Round and round we go

Stage 42
Day Total: 117.25km
Total Time: 5:29
Avg. Speed: 21.4km/h
Avg. Heart Rate: 141bpm
Total Climbing: 558m

Song of the Day: Billy Idol – Dancing with Myself

The altitude of our camp at the Diocese of Marsabit meant a cool night and for once I was sleeping with – though not in – my sleeping bag. Still feeling the effects of the previous 2 days riding sleep was deep and sustained and this morning’s wake-up call was an untimely ending to a pleasurable experience. The tour stops for nobody.

I had no real expectations for the day. The course notes indicated that it would be a 115km ride, all off-road, with stretches of “significant corrugation” and “rocky descents”. So much for letting my hands recover… I decided I would wait around and leave with the rest of the normal race crew and be content to simply try to hang on and not lose any time. If I was lucky, we would all ride at a relatively controlled pace and simply survive the day. If I was unlucky, one of us would have recovered better than the rest and start hurting people early in the ride. My morning agenda was slightly scrambled due to some minor GI distress. While not severe, when you are already struggling to get going on the day these minor deviations to routine can really slow you down. In my case, it meant I was running back from the toilet as everyone started to roll out of camp.

We set off together under overcast skies accompanied by rather stiff winds. The first descent lived up to billing but riding at the front allowed me to pick a moderately smooth line and maintain some speed. A series of short steep climbs was followed by another rough downhill section and when I looked back after reaching the bottom of the hill I realized I was ahead by at least 100 meters. Surprisingly the legs were feeling well and the combination of relatively smooth flats with rocky descents was allowing me to build on my lead. New plan: ride to lunch and see who might join me. For the mean time, just keep riding and enjoy the surroundings. Some would see an elephant, but not me.

Approaching lunch the road began to take a turn for the worse but the local truck drivers revealed the easier way through this area. Watching the trucks, I spotted a series of sand tracks that more or less paralleled the highway. Relief! Smooth, pleasant riding and the opportunity to look around. The local Samburu people, ornately dressed and sporting intricately beaded headware walked alongside the track. For the most part, they would smile and wave encouragingly, though I had one young man distinctly shouting at me for water only to raise his spear in anger when I did not stop to share. Sorry man. Maybe it was bad karma, but it was at this point that I realized my hasted to leave with the other riders in the morning meant I had ridden away without my camelback hydration pack. Hopefully there would be no flats on the day and somebody would pick it up.

Lunch arrived soon enough with nobody in sight behind me. A quick drink, some fruit, bottle fills, and I was off – it was getting warm and I was eager to end this one as soon as I could. A few hills met me shortly after leaving lunch and the combination of corrugation and loose sand made rapid progress an afterthought. This pattern seemed to continue for a while before the appearance of my arch enemy: corrugation. Its initial appearance was manageable by looking ahead and spotting a line through it. This had me moving back and forth across the road but more or less surviving with a smile on my face. If only it would have lasted. It worsened steadily until reaching the final 17km at which point the road became a single, uniform, corrugated surface. Akin to a man-made mogul course for the Winter Olympics, it was nearly perfect in every regard which is to say that riding it on a bicycle was equivalent to riding a sine wave. Brutal.

I slowed, I accelerated, I rode it at an angle. I stopped, yelled repeatedly, resumed forward progress, laughed. I didn’t cry, but that was because I was too pissed off to shed tears. As I finally made my peace with it, calculating in my head that what I thought would be the final 45 minutes of riding would now be closer to 1.5 hours, the road offered yet another trick to make me suffer: sand. The corrugation was still present in all its splendor and was now coated with 1 to 3 inches of loose sand. Pick a line, move forward, only to suddenly be nearly halted in your track as the sand suddenly became deeper. Move to the opposite side of the road to the area with less sand only to be stuck in loose sand after 40 meters. This futility continued for about 2km until I spotted the pattern: pick the gnarliest, most chewed-up and rutted spot in the road and it would be void of sand. It was counter-intuitive to seek out the worst stretches of the road but the absence of sand allowed for traction and mobility. I saw the town, sure that must be the finish. The computer, displaying 115km said the same, but the party would continue to 117km. Argh.

On the horizon was what I am sure will bring me the opportunity to recover that I so desperately need: tarmac. It was funny how the dirt ended abruptly, a perfectly straight line marking the beginning of the pavement. Rolling into camp I was quite spent but alone. The stage was mine and taken in solo fashion. But at what cost? The heat was intense, my sweltering exacerbated by the fact that the grounds of the bush camp were sand and loose gravel. There was shade and I went immediately for it, feeling dehydrated and generally shattered. A nap, lots of fluids, soup, tuna, and a baby wipe bath brought me partially back to normal and allowed me to complete my tire change. Tarmac means skinnier tires.

More of the locals wandered through our camp with a large group of curious children staking out a spot next to UK Paul’s tent. My initial greetings were met with shyness. I rose out of my seat to attempt a handshake and most of the ran. Finally one brave boy and then another accepted my offer. This was not enough for me however. These boys were quite cute and obviously taken aback by height. I wanted to pick one of them up over my head and spin him around. I gestured as best I could that I wanted to pick one of them up. They backed away. I continued the gesturing, they seemed to understand. At last, one consented and I launched him off of the ground and 2.5 meters into the air. He gasped, then laughed with joy as I spun him around. Placing him on the ground, he wandered off dizzily with a broad smile pasted to his face. There were no other takers.

Tomorrow’s ride is a rather long 158km affair and marks the 9th ride in 10 days. There will likely be some form of physiological retribution to be paid for today’s win but I stopped worrying about that stuff a long time ago. Enjoy the day, be present in the moment, and if it hurts, well, there’s probably a reason for that.