Exploring the Weeds on a Bicycle which is not a Mountain Bike

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Mary loaned me an old bicycle, rickety and well-used, but good enough for doing short rides around the area.

I learned, in an unpleasant way, that it’s definitely not a mountain bike. I have two at home and ride one nearly daily in good weather. So I’m okay with traveling over small rocks and difficult terrain. But Mary’s bicycle is not a mountain bike.

I took off one evening, eager to do a little exploring. A quick loop around the back roads, with the aid of my trusty Google map and GPS on my cell phone, no problem, I thought.

So I headed up an unexplored hill on a paved road. Things got a bit steep, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle, it’s easy to walk the bike. I stopped now and then, pulled out Google map, pinpointed my location, and plotted the route. Ah a loop! I could do a loop—clearly doable. At least on Google map.

Something was strange, though. The road kept getting more narrow with less traffic, fewer houses, then no traffic, until I came to a spot where there was no path, no houses, and just a parked auto rickshaw. The driver was talking on his mobile, and his jaw dropped when he saw me. He named the junction where I wanted to go, I nodded and he pointed.

It was a walking path, but a motor scooter went around us and followed it. Better not take chances, I thought, so I started walking the bicycle through the fields of young papaya trees, or maybe it was tapioca—that’s probably what it was. I did not want to slip off the path and end up in a papaya tree or a tapioca plant.

The path widened a bit, so I hopped astride the bicycle and started peddling. Easy. It was flat, fairly straight, and getting dark so I needed to step up the pace. A ball of moon had risen, casting a moody feeling on the landscape with me and my bicycle in the fields. Was this really the correct direction? Yep, Google map and GPS said it was.

The path rose up a slight hill. A rock. I can do it. I can do it. Oh no. Oh no. I can’t do it.

The bicycle paused, I put my foot down on the ground to brace myself, and down down down I went. No way I could stay upright.

“Oh crap,” I yelled, but I said something worse, which really didn’t matter much, because the man and the woman I had just passed wouldn’t have understood anyway.

Over I went, into a tangle of weedy brush. I was plunging into the jungle, head downhill. And there I was, on my side, bicycle pinning me down. I was immobilized.

I knew the two people had heard me. I heard the woman yell. I looked up from my position, and saw the man standing there, staring at me. Perhaps he thought I was an alien. A foreigner, an older lady at that, on a bicycle, head down in the weeds with a bicycle atop her is definitely something he didn’t expect to see.

I flailed my one free arm about, saying, “Help! Help!” Surely he knew what that meant. He extended his hand, and had a hard time pulling me up, because the bicycle had to come up with me at the same time. But he did it, this small man did, and eventually I was upright saying thank you thank you.

The man and woman both stared. My back ached a little—I had given it a small bruise, but otherwise, everything was okay. I guess the tangle of weeds made a soft landing patch. All smiles, we parted.

Two minutes down the path I realized my sunglasses were no longer on my head. Must go back. By that time I had encountered a house and people. So a young man and woman accompanied me, and I had to listen to him tell me about all the poisonous snakes they had around there. Like cobras. Oh great.

We found the crash spot and started looking for my glasses. I had to shine my cell phone light, and the man who saved me found them in the greenery.

“Bless you,” I cried, which startled him.

An old lady happened by, and when I wanted a photograph of my two saviors, the man and the woman, the random old lady insisted on being a part of the shot. I deftly cut her out of one of the photos, but she hogged her way into the others. And she hadn’t even done anything for me.

An Indian friend I had recently met was quite protective of me, chastising me for traveling about by myself at all hours. He told me that no one would help me if I was in trouble. No one would come.

Well, he was wrong. The man and the woman in the fields proved him very wrong. People help, that’s what we do, people help one another. No matter where you are. Or who you are.

I made it home, by the way, by moonlight—tired, bicycle chain grease on my pants, and a bruise on my back, but I made it back. Thanks to the woman and man in the field who extended a helping hand.

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Photos

My saviors and a random old lady
She’s pobably younger than I am