Our night in Sohna seemed to go on forever. I woke every few moments wondering why it was still dark; shouldn't the sun have appeared yet? It was warm in our room, but I was shivering and there were mosquitoes buzzing about my face. I pulled the covers over my head and fell into a light sleep until I awoke at dawn to find my body aching and that I was cold from head to toe. How could this be? Our first day riding in India and I was sick already! I'd always anticipated getting ill but not this early in our journey.
At breakfast I picked at my food before returning to the room to sleep just a few more minutes before we set out. I was determined to ride in order to sweat out this nasty bug. I was decidedly less energetic than Andy and Matt and lagged behind. On our way out of town we were confused by conflicting signage, maps and advice offered by villagers. We ended up backtracking to town and setting out once again, this time on the correct road. Along the narrow, broken road we watched peasants plow their fields with tractors. Surprising to see mechanized farming after months of observing the Chinese cultivate by hand and with water buffalo.
Tractors laden with villagers clattered by and scooters whizzed around us. For some reason a Vespa toting two passengers blazed towards us unyielding and swerving in our direction. Matt and Andy were able to weave to the left and avoid him but I was not so lucky. The driver seemed unfazed as he clipped me head-on, first colliding with my front pannier. I was sent careening into the thorny brush on the roadside, dizzied by the experience. Only bruised, confused and scratched, I felt lucky to have escaped further injury or serious damage to the bike. Apparently the scooter's occupants had little thought on the matter for they continued riding as though they had hit a pothole or dip.
The rest of the morning I lost in a haze of achiness from my illness and the spill. I do remember a procession of tractors toting dirty looking farmers and the bone-rattling road wreaking havoc on my already pained body. Stopping to rest, drink or pee were not as easy as in most other countries. Within seconds of our tires coming to a rest a crowd of grimy farmers gathered curiously pinching our tires and saying something about our "multi-gear system." It was hot dusty and dry and I soon ran out of water. By the time we reached Punahana, our intended lunch stop, I was deathly thirsty and even achier.
There would be little rest for us in dirty, dusty and muddy Punahana. Crowds of people gathered with little else to do than stare at us and follow us around. I was tiring of being such a source of fascination. We asked a fat, rich and educated-looking Brahmin where we could find lunch. His reply was funny, "there is no place good for you to eat in Punahana." Quick-wittedly Andy responded, "then is there someplace bad for us to eat, we are hungry and thirsty?" He led us to a street stall with a legion of followers in tow. We ordered some food and then looked out at our bikes and the crowd.
There were at least 300 people crowded around the front of the store interested in our every move. It made it hard to concentrate on eating and drinking. I guess it didn't bother me too much because I managed to slurp down three mango drinks in the first five minutes of arriving. One especially frantic moment was when I realized I'd lost our BikeBrat bunny wallet with all of our money. There were several panicky minutes where I wandered amongst the hoards in search of our money. As testimony to my disorientation due to my sickness it turned up exactly where it should be, in my handlebar bag.
Though after lunch I felt even shittier than when we arrived I was happy to leave the scrutiny of all the villagers. Just mounting our bikes and pedaling off was clumsy. The crowd around was so dense it was nearly impossible to ride down the street. The last fifty kilometers were even more difficult than the first eighty. Now I was nearly exhausted and suffered from the bumpy roads, dust and the hot sun. Luckily the sun began to set and the air cooled as we reached Deeg. The dusky dusty light played on the peasants walking home form the fields dressed in brightly colored saris and carrying precariously balanced vessels of water on their heads.
Our last obstacles of the day were the massive muddy potholes that pock-marked the streets of Deeg. Hazarding them we found our way to a quaint three-room motel where we settled in for a warm shower and candlelight meal. The power failed just before dinner.\