The optimism of the last blog was short-lived.We left Samarkand with a short police convoy and cycled a relatively short distance to an abandoned restaurant. Mike as usual beat me to the camp site but had some interesting tales to tell. Just as they arrived the locals had hung up a sheep onto two poles, cut its throat and after a short time allowing the blood to drip out broke it down to its constituent parts right next to us. Everything was minced or diced and then cooked in the restaurant that evening.
Also seconds before I arrived, Thor one of the African Routes crew was cleaning a knife, it slipped and when partly through his hand. He was driven to hospital 30 km away, stitched up and returned a few hours later. He was extremely lucky, not only to have a good hospital nearby but he missed major damage by millimetres and should have the stitches out within a week. It was a short ride the next day followed by a border crossing the day after that and I looked forward to cycling all day then cycling through my first ever border (I had missed the previous ones looking after the kids or being ill).
I was cycling with Lorry and glanced back to see Mike coming up behind me with Chuck. All smiles I knew he would do his usual and slap me on my bum as he powered past. I looked back again to grin at him and the next thing I know we are both spinning on the ground a tangle of bodies and bikes ending up on top of each other. All I could hear was the truly awful sound of Mike groaning in pain. We were surrounded by half a dozen or more riders two of whom, Chuck and Robert had broken or damaged everything possible on their bikes so they took over, telling Mike to stay still while they assessed the damage. It looked awful. At first glance I though his legs were broken, then I saw his shoulder which was either broken or the collar bone was. When we realised his legs were OK he managed to stand but felt really dizzy. We got him to a nearby bus stand were we waiting with Rachel the assistant nurse until Elaine the nurse arrived with transport. His helmet was smashed through and without it he would have been dead. He had scrapes on his thighs, knees and elbows and huge bruises on his back and shoulders. We didn’t know if anything was broken.
Everyone was great and Chuck was kind enough to assess Mike's bike saying it was Ok but he could borrow his if he wanted to ride again that day. Even Mike had to admit his days as a EFI (Every Fucking Inch) rider were over and he was off to hospital.We ended up visiting the same hospital as Thor and it was a surreal experience. Mike was in a great deal of pain and stiffening up by the minute. After a one hour drive we drove up to the entrance and were greeted by a horde of people in chef’s hats and a gurney. They practically dragged Mike out of the car despite his cries of pain and took him straight into X ray while pushing us into the hallway. One minute later they rushed out of X ray into a room which they shut and forced me to stay outside. Every now and again when someone went in or out I saw him, at one point rolling about in agony, it was awful not knowing what was happening. At last someone indicated that nothing was broken and I started to cry with relief. Within 10 minutes they moved him out of the room and down the corridor. I followed to see where they were taking him next: it was outside, into the car and a wave goodbye! We were there for a scant 15 minutes. At no point had anyone even taken his name, let alone a medical history, kept any records and no-one seemed to want any payment. They injected something into his bum, poured a blue alcohol based product on his scrapes (the worse pain he has ever felt) put on bandages and sent him home. The X rays were done by a fluoroscope which fires x-rays straight through you and onto a Cathode ray tube/TV like device so they can see your bones in real time.
I did feel obliged to take some pictures as I was sure Mike would like to see them afterwards.We arrived in camp after a 2 hour journey and everyone was really really wonderful and we are so grateful to them all. Chuck had kept us a space for our tent near the truck and Ken and him set it up, Elaine set up her spare tent next to it so Mike would have more space alone. Dave and Lorry moved a large metal bed from one side of camp to another so he could lie out on it, Duncan lent us a mosquito net and everyone was concerned about how he was doing. Mike sat in a chair in agony, waiting for the drugs to wear off and wondering how on earth he was going to get up to pee let alone sleep that night. He could barely move a centimetre so he slept on the metal bed covered with cushions and a mosquito net. Dave was wonderful and rigged up two stools and dug a deep hole to allow him to go to the loo after supper, it all comes down to the basics.
We called the kids and told them the EFI journey was over, 22,000km since it started in Africa, I don't think they cared they were just glad Mike was OK. I got away with a scratch on my elbow and a bruise on my bum and a bit of ribbing about the cause of the accident! Mike was determined to ride the next day but he could barely move, every step was agony so there was no way.
I rode the truck with him the whole day through the border from Uzbekistan to Tajikistan. He hated being on the truck. We talked to the border staff and explained he couldn’t move so he sat on the truck and they came to him to check his passport.
We had a few hours in Tajikistan, enough to go to the local market which was great fun, onions piled high, dozens of loaves of flat bread each family marking the centre differently, the women sporting the latest fashion a thick black line across both eyebrows joining in the middle, not one that will catch on anytime in Edinburgh. The walking was good for Mike and the agonising pain he had felt from his bum down his leg had lessened as the swelling went down. There was no way he could ride the next day and rather than suffer with him (he makes it clear how much he hates being ill) I decided to ride the first half of the day which included the border between Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, the first border I cycled through.
The ride was great but the border crossing was as bad as the last time with the trucks taking hours and hours to get through and Mike waiting with them. It was a long ride after the border and the majority of people took taxis to the hotel rather than ride until late in the evening.Two days on the truck was enough so Mike cycled the next day though the third border in as many days from Uzbekistan to Kyrgyzstan. He had made an amazing recovery and was so dammed lucky we were not on the plane home. He was really disappointed but there was nothing to be done about a split second mishap.
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