12/27/2023 Bikepacking Guinea Day 141 : Follow the Yellow Pixel Road

Welcome to Guinea. The first village I came to yesterday was sparse for food. I worried about the overgrown trail and returned to town to buy whatever I could. Options were fruit juice, sardines, cookies, and a couple half eaten loaves of bread. I think they gave me those “two for the price of one.” Dinner was several bags of cookies and two cans of sardines.

The new trail was much better. Even though it is a “yellow road” on the map, it’s really just a trail for motorcycles. It was rocky and fun in the fresh morning air.

Once again, Guinea is different. A couple young women saw me and pulled the buckets from their heads and ran into the bushes - truly looking frightened. Later, kids would call out to me, but when I’d stop, some would run away. Other people waved eagerly with big smiles, making me feel a sudden sonder about the uniqueness of each leg of the journey. As a generalization, people were more shy here, or at least slower to warm up.

If I tarried, kids who asked me to stop would slowly approach. Once they gained confidence, they would ask me to give them the bike. Instead, I’d take some of them for rides (pushing them while holding one end of the handlebar, their feet on the top tube, not able to reach the pedals). Most of the kids I saw today were really young.

Speaking of little critters, I saw 3 monkeys run across the trail today in 2 different spots! I have no idea what kind they are.

This part of Guinea is the section I have been dreaming about: Fouta Djallon highlands. I’d like to linger here a bit. And lingering is happening with the 1mph I did much of the day, pushing the bike up steep hillsides. Once I reached Mont Loura, I saw something I hadn’t seen since mid November: Blue Sky! The temperature was agreeable, and the air was redolent with the florabundant fragrances of spring. I felt like I was in the intoxicating poppy scene from the Wizard of Oz.

As I pushed up the rocky trail, I came across a group of teens. Two of them spoke good English. The told me they were getting the road ready for the end of the year festivities up on the mountain. They were throwing rocks from the road into the bushes. I still had to hike-a-bike this rugged section, but it made me happy seeing teens getting together and doing something for the future. My memories of “Perpetual Tea Time” in Mauritania are still fresh. The woman also came to introduce herself, and spoke excellent English. Later, I’d see her in town again, and after we talked for a moment, you could tell all the people in the street were asking her something like, “How do you know THAT guy?” Personal space isn’t much of a thing here.

When I bought my water, a crowd gathered, as usual. I crouched on the broken concrete step, my bottles in the dirt as one-by-one, I pierced the 12 x 400mL water bags to drain the liquid into my bottles. They were fascinated by my technique of using a little knife. Normally they just bite into the bag and suck the water out. To my absolute surprise, there was a trash can nearby. I’ve only seen a few trash cans since leaving Morocco. Even hotels don’t have them. You know what that means, right? I’ve been littering. It’s another thing I don’t feel good about. Sometimes I’ll unpackaged my food in front of the store, wander around pretending to look for a receptacle that I know isn’t there… until the guy who just sold me the stuff puts out his hands to take the litter. I’m pretty sure it just lands in the street in front of the store the moment I leave, but some shop owners have this courtesy. It’s kind of like how they used to take the women and children out of the room before putting the dog down with a pistol.

Right before town, a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of jackets stopped to chat. As he left he said he was going to sell this bread - hidden under the jackets. What the hell, I eat someone else’s half-eaten bread; I can eat out of a wheelbarrow. I bought a loaf from him.

But I realized I might need more; there is nowhere to buy food between towns. I saw some stacks of bread once I was in town, and motioned to buy some. Immediately 5 kids came shoving their loaves in my faces. Uh oh. I really only needed one. I picked the most humble looking boy who wasn’t being aggressive, and handed my money to him. He bashfully accepted and even went to get a piece of newspaper to wrap it. The loaves here are good: 600g and much tastier than in Senegal. When he said, “Merci” as the other boys were kicking and punching him (playfully), I knew he was the right pick.

Finally, i went to meet a retired school teacher, who runs the “Mali Tourism Office.” I learned about him from an app called “iOverlander” which is also how I know about “bad borders” where they demand bribes. It’s an app mostly for Europeans with RVs, but can be useful for cyclists too. Why visit some stranger? Why not?! I tried to tell him in French that I read online that he was cool… but I didn’t know the word for “cool,” so just said he was “good”. 😂

Good night!