Traveling

Hi all!

I’m back in San for the weekend; it was an adventure getting here yesterday. I had made plans to set out from Niasso early in the morning by bike so that I would not be riding in the hot sun. When I left my host family’s house, everything was running pretty smoothly. I took off down our dirt roads, saying hi to those that I passed, greeting everyone. As I approached the main road, I noticed my shadow looked a little off. I stopped my bike just in time to have all of my things fall off the back of it. Luckily, I was only just on the road, so I rearranged it all, re-bungeed it down and started up again. Not 5 minutes into my ride, with Adele’s “Right as Rain” playing in my ears, I heard a distinct and rhythmic flop, flop, flop. My back tire had gone flat. Not just a little flat but falling-off-of-the-rim flat. Of course I was traveling with my tool kits and my repair pieces, and normally I would have been also with a bike pump, but since the bike pumps that we received are gigantic, I had left mine at home. Oops! I decided that I would walk my bike in to San, still at least 19.8k from my destination, and hope that along the way a boshe (think over sized van for passenger and live stalk travel) might come by and stop for me. I was passed by many motos and a bunch of bicyclists, and one large truck, which I tried to flag down, but which did not stop. Finally, after about 20 minutes of walking, a man on a moto stopped to ask me if I needed help. Amazingly, he spoke English, small small, and we were able to get to an understanding that A) he did not have a pump with him; B) he was out working on the phone lines; C) I was planning on proceeding until a car stopped; D) and E) no I was not married, and unfortunately, no I did not have a telephone and there fore no number to give him.

Later, as I was talking to another passser-by on a moto, rescuing my load for the fourth time that morning, a small white vehicle approached. I successfully flagged them down. As the pulled up to me, weaving about the road way, I noticed it was an old Peugeot truck with a bed occupied by four other travelers. They were kind enough to take me, my bike, and my bags and I enjoyed a nice ride into San. The whole time we were riding in the back, enjoying the Malian scenes flying by, the truck was putting along, weaving slightly, wavering even more when it picked up too much speed. I was so very appreciative of the ride, but was crossing my fingers and holding on the whole time. So all in all, a journey that should have taken me an hour and 15 minutes by bike ended up taking me and hour by bike, foot, and Peugeot.