Biking with the Ethiopians

On Sunday mornings when the Germans aren't riding, I head out on my own. If I get out early, traffic is fairly light, with most people in church or heading there. After a hectic work week I don't mind the solitude. I can make it up the "shallow" side of Entoto with the gears on my road bike (30x25 for you gearheads), and being a roadie at heart, I frequently do that. Last Sunday when I was getting ready to make my right turn on Churchill Rd. and head up through the Piazza section of downtown, I spied four riders ahead. I could tell by their technique that they weren't the transportation riders that I usually see. I pushed a little bit and when they got slowed down by a light for a few seconds I managed to catch. As I pulled alongside I could tell I was right: they had on real bike shorts, two had jerseys, and one even had bike shoes and a helmet of sorts. They were riding mountain bikes with slick tires. They were riding a little bit faster than I might have by myself, but I was happy to have the company of other riders so made the effort.

They spoke about as much English as I do Amharic (20 words) so the conversation was limited. Still, it was pretty much like it would have been if I'd met a group of four riders out on White Cross Rd. in Orange County (NC). I pointed at one of the bikes: "nice bike." He smiled and replied: "Ethiopian." He pointed at my bike and asked a question in Amharic. I guessed and replied "USA: Boston." He seemed satisfied with that. Another asked "you go?" I replied "Entoto, enteh (you)?" He nodded and smiled. A third pointed at my bike and asked "how much this bike?" In an uncharacteristic display of thoughtfulness I considered whether it was a kind or wise thing to talk about having a bike that is worth many times the average annual wage, and fibbed "same" pointing at his bike.

Proving that fitness far outweighs equipment, they had to wait for me a couple of times as we headed out of town up the Gojjam Rd towards Entoto. Despite my protestations and attempts to wave them on, they waited and made it seem like no big deal. Finally, as the air got cooler and the Eucalyptus smell filled the air, they pulled away, leaving me to my wheezing rhythmic labor of turning over that tiny gear again and again, inching towards the top. There, where the girls sell water from jury-rigged tables made from discarded planks, the four riders were laughing and filling water bottles. I pulled up, red-faced and sweaty and one clapped me on the back while smiling and saying something that sounded congratulatory.

They asked "you go?" and I pointed back down towards Piazza. They laughed and pointed up the Gojjam Rd further still. "Have a good ride."

Comments

[Stew]

That sounds fantastic, Marc. It's really hard to bridge cultural gaps, and much less with a language barrier. I guess it's cheesy, but cycling seems to transcend those issues.

[John]

Sounds like an entertaining ride. I don't think I realized that you have the Merlin over there. If it's too steep for a 30x25, I'm not sure I want to ride it ;-).