Water and Rocks

We've safely arrived at Mulongo. I'm staying with Dr. Serge, the Director of the British Brethren Mission Hospital. (He is Congolese and went to medical school in Lubumbashi.) We have the luxury of solar power to recharge our batteries and an internet connection through Airtell (formerly Zain). I'm working on my more serious missiological reflections; I want to get them right. You'll probably see them in a scrambled order, though. We came through Mitwaba, which has to be the proof case of millions of $ coming out of the ground, combined with a total failure of international aid programs. That will be a blog, as well.

I've posted some photos of our ride over the mountains on Facebook. They are all sunshine and fine looking roads. There are no pictures of when we were bogged down in sticky mud that clogged our fenders, gears, and brakes; no pictures of riding all day in the pouring rain through the high plateau (lion country); no pictures of a five hour descent on a washed out road bed. At those times, the camera stayed buried in the pannier.

The rains turn the roads into river beds, washing away sand and dirt, leaving two kinds of rocks. There are flat rocks that are slicker than snot, and sharp rocks just waiting to cut your tires.


On the uphill the rocks prevent riding. I do have an advantage over my colleagues in that my lower gears allow for me to stay on the bike longer in climbing, but everybody pushes over the rocks. (Elephant often gets off his motor cycle and helps me push. He shouldn't, but I never decline.)

It's the downhill that is the killer. My hands give out holding the brakes. The ride down is technical, bicycle speak for trick riding on top of rocks. I only had two rock related downhill incidents. First, my speed got up too high; I ran out of brake, and had no choice but to take a line straight into a section of limestone running across the road in razor sharp edges. One bang, then a second bang. A double blow out. Fortunately my skill and good looks saved the rims and tires, but the tubes were shreds.

Second incident: In a show of the lack of skill and grace, trying to dismount on the slick flat rocks, I took a fall down the mountain. You don't know how steep it is until you can't stop rolling. In this case, my Navy Seal training saved my neck. (Really, we had a course in hand to hand combat at the Naval Academy taught by a Navy Seal. Remember, Don? Mostly, he taught us how to fall.) The bike was fine, the panniers serve to protect the drive train. I left a little blood on the mountain, but no broken bones. (my biggest fear is not falling to my death, but falling and breaking an arm. Days from medical care, and unable to ride. - Somehow, not afraid of breaking a leg. Go figure.)

All in all, a great way to see an isolated part of the world that few wazunga see, and that those who live here seldom notice. Although you pay a price for seeing these mountains up this close in the wet season, I pity those who only come in the dry season, having to wait until they can get their Land Cruisers up here. To stand on top of the Mother of All Mountains and look across the valleys to peaks level with your eyes rolling out in shades of green you've never seen before (maybe Ireland and Scotland, but not), disappearing into grays and blues; this is a once in a lifetime experience that I've now had twice. (BTW The camera is totally useless in capturing the beauty.)

It also drives you to prayer to know that this peaceful looking landscape was the venue of so much death and destruction.

On the Red Road.
Bob

Why We Go by Bike