The past few months have been the doldrums for Pushing Horizons. Both Roland and I have been relocating our families this summer. All writing stopped. Worse yet, any spare capacity for idea generation became conscripted into the service of learning new jobs. Yet, transitions bring challenges and opportunities in equal measure. New countries, new languages, and new cultures necessitate adjustments in the rhythm of life.
Personally I’ve had to relearn how to cycle again these past months. I still haven’t reached my one-year anniversary in the sport, but I’d grown accustomed to a specific pattern while living in England. As a novice I easily slide into the subculture that leisurely rides between picturesque villages with occasional stops for coffee and Tom’s Cakes. It’s a soft landing into a sport that can have an aggressive edge. While I was waiting for my road bike to make the journey to the Sultanate of Oman I learned a bit about the cycling culture here. It is very different.
As is common with other desert countries, civilization is spread thinly along the coast in Oman like peanut butter on a cracker. Muscat is a city pinched against the Gulf of Oman by the Hajar Mountains. The Hajar can only be described as desolate. They rise rocky and treeless into the sky, providing a barrier against the even harsher desert of the interior. Around me there are the relatively flat cycling routes that parallel the sea and the more adventurous routes that cross the Hajar into the desert hinterland. In either case the choice of routes around Muscat allow riders to find routes with long descents and flat straightaways with the cycling clubs riding 60-100 miles on a typical weekend – but fewer cake stops.
I’m not yet familiar with the cycling routes in Muscat. First, I had to get my legs into shape again after a few months out of the saddle. My body also needed to acclimatize to the heat and humidity of the Arabian Peninsula in late summer.
I began my rehabilitation of my leg strength on a closed course. At the Civil Aviation Authority behind the Muscat International Airport there are is cul-de-sac of roads devoid of vehicle traffic outside of business hours. In a triangular shape I could ride three and a quarter mile loops to my heart’s content. On that course long-forgotten muscles could reawaken and the push-pull-push up-down-up rhythm could return to my legs.
Some days I woke before dawn, avoiding the heat, and rode loops while watching the sun emerge from behind the Hajar Mountains. At other times I rode in the evening. Pushing through twilight to put some work in before I closed the day. Traffic-less and unvarying, it was a sterile environment which my mind could detach from everyday concerns and wander freely once again. In the monotony of those loops I revisited memories in Snowdonia National Park and the Southwold Roubaix, planned the storming of the Bastille, and set about scheming adventures of the future when the COVID protocols are more permissive.
Riding at the Civil Aviation Authority for miles and miles netted mere inches of elevation gain. It was inevitable that I soon craved a challenge and change in scenery. This past weekend I stuck out on a proper orientation ride. Riding from my front door I attempted a twenty mile loop through Muscat. I wanted to avoid the heat and the uniquely hazardous Omani traffic thus I began a half hour before sunrise.
Through sleepy neighborhoods I pedaled into the unknown. Speed bumps, traffic circles, and frequent map checks kept my speed modest, but I was untethered and excited. I was alone on the road. There were more street dogs moving about than cars. As dawn crested I could see clearly see the fabric of this multicultural city. Oman was once an empire stretching from India and Persian, the Emirates, and down to Zanzibar. Those areas still shape the social landscape in Muscat. In the predawn hours I rode by shuttered shops servicing the various communities of the city. I passed Lebanese cafes, Indian hypermarkets, Afghani restaurants, and dry cleaners run by Pakistani and Filipino immigrants. Contrasting with the modest appearance of the “Royal Handsomeness Men’s Barbershop” my eyes rested on the minarets of the landmark Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque – alerting me of Oman’s impressive path to modernity.
The ride through my new home city was a tour of my future’s potential. With each ride my legs gain strength. In time I hope to ascend the Al Amarat Pass, an intimidating switchback mountain climb, with Jan-Jaap – the local Strava Legend of that particular segment – and head into the interior. What a day that will be!
Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.
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