Lost:
Two toothbrushes
My favorite pair of socks
Countless pens at each border
One bath towel
My only rain jacket
Countless hours of sleep from people snoring
One breakfast bowl
Two pairs of sunglasses
One girlfriend
All sense of time
Found:
Ear plugs that almost work
One Toronto Maple Leaf hockey jersey in Iringa
One stone used for scraping hides
A new workout routine—digging latrines
Realizing riding 207km feels the same as 150km, except longer
Learning never to judge a country by what you see on TV…you need to go there
New friends from all over the world
Many thanks to all the family and friends who gave me support throughout the tour and the staff of TDA, who put up with me for the last four months.
Lost:
Two toothbrushes
My favorite pair of socks
Countless pens at each border
One bath towel
My only rain jacket
Countless hours of sleep from people snoring
One breakfast bowl
Two pairs of sunglasses
One girlfriend
All sense of time
Found:
Ear plugs that almost work
One Toronto Maple Leaf hockey jersey in Iringa
One stone used for scraping hides
A new workout routine—digging latrines
Realizing riding 207km feels the same as 150km, except longer
Learning never to judge a country by what you see on TV…you need to go there
New friends from all over the world
Many thanks to all the family and friends who gave me support throughout the tour and the staff of TDA, who put up with me for the last four months
I awake from a bad dream…one of a road that never ends: no turns, no visible landmarks and little elevation. After talking to others about my dream they confessed of one very similar...
Today we get our first taste of true Namibian desert, a stark change from the last month of tarmac. The smell of fresh dust and twin tire trails are reminders of roads past. The hills, ah the hills…we pedaled hard for every crest—each vista worthy of a postcard—and then coasted to our next climb. Duncan is the most popular person in camp tonight, due to his decision to deviate from the traditional route and take us into the desert. His promise of more desertscape during tomorrow’s ride is turning a smile from everyone…even the roadies.
You wouldn’t believe what a dirt road can do to a person’s spirits when there are only ten days to the finish line. A spectacular sunset, boasting the first clouds we’ve seen in weeks, was a fitting end to a scenic day of riding.
Tomorrow we dine upon the edge of a canyon
After a extended time on the saddle yesterday, I gave my bottom a rest and came to the campsite early to wash some dirty clothes and prepare for a extra couple days off from the tour on the coast of Namibia. It’s always interesting what you’re going to get when you roll into camp and go for a walk and see where you’re living for the night. As we came into town there was a Taxidermist, and all you could see through the window was a zebra, this was enough reason for a closer look. Warthog, lion, sable, giraffe, cheetah… they we all here. I hadn’t seen this many animals since the Serengeti earlier in the trip. We talked the owner for awhile and were given a backstage pass to the world of taxidermy.
There is something familiar about the roads we are pedaling over, I even hear this feeling reflected from the riders who have traveled the prairies in Canada—pancake flat, straight for hours and nothing to distinguish the first 10 km from the last 10km. This section is called Elephant Highway, but you must look carefully to discover its namesake. It wasn’t until I saw something in the bushes at a watering hole that I remembered I am in Africa.
My day began late due to the pleasant job of digging holes for waste and burning any paper products (which is actually quite therapeutic). Upon doing a mental check of all things important while on a bike: air in tires, spare tube, cycling computer, sunscreen, sunglasses, Botswana pula, toilet paper, water in water bottles, energy bars and, most importantly, my camera.
The sun rose, casting a silhouette of me and my bike over the road, which was to become my video of the day. After expending a good portion my memory card on “the one,†I called it a wrap, stopped riding and started to pack up. Now, I’ve told stories before and like any good story a bit of embellishment is expected, so when I tell the rest of this try not to think it over the top storytelling.
I have my video camera in my hand, about to put it into my rack bag, when I hear a noise come from the tall grass. The noise could be best described as baritone and guttural. The best comparison would come from the start of a movie when the MGM icon appears and roars… its not the big roar but the low kind of purr that tapers off… needless to say my instinct was to stuff anything else into the pockets in my jersey and sort it out later… I went through all potential animals that could make that noise and a feline was the only one. I didn’t stick around nor did I go back to confirm. These are not the prairies; I am in Africa.
The cock-a-doodle-do cry of the rooster indicates it’s getting close to sunrise. I check the iPod to confirm this and close my eyes while feeling for my mattress plug. With a hiss, my body lowers to the uneven ground and I lay like this for ten more minutes. Several things run through my head—Day/Month/Date, the last time I took my Larium. Again I go to my all knowing iPod for the answers. It’s still dark and I look from my tent for a sign of someone else stirring. Soon I hear the screech of zippers and clicks of folding tent poles.
First things first, I reach for my sleeping bag sack and stuff my bed within. This raises my heart rate and I know there is no chance for more sleep. Outside the tent, the shadows bang their tin cups in search of food. I regain my focus and grab for the sleeping bag liner that’s been acting as my bed sheet, folding it away with my pajama bottoms.
Light creeps through the tent and I locate my camera, phone, and deck of playing cards to deposit into my day bag. My routine is taking shape. I crouch to take hold of my mat; twisting it towards one tent end and grabbing the straps to bind the roll. Everything I deposit into my duffle. I’m ready to leave my nest. I shake out the remaining debris, break down my portable house, adjust my duffle for one last thing and walk towards the shadows that have turned into friendly faces.
Every morning, I’ve awoken expecting the worst because we are in a country that is notorious for wet weather. More often than not, I have been pleasantly surprised. Riding out of Dodoma, the forecasted washed out roads and bogs of mud were nowhere to be found. Despite the previous night’s heavy rains, they left no reminder on the roads. Today’s short mileage anticipated roads in disrepair and full of obstacles. Though the dry roads and few hills made the traditionally demanding day into a, dare I say break, in the middle of this seven day stretch.
The true highlight of my day came when we took a detour onto a local trail which led through bush lined with thorny trees and deep sand. Eventually it led us through a group of houses. From the houses, residents quickly emerged to cheer us through. After a few dead ends, we managed to find our way back to the route and the finish flag waited for us shortly after.
Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take the road less traveled.
This morning started out with much anticipation. Having come off a rest day and only a few riding days left in Ethiopia, I wanted to ride on my day off. I like to ride with the sweep because there are plenty of pop stops and general coasting down hills, nowhere that I would like to push myself. Bucky was the AM sweep and agreed it would be wise to team up and watch each other’s backs.
Our route through south Ethiopia has taken us through a sparse part of the country, with both faces and geography changing. Gone are the western styles of Addis. They are substituted with bare essentials or sometimes, shirts or pants missing. The country side has changed from heavy agriculture to dry, unworkable hills.
With a day like today, I know I will wake up tomorrow and get the same anticipation about the ride and have another story to tell.
Sand, its one of those things that seems insignificant, but it can quickly change a day of riding into a day of resting. Today, an important part of a bike has sidelined someone from participating. It’s frustrating as a cyclist to know that the weakest link isn’t yourself, but the machine.
The previous week, Sudan served us a big helping of blowing sand. Riders have been experiencing many shifting problems because of it. I spent a relaxing afternoon, cleaning and using several different methods to clear the shifter pods. At one point, I had to use the floor pump to flush out sand. After a thorough test ride and the always entertaining conversations with Kathleen [about her fondness for her bike] we brought her bike back from having one gear, to multiple.
Tomorrow, it goes out for a proper test, and will get Kathleen further down the road.
As promised, today was a drastically different Sudan. Gone are the corrugations and the walk of shame out of sand is a distant memory. Today we took back the road.
Asphalt never looked so good. The straight, yellow lines and smooth pavement were a blessing. The road snaked through the desert, passing military checkpoints and a caravan of camels. Enjoying a strong tailwind, tires spun smooth and fast, sending everyone into camp before 13:30.
On another note, today I was reminded that patience is virtue when replacing a punctured tube. Even the most professional mechanic, if rushed, can fall victim to a repeat flat. Buckey replaced three tubes during lunch, shredding two of them. A lesson to everyone, take your time when replacing a tube!
