Over the Mountains of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow

And ride boldly I did. Around Ibanda hill and 2 hours later I was in the thick of "the bush" - not Eldorado, much to my dismay. I doubt many white people end up back here in these hills, so I was quite the anomaly. As I biked, enjoying the view of the mountains and passing natural springs and marshes, I began noticing splashes of blood on the ground, fairly evenly dispersed to imply dripping, and alarmingly fresh. I kept biking, the possibilities running through my mind- an injured child with a wounded foot, an animal that had been ensnared in barbed wire, or perhaps, my imagination brewing fears- a madman with a machete still dripping from his recent massacre.
As I crested the hill and sped down, I came upon the answer: none of the above. There, in front of me, was a man pushing a bicycle, with the head of a cow strapped to the back. And really- whadda Uganda do, but just bike on by.