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More than any other Bicycle Africa program, Mali gives us more
than we bargained for. More often than not participants find
these unexpected "adventures" the best part of the trip --
at least the most memorable. For the guides there are just
another tuft of gray hair. Here is the saga:
Indelible, from 1992, is lurching
our way into Djenne on a road that could have been nominated as the
surface of the moon. We vowed not to ride out. There was a sense of
relief when we found a boat captain who would putt us in a motorized
canoe, to San, in six hours. Twenty-three hours later we reach San,
and instead of an uneventful six-hour tale we had a twenty-three hours
story complete with mid-river mechanics, baling buckets, midnight
meals and a half-nights sleep on the river bank at some un-named (to
us) village. Any dreams of finding the fabled city of Timbuktu just
weren't going to happen!
The road to Djenne was paved in early 1993 so it is now relatively
painless to ride in and ride out. Good thing, because the motor on the
canoe was yet to be repaired. But Mali still had a few capers: We can
let cycling into Songo after dark and high temperatures below the
escarpment roll off our shoulders. But the cloudburst west on Niongono,
that was more like a dam-burst, is a little hard to dismiss. Between
being delayed an hour, the road turning to mush and progress reduced
to one-mile an hour, the sun setting and loosing our way among the
multitude of tracks, it was quite an ordeal. (It is high improbable
that we took the most direct route, but we'll never know.)
Fortunately, we found Somadougou, the stars came out, we got washed
and dinner, and bedded down on the roof. Unfortunately, it started to
rain again about three hours later. One not-so-happy-camper was heard
to roar over the rooftops of Somadougou, "Curse you Murphy."
I don't know what language Murphy (as in Murphy's Law) understands in
Somadougou.
We had hope to get to Timbuktu in '93, but were thwarted by
misconnect on the schedule between the plane and the boat!
In 1994, we had no major problems following the tracks through the
Dogon Country and there was no cloudburst. Even the prospects of
getting to Timbuktu seemed to be improving -- until the secessionist
war by the Tuareg started to heat up and three days before we were
schedule to fly into Timbuktu the rebels started lobbing rocket
propelled grenades into the city. We took the opportunity to discover
the backwater town of Sofara and had a great time.
Did I forget to mention that those of us coming from Senegal got
the train-trip-from-hell? The group was arrested as we entered Djenne
for not having a [white-people] licenses for the bikes. This included a
simultaneous run-in with the Djenne police/guide extortion racket.
Later on the trip, the all-night bus odyssey from Mopti to Bamako included a change
of bus before we ever left the station and being turned back at the
first checkpoint for two hours of bureaucracy. But this turned out
only to be the beginning. We made it through the first third of the
trip and maybe got a little sleep, before the axle broke. All eyes
open, we limped into San. After taking several post midnight hours to
determining all the welders had gone home for the night and couldn't
be found, and we negotiated for van -- a fine machine except that it
was 40 degrees that night and the rear windows were broken out. We
huddled together sleepless as the wind blew through at 60 miles per
hour. By the time we reached Bamako we were physically only four hours
late. Mentally we were much more wasted.
Which brings us to 1995. We solved the problems associated Djenne
by electing to give it a pass. There was no bus trip from Mopti to
Bamako because we were going straight through the Dogon Country to
Burkina Faso. And the weather was hot but generally manageable. We
were even all set to visit Timbuktu -- arriving Thursday morning by
air and leaving Thursday afternoon by boat. It should have been a
flawless trip.
We weren't a day into it before the flaws started to appear --
Bamako guides are now practicing extortion but the flight to Timbuktu
went fine. Bicycle Africa had gotten to Timbuktu -- we just couldn't
get out -- the Thursday night boat was nowhere in sight. After a
couple of extra sandy Timbuktu meals and a sandy Timbuktu sleep we
woke-up Friday to learn that it had been determined that the boat also
would not arrive that day or the next day. In fact, no one was quite
sure when the boat would arrive. The next plane was Sunday. So having
eliminated exit by water and air, we were pretty much left to an
overland exit. That meant camel or Land Cruiser. We opted for the nine
passenger Land Cruiser (13 Bicycle Africa bodies, the driver and his
assistant). We were assured it was about a six-hour trip. The first
ten miles to the river is paved, but it's a 250-mile trip. Of the two
large diesel engines on the ferry neither worked. On the far side the
ferry could only get within 100 feet of the shore so they drove the
Land Cruiser off the boat there. Thirty not-so-certain-minutes later
it was on shore and we all waded after it. For over one hundred miles
until we reach the national highway there is no road, just
intermittent tracks through the sand, scrub and acacia bush. For most
of the night 11 people were inside and four people rode on top. Some
people thought this was one of the most exciting experience of their
life. If there is a moral to the story it is don't plan to leave
Timbuktu by boat if you need to keep a schedule, and don't plan to
leave overland because experiences like that just can't be planned.
Nineteen hours and four flat tires later we arrive in Mopti, almost
back on our original schedule -- but our bike which had come up from
Bamako on a bush-taxi had been impounded by the police ten miles away.
Except for the inconvenience it only cost us a few nice smiles to
ransom the bikes.
By the time we got to Koro some people were wondering why we had
gone to the trouble to retrieve the bikes -- this was the route that
avoided the bus to Bamako. Although we had been told that the road
that makes the descent between Djuguibombo and Kani Kombole had been
improve much of it looked distinctly like one of the pictures of human
skin magnified a thousand times. We spent as much time hauling the
bikes downhill as riding them. We would have been better off in time
and distance traveled carry the equipment down the trail that goes
over the cliff. Even at the bottom, Mali continued to test our mettle
with deep sand on the road. Fortunately we got some great help from
local bicyclist who help us navigate some harder packed alternative
routes. We cycled through villages and hamlets in the morning, sat
under trees and in villages at midday and finished the mileage under
the setting sun as temperatures start to drop in the afternoon. We no
small amount of grit everyone made it through the worst to Koro. Some
people thought this was one of the most exciting experience of their
life.
So what is in store for the future? Amazingly enough, another Mali
trip. But, starting with the boat trip, always accompanying the bikes
when they have to be moved, never trying to cycle below the escarpment
until the roads are roads, cutting the mileage of the cycling days
nearly in half, and flying in and OUT of Timbuktu near the end of the
trip. And we will be back on a bus between Mopti and Bamako. WAWA
(West Africa Wins Again)!
In 1996, the trip started out smoothly enough, will not considering
the airlines lost a bike, but that can’t be attributed to Mali.
Cycling from Bamako to Koulikoro is scenic. Everyone arrived in plenty
of time to eat, drink, check-in and stow the bikes. The riverboat
shoved off only slightly late and everyone dozed off to the sound of
the throbbing engine.
At wake-up it was all too quiet. The engines were silent. The boat
was immobile, courtesy of one of the rivers unpredictable sandbars. We
had been stopped since early morning and the crew’s efforts to
reverse the engines were to no avail. Young men waist-high in the
river worked at the bow trying to persuade the boat free with large
logs.
Over breakfast theories were traded about escape attempts-maybe we
wouldn’t get to Mopti after all. Could we bike along the shoreline?
How much food was on board?
When the crew eventually herded all the passengers to the back of
the boat in order to raise the bow the situation seemed desperate. But
thanks to our men in the river, prying, heaving and splashing the boat
eventually slipped free. A cry rang out, congratulations were traded
all around and off we went.
The eight-hour delay became a sixteen-hour difference by the time
we reached Mopti. We docked early in the morning after an extra
refreshing night sleeping on the boat, hopped on the bikes and rode to
Sofara. The schedule was hardly affected.
Of course the flight to Timbuktu is always event on the cold-war
vintage Soviet turbo-prop planes. And even that was comfortable and
safe-with the exception of several cockroach sightings by the
squeamish. For 1996, you could almost say everything happened when and
how it was supposed to happen-by Mali standards.
In 1997, Mali wasn't messing around. The boat didn't show-up.
Fortunately there was fair warning that it had broken down but this
meant an overland to Mopti. This was accomplished on schedule. Pulling
adventure out of the jaws of complacency, the group was talked into
taking a "short-cut" between Sofara and Djenne. It may be a
short cut for a donkey, but not a bicycle. The sandy road created a
long day of push-bicycle Africa. The one day adventure and late
arrival had a domino effect because it created success late starts and
late arrivals and too much travel in the afternoon heat. Through the
group persevered and found a reasonable numbers of laughs. But add to
the list of don'ts for Mali, no short-cut to Djenne. On the
positive side the mafia nature of tourism syndicate in Djenne seems to
have disappeared.
1998 - Let just say the boat didn't get it together this
year. Instead of taking the boat to Mopti and heading to Djenne
from the east and then going into the Dogon Country, we took a bus to
San and headed to Djenne from the west, before doing the regular
irregular program in the Dogon Country.
1999 - All the ugliness that used to be tourism in Djenne has
disappeared and reincarnated itself in the Dogon Country. A
local guide who was pissed for not being hired to lead our group had
the entire group arrested. The police seem to side with us, our
own guide was worthless and the local official in charge of promoting
tourism sided with the opportunity for extortion. It took
several hours to sort this out, during which we sat in the shade and
read. But by the time we started riding the sun was high in the
sky. Fortunately the construction of the road down the
escarpment is well along so we could ride further than we expected
which helped make up some time.
No plane to Timbuktu this year because the president had commandeered
it to go to Abidjan for a meeting.
2000 - The road down the escarpment is finished, but the plane to
Timbuktu was more than 24 hours late. Those who persevered only
saw Timbuktu for about an hour before they had to get back to the
airport.
Happy cycling wherever your front wheel takes you. |
