Motorcycle Diaries

On a Tuesday. Incredibly, all the ducks came in line and the motorbike was delivered in the afternoon. It looks good. It runs. The insurance is there. The plate is registered. We’re in business. The next day was less productive, but successful. I spend almost all day at the Road Transport Authority getting my license.

On Thursday morning Mel and I set out on a trip around the peninsula. The bike was packed. Tarp, mosquito net, clothes, water, sun block… it looked good. We made it to Spur Road, about 2 klms, when the clunker choked on the steep incline. It was 11am, 2 hours after estimated time of departure and the bike was dead. If it died in the hills of the peninsula then it would be a great story. But, at the Lumley Police Station?! Son-of-a-beetch! I was cursing my decision to get this jalopy of a bike. (Photo: Mel watches while Demba and co work on the bike)

But, getting a shiny new bike would have made us a target – because 2 whities on a dirt bike is inconspicuous -, and it wouldn’t bring about certain relationships, like the one that was forming between me and Demba, the bike mechanic. We already had a few small run-ins. He worked on fixing the bike in the first place. It was a dilapidated pile of poop only a week ago, now it’s still a pile, but the chain is oiled and the grips are new. I didn’t trust him then, but now the trust is building. In 15 minutes, he and his assistant arrive from the other side of town on their 1960s Honda 125. “I come, I come”.

The choke was broken, stuck on the on position. The two worked on the side of the road, to get it running, but it would need to go back to the shop for more work. Mel and I followed them into busy downtown. It wasn’t easy to keep the bike running while dodging people and chickens at the same time.

After an hour of reconstructive surgery, we finally left for our adventure. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination – I keep telling myself! In this case, it was true. Demba is a great contact. He and his assistants genuinely want to help and do good work. They asked for no money for the 2 hours of work except $1.60 for a new plug. And Mel. It was like a 3-ring circus came to Campbell Street. Kids want to touch her skin and men want to buy her from me. Mangos and a chicken won’t cut it. (Photo: Road on way to Waterloo)

Over the course of the next 4 days we explored the peninsula. We cut across the mountains to Waterloo. The roads were pretty rough. My mountain biking skills came in handy. In every village we passed, most everyone stopped to look and wave as the two white people passed through. Mel was loving it. By now she seemed comfortable with the attention and surprised with the friendliness of the Sierra Leoneans.

Until we got to Waterloo. The bike stalled at a busy intersection, and I couldn’t get it started. Within seconds we were swarmed by dozens of teens, who looked like RUF rebels without guns! A few jokes did little to dull their aggressiveness. They argued about how to fix the bike, and some wanted to get on the bike. There was no way I was letting anyone on the bike. After sweating it out for a few minutes, we got the bike running. (Photo: River No 2 Beach)

The ride was amazing. We passed people working in the fields, vultures and many villages on the way to beautiful beaches. We stayed the night at Franco’s’. The food was surprisingly delicious and the room was air-conditioned and super clean. It’ll probably go down as the nicest place I’ll stay at in SL. Go figure, its run by a bunch of Italians – complete with Italian dinner music and arguing in the kitchen.

After a night back in Freetown, we returned to River No 2 to camp for the night. River No 2 is beautiful. And the village does a great job of managing the beach and facilities.

The motorbiking part was a lot of fun. We were stopped by a few kids who erected a makeshift roadblock. They threatened us and demanded money. The young one, maybe 8 years old, was most aggressive. He had war paint on his face. It was cute. We did get pulled over by the real police on Beach Road in Freetown. I was excited to show my documents, but they only wanted to chat. They refused to look at my license. I dropped names of SL police officers I know for good measure. (Photo: Franco's Hotel at Sussex Beach)

RANDOM: Julian was up-country attending a naming ceremony while we were beaching it. He returned with gifts including 2 live chickens. They live with us now. He slaughtered one for dinner last night. Yum. … Vultures pooped on Mel. … We have had little power during the last week. Last night was the first night of power in a week. Maybe the government is running out of money to fuel the generators. … I met a girl from Deep River. Strange. … We went to a wedding celebration last Sunday. It wasn’t until later in the day we learned the bride and groom were not in the country.