Feb. 4th.
The football team did not turn up! But, instead, our guys played against the under-17 Sudan national side! Needless to say, they saw little of the ball and some of the older players will be feeling the effects for a few days!
I had to go back to town to retrieve a camera cable I had left. Once there, I sauntered over to a busy stretch where there are many little eateries. The main ones are set back well from the road with the intervening space, rough packed earth, is heaving with little stalls and women selling tea or coffee from tiny tables. The debris is dry underfoot, caustic smoke curls up from charcoal grills, serving whole chicken, doner kebab, fried perch and sardines.
I chose a little place where i was given a tin bowl into which was put a kind of mincemeat from a silver urn with a neck just big enough for a ladle,covered with grated cheese, egg and peppers, with a dash of oil over the top (2 sud.pounds, about 50 pence). No cutlery is used; it is usual to use the 2 bread rolls you are given. Sudanese bread is amongst the best in the world.
I have been eating the local food and drinking their water, in Sudan especially, and I have no problem. A no. of guys isolated themselves in hotels, paying up to 150 $US for a questionable 3 *.
The air is relatively cool after the desert. I decide to have a tea. The woman motions me to take a seat; she laughs as I sit on a stool 6″ from the ground. She points to another, perhaps 9″ from the ground!.
For once, I felt still, and able to take in objectively the frantic nature of my surroundings. For a few minutes, I no longer felt alien. Absorbing the last of twilight’s theatre, I watched the stage set change as many little fires and lights took over the job. I decided to walk the 2kms. back to camp.
There is nothing to really delight the casual tourist here. Do not look for culinary delights. But if you are bold and prepared to reach out, these are a people that want to be visited and themselves thought of favourably. However, with English rarely spoken, it is difficult to know who likes you and who resents you. Yesterday, I addressed a man in a clean white robe. At first, he completely ignored me. When I repeated the question, a few words twitched from the corner of his mouth, his head not turning in my directipon.
Conversely, a young man, with very poor English, enquired where I was from. When I said Liverpool, he proceeded to write for me the name of his cousin, and his mobile no., because he was living in Liverpool.
Feb 5. Friday
“Remember, in Africa cyclists have no rights!” So we were warned again by tour leader, Paul, this morning. The road out from Khartoum is very busy, with many buses and large lorries. For every driver who will stick his head out and smilingly urge you on, there is another who will unthinkingly drive you off the road.
On the flat, featureless plain, there are signs of agriculture on a bigger scale, though few crops in at the moment.
Apart from the traffic, today should have been a comfortable ride. The temperatures have moderated after leaving the desert, the roads are flat,if somewhat bumpy at times. After the 80 kms. lunch stop, I continued on my own. At about 130 kms., I passed a coke stop where the riders in the leading group had stopped. There was no point in stopping, I reasoned, as they would be setting off again in a moment.. So I kept going and they shouted out encouragement, which I thought a nice touch. It meant I would finish in 4th place if i stayed ahead of them. Camp should have been at 162 kms. I kept looking and did not see it. Paul had said that this was a new stop for them too and that they would try to stop by the Nile. (We have been near the Nile all day, though seeing it briefly only twice; the give-away was the no. of small villages we passed on the way.)
So I kept going, hoping that they had chosen to carry on further than they had intended.
Ten, fifteen kms. more…surely they would not add so much to the day? At 20 kms. extra, I came to a small town and crossroads. This could not be right. Pulling into a petrol station for a coke, I tried to find out if riders had gone through. A group of locals tried so hard to help but the language barrier was too much. I had to turn back, if only to meet up with later riders. As I exited the forecourt, there was Eric Defour. He had seen me go pass the finishing flag 20 kms. back and had chased after me. What a guy! I can only presume that lorries passsing in the other direction had prevented me from seeing it. After a few kms. we met up with Tony Nestor; he also had missed the flag. So, instead of coming in 4th., I will probably be 34th.! (You have to scan out at camp).
At the riders meeting tonight, we were both presented with TDA Head down Awards. Waiting for the Riders meeting at 5.30, I was chatting to a few others and found Stephanie Sleen’s account of her work very interesting. She takes problem teenagers, who are either in jail or heading that way, camping in Alaska for 50 day stretches. She must be a toughie. Each night, three of us are detailed to scrub the huge cooking pots ; tonight I was among them. A group of locals watched the circus that had arrived on their doorstep with fascination.
Sadly, Laura de Somer had an accident today. A young lad had run out in front of her. She went over the handlebars and was concussed. At the local hospital, her head was quickly x-rayed and she was allowed to leave, but had to be driven to camp. So she loses her EFI status, the most important prize for most of us.
Distance: 202 kms Time cycling: 6 hrs. 20 Av. speed: 31.9 kph.
Feb 6
The day started ominously in heavy traffic, the road severely potholed for a while. I saw Franz by the roadside; his bag had broken loose. In front of me in this stretch were a few riders. I saw Adam perform a dramatic leap as he came upon a metre-long pothole unseen; he lifted the bike and thrust forward just gaining the other side and correcting his balance magnificently.
The road improved and was comfortable. At the 125 kms. mark, we came up to a roundabout where there were cameras, people cheering and clapping. From this point on, at every village, hundreds of people lined the road; you could see them from far off, and yet more running from their huts to join in. You could have been a on a state visit, the reception that was being given. I high-fived as many of the outretched hands as I could, but it was tiring.
Now compare that with the experience of riders coming later….one lad wanted to report the behaviour to his embassy! Rocks had been thrown, some riders jostled and a seatpost grabbed. It seems that the kids get a little over-excited and if you are not reciprocating, they can get a little nasty.
It is understandable for some of the riders to be nervous. There were incidents yesterday that I have only just found about. There were 3 falls yesterday, each resulting in broken helmets: Laura of course, who actually hit a 40 yr. old man full on at 38 kph. Dan Johnson and Katja were run off the road and fell badly.
Getting in to camp today, we had an extra job to do- change our tyres, most of us anyway. After starting on tarmac tomorrow, we will progress on to off-road. This could be a very interesting and welcome change. We are heading into the Dinder National Park, where we are assured of seeing some wildlife.
We were just finishing our dinner; there had been some emotional talk about the difficulties of the day As we sat here, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a few men would pass by, small groups of women carrying firewood, with nowhere to go in sight. then a coach draws up. First well-dressed women get out, followed by young men, many in karate outfits. They proceeded to give us a a display of karate and gymnastics before circulating amongst us. They were from the local village and wanted to welcome us!
Distance; 163 kms. Time cycling: 5 hrs 20 Ave. speed: 31.2
NB to follow exactly where we are at any time, go to www.findmespot.com. In the RH bottom corner, click on “spot adventure” where you see a grey boot print. When you get the chance to print a name, print Jason Becker. He is one of the riders.
Feb 7th. EFI or bust.
After 45 kms on the tarmac, we made our first foray on to the off-road, which would take us through isolated villages. Each village has a chief, several villages coming under the control of an overall chief who has government authority to pass judgements in his own court and maintain a small force.
The immensity of the rich fertile land stretches to the horizon in every direction, only isolated thorny acacias breaking up the monotony.
Riders were no longer riding in groups. Alone, some 20 minutes down the track, I came across an old man, some women and children and mules. They were pumping water from a borehole. As I came to a halt, I signalled to the old man that I would like to take a photo. He nodded. By now, the children- and the women- had got behind the donkeys, peering out, clearly afraid. Perhaps they had never seen a white person before; no other riders had passed through there…I was heading in the wrong direction!
at the borehole
A while later, I came across Lynn and Gisi, who had got there by a different route, but were concerned that they might have gone wrong. Gisi was mending a puncture. So sure I was on the right road, I continued till past the 75 kms. mark where the lunch truck should have been waiting. I now realised something was wrong. I decided to ring Paul, the tour leader. But first Patrick and Wayne appeared. They still felt they were alright and pushed on. Then Gisi and Lynn arrived, followed by Andra. I now rang Paul. It was about noon. He said they knew we were missing and had three vehicles out looking for us. Stay put.
Anxiously we waited, Gisi and I in particular, as we did not want to lose our EFI status and time was running out. Three trucks passed us over the next 2 hours, each giving us a different direction to Azaza, our destination.
I rang Paul to tell him that we were heading back to an intersection where we thought we might have made the wrong turn. He wasn’t happy but acceded. On our way there, one of the vehicles met us. We filled up with water; they had mango, oranges and bananas which we scoffed. By phone, Paul agreed that this vehicle could take us back to where we went wrong, we could start cycling, and if we got to camp before dark, we would still have our EFIs. As we rattled along we ate bread rolls and cheese spread, gorgeous.
Andra decided against cycling any more. Three of us set off at 2.45 to cover the 80 kms. along the rough tracks.
Passing through the occasional village had a certain charm, the smell and sight of domestic animals and children running about. But as we were tiring, they became a distraction. Each of us doubted we would make it, without actually saying so for the sake of morale.
With 40 kms. to go, Lynn told us to carry on; she would wait for the sweeper truck. (There was a mix-up and she ended up getting a local truck, very frightened).
race against the clock
Now we were two, silently pedalling as fast as we could in a race against time. The sun went down with 15 kms. to go. I urged Gisi to keep going, I would have a pee. I knew i was now holding her back a little.I took off my shirt and ate an orange. I felt revitalised. A group of children were running out from the village towards me. No time to hang about! I pushed for all I was worth.. Night had descended when the sweeper truck came up behind. I said i was Ok and they followed me for the last few kms., their lights helping me to find my way. Before entering camp, I heard the banging of plates and dishes. Entering camp, there were villagers and all the riders standing to clap me in. It was a moment I shall never forget.
Paddy made me a cup of tea, and he and Eric Defour helped me put up my tent. Their support meant a lot. What i now would have liked more than anything was a warm shower. I had to make do with two baby wipes.
Dist.:165 kms (of which, 45 on tarmac) Time cycling: 8hrs. 8 mins.Av. speed:20.8
Feb 8th. Dinder massacre.
The day started with great promise. We were 45 kms. from entering the Dinder National Park, with the promise of plenty of wildlife- lions, giraffes, buffalo…what a treat lay ahead. The tracks to the gate were harder than expected and the noon sun was blazing by the time I arrived there with several other riders in close proximity. We were told to keep in groups of no less than three. We had 95 kms. ahead of us, so we presumed there must be some good trails to take us through the park.
Dry Dinder riverbed, heading towards the Dinder Park
It was plain awful. Heavy corrugation and/or thick fine dust kept speeds down to 10 kph; there were lots of falls as the dust sucked the tires out of control. Would we even make the lunch truck at 70 kms.? Some decided early on they could not carry on and got in the truck when the chance was there. Anyone on front suspension was faring better, but nevertheless struggling. A TDA vehicle came towards us, passing along the riders to say that the camp would be at 118, not 140 kms., a ray of hope! Also, there was a borehole at 60 kms. where we could get water. When i arrived at the borehole with Lani, there were two vehicles already with riders inside. Lani got in too.
I filled up my bottles and wet my head from the borehole, and sat against a tree.
Without warning, my eyes filled up and I fought to hold the tears back. The effort was telling. Shakily, I got back on my bike and made it to the lunch truck.
A number of riders were already there, some deciding they could not carry on. The temperature at 12.30 had been 41 and it was now hotter. I felt totally drained by the heat and the ghastly track. I couldn’t eat for a while, needing to rest. It took me an hour to rehydrate and feel some strength return.
There is always a TDA member riding at the back of the last rider. This afternoon, it was the turn of Caroline, the medic.I asked her to wait for me, as i wanted to try to carry on.
To begin with, i was managing. I passed Dan J. and then Steph and Erin. But i could not hold the bike in the loose dirt. I fell a few times. when I banged my knee, about 10 kms. after the lunch truck, my resolve broke. I sat under a tree in a small copse, my chin on my chest. I was conscious of dry leaves rustling to the ground around me from dessicated trees.
Soon, Erin and Steph appeared, determined to go on. Minutes later, the sweep truck arrived. Dan had already got in with the rest. My EFI was lost.
We now crawled behind Erin, Steph and Caroline. There were now 2 pick-ups full of riders and bikes. Paul had realised the disaster that was unfolding and managed to acquire an open truck.
One of the pick-ups got a flat and looked to have a bent axle. We transferred to the truck in the hope of getting to camp earlier. As we rattled along, other riders had to get in. In the dark, Paul was ordering riders to get in. A few felt they could still do it and wanted the chance, but Paul was right. It was still too far.
Our truck conked out a couple of times, but got us to a dry river crossing. We crossed on foot to where the lunch truck was waiting to ferry us to camp. The bikes would come later.
Amazingly, 10-15 riders had made the distance! Marcel, despite 2 flats, came in third. Simon came in first, but narrowly lost the stage to Franz who had set out later than him. Young Steven and Adam made it. So also did Reuben and Catherine. But even the leaders had been out for more than 11 hours.
And all we saw was a few baboons.
(It was 12 midnight before I lay down to sleep and forgot to take note of my times,perhaps as well!)
Feb 9th. Gradual burn-out.
Today was down as 102 off-road and 30 on tarmac. We were led to believe that the off-road would be similar to yesterday, so half the riders just got in the truck.
I set off as early as I could and the first 25 kms. were OK. After that, it became variable; one section of about a km., we had to walk it. It was like a roughly ploughed field.
The Sudanese are very much animal herders. Passing though the flat expanse of fields that had grown sorghum and maize, there were a number of small herds of cows being slowly moved around. These people were from quite a distinct tribe, their rich clothing betraying a certain wealth. I was cycling with Sunil, our computer whizz-kid, Gilles, Paddy, and Rod and Julianne, strong riders. I arrived first at the lunch stop but the truck had not arrived. The leader riders had already gone ahead to do the whole day on just energy bars rather than wait. I only had to wait 10 mins and the truck arrived. The riders inside gave a hand and soon there was something to eat. The sun was scorching, you had to get under the tarpaulin.
Distinct tribe moving cattle
Since losing EFI, and having bad times through getting lost, my strategy has changed. Try to just finish each day without incident. Apart from the keen racers, this now seems to be general policy among the riders.
After 12 kms. we hit a large village, where we had a coke. I told the others that I would follow on. I wanted to go my own pace.
Leaving the village, kids were running behind. I noticed one little girl kiss her hand and blow me the kiss; quite surprising and touching.
The temperature was similar to that of the desert, with no shade. Every few kilometres, I stopped and sat with my back to the sun against a tree trunk, until I felt my temperature drop and then I could carry on.
On one of these stops, Adam caught me up. Not surprisingly after his effort yesterday, he was on empty. We shared a grapefruit he had.
Later we were caught by Georgie and Mark, who had ridden the truck till lunch, and Gisi, Rainer,(who is 69!), and Anneke.The stony track matched our faces.
The tarmac should have started at 102. We hit it at 105. There was a shop to get cool drinks and still time to get back before dark.
Hardy was with us now and looking quite strong. I was slumping over the handlebars. Anneke drafted me for a while, but when the lunch truck came past, with only 15-20 kms. to go, I reluctantly got in.
Once at camp, I saw Catherine receiving attention for exhaustion. She looked terrible.The leader riders had arrived exhausted; Marcel told me that he was cramping badly and was getting double vision.
We are on the border with Ethiopia. We have to go to the immigration office to get out passports stamped with an exit visa. But first we have to put up our tents, get our baggage out of the lorries and have some food. At the riders’ meeting we were given news of Jos. About 5 days ago, he was noticeably quiet and had not put up his tent. He told another rider that he felt confused. He had been seen earlier, near a railway crossing, getting up slowly. He doesn’t remember anything of it. He was taken to Khartoum hospital; where the neural surgeon examined him. Although there was no bleeding in the brain, he had severe concussion. After a few days rest, he was going to be sent to Addis for more rest and, hopefully to re-join us on the trip.
Camp on Ethiopia border
There are 2 toilet/shower sheds at this camp; one is completely blocked, so there was a queue to use the other.
I walked into the village, where, typically, people are lounging on chairs or a type of simple, framed hammock, drinking tea or coffee in the half-light, outside one of the many little tea stalls or stands. I sat on one of these hammocks and had a cardamom tea and a sponge cake, while watching the locals. I could so easily have stretched out on the hammock and gone to sleep, for ever.
It was late to bed again. I had not had time time to change my tires back to slicks. Tomorrow we enter Ethiopia and start climbing.
Dist.:127 kms. Time cycling:7 hrs. 48 mins. Av. speed:16.4 kph
Feb. 10th. Recovery ride- in the truck.
Last night, eleven riders hired a mini-bus to take them straight to Gonder. At lunch today, another five decided to hitch a lift to Gonder on a lorry.
Getting up at 6 am., we had to go straight after breakfast to the border control down the road and wait to go through. Each passport has to be checked against a list, three pages long, of undesirables, not in alphabetical order. It takes about 15 mins. to process each passport. After an hour of waiting, Paul told us to go on, hope not to be stopped, and he would bring the passports on later.
Rolling hills on beautiful tarmac, leading to the mountainous highlands- really quite pretty, the sort of riding I would normally relish. the day had been declared a non-race day, in recognition that everyone was just beat up. So no one was rushing. But I could get no pace at all. Two nights with insufficient sleep on top of some hard days had not allowed me recovery time. At the lunch truck I got in with Jeff and Diane. They are a lovely couple from Aspen, who spend a lot of time cycling, although Jeff still runs a media company. They are good company, but conservation was limited as I kept dropping off. The truck stopped half-way to camp to take on water. The clean water did not turn up, so the team bought water that locals were taking from the stream by donkey; they pumped it through the lorry’s purification system and then into the tank behind the lorry.
Camp was in a field near some huts. With mountains all around us, the sound of donkeys, cattle and cockerels in our ears, we prepared our tents while children came up to the rope set around our camp, watching our every move. We were told to lock our bikes and remove everything possible. I got to bed as quickly as possible and slept for 10 hours.
Feb.11th One lorry and one rider down.
Unzipping my tent, my first sight was of donkeys cavorting acrosss the field. honking loudly; cows were booming, they do not “moo” here, and village life in the beautiful highlands was already on the go.
A few yards from my tent, a young boy was watching his baby goat. Sounds alright, doesn’t it?
Well, when you suddenly find yourself surrounded by half a dozen of the little buggers as you try to pack your stuff up, it is not fun. One of my water bottles went missing- they are so quick.
Today was a mando day, deemed one of the most difficult of the trip: a long climb, a steep descent, and then ups and downs taking us to an eventual altitude of about 2500m. I felt so much better after a good sleep, but I admit that, after buckling over the last 2 days, I was scared of the day ahead.
The slow speeds of the long climb, everyone at their own pace, enabled us to enjoy the subtle pale hues of the mountain scenery, contrasting with the strong green of the many trees that mocked the tinder-dry ground.
Huts and shacks of wood, and some tin, ranged over the hillsides, not just in small villages. Little alotments growing a few vegetables, ploughing with oxen, everywhere paople and animals on the move, carrrying sacks, water, firewood and tef. Tef is the staple cereal unique to Ethiopia. It is cut and stacked in clumps, someimes off the ground on the branches of large trees. At some point it is spread on the ground for oxen to trample on, thus separating the small seed from the straw. This is then scooped up with large, shallow bowls, thrown up in the air for the wind to blow away the dust and chaff and then stored. The seed is somehow fermented and made into a nutritious pancake called “injera”.
Forty kms. brought us to a large village at the end of the long climb. It seemed that everyone from the surrounding countryside was coming into town to sell or buy. Animals and people crossed the road without warning.
Descending from this village, there was a constant stream of people and animals, like a WW2 evacuation.. The descent was very fast, through relaxing countryside. Bignonia flowers bloomed by the roadside. Before reaching the bottom, there was the dinner-truck, curiously parked up with stones in front of the wheels.
The lunch truck was at about 62 kms. I came in with Jason, a graphics designer, and Jenny, who has a background in book publishing. Soon we were followed in by Eric Defour and Gilles, both suffering from swollen Achilles’ tendons, Paddy, who looked all in, and Erin. No longer is there much talk of ” awesome”, more of survival!
Although motor traffic is light, you are always passing somebody on the road or in the fields tending animals. Everyone wants to engage with a “you!you!you!you!you!”, (usually spat out 5 times), “hello”, “where you from” or “where you go”- occasionally followed by a stone.
Hardy, a strong and experienced German rider, with a congenial manner, rode up behind with Anneke, so we cycled together. As the dinner truck had not passed us, there was no rush, our gear would not be at camp. Cycling slowly, we stopped at a thriving village, 35 kms. from camp, for a cool drink. Quickly we were surrounded by a fascinated audience. As I was getting my wallet out of my bag, a mule cart carrying long spars of treewood, turned near me. One of the spars stuck out at an angle to the cart and rammed me up the backside. I did not realise till later, after I had become aware of people laughing as I cycled by, that it had ripped a hole in the seat of my pants.
Laura, courageously back on her bike after her trauma, joined us to pass through Gonder, up the steep hill to the Goha Hotel, where we would camp.
Only now did we learn what had occurred. Firstly, Adrian, the 27 year old Australian, vying for pole position. Speeding through a village at 67kph., he had hit a pedestrian. he was concussed and broke his collar-bone. He will be out for a month. The lorry had been negotiating the fast descent, with five riders in the back, when the brakes failed. The driver managed to maintain control, using the engine to bring the vehicle to a halt; in the process, a hole was torn in the side of the engine.
With no prospect of our gear arriving soon, I decided to book into the hotel. A clean bed, shower and toilet with soap and towel to myself, space, and plugs to charge my electricals- I suddenly felt elated. I borrowed shorts and shirt from Michael Prudden, one of the riders who had come on ahead. As it happened, no more than an hour passed before our gear arrived. The TDA team had opened all the lockers and stashed the gear into an open truck. This promptly broke down. They transferred it into another truck and got it here.
Paul has decided to give us 2 rest days here instead of one, for us to recuperate. One cycling day will be chopped by taking a shorter route somewhere in Ethiopia.We all have cuts and bruises to some degree, saddle sores and a feeling of general weariness. But the mood is of resilience, optimism, and gratitude that we are able to endure this experience.
Dist.: 102.6 kms. Time cycling :6 hrs 18 Av.speed: 16kph.
