as if there are a number of knot-head-
ed dwarves living inside the mattress
…
I ride all night to escape the fero-
cious heat. In the early hours I
begin to fall asleep. Then, strange-
ly, I observe this person that is me
change gear to take a corner, see the
dusty clothes I am wearing, the load
strapped to my bike from above, a
pale plume of dust hanging behind
my wheels. And I know I'm halluci-
nating. After a while, perhaps anoth-
er brief sleep, I don't know - it was a
disjointed time - I return to myself,
back into my body, my mind, and
ride on.
At about four in the morning the
sun finally breaks free of the horizon;
it is behind me so I catch only glimps-
es of it in my mirrors as it emerges
from behind a mountain, an intense
red ball, mist-occluded, radiating lit-
tle light and no warmth, covering the
world with rust. In this light, even
the dirt of the road, the very stones,
seem softer, more welcoming …
Without warning, without hesita-
tion or stumbling, the engine dies.
My speed quickly drops, a Doppler-ef-
fect of despair as I fumble with a pet-
rol tap, flip it onto reserve in the vain
hope that my fuel is low, waiting for
the hiccough, the stutter as fuel runs
TRAVERSE 47
through ... but there's nothing.
My wheels come to a stop on the
side of the road, in the dust, amongst
the stones and the trees, the silence
pressing down on me, the heat begin-
ning to rise from the road …
Later the room begins to lie on its
side and my knees give way. I brace
myself against the wall, head hang-
ing, and wait for the world to come
back but my lady host has seen me
and guides me back to my bed. I
hear her on the phone and, shortly
afterwards, a nurse with Mongolian
features appears. She takes my pulse
and makes questioning noises so I get
my phone out and type on the trans-