This past Saturday (3rd of March 2012, por la precizión) went out bike riding from Boane to Goba and back. The intention was to summit Goba Fronteira, the 10km climb from Goba town that has some rather steep sections, especially the opening ramp that normally separates the men from the boys in our amateur bike races. However we had more on our mind than steep ascents.. By we I mean myself, Mathieu Destrooper and his father Jean, out visiting Mozambique from Belgium.
We'd decided on this rather "comfortable" ride in response to my total lack of form and Jean's gradual return to cycling. We set out to Boane by car early in the morning and once there were greeted by the first of many set-backs... Somehow one of my cycling shoes had morphed into a Superga.. I couldn't believe it! Had I been that drunk the night before when I prepared my bag? Was it one of my children, playing a practical joke??? Or one of my unruly guests, in a haze of drunkenness deeper than mine. Certainly it was no cyclists playing this kind of joke! No matter.. we were riding slowly.. I would suffer through the different width shoes and lack of grip with the Superga.. somehow.
Then our second round of bad luck.. My bike, my beautiful resplendant white Cervelo fell over TWICE, blown over by the wind, while I was getting changed into my cycling gear.. Which I should point out is a Molteni jersey, which contrary to Belgian public opinion is not a Belgian team.. but an Italian one for which the Great Eddy Merckx rode some years ago..
By now we had a howling a gale with 20-30km gusts of wind buffeting us as we finally set off over Boane Hill and onward to the Barragem dos Pequenhos Lebombos (Boane Dam). This road would link us to the back road to Goba, little used and full of holes, but great for riding on. We made slow work as we warmed up our legs by spinning on the descent and then applying a bit more strength on the climbs and flats.. The wind was coming straight ahead, unremitting, merciless. We could only console ourselves that on the way back we would be flying, IF the wind direction didn't change.. Slow rollers came and went, strangely the descents being harder work than the climbs, due to the effect of the wind hitting the tops of the hills. Still we plodded along, no real urgency in our cycling. We chatted and passed the time, and took in the beautiful countryside, and found the energy to discuss the etymology of words like Mast and Hammock (the first Dutch, though I argued Latin, the second Spanish though I was told Dutch.. but I digress.).
Finally we neared Goba Town, but just on the outskirts I heard a pang-kwapp! And my chain got stuck in the rear cassette! Strike three for the day! Mathieu stopped to give a hand and after much helmet bashing we managed to free the chain, which was now twisted and looked ominously close to breaking. Once on the road though everything seemed to work, and as long as I stayed away from my rear 28 I was fine. So, ahem.. are we going to climb to Goba?! Well, with Jean stretched to his limits, and my bike limping along (and truth be told I was streched BEYOND my limits!) we elected to have a few cokes in Goba town and then turn back for the welcome reward of a rather brisk tail-wind. And soon we were flying along, taking the uphills at 40km an hour and the flats at 50.. effortlessly pedalling along. We swapped turns pushing (or rather pulling) at the front and it was a most satisfying feeling moving at that speed.
Then our final climb for the day, the rise around the dam. Mathieu powered on, while I hung back with Jean, and there was our fourth misfortune for the day, as his chain dropped. Nothing unusual we thought, and after some jiggling he managed to get it back on, but after a pedal stroke it was off again! And the seriousness of our predicament was made clear to us.. The bolts holding the chainring were all but gone, just two remained.. and the inner chainring had snapped! Situation was dire... 20km from home. But a quick remedy, sacrificing a chainring bolt from our other two bikes meant we managed to patch up Jean's bike and, although he could only use the large chainring, it was only one short climb till mostly gentle rollers..
An gentle they were.. I freewheeled over two bumps at over 40km an hour, the tailwing and my aerodynamics keeping me going. Well, we were well on or our way by now, just one last obstacle standing (well, not exactly..) between us and our car.. The floods of some months back had played havoc with the Boane bridge, and now one concrete span sat on the riverbed.. A metal ramp allowing you up on one end. Fortunately pedestrians and agile cyclists are able to navigate the broken section, and soon we were on our final stretch.
Finally back to the Boane petrol station, changed and after an expresso, we could laugh at the strange ride we'd had. Well, at least we didn't have any punctures!
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