El Trampolín de la Muerte

The first time we heard a cyclist mention this name, it didn’t take us long to translate it and quickly put it in the pile of “Why would we bother doing that? Anyway, it’s not on our route.” Then the name kept cropping up, often with the words “must do” in the same sentence and it, like so many other physical challenges we have taken on, turned from a ‘No’, to a ‘Well...maybe’, to a ‘Probably’ and finally to a ‘We can’t cycle through Colombia and not ride the Trampoline of Death’. This was in spite of our knowledge, painfully learned through experience, that cyclists, and cycle tourers in particular, are very bad at admitting that a route they chose was more pain than it was worth and have a fine collection of rose-tinted glasses in every hue imaginable.

In addition, there were some other reasons to change our route from the Western spine of mountains to the Eastern, namely there was less traffic, better views and the Tatacoa Desert. By doing this, the Trampoline becomes a necessity to get back to the Western spine and the road into Ecuador.

In the same bracket as the more famous “Death Road” in Bolivia, El Trampolín de la Muerte has a cooler name and far fewer (none, in fact) backpackers on rented mountain bikes rocketing down it. It involves four climbs and descents, with the first half on gravel which makes it tough, especially coupled with the fact that it rains most of the time.

Boing, boing, bounce - the Trampoline's profile

The first day entailed climbing from 600m up to 2,300m and we set off out of the small town of Mocoa, enjoying asphalt for the first 15km which rudely disappeared as we exited a small village and the gradient kicked up a few notches.

The Dreaded Gravel Sign

Lizzie Going for Her Navigation Badge

It wasn’t long before it was raining heavily and we were pushing. The gradient, combined with wet, slippery loose gravel, heavy touring bikes and legs that, for once, didn’t do what was asked of them meant we were on and off the bikes for much of the first couple of hours. The clouds sat densely around us, occasionally parting to give us a hint of views that would make this slog worthwhile. Slowly but surely we gained altitude, stopping repeatedly to let the buses and trucks rocket past us - the 400m drops on one side seemingly causing them little anxiety; often there was no barrier as frequent landslides mean they are swept away, making it challenging for the Trampoline Repair Crew to keep up - we could see why the road got its moniker, proven by the multitude of crosses with people’s names as we moved along the road.

This qualified as a "clear" view in the first few
hours of the ride

There were several river crossings which
we didn't always manage dry footed

Although we nailed some

After a few hours, the rain abated and the surface became more favourable so we were able to ride the majority. At times, we could see the road snaking above us, in seemingly impossible places, only to find ourselves up there a while later. We passed an army checkpoint with a wonderfully cheerful soldier who was halfway through an 18-month stint manning this desolate spot; he told us the clouds rarely parted and it usually rained on him, making his optimistic disposition and laughter all the more admirable. 

A Moment of Cheer as the Clouds Begin to Part

Soon we reached the summit of the first climb and decided to call it a day, camping behind a restaurant that was serving the passing trucks in need of a break in concentration. As we watched coverage of the Olympics in a restaurant, 2,300m up in the Colombian mountains, miles from the nearest village, the clouds totally cleared affording us the most spectacular views back down into the valley, sharing with us the winding road that we had come up.

View from the Top

Throughout the day, this blogpost had written itself in my head in many different guises - at first it was frustration at the bike tourers who told us the trampoline was a ‘must do’ as my legs and early stage hypothermia begged to differ; this morphed into our more well-trodden attitude of ‘it doesn’t have to be fun to be fun’ and we’ll be very proud in hindsight; as we stared out over the amazing views at the end of the day, it settled into the tone of ‘it was hard but the views are like nothing I’ve ever seen.’

View Back Down to Mocoa

Homeless Man Acosts Lizzie

An Interesting New Toy
for the Chickens 

The following morning we were readying ourselves for the pay-off from the first day’s effort. The clouds had settled back in but it wasn’t raining. There would be less climbing, the tarmac would restart before the third climb and we would be surrounded by stunning mountain vistas on all sides - it was basically going to be like Gorillas in the Mist. 

No Gorillas, lots of mist

Sadly, my bike decided there hadn’t been enough ‘Muerte’ on the Trampolín de la Muerte and at the start of the second climb, my derailleur committed hari kiri, jumping into my wheel, bending and snapping off. It looked pretty brutal and we managed to flag a passing truck down - it was an Ecuadorean adrenaline sports guide, who had been scouting waterfalls and the like in Colombia to throw himself and paying customers off. Fortunately, there was space for us and our bikes in the back and we had a bumpy ride to Pasto, the next big town and the end of the Trampoline. The views from the truck were truly stunning and, although happy to be speeding towards a resolution for the dead derailleur, we were thoroughly gutted to not be savouring them in the minute detail you can achieve on a bike, as you crawl slowly up the hill.

At the moment of clambering in and installing ourselves in the back of the pick up, it felt like the right place to be; breezily noting the surface of the road, gradient, remoteness and so on, as we swerved up the slopes. However, relief subsided and frustration set in when we found a bike shop to resuscitate the derailleur and realised it wasn’t as bad as we first thought, and that we had the means in our bodge bag and spare parts bag to repair it ourselves. We wondered whether we should bus back out to re-do the route…such little time and distance had been required for us to join the ranks of those rose tinted tourers!

Depressed Derailleur

This has left us with a profound sense of disappointment that we missed out on some stunning, albeit challenging (bounce three and four on the trampoline wouldn’t have been easy - reaching 3,200 metres), riding. It has also left us second guessing our haste to flag a truck down rather than spend time assessing the problem. This was probably affected by the narrowness of the road and the volume of trucks passing, which didn’t make it feel like a safe place to perform open heart surgery on the bike; however, it probably would have been fine.

In order to finish our mourning and get some ‘closure’, we have decided to add an extra two-day loop to our remaining route, around the foot of a volcano, which we read has similarly spectacular views and is also challenging in that it has a lot of climbing. So, whilst we weren’t able to ride all of the Trampolín de la Muerte, we will more or less have managed to get the views and the physical challenge, whilst learning that I need to talk more kindly to my bike and ensure that he doesn’t try to pull a stunt like this again.