One year ago, Port-au-Price Haiti was rocked by a massive earthquake, causing one of the worst urban disasters ever.

On the six month anniversary, I ran this guest post from Port-au-Prince resident Ben Depp. I’m re-running it because it is just so awesome. Thanks Ben!
July 12 – Port-au-Prince. Weaving my way through traffic, I pass pancaked buildings and camps swollen with people displaced by the earthquake. Small groups of men and women with sledge hammers break apart rubble. I have to pay extra attention to the road to avoid the large piles of rubble edging their way into my lane.

In six months, a lot of rubble has been moved. Just after the quake, roads were blocked with rubble, landslides and wrecked cars. With a limited number of dump trucks and other heavy equipment, it will take years to clear the city. A lot of rubble will stay where it is until it breaks down on its own. Camps have grown since the earthquake with people coming into the city from the countryside in hopes of free food or a tent or a job.

My ride takes me through a market where thousands of people sell in the blazing sun all day with painfully thin profit margins. I was surprised when less than a week after the earthquake, the markets started filling back up with local food from the countryside. It was a reminder to me that the rest of the country was still functioning. The farmers and market women took a huge hit when their already struggling economy was flooded with free imported rice during planting season but they are still here scraping along.

The crappy part of riding in Port-au-Prince is traffic and diesel exhaust, both of which have gotten worse since the quake. A lot of cars were crushed in the earthquake, but to make up for that the relief organizations have imported thousands of diesel SUVs that are now choking up the city’s already congested streets. (I can’t complain too much because I work for these same organizations on a regular basis).

My commute home would force me to climb three miles back to my house. Instead, I break up the climb skitching on the back of tap-taps (pickup taxis) which never fails to entertain the driver and passengers. I haven’t tried skitching on any of those new diesel blowing SUVs yet.

Despite the U.S. embassy’s new travel warning asking U.S. citizens to avoid travel to Haiti, I feel safe riding my shiny Salsa 29er with $3,500 worth of camera dangling from my neck . There are a lot of poor people in Haiti, but contrary to sensational media reports only a few of those people are uncool.

Ben and his wife Alexis (who fixed the punctuation on this story) live in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. They blog at www.blexi.blogspot.com. Ben is a freelance photographer available for assignments. He’s also the author of this instructable on building your own cargo bike.

Six months ago, Port-au-Price Haiti was rocked by a massive earthquake, causing one of the worst urban disasters ever. Today, a guest post from Port-au-Prince resident Ben Depp.
July 12 – Port-au-Prince. Weaving my way through traffic, I pass pancaked buildings and camps swollen with people displaced by the earthquake. Small groups of men and women with sledge hammers break apart rubble. I have to pay extra attention to the road to avoid the large piles of rubble edging their way into my lane.

In six months, a lot of rubble has been moved. Just after the quake, roads were blocked with rubble, landslides and wrecked cars. With a limited number of dump trucks and other heavy equipment, it will take years to clear the city. A lot of rubble will stay where it is until it breaks down on its own. Camps have grown since the earthquake with people coming into the city from the countryside in hopes of free food or a tent or a job.

My ride takes me through a market where thousands of people sell in the blazing sun all day with painfully thin profit margins. I was surprised when less than a week after the earthquake, the markets started filling back up with local food from the countryside. It was a reminder to me that the rest of the country was still functioning. The farmers and market women took a huge hit when their already struggling economy was flooded with free imported rice during planting season but they are still here scraping along.

The crappy part of riding in Port-au-Prince is traffic and diesel exhaust, both of which have gotten worse since the quake. A lot of cars were crushed in the earthquake, but to make up for that the relief organizations have imported thousands of diesel SUVs that are now choking up the city’s already congested streets. (I can’t complain too much because I work for these same organizations on a regular basis).

My commute home would force me to climb three miles back to my house. Instead, I break up the climb skitching on the back of tap-taps (pickup taxis) which never fails to entertain the driver and passengers. I haven’t tried skitching on any of those new diesel blowing SUVs yet.

Despite the U.S. embassy’s new travel warning asking U.S. citizens to avoid travel to Haiti, I feel safe riding my shiny Salsa 29er with $3,500 worth of camera dangling from my neck . There are a lot of poor people in Haiti, but contrary to sensational media reports only a few of those people are uncool.

Ben and his wife Alexis (who fixed the punctuation on this story) live in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. They blog at www.blexi.blogspot.com. Ben is a freelance photographer available for assignments. He’s also the author of this instructable on building your own cargo bike.

Today I’m turning Bikejuju over to guest blogger Andrew M, who has a great tale to tell.

My quest for the ubiquitous African bicycle began while I was spending six months working in Western Kenya in a small rural village.  The predominate vehicle of trade was a black double top tube bicycle of Chinese or Indian make, with rod brakes, usually a reinforced rear rack, heavily modified and repaired through an obviously long life.  As I grew to know the local people and culture more the bike became a symbol to me and I had to have one.

It turns out that one could be purchased locally in Kenya for about $50 US, but getting it home was another issue.  It was hard to fly back with one since I had to make several stops on my way to the states, and shipping turned out to be difficult to arrange from my location, so I gave up.

When I got home about a year ago I regretted not trying harder and I renewed my efforts.  I went of course to various manufacturers websites, but received no response.  I went to “made in China” wholesalers, who arrange exports from Chinese factories to US retailers.  Success! Sort of, just needed to fulfill a minimum order of 500 units.  They were pretty cheap in bulk; perhaps I could make some money on the deal as well?  After some consideration and figures I came to my senses, with the aid of my girlfriend’s advice, and decided against getting into the bicycle import/export business.

More internet searching.  By this time I was spending what can only be described as an unhealthy amount of time searching forums, Chinese websites, craigslist, eBay and pouring over Google search results.  I would be doing something around the house and then I would find myself sitting in front of the computer pursuing my latest lead, with dinner burning on the stove.

Of course I discovered that Flying Pigeon have a following; they are available to order online from a few sources.  However none of those fit my needs.  Not only did I not see any Flying Pigeons in Kenya (though I’m sure they’re around), most of the ones online did not match the type of bike I saw in Kenya.  The African bicycles I saw were almost always double top tube, and never had a full chain guard.  I saw mostly Heroes, Forevers, Avon, and Phoenix.  The Phoenix SPB15 Double Top Tube For Gents, from the Phoenix website, had become my Grail, the unobtainable goal.  I required an unmodified bike, wobbly steel westwoods, questionable rod braking and all.
I appealed to Taiwanese bike shops, to more wholesalers.  My email address was spread far and wide in India and Asia, which was a little scary and hadn’t produced any results.  Local bike shops responded simply “No,” and wanted nothing to do with it.

I began to resign myself to the idea that I would just have to bring one back from Africa or China myself but I had no far reaching trips planned.  Finally this month I made one last appeal.  I posted a wanted ad in the San Francisco Bay area Craigslist, an attempt to reach out to the cycling community in my area.

The next day I woke up with several emails about the Pigeons, but only one email spoke of my elusive Phoenix.  Turned out the writer’s neighbor had one in her garage for almost 30 years, had too many bikes and would probably sell.  And she was not ten minutes from my house.  I had been searching worldwide and here, just down the street, was the object of my desire.  After some phone calls, a visit, and haggling, I found my self the proud owner of a Phoenix.

It is all original and the tires still hold air, for a while.  I took it for a ride and it’s all I imagined.  I float above the crowd on my 28″ wheels, head up, shoulders back and heart open.  I cruise along, pushing my 50 lbs of steel at a stately 8 mph.  30 years in the salt air of in our coastal town has left the seat creaky, frame rusty, brakes out of adjustment and I love it.

________________________________

Thanks Andrew! Phoenix bikes have made a few previous appearances on Bikejuju, this blue one in Axum, Ethiopia is especially pretty.

My colleagues, a Seattle family, recently had an opportunity to move to Botswana for three months with three sons, and committed to living their time there car-free. David, the father, was kind enough to share a little of their experience cycling Gaborone, the capitol of Botswana.

I was hoping to find bicycles and ride with the kids in Botswana even before we left Seattle back in September. Cycling is a great way to see and discover a new place, allowing you to move quickly and efficiently, but slowly enough to perceive the details and textures that are blurred in a car and to easily interact with people that you meet on the street. Also, given the short length of our stay, buying a car did not make financial sense.

I should clarify that I intended to cycle around the city of Gaborone, where we would be living, not around the country of Botswana. Though I might have tried touring when I was younger and dumber, the Lonely Planet guide to Botswana warns:

“Botswana is largely flat – and that’s about the only concession it makes to cyclists. Unless you’re an experienced cyclist and equipped for the extreme conditions, abandon any ideas you have about a Botswana bicycle adventure. Distances are great and horizons are vast; the climate and landscapes are hot and dry; and, even along major routes, water is scarce and villages are widely spaced. What’s more, the sun is intense and prolonged exposure to the burning ultraviolet rays is hazardous. Also bear in mind that bicycles are not permitted in Botswana’s national parks and reserves; and cyclists may encounter potentially dangerous wildlife while traveling along any highway or road.”

Not exactly an endorsement of touring by bicycle in Botswana. And they don’t even mention the sand. We did see a couple of bikers loaded up with panniers resting under a tree on one of our road trips, but I did not envy them, as the temperature was approaching 90 degrees.  Even from a distance, they clearly looked baked and spent.

Before arriving in Gaborone, I assumed that biking around the city would be fairly risky. I expected high traffic speeds and volumes and unpredictable drivers who were ignorant and unconcerned about bicycles. I also assumed that formal bicycle facilities (e.g. bike lanes, paths, or signed routes) would be non-existent, which is generally true. However, after getting to know the circulation network and aligning my cognitive and spatial expectations with those of drivers, I find that it feels rather safe to bicycle in Gaborone. Whether it actually is as safe as a city like Seattle or Portland would be difficult to determine, as the crash data are probably non-existent or recorded in a way that makes comparison impossible. Most bicycle crashes in the US do not involve a vehicle and go unrecorded anyway, which is probably the case here as well. Regardless of the continent, I have always believed that the greatest danger of cycling together in a group with kids is each other, and indeed our only minor mishaps have been self-induced; somebody stops too quickly and gets plowed into from behind!

The circulation network comprises a variety of facilities in Gaborone. While there are only a few streets with painted and signed bike lanes, most of the major through streets have wide rights of way with plenty of space beyond the shoulder to ride safely.

An arterial street in Gabarone with a dirt fringe beside it.

This typically dirt fringe is particularly good for children when traffic is moving fast, although includes hazards such as drainage channels, termite mounds, broken glass and thorns, extremely sharp plants, driveways, transit shelters and makeshift street vendor stalls. Mountain bikes with big knobby tires are a must.

My son navigates a dirt sidewalk with storm drains.

A newer street with a bike/pedestrian path.

Having been planned and started around the time of Botswana’s independence only 43 years ago, Gaborone is a very young city with a suburban development pattern and street network that reflects the naive planning principles of that era. The major arterials are widely spaced and must accommodate all of the city’s through traffic because most of the local neighborhood streets end in cul de sacs. This virtually eliminates vehicular traffic on streets in the residential neighborhoods, but makes the busy arterials uncomfortable places to walk and bike. Crossing the arterials is difficult and their big intersections pose a significant risk. In particular, many of the intersections have generous roundabouts, which keep traffic moving but are more difficult to navigate on bicycle or foot than signalized intersections. The upside for walking and biking is that most of the dead-end neighborhood streets and cul de sacs have paths that connect to other streets, unlike most middle-aged suburbs in the US. At least the planners got that detail right!

Path between dead-end neighborhoods streets.

The best element of the circulation system is a network of greenways that is interwoven throughout most of the neighborhoods. The greenways are terrific for cycling, though tend not to be continuous or lead to important destinations.  The greenways are also impractical at night, since they are dark and have poor surveillance (most adjacent residences have high walls topped by electric fences). Finding your way through the labyrinth of street-end paths and the greenways takes time, but is fun.

When our youngest son Willie is not with his nanny, Monica, he is often surveying the city from his child seat on the back of my bike. He typically rides with me to drop Elliot and Mitchell off at school. We then head home to meet Monica, often trying new and longer routes.

Contrary to my initial safety concerns, I have found that most drivers in Gabs are actually quite competent, maintaining their lane position and often courteously yielding to us at smaller intersections. Having two other kids on bikes in formation and a small child on the back probably helps, but I am also generally treated well when I am on my own. There are certainly the handful of crackpots that blast through stop signs and demonstrate general disregard for any human life beyond their own, but these outliers exist in Seattle as well. Ironically, one of the greatest dangers is that many drivers are so amused and agape at Willie perched behind me in his little seat that they don’t watch where they are going!  Most have never seen such a set up. People in passing vehicles will often point and wave while laughing with joy at the sight of us, as if we are a circus act that inadvertently rode out of the bigtop. Willie also shouts out “Dumela Rra/Mma!” (Hello sir/maam) as we pedal past pedestrians, which always elicits grins.

Having a young child with you is a great ice-breaker when you are trying to be a culturally sensitive and unobtrusive outsider yet are eager to interact with people. Having that child blabbering away behind you in a little seat mounted on your bike – a real novelty here – opens huge doors.

Willie and I had been talking about getting a marimba during a long ride to a shopping mall and just as we were approaching our apartment, we passed a Zimbabwean man selling them on the street. Biking around Gabarone facilitates such seemingly random encounters. Pasteur once said, “Chance favors the prepared mind.” I think chance also favors the cyclist.

Marimba seller.

Biking around Gaborone with Elliot, Mitchell and Willie has given them more direct exposure to the culture, climate, and landscape. I also believe that the cultural exchange goes both ways, at first startling and amusing people that see us, but then, hopefully, making people pause and think, “Why are they riding bicycles through the city and not driving in a car like most ex-patriots we see?” I think the older boys have some sense that they are influencing the perceptions of others here and perhaps nudging the transportation status quo, if only infinitesimally. Hopefully, the feeling of riding along the quiet greenways or adjacent to the busy streets on sandy tracks will be an enduring memory of their time in Botswana.

Cycling past a termite mound.

Guest poster Tolu continues his description of riding his fixie around one of Africa’s largest, busiest, most congested cities, Lagos, Nigeria:

My cycling gear for adventuring around Lagos has to be well thought out. I have to be visible without wearing too many layers. I have to keep weight down. I also have to stay cool. It’s also essential for me to have an emergency pack.

My cycling gear typically consists of:

• Sleeveless top
• Cap to shield from sun
• Headphones to create my soundtrack
• Respro sportsta breath guard to protect my lungs
• Baggy offroad shorts to protect my modesty
• Cleated cycling shoes for my clip-in pedal system
• I also ditched my heavy messanger bag that made my back sweat heaps, for a cheap, but highly effective Nike drawstring rucksack. (Weighs nothing and is just big enough for my emergency kit).
• Old mobile phone. (I leave my blackberry at home in case I get mugged!)

My emergency kit consists of:

• CO2 pump (Weighs nothing, about the size of a small torch and inflates a tyre in seconds)
• Spare inner tubes (My front wheel is a 650 so i have to carry 2 tubes. DOH!)
• Tyre levers
• Spare chain link
• Small bottle of water (More for washing out wounds if I fall and cut myself)
• TCP spray plaster (Excellent spray that disinfects injuries and forms a waterproof seal on contact. It also stops minor bleeding and allows wounds to heal naturally)

I also use sunblock and insect repellent liberally and use my Knog front and rear lights all the time! You may have noticed no hemet on the list. The no helmet thing is a bit of a sore point in the household, but I just don’t find them comfortable in the heat!

Lagos is also quite heavily polluted. Car emissions are not regulated and people also rely very heavily on generators to provide their electricity as national power is very erratic and unreliable. (As of today we haven’t had power from the national provider for over a week). This cocktail makes for very bad air quality. As a result a breath guard is essential. Not easy with the humidity as sometime you feel like you can’t breathe! The pollution mask I use is a Respro Sportsta mask. The Sportsta filter inside the mask has an extremely low inhalation resistance compared with other particle filters. It works pretty well, but on hot days when you’re pushing you sometimes feel like you can’t get enough air. Most of the time it’s fine and very necessary! The days I’ve forgotten to put it on I definitely notice the difference when I’m back home.

Anyway… more about riding! After several weeks of daytime riding, I was keen to try riding at night, however nighttime excursions were a particular issue. Lagos is not the safest place. There have been lots of robberies and violence in the past. Less so recently, but it’s not unheard of. I first voiced my interest in night riding to my wife. She immediately told my sis and mum and I was made to promise I wouldn’t do it. I do so with my fingers crossed.

Soon after “making the promise” I got ready for my first night ride at about 8pm on a weekday evening. I strapped on all my lights (front and rear), left indoors my headphones, iPod and anything that could be perceived as valuable, snuck the bike out and tentatively made my way out. Wow. Learnt so much on that first dark ride. Firstly there are a lot of insects about when it gets dark! Clear riding glasses for next ride, check. Luckily I wear a breath guard so no insects were swallowed!

It’s also amazing how totally pitch black it can be in some places due to the lack of electricity and lights. Even with my lights on the bike, I could only see a few feet in front of me at a time.

I was also able to see what people got up to around Lagos once it got dark. Groups of people huddled by stalls watching Arsenal v Chelsea football on little TVs powered from generators, guys hanging out smoking (again strange as you don’t see many people smoking during the day). Now it sounds weird, but when you’re in a car you don’t notice these things.

Since then I’ve been on a handful of night rides, and have kept pretty close to home. I love being out at night seeing this side of my city but I am not sure I want to push my luck too far!

My time spent on two wheels around Lagos have raised many questions and brought to light many observations:

• Why is the importation of bicycles into Nigeria banned? It would make such an ideal way for the majority of people to get around. (In 2004 the government has banned the import of assembled bicycles, supposedly to protect local industry.)
• Why don’t more people cycle to get about? (The only other people I see on bicycles are low level staff and elderly northerners). As menacing as it may seem, so long as you are confident and experienced cycling here is not intimidating. I actually haven’t had a situation where I’ve been forced off the road or bullied by other vehicles. If anything I’m the one doing the bullying!
• The human body is an amazing thing! I’ve been out for rides in blistering heat and high humidity and have survived to tell the tale!

I’ve got lots more cycling planned and am slowly converting some of my close friends to join me in cycling locally. I don’t think there will ever be a fixie “scene” here, but I hope more and more people are encourage to get onto two wheels.

A few weeks ago I came across some remarkable images on Flickr: gorgeous street scenes in Lagos, Nigeria, some of which featured a sweet-looking fixie. I had to learn more!

After a brief correspondence, the photographer, whose name is Tolu, was kind enough to write this guest post about life on and off a fixie in Lagos, which is Africa’s second largest city. I’ll be posting it in two parts. Tolu takes it from here, and all the photos are his:

I’ve been fortunate enough to spend a lot of my life in different places. I’ve been exposed to many things and have formed my interests accordingly. About two years ago, living in London, a close friend introduced me to cycling. I’d recently been retired from motorbikes (Suzuki GSXR750 was my last) by my loving wife and first child so I had a hole in my life that needed filling.

After a little investigating and deciding I needed to shed some weight, I went out and bought an off-the-shelf bike. My first few outings ended in puffing and wheezing back home soon after leaving, but soon I got much fitter and ended up ditching the car in favor of the bike. As I cycled around London I noticed some funky looking bikes. I’ve always loved getting my hands dirty and I’m guilty of being a bit of a customising freak so soon enough I was on the internet looking into ways of customising bikes. My forming addiction was further fueled by a trip to San Francisco where I witnessed, first hand, the fixed gear scene in all its glory. Suddenly my trusty of-the-shelf steed seemed inadequate.

Anyway, ride I intended to do! No way I was going to be somewhere for 6 months without being able to ride a bike! A fixie would also be ideally suited our topography as Lagos is pretty flat. So a single gear would not be a hinderance.

Got out the credit card and started ordering bits and pieces to build my first bike. Chain and handlebars from Japan, frame and hubs from the UK, wheels, saddle and saddle post from the US, crank from Italy etc. I felt like a kid in a candy store. So many options and so many different ways to put all these options together.

A lot of the parts I got were influenced by the environment I was building the bike for. I got some very good, puncture resistant tyres (Continental Ultra Gatorskins), very strong wheels built with the maximum number of spokes, again for maximum strength (Velocity Deep V). Super comfy Oury handlebar grips to soak up a lot of the road vibration. Izumi super toughness chain for…you guessed it, for super toughness! Etc.

And now a guest post from Seattle author, naturalist, blogger, and cyclist David B. Williams:

If you wondered what Mr. Juju was hinting at in his last post, the answer is stone. Paris-Roubaix, Mt. Ventoux, and Breaking Away are united by their reliance on rock and by my passion for it. By way of introduction, I am the author of the recently published book, Stories in Stone: Travels Through Urban Geology.The book explores the connection between people and rock by focusing on how we use rock as a building material. Chapters range from the brownstones of New York to a petrified wood gas station in Colorado and the Carrara marble (Michelangelo’s favorite stone) that once clad an 80-story skyscraper in Chicago.

Tom was kind enough to let me write a Bikejuju post uniting my passion for biking and rocks. I am a geologist but I have also long been a cyclist, having started touring with my parents back in the mid-1970s. In 1983, I put together my own bike, building the wheels and buying parts, including a pair of Campy hubs in Italy. I still have and still ride my beautiful blue Mercian. In the late 1980s, I ended up Moab, Utah, where I spent time working as a park ranger at Arches National Park and also taught geology programs at Canyonlands Field Institute. In that region, it’s hard to miss the bike-rock connection while riding the ups and downs of the Slickrock Trail (the loop rolls across the 185-million-year old Navajo Sandstone). Now as a Seattle resident, I ride regularly not only for training but for commuting, going to meetings, and shopping. It’s still my favorite mode of travel.

In regard to biking, there are several connections in my book Stories in Stone. The prime one is my focus on a white, 330-million-year old limestone quarried around Bloomington, Indiana. Known as the Salem Limestone, it is the most commonly used building stone in the United States; famous Salem-clad structures include the Holocaust Memorial Museum, the Empire State Building, and Grand Central Station.

Cyclists enjoy Grand Central Terminal's limestone facade up close during a "summer streets" day when some Manhattan streets are closed to motor vehicles.

But more germane to Bikejuju readers’ interests, the Salem Limestone is the star of one of the great movies of all time, Breaking Away. The four protagonists, Dave, Mike, Moocher, and Cyril, wile away their summer in Bloomington, including swimming in an abandoned quarry.

Unfortunately, you cannot access that quarry anymore; too many people did get to it, which didn’t please the property owners. You can, however, get very close to the nearby hole left behind by quarrying 224,000 cubic feet of Salem Limestone for the Empire State Building.

I have just one complaint about the movie. Although Breaking Away does show a quarry yard and discusses the use of the stone, none of our gang of four fine fellows ever mentions the coolest feature of the Salem. The limestone is chock full of fossils, such as crinoid stems (which look like poker chips), bryozoans (which look like RiceChex), and brachiopods (which look like clams). They all lived and died in warm, clear sea that once covered what we now call the Midwest. Oh well, we geologists can always hope for perfection.

Another bike-stone connection concerns stones known as San Pietrini, or little Saint Peters, playing on his role as the rock of Christianity. San Pietrini are the cobblestones famous for helping all roads lead to Rome. The stone for the cobbles comes from 277,000-year old basalt flows that erupted from the Faete peak of the Alban Hills volcano, southeast of Rome. In late May of this year, the little St. Petes attracted attention on the final day of the Giro d’Italia, when race leader Denis Menchov took a rather nasty tumble on the wet stones. Showing heroic perseverance, he got up, finished the stage, and won the overall race. It was a truly stunning moment.

As most cycling enthusiasts know, the most famous cobbles are the ones ridden in the “Hell of the North,” the Paris-Roubaix race. Known in French as pavé, the cobbles come in three varieties: granite from Brittany, limestone from the Hainaut province of Belgium (dubbed bluestone because of their color), and a sandstone from Artois. Of the three, the granite resists erosion best, but no matter which one one rides, it is not pleasant.

First run in 1896, the Paris-Roubaix race suffered its first loss of pavé in 1939 as the cobble roads began to be paved. World War II stopped the repaving projects but they picked up after the war and by 1965 only 22 km of cobbles remained. Fortunately, saner souls realized that the pavé was what made the Paris-Roubaix one of the great races.

French volunteers from the organization Les Amis de Paris–Roubaix - "the friends of the Paris-Roubaix race" - maintaining the pavé.

Organizers sought out forgotten country roads with cobbles, and in recent years have renovated and repaired kilometers of cobbles. Their success at romancing the stone is something for all cyclists to smile about, especially ones who realize that without good rock we wouldn’t have good riding.

Pave as shot by Flickr user Benche

–
Read more in David’s great book Stories in Stone, or on his blog, and while you are at it, also pick up his book The Street-Smart Naturalist: Field Notes from Seattle.