1-2/5/2015 Lodwar to Kitale, Kenya
300km by late model dual cab Hilux ute
2100 to 0515hrs
Due to the late departure, 200 shillings or bob as they call it here, was given to the lovely lady that was in charge of cleaning the rooms. She was a large woman with a sense of humour almost as big. Her and her crew were always bending over wide shallow tubs washing all the bedding mid morning each day.
This was to allow me to use the room all day. A small price to pay to be under the comfort of the fan.
Commencement of packing my gear began about 1730, a good going over of everything was needed. This opportunity to get things bought from Australia by my sons Ben and Callum is not to be missed.
Many things are now beginning show signs of wear or have simply just broken.
My sunglasses have cracked at the nose bridge area, buckles on my panniers are breaking free, my stove has failed, my old billy leaks, the side pockets on my bar bag are delaminating. My small Logitech Mini Boombox speaker only works on Bluetooth, the jack socket has failed, all these and other minor things can now be replaced or repaired with spare parts.
Nearing departure time, a bucket shower was taken. Having to carry the tub from the tap to the shower area is not helping my sore back. Mind you, it is definitely getting better.
Yesterday, a visit had been made to the booking centre for the ride to Kitale. They were told about my bicycle and gear. There are a few companies offering this trip. Pedro opted for a company that used long wheelbase Landcruisers. These vehicles carrying up to 10 people, gear was stowed on the roof racks. They charged 2000KS.
The company I chose only took four passengers in each vehicle and used dual cab tray back vehicles. They charged 2500KS.
This 300km journey to Kitale is infamous for roadside attacks by the Pokot people, and its roughness.
The former was not experienced, the latter will never be forgotten.
Fellow cyclist Oliver from Switzerland bravely rode the passage some few weeks ago. He said it was the worst road he had ever ridden.
Pedro and I could have done the same. However, for me, my reason for choosing not to, was that, if anything happened on the way, I would be letting down my two sons, Ben and Callum down, big time. They are arriving in Nairobi later in the month with their bicycles. Together we are riding to Cape Town.
In this respect, this reasonability alone, was instrumental in the decision not to ride the stretch.
My sore back was another reason, along the possible dangers.
Once packed and feeling somewhat refreshed after the cooling water poured on me from a cut off water bottle, the short walk to the departure depot at the gas station was made.
Here I chatted with the guys. The vehicles they used were infact late model diesel dual cab Hiluxes.
Having owned a couple of Hilux utes, their reliability and ruggedness was not questioned, it was nice to see that they had good heavily grooved wide tyres fitted. All four were almost new. These guys were not cutting corners.
The tray was already half full of cardboard boxes bound with hessian line.
They assumed the bike would fit the length of the tray, I told them it would not. We moved the boxes to allow it to be loaded on an angle across the tray.
Three of us lifted it on fully loaded. The front panniers were removed, it was leant against the boxes. The rear port pannier was taking most of the weight and a heavy carton was on the base of the front wheel. I helped lash it securely.
Everything was lashed once, then again, using the hessian rope from a pile of it in the tray.
Everything in the tray was now hopefully secure, it was now part of the vehicle and would ride with it.
The driver was a guy of about 30ish. Daniel didn’t say much. My bar bag and a water bottle were put on the floor of the front seat.
I was letting people know where my choice of seat for the journey was. The other passengers were two women and a man. They were going to a meeting in Kitale. They would occupy the rear seat.
It was known, that this road, like the one north to Kalokol, we had ridden, was broken asphalt and gravel, and even rougher.
It was also known that it was notorious for roadside armed attacks by the Pokot that occupy much of the land it passes through.
The Pokot people and the Turkana people have been warring forever, it seems. Often over pasture rights. They steal each other’s cattle especially to provide dowries, which are often required prior to marriage.
Rhoda was saying the Pokot are particularly violent people, she is Turkana, she had almost nothing to say about them that was nice.
I interrupted, and said there must be nice people amongst them. Her comments were to be expected coming from a Turkana person.
We all climbed aboard into our respective seats.
As soon as we left the town, the road deteriorated into a track with pothole ridden asphalt down the centre and trenched rough, often corrugated gravel tracks on both sides.
The meeting point of the old asphalt and the gravel was defined by a sharp step down to the earthen surface, of 150mm or more. The potholes in the asphalt were deep enough to damage a rim on a tyre, not properly inflated or worn, hitting it at excessive speed.
I had put my seat belt on. My upper chest was constantly being thrown against this restraint.
We were travelling in a convoy of seven vehicles but were only followed closely by another Hilux from the same company, we changed lead on many occasions, just to share the dust around.
No one spoke, we were all just hanging on. The driver later told me he had been doing this trip for 5 years. He had only been attacked once when he was driving a bus prior to this position. There they robbed all onboard.
He told me, they need to replace the shock absorbers every two months.
Incidentally, this company, the name of which is forgotten, operate out of the gas station closest to the Africana hotel.
My mind was on how the bike was taking the wild movement that the road surface was creating.
Had the right thing been done. To leave the panniers on the rear? Would this weight put stress on the frame? Would the chaffing wear a hole in the port pannier? Would the derailleur be ok should a box move? The list went on.
All the while, the driver was changing gears and making a few calls to the other vehicle. We were constantly from one side of the track to the other. Slowing down under brakes when a shadow up ahead indicated a deep hole.
At times one side of the vehicle would be up on the crooked edged asphalt and the other much lower, bouncing through the wildly undulating gravel.
Every joint in my body was let go of, my body flaccidly rode with every shock and jolt.
Some hour or so into the journey the younger woman in the back seat began to throw up. The sound of a plastic bag being opened was heard over the loud radio, at least they were prepared.
The driver didn’t slow down, there was no intention of stopping. She eased up, my enquiry as to her well-being was answered positively.
Stopping out here for anything other than ablutions or to check the load was not on.
The latter was done, soon after this, the bike had settled lower and all the weight was indeed on the port pannier. The boxes had not moved.
We all took a pee, it was now near 2300, the evening was clear under the near full moon.
Once we got going, it was impossible to put my seat belt on, the inertia roller would not release the belt due to the constant movement.
This was not a problem as my chest was beginning to get chaffed by the constant rubbing.
The driver and I had a chat about the road and other things for a while. The message was that his concentration was priority number one.
It soon became apparent, we were in good hands, he was giving us as smooth a ride as possible. Sudden slowing down was minimal and the need to push ones feet
into the floor in anticipation of a heavy impact was minimal.
That he was from one side of the road to the other, revealed his intimate knowledge of its surface.
We were driving as fast as possible, it was a rally ride, the only thing missing was my intimacy of the road, so as to act as navigator.
“Riverbed coming up, loose sand in the middle, steep entry and exit!!”
By midnight, my interest in things in the beam of the headlights was waning rapidly.
Sleep was needed. Sleep did come, amazingly! My body was being controlled by a puppeteer. That puppeteer was the road, and he was suffering from the latter stages of Parkinsons disease!!
Other vehicles were seen coming our way, they were mainly trucks and always in convoys of three at least.
At one location, there was a group of vehicles scattered all over the convex surface. In the midst of them was an old bus, she had broken down. Her passengers were all over the road, some were inside, just resigned to the fact that their journey for now was over.
We stopped here and got out. My bike was checked, nothing had moved, it had finally settled into position.
The only time it has been damaged, has been on public transport, whether it be buses, boats or planes.
Some passengers talked with our driver, money was exchanged, we had room for two in the tray.
Before the guys got in, the parts on my bike for them to take care of were pointed out, in particular the derailleur which was on the side they were crammed into.
We continued on, now with an extra 160kg or more in the tray. Sure enough, as expected, we were grounding out occasionally.
My thoughts were with the guys in the back, they were tall men, and were huddled up on one side of the already packed tray area.
The Bandits are reluctant to attack at night because they do not know how many vehicles are coming. Hence, our night passage.
These trucks were moving at walking pace trying to negotiate the wildly uneven surface, most if not all, were carting consumer stuffs to Kalokol.
Often there was no regard to what side of the road we passed. Here in Kenya like Australia and NZ the left side is used.
The only time this was adhered to, was when oncoming 4x4’s were encountered, even then, at times, both drivers just held their track.
Up ahead we saw a Landcruiser, stopped in the middle of the road with its passengers near it. Pedro was spotted, they were repairing a flat tyre, we did not stop, just slowed down to say gidday.
Pedros bike was lashed on the rear of the roof rack.
My thoughts were as to how his bike was travelling.
One o’clock in the morning saw us pull in at Kainuk. Here there were other buses, trucks, 4x4’s and people wandering about.
Before entering the town, we had to go through an army roadblock. It did not take long for them to raise the barrier. Everything was done with a kind of haste, it was like, no one wanted to be in the same spot for too long.
We stopped here for 20 minutes, it was other worldly for me. Walking around in a trance best describes my state, memories of trying to order Chapati return, none was bought.
Once back in our refuge, we headed off again, leaving town we had to pass another army post.
From here is the most dangerous area, the driver told me.
He began driving with a kind of urgency, the vehicle was hurtling along this track that had absolutely no predictability about its surface.
The rear suspension was grounding out regularly, again my thoughts were with the guys in the back. At no time were they asked, whether they were ok.
It was bad enough in the front seat with a seat belt.
Daniels skill was now revealed in all its brilliance. We moved from one side of the road to the other hardly slowing down. His choice of spots to cross the asphalt where it existed, were chosen with with an uncanny knowledge.
Importantly, it could be felt he was enjoying the drive.
The other Hilux was speeding past us when possible. We were on both sides of the road in the two gravel tracks that in almost all cases offered the most predictable ride.
Braking now was more urgent when a large shadow appeared in the headlights.
There was water in many places, it had rained only yesterday.
The vehicle was tested in every respect, we continued to pierce the darkness only guided by our headlights a break neck speed.
The only time the accelerator was eased was to ensure oncoming vehicles knew our intentions, water and for the shadows. There were few other vehicles
My respect for our Daniel had reached new levels. His concentration never waned, every metre of the road had to be driven!
The seat belt was now becoming painful on my upper chest. The chaffing was beginning to damage my skin.
At one point, a convey of four semis was seen crawling along the treacherous corridor that is the lifeline to Lodwar.
No two of their wheels were on the same level of ground. They were like ships in the night and moving just as slow as we passed each other.
All the makes of these trucks were well known reliable brands, no driver would venture out here in anything less.
The woman in the rear seat was again reaching for her plastic bag.
The road through here is bounded by medium size trees and other reasonably dense vegetation. This offers good cover for the bandits. In one newspaper article, a mention was made about the possibility of having all this cleared to improve safety.
No mention was made, about any kind of road maintenance or reconstruction.
Turkana County has few people and little resources. Reading further articles, it seems Kenya directs a huge amount of funds to homeland security, especially on the Somalian border. Here they are in the process of building a wall.
A “divider”, along the 800km border. “Some people think that terror threats are now more technological than physical”
“A special unit of the Kenya Defence forces was overpowered by two machine gun wielding Al- Shabaab terrorists during the Garissa University attack, last month.
In another article, travel alerts by a number of nations has made “28,000 workers jobless” (ref:Daily nation, 1.5.2015) “ At least 10,000 at the coast have been sent on unpaid leave due to the tourism downturn. Another 18,000 workers have been rendered jobless. Mostly around Mombassa.
Throughout the trip, small patches of intact asphalt had reminded us what a smooth road was like, these were becoming a little more frequent now.
They were a trap to the uninitiated, this surface was in place pierced by deep wheel engulfing potholes, capable of damaging the suspension.
Daniel often chose to stay in the sidetracks.
Again, our constant company in the other Hilux would fly past on another part of the track, a part the other driver was intimate with, he had to be, at the speed being driven. Both guys were enjoying this.
Looking at the time, the light on my watch showed the small hand hovering around the number 5.
“This ordeal is nearly over” were my thoughts. The asphalt was now improving a little. There were more lights indicating housing. My tiredness and state of mind saw me caring little to as how long we had to go.
More army personnel checked us.
Soon, streetlights bordered the now asphalt road. It is over!! We pulled into a gas station. The guys in the tray awkwardly untangled their body parts as they climbed from it.
No one was in a hurry to get things off the back.
We were all still coming to terms with what we had just experienced.
In time, we did unload things. The bike was all still in one piece with little visible sign incurred damage, other than the front mudflap that had been painstakingly glued back in place over the last few days using clothes pegs to hold it in position whilst the glue set.
Once unloaded, in desperation, ablutions were needed, only a small tree offered refuge in the gas station grounds, no one payed any particular attention to my choice of location.
I sincerely thanked the Daniel and said what a brilliant driver he was. He was very humble in his reply. We said goodbye.
One of the guys walked over to a cafe with me. He was limping. The road had left more than a memory with him. A permanent memory on my part, was all that accompanied me as we walked away from the vehicle and its driver, who safely saw us travel the 300km from Lodwar to Kitale here in this lawless part of NW Kenya.
In the cafe, we shared tea and Mandasi together, as we waited for the sun to come up. On doing so, a heavy fog was revealed, blanketing this city of 100,000 people.
300km by late model dual cab Hilux ute
2100 to 0515hrs
Due to the late departure, 200 shillings or bob as they call it here, was given to the lovely lady that was in charge of cleaning the rooms. She was a large woman with a sense of humour almost as big. Her and her crew were always bending over wide shallow tubs washing all the bedding mid morning each day.
This was to allow me to use the room all day. A small price to pay to be under the comfort of the fan.
Commencement of packing my gear began about 1730, a good going over of everything was needed. This opportunity to get things bought from Australia by my sons Ben and Callum is not to be missed.
Many things are now beginning show signs of wear or have simply just broken.
My sunglasses have cracked at the nose bridge area, buckles on my panniers are breaking free, my stove has failed, my old billy leaks, the side pockets on my bar bag are delaminating. My small Logitech Mini Boombox speaker only works on Bluetooth, the jack socket has failed, all these and other minor things can now be replaced or repaired with spare parts.
Nearing departure time, a bucket shower was taken. Having to carry the tub from the tap to the shower area is not helping my sore back. Mind you, it is definitely getting better.
Yesterday, a visit had been made to the booking centre for the ride to Kitale. They were told about my bicycle and gear. There are a few companies offering this trip. Pedro opted for a company that used long wheelbase Landcruisers. These vehicles carrying up to 10 people, gear was stowed on the roof racks. They charged 2000KS.
The company I chose only took four passengers in each vehicle and used dual cab tray back vehicles. They charged 2500KS.
This 300km journey to Kitale is infamous for roadside attacks by the Pokot people, and its roughness.
The former was not experienced, the latter will never be forgotten.
Fellow cyclist Oliver from Switzerland bravely rode the passage some few weeks ago. He said it was the worst road he had ever ridden.
Pedro and I could have done the same. However, for me, my reason for choosing not to, was that, if anything happened on the way, I would be letting down my two sons, Ben and Callum down, big time. They are arriving in Nairobi later in the month with their bicycles. Together we are riding to Cape Town.
In this respect, this reasonability alone, was instrumental in the decision not to ride the stretch.
My sore back was another reason, along the possible dangers.
Once packed and feeling somewhat refreshed after the cooling water poured on me from a cut off water bottle, the short walk to the departure depot at the gas station was made.
Here I chatted with the guys. The vehicles they used were infact late model diesel dual cab Hiluxes.
Having owned a couple of Hilux utes, their reliability and ruggedness was not questioned, it was nice to see that they had good heavily grooved wide tyres fitted. All four were almost new. These guys were not cutting corners.
The tray was already half full of cardboard boxes bound with hessian line.
They assumed the bike would fit the length of the tray, I told them it would not. We moved the boxes to allow it to be loaded on an angle across the tray.
Three of us lifted it on fully loaded. The front panniers were removed, it was leant against the boxes. The rear port pannier was taking most of the weight and a heavy carton was on the base of the front wheel. I helped lash it securely.
Everything was lashed once, then again, using the hessian rope from a pile of it in the tray.
Everything in the tray was now hopefully secure, it was now part of the vehicle and would ride with it.
The driver was a guy of about 30ish. Daniel didn’t say much. My bar bag and a water bottle were put on the floor of the front seat.
I was letting people know where my choice of seat for the journey was. The other passengers were two women and a man. They were going to a meeting in Kitale. They would occupy the rear seat.
It was known, that this road, like the one north to Kalokol, we had ridden, was broken asphalt and gravel, and even rougher.
It was also known that it was notorious for roadside armed attacks by the Pokot that occupy much of the land it passes through.
The Pokot people and the Turkana people have been warring forever, it seems. Often over pasture rights. They steal each other’s cattle especially to provide dowries, which are often required prior to marriage.
Rhoda was saying the Pokot are particularly violent people, she is Turkana, she had almost nothing to say about them that was nice.
I interrupted, and said there must be nice people amongst them. Her comments were to be expected coming from a Turkana person.
We all climbed aboard into our respective seats.
As soon as we left the town, the road deteriorated into a track with pothole ridden asphalt down the centre and trenched rough, often corrugated gravel tracks on both sides.
The meeting point of the old asphalt and the gravel was defined by a sharp step down to the earthen surface, of 150mm or more. The potholes in the asphalt were deep enough to damage a rim on a tyre, not properly inflated or worn, hitting it at excessive speed.
I had put my seat belt on. My upper chest was constantly being thrown against this restraint.
We were travelling in a convoy of seven vehicles but were only followed closely by another Hilux from the same company, we changed lead on many occasions, just to share the dust around.
No one spoke, we were all just hanging on. The driver later told me he had been doing this trip for 5 years. He had only been attacked once when he was driving a bus prior to this position. There they robbed all onboard.
He told me, they need to replace the shock absorbers every two months.
Incidentally, this company, the name of which is forgotten, operate out of the gas station closest to the Africana hotel.
My mind was on how the bike was taking the wild movement that the road surface was creating.
Had the right thing been done. To leave the panniers on the rear? Would this weight put stress on the frame? Would the chaffing wear a hole in the port pannier? Would the derailleur be ok should a box move? The list went on.
All the while, the driver was changing gears and making a few calls to the other vehicle. We were constantly from one side of the track to the other. Slowing down under brakes when a shadow up ahead indicated a deep hole.
At times one side of the vehicle would be up on the crooked edged asphalt and the other much lower, bouncing through the wildly undulating gravel.
Every joint in my body was let go of, my body flaccidly rode with every shock and jolt.
Some hour or so into the journey the younger woman in the back seat began to throw up. The sound of a plastic bag being opened was heard over the loud radio, at least they were prepared.
The driver didn’t slow down, there was no intention of stopping. She eased up, my enquiry as to her well-being was answered positively.
Stopping out here for anything other than ablutions or to check the load was not on.
The latter was done, soon after this, the bike had settled lower and all the weight was indeed on the port pannier. The boxes had not moved.
We all took a pee, it was now near 2300, the evening was clear under the near full moon.
Once we got going, it was impossible to put my seat belt on, the inertia roller would not release the belt due to the constant movement.
This was not a problem as my chest was beginning to get chaffed by the constant rubbing.
The driver and I had a chat about the road and other things for a while. The message was that his concentration was priority number one.
It soon became apparent, we were in good hands, he was giving us as smooth a ride as possible. Sudden slowing down was minimal and the need to push ones feet
into the floor in anticipation of a heavy impact was minimal.
That he was from one side of the road to the other, revealed his intimate knowledge of its surface.
We were driving as fast as possible, it was a rally ride, the only thing missing was my intimacy of the road, so as to act as navigator.
“Riverbed coming up, loose sand in the middle, steep entry and exit!!”
By midnight, my interest in things in the beam of the headlights was waning rapidly.
Sleep was needed. Sleep did come, amazingly! My body was being controlled by a puppeteer. That puppeteer was the road, and he was suffering from the latter stages of Parkinsons disease!!
Other vehicles were seen coming our way, they were mainly trucks and always in convoys of three at least.
At one location, there was a group of vehicles scattered all over the convex surface. In the midst of them was an old bus, she had broken down. Her passengers were all over the road, some were inside, just resigned to the fact that their journey for now was over.
We stopped here and got out. My bike was checked, nothing had moved, it had finally settled into position.
The only time it has been damaged, has been on public transport, whether it be buses, boats or planes.
Some passengers talked with our driver, money was exchanged, we had room for two in the tray.
Before the guys got in, the parts on my bike for them to take care of were pointed out, in particular the derailleur which was on the side they were crammed into.
We continued on, now with an extra 160kg or more in the tray. Sure enough, as expected, we were grounding out occasionally.
My thoughts were with the guys in the back, they were tall men, and were huddled up on one side of the already packed tray area.
The Bandits are reluctant to attack at night because they do not know how many vehicles are coming. Hence, our night passage.
These trucks were moving at walking pace trying to negotiate the wildly uneven surface, most if not all, were carting consumer stuffs to Kalokol.
Often there was no regard to what side of the road we passed. Here in Kenya like Australia and NZ the left side is used.
The only time this was adhered to, was when oncoming 4x4’s were encountered, even then, at times, both drivers just held their track.
Up ahead we saw a Landcruiser, stopped in the middle of the road with its passengers near it. Pedro was spotted, they were repairing a flat tyre, we did not stop, just slowed down to say gidday.
Pedros bike was lashed on the rear of the roof rack.
My thoughts were as to how his bike was travelling.
One o’clock in the morning saw us pull in at Kainuk. Here there were other buses, trucks, 4x4’s and people wandering about.
Before entering the town, we had to go through an army roadblock. It did not take long for them to raise the barrier. Everything was done with a kind of haste, it was like, no one wanted to be in the same spot for too long.
We stopped here for 20 minutes, it was other worldly for me. Walking around in a trance best describes my state, memories of trying to order Chapati return, none was bought.
Once back in our refuge, we headed off again, leaving town we had to pass another army post.
From here is the most dangerous area, the driver told me.
He began driving with a kind of urgency, the vehicle was hurtling along this track that had absolutely no predictability about its surface.
The rear suspension was grounding out regularly, again my thoughts were with the guys in the back. At no time were they asked, whether they were ok.
It was bad enough in the front seat with a seat belt.
Daniels skill was now revealed in all its brilliance. We moved from one side of the road to the other hardly slowing down. His choice of spots to cross the asphalt where it existed, were chosen with with an uncanny knowledge.
Importantly, it could be felt he was enjoying the drive.
The other Hilux was speeding past us when possible. We were on both sides of the road in the two gravel tracks that in almost all cases offered the most predictable ride.
Braking now was more urgent when a large shadow appeared in the headlights.
There was water in many places, it had rained only yesterday.
The vehicle was tested in every respect, we continued to pierce the darkness only guided by our headlights a break neck speed.
The only time the accelerator was eased was to ensure oncoming vehicles knew our intentions, water and for the shadows. There were few other vehicles
My respect for our Daniel had reached new levels. His concentration never waned, every metre of the road had to be driven!
The seat belt was now becoming painful on my upper chest. The chaffing was beginning to damage my skin.
At one point, a convey of four semis was seen crawling along the treacherous corridor that is the lifeline to Lodwar.
No two of their wheels were on the same level of ground. They were like ships in the night and moving just as slow as we passed each other.
All the makes of these trucks were well known reliable brands, no driver would venture out here in anything less.
The woman in the rear seat was again reaching for her plastic bag.
The road through here is bounded by medium size trees and other reasonably dense vegetation. This offers good cover for the bandits. In one newspaper article, a mention was made about the possibility of having all this cleared to improve safety.
No mention was made, about any kind of road maintenance or reconstruction.
Turkana County has few people and little resources. Reading further articles, it seems Kenya directs a huge amount of funds to homeland security, especially on the Somalian border. Here they are in the process of building a wall.
A “divider”, along the 800km border. “Some people think that terror threats are now more technological than physical”
“A special unit of the Kenya Defence forces was overpowered by two machine gun wielding Al- Shabaab terrorists during the Garissa University attack, last month.
In another article, travel alerts by a number of nations has made “28,000 workers jobless” (ref:Daily nation, 1.5.2015) “ At least 10,000 at the coast have been sent on unpaid leave due to the tourism downturn. Another 18,000 workers have been rendered jobless. Mostly around Mombassa.
Throughout the trip, small patches of intact asphalt had reminded us what a smooth road was like, these were becoming a little more frequent now.
They were a trap to the uninitiated, this surface was in place pierced by deep wheel engulfing potholes, capable of damaging the suspension.
Daniel often chose to stay in the sidetracks.
Again, our constant company in the other Hilux would fly past on another part of the track, a part the other driver was intimate with, he had to be, at the speed being driven. Both guys were enjoying this.
Looking at the time, the light on my watch showed the small hand hovering around the number 5.
“This ordeal is nearly over” were my thoughts. The asphalt was now improving a little. There were more lights indicating housing. My tiredness and state of mind saw me caring little to as how long we had to go.
More army personnel checked us.
Soon, streetlights bordered the now asphalt road. It is over!! We pulled into a gas station. The guys in the tray awkwardly untangled their body parts as they climbed from it.
No one was in a hurry to get things off the back.
We were all still coming to terms with what we had just experienced.
In time, we did unload things. The bike was all still in one piece with little visible sign incurred damage, other than the front mudflap that had been painstakingly glued back in place over the last few days using clothes pegs to hold it in position whilst the glue set.
Once unloaded, in desperation, ablutions were needed, only a small tree offered refuge in the gas station grounds, no one payed any particular attention to my choice of location.
I sincerely thanked the Daniel and said what a brilliant driver he was. He was very humble in his reply. We said goodbye.
One of the guys walked over to a cafe with me. He was limping. The road had left more than a memory with him. A permanent memory on my part, was all that accompanied me as we walked away from the vehicle and its driver, who safely saw us travel the 300km from Lodwar to Kitale here in this lawless part of NW Kenya.
In the cafe, we shared tea and Mandasi together, as we waited for the sun to come up. On doing so, a heavy fog was revealed, blanketing this city of 100,000 people.