Round and round we go

Day Total: 95 Km
Total Time: 4:24:18
Avg. HR: 108bpm
Avg. Speed: 23.5km/h
Song of the Day: Prince – Kiss

I felt nauseous all morning and my rib hurt like never before. I seemed to have tweaked it a bit when putting my bag inside my tent and it now hurts to breathe deeply, talk loudly, cough, or blow my nose. That’s great given that my nose seems to run more than ever (probably due to the dust). If I’m honest, I was not particularly keen on riding my bike today. I had forsaken the idea of racing – this stage being timed from camp to lunch at 60km – and figured this would be another day to just get by. 92km on pavement at this stage is a pretty easy day, especially when one considers we just rode the same distance on dirt. I was a bit relieved and formulated the day’s plan: find a way to get to lunch and from there figure out how to manage the final 32km to the border.

Well, it did not go so well. I left camp early and from the first pedal stroke felt like complete shite. My stomach was holding a qualifying bout for a boxing title shot and for 60km I felt as if I would vomit at any moment. I stopped to stretch, making sure to pull my bib shorts outside of my jersey in case a hasty roadside stop was required. Fortunately it was not, but I did pull over to try and heave my guts out. The pain in my ribs had me quickly reconsider such means of therapy and instead I put on the music/headphones to suffer along with a steady beat. A reprieve came at 50km with an unexpected coke stop. My father was there – the fact that I did not close a 12 minute gap on him in 50km a great indicator as to just how fast I was *not* riding on this day. He was all smiles, I was all painful grimace. He offered to buy me a coke and I could only nod and gesture to accept his good will. I was seriously screwed. I sat down in the dirt, too tired to bother with a chair and sipped a coke. I finished it and carried on to the lunch truck. Grapefruit and water and more suffering for an hour and I still felt like crap – a 60 minute lunch with no improvement. The medical staff gave me an anti-nausea pill. Paul had been suffering similarly and confidently told me the pill worked for him so I choked it down, got on the bike and prepared to grind out another 32km. To my surprise I actually felt OK, then a bit better, and with 10km to go – despite the 110 degree temperature – I actually decent as I powered up the small climb that flowed into the descent into Ethiopia.

The border town on the Sudanese side was insane (the one on the Ethiopian side, Matema, would be even crazier) but I quickly found ice cold water to cool me down. Then I got my exit stamp easily enough. Then I walked across a small bridge with my bike into Ethiopia and entered the queue for my entry stamp. And the wait was on… I drank a token beer as a symbol of our exit from a dry country and return to a land of beer. It made me feel instantly ill and I put my head down to ride out the painfully slow administrative entry process. My shorts were wet which only aggravated the new rawness on my arse that formed from the 3 days of washboard/corrugation riding. 4.5 hours later I had my stamp, my passport somehow managing to find its way to the 2nd to last position in the pile. The office was lightly air conditioned so I was able to rest with my head down to apply maximal mental energy to avoiding a vomiting episode.

We stepped outside, got on the bike and rode the remaining 4km to camp. The border town seemed chaotic in a lively fashion, dotted with small bars with exotic names like “Bar Willie” and “Savior Bar”. Beer seemed to be everywhere, as did people – particularly children – and donkeys. It was still ludicrously hot when we rolled into camp at 5pm. I wanted to puke. I want to puke as I’m writing this. I sat in camp and forced down soup and food, wondering how in the hell I would get through the next day’s 95km ride that was rumored to feature some hills. Take each day as it comes and the solution will hopefully present itself.