Even though there was less to do in Mt. Hagen, it was much more fun than Port Moresby.  For several days I rode around to the several villages nearby taking portraits of unusual people and introducing them to a bicycle.  Occasionally, I would come across someone who spoke English and try to figure out where I could bike to.  It was surprising how no one seemed to know anything about the region.  They were born, raised and buried in the same village of their birth.

The Australians were constructing a crude road to connect a handful of larger villages that were but small unconnected dots on the PNG map.  There weren't very many villages shown, but at least they provided a name to reference and a goal to reach.

There was a decent restaurant in Mt. Hagen where I ate every meal, but little in the way of provisions for a journey outside of Mt. Hagen.  After several days, the time was right to move on, though I had only collected a few expensive tins of food, all with very old and expired expiration dates.  - 1989