Riding is not just about getting the best times, the sickest edit or the steepest climb. Sometimes it is about the adventure and just getting home is enough of an accomplishment.
The morning of the first Friday in Kazigo, one week after arriving, we decided to test our new bikes. Mine was later dubbed the “Bamboo Beast”. We tested them on the hellish road between our village and the small town of Paga. It was around 20 km along a red dirt road filled with ruts, potholes, climbs, and harrowing descents. We left at nine in the morning with a good outlook to the ride. The sun was already blazing down on us as we saddled up. There were around ten of us in the group, all riding sketchy bamboo bikes made by the previous volunteer group. We had dreams of fried chicken, cold drinks and electricity – the village did not at that time have running water or electricity. Five minutes in and that mood changed.
I was part of a volunteer group that lived and worked in the Upper East Region of Ghana in 2012. We were an exchange group made up of ten Canadian youth and 10 Ghanaian youth. Kazigo is a small village in the Upper East Region with around 2000 people spread out over a few square kilometres. Primarily a farming village, the locals used their bikes to ride to and from the crops, as well as to and from school. Many of the locals used their bikes for mainly work purposes, like carrying water, tools and even animals. Sometimes, however, they organized small races between each other. We lived and worked in this village for three months during the summer as part of a tree planting initiative. During this time we got to know the families and become a part of the community.
Five minutes into our ride we were getting bad craziness from the heat and our bikes. A few members of the group turned back to the village, and were probably the smartest of all of us. The rest of the stubborn ones got back onto our bikes and kept riding. The road to Paga was an uphill battle against gravity, heat, motorcycles and busses. We had a number of mechanical issues along the way. I personally lost my chain around 12 times before we got to a shanty that passed as a bike shop on the outskirts of Paga.
Along the ride, we split into around four groups thanks to the breakdown. Once we had all caught up to each other at the small, but mercifully shady bike shop, we sat while the mechanic attempted to fix our problems. The day was a battle, and almost lost me my faith in bicycles as a reliable means of transportation. We had countless issues. Chains were breaking, frames cracking (bamboo is not the most reliable frame-building material), pedals falling off of cranks; we finally reached the sanctuary of the restaurant. After some incredibly refreshing chicken, rice and Alvaro (a local soda), we turned around and headed back.
Fortunately, the way back was entirely downhill. We had just passed the halfway mark of the road when I noticed my headtube had a lot more play in it than before. I slowed down, and as I applied the front brake my frame died in a horrible cracking sound. I stood marooned on the side of a Northern Ghana side road with two halves of a bike in my hands, no knowledge of the local language, white skin and not enough money for a cab ride home.
I did a quick inventory of my bag. I had seven cedi, one notebook, an empty water bottle, and my pocketknife. Most of the people who passed me either paid me no mind or tried to help me with my bike. It was, however, very very dead. No amount of hospitality could revive it. I shouldered the carcass of my frame and started walking down the road to Kazigo. A few cars passed, but none stopped until a cab came by. I loaded the pieces of the bamboo beast into the trunk. The cabbie wanted 10 cedi for the ride home, but I only had 7. He saw the pitiful look in my eyes and let me in.
I thanked the man and went to collapse into bed.