Koudougou to Lotaden

My friends and I arrived at the bottom of the mountain at two o'clock in the morning. Our goal: to get to the top of Mt. Murwillumbah by sunrise. I can't recall how many feet we climbed but I knew we had a goal and I knew what I had to do. I practically ran up the mountain in order to reach my goal. During the hike up, my friend made an offhand comment about my hiking so fast that I was not enjoying the journey. I wasn't smelling the amazing exotic plants of New South Wales, I wasn't enjoying the springingyness of the soft soil, nor was I even enjoying the peaceful silence of the early morning. I was shocked speechless as I knew my goal and I didn't want distractions to take me away from my goal.

Fast forward to the present bike tour...Monday night, relaxed and practically recovered during the rest day, I had mixed a lime kool-aid drink (quick shout out to my Mom for the awesome package!!), packed four Cliff bars (shout out to UM!!), and mentally prepped myself for a long hot one hundred kilometer sunny day from Koudougou to Latoden.

On Tuesday morning, the ten courageous PCVs left Koudougou at five thirty. Thankfully, the day began cool and damp as there were few small towns along the way to collect refreshments. Regardless, the Peace Corps support vehicle was constantly performing miraculous maneuvers around the rough dirt terrain to provide us with food and water. As there was no paved road along the route, the road was bumpy, wet, and muddy.

Bumping along, I played around testing my agility and reaction time, enjoying the dirt road. With each move, each pedal, you need to gage where to go, how fast to steer around the muddy pothole, knowing which swerve would lead to the next drier patch in order to recover for the next bump, next hole, next mud puddle. The bike and I quickly formed a symbiotic relationship in which I relied on it to keep me moving and it trusted me to lean in the right direction while swerving and maneuvering around the treacherous mud holes.

After about forty kilometers of playing in dirt, I reached the small town of Kimbadou (actually, I just made that name up, I don't really remember the name of the town), I was told by a local that I only had about thirty-five more kilometers to go. I didn't believe the guy but instead of saying so, I nodded and smiled. When the Peace Corps support wheels met up with me, I discussed with Abrahim, the driver, the route and the actual kilometerage left. After intensively complicated mathematical calculations, which included adding and subtracting double digit numbers (whoa!!), we did in fact calculate that there was only about thirty-five kilometers to go (another quick shout out-THANK YOU GOOGLE MAPS!! We thought it was going to be an additional sixty-five kilometers because Google Maps said so. YEA for shorter distances!!). Abrahim also mentioned that there would be a fork in the road ahead and to meet there to make sure that everyone make the correct turn this time!

After about another twenty-four kilometers of dirt road, I reached the fork and leisurely sipped my lime kool-aid under a parrot tree while waiting for the others. Once everyone had arrived and discovered the right direction to continue, we intensely debated our next move. We were warned by one of our very own bikers of this humongously steep hill just before arriving in Latoden. Did we have it in us to finish? We decided that it would be best to meet at the bottom of the hill so that we could all rally courage and conquer the monster together.

The next eleven kilometers were unbelievably tense. Each slope, each dip, each slight incline in the road, I thought about this hill, this obstacle, this monster. In my mind, it grew bigger and bigger. Rob and I (I'm assuming you have all been introduced to Rob) intensely debated strategies on how to approach this mountain...

Upon arrival in Latoden at around noon, we were greeted by a smiling Nick who was an accommadating host. After making an amazing rice dish and providing everyone with shower water, Nick introduced us to the staff at the CSPS and the mayor's office. After meeting the proper town officials, the mayor took everyone out for a drink and five hours later, we were back at Nick's house setting up bug huts and eating Vache Mac (mac and cheese made with imitation-as-close-as-you'll-ever-come-to-cheese-in-a-small-African-village-white cheese). YUM! I went to bed early with tired legs and a satisfied stomach.

However, throughout the entire day and practically each day of the bike tour, I have always remembered my friend's comment. I remembered to breathe in the dewey smells of Burkinabe rainy season. I enjoyed each moment of steering around the challenging earthen obstacle of the dirt path. I was laughing and smiling as I dodged potholes and mud puddles. I watched the quick African sunrise from pitch black to a soft glow. I stopped to take pictures of an African version of Monet's water lillies. I laughed at jokes and happily muched on dried mangoes. I thoroughly enjoyed the day and everything that Burkina Faso had to offer. In short, I remembered to enjoy the journey.

(Oh! And regarding the mountain, there was none. There was a slight hill but we (Rob and I) weren't sure if it was "the hill" or not and courageously pedaled on. We accidentally arrived at Latoden without realizing that we had already conquered "the monster.")