Round and round we go

I’m back to being mostly healthy and in a location where we can take care of some web-related business. A good number of updates are pending posting (including the full story of my temporary demise in Sudan) due to some complications we encountered but I hope to have that sorted out before we hit the road tomorrow morning. All in all, the past 5 days of riding have been very hilly but I have steadily improved and feel pretty good overall. The scenery has been amazing, the temperatures much cooler (thanks to the altitude), and the food very good. Stay tuned.

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Suffering with a spot of comfort

Just a quick update to say I’m still alive. The mobile broadband solution I purchased in Egypt stopped working in most of Sudan presumably due to the challenges in that country.

We finished a stretch of 8 consecutive riding days yesterday with a 107km road ride featuring over 2500 meters (7900 feet) of climbing. I learned a lot about myself, my limits, what my true goals are for this trip, and finally (and most painfully), I learned how to suffer through severe heat, illness, and physical injury.

Updates to follow!

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Day Total: 148 Km

Total Time: 4:20:00

Avg. HR: 122bpm

Avg. Speed: 33.2 km/h

Song of the Day: Chaiyya Chaiyya (Don’t know who the artist is, all the same it’s a solid track)

Another morning in the desert, another night of battling with thermoregulation. My 40 degree Farenheit down sleeping bag still proves to be just a touch on the warm side with overnight lows hovering around 48 degrees. There is little hope of that situation changing until Namibia when we will revisit the desert in the southern hemisphere with winter approaching. Until then, I sleep with the rainfly peeled back (you have to use it now to keep out the sand), no clothing, and just a silk sheet to cover my fatigued body.
I decided to change up the breakfast routine this morning, opting for a bowl of porridge/oatmeal dressed with some peanut butter, bananas, and honey. Unfortunately the cooking crew decided to mix up the breakfast routine this morning and offer cream of wheat in lieu of the porridge. I’ve nothing against the stuff other than in the dim, shadowy lighting of twenty riders’ headlamps it appeared to be a touch on the lumpy and glutonous side. I couldn’t pull the trigger and reverted back to my usual formula. I washed it down with a cup of tea, leveraging the new stainless steel mug I purchased in Dongola. How civilized! Now I can’t find my mug and I blame the tea. I never lose my bike bottles and will stick with sports drink going forward.

The sun rose with no big plans for the day’s ride other than leave a bit behind some slower riders and jump into a group of medium speed. Yesterday, mostly due to Sunday’s dehydration was painful and I quite fancied a mildly paced day. Coupled with tomorrow’s non-timed stage would provide two easy days of riding followed by a rest day in Khartoum. I figured that was a solid strategy to allow the body to adapt to the punishment it has recently been dealt.

I rolled out of camp just behind Dutchman Bastiaan with the intent of catching the group that contained Peter the Plumber, Tori, Carrie, Henry, Martin, and a few others for a comfortable, enjoyable ride into lunch – just like yesterday. We caught the group about 15km out of camp and much to my surprise, Bastiaan rode right through them. I sat at the back for a couple of minutes before he beckoned me forward. I figured we would ride at the front and speed things up just slightly, but he had other plans and soon we rode away from them. I figured, what the heck, nothing wrong with a moderately fast 80km into lunch. I could sit and have my first leisurely lunch in a long time and wait for them. Instead a few from the group jumped forward and soon we had 6 willing riders to make some pace. Nothing crazy at first, but very soon we were moving much faster than I expected. The kilometers ticked away on the computer, and looking at the data as we approached lunch, I saw that we had just averaged 35.2km/h into the break. This is a bit faster than the race group had been averaging for the previous 3 days, their preference being to ride moderate into lunch and unleash the hounds for the balance of the day.

We planned a quick lunch so I went with my normal routine, planning to take a sandwich and eat it while rolling along slowly. A few of the group were just sitting down when I urged them to get moving with the intentions of avoiding as much of the high heat on the bike as possible. 5km out of lunch, Bastiaan pulls alongside me and indicates that he thinks we can hold off the racers and possibly take the stage. I was doubtful, but he reassured me that they would not have ridden overly hard for the first half as they would assume they would catch us with 20km to go as they had in the previous two days.

I knew how I felt, and definitely remembered how it felt just a few days ago to take a flyer and burn up at the 100km mark. A quick survey of the pack let me estimate that we would likely have 4, maybe 5, people total – a good number for what would have to be a serious effort. What to do, what to do…

A few quick jokes were passed as to what a win would be worth to those who might help me achieve it and like that I was sold. We wound up the pace rather quickly to 40km, then 42, then 43, alternating every 1km or so. I went to the front  a few times in short succession to restate my intentions: I’d give it a go and see if we could stay away. It is worth mentioning that this was a huge gamble as we had left before the racers and had no idea how much time they had spotted us out of camp. No matter, we would ride well beyond the point of pain and just see where I landed.

In a matter of 5km we started popping people off the back of our happy group. No words were spoken; there simply was no breath to spare. After 15km of this effort, only 4 remained: Tori, Adam, Bastiaan, and myself. The total committment to the cause was beautiful: they were all pulling for me. Tori was incredible, taking 6 or 7 good turns at the front before finally sending us on our way with a very sincere “Good luck!”. A Dutchman, a Briton, and an American raising hell on the course, working like mad, trying to maintain an unknown margin.

Oxygen-deprived calculations were conducted rapidly, and with the help of my Garmin bicycle computer, I figured we were about 70 minutes from the finish. tried to break up the time and distance, focusing on the wheel in front of me and pushing aside my rising heart rate and the slowly growing pain in my legs. I never expected to have this chance again so soon and would kill myself to seize it.

Riding in excess of 40km/h (25mph) the distance to the finish closed quickly as the road opened up before us. A simple, cyclical pattern was employed as we each took turns at the front, the other two fanning out to the right to find some form of reprieve from the quartering wind. My pulls at the front became increasingly painful and with each successive turn, the final 200 and 300 meters nearly cracked me. I would pull off of the front and struggle to hold the wheel of the second person in the line. Focus shifted between the rear derailleur of the man in front of me and the heart rate displayed on my computer. 167 beats per minute at the front, relax as much as possible to reduce it to 155 beats per minute before hitting the front again. There were still 20km to go – argh!

With about 15km to go, the wind started shifting to a stiff cross-head wind. I watched as our speed fell off and realized that I would need to add an extra 8 minutes to the trip. S#*T! Bastiaan started yelling words of encouragement and I figuratively took the bit in my mouth and pushed harder. With about 10km to go, Adam cracked and we rode away from him. With 8km to go I was in a trance like state as I took my turn at the front. Bastiaan proved again to be a machine, refusing to let me slacken the pace.

With 5km to go, the wind intensified and I nearly cracked as Bastiaan surged forward ever so slightly. He looked back, yelled again and I managed to pull even. The police checkpoint at 147km was in sight now. The busses that passed us in the opposite direction all day continued to impose their wind penalty on us, and just before the checkpoint our speed was temporarily checked 2km/h as another bus blasted by us. “Come on Scott, it’s your stage!” was all I could hear. My stage to win. What could I do in the final 1km to improve my chances?

Through the checkpoint and the finish flag was visible. The plan was to ditch the bike on the other side of the finish flag and run like hell across the loose sand to the race clock to check out for the day. A skidding stop in the gravel along the side of the road and I was off, a not too unfamiliar feeling from my triathlon days. I nearly stumbled as I took the first burning steps, and nearly somersaulted as I climbed two small sand embankments in rapid succession. Once clear of the small sand hill, I was off, legs extending and turning over like a rabid camel. The staff heard us coming and watched my approach with encouraging smiles.

Done, the beep-beep of the timing system confirming my arrival. I marked the time on my watch and knew the waiting game would ensue now, made worse by the fact that we had no way of knowing how much time we needed. We figured 15 minutes could be enough and the first racer arrived at 15:10. Hmmm. “What was your ride time?”, they asked. Well, I didn’t stop my computer because I was busy sprinting through the desert. We would have to wait until the rider meeting and the tabulation of the official results.

We had our usual beverages and soup, then walked back the 3/4 mile to the “town” near the checkpoint. There were cool drinks (not exactly cold) for sale and Paul, myself, and Bastiaan all had a few. We wandered down the road further and found a larger mud hut with a few cots and lots of shade. We would pass the next 3 hours there, drinking soda and eating cakes. There were roughly 20 riders in there when we arrived. Not concerned with their times, they were content to enjoy the shelter from the wind and sun accompanied by a sugary drink.

We rolled back to camp and the rider meeting. This was the last race day of the first of 8 sections of the tour and special awards were given to some of the riders leaving us in Khartoum. Finally race director Nick came out with a stage winner’s plate. A plate is only issued if a person who has not previously won a stage won the day. I knew if I did not win that Dennis the German did, and that he had not previously won a stage. Nothing to go on there…
Nick finally announced that we had an interesting situation today in the race: a tie. Times are rounded to the nearest minute and Dennis and I had tied. I’ll take it! Dennis admitted that he didn’t feel he deserved it as he was 5th to finish (but first to the timing system) in his group whereas we had left in plain view of them and rode away with the day. No matter – he has ridden hard and deserves his plate as much as I do. In any case, it was great to finally take the day and if I’m honest, a bit of a weight has been lifted.

The evening concluded with a bit of an auction held by the staff. Many items have been left in camp as riders hurry to their bikes and the roads. Tonight they were put on auction. A bit of a tradition, the auction pits owners against fellow riders in an effort to regain possession of their belongings. A good many laughs were had, particularly at Dennis. Dennis struggled the entire first week with his locker as he simply had too much “crap”. He cleverly found a place to stuff some of it outside of his locker, but alas, the staff found his hiding space. Eager to get his stuff back, he could not bid as he had no place to put it! My dad had a jacket blow away from him yesterday while setting his tent. Apparently it was found, and Ferdie, the auctioneer arrived to the auction wearing it. Ferdie wrongly assumed that there was a set of gloves in the pocket. Another rider, James, was in desperate need of a set of gloves (he lost his original pair) and initiated a furious bidding war. James finally won at 100 Sudanese Pounds (about $35 USD) and my dad was visibly pissed. He walked off mumbling “that’s bullshit”. The last laugh was on James as there were no gloves in the jacket pockets. My dad had a second set of new gloves and was able to trade James his used pair for the jacket. All’s well that ends well!

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Day Total: 148 Km

Total Time: 4:20:00

Avg. HR: 122bpm

Avg. Speed: 33.2 km/h

Song of the Day: Run DMC – Tricky
Planning only gets you so far on a trip such as this. Variables are constant, their impact dynamic. My preparations for the morning paid off, my rehydration efforts seemed to be working to design (I peed three times during the night), and I was ready to roll well ahead of schedule with some of the early-goers. Paul suggested we start just 10 minutes after the group led by Australian Luke and I figured, what the hell, we could make that up without too much difficulty. As we finalized preparations and were about to clock-in for the day, I decided to check my tire pressure only to find my front wheel flat. This is the same tire I repaired during our rest day in Dongola. Paul was an expert assistant and we got it changed quickly, the root cause of the issue seemingly a rim strip (a piece of cloth/plastic on the outside of the rim meant to protecth the tube from protruding spokes) that shifted slightly. The only downside was that we rolled out of camp 18 minutes behind instead of our planned 10.

Jorg, Paul, and myself grouped up again and set a steady, brisk, pace for the early kilometers. My body told me early on that it was perhaps too brisk, but we quickly picked up a 4th rider – Dutchman Kim – which meant only about 2 minutes of work to 6 minutes of relative ease. We covered the distance easily with fairly neutral winds. At around 41km, we turned away from the Nile and headed into an expanse of desert unlike anything we have seen thus far. The early days of riding in Egypt had similar desert, but it was broken up by frequent construction projects and checkpoints. There was simply nothing here to be seen in any direction for the next 20 miles to lunch. After lunch, we passed near a number of villages – mostly mud structures with no electricity and few signs of water. This really is the desert.

Lunch was the usual quick affair, but on arrival we were very surprised to see the Luke group. On the previous day we did not manage to catch them, today we had 18 minutes by lunch. I was silently elated as Sunday’s dehydration was definitely kicking me in the head repeatedly. We rolled out ahead of then and quickly decided that it made more sense to let them catch us and work with them than try to stay away. They took about 10km to pull even, but once they did, they seemed eager to whip up the pace and in no time at all we were matching and exceeding the pace we held to lunch. This was ideal for me as it meant that I could just fall in line and tap out the miles to get to camp. I was uncomfortable, my nose was running incessantly, and the heat of the day was bugging me again. My drinking regimen was strict today however – my watch reminding me to take a couple of sips of water every 8 minutes. Without too much difficulty we hit camp just before noon.

Tonight’s camp is in the middle of a very, very barren desert landscape about 50 meters from the highway. There is a low mud-brick building and a communications tower nearby, but other than that, nothing in any direction. The wind blew with building strength all afternoon which was enough to deter me from erecting my tent with any haste. Instead I changed out of my cycling shorts, changed footwear, and pulled up a chair in the shade of the truck. I sat for an hour, shooting the breeze with other riders. I dozed for an hour with my head resting heavily on the back of the truck. I read for an hour. I consumed 3 bottles of energy drink to combat the heat and wind. After about 2 hours, a truck pulled up. It left. A fellow rider commented that the guy should run to the nearest town and bring back cokes – he would make a fortune! I could not agree more. The truck returned and the guy offloaded a few boxes and what appeared to be 3 orange sodas. I ran up to the truck and the guy was willing to sell me one, but then he opened a cooler and had about 40 more that were ice cold. Genius! I bought one for myself, Paul, and my dad (who was still on the road riding) and quickly retired to my chair in the shade. Sometimes it’s the riding that makes you happy, sometimes it has nothinhg to do with the bike… Content, I joined other riders in the windbreak formed by the mud building. There were 3 empty cots and I comandeered one for the purpose of a 60 minute power nap.

Just after dinner, the winds dropped and I could erect my tent, confident that it woudl not fill with sand. As I brushed my teeth, a donkey wandered into camp. He was a bit jittery, but some soft talking and he nuzzled up to me. A nice ending to the day, albeit a bit strange when viewed in isolation.
Tomorrow is another 148km. Warnings about traffic and crazy bus drives – the likes of which we met on the road today as they went side by side straight at us – were issued during the rider meting. This means we are nearing our next major city: Khartoum. The promise of a shower after baking in the hot, sandy wind today is appealing, but for now, it’s time to retire to the tent with another 148km stage tomorrow.

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Day Total: 148 Km

Total Time: 4:10:00

Avg. HR: ???

Avg. Speed: 33.4 km/h

Song of the Day: Social Distortion – Ball and Chain
Sleep was broken for the second consecutive night as a slew of dog barks echoed through the Dongola zoo. I recall only seeing two dogs during our 1.75 days there, but at night it seemed as if the town came alive with packs of roaming mongrels intent on commanding authority through volume. It began at approximately 10pm and continued until the morning prayer call at 5am. The earplugs were only moderately effective at drowning out the noises and I awoke feeling less than fresh. An ominous beginning to a tough week (we have riding days of 148km, 143km, 148km, and 107km in convoy)? Time will certainly tell.

Disorganization seemed to be the theme for the morning. A tough lesson learned as the price for not completing the my almost ritualistic evening routine in preparation for the next day’s riding. Rushing back and forth to the trucks for food, gear stowage, bottle filling, finding a pump for the tires added to the sense of haste. On top of chaos, there was my less-than-happy stomach to attend to as it demanded multiple trips to the bathroom amdist the morning rush. No doubt a by-product of a day spent wondering the town eating many things and visiting with many locals it fortunately let me be during the day’s ride. On top of that, I screwed up when charging my bike computer and drained it down to ~20% power. That meant it died at about 80km, so data is “borrowed” from Paul today.

We rolled out of camp with the race group, despite our intentions to go ahead of them. For once, the pace was quite moderate, comfortable even as we clicked off the opening 60km. So pleasant was the pace, that as we passed other riders, many of them jumped in the group and managed to ride with us for 10 to 20km. Not surprisngly, the egos in the group could not let this last and with approximately 20km to lunch the pace went back to the usual lunatic speed. Paul, Jorg, and myself all rolled in a couple minutes behind them to lunch, much fresher for our sensibility.

Lunch was a very quick affair, our plan being to grab food and eat it on the bike. The 3 of us set out for the final 70km to camp with nobody in sight, the lead bunch already having moved ahead of us. There is little more to say – the landscape was quite desolate with a thin line of palm trees and mud huts representing civilzation one mile to our left (this was the banks of the Nile) and vast expanses of sand and scrub bush to the right. It varied not at all for the duration fo the ride into camp. I was particularly thirsty as the temperatures rose to nearly 90 degrees for the end of the ride. I consumed 2 bottles of fluid upon arrival in addition to our afternoon soup. After setting up my tent and having a second portion of soup I immediately began to feel a bit off. That was followed by extreme nautiousness sufficient enough to force me to simply lie down in the dirt and go to a happy place to avoid vomiting everywhere. These are the evil affects of dehydration. I knew the 2 bottles of fluids would turn things around so I had no choice but to lie very still. Claire, one of the staff nurses came by to check on me 30 minutes later and by then I was feeling significantly better. Another bottle of fluids and life was nearly normal again.

With dehydration beaten (at least for this day), we hiked the mile across the desert to the line of trees marking the banks of the Nile. After the cursory crocodile check, we jumped in, the water here being much deeper. Soap, shampoo, and a bit of a soak and life was indeed grand! We soaked our shirts for the hot walk back which provided an almost air conditioning like cooling effect for 30 minutes. On the walk back, we deviated through a small patch of irrigated fields and stumbled upon a mud hut with a small enclosure holding about 10 goats. They bleated and coughed in opposition to our presence but were quickly appeased with an offering of fresh green grass. The owner of the goats came upon us and was all smiles. The language gap was immense as he did not even seem to understand our basic Arabic greetings. I offered him one of the energy bars provided to us by the Tour and he gladly accepted. I wondered if he might not be cursing me now as he tries – possibly in vain – to eat it. These energy bars are a throwback to the original days of the PowerBar – simple in flavor, a consistent, almost taffy-like texture, and thick enough to require almost 3 miles to eat while on the bike. Sorry dude, but it’s all I had.

Back in camp, attractively dubbed the “Dead Camel Camp”, I consumed a total of 7 bottles of fluids in camp before getting into my tent to write this. I feel fine now, but my knowledge of physiology tells me that there may be some muscle soreness tomorrow. I’ve made plans to get up early and head out with an earlier, slower bunch to take it easy. Tomorrow is about “sawing logs” – get through the day the most comfortable way possible. I’ll be brining the 100oz CamelBack tomorrow to continue to restore proper hydration. Lesson learned.

Here’s the token dead camel photo:

One of about 5 dead camels in the immediate vicinity of camp

Here’s a shot of my father with his sometimes riding mate Meagan (no idea if that is how you spell her name):

Dad and Meagan

Another desert sunset:

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Day Total: 107 Km

Total Time: 3:10:00

Avg. HR: 122bpm

Avg. Speed: 34.0 km/h

Song of the Day: U2 – Beautiful Day

I fell asleep last night to the group singalongs executed by the stragglers by the campfire. Comraderie, fellowship, kindred spirit. Yeah, I get all that, and it’s nice, really it is. I just wish they could finish singing an entire song instead of the firs three lines before moving onto the next title. Who knows, maybe they will improve with time.

Another cool morning – 47 degrees Farenheit – greeted us as we again broke camp in the dark. The rising of the sun dictates how early one can leave camp by bicycle, and with the time shift, that has come roughly one hour later. The general masses seem to be on the old time schedule, but me, with earplugs in slept right through my alarm. No matter, I am becoming increasinlgy proficient with camp life and my daily routine. Breakfast of what one rider dubbed “Scott’s Pie” was on the menu as it is every morning. For those just joining us the recipe is some type of bread, a lot of peanut butter, one or two bananas thinly sliced, and honey. It really does present well and all things considered is an effective fuel for the day’s labor.

Paul and I decided we would not be riding with the lead group today, both agreeing that riding their pace not only hurts us, but it helps them as we would bear a share of the workload. That said, we set out on our own with the intent of picking up some of the slower riders who had set out earlier. The last 1.5km into camp last night was down a rocky, sandy, dirt road. We powered up this, knowing that other racers would not and we would get some free minutes out of the deal. Once on the pavement, we settled into a steady pace, our intention to ride this pace most of the day with only the briefest stops for lunch.

We quickly picked up two other riders, German Joerg and fellow American 3-bike Mike. Mike arrived in Cairo without a bike – it was misplaced by the luggage company. He then managed to find a real bicycle to buy in Cairo, re-ordered the dream bike lost by the airlines (that’s bike #2), and finally was notified that the airlines found his bike (bike #3). More on him in the future. In any case, we rode along nicely, comfortably but briskly. The “fast” group rolled past and we did not react. They slowed slightly, tempting us to join and share the work, but we did not bite. We rolled into lunch a couple of minutes behind them and left at nearly the same time, preferring to eat on the go in lieu of sitting down for a more leisurely meal.

Out of lunch, we picked up one more rider, women’s race leader Torrey, and the 5 of us kept our steady pace, slowing slightly now and again to ensure nobody fell of the back of the group. With roughly 5km remaining, we picked up a police escort, a lone vehicle driving 30 meters in front of us. A right turn led us to a recently constructed bridge over the Nile. The river here was much wider than in previous days, more reminiscent of crossing the Mississipi, Missouri, or Ohio Rivers in the United States. As we reached the bridge a second police escort and a media vehicle joined us. Media vehicle in Dongola Sudan means 2 guys with handi-cams riding in the back of a pickup truck. The second police escort clearly had something to prove and was intent on using his sirens as his means of communication.

With loud sirens, we entered the town. The roads were of average width which meant everyone heard us coming. We received numerous cheers, waves, smiles, and dumbfounded looks as we rolled into this smallish town, the 5 of us and our cacaphenous escort upsetting the relative peace I’m sure normally settles on this town on an early Friday afternoon. A couple of 90-degree turns, a final straight and the finish flag was before us. This was by far the most memorable finish to date as a few locals and proper media were waiting for photos and interviews.

Our campsite is a vacated zoo, or maybe it’s still a zoo that only has animals part of the year (the grounds seem to be well maintained by relative standards). The campground is as good as we’ve had thus far: open spaces of bent grass, bathroom (er, hole in the ground with a hose), and a snack stand on premise. This really is very comfortable camping and people wasted no time in spreading out and taking advantage of our first dust-free tent site in some days. We ate the entire supply of falafel at the snack bar and went through every cold beverage the guy had within 20 minutes – such is the appetite of this zoo on wheels we call the TDA.

We took a tuk-tuk, a small three-wheeled, motorized cart (seen in Thailand I’m told) into town. Being Friday, we expected some shops to be closed until later in the evening. The adherance to Islamic practice appears to be more serious here as 99% of the shops were locked up tight. With nothing to see or do, we walked back to camp and killed time doing laundry, sorting gear, enjoying the day, and planning our next meal. We headed back out at around 4pm and found a small shop where we bought ice cream and cokes. The ice cream was probably good at one point, but this one had clearly endured multiple freeze/thaw cycles and was a bit icy. Still tasted good though! We found dinnner #1 at a local eartery serving whole rotisserie chickens stuffed with rice. In a word: divine. Fueled by real sustenance (in lieu of chocloate bars and carbonated drinks) we wandered the back alleys of the town and managed to buy a SIM card for my phone. The guy was very helpful and got me sorted properly. He was asking for bits of information – most places require a copy of your passport when purchasing these services – but we were crossing wires due to the language barrier. Finally, I took out one of the 2 forms I am suspposed to carry here which contained Arabic descriptions of the bits of information he needed. That set everything right.

Back at camp, I got my first flat tire, a “sniper flat” as they call it. The bike was laying in the grass when suddenly I heard thte tell-tale pssssssssssss of air escaping. No matter, this is the best place to get a flat as there is no impact and you have all kinds of time to fix it properly. I patched the tube, replaced it with a new one (the plan is to use new tubes and only fall back on the patched tubes when necessary), and we headed out for dinner #2. Dinner #2 was a bit of a bust as we could find no proper meat. We ran into a couple of Dutch riders staying in a local “hotel” who were required to register at the police station. They were invited into the police chief’s abode which was well stocked with luxury items like a LCD TV and air conditioning. Apparently there is mass rioting underway in Cairo. It would appear our timing was rather fortunate.

Laying down tonight, I feel good. The first day in Luxor, because of its location, carried a certain sense of obligation to get out and see some of the historical landmarks, temples, tombs and the like. There is none of that here, so we will maximize our relaxation time and mentally prepare for another long week on the bike as we head to Khartoum.

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Day Total: 149

KmTotal Time: 4:47:00

Avg. HR: 121bpm

Avg. Speed: 30.9 km/h

Song of the Day: Band of Horses – The Funeral

A nice night’s sleep means an easy awakening. My sleep was mostly nice, though there was one nearby individual whose incessant snoring was reminiscent of a space shuttle launch. That said I felt good, and the transition from 2 bags on a truck to all belongings in the locker continued smoothly. This meant I was ready with extra time again today so I cleaned and lubed my bike chain. Yes, this is the oh-so-exciting side of life on the road.

After yesterday’s seriosly hard effort, I had no intentions of riding the whole day with the lunatic group again. We all left together, rolled along gently for about 10km, then the pace increased. I know it sounds familiar because I’ve written this same scenario at least four times now. I figured I’d hang on just until we caught the “second group” which are sort of the next strata of racers. Thankfully they appeared at 45km today and I promptly popped off of the lead bunch and right onto the back of this one.

What a difference: there were people talking, smiles, photos being taken, some unfamiliar faces, and a general sense of cooperation and interest in helping each other through the day. I could get used to this, and quickly did today as I rode with them for the next 103km. The pace was steady, reasonable I would say, but not slow. My heart rate agreed: hovering ~30 beats per minute than yesterday and 20 beats lower than the 10 minutes prior to my dpearture from the fast bunch. I’ve discussed this with many others, and we can’t believe that the pace is sustainable or sensible and that a fair bit of pain will lead to a large number of riders blowing up when we reach the hilly, rough roads of Ethiopia.

Lunch was a quick affair, mostly due to the presence of a large number of small flies/gnats. Their presence is likely due to the fact that we lunched on the shores of the Nile, their absence at camp last night (along the Nile) due to the high winds. The second half of the day saw a complete reversal of fortunes with regards to winds from the previous day, and with the steady headwind/cross-headwind, our pace fell well below 30km/h. We powered on, sharing the workload, encouraging each other to carry on when under durress and the day passed without incident. We blew through some sort of checkpoint about 15km from camp, but it’s hard to know who is “official” and who is just trying to make an easy buck. No harm done, no shots fired, just smiles and waves.

With the early arrival to camp, the heat was at its peak – about 90 degrees. The wind made it bearable, and the dip in the Nile even more so. It is amazing how along the road the landscape is so barren and desolate, yet 300 meters off the road is a lush strip of land dotted with palm trees and grazing animals. I washed my hair. Actually I washed it twice because it was so dirty that no matter how much shampoo I used, I could not produce a lather on the first effort. It feels better, but I was assured by fellow rider Kendra that it looks no better. It’s OK, I’m spoken for anyhow…

I wrapped up the evening with yoga, the rider meeting, dinner, and a campfire. We ride to the small town of Dongola tomorrow – a “short” 107km – where we will have Saturday as a rest day.  We will be camping on the grounds of the Dongola zoo, though there are no longer any animals (until we arrive). No showers this time, but taps with clean water for a Philippines style “bucket bath”. I’m looking forward to sampling the local cuisine and getting to know the people a bit better (we’ve seen so few thus far). I’ll keep you posted…

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Day Total: 150km

Total Time: 4:12:00

Avg. HR: 152bpm

Avg. Speed: 35.3 km/h (including lunch break)

Song of the Day: Foo Fighters – Learn to Fly

The time has moved forward an hour, but still everyone wakes up at the same time. Today this was probably a good thing as it would be the first time we fully loaded all of our belongings into our locker. With all of the rustling about, I was awake by 5:15 am and packed up well ahead of schedule. My 2nd bag, tent, and sleeping pad all fit like a glove and with that I found myself with a lot of extra time. At 6:25am, the official camp “alarm clock” sounded – it is a stereo system built into one of the trucks – blaring the “Bicycle” song (by the Who – I think). It definitely created a positive energy within the camp and proved a welcome deviation from the prayer call alarm clock of the previous week. I spent the balance of my time munching on my breakfast sandwich (pita, peanut butter, bananas, and yes, honey) and watching the victories, trials, and tribulations at the interface of baggage and locker. Some were well prepared, some miserably less so. One German was alotted a second locker simply for the sake of ensuring the trucks left on time that morning, but still he could not fit all of his stuff inside. He has some issues to say the least.

 
Opportunity. I had it today. I seized it today. I fell a bit short today. Technically I was about 33% short, but hey, who’s really counting? The timing system used by the race system has created a bit of last-minute dot com effect with racers not wanting to scan in for the day until the last person is ready to go. The mentality makes sense as you avoid scanning in minutes ahead of fellow racers only to be swallowed up by the group and spot them a 2 minute advantage.

With that in mind, I decided I was OK with losing a couple of minutes in exchange for the ability to warm-up at my own pace. I started riding, two riders went with me. We went slowly for 5km and the pack did not join us. 10km, 15km, 20km passed and still no sign of them. At that point, with the race leader Paul Wolf behind me, I decided I would just pick a reasonable speed – roughly the average pace we had been maintaining in prvious days – and keep constant speed until they caught me, I reached lunch, or reached the finish. The kilometers clicked away and at about 40km, race leader Paul started picking up the pace a bit. I figured fine – we’ll take turns and maybe, just maybe, we get to lunch ahead of everyone else. At 60km, we began to absolutely fly and the thoughts turned quickly to how best to speed through the lunch stop and maximize our advantage. By 70km, I was hanging on for my sweet life, spurred on by the fact that Paul and I had made an agreement that I could have the stage win if we held everyone off to the finish.

The 80km lunch break arrived quickly (we were going roughly 45km/h at this point) and we removed our biking gloves (tour rules to prevent food contamination) while rolling to a stop. A quick hand wash, two full bottles, a slather of peanut butter on a pita, and we were rolling out of lunch in less than 4 minutes. The break felt good, but I really could have done with more rest. We calculated that with the size of the chase group, they would easily take ~10 minutes at lunch and figured we had just won a minor victory.

The pace continued, quickly I might add. And by quick I mean I was selling my soul to keep up and eat my sandwich at the same time. By 90km, I was showing some slight cracks, and finally at 101km, I sat up a bit on a long, steady stretch of the highway as it turned upward. Paul looked back at me and asked simply “Are you done?”. I figured I might hang in there for another 10 to 15km, but that the cost would be extreme and I would really suffer the rest of the day and for days to come. I answered the only way I could: “That’s all I’ve got”. With that I bid him farewell and he powered off into the distance. The guy is an impressive machine, more impressive when you consider his age of 56 (he was the runner-up at last year’s World Championships for his age group). His purpose his clear, his preparations singular, and his focus all encompassing. This guy wants to win this race. I do too, but I know I cannot beat this guy on smooth, paved roads.

I rolled on by myself, recovering a bit, pushing as hard as I could through the lunar-like landscape. I saw perhaps 6 humans the whole day and about as many vehicles. This land is awesome in its nearly complete desolation. The winds continued their favorable dance, blowing strongly from behind so that even riding alone I managed long stretches at speeds in excess of 43 km/h. At 135km, I saw the chasers closing, 4 of them riding single file, the lead two down on their time-trial/aero bars. They were clearly not happy about how the day had gone and they were closing at an alarming rate. A brief, gruff “Hello” was all I got as they blew by. UK Paul eased up and we rode together for about 5km until I realized I was perhaps slowing him a bit. I would finish the day 5th, very worked over by my efforts, but content with the fact that I had put it all out there. You can’t win them all, and with the depth, experience, talent, and complete disregard for the length of the race exhibited by this year’s racing field, I’ll be hard pressed to win any of them…

Setting tents today we had an audience of locals from the nearby village. The village was quite small, a couple of hundred people and nothing more than small, simple, mud buildings. I was impressed by the politeness and pride with which these people presented themselves, their behavior putting one at ease immediately. This is a stark contrast to many of the Egyptians we interacted with who made one feel on edge as if one had to be on the defense to avoid being taken advantage of or otherwise swindled. Coupled with a refreshing dip in the Nile, it was a great first day in Sudan.

Tomorrow’s 150km into another desert camp will likely hurt a bit more than usual as a result of today’s effort. Time will tell…

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Day Total: No Riding

Song of the Day (24-Jan): The Strokes – Heart in a Cage

Song of the Day (25-Jan): Muddy Waters – Got My Mojo Working

Much will be written about the ferry passage between Aswan (Egypt) and the port – if you can really call it that – of Wadi Halfa in Sudan. I won’t be able to read all of it, but some of you will read the blogs of fellow riders. I can’t imagine that anything written will be untrue; the event was that unusual and colorful that it seemed nearly anything was possible. It would have phased me not even slightly had a woman given birth on that boat.

We arrived back at the campsite on Monday morning (from the hotel) with plenty of time before our rider meeting where we would receive our instructions for the next day and a bit. Paul and I headed off to a local mini-mart to pick up some last minute snacks. Paul was very excited by the simple fact that the store had a bar-code scanner which meant that for once we would not be haggling over how much to pay for our grocery items… though we probably could have if we wanted to do so. We then wandered down a side street where a number of other riders were having breakfast. Before joining them, Paul and I decided it would be good to have pita bread for the trip. We found a small hole-in-the-wall type place that had a massive bread oven and long line of local people waiting to purchase bread. We queued up in the line and very quickly were ushered to the front of the line by the other patrons – very, very nice of them. Things got comical as Paul chucked 4 Egyptian pounds up on the counter to get as much bread as we could. He held up his hand to indicate that he wanted 5, then the guy pushed his money back to him. He put one pound up on the counter and indicated we wanted 5 and we were quickly given 5. But then the guy suddenly piled 5 additional pieces on the stack and threw Paul a 1/2 pound coin. That was a steal! We walked off feeling rather victorious and joined the other riders for breakfast of foule (beans), eggs, more pita bread, and tea. Spirits were high in anticipation of the rumored insanity that would be the boat ride.

We rode off from the campsite in convoy for the 17km journey to the ferry depot. The riding was easy, the scenery splendid as we crossed the lower and higher dams that form the north end of Lake Nassar. Arriving at the ferry terminal, we stood around as the officials decided how to deal with us. Finally we were ushered through a security gate and down to the loading concourse. We waited for additional instructions, the arrival of our bags, dispensing of meal tickets, and the return of our passports. The routine was to be rather simple: take your bike on board up to the top deck, go back and get your bags, put them in the assigned cabins, then hunker down. There were 3 or 4 people assigned to each cabin, but only two beds. I had already planned on sleeping on the top deck so this was not a concern for me and I told my dad and the older rider Phillip that they could have the beds.

Getting the bike on board was pretty straightforward as the full chaos of the ship loading had only partially started. To get to the top deck one had to walk through the 2nd class cabin – a bit of a shock to say the least. People were sprawled out everywhere, some smoking cigarettes, others talking and watching a football match. Dirty and filthy are poor options for describing the state of that cabin. Once up top, things seemed orderly as we all leaned our bikes against the railings. At that point, we executed a tactical maneuver and started claiming some space. Had we known how this game was played, we would have claimed a bit more and immediately started building our own fortress of baggage to secure our place. That said, we took turns going down to get our bags.

Walking with 2 bags weighing a combined 100 pounds is not easy under sane conditions. This was bordering on futile. The sun was high in the sky and I sweated heavily as I pushed into the line with my bags. The line moved little if at all because for every 2 people trying to get on there seemed to be at least 4 trying to get off to grab more stuff to take aboard. Shoulder to shoulder with mothers, old men, children, fully armed millitary personel I kept pushing and using my bags to break a path. People from our tour were getting annoyed with my attempts to get ahead, but I knew if you didn’t take charge you were going nowhere. A rather large load of gold-rimmed glass stemware fell on my foot, an elderly woman dragged a bundle of something across my shin, but finally I made it inside. Not that it was any easier trying to negotiate the every growing numbers of people in the 2nd class cabin. I quickly ditched one of my bags in the assigned cabin and fought back through the people to head back up to the top deck. Like a tiring, dieing salmon, I worked hard but finally made it. I quickly threw down my oragne/silver space blanket to solidify the claim to our space and sent Paul on his way. It was humorous to watch people fight their way off the ship, claim their bags, then do battle to get back on. I snapped photos as he stalled in the line. My dad was right in front of him and was making wild gestures in regards to the total chaos. It seemed they timed it even worse than I did – there were parcels of all sizes being shoved/dragged/thrown onto the boat.
Once everyone had their things, we arranged a sun shade using a tent foot print and a bicycle. We were comfortable – for now, but I was growing slightly concerened how every single inch of space was being consumed by people and their stuff. I watched curiously as a man brought one, then two, and finally 6 loads of boxes of TV stands onto the top deck right next to us. I laughed really hard after insepcting the packaging to see that in fact they weren’t TV stands, they were “Stand TV’s”. I slept better that  night knowing that at least 58 Sudanese people would have a proper display pedestal for their TV’s in just 36 hours time. This guy was likely in cahoots with another passenger – there were at least 120 13″ color TV’s loaded onto the ship…

We went down for our “free meal” and got a good dose of stifling, hot, dead air tainted with ciagrette smoke. Getting there meant fighting through an even larger throng of people. It’s chaos, but for the most part, people are polite. This included the three women who had their packages just through the threshold of the doorway into the 2nd class cabin and were all pushing as hard as they could to force the boxes through the opening. The food tunred out to be good, even if the ambient temperature in the so-called dining room was 108 degrees.

Arriving top-side after our meal, shock set in again as the seemingly already full deck now held twice as many people and eight times as many boxes, bags, and piles of stuff. And they kept coming, and coming, and coming. In the end, our small space would be our oasis in a sea of passengers and boxed sets of crockery. Shortly after we were underway, a small posse of men dressed in robes came topside at the sound of the prayer call. Through broken English, we understood that they needed a space to pray which I completely respect. The man thanked us profusely, repeatedly saying “mutual understanding”. That’s fine, the other side of mutual understanding would mean that they would not interrupt our sleep and make us vacate our space at 5am the next morning. I did marvel at the irony on two levels: 1) if they know they need space to pray, why not reserve a communal area for this? Or, just don’t bring so many pressure cookers, refrigerators, TV’s, and lunchboxes and there just might be available space for religous worship; 2) assuming most of these people pray multiple times each day for many, many years, is it really too great a stretch to think that they are adequately in-touch with their religion that they could sit quietly, bow their heads, and pray? I’m just saying…

The sun finally set and we finalized our sleeping arrangements: we used 5 sleeping pads laid side-by-side, then laid 7 people across them. I was sandwiched between Bastiaan on my right and Peter the Plumber on my left. Numerous bad adult film references were passed to the amusment of all. An 8th person would join in the middle of the night whcih really stuffed up the whole arrangement. Megan, sweet as she is, blew apart the system which meant that I could only fit in my space if I laid on one side. All in all, it was not too uncomfortable and was akin to a giant slumber party. This would be another of those moments in life where if you are fully tuned-in, you are awestruck by your circumstances: I was laying ass-to-elbow with 7 relative strangers atop a ferry loaded at 180% of its prescribed occupancy as it floated up the Nile River bound for Sudan. Unreal.

The morning prayer call passed without a visit by the robed men and for that we were happy. Shortly after sun-up the temple of Abu-Symbal passed by on the starboard side. Quite a sight. Paul passed me his camera to ensure he had a shot of it as he was too comfortable in his sleeping bag to do it himself. About this same time, there was a flurry of activity as we prepared for our arrival. Approximately half of the people on the top deck started moving all of their posessions down to some other part of the ship. I couldn’t understand this. Seriously, if there was room for it down there, why the hell did you drag it up top in the first place.
The docking was uneventful though rather slow: all the riders would wait to be the last to disembark. This translated ito waiting ~3 hours to meet with an immigration official. I was next to Paul as we met with the offiical and nearly wet myself laughing as Paul had to try and explain his profession of “Ski Resort worker” to a guy who had no idea what sno or skiing was. He finally cleared and quickly said, next time I will be a “home builder”. I laughed silently at the absurdity of this process: they were writing down our passport numbers and names in a notebook. Simple, yes. Effective for anything? Probably not. I can see why it is so hard to find alleged terrorists when this is the means by which many nations track comings/goings.

We finally got off the ship, loaded our bags, rolled up to another checkpoint to stand by our bags. They were meant to look into our open bags and “approve” our posessions by affixing a blue sticker to each bag. They quickly ran out of stickers and decided to just let all of us proceed. We rode ~2km to a soccer field where we would camp. The official TDA vehicles were waiting and there was a stir as everyone had a look at them and the locker system that would hold our belongings.

With tents set up, we were instructed to load one of our two bags. Prior to the lockers, the system was a “daily” bag, and a “permanent” bag which we could access on rest days. My permanent bag fit right in with no issues which was a bit of a relief. We wouldn’t be loading the other baggage until tomorrow morning so I will have to wait to see how that plays out. Eyeballing it, it looks pretty good. Already some people are having space issues and I’m not sure how that will play out. I spent the last minutes of daylight trying to offload the soccer ball I brought with me. I inflated to the great joy of the 10 kids gathered at the edge of our camp. However, they immediately started fighting over it, so we took it back. Our security guard indicated they were from many different areas and that a “community” ball was not an option in Wadi Halfa. Maybe the next town?

Tomorrow’s ride is a long-ish 150km to a remote desert camp.

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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.

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