I had many small failures, as one does, on any trip. I ordered a stupid tourist frozen food item at dinner, bought too much non-alcoholic beer, said the wrong thing to the person I was trying to engage in conversation.
But, I had two major failures, both involving loss, I will have to flesh them out later when I have more time, but here is a first telling.
Sunday, 4/7, I took my longest ride. I went out to the surfing restaurant at Zavial. I have been there many years and indeed have had some of my most enjoyable conversations with other diners. Last year I rode out to the general area but was smart enough to call before riding the last hilly miles in and found out they were not yet open for the season. I had an interesting lunch instead in the town at the head of the exit to Zavial from the N125 but this year looked forward to actually making it down. I suffered. I met a great group of older women on electric bikes and could not keep up. I had to walk my bike more than once, but finally made it. No great lunch companion but a nice dinner.
I am not looking forward to the ride home. I am already tired. I have even been walking my bike up some small hills! Again employing some such walking I make it back onto the N125. I suffer my way up to the road that leads into Boca do Rio. Proceed in, This is the valley I talk most about. It is my favorite place in Lagos and one of my favorite places in the world. I have decided that even though the hill out of Boca is a monster and will require a lot of walking, taking this “inland” route, which is the same as what I have just come out, is preferable to the up and down torture of the N125.
I pull over by the small bridge crossing the river. Park my bike and get ready to enjoy a little rest and appreciation of nature.
There is one VERY small difference. Only the most decering would notice the thin gray straps on my shoulders. They hold up the backpack. I go to get out my binoculars. Wait for it… The pack is not there. No, I have not put it next to the bike. It just is not here!! Could I have taken it off other times on my way here from the restaurant when I stopped to catch my breath? After many moments of contemplation, I come to the conclusion that it is most likey back in Zavial. I have been so consumed by the pain of the journey that I have never noticed the lack of burden!
Soooo. I correctly conclude that the next step is to call the restaurant and confirm. I have my phone, it travels in the pocket, right pocket always! of my 3 pocket biking shirt. The challenge is to operate it. My idea is to use Google Maps to show Zavial and then hopefully I can see the name of the restaurant and either click on it there or use google to search for it and come up with a phone number,
I won’t go into a lot of detail here but I have eye problems. I can see to bike fine and even drive but reading and seeing screens is another matter. My special glasses and headlamp are in the pack. I have tried to set the phone more to “hard of seeing” but I really do not have it completely working. After not even being able to see Zavial on my phone’s map, I approached a single man who had parked by the river. He spoke English! Turns out he was English, Understandably, he was more than a little reluctant to get involved with this crazy old bike rider.
But he did everything! He found the name of the restaurant. (Turns out there is another just over the hill to the West that I have never visited!) He called the restaurant. They find the pack. He drives me back to get it and back to my bike. It is still a hell of the trip home but at least I am whole again!
As I continue to adventure forth at my age and with my limited capacities, it is very important to me to constantly recount these incidents and do everything in my power to avoid having to depend on the kindness of strangers. Strangely, as we get older and more infirm, one of our jobs is to allow others to help us. One of the gifts we hvae is to allow them the pride of doing something for others.