I remember back when I first arrived in Jordan, many taxis and other cars had bumper stickers bearing the cryptic phrase “Jordan Rally 2008.” It wasn’t for a long time that I discovered that meant rally as in “race car” rally. The previous ruler before Abdullah II, the late King Hussein, really liked cars of all kinds, and race cars in particular – back in September of last year I went to the museum named in his honor with some friends to see his legacy collection. I’m not positive, but I think that the rally is held in his memory. However, until this last weekend, I didn’t realize it was an annual thing, although I probably should have deduced that from the year after the name.

I had just rejoined with Cycling Jordan after almost a month of absence while in Central Asia, and Sa’ad was excited because he was taking a group up to North Jordan for the first time, a new place called Wasfi al-Tal Forest. This was especially intriguing to me; I had been to North Jordan (i.e., north of Amman) a few months ago with my friend Mika and some other friends and I thought it was an excellent place for outdoor activity. Speaking of Mika, she was about to head back to America and, because she’d been here for the same amount of time I have, I was feeling sad because her and so many of my other American/European colleagues and friends are leaving and returning to their homelands – often for good. However, she hadn’t left yet (she leaves today, in fact) and had even agreed to finally come out biking with us, something we had been trying to find time for for months!

Sa’ad and I were relaxing in the front of the bus, talking about the route and watching our group chatting amicably. Suddenly, he glanced out the window towards the mountain we were heading toward and muttered, “uh oh.” Never liking it when someone looks at a mountain and says “uh oh” I followed his gaze, seeing a line of support vehicles and personnel, the logo “Jordan Rally 2009” emblazoned all over them. I recalled suddenly that I had seen posters all over the city since my return from vacation – the Jordan Rally would be on the 6th of June, all morning and afternoon. And here we were, heading right for them. I had a sudden memory of two years ago, when I arrived on the Isle of Man and suddenly discovered that there was something called the TT Motorbike Race going on, horribly timed to coincide with my vacation.

Over the past couple months I’ve been on some interesting trips with Cycling Jordan. Sa’ad has been getting me acquainted with the areas of Jordan outside of the norm for foreigners, like the Eastern Desert around the Azraq nature reserve. We didn’t see the nature research or its lake (azraq is Arabic for the color blue), but we did bike through a long stretch of barren eastern desert that vibrated our bikes so hard I thought it would turn my forearms to pulp.

Our group followed a desert guide in Sa'ad's pickup for most of the trip

Our group followed a desert guide in Sa'ad's pickup for most of the trip

Did I say the desert was barren? I meant except for camel skeletons.

Did I say the desert was barren? I meant except for camel skeletons.

As summer has come upon on us here in the Arab world with full force, Sa’ad has started taking us out into the cool shade of the country’s few large forests. The first one we went to, Shwaifat, is only a half an hour bike ride outside of Amman, but has some great deciduous forests plus old pine growths that makes you forget that you’re in the part of the world that everyone else considers a desert. And how many people (besides skiers “in the know”) have discovered that Lebanon has one of the world’s largest and most famous ski resorts in it? One thing’s for sure, we shouldn’t be caught in the trap of assuming that each region is uniformly stereotypical, like in Jordan and Lebanon. However, even without ever going there, I’m going to assume that Saudi is 100% desert sand. Just sayin’.

Sa'ad leads our group through Shwaifat Forest

Sa'ad leads our group through Shwaifat Forest

Now here we were at the Wasfi al-Tal, and Sa’ad rapidly secured authorization for us to enter its roadways on our bikes. I skeptically questioned if this was a good idea; would it be better to postpone the trip if the dirt and gravel paths were filled with Nascar(ish) drivers traveling at 130KM/h? Sa’ad admitted that we’d have to have a shorter ride along a different route of paths than what we’d planned, but we’d make it up to anyone from this group who came next week with some incentives. I helped him and Uday unload the bikes from the roof, selected one with a 19″ frame for myself (the largest one available) and set off along the path, waving jauntily at Mika before slipping on a patch of sand, sending me sumersaulting over the frame into the rocks, slicing my knee open with a 6 centimeter cut. Stupid sand.

Wincing and feeling blood trickling down my left leg, I took up my regular position as a Cycling Jordan “employee,” counting everyone off and riding in the rear of the group to make sure that no one was left behind. I had never guided here before, but Sa’ad and I always communicate by cell phone to make sure that even if we’re 15 or 20 minutes behind him and the group leaders, I can follow whatever trail he takes.

As we wove through the trees, it didn’t take long before I heard the sound of angry buzzing coming from the valley far below us as if a thousand angry cell phones had suddenly entered tunnels (you thought I was going to use a “bee” analogy, didn’t you!) Emerging again into the sunlight, I almost ran everyone else over as they waited, assembled by the side of a brilliantly white gravel road, staring expectantly to the left as if waiting for someone. As the cell phones got louder in the distance, I joined them and squinted into the sunlight. Suddenly, before I could get my camera out, a shower of dust exploded around a corner and shot towards us like a whirlwind. Inside the cloud, I could just barely make out the flat black rectangle of a windshield, looking like it was floating and fired at us like cannonshot. Someone shouted to get back, farther from the road. We obeyed just in time as the white car squealed only a few meters from us, throwing a hot spray of jagged gravel into where we’d been standing a moment ago. In another second, the dust caught up with the vacuum caused by the car’s passage and we were all coated with a light dusting of white powder. “That’s the champion driver for the whole country,” Sa’ad told me. “But there’s still 10 other ones behind him – we could be waiting here for awhile.”

A few more cars passed us at slightly less breakneck speeds, but Sa’ad decided we’d take a side path to get out of the main area of the Rally for our own safety. We were now right in the center of the rally itself and things were just getting started. The “path” we found was more like a small winding area with slightly less rocks, which I tried riding down but only succeeded in tipping over and landing in the branches of a pine tree, almost twisting my right ankle around. I wasn’t exactly batting a thousand today; I had injured myself more than ever before on a bike ride in Jordan. Even now I’m still pulling out splinters of wood that embedded themselves in my palms, or burning them out with a heated pin.

Don't step out into the road too quickly. And really, really hope your brakes work.

Don't step out into the road too quickly. And really, really hope your brakes work.

Anyway, we spent the next hour making our way back down the mountain, waiting by that shining white gravel gravel until a few of the lead cars had gone past, then scurrying along over it to find another shortcut. We knew that timing here was of the essence; if we didn’t get off that road quickly, there’s no way that the next driver would be able to see us through his personal dust devil and that would be the end of us. With both of my legs in pain from the stupid accidents I’d been having all morning, I was more focused on being able to continue to pedal, much focus on the cars flying around us.

Like Sa’ad had suspected, we had to end the trip after only about 18 kilometers because some many of the roads were being used for the Rally. But the complexities of the day weren’t yet done for Cycling Jordan. After our bus had arrived back in Amman, Sa’ad suddenly received a call from one of the beginner groups down in Madaba, jumped into his truck and tore away. I found out later that one of the girls on the beginner ride had been struck by a car, driven by an unlicensed underage Jordanian who actually seemed to be aiming for her. The girl survived, but barely – she’ll have a ring of scars around her head and neck forever. Her helmet was shattered into four pieces from where she was thrown headfirst backwards and landed on her forehead. The only thing that could possibly be considered anything positive that came out of this horrific encounter is that she’s half Jordanian, half American and has close connections with the American embassy, which means that a full investigation is being made and the Jordanian tourism infrastructure is on hands and knees apologizing and promising large repercussions for the sexist, malicious attack on female bicycle riders. I hope this kid doesn’t see the outside of a prison for a long time.

We also found a turtle on the road, named her CJ, and made her the Cycling Jordan mascot (ironically).

We also found a turtle on the road, named her CJ, and made her the Cycling Jordan mascot (ironically).

In other news, speaking of the Jordanian government, the entire city has the day off for today in celebration of the 10th anniversary of King Abdullah II’s ascension to the throne, as well as possible rumors that he may be inaugurating his eldest son as Crown Prince of Jordan today as well. Makes me wish we’d be able to get the day off for Election Day in America, too! One of the many advantages of a monarchy here at work, folks. I’ll just keep enjoying my vacation day and possibly design some bookcases for Philip’s house; after almost ten months the walls are starting to look a little bare to me!