Cycling the Transamazon Highway

It is sunny again, and the road follows the Rio Tapajós for about two hours, giving some wonderful views of the blue river and the white sandbanks, surrounded by dense green jungle. But then, it leaves the river to run parallel to it several kilometers inland, where the hills are much higher. :-(

There is an outpost of IBAMA, the Brazilian environmental authority, at the park entrance, and that's where I meet another tourist for the first time since I left Belém. Marcus, a Brazilian from São Paulo, is sitting there on the roadside on top of his backpack, waiting for someone to give him a ride further into the park. He's going to spend a month alone in the jungle. I look at him and think, "This man is crazy," and I know he thinks exactly the same about me at that moment.

We discuss several travel issues, including how to defend ourselves against onça (jaguar) attacks. He has a long, sharp-ended bamboo stick to keep the beasts at a distance, while I trust in my machete on top of my rear panniers, plus the protection I can find behind my bike. Both methods work only given the case that you notice the onça before it attacks, so we agree that both weapons are basically of psychological importance. I'm not a biologist, so I can't estimate the real risk of being attacked by a jaguar, but I think the risk is highly overestimated. At least, I have never met someone who has actually seen a jaguar in the wild. Or is it because no one has survived such a meeting??? ;-|

Cycling is not easy. I have to cycle either on the right or on the left side of the track, where the surface has been flattened out by the wheels of cars, but that's where the thorny bushes grow in. So, I have the chance to scratch either my right or my left side. I am also afraid of spiders, snakes, ants, and other unpleasant life-forms sitting in the bushes, so I often prefer to cycle in the bumpy middle.

Sometimes, the vegetation forms a kind of tunnel, which gives me some welcome shade. For some reason, I don't dare to jump into the waters here. The park is about the size of Yellowstone, and most of the land is still untouched. Who knows what is there upstream.

Not a single car has passed by today, and in the afternoon, I start to wonder if I'm still on the main road. The track looks like nothing more than an old logging road. Was there any junction where I took the wrong turn? Maybe it's just a track that leads to some farm, a drug deposit, or a cocaine distillery... According to my GPS, I'm on the Transamazônica, but I still have my doubts.

In the late afternoon, I still haven't seen any houses or cars. Somewhere, I have to fill my water bottles. I have only 20 minutes left before sunset, and unfortunately, I can't find a clean river. So, I have to pick up water from a pond. It's brown and muddy, with mosquito larvae swimming around.

I try to filter out leaves, wood, and other debris and boil it for a long time to disintegrate the mosquito larvae, but the water still remains dirty and muddy. It is OK for the tea, but it adds a strange taste to the risotto.

Nov 4th

As usual, I could hear a lot of noises at night, and I hope none of them was caused by a jaguar... At four in the morning, the birds and monkeys start their concert.

I reach the village in the late afternoon. There are a couple of houses, one old, rusty car, and on the small square that usually seems to serve as the village's soccer field (even the smallest Brazilian village has its own soccer field), there is a small airplane! I wonder where it landed; I can't see a landing field. Soon I find out: while I am still wondering about the airfield and, especially, which of the houses could be the local restaurant, another Cessna flies over me, honking its horn (or more probably, makes some engine noise) until I notice that I'm in the way. It actually lands on the highway, with less than one meter of space between each side of the wingtips and the trees... A man hops out, disappears in one of the houses, and the Cessna leaves as fast as it appeared.

There is no one in the bar except the waitress. She is not very communicative, so I can't find out how people earn their living there... Gold mining or service for the drug route from Peru to the Atlantic? At least I learn that most of the supply comes in by air, which is why I pay prices three times higher than in less remote areas.

Two hours later, it's time to find a place for the night again. Tonight, I don't make the effort to camp in the jungle. I just set up the tent on the road, behind a fallen tree. There will be no traffic anyway.

Not a single car in two days. I worry about Marcus. He's probably still sitting on his backpack on the other side of the National Park, waiting for a ride.

Nov. 5th

I am starting to get bored. There is not much to see except the red-brown road and the greenery. No one to talk to and no place to buy a cold beer. Every cloud in the sky makes me worry. If it starts raining here, I might be trapped for a long time. I don't need to worry about food; I have enough supplies for more than a week, but it's an unfamiliar feeling to be somewhere where it might take several days to reach the next outpost of the world as we know it.

But I seem to be lucky. As usual in the tropics, several clouds pass by, but none of them actually hits me. These clouds cause very heavy showers, but they only affect a small strip of land and usually pass by quickly.

The road continues much the same as before. Only late in the afternoon, I pass a small clearing with a small, open bamboo hut in the middle. There must be someone around; freshly washed clothes are hanging in front of the shack, and the oven is burning, but I can't see anyone. I wonder if I should stop here for the night, but then I decide to continue. The owner probably owns a gun and might be nervous when returning home and finding an unknown stranger on his land.

Nov 6th

I spend the night in the jungle. The humidity is so high that it starts raining from the trees every morning. I hope to reach Jacareacanga today, so I wake up before sunrise and pack my things in the "rain".

Crazy road. I make a comparatively good speed - much more than the usual 10 kilometers per hour - but it's still zigzagging. By noon, my GPS calculates a distance of only 30 kilometers from the starting point!

While wondering about the people here and enjoying a nice downhill ride, I have to pass over several trees. They are already dry and flattened by several cars, so I see no reason to slow down. It should be no problem to pass over them at 25 or 30 km/h. No problem with the first one, no problem with the second one, no prob... The front wheel kicks up an old branch, and that branch lifts up a liana that slings around my right foot like an old rabbit trap. My foot is pulled down to the pedal, the whole bike is pushed to the right, and I don't know how I manage to stop after the liana finally breaks and releases my foot and pedal... It takes some time until I can breathe again. This will hurt for a long time!

Finally, I reach settled land - real farms and a junction that might be the one to Jacareacanga. I'm lucky once again; behind the next hill, I can see someone on the roadside. It is actually the road to town, and it's "not far" - only 10 km or so - and "not very hilly". While I'm still talking with the man, three or four other people gather, and they all ask me if I'm out "for the party" as well... Of course, I didn't know about any party, but it seems to be a big event: there is even a party shuttle - an old Toyota pickup that runs up and down the "main street" to pick up partygoers. No one asks if I would like a ride; they just lift my bike on top of the truck. I voluntarily accept; it saves me one and a half hours of dull riding in the wrong direction... Tomorrow, I have to cycle the same road backwards to get back to the Transamazônica. Two or three more stops to pick up passengers, and then I count: 16 people, five chickens, one dog, five shotguns (one of them pointing in my direction), 10 backpacks, one bicycle, and, most importantly, one bottle of cachaça. The driver blasts over the road at full speed, passengers are thrown back and forth, and I wonder if it was really a good idea to take a shortcut on these extra kilometers. Ten minutes later, we reach the town, and the empty bottle of cachaça is thrown onto the street.

Jacareacanga's name is larger than the town itself. It's a town of maybe 1,000 inhabitants; its center is about two blocks wide and one block long. But there is all you need: a restaurant, a hotel, a grocery store, a pharmacy, a post office, and even a public telephone. It's the biggest town for the next 800 kilometers.

At night, I have my bicycle welded (the eyelet for my lowrider), take a shower, and off I go for the event of the year: a new restaurant is opening in town, and that should be reason enough for a big party.

From here to the Rio Madeira, the next big river, it's about 800 kilometers. I expect that stretch to be the most difficult part of my tour. On the map, it looks very hilly; I have to cross a lot of smaller rivers, and there are only a few villages on the way. But locals tell me it will not be very hilly...

Até logo

Micha

--> continue with part 5: Rio Tapajós to Rio Madeira