BETWEEN BIKES BOATS AND BANANAS. FOLDING BIKES. GAMBIA.

Two Dahon Folding bikes. 26” wheels

1 Twelve years use aboard Maxolar.

These were bought from a camping outlet in Florida in ‘98 after beginning the refit of Maxolar They were used extensively in Florida, Bahamas, most of the islands in the Caribbean, and Central America.

They were sold with the rest of onboard equipment in 2010.

2 . Another Dahon Folding Bike 26“ wheels. Adventures in Mexico and Gambia.

In the Summer of 2010 Sid came to stay in Odiham with us for a few days. He had been my next door neighbour at Gables Road when we moved in, until he emigrated to USA. He had watched the initial building of Trixolar, and subsequently much later, he was a big part in our sail cruising down in the Caribbean.

He had then recently lost his wife Julie, and so was not in the best of spirits. Since selling their catamaran, Class-I-cat, they had bought a huge mobile home, ( in US , called an RV, recreational vehicle ), and they had spent their last few winters driving down to a site in Kino, Mexico to enjoy a great social life, and certain sunshine. He was now very concerned that he would not be able to accomplish the long 8 day drive down the East coast and into Mexico without Julie’s help.

Audrey was very quick to volunteer me to spend time with him, help with the driving, and perhaps stay a while in Mexico with him. I was very willing to snap up this opportunity of course. And so it came to be that on 8 November 2010, I flew out of Heathrow to join him at his home in Portland Oregon.

Of course, for me, going anywhere without a bike for any length of time might have been a problem, so I had considered buying a bike suitable for air travel to distant places. Audrey and I had bought Dahon folders for long use on Maxolar, and those two trusty but rusty bikes were sold as a valuable part of Maxolar’s cruising equipment. Now I again searched the internet for ideas. The model I thought best, with 26” wheels, aluminium frame and straight bars, would cost £440 in UK, but I could buy one in USA, to be delivered to Sid’s home, for only $400, which was a saving of almost a third, and I would not have to take it there by plane. And so it was ordered on the Internet.

Sid picked me up at Seattle airport, and we drove to his home in Portland, via one of his daughters for a lovely stay overnight. Very soon after that I proudly collected my new Folding Dahon, fitted with important extras of a Brookes Saddle, computer, and saddlebag, from Marilyn Hayward at Coventry Cycle Works, Portland Oregon.

Without more than a 20 yard riding trial, it was folded and loaded into the RV locker along with masses of other stuff, and on 14 Nov we set off, towing Sids ?? car behind us. My first drive was rather nervous, knowing the immense length of both vehicles, ??? , driving on the right, automatic gearbox, and having a small TV screen on the dashboard for rear vision, but very soon proved to be quite enjoyable and we took turns at the wheel during the whole ??? mile drive down and over the border crossing into Mexico.

On 17th we were driving along a section of the renowned ‘Route 66‘, famous as the original route across USA in the pioneering days, and now a tourist attraction in its own right.

Being the railway nut that I am, I noticed an old memorial steam engine, by the roadside outside a station, and very soon later, Sid drove into, Kingman RV campsite in Arizona beside a casino, for a free nights camp, and a free breakfast. It was still only late afternoon, and at 3.30 I opted to take out, unfold, and ride back, 8 miles, through the town to take pictures of the steam engine.

And so it was that my very first ride on my new Dahon Folder , was on to and along that famous piece of road, Route 66. Subsequently I clocked up 405 Mexico miles, over a period of nine weeks, enjoying lots of quiet and remote riding along the dusty and often rutted tracks that served as roads, among sandy hot hills, with only thousands of cacti as vegetation. I had more punctures here than in my whole previous riding life, due to their many old discarded thorns that abounded everywhere.

The end to this particular adventure was rather unusual, unfortunate, but finally laughable.

I was helped by Sid‘s friend Skip, to fold and pack my Dahon, covered in thick card and miles of sticky tape, and then Sid drove me back across the border up to Tucson airport in USA for my flight back, 9,45am. I had only a carryon bag, and my completely wrapped bike. At the check-in, there was a considerable argument, ending with an altercation with “your superior”, because I insisted that it was not a bicycle, (“ Well if it is a bicycle, you try to ride it”), which required payment as sports equipment, but merely Baggage. I signed their insurance waiver that I would not claim if it was damaged, and we were on our way home on a pleasant flight to Heathrow.

There, on arrival at 11.20am Term 1, I was greeted by daughter Gina, who had gratiously offered to collect my ‘bicycle baggage’. The reason for this was that at 8.30pm, five hours later I was meeting up with Audrey to fly off directly to Kuala Lumpur for our three month backpacking tour in S E Asia. We loaded the ‘baggage’ (bicycle) on to a trolley, out to her car, in the car park, loaded it into her boot, and boarded the monorail to terminal 4 for a coffee and a pleasant chatting wait for Audrey to arrive.

BUT…… On arrival at the coffee counter, extreme PANIC. My Bum Bag is not there, round my waist…presumed stolen, pick-pocketed, lost ? My passport and onward flight information and ticket were in my shirt breast pocket, my usual habit when flying, but my money, debit card, driving licence, and all other papers, had gone ! We had initially had to push the ‘bicycle baggage’ trolley through quite a dense crowd of waiting people in terminal 1, and I presumed that it had been here that my waist bum bag had been ‘lost’. We phoned security to ask if a bumbag had been handed in at terminal lost property, and they called us back with the answer NO. I then called Audrey, still not left home, to tell her of my problem, and she was able to bring copies of some papers. Gina and I were not a happy pair, finally drinking coffee and having a snack lunch, and it was a very worried David, greeting a worried wife Audrey at 6.00. Our flight on to KL was uneventful and we subsequently had three fantastic months adventure, backpacking, around almost all of the islands in S E Asia.

You will be excused if you are thinking that this is the end of this chapter…..but the short sequel is a happy one.

Later when we were back-packing in Koh Phangan, Indonesia, we received an email from Gina. She had done a big Tesco shop, a full two weeks after the Heathrow incident, and when she opened her boot she had found my ’bicycle baggage’ still in there, completely forgotten. She drove to our house, and put the ‘bicycle baggage’ in our hallway, …..and out fell my bumbag !

Dahon Folder, perhaps sad at being left behind, had been keeping it safe for the past two weeks as we began yet another happy three months backpack travelling in S E Asia..

Dahon Folding bike. The Gambian adventure, West Africa. Nine weeks in 2012.

This was prompted by a much earlier visit which had actually begun exactly 25 years previously., in 1987 when I first entered Gambia in Trixolar with a very scary entrance motoring into the entrance of the Gambia River. Life up the river was exciting and we made several friends, none of whom had seen a sailboat if this type before. Life was very primitive, almost tribal, and we got to meet the head man in the village, and his extensive family.

Now, I was intending to once again visit Gambia, this time travelling by plane, and using my folding bicycle to travel once again, the whole length of the Gambia River, up on the South side, and back along the North bank.

I said goodbye to Audrey, after a 5am alarm and a deserted road Taxi drive to North Camp Station. Train on time at 5.58, and an uneventful train journey to Gatwick Airport. Uneventful indeed, but my mind was far from settled, with excitement dulled by anxiety and sadness, almost to tears at leaving Audrey, with the next nine weeks a complete blank page, alone with very few plans, my Dahon Folder, and a backpack.

This was an adventure indeed, with a total of 948 miles over the whole nine weeks, rough tracks, deserted main roads apart from cows, donkeys and carts,

THE GAMBIA TRAVELS. Nov- Dec 2012.

Earlier that year Audrey and I had made a trip North from our Odiham Cottage, renewing her childhood memories of the period of her life when she lived in Peterborough, and where she still had living relatives. (Old house, cousins etc )

One of these was Steve Brown, and we briefly visited his very memorable home. Amicably split from his wife, and grown daughter, it was a very personal bachelor home. He had many local interests, including the interest he had built up in “Couchsurfing”. This organisation specialised in introducing thousands of world travellers to one another, in an ordered but transcient nature. Couchsurfing seemed to enrich his life in a very positive way. He regularly hosted a vast range of foreign travellers at his home, in a spare room. The actual couch surfing concept is that you offer your living room couch, a temporary and free accommodation, just for a night or two, and they in turn enrich your life with tales of their travels, their varied cultures, and most importantly their personalities. He very kindly introduced me into the “Couchsurfing” community, and I became a verified member, able to host, or be hosted, in any country throughout the world.

On this particular day, on this cold damp morning I was off for my very first experience of staying with my first three ‘Hosts’ who I had never met, and had only very briefly corresponded with through the organisation electronic net site. Something untried and unknown, in a very different culture in an ‘almost’ unknown country, only having visited 25 years previously by boat, but his time much more conventionally, by plane, with my bike.

Gambia Banjul airport check-in was complete chaos, with African locals arriving back home, seemingly taking back every conceivable object, from four foot high teddies, to microwaves, electric hand-tools and other items not usually carried on holiday. My unusual object costing £25 as ‘oversize baggage’, was my “Dahon Folder”, completely covered in a thin black plastic zip-on bag, and plastic wrapped at the airport. We were an hour late taking off but landed on time after flying south for 6 hours towards the sun, a very important reason for this excursion.

Outside Kololi Airport, I cut off the plastic wrap, unzipped the black nylon bag, with a large red heart proclaiming “I love my bike”, walked out into a hot African afternoon.

Immediately met by a welcoming group of African dancers with drums, performing a very colourful welcome to Gambia. I rode away towards the town, with a first stop at a roadside stall where I bought and ate a celebratory few bananas from a young girl with a small roadside stall. Let the adventure unroll.

My first mistake was to ask directions from a local man who sent me off the main road on a shortcut along twisting sandy tracks which were barely rideable with my small carry-on bag strapped to one side of my carrier. I was completely lost, and again asked direction back onto the main road, This man asking for money, walked with me to the main road. There, to my great relief, in a passing car, was a man waving at me, shouting my name, and waving me to follow him. This was Ali, my first “couch surfing” host, coming to find me as I was obviously later than expected.

His home was huge, but strangely empty, explained by telling me that he had given almost all his furniture to his wife who had left him not long previously, and he had been too busy to replace them. It was however, a beautiful home, with a massive kitchen which he took me round, showing every possible requirement, and my lovely room with massive bed, and a window looking out onto wild grass and trees, and a perfect en-suite bathroom. After this very short introduction, he assured me that I should treat everything here as my own, come and go as I pleased, but he had to rush off to take care of some business, and I was left on my own. I had landed at 3pm local time, left the airport at 4.15, and it was now 6.30. Walk to shop round the corner , buy a tin of sweet corn and peas, and an orange, hurriedly eat them, have a hot shower, and fall into bed, quite exhausted. My diary says “great day until those two layabout bums”. I had learned my first lesson.

Another very friendly chat with Ali over a cornflake breakfast, meet Tati the friendly maid, and out on my bike by 10.30. With nothing special to see, just a slow wander whichever way looked interesting, down to Sunset Beach, with lots of big smart hotels, along Bertil Hardy Highway, a botanical Garden, A medical centre, The US Embassy with a large guard dog, and on to Cape St Mary. There I rode seemingly miles around a completely deserted, huge hotel and holiday complex, complete with several swimming pools, countless small apartment chalets, empty beach bars and a massive empty sandy beach, and only one man at the gate,,, not even with a guard dog. Later pass a huge stadium, and children coming out of school. That afternoon, some fruit eaten by the roadside under trees, and a coffee in Friendship Café, with a chat to Danish tourists. It was a great introduction to modern Gambia, a perfect holiday destination with everything a tourist could ask for, including great beaches and warm water. That night Ali and I had an evening full of chatter, exchanges from his life and mine, good advice for my travel round the Gambia River, and all over a lovely Macaroni Cheese with wine, followed by yoghurt and fruit. Hot shower, and immediate sleep at 9.30, after an 18 mile exciting day.

The second day, another bike wander, 29 miles, looking for a bird and monkey sanctuary, but find neither, a wait of over an hour for a meal at Tanji Country Restaurant, and in the afternoon pack my bag.

At 5.00, meet Anna, my second booked Couchsurf host, and ride then walk to her house, not too far from Ali’s.

Another huge house, this time with my own separate wing, all very homely and beautifully unusual in many ways, African paintings and wall hangings, bright wall colours, a big well kept garden, and friendly dogs and cats everywhere. We sat for a long time on the sunny balcony drinking pastis, and again swapping life stories. Later we met her friend Sue, and had really good meals at Eddies Restaurant. One of the accepted courtesies in couch surfing is that the guests are expected to pay their food, sometimes even cook for the host, and genuinely share in their lives in a social exchange, and this is the best part of belonging. Hosts get to meet hopefully interesting travellers, and the travellers enrich the lives of the static home owning hosts, who are often experienced world travellers too. That night I happily paid the meal bill, and then we moved on to Poco Loco, a bar and nightclub, for a raucous evening with music and meeting lots of their friends. There was no doubt that life was good here, and again sink into my bed at almost midnight.

Next day, another 29 mile ride, up to find Denton Bridge, a memory from anchoring there 25 years previously, but it was ‘Tobaski’, a national holiday, and everywhere was deserted. All café and prospective food stores were closed. I managed to find a melon at a garage, near Toli school, but entering Banjul I found only abject squalor, rubbish piled everywhere, deserted market place and main street. I could not find the ferry terminal which I intended to use some time later. The ride home along Atlantic Highway, was awful, feeling quite dehydrated, and I was very thankful to arrive at Anna’s, with aching legs and difficult breathing. I had a shower, then slept 3.30 to 6.00. A veggie stir fry soon gave me energy, helped by more pastis, and then out to Churchills, another night club, with crowds of Anna’s happy friends, and another late 12.30 bedtime. Next day in her Land Rover, she took me around her two tourist shops and art gallery, located in a big hotel on the beach, lunch in her home, an then a short power nap in readiness for an afternoon trip to Lamin Lodge, accompanied by her friend Sue. On arrival we learned that it had been closed down by the President, but we hired a local lad in his canoe to take us an interesting trip round the anchorage in into the Gambia River. Early evening very nice drinks and relaxing on the beach before dropping off Sue, having cheese and biscuits on the veranda before retiring to my room to email Audrey and 10 o’clock bed. What a lovely interesting relaxing day and start to my adventure, but my diary reads, “Worried about my travel.”

Another really good day, with Anna’s friends, Sue and Rifi, this time in the Land Rover along some very rutted tracks, through a stream or two, and onto a deserted beach, apart from some covered beach loungers, and a small hut where we ordered a meal each. A my first swim, and walk along the beach, quite deserted, and drive home. My last evening on the balcony, none-stop interesting talk, tips for my travel, look at my only map…and sleep. Again, my Diary “Lost pen, swim trunks and hat”

Oct 29. Only my sixth day.

With bag packed and loaded, ride off to Brikama, 16 miles, and my next Couchsurf host, Buba Ceeshay.

A no problem ride, a phone call, and met by Buba on the road, and off along sandy tracks to his family compound. Nothing could have been further removed from my first two hosting homes. A walled compound, and a long single story house. I met his mother and his three sisters, then his elder brother came home from work, a police man, and later, his father home on his motorbike, who all lived in the house on this small plot of land. Later we all ate our meal, sitting around a huge bowl full of rice and moringa, a kind of leaf, picked from a tree in the woods. We all ate with our fingers and hands, from the same bowl, they squatting on a rug, and me on the one seat, outside under in the sun. Later I walked with Buba back into the town to buy some food at a market, some chickens, and rice. As there were no small bags of rice I bought a huge sack, and we caught a bus back. His mother was delighted with our purchase. I was feeling very sleepy, and I was given a separate room, vacated for me. Normally he and his brother shared this room. The toilet was out through a back door, which did not close fully, and it was just a hole in the ground. By the side of the hole was a large container, and a small jug. This was the shower, and a wall just about shoulder height separated this from the road. Water was brought to fill the container from a single tap out in the main yard, the only water supply to the house. The kitchen was a small room in the compound with a cooker, and a pounding space. I had now reached the real Gambia !

Next morning we ate tapalapa on the porch, and brother Lamin found a phone charger that he used to charge my phone. Buba took me for a walk round the cow and goat market, and on to see his personal piece of garden in the college grounds where he was studying agriculture. I met one of his tutors, who gave a demonstration of beating large piles of something in order to separate the seeds. We walked back, and I bought more rice, and some medication for Bubas toothache and his sisters sickness. That evening we communally ate Domodo , and then the family gathered outside the compound, sitting on a large concrete pipe, with the eldest sister selling Ebe to passing children., and I helped a younger sister with her English homework.

I have described these two days rather fully, because they were so far removed from any previous experience, and because my diary again reads “ A great day in Gambia with the Ceshay family.”

To be continued…..

28 MARCH 2016

Yet another Dahon Folder, smaller with 20” wheels.

I had been invited to sail in Turkey with Scott on his charter catamaran, Flights booked and only two weeks to go, when I applied for my Turkish Visa, done on the internet…. But found to my horror that my passport had only three months validation, and Turkey required a passport with more than 6 months before they would give a Visa…..Mild panic !.

I quickly ascertained that I could get a new visa by visiting the London passport office in person after making an appointment, which I did. Now I need to travel to an appointment at 7.45am in London……..

I borrowed a small folding bike off my friend Jack, and rode to Hook station, to catch the 5.am train to Waterloo, where I bought a small tourist London map and then rode through London’s streets, not sure of my route, and very surprised at the number of cycling commuters heading to their workplaces. There with time to spare, 7.30, a very organised system and short interview, fingerprints etc, and out into Victoria’s streets by 8.25,,,,,with instruction to collect my new passport after 1.00. Now to fill 4 hours with a small borrowed folding Dahon,

My own folder had 26 inch wheels and only medium tread, and it rolled quite freely, but this one had only 20 inch wheels, and I expected to find a much harder and rougher ride, and a less steady steering. It was a bright April morning, and from Victoria I crossed the Thames to Battersea, and up the north bank to Westminster Bridge, back to the North bank at the entrance to St James Park.

A very pleasant ride west, to link up with Green Park and a coffee stop. On through Hyde Park, round north to Kensington gardens, and returning to Hyde Park, past speakers Corner which I knew, and a return through the same parks, but on more northerly pathways. Through back streets to claim my brand new passport at 1.30, and back to catch the afternoon train home In fact I had covered a full 27 miles, very enjoyable riding, through remarkable park scenery, mostly shale of surfaced track and paths, and the bike was perfect, a great range of low gears, comfortable position, and even the saddle, a modern padded one, unlike all my other Brooks leather Swallows had given not a sign or soreness.

Jack had bought it off a club member Mike two years previously, and he thought that Mike’s wife Leslie still had an unused matching bike. Of course it was only a short time later that I bought it. The advantages over my own beloved well travelled folder were that it folded smaller, was less bulky, and easier to carry through airports and on other pubic transport. As it was purchased, the gears were ridiculously too high, but Jack soon changed the chain wheel and cranks as he had done with his.

I had expected that it would not drive so well on sandy or loose surfaces, which proved to be true, but the difference was only just noticeable as I found on my first venture abroad.

GAMBIA YET AGAIN.

During 2013 tour of both banks of the Gambia river, on the 26 inch wheeI Dahon, I had found, accommodation on two occasions at “ The Gambia Project”, a very commendable hostel type Charity that gave support to local people, children and schools. I had kept in touch with the owner-organiser Jenny Ringstead through face book, and in September 2014 I was able to take up her offer of a cheap flight and accommodation at Gunjur Project. I joined, at the last minute, a group from Warrington in Cheshire who were introducing the sport of Rugby to Gambian boys and girls. I packed my carry-on, and my new Dahon, and met this youthful group of 11 at 2.30 in Manchester Airport.

My whole two weeks were full and very interesting. Just listening to them talk, in broad Lancashire accents, was quite taxing, even discounting the fact that often the subject Rugby, was quite out of my range of understanding. Apart from coaching big groups of absolute beginners on the fields, they had one girl who was a UK Olympic Badminton Medalist, and she was introducing that sport, with her own massive stock of raquets, shuttles and nets. I was able to help her in a small way, and also join in when they went into schools to decorate classrooms and hear young pupils read, a very satisfying time. We ate all our meals together at the Project, and had time in the small pool, and during evening entertainment provided. Jennies father Butch an accomplished drummer with his own vast collection of drums, and his own Gambian group, held tuition evenings for guest groups which were superb..

But of course, I was free at any time to ‘do my own thing’, and I took time off to re-visit two of my previous Couch Surfer Hosts, and a Gambian cyclist friend I had previously befriended. Though my mileage was very modest, at a ten day total of 14 I was able to ride my small wheels on the very soft sand back roads, and over rough pitted tracks, with very little cause for concern. Folded and in a small zipped bag, I very easily transited airports and customs at both ends of journeys. My 26 inch wheel Dahon Folder was lent to various others, but no doubt felt completely jilted and sad hanging in my garage roof through the hard 2015-16 winter.