Its tough getting old - a drag as put by mick Jagger famously. It's especially rough when you're reminded this by your colleagues on the regular. Though I'm not the oldest in Eastern Province, Grandpa is what everyone knows me as, probably because I don't put up with much nonsense, say things how I see them, and have a hard time hearing when people mumble. Guilty as charged - Ill admit. But when something is said about another, constantly, for a considerable length of time, they either start believing it, or make an effort to prove it wrong.
Early on in my service, I had a veteran volunteer approach me about a bike excursion she was contemplating. The excursion would start from our district in Petauke and end in Chipata - roughly a 150 km biking trek. At the time, I was new, and the thought of all that biking didn't intrigue me much - I wasn't looking for a challenge and couldn't come up with a reason to agree to such an endeavor. Fast forward 2 years later, and the same question was asked of me again, but this time by a different volunteer.
Ask me why I agreed this time and not before and I wouldn't be able to give you reasoning; perhaps it had a bit to do with the looming reality that my service was dwindling down. Needless to say, a physical challenge of this stature seemed like an enticing way to prove that my nickname had little to do with my physical abilities and a memorable way to cap off a service.
After a bit of planning, I decided the bike excursion would be during the travel day to our bi-annual provincial meeting. It seemed like a fitting ritual for my final meeting and a challenge that would do well in disproving my elderly ways. I rallied and solicited to other volunteers, but successfully was only able to draft one other. Charles met me the night before at my site. We meticulously planned and predicted the best possible way to approach a 150km bike excursion in one day. It wouldn't be easy, but doable if we followed a strict pace with few lengthy stops.
We woke up around 4, prepared breakfast, and were on our way a little after 5. The weather was chilly and the winds were harsh. So harsh in fact that the first leg of the bike trek was a frustratingly demoralizing venture. To keep our mind off the horrendous weather conditions we played 20 questions and caught up with one another's life. The first leg to Katete which would be our first stopping point was marked by winds that were so furious that if we weren't being blown off balance, then we were pedaling down hill in what felt like a brutal hurricane. You could tell that the wind was crippling Charle's vigor. His pace was much slower then mine and when you bike 60 km the day before - the muscles protest a bit, especially when you have to work twice as hard to get just as far.
We finally reached Katete around 11. It was a brutal 66 km. We were torn by the wind and I was road rashed from a crash by an accidental 'Cut off' by Charles. Feeling outdone by the wind, Charles made the decision to end his bike trek there in Katete and proceeded to hitch hike the remainder of the journey. It was a touch choice for him to make, but he felt that he was slowing me down, and with a much harder second leg still to go, he didn't think he could manage anymore wind torment.
I started off a little before 12 after a delicious buffalo lunch. The final leg would last for 88 km, through rolling hills, long stretches of highway and through construction dirt roads. It was a bit more enjoyable alone I admit. I was able to set my own pace, listen to music, and lose myself in thought. I felt like Forest Gump only on a bike trekking across the country for no apparent reason - I just felt like biking. The scenery was beautiful and I noticed so many more details and lays of the land then ever before. The wind died down about halfway through and then everything became blissful and serene.
About 3/4 of the way in, my muscles started to remind me of the reality of the situation. I was starting to get sore and my energy levels were depleting. The stash of sweet potatoes that I had brought were diminishing and I was not hydrating properly. Never the less, this was the part of the journey were pushing was key. I had to make it the rest of the way as I had come too far to submit. I pushed on despite the ache and pain of my body. It was like painting a room - a big one, by yourself. You start off with vigor, broad compelling strokes, using your arm muscles in an effective manner, but then 5 hours later, when you're on that last wall or last coat, you start throwing your whole body into the process using muscles in an unorthodox manner - trying to get your legs and hips and any available untapped body part to help you finish the task at hand. My pedaling had become rather odd - I was either in the highest year using my entire body weight to gain ground, or in the lowest gear pedaling at light speed moving as fast as a slug on a cold day. Every meter was a battle.
The home stretch seemed to last an eternity. Just when I thought my destination was just around the bend, another stretch of land would crop up and I found myself saying to myself over and over "Where did this come from". It was almost as if some superior being was stretching the land further and further. It was a mental struggle to keep my spirits high and my body in motion.
I arrived at my destination a little after 4 p.m.. I was so exhausted that my muscles began to crap immediately after getting off the bike. I was welcomed to the house with a cold beer and congratulatory complements. I had accomplished my goal - a 150 km bike trek across the province. It felt satisfying and rewarding to tell people when they asked that I had made the entire ride with out hitching. Surprisingly I was hardly sore the next few days. I recovered well and I think its safe to say that somewhere, behind the thinning hair and mild crows feet is a bit of youth still poised and ready to prove itself when need be - at least for a few more years until the next great test.
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