DAY 1

I had, and still have, no knowledge of how to change a flat tire. I knew little of bike maintenance, I had determination to do something I did not believe I could actually do: ride my bike for 80 kilometers a day for 10 days straight. In fact, once we were eating our first meal after our first day of riding, energetic Margarita boldly and confidently recounted our kilometers and time for the day. With my panic and lack of confidence, doing circles in my head, I gave a smile and agreeing nod to her statement that we could average 100 kilometers a day, at least, if we biked for a few more hours. Margarita was a driving force on the trip: constantly happy, constantly ready to go, constantly ready to explore and experience; a consistently wonderful planner with beautiful energy to encourage.

Our first day on the trip, we set the standard of leaving later than our desired departure time. We finally rode away from the International Student Hostel at 6:30 am towards Circle to meet up with some fellow Ghanaian cyclists. Friends we had met during the semester who lived in ISH, and the guards waved us goodbye. I remember feeling free as we rode down a neighborhood behind campus before intersecting with the main road. When we made it to circle, I quickly became fond of this group of cyclists that I had never met before. Not only were they well equipped and prepared but they kindly taught me how to efficiently use gears up and down hills. The greatest part of their send off though, for me, was the siren sounding howl from one of the bikers that got us safely through the traffic and road construction.

I remember the road to Winneba being flat except for the few hills at the end of the ride. The hills felt HUGE, and I lagged behind. Frazer patiently and warmly kept me in a good pace with the group. He never let me lag too far behind or bike too much alone and helped me draft, a valuable skill to learn.  He was the leader who led from the back on the rides and directed the routes and plans as though he was always in front. It was a warm, dry, sunny Ghanaian day that seemed to smile on us. My lungs breathed the air of life and freedom. We rode into Winneba at about 10:30 am. We must have taken a few stops.  One stop was for saying goodbye to our cyclist friends about a third of our way to our destination. And then we probably stopped for water and snacks because I was hungry and concerned that we needed to eat.  Armando set a strong pace and led the way.  His dependable endurance and speed felt like an odometer throughout my time on the trip.  I appreciated his positive, carefree and laid back acceptance of adversity and adventure.

The ride into Winneba was sweet. Once we turned off the main road from the roundabout, it was a downhill ride towards the coast.  We rode past some houses in the process of being built, mentally scouted them for shelter for the night and bee- lined it for a chop bar. I clearly remember the omotuo being so filling and so good.  I, also, remember the energy at lunch seemed to be one of ‘Sweet! We are doing this and that was an awesome start!”

 We finished lunch and easily made our way into town, doing circles, trying to find the beach. We rode through the market, listening to the type of calls that would come numerously throughout each day in the coming future: “Oburoni! White Man! Woo ko he? Where are you going?”  Margarita finally asked for directions from Amma, our first host and friend of the trip.  Amma is a young Ghanaian woman who works as a seamstress. She lived with only her mother and has recently moved to Accra to continue working. She walked us to a beach resort where we ended up camping and took advantage of the unlocked bathrooms.  Amma had led Margarita and Frazer into town on our night of arrival to get us breakfast, snacks and water for the next day.  We swam in the ocean, rested, talked and nervously slept out under the stars. None of us slept well or for long either because of the bugs or serious concern of being ambushed or robbed.  When Armando and I were left to watch camp, three boys with a cutlass came over and sat too close. They eyed our stuff, but left after we shooed them away.  We ended up being safe the whole night under the clear stars next to the sound of ocean waves breaking.

By

Evelyn Masoner