Gender roles in west Africa

I can only see through the lens of my experience, through my foreigner eyes. So I can share what I notice, but don't claim to explain or understand.

Like home, certain tasks, public and private, are typically done by women or by men. But it doesn't seem like those roles are aligned with power or respect, where one gender overwhelming holds profitable or prestigious positions. Merchants/ businesspeople are usually women. Professionals and government officials include many women.

For almost any task/job I've seen that tends to be done by one gender, I've seen exceptions. Several construction sites had a couple of women workers, many seemstress shops have a man at the sewing machine, I've seen men holding babies and women making mud bricks. Certain physically demanding jobs such as hauling water or collecting wood are typically done by women.

The thing that is most striking to me is the confidence I perceive in teen girls and young women. They're loud and boistrous in town, or quietly collaborating on tasks in the countryside. To my eyes, compared to their American counterparts, they seem so unappologetic, so secure in who they are and their bodies.

Ode to my chain

The Harmattan winds bring hot dry dusty air from the Sahara this time of year to west Africa. And while I've ridden in deserts and hot dry places on dirt roads before, I don't think I have ever asked quite so much of a chain. On one dusty road I stopped to lube the chain twice in one day. Humble 8-speed chain, I beseech you, keep up the stellar work.

The roads of west Africa

The roads of Ghana in many ways are amongst the most comfortable roads there are for a cyclist. Overall bike mode share must be on par with the Netherlands or perhaps higher. The combined bike ped mode share is surely over 50%. Our fully loaded touring bikes stand out, but not because of the size of the load, only because they have gears, toeclips, dropbars, water bottle cages and canvas bags.

To see a child riding to school is common, perhaps a girl in hijab, perhaps a sibling or peer on the rear rack. To see someone carrying water, one 5-gallon jug in front, another in back, is common. To see a load of several bundles of the 8' tall grass they use for thatch roofs, ungainly strapped across the back resulting in a very wide load, not uncommon. To see a few cassavas strapped into the rear rack of a farmer's bike, common. To see a farmer's cutlass stashed in the frame, common.

And pedestrians. Always,  everywhere, with every sort load, with every sort of mission. We are very funny looking here, so often they laugh. But also a warm greeting. "Obroni [white person]! You are welcome!" If they are not holding a load in place atop the head, both hands may be waving at us, and a big smile.

After 3 weeks of riding in Ghana, we're now in Cote d'Ivoire. The road scene is different. Bikes are perhaps no more common then back home in coastal California. The innkeeper at the humble guest house we stayed at a couple of nights ago in Dabakala was so excited to show us his bike, because he too is a cyclist, and rides it everywhere, while everyone he knows gets a moto of some sort as soon as they can manage it.

In both countries we have been on roads that would not warrant that name in the U.S. Braided dirt and sand tracks, with motos, pedestrians and bikes weaving around pits 5' deep.

The rules of the road also changed as we crossed the boarder. But in both cases we have been treated with courtesy and felt safer than riding back home. In Ghana, everyone asserts their right to a bit of space, and will sqeeze themself in wherever that space may be found. But also everyone is willing to make space for who everelse may need to sqeeze in too. Horns are used for all sorts of communication, though none seem to be agressive or angry.

In Cote d'Ivoire there is something of a pecking order, the bigger vehicle, the more others need to get out of its way. If the very large pothole to be avoided is in the truck's lane, it will use the other one, and the oncoming motos will scoot to the shoulder to get out of the way.

2016 Wheel Turning

motorcycle
2,074 miles
27.45 gal
75.6 mpg av

truck
1,781 miles
77.7 gal
23.2 mpg

bicycles
9,799 miles

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2015 involved 4 transit agencies, ~250 miles pedaled, 12 members of my extended family, and the singular Fuchsia Wonder.

FW, all ready and rarin' to go Monday night

The 2 am departure Tuesday morning got me to the 3:49 express bus from Santa Rosa to San Francisco. Golden Gate Transit now uses a bike 'rack' in the undercarriage of the bus on some of their buses. Despite the fact that it was 10 minutes before departure time with few passengers around, the driver told me I should watch the on-line video if I needed any help in using it. Funny thing was, about 2 hours later, I was boarding Caltrain, the south bay commuter rail, and when it wasn't obvious to me where to swipe the fare card so I would be charged for the ride, the employee told me,"you should read the website to familiarize yourself with the system." Again, it was 10 minutes before departure, with few passengers around. Why have a verbal interaction with the person in front of you when you can read about it on-line? I'm so old-fashioned.

Here's FW on Caltrain, traveling in VIP style

By 7:15am I was pedaling south from the Tamien train station in San Jose. Here was my route to San Luis Obispo:

I had a time limitations, so I opted for a flat simple option for getting out of San Jose. So the first 50 miles were dreary and with a headwind to boot. But when I saw this sign I knew things were going to get interesting:

"Next Services 76 Miles"

In fact it was over 100 miles before I next passed a retail establishment. It was a challenging ride, at one point the headwind was so strong I was working hard to go downhill at 9 mph. It rained most of the afternoon, then when night came temperatures were in the low 40s and I was soggy. But it was that sort of vast country that leaves you a little different than you started out -- quiets the mind. It was the sort of place where I felt awe and appreciation just for the excellentness of getting to be there pretty much the whole time. It's desolate droughty ranching land, sparse grey pine and shrubs on the hills, livestock still grazing the valley floor. Hwy 25 passes by Pinnacles National Park. After that it was Peach Tree and Indian Valley Roads. It might have been because I was feeling the miles, but seemed like those rollers were pretty steep. It was dark by then and I went for miles with no artificial lights. The full moon illuminated the valley floor when it wasn't behind clouds. After a brief stop in Paso Robles for food, I headed along another hilly, lovely, quiet river valley most of the rest of the way to San Luis Obispo. I rolled into the motel around midnight, and thought that hot shower was about the greatest thing I'd ever experienced.

Early morning treats and hot beverage at Blackhorse Cafe hit the spot, then the Fuchsia Wonder and I rolled on the Amtrak to San Diego.

Sunrise from the train

More outgoing than its owner, FW is seen here cavorting with other train passengers

This train has 6 spots for bikes, and you reserve one beforehand, at no additional cost. Very civilized.

My aunt and uncle rented a house in Mission Beach for the week, and we had a very relaxing time. I for one consumed enough calories to fuel an Olympic curling team.

A few members of team Adams

This is at the tidepools at Cabrillo National Monument, a few minutes before the complete rainbow, a few minutes after the resource limitation of fewer parking spots than circling vehicles brought out the ugly side of the assembled representatives of humanity, and several hours after (though still feeling the affects) of some strong adult breakfast beverages at Cafe 21. I also got in a visit with family from my mom's side, and met my cousin's newborn twins for the first time.

San Diego River bike path

Lots of great paths and they get used by a cross-section of cyclists. I was impressed by the functionality of junctions between paths and shared infrastructure (e.g. roads and bridges).

I was starting to worry my plan to ride all night right as temps dropped into the 20s might be not my cleverest idea ever. I gave Amtrak a call, and for $5 I got a ticket for a bus that would take me and unboxed FW from SLO to San Francisco. Huh, I guess I can afford that.

If you've been keeping track, you've noticed I promised 4 transit agencies, but have only mentioned 3. The story of the 4th is an example of the sort of gratuitous drama that I seem to find a way to add in. I left plenty of time to get to train station for my return journey, and made my way to the Old Town station, where I got off a few days before, a little more convenient than the main San Diego station. Fifteen minutes before departure I figured out the train in fact would not stop at Old Town, and I needed to make my way to the main station. On the next platform over was the light rail, and after running down then up the underpass stairs carrying the bike I stared dumbly at the fare kiosk for a little while. As to whether I figured out how and what ticket to buy in my frazzled state before rolling on to the trolley, I take the 5th. As luck would have it, it was going the right way and no one asked for a ticket. A few stops later, the Amtrak train in sight, I got off and started running on the coarse railroad gravel towards my train, carrying the bike. The trolley driver was not happy with this choice and expressed as much with the horn. I could see the heads of the staff pulling in to each car on the Amtrak train in preparation for the doors to close, and hopped onto the platform in time to shout into the first car door as it was closing. To her credit the staff person for the car did not tell me to watch an on-line video on departure etiquette. Rather she opened the door, told me how many cars down the bike car was, and radioed for the door to open for me. Whew!

Random act of Kindness

Hours later, when I went to the bike parking area to check on FW, someone had placed a 'Kind' brand granola bar on it. Note to self, anonymous small acts of sweetness are way cool on the receiving end, try to remember that and do one once in a while.

The rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. I learned that as excellent as my new porteur rack is, it's not very compatible with the typical front-of-bus bike rack. Due to a very patient and kind bus driver, FW and I made it back to Sonoma County, but I won't try to take that bike on that type of bus rack again. On the way down the hill I live on, when I first started the journey, a fox darted across the road in front of me, which I took as a good omen. And in the last mile as I was nearly back on Sunday, I saw a coyote loping along in the distance. Which I took as a warm welcome home.

bike on moto, v.2

A big improvement over the tie-downs, but still some room for improvement.

The Fuchsia Wonder does Lassen

This was a one week trip to Shasta County in NE California. Instead of taking my beloved workhorse the touring bike, I decided to keep the gear to a minimum and take my '88 Bridgestone road bike, aka the Fuchsia Wonder. FW and I have been on many an adventure together, but this was new territory for us.

 

Thanks to kt for lending me that spacious Relevate pack for the seat in which I put some clothes and maps. That's a VeloOrange porteur rack up front with sleeping bag, small food pouch, ground cloth and a few other items.

This is the approximate route I took. It was two days and 250 miles to get there, I spent the weekend resting and visiting with friends, and then > 300 miles and 3 1/2 days getting back.

Sunset on day 1, outside of Red Bluff

 Unfortunately I got a very huge piece of glass in my back tire around this time, which managed to go through the brand new tire and the tire liner and was patiently sitting there inside the tire when I went to pull it out. So I decided to call it a day at 160 miles despite the appeal of riding in the cool after sunset hours.

Sunrise, day 2:

 Just 90 miles to go and I made it to Burney only an hour behind schedule, I told my hosts I'd be there by 4pm and it was actually closer to 5.

Had a nice weekend relaxing, visiting with friends, and even got in a bike ride along the Pit River and a tour of a hydroelectric facility.

Due to having a local with us, we took a snazzy back door entrance to the MacArthur-Burney Falls state park.

Time to take my leave Sunday afternoon, and I headed up Lassen. Even though this was the highest elevation of the trip, the grade on that road is very gentle so while the climb wasn't quick, it wasn't particularly difficult. There's nothing like having spent a couple of days riding through the central valley in July to make you appreciate the loveliness of being in the mountains.

 Boiling mud, no swimming:

I took a little traveled road down to Chico, even got enough rain to be glad for the fenders. Then outside of Orland I noticed my wheel was making that loud lub-lub-lub sound like there were pavement cracks, but the pavement was smooth. While I started with a brand new tire on the back, I thought the front one might have one more trip left in it. Alas, the tire thought otherwise. Both the sidewall and the tread gave up the ghost right there on the road to Newville. Huh, what to do? I pulled it off, shoved my boot in there crosswise, which didn't do much, and back tracked (lub-lub-lub) the 2 miles to the last gas station, which hopefully was called 'Sportsman's Friend'. Amongst the fishing supplies was duct tape, but this was not the greyish stuff I was used to. Either swirling purple peace signs or leopard print.

I put many overlapping layers of tape on the inside of the tire, worked my boot in there, and then replaced the tire liner.

It's a nice look, yes? Thanks to cc for having modeled the duct tape tire repair trick years ago, little did I know how handy it would be.

And with that I was off to a little traveled stretch of California, road 306 hugging the eastern side of the Mendocino National Forest.

 It was a little surreal how desolate it felt after the hub bub of the National Park and the Central Valley.

Even if I saw very few people, I was predisposed to like them (if you can't read the sign, it's worth clicking on the photo for the closeup view):

I stopped at the cafe in Elk Creek for a big home cooked meal, then peddled on.

A final sunset, my last night out, around Leesville.

Made it home around 4pm on Wednesday, having departed 5:30am the previous Thursday. Kind of neat how much you can fit into a week. There's a few more photos posted here. Thanks to RED for encouraging me to come out to Burney for a visit and to all of team Burney for a great weekend there.