Nushki to Quetta, Day 2

The ride from Nushki to Quetta proved to be the lowest point of my year-long trip and perhaps the lowest point of my 55 years so far. I have never felt more adrift, more helpless, homeless and without purpose. By morning I was extremely cold, weak and hungry. It took all the effort I could muster to face my frozen environment, to get up and repack my clothes in my panniers, to untie the strings of my sleeping bag and roll it up and to take off my frozen wheel, to pry off the tire and patch the leak in my inner tube with bare, frozen fingers. The ground was white with frozen dew and the air stung with the cold. A few locals crossed the fields around me setting off for their daily chores. They didn't seem to notice me sitting on the ground.

I was putting the tire back onto the wheel when Carlos returned for me. Kate and Stephen had left for Quetta without him so they wouldn't have to wait for me. Their complete disregard for my well-being did not surprise me, but I hated them just a bit more. Carlos, on the other hand, was full of compassion. I would have struggled back to the road without his help somehow, only because I had no other choice if I was to survive, but his warm arm and encouragement gave me badly need strength.

It took a couple of tries before I could straddle my bike and set off. At first I wasn't able to go any faster than walking speed. Carlos stayed close by me, leading the way and looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. Half an hour later we came across a roadside café and stopped for a hot tea. We sat there for another half hour while I warmed up. He told me that none of them had had much sleep that night. Someone had made a space for them in a courtyard but the locals came around to meet the visitors and to sing and drink until the wee hours of the morning.

My strength slowly returned as I warmed up. I still had to take it slow but with some bread and other food that Carlos had saved for me I was able to pick up speed as the day went along. He was always in front of me, gradually getting further ahead as his confidence in me grew, but always in sight. I was still frail, feeling "lost" without a home or purpose. The warmth and care in his eyes told me to have faith. I took each hour one at a time, telling myself to keep moving if only because Carlos wanted me to. I could have fallen in love with him if I had had a little more strength.

By late afternoon we were approaching Quetta, the terrain was flatter and I was feeling stronger. Carlos was riding about 3oo metres in front of me when it happened. I saw two youths chase after him, hoping to catch him to steal his belongings. When they realized he was moving too fast, they grabbed rocks and hurled them at him but he was out of their reach by then. They shrugged and laughed it off.

Then they saw me coming. I was less than 200 metres away. They grabbed the biggest stones they could fit into their fists and readied themselves for the attack. Our group had frequently been greeted with a shower of stones thrown by pre-pubescent children as we entered each town, but these youths were much larger. They were perhaps 16 years old and standing right at the side of the road only a metre from where I would pass. They clearly meant to harm me.

My heart was pounding in my throat. There was no point turning around. I had no place to return to and they would wait for me to pass this way again. If I waited long enough Carlos would come looking for me and they would attack him again. I had no choice but to continue.

Thankfully I had enough strength by this point to accelerate to a good speed. They braced themselves in preparation, but about fifteen metres away from where they stood I swerved off the road to pass behind them. I knew they would step back instinctively, and step back right into my path, but I gave them just enough time to step back one more time to get out of my way. Unfortunately for them, there was a steep embankment at that point and they both fell off the road. I swerved back onto the pavement and kept pedaling hard. A few seconds later they had scrambled back up to the road and I saw the rocks they threw bouncing along the road beside. I made it to the next corner and disappeared from their view.

The edge of Quetta was only a couple kilometres further. I found Carlos there, waiting for me anxiously. We found a local hostel where Kate and Stephen had already booked a room, and rested there for a week while we waited for Coen and Vincent.