The road ahead twisted and coiled like a serpent, cutting through the mountains with an audacious defiance. Our bike, a throbbing beast of metal and rubber, growled beneath us as it echoed against the cliff faces, the sound tumbling into the abyss below. The sun blazed high, a golden orb in the sky, banishing the memory of the morning’s rain. The air was now crisp, the sky an endless canvas of bright azul, and the world around us seemed to shimmer with renewed life.
We carved our way through the curves, ascending and descending the rugged terrain with the jungle pressing in close, so close it felt like the verdant tendrils might reach out and pull us in. The road dipped, and suddenly we were in the valley, the mountains retreating to reveal a patchwork of vineyards and farmland. The highway, lined with sentinel trees, stretched out before us, and we pushed on, our speedometer hovering at 100 kph. But even that felt like a crawl when the buses roared past, belching thick plumes of black smoke that forced us to swerve, choking and coughing in their wake.
My wife’s hand tapped urgently on my shoulder—a signal that needed no translation. She wasn’t thrilled with my attempts to overtake the lumbering trucks. The old bike, vibrating with every ounce of speed, seemed on the verge of shaking itself apart at 120 kph. Her anxiety was palpable, and finally, she had enough. We pulled over, the engine’s roar fading into the distance as I tried to explain—this was the bike’s nature, not our reckless intent. But she needed a moment, and I couldn’t blame her.
We were tantalizingly close to Donkey Sunrise, our destination and the crown jewel of this journey. This wasn’t just a stop; it was the reason we were on this road at all. Nestled in the south near Cali, Colombia, Donkey Sunrise was a sanctuary for riders, a place where the road-worn could rest and recharge. As we rolled up to the iron gates, they swung open with a welcoming creak, revealing a hidden world of lush gardens and an outdoor kitchen that smelled like home. Tim, our host, greeted us with a grin, the kind that told you he’d seen his fair share of the road.
After we settled in, Tim organized a ride into town—nothing fancy, just a beat-up truck bouncing along dusty roads, but it felt like luxury after a day on the bike. We pulled into a food truck court, one of those local spots where everyone knows your name, and dinner was a lively affair. The servers treated us like old friends, and the night was filled with the kind of stories that only emerge after a day of hard riding and a few cold beers.
Donkey Sunrise was everything I had imagined, and more. Tim was eager to show us around, proud of what he and his crew had built. The place had a little bit of everything—a cozy garden to relax in, hearty lunches that hit the spot, and rides that could keep you busy for days. We stayed for two nights, though I could have easily lost myself here for a week. As we prepared to leave, Tim gave us a parting gift—directions to a route that included a cable ferry crossing. It was a tip only a seasoned rider would know, and I couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead.
Our journey north took us east, over the towering mountains toward the sprawling city of Medellín. We made a pit stop in Pereira, a city with no tourist traps, just real life in all its unvarnished glory. The hotel was simple, clean, with a parking spot for the bike—a rare luxury in these parts. Our first room was a stuffy, windowless box, but the cleaning lady took pity on us, suggesting a move to the third floor where a balcony awaited. That balcony became our theater, overlooking the street below where life unfolded in all its chaotic splendor. Cars rumbled by with Latin beats spilling from open windows, locals strolled along the sidewalks, and we watched it all from our perch, glasses of wine in hand. It was one of those rare moments, the kind that slips into your memory and refuses to let go.
The next morning, we had a short ride ahead—just a few hours through the mountains to a hot springs retreat. For the princely sum of $56 USD, we found ourselves in a world of luxury that would have cost ten times that back home. We soaked the road from our bones, the hot water seeping into every ache and pain until the miles melted away. The day drifted by in a lazy haze, and even though the dinner at the on-site restaurant was nothing to write home about, it didn’t matter. We had each other, and that was more than enough.
We set off before dawn the next day, the air crisp and cool as we climbed back into the mountains. The road rose and fell like a wave, and soon we were perched high above the valley, the hot springs a distant memory. My GPS showed a strange loop ahead, a perfect circle of highway suspended in the sky. As we rounded the loop, it felt like we were riding on a Hot Wheels track, the road spiraling up and around before plunging us into the darkness of a tunnel. We emerged on the other side, greeted by the wet mist of a steaming jungle, and rolled downhill in a series of swooping S-curves. The town below appeared as if by magic, welcoming us with open arms as we thumped our way into its heart, ready for whatever lay ahead.
To be continued.....
Read more about Donkey Sunrise Here.
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