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Aussies Phil and Megs Edwardes embarked on what they called their multiple-country Great Baby Talk Avoidance Tour in 2004, to get away from all their friends and relatives talking about, well, having babies! Three years later we hear they're expecting their first child, but they have great memories to tell their kids, like this one. Submitted for the 2007 Cycle Oregon BF Homecoming Story Contest. CYCLISTS in Australia generally suffer from underexposure in their own country. In a society where the car is king, and speed is paramount, cyclists defy the popular culture. At best they are an inconvenience on the road, at worst an environmentalist, vegetarian weirdo. Fortunately in most other countries, cyclists are treated with much greater respect. In fact, travelling by bicycle is a great way to break down barriers with people, no matter what their background. The bike softens the edge of the ‘strange’ part of stranger. A cyclist is exposed and unlikely to be a threat - there are few places to hide weapons of mass destruction on a lycra covered body. Megs and I had bought ‘round the world’ tickets and planned to spend 9 months cycling 12 countries on 4 continents. We were riding Bike Friday Pocket Llamas, complete with travel trailers, (a suitcase on two wheels towed behind the bike). Our bikes alone could have provoked any variety of responses from locals. Add to this though, being 190cm tall, long haired, male and Australian and I’m sure I bore an uncanny resemblance to a bike riding clown act from the circus. Despite Megs’ appearance being quite un-clownlike, many of our first contact experiences still bordered on the bizarre. |
fter six months on the road, we were in Peru and cycling at 4000+ metres on the altiplano (high plain). This in itself can be a somewhat surreal experience. Physiologically, one’s brain floats along in a state of mild oxygen starvation. The landscape’s physical boundaries have moved well back, the hills are on the horizon and vegetation is stunted, both less imposing than the volcanoes and Eucalypt forests of Ecuador. Human impact is more muted here, the narrow road lies exposed in an unfenced and expansive landscape. Occasional shy shepherds tend unfenced flocks of goats, llamas and sheep. Small poverty stricken villages perch beside the highway. Having cycled this remote and relatively uninhabited road for several days now, we were surprised by the presence of a group gathered on the road ahead. The slow pace of our loaded bikes allowed us to form and discard a range of possible explanations for their presence as we approached. The crowd were concentrated on the left of the road but formed a ragged roadblock across the bitumen. Their attention seemed focussed on a point by the roadside. few heads rose as we approached and word passed around, probably the Spanish equivalent of “A clown on a bike is approaching.” Soon every face was turned on us. Surprisingly perhaps, it appeared they had never encountered small wheeled bikes, suitcases being towed, or long haired Australians. All were adopting the universal Bike Friday-inspired ”OhmyGodwhatisthat?” expression that transcends all language and cultural barriers. In situations such as this - lone bicycle mounted gringos miles from anywhere riding into a group of impoverished Peruvians - the blank looks of confusion could be masking any range of intents. I scanned the faces, keenly searching for an indication of whether they’d be pro or anti clown. Gradually though, a parting appeared in the front ranks, quickly spreading through the crowd so that a lane, not unlike those formed by Tour de France spectators, was formed. Still somewhat unsure of what might be in store I cycled into the break. Now that I was completely surrounded by, and potentially at the mercy of a crowd of Spanish speaking strangers, I considered standing on the pedals and sprinting away. Remembering the presence of my 30kg suitcase ‘anchor’ though made that thought laughable. Verging on a state of panic I suddenly became aware of an object on the roadside. A body shaped blanket wasn’t quite long enough to cover bare and bloodied feet of a very fresh corpse. I suspect my expression now matched their ”OhmyGodwhatisthat?” faces. Was this the remains of the last tourist to attempt to pass, or an unfortunate Peruvian hit and run victim? Either way I was sure that with only two weeks of lessons, my conversational Spanish wasn’t up to such minor distinctions. The shock of being confronted with death had prevented me from noticing the ripple of conversation in the crowd. At oxygen impaired speed though my attention returned to catch the ripple spreading into excited conversation, breaking into laughter, and finally coalescing into a smattering of applause. Despite the proximity to death, the Peruvians were actually laughing and clapping a Gringo on a bike! As Megs came through, their excitement increased even more and she received wholehearted applause. My brain floated along a little behind my back wheel as I cycled along. Had that really happened? A glance in the rear view mirror showed there was definitely a group of people there, attention focussed again on the recently deceased. Assuming it had happened as I thought, I debated whether our presence had just played a positive role in the Peruvian grieving process. This train of thought led to a further philosophical consideration of “The Effect of the Traveller on Their Environment.” Can a traveller actually have an ‘authentic’ experience of another’s culture, or does their presence automatically spoil the experience? Based on what had just transpired, I theorised that when the traveller is mounted on a Bike Friday it’s most likely to invoke an unauthentic response. My logic counterattacked with the question, without our bikes, would we have even been in a position to have experienced what we just did? My brain came out of this philosophical spiral and caught up with my body just in time to check into the hospedaje in the next village ... Phil and Megs Edwardes, March 2007 |
