You hear about it.  It’s all that any one can talk about.  You read the blogs in advance.  The pain and suffering.  The saddle sores, the bent rims and broken spirits.  It’s Northern Kenya and it’s designed to break you. 

When we arrived at the border town of Marsabit the border official smirked when I told him we are biking to Naroibi. This is one of the worst roads in Africa. It is so desolate that all vehicles must sign out of Marsabit and into Isiolo, so that they know you’ve survived. From the lava rock camps to the road-side camps you make it through each day.  Your body has taken a serious beating.  Over unending corrugation; it’s so rough that you feel like your teeth with rattle out.  Every muscle in your body hurts by the end of the day and as you crash into a dreamless sleep (despite the Larium) youre last thought is that you get to do it all again tomorrow.

There is no comfortable way to get over Northern Kenya.  My days as Assistant Tour Director mean that I ride in the truck four days a week. On those days, over those roads I long to be on my bicycle.  Yesterday was one of the more difficult days and Caro (our nurse) and I choose to ride it. By choice I mean that we both had the option to ride in a truck but we can’t let the riders have all the fun! 

It was my first opportunity to ride the off roads of Kenya. 
When I woke up I threw on my bike kit without thinking too much about it.  Before breakfast a flash flood runs through where our tents had been only one half hour earlier.  For a split second I reconsider my sanity but hop on the bike anyway.  I’ve only just started mountain biking as the road swells with the red clay mud Kenya is famous for I’m trying to find whatever line possible that might be clear.  Only then do I realize that my chamois cream is gone with the rainstorm. It’s going to be a looooooooong ride. 

Bouncing across the rocks on the bike as the TdA trucks slowly pass me.  As staff I’m one of the last to leave camp in to morning which means that I have a lot of ground to make up and as the rain pours down and the road gets worse. Riders are hopping into the trucks leaving me all alone in the middle of nowhere North Kenya.  The desert landscape shifts to something more desolate (if that’s possible) and you realize that you are all alone in the wild. 

On these roads there is no clear line.  You hop from one side of the road to the other trying to find something flat.  Occasionally you come across some compact sand and can fly at 15km/h.  While the day is only 88km long you probably end up doing closer to 100km.  There are so many mud puddles on the road that a Landcruiser speeds past and dumps a wall of water on me; Steve Martin Pink Panther style.  The only thing you can do is laugh. The heavens open up and it’s raining harder then I’ve ever experienced.  (important note: I’m from the west coast of Canada.  Recently a family from South Africa who is allergic to sunlight moved to my island because it is the least sunny place in the world.  So I know rain.) Trying to find a clear road I discover that the best option is to ride up the red clay river in the pouring rain.  In that moment I know that my days working in a cubical are completely over.  This is the best job I’ve ever had.  

As lunch approaches the road they are starting to pave appears on the right hand side.  Flat roads ahhhhhh.  It’s only 12km to lunch but it’s the longest 12km of my life.  I start to imagine that they have put lunch further then 50km. dreaming of a short afternoon.  Then the lunch truck mirage starts.  Every flash of white in the distance is lunch.  Then you start thinking about all the sandwiches you will eat.  All the tuna in the world cannot fill the hole in my stomach.  As I arrive at lunch I have convinced myself that I don’t have to be a hero and ride the whole day.  I’m not one of riders.  But after 3 sandwiches and the realization that it’s only 37km left I am back on the bike.  After lunch a sign appears and it says “slow down divers ahead” I imagine snorkelers in the giant puddles instead of the frogs that are swimming past me.  It’s been a long day.  Finally, the finish line flag and camp.  It’s a roadside camp. I mean directly beside the road. But it’s the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.  My tent, my thermarest and dry clothes are there.  For most of the trip the riders going to bed at 8pm have bewildered me, but after dinner and dusk, I too can barely keep my eyes open after 7:30pm.

Tomorrow is a return to civilization and to flat paved roads.  The roadie in me can’t wait to put my skinny tires back on, the new mountain biker however is sad to lose the fat tires and leave the rough roads behind.  

Kelsey L. Wiens

Greetings from your African dirt correspondent, exactly a month on from our first taste of dirt in Sudan. I'm writing from a small settlement called Laisamis, 95 kilometres from a dusty town called Marsabit, en route to Nairobi.

As we left Ethiopia, the heavy rain that had plagued the tour eased up and we were generously treated to several days of dryness. The weather changes quickly though and at 4:30am on our rest day in Marsabit riders were busily putting their rain flies on their tents. The roads in Marsabit quickly turned to mushy mud and vehicles (including our own bucky, the 'Drama Queen') were getting stuck every few hundred metres. We've not had to ride over any serious mud so far on this tour so this was shaping up to be an interesting riding challenge.

There was no real rain overnight and as the riding week began, we were told of the muddy sections that awaited us on the road. After a pretty serious downhill, I settled down for a morning of gradual descent to lunch. Soon enough the first mud arrived, vehicle tracks were carved half a foot in and any clear cut path soon vanished.

Riding over the mud was slippery and I was very glad of my previously ill-thought out decision to use fairly skinny dirt tyres. The mud attaches to your wheels quickly and within minutes it's rubbing against the inner edges of your frame and fork and collecting on top of your brake callipers, making no sound but slowing you down noticeably.

For one of the early sections, there were a hardened section on the sides of the road which was much quicker to ride along. I was riding along merrily at somewhere between 15 and 20 kmph when I caught sight of a local. He shouted and pointed straight across the road to something just metres in front of me. Slamming on my brakes and almost vaulting over my handlebars, the object he was pointing to was immediately apparent - a deep and wide crack in the earth.

Saved from this possible end to my riding day, I continued on to lunch, passing through water logged section after water logged section. The clear rain water turns brown as soon as it touches the soil and the standing water covering the depressed sections of road leaves a layer of fine grit on your skin, clothes and bicycle as you pedal through it. Bicycles were creaking for much of the day as the water washed off lube.

Visible from lunch was another water logged section of road where a truck had got stuck in a seemingly deep pothole. The cab of the truck was arched at 20 degrees to the surface of the water and it seemed that it was submerged about a metre. Normally the puddles aren't that deep, or at the very least, their surface maintains the same consistency as the road immediate before and immediately after it. Another rider Jason was standing on the other side of the puddle scraping his shoes but I took little notice of this. Feeling confident at my ability to ride such puddles, I cycled straight into this puddle, picking a line that followed the ruts on the road leading to it.

The first small puddle was fine but less than two metres into the second puddle I felt my front wheel disappear into some mysterious underwater chasm and I actually went over my handlebars this time. Luckily there was no hard impact, unluckily I was now soaked from neck down. The crew and passengers of the stuck truck broke into laughter and Jason, who hadn't seen me cycle in, was shocked to see just my head floating above the water. We stood and watched as three more riders crossed, somehow picking a line where they stayed relatively dry. One of the TDA trucks tried the same and was wedged underwater within seconds.

The afternoon featured the much promised 'extreme corrugation' and arriving to camp was a timely relief. As riders came into camp, it was pleasant to see some of the chronic complainers extolling their enjoyment of the day.


Sunil Shah powers through the tough stuff!

-written by Sunil Shah

www.geekonabicycle.co.uk

The last few days in Ethiopia felt different somehow.  The children seemed to be less aggressive and the stone throwing seemed to be isolated incidents instead of the norm. The vocabulary of the children also started improving.  From ‘you, you, you’ to the odd ‘Welcome’ or ‘How are you’ was also a welcome change.

The last two days the people started getting taller and not everyone was carrying a stick.  The quality of the roads deteriorated into a patchwork of tar with lots of potholes. 
Fortunately the only motorized traffic on the roads seem to be trucks or buses, with very few privately owned vehicles, so we were able to spread ourselves between potholes.

We have seen a lot of rain in the lastweek, and had pouring rain on the rest day at the border, which is when laundry always gets done.  So we left Moyale withplenty of wet laundry.  The best thing to do with wet laundry seems to be to wear it where the warmth of the body driesit out.  We were really worried about thewet roads for both riders and the trucks getting stuck, but fortunately the first three days in Kenya were dry. 

The first day was pretty tough on the dirt road, and then proceeded to get pogressively worse with the constant corrugations and volcanic rock and stone.  The third day was the toughest, and the riders arrived at Marsabit very ready for a days break.So now we are in Kenya where we are called Mzungus rather than Farengis, and everyone says ‘Jambo’ with huge smiles. Being a former British Colony the people speak good English on the whole, and it is much easier to be understood.  The lastthree days have really been isolated, and it’s been good to see some civilization again. 

It’s amazing to think that this road we have been riding on is the main road between Kenya andEthiopia.  It appears there are politicalreasons for the Kenyan government not to want to develop this road, as then Mombasa will become the main port for Ethiopia with the vast increase intraffic that will go with it, instead of using Djibouti as they currently are.  It will be interesting to see how many years it will take before TDA riders will be riding this lava rock road as opposed to tarred pavement.

The rain has started again as we sit here in Marsabit, and we have grave concerns about the road ahead for both cyclists
and especially trucks.  Think of us as we head for the muddy mess in the days ahead.

   --Caroline Murray.

  
           


What can I say? Kenya has been an awesome experience and has lived up to all of my expectations. The country delivered in a big way; challenging roads, spectacular scenery, wildlife abounding (this morning I woke up to the sounds of lions roaring... and we were still in Nairobi), friendly people and great weather for the most part. We rode south today from the bustling capitol of Nairobi through a rolling countryside. The riders were treated to sightings of zebra, Thompson Gazelle and even a few giraffes. The day was long but silk smooth roads and strong tailwinds helped the riders along the way. It was also our first full day with our new Indaba staff, and a few minor hiccups notwithstanding, they did a wonderful job. 

Tomorrow we cross the border into Tanzania and while everyone is anxious to get another country under our belts, no one is desperate to leave the plush campsites and industrious hospitality of Kenya. Adding to the excitement of the border crossing is the arrival of a bunch of new riders into the camp, including a new Lonely Planet contingent who have a tough job ahead of them to stack up to the incredibly friendly and personable teams that LP has sent along with us on all of our previous stages. That being said, I think maybe a few racers will be relieved to no longer have to deal with the powerhouse LP rider Jim Hsu who pushed all our racers to their limits when he arrived in Addis Ababa last section. 
           
Tomorrow also promises to deliver the 2009 Tour d'Afrique riders their longest rest so far. Three days in Arusha to truly get a good rest, wash all their worldly possessions and sally forth into the Ngorogoro Crater and the Serengeti National Park for a true African safari. We are all looking forward to it.

In Cairo we met  TDA 2009 at the Cataract Pyramids Resort. Everyone still had crisp clothing, new gear and bicycles of all sorts. Some signed up for  a holiday, adventure and even a race. After photos at the pyramids it was time to find out who was gonna set the pace.

Egypt was flat, paved and even had a cool breeze. Nonetheless it was exhausting with its noisy mosques, crazy taxis and "good price on my felucca please". After a crazy ferry ride from Aswan we met Abdul Bagi with his toothless smile. Locals were really friendly, helpful and we learned that "Inshallah" means it might take a while. 

We got into a system and days turned into weeks. But what a relief at the Ethiopian border when I spoke the words: "Give me a beer please". Rocks, injera, "you! you! ferengi, give me a buck" soon followed. The days got tough and most of the cyclists got on the truck. The day into Gondor seemed like the last straw that was going to break the camels back. But when Lloyd Strong rolled in at dark he showed that heroes don't slack. 

Northern Kenya was the real kick in the head. Guaranteed when it rains in the desert everyone will swap a bicycle for a bed. In the last three days we have consumed a lot of alcohol to ease the pain. Funny thing, in the southern hemisphere I feel more sane.

For the rest of the tour I want to wish all of you good luck. And please be nice to Errol and the new crew when they get the trucks stuck. 

TDA 2009 for me has come to an end. So I say goodbye to old colleagues and newfound friends.

Wimpie Van Zyl.  Support Crew

  A collective sigh of relief has emanated from the collective bosom of the 2009 Tour d'Afrique riders... the corrugations and lava rock roads of Northern Kenya are at an end. We had our first taste of tarmac yesterday on the outskirts of Isiolo. The town also furnished us with COLD beers, cokes, ice cream, and the opportunity to replenish basic supplies like toothpaste and baby wipes. No one restocked on deodorant however, that basic sanitation item seems to have fallen to the wayside on the tour. We camped 10km outside the town at a legitimate camp ground with running water, washroom facilities and a bar. All riders were happy with that development.
Today we rode beside Mt. Kenya en route to Nanuki. Passing hundreds of British soldiers on patrol we quickly made our way to this picturesque town. We are lodged at the Sportsman's Arms hotel/campground which is even nicer than last night's facility. There is a swimming pool here and restaurant.  I for one am looking forward to getting back to the bush. While staying at places like this is an awesome respite from arduous roads, bush camps and desolate vistas, it also takes away a certain specialness that I feel when we are riding through the middle or no where. The sensation of doing something truly unique is shattered when you pass a convoy of four SUV's filled with overfed Mzungu strapped down with SLR cameras and bottled water.

So we woke up yesterday morning to Vimpy blaring “Highway to Hell” over the truck radio & that’s pretty much what we got. We left the leafy jungle oasis of Marsabit & within minutes we were out in the hot desert plains again. I did not ride the morning (opting to catch up on paperwork in the AM and ride the PM), big mistake. I gather the morning was the nicer part of the day with quite a nice descent into lunch. The afternoon however was a different story, it was corrugation and deep sand all afternoon… and that continued all day today. And apparently this is the East African Highway!
I was chatting to some riders and it seems some might be losing the plot! I was told about the bargaining Tim Gane tried to do with the road day, the conversation and yelling matches he had with the corrugations when he asked them “can you just give me one line of smooth, just for a little while”. And the road didn’t grant his request, so he thought yelling at it might change things. I don’t think the road has spoken back yet, I won’t have to get psch consultants just yet!   At lunch the riders were discussing how their perspective has changed over the past couple of months. Initially a paved road with a steep hill was hard work and they complained about it, apart from Malcolm who is fantastic. Now they would give anything (even their baby wipes!) to change these roads to a long, steep paved road. Apparently there is one more day of these roads into Isiolo and then the worst is over. It can’t come soon enough for most of the riders!

Today we rode from the mountain town of Marsabit back into the barren Dida Galgalu desert. It just doesn't seem to want to end. Riders have been spotting some pretty cool wildlife walking these lava rock plains as there is almost no where to hide... unfortunately the first elephant sighting still eludes us. We are camping on the grounds of a local boarding school that caters largely to children whose parents have died or are from a single parent family. The ravages of AIDS have struck Kenya extremely hard and these young boys and girls are its progeny. 

While HIV/AIDS is an extremely serious issue facing Africa and the global community as a whole, there is an entirely different and far more troubling conflict brewing... the access to clean water. The school here has just outside its fence a deep bore well that provides the town with potable water. We paid to access this well this evening so as to fill up our containers, one by one via a jerry can chain. However, as we unlocked the well dozens of schoolboys descended upon us fighting amongst themselves and with us to get at the water. They pushed us out of the way and we pushed back, both sides bullying, shouting and crying foul. We paid for access, but it is this town's well.

Who is in the right? Who has priority? Gradually a compromise was worked out whereby we would fill one of our jerry cans and then they would fill three of their smaller vessels. However, this disintegrated quickly as 5, 6 or 7 would thrust themselves at the small tap as soon as we stepped back, putting their mouths on the faucet or pressing the openings of their bottles directly upon the source. This was done much to the chagrin of the riders present due to the obvious sanitation issues.

With global water resources being stretched thinner by the year, tonight's events serve as an example of a clash that is surely to arise between financially flush developed nations and the developing nations with a need greater than their supply... only when governments are involved small scale compromise between groups is highly unlikely. The nature of who actually owns water, or even if it can be owned and sold is an extremely complicated one (I am sure my good friend Stefan who is currently studying this very issue in Geneva will be writing me a long email about this subject shortly). It is an issue that must be addressed poste haste, lest far spanning global conflict over the issue arise.

 
Today we are enjoying our first rest day in the great nation of Kenya. The roads over the past few stages have been torturous on both bike and body, everyone is happy to have a day off. What's more, this is easily one of the nicest campsites we have experienced yet. We are lodged at the Kenyan Wildlife Service headquarters in Marsabit. The town is an oasis of lush rainforest on the side of a dormant volcano, surrounded by the harsh, barren Dida Gagalu desert. It is quite amazing to ride up from chalky, bumpy roads crafted from volcanic rock spewed forth from this mountain eons ago and arrive in a thriving town. What's even more amazing is that the day before yesterday we were struck by one of the most violent storms I have ever seen... in the middle of the desert. It was absolutely unreal.
           
Today while most of the riders attended to their washing, drying out their tents and shopping in the market for tonight's BBQ I was invited along on a patrol with the Kenyan Wildlife Service rangers. Now, when I think of Park Rangers my opinion is coloured by my experiences in Canada of friendly men and women manning park gates, ensuring that my park tags are up to date and reminding me that it still isn't a good idea to feed bears or encourage young children to totter up to wild Elk for that "perfect picture".

Here in Kenya, it's an entirely different story. The Kenyan Wildlife Service Rangers are dedicated, highly trained, highly armed individuals intent on protecting local animals and their environment from anything that may pose a threat. Last night, one of the officers, Jack, struck up a conversation with me. We talked about the challenges facing the Marsabit area, my experiences working with the WWF in Nepal and the differences between life in Canada and Kenya. Towards the end of our conversation I hesitantly asked if I would be able to accompany a number of his men on a patrol. He said yes, and I was overjoyed. No boring rest day for this guy.

This morning Mark Knight, Alex Shanny and myself pulled ourselves into the open canopy back of a camouflage green pickup truck alongside uniformed KWS Rangers sporting locked and loaded automatic rifles and full webbing. These guys meant business, even if it was just to take a few mzungus out on a regular patrol. Driving through the village prior to entering the patrol circuit it was clear these guys were liked and respected by the local community as we were inundated with frequent waves, smiles and shouts of "Jambo!" quickly replied to with a bellowing "Mizzuri!".

Upon entering the park we began to navigate a steep, muddy track up the volcano side, recent rains didn't help our cause as we frequently spun out and even got ourselves stuck twice. The good thing about getting stuck going up a mountain is that you can always hit it into reverse and try again, so we weren't waylaid for long. Upon reaching the top we gazed upon the volcanic crater mouth where ‘Paradise Lake' now sits as a watering hole for elephants, buffalo, baboons and numerous other animals in the Marsabit area.

Unfortunately for our timing the elephants and buffalo had retreated to the lowland plains to sun themselves for the day, nonetheless we were able to see firsthand how the Kenyan Wildlife Service rangers operated on a day to day basis. Some based themselves in the village, while others operate from posts along the mountain; constantly vigilant for poachers. Just last week the guys here came upon a poached carcass a few kilometers from were we are now. From the damage done to the elephant it becomes abundantly clear why they need to operate in such a militant manor. The poachers here are heavily armed and highly dangerous. KWS rangers are permitted to shoot them on sight as the poachers have no scruples about attacking neither man nor animal, and they have shot at these men in the past. Luckily for us there were no untoward run ins with ne'er-do-wells on our patrol, just a beautiful ride up to the top with some top notch guys who were eager to teach us about the Marsabit park and show us a day in their lives.