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Published: November 27th 2006
Pig
Apparently some scientists say
That as much as 98% of our DNA
Is shared with the common swine.
So its hard to know what is the pig´s and what is mine.
Gutted and mounted on a spit,
In the best of circumstances an unfortunate fate
Publicly displayed by the highway like an installation in the Tate.
Small black eyes stare inevitably into Death´s mid-distance.
Parallel lines are scored down his diminishing back
Separating yellowing chunks of fatty fudge.
I wonder if he bears a grudge?
Yesterday he was happy enough
Tied to a rope by the road.
Then his debenture on the mortal coil matured.
In order to satisfy his funders´ needs,
Explained the young girl who normally brings him swill
It is necessary, at some point, to provide a return,
Bluntly put, the necessity of continued economic growth
Means your porky ass is toast.
Today she carries a knife.
Like so many he goes without a struggle
As the blood leaked from his throat
He did not think, "I really should have exercised my right to vote."
He also was not heard to squeal, "My God! I have been such a fool,
I should have
Peter, Prince of Ortlieb
Met Peter in Ecuador just before the Colmbian border. He is really going for it. Been on the road for only 5 months but has already clocked up 15,000 kilometers on his way down from Anchorage Alaska. Impressive? He is 67 years young.tried much harder when I was at school."
As the day progresses he gradually disappears
At dusk all that remains are a pair of disenfranchised ears.
Poem above inspired by all the poor little pigs that I have seen mounted next to the PanAmerican highway.
So is Colombia dangerous? So far I have had no problems. Was charged almost three times the going price for a bottle of sunblock in a chemists shop in Popayan. So far this has been my only exposure to drug-related crime in Colombia. However cannot deny was a bit nervous at first. Took a week or so to relax. Always made sure that I didn´t ride when it was dark. First few days dived into first hotel I found. (I am travelling without a guide book at the moment and so my hotel selection policy is based on a theory that I have developed called "Hotel Roulette". Basically go into the centre of a town, spin around the main plaza and then roll into the first place that bike and trailer will fit into. In Bolivia and Peru maximum exposure on this theory is about 20 pounds and often much much lower.
Ecuador is a bit pricier but ok. Colombia is more expensive. Finally found my upper limit in Pereira, it is always good to know your limits, refused a 50 pound room and went and found a more reasonably priced room (6 pounds).)
Just outside the town of Popayan I was stopped by three highway policeman. They told me that my parents had been in touch with their chief of police and that I had to call home as they were very worried about me. (Checked with my mum and dad and they hadn´t called anyone, so must have been someone elses worried parents.)
After about a week of riding I reached Cali. Strangely the hotel brochure did not refer to drug cartels but instead placed emphasis on Cali´s lovely zoo and the fact that Cali is a major centre for plastic surgery. There was some evidence of the latter on display as I sat beside the hotel pool reading one afternoon. As I picked my way through the closing pages of the first volume of Karl Popper´s "the Open Society and its enemies" I must confess that I sometimes found myself being slightly distracted. Didn´t go to the
Hostel, San Gabriel
V basic and small at 3 US dollars a night but with a nice courtyard. Plus was the only hostel I could find. zoo.
Possibly inspired by residual memories of watching "The Devil Wears Prada" in Cuenca I decided that as well as getting my bike serviced in Cali I would also get my frame sprayed matt black. Found a good mechanic, Fabio, near to my hotel and was pleasantly surprised when my bike was ready a day early. On way back to hotel with my bike I bumped into Tom aka "The Hungry Cyclist" investigating an antique shop. Tom another English man on a bike is also pedalling around the Amercias. He has been more or less heading south for the past 18 months, he is raising money for Macmillans and has an excellent website which he designed himself (www.thehungrycyclist.com).
My own appetite is not insignificant. Whilst the fate of South American pigs is tragic it wasn´t sufficently powerful enough to stop me enjoying large and delicious helpings of Colombian chorizo (sausage), morcilla (black pudding) and chicharron (pork crackling). In Medellin I spent a week pleasantly vacillating between the tables of Doña Amparo and her neighbour, Don Christina. Doña Amparo is the mother of my Colombian friend in England, Jair. Hello Jair (don´t worry I have decided not to publish
Big breakfast
This was my first breakfast in Colombia and a taste of things to come. 5 potato cakes, a big hunk of pork, a tamale and a big cup of coffee. Luckily first 40km were downhill giving me time to digest my meal. the photo of your cuddly gorilla). On the outskirts of Medellin a man on a motorbike drew me a decent map of how to find Doña Amparo´s house and I finally arrived two days later than projected.
In Colombian schools at the age of 10 the girls are separated from the boys and it is solemnly explained to them that if men are not fed something tasty to eat every 30 minutes they will fade away and disappear. So in Gastronomic terms it was about the equivalent to a UEFA Champions League group containing Chelsea, Barcelona and AC Milan. I was given bowls of food three times bigger than everyone else. When I was not looking extra bits of pork crackling, advocado and arepa (corn bread) were sneaked onto my plate at every opportunity. I did not disgrace myself. On the basis that away goals count for double I think that I would have gone through to the next round. On Sunday I ate so much that I have to delay my departure an extra day when I realise I cannot possibly get up at 5 am the next morning and ride my bike out of Medellin.
I
really liked Medellin. Nothing like its reputation, it is a beautiful, clean city full of trees and for those, like me, who have a passion for urban infrastructure it has a fantastic metro system (that includes a cable car). A local artist Fernando Botero´s sculptures fill the main plaza and the art museum has dedicated an entire floor to house a large collection of his facsinating paintings. Doña Christina´s delightful daughter, Angela, has recently returned to Medellin after three years teaching in the United States and I was very grateful for all her assistence and help as she showed me around for a week (experiences included going to my first heavy rock concert in sandals and my first yoga class not in sandals). After many months of hopping from hotel to hotel it was a really really nice experience to live with and spend some time in a family atmosphere. So thank you very much Doña Amparo, Doña Christina, Don Jesus, Angela and her sisters Liliana and Lucero.
With Doña Amparo´s help I finally manage to track down a copy of a really catchy pop song that I first heard in Peru. It is called "Adios Chico de mi
Security guard, Pasto
This gentleman was very nice and helpful. Unfortunately his directions on how to get out of Pasto "Just go straight ahead (derecho)" led me straight into some roadworks. For some reason in Colombi when you ask for directions people always seem to say "Derecho". Don´t know why. barrio" by Tormenta (a sort of Argentinian Cher). Amazingly it is about a young girl singing about a young boy with a dirty face who is always riding past her house on his bicycle. Unfortunately said youth never stops pedalling. Young girl wishes he would stop so that they could go dancing together and ultimately plant the stars of her dreams in her womb. Angela also tells me the story or her friend Raul. Apparently Raul, a young doctor, was always being asked by his girlfriend when they were going to get married. When Raul eventually asked his girlfriend to marry him she says that she now would like some time to think about it. Given that Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus Raul wrongly interprets this as rejection. His response is to buy a bicycle and pedal off into the Colombian sunset. Three years later he is living with an indigenous tribe in the Amazonas, a remote jungle region in Colombia.
Medellin, like Cali, also a lot of plastic surgery clinics. After cycling for 10 months I am still not entirely happy with the shape of my buttocks. Despite all this exercise they are not
as firm or perky as I would like them to be. Given that the climate is now forcing me to wear nothing but lycra I decided to investigate my options. I am informed that to have my buttocks surgically enhanced will cost me about 600 pounds. I am assured by Lilianna and Lucero that this is a very reasonable price. In addition the surgery will only take about two hours. The real deal breaker though is that after the surgery in order to recover I will not be able to ride my bike for twenty days. The due diligence breaks down at this point as I cannot afford this long a delay in my schedule.
A couple of days after I leave Medellin, after many months I finally freewheel out of the Andes. As this magnificent mountain range dissolves into cattle country it is rather like watching the last episode of Friends sad, dramatic but inevitable. Now am about two days ride away from Cartagena going to spend a week there before heading onto Panama, hopefully by boat.
On the homefront, this year I have missed the opportunity to participate in the illustrious annual poker competition, the Tooting
1000. I am extremely grateful to Founding Member Rees for preparing the report on this year´s event which I have attached for your information below. Sadly at the time of going to press photographs of the evening were not available. However I strongly suspect that they would not have been able to compete with the spectacular Colombian scenery.
Anyway just the usual brief reminder that I am riding for Medecins Sans Frontieres. If you would like to make a doantion please visit my website www.pushonnorth.com.
Push on
Tim
The Tooting 1000
The Tooting 1000 is a revered private members’ Club and winning the annual poker tournament is something that every member aims to do at least once in their lives. Similarly, members are keen to avoid the dreaded ‘Dolly Dealer’ status which occurs when the first player goes out and effectively becomes ‘Dolly Dealer’ for the rest of the night (and in fact for the rest of the year). The latter proposition is not a pleasant one, especially since a new pink Club Hat has been introduced by Founding Member Moorcroft. (The irony bites).
This year’s venue was Associate Member McNeil’s very luxurious
house in East Dulwich. AMEC, as he has become known, asked us to meet him in a very nice old boozer round the corner from his house and this is where six of the biggest boozers known to man arrived at 2.00pm sharp to start drinking lager. Well, five of them did. The sixth was stuck in a taxi from North London for three hours and ended up threatening blue murder if the driver could not find his way to East Dulwich. The trouble was, AM Sir Geordie (of North Shields) was dressed as a nun.
The Members were most astonished to see a very angry nun (complete with eye make-up, nail varnish, stockings and goatee beard) arrive at the juicer spitting chips and swearing loudly until they realised who it was. The rest of the Members were suitably attired in terrible, awful shirts, as is the custom. The Members were also pleased to welcome to the Club Adrian ‘Minnie’ Brown who arrived looking all nice and ready for fleecing. After months of inter-Club email abuse, the day had finally dawned for The Tooting 1000.
Following a few sharpeners (one of which was a toast to absent Founding
Member Malloch) the Members retired to the playing arena. And what an arena it was! AMEC had done us all proud with an excellent chip table which FM Rees decided he would buy the very next week. Thankfully beers were in abundance and once the cat had been booted out (FM Rees is allergic and FM Moorcroft is violently opposed to the feline beasties) FM Norman suggested some drinks and the chips were divided into $1000 stacks. FM Moorcroft divided his piles of Embassy Regal cigarettes into stacks of 200 and Sister Geordie cracked open a bottle of vino (as is his preference). The pirate asked us all for our £250 (totally £1500) and placed most of it in the Hallowed Pot, keeping back around £987 for expenses. We all counted our fingers and sat back down.
It was at this point that AMEC disappeared and reappeared ten minutes later dressed as his namesake, “The Pirate”. Long John AMEC is known for his horrible, dirty tricks at the table (and indeed away from it) and his name has stuck. The parrot on his shoulder was a fitting tribute (although we all checked it for secret cameras and mirrors).
Viviana
When she didn´t have any change Viviana let me have a whole pineapple for about 20p. It was so juicy that I ate it all, even the core in the middle that is usually too tough. The game got off to a flying start for Sir Geordie who rapidly built up a healthy chip stack. There were the usual insults being hurled and booze being downed, but all in all it was a hugely pleasant affair. After some serious chip exchanges FM Moorcroft came a cropper and was forced into Dolly status. Donning the pink cap and with a face like thunder, FM Moorcroft realised grimly that this was actually a “Double Dolly” scenario - a situation that had never occurred before in the history of The Club. He demanded there be “no more messing about right?” and began dealing quickly and efficiently. (He has had much practice). One by one the players came up against each other and after 5 hours or so, some big pots were exchanged before one by one the players slipped away, leaving FM Rees to battle it out with Sister Geordie.
This was one game of heads up that was new to FM Rees, as he had never played a nun before and the stakes were high. After some dilly dallying, FM Rees’s superior chip stack (and gigantic cojones) won the day and he was crowned (for the second
First outing in lycra
I am very shy and not very comfortable just riding in lycra. However recently I have been receving lots of emails from ladies asking "Tim when are we going to see a picture of you wearing lycra shorts?". Unfortuantely this last sentence is not true. However the weather is getting too hot. Shortly after crossing the Colombian border comfort finally triumphs over moral and aesthetic considerations. time) Tooting 1000 Champion. Pictures were taken and The ‘Daddy’ Medal was awarded along with the remaining £54 in the pot (AMEC had forgotten to charge The Club for light and heat). Despite finding it hard to stand up due to excess drink the Members apparently made their way back out to the pub and that is where this correspondent’s memory ends. Grim flickers of an East Dulwich curry house and more drink then waking up on Sunday at AMEC’s gaff are the only memories of the evening. On Sunday FM Rees and newly-ordained Associate Member Geordie made their way across to FM Moorcroft where the three of them headed down to the King’s Head in Tooting for a swift seven hour session.
In all, the 2006 Tooting 1000 was a huge success and something that we will all remember. Hopefully FM Malloch will be with us next year
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