These were the days when the Tour of Colombia ended and going out to receive the champions was the best plan for a Sunday a year. A few months before, on April 30, justice minister Rodrigo Lara Bonilla had been murdered and with him the best leaders of a generation would begin to die.
There was no going back in the search for an adverse future and misfortunes It was, in some way, the mood of the country that between euphoria and rage, victory and defeat and epic and tragedy wrote the pages of a destination every day contradictory and troubled.
The tragedy of our nation comes from the war that has painted our faces and souls with blood and with indelible ink has tattooed in the memory the names of so many dead and missing. On the other hand, poets and minstrels have united an identity through those memorable verses that every Colombian recites or sings after a brandy and thus has drawn a dignified and true lyric and much of our epic comes, beyond our parable of loneliness and the fable of certain certainties, of these brief euphoria and enthusiasm that have allowed us to sustain illusions and dreams over time.
Since that stage of Alpe D’Huez the dream of the tour has been persistent, insistent and resistant. The names changed and the image of Lucho arriving a year later at the finish line in Saint Etienne with his face bathed in blood always reminded us that it would be more difficult for us.
“It has not been easy,” Pablo Milanés would say in his song “I, I came growing and forged my generation other than yesterday.” or “We of those days are no longer the same” Pablo Neruda would remind us. The names and some nomenclatures were replaced and relieved by others, and yet despite everything, the difficult, the impossible that seemed many times, the emotions remained intact.
Today I was that child again. Time passed and the destiny of the nation remains the same: tragic. The 200 years of independence surprises us with murdered social leaders and a peace broken by the government on duty.
There is nothing to celebrate for the 200 years but the euphoria for the epic of the country justifies having come here, by the journey of the hero who 35 years ago aroused the illusion and whose goal crossed a young man of 22 years. Egan Bernal is the name of Colombia today, the name of the one who culminated, finally, the trip of his predecessors and gave us back that childhood forever.
Today his eyes and tears are those of everyone, those of us who celebrate the epic in a year in which we don’t want to celebrate anything else, because in this country of postponed dreams, of postponed illusions, of unfinished victories, today, one of ours reached the goal,“A new and devastating utopia of life, where no one can decide for others until the way of death, where love is truly true and happiness is possible, and where the strains condemned to one hundred years of solitude are finally and for always a second chance on earth. ”