Sports Illustrated has named its sportsman of the year for 2002. This time, the winning candidate came from the world of cycling. A tall and lanky Texan named Lance Armstrong, thrice Tour de France Champion, is a man who inspiringly deferred his death by beating out choriocarcinoma, an especially aggressive form of testicular cancer. Dismissing death out of its near-certain calling must have inspired this brave man to be at the top of his game in the world's most grueling and highly celebrated cycling event. When one stares death and frightens it to flee, anything else by comparison must look and feel like a trip to Disneyland. Seen Armstrong during last year�s Tour de France reminded me of the world of cycling in Asmara in the early seventies of nineteen hundred. 

Hands on, Eritrea then was home to the most cycling-crazed people in Africa. While cars and trucks ruled the streets of North America, it was bicycles that horded Asmara's avenues, back alleys and dirt roads. Their presence was so menacingly pervasive that cyclists were banned from riding in such notable roads as the then twin boulevards of Haile Sellasie and Etiye Gemenen. During the morning and afternoon rush hours, packs of cyclists would frantically pedal their way to and from their homes en masse like a flock of migrating birds, creating ticking sounds of spokes poking chains, bell rings warning pedestrians to give way and the rattling of wheels and fenders caused by bumps on pot holes and cracks. Looking from a balcony window, one could see some cyclists skillfully treading their way through thin meandering lanes in order to jump cue and be the first one to arrive at their destination. Some bikers rode in the company of a second rider who would sit on the horizontal bar of a triangular frame between the seat and handlebars. 

Hitch hiking (megurbat in Tigringna), a favorite of this writer during his childhood years, was so common that many a hiker had perfected the art of jumping in to a moving bike for a free ride to elsewhere. The technique was simple. The cyclist would release his left arm from the handlebars to open up the middle space of the bike. While the bicycle is still in motion, the hiker would grab the steering bar with both hands, runs to pick up speed and then hop up and twist his hips to the right to sit on the horizontal bar of the triangular frame. A cyclist once had his bicycle impounded by a white-uniformed traffic police because he was caught while giving me a ride to the old Cicero Football Stadium. Understandably miffed at his misfortune, he brooded as we both trekked the balance of our trip to the stadium. To appease him a little, I spent my twenty-five cents (hirkam) on one ticket to the game. After a brief pleading and cajoling, the gatekeeper allowed both of us in for the sole ticket. That�s another hitching for you. I am glad to state that I still keep in touch with Solomon who now lives a productive life in Seattle. 

The presence of a large number of bicycles in Asmara was a bonanza to the coffers of the municipality. Enterprising city aldermen had created bylaws that effectively classified bicycles like cars. Owners were required to purchase aluminum license plates that were to be visibly mounted on their bikes. In addition, each bike was to be equipped with a bell and a headlight powered by a bowling ball-shaped dynamo generator. The municipality had a group of menacing, motorbike-riding traffic police that conducted regular raids in order to enforce the bylaws. These raids, designed to fatten the city�s coffers, often created theatrical scenes for bystanders who were entertained by the humiliating ordeals endured by the offenders. I remember once an elderly gray-haired man who was busted for lack of a headlight on his bike. He spoke Italian fluently. He took a battery-operated torch out of his pocket and told the police that he used it for night rides. The police then laughingly stated that he was still causing an infraction because he would have to steer his bike with one hand. Then the old man soon switched to his Italian and pointed out to a clamp he had installed on his handlebars. � La Luce dal dynamo � la stesso come luce di torcia,� (dynamo-generated light is the same as torch light) he said indignantly.  � Molto vero� (very true) said a bold headed Eritro-Italian mulatto bystander known around as Sardo. Embarrassed and by the counter argument, the policeman refused to budge. The old man fumingly said a lot in Italian. Although few understood what he said, everyone was on his side. Then he angrily left the scene visibly frustrated at his failure to convince the policeman to back down. Shortly after, a colleague of the belligerent officer who was following the old man�s route, quietly took the bike unnoticed and rode it to hand it back to him. The old man nodded his head in gratitude and left the scene. 

I remember the first time I rode a bike I was at a tender age of seven. It was a cold Sunday afternoon. Three of my friends and I had won five cents earlier in the morning in a pickup game of soccer that we played against other single-digit-year-olds from north of our neighborhood. Unattractive options prevented us from dividing the spoil meaningfully. Thus we decided to spend it on renting a bike for one hour. All the bicycles available at the local shop were too large for our small-framed bodies. Of the quartet of riders, only I was a novice, ready to embark on my first ever command and control of a vehicle. We decided that we were to take turns in riding the bike along the perimeter of the dirt football field of our neighborhood. We kept a close eye on the rider to discourage him from venturing out too far. My friend Binyam, having pedaled a tricycle in the hallways of his house during his formative years, was the most experienced of the group. He rode first. Envious of his skills, I observed his technique closely. When my turn arrived, I put my right foot through the space inside the triangular frame to rest it on the right pedal. While my left hand held the near side of the steering bar, I choked the horizontal frame tightly under armpit for balance and control. The launch only lasted two meters before I plunged on the ground to soil my clothing and badly bruise my shoulder. I was helped by my teammates to finish my round, during which I was an embarrassed recipient of plenty of advice, encouragement and ridicule. 

In Eritrea, a bicycle�s function was equivalent to that of a car. Fitness benefits were almost incidental. Of paramount importance was the need to meet personal transportation. One could see enterprising riders use their bikes as a cargo vehicle to haul grocery, or a sac full of freshly ground taf flour. Our regular milkman Ferej Osman used to mount on his bicycle a five-gallon load of fresh milk housed in a steel container. He would then pedal his bike from a nearby village of Tselot to take rounds to his customer�s homes in Asmara. It takes a fine sense of balance of circus acrobat to transport a seventy-pound fluid product on a bi-wheeled vehicle that cannot stand upright on its own without the aid of a wall to lean on. Some riders found other familiar uses for their bikes. In my home district of Gazabanda Tilian were a group of teenage cyclists who were hooked on their bikes the same way BMX riders are in North America. I still remember one biker who used to skip rope while he was mounted on his bicycle. It was amazing to see him maintain his balance while he regularly hopped the bike up to skip the rope, rolled around by two individuals, underneath the wheels. Another rider would make a u turn on a pavement half a bike length wide. His trick was a complicated one. He would approach a turn at snail pace and point his front wheel towards the wall. With no space left to accommodate the balance of his bike, he would then stand upright on the pedals, lean forward and push down and out the handle bars to lift the hind wheel up, swerve it to the right before he let it rest on the ground by leaning his upper body backwards to complete the turn. The feats of these individuals were no less remarkable than that of modern day BMX devils that one sees on sports and music TV channels, considering that the bikes of olden times, unlike the BMX bicycles of today, were not designed to perform acrobatic acts. 

High passion for riding bicycles naturally made Eritrea home to the best race cyclists in Africa. Next to football, bicycle racing was the most popular in the city. Like football, the sport was organized in a pecking order. At the bottommost was a league that included a rag tag group riders full of pedaling power and raw talent. Ganta Avanti was the lowest division from which riders were drafted to the elite league of Serie A. Anyone was welcome. Contestants were only allowed to ride single speed bike that were unique in their simplicity. The riders tightened the chains so as to achieve the highest gear. The dashing Ganta Avanti riders were indistinguishable from one another. They wore no special jerseys or helmets. They received no refreshments during their races. They customized their bikes the way an automobile enthusiast builds a racecar. Their bicycles were easily recognizable by the absence of any non-essential component that added to the weight of the vehicle and distorted its aerodynamic shape. These bicycles had no front or back fenders. They also lacked any casing to cover their gear system. Ganta Avanti riders were made up of passionate cyclists who invested their meager income on a favorite sport with the hope of gaining fame and a little fortune. 

Serie A included an elite group of riders whose celebrity rivaled that of notable football stars. Among the top riders was the powerful Salimbeni Carmello. His teammate of the Asrmara Cycling Club was the tall crowd pleaser and best decorated cyclist (in Ethiopia then) Tekheste Woldu, Jigante. Another memorable rider was the menacing and fashionably attired Fetzehazion Gebreyesus from the Africa Cycling Club. He was a rider of flash and substance. He used to wear dark sunglasses that looked remarkably cool in his handsome jet-black face. During replenishment runs, he would guzzle a Fanta orange pop and then hand back the empty bottle by bending low to roll it out of his hand and on to the ground while he still rode at high speed. His club mate was the less heralded Yemane Negasy whose daytime job was a butcher at an upscale meat shop at Campo Stato. Later on were to arrive a trio of riders from Ganta Avanti: Tesfaldet Hay�yelom, Bey�yene Simon and Gebretensa�e Mahari. Tesfaldet was a powerful young rider then who was the antithesis of Fetzahazion- a quite athlete that accomplished a lot with less fanfare. Other racers included the tall and at times ill-spirited Re�esom Gebremeskel who used to ride for the team of Log�go Chewa. He once elbowed an opposing rider off the racetracks during a sprint finish. His opponent, who was a teammate of Fetzahazion, beat him to the finish line but subsequently fell violently on the cement pavement. It was miraculous that he did not die from head injury, considering that he was not wearing a helmet at the time. 

Regular racing events were held at of one of two zones that saw these stars duke it out against tens of other cyclists representing different clubs. Most of the events were carried out at an open street between the jailhouse of Carcielli and the church of Geza Khenisha. Other races were at held at Campo Stato by the City Hall (Mazzegaja Biet). The street at the Carcielli Jailhouse provided a far better view of cycling than Campo Stato because it had two opposing unidirectional lanes divided by a pavement. This provided an open look of the riders while they pedaled their way up and down the slightly hilly track. During a cycling event on a Sunday, the beer houses (Inda Suw�wa) within the racing zone would be overcrowded with patrons who wanted to beat a twenty-five cent admission fee by been inside before the streets were blocked for the race. The price of one ticket then bought five pints (milelikh) of suw�wa. These bar flies would then come out of the beer halls fully inebriated to cheer for their favorite rider Lemlem Kahasai (do you remember him?). He had an avid fan base made up cartwheel and horse buggy (carroza) operators, porters and the street vendors of Harraj who used to peddle every imaginable used household good. Lemlem, although never productive in winning races, remained a popular rider among his small and highly vocal fan base. 

In the early seventies of nineteen hundred, the two most dominant teams in the city were the cycling clubs of Asmara and Africa respectively. Although an older athlete at the time, Salimbeni Carmello was the most powerful rider in the league. He had legs of a wood buffalo that made him almost unbeatable in short sprints. His teammate Jigante, perhaps the tallest rider in the league then, was a master of breakaways. His long legs provided him with ample power to blast off fast and furious and stingily maintain solo leads. It was common to see Jigante win races after hitting opponents with a few laps (jira). His principal nemesis was the determined and diminutive Fetzahazion who was skilful at catching and shadowing breakaway riders. His strategy was the tried and true trick of tightly riding behind in the slipstream of a front rider thereby avoiding the draft of air that depletes the lead rider�s energy reserve. It was common to see Fetzahazion shadow Jigante, as well as any breakaway rider, save Wed�di Arba�ate Asmera, in every twist and turn of the race. Wed�di Arba�ate was hands on the Rodney Dangerfield of the top Serie A cyclists. He got no respect. He was more known for his ill-timed breakouts than sensible and methodical racing. He loved the glamour of riding solo in the front. He would usually sprint out at the start of the race, at times immediately after the bell ring. The balance of the racers would ignore him to concentrate on feeling their legs, their bikes, the racetrack and one another. Within five turns, he would gain half a lap of distance on the closest trailing rider. Once the rest of the field got warmed up, they would pick up speed to unceremoniously catch Wed�di Arba�ate in a few turns. Bonked and flustered early on, he would mostly finish the race inconspicuously in last position. 

A lot happened during a Sunday race. The events were made very interesting by some spectators who donated prize money, or goods to winners of periodic sprint challenges that were held at different intervals during the afternoon. I remember one enterprising businessman who donated a five-gallon pail (gerwegna) of cooking oil to earn plenty of badly needed advertising for his edible oil business. It was hilarious to see the winning rider appear next morning on the front cover of the then Tigrinya daily, Hebret, while hugging his gerewgna full of nug oil. Over the loud speaker would be announced the name of the donor and the particulars of the prize. The racers are then reminded to gear up-no pun intended- for a sprint challenge. This initiates a lot of jockeying and jostling among riders to obtain a good position and avoid colliding with others. The sound of rattling chains and shifting gear become audible. Riders could be heard trash-talking to disrupt the rhythm of opponents. Team managers standing on the sideline utter advice in secret codes. Fans shout words of encouragement to their favorite racers and curses to their opponents. The intensity of racing gradually increases to become visible in the riders� eyes. Then all breaks lose when one racer blasts out causing a stir among the flock. It is usually Jigante. At times it is a less heralded rider who wants to gain his fifteen minutes of fame. Don�t forget Wed�di Arba�ate and Lemlem Khasai. Invariably such a rider would end up leading the sprint but finish at the back. 

But Jigante was a different matter. Often a leader and seldom a follower, he would takeoff causing others to frantically chase him. Fetzahazion would be the first one to sneak in behind, tightly chasing him like a cheetah closing in on a gazelle. Soon the racers establish a snake-like formation to conform to the elements of aerodynamics. Like a circus master, the front rider dictated the motion of the group directing every of its moves. Jigante loved to show off by zigging and zagging his ride to confuse and wear down his opponents. With every rider tightly following the one in front, the flock at times looked like a giant python crawling its way in the track. The different colors of the rider�s jerseys enhanced the visual look of the fast-wheeling meandering flock. The excitement and expectation of the crowd would grow. One could see sunrays bouncing off the sunglasses of the some of the riders. Chrome-plated wheels and spokes of the moving bikes would shimmer adding to the allure of the event. Everyone�s eyes would focus on the race to see who was in front and who was following. 

The announcer would stir up more excitement by declaring newer and smaller prizes for second and third place winners. Echelons of cyclists move with increasing speed, stirring the air around and raising dust at some pockets of the track. Salimbeni Carmello would be the odd one of the flock because he seemed to maintain his cool during the thick of the suspense by riding near the very end. With Jigante still in the lead, a lot drama of would unfold amongst the front pack. Positions are lost just as quickly as they are gained. With half a lap to go, the speed of the lead group would increase while the gap among the different packs grew. Some riders clearly lacking the power and fitness required for the sprint challenge get left out in the back with Lemlem Kahsai leading them at the tail end. They are on the verge of been slapped with a lap by the front riders. Salimbeni quickly leaves behind a multitude of riders at the back, like a bunny rabbit racing against tortoises, to join the lead group. 

With the sprint challenge getting ever closer to the finish line, the front riders scramble their tight formation to jockey for an open space. Jigante would still hold his position while Fetzahazion is tightly clinging to him like a leach. Somewhere are Yemane, Tesfaldet, Re�esom and at times, Akhriya�s favorite rider Romodan who worked as a tailor in his daytime job. The riders tighten their grips on the handle bars, bend their upper body low and parallel to the ground to streamline their racing shape. Pedaling would continue at a frantic pace to maximize speed. One could see the riders grimacing from pain while expending every joule of energy to pedal harder and faster. The spectators near the finish line draw in closer to the track to witness the last of the sprint. Some get dangerously close to obstructing the riders� paths. Alarmed at the intrusion, the police push back the offending crowd by swinging their clubs towards the feet and knees of the breaching spectators. Then, out of nowhere would come Salimbeni to sneak a win by a third of a bike length against his teammate Jigante. Sadly Carmello�s enthusiasm for these sprint events seemed to be as strong an accountant�s interest on the mating habits of prairie dogs. He seemed to care more about the eventual outcome of a race than the occasional prize of a sac of sugar, or a bushel of berbere (hot pepper). 

While representing Ethiopia then, Eritrea�s cyclists were among rare Africans that made respectable showing at Olympic and other international events. You may be surprised to know that Ethiopia sent a five-rider team to Melbourne Olympics in 1956. Gerremew Denboba, the best Ethiopian cyclist at the time, recorded a remarkable 24^th finish for his country at a time when most of Africa was still under the colony of European powers. His teammate Mesfin Tekafay finished in 32^nd position. During the next Olympic event at Rome the Ethiopian team included two Eritreans, Giovanni Mazzola and Alazar Kiflom. Although a much-improved rider, Denboba�s medal hope was dashed when he was forced to withdraw from the race because of an elbow injury he sustained during a nasty fall. It was during that same Olympic event that a bare-footed Abebe Bekila won the Marathon.  Salimbeni�s first foray into international racing started at Tokyo Olympics in 1964. The five-rider team then included three other Eritreans beside Carmello. They were Fetzahazion, Mehari Ukbamicahel and Yemane Negasy. Subsequently, the Ethiopian team was exclusively made up of Eritrean riders until the Munich Olympics of 1972. Perhaps the golden moment of Eritrean cycling was recorded at the All Africa Games in Lagos, Nigeria in 1973 when the team of Jigante, Re�esom Gebremeskel, Gebretensai Mehari, Tesfalidet Hay�yelom and Bey�yene Sem�on swept the individual as well as team racing events. Jigante, then a regular rider at Italian circuits, came out as the undisputed king of African cycling by winning a gold medal. 

Nowadays the state of cycling in both Eritrea and Ethiopia is in decay. Sky rocketing prices of race bikes make the sport prohibitively expensive. Rampant corruption, political and economic upheavals exacerbate the sport�s poor condition. Many people, more than ever preoccupied with the woes of survival, predictably find any organized sport frivolous. Although there is little reprieve in the horizon, it is small consolation that there exists a long and proud cycling history in Eritrea that can revive the sport�s golden years. A recent visitor to Asmara told me that bike riders still horde the streets and ride as menacingly as ever. It is this kind of enthusiasm that provides a healthy and rich breeding ground for future cycling champions that can put Eritrea back on the cycling map of the world.

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