Inner Peace & Screams

I used to be supple.

But that was a long time ago and when I did not have a belly that seemed to get in the way of everything and hinder my pursuit of graceful flowing stretching.
Hence I rose from my bed after charging my soul with a beer and a packet of chocolate speckled eggs and stood with my feet about a foot apart.
Gently shifting my weight from my centre to my right leg I swore as my foot immediately cramped, I moved back to my original pose and this time moved left, same result! A cramp in my left foot and the sharp pain caused me to relax to a point where an unexpected breeze escaped from my bottom. If it wasn't for the fact that I had to walk off the cramp I would have been deeply disappointed in myself.

At this moment I did not feel that I was portraying the image of a Zen master, the fact that I was clad in underpants and a Thor t-shirt and not a silk gown, along with the grunts and moans removed any air of beauty and majesty from the occasion.
I took a deep breath and tried again, this time with my arms moving like a swan shot in its wing, legs shaking and a grimace with eyes tightly closed, both feet cramped simultaneously and I tried standing on my toes as an experienced ballerina would, I simply lost my balance.

A normal man would have retired to his bed or couch and had another beer, I had neither a couch or any more beer and thus I persevered.
What followed was 3 minutes of peace and grace filled with silent screaming as my body rebelled and ached to the point where I bowed to honour the fat men who had tried and failed in a desperate attempt to find the 18 year old spirit inside their middle aged bodies.

The visions of every burger I had been enticed to devour in the name of survival floated before my eyes, every delicious silky smooth angel kissed sliver of Lindt that had been force fed to me and clutched to my hips, each cold ale that passed my lips and filled me with joy and laughter danced before me like maidens luring me with their worldly charms. My journey would require the strength of the father of a teenage daughter restraining himself from killing the smiling hormone filled potential sex offender who stood at his door asking for permission to escort his princess to a place where he would not have a clear shot at him with his sniper rifle.

My journey had just begun, and in the words of the wise man, " Have a break, have a Kit Kat", I paused and sank into my bed.

Nite All

Permits 4 Africa

It was once again time to renew my work permit, so 10 of us trudged off to the Department of "Sit on your butt and wait Forever" and started serving our sentence.

I found myself bored after approximately 15 minutes and after another hour and a half I was photographing everything in my line of fire. I then started a game of chicken which basically involves sitting in a non-aircon room with 20 heavy breathing, hot irritated people and launching methane bombs, some stealth and others that murmered like far off thunder. I have noticed that if you pretend to be playing on your phone, keep a neutral expression and don't look up, the members of a now fully operational gas chamber have very little chance of finding the culprit.

Butt after an hour of "Spot the Bomber" I was in need of a new challenge and we were en route to the Police Station, a km walk in 32'C weather, I made friends with a lady and her friend who opened her umbrella to shield herself from the sun, I simply ducked my head under the umbrella and began chatting to her as she was a newly found relative, she was shy, but her friend found it amusing and after a brief chat we parted ways.

Next we met a Chinese welder who had just returned from Moscow.
From his broken English we managed to derive the following information;

• Russia was very cold
• The prostitutes were very expensive 
• Vodka was an essential partner in fighting off the cold
• The police were very militant and demanded to see your papers all the time.
• He had been locked up more than one
• Fucki Fucki was possible if you were not caught and bribed by the police and a lady was having a slow night

He spoke with a twinkle in his slits and a smile on his lips, he also laughed at all of us as we tried to communicate with him, a 41 year old man who still looked 30.

I was then afforded the pleasure of sharing my bench with an Indian lady, I enquired whether she sat next to me because I was handsome and irresistible to women, she giggled and blushed and looked away. My colleagues shook their heads as if they felt sorry for this poor woman.

I asked if I could have my photo taken with her and she politely declined, even when I tried to convince her that I was in fact an exotic dancer by trade and  "Glitter" was my stage name. She  would still not succumb to my request for a photograph. She worked with her husband for a company that manufactured all the Student Prince school shoes that were exported to South Africa, had 2 children a son 13 and a daughter 9, she declined my offer to hold my hand while we spoke.

As I was called into the Department of "Smile and Shut Up" I was sure she was checking out my swaying bottom, but I would not put money on it.

Photo taken, permit issued and just when I felt that I had survived this 6 hour lapse in reality, we had to climb into a local taxi for a short trip, the creaking suspension, lack of windows that opened and grinding of metal on metal where brake pads should be reminded me of what the majority of commuters had to endure on a daily basis.

Africa is indeed a continent filled with colourful characters, friendly individuals and an adventure if you wish to step out of your safety net.

Be brave and live.

Nite All

Sunday in the Saddle

My Sunday began with a decision to head out early and tackle the road to Maseru, I left Masite Nek and as I left the cocoon of safety and  fortitude of a pain free bottom I realised that this was my first cycle on my own.

Co-rider one was asleep, grumpy and not a morning person and co-rider two decided that visiting his wife in South Africa was more important than dodging taxis on a Sunday morning. This would be my fourth ride of the week and I a step closer to emulating Lance Armstrong, I had a yellow t-shirt on, baggies, drugs in the form of blood pressure meds and happy pills and a hint of Jack Daniels in my system from the night before.

It is important that you understand that I am not some fitness freak who can hop out of bed, run 16km, cycle 24km and then pop a Berocca C and bounce through the day with a smile on my face. I could theoretically pass out if I jumped out of bed, rushing to breakfast leaves me a little flustered and jogging doesn't agree with my rugby destroyed knees or reconstructed right ankle.

I swung onto the main road, and within no time at all was being greeted my shepherds as they tended sheep, goats and cattle, in Lesotho children that are unable to attend school have the option of becoming shepherds, so its not unusual to see a 9 year old in the field tending his flock.
My admin hardened hands were taken a severe beating from the rubber grips of the handlebar, it was as if I had been entrusted with the task of removing all the skin off my palms while my backside bounced on the rocklike seat like Bo Derek bouncing assets in the running scene from the movie "10".

The Lesotho taxi-drivers are more mellowed than their South African counterparts and will hoot and give you additional space if required, this country grows on you more and more each passing month.
I am now finding that with no previous experience and not having the luxury of an experienced rider with me, it is simply a case of get on, get on with it and get back alive. There is no plan of action, its survive till it hurts, dont cry in front of the cheering locals and don't swear out loud, the swearing is pretty safe as I am unable to do much when gasping for air and my throat as dry as forgotten piece of wors on a braai.

This would be my first ride where I didn't dismount and have to walk, even if it killed me. I was crawling home, with wobbly legs, collapsed lungs, bleeding hands and a huge blister of pain where my bottom was meant to be. I turned the corner and the final 200m lay before me and then it was over.

6km or 6000m lay behind me. I was a superstar!