Round and round we go

Day Total: 115 Km

Total Time:

Avg. HR: 132bpm

Avg. Speed: 32.4 km/h (including lunch break)

Song of the Day: The Chemical Brothers – Galvanize
As we headed to bed last night, I had a feeling we might be in for a real treat this morning. I don’t think I understood just how special it might be. I have alluded previously to the ever-present prayer call that is broadcast via loudspeakers throughout the town, but this morning took it to a new level. I dare say, as an outsider, it even seemed to exhibit an element of competitiveness. The guy to the north kicked things off with, if I’m honest, one of the more serene renditions of the morning prayer cal. However, whatever tranquil qualities it exhibited were quickly pulverized to distant memories as the man from the south tapped his microphone and sounded his Thoreaux-esque barbaric yawp (in Arabic of course). The two battled back and forth for a few minutes, accompanied with increasing volume by a chorus of lesser, more distant callers. I was completely entranced by the sound but did manage to record some of it. Stay tuned and I’ll get it uploaded.

The day’s ride started cool and crisp with a temperature of roughly 42 degrees. That didn’t seem to phase the ludicrous crew of European racers and soon, as seems to be the habit, we were ripping along at an unwarranted pace. I spent significant time trying to understand their motivation for pushing the pace to an excess of 40km/h when a) there is no time bouns for the stage win, b) we were not chasing anyone, and c) this group will not let anyone break off of the front. Given the length of the race I can think of no benefit to this style of riding. Thus, I sit in the back of the group, slow the pace significantly if I’m in the front, and generally avoid doing much of anything to contribute to this insanity. I cannot believe that those who insist on pushing the pace will not pay for their decisions later when the pavement becomes dirt and what is now flat begins to go up and down repeatedly.

The pace whipped up considerably right before lunch (again, very stupid considering everyone would be stopping for a break) but everyone stayed in the group and ate sandwiches together. Shorlty thereafter, things got a bit cheeky as some people slipped out of lunch unannounced – a complete deviation from how we had ridden each stage previously – and instead of rolling along at a gentle pace immediately started making pace. Part of me is OK with these tactics, part of me thinks it kind of sucks because I have waited for many of these “racers” in the morning when they are slow to pack up and get to the line. It is what it is, but this day meant that I would have to put in a very hard 21km before I could manage to reconnect with the group. I had pretty much resigned myself to riding into the finish solo but came around a bend and could see them on the horizon and took my chances.

We rolled into Aswan with UK Paul and myself at the front of the group. We were intentionally trying to slow the pace to a comfortable level for our benefit, but also to buy time for another rider Adam (also from the UK) who had ridden off of the front for 50km alone to try and win the stage. Bad luck would beset him however and his chain came off with ~2km remaining. This bought the group time and he would be caught with 200 meters to go. I was in position at the very end to take a crack at the win, but took a wrong turn when I followed the Egyptian riders (one of whom is from Aswan). So it goes….

We arrived early in Aswan and opted for the hotel route (my dad pitched for half the room) to sort gear and charge electronics prior to our 2-day boat adventure up the lenght of Lake Nassar to the Sudan. Lunch was great local fare of assorted meats, beans, vegetables, and bread. We tryed to sort out UK Paul with some internet access which ended up being a multi-hour event at the Vodafone shop. Still not sure if it is working as of yet or not.

The most remarkable event of our brief time in Aswan was a less than pleasant exchange between my father and the receptionist – a middle aged man – at the hotel. Upon check-in, we tried to pay for the rooms but were told we should pay in the morning. Later in the afternoon, the receptionist asked us to pay now and my father indicated we would pay in tghe morning. Later in the evening, the gentleman again requested that we pay now (tonight) as opposed to the morning and my father strongly refused, telling him we would pay in the morning. The receptionist then called our rooms in turn to request payment. I politely told him that my father was paying, but 15 minutes later, he knocked on our door requesting payment. As I was explaining to the gentelman that my father was paying – and most likely not until the morning – my father came out of his room and addressed the man with a fervor rivaling a TV evangelist. I don’t know what they finally settled on, but in hindsight the prudent thing would have been to pay as requested that night. There simply was not enough patience exhibited on either side to account for the language barrier. Not the best memory of Egypt, but hey, people get frustrated. It does prove that a dynamic ability to adjust one’s communication style can be a benefit – without it you simply end up with ugly situtions like the one we saw here.