Blockade

The curse of the traveler strikes again as the indigenous are protesting and the PanAmerican Highway is closed.

It was a grim gray day Wednesday when we left Cali to drive back up into the mountains toward Popayan with high hopes that we might have our much desired spare parts waiting for us in order that we might prepare our van to go south to Ecuador soon. Rain and road works greeted us on the PanAmerican Highway. 

We were spurred on by a photo a fellow overlander sent us from La Bonanza campground. Our multitude of packages awaits, all sorts of bits and pieces including I hope an oil cooler and brake seals for GANNET2. 

Layne found the perfect laundry on the outskirts of Cali, a self service hole-in-the-wall with powerful machines, hot dryers and the ability to wash our rugs, dog bed cover and seat covers in addition to our mountain of clothes. All for less than ten bucks and operated by Armando who runs a tight ship and speaks English. 

Rusty got a good long walk around town…

…and we got sausage and arepa for brunch. 

Street food with a smile. 

And then back into it. 

This overlander on a bicycle with a Palestinian flag passed us later in the traffic jam intrepidly pedaling up the hills. 

And then we were stopped about eight miles before our turn off for the campground. Apparently the government has failed to follow through on a promise to give an indigenous tribe some land so the rumor is they are closing the PanAmerican Highway for two days. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. The usual Teutonic traffic discipline prevailed…NOT. I have no idea where they went but cars, small trucks and buses passed the stationary line taking cuts  in a clump of chaos. Oncoming vehicles possibly tired of waiting came hurtling north back towards Cali. The snarls were epic. A tow truck who started out taking cuts all over the place gave up after he forced himself in front of us for a while and suddenly turned back.  

This guy struggled to make a u-turn in his tiny Renault Clio Campus as clumps of cars and trucks pushing ahead blocked even his ability to turn.  We sat tight hoping not to get hit.  

Rain poured down out of a black sky, mist rolled across the mountains. Layne made me tea and went to bed. Rusty snored curled up on her seat. I chewed the steering wheel as we lurched forward occasionally just a few feet as despairing souls turned around and as I sat there I dreamed up horrible torture for the perpetrators of this insanity. 

How we didn’t see miles of accidents I don’t know. I asked a snack seller what lay ahead and he said people were driving for a gas station with a rest area. I thought to myself I can do that.  

So with my heart in my mouth I took cuts.  Notice how tight the trucks are in line. If I had met one coming I had nowhere to hide.

We made it and stopped just five miles from our turn off. I spoke to the gas station attendant and she said the blockade was past Popayan on the road to Pasto and theoretically we could reach our turn off five miles away. 

I spoke to a couple of truck drivers and they looked dubious. Not only did we have to negotiate driving on the wrong side of the road but there  was a police checkpoint ahead to protect the protestors from angry drivers and the police were directing drivers off the highway. Pretty risky he shrugged. We parked for the night. 

We had cereal for dinner and watched some TV thanks to Starlink and wondered what tomorrow (today) might bring.

 The romance of the road.