18 July 2007

Riding Spinners and other throwbacks to a life long ago spent on two wheels

Niche groups exist everywhere but by definition they are masters at hiding in the little pockets of society, undiscovered to the untested eye. Here in The Gambia I never thought that I'd come across Professional Cycling in any other form than clips and reports on international television. This proved to be a inability of mine to see my surroundings, rather than an actual lack. Over the past year the country has revealed its dedicated few, riding out on the quiet roads of the Western Region of The Gambia. Their days are spent spinning away at seemingly endless kilometers of landscape dominated by gently swaying palm trees, exotic silky blue colored birds, and small boys whipping their donkeys down the road. This is a group of professional cyclists in The Gambia.

Out on a simple ride on the countryside I came up behind one such cyclist and smiled broadly at the chance to catch up and chat. I pedaled up to his side and offered a greeting.

A thought experiment: Imagine you are a Gambian who has been on the road training for a few hours, about the time when the eyes start to blur and focus solely on the road. A figure passes you which is not accompanied by the standard clank and dings of a normal Gambian vehicle, rather by a whirring sound of spinning gears. On the bicycle is a foreigner wearing a bright white Trek helmet, sweating profusely, and moving his mouth in communication but not speaking English or French. Are you seeing things, weird individual visions meshing together in an inexplicable soup?

My guessing skills were off and starting to greet in Mandinka didn't work, the guy was a Fula from the urban area. So we ended up going through the normal routine of "Jam Tans" (Peace only) and then got down to the real business. The following is a simplified and condensed version of how the conversation went. Translations as needed are put in parenthesis with footnotes at the end.

Rider: How are you?
Myself: Fine. Nanga def (How is it? Wolof)
Rider: Mangi fi rek. (Peace Only) You can try for Wolof? That is nice.
Myself: Do you hear Mandinka?
Rider: No, Wolof and Pular only. I am a Fula.

Awkward Pause. Children screaming "tubab" in background. Cattle grazing on freshly growing grass, growing only because of our first rains.

Rider: So you only have a bumper*? You don't have this type of bicycle?
Myself: No only this kind. In my home, I am having your kind of bicycle.
Rider: You want my kind? I will sell it to you, 1,500 Dalasis.

Another pause. I think it over, not a bad deal really.

Myself: I will try for buying it, later small small. (Later small small. A non-commital way to say that you are interested and will see by the grace of God). Your shirt is very nice**, do you ride for a team.
Rider: Yes, my team is very nice. This weekend. We are having a race in Kombo. Westfield to Banjul starting at 9am, you should try for it. It will be very nice.
Myself: You have races here in Gambia? I did not know, that is very nice. I will try to come see you race. I would like to meet your team.
Rider: Yes, this weekend. 9am. Next week we are having a race on the North Bank, Barra to Kerewan. You should try for that also***.

I smile and nod and there isn't much else to say so we pedal. He is in much better shape then I am and I curse the day that I left cycling.

The whole thing was sort of brief and language was a mashed together into some awful combination that didn't resemble anything in particular. So we let the riding do the work, a universal like music, mathematics, or a smile. I point to his back wheel and position my bike right behind his and for the first time in a year enjoy the pleasure of riding with someone else. We begin to rotate who takes lead and quickly move into a rotational pattern that works with mechanical efficiency. It makes me smile, it makes me miss sport, and it makes me miss riding in a large group.

In the end nothing was said, nothing had to be said at this point. Cyclists have a language all their own.

* Bumper. I've never heard this before but I suppose its slang for a mountain bike.
** The man is wearing a true cycling jersey colored in African green, yellow, and red colored stripes that says Gambia large on the back and front with some sponsors on the back.
*** I just wanted somewhere to put: Steevo, you 5uck man. :) Good luck job hunting.

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I love this island but this island killing me.
Sitting here in silence man I don't get no peace.
The waves upon my shore take me away piece by piece.
Going to leave everything I know going to head out towards the sea.

Get miles away.

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Many of the education group of '05-'07, who helped make us what we are in The Gambia, are now finding themselves on airplanes headed back to the wild world of the United States of America, back home.

As my group transitions to year two volunteers there is definitely a sense of growing up. Time to prove oneself to the country and the inner drive to maximize one's abilities. I can't help but once again thank the outgoing group for their leadership, direction, and advice, and hope that we can provide the same to all others still in country.

I think we have the skill set and I think we have the attitude to make the most out of the entirety of the volunteers' skill sets. In particular, there are some volunteers who I admire because they present themselves to be true Confucian masters for their ability to fluidly change roles throughout life. From the volunteer at the community level, the teacher or mentor, a friend to a fellow PCV, a son or daughter who left home so long ago.

I recently visited a good friend of mine about half way up country who best exemplifies this mastery. His work as an ICT Education volunteer saw him seize opportunities not only at school computer labs but also branching out into other fields including working for one of the nation's best medical training facilities and numerous government offices. At the same time he is a hands on, fix-em-up guy who has helped out numerous other volunteers with alternative electrical systems and has the creative mind necessary to make a lot happen from a little. On top of all of that he has a great relationship with his host family and community, and is still able to switch into American mode to cook, laugh, and relax with other PCVs in the area. Fluid changes from one role to the next, brilliant.

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Yes nerdy book request here only. Hyperion - Dan Simmons.

3 comments:

_Ajaan Tim said...

Todd,
I enjoyed the description of cross cultural cycling, especially the interplay of language and dialects. It sounds like a lot of fun to banter back and forth trying to find lingua franca with every stranger you meet, even if frustrating at times.
-Ajaan Tim

Janntor said...

ur 13375p33k i5 impr0vin9. I have a few interviews this coming week that I expect to turn into work (in Chicago). I've been back on the bike lately so I hope to get into shape to compete w/ you when you return. My legs are mush right now (first couple rides back on are tough). Will let you know how these things turn out.

PS do you think you'll actually buy that bike? Maybe you're the one who will have to get into shape to compete w/ me.

Jacob said...

I'm sure you impressed the other rider by keeping up with him on your bumper, if only for a short time.

We should check out a race when Dan and I come to visit. Maybe we could rent or borrow some bicycles and have a ride or two. It's interesting that both of those races are from one town to another, instead of on some sort of circular course like most of the races in the States.

I looked through the Rainbow Cycling scrapbook yesterday while packing up and moving some stuff to my new place. Lots of good memories to go along with the challenges of that race.