The main road into Buea.

[sigh]

Julius did the work again of patching the tube in two places, using a bucket of water to find the leaks while the others waited.

We headed up the road, ascending a little bit until we came to a ... dead end. Meanwhile, I was still tired, my gears were squeaking maddeningly from being washed, and my the cold I had been developing over the last two days had moved into my chest. As we came back towards the hotel I pulled in to lube my chain, hork up a lung, and get ready for the offical ride while the others continued exploring.

I was done.

One thing I noticed in our short time here, however, was how affluent the town seems to be.

David says:
As the story goes: the head of state came to Buea on one of his rare visits to Anglophone Cameroon and was appalled by the conditions of the roads that he ordered them paved. In the course of a few months, Buea went from hardly a decent road in the town to having every road— even the alleys—being paved. Western Cameroonians are rarely shy about complaining about how they are marginalized and don't get their fair share of investment. It is a toss-up whether Buea support this contention of refutes it.

Squeaky clean cars; not so clean river.

David says:
It is a frightening, but cars are washed by driving them in to the stream. As they are washed the oils, toxins and detergents flow into the water and are carried to the next village down the mountain. Hopefully the water is not being used to make baby formula or for any other human or aquatic life consumptions.

The ride to Limbé was a breeze — nearly all downhill, and the distance only about 30 km (half of which was speeding down the hill in Buea). The scenery was beautiful, though on the few uphill sections the rising humidity as we neared the ocean was palpable.

The ride down into Limbé.

Yau had never been to the ocean before and was obviously excited and all smiles. We spent some time snapping pictures of Yau and Julius at the beach. From what they tell us this is a historic journey to be done on bicycle in their hometown of Kumbo: there is to be a big party upon their arrival. (Poor Yao will have to cycle up from Bamenda — I feel sorry for him as it's pretty tough cycling for a newbie.) I'd love to by a fly on the wall for that.

What to my wondering eyes should a pier...

Our hotel is pretty decent and we spent the early afternoon cleaning — I used a brush I bought earlier in the day to scrub all the dried mud off our shoes and panniers (which Julius and Yau offered to do, as they were doing with everybody elses; but I declined since it felt like something I should do — they already cleaned our bicycles again today) while Gill did our badly needed laundry.

We met up again for lunch at a nearby hotel (which I feel certain David brought us to mostly check out prices and perhaps reminisce). The prices were indeed pretty expensive compared to what we've been used to but we all had very good avocado salads and drinks.

Later we grabbed our bicycles and went up the road to the botanical gardens, which were originally planted by the Germans colonials to test what they could grow here. We wandered around looking at the trees and such — David, as only David can do, led us off the beaten path for a hike up through the brush. Another Bicycle Africa moment. (Earlier he and Gill stepped into a swarm of ants while off the path to look at a tree — David was wearing flip flops so it pretty amusing to see him suddenly leap up and run.)

I tried to nap before dinner but could barely get up — no energy, full of aches and pains and also the chills. I've felt this way before so when David told us over our grilled-fish-and-plantain street food supper that we would have to retrace our path — back up the hill — my heart sank. I could barely make it up the steps to our hotel room. It sucks to be sick, especially combined with mild food poisoning (from god knows what—take your pick), but at least it's at the the end of the trip. Tomorrow may be rough for me though. The oppressive humidity won't help, either.

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