It’s one thing to drive on rough roads, at least terrible roads are predictable. The roads in Colombia will ambush you. There are nicely paved sections for miles, then, all of a sudden, an unavoidable collection of craters show up. You get lulled into a false sense of security. Colombia was pummeling my truck’s engine and suspension. Progress was slow, but the views were incredible.
I deviated from the Pan-American route and headed toward Chicamocha Canyon, a dry, steep, cactus-filled landscape. Being on the western side of Colombia turned out to be a stroke of luck, as heavy rains had caused a massive landslide that blocked the traditional route. I continued on through Bogotá and visited the archaeological park in San Agustín, where roughly 600 statues carved from volcanic rock are scattered throughout the hills. That night, I found a farmhouse to stay in. My room overlooked their orchard and the Magdalena River. The next day, I drove to San Miguel, the last town with fuel and groceries before Ecuador. My room that night had no glass in the windows, just bars. I took a shower and went to bed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving frantically at me. It was a construction worker. He told me that the next bridge had collapsed because of a mudslide.
I was up early and at the Ecuador border as soon as it opened. Another success. The plan for the day was a six-hour drive to Porvenir, Ecuador, which is located near Cotopaxi Volcano. While a six-hour drive might sound long to some, at this point in the trip, it felt like a leisurely stroll. The satellite navigation in my Toyota had stopped displaying road maps and was instead only showing longitude and latitude numbers. That day, the screen read Lat.: S0°0'0". I had crossed into the Southern Hemisphere. I was feeling pretty proud of myself in that moment, but, as I turned a corner, I was suddenly faced with a massive excavator blocking the road. Not sure what to do, I started to slowly pass it. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving frantically at me. It was a construction worker. He told me that the next bridge had collapsed because of a mudslide.
I pulled up Google Maps to look for another route. The construction worker grabbed my phone, zooming way out to show me the way. He pointed to the town where'd I'd need to turn. I needed to backtrack for three hours. What had started as a six-hour journey turned into an exhausting twelve-hour haul. By the time I reached my campsite in Porvenir, the sun had set. When I got out of the truck, I felt a little light-headed. I was at nearly 12,000 feet above sea level.
Despite the unknowns, I continued to opt for the more scenic mountain passes. A few smaller rockfalls and the occasional crumbling road edge didn’t slow me down. I did reach a sign that read Puente Cerrado (Bridge Closed). My heart skipped a beat and I brought the truck to a complete stop. I looked around and noticed dusty tire tracks veering off the asphalt. I decided to follow them, leading me down a dirt road that wound through the canyon and eventually reconnected with the highway. In just one day, I had traveled from snow-capped mountains to the sandy roads of Huaquillas. Again, it was getting late in the day, so I started looking for a place to sleep. I found a cheap hotel with gated parking just as a collection of dark storm clouds rolled in. That night, the rain was so intense it flooded under my hotel room door.
