Leaving our hotel in the morning.

We didn't want to cycle into town and back out again for breakfast so we decided to go the 16 km into the next town for breakfast. The roads were nice, traffic was light, and we breezed mostly downhill. Unfortunately the next town didn't have any breakfast options so we didn't end up eating until about 26 km into our morning ride. We then were finally able to fill up on omelets, bread and Nescafé.

Along the way Gill almost died. She was coasting down a hill, waving to people by the road, when she almost went head-first into a massive crater in the middle of the road. Fortunately she saw it at the last minute, slammed on her brakes, and got her feet planted on the ground. I was just behind her and looked on in horror as her back wheel jumped high in the air over her head. Amazingly she managed to keep her balance and come out unscathed.

In the late morning our easy cycling ended. We turned down the junction for Koumba (described in The Masked Rider as "a hell hole") — a rocky, clay road. Although it started with only a slight climb and a bit of rock, the humidity was overwhelming: it must have been 110%. I was so slick with sweat and moisture I was sure my clothes would slide right off.

Pineapple!

A washout.

This clay mud stuck to everything. It caked the bicycles; shoes; clothing; panniers. It gummed up the wheels, brakes, and tires. Then it dried into something akin to concrete and had to be chiseled off in order to get things moving properly. I felt like I was wearing cement shoes. We passed at least two trucks hopelessly stuck deep in the mud. One was a beer truck—I almost cried. Until I realized it was only collecting empty bottles.

Eventually the mud subsided a little and the rich, sweet smell of drying cacao hung in the air as we passed through a village. About mid-way through I heard a loud pop. My rear tire. Flat. Upon closer inspection it was worse than that: an entire section of my tire sidewall was shredded. Fortunately the others weren't too far ahead of me so I was able to shout for them to stop.

Flat fixing. (Photo by Il Kim.)

We decided to stay in the village for lunch and found a man with rice and beans (albeit cold). We then headed out again and I was determined to take it slow. (I even put my panniers on the front rack and Gill took her two back.) Right outside the village the road improved considerably and we got to see rubber trees being tapped to make latex.

David says:
Rubber workers typically make less than two dollars a day —it may not make Nike shoes cheap, but it keeps the costs of the input low so that proceeds can go to the multinational companies and the professional athletes that advertise them. Oh, the workers are often supplied one or two bare rooms of housing. This perk comes without indoor plumbing. The system also mean that if the worker wants to move their labor to another employer they lose the roof over their head at the same time, or if the bread winner in the house dies everyone else in the house become homeless.

Mid-way through another village my tire went flat again. Gill, David and Il were far ahead of me despite my earlier predicament and temporary fix. Julis and Yau, however, had held generously held back and we once again inspected the tube. Result: a small pin-prick hole. Probably because, as it turned out, I had bought tubes too small for my bike. (I suddenly recalled that before we left I had meant to double-check the size.) Then we realized Gill had my pump so Yau sped off to catch up and bring it back.

It took Yau about half-an-hour or so, leaving us to wait idly by the road as a spectacle for everyone passing by. Since I also had no water (the water bags were in Gill's panniers) I couldn't help but be peeved at what I perceived as having been abandoned.

David cycling through the mud. Note the zen-like smile.

As we rode into the town I had the usual catcalls and chants of, "White! White!" and I was so annoyed, thirsty and tired I wanted to tell them to !@&$ themselves.

We found Il at a roundabout waiting for us and realized that now Julius' rear tire was flat. I looked at it for the first time: his tire was completely shot. It didn't even look like he had a sidewall. I told him I'd pay for a new tire — I was so grateful for his company and help — and we left him so he could get one in the village market.

We found Gill sightly farther up the road at another intersection where I mean-spiritedly made her feel bad for never looking back. Once I decided she felt sufficiently guilty I eased up.

Yet another washout.

As  a side note, two days earlier students had protested (and apparently rioted) so there were quite a few soldiers with riot gear to be seen about town. The students had apparently been without power at their school for two weeks so attacked the electric company, across the street from where Gill had been waiting. (We weren't worried though; obviously we should be of no significance to anyone.)

After Julius arrived with a nice, new tire and washed himself up we all went out to a nearby restaurant and ate quietly before coming back to the hotel in the rain (which should top up the mud holes in the road quite nicely in case we absorbed too much mud from any). 

Julius came by my room to get my old tube—it has a long gash and he wanted to fix it for me, as well as get a new 20" tire in the market tomorrow morning as insurance.

Money well spent. Julius and Yau have been my saviours today.

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