I emerged from my beach bungalow this morning into a world hard to leave; swaying palms and an already sunny beach. I set off early into the coconut tree jungle on a somewhat grassy dirt path, pushing Ganesh past a few palm-frond homes, across a narrow foot bridge, lifting him over a few rocks to the short-cut back to the main road.
I considered, then instantly dismissed, having breakfast at one of the 'Fast Food' stahls along the road. I'd convinced myself there was actually a nip in the air that I wanted to avail myself of while it lasted. I also became acutely aware of something else in the air -- the overwhelming sting of burning trash! It's totaly puzzling to me that in a country so progressive in science, medicine and engineering, you'd think they could come up with some solution for proper waste management. Under the current scheme, sweepers come out and form little votives of trash lining the road before lighting a match. Needless to say, the crisp morning air I foolishly imagined quickly turned into the typical heavy, eye-burning and lung searing stuff.
Just as I was contemplating the trash and my chronic cough, I was jolted back to the road by an actual marathon on National Highway 17. It was poorly attended but well staffed, with each barefoot runner having his personal motorcade followed by an ambulance. Now, I thought I'd seen everything on Indian roads, but this was a suprising and distracting first. Suddenly, riding a bike didn't seem so hard.
For the next 40 clicks after bypassing Kannur, I worked through my entire range of gears. There's an endless series of the most unpleasureable roller coaster hills. Nothing too long, but constant and steep. Mentally, it was a day where I had to dig deep and only 10 kays from my destination (Bekal), I began a hard and fast bonk. It's really a strange phenomenom, logically I knew I should have eaten more than one quick rice and coconut goodie some 4.5 hours before. Usually (and those who know me can verify this), I wouldn't even consider the notion of skipping a meal. But it was too hot to feel hungry and too much work to stop.
I thought I could bite off the 10 kays and then chew on some food but as the road swings more westerly a stiff headwind kicked in. Rotating down into nearly my granny gear, I started to set smaller goals of one kilometer at a time. I gave out only 3 kays from Bekal, finally stopping for pure sugar, cold water and a leg rest. One of the few things that kept my legs turning into Bekal were the posters of Suddam Hussein lining the road. For the last few days the communities have been noticeably Muslim, but around Bekal I discovered they must be strong Sunnis. Don't get me wrong, nobody appeared outwardly hostile to a blonde American on a bike, but at the same time, nobody was quick to smile or say hello.
There are several large mosques lining the road into Bekal and the road was graffitied in Tour de France style, only with Muslim symbols and foreign words I was happy not to understand. Consulting my guide book, it listed only a few bottom budget guesthouses still a few kilometers into the headwind north. Contemplating my meager options in this all too seedy hood, I caught a glimpse of an extremely rare sight -- a slick new air-conditioned tourist information center. It was an extremely modern facility which, I later learned, is funded by some mega-resorts projected to be open on Bekal Beach just in time for high season in 2008. Prying a little more I extracted the gem of the day, a private home stay only 2 kays down an obscure dirt road and tucked in a lush fruit bearing jungle. It was pricier than my usual budget ($11/day), but I was feeling entitled to a spell of luxury and comfort after the fatiguing and long day.
So I was pleased, 5.5 hours and 115 km after starting out, to find myself in a Heritage home getaway (called Chandralayam) complete with handcarved wood ceilings, spotless red oxide floors, a breezy spacious lounge and amazing home cooked meals. Even more satisfying, perhaps, was the connection with a nearby Ayuverdic Spa. I've disted the ayuverdic treatments for too long and decided I couldn't legitimately criticize something I've never experienced. In the name of research and, quite candidly, in the hopes of being able to move again, I meandered down the road for the all over 'Rejuvenating Massage'. This amounted to at least a gallon of sweet smelling warm oils swooshed up and down my body for a solid 90 minutes. And, just in case I didn't sweat enough on the ride, they locked me in a steam chamber to ensure complete and total dehydration of my body. Joking aside, it was a worthwhile and truly enjoyable experience.
In my absence from the guesthouse, a group of friendly and fun Italians moved in. What better way to close the day than dining al fresco with four Tuscan natives. After several failed attempts at their English followed by my non-existent Italian, we settled in on French, laughter and alot of hand gesticulations.
Ciao and Ride Strong!
To make a tax deductible donation to the Challenged Athletes cause please go to:
http://raceforareason.kintera.org/julie Thank you.
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