Central Sudan, Khartoum and the Road Home

Doha, Qatar – it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog, for much of that time I was in the remote wilderness of Sudan and the idea of internet access is a lucid dream. In the past few days, I’ve been in anything but the past. Doha is a future-world where the skyscrapers grow from the desert like pine trees in the boreal forest. We’ll get back to Doha in a second, lets rewind back to Dongola, Sudan and start where we left off.

Dongola turned out to be a great little town – one of the highlights of this adventure. As a rural outpost in central Sudan it was a crossroads of travelers, farmers, nomads and locals. The dusty streets were filled with life and the bustle of a busy little town. The labyrinth of alleyways intersected to form a catacomb of nameless streets. A million and one shops all overflowing with kitchenware’s, fabrics and spices. Nary a t-shirt shop in sight, we didn’t see a single tourist beyond our rag-tag group anywhere in town. Having said that we didn’t see any other tourists ‘anywhere’ in Sudan – we had the country for ourselves.

Passing amongst the locals I was inundated by the smells of fresh falafels and the buzz of tuk-tuk’s carting shoppers around at break-neck speed. The sounds of chatting locals haggling over the cost of soup ladles, a new headscarf or joyfully debating the news of the day with long acquainted friends. Though we stuck out like sore thumbs the locals paid us little attention. Where in Egypt we were the centre of attention, the more laid back locals of Sudan were happy to let us go about our business and pass through their lives nearly unabated.

After our day of rest it was time to hit the road once again. I was sad to say farewell to Dongola – I’d become enchanted with the rough and tumble town. Maybe it was the warm feeling the rough streets left me with and maybe it was the fact that every day on the bike was one less day that I had left on my adventure. My finish line was becoming more defined and less distant on the horizon.

The road south of Dongola wasn’t the potholed disaster area that we encountered in the north, the pavement had returned and the riding became easier instantly. The mileage was still on the upward end of comfort with 140km being the average daily total. How odd that only a few weeks before the idea of riding 140km plus in a day sounded near on impossible. Now that this reality had become the daily routine, 100km days seemed pointlessly short and it was only when the distance crested 160km or 100 miles for the day that it was acknowledged to be a ‘big’ day.

The first three days out of Dongola went by without much change – the traffic was slowly building as we got closer to Khartoum and the end of the ride. Once again we raced many of the days – always the bridesmaid I managed to get on the podium and close there to on several occasions, but never manage to get the stage win. By the last day of racing much of the lead pack was pulling for me to get the win – so much so that all of a sudden I was a part of an impromptu race team. Near the finish, some 70km from the start I made a break away, putting everything on the line with 10km to go. Jumping the pace to 40km/hr I traded turns at the front, sharing the wind breaking duties with Taryn. We pushed hard, hard as we could doing everything we could to fend off the other racers. 16 of them closed in behind spinning in our slipstream. With 300m to go we were passed by fresher legs – we’d put everything on the table and left nothing in the tank. It was painful to watch the win slip away from me with only seconds to go before the finish. Perhaps I should have employed better strategy, lingering in the wings reserving energy for the final push, but I guess that just isn’t my style. With 10km to go I shifted into high gear and went for it. I battled a headwind and punished myself leaving nothing in reserve. Though I didn’t win I’d gone down fighting. Over the course of the tour I’d lead the pack into the final sprint 4 times out of the 10 or so race days – I joked with the race gang that I should join a race team and fill the role of the rider who pushes the pace and wears out the competition so my team mate can take the win.

Though I didn’t get a coveted stage win plate the warm camaraderie and encouragement from the other racers more then made up for it. The willingness of the other riders to sacrifice their own chances for a stage win to help me try and achieve mine was a testament to their collective character. I’ll never forget Mark dropping off the lead pack to break wind and help me catch up with the leaders. Bruce wearing himself ragged doing the same to get me into the lead. Taryn riding her guts out at the front pulling me into the lead, all the yells of encouragement and the quiet admissions from other riders that they were pulling for me that day. Though bike racing looks like an individual sport from the outside, the informal teamwork that resides within it is amazing. I’ll never forget those moments of teamwork. I feel humbled and honored that these fine individuals thought me worthy to put out supreme individual effort to help me try and win on the day. It’s something I’ll never forget and hope to somehow repay some day, somewhere, somehow.

The final day of riding into Khartoum was a mixed bag. In the morning we had a 20km time trail – where I placed 5th in the sprint. It was good fun to push myself (again) and have a small redemption after the disappointment of the previous days racing. After lunch we convoyed for 30km into Khartoum.

Khartoum is a sprawling city of over 2million people. Though it has a name the conjures up feelings of the ancient world and an enigmatic setting of the Istanbul vernacular. The reality is a sprawling mass of run down mud brick houses and a sea of poverty. There were few buildings over a story in height and even fewer built in the last 20years. The few modern buildings seemed to occupy the diplomatic sector of the city and stood out in contrast to the 3rd word reality of the city.

We snaked through town, choking on diesel fumes and blowing dust. The heat was relentless and despite my hope for the feeling of never wanting to end the ride – the campsite and the end of my tour was a welcome sight. As we pulled in and I got off my bike my friends shook my hand, hugged my warmly and wished me congratulations. The end was a strange experience, one I wasn’t really ready for. While my fellow riders’ carefully cleaned bikes and fixed mechanical problems I was loading my bike in a box to fly home.

That night we had an impromptu going away party for Sharif and myself. Near the camp sight was a newish shopping mall – more of a grocery store with a few shops attached. It became the defacto stomping ground with the air conditioning and fast food outlets. We gorged ourselves on cold marble floors and suspect Chinese food. To our surprise in the corner of the food court was the entrance to a 10-pin bowling alley! 12 of us shoed up and hit the lanes for a game. The alley itself was in atrocious conditions with 9 or fewer pins set down at the start of each frame, massive cracks and bumps in the lane and gangster rap blaring at full volume the whole time. At home you wouldn’t have paid for it – in Khartoum, Sudan, it was perfect.

After another rest day we said goodbye to Sharif – he was on his way back to Cairo before heading back to San Francisco the next day. In the morning as the riders got ready to head south and continue to Cape Town I loaded all my stuff into my duffel bag and sealed my bike box. At breakfast I said my final farewells, the group gave me a good clap and presented me with the “Lost Compass Award” for my escapade in the Sudanese Desert – much to the joy and laughter of my Lonely Planet colleagues who didn’t fail to see the irony in the fact that a professional guidebook writer and map maker got lost in the desert!

I was even presented with a small trophy by Graham, Corola, Lone and Nick. Inscribed in the base was “TDA 2009 Pharaoh’s Delight EFI” EFI is a coveted acronym standing for Every Fucking Inch – the title given to riders who ride every bit of the way. I was touched by their sentiment and heartfelt congratulations. It’ll proudly sit on my mantle as a reminder of the achievement and the good friends I shared it with.

I walked amongst the group and hugged everyone and wished them well. They did the same and said how much they wanted me to continue with them. The feeling was mutual, there was a distinct feel of unfinished business. Before long it was time for the riders to get on their way, I waved goodbye and they made their way out the gate and turned south. I looked for a long time and eventually lost sight of them amongst the dust and the traffic.

Where minutes before I was amongst the happy embrace of 40 new friends I was left standing in an empty field my bike and gear surrounding me. I make my living traveling alone to far off places, but this was the most alone I’d ever felt. Perhaps it was the sudden vacuum that their absence created or maybe it was just the longing for my departed friends. I know I’ll see many of them again, but never again will I see all of them. As they continue their adventure, I’ll now only be an observer.

As soon as they were gone, the chapter turned and my thoughts shifted to home. It was time to get to the airport, find my flight and get myself back home to Sophie. The flight to Doha was a breeze – I’ve been here for the past couple of days checking things out. Luckily some old family friends have taken up residence here and have taken me under their wing during my stay. Doha is an interesting place, like a younger sibling to Dubai it’s growing at an alarming rate with nearly every building under construction.

Tonight I get on yet another flight and make the final journey back to NZ. It’ll be an epic flight with a full day of flight time from here to Japan onwards to Auckland and finally to Queenstown. This adventure that has been in my thoughts for months is finally coming to an end. How will I see it with the bifocals of time? Will I look back on this as just another turn in the road or as a touchstone? Only time will tell, but safe to say my world is forever altered. I’ve done something that has changed me at a deeper level then I first suspected. Though I rode my bike for 2000km through the desert, that journey is of little consequence compared to the internal pilgrimage. As I said to one of the younger riders as I departed, “this is the adventure of a lifetime, until your next adventure of a lifetime. This isn’t the end, this is the start. Don’t settle, don’t stop and never quit dreaming.”

~Scott