Learning to Love a Mountain: Scarab’s Sixth Anniversary Ride Up El Sifón
Oct 11, 2024
Learning to Love a Mountain
As Colombians, we are permanently exposed to mountains—our lives revolve around them. Mountains in Colombia symbolize a celebration of life, an expression of culture, and a reason to come together. So, what better way to celebrate Scarab’s sixth anniversary than by climbing El Sifón?
Also known as “Old Letras,” El Sifón is paradoxically one of Colombia’s newest paved climbs, despite being an ancient route. It also happens to be the world’s highest and longest cycling ascent. This massive challenge begins at the base of the eastern side of Colombia’s central cordillera, starting at the ghost town of Armero (346 meters above sea level). The climb stretches for a staggering 88 km, culminating at 4,129 meters, just beneath the imposing Nevado del Ruiz—a snowcapped active volcano. In 1985, this same volcano erupted, triggering a mudslide that tragically claimed more than 20,000 lives in Armero. The climb, therefore, comes with a heavy emotional backdrop from the very start.
A Challenging Start
We anticipated heat.
Our day began early in Mariquita, Tolima, the town that serves as the base for the traditional Letras climb. Breakfast was served at 5:00 a.m., but it was a quiet one; the anticipation of a huge day on the bike loomed over our group of 22 riders. There was little conversation—just the focused effort of fueling up. At 6:05 a.m., we started rolling, setting a brisk pace towards Armero, some 30 kilometers away.
Soaked and ready to start the climb / Picture: Impulso.CC
Five minutes into the ride, heavy rain hit us, soaking our feet. All I could think about was how cold I’d feel once we gained some altitude. The rain persisted until we passed through Armero. We stopped briefly to reflect on the tragic history of the place, taking in the haunting scene of the few remaining structures visible from the road. It was a sobering moment, adding a different kind of chill to the morning. We kept riding. There were still 88 kilometers ahead of us—an intimidating distance to cover in wet conditions.
Armero Hospital, well below the road level due to the mudslide in 1985 / Picture: David Arthur
Settling into the Climb
Once the climb began, we each found our own rhythm. It was no longer about riding together but about pacing ourselves for the long journey ahead. The key was balance: push too hard early, and the final stretch would punish you. Take it too easy, and the mind games would begin—constant worries about time, rain, and fatigue.
First section of the climb. Getting passed by a local jeep / Picture: Impulso.cc
After several kilometers, we broke through the fog and were greeted by a stunning view of the Magdalena Valley and the towering Cordillera Oriental. This served as a reminder of how much climbing still lay ahead. At that moment, I made peace with my wet feet and simply started enjoying the journey. The stunning views, the steady pace, and the occasional conversation with fellow riders felt almost meditative. Our minds were quiet, content to absorb the beauty around us.
Magdalena Valley with the Cordillera Oriental on the background / Picture: Impulso.cc
A Journey Through Colombia’s Ecosystems
Climbing through dense forest combined with coffee fields / Picture: Impulso.cc
The higher we climbed, the more rapidly the landscape changed. The lush, humid vegetation of the lowlands gave way to the first coffee fields as we entered the temperate zone. Soon after, we reached the town of Líbano, about one-third of the way up. A quick stop for Coca-Cola and almojábana (a cheesy bread typical in Colombia) gave us a brief respite.
But Líbano’s exit was steep, a swift reminder that this was a serious climb. We were now entering the Cold Land zone, marked by pine trees and fog. The road was tight with sharp turns and switchbacks, demanding more on our legs and lugns. The pace was sustained, but it forced silence as fatigue began to set in.
Karen Yung climbing steep sections after Murillo / Picture: Donal Rey
Landscape changing, before the entrance to the Paramo/Picture: Impulso.cc
We reached Murillo, a colorful yet cold town at 2,950 meters. Here, the air felt thinner, and the temperature kept dropping. This marked the start of the final third of the climb, where the Páramo ecosystem began. The fog thickened, the wind grew colder, and the wet shoes from the morning ride became impossible to ignore. Despite the discomfort, the unique landscape—stunted trees, frailejones, and the sheer rock walls—kept us captivated.
Pierce and Karen Crossing the town of Murillo / Picture: Donal Rey
Logan making his way through the cold and rainy paramo / Picture: Impulso.cc
The Final Push
The altitude was now well over 3,500 meters, and breathing became a challenge. We passed through the site where the 1985 mudslide had wiped out the landscape. The area was barren—no vegetation, just rock and mud. It was a haunting place, a stark reminder of nature’s power and the devastation it can cause.
Valley created by the mudslide after the 1985 eruption / Picture: Impulso.cc
With 600 meters left to climb, the road steepened again, and the air grew thin and rain began to pour on us. The final kilometers felt endless, with short descents that were too cold to enjoy and climbs that sapped what little energy we had left. We finally reached the top. But there was no celebration—only exhaustion.
Mike climbing the last stretch of the climb. With the Nevado del Ruiz behind him / Picture: Impulso.cc
A Meaningful Reward
We quickly turned around and descended a short distance to a small cabin called El Sifón, where our support van waited. Inside, a fire stove warmed our frozen bodies as we huddled together, drinking aguapanela (a traditional Colombian drink made from sugarcane). It took about 30 minutes for us to regain some warmth.
Inside the moutnain cabin trying to warm again while wating for the rest / Picture: Donal Rey
Julian and Santiago warming up their hands with the firestove at inside the Cabin / Picture: Scarab
As the rainstorm subsided, the clouds parted, revealing a breathtaking view of Nevado del Ruiz, covered in snow. Snow in the tropics is rare, and the sight served as a fitting reward for the monumental climb we had just completed.
Clear view of the Nevado right after the rainstorm at the top of the climb / Picture: Donal Rey
As Colombians, the mountains have always been our home—a place of comfort and challenge. And on that day, El Sifón became a symbol of our resilience, our connection to the land, and our love for the climb.
Some references
Strava Route – starting from Mariquita.
Colombia has five main altitudinal climate zones classified according to altitude and temperature in different regions of the country. These thermal floors influence the climate, vegetation, and agriculture. The five thermal floors are:
- Hot land (up to 1,000 meters above sea level):
- Temperatures: 24°C to 30°C (75°F to 86°F).
- Characteristics: Low, tropical, and humid areas, ideal for crops such as bananas, sugarcane, and cacao.
- Temperate land (1,000 to 2,000 meters above sea level):
- Temperatures: 17°C to 24°C (63°F to 75°F).
- Characteristics: Moderate climate, favorable for crops like coffee, flowers, and fruits such as guava and avocado.
- Cold land (2,000 to 3,000 meters above sea level):
- Temperatures: 12°C to 17°C (54°F to 63°F).
- Characteristics: Cooler areas, suitable for crops like potatoes, corn, and wheat.
- Páramo (3,000 to 4,000 meters above sea level):
- Temperatures: 6°C to 12°C (43°F to 54°F).
- Characteristics: Unique high-altitude ecosystems with vegetation adapted to cold conditions. Crucial for water retention.
- Snow-capped (above 4,000 meters above sea level):
- Temperatures: Below 6°C (43°F).
- Characteristics: Cold zones covered by snow or glaciers, such as the peaks of the Sierra Nevada and the snow-capped mountains in the Central Andes.
These thermal floors allow for great ecological and agricultural diversity in Colombia.
By Santiago Toro | Scarab CEO
