Round and round we go

I am pretty beat up at this point, so what you are getting here is a consolidated post about the second and third dirt days.

Dirt Day #2 (February 7, 2011) – 95km
The tire change made a world of difference in terms of puncture resistance: none on the day! It was a rather large trade in comfort but bearable thanks to front suspension on my bike. My ribs were sore and my hip very painful from the previous day’s crashes so “just get through it” was the order on the day. The race for the day was scheduled to only run from camp to lunch at 48km. This was a particular relief as it meant that everyone would ride a bit slower on the second half of the day and I might have some company.

The ride into lunch was fairly nice. I rode the opening 10km with my father over relatively smooth dirt. We wound past some small villages where plumes of white smoke emanated from cooking fires to mark the start of another day for the local inhabitants. The dirt road eventually ended and our path took us to a dirt track roughly a car width wide that ran parallel to railroad tracks. It was more desolate country and for once, the solitude was a welcome experience as it allowed me to do my own thing and stick to my survival plan. The track remained relatively smooth into lunch and I arrived without incident though a bit tired. A long lunch ensued as dread mounted in my stomach regarding the remaining 47km to camp. Unfortunately, my thoughts of foreboding were fulfilled as the Sudanese heat unleashed its full fury once more. Coupled with long stretches of corrugation, it was a bit much for me. I stopped multiple times to stretch, take water and electrolytes, and simply try to take in the moment in an effort to keep my spirits high. It worked, and as the final support truck passed I received some marveled looks from riders who opted out of the day’s ride. My smile was misleading as I was seriously uncomfortable. With 10km remaining I stopped near the small village of Ban, propping my bike under a large shade tree 50 meters from a cluster of thatch roofed huts built from mud bricks. As I sipped my water, two village elders approached and asked me politely, “You tea?”. I figured hey, there’s no hurry to camp to sit and sweat – I’d done that and there’s no more eloquent way to describe it beyond “it sucks”. I sat inside their small hut while the eldest of the two explained to me that it was “his duty” to be so kind to me. Obligation or not, this further example of Sudanese hospitality left me smiling. He brought me 2 glasses of water in addition to my tea. I drank it politely though it both smelled and tasted like river water. Come what may, it was a warm experience.

I rolled into camp which is to say I actually walked into camp. Perhaps it was the sugar in the tea, but I felt incredibly woozy and figured the last mile was perfectly walkable when compared to the pain I would most certainly suffer should my balance fail me and I crashed yet again. It was nice to stretch the legs, and I laughed as I approached our campsite and saw the large groups (20+) of villagers sitting at the perimeter as if they were attending a theatrical production. We were the night’s entertainment, of that one could be certain. The evening ended on an uptick when one of the truck drivers contracted a villager to haul a tank of water into camp for impromptu bathing and showering. Very nice, and all the more memorable given that the tank of water was hauled in by donkey.

Dirt Day #3 (February 8, 2011) – 90km
We were told at the previous evening’s rider meeting that this day would feature smoother tracks than the previous day’s washboard festival. It did not disappoint! Smooth, flowing dirt tracks, some wide and other narrow connected us from one village to the next, with the tracks often taking us right through the village, twisting and turning between the huts and other pseudo-structures. It was if we were riding through the pages of a National Geographic magazine feature spread on Sudan. Nearly every rider I passed was inspired by the day’s course and spirits ran high. Lunch was leisurely affair for me on the day. And then the fun stopped. Abruptly. Gone were the smooth picturesque roads, their presence ominously replaced by a narrow dirt track through the middle of a never-ending expanse of sorghum fields. I laughed at the absurdity of this change: I could see nothing in any direction except the dried crops. Reality was inescapable, this was going to require a solid hour to ride through and it would not be comfortable because the road featured the worst corrugation yet. I yelled. I yelled a lot more. I got off and stretched my back. I cursed the heat. I smiled when I realized that I was probably 1 of maybe about 20 Americans to ever set foot on this ground. I drank a lot of water. I shuddered to think that the support trucks had all passed through and the sweep rider would not pass by me for another 2 hours if I decided I could not continue. Just for fun I measured the depth of the corrugation (washboard) ridges: 5″ deep on average and a horrible 10″ apart. This was perfect spacing to allow the wheel to hit the bottom of each ridge and fractions later let the leading edge of the tire strike the rising ridge of the next ripple in the dirt. It was a steady thunk-whack-thunk-whack pattern. Argh.

I got through it. The final 2k into camp featured a long, rocky, steep climb. I bit my lip and started the climb and was slightly relieved when my rear tire suffered a pressure blowout. I got of the bike and jogged into camp just glad to be done. I was as cooked as I’d ever been and camp offered no respite. My dad rode the trucks today and bought watermelon, a momentary spot of comfort in an otherwise miserable afternoon. I drank and drank and drank but could not pee. I stumbled into a village where we managed to get water for a bath, but even that did little to cool me down. Back up to camp, I sat in the shade and waited for the sun to go down as my stomach began an internal thumping with ever-decreasing subtlety. At least we will be back on pavement and my ribs might get a rest on the smoother surface as we hit the Ethiopian border.