Meeting in the Clouds of Colombia

It began in the sky, where so many paragliding stories do.

That winter, I had traded offices and computer screens for mountains and thermals, following the wind across continents. Colombia had become my paragliding playground—a place where mornings began with coffee as dark as the soil and afternoons stretched endlessly into the sky.

Evan, meanwhile, was living another story. He had been working in Banff, surrounded by snow and frozen peaks, when he decided to escape winter and chase the sun south. Roldanillo was his destination: the mecca of Colombian paragliding.

And so, high above those ridgelines, weaving circles in a thermal, our paths crossed. Two strangers, suspended by fabric and string, sharing the same invisible column of rising air. We landed together. We flew again the next day. By the third, it felt inevitable—we weren’t just flying in the same sky anymore; we were beginning a story.

XC Flight. Launched from official Jerico site

Bobbins and the Road North

It was my idea, half-serious at first: a road trip through Antioquia, to find new sites, new skies, new adventures. Evan said yes without hesitation. A few days later, we had Bobbins, a tiny, stubborn rental car with more spirit than horsepower. With backpacks and wings stuffed into its frame, we drove into the unknown.

The days blurred into something wild and dreamlike. We hiked through jungles with our gliders, slept in bamboo fortresses, and launched into air that smelled of earth and rain. When we weren’t flying, we feasted like locals: plantains with cheese, sweet aguapanela, warm arepas, and endless cups of Colombian coffee.

Evenings were slower. After packing up our wings, we wandered landing fields in search of wild mushrooms, laughing at our luck when we found handfuls. That laughter faded the day armed police stopped us on a mountain road, inspected our glovebox, and found it full of dried mushrooms. There was a long silence. Then, one officer plucked a mushroom, popped it into his mouth, and waved us on our way. Colombia had its own rules, and somehow we had passed the test.

Photo taken at Jerico launch site moments before our second XC flight together.

Foraging for wild mushrooms in the Jerico landing field.

A beautiful photo taken during our hike and fly overlooking the Cauca River and mountains of Antioquia.

The People We Met

On the winding road from Jericó to Jardín, we picked up a hitchhiker. He told us he had walked away from his tech startup after a midlife crisis at twenty-seven and was now hitchhiking all the way to Patagonia. Between potholes and rockslides, I painted his nails neon green in the backseat.

In the hills near Jericó, we stumbled upon a hermit artist. He lived alone in a mountain shack, surrounded by canvases and silence. He brewed us coffee and spoke of his life—his art, his solitude, and all the dangers of the world outside his refuge. His words hung in the air long after we left.

“Bobbins” our mighty rental car, and the hitch hiker we picked up in Jerico. Photo taken in the small town of Buenos Aires, Antioquia, Colombia.

The Last Push

Bobbins endured more than any small car should. We drove over roads torn by rain, through mud pools, past rock slides, bouncing between potholes so deep they felt like craters. Sometimes, the only way to start the engine was to roll down a hill. Somehow, improbably, we always kept going.

And at last, just minutes before Evan’s bus was set to leave Roldanillo for Cali, we rolled back into town. He left for Banff. I stayed, my heart heavier and lighter all at once.

Many rocks were moved during our journey through the backroads heading from Jerico to Jardin.

A Dream We Lived

Looking back, it still feels like a dream: the jungles of Antioquia, the strangers who became part of our story, the food, the laughter, the sky, and that ridiculous little car that refused to die.

It wasn’t just a paragliding trip. It was the beginning of something bigger—our greatest flight, together.