African Peddler

The Finish Line

2009-11-04T15:32:00.000-08:00

We saw the ocean. First we could smell it, and then off in the distance you could see a snatch of blue. It would fade in, fade out, and then it was just there.
I rode past one of the major coke stops today - people had found incredible chocolate cake. Instead we stopped at a little shop and visited with the elderly owner who told us about how yesterday the fellow who had done our whole route solo had just passed. He was trying to get into Cape Town at the same time as us, and man was he pushing it. I envy him and his solo adventure. He was keeping the same time as us while pushing all of his gear, doing all of his own repairs, and cooking for himself.
We got to our lodge today and many of us ate at the restaurant. I got a room. It's a trend. I keep doing it because I'm tired of hanging out with folk, but then the other folk who are sick of everyone keep hiding out in my room. A cleverer person would just give up. The nice thing was it provided a warm shower with fresh towels after my dip in the ocean. I joined the crew down at the beach for the gift-giving ceremony. I had drawn Peter, the Grumpy Dutchman's name. I made a flip book for him. It was called "Not a Terrible Day." Peter was infamous for coming into camp saying "It was TERRIBLE," or "The Hills! The Hills!" So I drew a flip-book comic of a man riding up hills with winds blowing in his face, and rocks everywhere, who finally gets over the hill and rides right into a bar where a fresh beer is drawn for him. Peter's favourite pass-time. It ends with him saying that "Today was not a Terrible Day!" Most of the gifts were along that line... homemade inside jokes, nice poems. It was a perfect sum-up to all of the stuff we had been through together.
I had crayfish that night. The restaurant showed pictures of crayfish during red-tide (you can still eat them then). They evacuate the water by the millions, and people go out and wade through a beach of knee-deep crayfish, filling their buckets and eating them until they are no longer able to stomach anymore of them. Everytime I think of them being a cockroach of the see, I sit back and wish that cockroaches were that delicious. Then I would move to New York. Or Hastings.
We woke the next morning and rode through the fall chill along the escarpment on the last bit of off-roading we would do on our trip. I got off my bike and kissed the pavement when I got to it. We were going to have bbq'ed fish that night with the friends and family of the riders. There were all sorts of surprizes - Family who had come from all over the world, some telling their kids/spouses they would be there, some not. We laughed and ate and drank. The crew from the first half of the trip joined us, along with some of the South African riders from the previous year. It was a lovely evening. And we got our shirts, which we were to all wear into Cape Town.
The next morning I was stressed about riding. We had to ride 82km by 11am, and there was a head-wind, AND I started my day off with a flat tire and a slow leak. I don't think I mentioned that I was getting several flats a day by this point. I couldn't get to lunch without at least one. I repaired my first flat instead of having breakfast. I repaired my second flat on the way back to the maid hiway from where we were camped. Fortunately, TDA had overestimated the distance on the map. We got up to the top of a hill and were stopped by paul who told us "Hey guys, there's only 10 more km to go, not 20. We had been hustling up to that point in order to not have to be picked up. I think it would have taken the plague to get someone on the truck that day.
We arrived in time for a beautiful picnic on the beach - no tuna today! There were cheeses and deli meats and fruit and chocolate and... oooh the joys of good food! Five different kids of bread! None of them crumbling! And the ocean! We frolicked, we took photos, we swam, we looked out at Cape Town and sighed.
At the last minute they swapped out my wheel when I mentioned that it was starting to soften up. Anyone who stopped would be thrown on the truck with no chance to ride in with everyone. It was at that point when I realized what a dream my own wheels were to ride on. This particular tire wasn't even true.
Our solo adventurer found us and rode into town with us. I was glad that he could share in the applause. And what an applause! It was embarrassing! We rode in to the Quay - there was the fanfare of a brass band, an awards ceremony for the full tour riders, and hundreds of people looking on at us, applauding and pointing. We walked into the mall to use the washroom and heard the hushed whispers of the surrounding people: "Those are the people who rode across Africa." It felt so completely unreal. All I could think was that it was just a bike ride, and we just did a little every day, and anyone who put aside that much time could do it, so it all seemed so very over-the-top.
That night we had a closing dinner, we drank, we danced, we stumbled back to our rooms to catch some sleep in the few remaining night hours. Over the next few days I went up table mountain, did a moonlight walk up the other Cape Town mountain (not to be confused with a BC mountain), went cage-diving to see great whites (they chomped at the cage, which was frightening, but they are such beautiful animals), I rented a car and visited wineries (here I got my first room on my own, thank goodness), and I went surfing. It was so beautiful, relaxed and serene. It was the perfect way to cap off my trip. And then I absconded to Europe for a month with Rob, got home, put together a wedding, and as most of you know, I am now here, home, on Hornby Island.
It's taken a while to finish these letters off. There wasn't always a connection in Africa. In fact, connections were rare. Time was rare. This was a very strange trip. I loved it, I hated it. I will never again do a group trip (unless a really special opportunity came up), and I don't think I would like to take part in a trip where I wasn't one of the primary organizers. But it was amazing, and I am so lucky that I got to do it.
So there you have it. It will be a while until my next trip... I'm guessing about three years, but until then, should you ever happen upon a small isle called Hornby, give us a call. We'll be happy to have you around.

Chasing Endings

2009-11-04T15:30:00.000-08:00

Waking up in Felix Unite and knowing that we would be riding in to South Africa today was incredibly exciting. Erin and I raced around the room packing up in the morning. It was still dark, and quite cold. South Africa is coming into fall now, and there are never mornings where I don’t get up and put my leg and arm warmers on. It seems that every time we see a sign we get excited. They all have the distance to Cape Town on them now.
The crew organized another international face-off over the next couple of days. It’s not getting a huge amount of participation. Or maybe that’s my perception because I’m not into it. And the Dutch have abstained. We’re too close to the end. And the whole start of the day was 900m uphill. Our first downhill was at lunch, and at that point there was a rolling contest. Get to the top of the hill, stop, and roll as far as you can go. I was going to do this, but then as I started to roll past lunch, some folk shouted, and then I realized that I was going to have to go back up the first bit of downhill I’d seen all day. Didn’t really understand why they yelled, but then I sort of wished that I had kept going, just to see. My bike is still running so smoothly!
It was a sausage lunch, but Nazi Eric was on and limited us to one sausage each, and nothing else. Some people went up for seconds, and they would pile sausages on, but for those that he didn’t like, well, we weren’t to have any extra. I would like to see him turned into sausage.
Lunches are at roadside stops now, as the landscape is completely cordoned off still. “Civilized” Africa means no room to be free. Our stop included the wheelie competition. Even on the best of days I can’t pop one. One of those things I look at wistfully, like skateboarding and whistling. I met up with Erin at lunch and we rode in together. I saw the South Africans posing just short of the border, all nekked. They were doing well with their challenge. The border crossing was neither too easy, nor too hard, unlike the rest of Africa where it ranged anywhere from the five hour wait in Sudan to the barest of glances at the Malawian border.
We got into Springbok we hit the internet immediately. It was a rampant search – there were supposedly three shops (in reality, there was only one), all of them closing in twenty minutes. Some poor shmucks went to the campsite first. They looked crestfallen when they walked into the shop and saw all of the seats full. Some even tried bribery to keep the shop open for longer. With no internet for well over a week, most of us were desperate for some thread from home. The second most popular search was for Wimpy’s – the fast-food burger joint. I joined Claire there afterwards. It tasted super-salty. When I got back to camp I raced to get my tent up while others signed up for the protein-bar eating contest. It was vile. Tom (our 18-year-old trash compactor) won, but Judy was a close second. The rest of us stood on in awe. I haven’t eaten one of the tour issue bars since the first week. That’s not entirely true. I ate them in dire emergencies. Even I had to gag them down. This tour has taken away my ability to also eat peanut butter and jam, and oatmeal. I’m less keen on tuna fish as well. And I have a small addiction to Coke (a-Cola). Eric announced at the rider meeting that he had taken all of the photos we had given him over the past few months, and instead of putting them on-line as he was supposed to, he had put them on a cd and would sell them back to us at 15$ US a pop. Jerk. Some of us complained that we had not allowed him to profit off of our photos, and he simply answered: “Oh well.”
The next morning a huge group of us women folk left without breakfast. There’s a consensual revolt against breakfast. No more peanut butter! No more white, falling-apart bread! No more OATMEAL! You can’t blame the chef. There just isn’t access to food, and it’s way too much trouble to have to find both breakfasts and dinners within a strict time-limit set by super-fast riders. We found a breakfast nook, which wasn’t really a breakfast nook. It was a lodge run by a nice old fellow who had the world’s largest collection of trucker hats. We ate biscotti and tea, and he refused to let us pay. He had heard of us on the radio. We left some money behind anyhow, and carried on. When I got to lunch I joined up with Erin. She and I skipped lunch because there was a town not to far away afterwards, which likely would have nicer options. Unfortunately, the nearest thing we could find was just a gas station that had cheese sandwiches. I wound up having the same issue the next day, when Erin and I hooked up to have lunch at the town before lunch, and only found a gas station with chips. There were also the remnant bags of the other riders who had found the same gas station. Really, South Africa was becoming a quest for food. We were starting to be spoiled by the ability to find it anywhere and everywhere. There was the challenge of being able to come into camp and say “Hey, I found fried chicken and chocolate cake 10km back, and they served us free beer while fanning us and giving us foot massages.”
Arriving in Vanrhynsdorp, I was totally exhausted. Four months of wear and tear has lead to the end of the day being the end. Pure and simple. I tented that night, close to the truck, as always. I’ve always found it to be the nicest spot, because you get your own wake-up call in the morning, and you have less distance to schlep your stuff. We had dinner, and realized that we had blown it when we walked into the restaurant for post-dinner beers and saw clever riders having their roast-beef dinners cleared away and be replaced by fresh apple strudel with ice cream. They started quiz night. It was the one part of the war of the nations that everyone got into. Afterwards, Erin, Peter, Eric (the nice guy) and I sat up to chat about anything but bike riding or bike riders. It was a late night, but a good one. The next night we were scheduled to give presents to our secret friends. We had had a week to find/make something for them for under a dollar. My present was almost ready, but seeing as I couldn’t feel/use my right hand anymore, it was a little challenging. I sat up late that night finishing it.

Felix Untied

2009-10-28T22:32:00.000-07:00

Today we rode to the Fish River Canyon. It is only a couple of days from there to the South African border. The canyon itself is the second largest in the world. Looking into its depths, I can imagine coming back here to hike it's length. Oddly enough, it made me think of the hiking trails in Alice Springs, Australia. Not for any physical similarity, but just for the sheer fact that they are two places that i will dream of walking through, but may never make it back to. Hard to say that right now, when all I can dream about is coming back. I'd like to come back with Rob, not a bunch of strangers, and to experience this land in the way that I would chose to, not as the morning map has laid out for me.
There was a break mid-day at a little lodge that served cheesecake. I bought a piece for myself, and then snuck a piece on the truck for Evelijn, whose birthday was that night. When I got to the end of day lodge, there was actually champagne there, so I bought her a bottle. There were so many birthdays on this trip that seemed to go unmarked, and Evelijn seemed to me to be a person who really loved her birthday. She, Erin, Peter and I sat up until late chatting, and passing around the champagne bottles (Peter had also had the same idea). This time we were far enough away from the campers, though I had been getting snide remarks about not putting my tent near anyone else's. I feel worn out by this whole adventure.
There was a little boy in the campsite who had mad a tin car out of pop cans. He rolled it along with the stick he had attached to it. I think of the toys in North America and how reliant we are on Hasbro or Mattel for childhood amusements. The one thing I have discovered from bike tours is that the best of the journey is the journey itself - the end is usually a let-down. I think of these kids here, who probably derive more fun from making their toys than playing with them, and I think that we're probably depriving our kids by just sticking them with the end result and not allowing them the journey. That would explain why the box is more fun.
The next morning I rode to Phelix Unite. Our last rest day. Our last day in Namibia. The following day we would be off to South Africa.
It was meant to be a rest day in the truest sense of the word. No nearby town, no food outlets other than our lodge. The road all day had been pretty bland. Hardpack with rough sections, hillish-mountains in the distance, headwinds. I was happy to get in. Others had stopped at the last grocery store. I wizzed past them. I wanted a room. I wanted privacy. I needed to be alone.
The pub that evening drew more remarks about our party. I left in tears. Peter, Erin and Simon swung by my room with a few bottles of wine and Simon's portable stereo. This time, the walls were soundproof. We danced on the beds and laughed and listened to music we all loved and had a great time. Forget the rest of the crew. They were good people, but good people can be frustrating when boredom and
close-quarters are in the mix. We had a great night. Erin wound up sharing my room, and in the morning we had a long, luxurious yoga session on the lawn overlooking
the river. We were literally looking over at South Africa. There is such a mix of emotions with the ending. I look on at the frustration of my co-riders, and can't help realizing that there is also a mix of frustration with this being the end of it. A few days left. We can make it, and it will be beautiful.

How to Make Friends and Influence People

2009-10-22T15:54:00.000-07:00

We rode 151km from Betta to Konkiep. It was more of the same. Brutal roads, lots of sand, tons of complaints. Just after lunch we arrived in a little village that had the most wonderful apple cake. I arrived just after Peter (the Grumpy Dutchman) and Hinchy. I was trying to decide which store to stop at when I saw their bikes out front of a little hotel. It was run by Germans, had a very German garden, and was the perfect place to stop. Oddly enough, the town itself had 2km of paved roads – and then back to the dirt.
Simon showed up just as the guys were leaving, so I decided to stay a little longer. We sat inside on the couches. I hadn’t sat on a couch since Cairo.
I took off with Simon, but the roads finally turned into graded hardpack, so I unfortunately left him behind. I got into the hotel and joined the crew that was already sitting around the pool drinking beer. The hotelier was this lovely old woman who baked us chocolate cake for that evening. As the evening progressed she told us more and more about her life. They had bought the place as a farm, but her husband couldn’t farm on it. The lodge was her idea, to give her something to do, now that her daughter had grown. Her son-in-law worked there, and originally I thought he was her son, which was a little creepy – he looked like a blond-haired Norman Bates – even dressed the part. The husband was frustrated because her business was doing so well, and yet he couldn’t make a go of the farm, so he was selling the place.
Before dinner Erin and I hiked up the local mountain to check out the view. It was amazing. The ground moved in rivulets, making it look as if it had once all been covered in sea (probably had). The few roads that there were looked like unending straight gashes in the land. We made bets on if we were seeing the end of the road out there. We saw Lloyd coming in on his bike – he was the size of an ant. It was a nice hike, and even same easy scrambling made me wish for the rock climbing back home.
The chocolate cake kept people up later than usual – 8pm instead of 6. Peter (Rumbutt – or Rombaut as would be proper, but less fun for nicknames), Erin and I decided that tonight would be the night to stay up late and have fun. Hardpack the next day and only 130km. Why not? There were a few stragglers from our group at the bar – the sectionals and the folk who hadn’t come for the whole tour – and we kept ordering bottles of wine. We definitely drank too much. Near the end I kept ordering water, but the damage was done. Peter and Erin tried out Hakkestraand, a liquor with barbed wire on the bottle, and so they went downhill fast. At some point we got on the topic of how lame the group was. We were frustrated by the militaristic schedule, of being hushed if we were up talking past 8pm. Wasn’t it our trip too? We decided that we were going to have a sleepover and stay up all night. Peter and Exley had a cabin, we could joke and have fun, and in the morning we could watch how fast the rumours flew. It was a silly joke that we would regret the next day.
The following morning I officially decided that I would never again join a group tour. The cabin we were hanging out in didn’t have soundproof walls. The folk who like their privacy decided that instead of camping near the rest, they would camp by the cabins. We kept them up all night. They looked at us with disdain. Erin and I rode together. Peter rode off looking as if he hadn’t consumed a thing. He said he was hungover, but nothing seems to affect that man negatively.
When Erin and I got to the cake stop, Allan blocked us from getting through the doorway and completely reamed us out. Local people were trying to get in and out, but his anger made him oblivious to their presence. Finally, he left. We sat down and Simon told us that rumour were going ‘round about usual having participated in a wild orgy. We had kept a bunch of people up because of the lack of soundproofing. We were laughing and talking in what we thought was privacy, and not one of the frustrated folk had even thought to knock on the door and say – Hey guys, we can hear you and we can’t sleep. Anyone we said this to said they were too angry, or that we wouldn’t have cared, or just gone back around to the whole “well you shouldn’t have been up late anyway” argument.
I officially have burnt out on my fellow riders. I find myself almost exclusively hanging out with Erin, Peter, Simon and the sectionals. I’m tired of curfew. I’m tired of routine. I’m tired of there being puerile unwritten rules. We’re near the end of the trip and everyone is following this work-week routine of: slog through it, get in, drink yourself silly on the first night of the rest day, see a sight or an internet café the following day if all of your chores are done, repeat.
The ride was a beautiful one, and along the way Erin and I stopped for a nap. The timing was perfect. Right after that I was able to carry on. Erin laughed at how easy it was for me to fall asleep. We climbed up mountains and were treated to the most spectacular views. It was wonderful. Even in our muddy-headed states it was so joyous.
We got in that night and the Dutch had prepared a special event for us to celebrate their Queen’s birthday. We toasted her with a horrible orange schnapps, and they handed out beer (a few of us passed on those). It was a quiet night for our little group who had, at least for the night, become social pariah. South Africa, though, is just around the corner.

Namibia Means Nobody

2009-10-21T14:50:00.000-07:00

Getting into Sesriem was nice. It meant getting to see some of the
world's largest dunes, and it also meant that I would be riding after
the rest day. Sesriem is the gateway to Sossusvlei. It is a tourist
set-up with overpriced campsites and lodges. Carola and Nick talked
the lodge into a cheaper price, so I shed my camping life for a day of
privacy. I didn't go back to camp once. The arguing about the road
conditions is pretty intense, with some going as far as to say that
"If you can't hack it, you shouldn't be here". I'm also just tired of
everyone. You burn out after a while. Nothing like a cozy bed with
meals included to help that.
I even signed on for a tour of the dunes through the hotel (from the
sounds of it, better than the one through TDA - it included lunch).
I've worked hard this whole way, and I feel without a little bit of
privacy I might crack. Dinner included wild game. I sampled zebra
and kudu, springbok and ostrich. I had enough little morsels of
formerly cute herbivores to make a vegetarian want to throw red paint
at me.
The sleek line snakes its way down the dune, ochre on one side, pitch
black on the other. A pilgrimage of tourists slog their way up to the
top. I followed. After dune 54, we went to big mama, across from big
papa. We were allowed to run down the side (any trace would be gone
by morning), and so I did. It was the best experience, bounding
through the pillow-like snow.
We went to Death Valley, which looks like a Gothic film-set.
Blackened trees spindle upwards looking like Lavinia, post-revenge.
The trees died thousands of years ago, but the hardened and cracked
clay formed a cement-like adhesion to the roots, not allowing bugs to
enter and start the process of decay.
We got stuck a few times on the way back. We played leap-frog with
other cars, all getting out and helping to push when someone else got
stuck. The only way in to Sossusvlei is along the sandy riverbed. We
did get out though, and i spent the afternoon swimming and eating.
On the following morning I rode. I can now personally attest to
having mixed feelings about Henry's decision to make us ride this
route. It is incredibly beautiful here. It is so beautiful that,
even though I had to walk much of the way since the sand got too deep
and the patches were too long, I still loved it. Occasionally I saw
an antelope. Zebra crossing signs were everywhere. There was an
absence of humans which made the scenery all the more impressive, but
at the same time it makes the country feel very empty. I looked out
at the antelope in the golden fields, once again realizing that
somewhere out there lurks a lion or two.
When I woke I took advantage of the hotel breakfast. I didn't race to
a start like everyone else. I'm tired of having to get up at the
crack of dawn and to hurry from point a to point b. My rash hasn't
entirely healed, and so I will take it easy, going at the pace I want,
focusing on not sweating. I took countless photos and played leapfrog
with Xiao, the Chinese Lonely Planet guy who suffered from flats all
day. He came in to lunch with Erin, who was on sweep. That surprised
me as I thought I had ditched sweep.
We got on the truck at lunch. It was packed. It was quite wonderful.
All the positive people were on the truck - the ones who had given in
to the fact that they can't keep pace with the hard cores, and are
quite happy with riding until they feel like they no longer can. We
chatted and laughed and told jokes. We kept tracking the ever
changing scenery with our shutters. Camp was another little roadside
lodge, similar to the one in Solitaire. I slept in my tent, though
the rooms were 10$ (compared to the non-reduced rate of 200$ in
Sesriem). The restaurant served amazing apple cake, and we sat on
lookouts watching the sunset eating Spaghetti Bolognaise. We seem to
be having this a lot more often. James hates cooking it, but
apparently it's good for the soul. Everyone is much happier after a
hearty Spag Bol.
I've seen almost every sunrise and sunset for four months. I think
that is one of my greater accomplishments in life.

It All Unravels

2009-10-20T17:18:00.000-07:00

I woke up from the first decent night’s sleep in a long time. The cream made a difference instantly. Erin and I cruised around town, checking out cool venues as we went. I turns out that the film fest is in town, so we decided to check out a few flicks tonight. The funky cabaret venue next door was unfortunately featuring an Afrikaans show, so we gave it a pass. We decided to completely avoid the crew, as both of us are feeling the need for space. Honestly, I think everyone is. It’s been a long trip.
We went to the Olive for lunch – had pastries and bought wine, chocolate, sun dried tomatoes, olives, and just about everything western we could think of that we had been missing. We found a t-shirt for James (the cook). A weird Japanese-like t-shirt with a jar of peanut butter hugging a jar of jam saying, “Let’s come together”. Heh heh. Every morning James is greeted by people complaining about daily breakfast of pb&j.
I ran into Peter on my way to my room, but didn’t tell him about Erin and my plans for the evening. The other annoying thing about small groups is gossip. Because we frequently bike together, we get along, and because he is male and I am female, we must be having an affair (we’re both in relationships back home). When I told Erin about not mentioning it to him, she said, “They’re terrible, aren’t they! Well forget them, we’re inviting him.” Too true!
We went out and saw two terrible movies. They were rife with propaganda about Namibia’s environmental program. It was boring. I fell asleep through the second one. Studio 77 itself was quite cool, with woodcuts on the wall which, when you first looked at them, appeared to be a bunch of hammers pounding into the earth. Upon closer inspection I realized that it was also men in suits. We were going to go to a club beside the studio space, but it was empty and the music sounded lame. And so we decided to go out for food. We got some Paella which was delicious. Neighbouring Algeria was once Portuguese. Thank goodness.
We thought about dancing, but vegging to movies and sleeping seemed to be the better alternative.
The following day was more of the same. It may not seem interesting to you, but we were beside ourselves with excitement! Smoked salmon! Blue cheese! Champagne! Erin and I has talked about going out to the movies, but then it wound up just being a night of vegging in front of the tele. We all met up at Peter’s for a picnic. We drank the two bottles of champagne (I didn’t care, I wasn’t allowed to ride for the next couple of days anyway), and ate, and ate, and ate. I then disappeared into my room and watched another movie and slept. Sometimes vegetation is all you need.
I woke the next morning to mixed emotions. We ere meant to have pavement, but it all turned out to be dirt with headwinds. Everyone came in looking very broken. I was glad that I didn’t ride through that, but at the same time, we’re so close to the finish that it’s painful to miss a single day.
Nick, Malcolm and Simon pulled in just as the truck was packing up. All of the cyclists had left. Alex was on sweep and she was angry. Nick was still drunk. That would mean a long day for her. Everyone’s coming down hard on Nick. I can understand sweep being angry, but not anyone else. It’s his ride; let him do it how he wants. It’s not like he’s ever in a bad mood, or that he is anything but the sweetest fellow to all of us. People are really just getting on each others nerves, I think. It’s time for this to be over.
I was the only one on the truck, which was great. I had on my flowy skirt with my black, spandex biking legwarmers, tank tops and arm warmers, looking very Madonna-esque. With no one on the truck I could let the window’s breeze do its work. Speaking of which, it’s freezing here. I can’t believe how cold it is. I though Africa was warm. Namibia in the fall is not. We kept having to stop to wait for Shanny and Paul. The truck crew was pissed at them because they were: “acting like the runabout is their own personal cruiser.” Looks like the riders aren’t the only ones sniping at each other.
Our rest stop was in Solitaire. We drove through the most beautiful mountain ranges on the way there. They looked like Southwestern mesas. Solitaire was pretty much a one-horse town. It was a truck stop, lodge, and gas station with the most famous apple crumble in Namibia. I walked into the pale pink building, past the large prickly-pear cacti (they stood about 7feet) and got what was the best apple crumble I had ever had.
We left Solitaire with a full truck. Everyone was cursing Henry. The original route through Namibia was on paved roads. Because there had been so much construction in Sudan, and we had had so much paved route where we were meant to have dirt, he changed the route. He did a quick scout in a 4x4 with his mother, and declared the roads amazing. He had no clue. The dirt roads are still corrugated, and now because we’ve changed routes we are no longer doing 80-100km on corrugation, but 150-170km. Even some of the off-roaders are pissed. It’s also causing a bit of infighting between the road-bikers and the off-roaders. “You DID sign up for an adventure, didn’t you?” Statements like these cause unnecessary rifts between people. My personal favourite “It was MEANT to be hard.” Actually, it was meant to be an adventure, but adventure doesn’t mean hating every minute of it. I got to distance myself from a lot of it, because I wouldn’t be riding until after Sossusvlei. Ten minutes after we left Solitaire we had to turn around and go back. More people couldn’t get any further. My heart went out especially to the EFIers (Every fabulous inch). They had to keep motoring, no matter how hard. Over half of the riders gave up today. The staff was worried. The roads weren’t about to get better, but they would be getting longer. Word has leaked from the staff that Henry is a terrible planner in general. We all seem to agree.
Fortunately, camp was wonderful. It was our last bush camp. Shanny met the farmer when he was out scouting, and he is intending to turn the place into a campsite. He brought us a ton of kindling so that we could have a campfire. It was wonderful. We drank hot chocolate, slept under the stars, and everyone stayed up later than usual.

There is a Fungus Among Us

2009-10-17T11:10:00.000-07:00

Two hundred and seven kilometers. I started my ride before daybreak.
The rash had kept me up all night, had been for a while, and so I felt
really disoriented. I started my ride with Hinchy (one of the
Kitchener crew - three retirees who do tons of adventures), Tom, the
most wonderful 18-year-old I have ever met, and Helen, our Lillipudian
Chief Inspector. I love Hinchy – he always has a joke. Helen was
doing poorly that day, though she’s usually tough as nails. She
started falling behind, so I told her to get behind me and I would
pull her. There was a headwind today and it was only going to get
worse. If she got through the morning she might get through the whole
day.
Psychologically, I sectioned the day off into five. It was 40km to
the right turn, 45km to lunch, 35km to the Coke stop, 45km to the
refreshment stop, 42km to the finish – border crossing at the end.
I pulled Helen to lunch, and then from there I caught a train – Mark,
Alex, Evelijn, Tom and Simon. We were doing between 36-40km/hr. Peter
and I pulled for quite some distance, pushing on beyond our turn right
into the coke stop. While I was in the washroom, the crew took off.
It was perfectly acceptable too do that, and if I were in better
shape, I might have even caught them. Peter later explained to me
that the way to catch up to people is to go one or two km above their
speed, so that you’re not killing yourself, and once you catch up to
them you can just take it down to their speed... it’ll take a while,
but you’ll catch up. I’ve never been able to catch anyone, but I like
the theory.
I rode with Peter for a while, and then Graham and Lone caught up to
us. I was near my breaking point. My rash was so painful. I decided
that I would hitch into Windhoek the following day and go to the
hospital. I couldn’t ride like that anymore. Nothing the nurses gave
me was working. Erin would be in Windhoek already, as she was going
ahead with Sharita, who had caught Malaria.
I stopped at the side of the road and Graham and Peter talked me into
getting on the truck. I sat for a while, and then a train came by.
Helen was in it, and she let me know that Eric was doing sweep. I let
them go, but tried to figure out what I was going to do. There was no
way I could spend more than five minutes with that arrogant jerk. I
decided to ride to the refresh, and if I could hitch a ride I would.
A few transport trucks passed, but no one who could take me. I
watched as the little side road markers clicked by. Little white
posts that told you every .2km you had gone. It was enough to make
someone batty. When I got to the refresh, the train was still there,
and so I asked if they could wait so that I could join them. By that
point I decided that I would carry on through. It was such a big day
for everyone, I couldn’t jump on the truck, no matter how bad my
thighs were burning.
We rode a decent pace – about 25km/hr. We stopped frequently. And we
got in. It was wonderful.
Everyone finished, minus Simon, who has diabetes and had a bit of an
attack. He seemed really down about not finishing. There were huge
rounds of applause as Texas John and Ernest came in – our two oldest –
72 and 69. The spirit in camp was great, and there was spag bol for
dinner – everyone’s favourite. I’m not a big spaghetti person, but
for some reason on this trip it truly tastes like mana from heaven.
I set up camp on the grassy grounds that were covered in beetles the
size of my fist. The bottom of my tent was alive with themovements of
them underneath. If it wasn’t the beetles, it was the corn crickets.
The next morning I woke up and got my stuff together to go to
Windhoek. I would take the truck until the first major town, wherfe
apparently it becomes easy to hitch from. I spoke with Shanny about
Eric. He said that Eric had already spoken to him, and that he had
intended to have a talk with me, as it is unacceptable to have anyone
swearing at his staff. I apologized for that, and then he said he
would speak with Eric. I went over to Eric and apologized for
swearing at him in front of everyone, but that I meant what I had
said. He said “Yeah, you shouldn’t have said that.” No apologies. I
started to wish that maybe one of those crazy Tanzanian drivers would
make it into Namibia and take him out. Then I decided that he wasn’t
worth thinking about.
I caught a lift from a truck driver, and laughed at all of the deer
crossing signs, but instead of deer they were alerting us to warthogs.
They cut the grass in Namibia back 500m so that you can see when the
animals are running for the road. Indeed, we did see a few warthogs
running for the road. All of Namibia is fenced in. It was all
partitioned off to farmers a long time ago. Mostly white farmers.
The landscape went from Botswana flat to hilly and gorgeous. Red
rocks and greenery. Windhoek is the first real city I’d seen in ages.
the fellow dropped me off in front of a bike shop (total
coincidence), and charged me five bucks for the lift. I went into a
coffee shop, had spaetzle – so German, and made my way to the hotel.
It was nice to be really and truly alone. I sat in the room, watched
a movie on the tele, and headed to a hospital. The funny thing was
that normally I would feel incredibly guilty for sitting inside on a
beautiful day. That disappears when you spend all day every day
outdoors. Not that I would want to do more than a day of it, but it
was nice for a treat.
I went to the Rhino Private Clinic – listed in the Lonely Planet.
They stared at me as if I had a second head, and then sent me to the
Roman Catholic hospital, where I had to go to the Casualties
Department – the Namibian way of saying Emergency Ward. I was so
lucky. My doctor was a cyclist who had ridden from Windhoek to Cape
Town. When he did it it had rained the whole way, so he recognized it
for what it was – I was moldy. Heh heh.
My prescription: “Knickers off, loose skirts, legs apart, and apply
this cream.” Mom would be proud. After a million questions about the
tour, he had one of the nurses escort me to the nearest pharmacy, out
of the building and down the block.
I went to Klein Windhoek, where the best restaurants are, had dinner -
I almost ordered a bottle of wine, and then discovered that what they
charge for a bottle is what they charge for a glass in Canada – and by
the time got back to the hotel, Erin and Sharita were just getting
back to their room. We made relaxed plans for the next day. Erin and
I. Sharita looked like death warmed over. Thank god I never caught
malaria.

San Afrisco

2009-09-23T12:29:00.001-07:00

The rest day in Maun was a nice one. I missed out on doing the paddle tour of the Okavanga Delta. I was too wiped from the previous day’s ride. I just wanted a day of vegetation, and to get some errands done. When people miss things on the tour, the common thing is to say to them: “Well, you need something to come back for.” I like that. I know that I will come back to Africa some day.
The joy in Maun was that the ATM worked. I took out a large sum, even though we would be in Namibia in a couple of days. I just wanted to be sure that I at least had something to exchange.
The next day I started my ride with Evelijn. We chatted the whole way, keeping our minds off of the repetitive scenery. As we approached lunch, I realized that Eric was on sweep. I started to gripe about him – I have no idea why, but the man hates me. He is always making racist comments about natives to me, he makes fun of my riding, and every day he says to me “Are you going on the truck today? Why aren’t you on the truck today? Wow, you’re not crying today. You should toughen up. You should get in shape!” I’m not the only one he’s said this stuff to. The shitty thing is he’s staff. I’m actually paying him to treat me like shit. After venting to Evelijn, I rode in, made up my sandwich, and as I was eating, Eric turned to me and said “Are you going to get on the truck today?” I told him to f___ off, and we proceeded to gat into a heated discussion. I realized this was ridiculous, jumped on my bike and sped off.
I was so angry, and then I saw the turn-off for the San museum. Eric, the hurtin’ Albertan, disappeared from my thoughts, and I was brought back to first year university, where my big dream was to go into Linguistic Anthropology and study the San people. Said to be the oldest tribe in Africa, the San look incredibly Asian, only with very large bottoms – the kind you could set a drink on. The people’s faces reminded me of Vietnamese people. The museum told that Asian groups moved into Africa and populated the continent from there. Interesting. Everyone I talk to has a different story on what is the currently accepted “Cradle of Humanity”. I would tend to believe Asia over Africa, but then again, I’m just another voice.
John was at the museum, and as we sat about having a cold juice and looking at the corn crickets (absolutely THE ugliest insect on the planet), he turned to me and said: “You know who I can’t stand? Eric. I just had this big argument at lunch with him again because he once again started telling me how shit Americans are.”
Well, at least it wasn’t just me.
I rode the rest of the way with Mara, the Lonely Planet writer for Russia. It’s been fun practicing my Russian with her. I ditched her at the end to go into town and get myself strawberry shortcake though. By the end of the trip, new friendships come second to food. And everything comes second to strawberry shortcake. The funny thing was, coming into town, every building had a solar panel on it. Solar panels are everywhere in Africa, but nothing compares to how many are in Botswana.
At dinner they announced that the time trial the next day would be a World Team time trial. Because there are so many Canadians on the race, we were split into seniors and juniors, and because some countries are so much stronger than the rest (South Africa, and then a tie between Britain and Holland), there would be handicaps. There were a ton of additional tasks that had to be done so that even the slow riders didn’t feel left out.
The next morning was a flurry of entertainment, with people having to swap clothes, sing national anthems, pick wildflowers, race, and take funny pictures. For our group shot we staged an accident. It had a double benefit in that team Canada senior stopped to help us! heh heh. The best picture contest was won by the senior canucks, for a photo titled “Three Asses.” Two donkeys and Ernest’s full moon! (Ernest is our resident 69 year-old, and one of my favourite riders).
The one casualty of the contest was Peter (the young)… he lost his EFI because his drive train seized during the race. The lunch truck passed, but since everyone was riding there was no one to give him a bike. He missed out on 10km of the whole trip. Poor guy.
I rode with him in the afternoon. We played road games to keep our minds off of how boring the ride was. We named every country beginning with every letter in the alphabet, and promptly discovered just how poor our African geography was.
The following day we were to do the 207km. It also ended in the Namibian border. No one was sure if the border had a closing time, though rumours were circulating, since the only maps we had said the border closed at 6pm. I decided to get a room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with my tent or my locker. We would be hitting the road an hour earlier the next day. Imagine riding your bike for 200km starting at 5am. It didn’t even sound pleasant to me.

Planet Baobob

2009-09-18T11:32:00.000-07:00

This morning I rode for a bit, but then when the truck passed, I got on. The rash on the inside of my legs is getting larger, and every pedal is agony. We passed three giraffes on the truck, and then where we were meant to have lunch we saw a poached elephant. It’s head was cut off – people buy the skulls for decoration. In Sudan you couldn’t smell the trains of dead camels on the roadside as the desert dessicated them, but here in Botswana the tropical heat encourages life in all odours, and it smelled for kilometers. After lunch I started riding again. It hurt, but the wind was not too bad, and the scenery was something else. As I rode I brushed my hand through the pink, bushy-topped grass. Ahead of me a car was stopped
by an elephant. I kept my distance, but zoomed in with my camera. I dodged the fuzzy caterpillars, lizards and millipedes that covered the road, knowing that the first vehicle through would take them out by the thousands.
I passed the Foot and Mouth checkpoint. We ran our tires through a disinfectant, wiped our shoes off on the chemical mat, and passed through. The truck had to hide the meat on it, as any meat gets confiscated at the checkpoint. In Nata I found the fellows who had done two days in one. They were relaxing by the pool with a beer. We stayed there, swimming and drinking, until dinner time at the camp.
The following morning was meant to be 130km, but I only did 100. Not because I jumped on the truck, but because we stopped at this crazy little place called Planet Baobob. For those who don’t know, Baobobs are typical African trees, and they are also some of the largest in the world. This particular hotel had one in the back about the size of a large mansion.
I got up in the morning and off to an early start with Erin. We did bike yoga on the way – put your ankle on the cross-bar of your bike and push your knee down to open your hips. The arms stretches are easy, though in the freezing cold morning air they burn. Erin and I keep a great pace together. Plus we chat the whole way, so it makes the ride a lot more interesting. When the dinner truck passed she got
on, as she had her duties to attend to, but we got a fair distance before it caught up with us. Afterwards I was passed by tons of bikes. My moral is low. I feel
like everyone is getting stronger and I’m weakening. My mood was switched around by lunch, where instead of the usual – cucumber/tomato/cheese, tuna or egg salad (they go on rotation) – they had prepared omelette sandwiches for us.
We rode the next 10-20km to Planet Baobob, a hotel marked by a 30 foot sculptural termite mound with a planet on top, covered in baobobs. Across the road is a gigantic ardvark. A few of the riders actually missed this.
We stopped for a quick break. The place was styled in 60’s African décor. Archival posters, covers from a famousAfrican magazine, an old Jetson-style screenprint advertizing L’afrique Noire, beautiful carved masks being used as lampshades along the building. We sat in circular cow-hide upholstered basket chairs drinking tea and eating chocolate cake. We looked on the pool with envy and went out to discover the 4000-year-old baobob tree (they grow a meter in diameter for every year). There were hammocks. John and I took them over, and were shortly joined by Simon. That’s where our plan started. If the others could do a double header, surely we could add 30km to our trip. It would mean riding just over 210 tomorrow, but we’re riding into a rest day. Surely we can do that. Both of us had ridden those distances before, and with a tailwind like today? We could probably get it done in 6hours. Surely we could.
Back in the restaurant we were greeted by the sweep. Alex, the nurse, thought it was a great idea. Paul and Eric discouraged it. They kept harping on how there would be no rest stop for us the next day. Or lunch. Or anything. In the end they had no real say. We stayed. The room was a funky little mud hut with two twin beds on either side. There were even towels! There was a little dining table in between
with a water jug and glasses, and on the back wall there was the smooth, rounded mud-shelving, made at the same time as they made the walls of the hut, with tin-plates hand-painted with red flowers. The cabin was just like the ones we had seen with the witch-doctor, though the shower and toilet were en-suite. We swam in our bike shorts, and sat up with some overlanders, drinking cheap wine by the campfire. We snoozed under the baobob, and just had an amazing day away from the crew.
The next morning we started the long trek to Maun. It was meant to be 210km, but by the time we finished it was well beyond that. We got up, had a massive, English-style breakfast, and went to the store 10km away from our hotel. Their only stock consisted of white bread, animal crackers, pop and water. We bought a loaf, a bag of cookies, 12 litres of water and two gingerales. The ride was excruciating. We had a headwind the whole day. There was nothing to see. Field after endless field. Not a single animal.
I was unhappy. John and I started singing tunes from the 90s. Only the baddest of the worst. That made our journey that much easier. My sugar level had fully depleted by the time we got to town. On the road we realized that we had no idea where camp was. We got into the city and saw a white man on a bike. We thought he was one of ours, but were wrong. He had seen our crew up by the Croc Farm Lodge. We
went to all of the lodges in that area. Then I emailed Toronto while John called all of the other lodges in town. He got the right one, we ordered a cab, and within half an hour we were sitting poolside, eating buffet, and shortly thereafter sleeping in our tents. Everyone else stayed up and partied, but I just wanted to be unconscious.

There Is No Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency

2009-09-15T10:18:00.000-07:00

What to do with two days off? This was our second and last rest day. Since there was no possibility of rafting, I signed up for kayaking. Peter joined me in that, and it was our guide, two regular tourists and us. I felt bad for the guide. The others on the tour were an overweight Frenchman and his girlfriend who was, let’s just say “very delicate”. For every three of our paddles they took ten. The guide was having a rough go of keeping us together.
We rode past hippos, keeping quiet so that they wouldn’t charge us. Occasionally we slapped the paddle in the water to alert them to our presence. We didn’t want one to accidentally approach us. Birds flew overhead, and we drifted down the Zambezi, between Zambia and Zimbabwe. It turned out the others were only there for the half-day, and so after lunch we were on our own. We rode on and realized that they time the whole trip for relaxed tourists, and so after a few times of our guide catching up to us, getting us to slow down, we chilled out and barely paddled the rest of the way. The closer we got to the falls, the faster the river anyhow. We drifted past elephants grazing. The guide told us of how animals sometimes get caught in the current and get pulled over the falls. He and many others once dragged out a hippo and feasted on it afterwards. We went past the tourist area and he told us that last week, because of the height of the river (it was at the highest point on record in ages), one of the big paddle wheelers came off its moorage (I didn’t quite understand how), and then started drifting down the river. Someone saw it and they jumped in a motorboat and chased it down the river, managing to get it tied onto their boat. Unfortunately the rope snapped and the boat went over the falls.
Our guide also told us stories of Gnami-Gnami, the river god. In the ‘50’s they built a dam, but Gnami-gnami got angry because his wife was on the other side, and so he destroyed the dam to be with her. When they rebuilt the dam years later it lasted, because Gnami-Gnami had rejoined his wife on the other side.
The next morning was very exciting! The start of our penultimate stage. BOTSWANA!
It was an easy day. Only 80km, a few hills, some headwinds, but such a short day that it was barely noticeable. We had to cross on a ferry, and the line-up of trucks was unbelievable. Trucks have to wait for up to a week to get across the border. Fortunately overlanders get priority (they pay dearly for the privilege), and so our trucks flitted past all of the frustrated truckers, the ones who hadn’t gone off to visit their local prostitutes.
As you cross the border you can pick up handfuls of free condoms for customs. It is estimated that around 50% of children in Botswana are born with AIDS. It’s also one of the richest countries and most stable countries in Africa, thanks to their post-colonial discovery of diamonds. Its dollar is doing better than the South African Rand. We were shocked to see streetlights.
Most of us signed up for an evening sea-fari, where we glided down the river watching hippos, kudus, oryxes and many other antelope-like creatures, and then we sat back and watched an elephant bathing and eating, just meters in front of us. The sunset was beautiful, and we went to sleep listening to the sound of elephants, hippos and hyenas. Some brave souls in our group were headed off the next day to do a double-header. 310km! They’re nuts.
The human ones in our group woke up the next morning to a simple 160km ride. It was incredibly beautiful, but they had lied about the tailwinds. I rode the first half alone. A troupe of baboons crossed the road in front of me. No matter how many times this happens, I’ve never gotten jaded to it. It’s so beautiful to see them nudging along their young, slightly resembling school patrollers. To my right I heard a branch snap. An elephant was eating breakfast. That put me on alert for the rest of the day, but until lunch the only animals I saw were vultures. Paul caught up to me at one point. I had to laugh because the night before he had lectured us all on the dangers of elephants. “Do not approach them, do not take any pictures if you happen upon them at the roadside.” Those were his words last night, but this morning he came up to me telling me that he had had a pretty huge adventure. He passed by three elephants, right on the side of the road. He, of course, pulled out his camera, and the minute he got the elephants in the frame, the bull’s ears started to rustle. He knew to get out of there, but it was to late, the elephant, and then mama and kid started to charge him. He was scared, but at the same time was exhilarated by how cool it was, and started trying to take picks over his shoulder. When he almost lost control, he realized what a stupid mistake he was making, put the camera in his pocket, and jetted.
I rode through the tall grasses, looked at the distant acacia trees which converged miles ahead into a forest, and then diverged once again into tall grass fields. When in the grass fields I thought about what great lion territory this was, and when in the acacia trees I thought of what great leopard terrain it was. Millipedes and beetles covered the road, and I would see the occasional flattened snake, though nowhere near the amount I saw in Zambia.
I crossed into fields of millet, ripe red millet on the right, fresh green millet on the left, making everything look like an impressionist painting.
After lunch I joined up with John. We chatted for ages, until we heard a crack on our left. It was a giraffe that we startled. It ran with us for quite a while, feet first and then the waving rebound of its neck.
We stopped for a “coke stop” which have now, thankfully, turned into juice stops. Not the wonderful Ethiopian style juice, but juice in cans. Since we have returned to “civilization” coke comes in far-too-huge bottles (NAmerican size), out of plastic, not glass, and juice is available in cans, not fresh squeezed. I visited with Ernest, and he told me about his third wife, who’s ashes he scattered at Victoria Falls. When he and his ex-girlfriend broke up, they threw a singles dinner. It was a five-course meal, and everyone was set up in couples to make one of the courses together. After a few platonic dates with the woman he was set up with, he realized he was in love with her. “In my relationship with her I could have spent an hour, an afternoon, a month or a year with her and it would never be too much.”
After Zambia there seem to be a lot of complaints about it being too boring here, but I find it to be so beautiful.

Fly Me to the Moon

2009-09-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

We went for a174km today. The distances are getting harder not physically but mentally. Zambia is filled with the sight of tall grass and dead corn. Every once in a while we’ll pass a tobacco plantation for interest. So the days are spent with thoughts of home, thoughts of stories, and thoughts of Rob. He left me with a few things to worry about on the last email, and small worries become obsessions which travel into a thousand different outcomes. Good outcomes are breezed over, since negative outcomes mean getting to strategize and think out ways to deal with the negatives. It’s all about killing time. And the pedals turn round and round.
The fact that we are right in the middle of the hump is obvious. People are antsy. Talk about home has already started and there are such mixed emotions everywhere. With this much time on our hands, all we can think about is the things we are inspired to do when we return. People talk about how when you return you are quickly reinstated into the hum-drum of the day-to-day, but it’s not entirely true. Trips like these inspire a billion ideas, and generally you wind up following through with at least one or two. So there is excitement at the idea of getting to start on it.
We reached Choma, a little town with a museum dedicated to the Tonga people. It was very small, but I picked up a few souvenirs and learned about the cultural structure of the tribe. I then found internet and found out that all of my worries were for nothing, and that life back home was indeed going on without me.
In the evening I chatted with Henry, the man who started the TDA. He was from the former Tchekoslovakia, and had worked since he was very young, starting out as a sheppard in Isreal. He co-founded CPAR (an aid organization) with another doctor, his own background being in engineering, and then moved on to other NGOs in Africa and the Middle East. At some point he dabbled in film making, and then started on the idea of making cheap, durable bikes for Africans. He partnered with another man who then backed out when he realized that it wasn’t going to mean instant profit. What did remain of that idea was the promotional strategy they had. They were going to have people ride the bikes across Africa in the world’s longest race. In the end, it morphed into the Tour d’Afrique. Our camp that night was a small dirt road that ran parallel to the highway, but fortunately there weren’t many cars driving through the night.
The next morning we had a short 164 km to get to Livingstone, where we would have two rest days in a row. The ride was awful. the morning was uphill with a headwind. I have a rash on the inside of my thighs which is spreading daily, and the pain from that is increasing. I’ve lost feeling in my right hand. It works mainly as a blunt instrument, but I am having a hard time doing things like using pens. Today my head was filled with thoughts of things that annoy me back home.
After lunch was construction, and where everyone else seemed to have been able to dodge back onto the paved road, people kept stopping me and sending me back onto the alternative road – a dodgy, corrugated, dirt road. It was hell. I got back onto the main roads when the lunch truck passed, but it was hot with countless potholes and another 80km to go. They thought there were water stops, but there weren’t.
People were in agony. Many of us ran out of water, myself included. Everyone got pissed off at the staff when we got in. I was glad that I was only one voice in the many. In the evening most left for the booze cruise, but I was far more interested in seeing the moonlight waterfalls at Victoria Falls. It only happens on the full moon, and they open the falls for three evenings. It was amazing. The falls are also fuller than they have been in a long time. all of the South African were amazed at their power – normally they had only seen them at a trickle. Some people were upset because the flooding meant that there would be no rafting. I was originally, but then I opted to go up in an ultralight to see the falls from above.
At first I started off over the nature reserve, seeing hippos, giraffes and elephants from above. the whole valley was filled with water, and entire islands were sunk. Suddenly the river falls off the edge of the world into a snaking canyon that goes on for ever. The Victoria falls need to be seen from above to admire their true magnificence. The nicest thing about an ultra-light is the sheer
exposure. You have the seat you are in, and a few mechanisms around you, but basically it feels like you are out there flying on your own. I would have loved to have been up there for hours, but 15 minutes seemed like an eternity.
The rest of the day was far more normal. I went to a mall, did internet, had lunch, and then a marching band showed up with American-style cheerleaders, which lead into tribal dancers who had the same feel as American Fancy-Dancers, dressed in their loincloths and sparkly plastic beads. It resulted in dancing and drumming in the
parking lot. I partnered up with Peter for day off food (now that we were hitting more westernized area, this was becoming more easy and restaurant food was becoming more expensive). The rest of the day was filled with pool lounging and chatting.

Face to Face with the Black Doctor!

2009-08-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

I decided to take the scavenger hunt seriously, which meant that I had
to find one of the real challenges: a snake stone. First I had to
find out what it was. Apparently it is a stone that you rub on your
skin if you’ve been bitten by a snake. Where to find it? The only
place I coud think of was at a witch doctor’s. So my big quest of the
day was to find a witch doctor. We came across a sign that said:
Welcome
Face to Face
With the Black Doctor.
Dr. Mushasweni
I knew I had found my man.
We rode down the dirt road: Dave, Nate, Claire and Jolie-Ann were at
my side, and we came across a ton of mud huts, women working, kds
playing, and endless livestock. It turns out that the great Dr.
Mushasweni was an 80-year-old doctor who specialized in local
medicines and surgeries, but was not a witch doctor. I’m not certain
where the difference lay. We learned all about him as his wives
served us tea and bread with honey. He looked to be in his
mid-fifties, had five wives, four mistresses and 62 children. The
village around us were all his family. Nate asked what his secret
was. He said he planted lots of maize. I think that code for sowing
his seed.
Riding with the Lonely Planet guys was great fun. We had managed to
ditch sweep in the morning, and wanted to do the same in the
afternoon, especially since it was Eric – the most reprehensible guy
on tour. When we saw a cute little beer garden, we veered off. The
fellas contemplated getting a haircut. Cartoon pictures were drawn on
the outside wall of the barbershop, with the names of the different
cuts. We had almost convinced Nate to get “The Potato”. It turned
out that was a full head shave.
When we got into camp (our rest day) I was fully depleted. My blood
sugar had dropped, and none of us noticed as we almost zipped right
past the camp. Nate actually had to go and catch David. I headed off
to the mall and actually was able to get money out ofa bank machine.
it was our first mall since Sudan, and the fact that there was a movie
theatre was very exciting. That night I went out to dinner with
everyone – I had walnut and blue cheese salad and steak with gruyere
cheese and mushroom sauce, and a really lovely wine. It was the most
exciting meal I’d had in ages. It was for all of us. We went out to
some clubs with painfully bad music, and went to bed late.
When I woke in the morning I ran into a still-drunk Nick. I helped
him get to the mall (he had sprained his ankle the night before). I
filled him with breakfast and water, and we went to a movie together.
I got him even more water. Siobhan was being quite mean to him. It’s
strange, she’s taken to acting like a nagging mother, though they’re
only about 5 years apart. I figure that it’s his life, and he’s
managing to ride every day, and is always pleasant. Letters from home
got me down, and I spent the rest of the day chilling out, reading and
doing not much of anything.
On the next morning we headed off to Mazabuka. It was only 158 km. I
got off to a bad start. They moved the wake-up time by a half-hour,
and I thought it was a full hour, so I woke up when it was still dark.
At first I couldn’t find my watch, so I grabbed my headlamp and the
batteries were dead, so I grabbed my camera and used the light from
the display to find my watch, and then noticed that my watch batteries
were dead, so I grabbed my broken odometer which was only good for the
clock on it to see what the time was. Welcome to Africa. I got out
of my tent, packed everything, walked ten paces and fell into a hole,
twisting my ankle. It wasn’t a serious twist, but it was painful
enough that after 30km I jumped on the truck. Cars veered to try to
push us off of the road, and the tall grass on either side of the road
provided a double hindrance. First, it didn’t let you see any of the
views (or possible predators), and second, it got into your shorts
when you stopped to pee. I hate tall grass.
We stayed at the Honeymoon Camp. I set up a time-lapse from the top of
the truck since I was there early. They had newly opened a bar there,
so that night we got to hear endless motorcycles coming in, and the
occasional brawl.

I Pity Da Fool!

2009-08-22T08:43:00.000-07:00

Leaving Nkhotakota was hard. Getting back onto the bike after beach life is not easy. Fortunately we were headed into a rest day. My credit card didn’t work at first. It turned out that when they called in to have it approved they had a bad connection, so rather than saying ‘Please call back’, the fellow simply declined the card. Fortunately, the woman at the desk was used to this, so she tried again. The bad thing was that we found out that Erin’s wallet had been stolen when she went to look for her card. It must have been when we were doing yoga. We had been lulled into a false sense of security, and while my stuff was still locked in the safe, hers was accessible to anyone who went into our room. The only time that could have been was when we were on the little strip of beach in front of our room. After many searches and much frustration, the manager would not even bring us to the police to report it stolen. Unless we paid 30$. Jerk.

We wound up hitching a lift to the road where we caught a metatu – a van with 10 seats which they managed to cram 21 people into. We drove to the flooding which had prevented the riders from going that route. It was easy enough to walk across – we went down a ways through a field and then crossed where the flood became a trickle, but there was quite a string of vehicles waiting to shuttle people back and forth. It had never been that the bikes couldn’t get across, it was just that our trucks couldn’t. Too bad for them.

We switched into a new Metatu, and bought freshly dug-up peanuts and ladyfinger bananas through the windows. We didn’t get to eat anything proper until we got into Lilongwe, where we ate terrible beans and rice, wiping away all of our good memories of the dish.

The road to the city had been hot and sweaty. Erin had the ticket-taker squashed into her lap, and I had a metal rod jabbing into me the whole way, but we made it, and as soon as we got into town we were lucky enough to see some of the riders walking around. After getting to camp, I set about picking up money from the Western Union. Between charges on Rob’s end, charges on my end, and the exchange rate, I wound up losing about 300$, and would then lose even more the following day when I tried to trade it for American. Gah. The city was agog with the rush of Madonna-fever, locals wearing t-shirts with ‘Adopt Me!’ written on the front. Paparrazzi were everywhere.

In the evening I caught up with Erin. She and I had been plotting for April Fool’s. We decided we were going to pull a few pranks. And then Ted joined in. I forced him to swap the contents of Bruce and Tim’s lockers with me – the two are best friends who came together on the trip and are virtually inseparable. While I was in the washroom, he chatted with Erin, and convinced her that we should turn around everyone’s seats. I was dead-set against that one, but after a while I got swayed into being devious. It was also very exciting. People were asleep in their tents, and we were turning their seats around virtually inches from where their heads were. When we finished with that little prank, Peter joined us... basically, he caught us, so we let him in on what was going on. There were a few people’s tents who we tied the flies shut on, so they would have to crawl or pull their pins to get out in the morning. And then the toilet paper! We had to use the bright pink toilet paper on the Canuck school teachers’ tents. We wrote up that there had been flooding on the Zambian border crossing, and to see Shanny (tour director) for more info. We moved all the cooking supplies into the chair storage and vice-versa. We decorated the trucks. The piece-de-resistance, though, were Bruce and Tim’s tents, which we unpegged, swapped positions, and then watched as they, totally drunk, got really confused when they went to bed. The funniest was that they had been sitting not so far away from their tents when we did it.

I woke up after only three hours sleep. I was like a kid at Christmas. It took everyone about a half hour to figure out it was us. Apparently our faces gave us away. I don’t know how. I guess neither of us can lie. They didn’t catch Ted or Peter, though. Now I know never to trust those two.

I spent the afternoon swapping my three inch thick wad of Malawian cash for American. I figured I’d get Zambian at the border with the rest. Big mistake. The funny thing was that in the hunt for money I was turned down at every foreign exchange. I wound up getting piecemeal bits – a fifty here, a twenty there. Africa is not investing in American money until the financial crash starts taking an upturn. At least, that’s what the bankers are saying.

I went to dinner with Peter that night, and we shared in a few bottles of wine, making the following day’s ride look like a nightmare. We were incredibly intoxicated on the way home. So much so that a sympathetic local stopped to give us a lift.

I woke up in the morning with a head as heavy as a stone. The ride was nice, though the headwinds made it tough. The scenery hasn’t changed much in a while, so people are starting to complain. Every time they complain, all I can think is, shit, we’re riding in Zambia. The same sparse trees dot the mountainside, and you can see much of the surroundings because the tall grass is all around us. It whistles softly as we ride by. And we’re riding in Zambia.

The border crossing into the country actually came at about 30km away from the end of the day. I was so hungry – the pangs of post-hangover munchies, but as there was no exchange at the border, I was stuck waiting until we got into town. Grey took over the sky just as we were getting in, and the minute we walked into the Forex, the skies opened up. Sheets of water came down. By the time we exchanged money, it had slackened off, and once we got to camp it was gone entirely. Since we had showers, I washed my clothes. Throw everything in a bucket and stomp on it while getting myself clean, then take it out of the shower and rinse until the water is no longer murky brown. It’s never really clear at the end, but I like to call it ‘Clean enough’.

I hung everything up to dry, and ten minutes later the rains came again. A final rinse.

I was happy to know that I was not the only one suffering on the ride that day. If Peter was hungover, he didn’t show it, but Nick had also gone out that night, and he was a wreck. Because he still had his EFI status, Tarin and Allan went over to the hotel where he was staying, put him in a cab and got him back to camp. Meanwhile, folk had taken down his tent and thrown his stuff on the truck. It was a mix of people helping him out and people being angry at him because he was, as they called it, being irresponsible. I think he’s been looking at the ‘EFI status’ as a bit of a curse for a while now, as he keeps trying to lose it and people keep pushing him back on course. I laughed at a few people who felt the need to lecture him. I’m glad I had time off from the group.

Living Yoga, I Presume

2009-08-20T15:38:00.000-07:00

What is the first thing you do on a holiday? Sleep in. We did. Until 6:15. After months of waking up at 4:30 – 5:30, it was wonderful. And the rest of the day? Yoga! Hot showers! Omelette Breakfast! Adventures in town! Food, food and more food.

The breakaway from the group was exactly what I wanted. There were no schedules to be followed, and we even had a fighting chance of seeing the pace of life in one place. Maybe even talk to someone local. This trip is nothing like my other trips. I definitely notice the change of pace. It feels more like I´m watching a movie, rather than really getting to know any one place.

During yoga I felt everything that I had been doing to my body for the past couple of months. Bends which used to be so easy were now impossible. Slowly everything started opening up, and by the end I felt a million times better. A swim in the warm lake just made it that much better.

At breakfast we chatted with two Scottish fellows. They were father and son, though the father confessed that the few months of his son`s visit were the longest they had ever spent together. For decades now, the father had been coming to Malawi to set up special projects to help the locals. He had originally come to help in a local clinic, but when the local people started approaching him with questions on how to improve parts of their lives, he became an intermediary for them. One of his current projects with them has been to bring a boat over from Scotland, rebuild it in Malawi, and then have it transport medicinal supplies to all of the villages along Lake Malawi, since most of these have no access to roads. Two local engineers were sent to Scotland to learn how to do the reconstruction from engineers there. His son, an architect, is in constant contact with his dad, so that whenever there is a question of having something built, he comes up with an answer. Even building toilets is not as easy as it might seem. At some point we got on the topic of all the people we had seen at the side of the road, whose jobs were to break big rocks into gravel by hand. He said the worst thing he ever had to do was send a shipment of gravel back to have it broken into smaller pieces. Life is not easy here.

Around lunch we chatted with some Norwegians. They were stationed here to help out with the fishing industry, but half a year later were still unsure of what their task was. The wife of one of the men came over to live with him, and she was brought on to a local hospital (being a nurse), but since they hadn`t gotten permission as of yet from the local government for her to work there as a foreigner, she was given a local salary allowance. She was currently in pediatrics, and saw over 60 patients a day.

The Norwegians gave us a lift into town, and we got to use some of the fastest internet we`d seen in months. The Norwegians laughed, saying that it was the slowest they had ever used. It`s all perspective. They tipped us off to a local beans and rice place, which was good since the hotel was very pricey in regards to food. We checked out the local supermarkets, but all you could buy were cookies, soap, milk, meat, alcohol, chips and water. Veggies were available on the roadside – local women sold them for pennies. I guess the locals buy their grains from the bulk stores.

We hopped onto a local truck – pickups wait at the edge of town and will load up with hitchhikers to pay for their gas and vehicles. With so many stops and starts and waits for more people, it took forever for us to get going, and with all of the stops at local villages to pick up more people, we didn´t get to the hotel until the sun had gone down, which meant we got to take the long, 4 km walk to the hotel in the dark. A local drunk on a bike wandered with us until he realized we were walking faster than him. He then got on his bike and kept ahead of us, but then his bike kept breaking down and he kept falling behind. He seemed very frustrated at having two women move faster than him, but we were glad for every moment that he fell behind. Finally the rival lodge owner drove by, picked us up and brought us down to our lodge.

We got in and I grabbed a quick shower before we headed to dinner. I heard someone come to the door. It was giggler. Erin answered the door, and he burst out in giggles and eventually got enough control to be able to hold up the menus.

`You want us to come to dinner?`

More laughter and a nod.

`We´ll be there in half an hour, is that okay?`

Even more laughter and a nod.

James is great. He´s been teaching us Chichewa. And we can´t see him without breaking out into a smile. Mind you, he can´t see us without breaking out into great peals of laughter.

The following day we woke up and had a really long yoga session. It´s great to do yoga with Erin. We have basically the same start, and then go into our own poses, each one reminding each other of poses we like but might not have done for a while.

Our Scottish friends were at breakfast and offered us a lift into town where we could get our beans and rice, as well as supplies for the hitch the next day. He had visited the old slave trading village the day before. He told us about Livingstone, who had come over to Africa and was appalled by the slave trade of the day. He was only one voice of many of that time, but he was the only one who had seen the trade first-hand, so he became the voice everyone listened to. On the west coast, the slaves were being shipped-off to America, and on the east coast they were headed to the Arabic countries. Headmen of villages would sell off their villagers for a handful of salt in some cases. Life was cheap. I suppose it still is. When Livingston died, they put him in Westminster Abbey, and when they were going to erect a monument for him, they decided instead to put the money into missions to help with infrastructure so that the villages would have an income independent of slavery. So many good intentions. Up until now, all I´ve known about Livingstone were my own presumptions.

After breakfasting on beans and rice and then a grocery-shop that consisted of avocados, chips and water, we headed back to the lodge quite early, having learned from yesterday´s mistake. We got a lift from a boisterous local woman, one who I felt quite justified in giving the local greeting of ´mama´ to- greetings change between mama and sistah for people here. She owned a local lodge that had a real grandmotherly feel to it. We suddenly wished we had stayed there to support her instead of some British fellow who didn´t even live in that village. Hindsight. We walked from her lodge to ours, along beautiful white and black sand beaches. We watched fishers out getting their day´s haul, and young fishers sitting in rows of three, heaving in the nets. Some men were tarring the bottoms of their boats, others were fixing their nets.

We had dinner, chatting over wine about trees, fair salaries, and whether or not to have dessert. The answer to the last was the most obvious. We went for a long walk, talking to locals along the way. They were all out waiting along the beach to buy that evening´s meal from the fishers. We played games with the kids who followed us. In the evening we sat on the porch writing in our journals and reading until the bugs got to be too much. In three days we´d had ten hot showers each – with the general argument that it might improve our chances against bilharzia, but knowing it had more to do with the knowledge that we had a long way to go before we´d see warm water again. Every day we had the luxury of fish and vegetable instead of red meat and legumes. It´s been a dream.

This is Africa

2009-07-29T23:29:00.000-07:00

After a luxurious rest day in Chitimba, filled with pig roasts, volleyball and lazing around on the beach, we got back on the road and headed to Mzuzu. The ride was beautiful to start, but then the headwinds started up and all I could think about were my few upcoming days off with Erin. A side-adventure was completely called for, what with everything starting to seem tedious and routine. It´s funny, I can usually lighten up with the thought that, wow, I´m in Malawi, but sometimes the wind blows to hard, or I just get sick of everyone´s competition to get up earlier and earlier.

The first ten km of the day were up an incredibly step hill, and so I rode with Fiona and Rana. We got Fiona´s life story out of her. Very white-bread and nice. We then all continued on with what we´ve done with our lives post 20. Whatever it takes to get you through the day. At the top of the hill we came upon a little wooden shack/shop where we bought cold drinks and guarded our energy bars against the store owner who was insistent that we give them to her. She then started talking about us in Chichewa to the neighbour. We wouldn´t have known except she kept pointing at us and rolling her eyes.

I rode down the hill with Tom, doing about 75 most of the way. We went through beautifully farmed valleys, passing by women in brightly-coloured dress, hampers on their heads and babies on their backs.

After lunch, the rolling uphills started and I waited to ride with Fiona and Rana again. By the last thirty kilometres I was done, and just was in no mood to ride. Fortunately Rana turned my mood around by singing bad eighties songs with me. She started up “Total Eclipse of the Heart”, and I was both shocked and upset that I knew all the words. It was all I needed to get me through the ride. One of the big advantages of riding with others.

When we got into town none of the banks would work for me. Again. I grabbed my last 200$ to exchange in case of emergency, leaving some aside for any visas, and decided to get Rob to pull money out of my account back home and send it via Western Union.

Camp was at a hotel, and dinner was spag ball (Spaghetti bolognaise), with a surprise desert (ice cream), and so everyone was excited. Then staff braced them for the news – because of flooding the route was being changed to go through the middle of the country instead of alongside the lake. People were disappointed. There were also complaints coming from American Ann. She seemed a little burnt-out of late, but then let us know that she was really sick of all the racers being congradulated, but none of the people who are out there every day trying their best. As one of those uncongradulated people, I didn´t quite see why it was that important, but I put it down to a cultural thing – it seems far more ingrained in the States that everyone should receive a pat on the back.

I went to bed and sorted out a pack for the morning. A new and very exciting adventure lay ahead! Attempting local transport in Africa!

Low Rider

2009-07-29T23:28:00.000-07:00

After a luxurious rest day in Chitimba, filled with pig roasts, volleyball and lazing around on the beach, we got back on the road and headed to Mzuzu. The ride was beautiful to start, but then the headwinds started up and all I could think about were my few upcoming days off with Erin. A side-adventure was completely called for, what with everything starting to seem tedious and routine. It´s funny, I can usually lighten up with the thought that, wow, I´m in Malawi, but sometimes the wind blows to hard, or I just get sick of everyone´s competition to get up earlier and earlier.

The first ten km of the day were up an incredibly step hill, and so I rode with Fiona and Rana. We got Fiona´s life story out of her. Very white-bread and nice. We then all continued on with what we´ve done with our lives post 20. Whatever it takes to get you through the day. At the top of the hill we came upon a little wooden shack/shop where we bought cold drinks and guarded our energy bars against the store owner who was insistent that we give them to her. She then started talking about us in Chichewa to the neighbour. We wouldn´t have known except she kept pointing at us and rolling her eyes.

I rode down the hill with Tom, doing about 75 most of the way. We went through beautifully farmed valleys, passing by women in brightly-coloured dress, hampers on their heads and babies on their backs.

After lunch, the rolling uphills started and I waited to ride with Fiona and Rana again. By the last thirty kilometres I was done, and just was in no mood to ride. Fortunately Rana turned my mood around by singing bad eighties songs with me. She started up “Total Eclipse of the Heart”, and I was both shocked and upset that I knew all the words. It was all I needed to get me through the ride. One of the big advantages of riding with others.

When we got into town none of the banks would work for me. Again. I grabbed my last 200$ to exchange in case of emergency, leaving some aside for any visas, and decided to get Rob to pull money out of my account back home and send it via Western Union.

Camp was at a hotel, and dinner was spag bol (Spaghetti bolognaise), with a surprise desert (ice cream), and so everyone was excited. Then staff braced them for the news – because of flooding the route was being changed to go through the middle of the country instead of alongside the lake. People were disappointed. There were also complaints coming from American Ann. She seemed a little burnt-out of late, but then let us know that she was really sick of all the racers being congradulated, but none of the people who are out there every day trying their best. As one of those uncongradulated people, I didn´t quite see why it was that important, but I put it down to a cultural thing – it seems far more ingrained in the States that everyone should receive a pat on the back.

I went to bed and sorted out a pack for the morning. A new and very exciting adventure lay ahead! Attempting local transport in Africa!

Lions and Tigers and Bears!

2009-07-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

he Ngorogoro crater is one of the most spectacular places on earth. It has both fresh and saltwater in it, and is one of the most species-rich places you will ever see.

Driving to the crater we first saw Thompson's Gazelle. They are adorable, with their ever-wagging tails. When we crossed the gates into the park we had a really awful lunch, which the driver told us we had to be careful with as the baboons are aggresive and will steal it. So we sat inside the car eating. At the end, Graham threw his banana peel in the bush. he got into a bit of a tiff with the driver, with him saying that a banana peel was not "food" Moments later the same driver tookout his lunch, set it on the hood of the car for not even two seconds, and in that time a baboon had stolen it. We all had to snicker.

The only animal you won't see in the crater are giraffe. One of my favourite moments was going past the water and seeing the veil of pink on the water. I have always loved pink flamingoes. Here there were thousands of them. We drove through and saw wildebeest, hyenas, secretary birds, vultures, warthogs, rhinos, hippos, water buffalo, ostriches, and the list goes on. And then we came across two post-coital lions. We had missed the activity by about two seconds. The way a safari works is that when one guide sees one of the "big five", they give a radio call to the other guides, and we all race over to that point. Our guide never found anything. He also had a particularly annoying habit of moving the car just a bit whenever we were taking pictures, so instead of taking just one picture, we would have to take 20. Thank god we live in a digital world.

It is so peaceful in the crater. Yes, there is a predator-prey existence there, but at the same time the animals simply go about their ways, eating and sleeping all day. We asked our guide about poachers. He told us that poachers and hyena are shot on sight. The Masai also used to be in the crater, but one of the hoops the government had to jump thorugh in order to get it listed as a world heritage sight was kick the Masai out. The belief was that the Masai would hunt the animals, but the Masai kill only their herded animals. If any of the Masai animals are killed by wild animals, the government compensates them in order to eliminate any desire for vengeance. The masai simply have tto provide the remains of the animal.

It took us a while to get out of the crater because some elephants were blocking our way. There's just no reasoning with them. When we got out, we headed to our lodge which was quite posh. It was on a cliff with windows overlooking the crater. The most beautiful sunset ever! And it had a buffet dinner with real deserts . We sat up until late telling jokes and trying to match up people on the tour.

The next morning took the whole trip up a notch. The lodge provided a champagne breakfast. How deluxe! We then drove our to the Serengetti.

While most of the animals we saw were the same, it was so wonderful to sit and watch them, and to be in such a vast expanse that is still so wild. And then we saw our first cougar. That was exciting right up until we saw a mother and her cubs a short time later. The mom was stalking a reebok. The slow creeping ended with a quick run, and the minute it did that our driver decided he would start the car and chase after it. Because we were standing, we were bounced around and so missed the kill itself (this was met with some frustration), but somewhere in there the cougar wound up on the other side of the water, the reebok escaped, and the cubs took down a gazelle which landed on the river. For the next while we watched as the four cubs took turns asphyxiating the gazelle, and then they realized that they weren't strong enough to pull the body from the water. The mother paced back and forth, trying to find a spot to cross the river (I guess with all the adrenaline going she didn't notice which way she came.) Suddenly, they all ducked. Far off in the distance a lion got up from under a tree. We could barely see it, but the animals could see it perfectly. It meanered around a bit, and then eventually laid back down. The cougars relaxed again, the mother got over to her cubs, and they began to eat their kill.

Down the road we saw the most elusive of the animals - the leopard. It was up in the highest reaches of an acacia tree. I have no idea how oone of the guides saw it. The drive along using only their eyes, and I only saw it with binoculars. I guess there are more ways of telling where they are other than just looking.

That night we stayed at a hotel inset in the rocks. It was even more beautiful than the last, and had little animals scurrying outside of my room - this little guy who looked part rabbit, part mouse. One was chased away by a monkey. Who needs television with that outside your window! In the evening I spied the eyes of a hyena looking in, and woke to the sounds of lions roaring.

After dinner that night we went for a midnight skinny-dip. We've since learned that that can get you into quite a bit of trouble here. Fortunately, we didn't.

In the morning we had another champagne breakfast, but after an evening of gin and tonics by the pool (yes, colonialism is alive and well in Africa), we weren't that enthoused. We headed off and saw all of the animals that had been killed in the early morning being eaten by lions. When we ran into the campers we heard some great stories. During the night Frank got up and went to the washroom. As he was finishing up he saw eyes looking back at him. He backed away from the lion annd went back to his tent. Moments later another lion ran through camp and made a kill (gazelle, not human). Nobody left their tents for the rest of the night.

Back in Arusha we raced through our chores and crashed. I was so happy with our tour, and the rest from biking

Albinos under siege!

2009-06-02T15:07:00.001-07:00

Crossing into Namanga was our easiest border crossing ever. Unfortunately, going into Arusha was a gong show, and didn't bode well for the new crew. At 117 paved kilometers, it was meant to be an easy day. They told us it would be a breeze. With the gorgeous, yet still obscured views of Killi, as well as the very clear and wonderful views of Mt. Meru, it was - right up until we hit the construction. Uphill on gravel on our skinny tires in the heat. It was the end of the day and we were all tired. At lunch we had also had a change in directions. We were meant to keep a look-out for the BP station and turn right there, as the street name that they had given us wasn't actually posted anywhere. The big problem was that that was the story they gave when we got to lunch, but before that they had been telling everyone other directions - that it was three kilometers past the BP station and turn right. The sad thing was, it was 7 kilometers past the BP station, and the name of the street was posted, they had just given us the wrong street name. Our crew is usually very good, which I guess is why when they mess up it is incredibly noticeable.

I got into camp and raced over for food. Pacified, I was ready to organize my safari. I was going to go off and do one with Erin, but she had decided to do a 2-day, and I had my heart set on a 3-day. The safari was one of my trip highlights, so there was no way I was about to cut it short. I raced into town to get out some money. Standing at the gates waiting for a metatu, Mark, the owner of the lodge, pulled up and insisted he give me a lift. Arusha has a reputation for crime, though it seems it has slowed down since people have stopped going out on the streets at night. We drove to about 4 different ATMs before we found one which would dole out cash. I offered to buy him a drink when we got back but, owning the place, he offered to get me one instead.

We sat with some friends of his. One man was a scruffy-looking haggle-toothed gent who was a white Tanzanian, had been the milk man, but now had a carrot farm. He had a sparkle in his eye and the look of a fellow who had seen a lot and always kept a sense of humour about it. Mark told me stories about how there is currently a problem in Tanzania with witch doctors killing Albinos for body parts. They are apparently magical and very potent in spells. A few days later I saw them saying as much in the papers.

We moved on to visit "the glums". They were an Indian couple with a pub called "The Lively Lady". A bit of a joke, since the glums are so called because of their complete lack of enthusiasm for anything - but they are entertaining in their mere existence. The pub itself is by the railway, which is supposed to be the worst part of town. It's also where you find the clothing market. I think I may have mentioned before about how all the clothing picked up in church drives isn't actually given out to people, but is given to market vendors who sell it at stalls. This market is one of those, except instead of being from church drives, it is from the store remnants at the end of the year. If they cannot sell it, they can get a tax deduction by donating it to the third world. So for a buck or two you can pick up any designer label from this market. Fancy. In the middle of the night it was closed.

We went into the pub. It was painted orange and was decorated in 70's batik wall-lamps, the occasional celtic tattoo stencil, and framed pictures from the likes of "Haevy Metal" - Think '70's comic books with well-endowed women in chain-mail bikinis, big swords and generally either a castle, unicorn or Conan-like male in the background. There may have even been the ultimate one - a woman wrapped in a boa constrictor.

The glums themselves had just stepped out of the 70's. Mr. Glum and his brother were dressed head-to-toe in stone-washed denim. Mr. Glum was a tall, thin man with gold-rimmed John Lennon glasses and a salt-and-pepper mullet. His brother was huge, and with a greying afro. Mrs. Glum was decked out in stone-washed jeans, a black tank top, and had huge hair. All of them were covered in big chunks of silver jewelry, mainly skulls.

After a while they all went out for a joint. Mark started to tell me how most of the Tanzanian economy was run by pot. If you see a village with plenty of infrastructure, it was likely all paid for by the weed of weeds. They once got a new government in Tanzania who tried to crack down on drugs, but there was instant revolt and they backed off. If the government is going to pilfer from the coffers, they had better be ready to allow the people to find their own ways to make up the difference.

All of the buildings and compound gates on the way back to the lodge were covered in red x's. Everything marked in an x was going to be torn down for street expansion. Sometimes it was a person's home, sometimes a business. Sometimes it was only half of the home that would be torn down. I didn't know if they would be in anyway compensated or given new land if their home was taken down, but I believe it may not be the case. The red x's covered the compound wall of a former TDA fellow who had married and settled down in Tanzania after the tour. They came by one day to take down his wall, and his new inlaws drove them away. The following day they were back with guns, and

The next morning I was headed off on my safari. ANIMALS!!! How exciting is that!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

2009-05-25T00:28:00.001-07:00

There's something so wonderful about riding alone. It's also quite nice to have a fellow rider. Even a few riders can be fun. Riding in a convoy is a new form of hell.

Riding into Nairobi was both wonderful and heinous. We started the day with nothing but hills, glorious hills - did I mention how much I love how my bike takes hills? I'm now comfortable with 85km/hr downhill, and at that speed, it brings you right up the other side. Lloyd followed me for some time - he was having a bit of a hard time and asked if he could use my cadence. It was nice to be able to help him, even in the most passive way. Lloyd is a bit of a hero in his ability to fix or solve anything. When you greet him with a "Hey Lloyd, how's it going?", he turns to you every day and says "FABulous! Can't complain!" Great guy.

We all met up at a hotel, and then rode an extra 20km to where the convoy would actually start. Once there we sat around and waited, again. And then it started. The worst convoy in the world. We rode anywhere between 6-12km/hr. It was horrible. A root canal would have been more pleasurable. It took over 2 hours to go 20km. When we got in we were all tired, hungry and DESPERATE for toilets.

That night I was trying to get ahold of my friend Bart who lives in Tanzania but is often in Kenya. I had to decide whether or not I wanted to go and visit him - this was resolved over the next few frustrating email encounters where I just couldn't get in touch with him. The problem with travelling in Africa after having travelled anywhere else is that you get used to phones and internet just being available and working quite efficiently. Even in the middle of nowhere Siberia you could find decent internet or a phone line that they didn't charge three dollars a minute for. Here in Africa, it's often an impossibility.

The other important event that happened that evening was that we were all saying goodbye to Jansie, Wimpie and Ronelle, our drivers and crew. It's both sad and hard. It's funny how regimented we've all become, and part of that is that we've gotten used to following the routines of our crew. Unsettling that is ... unsettling. And while we see everyone everyday, they are the people we talk to, guaranteed, every single day.

The next morning I woke to the sounds of retching. Another element of rest days is that on the first night people generally drink too much. It was Eric, our Communications fellow - kind of funny, given all the "toughen up" lectures he gives everyone. So with all of that going on, I decided to run away with Martin and Alasdair. We took a Metatu into the city. These are micro buses that are super-cheap, run constantly, and are usually filled to the gunnels with people, baggage and livestock, though there's less livestock in the cities. We were on a hunt for Indian food. In the Lonely Planet it describes a restaurant which can be found in "Little India", which was the direction we gave the money-taker. He was confused, and didn't really know the street we were looking for either. The woman beside us asked us if we were looking for material. I got where she was going and said "yes" - Little Indias are always filled with material. She gave the fellow directions and said to him - "I think they are calling it Little India because the shops are all owned by Indians.” It's funny how much we take our own colloquialisms for granted.

We went to the first place, but it was closed down and had been for four years. Martin, being the managing editor at LP, was a little concerned - there's a two-year turn over on the guides. He started to check to see who he was going to have a word with, and then looked at us and said, "Oh, well I guess I'll let that one go." The author had passed away the year before. The food was amazing, and afterwards we walked around town for a while, taking in the surroundings and people watching. The streets of Nairobi are busy, and though it's a capital city, like most African cities it pretty much has a "large town" feel.

Back in camp we had the official turn over, as our old crew disappeared and our new crew started taking up their duties.

We woke up to a 165km day. Lone rejoined us and it turned out that her ankle was broken. What will happen with her has yet to be decided, but she'll be going ahead to Arusha and at least doing the safari with us. Something to be noted is that she rode for two days on some insane roads with that broken ankle. I really like Lone - she's unbelievably athletic and has a great sense of humour. She also manages to come up with the craziest expressions. It's like if she feels as though there should be an idiom for something when there is not she will go ahead and invent one. At one point Graham asked her to pick up a dead snake so that he could take a picture, to which she responded "I wouldn't pet a lobster." Apparently this meant - why would she do something weird like that. I love language.

The day was filled with rolling hills. We skirted around Kilimanjaro in the morning, but at such a distance that it was merely an outline in the haze. Mt. Kenya was clear and close. It was so incredibly beautiful. Kenya is a place for climbers. Everywhere I look I think about how I would like to go up this or that peak. Maybe someday, when I'm not attached to my bicycle.

I rode with Martin and Alasdair all day. Martin and I are perfectly matched on the pavement. Similar bikes and identical tires, and we both trained by being commuter bikers. He's great to ride with. As is Alasdair, but he was having a bit more of a hard time on the pavement with his mountain bike. We rode into Namanga, and on to another goodbye. Randy, our tour director, was headed back to Canada to deal with his burnt-down house and to move on to heading the TDA South America tour. Funny, I complain about how hard it is to communicate through most of Africa, while Randy had been spending over a month trying to sort out the insurance and everything else involved with having lost his house from here - and barely letting us know what was happening to him. He was also a wonderful fellow. Shanny, our new director, has some big cleats to fill.

Is That a Supermarket?!?

2009-05-20T02:35:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning and prepared myself for the best ride ever - paved hills! I joked with Jim, one of our fastest cyclists, and a sectional from the Lonely Planet, that all he would be seeing was my back. Shortly thereafter I was overcome by pain and had to jump on the truck until lunch. Alex gave me some naproxen and I was good all the way to Nanyuki.

I had my camera mount on but, sadly, it busted. Between that one dying there and my front one being taken off by the winds while soaring down Ethiopian mountains, I have to figure out some other kind of set-up.

When I got off the truck at lunch, it wasn't too long before Jim showed up. The look of shock on his face as he said "How did you get here?" was so funny.

Once again I headed off, wishing him bon appetit for my dirt, and didn't see him for ages, until finally I was called to a halt by the police. Now I've definitely gone over the speed limit on my bike a few times on this trip, and I was seriously wanting to stay ahead of Jim, but I didn't think that I would get stopped! Turns out, they just wanted to ask me about what I was doing. Being the sore loser that I am, as Jim sped by I called him over. He stopped and asked what was happening. I told him we were being arrested. His face dropped and the police officer was shocked "No,no,no!" he said, as I started to giggle. I guess I embarrassed him, as he had us on our way seconds later. Sadly, while I did stay close to Jim, I never regained my lead.

And what a day - rolling hills with Mount Kenya drenched in crisp morning sunshine. I zoomed through pastoral countryside covered in sunflowers. People on bicycles pushing loads of charcoal strapped to the rat-traps - the weight must have been an easy 50kg. It was also actually chilly - we were up around 2600m, and so my t-shirt wasn't enough anymore. I found myself wishing for my sleeves for the first time since Egypt.

In Nanyuki we found ourselves on the grounds of a hotel with a pool. It was wonderful. The city was wonderful - I had a proper pain au chocolate! I think I've said before, African cuisine has not been very impressive thus far - stews and fried food. Not much spice. One of the shocking things we encountered was just how many foreigners there were in town. Not just the odd overlander group, but loads of ex-pats and the like. It really felt like we had just come out of "real" Africa and come into a globalized Africa. There's a strange brew of emotions that goes along with that. Relief at the return to the familiar, but sadness at losing part of the true adventure of this expedition.

That night we had our equator party, as we would be crossing the line the next day. James cooked us up burritos but the party was a bit of a bust - this is a very tea and cake kind of group, so it seemed more like any other night: most were in bed by 8 and the evening comprised of all of us sitting around chatting. Nevertheless, there was a pub upstairs and some of us went for drinks and pool. Erin and I took hold of the table and kept winning, which meant we were up way later than we wanted to be, but it was fun. The table was warped and the pool cues had no nibs, but it was fun no matter.

The following morning we were in for a ride even better than the last. I flew on my bike, up and down hills with countryside that was exactly as you would imagine Kenya. Red dirt hills covered in tea and banana plantations. Lush tropics everywhere. We went through towns that had grocery stores with trolleys and automatic check-outs. There were flush toilets more often than not. We were definitely moving into an easier part of the continent.

When the day ended we had a long journey down a dirt road that ended in cobblestone. I cursed at their choice of campsite, knowing I'd have to ride up it in the morning, and then when I got down there I was so excited! It was such a beautiful site, right on a river. I joined a few people in taking my thermarest for a ride down the river, and sat by the pool drinking Stoney Tangawizi - Non-alcoholic ginger beer - it's my drink of choice at the countless coke stops we have during the day.

We had BBQ that night, and when the sun went down many of us went for a moonlight raft adventure down the river. The river was low, but I had never rafted before so it was incredibly exciting for me! Light-bugs were everywhere, the full moon was out, and we went between crashing down 6-foot falls, to ducking our way through vine and tree overgrowth (startling a ton of bats), and then even getting to drench ourselves under waterfalls! A few fell out of the boat, one boat flipped, and we all had an awesome time - even when we were just drifting down the river. I love Kenya. I keep planning out all other adventures I'll have when I come back here some day.

Feels Like Civilization...

2009-05-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

It appears that Ethiopia is not the only place where I'm destined to get sick. Or any of us, for that matter. We left camp and the roads deteriorated immediately. The days we travelled to the rest day were now in reverse, so only three more days until pavement again. I wasn't feeling very well all day, and when I left lunch I decided to have a nap under an acacia tree for fifteen minutes. When the lunch truck passed a few minutes later, I gave it the thumbs up. I figured all would be well once I'd had a nap. I was wrong. It turns out that my roadside nap made me invisible to the sweep, so i caught up to Eric after a half hour of riding. The truck let him know that he had gone past me. I was slow and in worse and worse pain. About 15km from camp (neither of us knew how far we had come), we called for a rescue. It turned out I had diarrhea and a bladder infection. On the way back we passed by a corrie bustard and ostriches. I guess today was the day of the big birds.

In camp tons of tribal women were hanging about selling their beaded jewelry. We were on school grounds, and that night we would go and talk to the students at the school. They were all orphans and lived-in. Randy talked about tourism and how they could consider it as a viable career opportunity. We all introduced ourselves, and then the students asked us questions ranging from what problems we encounter to why we hadn't come last year - Randy explained it was because of the political problems and they all understood. One student asked us if we would be visiting our president Obama's home village. I guess Obama is now president of the world.

Actually, the Obama thing is quite funny. Everywhere in Kenya you see pictures of Obama, and t-shirts of Obama with "I have a dream" printed underneath. In Sudan, people were glued to his inauguration speech.

At one point during the night I woke up to visit the washroom. I did the kilometer hike to the drop toilets, and just when I was at my most relaxed a bat flew up out of the hole and bumped into me in an area where no woman should ever have contact with a bat. I have never screamed so loudly.

The following day I did nothing but sleep on the truck. I woke up once to see a Thompson's Gazelle, and went quickly back to sleep. Though our camp was beside the highway, there was no noise of passing vehicles in the night.

The next day I was feeling better, and so I rode the half-day. During that ride, the corrugation finally ended. It was wonderful. It went from corrugation to hard-pack, which I rode on until I came into sight of the construction people. I was a bit cheeky and would ride it right up until they spotted me and asked me to get off of their freshly graded roads, and once I was out of view I would jump back on again. As we approached Isiolo, we hit actual pavement. I wanted to kiss it.

In Isiolo the rains hit. You never really appreciate the drainage system in your city until you get somewhere where there is none. It was an instant flood. I went into the hut where Mark was hanging out to time-keep the racers. When it stopped I got out and discovered a flat. I walked my bike up to the store where it was rumoured that they sold ice-cream. Because we were changing our tires that night, I debated just hitching the last kilometer to camp and not bothering to fix my flat. At the shop, Hinchy convinced me otherwise, so we pulled it apart. This was a huge mistake. Apparently in Isiolo there is a huge glue huffing problem, and the kids were all over us trying to steal what they could. We got the tire together and the minute we did, it exploded again. Fortunately Eddy came by with the runabout and I tossed my bike on the top. Just before my rescue, Graham came in with his bike and asked me to watch it while he went into the shop. I wanted to say that I couldn't but he was already gone. It had been such a long time since stores were readily accessible that many came in wide-eyed and slightly lost at the wealth of purchasing possibilities. Imagine - pineapple slices, chocolate, AND ice-cream all under one roof.

The kids swarmed me while I was holding the two bikes. One immediately grabbed Grahams, and I had to pull it away from him and keep mine safe at the same time, and watch my bag on top of that. We made it into camp and there were actually showers. Mind you, the water heater electrocuted you a bit when you turned the shower on, and if that didn't get you then the wasps would. I got stung by both. But I was clean. It was worth the cost.

Kenya tell me how you really feel?

2009-05-14T00:21:00.001-07:00

The aftermath of the Northern Kenyan desert rain was intense. I walked around in my sandals that were so thickly caked in mud it was like wearing foam mattresses on my feet. We jammed our muddy tents into their stuff sacks and then threw them into our lockers. It would be a disaster in the evening, but the following day was a rest day, so it didn't seem that important.

And then the ride. The red mud kicked up, splashing us entirely, but the roads dried up as we went on. I had such a late start that I wound up riding with Mark, the bike mechanic, who was on sweep that day. He was such a great riding partner. We laughed and joked the whole day, which was all you could do on a day like that. The truck was like a vacuum cleaner that day, picking up dirty, weakened cyclists along the way. The most frustrating thing was how impossible it was to find a line. Looking at the other side of the road, you might think that there was a line over there, but when you get there it turns out to be corrugated. And then everything disappeared and it became deep sand with corrugations. I was amazed I could still see straight after a day of riding those vibrations.

***WARNING - do not read the following paragraph if you are easily offended***

Mark and I caught up with Ernest. We figured we had about a kilometer or two to go until lunch (the wire on my odometer had snapped the previous day), but then we learned that we actually had 16km left. We were so disheartened. When we saw a surprise coke stop, our day became brighter. We stopped for a drink, and then a second one, and then a chapati. Evelyn had been there for an hour already - it was clear that no one wanted to go on. But we did. And when I got into lunch I informed the group of what we had renamed the section, normally called "Meltdown Madness". It seemed far more appropriate to call it "Anal Sex on a Hot, Sandy Beach Without Lube.", and when Evelyn came in shortly after me saying that she felt like she had just been anally raped, everyone cracked up. Shortly after that, Mark came in saying he felt like he had just visited a gay prison, and we were in hysterics. We all decided we were done for the day.

***Resume reading below, sensibilities intact***

Every once in a while the truck would pass a tree, and under it would always be 20-40 goats, all crammed in the little bit of shade, some even standing on the backs of others. I had to wonder why we were choosing to be in that heat, and not only that, but also exerting ourselves heavily.

As we drove up the side of the volcano, things got more lush and tropical. We entered our camp at Marsabit, and it was a lush, tropical jungle filled with baboons. They were so much fun to watch until one dropped on Ronelle's tent. Most of us then moved from under the trees. When Claire woke up the next morning to a tent covered in monkey excrement, the rest decided to move.

That evening I went into town and had dinner with Frankie and Swend. The ATM didn't quite work for me. It made the sounds of doling out cash, but nothing came. Thoughts of unaccounted debits filled my mind, but there was nothing I could do until morning, so I borrowed some cash and joined the boys in a dining experience of nsima (white polenta used to scoop your food), mboga (stew), and camel milk tea. African cooking, excluding Ethiopia, has been boring thus far. It seems that food here is merely comfort food. No spice or excitement. It sounds like we can't expect that to change much as we progress southwards, either.

At 5:30 in the morning on a rest day people were already up and starting their laundry. Some of these folks are nuts. I couldn't get back to sleep so I sat alone amongst the tall trees and watched the baboons play and fight, greeting the dawn. I then hung out in my tent for quite some time, just reading. We were scheduled to have a brie - pronounced bry - that night, and so I had to get into town to pick up some meat and ingredients. That gave me a new appreciation for James' job. trying to buy meat from a butcher who doesn't speak your language is impossible. I went to a butchery, which essentially looks like a wooden lemonade stand with dead carcasses hanging from it, and asked for a small piece of lamb. what I walked away with was a half kilo of beef tendons. Fortunately buying salad ingredients was pretty straightforward, and I wound up with a mango, avocado, tomato and cilantro salad, with red onions mixed in for good measure. The market was filled with tribal women wearing huge stacks of beaded necklaces. Their headdresses were a combination of bead and button-work, and were attached to their heads by their earrings. I ran through the tons of chores I had to do that day, and then enjoyed the evening, right into the big campfire we shared. It was a great rest for all of us.

Floods in my tent and fire in my heart

2009-05-09T22:52:00.000-07:00

Getting into Kenya, while a huge relief for all of us, was not an easy task. It was only 86km, but through headwinds on corrugated dirt roads with loads of hills. I was unhappy - my lower back started to buckle with the constant thumping of my camelback. I got to lunch, took some painkillers, was called a wimp by the nurse, and carried on. It got worse. The hills started after lunch, and that seemed to exacerbate the pain. I rode with Michele and Dennis - they blocked wind for me when it got to be too much.

My happiest moment was seeing a parade of baboons crossing the road. When they saw me they ran, but I got to watch for a bit as they had to get their babies across the road.

The border crossing was nothing like the other side of Ethiopia. It was a brick building, not a mud hut, and no one was there to serve us beer, but they did still take hours. We all sat around at the pub eating our last injera and having pop with the last of our Ethiopian Birr, and finally we did the cross-over. The roads turned to red dirt track immediately, but it wasn't that bad to ride on. It certainly didn't seem like the lava-rock hell Randy had been describing. Of course that night they let us know that, not to worry, the worst was yet to come.

We woke the next morning to a great day of riding. It was dirt, it was corrugated, but it was not the hell they had described, once again. I was starting to be skeptical. The unfortunate thing was that they had built it up so much that a lot of people chose to ride the truck.

My back was still killing me, but I gave the thumbs down to two of our trucks and neither of them noticed, so I rode on without painkillers. It was such a relief when I got them at lunch. It's funny, I never like masking pain when I do athletics because you should be listening to your body, but when the riding is good, you don't really want to have to miss it due to a little bit of an injury. A weighing of the pros and cons had me going for the decision that I wouldn't have made at home.

At camp tonight the local village sent over this Irish fellow who was staying at a local hotel. He had been on the road for 3.5 years, riding from England to Morocco, down Western Africa to Ghana, flew over the Congo, crossed over again, looped the bottom and was currently on his way up to Ethiopia. His accent was fully unrecognizable.

John lent me some sun-proof sleeves that have been a godsend. My red blistered arms are now fine for the whole day. I call them my happy pirate sleeves - big white floppy things that somehow make me want to do a jig when I wear them.

We had all gotten in early, but it was so hot that we sat around chatting instead of being able to actually move around. We watched the baboons playing in the trees. For dinner we had steaks - big, Fred-Flintstone sized things that we had to eat with out hands, as none of our camp knives would cut it. They buried the bones and the carcasses and later in the evening we were visited by a whooping hyena who dug them up. There were an unfortunate few who camped near the burial site and therefore could not go to the washroom all night. Frankly, none of us were leaving our tents when we heard them, but we didn't get the added fear of watching them 15 feet away. When the hyenas cleared out, the baboons moved in. Welcome to Africa. The funny thing was that Jansie had been telling us stories of waking up with a hyena breathing over her head, so I had a nightmare about a hyena right outside of my tent, drooling on me. I even wound up shouting for Jansie to rescue me. Oh, the embarrassment.

In the morning I rode off alone again. The truth of the difficult roads was starting to come through. When we hit lunch, Carolla had been having flats all day, so I offered her my bike so that she could still compete in the race. It turns out that she had decided to quit. I can understand why. The race isn't actually that fun. You ride through everything quickly and don't get to actually stop and take in the country. But it also meant that I didn't have an easy out from riding, so I rode on. Amazing what a bit of stubbornness will do. I'm really not usually that way.

The road was sandy and corrugated and there was absolutely no line to follow. Occasionally it turned to corrugated gravel. And then the lava rocks started. Big black lava rocks in amidst the red sand. I rode around the corner and downhill into the vast lava field that would be hell for the next few days.

Getting into camp was a relief. What was even more of a relief was the storm cloud coming in. Eddie said there was no way it would rain. It rains in these parts every six years. But the sky opened up, and soon we were out in the sand getting down to our skivvies with soap in hand. It was wonderful. After about ten minutes it got cold, though. Then our tents started to flood. I dug a trench around mine, but it didn't help. That night it was like sleeping on a waterbed. I was just glad that the water barely came through, only where I sat on my thermarest, and where the wind blew the water over my the lip of my tent.

Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

2009-05-06T00:28:00.000-07:00

In camp in Yabello I had a chat with Wondie, our local fixer. He was almost in an apologetic state. He was explaining to me how many times he had tried to explain to the villages that we go through that they shouldn't throw stones. He said that Ethiopians think only of today, but not about the future, since in the future they may die, so what of it. he comes from a tribe in the North, the same one which has been leading the country for decades - they keep getting in power by imprisoning the opposition. While he felt that his tribal roots have nothing to do with his success, others do, and therefore give him a hard time. I can see why - he landed himself a job with the embassy that has since swung him a two-year visa to the states. He plans to work there under the table and come back with enough money to start his own travel company. He went on that that is the only way he can get ahead without being back-handed. But he would never leave Ethiopia for good - he can live there cheaply and have a good life, so why work hard and start fresh in a new country? He was an interesting fellow. Nice, sometimes a little dodgy, but fun nonetheless.

Going from Yabello to Mega was a great but tough day. It was our last total day of Ethiopian riding. The next day we would be in Kenya. We woke up to no bread for breakfast. It was meant to be on its way, but after half an hour I went for the cookies I had picked up the night before. Shortly thereafter it came. We're entering a restricted food area, and while we'll always have enough to eat, it will be harder for James to find it. Water is rationed out only for drinking and hand-cleansing purposes.

The roads were paved, and the start was late, so I took advantage and rode on my own all day. Lost in thoughts about home, it was like riding on my own again. I don't think I could do another group adventure, as fun as it has been.

A local woman gave me a branch from a toothbrush tree. You chew down the tip into bristles and use those to clean your teeth. It has a very pungent aroma.

From hilltops you could look out upon pastel-coloured vistas. I passed the remains of castle ruins, and found myself swooping down into a village where a bunch of folks were sharing in injera (the sour fermented bread with curries on it) and chat - leaves they chew that get you a bit high. We ate until I realized it was already 4:30 and I still had 30 km to go. I raced hard up and down hills and made it in by 5:30. Everything was running late as folks were still out convincing the bakers to bake bread. No amount of money could get them to budge on their decision not to. It was late before they finally acquiesced. So we went for a walk in the desert through tons of cacti to see the singing wells - great craters dug out by the locals to find a source of water. Looking into them you can't help but get chain-gang songs in your head.

We were in a desert camp with no one around and we're back to being able to sleep without covers on our tents. Sleeping under five acacia trees, we could all look out at the millions of stars.

Happy Endings

2009-05-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

Arba Minch was a strange rest day. We had none of the amenities we needed to do our regular chores - no water, power was sporadic, and internet was questionable. Skype is illegal in Ethiopia, and the only connections are dial-up. When it works. When there was water, we ran to it and poured as much as we could into buckets to try to get as many errands done as possible. When there was no water, we ran into the town to buy snacks and juices - I did mention the layered avocado, mango, guava, papaya smoothies, right? - and eat up as much of the local fish as we could. Claire, Erin and I headed off to do a yoga session, and then Claire and I went off for some injera. While we were out, the power went out, and we walked the potholed streets in darkness. The little shack grocery stores were lit up with candles, and people were filling them buying batteries for their flashlights, or more candles. We went for the gingersnaps and headed back to camp - cookies and pineapple slices have become an important commodity for desert camps. The pineapple provides you with a bit of juice, and the cookies - well I don't think ants could crave sugar more than we do. The water has been getting worse, too, which is part of why we crave the juice. It is now brown in colour, and tastes heavily of chlorine. It never quenches the thirst.

In the morning we left for Konso. Even after a rest day my mood towards the kids was unaffected. At the screams of "You, you, you", or "give me money", I responded with "piss off". I was in a terrible mood, and the mornings rocks, sticks and slaps weren't helping. At the lunch stop I caught up with Alex and we decided to ride ahead until the lunch truck caught up with us. I am thinking of riding less in Ethiopia because the kids are really getting to me. Today while getting on my bike they crowded me so intensely I couldn't get my leg over without kicking one. And then I realized that I didn't feel bad about it. I really need a break.

On the up side, the local dress has become a beautiful sight. The women mostly wear dresses that have a cut that remind me of the eighties acid-wash double-layered shirts, only with a rainbow-striped material. Other women wear traditional peasant dresses - thick white cotton gauze, all bulked up to emphasize a heavy bosom and child-bearing hips. They have beautiful multi-coloured embroidery around the neck and down the chest, and sometimes also on the rest of the edging. Women have also started to wear jewelry - thick silvers and beads, even some dangling from their foreheads.

When Alex and I rode, I fell while racing around a rocky corner that turned into sand - not a serious fall, but others fell there too, and Lone even sprained her ankle there. Then we were bullied by some kids and their bulls.

We camped along the Omo River. It's meant to be the longest in Ethiopia, but at this time of year it was merely a trickle. In all actuality, we camped where the river should have been, and then we joked about the possibility of flash floods - creating the sort of dreams Larium thrives on. I walked down the bed, through lush banana trees and tropical scrub, and made my way to the small trickle for a bit of relief from the heat. Splashing small handfuls over my head and my clothes made everything more bearable.

The next morning we woke up and headed off down the gravel road to Yabello. It was hard riding - my bike kicked up constantly. I shook so much I could barely walk straight when I got off of my bike. As I rode I passed the bodies of those who had given up along the way. Hinchy and Princess Anna were on the side of the road and had decided to hitch. Then I passed Mike who was also laying under a tree waiting for a rescue. I rode on to tell the lunch truck about where they were.

The most exciting thing about this part was that it was where we might start seeing animals. I saw nothing except beautiful birds. And cows. There may have been animals, but I couldn't take my eyes off the road for long enough to find out.

I rode on, and when the van passed I gave it directions to find the others. And when it passed me again on the way back I was feeling so sunstroked I could barely tell them I was okay to ride on. And five minutes after they passed me, I got a flat. I was so out of it by that point that it took me forty minutes to change it. I just kept getting confused.

Shortly thereafter the lunch truck came back for me and another who had succumbed to the heat. Though sun temperatures are never accurate, one person metered in at 47 Celsius.

I ate some food, drank water, and fell asleep on the bus. Finally we arrived in camp - it was a hotel! It had cold drinks and showers! The sick people all took rooms. I had a shower, did my laundry, set up my tent, and then ran to get my first nice cold beer in days. And then cold mineral water, and then a pop, and then another beer. It was deluxe. That night I even got to speak to Rob on the satellite phone - they bought too many minutes, and so now they are selling them off. It was so wonderful to hear his voice.

And once again the people have changed and started to look more Kenyan. They wear layers of sarongs - the men have them draped across their shoulders and another wrapped around their waists; the women pile on the cloths. The men are also now carrying spears. Their faces are significantly darker, more aquiline. The area we are in has also changed - it's now a scrub-filled desert. And the children have stopped attacking us. This is the Ethiopia I dreamed of.

One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

2009-05-01T11:59:00.000-07:00

Upon leaving Addis, I spent two days on the truck. Riding on the truck is never a good option. It's slow, hot, and filled with sick people. I was anxious to get off. My first day on the truck was packed with sickos, and we barely spoke a word. I took some gravol and went to sleep. For the next two days I couldn't eat a bite. Between not having any appetite and fearing the repercussions of having anything in my belly, I was just unable to.

On the third day I decided to give it a go. I ate some breakfast but, less than a kilometer out of camp, that left me. I rode for 68km with nothing in my belly. I was slow, tired, and sick. Evelyn was kind enough to ride with me. I was stopping frequently to cough until I vomited. That's when the kids would surround me and start asking me for money, hitting me and grabbing my ass. After a while of this, I burst out into tears. Evelyn put her arm out and helped push me up a hill while I cried. People are very good here.

At lunch I jumped on the truck and laid down. Simon, thinking it was just the kids, offered to ride with me. Since I was laying down and had managed to get a bun down, I thought I might be up for it. Let me put in here something about this trip, because I know that many of you are reading this thinking I'm an idiot to keep going on a day when I'm so obviously done. Usually when I ride and then get sick or something happens, I can get off my bike, have a rest day or two, and then pick up where I left off. Here, when you get on the truck, that's it. You don't get to see or smell or experience that 100+km. If you're on it for a few days, you miss entire regions and the subtle changes of everything along the route. That's why its hard to get on and stay on the truck.

When asked if I would ever do a guided tour like this again, I have to say no. Not that there is anything wrong with this trip - we're hugely catered to and all of our needs are met, and it takes out a ton of the organizational problems we could have coming to a place like this, but that being "catered to" is also part of the problem for me. And the speed of it all - our rest days are over before we even get to stop and take in our environs. This trip is all about the biking, but not as much about the experiencing.

So when Simon came in and offered to ride with me, I jumped out. I got about a half kilometer again before my stomach seized and my lunch bun evacuated. And then some kid threw a rock at us. Simon chased the kid all the way to his house - right into the sightlines of his father. Knowing that whatever his kid had done couldn't have been good, he started smacking him, and continued on as he shook Simon's hand and Simon departed. When he came back we rode for a little and kept an eye out for the lunch truck. I jumped on and stayed there this time.

I got up in the morning with the knowledge that I would only ride for a half day. We were riding into our rest day at Arba Minch - the town on a hill overlooking two great lakes filled with hippos and crocs. The ride in was a treacherous one. Amazingly, I didn't have the troubles that some people had. I experienced the ass-grabbing and stone pelting, but that was about it. At one point I passed a group of kids holding hands across the road. As I came close I saw that they were covering a rope that was stretched across the road. I waited in front of them until they scattered and pulled in the rope. Then I grabbed a big sip of my water and sprayed it at the kid holding the rope. All of his friends laughed at him, and apparently they didn't do it to anyone else afterwards.

We were riding through road crews and almost everyone was wielding machetes. I was saying "salamno" (hello or peace) like a battered housewife trying to calm the beast. I was terrified at what they would do today. While it didn't happen to me, some of the other riders were threatened with the machetes. We're all on edge. We all want out of Ethiopia.

At the lunch stop the kids swarmed around the truck, as usual. There was a perimeter set up and they respected it. We all complained about our day. One rider went too far, saying "They all look like animals, they dress like animals and they act like animals." We're frazzled, but her racist roots are sprouting to the surface. I don't really speak to her any more.

As we cleared off, the kids started to attack. They started cutting the perimeter rope with their machetes. George got into a tug of war with them trying to get it back. They tried to push their way into the truck, they jumped on the back. George reversed and went forward a few times, trying to shake them off the truck, and then we were out of there.

We got to the hotel to find that there was no water. They would turn on the water for a couple of hours every day until we left, and then they turned it all back on. The city was having constant power outages - typical in Ethiopia. I stayed in camp that night, just eating at the hotel and sitting around the fire with the crew. We drank wine and baked bannock. I was happy to not have to deal with the outside world for one evening.

ADDIS - ADDIS-ABABA

2009-04-27T12:10:00.000-07:00

Addis Ababa - our rest day.

We got up in the morning and rode - I hung out with Erin in the back as she was sweeping that day. We rode past so many tej fields. Tej is the grain they use to make injera bread, and is the staple food of Ethiopia. It is also incredibly healthy - one injera a day will keep you alive and two will keep you in good health?

As we rode we ran into the usual kids, though not that many of them. Mornings are the easiest since a good number of the kids are in school or are doing the hardest/busiest chores of the day. But it doesn't meant they aren't still out there. A couple of little shepherd kids chased along a steep uphill saying "give me Bic, give me shirt, give me MasterCard" - pardon? Indeed, some kid was asking for a MasterCard. And I thought Visa was easier to travel with.

After a while we caught up with John, our 70-year-old rider, who also happens to be a little slower on the hills, so I headed off on my own. Ups and downs through beautiful lush countryside. A few kids were aggressively menacing, and I thought for sure I was going to be attacked by more than stones. I got off my bike, picked up some stones, and walked the rest of the way up the hill without turning my back to them. When I got to the decline the chase was on, but they stood no chance. Stones pinged past me but I got out of there. Apparently Erin was really worried going through there as well. These kids were about 13.

We convoyed into Addis - a long, controlled downhill that we managed to get through at about 30 km an hour. Our convoys are usually terrible. 10km an hour for an hour or two through cities. I don't recommend it.

In Addis it was Valentine's Day and Bruce's Birthday, so we went out. We had terrible pizza (no tomato sauce, no salt), and lots to drink. We pub-hopped along until I heard good music and saw tell-tale Christmas lights from the corner of my eye. We walked into the small club and started dancing like fiends. As usual, some of the women tried to get us shoulder dancing, but I think a lifetime of growing up in the West is enough to keep you from being able to gyrate your shoulder at 75 beats per minute.

Jolie-Ann and Malcolm both went into the back at different points and discovered that the place was actually a brothel - there were beds in the back and there actually were more women than men there, but the music was good and no one seemed to be looking for customers out of our lot, and so we stayed on until we longed for our beds.

The next day was a rest-day, and a great one at that. I had finished all of my chores the night before, so I decided to go with Malcolm and Allan to the Sheraton for the breakfast buffet. The Sheraton is a mixed bag - unscrupulous in that it's an example of wealth picking on the poor - there were thousands of displaced people when it was built as they just knocked down a section of the slums. Most of its occupants are UN workers and heads of different NGOs - hard to come by donations when they are just going to pay to make sure these people have a comfortable stay. On the other hand, it was the first time we had been somewhere clean in months, and we ate like kings. Right after we gorged ourselves, we made our way to the pool. We had no intention of leaving that day. It seemed like the first real rest day I'd had since getting here. I dozed on and off, played scrabble, and swam. At the day's end we decided to check and see if there was a dinner buffet - and there was! We stayed on, enjoying the feeling of sitting at a table, eating with real plates, and drinking a decent wine out of a wine glass, not questionable Ethiopian brew out of a folding plastic cup. But partway through Allan and I started to wind down as our stomachs wound up - in knots that is. Between the amount of camp-shared illnesses and the kids, Ethiopia is by far the hardest country I have ever travelled in.

2009-04-25T16:01:00.001-07:00

Just Gorge-ous

2009-04-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

The Gorge.

We knew it was coming, but there's still a lot of nervousness when you know that you are about to do the biggest climb of the trip. Over 22km we would climb 1800 meters. But first we had to cycle 50km before we would even see what we were facing.

I woke up with a bit of a chest cold, which is not what you want in Ethiopia. The children here can smell weakness. It encourages them to attack. I was slow and wheezing, and they knew I was an easy target. At one point I had 20 kids chasing me down the street, pelting me with stones machine-gun style. I did a count at one point. I have 38 bruises caused by these evil little monsters and their stones and whips and sticks. There was a pack of three kids who threw at me. When I stopped, one ran, but the rest stayed, albeit at a distance. I said to the one kid " You want Birr?" - he didn't trust me. I held out a Birr - if he came close I was going to grab him and bring him to the nearest house and get his folks to beat him senseless. He circled me like a nervous pup eyeing a piece of meat. After a bit an adult came near and I went over to him and told him what had happened. He walked over and spoke with the kid - I don't know what happened in the end, because I was on my way again.

The Gorge.

It was beautiful. The Ethiopian Grand Canyon. I looked out at the route ahead, all the way from the very bottom, up the winding road that went on forever. At least we would be going down first. I jumped on my bike and started flying. When I got to the bottom I realized that my tire was on wrong, but I couldn't get the brake to stop rubbing which meant I was only going about 50km/h. It was probably a pretty sensible speed, what with all the women hauling wares up from the depths of the gorge, the donkeys that spooked easily, and the kids (who fortunately couldn't take aim as we were going faster than they expected). It was amazing, nonetheless - being able to fly for 20km downhill.

And then the up. The first 5km had me thinking that I would get on the trucks if they passed. It was well over 40 degrees and the drudgery of each pedal push was unforgiving. Suddenly I came across Sharita - she had found a water spout at the side of the road. I soaked myself completely, and then filled one of my empty bottles ( my camel pack was already running low). After that moment, you couldn't drag me onto one of the trucks. We climbed all the way to the village at 10km, where the backup truck was waiting and we could refill our water bottles. We sat down for a coke and then spotted a kid with a popsicle. We asked the local crew if they were for sale. Next thing you know we were in heaven, eating popsicles in the middle of the hottest climb ever - it was great for the jealousy factor when we got into camp.

And we climbed and climbed - I was riding in close proximity to Sharita, Lloyd, Alex and Tom. Every once in a while we would stop and take in the most stunning views. We were in a time-trial, but racing was secondary.

When we got in we were at a CPAR camp - an aid organization that the founder of TDA also founded. Most of us walked down the road to the hotel and bought showers and beer. I sadly forgot my headband there - it's been following me everywhere since Australia, but I suppose that's what happens when you sweat every ounce of water out of yourself and then have a cold beer. We raced back to CPAR for the rider meeting and dinner, but unfortunately the fellow heading up the organization gave a bit of a talk on what they were doing there and their needs, which consisted of him saying "We are doing many big projects and you should tell your government that we need money otherwise we won't be able to complete our big projects." Basically no detail but incredible wordy. We were starving. The frustration in the crowd was tangible. He finally stopped and we ate ourselves silly. Sometimes it's wiser to have the speech after the meal.

The next day I was pretty run down with the cold and rode only the half day. I couldn't have made a better decision. I slept on the truck as it cruised up a hill, and woke up in time for the most beautiful descent all the way into the next CPAR camp. There was only a bit of uphill at the start of the ride and at the finish - and the highest point on the tour - 3300m. For some reason I got "Rolling Down the River" in my head, and I sang it aloud all the way into camp. I think it helped to scare the kids into submission. Or maybe because I was the first person coming through, they didn't have time to react.

I got into camp and there was a massive pump/well. I had the most beautiful shower as a fellow pumped water over my head.

I walked down with some of the folk to the overlook pub. A tributary of the Nile wrapped its way through the base, and in the distance we could hear religious chanting. There were farms all the way up the cliff sides, accessible only by the thinnest of footpaths. It is no wonder donkeys are so necessary for Ethiopians.

We looked out, talked about how frustrating it is to see Ethiopia, a country that is so agriculturally-rich, and so filled with tourism potential, sit around and wait for the next handout rather than use its own initiative to start up their own economy. The eighties ruined Ethiopia. We need to let Africans run African and back off. Why do we keep thinking that we will be able to "make them see the light"? Why do we insist on lecturing people on how their countries are run?

But in the end, there is not much to be done but hope that it comes out all right.

The ups and downs of the roads

2009-04-22T23:05:00.000-07:00

The rest day in Bahir Dar was a true rest day. I sat back, ate injera, did email and drank about 6 of Ethiopia's amazing juices - they are layered drinks, usually four layers - mango, papaya, avocado and guava - sometimes pineapple. We are all hooked on them, and are drinking them with the knowledge that in a few weeks we won't get them again - but there is always something just as good around the corner.

Rest day is sort of a misnomer for us. In just over 24 hours we need to do all of our laundry, email if we can get it - super hard in Ethiopia with dial-up access and constant power-outages - fix our bikes, eat and shower - sometimes with real showers, lots of times with buckets or hoses, change money, try and find atms, try to find postcards and mail services, charge everything with batteries and maybe even take in a bit of the culture. I've been trying to get at least my bike fixed before I get into town, and do laundry if we have access to water.

After the rest day I rode with Erin. It was my favourite day of riding so far. I think Erin took the brunt of the hits from the kids, which may have made me feel like they were finally being nice, though I did get a few stones, a whip, and one stick. But the riding itself was amazing! The hills were large and rolling, so every down would take you right back up. We've been gaining quite a bit of elevation.

When we left the camp we passed by women with baskets strapped to their heads - the baskets sunk all the way down to their calves and were filled with ... shit. And some were filled with corn husks. "Where do you think they're going?” Erin asked. "To the shit and corn shop, of course." Turns out that was precisely what they were doing, what with it being market day and all. For the less traveled, cow patties are a large part of the fuel resources in this part of the world.

The hill tribes are a lot more traditional in their dress as well. As we climbed we saw more women wearing thin, black, coiled headdresses, and tribal colours went from green to purple to cobalt blue.

People here keep talking about the vastness of the population, and while there are a lot of people here, the real reason we notice them is because they are walking everywhere. The cars on the roads are buses, the occasional tourist rental, and the very occasional rich local who is zipping through to the next city.

I love one-on-one rides because you really get to know people, so much more so than sitting around in camp shooting back and forth the same stories. Erin is our kiwi nurse, and a beautiful, ever-smiling presence who loves the outdoors, making her own clothes and doing yoga. We actually meet up frequently for yoga after rides. She used to teach, so loads of people come to her for advice on stretches.

As we flew past the hilly farm-lands the rain clouds moved in, but the showers quickly turned to hail, just as we were hitting our biggest downhill so far. I have discovered that I am pretty comfortable doing about 68km/h, but any more makes me a little nervous, especially in an area where kids jump into the street randomly to stop you, or a troupe of donkeys might be around the next corner.
When we got into camp we saw that they had set up a perimeter to keep the hordes out. Kids had come in with warm bottles of pop and beer to sell us (no electricity), and the rest were folk with nothing better to do than to come and watch the circus.

Erin and I did yoga, so the campers got a reprieve while everyone circled around us. watching what was I guess the gymnastics part of the show.

Through the night we listened to the sounds of children creeping through our tent area, scavenging anything we had forgotten to lock away, and hyenas calling - a sound which did not sound anything like their stereotypical laughter.

.

The next day was a slog. The first part was wonderful downhill. I raced down at about 55km/h, keeping in check with the kids who would jump out in front, or play chicken, or red-rover - a group of them would hold hands across the road. The only solution was to aim for them and hope they didn't do a deer in the headlights thing.

We entered a valley where hundreds of people were walking tens of kilometers up the highway to get to a market to sell their wares. Women carried round baskets slung over their heads, with the basket itself sitting on their bottoms. They were filled with any sort of mystery. James, our cook, bought one filled with 700 eggs. There were donkeys carrying up earthenware jugs, four at a time, half the size of me. Then I realized that some of the women carrying the body-sized baskets on their backs were doing the same, only they were six slightly smaller earthenware vases. Droves of people on their weekly commute, nary a car in sight, and all with burdens that a westerner would balk at.

The road became a very long climb. It was steep and unending. We got into a town where someone had found a fruit juice stop, and that was that. We were there for an hour, drinking a few juices each, consuming some of Ethiopia's dry, bland pastries, and enjoying that we would have nothing but downhill the rest of the way. That was when we relearned the now age-old lesson "Don't fully trust the TDA directions."

True, there was more down than up, but there was also a lot of gravel, and a lot of gravelly ups. On one downhill I almost died. I also almost killed a kid. I sometimes wonder if that would have been such a bad thing. I was racing down the hill, and coming around a bend when this kid decided to dive-bomb me. It was all I could do to swerve, keep control, and not go over the side of the cliff. My hatred for these children grows on a daily basis.

Going up the last gravel slog I stopped to hang out with David, our current lonely planet guy (we get two new ones every section). We sat and were surrounded by curious kids, who would occasionally be distracted by the new passing riders. We shouted out to everyone who passed, "You you you you you, give me money, give me pen, where you from, what's your name, you you you!" The riders laughed and then the kids, confused a bit at first, also caught on to the fact that we were making fun of them and laughed as well.

Camp was in a beautiful forest, obviously replanted as the trees were linear. The kids climbed up the trees barefoot and snapped off branched from the top of the spindly pines, working their way down. All of this effort was for their kindling. I did some yoga to an audience and rested before dinner. When I had to go to the washroom, they followed. I grabbed the shovel (we bury our waste), headed off into the bush, but there was no shaking them. So in the end I defecated in front of an audience of 60. They starred laughing when I used toilet paper. Welcome to Ethiopia.

M

Ethiopia the friendly

2009-04-20T00:19:00.000-07:00

If there is anything anyone can actually learn from my natterings, let it be this: Please, when you are in a third world country, don't just go around handing out money. Really, that one birr you just gave the cute kid is doing more harm than good.

Feel guilty for having been born in the first world where we have the luxury of travel and everything else? Give your money to a local school or NGO or something where it will go to "teach a man to fish" - style projects, but don't just give a kid a buck and think you're doing some good. Do you know what happens after you've gone? If you've given it to a particularly small child, that child will get beaten up by the local bully and the money will go to them. The locals think we're idiots and think that it's their right to steal from us. If further travelers come through and don’t give them money, they resent us and throw rocks. Do you know what happens when we give them the left over sandwiches from lunch? They throw them on the ground and ask for money. We are going through an agriculturally rich area where the kids aren't starving and yet these idiot tourists (a busload of Polish tourists pulled over and started handing out one birr notes to the kids, much to our dismay) know only about what they see on the World Christian Fund ads, assume the whole bloody country is still in famine, and that their 10 cents is going to change that child's life. My impression of Ethiopia is that it has received too much aid - so much so that it no longer has the ability to be self-sufficient. The famine ended in the 80's, agriculture here is thriving, and yet the people themselves are not being industrious because, well, why should they? Foreign nations are giving them tons of cash constantly. I'm not saying that NGO's are wrong - I'm just saying that if you want to help, be progressive and put your money into something that requires the people to meet you half way. There are many projects out there that help people with low-interest loans, or give money conditional on having some form of business strategy, or some form of effort that will use the initiative of the people, rather than just handing over the cash and thinking that the problem is on its way to being solved. This may sound harsh, but I'm only describing what I'm witnessing here.

Ethiopia, even with its children who throw stones, hit you with sticks, and even the occasional bullwhip, has become my favourite country so far. It seems crazy, but it's true. It is so unbelievably beautiful here. The rolling hillsides, the shepherd children at the roadside (the unarmed ones), and how everyone dresses in traditional dress. For the most part, in the places we went through people were dressed in rich green garments - in the morning the shepherds covered themselves in thick cotton blankets, all green, with their sticks in hand to guide their sheep, goats, donkeys, or whatever their family herds.

The mornings are the most beautiful, with mists covering the fields, livestock wandering about, and the heat of the day not yet upon us. The children are also busy at this time. They seem to be either in school (which closes at 1 - that dreaded hour when they come out in droves and attack you), or too busy working under their parent's supervision. The birds here are magnificent too, and people come from everywhere to see species which don't exist anywhere else in the world.

We got to Gondor, and this is where I got my stomach ailment. As far as rest days go, it wasn't the best. I was feverish and running to the washroom the whole time. When a bug hits our lot, it takes us all out one by one. Some are made of a stronger mettle and ride regardless (the racers), some are foolhardy and ride when they shouldn't - Nick, who fainted in the morning and rode anyhow - I think the goal of EFI can be a troublesome one that gets people pushing themselves harder than they should. EFI goes to all of the folk who cover Every F#$@#ing Inch. I blew that when I sprained my ankle. That's fine. I won't get stubborn about being sick. Which I didn't. When we got back on the road I went in the truck. There were a bunch of us - in fact, all of the female racers. I, by the way, have dropped from the race. After the sprain I was riding before the racers started, getting out much earlier in order to not get stuck in the heat or stuck riding alone, so I kept getting 12 hour penalties, which got to be a little ridiculous. And then because the racers start so late and the Ethiopian road was so rough to begin with, and the children so horrible, I decided that it wasn't important to risk myself just to stay in the race. I might pick up a later section.

So we were on the truck all the way to our camp. We were in a beautiful field with tons of shepherd onlookers, as per usual. Some of the folks left us to go on a tour of Lallibella, and the rest of us sat around chatting for the evening under our first full moon since the start of the trip. Yup, it had been a month.

In the morning we had a quick 68km jaunt into Bahir Dar. It was an awesome ride. The uphills went into downhills and there was very little effort needed to get into town. I did need a bit of time to warm up at first, but that was more because of having been sick. Because of that, I lost my group of co-riders, but did get to see a whole troupe of monkeys scamper by in a field. Then I got a flat. Nick stopped to help, and I hung back with him for a while because I was a little worried about him riding while he was sick. After an hour though, he started drafting a truck, and I wasn't about to start pedaling 60km/h behind something that could stop at any minute. We made our way into Bahir Dar just in time to see their monthly bike race. The streets were closed off and the crowds were roaring. On some downtime we made it across the street to our hotel, where we set up in a lovely little garden area and hit the showers.

I went off with Malcolm and Claire to get some injera for lunch and to look for costumes. Yup, we were having a costume party that evening. We were each given a name and had to dress up our victims. I got Swen, a tall, lanky Canadian old boy, who I dressed up as an Ethiopian Shoulder Dancer - white peasant dress with embroidery, sash, and a 10 birr note on his forehead (you put those notes on their heads to pay them for their dance). I was dressed as a shepherd.

We got drunk. At least, some of us did. We drank beer, then horrific Ethiopian wine, then tej - a sort of Ethiopian mead, and then I think whiskey. Most went to bed, but
a few of us decided that it was time to go dancing. But first, the shoulder-dancers.
The shoulder dancers are awesome. Like bards, they sing to you in rhyme, usually making fun of you, politics, or whatever they can think of. Then you slap a buck on their forehead and they move on, time to tease someone else. And what they do with their shoulders! It is the standard case of something being made to look easy when clearly it is not.

We then went to some of the local little nook night clubs and danced our hearts out. At this point it was only Paul and Wondy (our local guy). The chicks kept grabbing me to dance with them, and finally at about 2 am it was time for me to go home. I crashed in my tent, forgot my malaria meds that night, and giggled for about half an hour before passing out.

M

The Children of the Sorghum

2009-04-17T14:43:00.001-07:00

A little fyi - These emails are getting harder to get through, due to very basic dial-up in Ethiopia mixed with frequent power outages. In four days I'll be in Addis. It's not meant to be any better there. Then four more days to the next rest stop, with more crappy internet, and then 8 straight days of riding through southern Ethiopia and Northern Kenya, where our main concern will be getting water and food for the trek, so likely no internet. So you'll hear from me, but slowly.

From the border town of Matema to a mountain camp, I was on the bus. Matema had Bob Marley playing over the loudspeakers to greet the morning. Kids and people were everywhere. Women were sitting in front of their little shops selling tea, men were carrying heavy things hither and thither. And from everywhere, left right and centre, all you could hear was "You you you you you you you". The kids shout this at you all the time. They say it, scream it, holler it, and sing it.

We jumped out for lunch - injera (fermented flatbread ) with choro and salad. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday and Friday are fasting days, when only vegetarian food is available. Choro is a spicy chickpea paste that tastes like an awakening of your tongue. The food is served on the bread which looks like a bubbly crepe and is the size of a platter. You rip pieces of the bread off and use it to pick up your food. Right hand only.

The roads were terrible. Rocky and awful. Occasionally a river had taken over the road. And hills. The mountainous beauty of Ethiopia comes at the cost of having to ride steep, gravely inclines. But even in the month since the truck had last been through new roads had been built. Apparently the Koreans are financing this venture. The first racer actually beat the truck. Everyone came in covered in mud. It was a rough day. I wish I had been on it.

Allan came in first, put down his bike and said: "Miranda, do you know how to cut hair?"
"I've never tried."
"That's good enough for me!"
He pulled out some barber scissors and I went to town. I get a nervous giggle cutting people's hair. And the answer to his question - No. I don't cut people's hair. I butcher it. He would have been luckier to have gramma and a bowl. But he loved it because most of it was gone and it made the heat less intense.

Kids were all over our camp. Erin and I did yoga, and they watched. They stand a couple of feet away from you and just watch. Everything you do is interesting. You fly in on crazy bikes, build your homes in minutes, and then start contorting yourself. We are the circus for these folk.

Erin showed them a few poses, and then taught them how to somersault. They weren't quite willing to try the cartwheel. They were adorable. Word from the road was that there were not too many stones thrown that day. We had been so worried for so long. Maybe Ethiopia's threat to cyclists was exaggerated.

Then we woke up the next day to the hardest day on tour. An 1100m elevation gain over 10km on a gravel road. Slow but steady was the only way to take it. And sometimes even a bunch of walking. I walked quite a ways with Lloyd. After the climb there were bits of pavement. Such a wonderful surprise. We went through a school village with children who surrounded us with questions like "What's your name?, Where are you from?, where are you going?" and the constant, unending "Give me Money!" youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou! And as we passed them, the stones started. One girl grabbed onto my back rack. One girl grabbed my handle bars "Give me Money!" "I don't have any" "That is false!" And a few seconds later a rock went whizzing past my head.

Something I didn't mention, that morning I was actually suffering from the plague that is going around our camp. I had been stopping frequently, and then was stuck going through these villages with no escape. Finally Lloyd and I got out of range of people, I told him to ride on, and in one move I somehow managed to unclip my peddles, jump off my bike, grab it, jump a massive ditch, run through the sparse eucalyptus trees and make it in time to find a nice spot in the field. When I headed back I realized I was in trouble because without the adrenaline it was going to be very hard to get back across that ditch with my bike.

Finally I made the lunch truck. It was after three. I was starving. I had a sandwich and some oranges and let the truck go back to do the sweep. If I hadn't made it yet they would pick me up on the way. It was then that I went through the valley of the Children of the Sorghum. They came out of the fields carrying their sticks and picking up stones. The questions started flying. I answered them all, and as soon as I passed, the rocks started flying. One kid hit me across the back with his stick. There were patches of these kids for as far as the eye could see. I jumped off my bike at one point and the kids scattered. They ran into the field and from over a hundred yards were able to pitch a rock with deadly accuracy. I decided to pitch one back. Eight feet. Peels of laughter and more rocks came my way. Now if I need to I only pick up the rock in threat, so that my shameful secret won't leave me exposed. After being absolutely stoned by the little bastards, I made my way up one last hill where two were waiting for me. I sped up. They ran. Those kids can run 12km/h barefoot without breaking a sweat. I'm not exaggerating. Then came a rock the size of my head. It slammed into my shoulder and I cried out in pain. Two adults saw it and chased the kids into the field with their canes swinging. Shortly after that the truck came by and wild horses couldn't have kept me off.

It took me 9 hours to ride 70km that day. I was a broken mess after that. We drove to the hotel and I checked into a room with Evelyn. I showered, dressed up and got myself a gin and tonic from the bar. I didn't even want to think about bicycling that night. We were in Gandor. The following day was a rest day. That was exactly what I needed.

M

Into Ethiopia

2009-04-14T02:15:00.000-07:00

From Camp Alfonse to Gedaref we traveled 136 km straight into a brutal easterly headwind. It seemed like most of the day my odometer was stuck around 12. I rode with Ann (the South African birder - very fun when you pass pretty birds) all day. We stopped every 30 km for a sanity-saving coke-stop. For the last 14km we suddenly veered to the right, and got tailwinds! Our speeds almost hit 40! We rode with renewed love for the road. Until that one 2km twist back into the headwinds. When we hit that it was a simple matter of heads-down and muttering curse-words. And zippee! Back onto the tailwinds for the last 5km. One of the harder parts of today was that not only were the headwinds so soul-eating, but a lot of the distances were underestimated. It's funny how on a day which is particularly brutal, having a lunch stop suddenly turn out to be at 75km instead of 70km can be so upsetting.

Something worth noting: throughout Sudan the houses have been beautiful white compounds with houses inside the perimeter and small courtyards in the centre. The doorways are always painted and some houses are decorated with flowers, stars and other geometric shapes. We have just moved into a fully different construction - it actually happened the evening before this ride. You could almost draw a line where the compounds stopped and the thatch mud-huts started. Our view now are these cylindrical mud huts with conical thatch roofs. And we are starting to see people walking around. Sudan is so wonderful in it's silence. It's like a shrouded Arabic woman walking through a marble temple. Beauty and grace under intense control. I have also mentioned the men in their white garb, but I don't believe I've mentioned the women. They are gorgeously dressed in colourful lengths of cloth that cover them from head to toe. Their faces remain uncovered, and they smile. It's such a great smile. It's one you don't have to ask for like in Egypt, where you receive wonderful smiles in return for yours. It makes you feel at peace.

We camped that night at a hilly outcropping. People were elated to know that we would be riding with a tailwind for the next 152km, right into Ethiopia.
There were hoots as we started riding the next day. People stretched out on their bicycles. They embraced the sky with their hands. We could move. We didn't have to stay slumped in one position, hoping the wind would take no notice of us. We were free! And the views changed from the desert we had grown so accustomed to. Taren said that with all the trees we were probably getting more oxygen! But it was true - there was greenery and hills. We whizzed past fields of sorghum covered in mist, the golden crop crowned in burnt red. Thatch huts were everywhere with children playing and people working. Women walked through fields with baskets on their heads, and even loads of bound sticks which I wouldn't be able to grab around the circumference with both arms. There were even some carrying 20kg bags of rice. We sped along in the 30s and 40s all day, and after lunch I departed from Ann. I was having seat troubles. My bolt wasn't holding. Slowly sinking as I went up and down hills, I rode most of the way to the Ethiopian border clown-style.

But I got there. And went and immediately spent the rest of my pounds before crossing the border and getting Birr. We exited Sudan and went straight to the campsite before officially entering Ethiopia. We needed to leave our things locked on the bus, and our bikes in a locked area. In Sudan we were protected by Sharia Law. They cut the hands off of thieves, so there aren't any. In Ethiopia, anything not locked down will get stolen.

Our campsite was a shit heap. Literally. There was shit everywhere. Both animal and human. Evelyn and I decided to set up tents right away, thus avoiding some of the shittier areas. We swept the visible shit away from where we were going to put up camp. We then went over to the customs office to get our entrance visas. The Ethiopian Immigration Office is a mud hut at the side of the road with chickens running through it. The nice thing is that they serve beer there. After the two hour wait with no food but a few beer, I was pretty tipsy. I got back to camp, had dinner, and then went for a shower at the brothel. It was a little tin shack with no light, a pipe, and a sort of showerhead. All that for 40 cents.

We swapped out our tires for off-roads, and while we were doing that Graham decided to test his pepper spray. A small dose upwind from where we were all working. Ten minutes after he did his little test, we were all coughing, choking, stinging, and vomiting. He'll be hard-pressed to live that one down.

That night I wasn't feeling very well. I got about three hours of fitful sleep before the donkeys started , and then the chickens, and then the dogs, and then the chickens again, and then someone shot a gun twice and there was silence. And then the donkeys, and then the chickens, and then the dogs. And by the time the Mosque called us to ride, I knew I would be on the bus that day.

xo
M

I’m on the headwinds to hell

2009-04-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

Leaving Khartoum was quite the trip. Traffic was everywhere, sometimes three deep on the road headed straight for us. We were run off a few times. There were also many potholes. Today was the first time where I found there was a bit of conflict with the pelotons. I think that a bunch of inexperienced folk joining in on them could have been a large contributing factor. For those of you who don't know, pelotons are when you ride in a straight line, or two by two when there's space. You get really close to the tire of the person in front of you, and it keeps the headwinds off of you. The lead rider keeps a steady pace, tries to keep the whole train intact, and notes any deviations in the road by pointing and shouting out, which then gets passed on down the line. We've been sticking to a 5km lead ride (then you jump of the train and rejoin at the back of the line), though when I ride with the racers they tend to go for longer. Because you're riding so close together, forgetting to mention a hole or a sand patch has the potential of massive damage. Unsteady speeds can shake the people on the tail of your train, and can be exhausting as you just can't get into a groove.

The pelotons had been very useful in Sudan since they allowed you to zip through part of the day - while it's incredibly cool to be in the Sahara, it's still just a desert, and there's not much to look at other than dead camels, donkeys and the occasional vulture. Where I would normally be riding at about 30km/h, in a peloton I can get well into the 40's (though when I ride with the ladies we tend to stick to 25-30) Slower riding is nice because it means not just looking at the ass of the person in front of you, and a higher chance of stopping for tea. Since I've discovered tea with cardamom in it, these tea stops have become very important.

Well on this day Evelyn and I were doing a two-person train to cut the headwind. It was a pretty strong one, the strongest we'd encountered. I looked back at one point and realized that a whole train had latched on to us. Then I caught up with another train and latched on to them. We stuck together for the first 40 kilometers, and then I saw the ladies and decided that I was hooped if I had to keep going at the speeds we had been going at, especially since the cross-winds were prevalent and the peloton wasn't really taking the edge off of the ride. Unfortunately, while I had occasionally had some great drafting experiences with the ladies, there were some new folk in the group who were changing up the pace, and communication was at a low, which lead to three of us hitting a pothole the size of a child's snow angel when someone forgot to call it out.

When we reached the lunch truck, Evelyn and I took off together. Cathy joined in, as she often does after lunch, but she's such a strong rider that she was gone in no time. We got to our camp. It was to be our last day on the Nile until we picked up the Blue Nile in Ethiopia. We set up camp in a Eucalyptus forest with a view overlooking a beautiful sand beach on the Nile. I set up my tent, had my soup (rehydration soup with tons of salt in it - we get it daily, and it's all I can think about most days after leaving lunch), and then saw that one of the other riders was doing very poorly, so I set up their tent for them. By this point I thought I would explode if I didn't get down into that water, so I gathered my washing stuff and ran for the sand. It was like bathwater. At least, bathwater at the point where you start thinking about getting out. And if there is anything more important than water at the end of the ride, it's cool refreshing water. I stayed in it until I was pruney. I washed my clothes, cleaned up, and felt amazing. Sonya was in there as well, and we left just as Simon was jumping in. As I turned I saw Simon drop his skivvies, and between that and the two women leaving, our audience of local townboys scattered like ants to fresh bug bomb. The night was wonderful except for one small pika-like rodent that kept us all awake. The funny thing was that it sounded like a heart-monitor, so we all assumed that the rider who had been unwell had left it on for the night. And then it would be irregular for a bit, and then sometimes it would stop for a couple of minutes. That was when I figured out that it wasn't the sound of our friend kicking it, but some local annoying animal. We generally get woken up by fighting dogs, Mosques, or donkeys. There is no twitter of little birds here in Sudan.

The following day was a nightmare. This whole section was set up with distances of 142,146,137, 152 due to a history of tailwinds. We did not get any tailwinds during this time. These few days left a lot of us thoroughly beaten up and disheartened.

I left the camp and rode through the peace of the morning, expecting not too hard of a day until suddenly our route took a sudden left turn and I found myself in a sandstorm through which I could barely see the road. When I finally got past the big kick up I rode into a little tea shop where a few of the other riders were having some peace before heading off again. Sometimes you just need a few moments rest to realize that you can actually go on. Sometimes all I can do is think that if I can't make it in today, there will be a truck that will come and get me. After a few hours of headwinds, I got in to lunch. I was in quite a bit of pain by this time. My anti-Malaria meds make me sensitive to the sun, so I've got pretty bad burns on my arms and knees and my knuckles - you can't imagine how awful a knuckle burn is. In Asia I tried Lariam - it made me hallucinate, here I'm on Doxycycline - I get thoroughly burnt (great side-effect for a drug that only gets used in regions with excessive amounts of sunlight). I guess if ever I go down to South America I'll go for Malarone and bite the bullet of $5 a day for a pill.

I rode off from lunch but couldn't continue - I was sunstroked. I covered myself with my sarong, but that only worked as a sail to slow me down. Judy passed by and fortunately (for me) got a flat. We started changing it when a bunch of white-robed, white turbaned men who were fixing their own flat came over. Introductions and handshaking passed, and then another car stopped to see what was going on. More white-robed, white turbaned men came out and more introductions and handshaking, this time with the other men as well as us. We had only managed to get the tire off in this time, and then I saw the truck in the distance. I pushed my way through the crowd of men and flagged it down. I got on with the knowledge that there was nothing that could get me to push that pedal one more time. We got into Alfonse's camp. It is named for a past TDA rider who took the day off riding that day. He jumped on the truck in the morning, got in to lunch, tucked away some grub, got back on the bus, had a nap and never woke up. He died peacefully of a heart attack. We had a moment of silence to remember this man who was known for his unending caring and generosity, as well as a disproportionately large smile.
xo
M

Dar-for-what?

2009-04-01T02:48:00.000-07:00

Did you know that there are over 2 million internally displaced people in Sudan? Today we went to a refugee camp where we gave mosquito nets to dozens of orphans from the Darfur crisis. They sang to us, Christian songs taught to them by the people in the trenches. One of the reporters I spoke with, a Christian man, said that even though he was baptized with his name, he cannot be confirmed until he gives it up for a western one. Is that still the approach in these global times? Back home, when I'm sitting comfortably in my living room, or thinking about the devastation wrought upon First Nations people (my people now, I guess - did I mention I just got my letter of status?), I can say things like: is what they really need? to have their culture ripped away from them as well? But at the same time, it is the Christians over here who are bringing in the most money to cover the basic necessities. The world is grey, the world is grey.

We went on a tour that was meant to be three hours and wound up being the whole day. I had gotten my laundry done in the shower that morning, and figured I could simply clean my bike when we finished our next day. We went on a boat ride on the Nile, where the white and the blue Nile meet. There were animals about, though there were no crocs. The fella said they tend to be where the current is faster, further in the south.

We went to see where General Gordon was decapitated when the British were initially removed from Sudan (they came back ten years later with the Egyptians to force Sudan into submission). We went to the YMCA to see the offices where they teach people skills to get jobs so that there will be less poverty in what is an extremely impoverished city. Looking at Khartoum, you have to wonder why they don't all just move to the country. And one of the greater complaints of the people is that it is too expensive now to get married. With dowry and wedding costs, buying your bride is about 18,000 US. Mail order from Russia? Kidding.

We were brought round to the house of the man who runs the YMCA. His wife had spent the day cooking for thirty. Soups, vegetables, chicken, rice, fruit, everything you could ever desire! We ate like kings. Tehre was the Reuters correspondent there. He told us of how great it was that there is now peace between the south and the North, as he hadn't gotten to see his family for 17 years. As a journalist there was no way he would be granted permission to travel. When asked for my profession while coming into this country I stated that I was a cyclist. Staying away from the whole writer thing.

After listening to a CD of one of the guests present - Mary, a lovely girl from Sudan studying in South Africa to work for African NGOs - we headed off and went to a cemetery. Malcolm, one of our riders, has a grandfather who was buried here in Khartoum. We left him to find it, and he got a rubbing of the grave to bring home to his family. They are going through the process to bring his grandmother here to Sudan to be buried alongside her husband.

And now I'm here, in this mall where they chant the call to prayer over the intercom, contemplating pizza, and getting ready to head home to my tent and sleep until 5:30, only to start out on the road again.

Love to all - You'll here from me in six days when I get to Ethiopia.

No cars to Khartoum

2009-03-28T15:53:00.000-07:00

We rode 154km today. I rushed to get out with someone. I've stopped leaving with the racers because I don't want to freak out my ankle, and since they leave last, I don't want to be stuck alone all day if I drop out of the peloton. Which is also why I'm getting logged in at twelve hour days in the race charting. I was doing about 30 km/h in the headwind, and managed to catch up to the ladies - Anne, Viv, Helen and Isabel, who were riding at 25-26 km/h in peloton. We traded off every 5km, making the day much more manageable physically and mentally - change is good in the desert. I plotted the next story of Brownie and Woofie for Sequoia (my step-daughter), thought out my storyline for the Sudanese bike (which I've now ditched, having gotten an even better one from our visit to the refugee camp), and did math problems. That's what I think about when I'm riding. I also come up with counter arguments to things said by Eric, our neo-Reganite, which makes for fun discussion in the right company - and never too serious.

Getting into camp, we were exhausted. There was a coke-stop 1km away from camp, but I couldn't get there until after dinner. We were wiped. And then we found out that after our rest day in Khartoum we would have 6 straight days of riding, including our first two in Ethiopia. We're all a little paranoid about Ethiopia. Mountains, Bad roads, kids with rocks, and no privacy. In Dongola we stayed in a zoo. There were no animals. There were so many people lined up outside the compound walls watching us wash clothes, shower with buckets (clothed), fix bikes. There were even guys sitting on a roof hollering at us. In Ethiopia it is meant to be even more so, only without the walls. So four straight days of around 150km, and then two days in Ethiopia. The first day in Ethiopia is rumoured to be really rough because it will have been almost a month since any of us has been allowed any alcohol (prohibited in Sudan). It's usually a hangover day. On the rocks. As the kids throw them at you.

The next day was our day into Khartoum. We also had our time trial. I had been out of the race for so long I didn't even know if I was still in. They didn't know either, so I got a whole bunch of 12 hours thrown on my schedule, and rode the time trial, which was great fun. I'm pondering riding them and bailing on the race aspect. I much prefer the 20 km races to racing every day - you don't get as much variety in who you ride with. We'll see. I rode on until just before the 60 kilometer mark, and then tragedy struck. A bus was coming in the oncoming, and I didn't hear the truck coming up behind me - it didn't honk because it figured it could just squish in between the two of us. the side of the truck was a sort of steel that looked like corrugated roofing. I got smacked on my arm and hand by four of the bumps, and swerved off the road, thankfully staying on the bike. I was bruised and swollen with a bit of blood, but burst into tears more from shock than from pain. I sat at the side of the rode thinking, I'm alright, everything is moving, nothing is broken, I'm just shocked. And so I started riding with one arm when it occurred to me that I had some first aid with me and should clean it. As I was cleaning it Simon rode up and I burst into tears again. He sprayed me with disinfectant, and shortly after the sweep came by and called in a truck. We got to lunch and I threw my bike on the big truck and did nothing the rest of the way in except chat with the sickies.

There is quite a bit of sickness going around - I'm hoping I'll miss it, but ailments spread like wildfire in the camp. Try to tell people not to share food - it's impossible. We all like each other, and we're all used to sharing. It's not possible to break that habit.

We got into Khartoum and were slightly disappointed in our campsite. It looked like every other soccer field we had been staying in, only there were hundreds of guys staring at us. It's being used as a military complex. We all changed our minds about the place when we discovered that there were plenty of warm showers and a shop that sold cold drinks for 30cents. we changed our minds even more so when we got a surprise treat that night.

But first, we went on the prowl for internet. There was a mall that we could supposedly get supplies at. We found a coffee shop that served ice-cream! Pizza! Bowling! Air conditioning! hahahaha! Since Scott and Sherriff were leaving us, we had a fun game of bowling together on the most curved, bumpy lanes I have ever seen! It was awesome. I have never laughed so hard! It was our own little oasis of a culture that we have no interest in back home, and yet here it was exactly what we needed. Oh and the pizza was so good - solid fat! mmmmmm. I've been dropping weight like you wouldn't believe, so the fattier the food the better.

We got back to music. A rawbaba, a drum, a man chanting accompanied by dozens of others. Imagine the African tribal music you'd get on a World Beat CD, perform it on a dark sandy courtyard, with youngfellas jumping in and stomping to the beat, the one foot keeping pace with the bass-tone, the other moving faster, with hard stomps that make the earth quake. the dirt rises - the guys stomp hard - they match themselves with partners until one tires, hands in the air or thrusting at their sides, they dance. And then they started coming up to us, calling us in. We danced with them, stomping hard until we started laughing. High-fives and clapping, slaps on the back and others encouraging us to go back for more. I went to sleep shortly after, covered in sweat.

M

Riding through the Valley of Death

2009-03-07T12:13:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the late blog updates. Since I got into Sudan blogspot seems to crash most computers.

We turned down a road, and suddenly the Nubian desert was to the left of us, and the Sahara to our right... or was it the other way around? There was still a bit of Nile to our left. And when we finally turned fully into the Sahara, there were actually trees. Well, glorified prickly bushes, but still they were green and alive. Unlike the camels. We passed by hundreds of dead camels by the roadside, heads contorted and bodies dehydrated from the heat. We rode along an old camel trading route, and of course in terrain like this, many don't survive. Fortunately with enough support we got through it alright. Though one more day of eggplant and okra in the food and I might not have. Is it really possible to be picky about food on a trip like this? Sigh. It is. Not that the food isn't pretty much always great - I just have a thing against those two particular vegetables.

So I was on the truck for a couple of days, and then rode for the remaining two, and then we made it into Dongola. It is hard to sleep in in a very religious Muslim city. I woke to the sound of about fifty mosques all going off at once. And the dogs! Wild dogs! There must have been hundreds of them. I got up, I did handwash, I cleaned up my bike. I ate and ate, I bought a prayer mat for desert yoga and a present for the loved ones. It was very very busy, and not very restful. My ankle was swollen, but it didn't really hurt, and the rest of the way was paved.

The unfortunate thing in the route planning is that they have us going days of 142km, 142km, 156km, 108km, based on the fact that last year had a tailwind. This year there was a headwind. It was f**king ugly. The first day was fine. There were two deserts, there was the greenery of the Nile in the distance, there were tea shops along the way where we sipped tea out of small glasses, half sugar, half tea-water, and then I discovered chai bin habhan - tea with cardamom - now replacing my favourite, chai bin nyar nyar - tea with peppermint. We throw sarongs on in these places so as not to offend. One fellow started to show us how they wrap the turbans, but we could never figure out the initial coil, as he couldn't take it off that far.

I rode with Anne, the South African, and Catherine, the Australian that day. Anne is a former birder and pointed out the Egyptian vultures, as well as the many kites. There were many of these because there were carcasses aplenty. In fact, that night when we went out for our nightly toilet excursions we had to be careful not to walk too far as our own camp had two dead camels in it. When we got into camp we dove into the canal - not without hesitation - it was runoff from the Nile that had been used in agriculture. I know. But you ride through a desert at 52 degrees heat with a bloody headwind and tell me that your toilet wouldn't look like a basin from heaven. And it was clean looking. With moss floating in it occasionally - so something living was in it. And we figure they probably don't have access to pesticides. I'll stop making excuses. We just did it.

The next day I woke up tired. A deep-in-your-bones kind of tired. Sure we only had 142 km to ride, and it was all paved road, and meant to be tailwinds, but I was just done in. I rode with Evelin from Holland - she does computer programming for banks and loves to travel in the same way I do. We have great conversations, so I figured I'd ride with her. But I was too tired to even hold my own. I was dead dull, there were headwinds, and the day just wouldn't end. Thank god Evelin was her normal, cheerful self. At the lunch stop we picked up Catherine, who was also about to quite because the day was so horrible. The Sahara is interesting, but only for a while. Then it is just sand. And some scrub. the most amazing thing is looking out to your right and realizing that that is pretty much what it looks like for the next four thousand kilometers. Only with less scrub. Oh, and we've all been having mirages - the sand actually looks like a lake in the distance. No wonder they figured out how to make glass and mirrors. The "water" is very deceptive in that it reflects trees and anything around it. We stopped at the last coke stop for about an hour. I didn't think I would drink coke on this trip, but sometimes anything cold will do. Even liquid battery acid. When we finally got into camp I did some yoga, ate and went straight to bed. I was in bed by 7:30 that night. I woke up to the southern cross out in the distance, and a new energy. Just when you think you've given it your all out here, go to sleep, wake up, and you know you'll have some more.

Brand-Nubian

2009-01-30T09:27:00.000-08:00

So I was in Sudan but not able to ride. You can't imagine how torturous it is, to see everyone come in, utterly wasted from the road, utterly amazed by the beauty of the land, and for you to be sitting there, full of energy and having only just zipped by everything in a truck. I was sad.

The desert here is so different from Egypt. The yellow is stronger. At times it is vast, at times it is closed in by sand mountains covered in black rocks. Rich black tourmaline-like spikes just out of the sand. The first day had half the distance covered in pavement, and the rest was hard-packed sand. Our desert cowboys - the local Sudanese who are accompanying us - were driving the route setter around, but wound up getting lost, so the riders went through a hellish area of soft-sand. And then the finish. Erin, the nurse, had contacted a belly-bug, so she was riding the truck with me all day. When we got into our desert camp, we went off with a few others and had a yoga session. It was wonderful - right into the setting sun.

Werner, the German fellow who is here through his church group, knows an astounding amount about the stars. He brought us out into the evening and told us what was what, along with the history of the mapping and the legends that go with them. I didn't put up my fly so that I could sit all night looking at the stars - the best thing about Nubia is that there is very little electricity, so you get the most beautiful view of the night sky. I'm also happy to have had my eyes lasered this past year, as it's the first time that I've ever been able to drift off while actually seeing the night sky.

The following morning I realized was also not going to be a riding morning, though I was absolutely sure that the next day would be. On this day everyone rode through villages. There was only about 30 km of tarmac on a 120km day. Hard-packed sand isn't bad to ride on, but it isn't easy either. The villages are comprised of these houses which are mud-packed. There is a perimeter fence, and then on one side you have the bedrooms, and on the other, the kitchen. There is a small area for the bathroom off to another side. In the middle you have a courtyard, usually covered with mats for sitting and drinking tea on. Today I will actually be picking up a little prayer mat to do my yoga on. Also in the villages are the shacks for road travelers which have clay pots filled with water, and through an evaporation system it keeps the water ice cold. It's heavenly. And I didn't think I'd bother with the cokes everyone talks about on this trip, but man, when you're out there and it's the only cold thing - heaven.
We camped by the Nile and I had myself a little swim, along with everyone else. In fact, I waited for a few others to go in just out of fear of crocs. I imagine they've mostly been hunted out, but still.

Then the bugs came. These little nits which were not bothered by any insect repellent. As Andrew said "I think they're actually licking the deet off of me". We wrapped our faces in sarongs, covering our eyes with our glasses. Some were badly bitten. I got away without any bites.
And the sicknesses have started to invade the camp. There is a stomach virus and a feverish cold. I've also missed out on those. So far. Mind you, I missed two days riding because of my ankle.

On our third day, I rode. I made it 70km out of 108. It was fabulous to be back on my bike again. The road was sandy (I can actually ride this bike through the sand! It'll go for a good 10 meters of ankle-deep sand). The sun was intense. I drank four litres by noon. I stopped for a coke stop in one of the villages. Paul lent me a sarong as I had forgotten mine (we have to be fully covered here), and I so I could sit in comfort, knowing that I'm not offending anyone. The funny thing is, if it were all about the bugs and the sun, I could appreciate the covering up, but because they say it's for the protection of the women regarding the men, I just can't respect their views. Not that I won't comply while I'm here, but it's still offensive to me.

The problem with the road here is that there are no real roads - people drive wherever the sand has been packed down, and so you wind up with quite a few trails, so all you can do is follow the bike tires in the sand and hope that you're not following someone who is lost. We get village names for where we'll be passing through, and the locals are very helpful. There is a giant highway being built by the Chinese, much to the disappointment of the Nubians - amidst all the graffiti was one in English which said "Stop Chinese influens on Nubia". They are building all over Sudan in order to secure their oil. There will be a lot of changes here in the next few years, and I can foresee their internal conflict colliding with new, external conflicts.

I started to have problems with my clips. The left foot clip (unsprained ankle) wouldn't clip in, and then after a while it would, so I would hit a long stretch of loose sand, or some scary gravel, have to jump out, and then realize I couldn't. It was so stressful, trying to ride without harming my already weak ankle. Also, one person borrowed my bike without asking, and then readjusted my seat, so I spent the morning trying to get my seat right. I was getting very frustrated and angry. Bad seat means bad knees and new blisters. So it was a bit of a brutal day. But no spills, and after seventy km I flagged down a desert cowboy, and saw that the between the lunch truck and them they had picked up a dozen riders. The temperature was said to have been around 45 degrees. The hot sun pulls all the moisture right out of you, which explains the amount of oil in the local food - Recipe for fool - cook up beans in spices, water and oil. Then add two ounces of oil and some salt and herbs when it's finished. Grab some delicious bread, rip off pieces with your left had to scoop it up with, and eat. No loss of oil here. Hands return to being silky smooth.

The cowboys drove the last 10km to our camp after a break for tea and prayer, and vastly overshot. They were convinced that we were camping past the desert in the more populated Nile area. I tried to convince them that after having cycled over a hundred kilometers, the riders would not be able to cycle another hundred more. Finally they realized their mistake, and so we drove around to highpoints to look for shiny things (trucks). We got in and I was starved. Every day we get a super-salty soup right after the ride, which is a complete godsend. I set up my tent without the fly, but then realized my mistake in the morning. The sandstorm. It was brutal. It started about 3am. One side of my tent was starting to fly up and so I threw my head into that corner so that the tent would stay down. And it got cold.

The next day was a mix of paved and dirt, with some pretty hefty sandy bits. We also had a bit of a miserable try at a quasi-convoy through the desert part that people could easily get lost in - there were about 15 roads, one that was the right one, 11 were the long way, and the rest would take you to god knows where.
Fortunately the day was only 87km. Mark, our mechanic, got my cleat pretty much working (still a little hard to get out of) and the pavement was wonderful. With tailwinds getting up to 40km/hour was easy.

So I'm in Dongola. There's nothing here but people watching and eating chicken and freshly made doughnuts and amazing honey pastries. I've washed all of my disgusting clothing, cleaned my bike, and will be dusting out my cameras and computers - thanks Kerry - the camera cleaner is the best tool ever! I lubed up my tent zippers, I think I'm pretty good with my bike seat placement, and have even (yes it's true) showered (it's been five or six days). I feel wonderful. The falafels are starting to make me feel awful, so I think I'll go eat a watermelon and olives with friends.
I really love it here.

Though I do indeed miss you all.

M

Operation: Desert Storm

2009-01-30T09:25:00.000-08:00

We woke up this morning to a storm so intense it took a large amount of planning to pull down my tent without it blowing away. In fact, one person's tent did blow away, and he spent ten minutes chasing it into the desert.
The other day I woke up to a blood red sliver of moon, and while I looked at it, a shooting star flew by.
And all around us is nothing but blissful quiet and solitude.

In Aswan I finished writing email, had what would be my last beer for three weeks, and went for dinner with some of the troupe. Did I mention that stairs in Egypt are not very even? Well, they're not. And I twisted my ankle. Fortunately there was not much riding to be had for a few days. Take this as a lesson though - never put your kids in soccer - they will forever suffer the curse of weak ankles.

But not all was lost. We got on the boat to Wadi Halfa, which passes Abu Simbel and the temple of Hathur- aka the four Egyptian Kings carved into the side of a mountain. It's incredibly beautiful. It's also a site which I thought was in the valley of the Kings, and therefore thought that I had missed. But first we sat for 6 hours while they loaded the boat. We watched as five men hoisted a refrigerator onto the back of one man, who would then carry it onto the boat and down a ladder into the belly of the barge. All I can say is -regarding the bricks for the pyramids - mystery solved. Entering the boat was a strange experience. Forty-seven lycra-covered Westerners (women included) walk into a room full of big Nubian men, all of them smoking and drinking tea while they watched us. The curiosity was as thick as the smoke in the air.

Entering Sudan was interesting. We waited for a couple of hours while the passengers disembarked. Then it was us. It was an absolute madhouse of people. We then had to go into the passport control. Our bags were "searched" - a man looked at them from the outside and occasionally he opened the bag. There is no alcohol allowed in the Sudan, so this was the idea behind the search. Then we waited for our passports to be returned to us by the staff, who had taken them with some of the forms we filled out on the boat. Then we filled out another form as well as a photography license, where we agreed to not take any pictures of poverty, bridges, boats, security areas, etc. etc. We all had to ask the question, How do you define poverty? I figure anyone with a garden or paint on their mudhut is not poor. Have a donkey? Definitely not poor. Camel - verging on rich. Wife? Super-well off.

Unfortunately for me, the trucks arrived right away. That meant that I was for sure going to miss one day of riding.
In Wadi Halfa we rode into a soccer field and witnessed the most astounding sunset. The sky was cloudy, so there was a beautiful mix of oranges and reds and pinks throughout the heavens. We were starved, but couldn't eat until we had fully appreciated the arrival gift that Sudan had given us. I went with James, the cook, and we got fried fish and falafel. The bread here is much better than in Egypt, but the falafels are nowhere near as good. But then, there is also a lot less hassle with bartering or tourist-like touting. I wish we westerners didn't bring out the worst in people.

I will write a second email with the rest of the days in Sudan so that you can have snippets, instead of just one big fat email all at once.

Love and Kisses!

M

Life on De-Nile

2009-01-30T09:24:00.001-08:00

Through hazy eyes I looked out on the mists covering the rice patty fields, incense trees peeking out from the blue grey. We had just had a breakfast of falafel on Pita with tabouleh, then another pita with fool - cooked spiced beas, and a third with braised eggplant. I traded my eggplant. This morning was beautiful. I dusted off my tent from the soccer field which we camped in, threw my bag onto the temporary truck (our other two convoy trucks are headed early to the ferry as it can take them anywhere up to 48 hours to make the 6 hour crossing), and rode off. We raced till noon. I lead the pack for most of the day. Having taken a large part of the wind, I fell out of the real competition on the last, and most important 10km dash. Travelling along the Nile is the most beautiful thing. to our left is the desert. People in houses made of stone so crumbly that it is hard to differentiate from the mortar. On the right, the agriculture and the river. The contrast is so incredibly astounding. And there are the children. Yesterday one of the little bastards got me. "Hello, Hello" is fine, but throw a rock my way and I start to question why birthcontrol isn't more prevalent in this country. At least in the Sudan there won't be the sugarcane for them to hit us with. We left Luxor. I tried and failed to get a telephone working. So no calls home for my first month here. I tried and failed to pictures uploaded - though a friend has given me a tip - I'll be getting my shots onto Picassa when we get into Addis. At Luxor I went to Karnak, ancient Thebes. You can see the temples all you want in films, but ;nothing prepares you for their actual size. Touching the walls was a tremendous experience. You can feel the age and the sacred worship that took place there. You can also feel the life of the slaves in the rock. I was both bewildered and saddened. The running dialogue told us about "sweet Hatshepsoot", who ordered the might obelisk to be carved of granite and transported to Karnak. Given the lives it cost, I can hardly imagine her as sweet. But all in all, one of the most amazing sites I have seen. Even more impressive than the pyramids, though I don' t know why. We rode the next day to Idfu, which is where we stayed in the soccer field. I had a bit of a crap day, though a crap day of biking in Africa is a better day than anywhere else (except perhaps in the arms of a loved one). I woke up and the water that they had used to clean the trucks had slowly formed a very large mudpuddle leading right up to my tent. A few soakers and some messy gear later, and i was on my way. Things went smoothly, until I hit a nail about the size of my pinky. one tire change later, and I was off and riding with Craig, a nice fellow from England - banker who has stopped working to bike around the world. We chatted all day (I'm trying to have long chats with everyone, one at a time). We had lunch on a sandy beach by the Nile. The rest of the day was a breeze, other than being stoned by a small child with a big grin. At the soccer statium i felt the first of the harshness of the Egyptian sun. I was so exhausted by the mere heat of it all - I headed off with the twins (two south Africans who had been friends since grade 4), for tea, and then came back to repack my bag - there is nothing more annoying than working out the perfect system, only to have to rework it because we're crossing into the Sudan. I had a long conversation with one of the Egyptian riders - about the love of his life, his religion, and the wonderful taste of sugarcanes - peel off the outer reed and chew the sugar out - wonderful. I have a driving desire to learn Arabic when I get back. Sorry if I'm not responding to all of the shorter emails - I love receiving them, I just get barely anytime with the web, and because our restdays are so short, we all try to max out on sightseeing time. But do send your hellos. It's nice to hear that someone is out there. Oh, and to kill a rumour - I was not hit by a truck - when I said I hit the truck, I meant it figuratively, like hitting the books. I sat on it bacause of the pain in my knees, which is gone now. Right now we're in Aswan - where Agatha Christie wrote Death on the Nile. The Cataract hotel where she wrote it is closed for Reno. To bad. I would have loved to have a G&T there. I guess cafe on the Nile will have to do. Don't feel like I'm too spoiled though - once we enter the Sudan all comforts go out the window. I only hope I brought enough toilet paper.
Big Love,
M

Dee-Luxor

2009-01-30T09:15:00.000-08:00

Six straight days, almost 700km, and finally we're back into green. It's amazing how revitalizing it is, just to have colour again. the vast terrain of mustard yellow was beautiful, but I know know the experience of coming upon an oasis.

We rode into Luxor just before noon. We had ridden for about 100km that morning. It was odly, the hardest ride. When you know that your rest day is at the end of the road, the road's end can't come quickly enough.

I last left off at Sufata, where we camped at the Red Sea. It was the most wonderful night. Realize, that we were still travelling with an almost full moon. The waves rolled in gently all night. Arabic music played in the distance with all of its bells and chant-like singing. It was meant to be cold, but I found a reed wind-break. It was heaven. Other than the fact that the alarm on my watch doesn't work, that is. I woke up at 4 am and every 15 minutes thereafter to check to see if it was time to get up yet. Finally 5:30 rolled around and I was a wreck. And of course, there was the nervous antidcipation for our day - 140 km, uphill for most of it, headwinds.

It's so great when predictions are wrong. Yes it was 140 km. The first 60 km were uphill with a slight headwind - we went up almost 700m over the whole distance - it was about a 2% grade the whole way. Unless you're from Saskatchewan, it was barely noticeable. The remaining ride was with a tailwind, so it was about the easiest ride ever - so unbelieveably enjoyable. And, since we were going through the mountain pass, it was gorgeous. The funny thing with the desert - because you're going through such a vast area, it's strangely comforting. When you're in the outer hill regions, it seems intimidating. I suppose it's because you know that if you were on foot, once you finally made it through the desert, you would still have to climb some mountains to get out of there.

And my bike is sooooo wonderful! For thhose of you who don't know the story - I picked up my bike on the way to the airport. I had gotten approximately an hour's riding time in on the same style of frame, but that was about it - which pretty much accounts for my knee problems and the blisters I've been getting (where no woman should ever get a blister). I reset my seat position and do tons of streches while riding, and it's great! It goes downhill so astoundingly fast! I've been doing on average 25km/hour, and my top speed so far was somewhere around 50km/hour - and we've barely seen any real hills. Whenever I'm on a downhill it's great because I can pretty much outrun everybody. I was so worried about taking a bike that wasn't Big Shiny Red (the tank I've been riding for over a decade now), but it's totally worked out.

And I'm loving the pelletons - I start out with the racers every morning when it's a race day, and we ride together for about 40km, then I tend to break off - photos or washroom usually beckon. I tend to catch them at the lunch truck again. I know I'm not the fastest - some of these folk are shockingly fast, but I'm having loads of fun. And stopping for tea is so great! Little thatch huts on the highway filled with laughing men who think the spandex is utterly ridiculous. And it allows us to break free from "Our Heroes" the police assigned to guard us this whole trip, but generally just follow the female packs and make it unbelievably uncomfortable for us to have pee-breaks. Sometimes they also like to re-route us without the Tour's knowing. Fortunately the one time they did that to us we managed to get back onto the trail.

The ride into Luxor was green and lush. Regal palms bracketed the roadside, farms were everywhere. Kids laughed and waved, "Hallo, Hallo", a break to the sameness of their everyday. Armed Bedouin guard the bridges across the Nile, their serious faces shining when smiles of greeting break through. And then the villages got closer and the kids started to block our road, throw the occasional stone, and hit us with sugar canes. They didn't come after me, though I'm sure that's still to come. When the parents caught them they would beat them or throw stones at them. It is what it is, right. It was also refreshing to see women again. Since they don't do the manual labour in the country, you don't see them in the desert.

Tomorrow I'm up at 5:30 again and will ride out to some new place. The Next day is Aswan, and then we get on the boat to Sudan. It's scheduled as a nine hour tour, should take 22 hours, but may take 48. You may not hear from me for three weeks. Last year there was no internet in the Sudan. Things change fast in Africa, but things stay the same for longer.

So, you will either hear from me when I get to Khartoum, or Addis Abiba. I will try to call home tonight, but who knows if that will work.

Much Love,

M

2009-01-15T08:31:00.000-08:00

There is something so wonderful about getting rid of the grit of the Nubian desert. Not that swimming in the Red Sea wasn't a good quick fix, but you can pretty much float sitting up in the water, which tells you how salty it is.
We're in Safaga right now. We've been passing through the desert with the Red Sea to the left and mountain ranges to our right. Today we saw a few trees. Everything is mustard coloured. It's amazing how rich a colour can look after you see nothing but yellow for a few days. The people on the trip are great, the Egyptians - well, we haven't had much contact. Nobody lives in the desert. We hear a lot of "Salaam Habibi"s from the workers we pass. They are building a resort complex by the Sea. Correction... they are building about 30 resort complexes. That's all we passed on day two. Day one was brutal. 165km, all against the wind.

But let me start at the beginning. Sherif took me out with some of his friends - they were these two awesome women - one Egyptian and one Serbian. We went to old Cairo and saw the mesjids - the new correct word in English for Mosque. They are the biggest Mesjids in Cairo. It was so different from Malaysia, where there is no way a "heathen" as they called us, would be allowed into a Mesjid. We then scampered over to the night market. The aroma of cooking food mixed with the sights of coloured glass, shishas, textiles, and about any imaginable Egyptian trinket you could think of... it was so fun to walk through. We went to a coffee shop and had tea. I love Egyptian tea - straight black tea with a sprig of mint thrown in, a bunch of sugar - all in a gold embellished glass. Sherif bought us all scarab bracelets from one of the market kids. He then got my hand henna-ed by a Sudanese girl (in Sudan the henna is black). With swift, soft brush strokes, my hand was covered in a beautiful floral line, from finger tip to just past my wrist. After a tasty falafel sandwich (boy are we not getting the right stuff back home), a view of Cairo from the highest hill at night, and a quick end of the night tea, I crashed at midnight, only to get up at 5:30 the next day.

We packed up and rode in convoy to the Pyramids of Giza. Starting there, we rode all the way out of town. We picked up a few members of the Cairo Cycling club, who are going to ride with us to Ashwan ( where we head off to Sudan). The ride was horrific - head winds the whole way. My knees were toast. I used some of Rob's massage oil, some anti-inflammatory, but still the next day I was in rough shape.

The next day we were riding with the wind. Suddenly everything was wonderful. Except my knee. I went 70 of the 130 km, and then hit the truck - it was swollen and popping. I started with the racers and we drafted each other for thirty km, at which point I bailed because of the pain. I rode the rest of the way to the lunch truck and readjusted my seat until if finally felt better, but I had pretty much killed it for the day. We camped out a fair hike from the sea, but man was it worth it.

The following day was more of the same, tail winds and beautiful. We rode 135km in less than 6 hours. I started with the racers and got some amazing shots with my camera set-up (which seems to have everyone interested). After about 40 km I tailed off - I don't understand how they don't go pee. But then we all caught up again at lunch.

I made a terrible discovery. I was trying to remember where my degreaser was. I remembered decanting it into something. Suddenly a flurry of connections sped through my head, and I said aloud " Oh Shit!"
I had decanted it into an old iron supplement bottle - then forgot to mark it. I remember thinking to myself how nice it was that my supplement didn't have that hideous caramel flavouring anymore. Also, when I mixed it in with my vitamin C and shook it up, it foamed up. Up until then I had just stirred it. And suddenly my morning and evening toilet races were making a lot more sense. Thank God I buy the biodgradable, not too filled with harsh chemicals kind of degreaser. Sadly, between the person beside me who I told about my realization, and the nurse, everyone knows about my little incident.

And I bet you were all worried about people with machine guns killing me! Hah!

Today was only 100km. We are here for the night, and then it's 154km uphill with (Inshe Allah) the wind at our backs. Then we have a 99km ride into Luxor, and you'll get to hear from me again. The weather is like a Vancouver summer. I'm clean and well fed. My biggest worry is keeping all of my stuff meticulously organized. Life is wonderful.

Almost There!

2008-12-18T16:30:00.001-08:00

Well, I managed to ignore this blog until I no longer remembered the password. But now I'm on it, and I can give a bit of a run-down as to what I'm up to!
As of Saturday I will have all of my gear assembled and (knock on wood) my cameras uploaded with the hackerware I'll need to shoot the time-lapse film. Thanks to my good friend David, I got my camera boxes built, and once I get back onto Hornby I'll attach them to the bike and do a practice shoot. That will be the moment of truth, as I will be too far away from anything urban to do anything about it, and i won't get back into town until the day before I fly. But I'm pretty lucky, so I think it'll all come together.
And if not - I'll find some sort of solution. Note the nervous tension.
So here's where I give my thanks:
Thanks to all of my friends and family who have helped me along the way.
Thanks to Brodie, Mighty Riders, Lens and Shutter and all the many small, local businesses who helped with donations and advice.
It's only 18 days before I fly out. With the Holidays in there, time will fly at an amazing rate.
I plan on definitely getting on here once more before I go to format my page and let you know of some good causes out there that you might want to look into... and then you'll get nothing but the fun adventures of myself on the road.
M

Starting Up...

2008-10-06T22:40:00.000-07:00

It's not often that you start a 12,000km journey on a bike, and occasionally someone might even want to read about it. There won't be a lot of posts for a while... I'm just training now. But soon...