Round and round we go

Day Total: NO RIDING

Songs of the Days:
Rest Day 1: Michael Jackson – Billy Jean
Rest Day 2: Guns N Roses – November Rain

If you’ve read the posts from the previous 8 days riding (4-Feb through 11-Feb) you will know that a combination of extremes exacted a severe toll on my condition. Distance and terrain are factors that cannot be argued – this is a bicycling expedition after all. Once the heat was added – daily high temperatures pushing 45C/114F – things became difficult. Two unfortunate crashes placed additional demand on mental fortitude with a badly bruised hip and ribs. Perhaps it was contamination, perhaps it was simply fatigue increasing my vulnerability, but finally some form of illness took hold and left me with diarrhea and unstoppable nausea. Sounds like a lot of fun, doesn’t it? Taken together, I pedaled up the final climb to the rest day hotel relieved that I had managed to arrive at all and elated to have 2 consecutive non-riding days forthcoming. Three nights in a hotel bed and cooler temperatures made the prospects even more favorable.

Things got off to a great start – my father had not ridden his bike on the 8th day of riding and had a hotel room waiting for us upon my arrival. He was even kind enough to have taken my bag off the truck and put it in the room. By 5pm I was showered and in the hotel restaurant to begin eating. My stomach illness had eased off a bit during the day and I actually felt a bit hungry. But first, let me mention the shower. It had been 9 days since my last proper shower. That said, it ended up being a series of showers in an effort to become completely clean. I won’t mention the state of my hair other than to say I washed it three times before it would lather properly.

My father and I had donated money to a local school for the purchase of student uniforms. On the first rest day we visited the school along with about 12 other riders. It was pretty simple by school standards: a cluster of corrugated metal roofed buildings constructed of mud bricks with dirt floors and second hand tables and chairs. The children however were proud of their school and were awaiting our arrival enthusiastically. Particularly so given it was Saturday. We toured the grounds, participated in an exhibition football (soccer) match, watched singing/dancing performances, and consumed local cuisine. They even had beer for us, and I politely consumed one though my stomach immediately revolted. All in all, a great morning and a warm experience.

For the most part, the rest days consisted of a simple schedule: wake by 7am, eat the free but oh-so-insufficient hotel breakfast, head into the town center to eat more food and drink delicious juices, and return to the hotel by noon. Once back at the hotel I would sit in a comfortable chair, chat with other riders, catch up on my writing, eat, and nap. Exciting stuff indeed, but that was the extent of my worth at that moment.

The 2 rest days wrapped up with me feeling physically better though still very tired. Fortunately we have only 2 short riding days before our next rest day where my recovery can continue…

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Day Total: 107 Km
Total Time: 8:05
Avg. HR: 119bpm
Song of the Day: Mozart – Something Classic

A gift from the heavens, the antibiotic seemed to kick in and provide overnight relief. I only made on bush walk, I awoke covered in sweat in the middle of the night, a fever I didn’t even know I had subsiding. I felt like a new man, or at least one deeply confused at not wanting to puke and acutely aware of a pain in my ribs.

Today was a “Mando” day (mandatory race day) featuring 2500+ meters of climbing (that’s about 7700 feet). No idea how I would survive this one, I was at least encouraged by the absence of morning nausea. I even ate – just a little – for breakfast. Like the morning before I made an early start.

The ride opened with 12km of steep rolling terrain. Then the “epic” climb of the day – a 20km, 1300 meter monster. I started slow and continued slowly, the steadiness of the climb making it easy to focus. I paused 2 hours in to eat something. I reached the summit at 33km without too much difficulty and made it into lunch quite tired. I had eaten only about 30% of what I normally do during the previous 3 days and was paying dearly as the tanks were now empty. I ate all I could at lunch, took an hour doing so, and set out with others to find a way to go another 47km with another 1200 meters of climbing.

The company helped and the distance ticked away. Too many kids to count, but no rocks thrown, sticks swung, or grabbing at bikes and equipment. Many others were not so fortunate. Maybe I was lucky, maybe it was my preemptive smile-and-wave tactic and constant dialogue as I approached them? We suffered on together and into a town at 87km. We stopped for 2 cokes and 2 fresh mango juices each to bolster the spirits. 10km later Bastiaan, Liam and myself negotiated with the truck wash people to wash our bikes. We would arrive in Gondor looking good!

The terrain flattened as we hit the outskirts of Gondor. Once in the town, the two of them stopped to negotiate a hotel room for the 3 nights. I gave a kid some money to fetch me a coke, concerns for race time well gone, relief over having survived this day taking its place. Pepsi chugged, I powered up the final 2km to the hotel with a smile –
somehow I had managed to make it. These 8 days nearly did me in via physical pain (that’s what you get when you crash) and stomach illness. It was small victory for me. Now it’s time to recover…

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Day Total: 95 Km
Total Time: 6:06
Avg. HR: 113bpm
Avg. Speed: 15.2km/h
Song of the Day: Asia – Sole Survivor

Sometime around 11pm last night I woke up and thought, wow, I don’t feel too ill at the moment. I was sweating heavily but that could have been due to the heat. 2 hours later I was stumbling through the brush to let my body violently eject what I ate the night before, it arbitrarily choosing the rear exit as if it made any difference to my comfort. I stumbled back to my tent and managed to fall back asleep in my own sweat, my only solace being the spray bottle I filled with water to “mist” myself.

I woke up at 5:30am and was ready to vomit. I tried to pack my stuff and nearly puked. I ran for the bushes 2 more times for a double-encore to my moonlight performance. Screwed. 100% screwed. My dad picked up on this and left me to only deal with my sleeping pad and stuff my bag. He took down the tent. He carried my bags to the truck and put them in the locker. He put the tent in the locker. He filled my water bottles. He filled my camelback. He found the pump so I could top up my tires. There was no was eating breakfast. With nothing to do myself, I was ready well ahead of schedule. Heading east to the road, I sauntered with my bicycle towards a spectacular sunrise to find a way to get my bike to lunch. Not sure what I was doing, I kept reassuring myself that I was better off than ridng the truck because the truck would be hot and would not necessarily stop if I were sick or needing to evacuate my bowels.

I pedaled slowly, the morning air refreshingly cool for a change. I focused on staying on the bike, turning the pedals, and not vomiting. My watch beeped every 5 minutes to remind me to drink but sometimes I just couldn’t be bothered to put the drinking tube in my mouth. People gradually caught me and passed me, offering a word of encouragement here and there. The race group caught me and Paul gave me a pat on the back as they rocketed past me as if I were standing still. I was barely moving.

Not much else to say. I made it to lunch, sat there for 70 minute in stifling heat and tried to eat something. Grapefruit, an energy bar and a bottle of energy drink was all I could manage. The anti-nausea pill wasn’t working too well at all so I just left lunch to attempt to ride another 35km in the heat and make it to camp. I don’t remember much, other than the ever-present children on the roadside yelling “You you you you you you”. A coke stop appeared at 86km so I stopped because other people were there. Chris F bought me a coke and I managed to get it down. Gee, cycling the length of the continent. Bloody great idea. I can’t feel my ribs except for when I need to blow my nose (which is often) or cough (which happens a lot in response to my combatting my vomiting). A big hill appeared, so I changed gears. I was riding in the smallest chainring of the 3 and moving at 7km/h. Flying now. Yeah. I caught up to Chris F on the climb, he was cursing the hill. I led by example and dismounted, not surprised that my walking speed was only 1.6km/h slower than my riding speed. I dry heaved but kept walking.

We arrived at camp which was essentially some small barnyard of a local village complete with an active hay threshing operation, piles of animal crap everywhere, and curious Ethiopians with no sense of respect or personal space (a stark contrast to the politeness of the Sudanese). I forgot to scan in on the timing system. Somebody gave me a foam mat and I passed out in the shade. I layed there for hours and my dad set up my tent, got my bags, brought me drinks, pain meds, a change of clothes. Bastiaan came and sat with me a bit, talking to me about why I wanted to ride every single inch of the way. Oddly, I could only give reasons external to myself. More miserable than I can ever remember physically being I crawled into my tent. I popped an antibiotic as I readied for bed, a desparation effort at some form of relief. Tomorrow would be another day and for the moment I did not want to think about making a decision to ride or not. In this moment, I only hoped to wake up without feeling like I needed to puke my guts out while sitting inside my tent.

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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.

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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.

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6-Feb-2011

Day Total: 87km
Total Time:
Avg. HR:
Avg. Speed:
Song of the Day:

The campsite was a hive of bike maintenance activity as final preparations were made by riders for the first full stage of off-road riding. Many changed tires, swapped spares from their bags, and a few even swapped forks from rigid to suspension. As for me, I put the biggest tires I had on the bike. These were mountain bike specific tires meant to provide decent traction and with their size, plenty of cushioning from bumps in the road.

Beginning with 14km of pavement, the course was described as dirt with a little sand and a lot of what they call corrugation. It’s really just a fancy word for a washboard road, but upon reflection, corrugation provides the right elements of mystery, seriousness, and complexity that leaves one with the feeling that one might be about to get into some shit. Alas, I get ahead of myself…

Paul and I left camp after most of the other riders/racers, the race group in particular choosing to fragment for this stage as there are few advantages – and little space – to trying to ride in a peloton. We made good time early on, and with favorable dirt roads (i.e. smooth and sand free), we held a very steady, quick pace for the first 10km on the dirt. About that time, Paul rode around a rock, I went to follow, his skills let him succeed, my lack of meant I failed. In the end, I clipped the rock at about 30km/h with my right pedal and which basically sent me flying forward off of the bike. I hit the dirt hard, slid on the ground, but landed without breaking anything. A few small abrasions and a bit of an ache in my right hip were all I had to show for it. We checked the bike over and 2 minutes later were on our way. It was good to have him there to urge me along as it meant no time was wasted with unnecessary drama around the fall.

The dirt road paralleled a railroad line and as we turned out of the small village, the horizon opened before us with the tracks disappearing in the distance. We moved back and forth across the road to try and find the best and smoothest line. A car was approaching towards us and at this point the road narrowed to effectively a single lane, car-width dirt path with two dirt tracks formed from where truck tires repeatedly wore away the soil. I moved to my left, up towards the railroad tracks to avoid the car. I felt the front wheel give in a camouflaged patch of dirt and dust and before I knew it my front wheel was sideways and I was catapulting into the ground. I landed on my right side/hip, again, and this one really hurt. The type of blow that takes your breath away and makes you think, man, I just got jacked up. Again I got up, again Paul helped me check the bike, but I knew immediately that this one was going to stick with me for several kilometers and with that I sent Paul on his way to chase the leaders and hopefully win the stage. Me, I drank some water, caught my breath and mentally prepared myself for the remaining distance.

As I was about to set off again, Bastiaan caught up to me and insisted on cleaning up the wound on my elbow. His filed medicine routine began with the application of an aerosol disinfectant and ended with a pretty tidy dressing of the wound to keep the dirt off of it for the remainder of the day. In between, I yelled at the top of my lungs as the disinfectant seemingly seared my skin. Opting to believe that the fire-on-the-skin sensation meant the spray was doing its job, I bit my tongue and mounted up to ride again.

At this point, I was resigned to just surviving the day in one piece. The terrain remained relatively featureless and soon enough I caught up to women’s race leader Tori changing her 5th flat tire of the day. I pumped up her tire in exchange for a proper English Mars bar. I think I got the better of the deal! She and I rode together at a good clip to the 55km mark when it was my turn to join the legion of flat tire fans on the day. 5km before lunch I took a deep breath and changed the front tire before a constantly growing audience. The local police helped keep the masses at a moderate distance while I finished my tire change. They were laughing excitedly as I put my pump back into my hydration pack and I quickly found out why: my rear tire was now flat as well. Argh, the dreaded double flat. No matter, I brought two spares. An easy change and I was rolling again, thankful that lunch was an easy 5km jaunt.

Arriving at lunch, the heat of the Sudan was back in full effect with the temperature now at 100 degrees. I used the proper pump to fully inflate my tires while drinking a lot of fluids and taking a leisurely lunch. My spirits were bolstered slightly when I learned that the day’s ride would be shortened 13km to accommodate camp logistics. They were bolstered further after hearing other rider’s tribulations on the day – many, many riders had 4+ flats; by comparison, I was in good shape with 2.

Off I rode from lunch, and it is worth mentioning that it was now really, really hot. There were a few river crossings where a dismount was required as one carried their bike across a narrow bridge consisting of exposed railroad ties and the tracks. Sweat in my eyes, I nearly fell off the bridge – with bicycle – into the river but regained my balance as I leaped to solid ground. Too close for comfort and not pleasurable given how my ribs were feeling. Soon enough I had another flat. Out of good spare tubes, I was in patch mode at this point, so out came the patch kit. I thoroughly inspected the tube and tire and found the culprit thorns. Patch, inflate, and wait, what’s that sound? Another bleeping leak? Alas, it’s true and I find another hole. At this point, the heat – at 110 degrees Fahrenheit – was preventing the patches from adhering properly. This left me only one strategy for the final 20km: pump and run.

Inflate the tire as quickly as possible and then ride like hell. Repeat every 2 to 3km. Well, this is fun, isn’t it? With about 12km to go I approached the town of Dinder. I figured what the hell, maybe they had a proper pump in that town that would allow me to go 4 or 5km. Additionally, the prospect of a cold beverage was appealing so without much ado, I hopped off the bike and took to the town by foot. A busy place I caught many interesting glances, a few hellos, and a lot of smiles. I found the first shop, stepped up to the counter and in the time it took me to get out my money a semi-circle of people 3 deep enveloped me. I purchased two drinks and everyone laughed. I opened up the first and they laughed again. I chugged the first in one gulp start to finish and they went silent. Ha! That gave them something to think about. But then I belched and they all erupted in laughter. I put the second drink in my bag and was a little unsure on how to make my exit so I shook about 30 hands and parted the crowd. I kept walking to enjoy the remainder of the town and as I neared the bridge marking the edge of the town my way was barred by a heard of goats. I laughed – it seemed an appropriate delay for this day…

Our Sudanese rider for the trip hailed me as the goats cleared – on his skinny road tires he flatted and had no pump. I loaned him my pump and gasped as he prepared to change his tire with a flathead screw driver. Make do with what you have I guess. As he finished, he explained that he was done with these roads, would stay in Dinder for the night and go back to Khartoum the next day. I could empathize.

A couple of more pumping sessions would get me within spitting distance of camp while giving me an opportunity to feel the oppressive power of the Sudanese mid-day sun. I walked a few circles in the middle of the road to take it all in: I was in the middle of nowhere in Sudan, hotter than at any point in my existence, pumping a tire for the 7ht time today, talking out loud to nobody. At least I was having fun.

Camp arrived none too soon – a hot, arid patch of land with nothing around it. I ditched the mountain bike tires in favor of a narrower but vastly more puncture resistant tire (Schwalbe Marathon Plus). My body hurts, my wounds are cleaned and the heat is killing me. Two more days of off-road await before 3 more days of road riding to Gondor. On the day, 4 riders would have 6 or more flats with Tori taking first prize at 10. Thorns – they’re everywhere on this route.

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Day Total: 155 Km
Total Time: ~5:18
Avg. HR: 127
Avg. Speed:
Song of the Day: AC/DC – Thunderstruck

Oh the heat, the heat, the heat. All in all, not a terrible day, likely due to my nearly total commitment to hydration today. I consumed 2 bottles overnight, finally urinated at 2am, and then took to an sip-every-5-minutes strategy on the bike today.

Paul and I hit the dirt/gravel at about 20km into the day where new roadwork was being completed. Next year, this dirt section won’t exist but I’m sure the race organization will find a way to mix up the route… That said, it was a welcome change, the search for a good line through the rough providing a nice mental exercise. Soon enough it was over however and we were back on pavement and approaching lunch. We did the usual quick lunch bit (careful to get enough liquids) and motored onwards.

Shortly after lunch however I started feeling a bit weak and sent Paul forward on his own. The heat was getting to me a bit and I was content to suffer the afternoon alone. Of course as fate would have it, about that time the wind changed to a strong tailwind, a few riders up the road flatted, and my food started to take effect. And like that I was reborn and soon our merry group of 5 was rolling along.

We rolled into camp, all a bit frazzled. I managed to take a bee to the forehead with about 10km to go – a nice shock to the system to keep me on my toes to camp. Camp ended up being in a small pasture lined with scrub brush and littered with animals and their respective dungs. It was an equal opportunity camp: goats, sheep, cows, donkeys, and a camel. Best of all was the close proximity to an irrigation canal. This meant an immediate jump in cool water – what a life saver! Seriously, the ability to immediately cool your body after riding for 5+ hours in extreme heat does wonders for you. One quick dip and I had the strength to setup my tent. Another quick dip and I was able to muster the energy to change tires to the first full dirt day tomorrow. I am hoping the dirt and my bike/tire capabilities will give me if not a speed advantage then at least a rather significant comfort advantage. 7 bottles of fluids down the hatch as I write this with no end in sight to the heat. Definitely starting to feel it…

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Day Total: 145 Km

Total Time: 5:25

Avg. HR: 134

Avg. Speed: Very, very slow

Song of the Day: Freebird

This update is going to be brief because, well, I feel like my life force is a bit low today. Maybe I will recover tomorrow.

The day started with a fast 40km out of Khartoum. Paul and I rode with the lead racers, but I could feel early on that the body was not going to behave well today and that similarly to our rest day in Dongola I might not have gotten enough rest. Their pace continued its high rate with the frequent but unpredictable accelerations. I was sweating heavily at that point and decided I wasn’t interested in that pace and let them go. I rode with Jorg into lunch, ate quickly and carried on towards camp.

The winds were noticeably against us this day, and that coupled with the excessive heat (44 C/110 F) I was starting to suffer. With about 50km remaining I was running very low on water and had no choice but to explore various options. There was a scheduled “coke stop” about an hour up the road, but that wasn’t going to do so as we approached an irrigation canal, I turned off of the road to head towards one of the many “water stops” that seemed to dot the highway. Of unknown origin and administration, these little pit stops feature clay pots of cool water. The clay pots allow for evaporation cooling – the beauty of physics –
and a small permanent bit of shade to combat the heat. Was it safe? Is it treated? I didn’t know but I figured the worst I would get was GI issues that could be treated quickly. Severe dehydration can have lasting consequences of a much more severe nature. 1 liter down the hatch and one liter for the bike – life was feeling a bit better at that point.

I suffered through the rest of the ride, though we picked up 3 more riders which provided a small respite from the wind. Into another dusty, desolate, desert camp we rolled. I had a quick bottle of energy drink to combat my thirst, then went through the usual routine of changing clothing and eating the daily soup. After a second bowl of soup I got very nauseous and within 10 minutes I was on my back trying to combat the urge to vomit. I laid in the dirt for an hour before my life force returned. A quick check by the medic said I was fine, but I continued to drink – 7 bottles and counting…

A quick dip in the Nile – our last for the trip I think – finished the afternoon. I will have to ride easy tomorrow and adjust my hydration strategy to avoid today’s devastating hydration. One more road day awaits, followed by a day of mixed dirt/road, 3 days dirt, then 3 days pavement before a rest day. With the excessive temperatures there will be no margin for nutritional errors.

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Day Total: NO RIDING (Rest Day in Khartoum)

Song of the Day: Neil Diamond – Cracklin’ Rose

I’ll keep this update brief because for the most part Khartoum as a rest day location just wasn’t very restful. The people were very hospitable, the food plentiful and flavorful (particularly fresh squeezed juices), and the modernization fairly present. The heat was bordering on insufferable at around 110 and on the whole it was nearly impossible to stay properly hydrated.

We did visit the Al-Fayat hotel – an up-market, $500/night affair – to view the confluence of the various forks of the Nile river. In a word, impressive. In another word, a long, hot walk back to our hotel to pick up our bags and head back to the campground. Frugality got the better of us and we opted to save some money and camp for the final night in Khartoum.

I did laundry, though with the amount of dust in the city it did not dry very cleanly. Paul and I went to the Afra market – a pocket of ultra-modernization that featured electronics stores, a hyper-market, food court, and most importantly, air conditioning. We each ate two dinners, bought multiple chocolate bars and yogurt drinks, and finalized preparations for the upcoming 8-day span of consecutive riding days. We had the opportunity to meet the new sectional rider Jan. Great guy who I look forward to having around camp in the coming weeks until his departure in Nairobi.

We sweated out the night in our tents under siege from the heat, road noise, and a previously unknown enemy the mosquito. We had begun taking our malaria prophylaxis 3 days prior, but even two mozzies in your tent knowing they have the potential to cause a deathly illness makes you take killing them very seriously. It turns out it is easy to see the mosquitoes inside the tent, but difficult to kill them as the walls flex when you hit them. In the end a sweeping, swiping motion proved effective. Coupled with a wild, frantic swatting motions that seemed to knock them to the floor of the tent I had a solid strategy. Paul heard me flapping away and started doing the same only to realize that his tent door was still open. I had a good laugh over that one.

In the end, not an entirely restful evening, but hey, it is what it is. Sometimes you want ice cream and instead you get melted milk.

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2-Feb-2011

Day Total: 107 Km
Total Time: ~6:10
Avg. HR: 114
Avg. Speed: Very, very slow
Song of the Day: Empire of the Sun – Walking on a Dream

No big surprises on this day: my legs felt like crap and I was thoroughly spent from the previous day’s effort that netted me a coveted yellow stage winner’s plate. Fortunately the day was a non-timed stage for the race, with the first 10km serving as a warm-up for a “just for fun” individual time trial (ITT) of 20km. An ITT is effectively a solo, timed effort. The just for fun dimension, for me, meant “I’m too tired to even think of a hard effort today and I would perform so miserably that my family name would be shamed”. What I felt was not exhaustion so much as a deep, emptiness in my muscles. There simply was nothing in the tanks. I don’t think I eclipsed 30km/h for the first 25km on the day.

The ITT would conclude at the 30km mark and lunch would be served at 67km with the final 40km of the day being a convoy into our campsite in Khartoum. The fact that the stage was not timed meant that we could ride a very leisurely pace. And we did. Paul caught up to me at about 15km. “You are doing the time trial aren’t you?” I asked. He replied, “I rode the first 5km hard and decided it hurt to much. Once I caught you I decided I was done.”. Well, at least I wasn’t the only one feeling a bit zapped. We used the morning to partake in some of the things we norally sacrifice in the name of a faster time: stopping for a closer look at a termite mound, photos of random camels, random conversation amongst ourselves as we ticked of the kilometers.

The highlight of the morning came when at the back of the group I spotted a roadside “shop”. These shops are often marked by the staff on the route directions, but this one was not. Referred to as “coke stops”, we had yet to actually visit one. With no sense of urgency on the day and every reason to find an excuse to stop (I was not comfortable on the bike today), I shouted at the top of my lungs “COKE STOP!” and circled back to partake. Paul quickly joined, and a minute later all the others doubled back. Pepsi products seem to reign supreme here in Sudan, but this guy actually had one real Coke. Mind you it appeared to have been at the bottom of the barrel for 318 days, but it was ice cold – a rarity in these parts – and went down oh so well. We took photos to commemorate our first coke stop, I had a second drink, we mounted up and headed off to lunch. Shortly before lunch we entered the “field of bags”. As it sounds, it wsa a wide open expanse of barren scrub land covered in yellow, orange, and pink plastic bags. They ambled across the road like tumbleweeds and of course not 1, but 2 would eventually get caught in my wheel.

Lunch was at the 67km mark on the outskirts of Khartoum. It was a very, very busy area but that did not kill my appetite as I slaughtered two massive tuna sandwiches and another orange soda. It was quite hot at this point so I drank more and more in anticipation of the long, slow 40km convoy into Khartoum proper and our campsite.

The convoy was the usual affair with low speeds, lots of people on the sides of the roads gawking, cheering, and high fiving. A few local cyclists joined in for short periods. Riders hit the pavement after some unsteady handling of a railroad crossing. It got even hotter, we rode even slower as the traffic increased, and the wind and dust increased. We had multiple escorts of heavily armed Sudanese paramillitary, complete with the swivel mounted gun in the back of the pickup truck. I was uncomfortable on the bike and in the heat, but at least we were secure.

We arrived at our rest day campsite, the National Camping Residence, accompanied by temperatures of 102 degrees Farenheit (41 C). It appeared to be part campground and part sports residence for Sudanese developmental athletes. We had decided to take a hotel room somewhere in town for the purposes of sorting gear, laundry service, etc. One of our Sudanese support people had pre-arranged some rooms but we decided to shop around. Other than the Ugandan national football (soccer) team, we didn’t find any special deals and finally ended up at El-Farad’s hotel. Nice enough, thought not $140 USD nice. That said, it includes breakfast and we have wireless internet in the room.

Now off in search of food!

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