Go while it’s good
Go while it’s good
Posted on: Sunday, June 2nd, 2013 at 5:35pm
I was getting a bit too comfortable. I’d made a solid crew of friends, always finding something to do during the day and in the night, I even lined up a way to remove some of the costs associated with staying at the hostel I was staying at in Kampala, where the fun never seemed to stop. When it did, I went to sleep. When I had to get thing done, and I missed out on the self imposed deadline, I shrugged it off and said, tomorrow. It took 2 weeks to find a tailor to stich my pannier, a job that took 3 minutes to the tune of .30 cents. Knowing that my past history has dictated that I would find myself getting all too comfortable yet again in a city (Lusaka, Nairobi), I grabbed the comfortable band-aid that I had placed over my travelling lonely soul and ripped it off quick and fast. Only I had to do it 4 times, always finding something to keep me back, or an excuse. Eventually the goodbyes turned into a running joke, and the one day, I exchanged hugs, handshakes, photos, and a grim face as I pedaled away, heading towards the destination of Fort Portal, Uganda, 300km away to the west.
It’s happening more and more, I called it a few months ago with the travellers curse post, or maybe this is what I knew would happen all along, expecting that I’d find myself in a city, not just stopping in for 2 nights, but weeks at a time understanding the culture, way of life, weather patterns, associated nightlife, daylight happenings, and meeting new contacts in the process. I recall claiming I’d be going to the thrift store to pick up clothes in the area so I fit in. That’s never happened. Still wearing the same pairs of pants, one pair of underwear, and when that’s through find a way to deal with laundry and just deal without that pesky piece of undergarment anyways. As much as this parting is hurting me, I have to stick with what I said I was going to do, or so it seems. I never know what happens in the future if I stay in one place. It seems that always on the first day of riding again my initial plans morph into some wild rendition of a fantasy, still easily attainable with a bit of effort – but this time, the leaving Nairobi fantasy that appeared merged with the one the day before I left Kampala. Interesting times, and we’ll see how this fares. It’s certainly causing some commotion in the brain, but experience has shown in the past that it’s not the end of the world, and not even a problem at all, as long as I can find myself open to what presents itself. Push away the settling desire (because I’m certainly not ready to go back to work yet), and pedal away, but make sure I don’t become “that guy” – sunburnt, toothless, roaming around for years on end with no destination. Plans aren’t for me, but an eventual goal should be at least blinking in this head of mine. The longer I move, the less powerful it becomes, the longer I stay, the more muddled the original plan gets. The destination? Home. Where’s home? Right here. I need a drink. I’m just going to leave here while the going is so good, so that if I ever do return, I anticipate that very day and hope to be able to have in my pockets the same rose coloured glasses that I left with.
So I find myself sunburnt from the excessively hot sun as I ride on the equator line, malnourished from the lack of available food I’m finding in villages, and sore from the endless hills that I’m met with every kilometre. Serious, this is up and down, not too steep, with maybe a maximum of a 7% grade for 10 minutes of climbing, but its repetitive, constant, and has no end. Turning south past Fort Portal towards Kasesese and Queen Elizabeth National Park show no reprieve, there be hills here – and the bigger ones are a mere 300km ahead, near the border of Rwanda – the land of 1000 hills. I was issued a mere 30 days to travel through Rwanda, which should be more than enough time, as from top to bottom it is a mere 200km, but throw in a few more challenges with those hills. It’s likely the country people in the west remember the most based on the 1994 genocide, where 1 million or so of its residents were killed off in a violent tribalism feud. The effects are still showing today, as many Rwandese are situated in neighboring countries – and thank goodness for that! They’ve been some of the most wonderful people I’ve met in recent months, and if these choice encounters are things to come, I should get a move on and start pedaling towards there. Before then, I’m going to have to watch out for lions in the neighbouring parks, and keep an eye out on what I am consuming – nearby city of Kasese has flooded recently and there has been an Cholera outbreak. I just finished a 5 day 1000mg a day round of antibiotics for “insert random African disease that I didn’t want to go to the doctor for” and I’m not sure my body can take another cancellation of the intestinal flora. Of course it can, I just don’t want it to. I’ve even been thinking about using my water filter, which has been with me for four years and not once been used.
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A fellow named Sebastien from Austria intercepted me, took me back for lunch at his place and sent me off with this radish. It took 3 days to eat. Bigbest Radish ever!
I can’t speak much for the riding, other than the hills – The scenery, stunning with large plantations of bananas, tea, and forest with minimal traffic to have to worry about, the only road peril would be the annoying speed bumps coming in and out of villages obviously put there for a reason. Real good riding, and I’m spending most of the day blasting music, with the bike electrical system working as planned. I’ve managed to damage some of the audio connectors and charging connectors due to the large chassis frame my new phone, and luckily have a spare until I can find some spare ends, snip off the faulty ends off the cable and resolder. The music only seems interrupted by a constant clicking sound when steering. It must be some sort of bearings in the headset or fork, I remember seeing something years ago, not knowing which side it went or not – I’ll pull an African move and ride it until it falls apart, deal with the problem when it presents itself, or at least till I find myself with someone who knows what they are doing, or the energy to write an email to the bicycle frame manufacturer for assistance. Whatever. I’ll need to order some other parts eventually, my handlebar grips are wearing through to the bar, tubes are all filled with patches, but yet surprisingly, I’m still on the front tire that I left with in Canada in early 2011. That’s over 22,000km on the front tire! It’ll be a sad day when I have to replace it with an inferior tire product, as its well out of production.
I sent a distress call to MSR, the makers of my Dragonfly stove. They’ve gone above and beyond in the past to make sure I’ve had replacement parts repeatedly, I’ve blown fuel filters, broken pump shafts, plunger cups, and just been an imbecile with taking care of the unit, yet without reserves always offer to send me more. I received a very wordy email from someone who spent a decade in Africa with the same stove – and I’m in the process of following the instructions to keep the stove working while I wait for replacement parts. In short? Take it all apart, throw away the fuel filter, and soak everything in Coca Cola for a day. Funny enough, it works. Next, take a sock, yes, a sock, and when filling the tanks with petrol, put it over the nozzle and use it as a filter. I always seem to find a blob of grey in the bottom of my tanks after filling, you’d never find an Octane rating on these fuel pumps here, let alone knowing if its really gas or not. Many black market sellers tweak it with kerosene, a cheaper fuel or put whatever else they feel into it, resulting in poor performance, and in my case, a sparking orange flamed mess when it should be a jet engine powerful blue. I’m going to find some Methyl Hydrate to pull the water out of it, and try to find a small bottle of fuel conditioner to keep it going. Weird quirky little unit, and I’m surprised it’s lasted this long from the daily abuse it gets 3 times a day.
Why bother use a brush or use expensive cleaning fluid when Coca Cola is less than a dollar for 2 litres.
The people of Uganda continue to show warmth and friendliness to me. Other than a day where I had a rock thrown at me by children and the fellow who didn’t heed my warnings to not touch my stuff, it’s been a wonderful experience chatting and learning about the cultures and back to playing with the kids. No longer am I looking for stealth camping spots, knowing damn well that I’ll be noticed within minutes, which has turned into a good way to pass the time upon sunrise and waiting for the sun to go down. One thing I am noticing, people are getting short. Real short. Pygmies. To be investigated further, my maps have been making reference to Pygmy settlements but I’m not sure how recent the information is. As with anything, what was here today can be gone tomorrow. Things happen so extremely quick here in Africa – take for example a few dicey hours wondering if a full scale riot was to erupt over the state sponsored shutdown of two radio stations and two newspapers – over allegations of possession of a letter detailing an assassination plot against the current president, his son, and members of his party. I knew some of the reporters who were affected, and after 11 days were then able to return to work after their workplace was no longer known as a crime scene. Rumors of country wide internet being cuts, social media being monitored, paired with protests, riots, tear gas and arrests just made me realize that although things have been fairly peaceful in the past 21 months of living in Africa, things can change In a split second and to not let my guard down. It’s not that bad, but with limited friends in each country, no family, and no formal safe zones should the shit hit the fan, I want to be aware of my surroundings, wherever they are. Good people attract good people, and I’m sure I’ll be fine. Am really looking forward to Rwanda, where I hope to meet up with someone who I’ve been communicating with for years, and who is the prime reason why I came to this continent to ride in the first place. Readers of other bicycle touring blogs will know who it is, but we’ll see if I’m able to actually connect, or better yet, even make it out of this country which has easily taken the place of the top 3 countries I’ve been to in Africa. Coincidence that the other two are the ones I’ve spent long terms in? I think not.
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