Round and round we go

Stage: 57
Day Total: 130.3km
Total Time: 8:03
Avg. Speed: 16.2km/h
Avg. Heart Rate: ???bpm
Total Climbing: 1058m

Song of the Day: Weezer – Island in the Sun

Day 1 of my non-racing, African holiday. Hell yeah! Not that it mattered, but the “race” group – some of them at least – had agreed to an unofficial non-race day. For my part, I started late, rode easy, and enjoyed every minute of it. Heavy mists graced the early kilometers with low clouds clinging to the hillsides to accentuate the greeness of the surrounding landscape.

A rather large climb greeted us early in the ride. I rode very easy, taking each opportunity to slow and chat with local Tanzanians on foot and bicycle. I took out my video camera to film passing riders, I stopped to take photos, I dismounted from my bike to simply take in the view. Unfettered by the obligations of racing, I had all the time in the world and so much to see. A coke stop at the top of the climb gave me a chance to catch up with the likes of Bastiaan and Liam. Liam’s keen eye spotted a small child with her toy – a dirty grey corn cob – and a beautiful smile.

We spent the balance of the day riding at an easy pace. Our objective on this ride was the Malawian border; we would cross and camp some 15km on the other side. We had been told that our camp for the evening would not be one of the best, so with no reason to hurry, we made a late lunch of chicken, chips, and cold beer 5km before the border. Delicious food, laughs and meaningful conversation were abundant. What a treat.

The border was relatively uneventful and quite efficient. No fees, no hassles, much like the promises of countless credit card companies in the United States. Into Malawi we rode, the pavement immediately noticably less well maintained and the people a bit more eager to ask for food or money. Of note were there smiles, each one seemingly brighter than the last. One final stop along the side of the road near a stream presented an opportunity to watch nearly one hundred weaver birds in the throes of earnest work building their nests.

Camp eventually arrived and delivered no more than promised. OK, there were quite a few children around the prerimeter rope, but for the most part we are accustomed to that at this point in the trip. The usual upstart businessman was present in camp selling lukewarm beer and sodas which served as a reminder that I had not changed any money. Hmmm, what to do.

WIth Bastiaan as an accomplice, we made for the side of the road with thumbs extended. Within minutes we were rewarded with a slowing vehicle and a ride back to the border. There was not an abundance of converstation as we drove towards Tanzania, but the driver gave us the ins and outs of taxi driving in Malawi… and immediately dashed any hopes I may have had for starting a driving service in that country. Oh well, there’s always IT.

Arriving back at the border, the driver darted down a side road which opened into a sizeable village that was completely hidden and unknown to any traveler simply crossing the border and carrying on their way. Our taxi driver seemed to know everyone. This was reassuring in one sense – in theory he could “call off the dogs” if trouble arose – but alarming in another because he was contstantly noding and motioning various business people in the village to approach us. The irony in this scenario is that we had returned to the border to make use of an ATM machine; until that objective was fulfilled we could not give them the money they hoped to earn. We arrived at the ATM and transacted our business without incident.

Our taxi driver was more than willing to return us to camp. How convenient. What this really meant was that he would charge us a fee while picking up as many passengers along the way as possible. In the end I was sandwiched into the back seat of this compact sized sedan with 3 other adults, one infant, and one small child. ‘Tis true; I was a participant in one of those classic “How many *insert_target_group* can you fit in a car?” jokes. The realities of circumstance meant that I was sitting sideways with my arm around a 20-something mother of two while she rested her head on my chest in an effort to make room for the 40-something farmer who was nearly elbowing her in the face due to lack of space. At least it wasn’t too warm – only about 82 degrees (F) with relative humidity in the low 90’s. While I may have become comfortable with a stronger than usual odor eminating from my own person on this trip I was not prepared to embrace the pheremonal warfare being waged in that backseat. If science is correct in its assertions that scent-based memories are more complete and longer lasting, then this may well be my strongest memory of this trip. How nice.

At last we arrived back at camp, and true to his word, our taxi driver pulled over the car without issue. Some substantial negotations then commenced with Bastiaan securing us a discounted rate that netted us approximately $0.42 USD savings. Well done! We exited the vehicle and parted a sea of kids as we walked towards the roped-off area designating our camp. In celebrity fashion I slapped hands, patted heads and backs, and paused to let the children take in our presence. Music was playing in the stereo of one of the suppot vehicles – an easy listening classic from Coolio – and this gave us an opportunity to lead approximatley 80 children in a club-inspired, raise-the-roof style arm pumping. Together we bounced. This was memorable.