However, this is what I’m here for, and I weave my way slowly across the countryside. At times the going is fast, and I follow nomad tracks across the hillsides, at other’s it’s slow going as I navigate the bike over rocks, through sand, and deep mud. There are ancient valleys, mountain passes, and lots of rivers. Some have crude private bridges crossing them, other’s dilapidated bridges that have fallen into disrepair and seeming disuse. I either cross these at my own peril, or ride up and down the river bank looking for the widest and shallowest place to ride across. As I’m solo, I can’t take as many chances as groups can, and a spill in deep water would ruin all my gear, and maybe possibly even the bike’s engine. And so, when the river looks dicey, I stop, get off the bike, and wade across. My boots come up to nearly my knees, but the water typically washes over them. That’s fine, as I can easily ride through water two feet deep. Much higher and the wheels are fully submerged, and as the water comes over the seat, the air intake, exhaust and the bike’s main computer are all dangerously close to becoming submerged. With these crossings I spend much of the next week with sodden feet.