Breaking The Camel Barrier

When Life Provides Lemons, You Cycle Qatar

Like salt in the sea, camels roam the desert.

An unprecedented pandemic presented an unexpected opportunity. It’s allowed me to fully reengage my love of sport and overall health while living in the Qatari peninsula.

I’ve taken it a step further towards another mission. In my 20’s and 30’s, marathons represented the endurance challenge. I completed two in Nashville and Chicago, but never, ever really enjoyed that distance. After the 2015 Chicago Marathon, I declared I would never do another marathon. Unless, it was a Full Ironman.

Completing an Ironman triathlon was always a “when the kids graduate” goal. Yet life changed in 2020 along with demands on my time. And suddenly Ironman training became feasible. The only caveat is I cycle Qatar, a country in the Middle Eastern desert. Yet, August 7th, 2021 marks the date for Ironman Tallinn, Estonia. Pandemic permitting.

Let’s Start On Friday

Training still requires hours of preparation, but fortunately Qatar is an active Middle Eastern community that provides the opportunity. Dedicated spaces exist to train. Some are clear, like the Olympic Cycling Trail and a plethora of green bike lanes circling practically every city block make it easy to cycle Qatar. Longer routes have to be sought out. But they are still available if you know where to find them. Or in my case, know someone that found them ahead of time and told you about them. Yet all these locales slice through an eternal desert.

Unlike Western countries, the weekend starts on Friday in Muslim countries. It’s also indicates the day when roads are least likely to be home of Land Cruisers racing along roadways. The incredibly comprehensive Qatar Quest ride around Qatar occurred very early one Friday morning along the southern half of the country across vacant roads.

Eu Conheci São Francisco

One early morning (and it has to be early before the sun comes up and heats up everything), my Portuguese buddy, fellow international school teacher and frequent cycling partner, Luis, joined me for a ride on the amusingly named Saint Francis route. He happily finished his Friday ride. Mine lingered. The simple 35 kilometer north / south loop still remained.

During the first half of my solo loop, a caravan of camels blocked the road. It wasn’t until a shepherd corralled them in his truck and directed them off of the three lane road, that the road was free again. I honestly welcomed the chance to watch them and down some water.

On the second half of the loop, I circled the roundabout headed back south into an awaiting warm wind where my car and another run awaited me.

Keen Observations You Say

Cycling trains a rider to notice and remember slight changes or random sharp objects in the road. These tiny, metallic items could easily and unexpectedly halt my ride with a tire puncture. But mile 64 (kilometer 103) caught me off guard. I didn’t even see it coming. A random nail immediately caused my front tire, like a rattlesnake announcing his presence, to hiss immediately. And just as quickly, I dismounted. At this point, life presented two options: fix the flat in the hot sun seated on the baking desert tarmac or flag down a random vehicle. Being only a couple miles from the end and sufficiently tired, I chose the approaching camel truck.

Let The Language Teacher Do His Work

Waving my arm in a universally recognized appeal for help quickly pulled over. These had been the same trucks that passed me in the rising sun hauling camels to local farms. I respectfully greeted them in my limited Arabic.

“As salaam alaikum.”

“Alaikum salam” the two men responded. The driver, a taller, younger man with a big grin sat in the driver seat, and his counterpart, the shorter, stauncher cohort sat perched in the passenger seat. Both wore a kufi on their heads.

I expressed my gratitude with a quick “shukran” and put my hand over my heart as a sign of respect.

“Afwan.”

Fortunately at this point, the camels had been delivered, leaving the back of the truck free. At this point, without spending any of my limited Arabic, I pointed to my flat front tire and mimed “pop, fffffhhh”. Soon my beautiful black bike, aptly named DAMNS Blanco (acronym for my family members), was gently laid in the back of the camel truck.

Back in the cabin, Ahmed and Mohammed promptly pulled out their cellphones and took selfies with me. Had they asked permission in Arabic? Not really sure. But this moment in history had to promptly be recorded to prove to their friends that it did indeed happen. I can safely predict that they had never picked up a white cyclist clad in lycra out in the middle of a rarely visited corner of Qatar. It was only courteous, on my part, that I take a selfie as well, just to record here on this blog.

Confluence Of Worlds

As is the case in Qatar, only a small percentage of residents, 12%, are actually Qatari. The peninsular country imports 88% of the workforce from around the world. Certain nationalities tend to fill specific economic niches. The largest foreign population originates from India, and especially Kerala, which primarily labors in construction and technology. The Philippines happily fill the service industry and child care. Jordan, Lebanon, and Western countries education and a smattering of others sectors in between. European and Western countries fill finance and petroleum. And in Ahmed and Mohammed’s case, some of the farming responsibility falls on Sudan.

A Deep Conversation

Back in the cab of the truck, our Arabic “conversation” continued.

“Sabah al hair, kaif al hal?” I asked. Easily repeating another of the few expressions I’ve truly learned in Arabic to ask how life was going this morning.

Then pointing at myself, “Ana John.”

“Ana Mohammed.”

“Ana Ahmed.”

Then they pointed at themselves, “Sudan.”

Me, “U.S.”

To extend this intense discussion, I racked my brain searching for the word ‘teacher’, as my Arabic study has been limited to brief three year old level conversations at school and sporadic study on the Duolingo learning platform.

By this point, the majority of my Arabic vocabulary had been exhausted, as I didn’t need to say the numbers one or seven. Those two numbers might have come in handy if the camels still occupied the back of the truck.

A Modern Camel

Soon enough, my silver Chevrolet and shiny blue cans of electrolyte Pocari Sweat gleamed in the bland, brown inferno mirage that is the desert. As I stepped down out of the cab, I appreciated the random kindness of two Sudanese strangers in the desert as I try to cycle Qatar.