Girolcán 2024: Volcanic Heights, Family Ties, and the Joy of Suffering
“So what’s the point of suffering by choice? Isn’t there enough pain in the world already? Why would anyone voluntarily push their body beyond its limits?” That little existential whisper showed up somewhere above 4,000 meters above sea level—the highest I’ve ever cycled. My legs were burning, the air was thin, and still, I pedaled on.
As tradition goes, every February I head back to Colombia for two weeks. One week working remotely (thank you, work perk gods), and one week exploring my country on two wheels. This time I skipped the organized events and decided to design my own adventure—a handcrafted route that would be both unfamiliar and satisfyingly masochistic.
A Ride Is Born: The Girolcán
Last summer, my sister’s partner Dani—a hardcore trail runner with a growing love for cycling—and I decided to cook up a plan. He drew up a 250 km route with nearly 7,000 meters of elevation that would take us to the flanks of one of Colombia’s highest volcanoes, peaking at 4,200 meters. The name? Girolcán. A poetic mash-up of Giro (ride in Spanish) and Volcán (volcano), because some adventures deserve their own identity.
Dani welcomed me in Sasaima, a small town northwest of Bogotá, with a custom jersey that spelled out the beauty of Colombia and the emotional rollercoaster we were about to ride. Before we even turned a pedal, I got a taste of their off-the-grid lifestyle—a small DIY paradise where they’re restoring native forest and protecting a freshwater source. Purpose has a way of grounding everything.
This time around, I left the stress of traveling with a bike behind and rented one locally. It was a chance to test a steel frame, electronic shifting, and give the 1x transmission another shot (I wasn’t a fan back in 2018 on my Salsa Cutthroat). Of course, Murphy’s Law didn’t take a vacation: the shifter battery was dead, the charger was missing, and the pedals hadn’t been mounted due to a simple misunderstanding. Crisis averted. We fixed everything and rolled out with no excuses.
Day 1: Sasaima to San Juan de Rio Seco
There’s something electric about starting a ride with your mom and twin sister following you in a support car. Living abroad for over 30 years, moments like this—cycling through my home country, with family close by—are rare and treasured.
The plan was to keep things steady, not to go too hard. Easier said than done when you’re navigating Colombia’s endless climbs at 2,000+ meters of elevation, under relentless heat that laughs at the altitude. Whether it was the altitude, the heat, or just me being out of shape, I felt off. A last-minute hotel closure forced us to cut the stage short and call it a day with a swim in San Juan de Rio Seco. Over dinner, we reworked the route, watching the forecast promise heavy rain for the following day.
Day 2: River Crossings and Ghost Towns
We started with a brutal kick of a climb followed by a foggy descent that made us earn our breakfast. A steaming bowl of sancocho, arepas, and a cappuccino (sorry, Italian friends!) had us full and content—“barriga llena, corazón contento.”
After crossing the Cauca River, we passed near the ghost town of Armero, destroyed in the infamous 1985 volcanic eruption. It's hard to ride by without feeling the weight of history, the silence loud with memories. That silence was soon replaced by suffering as we tackled a 14 km climb at 8% average—3 hours of relentless grind. This time it was Dani who struggled, reminding us that pacing and energy rarely sync perfectly between riders.
Day 3: Libano to Murillo – The Air Gets Thin
From Libano to Murillo, we climbed again—steep, slow, and breathing thinner air with every pedal stroke. A constant dull headache throbbed beneath my helmet, reminding me I was no longer near sea level. Despite the altitude, the heat persisted. Colombia does things on its own terms.
We reached Murillo by lunch, just in time for a rare glimpse of the volcano’s snow-dusted summit—locals said it had been cloud-covered for weeks. A quiet moment of awe reminded us why we seek out these sufferfests in the first place.
Day 4: Into the Sky – Alto El Sifón
The final day was the crown jewel of Girolcán. Riding always above 3,000 meters and topping out at 4,200, we hit Alto El Sifón, an arid, brutal summit that offered no comfort—only clarity. Early into the day, we were passed by the lead pack of the Transcordilleras Rally, who shared part of our route. They flew past us like they had engines, tackling their 6th stage with ease. It was humbling and inspiring—witnessing riders chasing their goals with intensity and grace.
Despite the minimal views at the top, the sense of accomplishment filled us up. Four days. Three regions. 25 hours on the saddle. Brand new kilometers in my birth country. There was already talk of our next adventure: El Trampolín de la Muerte.
Closing Thoughts
Gravel gets a lot of noise these days—some call it marketing, others call it freedom. For me, it’s simple: anything that brings more people into cycling, especially into wild places and personal challenges like this, is worth celebrating.
To those wondering if you’re ready for a ride like Girolcán, my advice is: just go. You don’t need to be chasing podiums to create a story worth telling. You just need to be curious, a little stubborn, and willing to sweat with a smile.
And if you're ever in Colombia in February… let's ride.
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