Biking in Bolga

My first and only, previous attempt to ride a motorcycle was for a few weeks back in the 1970s. I acquired an ageing Triumph Tiger Cub from a mate but had neither the acumen nor the inclination to continually fiddle about with it. On the few occasions I did manage to get it on the road – twice I think – I lost my balance each time and fell off. Needless to say I cut my losses, oily gaskets and all.
It therefore came as a surprise when Sonia, the Programme Manager, suddenly announced that I should have a motorbike as part of my new extended, freewheeling regional role. Training had already been arranged for the new intake of volunteers needing bikes and I was duly dispatched off to Bolga – a bone crunching fifteen hour bus ride from Accra to the north, close to the Burkina Faso border.
The first problem was to find a crash helmet large enough to fit my big head. Fortunately another volunteer in Bolga had a spare one knocking about and it was just about big enough to squeeze on to my bonce. So, feeling just a little apprehensive, I joined my team mates for the first day of training – the oldest kid on the block. There were four new, young volunteers – all of whom had ridden before and all attached to the education programme in the north, an older Philippino woman, O, who although she had ridden before was feeling anxious about the task and R, who already has years of riding experience but who for some reason has to prove and demonstrate his fitness to ride. In charge of the training was Salah from the Accra office and a local mechanic, Daniel.

As an introduction we had a talk from a very smartly turned out Deputy Police Superintendant, who warned us of the various dangers on the road – predominantly pigs who are apparently erratic and unpredictable and drunken donkey cart drivers, who fall asleep on the job. Goats, guinea fowl and cows all have the good sense to get out of the way – pedestrians and other drivers...well who knows?!
The rest of the day was given up to practice on a nearby playing field. All went well, once the tricky bit of starting was accomplished although stopping also proved to be somewhat iffy too. However, I am overcome with panic at the start of the afternoon session, accelerate instead of slow down and before I know it am over, bike on top of me. Cut and bruised the office staff patch me up – I am shaky but I decide that I have to get back on the bike – not a good idea. Within seconds of starting I am off again and in need of tea and sympathy, somewhat in a state of shock.
Overnight I toss and turn – should I quit now still in one piece or shall I try again? The morning comes and Salah has arranged a slow learners class for O and me – more practice on the playing field whilst the others get their first proper ride. Today I learn that there is a foot brake – useful – and I slowly begin to master the art of stop and go. Torrential rain in the early afternoon brings our session to an end for the day – giving more time to worry.
Day three – the big one – we are all riding off road to Bongo, a small village about fifteen kilometres away. It is both an exhilarating and terrifying experience but somehow I make it under the watchful eye of Salah who is carefully nurturing my confidence whilst keeping a protective look out for me. I am still very jerky and fiercely grip the handlebars but I at last begin to feel that I can do this. The journey back is marred when just as we get close to the office O catapults off her bike, trying to avoid a pothole and flies into a table which fortunately breaks her fall. Nevertheless she is badly shaken and promptly dispatched to the local hospital. We take a rather quiet, sober lunch break reflecting on the perils of bike riding.
By late afternoon however we are back on the road, undeterred and ride to the Tongu Hills. The landscape is starkly beautiful, strewn with great rough boulders with small villages here and there of cylindrical thatched adobe huts. The roads are rough and the main challenge is to maintain concentration whilst controlling the urge to take in the magnificent scenery all around. We all get back in one piece and I realise that this is beginning to work. O is back from the hospital with what looks like a hairline fracture of her collar bone. She is dosed up on painkillers and will need to return to Accra to see a specialist.
Day four – the first session is rudimentary mechanics. Daniel, our very sweet mechanic takes us through the intricacies of adjusting the chain tension, checking battery levels, spark plug cleaning and oil change. I get my hands dirty and yes – hard to believe – I learn how to change a sparkplug! The finale – we ride off road to Paga and the border with Burkina Faso. A wonderful journey, some treacherous stretches and for the first time I begin to “feel” the bike – that oneness or Zen (here we go hippy dippy stuff beware) and yes it feels amazing. We visit the Chief’s crocodile pond at Paga and negotiate the busy market at Navrongo. By now I am “Mike the Bike” to the team and adjudged capable and fit to ride. That night we have a celebratory dinner before setting out on our separate ways again across the country. Me – well I owe a great deal to Salah and Daniel for their patience and perseverance in getting me through this – I would never have thought that I would learn to ride a bike at my age. Now I have to wait for my brand new Yamaha 2 Stroke to be delivered – I can’t wait and am looking forward to terrifying local road users here.