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I was awoken by the familiar beeping of my wristwatch. I was feeling a bit rough - dry mouth, headache, dehydrated, and slightly hung over from all the wine - it was 4 a.m. It wasn't how we originally planned it. We had planned to go to bed early so that we would be well rested and prepared for the grueling day ahead of us but we had such a great evening with our host Patrick, the owner of Hotel de la Palmeraie where we were staying, that a quick dinner turned into hours of engaging conversation and maybe one too many glasses of wine. Patrick spoke passionately about his love for Burundi and Rwanda, and was so excited by our travels and the fact that we were the first bicycle tourers to ask to pitch a tent at his four star hotel that he insisted we sign the hotel's Livre d'Or or 'Golden Book' which has been graced by such dignitaries as the Minister of Defense for Rwanda and some famous African singing group we can't remember the name of. We felt incredibly fortunate to have met Patrick and the wonderful staff who were all extremely accommodating for two budget travelers living in a nylon palace.
At 6 a.m. we said goodbye to our oasis in Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi, but also anxious to leave behind the diesel and dust of this bustling but war torn port city. Lynda was feeling particularly intimidated by the day that lie ahead, not because of the 1400m climb, but because of the potential risks of traveling in Burundi. The travel advisory on the Government of Canada website warned against travel in Burundi, highlighting the rural areas around Bujumbura as especially dangerous due to "Attacks on civilians by former soldiers, rebels, and youth gangs." We were about to set off on a 40km climb through the rural areas of Bujumbura (or 'Buj' as we started calling it) where we would be averaging 6km/h. Basically, we were sitting ducks, or at least very slow moving ducks, if anyone wanted to try anything. Fortunately, as we have discovered in all previous cases, it's never as bad as they say it is and in fact we had one of our most enjoyable and memorable days yet! The climb was long and arduous but filled with so much excitement and breathtaking vistas that we barely noticed the unforgiving steep pitches that snaked their way up the mountains.
For me, the highlight was watching all the brave young men flying down the hills at incredible speeds carrying enormous loads, exceeded in size only by their testicles! They carried everything on their rebar-reinforced racks including vegetables, large sacks of charcoal, hand crafted wooden doors, and bananas. Some of the guys carrying bananas had loaded their rear racks with piles that often towered over their heads and with bunches hanging off the sides of the racks. They looked like banana panniers or 'bananniers' as Lynda called them. We watched these courageous daredevils come careening down the winding asphalt at harrowing speeds carrying impossible loads with no helmets and poor brakes. We never witnessed one, thankfully, but if any of them had encountered the slightest obstacle, a wandering child, an obscured pothole, or a bus in the wrong lane (not so slight), I'm sure the carnage would be legendary!
In actuality it's a pretty slick system they have; they ferry loads of food, supplies, or people down to the city then catch rides back up the hill by grabbing onto the back of one of the hundreds of transport trucks going up the hill. Sometimes there could be as many as five cyclists across a large truck, all off their saddles, sitting sideways at the front of their top tube with one arm leisurely draped over the handlebars and the other grabbing hold of whatever they can. We received a lot of waves, thumbs ups, bell rings, and of course, shouts of "Muzungu!" (white person). We were the only ones foolish enough to pedal up the hill. At the start of the climb a few people were yelling, "Courage! Courage!" to us and it wasn't until I saw how crazy the drivers and cyclists were with their blind corner passing and blazing speeds that I truly understood what they meant!
After 40km and five hours of nothing but up with only a few quick breaks we finally reached Bugarama. We had climbed 1400 metres out of The Great Rift Valley and into the mountainous terrain of Burundi's tropical forests. As we stopped for lunch in Bugarama we welcomed the misty chilled air - a rarity in our travels thus far. The rest of the ride was mostly downhill which was a fun end to the day of mostly climbing but the excitement didn't stop there. We were chased by several groups of running children, all wanting to test out their English on us ("How are you?" "What is your name?" etc.) Sometimes our followers were guys on bikes. It's extremely rare that we ride by people on bikes and nobody follows us. Mostly they just want to stare at our super kitted out bikes or at Lynda's legs. Women rarely ride bicycles here so to see a woman riding a bike, especially uphill, is quite something! I had a potentially disasterous incident while bombing down a long hill right behind Lynda. I hit a pot hole at mach speed with a van right on my tail and lost a pannier (luckily not a banannier or that would been the end of the van!). The van swerved to miss my pannier then my other one blew off. Scary!! Finally, we pulled into a quaint mountain village and checked into a hostel minutes before the rain began to come down in sheets turning the roads into rivers. Life is good!
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