Riding Through Rull

I ride up an unpaved road. The rocks are a blue schist, a remnant of the root of this island, upthrust by the spreading processes that are also part of the Yap Trench, deeper than the Marianas Trench in some places. The uneven tension in the Earth's crust is what creates the conditions for the uplift of the island itself. Yap is just about forty square kilometers, and the 8000 inhabitants find a joy in the environment that is similar to life in a town of the same size spread out along a riparian plain. But instead of fronting a river, the villages here are distributed along hillsides and valleys, with places both for agriculture and simple joys. Any very wet gulley, or wet patch, will have the ubiquitous elephant ear taro leaves growing up, a staple of the local diet. People generally live far from the main road, but close to their crops.

I ride up past the water treatment plant. It is next to a large lake (or reservoir), and the water piped to my apartment comes from here. Up I go past the treatment plant and the dog lying lazily outside. I get to the top of a hill, and I see a resting place with shade, and a few houses. I stop. There is a fellow loading up a pickup truck nearby. I walk over and ask him. No, he doesn't know where my friend lives. I am here to pick up some fruit that she promises me a few days earlier. We only just met, but I think not everyone here is fond of this fruit. People are happy when they find someone who enjoys it. The food will not be wasted.

Five days ago I am at the market square. I go to the medical insurance office, because I don't yet have my health card. My work provides the insurance, and I think it is good to have the card. I make arrangements with the office to hand in the form and a picture, and a couple of dollars. As I leave, I stop by a gift shop in the square and see what they have. The clerk there is not having a good day, and we spend half an hour talking and trying to cheer each other up. I end up buying a pair of used trousers for five dollars, and have an invitation to come visit on Sunday to pick up some fruit. The fruit that I am looking for. Football fruit, with its wonderful texture, like canned peaches, and its intoxicating sweetness, with an undertone of onions. I ride to see her today.

I am happy to have the chance to see a new part of the island. This is Gitam, in Rull municipality. The place is peaceful, and I spy about ten or fifteen homes coming off various tracks from the main road. My new friend promises to be by the road, waiting for me, but I do not see her. I ride down one of the connecting roads and take it to the ocean, and then off to the side where some people from one of the resorts live. No luck. I head back up the road and turn right, past more homes nestled into the jungle-filled hillside. The air is fresh, and though it is a hot day, it feels nice to stretch my legs.

This is my third bicycle since moving to Yap. The other two were not built to last; the hills here destroy them in short order. The first has a broken bearing between the cranks, and a broken rear axle. It lasts seven months before being a total loss. The second lasts only two weeks before the rear axle starts to bend, and the metal around the axle starts to crack. I buy a used bicycle from one of the resorts that is part of a recent shipment from Japan, and am happy, even though the front brakes don't work, and the chain ring is worn, so only the lowest ring is active. The rims and spokes are top quality, and the rear derailer is top of the line, even if the bicycle itself is nothing special to look at. It is a mountain bike without the shock absorbers, a sturdy frame and wheels that can take a lot of punishment. It is at least 15 years old, and with some care will last another 15 years of heavy use. Now it is taking me through mudpuddles and past the sounds of young children enjoying the freedom of a Sunday afternoon. I ride back and forth three times, even stopping to sing a bit, just in case my friend has lost me. Finally I ride back down to the water treatment plant, happy for the exercise, but sad for the lost connection.

I wave to the worker in the window as I ride past, and he motions me to come visit. We talk for awhile. It is his sister who works at the gift shop, and she tells him earlier today about inviting me to get some football fruit. They have to go to a birthday party today, and that is why there is no one at home to meet me. Social duties are more important than the small plans we make, and I will come back and visit her another afternoon, and maybe come back another weekend day to pick up fruit and give her some coin purses that I buy from Amazon but don't like. They are white and I will get them dirty too quickly if I use them myself.

It is a week of surprises. The previous Sunday I am on my third snorkeling expedition. This time I am at Sunset Beach, on the west side of the island. I arrive early, and am so happy with the plans. I see my first shark in the water during this time out. It is about six feet long, but swimming away quickly.

People here spear them to feed to their pigs, and perhaps it will not want to be near me. I am happy it swims away. It is a contrast to the much smaller reef fish. There is a joy at seeing such a beautiful form, but it reminds me of seeing a mountain lion, also on its way to avoid me, many years ago. I am very relieved.

And the luck that one finds in such confrontations with nature is writ large. It is a metaphor for this odd year in history. The nations of the world are all in dread from this deadly virus that has spent nine months stalking the most vulnerable, seemingly at random.

I learn of the close ties between China and Iran from this, as the influx of Chinese people early on brings the virus and its destruction to Iran in tragic force. At the same time, various countries in Asia are managing well. Vietnam in particular has strong track-and-trace protocols that keep the country very safe. The habits of control and safety are well adapted to keeping a nation protected against the pandemic.

Not so with Europe, and now the US and Brazil and India and so many other tragedies run their separate courses. I am swimming along the edge of the reef. To my left is warm water and shallow, the reef's normal form, but getting more clearance as the tide comes in. To my right is the channel that is dredged out to allow for access from the outer reef to the beach itself, with its boat launch and pristine waters. There is an agreement between the various villages to keep this part of the island as a no-fishing zone, to protect the ecology. There is a floating house out in the channel, manned at night to discourage would-be poachers. And to my right I see only the back half of this beautiful shark as it swims away so quickly.

The virus is not here in Yap. I live on one of a few island nations in the Pacific Ocean that have no cases. I watch the pandemic from a distance, thankful to be spared.

This week is also the 80th birthday celebration for my father. I attend via zoom, like everyone, and am filled both with longing and joy to see the wonderful faces of loved ones so very far away. I dream of Bob Dylan that night, and imagine that it is the connection to Jeff and Jodie, neighbors in the music industry, who are on the Zoom call, and whose joy travels the aether perhaps. It is a new normal. Social duties are more important than the small plans we make. Many of these duties are virtual, made possible with the new technology.

I ride this bicycle around the lagoon, and buy foreign goods at the community store: an avocado, an orange, grapes and pineapple juice. I ride back and pick up a coconut at one of the markets here. The power goes out briefly. I answer an email from a university in Vermont, and put together some ideas for a project to counter climate change. The power comes back on. There is more work to do.