Journals

A close inspection of my flat rear tire revealed that the inner tube had a quarter-inch-thick slit just above the rim—small enough for me to ride until sunset, but big enough to empty during the night.  To make matters worse, I discovered the canister of vulcanized rubber in my repair kit had punctured sometime earlier, and was now useless.  I did have a tire patch, but without any heavy-duty adhesive, it was worthless.  When I explained the situation to Amerigo and his neighbors, they responded by asking me for a small amount of money.  I peeled off my second-to-last $1 bill and gave it to one of them, a teenager on a bike.  After a brief interlude, the kid came back with a small container of locally-produced honey, the kind city-dwellers can only buy at Saturday morning farmers’ markets.  Looking like they had rehearsed the drill countless times, Amerigo and company proceeded to spread a generous portion of honey onto the patch, which they then pressed firmly onto the tube.  After the bike and checking to see that the patch was holding up, I thanked everyone for their help and said goodbye to Amerigo.  I wanted to show him how much his hospitality had meant to me, so I gave him my only memento from home—a St. Louis Rams baseball cap, which he put on immediately. Twenty minutes later, after changing my last dollar bill into Malawian Kwatcha and getting an exit stamp from Mozambique, I crossed through a short no-man’s land and was processed into Malawi by a man wearing pajamas.  I prodded along for several hours, before reaching a dusty town called Thyolo, from where a two-lane asphalt highway stretches out into the country’s Shire Highlands.  Blantyre, Malawi’s largest city rests atop this plateau, whose combination of warm tropical air and rising elevation produces short, frequent downpours throughout the rainy season.  Under a patchwork of blue skies and gathering storm clouds, I arrived at the Shire foothills, where the plains end and the road begins to climb.  At times the grade became so steep that my little engine could do nothing more than inch me forward in low gear, but its steady hum echoing off the rocks never wavered, never faltered even for a minute.  I was going to make it.    Later, as I cruised around one particularly wide bend in the road, the terrain opened up to allow for a view unlike any I had ever seen.  Behind me was the flat expanse of land I had just traveled, and down below, between me and the valley floor on either side of the road, was a swollen grey thundercloud floating above a rainbow.  Despite being hungry, dirty and tired, I rode slowly from that point on, savoring every moment.  The long and difficult mission I was about to complete had tested me severely, yet I had met every challenge along the way, and was now arriving in stinky, crud-covered triumph.  I had no money, but the manager at my hostel took one look at me and agreed to accept my traveler’s checks as collateral until the banks opened in the morning.  Then, after having my first hot shower in five days and scraping the dried dust out of my ears, I headed towards the restaurant, and the best damn pizza I had ever tasted.