The Madaba bikeshop experience...

Above: The bikeshop.

I cycled out of Amman heading to Madaba, a small town some 40 km south of the capital. Climbing out of hilly Amman was tiresome in the morning heat - the humidity is low, and even though there was a cold wind blowing, the sun is intense. I wheeled the bike up the steep hills as much as I rode it, and got called in for tea at least every twenty minutes.

Once out of the city and onto the main highway, the traffic was moderate, the road good and the locals friendly, as is the case in Jordan. My goal was to eventually make it down into Israel in a few days via the King Abdullah Bridge crossing near the Dead Sea (see upcoming blog entry).

I wanted to spend Easter in Jerusalem, which seemed like an apt start to 'Cycling in the footsteps of Jesus to India', indeed.

However, on the way into Madaba town I got my first flat tyre, which, of course, if you don't cycle, is kinda boring, but if you do cycle, is riveting stuff of high and intense interest.

Scene: Two cyclists meeting on a road in outer Kazakhstan.
The conversation can go like this...
After the usual introductions - name, nationality, destination, starting point etc.
Cyclist 1: How many flats you got?
Cyclist 2: Man, dozens!
Cyclist 1: Cool!
Cyclist 2: Yeah, I got a beaut coming down the backside of the Karakoram!
Cyclist 1: Really?
Cyclist 2: Yeah, ran over a goat and it shredded my inner tube like cabbage in a Chinese restaurant!
Cyclist 1: Very cool, bro', I envy you that experience.

Considering I'd bought the tube in Indonesia some 10 months back (I was cycling in Sumatra), and had patched it on more than a few occasions, I figured I'd find a bikeshop and simply replace the tube, rather than go through the ritual of dismantling the bike and applying the magic patch right there on the street in Madaba.

Like the human heart, an inner tube can only take so much patching up before it needs replacing.

I stopped at a teashop.

"Welcome to Jordan!" said the young man behind the ubiquitous silver urns. After a tea and the usual 'Where you from?' and 'I love Australia!' I asked about a bikeshop. No problem, there was one 'just up the road'. I wheeled the bike 100 metres up the main street of town ("Welcome to Jordan!" called the kids), and into the bike shop just left of the traffic lights.

I love bikeshop guys, and the Jordanians didn't disappoint.
"This is my first puncture in Jordan," I said.
"Cool, bro'," said the bikeshop guy, "I envy you that experience."