Almost unrecorded.

Short video test for GoPro 960.

I have also posted on Vimeo (http://www.vimeo.com/19314434). I compressed to about 15% of the original size to make the video a more manageable size. Let me know if there is something wrong with the video.

I know it is a double solid but this is Colombia! That brown smudge is a dead bug.

Day 253 (Monday January 24, 2011): Ipiales, Colombia to Quito, Ecuador

Fastest border crossing yet! 20 minutes on the Colombian side to de-register the motorcycle and to get my exit stamp. 30 minutes to register in Ecuador and to get my entrance stamp. Unfortunately, it takes me 3.5 hours to figure out insurance for my bike. Mostly because I get sent to four separate locations before finally finding a place that will sell to foreigner. At the final location I met an Ecuadorian family that will be meeting me in Quito and Atacames.

Nothing like newly paved asphalt to make a five hour journey take three.

Day 252 (Sunday January 23, 2011): Popayan, Colombia to Ipiales, Colombia (La Frontera)

Yeah. . . The views never cease to amaze.

The road is never boring.

Around Las Lajas

Las Lajas

Thank you for letting me park my motorcycle in front of the police station!

Day 251 (Saturday January 22, 2011): Cali, Colombia to Popayan, Colombia

Goodbye Cali. I will be back someday.

Popayan, the white city.

Day 240-250 (Tuesday January 11, 2010 to Friday January 21, 2011): Cali, Colombia

Although I have been itching to hit the road again while waiting for my package to arrive, the undeniably seductive atmosphere of Cali keeps me occupied. In no other city have I felt such a strong connection between the people and music. This connection makes for a lively, intoxicating ambiance. I am still consistently blown away by the openness of the people in Colombia. The people have an incredible amount of pride for their country. I do not blame them, I have fallen in love with the country as well.

The friendliness extends to dance floor (which, at times in Cali, feels like any bit of solid ground with the slightest hint of music in the air) and actually becomes a fun annoyance when trying to head home. There is always one more person that will ask for a dance. On one of my last nights out in Cali, after saying my final 'goodbyes' I was walking out the door and I feel someone grab my hand. I was really tired and wanted to head home but turning a girl down not only makes you look like a giant wanker but I cannot imagine is makes the girl feel great either. So I turn around and all reluctance is immediately pushed from my head. . . Along with all of my newfound salsa confidence and skills. In front of me was who I thought was the best salsa-er, in moves and looks, in the club (I knew because I had watched her a few times. . . totally un-creepily of course). At first I can't seem to feel the music. The distress I was experiencing must have been written all over my face because she leans in to my ear and whispers, "tranquilo." Somehow, that one word brings all my musicality back.

Walking over to check our papers? No, they just wanted to see the bikes!

Bjorn (motorcyclist that has been travelling around the world for two-and-a-half years), checking out a chunk of old road that dropped a few meters.

Lago Calima, north of Cali.

Day 228-239 (Thursday December 30, 2010 to Monday January 10, 2011): Cali, Colombia

I have no problems with others drinking alcohol until they start acting immorally. Since when is ones actions, regardless of the state of intoxication, not ones responsibility?

I started a run up to the Three Crosses that overlook the city far too late in the evening one day and by the time I was running back down, dusk had fallen. Part of the run goes through a barrio (slum). Most people I had asked for directions along the way had warned me to stay away from at night. Having completely disregarded their advice it was rather fitting for me to be stopped by two individuals and asked to hand over my hydration pack. They seemed like the type that would try to rob somebody if the opportunity arose but wouldn't go out of their way to steal something. I had run this scenario through my head before so I was fairly sure that refusing to give them anything would result in them giving up. I simply told them in Spanish that they did not want to rob me and they waved me past after a quick look at each other.

Salsa classes in Cali. Chichoky!

Day 226-227 (Tuesday December 28, 2010 to Wednesday December 29, 2010): Salento

The typical dish in this region is trout, made in several ways, with a flattened fried plantain. My favourite trout dish is made by marinading a fillet of trout in tin foil with milk, tomatoes, onions, with some basil, cilantro, and pepper over-top. Just thinking about it makes me hungry!

I hope the following pictures will show even half of the beauty of the town and surroundings. Valle de Cacora (home of the tallest palm trees in the world) is absolutely stunning.

Valle de Cacora

Coffee beans drying.

Doesn't do the scene justice. Probably the most quintessential farm scene yet.

I am sure some people have noticed a theme when it comes to pictures of me. I am always looking away from the camera. There was a picture of me looking away but since I lost the camera I am using Derek as a proxy.

Tejo! A heavy metal disc is thrown at a clay covered board with four packets of gunpowder that explode when you hit the target. The person who was in charge of the Tejo court that night, told us that we should throw from the halfway point instead of the full length because we were new. After thinking that I had enough practice I moved to throw from the full length which was about 15 to 20 meters and foolishly said to Derek, ''what could possibly go wrong?'' One throw later, I broke the light sitting above the clay covered board. Good work Glendon.

Day 225 (Monday December 27, 2010): Bogota to Salento

After reports of the trip from Bogota to Salento taking upwards of 10 hours due to re-routed traffic from the landslides I am anxious to get out of the city as early as possible to make it to Salento before nightfall. Unfortunately, the consensus amongst the five people I ask on how to exit the city was incorrect and the next few people I stopped to ask either didn't know of directed me to roads that were closed due to landslides. Two hours after departing the hostel I am finally on the correct road with a train of vehicles travelling at 15kph in front of me. Single-lane traffic and wide semi-trailers in both directions and constant blind corners makes passing to the left of vehicles rather dangerous. Good thing my panniers make my back end no wider than my handlebars  and there is a rather wide shoulder which most vehicles stay out of since motorcyclists are constantly trying to squeeze past. Still not the safest way to pass traffic since there was a wall of vehicles on one side and a steep drop on the other but after breathing exhaust from poorly maintained vehicles, everything seems like a good idea. After three hours of passing vehicles the road finally opens up and I get half an hour of  incredibly well maintained twisty roads with very few vehicles in sight, most of which being motorcycles that have passed the 20 semi-truck barrier that caused the delays. If I keep scraping my pegs on the ground I am going to have to buy new ones.

I quickly stop to get something to eat and purchase the best fruit salad I have ever had. Unfortunately, my camera is lost so I do not have images of the massive and delicious $1.50 meal. While I eat, it starts to rain heavily but that doesn't detract from the fun of the remaining ride. In total the trip to Salento only takes 6.5 hours. The power of lane-splitting!

The hostel Colombian Plantation House in Salento was full so they directed me to Las Palmas Hostel which was a terrible place to stay because of the constant damp, mold smell, tight quarters, poor facilities, and high cost. The reason I was directed there was because Las Palmas is affiliated by Colombian Plantation House which has given me a very poor opinion of Colombian Plantation House. After one night I moved to Tralala Hostel which was clean, beautiful, and owned by a Dutch motorcyclist.