Getting to Debre Markos, my feelings about continuing were confirmed. It didn't have the feeling about the place that I'd be somwhere I'd particulary want to stop over. Now believe me, although I was by now planning on a big distance day, I wasn't riding stupidly fast. Luckily. Ahead of me I saw a donkey cross the road, nothing unusual, but then it decided to return, which was also okay. Plenty of room I imagined, it could still cross, and I could swing round behind it's tail. But then at the last it noticed that we were on a potential collision course, so it simply stopped to stare at my oncoming motorcycle. By now there was no time to avoid a collision, so applying all the braking I could muster, I braced for the impact. How I hit, and exactly what happened is still a bit of a mystery to me. My first memory is of realising that the engine was still running, and trying to stand up to get to the kill switch. I saw the donkey beneath the motorcycle, struggling to find it's feet, and then soon enough manage to get itself free and run away. I seemed to be okay, but by now my thoughts were of how I would have to deal with the angry locals, and how much cash this would cost to allow me to ride free of the fast gathering crowd around me. But I needn't have worried. The people were wholly concerned that I was okay, and told me not to be worried about their donkey at all. They assured me it would be okay. I was invited to go in to one of the houses for tea and some time to recover from the shock, which I regret to say was an enexpected result. But somehow the compulsion to get to Addis that day was still with me so I declined, dusted myself off, and continued. Addis was still in reasonable reach for later that day without having to break the fundamental rule of never riding at night.
I was to be taken completely by surprise though in the region of Dejen where there is the most awsome mountain pass descending slowly down in to a valley, then once again slowly up the other side. Absolutely beautiful, but the unexpected slow riding was by now affecting my chances of getting to Addis before nightfall. Nevertheless once up the other side of the valley I managed some fast riding again, and arrived in Addis as the day was starting to fade. Stopping a few times to ask for directions to the old Laghar railway station where I was sure I'd be able to find my way to Wim's Holland House, I arrived not long after dark. Only a little night riding, and just as well, because the front end of my motorcycle had been slightly rearranged with the donkey incident, and the headlight was pointing aimlessly into the night sky.
I found Wim's Holland house easily enough, and turning in to the yard it was wonderful to find three more motorcycles, those of the ViaKaapstad riders. First thing Wim did was take me across the road where he introduced me to Grega, Boris and Joško. Even better news was that they were riding south to Nairobi, and there was the promise of riding together for a few days perhaps. This would be a good thing for me. Having some company on a long solo ride is aways good from time to time, but the ride south to Nairobi would by all accounts be the most difficult of my journey from London to Cape Town.
I never know if I should believe in fate or in destiny. Why was it that I had felt such a strong compulsion to get to Addis? Somehow that evening it felt to me like destiny. The ViaKaapstad guys were only going to be in town another day, just long enough to get their Kenyan visas. I would be able to team up with them the next morning and get mine sorted out too, ready to leave again the following morning.
The details of the riding together are no doubt the subject of the ViaKaapstad blogging, and there is too much to be written without bloating this entry too much, so from leaving Addis as the ViaKaapstad Plus rider I jump ahead a few days in time to Isiola. Unfortunately my motorcycle hadn't managed it that far and was by now on the back of a truck which would be going on to Nairobi. I was quite gutted that I wouldn't manage to ride across the equator. Somehow this was important to me. Why should it be though? Somehow the equator is a significant point on such a journey, perhaps made more so by tales when sailors of yore would perfom all sorts of acts to allay a myriad of superstitions. So I considered getting my motorcycle unloaded from the truck in Isiola and hoping for an easy repair I would be able to ride across the zero degrees latitude. But this seemed silly as it might be that the fault was not trivial, and then I'd have lost the opportunity of it being trucked to Nairobi. So I asked Boris about the chances of riding with one of the ViaKaapstad guys. He counted himself as the most likely choice, but said that he wasn't confident about carrying a pillion. So what to do...? The dilemma ran more circles around my head, but then at breakfast Boris said that he'd give it a go, and if it worked out okay, then all good, otherwise I'd have to default to riding on the truck. Good news for me to say the absolute least, and thanks to Boris the ride went well, and he was happy for me to ride pillion all the way through to Nairobi. So I did get to ride across the equator, although not in the style I had imagined.
My time as the ViaKaapstad Plus rider has been a great experience. But now in Nairobi, where my motorcycle is yet to be repaired and where my body and mind are tired and need some days rest, I will stay on while they ride ahead. Thanks Grega, Boris and Joško for riding together, for looking out for me, and for the good memories.
Noel
Sunday paper
via, vaja, ven
Nekako tako je izgledal pristanek Noelovega mopka na oslu
žar v Addisu (JB in Nikki)
B alias via
J alias Kaap
G alias stad
detajl z motorja Mad Max-a...cela fotka sledi
67km pred Marsabit-om, dlje ni šlo*vse fotke by Noel
