III Caravan Eco Tourismo Andina Amazonica

A highlight of the journey occurred when we encountered a seemingly endless mud bog that stretched for better than a half-mile. Since this was the only route available we had no choice but to forge ahead. Between spurts of traction and wheel-spin, the variable-clutching afforded an engine-to-speed ratio which kept the machine operating at optimal power–freeing me to concentrate on picking the best line of traction ahead.

I could see dozens of machines scattered throughout the bog in various stages of distress. I passed one rider who had a desperate look of exhaustion in his eyes as he pushed a heavy African Twin motorcycle. ATVs and Motorcycles were scattered all around but I knew if I stopped to help I’d be hopelessly buried. There simply was no alternative but to press-on and hope for the best. Rounding a corner I saw a rider sitting on the ground with his feet extended flat in front of him…so I thought. When he pointed down I realized his Banshee was buried leaving only the tips of the headlights and handlebars visible! Yikes! The three of us managed to cross the bog without mishap but many of the other two and four-wheel drive quads weren’t so lucky. I discovered later that they were eventually pulled free by a tractor solicited from a local ranch.

The bog utterly decimated the Caravana. Nearly half the group, along with the support trucks carrying food, water and gas, didn’t attempt to cross the bog and instead opted to veer 20 miles off-track to camp at another location. The rest of us descended like a Mongolian Horde upon an unsuspecting Ranch who’s owners graciously allowed us to pitch tents in a field beside their cattle and pigs. That evening our group removed the worst of the mud by washing from buckets of well water. I didn’t expect dinner and made do with a grapefruit I found piled in a corner inside the ranch building.

A short while later the generous ranchers fed us a tasty boiled root similar to potatoes, along with grapefruit juice and stew. I was amazed at their ability to rustle up grub for nearly 60 unexpected hungry and tired travelers. After dinner our host used an old Ham Radio powered by a car battery to locate the other half of our group. They were still huddled around the radio when I wearily crawled into my tent for the night. They must have been successful though because the following morning our support plane landed and had brought much needed gasoline but no food.

We rode the remainder of the day with nothing to eat but grapefruit harvested from trees along the trail. When I arrived in town I managed to find a couple of young kids to wash my quad. For two dollars they formed a bucket brigade and began carrying bucket after bucket of water from their house to the street!

It was two days before I saw our support truck again.  I was glad I had packed everything I relied upon onto the quad. Our spartan hotel that evening was a welcome reprieve from the tent the night before although the hotel didn’t