Nkhata Bay to Lost

August 2nd, Day 52:

  If time were no object I would have loved to stay in Nkhata Bay for another week, just to relax, soak up the sun, and swim. However, we did not have this luxury, and it was with a heavy heart that I biked away from the closest thing to paradise that we had seen since departing from Cape Town. But the day was going to be very interesting, and I quickly got excited for what lay in store.

   A local man we had met had told us that there was a beautiful dirt path that ran alongside the lake.  Even though it was not paved, he assured us that it was rideable and would not slow us down. Indeed, it appeared to be a much more direct route than the main road, and in addition it avoided the mountains and was supposed to be very scenic. This all sounded great to us, so we listened carefully to the man’s directions and planned to head that way. The main road was supposed to have a turn-off about 20 miles or so from Nkhata Bay, and then we were supposed to follow a dirt-road another 5-10 miles until we find the turn-off for the road that we would take alongside the lake.

   Everything started according to plan. After 20 miles we managed to find the first turn-off. The dirt road looked pretty well kept, so we figured that it would be safe to take it. Then, after several miles down the dirt road, it began to get more difficult start climbing up some pretty large hills, but we looked at the map and it seemed to be heading in the right direction so we stuck to the plan. We continued on, keeping our eyes peeled for the turn-off that we wanted. We rode past idyllic jungle villages and the confused stares of local people watching to white bicyclists pedal past them. Then, after 8 or so miles, we came across a larger village and saw a split in the road. We stopped to ask the locals which direction to go, and after explaining where we were trying to get to they explained that the road that split off was certainly the one we were looking for, but also said that we were crazy to head down it. They said it was not only impossible to travel by bicycle, but that it was also very difficult by foot and very hard to navigate.

  We were taken aback. We had gone all this way to find this path, and here we were, being told not to take it. However, we did not have time to backtrack, and we figured that we were much stronger bicyclists than the locals realized.  We also thought that they might be exaggerating the difficulties out of an assumption that white people couldn’t handle “roughing it”. Finally, we saw a local man emerge from the path on bicycle, and figured that if he could do it, we could do it. So despite the advice of the locals we decided to push on, driven by a hubris that would haunt us later on. Also, we managed to enlist the help of a local drunk and several students who were heading in the same direction as us and would direct us for the first few miles.

The road began descending sharply, and the conditions deteriorated. After just a mile or so of riding down the road, hands constantly squeezing the brakes to avoid rocks on the descent, we were forced to begin pushing our bikes. The road turned into a trail, and not a trail that could be biked on. However, we saw a small town up ahead and figured that we must have taken a wrong turn and we would find the main road again soon. Also, we still had our drunken companion and the group of teenage boys to help us along. The dunk guy started to become quite a nuisance, however, as he kept trying to push our bikes for us, surely because he wanted money.

It was getting dark, and when we finally got to the village in the distance we were met by a strong, stern looking man who introduced himself as the chief. He looked very concerned, and explained to us that our passage through these parts would be very difficult. When we explained that we would be unable to go back, he gave us permission to continue, and instructed the teenage boys to assist us ahead for a bit to show us the way until we were on the right trail. Then, just as we started to leave again, he noticed the drunken man return to our group and start following us again. He immediately yelled for us to stop and confronted the drunk.

   "Leave these guests alone." He declared.

   The drunken man responded that he only wanted to help, but the chief was not buying it. He informed us that the man was a thief and must return to the village he came from. Tensions began to rise between the chief and the man until the chief finally raised his voice and shouted, "This is my land, given to me from the chiefs before me. Leave our guests alone. Do not disobey me!” And with that, we were saved from our troublesome companion. We thanked the chief and continued on our journey.

  The teenagers were good guides and walked with us for several miles until it got too late for them and they had to return home, however before they left they showed us to the local well where we pumped out enough water to fill our bottles. We thanked them for their help, got back on our bicycles, and attempted to ride through the mountains in the darkness.

   Things began to get more and more difficult for us. Our spirits began to break as the reality of our situation sunk in. We were in the middle of some Malawian mountains in the pitch black on an unreadable road. We tried in vain to bicycle, but I fell 7 times over the course of a few hours, so we had to exclusively push our bikes. Pushing was difficult as well, however. The uphill sections were incredibly tiring, as we often had to work together as a team just to push one bike up. And then there were the rivers, which were traversable only by using the small log bridges that went across. Sometimes we will have to push our bike, with all of the weight on the back, across a log that stretched some 20 feet above a small river below. This was extremely nerve-wracking, as a single mistake could immediately end our journey. But we worked together, and slowly managed to navigate every obstacle. That was, until we came across a bridge at around 11pm that was just a bit too narrow and a bit too high to be able to cross.

   We were determined to push our bikes through the night until we made it to a town where we could safely sleep, but we were beginning to think it would be impossible. We were exhausted from carrying our bikes through the mountains, and feared that we may have gotten lost, as the trail seemed to split on several occasions. More importantly, however, we were very nervous about our ability to get our bikes over this new obstacle in the pitch black. Then came the deciding factor- a strange and terrifying noise, almost like a cackling, came out of the bushes. We were a bit scared, but thought nothing of it until we heard it again, and this time closer. We did the quick calculations, and realizing that we were beside a river and surrounded by trees at night, the chances of a leopard stalking us was a bit too real to ignore.

   We froze with fear, and then began to panic. I took out my twin-blade knife, and Eric grabbed a large branch. We dropped our bikes by the side of the road, and made for higher ground being very careful not to run... which is a sure-fire way to die if large cats are stalking you. Finally, the creepy noise stopped. We were lost and confused about what to do. Luckily we could just make out the shape of several huts in the distance, so we decided to go ask for advice. But it was late, and when we got to the huts the entire area was silent. Upon further investigation, we realized that the people were not sleeping, but rather the place was deserted. The discovery of the ghost town did nothing in the way of consoling us; rather it just increased our fear level. We took a quick pow-wow and decided that we had to return to the river, get our bikes, cross as quickly as possible, and continue until we got to an area that was a bit safer for sleeping.

   The next few minutes were pure terror and business. As we prayed that leopards wouldn’t attack us, we carefully and efficiently worked as a team to cross the river safely (which was a very impressive feat in my opinion) and immediately pushed our bikes up a hill until we found a nice clearing. We then set-up camp, got in bed, and went to sleep. It had been a long, scary, and frustrating day. We were in the middle of the mountains, lost, and running out of food. It was going to be a tough journey ahead.

-Aaron