Underpants must be fitted into your fitting room

When I was in Doha last week a funny thing happened to me. I was in a department store and I was having a look around. I found myself in the menswear section and I saw the change room – on the door was a sign. The sign was written in both Arabic and English. It was obvious that it was written first in Arabic and then translated into English, for it read something like, “Underpants must be fitted into your fitting room”. Classic ESL signage – it was referring to the idea that you have to wear your undies when you are trying on a bathing suit. I thought, wow that’d make a funny picture, good for slide shows. So I pull out my camera, line up the shot and just as I’m about to click – the door opens. A very large Arab man, in full Lawrence of Arabia attire steps out and I have the camera pointed right at him. He looks me up and down and says something in angry Arabic (the best angry language out there, just surpassing German). He obviously thought that I was trying to get a shot of him, minus his dish-dash, perhaps in his appropriately fitted underpants. The color drained from my face and I start doing the little waves with both hands as if to say, “No, there has been some mistake, I wasn’t trying to take your naked photo sir.” That’s when the security guard happens to walk by. He looks at me, the angry man and my camera and says in stern broken English, “there are no pictures here!” all I could think was I’m about to be arrested for voyeurism in a country where they chop peoples hands off and give them lashes. This is not good. So in the pocket the camera goes with the speed of an intimidated gunslinger and I turn and walk away hoping that they don’t follow/arrest/beat-up/chop me in half. I guess they figured I was just a stupid tourist and let me go. The moral of the story? Take pictures of funny signs quickly and don’t get caught…

~Scott

Looking Back to Africa

a few days ago i was asked to say a few words about my Tour d'Afrique experience for their website - I thought I'd share the same words here as the feelings are universal.

When I first heard about the TDA I thought it would be a great adventure and a fun time. I had no idea that this trip would affect me in such a profound way. I’m lucky, with my work as a Lonely Planet Guidebook Author I get the opportunity to travel more then most. I’ve been to some pretty cool places and done some pretty neat things but the TDA has topped a list of lofty heights. The ride, the sights and the people I met along the way all combined to foster an experience that I won’t soon forget.

In Egypt and in Sudan we had the opportunity to see so many amazing things. The wonders of antiquity in Egypt were nothing short of awe inspiring. To start the ride under the shadows of the Pyramids was a truly surreal experience. Like riding through the pages of a history book, everywhere you looked there was something to capture the photographers eye and drop the jaw. While Egypt was awash with history and the known – Sudan was a mystery of the great unknown. With the feel of the ragged edge of the map and the spirit of adventure we forged a path seldom traveled. While like many, I had trepidation in my thoughts as I entered Sudan, bad press is its middle name. My expectations were shattered in a friendly embrace of local hospitality. Never have I met in all my travels a more hospitable local population – within hours I was in love with the country and was already lamenting my relatively short stay in the nation.

As a bike ride the TDA was everything I look for. There were hard days – the roadless tracks of sand in Sudan. There were easy days – howling tail winds and perfect pavement in Egypt. There were days I felt great and days that I felt like I’d gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. As I often remarked along the way, if we wanted to do something easy we should have stayed home and sat on the couch. I wanted a challenge and I got it. I wanted to push myself, leave nothing in the tank and see if I still had a smile on my face and I found that answer too. Every morning, even if the day previous had been memorable for all the wrong reasons, I was overjoyed to throw my leg over my bike and do it all again.

When I look back on this experience I’ll have many memories to choose from; Fantastic sights, stunning solitude and the overwhelming sense of achievement for completing the stage. What will ultimately resonate, after the suntan fades and the photo album finds its way to the shelf are the friends I made. I never expected to find so many comrades in arms amongst such a rag-tag group of global vagabonds. Perhaps it’s the closeness that forms through the common struggle of living in the wilderness and riding a bike too far every day. I’ll never forget these people – they’ll forever be etched into my memory and be synonymous with this adventure. I think the words of a far better writer then I sum this up with the gravitas it requires:

“From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhood’s cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"
-William Shakespeare - Henry V

Thanks for the memories, thanks for the adventure and until we meet again dream big and live your dreams.

~Scott

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

Welcome to Sudan!

What an adventure the last few days have been – like a lifetime of new experiences packed into just a few short days. Those who have not visited Sudan and only know of it from the news, only know the bad side of this nation. Genocide, civil war and poverty dominate the headlines whenever you hear anything about this place. Actually being here however is a totally different story. What I’ve found is not war, famine, unrest or anything of the like – Sudan for me is a breath of refreshing air. Its people are amongst the friendliest, most welcoming and unassuming that I have ever met – anywhere.

When I last posted on this blog we were about to board the ferry and sail down the length of Lake Nasser from Aswan, Egypt to Waddi Halfa, Sudan. The boat ride was supposed to take 14 hours, a lengthy journey by any standards, but the reality of travel in Africa means that 14hrs is a wild understatement of the actual event. We arrived at the ferry at about 9.30am to get ready to board with al of our stuff, including our bikes. Upon arrival we learned that through a double-booking only half of us would have cabins and the remainder of our crew would have to sleep on the deck on the overnight journey. We gathered ranks and soon enough we’d all taken in extra souls and offered out our floors.

By 11am we were on the boat and could only watch as the cargo was loaded on. As this is the only way to get anything into Sudan from the North, and the boat only sails once per week – the urge to get anything and everything onto the boat was a joy to watch. Everything from crates of olive oil, fridges, televisions, crates of Twinkies and car tires by the dozens all packed with care into the hold as the draft of the boat slowly sank deeper into the lake.

By 6pm the boat was ready to set sail, 6hrs behind schedule and 7hrs since we boarded. There was a collective sense of relief as the boat left the sandy shore and sailed into the sunset. While the boat was overloaded with cargo, it was even more overflowing with human passengers. Humanity covered every inch of open space. Local’s jockeyed for position to bed down for the night on any flat surface. It became immediately apparent that all would have to get very cozy, spooning with random strangers in an attempt to get something resembling sleep.

Thankfully I was able to secure a bed in a cabin. The slow rocking of the boat and the accumulated exhaustion of the days of riding in Egypt allowed sleep to overcome me quickly. I slept long and sound, only waking at 8am the next day as the bustle of the ship was too noisy to keep me in slumber.

Day two on the boat was much of the same chaotic mess of too many people living in too little space. There seemed to be little regard for the actual capacity of the vessel. Everything ran out – food, Pepsi even the diabolically bad toilets backed up, flooded and provided some morbid entertainment if only for their vileness.

After seemingly days on the water, Wadi Halfa was spotted in the distance and the reality of actually being in Sudan started to take hold. While it had been an intangible notion for so long, all of a sudden there is was just a few meters away.

Unloading was just as painful. Though slightly shorter in lengthy, we did spend a solid 2hrs on the boat waiting to get off. After we disembarked, fought our way through the crowds with our mountain of gear we still had to clear customs. As expected that process took hours. By the time it was all said and done and we biked the 3km to came the sun was low in the sky. We set up quickly, watched one of the best sunsets I’d ever seen and headed into town for a meal.

The next day we actually started riding in Sudan. While we expected the riding to be diabolically hard, at first the freshly paved roads were some of the best we had encountered anywhere. Soon enough the Sudan that we’d been expecting arrived. The road unceremoniously ended and we were into some of the roughest terrain imaginable. Deep ruts that sucked the bike in, corrugations that rattled me to the very soul and sand that was at least 6 inches deep stopped my wheel dead in its tracks. Some hated it, but I found the challenge fantastic fun.

After another similar day of riding I had what was to be my most memorable day of the tour. The day dawned warm, warmer then the previous, like every day so far. Shortly after the sun was fully in the sky I started off. We rode as a pack for the first 3km while the road was mercifully paved. Soon enough the reality of Sudanese roads reared their ugly head. Enormous ruts sucked my tires into their depths, corrugations that threatened to shake the fillings out of my mouth and pits of sand that reduced travel to a humbling grovel.

All was going well for the first part of the morning, the riding was challenging but I was feeling good and enjoying the good challenge it provided. After 55km the desire to reach the 60km mark and the welcome sight of the lunch truck began to dominate my thoughts. Riding with Tom, we joked back and forth and talked of our desire to sit in the shade and have a cold drink.

Alone, together, we came upon a fork in the road. Logic steered us towards the right and our navigational handrail of The Nile. We passed through one town, then another and it started to become more and more obvious that we had in fact made a wrong turn. We talked to the locals, or as best we could with our few words in Arabic and their fewer in English. They seemed to keep pointing us in the direction we were going – so on we went.

After clearing the series of towns and getting back on the main-ish road, my speedometer read 70km and my thermometer read 41c. We had obviously missed the lunch truck – we were on our own, ‘lost’ somewhere in the Nubian Desert. Water was getting scarce, we had about half a bottle between us and a few energy bars to count as lunch. We passed by one town and futily searched for a drink of water, but none was to be found.

Just when the dark clouds of worry started to enter our collective thoughts the mirage of riders on the horizon started to approach us. Like an apparition, our comrades were never a more welcome sights. They happily shared water, snacks and Paul even brought us sandwiches in the hope of tracking us down. The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful – we stopped in the next town and skulled 7-ups like we were being paid to do it. Camp arrived 10km later and the welcome completion to the hardest day of the tour ‘so far’.

The next day was a great day of riding, fun offroad terrain in the morning followed by tailwind assisted pavement in the afternoon. It was a great mix of riding to bring us into the town of Dongola where I am right now. We are on a rest day today before my final 4 days of riding to Khartoum. It’s hard to believe that this adventure is coming to an end for me. For so long I’ve waited for this fantastic experience and the reality has exceeded every hope I’d had for it. To say goodbye to my new friends will be a real challenge, I’ve made great lifelong emotional bonds with these guys. The bonds that only come from pushing a bike through 40c heat together, fighting torrents of insects and laughing about the joys of Deli-belly. We’ve formed a comradeship that will remain even when we all go our separate ways and back to the real world.

It will also be a real challenge to leave Sudan. In my short time here I’ve really grown to love this country. The landscape is stunning – amazing desert vistas that beguiles the senses. The people are friendly to no end I’ve never felt so safe and secure in a place. I can’t wait to return and explore this nation more. Though there is much turmoil in the west and the south, the remaining safe parts of Sudan are a travelers dream – make sure you don’t write this place off!

Time to go. Time to wash and to eat. Time to get the bike and body ready for the final 600km to the end. Time will fly and time will stand still all at the same time. All awhile I’ll be there doing me best to take it all in and live in the moment – as these are the moments of memories.

Be well and talk to you soon,
~Scott

goodbye Egypt - bring on Sudan!

after 1000km of cycling i've found myself in Aswan Egypt - tomorrow we leave by boat for Sudan. It's been an amazing journey so far, one that i look forward to sharing in more detail when i can. for the moment it's all hands on deck to get ready to cross the lake into Sudan in the morning - life will be different in Sudan, there are no ATM's, Internet Cafe's, Cell phone coverage or western comforts. it's going to be the full-on African adventure that i'd dreamed of. the downside to this is that for the next fortnight, this blog is going to go quiet. but rest assured while i'm away i'll be in the desert, riding in the sun and enjoying every moment.

when i return i'll have stories to tell, pictures to share and memories that will last me a lifetime.

good luck, godspeed and have fun - chat in a fortnight.
~Scott

The Red Sea to Luxor

Desert Camp Jan 14, 2009

Night falls early in the desert. It’s half past six and it’s been pitch dark for over an hour. Dinner was served early and nearly everyone of our traveling tribe has shuffled off to bed. Me included, the interior of my tent is illuminated by the glow of this computer screen.

Today was a touchstone day for a number of reasons. Most beyond the obvious – it was always set to be a challenging day. The route was to leave the seaside utopia of the Red Sea and climb into the mountains. Gone were the long straights, booming tailwinds and cooling breeze. Taking a sharp right and a westward turn, we climbed through the mountains on our way back to the Nile.

Without wasting time we were thrown into the first climb of the day – a challenging grind up some 650m of elevation, snaking through canyons that looks suspiciously like Tattooeen. The pace was ferocious – for the past few days I’ve been riding with the race group. Good folks, who enjoy to go fast, have a laugh and move with efficiency – my kind of crew. The pace this morning was fierce – nearly more then I could take, but I held on.

I’ve found that my training of Bikram Yoga, riding, running and other bits and pieces has served me well. Almost to my surprise I’ve found myself among the leaders on a daily basis and have garnered a reputation as one of the faster riders in the group. Humbling to say the least there are a stack of super fit people here of both genders, to be amongst the lead pack is a real honor.

Back to today – the hill seemed to be never ending and the pace only increased as the grade followed suit. Luckily there was a tail wind that did wonders in leveling the playing field. At the lunch stop I was feeling seriously spent – like the days of grinding away were finally starting to take their toll. The whole day I was feeling slightly off my game – so much so that I resorted to a cup of cowboy espresso (4 heaps of instant coffee, two heaps of sugar and half a cup of water) to start the day off. But the fog just wouldn’t lift. There was to be no stage win for me today – after lunch the leaders dropped the hammer and dropped me from the pack. It was a disappointment, in the last 2 days of racing I’ve managed a second and a third place – I was really hoping to continue the trend in the very casual race.

The rest of the afternoon was spent trading leads with Carola and Lone – the two ladies who are leading the women’s section of the race – great gals who know how to hammer along on a bike. It was great fun taking our turns at the front and having a good laugh. The tailwind was kind to us and average speeds were in the 40’s. The road as it’s always been in Egypt was impeccable – beyond perfect, pavement that seems a few minutes old with only the odd pot-hole to contend with and a shoulder you could drive a Coup-de-Ville without touching the sides.

139km dropped without too much trouble – while nearly everyone was overjoyed with the relative easy nature of the day (read: tailwinds) I was still feeling off the mark. My guess is the cumulative efforts of clocking up somewhere in the range of 700km in the last 5 days of riding – insane distance. The body just didn’t want to come to the party today – tomorrow I trust will be a different story. An even easier day is in the works – a mere 95km to the town of Luxor. There is no race (the race doesn’t go every day) tomorrow and there are sights to see along the way as we descend from the high desert to the Nile and follow along the river that will be our handrail for the next couple of weeks.

The landscape here is confronting – imposing in its vastness. Never have I seen such a place devoid of flora, habitation or even color. Like an enormous sandbox the golden sand stretches to every horizon and seems to spill over the edge of the world. It will be strange to get back to the Nile and see a fertile side of this country – for days all I’ve seen is arid unusable land and the sea.

The reality of this trip finishing for me is starting to hit home – my inbox is filled with work emails that threaten to hijack my sense of now. Never have I more wanted to stay on a trip – people have said that I should try and stay on, finish the ride all the way to Cape Town. Reality and the desire to follow this dream are miles apart. My part in this play is only but a guest staring roll. I’ll have to be content with following along with my new found comrades from home and have an unquenched flame of desire to follow this trip through to the natural end. Someday.

Luxor, Egypt – Jan 16, 2009

So much for a rest day. Though we didn’t ride today, the day turned into anything but a day of rest. Luxor is home to the Valley of Kings amongst other archeological sites that are the things of dreams for the history buffs amongst us. With my body clock adjusted to wake at near dawn the prospect of a sleep in was both a challenge and a far off dream. The call to prayer at 5am was a gentle reminder that we are living in the Muslim world – though it didn’t wake me fully, it was enough to stir me beyond the ability to drop back off into restful sleep.

At 7.30 I finally decided to get up and see the day. No sooner had I emerged from my tent was I told that there was a trip planned to the Valley of the Kings – I hadn’t planned on going out there for some reason. Not out of spite by the recommendation of other sites around town. I was soon convinced and before I knew it we were walking downtown to where we would catch the ferry over to the West Bank of the Nile.

1 Egyptian pound (about 20cents) was the fare and the ride was a paltry 5 minutes to cross the river. Soon a cab was arranged and we were off on the 10minute journey to the Valley of the Kings.

While the Pyramids of Giza are massive beyond description these tombs are more non-descript from the outside – more like stone openings into the sides of a steep canyon. Once inside the tombs are a catacomb of rooms all filled floor to ceiling with the most magnificent hieroglyphics I’ve ever seen. Like the stuff of history books, Indiana Jones and the films. Though a tourist trap on most accounts the hieroglyphics were worth the volume of tourists to be found around. We spent the rest of the morning exploring the tombs and trying to take it all as best we could. Like so much of this country, it was quite overwhelming.

After a break back at the hotel a few of us headed out to the Temple of Karnack – another monument just a few hundred meters from the hotel. This was the real highlight of the day. Amazing columns, towers and massive structures that all date back 3000years. Again the hieroglyphics were outstanding and the stone pillars were nothing short of enormous. Towering in the fading light they made for perfect silhouetted foreground highlights to photographs. Everywhere I turned there was something else to frame into a shot. One of the best places ever for photographs – and that’s saying a lot for me.

Tomorrow we head out of town and continue south. We say goodbye to Luxor and search for new horizons along the Nile. Though today is meant to be a rest day there was little rest to be found – my feet hurt from walking all day, much more so then a day on the bike, a 117km day on the bike is a welcome respite. Odd that that is what my life has become, the steady meditation of turning the pedals has become a strange comfort. The easiest part of the day, the most relaxing and the most cathartic – the cornerstone of this expedition – hours and miles of time on the bike. Time to turn in and wait for tomorrow.
~Scott

4 days, 570km and lots of sand

Jan 13, 2009

Red Sea Camp

The last three days have been, to say the least interesting. The tour started in Cairo with a visit to the Pyramids. What a place to start this adventure – the stunning sights of the ancient world on display viewed through the gape of the start line. With little fanfare beyond a plethora of photographs, the ride was under way. Cruising past the Pyramids we snaked our way through the suburban sprawl and utter shit-hole-ness of Cairo. Despite being one of the great cities of the world it amounts to a giant, expansive wasteland of slums, highways and humanity. Some 17million people call the place home, all living on top of one another.

The ride continued along the main highway through town – it was beyond uncomfortable. The smog stung the eyes and burned the throat. Trucks with unsecured loads, mini vans overflowing with commuters all jockeyed for position amongst the commuters. All awhile the 45 of us snaked our way along the edge of the road on our bikes.

After seemingly hours we broke free of the city and made our way into the dessert. The baron landscape would be our home for the next foreseeable future. Devoid of anything it was strangely otherworldly. Like a Martian landscape all you could see was sand, rock and sky in every direction.

The riding was not without its challenge – a few steep hills predicated with a staunch headwind. It was a challenging way to begin. After some 130km, we finished for the day, happy, tired and ready for bed. The camp for the night was in the desert, miles from anything, no different then any other stretch of land for as far as the eye could see.

The second day brought some nice tail winds as the road lead its way to the Red Sea. Upping the ante the speedo read 165km by the end of the day, definitely a long hard day in the saddle. Spent much of the time in a good group of riders, moving in an efficient pack. We flew along at a great rate, making good times and forging comradeship. The camp again was at a non-descript section of desert, only this time beside the Red Sea. We were there in enough time to go down to the water and go for a swim – the water was cold yet refreshing, a fine way to clear off all the grime after a few days of riding.

Day three started off with charging tail winds and monster speeds. We managed to cover a stunning 135km in three and a half hours! It was unbelievably fun – moving in a pack at that speed was an unreal sensation. The perfect roads were made for this sort of travel and to move along amongst 12 people nearly tire to tire at 40kph was a surreal sensation.

Day four was much of the same, down the Red Sea with a hammering tail wind to help us along the way. With only 100 km to cover over the course of the day we arrived by mid day and have the remainder of the day to sit by the beach, relax and get ready for tomorrow. Tomorrow will be tougher, we head into the mountains and make our way to the Nile. It will be a challenging climb, but the effort will be worth it. Luxor and the Valley of the Kings beckon just over the horizon. Soon we will leave behind the featureless dessert and return to the Nile, where ancient ruins and sights to see will become a part of daily life.

Life on tour is the simple existence that I’d hope it would become. We wake, eat ride, eat, sleep and repeat. It’s a wonderful way to live free of the clutter that dominates – even my simple life.

I’ll leave you now as I must get back to the beach!
~Scott

Ps. If you want to read daily updates on the tour have a look at the Tour d’Afrique Blog - http://www.tourdafrique.com/tourdafrique/blog/

The guy that ruined it for everyone

I’m in layover hell – KL (Kuala Lumpur) airport at 10pm on a Tuesday is a pretty surreal place. There is free wifi, that’s a good thing, it’ll keep me occupied for the next six, yes – S I X hours that I have to wait for my next 8hr flight to Doha, followed by 6hrs in the airport and the final 3hrs to Cairo. That will get me there sometime next week, just before tea time. So what makes it surreal? Well the airport is all but deserted, save for a DJ spinning music – apparently he’s an 80’s hair metal fan – Guns and Roses was cranking as I arrived in the arrivals hall, followed by Van Halen and then some AC/DC just to set the mood – odd, very odd. Awesome in an acid wash-mullet flowing sort of way, but still odd.

The real highlight however was in Immigration. It’s rare that Immigration can be a highlight, but I saw something that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in an airport. Some guy was so drunk I don’t quite know how he was able to stand. He was Scottish (appropriate) and had obviously been dabbling in the dram on the flight over. He was flanked by two Malaysian customs officers who had an arm under each of his in an effort to keep him upright. As he approached the counter he almost elbowed one of them in the face as he flamboyantly threw his passport down onto the counter. The immigration guy stamped his passport – purely in an effort to just get the guy outta there and become somebody else’s problem. Mr. Drunk was so stoked that he’d been let in he offered up a high-five to the immigration officer, amazingly he declined – what a stickler (music update: Lionel Ritchie: All Night Long (live) - awesome!) as he was sort of shoved through the threshold into Malaysia he tried to hug the other immigration guy that was holding him up. It was absolutely classic – I’m sure he’s around here someplace, having a quiet pint and enjoying the tunes…

Sometime in the not too distant future they will ban booze on flights (or more realistically) make you start having to pay for it – some will blame changing time and the economic downturn – I will blame this guy.

Cheers from a very odd night in KL…
SK

7 worlds collide

Every now and again a concert comes along that somehow equates to an experience that goes beyond the normal parameters of a night of live music. Tonight was such a night. I knew it would be. Like some sort of foreshadowed pre-conceived conclusion, I knew tonight would be special. Seven years ago Neil Finn (Crowded House, Split Enz, The Finn Brothers) put on a concert in Auckland where he invited a big group of musician friends from all over the place to play with him. It was a great success – a real creative masterstroke. 7 years later he decided to do it again. For three nights in Auckland, starting tonight in a tiny club a lucky few got to have a musical experience that will sustain for a long long time. To get the idea all you have to do is have a look at the lineup; Johnny Marr (The Smiths, Modest Mouse), Phil Selway, Ed O’Brien (Radiohead), Liam Finn, four members of Wilco, Jeff Tweedy, bassist John Stirratt, drummer Glenn Kotche and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone. Scottish singer-songwriter KT Tunstall, Don McGlashan and Bic Runga. It’s a musical perfect storm.

There were wild rumors before the gig started that Eddie Vedder and Neil Young might show up – but once the night kicked off all the rumors were forgotten and the stellar lineup did what they do best. It was a night of highlights, but here is one that come to mind immediately post show…

Phil (drums) & Ed (guitar) from Radiohead playing with Liam on guitar, Johnny on guitar and Neil on vocals playing ‘Bodysnatchers’ by Radiohead. That song has the best guitar riff of the past 10 years – I’m calling it out. It’s the best groove since the cha-chunk bridge fill on ‘Creep’ circa 1994. when Ed plugged in his guitar you could hear the song coming – like a train down the line, you could sense it on its way. When they finally broke into it, it was as if the air had been sucked out of the room and in the void all that was left was the concussion of the thunderous backbeat and a guitar riff thrown down like fucking Zeus napalming the un-righteous. The guitar work rekindled my faith in the future of rock and roll. Forget the flavor of the moment – Radiohead is the shit and this song is the steadfast proof. Neil threw it all down and let it all go to give his best Thom impression – letting his voice ricochet into a falsetto machinegun – lyric sheet in hand, whirling around the stage like a sundrunk child. Liam jammed with Ed amping up the weight of the main riff while Johnny added the accents to bring it to a whole new plain. When it ended the crowd erupted into the euphoric blast that only come from a moment when everybody in the room, even the dishpig out back knows that they just experienced something special. I looked to the stage, only a few feet from me to see Ed mouth the words, “wow”.

Here is the original version in case you don't know the track. just imagine it at max volume in a club with 700 people going crazy...



What a night… oh and just to prove I was there… I got the fucking setlist!
Time to take my tinnitus infected ears to bed and get ready to fly to Cairo tomorrow.

Rock on and be well
S

On your marks, get set….

First up – I do apologize for the general lack of Bloggersize over the past few weeks. You know the drill – holidays, visits from the family, too many glasses of Shiraz under the setting sun, etcetera. It’s been a crazy old time as of late – I put two, count em, two Hawaii books to bed just before Christmas, managed to escape with the fam down to the beach and find some surfing and get myself ready for the next adventure.

Right now I’m writing this from a very hot little room far away from home. I’m actually in an under-ventilated youth hostel in Auckland – but the wheels are in motion, I am on my way to Africa to start the big ride. The next month is going to be an interesting time – to say the least!

I Look forward to sharing my experience with you – warts and all. With that attitude in mind I will leave you with the parting words a few friends passed onto me last night as they toasted my success:

“May you sweat glands function,
May you not die,
May your undercarriage become leathery.”

Pretty much sums it up, if you ask me.

I’ll post again soon – off to a pretty cool concert tonight – more on that later!
Cheers
Scott