Yes, I know I rode motorcycle taxis on my most recent journey to Liberia. However, as a general rule, I stay away -- and off -- of them. I certainly will not drive one by choice. I can give you several reasons why.
I was a Peace Corps Volunteer back in the days when volunteers were given motorcycles. That doesn't happen anymore and I understand that completely. I am part of the reason for that policy. Yes, I am the first to admit that I was not a good driver. Combine that with Liberia's awful roads, and it was a recipe for a muddy or dusty disaster.
On one occasion, I headed off to a nearby village just outside of Zwedru to see a Liberian friend. Somewhere between Zleitown and me was a massive mud hole. It was more like a trench. I noticed it about the time my front wheel went in the hole and I flew over the handlebars. Who knew motorcycles could cartwheel? Who knew I could fly?
Motorcycle helmet and flip flops.I could have broken something. I should have broken something. Instead, I had a rather nasty gash on my right elbow. And, when you have a nasty gash, you also have a lot of blood. I had to make a quick decision. Should I return to Zwedru to a hospital that I really didn't trust or go on to Tappita to the Catholic mission? I turned to God. It may or may not have been the best decision in this case. The nuns cleaned the gash but it really needed stitches. I didn't get any but I did get a really nasty scar as a souvenir. However, the best part of the whole situation was getting through the numerous police checkpoints along the road. Usually, always, they were a troublesome annoyance. But, no policeman wanted to delay a bleeding white man on the way to medical treatment. It was the fastest I ever got through police checkpoints on my own.
As bad as that was, it wasn't my worst Liberian motorcycle experience. That happened just a month before departing the Peace Corps. I was in Zwedru when I heard an airplane approaching the air field. That meant mail! So, I hopped on my motorcycle and made a beeline to the airport. It was a straight line and, yes, I was going faster than I should have. I was going too fast to really swerve out of the way of the truck that ran a stop sign and turned right into me.
I went bouncing on one of the few paved roads in the country.
Peace Corps had a strict rule about wearing helmets. I had my helmet on. There were not so many rules about shorts and flip flops. As I bounced along that pavement, I scraped a lot of things including feet, elbows, knees, hip and a long strip along my back. But, I got up to walk away from it. Again, lots of things could have and should have been broken. The motorcycle was in much worse shape than me. Once again, I give a lot of credit to my guardian angel.
Sad to say, my motorcycle stories continued after Peace Corps days. And, one of my more memorable rides took place in the mountain resort of Dalat, Vietnam. This area was not damaged during the long war because both North and South Vietnamese officers had their private villas there. Anyway, in one very charming restaurant, my path crossed with a delightful waiter who was thrilled to practice his English. In fact, Chung took the following day off of work to show three foreigners all the sites that could be seen on two motorcycles.
ChungMy two previous accidents in Africa happened really quickly. There was no real warning. On this particular day, as I clung on from the passenger spot for dear life, I just knew an accident was going to happen. Both of the drivers were madmen behind the wheels and I knew first-hand that there wasn't much protection between the wheel and me.
In the process, Chung took us to places that we never would have found on our own. The most serene spot was of the Buddha statue in the photo below. The most charming location was a Buddhist complex with a whole lot of novice boys wearing woolen caps. It's a mystery to me how or why anyone in tropical weather wears woolen caps. I see it all over the world. But, the bigger surprise was when the caps came off. The novices had long locks of hair growing above their foreheads, but the rest of their heads were completely shaved. It's a style I'd never seen anywhere else in all of my travels.
Then, the wild ride continued. I managed to hop off the motorcycle before my driver completely spun out of control at one turn. I cut my palms a little. The driver banged and bruised a little more than that. Enough with the stupidity already. No need to challenge the dedication of my guardian angel any longer. Although I may be a slow learner, I think experience has taught me to limit my time on two wheels to a bicycle.
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