Row, Row, Row your tricycle

Day 18

My first experience of the hospitality of the Indian rotary club. Thomas organised the Rotary president of Thanjavur to help me with accommodation. I was very happy to be given a clean room and not spend all night looking for it. Trying to mend my stomach I thought American chomein would be a safe choice for dinner. This turned out to be a bowl of tomato ketchup with a couple of carrots floating in it and reiniciated my tummy problems.

Day 19

I set off towards Kumbakonam expecting a short days travel of 45km and perhaps some rest for my tummy. This day was a Hindu festival. Every truck and shop was adorned with palm leaf decorations and music blasted from large speakers across the rural land scape giving the sensation of riding within a bollywood movie. I was looking forward to visiting a bronze factory I had herd of on the way. Upon asking "bronze Factory" to the locals at the small settlement I was maraculasly taken to a tiny shack with a young boy. He showed me the plaster molds, wax models and the bucket of mud which was to encase them for casting. There was a small pit in the back yard to light a fire to melt the bronze and a set of punches and files for finnishing work. All was done on a muddy floor yet beautiful figures of multi armed and trunked Indian gods were being created skillfully. I gave the boy 50rp and was delighted to see a great white toothed smile appear on his seriouse face. My short days travel was taking much longer than anticipated, due to my achey tummy, persistant rain and pot holes. It was now getting dark and I had to race on to Kumbakonam where another Rotarian said I may spend the night in his hotel. Night fell and the rain became a waterfall. Poor drainage meant I was soon plowing through shin deep water, my back pack half submerged. I would gladdly have traded my hand powered tricycle in for a row boat. Passing trucks threw up thick sprays of water reminding af the sensation of popping out of a water slide and splashing suddenly into the pool at the bottom. All I could do was laugh solitarily at the rediculouseless of my soggy situation. After a lot of questionaing I finnaly located my hotel and was show to a luxouriouse room with the first hot shower I had seen since arriving in India. After draping my wet worldly possesions about the room I curled up into bed with a shivery feever and a stomach that despised all food. Ding Dong. I was disrupted by the hotel man inviting me to the festival celebrations. It was my duty to attend so I hobbled off to the reception room where the hindu ritual took place. For the next hour, floweres and bananas were chanted to by sainly looking gurus. All people touched the items of offering then touched their hands to their faces. Sandle wood, red paste and ash were applied to the chakra spot above the forehead and numerouse insence were burned. All was done with little sign of conciouse emotion as if it was a mindless act of necessity such as brushing ones teeth. It is a strange sort of religion where it seems all that matters is the ritual is completed and there is some idle to focus on, be it a gold statue or a tinsel covered road cone. Even this computer has a hindu spot above the monitor. It was also one mans birthday so a giant part popper 10 times too big for the room was exploded accross us. I was happy to have been invited this comunity spirited gathering yet happy to hobble back to bed as a tired, achey, insence fumigated, confettie snitzel. After another 5 minuts sleep. Ding Dong. I was now greeted by the rotary man and his friends who crowded onto my bed for a chat like a mens slumber party. Finally I was left to squeaze in a quick sleep for recovery before having to leave early in the morning as there were no lodges for the next 80km.

Day 20

An enlightening exposure into the mind blowing possibilities of incredible diarhea. Travel was slow due to little desire for food for energy and every 5 minuts and appointment with increddible diarhea. After shaking off my enterage of growling zombie dogs and laughing children, I would then locate a tree which was not inhabited by a shoe repair man or a small family to relieve my intenstinal pain. As the day progressed, I was forced to select my toilet spots more liberally and was soon chatting to a local audience from the bushes as they crowded around to observe my curiouse machine and bare white man's bottom with no sign of embarisment. 11 hours after leaving I finally rolled into Vadalur sick and tired where a rotarian offered me a hard wooden bench to spend the night. I thanks him for the offer but said I will find myselfe a comfortable lodge to recover. "No problem, I can arange it", he said. some more rotarians arived for conversation and by 10pm I was shown to a softly bedded hotel room very greatfull.

Elephant, Tigers and warthogs, Oh My!

Day 12

Rest

Day 13

I waited until 11:30 in hopes that the rain would stop but ended up setting off in drizzle into the national park which separates Kerala and Tamil Nadu. By 3pm I was deep within the park on a pot hole riddled road decorated with signs showing portraits of tigers and captions reading "Please don't stop vehicles". This was most comforting, especially as my chain kept deciding to come off and I felt time was due for my first puncture. I was told not to travel through the park at morning or dusk and hunting time was now approaching. I cranked religiously until my biceps bled and I passed out of the sanctuary gates into safety. The only animals I came across were some warthogs who fled at my arrival. So here I was now in the State of Tamil Nadu. Wow this is true tricycle country. Flat roads for miles, like riding on a placid lake. I would have swarn I was in Africa with the dry ground, withered trees and rock monoliths rising out of the plains. I cruised into Udamulipet town and met with a friend of Titus's for the night. This was a family of singers and we had a wonderful night of sing along.

Day 14

On my journey this day I met with a middle aged disabled woman residing in an orphanage. She had polio, cross eyes and walked on her knees but greeted me thankfully. She was capable of riding the cycle, though will need a little practise until she can make it go where she wants it to and will soon be riding around the ashram, to chruch and into town. I continued on to Oddanchatram where Thomas advised me to stop at the  hospital to look for tricycle recipients. This was a large complex but somehow I managed to find myself in the physio therapy department with many physicians poking at my machine. They had no one available at present but were sure someone suitable would arrive, so I decided to donate one cycle to the department. One physio invited me home to sleep the night.

Day 15

This was a day of riding on rough farming back roads. In a land where only children smiled. There were many gaunt faced farming men and woman tending to goats on the roadside. Their feet stuck to the soil with no pressing need in life inspiring them to move them any time soon. I tried my best to summon a smile from their dark tribally pierced faces, but achieved nothing but an alien stare. I stopped for lunch at a road stall of beef fried rice. A big mistake. My intended town of sleep had no lodge (only reporters, see photo) so I had to go a further 15km, making this my longest day at 110km.

Day 16

Beef fried rice bites back. This was a wet day and I had no choice but to set off in the rain with my new found food poisoning. I felt very week with only the weight of my heavy hands to turn the cranks. It took a long time to travel 30km with many a stop for a roadside vomit. (sorry I am just trying to give a true account). On this day I was also stopped by two people who had disabled friends. I loaded the cycle onto a mans truck to meet on lady with polio working as a clerk in a college to test her on the cycle. I later was taken to a lady with a tea stall who also had polio. I was happy to have been able to help them but very unenthusiastic with my sickness and prayed for no more stops before I reached the next town and found a bed to curl up in. As I approached the town I was intercepted by the press. I was very unresponsive, let them, take a sour photo and I pedalled on ignoring their requests for an interview. In the town of Trichy, finding a lodge was not so easy. I asked one man if he knew of one. He led me for about 2 hours to many lodges which he said were full then asked me to buy him dinner. The next lodge was free and I was so happy to have a bed. My new guide decided he would sleep in my room for the night. I told him no, gave him some money for his time and refused his offer to come back tomorrow. A couple staying in the hotel now wanted me to visit them in their room. All I wanted was to curl up and recover but I swaggered down the stairs for a quick chat. They were a nice couple. A Hindu man and christian women living together for 43 years happily married. They invited me to visit them when I arrived in Bangalore.

Day 17

Just one day to be a tourist would be nice. I was still rather sick and could eat nothing all day but managed to drag myself to a temple and sleep under one of its decorative columns.

Day 18

I felt much stronger and peddled off to Tanjor where a rotary man met me and organised a room for me which I was not expecting. I even had some afternoon time for a visit to the amazing Brahideshavra temple.

Every Good Journey needs a mountain

Day 7

I had only a morning ride to Muvattapuzha, then a 10km detour to Valakom to meet Thomas's friend James, his wife and 2 sons. James retired after 20 years work in Dubai to return to Kerala for a peacefull life with a nice house and small vegetable garden. We shared lunch before introducing me to a man who had fallen from a coconut tree. He was good at using the cycle and has flat ground from his home into town so should be a suitable recipient.

Day 8

I cycled off to Thattekkad wildlife sanctuary stopping on the way to get a new stronger, wider rim and tyre that had no bald patch. This seemed to fix my square wheel sensation and improve my juddery breaking which would be important for the approaching mountains. My success at seeing wildlife at the sanctuary was small, instead I had a long lecture from the manager about how we can't let tourists into sanctuaries as they destroy the habitat. He wanted me to share this message through what he seemed to see as my high profile status. I agreed with his argument then took his details as a possible recipient as he had an ankle problem and many disabled visitors to the sanctuary. I spent the night at the sanctuary home stay. The lady keeper took me to visit a local man with one leg working at a small tea shop. He also seemed suitable for the cycle.

Day 9

The day started through a rubber plantation, where I stopped to watch a rugged woodman as he flitted from tree to tree like an elf extracting the rubber from a coconut shell and re cutting the spiral shoot down the trunk so that fresh liquid rubber could run down to be collected. The rubber is put into drums with a solvent to keep it liquid until until it reaches the factory. I reached the town of Neriamungalam, purchased a coconut, stashed it away and began my gruelling climb of 1.65km over the next 50km. I had to pick up the cycle and drag it most of the way as my one set gear is not possible to use on steep hills. I stopped at a waterfall for lunch where a local cracked open my coconut so that I could devour half of it for lunch while enjoying the view. One stall keeper named Finny invited me to spend the night with his family near Adimali and join him for church the next day. I slept in their simple home on the lush jungle hillside. His father was a paster and his mother a housewife who was very ashamed at having time only to prepare an amazing chicken curry and not the usual 5 dish meal that Indian people eat.

Day 10

 It feels very tribal when you enter these indian church services. All sit on the floor, men one side, women the other and clap and chant in a trance like state. I was asked to deliver a message so I spoke of my journey, read psalm 139,9 and sang amazing grace with finny's translation. I sped off after Church in hopes of reaching the hillstation town of Munnar before dark. My afternoon tea of my remaining half coconut had developed some pink mold in the last 24 hours. I cut most of it out but was still left in a mildly paranoid state about being poisoned on a remote jungle hillside. At 4pm the rain came pelting so I sat on the cycle beneath a tarpaulin as a river gushed beneath me for 1 hour. I had allowed for 4 hours for this 27 km journey. Instead it to 7.5. The jungle turned to stunning bushy cultivated tea plantation hillsides. These slowly melted into darkness, the rain returned and the road grew steeper and rougher. As I came to drag my burden through an ankle deep mudslide amidst backed up traffic waiting for a digger to clear the road, my flag pole snapped and so did my deluded sensation of being Jesus carrying his cross. I had a fleeting fantasy of casting the tricycle down the mountainside, smashing it into tea leaf sized pieces. I pushed this thought aside and continued my achey ascent. Traffic thinned, night fell and the hill flattened. I trundled through dripping pot holed darkness lit dimly by my hand held flashlight until reaching the cold hill station of Munnar where one man in a medical shop was waiting for me. Here I slept the night in his hobbit home praying for hot morning sun.

Day 11

"Let me wake to warm and sunny
Dry my bones turn skin to honey
Watch the steam rise off my clothes
Up to where my spirit goes
Here's one secret that I know
Heavens hot and hell is cold"

I had a glorious morning climbing the sunny hill road through more perfect ea bushes, dotted with colourfully clothed tea shearing men and women. Then like a sudden bright idea where there stood one man and one cow, my mountain decided it was time for descent. Two news reporters met me at the bottom and I was able to get a copy of their filming on my USB. When I reached the town of Murayur, Thomas had organised yet another host for me. Brother Titus was a 30 year old paster living with his wife and baby, running a church for the local tribal people. I was given a spacious room overlooking a valley of sugar cain.

Days in a Dotie

Day 4

Thomas convinced me to divert my rout for a days rest at his friends old age home in Malapoly. I missed my turn off and ended up on a beautiful backroad through rice fields. Many people approached me throughout the day to show me my photo in the paper. One man lead me down a dirt road to his friend in crutches. He showed me the scar down his back and explained his recent fall leaving him in a crippled position from which he may never recover. I took his details then raced on to Thiruvalla to meet thomas's friend Pasta jackson and load my disassembled tricycle into his boot to go to his old age home. I had dinner with his family who happened to be celebrating his daughters 9th birthday. This was a low key celebration much like a western birthday. They sang happy birthday to a candled cake, except they did not blow out the candles as pasta Jackson believed this was to be a year of beginnings not extinguishings. I then watched in delight as they each fed cake to the others mouth wiping it across their cheek in the process.

Day 5

This day of rest began with a game of badminton followed by a press interview. I was filmed cycling and then talking to each of the old age residents. One man was happy to talk for hours sharing his vast knowledge gathered from life working in a theological library. He was a hobbling religious statistical encyclopedia. He later taught me how to tie a dotie which is the sheet that Indian men wear around their legs. Before leaving he gifted me proudly with an old moldy sheet that he had perhaps inherited from dobby the house elf 60 years ago. I was very happy to accept it and have been wearing it with pride. Pasta Jackson is part of the Martoma church which originated in Kerala from st Thomas and now exist all over the world for Indian people to attend. I was invited to a home prayer meeting which although I did not understand the language, seems not so different from baptist meetings. The pasta did however where a special white robe. Every  3 years he is allocated a new church and must relocate his family. He seemed to me a gentle natured calm man who spoke enforceable and little of his religion regarding how consuming I perceived it to be.

Day 6

I triked off after breakfast for a long day through undulating terrain which involved a great deal of dragging up hill, refixing my untieing dotie which was determined to reveal my white upper legs, then cruising down the other side. In the evening a light rain came and along with it darkness. Every small jungle building calling itself a hotel did not seem to have a room for me. Trucks did seem to see me fairly easily in the dark with my reflectors and mirror. It was oncoming traffic blinding me from the potholes which was mostly the problem. Finally just as I was finding that darkness and wet slipping breaks would put an end to my days travel I was shown to a lodge for the night.

Apologies if Pasta is not the correct spelling for a religious leader as apposed to an Italian meal.

Getting Cranking

Well it is now the end of day three since I began cranking my way through the coconut palmed, florescent colourfully homed, roads of Kerala South India on my shiny new hand powered tricycle (Named NED in honor of a sponsors late father). I was sent off in style with local film coverage and a malay placed over my head by a local dignitary. I am not able to say that the cycle I am using was made by me, though I did spend a couple of weeks helping my local Indian fairy God father Thomas work on developing MENDS old design. It still has further work to do on it so I am using a great design from UK which is distributed in Bangalore. MEND has a half price agreement with them so we should be able to supply a few needy people with these from donation money.

I have come fond of my cycle over the last few days during my ride from Kunnamkullam to Cochi and now Allepey. Every 5 minutes a news paper reporter or film crew seem to jump out from the bushes to investigate this strange unidentified 3 wheel object adorned with a New Zealand and Indian flag, streamers, reflectors, a big informative sign in two languages on the back and one on each wheel, one air horn and one rear view mirror. Every 30 seconds I am flagged down by roadside locals wanting to ask questions. Every Few hours I come across a disabled person interested in a cycle so I put them in it for a test ride and take their contact details. With all these distractions I am still managing to stay on schedule and feel confident that 2000 km is an achievable goal that does not have to end in my death. 10 km  per hour is my average speed when I am actually able to move. The road thus far has been fairly flat, not too busy and not too bumpy, though we have stood test to a little of each. Any slight hill does require a good deal of panting and cheek puffing which scares the locals but gets me over the rise. Any real hill requires that I get of and dray the machine by the front wheel which is not such a problem for me who has legs.

I have collected details of about 5 possible tricycle recipients though some people I have met, found it to be unsuitable due to the crank being too high, their upper body strength too weak, or their being obese. I feel that the more effective means of distributing the cycles to those that really need them is to supply them to various rehabilitation centres who's job it is to locate these people and asses them properly. This can be done, though It is still nice to interact with the disabled people I meet, have a personal connection to the project and hopefully help them. I am committed both to sponsors and myself to complete the distance so can't stop for every ingrown toenail but can when I see someone who we have a good chance of being able to help.

So far there have been no big issues. The chain came off a few times but I retentioned it and it seems to be holding. I have a slight sore on my left bottom cheek which your would not think possible looking at the cushy seat, but 7 hours of sitting on a bony bum rocking back and forth is not so ergonomic.

Thomas, the man I was helping to make a cycle with in Kunamkullam has been an amazing help to the project. He phones my every few hours to check up and acted as a support vehicle on his motor bike for the first days ride.  Ill keep you all updated when I can get time and access to Internet. Subscribe to get my posts automatically emails to you.

Thanks again for your donations. Check out the pages on this web site as I have updated the mission, the route and donation instructions.

Lots of Love from my pumping heart and achy throbbing biceps.

Shasa Bolton