My body limp like a cowboy, I cling to my handlebars, trying to control my bucking bronco of a bicycle. Thick sand and gravel send my bicycle into a frenzy. It is trying to follow the tangle of tire ruts in the sand. Correcting each wayward movement, I manage a course. Another patch of deep and I’m bucked successfully. I saddle up once again.
I continue to battle through thick sand, it feels as though three children from the last village are hanging on to my back wheel and digging their heels into the ground, slowing me to a crawl. The wind, whistles through my brake cables and I feel as though I am in a country western. All I need is a bar with swinging doors to burst through. Since alcohol is forbidden here, I will have to settle for a small café and a sarsaparilla.
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