About 2 miles out of town the good tarmac disintegrated into terrible gravel, corrugations and general nastiness. We had about 3 hours of daylight left and we were determined to have a swim in the ocean before we crawled into the tent, so we made a run for it. We were becoming quite popular in town by the time we headed for the peninsula. While relaxing in the shade, Roel noticed a flat tire on a tuk-tuk sitting in front of the shop… so… off he went to help the guy fix his tire and then he blew it up with his pump. The heat was getting the best of us and we knew it wasn’t safe to ride any longer given our dehydration.
We stopped in the small city of Uribia to get a drink and rest. Being stuck on the side of the road in the heat of day was not her cup of tea. After a few minutes of suggestive arguing, Roel finally opened the guys gas tank (which he swore was not empty), dumped one of our spare liters of fuel in and: VOILA!! The guy said nothing while his overjoyed wife thanked us jubilantly. It was nicely rigged with an odd wiring system, so that assessment made sense, but even after Roel gave the guy a new spark plug, there was no firing. The guy thought his spark plug was the issue. We weren’t riding for long when we stopped to help another stranded couple. And we eventually made it back onto some tarmac. We picked our way through several tracks, made a few u-turns and asked several more people for directions, or at least a direction to go. I was dying to take photos of women in what I would describe as MuMus, hanging out of their mud huts as we rode past, but it didn’t feel appropriate to do so, and so we carried on. We rode through town, and were followed by dozens of eyes. It kind of startled us, but upon our assurance that everything was OK, they took off. Not like, if the couple with bike troubles was OK, but if we were being hassled or robbed. Just before we went our separate ways, a 4×4 with 4 police pulled up and asked us if everything was OK. It was amazing that it functioned at all given how rusted it was, but Roel helped the guy get the chain back on the sprocket and even oiled it up for him.
The chain on their motorbike had gotten so loose it had come off of the rear sprocket. Just outside of an industrial looking town, we stopped to help a stranded couple. We waited until someone came by and we asked the direction to Punta Gallinas, and then headed off in that direction following a track that all but disappeared at times. No, the road just plain ended and tire tracks in the sand seemed to go off in all directions. Not like, then the road went from tarmac to dirt. But, we did manage to see some pink birds we convinced ourselves were flamingos for all of 10 seconds before Roel went for a closer look, and determined they were spoonbills. As we turned off of the highway and onto what we thought was the direct road to the tip of the peninsula, we hoped the formidable winds in this area would at least serve to cool us down. SOUNDS GREAT!!! It is also the Northernmost point of South America and holds claim to one of the most beautiful coastlines of the continent.
The Guajira is largely inhabited by the Wayuu people and we had heard there was little in the way of comforts such as formalized lodging, restaurants or gas stations. Soon we were eagerly making our way into Riohacha to stock up on supplies before heading into the wilds of the Guajira Peninsula.
We rode out of the small fishing village of Camarones before the sun rose and the anxiety and tension that had kept us awake for most of the night eased out of our shoulders.
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