Tanzania has been the most fun place to ride. We were a bit nervous about this
extended off road section after our experiences in Sudan, but riding on the
dark red hard packed earth surrounded by dense green forests has been
wonderful. The route we have taken has certainly been a road less travelled as
we saw very few vehicles over the last 6 days, and those that we did see tended
to be stuck in the mud, going nowhere fast.
As fate would have it, as soon as we turned off the tarmac the rain began. Loosened by the downpours, our wheels kicked up the gritty red sand which would flick into our faces, on our backs and to all parts of our bikes. Quickly the dots of spray would become solid patches of grime, caking our clothes. Finally the heavy mud guards which Thijis has been carrying half the length of Africa came into their own as his shirt remained perfectly Daz white - we can’t say the same for ours!
After two days with bouts of torrential rain the road was completely destroyed in parts. At times the mud was so deep that our wheels would become clumped with it, doubling in size - we’d lift them up to carry them through. Not knowing how long these sections would go on for we shuddered at the prospect of walking 119 km carrying our bikes. But quickly we’d be on the move again, flying along the hard packed dirt, loving the terrain and hurling ourselves through the smaller puddles.
The mud quickly solidified on our bikes, causing all sorts of creaking and groaning, destroying our chains and wearing out our brake pads. We’d wince as we changed gears and our bikes screamed at us to stop the pain we were putting them through.
Jockey wheels and brake pads - the effect of the grit wore our brakes to the nub and sharpened our jockey wheels into deadly ninja stars
Arriving in camp, with the spray of mud thick on us we’d begin the futile exercise of cleaning our clothes, our bikes and ourselves. Each of these tasks required purchasing a bucket of water from an enterprising local (of varying prices from one village to the next depending on the strength of our negotiation skills). It also required some careful analysis of the clouds and bold uninformed conclusions about weather patterns to estimate the window of opportunity for drying (particularly clothes which would otherwise sit in our lockers and become increasingly smelly) before everything would be soaking again. Even if the whole task was achieved (a rarity) within 5 minutes on the road the next day any pretence at cleanliness would be lost as we would become gloriously dirty once again.
All of this reminded us of riding in England – we are not strangers to the constant drizzle, and enjoyed the freshness in the air that meant we were no longer racing to camp to beat the heat. The less popular road meant that for the majority of the time the surface was relatively smooth (free from the corrugation we experienced in Sudan) and took us through some tiny towns and villages, which we otherwise would have missed, even if they did laugh at our mud splattered faces, whilst they pedalled past in their impossibly clean, white dresses. The challenge of riding off-road was so much fun, bending and weaving, trying to find the smoothest and driest line – perhaps we’ll try mountain biking when we get home…
 |
| MUD.. and more mud. We took time to visit Ypres! |
As fate would have it, as soon as we turned off the tarmac the rain began. Loosened by the downpours, our wheels kicked up the gritty red sand which would flick into our faces, on our backs and to all parts of our bikes. Quickly the dots of spray would become solid patches of grime, caking our clothes. Finally the heavy mud guards which Thijis has been carrying half the length of Africa came into their own as his shirt remained perfectly Daz white - we can’t say the same for ours!
After two days with bouts of torrential rain the road was completely destroyed in parts. At times the mud was so deep that our wheels would become clumped with it, doubling in size - we’d lift them up to carry them through. Not knowing how long these sections would go on for we shuddered at the prospect of walking 119 km carrying our bikes. But quickly we’d be on the move again, flying along the hard packed dirt, loving the terrain and hurling ourselves through the smaller puddles.
The mud quickly solidified on our bikes, causing all sorts of creaking and groaning, destroying our chains and wearing out our brake pads. We’d wince as we changed gears and our bikes screamed at us to stop the pain we were putting them through.
Jockey wheels and brake pads - the effect of the grit wore our brakes to the nub and sharpened our jockey wheels into deadly ninja stars
Arriving in camp, with the spray of mud thick on us we’d begin the futile exercise of cleaning our clothes, our bikes and ourselves. Each of these tasks required purchasing a bucket of water from an enterprising local (of varying prices from one village to the next depending on the strength of our negotiation skills). It also required some careful analysis of the clouds and bold uninformed conclusions about weather patterns to estimate the window of opportunity for drying (particularly clothes which would otherwise sit in our lockers and become increasingly smelly) before everything would be soaking again. Even if the whole task was achieved (a rarity) within 5 minutes on the road the next day any pretence at cleanliness would be lost as we would become gloriously dirty once again.
 |
| Ali claims it's a tanline! |
All of this reminded us of riding in England – we are not strangers to the constant drizzle, and enjoyed the freshness in the air that meant we were no longer racing to camp to beat the heat. The less popular road meant that for the majority of the time the surface was relatively smooth (free from the corrugation we experienced in Sudan) and took us through some tiny towns and villages, which we otherwise would have missed, even if they did laugh at our mud splattered faces, whilst they pedalled past in their impossibly clean, white dresses. The challenge of riding off-road was so much fun, bending and weaving, trying to find the smoothest and driest line – perhaps we’ll try mountain biking when we get home…
No comments:
Post a Comment