On a Bike and a Prayer
day 5. into oblivion.
We left Rich after six hours sleep and with the sun's strength muffled by wispy clouds we peddled out of town and into the oblivion of the desert. Two steep ridges rose and accompanied us for most of the day.
The tarmac single track road ran to AmouguŠr, and then fizzled out in a splatter of exhaustion at the top of a steep rise. I coasted to the top and onto the dust. Beneath me the little knot of buildings seemed almost deserted, but as we drew nearer the `knot' came to life. I scooped up a little child as I sailed down the slope and dropped him off in a crowd of envious faces further down. A local holiday was declared and we were ushered into a dingy building down a dusty bank.
The cafe was dark and the cokes were cold. Outside the
window a wall of unbelieving tanned and hennered faces built up round the
bikes. It was early afternoon when we left stocked up with sardines and bread
wedged into rolled mats and map pockets.
As we left AmouguŠr and finally shook off the last of the children a young boy on a rickety circus cycle swerved between us and sweated and puffed his way along side us to the orchards round the next bend. Here he flung his bike down and ran beckoning into the trees. I followed, emerging moments later like an over-ambitious juggler clutching a mass of small hard green apples.
The little apple man followed us further up the track and waited patiently in the cooling air as we repaired Stephane's rear carrier. The sky was dark and stormy and soon the rain was splattering in the dust around us. As we donned our rain coats our little apple man headed off the road and disappeared. We followed and found ourselves in a tunnel under the road. The stench from a rotting snake and human faeces was quite overpowering - but not enough to drive us back into the storm. We donned our fleeces and munched at melon and chocolate until the rain stopped.
Up the damp road our little guide found a friend hunting in
the fields. Clad in a Camden Market leather jacket and a pair of torn Lee
jeans, he stood with cocked shoot gun over a shoulder and chewed a twig. We
enquired about the next settlement marked on our maps. The apple man didn't
seem to recognise the name, but the hunter explained that it was lacking food
and water.
With this in mind we made camp just up the road, close to a herd of goats strewn across the track and cliffs in a bleating bell clanging swarm. With a survival blanket some bungee cords, a bush and three bikes we made a pathetic attempt at building a shelter in case of rain.
listen to audio diary