Caveman Cycling For Earth » charlie

Going Home

charlie — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 20:18:28 +0000

This is an email I sent out on November 14, 2010. I apologize for not updating this website sooner – it’s been pretty rough these last months.

I have some news… can’t say it’s bad news, really, but it doesn’t feel quite like good news either. Let’s call it “conflicted.”

I am going home to Madison, Wisconsin.

During some touristy time off in Alexandria, Egypt, I slipped on some wet concrete and fell off my bike. It was such a little thing; it took less than a second. But the ramifications are turning out to be much larger and more far-reaching than I could’ve expected.
I was hospitalized for surgery in a foreign country (again) and they installed a titanium plate with 11 screws to stabilize the wicked communuted fracture on my left femur. There were other complications as well, but that’s part of the full story, hopefully coming soon.
Lily came to take care of me. Then my mom came to take care of me. Capers came and helped too. I thought I was getting better; I figured I would be able to walk with a single crutch(and therefore be able to take care of myself) before they all had to leave again. But I wasn’t.
Not sure why (a “high rate of non-union” with this type of fracture?) but it hasn’t healed very much at all, and the orthopedic surgeon’s latest recovery estimate was 5 months before I can even put any weight on it.
That’s too long to couchsurf, and being able to walk normally(and ride a bike fully!) is too important to me to risk living on the streets of Egypt or in my tent out in the desert somewhere…. so I’ve decided to go home and stay with mom for the recovery.
This means an airplane. Which sort of represents a complete breakdown of my principles. Sort of feels like giving up, sort of feels like failure. This world bike tour has become my life, and though “going home” has always been the goal, I really wanted it to be all the way around the world first, by bike and sailboat. Anyway, to grossly understate matters, it was a hard decision to make, and not without its sorrows.

But I am not giving up on the tour. I am leaving my bike with a good friend here in Alexandria, so one day(probably after a year or so of recovery) I will be back, to dig up the scarab, to visit he accident site, and to pick up exactly where I left off.

Hopefully this will just make a great part of the whole story. And whatever route my emotions or opinions about this may take, up, down, or around… well, it’s life, vibrant and glorious, as always.

Wish me luck!

With Love and Joy,

Thank you.

Charles Brigham

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Photos: Libya

charlie — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 18:06:44 +0000

Libya: they call me Rahalla

charlie — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 00:16:23 +0000

They say it’s the ghibli, the southern wind from the Sahara, that brings the dust down to the populated areas of Libya. Wherever it comes from, it’s everywhere here – ramula. Sand, stretching as far as I can see, on either side of the lonely strip of road, with dry grey bushes and maybe a bit of the sea to be glimpsed at times to the left. It’s encroaching on all the towns and villages; between, behind, and all around every sun-baked, run-down building, and covering what used to be gravel streets. Trucks are equipped with extra-rugged tires, just so they can pull off the road or stop for gas. And this wind brings the fine dusty sand straight in my face as I painstakingly pedal across the country. I learned early on to keep my mouth shut out there on the road, to avoid catching a mouthful of grit in my teeth, especially when the big semi-trucks disrupt the consistent wind, changing it into a moment of chaotic sandy maelstrom. Of course, then it just goes into my nose instead…. It sticks to my sunscreen, it sticks to my sweat, my hair, my gear… my poor, poor drivetrain.

I’ve now made it across the worst of it I think, from Tripoli to Benghazi, after 1100 kilometers and ten days of some of the roughest pedaling I’ve ever done(I can’t decide whether this is harder than winter in Scotland). The wind has been in my face literally the whole time, it’s true, but after a couple days, this becomes normal. It’s just slower. And it’s also true that this is probably the hottest time of year to be cycling across a Libyan desert. But I stayed hydrated, dunked my head and doused my feet(surprisingly effective – thanks for the Tuareg tip Saadi) in water whenever I got the chance; and, well, the wind actually helped a lot to keep me cool – it was really only when I stopped riding that I felt the true force of the scorching sun beat-down.

No, it wasn’t the wind, or the heat, or even the sand. In truth, the real most difficult part about it all, was the fact that Ramadan started the day before I left. Ramadan is like Christmas for Islam, except there’s firecrackers and the gifts only come after a whole month of fasting-during-daylight-hours. Which in August is a lot of hours: no eating, no drinking anything(even water), no smoking, no sex, no perfume, no swimming… a real fasting of the spirit. It’s one of the most important aspects of Islam, and Libya is all Islam – by law.

So in a country where every single citizen and probably most visitors are all fasting during the day, the restaurants are simply not open until nightfall. Many just close for the whole month. Shops or markets to buy food and water, which are already far and few between, are closed in the mornings, because during Ramadan, life naturally becomes much more nocturnal.

In Tripoli I fasted the first day, just like everyone else. Slept till two, sat around until the fourth a’dan call to prayer that signals nightfall and the end of the fast, then feasted! Every night is the same: it begins with dates and a glass of milk, and maybe a quick cigarette. Then muslims make a quick prayer. Then back to the huge platters of soup and home-made breads and rice with chicken liver and stuffed grape leaves or bell peppers and a great variety of delicious fried potato-and-meat finger foods, the special cuisine of Ramadan. Delicious and bountiful!

On day two of Ramadan I took off from the capitol, and for the first couple days, I decided to try to “do as the Romans do.” Somewhat - I knew I would have to drink water: it’s the desert, and I’m on a bike. But I limited myself to a couple yogurts or date bars for sustenance during the day. And I didn’t really feel hungry. But those days were hell. It turns out you have to eat if you’re bike touring, you just have to, I don’t care how religious(or crazy) you are. Two nights in a row, I found my muscles completely wrecked, completely without energy, in pain, whether I was eating or stretching or even just laying in the dirt outside some random tire shop on the edge of town. “How am I going to survive all the way to Benghazi?” Something had to give.

So I took a day off in Surt, as a guest of a nice man named Milad, and recuperated. I ate and ate and ate in the seclusion of the hotel room he bought me. My stomach regained its normal bike touring stretch, my electrolyte balance got the salt it had been lacking, and after that the desert crossing was quite doable. I had to plan ahead and buy food and drink the night before, and eating during the day was a bit delicate, especially since the only bits of shade(I can’t sit in the open sun or my head starts swimming) were usually taken by lounging Libyan men waiting for nightfall. But there is a part in the Qur’an that allows travelers to eat and drink if they’re going farther than 81 kilometers(must be an old chapter from the donkey-cart and camel-back days – an hour in a car isn’t an excuse not to fast, is it?), and once people realized I wasn’t an Arab, they were cool with it. Nevertheless I maintained discretion while chugging water and stuffing my face….

I met a lot of nice men out there. Here they call me r’halla, or adventurer – my new favorite Arabic word! I was impressed by Arab hospitality in Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, but here in Libya, nearly everyone I speak to asks me if they can help me. It’s simply amazing! I’ve been given so much food and huge quantities of beverages, money, and offers of everything else, from phone recharge cards to places to sleep. I traveled ten days on only 21 dinars, about $15. There were stretches of distance that started to worry me, whether I would reach a shop for water before I ran out, but there was no need to worry – everyone and anyone will help me. It was awesome, but at the same time I felt a now-familiar sense of exclusion, like reading the big sign outside a mosque: “Non-muslims not allowed.” Many delicious meals were shared, but I was never allowed to see, much less meet or say thank you to, the women that cooked them. Several petrol-industry towns were completely closed to me, denied right there at the Gadafi-green police gate. And generally, people did not invite me to their homes(as in Morocco, for example), but rather just offered to pay for a hotel room. I guess it’s just a different culture, one with a good deal more modesty than mine, and in the end I feel honored and lucky, even sort of excited, to have the chance to witness it. It’s a different sort of exotic!

So now I am in Benghazi, taking a few days off. Ahmed, the Libyan man I met in Tunis(see the Bike Effect: Tunisia) lives here and has taken well care of me. I’ve been hangin’ around with a particular taxi driver named Mohammed who I met out on the road. He passed me three times on the way(making his passengers wait while he got out to chat), and now I am here practicing Arabic and tutoring English, though I can’t get him to stop using the word “standby” for everything, including “be” “wait” “stay” “live” or “sleep.” Ah well, he is a taxi driver, after all.

I’ve rested, I’ve showered(the water ran dark red from ten days of desert dust), worked out the visa timing, cleaned and fixed up my gear and bike a bit, and tomorrow I’ll continue, rubber side down. Ahead lies something called “The Green Mountain” which must be nice; it’s certainly not very desert-sounding, anyway, and I miss hills. Some more famous Roman ruins, and a week or so of horrendous Libyan traffic and humbling Libyan hospitality, and I will be in Egypt! Meow!!!

Photos: Tunisia

charlie — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 23:06:27 +0000

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Photos: Bikes

charlie — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 07:46:13 +0000

Every photo of a bike or anything bike-related. Bikes bikes bikes – YAY BIKES!

bike, bicycle, cycling, fiets, fahrrad, jitensha, velo, biciclette, bici, bicicleta, bicicletta, kerekpar, bicykl, bicikel, biciklo, bisiklit, kolo, bisiklet, darraaja, pikala

I’ve only included a “few” photos of my own bicycle here – most of those are spread throughout the other albums.

[Show All Pictures]

[[See Slideshow]]

YAY BIKES!

charlie — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 18:30:54 +0000

Hi! I’m Charlie, and on September 15th, 2007, I departed on a world-wide bicycle tour.

These are my stories.

There’s a lot of philosophy, adventure, and emotion on these pages; traveling by bicycle (and sailboat) has become my life.

So please take a look around, and have fun! And please let me know what you think!

Thanks!

With Love and Joy,

Charles I. Brigham IV

The Bike Effect: Tunisia

charlie — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 13:33:29 +0000

Downtown Tunis, Tunisia.

A little cafe on Avenue Habib Bourguiba. The waiter offers me a “personal discount” on my coffee because of something I’ve come to describe as “the bike effect”: my rig looks bad ass resting next to my table, and here the travel-worn, custom-grub adventure bike is out-of-place enough to mark me as an adventurer, a traveler, not just another tourist who comes on the ferry from France for an afternoon-in-the-medina to say “I visited Tunisia!” It’s not just literally that a bike is “open to the world” – it opens the very soul of the rider, and affects the first impressions of others in a mysterious but undeniable way.

The table next to me is taken by a man in a wheelchair, his wife in hijab, and their little daughter. Now, when I see wheels with tires on them – not counting cars – I pay close attention. At the bike shop, on the street, all over the world, I’ve noticed that most people don’t maintain a proper, or even safe, air pressure in their tires. I can’t count the number of times I’ve yelled “Air your tires!” to passing cyclists, or preached to parked bikers, “More air pressure directly translates to more speed. And if you don’t want to go fast, it converts to ease – less energy used.” The same goes for wheelchair tires. And fixing or replacing a wheelchair tire or inner tube is such a hassle that it’s even more important to keep the pressure up; if you’re rolling low enough, just hitting a sharp bump can pinch-flat the tube, and if you can’t fall back on your legs and walk….

Subtly I confirmed: the poor fella at the next table was running this risk. Not to mention spending a lot of extra effort pushing himself around under the Tunisian summer sun with sloppy tire pressure. So after my coffee, a bit nervous and feeling like this might be a dumb idea, I approached their table with my pump in hand.

“Excusez-moi, je ne veut pas vous importuner, mais….” He doesn’t speak French. “Do you speak English?” I ask.

“A little.”

I’m weird and this is uncommon, but he lets me help him. “Yes it is a normal valve, just give me one minute.” I know the thin wheelchair tire can take a hundred pump strokes or more to reach maximum, but he cuts me off after fourty or so. I let it slide; he’s past the danger zone now, at least.

I give the same treatment to his other tire, and before I can escape as an unidentified good samaritan, he starts asking questions. I give a brief account of where I’ve been on my bike, and mention that Libya is next. “No, I don’t think the visa is easy to get – I was just at the embassy this morning. Inshallah!”

Then the cosmic serendipity reveals itself, stunning me nearly to speechlessness:

“By the way, we’re Libyan. If you need contacts in Benghazi…”

Everyone was smiling when I left that little cafe on Avenue Habib Bourguiba – the Libyan man and his wife, their precious awe-eyed little girl, the waiter, the tables nearby – and especially me. The Bike Effect in high gear, blowing away the fog of fear and indifference, to let truly meaningful life shine through!

Yay Bikes!!!

Fear: the mind killer

charlie — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 12:50:56 +0000

I’m not a terrorist, and I’ve never spoken with one, so I can’t really say what they’re really thinking. But it seems to me that the whole point of terrorism is to Spread Fear. For example, if they kidnap one tourist – just one – they can strike fear into all tourists. If they can paralyze an entire population with fear, then it becomes much, much easier to control that population, for any number of diabolic or simply misguided purposes. The imagination can go wild with the potential for corruption and conspiracy, with just one single act of terrorism. It’s actually much more efficient than full-on war.

This is made even more effective when the targets themselves buy into the fear:

(Taken directly from the U.S. Department of State’s website)

“Algeria Country Specific Information

…

SAFETY AND SECURITY: Terrorism continues to pose a threat to the safety and security of American citizens traveling to Algeria. Terrorist activities, including bombings, false roadblocks, kidnappings, ambushes, and assassinations occur regularly, particularly in the Kabylie region. Since early 2007, vehicle-borne suicide bomb attacks have emerged as a terrorist tactic in Algeria, including in the capital. Suicide car bomb attacks in December 2007 targeted the UN Headquarters and the Algerian Constitutional Council in Algiers. The attacks occurred in areas where many diplomatic missions and residences are located. The group that claimed credit for the December 2007 attacks has pledged more attacks against foreign targets, and specifically U.S. targets. The same group is believed to operate in southern Algeria and has kidnapped foreigners in neighboring countries. This kidnapping threat was noted in the Department of State’s Worldwide Caution, dated February 12, 2010.

The Travel Warning for Algeria contains the most current information concerning the threat from terrorism.

The Department of State recommends that U.S. citizens avoid overland travel in Algeria. U.S.citizens who reside or travel in Algeria should take prudent security measures while in the country, including making provisions for reliable and experienced logistical support. Additionally, sporadic episodes of civil unrest have been known to occur. U.S. citizens should avoid large crowds and maintain security awareness at all times. Visitors to Algeria are advised to stay only in hotels where adequate security is provided. All visitors to Algeria should remain alert and adhere to prudent security practices such as avoiding predictable travel patterns and maintaining a low profile.”

Now, I’ll admit that people should be informed about the risks of traveling to any particular country. I remained alert and prudent. But to me these previous paragraphs don’t feel like an impartial bulletin about the situation in Algeria; they feel like exaggerated fear-mongering. By posting this type of warning, replete with all the keywords that push an automatic Fear button, the U.S. Department of State is pretty much helping the terrorists – by spreading the fear.

Some other examples:

The verbatim response from the U.S. embassy in Algiers to to my request for travel assistance:

“Dear Mr. Brigham:

The border is indeed closed between Algeria and Morocco. Nor would we advise anyone to attempt a bicycle ride anywhere across Algeria. Please see the current travel warning for Algeria at (link.)

We do not assist individual private American citizens to obtain Algerian visas, nor do we provide letters of support for such visa applications.

You should not attempt this trip.

Regards,

American Citizen Services

U.S. Embassy, Algiers”

The response from the U.S. embassy in Morocco:

“Hi Mr. Brigham,

Sorry for the delay in responding to your inquiry. While the economy of Morocco does depend largely on tourism, it would be extremely unsafe, not to mention logistically impossible for your to attempt to bike across Algeria and Libya. Even if you were able to obtain a visa to travel to Algeria and made it across the closed border, you would end up stuck there trying to get into Libya, which has complex visa entry requirements. Please consult www.travel.state.gov to review the travel warnings for these countries. While we applaud your efforts to bike around the world, you must consider your own safety. Perhaps an alternative would be to ferry to Spain and travel along the European Mediterranean coast?

Once again, we urge you to make alternate plans. Bike travel across Algeria and Libya is simply not an option.

Best Regards,

American Citizen Services

Casablanca, Morocco”

Of course they have to be rather blunt and frightening, lest some moron gets himself killed or someone sues them for giving relaxed advice. (Our society is actually prepared quite nicely to be paralyzed by fear, isn’t it?) But they were wrong.

And I’ll wager that the U.S. government doesn’t really care if Algeria maintains a reputation for being full of terrorists – they would rather Algeria just fall off the map.

But I do care.

Algeria is not full of terrorists. Algeria is full of wonderful, generous folks who hate terrorists.

I did “attempt this trip,” and the only “reliable and experienced logistical support” was me, and my attitude of love and joy for all, which blossomed elegantly into a network of Algerian friends. I never felt in danger, I never felt close to any manner of terrorism or even crime. In fact, I must say that it was an unforgettable experience of the true cosmic beauty of humankind.

Conversely, if I had swallowed all the tripe the U.S. government tried to feed me – if I had gone to Algeria full of fear – well, I can’t say for sure, but it surely would’ve prevented me from reaching out to the people of Algeria, and I would’ve been much more alone, suspicious and frightened of everyone until something ugly actually did happen. Sure, when that’s the alternative, it’s better to just stay home under the covers and watch Fox News.

I’m not saying that there is no risk of terrorism in Algeria. All I’m saying is that the people of Algeria do not deserve to be feared, and you don’t deserve to live in fear either. Terrorism depends on fear to succeed; if you live in fear of it, you’re living exactly how they want you to. If you live in fear you are being controlled. Fear is a natural phenomenon, but it’s how you react to it that makes all the difference. It lives or dies in your mind. Will you choose repression, control, and desperation – or freedom?

P.S. Please look up the book “Three Cups of Tea.” Pakistan, Afghanistan. Education to promote peace, alternatives to terrorist training camps, dedication, love, growth… it’s an inspiring story.

“If you just fight terrorism, it’s based in fear. If you promote peace, it’s based in hope.”

Photos: Algeria

charlie — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 19:29:23 +0000

[Show All Pictures]

[[See Slideshow]]

الجزائر : ruoF keeW

charlie — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 09:12:59 +0000

الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week four

I stayed one extra night at the tourist complex near Bejaia. Said and Nounou had to take off, and in the morning I said a final goodbye to Saadi. It was a little sad; he’s become a great buddy!

Alone again and headed for adventure, I pedalled along the paradisical coastal route towards Jijel. There were even ten kilometers or so of traffic-free construction zone, now that’s paradise!

Nightfall approached and I found a beach to camp on. As usual the gendarmes wanted to stuff me full of food and Islam – all I wanted to do was sleep, but there’s the captain in my way with his leg up on the railing, getting more and more excited about converting me to his religion. And he was the one who originally said “No no, don’t ask about that; he is a free man,” when his privates started in with the glittery-eyed muslim enthusiasm….

Finally asleep for maybe a half an hour, when the bigger boss arrives, orders me woken up so he can put me in a hotel back in town! “NO NO NO – NO HOTEL! I WAS ASLEEP ALREADY!” How completely degrading.

In the morning there wasn’t much Islam talk, but everyone wants me to rest. “I just slept 7 hours! Why would I want to rest?!?” I reply, jumping around a bit to make my point. But something isn’t normal, and they’ve got my passport hostage…. After a swim and breakfast the captain tells me that his boss has decided they will arrange an escort. After complaining a bit I concede, but where is this escort? I can’t believe I’m saying it, but “I”m late!”

An aggravating hour later, three green and white gendarme SUVs arrive. They give me my passport finally, and I just leave - if they want to escort me, they can catch up later.

And they did, making passes all morning, all the way to the border of the province. At least they were subtle.

A girl from Constantine had invited me to visit, but unfortunately she couldn’t host me, because her brother would have to chaperone and he wasn’t there. She set me up with some English-speaking college friends who were anxious to meet me, calling calling calling… do I really want this phone?

They met me outside of town and gave me some water. I declined a ride in their car, so they escorted me – and this time it wasn’t subtle. Just behind me, hazard lights on, snapping photos from the passenger window and drawing honks and yells from all the highway traffic that had to go around.

Constantine is at the top of a huge mountain, and the ascent is straight up, no gentle switchbacks. It was a brutal climb, in danger of overheating, dousing my head with water from my drinking bottle, nearly losing my momentum over the broken concrete, no end in sight… but most of the cars that passed and all the folks on the sidelines recognized what a challenge I was undertaking, and supported me with lots of honks and waves and shouts and “Bon courage!”

After hefting the rig up ten flights of stairs, a snack and a shower, we went down to meet the girl and her sisters. I wasn’t surprised that they were Muslim, but I was a little miffed when she declined to shake my hand; “I am sorry, I can’t touch you.” And then, after a two minute meeting in the parking lot, they left! Why did I come over all those hills again?!?

Well, Constantine is gorgeous. A city of bridges, build right on the cliffs by an ancient Roman emporer(and the French). My hosts were very hospitable and everything was taken care of for me, but my original plan to stay one night seemed to have been forgotten. “Oh but I made plans to do so many things!”

But I’ve been so rushed and pampered and celebritized here in Algeria that I really, really wanted to have one full day at the end, to process everything and do some writing. Sorry guys, I gotta go. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

We met up with the sisters again the next day, still in the burkha body covering, who brought gifts and well wishes for me, and a pamphlet on “The truth about Jesus.” You know I’m not Christian, right??

The guys escorted me again, across the longest stone bridge in the world and out of town. I wish I could’ve spent longer there and learned some breakdancing, but I need to empty my cup before I can fill it with anything else!

The next day I was awoken by the 3 am a’dan call to prayer, because the village police put me right next to the mosque for the night, so I made it to Guelma by 11am. But Saadi called and mysteriously said I should wait, that there’s a gentleman coming to meet me and it’s important. Hmm…

I waited. The longer I wait in one place, this time a cafe, the larger the crowd grows. Four hours is a long time to practice Arabic and listen to Islam preaching from all angles, even if there is free food. Eventually I took off to meet this “gentleman,” thankful to have a reason to escape.

We meet at a hotel bar. I learn his name is Said, but before he can explain what this is all about, Saadi was there! “You drove all this way?!” What a surprise! Suddenly I knew I wouldn’t get my day of cup-emptying…

It was nice though, we went to a hammam in the country fed by a natural hot spring, and I was able to have a nice night’s sleep without mosque calls or police poking their heads in my tent. And it was especially nice to see Saadi one last time – he’s helped me so much, and his attitude is just golden. Thanks a million my friend!

The day I had planned to sit and write and process this crazy month in Algeria, I instead spent pedaling my ass off. Just after dark I arrived at a campground I had heard about, and pulled in with that exhausted-but-relieved aire about me. Finally.

But despite being called “Camp Africa,” it was prohibited to camp there. It’s actually a “vacation center.” But they told me I could camp anywhere I wanted in the national park; just not here. So I walked down the road a bit, and actually ditch-camped in Algeria for the first time, on my last night there. I found a nice sandy spot(under a tree to block the morning heat), well-hidden and comfortable, and slept until eleven.

Then I got up and went to Tunisia.

30 days in Algeria – what a wild ride!

Thanks for reading, thanks for your comments and messages! Thanks for the love and the joy and thanks to all the wonderful Algerian people! Sahit!