Bike adventure

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One afternoon I decided to take a break from lesson planning to go for a bike ride with two other trainees, Frank and Patrick, who both might be a little on the crazy side. Patrick was a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Gambia for the last two years, and is extending his service for a third year in Guinea. Frank worked as a chemical engineer for a few years, then became a teacher before running an Ironman and then joining the Peace Corps. They led me and two others, Hal and Sara, across a couple of large streams for a scenic ride east of town. Reaching a point on the trail with a beautiful view of the mountains, Frank and Patrick said that this was as far as they had explored, but they heard that the path we were on continued in a loop back toward Forecariah. We decided to explore and were soon headed downhill on an eroded but visible footpath.
At the bottom of the slope the path became muddy and soon led us to marshes and rice paddies. We reached a fork in the path, one way seemed to lead toward Forecariah, our goal, and the other led off in another direction. Unfortunately the path toward Forecariah led into a large swamp, which several Guineans were crossing on a system of teetering logs. We decided to try the other way, hoping it would loop back in the direction we wanted.
It didn’t. We rolled across a large pasture, splashing through muddy sections and dodging herds of cattle. Eventually the path led into another large marsh, this time with no alternate route. Across the marsh we could see the river that flows past Forecariah. Hoping to find another path along the riverbank, Frank, Patrick, and I rode into the murky water, only to get stuck in the muck a few yards in. We dragged our bikes further into the marsh, the silt and muck pulling on our Chaco sandals. What was waist-deep water for the guys was chest- or shoulder-deep for me, and with each step I sunk knee-deep in stinking swamp mud. I tried not to think about what creatures and parasites were probably living in the water. We emerged from the water at the other side of the swamp, only to find that there in fact was no path along the riverbank. All that separated the marsh from the river was a strip of tangled, impenetrable vegetation.
The guys jumped in the river and swam out a bid to see if they could see a path further down. We swim in this river regularly, at a small beach somewhere downstream from this spot. It is a large, deep, briskly-flowing river about 60 m across. The guys saw no path but Patrick had an epiphany when he realized our normal swimming area was downstream - he turned to us with eyes lit up and said, “Hey, do you think the bikes will float?” I threw his bike in the water to check. Bikes don’t float. As Patrick dragged his sinking bike onto the riverbank, a man drifted by in a dugout canoe. We asked which way it was to Forecariah, and he pointed back in the direction from which we had come.
So we sloshed back through the slime and swamp water and rolled back across the pasture to the fork in the road. Having already crossed one smelly marsh, we took the path toward Forecariah and trudged through the bog, without attempting to use the makeshift bridge of wobbly logs.
At the other side of this swamp was a lovely little path, flat with white sand, bordered by green leafy plants and pink flowers. The pretty little path led us right to familiar territory, and only required the crossing of one more marshy stream. Impressively, we were home before dark, free of leaches and (visible) parasites. Though our bike path did not loop back as we had hoped, it did give us an idea for a swimming adventure that weekend.

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Comments

[Greg]

wipe out
Rose, you forget to tell them about the part where you hopped on you bike, pedaled once, and fell over because you tire spun on the ice (I'm not sure how to represent the sound it made with letter but I'll try: ziiiijsh!). And then Dad had to drive you to Forescariah in the van while you cried. P.S. I heard Patrick is gay