July 20, 2004

Pages »1   2  3

I borrowed a sleeping bag and rejoiced in the fact that I would finally get a chance to use my tent, which had been cooped up in its sheath since I shipped it home from Dodge City, Kansas, during my trans-America tour.

The preparations completed, the gear strapped down, I set out on a cool February morning from my Cairo apartment, hoping to take advantage of the sparse streets on Fridays, the day of worship in the Muslim faith.

I was right. So far Cairo was all mine, a real treat considering the lung-stinging, snarl of traffic that congests the city during the work week. After two hours of riding, six map consultations, one mishap where my camera wiggled free of its bungie moorings; I was outside the city limits and staring into the eastern expanse of the Cairo-Suez road.

It was reasonably flat, almost to a fault, and lined with rows of barb-wired military bases replete with steely eyed guards glaring from watchtowers. I figured if I was going to be stopped and sent home, it was here or never. I'd already had a couple of run-ins with the Egyptian secret police in the past while reporting, nothing major, just your average third-world harassment by heavy-armed, ill-tempered, underpaid cops. So I was familiar with the military mindset. Egyptian authorities are perpetually paranoid that spies, especially the Israeli variety, are secretly photographing them.

As I approached the first checkpoint, I prepared myself for possible disappointment, though I was resolved to put up a decent argument if I was denied access to the road.

"Where are you going?" said the checkpoint commander while going through my passport and verifying my credentials.

"I'm going to Mt. Sinai," I said resolutely, hoping this would deter him from disallowing my passage.

"You must be brave, that's a long trip. How long do you think it will take?" he asked.

"In shah Allah (god willing) I'll be there in less than a week," I responded, invoking in a common expression spoken by Muslims just about anytime they do anything.

"Good luck and be careful," he said to my surprise, waving me through to continue my journey unfettered by bureaucracy.

"Could it get any better?" I thought as I enjoyed that mild tempered, afternoon cruising past sun-parched mountains and rocky desert. The spectacular scenery and clear air was a welcome change from the thick, noxious clouds of Cairo smog.

What lay ahead of me was an unknown venture toward the holiest of holies. I'm not a religious man, but the idea of heading to Mt. Sinai had an ominous appeal that reverberated with God's wrath and broken stone tablets. For the first time, I began to really wonder what I had in store for me when I reach the peninsula.

The Sinai is not your average bunch of mountains bordered by two seas. Besides its biblical significance, it is also home to the region's Bedouin, a nomadic race who have roamed the Sinai for centuries, using its oases as camps to replenish their food and water supplies. This was Lawrence of Arabia's turf, where the noted explorer and friend of the Arabs once crossed the hostile environs on camelback in just four days. Its history was to be revered, its dangers respected.

My indifference to the friendly warnings I'd received was being chiseled away by its proximity, the closer I got, the more daunted I'd become. As I rode into Suez and found lodgings for the night--the last indoor sleeping I'd do for several days-I began worrying about what lay in store for me.

Where would I sleep, eat, find spare parts if my bike broke down? During my U.S. cross-country ride I was often only a short distance from life's-and my cycle's-basic necessities. Even when traveling through the most remote sections of the Utah and Nevada desserts, I knew that first world amenities were within 100 miles or so. But out there, along the Sinai's meandering desert roads É were there reliable outposts for food, water, a room if the weather took a turn for the unmanageable?

I slept fitfully that night in Suez, waking the next morning with stiff legs and a sore butt. It'd been too long since I'd covered 85 miles-the distance I road from Cairo--in a single day. Achingly I set out. Throwing my leg over the cross bar proved difficult at first. But after a few minutes of riding my legs loosened up and I began to feel the rhythm of touring once again.

A half hour later, I found a ferry that would shuttle me across the Suez Canal and onto the meat of my journey. On board the rusty skiff, my bike was the subject of much scrutiny among a group of Egyptian sailors. "Why are you riding there?" was a common question among the men and "wasn't I scared?" another. "Don't know" was my across-the-board reply, and it seemed to satisfy their curiosity during the 15 minute trip across the canal.

Once I reached the other side, I decided to buckle down and put some miles between me and the rest of civilization. I was shooting for a dot on the map by the name of Sudr, which, by my calculations, couldn't be more than 60 miles away.

The traffic was light to say the least, maybe 10 cars all day. I had what turned out to be a fairly well-maintained road virtually all to myself. After a short tracing along the peninsula's western Gulf of Suez coast, it took a turn toward the bleak, mountain interior. I pedaled it diligently, though was spooked by the yet unknown terrain.

But once the coast disappeared-and I was completely enveloped in the mountains-my fear vanished. Sure, it looked hostile, and the chilly daytime temperatures were a surprise, but the serenity put me immediately at ease. I rode in the starkest silence I ever experienced on a bike. All I could hear was the rattle of my chain when I switched gears and sound of my rubber tires on blacktop. The first time I stopped to take in the magnificence of the barren valleys and steep, tan cliffs, I could hear my heartbeat like a kettle drum.

I rode on for hours, the silence broken by an occasional vehicle. By early evening I reached Sudr, barely more than its dotty representative on the map, a few sparse homes and a store. There I bought some food and water, then pedaled another 10 miles out of town to make camp. By nightfall, the temperature had dipped dramatically. Still, I opted not to set up my tent so I could sleep in the open air, and enjoy the desert nightscape. After a dinner of crackers, store-bought cheese and two candy bars, I was dead asleep.

I woke in the middle of the night to a luminescent display of stars so dazzling you could practically read by them. I stayed awake watching it till the dawn began fading the stellar tableau.

Another hour's sleep and I was recharged and ready to go.

The next couple of days were much of the same. I logged 60 miles or more through the serene Sinai, the day, crisp air kept me cool and the stark landscape enthralled.

Around noon on my third day on the peninsula, I spotted in a distance from the road a piece of auto wreckage that looked like a military jeep. Unable to resist, I pulled over and walked about a quarter mile into the scrub, confirming my suspicions. It was military all right. I'd heard that the Sinai was littered with remnants of the 1967 and 1973 wars Egypt and Israel waged here.