Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The tyres pressed deep into the sticky clay surface, making a sickly sucking
noise. Two metres later, the back wheel slid out. Narrowly avoiding a fall, I
stamped my foot down and felt the tendons in my right knee draw tight until it felt
like they would snap.
Once again I pushed forward. Feeling sure of my balance, I lifted my sight to
the panorama ahead and knew instantly that I had made a foolish mistake. The
front wheel lodged into thick mud and the bike crashed. Unable to leap free, I was
thrown down with my legs pinned beneath the frame and heavy load. A nauseating
pain shot up my leg as my shin copped a gash from the front cog teeth. Leaving the
bike in the middle of the road, I stormed off, swearing.
Upon inspection, the bike was undamaged but clogged with the viscous red
mud. There was no point even trying to ride, so after picking up the bike, I leaned
over and began to push. The surface was so saturated that with every step my feet
slid backwards. My runners felt like heavy clogs. Every twenty metres or so I had
to tip the bike over and scrape out the mud from the guards and wheels.
Ahead, the road cut a relatively wide swath of dark red above the swampy land-
scape. I peered into the distance in the hope that there was improvement in sight.
I thought of Chris, who was probably on a nice bitumen road somewhere, gliding
across the landscape. What worried me was that if I didn't make it to Chris on time,
he would continue alone into Novosibirsk. If only I could tell him that I was prob-
ably going to be late.
After an hour or so I became curious about the deep grassy drain that ran along
the side of the road. Surely it would be easier to push down there. I clambered
down into the five-metre-deep drain to discover a sea of stinging nettles, long grass
and ankle-breaking holes.
It took what seemed an eternity to push the bike back up the near vertical in-
cline. By the time I dumped the bike back on the road I was trembling with hunger.
Ever since Bruce's death, hunger, along with many other sensations, seemed irrel-
evant; when I ate, everything tasted indifferent. Even physical pain was dulled and
happened somewhere beneath my thoughts. I didn't feel refreshed by sleep and yet
didn't feel the complete sensation of exhaustion, either. Making fires, collecting
wood, riding huge distances: what was the point? I knew that it was an unhealthy
situation, and somewhere I missed the sensation of experiencing the highs in bal-
ance with the lows.
