7500 Miles

South of Khartoum, the roads were not what they had been the rest of the way through Sudan. They were as narrow as they had been throughout the country, but in much worse condition. They also featured something the rest of the country’s roads didn’t: traffic. The traffic wasn’t very forgiving either. I had to jump off the road several times. With my narrow road tires, I wasn’t able to stay in control at one point and fell hard into the dirt. I landed on my arm, so my shoulder was hurt. Aside from that I mostly just had road rash. The driver of the vehicle that ran me off the road stopped and helped me up. After making sure I was OK, I think he gave me a lecture on how to ride on the road. At the time, I just assumed he was telling me to wait for a ride, so I thanked him and rode on with one arm.
Back at camp, I rigged myself a sling with a strap from my duffel bag. I had joked that I could set up my tent with one hand tied behind my back. It turns out that I can. Everybody had similar problems with traffic, and told stories of having to jump off the road to avoid being run over.
One rider had flown over her handlebars and suffered a concussion when an enthusiastic local jumped out in front of her. She had to be taken to a hospital and checked out. Needless to say, she lost her EFI status. Another rider had fallen and cracked her helmet and sported some serious road rash. Out of curiosity, I took a look at my helmet. Sure enough: split all the way across. The decorative plastic covering was all that was holding it together. Once the nurse was available, I had her check me out. Nothing broken. I had a rotator cuff injury, which is muscular. It will be painful for a number of weeks, but should heal. I got an injection of anti-inflammatory medication that seemed to help almost immediately.
The next morning, my shoulder was OK to ride, as long as I was gentle with it. It ached throughout the day, but it wasn’t intolerable. Today I started noticing problems with sun sensitivity as well. It’s a well-known side-effect of doxycycline. I hope it doesn’t get much worse. My skin stings when it comes into contact with something, and tingles everywhere else that has been exposed to the sun.
After lunch, I noticed that I could easily be riding on rural roads back home. Everything about them was identical, from the quality of the surface, to the consistency of the shoulders, to the number and type of defects, to the weeds growing along the roads. A little later we had a turn-off and rode through some small towns filled to the brim with children. Most of them were enthusiastically happy to say hello. Many also wanted to high-five, and would hit our arms or our bikes if we didn’t do it. I nearly ran over a kid that grabbed my handlebars. One group of crafty little brats built a speed bump and then crowded in from both sides of the road and started hitting me and throwing things. One boy threw a glass bottle that broke right next to my front tire.
Back at camp, I learned that one of the female riders had been severely harassed by a group of teenage boys. This led to a passionate discussion at the rider meeting of what can be done when we encounter these sorts of things. I also learned that my iPhone will no longer charge, even with the SIM card removed (an obviously less-important topic).
During dinner, a bus arrived and people started piling out and running around our camp. Then we were treated to a karate and gymnastics demonstration by a couple of local groups. We took pictures of them performing, and then they took pictures with their mobile phones of us eating our dinner. Nothing breaks up a monotonous stretch of desert landscape like a random karate demonstration.
After dinner, one of the riders wasn’t acting quite right. He said he was fine, but just had empty answers to anyone’s questions. Closer inspection revealed that his helmet had a large crack and had had a lot of scrapes around his neck. It appeared as though he had been hit by a car, but had no recollection of the event. His condition deteriorated quickly after that. He obviously had a serious concussion and was driven back to a hospital. This was scary for all of us to watch.

The morning after the storm, things had pretty much cleared up. I changed my tire in the morning and rolled out of camp to find my new tube flat in the first km. Doh!

I couldn’t find the leak, so I decided to put the old tube back in since it had a much slower leak. I did find a hole in it and patched it. Then when I installed it, the pump broke another valve stem off. This put me dead last for the day, and the sweeps (Sharita and Michelle) soon came up to assist. I ended up with Michelle’s spare tube in my tire, as the police (we still have somewhat of an escort through Egypt) found a hole in my other tube, which we patched.

That got me through the day. Once I got into camp and tried to return a tube to Michelle, I couldn’t find my bag of narrow tubes. I could switch tires and use a different size, but my tires are on the roof of the truck and inaccessible until our next rest day.

The scenery is very gentle rolling hills, with not a single living thing to be seen anywhere. Oil rigs and stinky gas flares periodically break up the emptiness. The roads are clear, with tons of debris scattered along the sides from traffic mishaps that were never cleaned up. New hotels under construction stretch for miles, begging the question whether news of the global economy has reached Egypt yet.

Day four has been a fantastic day. I got a bit of a late start out of camp since I had completely unpacked my locker looking for the tubes. Even so, it was a short day. Only 90km. Easy rolling through the same scenery as before. I finished by 12:30. We have a few communal hotel rooms we can use for the showers. Some riders have opted for their own rooms. The rest of us are camped on the beach. I went for a swim and it was lovely. The extra time also meant we could maintain our bikes and do our Internet business.

Wait. Race?

I know I said I was planning on doing the tour as an expedition instead of a race, but decided yesterday to sign up as a racer. No, my mentality hasn’t changed. I still plan to take my time through most of the continent. There just doesn’t seem to be any downside to officially being registered as a racer. The perks: more accurate time-keeping and the opportunity to win stages or sections. My goal for the journey is still EFI.

Yesterday we had a test ride out to the Saqqara pyramids. My bike performed well. I had a mishap with the tire pump in the morning and ended up tearing out a valve stem, though, as well as breaking both a steel tire lever and my nifty cantilever tire tool. The Schwalbe tires everyone on the tour bought are really tight.

I’ll add pictures when I can. Meanwhile, the Internet is in short supply and it’s bed time. Breakfast is at 4:30!

Packing for this type of tour quickly becomes complicated. First, the airline has size and weight restrictions for each bag in addition to limiting what types of things can be carried. Then, the Tour d’Afrique imposes its own set of restrictions on weight and volume.

I’ve never tried to take a bike on a plane before, nor have I tried to carry all the spare parts necessary for this length of trip away from proper bike shop. The learning curve is quite steep.

All this together led to me spreading everything out on the living room floor and spending hours weighing and measuring different bag configurations, both for the plane and the tour locker. I think all my stuff will fit now, but I am hovering right at the maximum weight limit for the tour, so I might need to leave some stuff at the start.

I ended up leaving for San Francisco one day later than I had planned, but somehow managed to fit my bike into a box that appeared to be half its size, with everything else crammed into one oversize duffel bag and one carry-on backpack.

Today marks the official end of training. I use the word “training” loosely. I had no physical trainer or elaborate workout plans. I had high hopes of working out rigorously on a regimented schedule. I even got off to a good start when I signed up for the event two months ago. Then the weather turned bad. My rides have been fewer and shorter in the below-freezing temperatures, snow, ice, and occasional rain. Just getting to the gym or pool for some cross-training also requires an hour round-trip bike ride, so my motivation dropped and I missed even more workouts

But that’s all in the past now. I don’t think any last-minute cramming will help get me ready for this mega-test of endurance. I’ll just have to hope my preparation was adequate. Today I rode to the gym for a weight-lifting class and then again for a spinning class. My membership expired today. Good timing.

On the non-physical side, I have read tons of articles, watched countless YouTube videos, and read a handful of books on Africa and bicycle touring and maintenance. Some of my more dubious preparations have included watching relevant episodes of Man vs. Wild and Survivorman, and the movies Long Way Down and Running the Sahara. I’ve also tested out most of my gear, from setting up the tent in the living room to purifying the tap water.

Still no tires.

Four months of hard bike riding in Africa is not your typical trip. And as a not-so-typical trip, many of the things I want to take with me aren’t available on local store shelves. That means I have to order stuff and have it delivered. Sure, that can be convenient at times, but it also puts me at the whim of the UPS man.

Last week, my new solar panel was supposed to arrive. With it, I will be able to keep my cameras, lights, phone, and water purifier working. Maybe–and this is a stretch–I can keep my netbook’s battery topped off, too.

I had been following the tracking numbers of all my various shipments closely, so I saw ahead of time that a signature would be required. Most of the day had passed, and I still wanted to go to the gym, so I brilliantly scrawled out a note to the UPS guy saying it was OK to leave the package at the door. I wrote the tracking number and signed it. When I returned from the gym I discovered that my plan wasn’t so brilliant after all. On top of my note was a sticker from UPS saying that I had to sign for the package in person, and a 2nd delivery attempt would be made in 5 days. Five days?! I called to check on this. Sure enough, I’d have to wait five days for the package, and make sure I was available to sign for it whenever it came.

“Whenever” is a broad term. The package and the truck went out for delivery at 4:41 this morning. I napped by the front door until 8 before I finally got up. No package yet. My activities were confined to things I could do within proximity to the front door. Lunchtime came and went. Still no package. UPS says that most packages are delivered by 7PM, but even 7PM came and went without any sign of that big, brown truck.

At this point I had already skipped my weight lifting class and my spinning class for the day and I wasn’t about to give up. I am also expecting my tires to arrive any day, and with five days between delivery attempts, missing a delivery now means I would have to go without. (Tires are kind of important, don’t you think?)

At 7:29PM I’m startled by the deep rumbling sound of a diesel engine and air brakes. I had nearly dozed off while sitting in front of the house, leaning up against the front door. “Did you lock yourself out or something?” the UPS man asks.
“No. I was waiting for you. I couldn’t afford to miss you a 2nd time,” I said, pointing at the note I had left.
“Oh, I would have left the package if you did that.” I didn’t tell him that the sign was there last week.

Still no tires.