Gas Masks And Bandages!

Since this was to be my first experience riding in traffic Al suggested that I pull my tubular bandana over my mouth and nose. During his short ride the day before he learned that the air was often thick with diesel exhaust and partially combusted motor oil.

He wore the anti-pollution mask that he bought in Korea. “You look like a policeman in Singapore in that thing!” one of the group exclaimed as we were getting ready to leave from the parking lot of the hotel. “You should wear a cape with that outfit”, proposed another, “I’ll bet you scare little children!” Evidently, she (nor anyone else in the group) had never seen such a thing before.

Ironically, and there were a lot of ironic moments, she ended up writing the following in her trip review.

First week - not so good. Too much heavy traffic and pollution. I have asthma so it wasn't a happy time as I struggled along 40KM of trucks, cars and motorbikes belching out goodness knows what. I would therefore recommend anyone with a similar condition to acquire a face mask.”

And so off we went, me looking like a would-be bank robber on a bike, and Al looking like….. well, you decide. He got bored at one point and decided to take a picture of himself while he was riding.

For someone who wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t do badly. Al figures I finished sixty-seven of the ninety-two kilometres for the day. And I certainly did better than others. One individual fell twice. Another was thrown off her bike by a speed bump that appeared out of nowhere (there were a lot of unmarked speed bumps as I recall). Sadly, a group member who came to her aid had his camera stolen as he was helping. She continued the ride, however her knee was bleeding and her hand was painful and swollen. Al was forced off the road by a bus, that coming from behind decided to squeeze between him and an oncoming truck (the road we were on was really no wider than a single traffic lane in North America).

A rider behind me was sure I would be killed as a bus passed within inches of my shoulder. He would soon fall a third time.  So much for the tranquil cycling portrayed in the trip notes!

I finished the final kilometres in the support van while Al cycled on to the lodge where we were to stay in Bandipur National Reserve. 

Happily, the rest of the day was uneventful. The jeep safari that afternoon provided no glimpses of tigers, however we did see one bull elephant that promptly turned away so that we only got a good view of his bum. Imagine that, coming all the way to India only to be mooned by an elephant!

The next day, January 4^th was a short ride, only thirty-four kilometres, however they were hilly, hot and hard, and my faith in the trip notes was pretty much gone.

I did my best but lack of food (tummy troubles were still with me) and a poor sleep the night before did me in. Fortunately, there were bottles of cold mango juice and fresh pineapple at the Dreamland Hotel where we stopped for lunch. 

Dreamland Hotel, many in the group remarked that the name didn’t suit the premises very well. For me, the green walls made me queasier. Still I was better off than others. One of us picked up a bug that lasted through the next week and beyond. It was bad!

And then we were off to Wildhaven hotel in Mudumalai National Park. 

The setting was serene. We had a large airy room with a balcony and beautiful views. Al, who has never seen a savannah, said it looked like one. 

More determined than ever to get better and enjoy the trip I slept for most of the afternoon. Al opted not to go on the visit to the orphanage that was part of the itinerary. He spent his time with his nose in the book he had brought with him – Cycling Home From Siberia, by Rob Lilwall.

When I woke up I had a dreadful feeling. It was like a voice was telling me this trip wasn’t supposed to happen. I told Al that. I told him that maybe my cold, the Christmas sock fiasco, the black cow that crossed our path, my stomach problems, and the people in our group who were dropping like flies (literally and figuratively) were omens. Surprisingly, he was quiet. He didn’t argue. Usually he would. Why? Because just before I woke up he finished the chapter The Land Where Might is Right in his book. What he read aloud didn’t make me feel any better. The timing/coincidence of the passage he read aloud gave me a chill:

I remember thinking that the traffic had seemed both anarchic and alarming, by my second visit I had come to realize that it was in fact governed by very strict rules. Right of way belongs to the driver of the largest vehicle. Buses give way to heavy trucks, ambassadors give way to buses, and bicyclists give way to everything, except pedestrians. On the road, as in other aspects of Indian life, might is right. – William Dalrymple.

…..Dalrymple was right. Bicyclists did have to give way to everything except pedestrians in India….. I was astounded the first time a truck ostensibly tried to hit me. It was coming in the opposite direction and overtaking the car in front of it. The truck pulled into my lane and did not waver as he accelerated toward me. He was confident that I would plow off the road and into the sandy shoulder before we collided, which is exactly what I did. The only exception I would make to Dalrymple’s rule was that cows, the holy animal of India, trumped everything.

However tomorrow would be the Ooty hill climb that we had been talking about and training for months – 1.6 steep kilometers through 35 hairpin bends, and a personal test. Al’s thinking was that if we could manage it and trained really hard when we got back to Canada, we would sign up for a three week cycle tour from Lhasa to Kathmandu in 2013. Dreadful feelings were pushed aside. The road awaited.

Next posting - Rest And Be Thankful!