Cape 2 Cairo 2 Cape Blog

Andre heading out after a quick pannier fix

The only similarity that today shared with yesterday was how incredibly broken a vehicle could get. Arch spend a good amount of time welding more support into the springs of the broken trailer. On arriving to the hotel he had decided to flip the generator on and to welt the broken blades with intensity but as I’ve discovered on this trip, if it’s not the one thing then its the other.

Road to nowhere

Our vehicle was starting to overheat having hit badly sections of corrigation as we spent a good part of the day repairing 3 sets of tires not from thorns but from the constant bashing of rocks against the rims. The constant pounding on the rocks had caused the rims to go from circular more into the shape of a flower which made it beyond repair with any of the tools that we had in our arsenel. One gash at the wheel was so big that 6 plugs couldn’t repair it, and so we used our last spare wheel for the day and a little while after we were back to repairing the trailer again.

The sports started once the sun started setting because there was no place that we’d rather have wanted to be instead of what Ray referred to as “ambush alley”. Since the road to Moyale is in such close proximity to Somalia there have been may instances of road blocks and ambushes organized by rebel groups which target international travelers. As I heard it at night these men create make shift road blocks and bring you down to a hault before demanding their ever wish and desire from you. It wasn’t something that either of us were looking forward to but it seemed as if the harder we tried to moved forward the faster we began to fall back.

The Desert

Arriving at a village in the middle of no where we were rudely awakened to a very real risk that is always present on a trip that involves two wheeled vehicles. Although many of the guys at this stage had fallen from sand or a lack of balance no one had yet drilled their bike as hard into the ground as Ofer had. As we approached the group who were all sitting having a beverage in the outside of a bar Ofer looked as if he had just been smacked on the side of the face with a bat, he had taken a pretty serious fall. After figuratively brushing off the dust he seemed to be in good spirits as we pulled in all though his helmet didn’t have much to be happy about with big scratches all over the side of it.

The volcanic desert rocks

As soon as we hit a good road it seemed like irony had an eye out for us. We brought her up to a speedy 60kmph with the wind in our face and the dust at our backs and right then and there we saw the temperature of the car rise and overheat in less than a few minutes. When we pulled over and checked the engine- we were minus a radiator, all while the sun was falling on the horizon in ambush alley. The radiator had a hole in the side of it and had completely shook itself to pieces with missing nuts and bolts and any form of symetery in the engine.

Bent rims from bad roads

 It was laying on its side about 6 inches where it should have been which slowed our progress to zero. We hopped under the truck once again to pull out the pull bar and not even five minutes after getting on the road again the bolts from the hook hit the road (so to speak).

More than an hour and a half later we arrive to the bush camp that Alain had found for the group which was great for hiding motorcycles but horrible for hiding the vehicles. We parked on the road and started to disassemble the front end of the Silverback vehicle in order to qbond the hole in the radiator.

Still in good spirits after his fall

 We had a whole team helping us, and even a few people who came for moral support. Brandon was the first one on the scene with his head lamp and was the last one to leave. Ryan, Ofer, and James were among some of the guys who came to check on progress after a short while. After two hours of fixing and a quick dinner of bully beef, sardines, and crackers we went on our way to bed. The six of us slept on or around the vehicle mentally prepared for a group of men with AK 47′s to surrounding as in the early hours of the morning and that is no joke. But there was more excitement than fear in the air, we were less than 50 km from Moyale.

Broken bolt on the hook

The air I breathed was fresh that night, just as it was in the Samburu camp. If there’s one thing that I love about this trip is the fact that you push yourself to new limits of comfort. It takes courage to approach a situation like that and it was just due to plain misfortune that we found ourselves in such a manner. Although Ray had warned us about the area I slept well that night not once minding the cool wind blowing through my sleeping bag or the threat of a 5 meter drop to the ground. There’s nothing better than experiencing Africa first hand and sometimes “roughing it” is the best way to do it. What more can you do than take a deep breath and enjoy it, because after all, we were all on an experience of a lifetime and we were all here to enjoy every second of it.

Looking back at the camp

Shoving my sleeping bag into it’s stuff sack was quite a bit more difficult than usual, I wasn’t paying too much attention to my task at hand but instead eaves dropping on the commotion down below. From my view I could see everybody scurrying around packing up their gear for the long day at hand but a few people were clumped together discussing more important matters. While everybody was watching the Samburu tribe dance in the night, we were being robbed.

It’s difficult to compare how I felt sitting on the top of the roof not even six hours ago in contrast to how I feel now. The bad taste in my mouth was surely one that wasn’t going to be washed out soon but I was prepared to forgive and forget as soon as all the missing items were returned, which I knew on my part was wishful thinking. Everybody seemed to feel the same way, and as we stood in the middle of camp in a big circle discussing what our next step should be with the chief of the tribe standing only meters away from us with his body wrapped in a cloak, legs crossed, and leaning on his cane like a statue. His eyes were staring into nothing and I wondered if he knew about what happened the previous night, I wondered if he were a part of it, or if he would help set things straight if he could. He couldn’t speak our language and none of us could speak his, and the only link that we had to him besides gracious nods and smiles had disappeared the night before, our translator was no where to be found.

The start to a long day on this horrible road

Ray went around the circle asking for suggestions to getting the stolen items back. Ofers credit cards were missing, James’ satalite phone had gone astray and Rolf was left in the middle of Kenya without his entire pannier bag, passport, carnet, and 4000 US dollars. It wasn’t as if it were only them that had something taken from them, we were all blind sided by this mornings events. If you take something from one of us, you took something from us all, and that’s the vibe I got from the meeting, and I felt in agreement.

A few kilometers there was a village of broken down houses, store fronts, and a gate guard that packed some heat with his automatic rifle which stuck to his chest like plaster. I remember Keith suggesting that “we go back to the village, get the guy with the AK, send him in here and tell him he gets a reward if we get all our stuff back” at this point we knew we’d never see the money again but at the very least we all wanted to see Rolf get his passport and carnet back so that we could continue on our trip. He was in agreement “the money doesn’t matter” to him and would rather not have anyone getting hurt that making accusations toward a tribe in the middle of no where. All of us knew that there was a thin line between hospitality and hostility in this region and the last thing any of us wanted to do was step on anybodies toes. Violence was a big threat to everybody and the last thing anyone wanted to was stick around.

The circle exploded into 24 opposing directions in hopes to find something of value that might have been hidden from us at night. No one said a word, they just walked in all ways past the chief past the camels, and into the brush. I didn’t realize it at the time but in the night I woke up with 3 white cloaked warriors standing suspiciously close to our vehicle window, as I looked down at them they didn’t strike me as odd because the rest of Africa had desensitized me to an abnormal amount of curiosity especially when it came to the inside of the vehicles. That morning I was also told that as my dad slept inside the backseat of the truck (unknown to them) they were trying to reach inside the vehicle and take things from our dashboard and as I walked I thought of how in all parts of the world, no matter how innocent something might seem that it’s always good to not let your guard fully down.

When everybody returned with no reward a little oddity happened that had everybody confused. Ofer thought he had lost his whole wallet full of credit cards and as we were making final preparations to leave Keith found Ofers wallet in his jacket. James after not touching his trunk bag all night, found his leatherman and it’s case in two completely different pockets. Everybody was confused but the consensus remained, ask the chief about the “lost” goods, and if nothing was recovered we’d consult the police office in Marsabit and file an report with the police station there. There was little hope and most of the guys thought that “African justice” was the only approach there because the law wasn’t like that of a first world country

We left the long road out of the camp for Moyale, it was the 400 km of dirt road that everybody had been waiting for. I don’t know if people realized how bad it was actually going to be, but Ray and Alains warnings of sand, corregation, rocks, and pebbles were not fully comprehendable until we were on the road and it was dreadful. Luckily we were surprised to find 100 km of it already paved but the 400 more at hand was definitely far from a god send. Robbie Bermans shock was gone and with little sense to fixing it while on the road he decided to champ it through. The result of a shockless bike is a constand up and down rocking which makes it a tough ride on your back but also on your control. One thing was for sure though, I think everyone was excited to finally tackle this challenge, one that would have people talking about the Isiolo-Moyale road of northern Kenya for the next lifetime.

Repairing enough springs to last a life time

Progress was very slow on the bikes, with a shock stop every 30 minutes on the bike to allow the shocks to cool down. The constant recoiling of the shocks start to heat up the fluid inside and if it gets too hot the shock goes and so does the cushion for your behind. It took Robs 650 less than 20 km on the road to break so there was definitely a lot of potential for these things to go. As the day progressed a trend happened between the faster riders and the slower riders. Allain was in front with a group, while Archie was in the back with another. Both moved at their comfort pace which is the mindset that everybody has to be on a trip like this. We all want to get to Cairo in one piece and sore bodies from falling is the last thing we want for ourselves and each other.

The backup was crusing at a comfortable 20 km per hour, this blistering pace set land records across northern Kenya. If light is fast, Tours For Africa is faster-until we got about 3 km from where we met out of the Samburu Camp, the spring of our trailer snapped in half from all the flexing. After the thousands of kilometers of speed bumps, and now the tens of thousands of corrigated humps the trailer decided to give in on not only km 3, but km 10, 12, and then another later on in the day too. When the first spring broke we just replaced it with the spare, when the second broke 15 minutes later we had to weld together together both broken ones.

Between a rock and a hard place

When not too long after that the the third broke, we decided to force a rock inbetween the spring and the frame to prevent all kinds of movement in the spring. No flexing meant more pressure on the axel but hopefully meant no broken springs. Then when the rock broke to pieces and the spring again we wrapped the spring in nylong tie downs and zip tied an even stronger rock to the spring. This lasted for a good while, but then once we picked up speed while taking the less bumpy side roads the risk proved greater than the reward.

Cruising on these roads was like taking a wind sail to the ocean.  We skimmed through the sand for what felt like the first time at a speedy pace. At times bursting into what is referred to as “fresh fresh” to create a massive erruption of dust. The best way to describe its texture is like that of baking flour, it’s the finest dust I have ever seen in my life, driving through it looks like an explosion, but pulling your expensive camera out in it is a nightmare. I was fortunate enough to get to know it quite well when on these side roads we got trapped in about 2 feet of it when our rear axel got stuck in it leaving the rears to spin freely in the sand. After attempting to dig underneath the wheels and throw in rocks for traction we finally resorted to jacking up the back and reversing out, well sort of. There were a few faint glimmers of hope while getting friendly with the dust both of which resulted in something other than our favor.

Into the Fresh-Fresh

As we dug and as I went to grab the sand ladders from the other vehicle Ray managed to slow down a huge truck that plowed through this hellish sandbox like it was peanuts. As they stopped and agreed to pull us out by the looks of their signals saying “Yes we’ll help, we’re gonna get behind it and pull you guys out” they revved up the engine and ripped right past the truck out of spite. We all looked at each other with long dusty faces partially in aw of this trickery. The second glimmer of hope happened when we spend probably a good 25 minutes under the truck digging the sand out by hand.

Fine and powdery

 This effort closely resembled a swimmers breast stroke, but only through the sand. Since I was the only person that could fit underneath the truck I was voted to do all the swimming, and unlike coming out of a pool nice, clean, and chloriney, I came out looking as if I had purposely drug my face, body, and soul through the muck. We reversed the car for a good 10 meters, and then it got stuck again with almost an hour wasted an 10 meters of counter production we finally were saved by 2 trucks that didn’t pull the wool over our eyes, by which we rewarded them with a big bottle of South African brandy.

More than 3 hours later we arrived in Marsabit, a very congested and dirty little down in the middle of nowhere. It always surprises me when you go into a place and find quaint little oasis’ when you’d expect nothing of the sort. Oasis being a very broad term but by African standards this place was heaven, everybody was tired and a clean bedroom was on everybodies itinerary. We stayed in a little hotel that hosted all of us, by first world standards this place would have been frowned upon, but it’s amazing to discover the unique little treasures when putting yourself ouside of your comfort zone. The only worry I usually have (as do most travelers I beleive) is the safety of your posessions, if thats the case everything else comes second. Dinner was very pleasant, and being predominently a Muslim operated hotel they had a variety of dishes that I have never been able to experience.

Dinner was a little Ethiopian dish called “fried beef” with a Chipata, which has just a little bit of a more dense texture than a crepe and like almost everywhere in Africa, a coke was a good way to wash it down. When I went to shower I magically decided to choose the wrong shower room, the 1 of 2 which didn’t have running water so I was left to wash myself with a small bucket of water and a scoop leaving my towel tinted red from insufficient washing technique from my dusty self. The toilet was another story in itself, a small little egg shaped toilet bowl situated on the ground. For some reason the floor was built with a tile that seemed to remain perpetually wet. In my expert oppion this is not preferrable because the only way to get to the toilet is to squat, hands free, with the only direction to fall, being down into a porcelein pit that lacks all kinds of flushing capability.

We hit the hay right after the 6: 30 meeting with the group all of us waiting to hear word from Rolf who had found his way to the police station and who headed to the Samburu camp right as we pulled into town. We all had our fingers crossed that his visit with the police yeilded good results, we’re all in this together and one mans loss is all of our misfortunes. Tomorrow will be another long day on this road with another 250 km to Moyale where the tar finally starts and where Ethiopia begins.

 For the first time on the trip did I feel uncomfortable being surrounded by an entire group of people. It happened in Isiolo which is a town that is quite literally in the middle of the desert and the people that approached us there where sticking their hands in the car grabbing at things and getting uncomfortably close when you stood outside. At times you could smell the alcohol on their breath which is a bad combination if they are begging for money and being refused nothing of the sort. The banging on the windows and the desperate looks on their faces was tribute to the tough lives that they lived. There hadn’t been rain for more than a year now, and any body could see that it had been taking a toll on its population. Usually when kids run after the car asking for money I chuckle to myself at their attempt to race the car, but this day was different. This one boy ran after the car almost in tears that he couldn’t keep up and but the look on his face wasn’t “I want, I want” but instead “I need, I need”. My heart sat in my throat and so it did for most of the day because of my in ability to give back.

I think everyone enjoys the idea of experiencing something that is non commercial and real and today after pulling into a small dust ridden village we found a guide who was going to take us to a Samburu tribe so that we can have a place to spend the night and have a unique experience all together. As we pulled into the village it was as rustic as anyone could have hoped, the dome huts and the beautifuly dressed women was the first catch to my eye. I was literally looking at a book of “Tribes of Africa” with the women wearing beads around their ankles, wrists, chest, and heads. They are the subjects to the landscape behind them but they absolutely hated having their photo taken unlike the kids who made a game of it. \

We met the chief who could not speak english at all but smiled and nodded at everything that we said as if he could. Some how he got a hold of the infamous rubber snake and started playing with the kids like we do on the trip. They found it hilarious and some how he knew to play a long like it was real. The kids have been a real pleasure on this trip and it’s their curiosity that everybody can’t seem to get enough of.

The communication gap was the hardest part of the visit I was a little unsure of when and of what to take photos because some people would actually demand money for a photo of them! The chief apparently said that we could do whatever we’d like, and gave us a nice big space to sleep, but some of the other tribe members said otherwise. The sun was setting over the mountains as the last remaining riders rode in after struggling through some sand obstacles before the camp. As the camels came in and the sun vanished from the horizon we finished our canned meals and headed for bed. In a few hours the tribe promised to dance for us and it was something that everybody looked forward to.

A beautiful day that photos can only somewhat justify. So today there are more photos than writing and I think it’s the perfect way to describe this day.

Reunion with the group

Our last stop at the equator

Kids crowding the vehicles

Reactions to the rubber snake-a good variety of confusion, fear, etc

We finally hit some dirt road

Two boys who tried to give me this tortoise- I don't they they knew that they did't like to be held upside down

The last river for hundreds of K's

James

Leon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charlie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kobus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rob Berman with an excellent view

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curiosity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Riding in a tight group which is so rare to see on this trip

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making camp at with the Samburu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspecting the commotion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doc, Ray, the Chief, and Andre

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One thing about the kids is that they love seeing photos of themselves- at one point Bruce wasn't even visible!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The setting sun

Enjoying the vista

The Vista

Impressions of Bruce Jones

What is your overall impression of the trip so far

Tough, fast, very little time for sight-seeing, would be nice to get off the beaten track a bit, also if we could stay out of the large centres.

What was the  most difficult part of the trip so far

Isiola/ Moyale road

What was your most enjoyable moment so far

Drinking coffee and having my boots cleaned on my feet after a spectacular breakfast in Moyale (Ethiopia) after crossing the border at the end of the Isiola / Moyale road and after the bush camp in Ambush Alley.

How does your impression differ from before you went on the trip in contrast to how it is now about africa- how did it change

See 2 above, also, I am astonished by the poverty and level of populations throughout Africa.

What are your general impressions of the people in Africa that you interacted with

Poverty-stricken, un-educated, but enjoying the trappings of the first world (health-care, mobile phones and modern transport), while forgetting the responsibilities that come with these, such as limiting the number of children, air pollution, over-grazing and other environmental issues.

How well do you think you were prepared for this trip?

Very well

How did you feel about the mixture of bush vs hotel accommodation, would you prefer doing one more so than the other

I like a hot shower and Christian toilets, but enjoy bush-camping as well. I don’t like the big centres and would prefer comfortable accommodation outside of the large centres.

If you were to re-do the trip, what motorcycle if not the same (or if the same) would you choose and what would you do different in reference to the types of accessories, pannier set up, amount of gear, etc.

My bike (800 GS) is perfect for this. If there is no dirt, the 1200GS (not Adventure). Panniers are an evil necessity, but if we could pool all heavy items such as toolkits and pumps, we could lighten things up a bit. The shocks seem to be a big issue and need to be thoroughly tested beforehand.

 Would you recommend this experience to any motor cyclist

Yes.