After two years traveling by bicycle internationally with our dog, Sora, my partner Dave and I have successfully mastered the art of traveling with a dog. We have our spiel nailed down for convincing hotels to allow us to stay with her in the room. We know that the vegetarian restaurants generally allow us to bring her along, and, most importantly, we know how to find the best dog-friendly outdoor activities.

Most tourist activities are not dog-friendly, and to be honest, we tend to avoid the mega destinations anyway. Aside from them not being dog-friendly, they are crowded, expensive, and not always run with social and environmental sustainability involved.

We prefer to explore the lesser-known adventures, where we are the only ones leaving footprints on the trail, where there are no blazes indicating whether we turn right, left, or stay straight, where we become lost and have to strike a conversation with a local farmer.

These types of journeys leave us feeling more connected to the place we are visiting and to the people who make their lives on the land. The locals always know the best spots and serve as our main guidebook.

While cycling through Colombia, we made a short detour to the small, yet busy town, San Agustin, in Southern Colombia. Best known for the abundance of hand-carved statues, depicting sacred animals and sculpted in by local artists, San Agustin is also situated among lush green hills near Colombia’s most important water source—the Magdalena River.

He told us to continue along the road, and when we arrived at the house with the angry dogs, to ask the woman where to go next. We thanked him for the information and continued on our way.

Just beyond his house, we climbed a steep hill that earned us a view of the entire region: the verdant mountains towering around and filled in by pastureland. A few farmhouses speckled the vista in the distance, but otherwise, we were completely alone with the landscape.

Our peace was abruptly dismantled when three angry dogs came racing toward us, teeth bearing and heckles on end, as we approached an orchard. Dave hoisted Sora into his arms like a baby, while screaming at me to pretend to throw something at them. (In Latin America, that’s how people deal with dogs, by throwing rocks at them. We do the fake version if we find ourselves in danger.) I froze in place as a tan lab mix barked at me aggressively.

The woman, and owner of the house finally came out and called her dogs off of us. I released my breath and slowly approached her. She must be the woman with the angry dogs who would tell us where to head next.

She assured us her dogs were nice, as she directed us through two barbed-wire gates and up a small hill. Just beyond that, we would find the house with the sign to the waterfall.

Having quite a few kilograms on us, plus their sharp and pointy horns, we paused and gauged whether they would make way for our passing or just stand there. They did neither. Instead, a few of the leaders answered our question by turning to face us, stare us down, and make mini-charge movements at us. We found ourselves in a stand off with a herd of cattle protecting their young.

A barbed wire fence sat to our left, containing yet more cows, and a steep, lumpy hill blanketed in brambles to our right.

Our option was to turn back around or detour down the hill.

Dave took Sora and chose the hill, making a large circle around the herd. I watched from my place as one of the herd leaders set off chasing them down the hill. Dave yelled at the cow, who stopped briefly and considered retreating, but ultimately decided to continue after them. Dave started sprinting and dragged Sora behind him, eventually outrunning the cow to safety.

Recovering from a recent severe ankle sprain, I preferred to remain on the path, rather than tramp blindly over uneven terrain. I stood still, waiting to see if they would accept me with my dog farther away from the herd. I posed no threat, right? After five long, unmoving minutes, I decided to brave the hill and follow Dave and Sora’s footsteps.

Having survived the angry cow attacks, we moved more briskly, filled with adrenaline and finally came upon the house with the sign indicating the waterfall was close by. Really more a structure than a house, a handmade wooden sign with the words “Tres Chorros” and an arrow pointed down a steep hill to our destination.