The best of my trip photos are available for viewing here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/adam.wolley/LondonCapeTown#
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Notes from the end - Job Done!
200 days
17 countries
20 flat tyres
over 3,500,000 pedal rotations
38 stitches
6 tyres
3 rear wheels
34 other components changed
over 2,000,000 calories burnt
over 11,000 Pounds rasied for Malaria Consortium and counting
14,231km
JOB DONE!
After the long road ro Durban the last 1639 kilometres seemed like a breeze. I booked a flight on such a date that the last 3 weeks could be taken at a slightly slower pace and Greg and I could enjoy ourselves, that was the idea anyway. The ride to East London was anything but relaxing, though we were averaging just over a hundred kilometres a day the hills in the Transkei region were seemingly unending as we wound to and from the sea up into the mountains and back down again. We were warned time and again before getting there that though beautiful the area was dangerous. We were told to expect bad roads, potholes (some apparantly that you could fit a giraffe in), livestock and to be the only white people for miles around. Though this might be a worry for a South African from Johannesburg it seemed to me that this area was exactly like the rest of Africa and it was nice to go back to proper rural Africa for a few days. We got stuck just east of East London in a beautiful spot called Chintsa. We camped at a lodge overlooking the scenic bay and lagoon and what was supposed to be a two night stop quickly turned into a 5 nighter.
After East London was a fairly miserable, wet and windy few days to Port Elizabeth where we stayed with former South African olympic pole vaulter Okert Brits and his family, it was great fun to stay with a local celebrity, Okert had just been on the South African series of survivor a popular TV show and everyone we spoke to seemed to know him. From there we wound along the garden route towards Cape Town. Parts of this beautiful area between the jagged mountains and the Indian Ocean looked very similar to Switzerland in my eyes, a truely picturesque part of the world, it definitely wont be my last visit. Passing Storms River we came to the worlds highest bridge based bunji jump of 216 metres. It was my second visit so I was obliged to jump backwards which was horrible, to jump forwards is more natural, to let yourself fall backwards off a bridge is completely against even the most basic instincts! Luckily saying goodbye to the bridge was the hardest part and after that I was just a man thrilled to be in mid air, few things can top it for exhillaration.
Excitement mounted over our last few days into Cape Town untill after two days of big hills and mountain passes that left our legs begging for a day of rest we found ourselves in Somerset West a mere 80 kilometres from the Cape of Good Hope, my final destination. After 2 weeks of headwinds we thoughts the wind would be to our side as we arced toward the cape but of course not. The wind battered us like never before and what was supposed to be a 3 hour glory ride turned into a 5 hour battle against the wind, Africa wasnt going to let us off easily.
As we rounded the final headland and saw the cape the wind abated and we cruised down next to the sign marking the most south westerly point of the African continent. I had an exhillirating feeling not unlike the aftermath of the bunji and was grining like and idiot for hours afterwards. We decided against cycling back up the hill to lunch and caught a lift with some tourists and had an incredible lunch overlooking the cape bay, we headed into town to our accomodation for the night, had some dinner and set out into the night to celebrate furthur.
Though my head is ringing this morning and I can tell that something epic has come to an end it will take a few days to sink in, I feel deeply confused about the fact that I wont have to repack my life back onto the bike and head off tomorrow. Im thoroughly looking forward to getting back home and enjoying the english summer.
Thank you to all who have donated, all that have sent messages and encouraged and all who have followed, even in the darkest moments I knew that there were those who cared and it got me through.
I dont know whats next and if there will be a next in terms of mad adventure but if there is you'll be sure to hear about it.
Adam
Friday, 2 July 2010
Notes from months 5 and 6 - Getting closer
Since my last update the outlook is immeasurably brighter. I caught my ferry from Kigoma, Tanzania to Mpulungu, Zambia. The ferry was a grand old vessel that has been plying the waters of Lake Tanganyika for nearly a century and my friends Jack, Ryan and I whiled away two days playing cards, reading and watching the mountains and tiny fishing villages of Congo slip by to the west. My face was swollen and eating wasn’t what you’d call easy but life was by no means a trial, in fact quite the opposite as the Tanganyika ferry turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip.
The next step was to have my stitches removed. I visited two northern Zambian hospitals neither of which were any help, shockingly neither had any sterile scissors or equipment (such is Africa). The doctor at the second when asked how he would remove them produced a double sided razor blade; I told him very quickly that there would be no way I would allow him to try removing stitches in my mouth with that! It seemed there was only one option left open to me; I would have to remove as many stitches as I could and look out for better hospitals along the way. So with a bottle of disinfectant, my trusty leatherman multitool and a mirror, I set to work. I managed to get all the ones on the outside and a couple on my lip but removing the stitches in my mouth using a multitool and a mirror proved too much of a challenge. I was looking forward to getting cycling again but was warned by a few locals that the road to Malawi, though cyclable was crawling with bandits. There followed two days and 350km of flatbed truck rides, the drivers driving as fast as possible over very bumpy road made for a very unpleasant journey, when I arrived at the Malawian border I looked a very sorry sight, I was exhausted, my face and scars covered in a thick layer of dust, my back and abdomen aching like never before from the savage bumps, I just wanted to get on the bike!
Malawi is a joy in so many ways, the people are uncommonly friendly, not friendly in the normal African way where you are sure that the conversation will eventually lead to a plea for money or to buy something from them, just pleased to meet you. Often when I would stop at the side of the road a passerby would ask ‘are you ok sir?’ once I had replied yes they would simply add ‘very good, may Jesus bless you’ and be on their way, very refreshing. After 90km of dirt road I arrived at the main road (the M1) and the next morning set off south again. The road was simply divine, winding along the lakeshore through tiny fishing villages and over small hills offering breathtaking views across the lake to the mountains of Tanzania. As evening approached on my second evening in Malawi I was still winding my way along the lakeshore when I came across a wall, a colossal mountain face rose up from the lake and shot straight up a sheer side into the sky blocking my path, ‘how on earth do I get up that?’ I thought. What followed the next morning was the trips second most arduous climb, a tour de France worthy 12.5 kilometres of steep tarmac winding up into the big blue sky, I finished with over 170km and nearly 10 hours of riding that day but it was still one of my best days on a bike.
After the joyous ride down the lake I headed inland to Lilongwe the capital and from there took the great east road from there through the bush to Zambias capital, Lusaka. It was in the last days ride into Lusaka over large climbs that the bike finally gave out. Whether due to the crash or simply extreme wear the bottom bracket (the bearings through which the pedals rotate) gave out and the bike would go no further. I spent a day running around Lusaka trying to find a suitable replacement but it is a very specific part and there aren’t many modern bikes in Zambia. In the end I had to catch a truck down to Victoria Falls where I was to meet my friend Greg a few days later. He was coming out to join me for the last 6 weeks of the trip and could bring me the parts I needed.
From Vic falls we headed south into Botswana and were amazed by how baren it was. In the first 3 days in Zambia we met few cars and lots of animals including a few giraffe and elephant right next to the road. Botswana was a real challenge as even in winter the days are very hot and the roads are long straight and featureless, without the time on the bike I have had this year Greg struggled for the first week but took the pain and kept up well even in driving head winds.
From middle Botswana we headed into South Africa the final country of my tour. The north east seems to have a lot of parallels with the deep south of the United States. The terrain and being flat, barren and sparsely vegetated with long straight featureless roads the white people being mostly very religious, quite racist, quite ignorant, very overweight and possibly even inbred. Thanks to that we tried our best to get out of there and made swift progress despite strong headwinds to Johannesburg where my aunt and cousin live. It was nice to be inside and not camping as night time temperatures were pushing below zero. We stayed for a few days and went to see a game at the enormous soccer city stadium. We saw the Germans on form and knew that England would have to be on top form to topple them in the pool of 16.
On the ride into Joburg my rear wheel started to play well off true, I took it to a cycle shop to be straightened and whilst attempting the job they discovered a collosal crack that spanned around a quarter of the way round the inside of the rim. My plan was to bodge it and see if I could get it fixed in Durban but after only a day after we set off the wheel was much worse. I attempted to get it welded in an engineering shop but the extreme heat on the delicate rim caused it to buckle violently and was rendered unrecoverable. I managed to get hold of a bike shop nearby who had a replacement available and we caught a lift there, it was my birthday but all I wanted was for my bike to be rideable again. They did a magnificent job in a short time and fixed a lot of other nagging problems, they even put us up for the night and we hit the road strong the next day. The following 370km down to Durban took us 2 days and over some incredible scenery that reminded me strongly of Scotland and just as I had that thought the heavens opened and I experienced my first rain for a few months, the final run into Durban took me through the valley of 1000 hills and down some incredible descents until I saw the Indian ocean for the first time since Kenya in March.
After a delightful 2 day stay in Unhlanga Rocks with my cousin James we are now heading down the South Coast hoping to make the Nelson Mandela bay big screen to watch the world cup final a week on Sunday.
With it now a measurable distance to Cape Town (1639km) I can now say that I plan to be there around the 20th July all being well. I can also announce that I am currently standing only £151.57 away from my £10,000 fundriasing target with a few 'by the mile' donations yet to come in, very exciting.
My next update should be in around 3 weeks, stay tuned.
Distance cycled to date - 12,653km
Money raised for Malaria Consortium - £9,848.43
The next step was to have my stitches removed. I visited two northern Zambian hospitals neither of which were any help, shockingly neither had any sterile scissors or equipment (such is Africa). The doctor at the second when asked how he would remove them produced a double sided razor blade; I told him very quickly that there would be no way I would allow him to try removing stitches in my mouth with that! It seemed there was only one option left open to me; I would have to remove as many stitches as I could and look out for better hospitals along the way. So with a bottle of disinfectant, my trusty leatherman multitool and a mirror, I set to work. I managed to get all the ones on the outside and a couple on my lip but removing the stitches in my mouth using a multitool and a mirror proved too much of a challenge. I was looking forward to getting cycling again but was warned by a few locals that the road to Malawi, though cyclable was crawling with bandits. There followed two days and 350km of flatbed truck rides, the drivers driving as fast as possible over very bumpy road made for a very unpleasant journey, when I arrived at the Malawian border I looked a very sorry sight, I was exhausted, my face and scars covered in a thick layer of dust, my back and abdomen aching like never before from the savage bumps, I just wanted to get on the bike!
Malawi is a joy in so many ways, the people are uncommonly friendly, not friendly in the normal African way where you are sure that the conversation will eventually lead to a plea for money or to buy something from them, just pleased to meet you. Often when I would stop at the side of the road a passerby would ask ‘are you ok sir?’ once I had replied yes they would simply add ‘very good, may Jesus bless you’ and be on their way, very refreshing. After 90km of dirt road I arrived at the main road (the M1) and the next morning set off south again. The road was simply divine, winding along the lakeshore through tiny fishing villages and over small hills offering breathtaking views across the lake to the mountains of Tanzania. As evening approached on my second evening in Malawi I was still winding my way along the lakeshore when I came across a wall, a colossal mountain face rose up from the lake and shot straight up a sheer side into the sky blocking my path, ‘how on earth do I get up that?’ I thought. What followed the next morning was the trips second most arduous climb, a tour de France worthy 12.5 kilometres of steep tarmac winding up into the big blue sky, I finished with over 170km and nearly 10 hours of riding that day but it was still one of my best days on a bike.
After the joyous ride down the lake I headed inland to Lilongwe the capital and from there took the great east road from there through the bush to Zambias capital, Lusaka. It was in the last days ride into Lusaka over large climbs that the bike finally gave out. Whether due to the crash or simply extreme wear the bottom bracket (the bearings through which the pedals rotate) gave out and the bike would go no further. I spent a day running around Lusaka trying to find a suitable replacement but it is a very specific part and there aren’t many modern bikes in Zambia. In the end I had to catch a truck down to Victoria Falls where I was to meet my friend Greg a few days later. He was coming out to join me for the last 6 weeks of the trip and could bring me the parts I needed.
From Vic falls we headed south into Botswana and were amazed by how baren it was. In the first 3 days in Zambia we met few cars and lots of animals including a few giraffe and elephant right next to the road. Botswana was a real challenge as even in winter the days are very hot and the roads are long straight and featureless, without the time on the bike I have had this year Greg struggled for the first week but took the pain and kept up well even in driving head winds.
From middle Botswana we headed into South Africa the final country of my tour. The north east seems to have a lot of parallels with the deep south of the United States. The terrain and being flat, barren and sparsely vegetated with long straight featureless roads the white people being mostly very religious, quite racist, quite ignorant, very overweight and possibly even inbred. Thanks to that we tried our best to get out of there and made swift progress despite strong headwinds to Johannesburg where my aunt and cousin live. It was nice to be inside and not camping as night time temperatures were pushing below zero. We stayed for a few days and went to see a game at the enormous soccer city stadium. We saw the Germans on form and knew that England would have to be on top form to topple them in the pool of 16.
On the ride into Joburg my rear wheel started to play well off true, I took it to a cycle shop to be straightened and whilst attempting the job they discovered a collosal crack that spanned around a quarter of the way round the inside of the rim. My plan was to bodge it and see if I could get it fixed in Durban but after only a day after we set off the wheel was much worse. I attempted to get it welded in an engineering shop but the extreme heat on the delicate rim caused it to buckle violently and was rendered unrecoverable. I managed to get hold of a bike shop nearby who had a replacement available and we caught a lift there, it was my birthday but all I wanted was for my bike to be rideable again. They did a magnificent job in a short time and fixed a lot of other nagging problems, they even put us up for the night and we hit the road strong the next day. The following 370km down to Durban took us 2 days and over some incredible scenery that reminded me strongly of Scotland and just as I had that thought the heavens opened and I experienced my first rain for a few months, the final run into Durban took me through the valley of 1000 hills and down some incredible descents until I saw the Indian ocean for the first time since Kenya in March.
After a delightful 2 day stay in Unhlanga Rocks with my cousin James we are now heading down the South Coast hoping to make the Nelson Mandela bay big screen to watch the world cup final a week on Sunday.
With it now a measurable distance to Cape Town (1639km) I can now say that I plan to be there around the 20th July all being well. I can also announce that I am currently standing only £151.57 away from my £10,000 fundriasing target with a few 'by the mile' donations yet to come in, very exciting.
My next update should be in around 3 weeks, stay tuned.
Distance cycled to date - 12,653km
Money raised for Malaria Consortium - £9,848.43
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
NOTES FROM MONTH 4 - Impact!
The beginning of April saw me leaving Nairobi and speeding down the descent into Kenya's Great Rift Valley, a 3,000ft drop into a lush basin many kilometers across that dominates western Kenya's geography. The climb out was long but never very steep and brought me to one of my favourite nights of the trip so far, camping out in the grounds of the decaying colonial 'Tea Hotel' in Kericho, overlooking the fields of Africas tea capital.
Two hard days cycling over rolling hills later I found myself back at my favourite spot from my last visit to Africa. Bujagali falls in Uganda is not a large waterfall but a series of violent rapids that make for some exhilarating rafting. Here I spent a week with my brother Jasper catching up and helping to refurbish local schools with Softpower Education, a fantastic project that mainly through tourists donating their time and money has transformed over 30 schools in the area. (www.softpowereducation.com).
After Jinja I headed to Kampala, entering Ugandas capital in the dark in the midst of a colossal thunderstorm which made things interesting. Here I met Moses from Malaria Consortium who took me to Mulago Hospital (Uganda's largest) to see clinical trials that MC were funding. The ward where the trails were being held was large but crammed with exhausted looking mothers and their children. Most had made long journeys to be there and the only reason they would be there is because their child was on the brink with very advanced malaria.
The idea of the trial is to give the children (all aged between 2 and 12) very large doses of intravenous fluids. The idea seems to be reducing death rates and yet as many as half of the children I saw will since have passed away. Whilst there though I did see a very happy looking little boy. Desire, 2 years old and from just east of Kampala had come in for his 28 day checkup. Less than a month ago little desire who now sat happily playing with his mothers keys had been in multi organ system failure and hours from death when he was quickly diagnosed and given over one and a half times the recommended dose of rehydrating saline solution as well as the usual treatment. Desire responded to treatment and bounced back quickly as many do not but as Charles, another MC employee was to tell me the next day the battle is to be won with insecticide treated mosquito nets to prevent infection in the first place.
I was taken into the heart of rural Mokono district (just west of Kampala) where some 150,000 nets have been distributed which is designed to cover 85% of the regions children under 5 and pregnant mothers (those most susceptible to infection). The area was so remote that I was told that many of the children had not seen a white man before, hence the riot my arrival sparked! The news was good, it seemed to me that the nets had been distributed to the right people and they had understood their purpose and how to use them effectively. This was fantastic to see as we have so far raised over 8500 pounds which will provide over 1,700 nets to the Africans that need them most.
After Kampala I headed for Rwanda via the picturesque lake Bunyoni in western Uganda. This crater lake scattered with tiny islands, one of which unwed pregnant women used to be left to die on has to be one of the more stunning places I've ever been. The road through northern Rwanda makes for some of the most incredible cycling I've ever done, it reminded me strongly of the Italian riviera and I had an absolute blast. The next day however I nearly lost everything.
I was out and about in the capital Kigali on saturday morning buying some supplies and getting some routine bike maintenance done. I was descending a hill on my way back to the centre when a taxi pulled in front of me and pulled to the side blocking my path, one of the countless acts of bad driving I have experienced in the last few months. This time however was different. I never found out why but the driver rammed the brakes on so hard that I didn't even have time to apply mine. The car stopped instantly and I hit it at around 30 miles per hour. As a witness described my front wheel climbed the back of the saloon car and I was thrown with full force towards the back window. I instinctively put my hand out to break my fall, my hand went remarkably unscathed through the window, this did however leave me to decelerate the rest of my speed using my face.
I stood up immediately and found that large quantities of blood was pouring and in fact spraying from my face. I began a mental checklist of my body parts and found them all to be where I expected. I was approached by a kind expat called Lucy who gasped at the sight of me and told me to get in her car. I was adamant that we get the bike but her driver Leo was having none of it at first sight of me he was racing to get me to the emergency room, I hadn't realised at the time that the lower half of my face was hanging off.
We arrived at King Faisal Hospital less than 15 minutes after the crash and I was ushered into an examination room where I found a mirror. It was difficult to describe better than to say that I did not recognise the mess that was my face and my blood was everywhere. Within half an hour I was taken into surgery, it took over an hour and a half under general anaesthetic to remove a large chunk of glass that was wedged between my top teeth and skull and to apply 37 stitches to my face. 22 on my face and lips and 15 more in my mouth.
I was not exactly in fine shape but was very lucky not to break a bone or even loose any teeth. I have realised that the end result could've been so much worse. I was also amazingly luck to have Lucy there at the time. She had her driver take me to the hospital, she waited with me before surgery, she took care of registration and lent me the money to pay my bill and she was there with all my belongings when I woke up. I also would not be in the shape I currently am without the help of Richard and Alma Johnson who put me up in their house in Kigali before and after the crash, picked me up from the hospital, had their nurse friend Porsche in for a checkup on my face, collected my bike and medication and fed me like an absolute king.
Despite the crash it would appear that things were on my side, I crashed only a few kilometres from one of the best hospitals in east Africa right in front of someone who spoke english and would look after me all day and whilst in the care of two of the most hospitable people I have ever met. Richard, Alma and Lucy from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
The next step was deciding what to do. Neither giving up the trip or flying home were options but I had decided before the crash that I would take the ferry down lake Tanganyika to avoid the western Tanzanian roads which during the rainy season become difficult for cars let alone bicycles. I decided to stick to getting this weeks ferry but was in no position to cycle so a bus, a minibus, a flatbed truck, another country (Burundi) and amazingly a motorbike later (managed to pack my bike and all my bags on the back) I am now in the Tanzanian town of Kigoma awaiting this afternoons ferry. The bike is in a really sorry state with both gear changes bent, both wheels out of line, a brake lever missing and the front suspension wrecked. I also need to arrange to get my stitches out at the end of the week but the ride will go on....
Stay tuned.
Distance cycled to date - 8671km
Money raised for Malaria Consortium - £8,514.70
Two hard days cycling over rolling hills later I found myself back at my favourite spot from my last visit to Africa. Bujagali falls in Uganda is not a large waterfall but a series of violent rapids that make for some exhilarating rafting. Here I spent a week with my brother Jasper catching up and helping to refurbish local schools with Softpower Education, a fantastic project that mainly through tourists donating their time and money has transformed over 30 schools in the area. (www.softpowereducation.com).
After Jinja I headed to Kampala, entering Ugandas capital in the dark in the midst of a colossal thunderstorm which made things interesting. Here I met Moses from Malaria Consortium who took me to Mulago Hospital (Uganda's largest) to see clinical trials that MC were funding. The ward where the trails were being held was large but crammed with exhausted looking mothers and their children. Most had made long journeys to be there and the only reason they would be there is because their child was on the brink with very advanced malaria.
The idea of the trial is to give the children (all aged between 2 and 12) very large doses of intravenous fluids. The idea seems to be reducing death rates and yet as many as half of the children I saw will since have passed away. Whilst there though I did see a very happy looking little boy. Desire, 2 years old and from just east of Kampala had come in for his 28 day checkup. Less than a month ago little desire who now sat happily playing with his mothers keys had been in multi organ system failure and hours from death when he was quickly diagnosed and given over one and a half times the recommended dose of rehydrating saline solution as well as the usual treatment. Desire responded to treatment and bounced back quickly as many do not but as Charles, another MC employee was to tell me the next day the battle is to be won with insecticide treated mosquito nets to prevent infection in the first place.
I was taken into the heart of rural Mokono district (just west of Kampala) where some 150,000 nets have been distributed which is designed to cover 85% of the regions children under 5 and pregnant mothers (those most susceptible to infection). The area was so remote that I was told that many of the children had not seen a white man before, hence the riot my arrival sparked! The news was good, it seemed to me that the nets had been distributed to the right people and they had understood their purpose and how to use them effectively. This was fantastic to see as we have so far raised over 8500 pounds which will provide over 1,700 nets to the Africans that need them most.
After Kampala I headed for Rwanda via the picturesque lake Bunyoni in western Uganda. This crater lake scattered with tiny islands, one of which unwed pregnant women used to be left to die on has to be one of the more stunning places I've ever been. The road through northern Rwanda makes for some of the most incredible cycling I've ever done, it reminded me strongly of the Italian riviera and I had an absolute blast. The next day however I nearly lost everything.
I was out and about in the capital Kigali on saturday morning buying some supplies and getting some routine bike maintenance done. I was descending a hill on my way back to the centre when a taxi pulled in front of me and pulled to the side blocking my path, one of the countless acts of bad driving I have experienced in the last few months. This time however was different. I never found out why but the driver rammed the brakes on so hard that I didn't even have time to apply mine. The car stopped instantly and I hit it at around 30 miles per hour. As a witness described my front wheel climbed the back of the saloon car and I was thrown with full force towards the back window. I instinctively put my hand out to break my fall, my hand went remarkably unscathed through the window, this did however leave me to decelerate the rest of my speed using my face.
I stood up immediately and found that large quantities of blood was pouring and in fact spraying from my face. I began a mental checklist of my body parts and found them all to be where I expected. I was approached by a kind expat called Lucy who gasped at the sight of me and told me to get in her car. I was adamant that we get the bike but her driver Leo was having none of it at first sight of me he was racing to get me to the emergency room, I hadn't realised at the time that the lower half of my face was hanging off.
We arrived at King Faisal Hospital less than 15 minutes after the crash and I was ushered into an examination room where I found a mirror. It was difficult to describe better than to say that I did not recognise the mess that was my face and my blood was everywhere. Within half an hour I was taken into surgery, it took over an hour and a half under general anaesthetic to remove a large chunk of glass that was wedged between my top teeth and skull and to apply 37 stitches to my face. 22 on my face and lips and 15 more in my mouth.
I was not exactly in fine shape but was very lucky not to break a bone or even loose any teeth. I have realised that the end result could've been so much worse. I was also amazingly luck to have Lucy there at the time. She had her driver take me to the hospital, she waited with me before surgery, she took care of registration and lent me the money to pay my bill and she was there with all my belongings when I woke up. I also would not be in the shape I currently am without the help of Richard and Alma Johnson who put me up in their house in Kigali before and after the crash, picked me up from the hospital, had their nurse friend Porsche in for a checkup on my face, collected my bike and medication and fed me like an absolute king.
Despite the crash it would appear that things were on my side, I crashed only a few kilometres from one of the best hospitals in east Africa right in front of someone who spoke english and would look after me all day and whilst in the care of two of the most hospitable people I have ever met. Richard, Alma and Lucy from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
The next step was deciding what to do. Neither giving up the trip or flying home were options but I had decided before the crash that I would take the ferry down lake Tanganyika to avoid the western Tanzanian roads which during the rainy season become difficult for cars let alone bicycles. I decided to stick to getting this weeks ferry but was in no position to cycle so a bus, a minibus, a flatbed truck, another country (Burundi) and amazingly a motorbike later (managed to pack my bike and all my bags on the back) I am now in the Tanzanian town of Kigoma awaiting this afternoons ferry. The bike is in a really sorry state with both gear changes bent, both wheels out of line, a brake lever missing and the front suspension wrecked. I also need to arrange to get my stitches out at the end of the week but the ride will go on....
Stay tuned.
Distance cycled to date - 8671km
Money raised for Malaria Consortium - £8,514.70
Monday, 5 April 2010
NOTES FROM MONTH 3 - Under Constant Surveillance
After the heat and never ending flats of Sudan I was keenly awaiting Ethiopia. Crossing the border on the 2nd of March the change from the Islamic world to the christian was an immediate and shocking one, in the last town in Sudan the women were still covered head to toe, possession of alcohol was punishable with 40 lashes and I was frowned or scowled at by the more pious for the wearing of my 'oh so fashionable' bike shorts that exposed my knees. Yet a mere 150km down the road you enter Ethiopia there are beer adverts all over the roadside, late night bars and clubs and ladies wearing what would even be described as little in Europe. There was more than just booze and mini skirts though, it was immediately apparent that the Africa I remembered and love had begun.The temperature was about 10 degrees lower and this made for much cooler cycling. The first day in Ethiopia ended with some fairly savage climbs and day 2 was even steeper. The road builders in the north in thier wisdom had completely ignored the concept of switchbacks and instead the roads seemed to go straight up over the mountains. I didn't have a protractor on me at the time but im sure some of the climbs topped 40 degrees. I am sure you can imagine what its like pedaling a 50 kilogram bike up a gradient that steep.
I would often climb for over an hour and sometimes up to 3 at speeds as low as 7kph. Having come from Sudan where the surface was almost perfectly flat and an hour could yeild as much as 30 km it was a shock to cover less than 10 and feel like i'd been cycling all day. It was however a case of adaption, on the third morning of Ethiopia I tried to get up from sleeping on the floor and it took me 3 attempts but even after a week my thighs had started to change shape and I was covering much more distance per day but weight loss was still a problem.
A standard days cycling is anywhere from 5-9 hours and on the flat I consume around 800 calories per hour, in the mountains this jumped according to my watch to over 1100 for the tougher bits so I was expending between 5000 and 9000 calories a day and you just cant eat enough to make up for that kind of expenditure. The national dish 'Injera' didnt help at all either. Often the only thing available, it resembles a series of poos of varying colour and consistency on a large pancake. The pancake is the local adaptation of bread and is made with an active yeast that leaves it tasting like it is starting to mould. The different sauces on top were not bad but some were so hot that I found it hard to eat and so in all I lost out on nutrition because I simply couldn't choke this stuff down every day.
There is of course one large upshot to all the mountain climbs, what I call the reward, the high speed mountain descent. I think the maximum I achieved was a truly terrifying 83kph and the switchbacks when they came were a real thrill. If only the road surface were better the Ethiopian mountains roads could easily challenge the Alps for driving or riding thrill.
Collosal mountain climbs and bad food turned out to be minor problems though compared to that posed by the population, now im not slating the whole population of Ethiopia but very few of the people I encountered made life easier for me. All along the roadside for thousands of kilometres there is a constant stream of human traffic. A white man or 'ferenji' is rarely seen in rural areas outside of a car and I was shouted at and baited almost the entire time I was on the road. The kids shout 'YOU YOU YOU, MONEY MONEY MONEY' or simply 'FERENJI FERENJI' shouted from the moment I am seen until I disappear, the teenagers like to taunt me or pretend to hit me or throw stones or even put sticks through my spokes and it would seem all in the search of money. When I tell you it is constant I mean it, there were hours at a time where I was shouted at and when I stop it was worse. The people have no concept of staring or personal space so within a minute of stopping it was not unusual to have a crowd of over 50 people at a very close proximity all just staring open mouthed at me. Shouting or any other method of trying to get the crowd to disperse and give me some space wold only make me more interesting and the crowd would grow. At one point I was reading a book on top of a mountain, I had stopped there because I thought there to be few people around, however within 10 minutes I counted 110 people gathered around me. The old women were probably the worst, they would come straight at me and shout right in my face demanding money, when I refused this would provoke scowling, a lot more shouting and sometimes sometimes even throw rocks at me as I cycled away.
The result of all this was that I felt completely removed from the people, I felt completely alone, something that had not happened before Ethiopia and hasn't happened since. I have never felt such solitude and the baiting and harassment really got me down. On one of the last days coming into the capitol Addis Abeba I was a little ill so feeling low anyway and the baiting was worse than usual and I completely broke down. I found myself in tears for the first time in a long time. I cried in anger, in solitude, in exhaustion and at the sheer unreasonableness of the job of cycling 16,000km. After a few minutes I pulled myself together and for some reason felt a lot better but I was certainly counting the days to the end of Ethiopia.
Addis came as a real surprise, I got some much needed R&R and because of the bigger number of tourists in the Capitol I was singled out a lot less. I was fantastically looked after by a friend of some Suffolk friends and had a really nice few days there. I set out much fresher and knowing what lay ahead. The climbs were less severe and I made solid progress to the border with Kenya.
I had just celebrated my 6000th kilometer and remarked to myself how I had had fewer than 6 punctures doing it when I felt the unmistakable wallowing of my rear tyre signalling that all the air had escaped. One puncture was no cause for alarm but I then proceeded to get 4 more in the space of 2 hours. They were such bad punctures that they tore the tubes rendering them useless and by 6pm I was out of serviceable tubes and 20km short of where I was planning to spend the night. I ended up getting a lift on a truck back 5km to the previous town where the only option was to switch to the chinese style tubes used locally. This involved drilling the rear wheel rim to make the hole big enough for the valve to fit through and buying and enormous new bike pump.
The road to the border from there was long and uneventful but next came the tricky part. Research had told me that the first 500km of Kenya from the north was dangerous territory and that I would almost certainly have to take a truck. I wanted to avoid this at all costs but after very little local investigation I found that setting out on this road solo on a bicycle would indeed be most unwise. The problem is Somali insurgents that see trucks and other vehicles moving slowly down this road as an excellent source of income, holding them up with AK-47s and cattle herders with similar weapons. All of the above would see me as a very vulnerable source of income and it seemed the only logical way was to sling my bike into a truck that would travel in convoy with others. This proved above all the be very painful, I was precariously balanced on top of a large lorry sitting on what was effectively scaffolding poles travelling over the worst road I have ever seen. The heavy rains had washed away most of the dirt leaving bare rock that made for slow progress and a lots of bruising as I was smashed up, down and left to right. It took over 20 hours straight driving to get from the border 590km to Nanyuki where I was informed it would be safe.
From there it was a breeze getting to Nairobi over 2 days and I immediately loved the kenyan feel. The road were some of the worst I had cycled but I wasn't shouted at, gawked at OR pelted with stones which made the whole thing very enjoyable, I rediscovered my love of cycling and ended Leg 2 on a high note.
Nairobi also brought a family reunion. My parents were in Kenya visiting some friends and my brother Jasper had just finished his overland truck trip from Cape Town. It was great to see everyone and we headed down to the coast for a few days of sun, sea and sand. I am now on the road north to the Ugandan Border.
Fund raising is still coming in but the flow has turned to a trickle, if you have yet to donate or know someone who might be interested in doing so please do what you can. Next months update will include details of Malaria Consortium's work in Uganda so you can see where the money is going.
Still loving the texts and messages my mobile is +447590 840456 and my email is adam.wolley@gmail.com
I would often climb for over an hour and sometimes up to 3 at speeds as low as 7kph. Having come from Sudan where the surface was almost perfectly flat and an hour could yeild as much as 30 km it was a shock to cover less than 10 and feel like i'd been cycling all day. It was however a case of adaption, on the third morning of Ethiopia I tried to get up from sleeping on the floor and it took me 3 attempts but even after a week my thighs had started to change shape and I was covering much more distance per day but weight loss was still a problem.
A standard days cycling is anywhere from 5-9 hours and on the flat I consume around 800 calories per hour, in the mountains this jumped according to my watch to over 1100 for the tougher bits so I was expending between 5000 and 9000 calories a day and you just cant eat enough to make up for that kind of expenditure. The national dish 'Injera' didnt help at all either. Often the only thing available, it resembles a series of poos of varying colour and consistency on a large pancake. The pancake is the local adaptation of bread and is made with an active yeast that leaves it tasting like it is starting to mould. The different sauces on top were not bad but some were so hot that I found it hard to eat and so in all I lost out on nutrition because I simply couldn't choke this stuff down every day.
There is of course one large upshot to all the mountain climbs, what I call the reward, the high speed mountain descent. I think the maximum I achieved was a truly terrifying 83kph and the switchbacks when they came were a real thrill. If only the road surface were better the Ethiopian mountains roads could easily challenge the Alps for driving or riding thrill.
Collosal mountain climbs and bad food turned out to be minor problems though compared to that posed by the population, now im not slating the whole population of Ethiopia but very few of the people I encountered made life easier for me. All along the roadside for thousands of kilometres there is a constant stream of human traffic. A white man or 'ferenji' is rarely seen in rural areas outside of a car and I was shouted at and baited almost the entire time I was on the road. The kids shout 'YOU YOU YOU, MONEY MONEY MONEY' or simply 'FERENJI FERENJI' shouted from the moment I am seen until I disappear, the teenagers like to taunt me or pretend to hit me or throw stones or even put sticks through my spokes and it would seem all in the search of money. When I tell you it is constant I mean it, there were hours at a time where I was shouted at and when I stop it was worse. The people have no concept of staring or personal space so within a minute of stopping it was not unusual to have a crowd of over 50 people at a very close proximity all just staring open mouthed at me. Shouting or any other method of trying to get the crowd to disperse and give me some space wold only make me more interesting and the crowd would grow. At one point I was reading a book on top of a mountain, I had stopped there because I thought there to be few people around, however within 10 minutes I counted 110 people gathered around me. The old women were probably the worst, they would come straight at me and shout right in my face demanding money, when I refused this would provoke scowling, a lot more shouting and sometimes sometimes even throw rocks at me as I cycled away.
The result of all this was that I felt completely removed from the people, I felt completely alone, something that had not happened before Ethiopia and hasn't happened since. I have never felt such solitude and the baiting and harassment really got me down. On one of the last days coming into the capitol Addis Abeba I was a little ill so feeling low anyway and the baiting was worse than usual and I completely broke down. I found myself in tears for the first time in a long time. I cried in anger, in solitude, in exhaustion and at the sheer unreasonableness of the job of cycling 16,000km. After a few minutes I pulled myself together and for some reason felt a lot better but I was certainly counting the days to the end of Ethiopia.
Addis came as a real surprise, I got some much needed R&R and because of the bigger number of tourists in the Capitol I was singled out a lot less. I was fantastically looked after by a friend of some Suffolk friends and had a really nice few days there. I set out much fresher and knowing what lay ahead. The climbs were less severe and I made solid progress to the border with Kenya.
I had just celebrated my 6000th kilometer and remarked to myself how I had had fewer than 6 punctures doing it when I felt the unmistakable wallowing of my rear tyre signalling that all the air had escaped. One puncture was no cause for alarm but I then proceeded to get 4 more in the space of 2 hours. They were such bad punctures that they tore the tubes rendering them useless and by 6pm I was out of serviceable tubes and 20km short of where I was planning to spend the night. I ended up getting a lift on a truck back 5km to the previous town where the only option was to switch to the chinese style tubes used locally. This involved drilling the rear wheel rim to make the hole big enough for the valve to fit through and buying and enormous new bike pump.
The road to the border from there was long and uneventful but next came the tricky part. Research had told me that the first 500km of Kenya from the north was dangerous territory and that I would almost certainly have to take a truck. I wanted to avoid this at all costs but after very little local investigation I found that setting out on this road solo on a bicycle would indeed be most unwise. The problem is Somali insurgents that see trucks and other vehicles moving slowly down this road as an excellent source of income, holding them up with AK-47s and cattle herders with similar weapons. All of the above would see me as a very vulnerable source of income and it seemed the only logical way was to sling my bike into a truck that would travel in convoy with others. This proved above all the be very painful, I was precariously balanced on top of a large lorry sitting on what was effectively scaffolding poles travelling over the worst road I have ever seen. The heavy rains had washed away most of the dirt leaving bare rock that made for slow progress and a lots of bruising as I was smashed up, down and left to right. It took over 20 hours straight driving to get from the border 590km to Nanyuki where I was informed it would be safe.
From there it was a breeze getting to Nairobi over 2 days and I immediately loved the kenyan feel. The road were some of the worst I had cycled but I wasn't shouted at, gawked at OR pelted with stones which made the whole thing very enjoyable, I rediscovered my love of cycling and ended Leg 2 on a high note.
Nairobi also brought a family reunion. My parents were in Kenya visiting some friends and my brother Jasper had just finished his overland truck trip from Cape Town. It was great to see everyone and we headed down to the coast for a few days of sun, sea and sand. I am now on the road north to the Ugandan Border.
Fund raising is still coming in but the flow has turned to a trickle, if you have yet to donate or know someone who might be interested in doing so please do what you can. Next months update will include details of Malaria Consortium's work in Uganda so you can see where the money is going.
Still loving the texts and messages my mobile is +447590 840456 and my email is adam.wolley@gmail.com
Friday, 5 March 2010
NOTES FROM MONTH 2 - Tough times in the desert
I believe last time I updated I was in southern Egypt and having difficulties with my rear wheel, it was essential to get it replaced before I caught the ferry from Aswan down to Wadi Halfa to begin the Nubian Desert road 900km to Khartoum. There was also a time constraint as if I missed the ferry whilst waiting for a wheel then I would have to wait a week for the next one and this would mean my Sudanese visa would expire before I could cycle through. In the end the only way to get a wheel to me in time was to have a friend fly out to Egypt with it so I was joined in Aswan for a day and a half by my lovely ex-girlfriend Jenny who was kind enough to donate her weekend to sit on planes in order to bring me a wheel.
I got the bike back to 100% functionality and prepared for the ferry that would take 24 hours and go from the metropolis of Aswan to the tiny desert town of Wadi Halfa in Northern Sudan. Words cant really describe the noise and chaos of the customs and immigration to get onto that ferry, about 1500 people packed into a space meant for 500 all pushing and jostling to get their goods checked and passports stamped at the single window at the end of the hall, I was trying to get through all of this with a fully loaded bicycle!
I got through finally and managed to set my tent up on the deck of the ferry and chained my bike to a railing. I whiled away the evening reading, watching lake Nasser go by and chatting to other travelers about the highs and lows of Egypt and plans for Sudan. Around 11 the next morning the boat turned towards the shore, 'but why' I thought, 'theres nothing there!'. This was the 'town' of Wadi Halfa, marked as a major centre on the map it was nothing more than a collection of predominantly mud brick buildings with no real streets.
By chance I had stayed in the same hotel as two Swedish cyclists, Daniel and Patrick in Aswan and we made plans to cycle the desert together. We checked into the Wadi Halfa Hotel. It was very basic but a 1 pound thirty pence it was a personal best for price! The next morning was 'aliens registration' (us being the aliens) which was hilarious! It involved about 2 hours, an unending number of stamps, photographs and forms and going back to the same office no less than 5 times after you had completed each small task.
That afternoon the three of us departed Wadi Halfa to start the desert road of 900+ km to the capital, Khartoum. The start was a miserable failure as Patrick, who had already suffered 2 punctures during the 30km from Aswan city to Aswan port got 2 more on our first afternoon cycling in Sudan and then whilst trying to make up time Daniel managed to cycle into me causing a crash that ended with his foot through my front wheel damaging it and causing it to rotate in a very erratic manner. I couldn’t believe it, I had only 48 hours earlier fixed my wheel troubles and now the front was in trouble, not only that but I was at the very start of a 950km barren desert run with barely any shops let alone bike shops and I would need a professional to fix it properly. We camped after barely 15km and the mood was dark. I spent a couple of hours tuning the spokes of my wheel and got it to rotate a little better, lucky it wasn’t the rear which takes most of the load.
At first it was as though my body had trouble adapting to the heat, there was a very noticeable step up in temperature from Egypt. Not only was the temperature pushing towards 40 degrees but there was nowhere to stop and find food or water and for the first two days no real shade on offer to escape the sun. The newly completed road meant that pace was good but we were far removed from the villages along the Nile and the positives they offer (shade, food etc). On and off the bike my heart raced telling me my body wasn’t taking this work lightly.
On the fourth morning Patrick realized that his rear wheels bearings were in shot and he would be unable to continue without getting the right parts. He and Daniel decided to take the bus and I continued solo, that day proved to be a long one, once we had finally decided a plan of action it was past 10.30 and the sun was already high in the sky and I would have to get going if I was to make it to Dongola that night (135km down the road). I cycled into the heat of the day and soon needed food and shade. I made for what was the only village in the area marked on the map, this involved a 4km road that was almost entirely loose sand, a surface that a bike is completely useless in. So having pushed my 50kg bike 4km I found the only shop and it turned out to be closed. After resting for a short while a asked if there was a quicker way back to the road or a path that wasn’t sandy, unfortunately I couldn’t really convey this in Arabic and no one in the village could really understand me. The road they eventually pointed me down turned out to be 6km of even looser sand. By the time I got to Dongola I was a sorry looking sight, it didn’t help that the Swedes had had a comfy bus ride and had spent most of the day in an air-conditioned internet cafe!
After Dongola my friends took the bus again leaving me to my own devices, I tried to look at this as a positive thinking that I could go at my own pace and could make my own decisions but truthfully I was pretty daunted by the idea of 500km on my own with limited water supplies through some of the most barren terrain in northern Africa. I decided my way of getting through this would be that if I could complete a decent number of miles in the morning, rest through the oppressive heat of the day and push it late into the night I could get further per day and arrive in Khartoum a day early. Now im not racing to Cape Town but where water was limited and the conditions difficult I was happy to concentrate on the cycling and make sure that I arrived in good time and in one piece. It was 520km from Dongola to Khartoum and was certainly the hardest thing I have ever done.
I left Dongola in the afternoon and made it 70km before the first of 4 wild camps on the road to Khartoum. Whilst unpacking my sleeping bag I looked down to see a small white scorpion scuttling across my tent floor. I learnt while in Africa last time that the smaller the scorpion the more deadly so I decided he would be sleeping elsewhere that night! The next day at lunchtime I filled up with water for what would be the last time before Khartoum. Using lots of different containers I managed to strap around 19 litres of water to my bike. This made the bike significantly heavier and it didnt help that all afternoon and the next morning I encountered strong headwinds. Progress was painfully slow, it sapped me of all my energy and made me jumpy concerning my water ration. Luckily the wind abated and cycling into the night I made it 150km that day.
When I woke the next day the view was incredible. As far as the eye could see there was nothing. Just sand, sand, a bit more sand and a thin strip of asphalt stretching from horizon to horizon. I dont want to go on and on about how hard it was but the thing that really bent my mind out of shape was the long straight roads, when all you can see is the road stretching away to the horizon and theres nothing to look sat but endless sand it leaves precious little else for the mind to contemplate but how much you are hurting and how far you are from the next shower, rest and cold coca cola. On the third evening in the desert I found it really hard to get into the right mental zone. Every few kilometers I would coast to the side of the road and pause until I built up the drive to start again, I just couldnt keep sustained forward momentum for very long. The next morning I found it equally hard to find a good tempo and progress was painfully slow. I planned to make Khartoum by lunch but by 12 o clock I was only just over half way. The markers on the side of the road were counting down to 0 which I was told was Khartoum. In the heat of the afternoon I reached the zero marker but this turned out to be the very outside of Omdurman, a neighboring city. It was a furthur 45km to the centre of Khartoum and by the time I arrived at the campsite I was completely physically and mentally finished. I showered and put up my tent and caught up with some friends I had met on the Aswan ferry and we went out to dinner but very quickly I began to feel absolutely terrible, the last time I felt that bad it was for the reason that I am back fundraising for. Whether it was heat exhaustion, lack of sleep, lack of food, dehydration or a mix of the lot it would be 6 days of rest before I began to feel normal again.
I clearly set off from Khartoum too soon as I would suffer for an extra four days on the road to the Ethiopian Border. It was more of the same, desert with long straight roads but with the added 'fun' of homicidal buses tearing up and down the road which at best is one and three quarter lanes wide. They were constantly overtaking and saw me as a disposable item, if I was in their path then no matter, Ill would surely move if they simply drove straight at me at 80 miles an hour!
After 5 days I reached the Ethiopian border and the end of both the desert and Sudan, I was beginning to feel better but the weight loss was telling, Sudan had been tough on me. Scales told me I had lost 12% of my body weight since London, I was lucky that I had it to loose and that time put in at the Christmas dinner table had paid dividends!
Im now in Ethiopia but news of that will have to wait until next month when I reach Nairobi and the end of Leg 2.
Some fantastic news since my last update, we reached the preliminary target of 5000 pounds and I have set a new target on 10,000 which would buy an incredible 2000 insecticide treated mosquito nets, I know it can be done. The reason we’ve come so far is people not only being very generous themselves but then spreading the message of my journey and its purpose by email, phone, newspaper, website, facebook, twitter and good old word of mouth. Please keep up the good work!
As usual if you have any questions, worries, fears for my safety, friends en route, fact, places to visit or encouragement which is always appreciated please direct it to this email address or to my mobile +447590 840456 which I always have on me.
I got the bike back to 100% functionality and prepared for the ferry that would take 24 hours and go from the metropolis of Aswan to the tiny desert town of Wadi Halfa in Northern Sudan. Words cant really describe the noise and chaos of the customs and immigration to get onto that ferry, about 1500 people packed into a space meant for 500 all pushing and jostling to get their goods checked and passports stamped at the single window at the end of the hall, I was trying to get through all of this with a fully loaded bicycle!
I got through finally and managed to set my tent up on the deck of the ferry and chained my bike to a railing. I whiled away the evening reading, watching lake Nasser go by and chatting to other travelers about the highs and lows of Egypt and plans for Sudan. Around 11 the next morning the boat turned towards the shore, 'but why' I thought, 'theres nothing there!'. This was the 'town' of Wadi Halfa, marked as a major centre on the map it was nothing more than a collection of predominantly mud brick buildings with no real streets.
By chance I had stayed in the same hotel as two Swedish cyclists, Daniel and Patrick in Aswan and we made plans to cycle the desert together. We checked into the Wadi Halfa Hotel. It was very basic but a 1 pound thirty pence it was a personal best for price! The next morning was 'aliens registration' (us being the aliens) which was hilarious! It involved about 2 hours, an unending number of stamps, photographs and forms and going back to the same office no less than 5 times after you had completed each small task.
That afternoon the three of us departed Wadi Halfa to start the desert road of 900+ km to the capital, Khartoum. The start was a miserable failure as Patrick, who had already suffered 2 punctures during the 30km from Aswan city to Aswan port got 2 more on our first afternoon cycling in Sudan and then whilst trying to make up time Daniel managed to cycle into me causing a crash that ended with his foot through my front wheel damaging it and causing it to rotate in a very erratic manner. I couldn’t believe it, I had only 48 hours earlier fixed my wheel troubles and now the front was in trouble, not only that but I was at the very start of a 950km barren desert run with barely any shops let alone bike shops and I would need a professional to fix it properly. We camped after barely 15km and the mood was dark. I spent a couple of hours tuning the spokes of my wheel and got it to rotate a little better, lucky it wasn’t the rear which takes most of the load.
At first it was as though my body had trouble adapting to the heat, there was a very noticeable step up in temperature from Egypt. Not only was the temperature pushing towards 40 degrees but there was nowhere to stop and find food or water and for the first two days no real shade on offer to escape the sun. The newly completed road meant that pace was good but we were far removed from the villages along the Nile and the positives they offer (shade, food etc). On and off the bike my heart raced telling me my body wasn’t taking this work lightly.
On the fourth morning Patrick realized that his rear wheels bearings were in shot and he would be unable to continue without getting the right parts. He and Daniel decided to take the bus and I continued solo, that day proved to be a long one, once we had finally decided a plan of action it was past 10.30 and the sun was already high in the sky and I would have to get going if I was to make it to Dongola that night (135km down the road). I cycled into the heat of the day and soon needed food and shade. I made for what was the only village in the area marked on the map, this involved a 4km road that was almost entirely loose sand, a surface that a bike is completely useless in. So having pushed my 50kg bike 4km I found the only shop and it turned out to be closed. After resting for a short while a asked if there was a quicker way back to the road or a path that wasn’t sandy, unfortunately I couldn’t really convey this in Arabic and no one in the village could really understand me. The road they eventually pointed me down turned out to be 6km of even looser sand. By the time I got to Dongola I was a sorry looking sight, it didn’t help that the Swedes had had a comfy bus ride and had spent most of the day in an air-conditioned internet cafe!
After Dongola my friends took the bus again leaving me to my own devices, I tried to look at this as a positive thinking that I could go at my own pace and could make my own decisions but truthfully I was pretty daunted by the idea of 500km on my own with limited water supplies through some of the most barren terrain in northern Africa. I decided my way of getting through this would be that if I could complete a decent number of miles in the morning, rest through the oppressive heat of the day and push it late into the night I could get further per day and arrive in Khartoum a day early. Now im not racing to Cape Town but where water was limited and the conditions difficult I was happy to concentrate on the cycling and make sure that I arrived in good time and in one piece. It was 520km from Dongola to Khartoum and was certainly the hardest thing I have ever done.
I left Dongola in the afternoon and made it 70km before the first of 4 wild camps on the road to Khartoum. Whilst unpacking my sleeping bag I looked down to see a small white scorpion scuttling across my tent floor. I learnt while in Africa last time that the smaller the scorpion the more deadly so I decided he would be sleeping elsewhere that night! The next day at lunchtime I filled up with water for what would be the last time before Khartoum. Using lots of different containers I managed to strap around 19 litres of water to my bike. This made the bike significantly heavier and it didnt help that all afternoon and the next morning I encountered strong headwinds. Progress was painfully slow, it sapped me of all my energy and made me jumpy concerning my water ration. Luckily the wind abated and cycling into the night I made it 150km that day.
When I woke the next day the view was incredible. As far as the eye could see there was nothing. Just sand, sand, a bit more sand and a thin strip of asphalt stretching from horizon to horizon. I dont want to go on and on about how hard it was but the thing that really bent my mind out of shape was the long straight roads, when all you can see is the road stretching away to the horizon and theres nothing to look sat but endless sand it leaves precious little else for the mind to contemplate but how much you are hurting and how far you are from the next shower, rest and cold coca cola. On the third evening in the desert I found it really hard to get into the right mental zone. Every few kilometers I would coast to the side of the road and pause until I built up the drive to start again, I just couldnt keep sustained forward momentum for very long. The next morning I found it equally hard to find a good tempo and progress was painfully slow. I planned to make Khartoum by lunch but by 12 o clock I was only just over half way. The markers on the side of the road were counting down to 0 which I was told was Khartoum. In the heat of the afternoon I reached the zero marker but this turned out to be the very outside of Omdurman, a neighboring city. It was a furthur 45km to the centre of Khartoum and by the time I arrived at the campsite I was completely physically and mentally finished. I showered and put up my tent and caught up with some friends I had met on the Aswan ferry and we went out to dinner but very quickly I began to feel absolutely terrible, the last time I felt that bad it was for the reason that I am back fundraising for. Whether it was heat exhaustion, lack of sleep, lack of food, dehydration or a mix of the lot it would be 6 days of rest before I began to feel normal again.
I clearly set off from Khartoum too soon as I would suffer for an extra four days on the road to the Ethiopian Border. It was more of the same, desert with long straight roads but with the added 'fun' of homicidal buses tearing up and down the road which at best is one and three quarter lanes wide. They were constantly overtaking and saw me as a disposable item, if I was in their path then no matter, Ill would surely move if they simply drove straight at me at 80 miles an hour!
After 5 days I reached the Ethiopian border and the end of both the desert and Sudan, I was beginning to feel better but the weight loss was telling, Sudan had been tough on me. Scales told me I had lost 12% of my body weight since London, I was lucky that I had it to loose and that time put in at the Christmas dinner table had paid dividends!
Im now in Ethiopia but news of that will have to wait until next month when I reach Nairobi and the end of Leg 2.
Some fantastic news since my last update, we reached the preliminary target of 5000 pounds and I have set a new target on 10,000 which would buy an incredible 2000 insecticide treated mosquito nets, I know it can be done. The reason we’ve come so far is people not only being very generous themselves but then spreading the message of my journey and its purpose by email, phone, newspaper, website, facebook, twitter and good old word of mouth. Please keep up the good work!
As usual if you have any questions, worries, fears for my safety, friends en route, fact, places to visit or encouragement which is always appreciated please direct it to this email address or to my mobile +447590 840456 which I always have on me.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
NOTES FROM MONTH 1 – London to Egypt
London, it's goodbyes and confusing feelings of the enormity of the job ahead seem like only yesterday and yet one month, over three quarters of a million pedal turns and nearly 3000km later I find myself in Qina in Egypt.
France was tough, and I say tough because it was much harder than I expected it to be. I had purchased most of the right equipment and had done the necessary training to be ready for 100 kilometres a day for 24 days or so. The only problem being that research told me that this would take place in temperatures of between 10 and -2 degrees....
The first nights camping was at around -2. It got colder from there, as night time temperature sunk below -10 sleep whilst camping became impossible as I just lay shivering all night so I spent more money and tailored my schedule to stay in hostels and with friends of friends. I was put up by some really friendly people in Tournus, Avignon and near Lyon. This was all thanks to a kind friend called Michelle Pelly who got all her cousins to look after me!
Only one day did I stop unexpectedly, I was trapped in a snowstorm whilst on the bike and the temperature plummeted to below -10, the headwind was strong, slowing my pace and sapping my energy and the snow was thick obstructing my vision and that of the occasional traffic whizzing past me on the way to somewhere warmer. The kit I was wearing (all of it!) was just not up to the job. I got colder and colder, going through the pain stage before getting numb feet and hands, despite my waterproof jacket I was soaked all over and the cold was getting the better of me at a frightening pace. After half an hour of looking for anywhere I could stop to get warm I coasted to the side of the road and stopped. I just didn't think I could cycle for much longer. The stopping momentarily lessened the cold effect by removing the wind chill factor but then I began to feel the bite of the cold attacking me again. It was the closest I've been to panic for a long time. I was suffering and getting worse and didn't know what I was going to do about it, I was on a road going through woodland and didn't know the exact distance to the next town. I struggled on and luckily for me there was a hotel only another few kilometres down the road, I think I lay in that warm bath for about 90 minutes, even my limbs started to wrinkle but I didnt care!
After France came Monaco, one of the most incredible 24 hours of my life as I was incredibly well looked after by a friend of a friend called Gerry and his girlfriend Chloe. I even ended up driving his Porsche back from a night out along most of what becomes the formula one circuit! The next day he took me for a spin in his Le Mans spec Porsche 906, the noise of the flat six blaring through the tunnels of the Riviera will stay with me forever! After an incredible steak lunch I went back to smelly camping gear and my poor cooking!
Italy was a cyclists paradise, always changing and interesting terrain, some steep climbs, some long sweeping descents with the med rarely out of view. I reached Rome from London in 23 days and had one hectic day trying to navigate around the stunning centre trying to get the bike serviced and buy supplies. Truly an incredible city that I will have to do justice by revisiting for longer. I flew on the 26th to begin Africa!
The moment I stepped out of the plane the familiar deep smell of my favorite continent hit my nostrils. The chaos of the traffic was bad enough in the taxi from the airport let alone before I got on a bike! Egypt so far has been beautiful, the backdrop of sandstone mountains with the Nile and green arable fields in front framed by the ever blue sky makes for an incredible view. The locals are very friendly, I spend most of my time in the saddle shouting hello back and waving to the smiling faces that line the route.
My body is holding up well to the daily punishment of 5-7 hours in the saddle. I cant complain of any back, leg or neck pain (the common complaints of the cyclist) and I have no signs yet of saddle sores. My legs have grown stronger, leaner and fitter with every day and I can now cover great distance at speed if the need arises. The only serious health problem I can complain of is mosquitoes! During night 3 in Egypt I lay in a sleeping bag staying the night in a village mosque and they went completely to town on my face, I had over 100 bites on my right cheek alone! Due to this the right side of my face swole up to easily twice the size of the left and caused my right eye to close completely. My face has just about returned to its original dimensions but the surface of my right cheek will be a little scabby for a little while. I think the little blighters realized my purpose here wasn't to their advantage and decided on some revenge!
The bike has held up fairly well to the punishment I have put it through so far, all except the back wheel. Spokes have been snapping since day 4 and I have changed over a third of them by now, to make things worse the rear wheel rim has now started to break up and wont last a lot longer. Thanks to my local bike shop (Cycle Revolution in Ipswich) I will hopefully have some new parts sent out to Luxor in the next couple of days. This is essential due to what comes next:
The next month will see me finish Egypt at the southern town of Aswan before I take the ferry (the only allowed route) into Sudan. From the small town of Wadi Halfa it is a tough 1000km slog down to the capital Khartoum along dire roads through the baking dry heat of the Nubian desert. From Khartoum I head east into Ethiopia and will hopefully arrive into the Capital Addis Abeba around the end of the month from where I shall send my next update, wish me luck!
Thank you all for donating and/or spreading the word, so much has already been achieved. We are within a few percent of the preliminary fundraising target of 5000 pounds which is absolutely fantastic!! When this target is achieved the target will be set higher so please spread the word and lets see how much we can raise!
As always the website is www.wheresadam.net and the justgiving site is www.justgiving.com/adamwolley
Also my mobile number is 07590 840456 and I love receiving texts from home while im on the road and will respond where possible.
My dad recently said 'Africa is a harsh place yet you feel more alive there than anywhere else'. I couldn't agree more...
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