crowded bus.

The rhythm of someone ending their trip at every faint symbol of civilization continues as we descend the mountain. More often than not, these daily passengers are behind the bikes and I attempt to help them snake past or under. No one ever bats an eye or gives me a nasty sideways glance. And yes, I said under. The older man that gave up his seat, crawls on the aisle as I lift up the bikes to allow such passage. On the second bike, his shirt catches the chainring; he doesn't hesitate, continuing on. The subsequent sound of his shirt ripping as he crawls under my bike is one of the most remarkable evidences of privilege I can remember.

As it begins to get dark, it also begins to rain. And this isn't drizzle, this is a driving rain event. At least we're down to less than 10 people left on the bus and the bikes' handlebars aren't threatening personal safety at head level anymore. But we think we're still 2 hours out from Jardin and we're going downhill fast, in the dark, in the rain, on a washed out, rocky road with tree limbs smacking both sides of the bus. Although we're not religious, we may have made the sign of the cross at this point.

Finally, we see lights in the valley below. It's the outskirts of Jardin. The speed of the bus increases. The road smooths out a bit, then flattens. Welcome to Jardin.

At the bus station, we hop off the bus with our bikes and all of our bikepacking gear. The colors are vibrant. The sound of discoteca resonates off the walls of the city. This scene is 180 degrees from the previous 4 1/2 hours. What just happened? How crazy was that? Where's our hotel?

Jardin is amazing! In time, we'll add a page specifically dedicated to Jardin. Until then, plan to hike from town or do day rides along gravel roads in the surrounding hillsides. Drink amazing cafe on the square - seriously, this is the real-deal-Holyfield stuff. Party all night to disco. No matter what you do, you'll love Jardin!


Cycling past more coffee farms between Anserma and Riosucio

This is the Zona Cafetera! Bike touring through jaw-dropping terrain draped in fog

Cycling and coffee go hand-in-hand. We stopped for cafe at the last summit.

Arriving by bike in Riosucio

By chivas to Jardin - your bike travels on top!

 Ornate interior of the church in Jardin

Give the bikes a rest and hike around Jardin 

Overlooking Jardin from Cerro Cristo Rey


Visit the Gallito de Roca preserve in Jardin

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