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Sunday, February 9th – Palolem Beach to Colva Beach, 17,337 km
Frank and I are up early, psyched for the ride ahead of us. We have our showers and head to the restaurant in our cycling gear with our loaded bikes to share our last breakfast with Jesse, Karen and a couple others from the campfire circle. We are the first to arrive. We order anyway, not being sure if and when they will show up. They arrive before our breakfast arrives.
We leave half an hour later, so we can have the day behind us by mid-afternoon. There are hugs all around. The goodbyes that have become complacent for me in recent weeks seem particularly sad today, in part because I know I am also saying goodbye to this incredible and incredibly long trip.
We cycle out of Palolem to the main coast road and south half of a kilometre to Hwy 66, a larger route that runs further inland. It is known locally as the Kanyakumari-Panavel Road. It is busier but more direct. The hills that comprise the Western Ghats run in east-west ridges. There is a higher ridge inland from Agonda that Hwy 66 skirts the western end of. The climb is only 170 m and from that point out route is flatter and straighter. It follows a valley that is east of the hills that include the Cabo de Rama. This is a rural area without any significant towns, though there are farms and small villages near the highway. Because the route is over rolling terrain, it is scenic and green, but fewer palm trees than on the coast. It is warm day with broken cloud cover. I am sweating from the humidity.
As we get beyond the Cabo de Rama ridge of hills, we pass the Shree Shantadurga Hindu Temple. Its pink colour stands out dramatically from the green fields and hillsides around it. We pause to stretch and eat our sandwiches we prepared for lunch this morning.
It is shortly after 2 pm as we enter Margao. We stop to check our guide book map of the town to look for places to stay. We push off to cross the road. Frank's foot
slips off his pedal and he loses momentum. An approaching motorcycle with a driver and passenger has not anticipated Frank's pause and, as typical here, is driving with no room for error. It broadsides him, slamming into his rear wheel and knocking him on the street. The driver and his passenger are uninjured, but they are mad that Frank paused. The driver takes no responsibility for leaving no room for error. Frank has been knocked over onto the street. His helmet protected his head but there is a serious cut beneath his eye that will need stitches. His bike's rear wheel is bent and his bike is unridable.
I leave him at the side of the road with a handkerchief on his cut while I find the directions to a local medical clinic in Margao. It is less than a kilometre away. I flag down a cab and tie his bike to the rear, then ride my bike to the clinic behind the cab. It is a small clinic with just one doctor. We wait in the waiting room for several minutes. I wait while he is stitched up.
When Frank emerges he is quite upset. The clinic has no proper sutures and has used a thick black thread that Frank fears will leave a permanent scar. They also do not have any soap so the doctor did not clean the wound before stitching it up. Frank is a medical student himself so he is furious at the service. One can see poverty and accept it as the normal life in this part of the world, but it is harder to accept the consequences of poverty when they become personal. I hope he doesn't scar, but I am relieved it wasn't too serious of an injury and it happened near a clinic. Also, his bike being broken isn't that serious because it is the end of the trip. He was planning to ride with me to Panaji and catch the bus back to Mumbai with me, but he can catch a train from Margao instead.
His bike still rolls though there is a serious wobble in the back wheel. He will work on it tomorrow to see if he can straighten it himself, but he can push it as we walk along, looking for a place to stay for tonight. We find a small hotel only a block from the clinic and quite near the market we visited a week ago. It is quite reasonable.
I feel especially close to him after the accident, which is heightened by the fact that this is our last night together. In spite of being straight and 15 years younger than me, he has been the best cycle touring partner I have ever had. If he was more seriously injured I would be really distraught over needing to leave him at this point in time. I insist on us going out for dinner together. We find a local restaurant that looks quite nice but the food is mediocre. I order wine for the both of us but he doesn't want me to treat him.
I wanted us to have a great dinner but it is the company that matters most. He tells me I me that I am the best touring partner he has had. Given that he has such a long-standing best friendship with his childhood buddy Eric who has toured with him much longer, this is a real compliment. I know it is not very butch, but I blushed and my eyes watered a bit. He sees that but he seems OK with that.
Tonight I lie in bed in a whirl of conflicted emotions about the past, present and future - feelings of love, loss, gratitude, fear and anticipation. If I had my druthers I'd be lying in the same bed as Frank and cuddling with him. Why can't men do this when no sex is involved?
PHOTO 1: temple at Shree Shantadurga
PHOTO 2: Frank and I entering Margao
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