An afternoon of mountain biking near E’s neighborhood. And then I ask myself why we didn’t think of this earlier – most roads here, most good roads here, resemble a challenging mountain bike trail anywhere else.We head out mid-afternoon, first navigating through the paved neighborhood. But soon enough, sooner than one would expect, the pavement ends, and the dance to avoid, or perhaps in this case, locate, the largest puddles, commences.
It’s a left turn, then a right, and we’re plowing through high, above-helmet height, reeds, on our path. And the stinky mud flies. Some puddles (ponds?) even require us to turn around to gain more momentum before attempting to cross. None of us get stuck, none of us remain clean.On occasion we’ll pass locals – who struggle even more than we do heading up some rocky inclines. Of course, they have one-gear bicycles and are often carrying all kinds of things on the bike...
These people, vying to get from point A to B, are probably wondering why we would go out of our way to soil our clothes and find the longer trail home.
It’s tiresome – but fun. And the questioning Malawians we encounter are always cocked and ready with a smiling “Hello, how are you?”
At some point it ends up being Kebba and Eric and me and we explore some really challenging trails. On some we fly down the run only to find a dead end – and have to bike all the way back up. The ever-present maize, the babbling river, something scurries away from us among the low-lying bushes as well. In some spot in the denser wooded areas I hear voices too. Probably not in my head?
Around here, you turn off any paved road and the potential for a great mountain bike run exists. What better way to completely immerse oneself in a country (and country’s mud) and get out there and see and speak with the people?
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