Beyond THE RIDE

“El Sifón” Challenge: From a Loose Idea to a Shared Summit

Alexander Vargas Sanabria

I was born in Colombia, and I’ve been lucky to ride some spectacular mountain passes throughout my cycling life. Before moving to Ottawa, I had already climbed part of this route—back when the road still had sections under construction. Even then, one thought stayed with me: come back and complete the full route all the way to Alto de Letras.

When we confirmed we’d be traveling to Colombia, that idea returned with force—this time with two promises that seemed to change everything: the road was now fully paved, and January, almost by tradition, tends to deliver generous cycling days. At least, that’s what we believed.

A Loose Question

“What if we all go and do this challenge?”

The question surfaced in conversations with GCC members—at events, in WhatsApp messages, in those moments when you cross paths with the right people and imagination catches fire. And as if the algorithms knew how to push dreams forward, the chat started filling up with videos of the route, with landscapes, with other people’s stories that suddenly felt closer every day.

Until one day, we stopped speaking in “what if.”

Making It Real

“Let’s make it real” was the turning point. Then came the serious part: planning. Because challenges don’t hold up on emotion—they hold up on logistics.

When should we travel? How many days in Bogotá? When should we be in Mariquita or Armero to start? How many support cars would we need? How would we coordinate the follow-along? What should we carry to eat? What clothing would we need? What was the plan if the weather changed?

Each of us built our own puzzle between work, family, schedules, and responsibilities, with one shared intention: to be connected on the same route, on the same day, carrying the same challenge.

And yet, the biggest doubt wasn’t logistical. It was physical.

The Big Question

Does indoor training really translate?

We knew you don’t just “get” 4,800 meters of climbing—you earn it. But what demanded the most respect was something else: spending more than half the route above 2,400 meters (7,900 ft). Altitude doesn’t forgive. And we didn’t have formulas or shortcuts to truly simulate it.

So we held on to two anchors: consistency and mindset. Steady physical preparation—whatever winter and indoor training would allow—and mental training. As the date got closer, we even put together an emergency plan: what to do, and what not to do, when the body is under that level of stress, at that level of altitude.

Two Groups, Two Start Times, One Reality

We planned to connect two groups:

• Líbano: planned start at 6:00 a.m.
• Armero: planned start at 4:30 a.m.

Reality wrote a different version:

• Líbano left at 5:00 a.m.
• Armero rolled out at 6:00 a.m.

Sometimes it’s impossible to control every variable so coordination is perfect. The Líbano group understood the risk of “ending up on the route at night” and chose to start earlier.

In Armero, the obstacle was simpler—and more decisive: breakfast. At 3:30 a.m., feeding a large group wasn’t easy. The place didn’t have everything ready, even though we had booked the night before. Small details that, on a big day, weigh as much as the mountain itself.

The Last Calm

The ride began with heavy humidity—the kind that soaks you without a single raindrop. A flat stretch from Armero Guayabal to the toll booth, where the road toward Líbano begins.

We regrouped there: last instructions, reminders, support cars aligned. And then the inevitable: everyone enters their own tunnel. From that point on, there was only one thing left to do—move forward. And meet again at the end of the story.

The Mountain, in Chapters

The climb from the toll booth unfolded in fog. My eyes fixed on the white line. A light rain cooled me off before the sky opened just enough to reveal Líbano: a town awake, buzzing with commerce, alive.

Leaving Líbano, the heat faded. For a moment I thought it would be a clear day—the kind where the Nevado del Ruiz reappears in full view. But the road closed in with fog again, and Murillo showed up like a door into another dimension: a river in the air, sometimes wild, sometimes calm.

From Murillo to El Sifón, cold took over. Altitude and lack of sleep started speaking loudly. After 3,200 meters, the pace turned heavy, the steep ramps felt endless, and at times it seemed like everything might unravel.

You reach that point where you think the hard part is over. You’re at 4,150 meters (El Sifón) and you allow yourself to imagine the descent.

But no. Climbing is still what’s left.

Uncertainty

I called the stretch from El Sifón to Alto de Letras uncertainty—a heavy burden made of two things that don’t mix well: the confidence of believing that “from here it gets easier,” and the hope of finally watching the kilometer markers count down… only to feel like they suddenly reset and start all over again.

That mountain wasn’t only pedaled. It was fought in the mind, kilometer by kilometer.

Disconnected… Yet Together

The funny thing is that, despite being “the most connected,” that day we were disconnected. We couldn’t talk or exchange messages on the road. Live location sharing never worked.

And still, the summit brought us together.

It was a brief, emotional, almost timeless meeting—short in minutes, permanent in memory. A shared achievement, a memory built at altitude.

Beyond El Sifón

Friday, January 30, 2026 left us with more than numbers. It left us a story made of planning, doubts, decisions, shifting weather, and a group that came together to ride the mountains the way big mountains should be ridden: with respect and friendship.

Yes, the challenge was getting there. But it was also turning a loose idea into something real—and proving that even disconnected, you can still be together when you share a purpose.

Clear Takeaways

• Preparation shows—especially when it’s built thousands of kilometers away (in winter, on the trainer, with structure).
• Altitude sets the rules and forces you to respect the pace.
• Community supports, pushes, and makes the experience bigger than the route itself.

Participants

We were 12 cyclists, each living a different version of the challenge:

• Alejandro: Armero → Líbano (Bogotá)
• David: Armero → Murillo (Bogotá)
• Edwin: Armero → Murillo (Bogotá)
• Christian: Armero → Cruce Manizales (Ottawa)
• Nestor: Armero → Alto de Letras (Bogotá)
• Laura: Armero → Alto de Letras (Ottawa)
• Jose: Armero → Alto de Letras (Gatineau)
• Alexander:  Armero → Alto de Letras (Ottawa)
• Humberto: Líbano → Alto de Letras (Gatineau)
• Victor: Líbano → Alto de Letras (Gatineau)
• Juan David: Líbano → El Sifón (Bogotá)
• William: Líbano → Río Lagunilla (Bogotá)

Support & Follow-Along

• Constanza, our maternal support on the road.

• Diana, always with me in every idea—someone who believes in me more than I believe in myself.

Photo gallery

Two Ways to Reach Alto de Letras (and why this route is in another league)