Cycling the Transamazon Highway

I already cycled this part four years ago, while travelling from Tierra del Fuego to Venezuela, so I will not cycle the same route again. Does that count? I know, hardcore "Freds" (formerly I was one myself, as a lazy student with much more time than just a couple of weeks each year) would call that cheating. But I decide to take a bus to save time to explore some unknown areas around Rio Branco and to reach the Bolivian border, instead of riding for four or five days along these burning fields once again.

So the remaining part contains only short day rides. If you are not interested in that, you might stop reading here... :-(

On the small square between the train station and the river, there are a couple of outdoor bars and two or three party boats anchored alongside. That was my favorite place on my first visit, and that's where I hang out tonight.

While sitting there and enjoying my beer, I watch out for other "gringos". Not many tourists make it here. The only reason to come here is either to catch a boat downstream to Manaus, or a bus either westward to Bolivia/Peru or south towards the Pantanal area. Distances are gigantic; it takes five days to Manaus (two or three days on the recently reopened road), three days to La Paz, or two days to Brasília, so most people prefer to fly. Most tourists here (except me) are long-term travelers, traveling for several months or years. But tonight, no one is in sight. (Two weeks later, I learn that Raphaël Krafft and Erwan Barret were here today - two French cyclists who started in the south of Argentina last winter and whose homepage I've been monitoring for months.)

At midnight, I load my bike into the bus (buuuuhhhhh...) and off we go. It's almost flat, paved all the way, and there are bars and restaurants along the way whenever you need them. Besides the heat, it was easy cycling. In the bus, however, I wonder what happened to the asphalt. It bounces and shakes all the time; it's not much better than on a gravel road. Obviously, these pavements are only comfortable on two wheels.

At three in the morning, we have to cross the Rio Madeira once again. The ferry runs only once an hour, and so they make us wait for 55 minutes, even though there are 20 other cars, buses, and trucks waiting. On the other side, the ferry doesn't land on the Rio Madeira, but enters the Rio Abunã. The Rio Madeira and Rio Abunã form the border between Brazil and Bolivia, and the ferry actually enters Bolivian waters while maneuvering. Another three hours and at sunrise, I reach Rio Branco, my favorite city in Brazil. It's ten minutes from the bus terminal to the central square, where I have a very special welcome party.

I have almost two weeks left before I have to fly home, and there is plenty to do.

First of all (after my welcome party...), I visit my friend Gilberto Farias, whom I met almost five years ago in the south of Argentina. Two years ago, he left for another bike tour across South America - this time not alone, but with his wife and his newborn child. He just came back a few months ago and is now preparing an exhibition in the town hall and his next book. Not a bad way to make a living. I have to be back in my office in December.

Not even the best washing machine will be able to clean my old shirts and shorts of the red dirt from the Transamazon. I need to buy new ones. But that's not so easy in Brazil if you like relaxed shopping. Due to low salaries, shop owners employ a huge number of shop attendants. Some of them are paid the official minimum of US$50 (monthly, not per day!), but most of them even less. The effect is that you are surrounded by lots of attendants as soon as you so much as look in the shop's direction - each one competing with the other for some extra centavos of commission. Today, I don't dare to approach these shops.

It's a long and relaxing weekend. There is a public holiday, the "Dia de Petrópolis", to commemorate the Treaty of Petrópolis, whereby Brazil and Bolivia signed the annexation of what is now the state of Acre from Bolivia. As part of the compensation, Brazil promised to build the railroad from Porto Velho to Riberalta, mentioned before. It never reached Bolivian soil. Bolivians are still angry about that, so it's probably better to wait a few days before cycling into Bolivia. :-)

Acre is said to be the most dangerous and violent state in Brazil. This might be partly true. The long border line with both Peru and Bolivia, plus corrupt police, make it the principal entry port for all kinds of drugs. Wild-West shootouts are frequent. However, if you have ever heard about Acre, it's probably because of the murder of Chico Mendes. The assassination of the leader of the rubber tapper union and environmentalist 11 years ago was probably the only time Acre received international attention. For more information on Acre and Amazonia, check www.amazonlink.org

However, tourists not interested in the drug business will not be bothered. I spend my time mostly out of town, cycling or canoeing, and return at night to take advantage of the Brazilian nightlife. Instead of chestnut trees, outdoor bars are situated under big mango trees - and it's mango season now. Veeeeery dangerous if you don't wear a helmet...

But finally, I leave town for the last stage of my tour: the ride to Plácido de Castro, at the Bolivian border. On the way out of Rio Branco, I pass the old airport that closed only a couple of days before. The old landing field is private property now, and the new owner immediately piled up sand and dirt on the field to prevent future touchdowns. And takeoffs! One big airplane is still there. Probably it couldn't take off on time and will now have to pay a ransom for takeoff permission... To please the taxi drivers, they constructed the new airport far, far out of town. It's huge - big enough for a Boeing 747 or an Airbus A310 - just in case they ever want to land here...

It's almost flat, I left most of my luggage in town, and I cycle on a paved road. After all this time with tons of gear on a dirt road, it seems so easy now. You just push once and roll on for kilometers... almost.

Halfway from Rio Branco to the next town is a big environmental park, the "Parque Chico Mendes" - one of the few places where you can see all the Amazonian wildlife, including jaguars. Luckily, they are behind thick steel bars.

I'm in no hurry, so I stop often at bars or under mango trees. A lot of local cyclists are on the way, and they all have the same idea. The trees are welcome gathering points, offering free food and shade. I even meet someone who is walking to Bolivia. He can't afford the bus (it's about US$5), and hitchhikers (except wealthy tourists) are usually expected to pay for a ride, so he left Rio Branco the day before, expecting to reach Plácido de Castro three days later. I wonder if I should pay for a bus ticket for him, but he seems to be too proud to accept.

The outskirts of Rio Branco are huge. Along the paved road, settlements and farms spread out for hours, and if you travel only along the paved main roads, you will leave the country with the sad impression that no jungle remains. This is the country of Chico Mendes - the battlefield of rubber tappers, who depend on unspoiled forest, and the powerful local landlords. The battle is still going on, but time works for the latter. It just takes a minute to cut down a big tree, but several hundred years to grow one.

Plácido de Castro is a small town at the Abunã River, named after the guy who "freed" Acre from Bolivia. On the Bolivian side of the river is a small, nameless village. The village has no road access - not even streets. It's just a couple of houses, accessible only via the Brazilian road system and the river. OK, I could hire a boat to bring my bike over, but that would be ridiculous. So, I strip off my shirt and sandals and swim.

It's a small river, but the water level might rise up to 15 meters in the rainy season. Now, at the beginning of the rainy season, it's still at its lowest and I have to climb up to reach the houses built high above the ground. There is nothing much of interest to see. Before the Brazilian currency was devalued ten months ago (from US$1 down to 50 cents in less than two weeks), a lot of Brazilians came here for cheap shopping. Now, there are still a lot of "shops" offering original Chinese-made Rolex watches, Samsonite suitcases, and the newest Top 10 CDs, but the customers have disappeared. But it's funny to hear Spanish again. "¿Gringo, qué pasa?" It sounds so different from Portuguese... Bolivians have good beer and there is even a small bar, but unfortunately, I left my money on the Brazilian side... and I have to celebrate the end of my tour without my bicycle and without a drink. And in wet shorts.

Micha

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