Down, and almost out, in Dodoma…

Don’t know where to begin with this posting…. It will be a long one, but I need to document it all to remind myself of a day that I do not want to forget. For many reasons, both good and bad…

The 1st 50 kms looked like this...

Which had me looking like this...

I guess I should start by thanking the Lord that I am safe and sound here in Dodoma…  That after 13 hours of anxiety, exhaustion, desperation, agitation, and frustration, I was in the Nam Hotel, re-united with all my kit… The Big Fella had been battered beyond anything he had ever experienced before, and had paid a heavy price… This in itself brought more pain to me than my own physical and mental condition… My bike is what is making this dream possible, it is my constant companion on those long and hot  days, and to me, is as much of a “living thing” as I am… Until today, he had taken a number of knocks, but seemed always ready for more… The road to Dodoma changed all that…

This sign had me wondering what the heck I was doing on this road...

The road winds through the mountains, in as wild and remote an area as you are ever likely to see...

As I write this, the Big Fella stands on the porch of the hotel, the rear shock broken, the back mudguard in pieces, back tyre flat, all the globes popped, and worst of all, an electrical problem that has rendered him silent… As things now stand, we are going nowhere…

The road from Iringa to Dodoma is the hardest ride I have ever done…by a very long shot…

If you are not careful, it will break both you and your bike. It broke my bike, and came close to breaking me in the process… I had been told by some, that the road was “OK..”… Others said it was a good road…

Maybe if you drive a 4 x 4, (preferably someone else’s…!!) you will find this road a “mission” at best… For a big bike and all of it’s accompanying luggage, this is not a road to tackle lightly… In fact, unless you are on a dirt bike (preferably someone else’s…!) rather avoid it like you would a bout with Mike Tyson….

The GPS shows 199 km to go, following the road through the Ifiga Hills. It has taken 2 hrs to cover the first 65 kms... And the Garmin Girl laughingly suggests that I will be in Dodoma in time for lunch...!!! Silly girl...!!!

The rear shock spits oil...

It took me four hours to do the first 100 kms, and at that point I was forced to stop… My rear bumper was hanging by the cable ties I had put in place the day before, all four globes on the bike (head-light, bright light, and both spots) had been shaken and broken… The worst thing though, was the fact that the Ohlins rear shock, had “popped” again… The last repair had lasted less than 3000 kms, of which only this past 100 kms had been on dirt…

Stones stick up through the surface.. It's like riding a bicycle on cobblestones...only a little more dangerous...!!!

I can’t believe that the bike is overloaded, as together with me and all the luggage, the total weight loaded onto the standard bike is less than 180 kgs… This is the equivalent of a rider and a passenger…  I think we need to start sending emails to Ohlin’s… The road was badly corrugated, and I rode at speeds hardly ever exceeding 35  km/h… It was impossible to do any more, as not only was there a lot of loose gravel, but also patches of thick sand, some of which I “paddled” the bike through, using my legs as support on each side…

The first 50km took me past the villages of Mapanda, Asumani and Nyangolo… These were basically a scattering of mud huts on either side of the track, with hardly a villager in sight. The going had been tough up to here, but I was determined to make it through, and greeted every person I passed with a “Jambo ! Habari?” (“Hello ! How are you ?”) I wanted good karma for this trip and tried to smile as I passed people walking on the road, my helmet flipped up so that they could see my face…and so I could see where the hell I was going…!!

Then we were into the Ifiga Hills, where, for the next 40 km, I would not see a soul… This must be part of a National Park, as there are large stone pillars just before the climb, and another set 25 kms later, when you descend into a wide valley… I saw many different examples of dung on the road, and hoped that this area was not the haunt of any elephant, hiding in the thick bush, and waiting to play a little “Tag” with passing bikers… At the speed I was riding, they could catch me without breaking into anything more strenuous than a quick shuffle!!

Up and down, through gullies and up the other side...often !!

A slip here could result in enough bruises and abrasions to outdo a Super 14 team's rugby match...

The road wound and twisted its way through a mountain range, up steep inclines, and down into the narrow valleys on the far side of them… It was in most places only wide enough for one vehicle, and with all the blind corners and hairpin bends, it was impossible to know if a vehicle was coming toward you…  I rode slowly and carefully, taking care to avoid the rocks sticking out of the surface, the loose gravel in the middle of the tyre tracks, and the deep furrows on the sharp bends, where water running down the mountain slopes, had cut away parts of the surface…

This road will break your spirit, if you let it… I remained calm, trying to focus on the section just ahead of me at all times…  I stopped every 15 kms to drink water and think about what I was doing… I carefully scanned the bush around me all the time, as this was wild country, and I fully expected to see animals that might take exception to me riding through their territory…

The excess kit was loaded into this truck... I never did get the driver's name...

Just after the village of Isasi, I overtook a truck, the first vehicle I had seen since leaving Iringa… Ten km’s past that, was had my first inkling that something was amiss with the bike… I stopped near a small group of huts and took stock of the damage… Rear mudguard broken, globes not working, and oil pouring down the shaft of the back shock…

I took off my jacket, drank some water, and tried to stay calm… I had my spare shock in the duffel bag, I had three spare globes in my “spares box”, and I could get by without a back mudguard… Just then the truck rolled up… Thinking quickly, I asked if he could take some of my luggage, as he was on his way to Arusha, passing through Dodoma… At first the driver wanted to load the entire bike onto the truck, but after pointing out that there was no space, and that we would need a small army to get it up on top of the canvas-covered load on his flatbed, he agreed that this was impossible… He packed the two side panniers, my duffel bag, the tent and the two spare tyres into the back of his cab, displacing two elderly gentlemen who had been squeezed into this area… Where they sat after that, I have no idea…

Despite ridding himself of excess weight, the Big Fella still didn't enjoy the gravel any more than before...

The truck drove at even slower speeds than I was, and I rode on ahead to avoid his dust, stopping every ten minutes so he could catch up… Close to the Mtera Dam wall, we had to stop at a police check point, fill in the transit book (In the place reserved for “Name”, I wrote “B. Uggered”…), and then rode over the dam wall and the hydro electric station it housed, and up over a small range of hills to the exit of this section, where we had to sign out again… The road here was even more of a mission than before, the inclines covered in loose gravel the size of golf balls… I nearly lost the back end when I tried to power my way up one of the slopes in too low a gear… It was the first time I had almost fallen in a very long time, and I felt my confidence start to slip… A very bad thing on a road like this…

The driver pulled over at the little village to have lunch… It had taken me nearly five hours to do the 128 km to where I now stood… It was a further 138 km to Dodoma… The police on duty shared a large watermelon with me, and I reciprocated with the last of my “Fizzers”…

I told the truck driver I would ride on ahead and wait for him, as he seemed to be settling in for a longish lunch break…

The soil changed colour, and in the thicker sand, the going got tougher...

In some areas the road was not too bad, but the hammering that the bike was taking, prevented me from going any faster… I could not see what was happening under me, but every time I hit a rocky patch, or rode through a corrugated section, the hammering under the seat was something fierce…

In some places the road was cut through the bush...

I rode on past Isima and Chipongolo, with the Marangwe Hills to the east of me, Mount Lugunga just visible in the distance… This was the proverbial “middle of nowhere”… I had not seen another vehicle since leaving the truck two hours ago… I passed one small village and bought a bottle of water, as I was down to only half a litre… I gave the seller an extra TSh 200.00 for the bottle, as I couldn’t wait for him to run back to his hut to look for change…

I got stuck in this stuff, and had to haul the bike out before I could go on....

About 10 kms south of Mlowa, I felt the bike lurch to one side as I rounded a gentle bend… I stopped to find a rapidly deflating rear tyre… That was it, today’s ride was over! My compressor was in my pannier, safely ensconced in the cab of the truck… It was 6.00pm, and I still had 60 km to go before Dodoma… I settled down to wait for the truck, in the shade of a large Baobab, sharing it with a small herd of cattle, goats, sheep and a single donkey, herded by two young boys who were too scared to come within 10 metres of me…

Then there were a few roadworks to contend with....

Time passed slowly… There was no cell phone signal, and the nearest village was over  5 km away… A bus came tearing down the road from the direction of Dodoma, hooting as he came… I stepped out into the road to show him I was not on the bike, and could not move it… Swaying from side to side, the bus missed the bike by inches, covering us both in a cloud of dust. I decided to move the bike to a safer spot before more damage was done…

I removed the top-box and the tank bag to make it a bit lighter, pressed the starter, and….nothing happened!

Where was that throaty roar I was so used to? I tried again and again, but to no avail… I then remembered that often, in rough conditions, the side stand switch could take a knock from a stone and then begin to malfunction… I had been shown what to do in a situation like this by Lenny at Auto Bavarian, and set about cutting the wires leading from the switch, with my Leatherman…

The villages are remote, and despite the overhead power lines, have no electricity themselves...

That's it !! Today's ride was over... Puncture in the back tyre...

I joined them to each other as I had been told, and no matter which combination I used, the bike refused to start… I taped them all together again, with the Tape Ezekiel had bought for me earlier that morning… (providence at work…?)

This is the truck which took us back to Dodoma... It passed by earlier, delivering meat to a village that I had passed an hour before...

There was nothing for it but to wait for the truck… It was getting dark, and in this part of Africa, darkness falls all too quickly… I had seen four large snakes on the road since leaving this morning, all of them over 2 metres in length, and behind where I stood, was a series of large holes in the ground… I covered them with rocks before it got too dark, and looked around for a place to wait…

The light begins to fade quickly, and I get a little concerned...

Minutes later, I could not see my hand in front of my face, and for the first time, I began to consider my safety, or lack thereof… A bus came to a stop alongside the bike, the driver jabbering in Swahili… I pointed to the back tyre in the light shed by his headlights and kicked it to show it was flat… He nodded, engaged 1^st gear and rode away into the darkness… Half an hour later, I heard the noise of a bicycle in need of a bit of oil, coming from the direction of the village… It stopped next to the bike… More jabbering in Swahili… Then the rider switched on a small torch he was carrying… He was a young guy, and a huge smile lit up his face… I noticed he was carrying a tyre lever and a pair of pliers…

“Me fixi, me fixi…!” he said pointing to the tyre… I explained in my best efforts at pantomime that I had no tools with me, and that there was no way to get the tyre off (never-mind the fact that these were tubeless tyres, and we had no compressor!) I had my puncture kit under the seat, but had searched for a hole in the tyre and could not find one anywhere… With a “Tank you, tank you…” he pedaled back into the darkness…

It's almost dark, and I take stock of the situation I am in... The Big Fella has taken a beating, and I have no idea how long we might have to wait here...

I am not the most religious person you will ever meet, but I AM a firm believer… I keep my feeling on the subject to myself, preferring to consider my faith in the privacy of my helmet, on those long rides when all around me lies the beauty of this world, and the simple pleasures in it… I have rarely asked for God’s help, but last night, I felt compelled to say a little prayer for my safety, and standing next to the bike, alone in the darkness of the African night, I clasped my hands together and prayed…

Afterwards, I felt a certain kind of “peace” settle over me, and I just knew that everything would turn out all right in the end… I sat on a rock close to the bike, my one hand on the left cylinder head, and the other fingering the gold cross I wear around my neck… I spoke quietly to the Big Fella, promising us both that I would get us out of this mess…

At a little after 9.00 pm I saw headlights coming towards me and a surge of hope ran through me… It was a truck…but not the truck that contained my kit…! The driver told me that he could load the bike onto the truck and take me to Dodoma… I wondered about my missing kit and did a quick bit of thinking… I had bike, wallet and passport… With those I could get anywhere…

“This place is no good for you…” he said, “We must go now…!”

What was there to say… I looked into his eyes in the light of his torch, and my gut instinct said I could trust him… It was better than sitting in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what could happen to me, and not knowing where the truck with my kit was…or even if I would ever see any of it again… Together with the three other guys in the truck, we managed to hoist the Big Fella up onto the back of his truck, the bike standing vertical, it’s number plate almost touching the ground, as we pushed and pulled to get it on… I secured it as best I could with the two tie down straps that I had in my tank bag… Then we were off, one of the guys and myself holding onto the bike in the back, while the driver tore towards Dodoma, the truck rocking and rolling from side to side… It took us an hour and a half to travel the 60 kms to the Nam Hotel, and it was after 11.00pm when we had safely offloaded the bike and pushed it onto the tiled front porch of the hotel…

After haggling with the driver over his fee (I was not THAT buggered to be taken advantage of !), we settled on TSh 40 000.00 (about R250.00…) and he went away happy…not as happy as I was to be safe and sound in Dodoma…. I had a quick shower, and then arranged for a taxi to go in search of the truck carrying my gear.. The taxi driver knew a smattering of English, which helped a bit… We rode around town until after midnight, searching truck stops and lay-bys, all without success.. Finally I asked to be taken to the Police Station, where I explained my predicament to the officer on duty…

I realized then, that I was in a bit of a pickle… I did not know the drivers name, and he did not know mine… I had not told him I was going to the Nam Hotel, as I thought he would have caught up to me before we got to Dodoma… The panniers contained my laptop, my bike registration papers, my Carnet Certificate for customs, my hard drives with all the info on them, …and my sweets !! I had my clothes, my backpack with my passports, my wallet and my cameras…. Then I remembered that I had taken a photo of the driver in the truck, and I quickly brought it up on the screen of my camera.. The photo also showed a telephone number printed on the door! Hope faded as the officer said that this was a Rwandan telephone number…  The officer then said, “This is Tanzania! You must not give your belongings to a stranger…”

I took a while to answer, and then explained that I had faith in the driver, and that he probably had a breakdown somewhere… I could not allow myself to think otherwise… My faith in human nature was still holding up… I only hoped that the driver would stop at the Police Station when he got to town… I left my contact details with him, and went back out to the taxi, avoiding the fresh blood that was liberally sprinkled on the floor of the station… Someone nearby had a nasty puncture…!! On our way back to the hotel, I received a call from the officer on duty… I had earlier bought a local Sim-card and loaded about US$ 5.00 onto it…

“Mr. Ronnie, Mr. Ronnie… Your truck is here… Come quickly…!!”

Relief flooded through me as we went back the way we had come. The truck driver had unpacked my gear and stacked it neatly on the pavement, and was sitting on one of the panniers as we drove up… I greeted him with a big hug, which surprised the hell out of him, and got him giggling uncontrollably…

“Sorry for being late… I had a puncture !”, he said, pointing to his left front tyre…

“Me too… Me too!”,  I almost shouted…

I gave him TSh 20 000.00, which he seemed delighted with, shook his hand, took the photo below, and then stood staring after the truck as he rode off into the darkness… I turned to the officer and said,

“You see! You must have faith in people…!!” I said laughing, slapping him on the back as I did so…

“Yes, but this is Tanzania…. You are very lucky…” was all he could say…

Take a look at the portrait in the window... I only saw this after I downloaded the picture from my camera...

I had more than luck on my side today…

In the taxi on the way home, I looked at my watch and saw that it was the 14^th…

I was another year older…