Monday, September 15, 2014

At this point we are still on the hill

Waiting for fast uphill cyclists on a hill.

Actually, if one experiences such cycling by such cyclists its more like 100 motorised vehicles being chased by 200 sweaty if colourful cyclists who are in turn are being chased by another 100 vehicles or so. For 200 km or so in temperatures that seemed to be at least 200C [in the shade].

There's one, there's a racer. 

Only it wasn't. The vehicles that had passed us were camper vans and cars with wig-wearing occupants heading for the top of the climb - where this weary looking cyclist was off to. The road opposite was paid for by Cubans - Émigrés from the village below. I read that on that stone thing whilst the day was passing.

Buses came this way too - although not this day. A man on a nice little baby tractor came this way in then out of that little track over the road. I liked that. Spiced the day up a bit as we waited, fanning ourselves, drinking water and chatting. I chat; did I ever tell you that?

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