Into the mud....

After a relaxing day in Kitale, drinking coffee and catching up on chores, it was high time to hit the road again. This day would mark new country day for us as we headed north west and over the border into Uganda. We had heard mixed reports about the road to the border ranging from “a bit sticky” to “impassable”, however we rode on. The ride out of town was a cyclist’s dream – 27 degrees with a cool breeze at our backs, rolling hills and perfect tarmac. This quickly changed however. Literally at a fork in the road, the tarmac disappeared and what lay ahead was 26km of rough, bumpy, dirt road. Even to call it a road is a gross exaggeration. The ruts and holes and bumps turned our pace into almost a walk. In fact, by the time we did reach the border, we’d covered 26km in almost 3 hours!

Rough Roads

The road less travelled however, always proves worthy. It was obvious that not too many white people venture this far out as we were swarmed with local kids at every stop asking where we were from and wanting to touch our white skin. Ben entertained them all as they ran alongside us with singalongs of “Hakuna Matada” and “bananas in pyjamas”. Some of the kids in fact, were so nimble on their feet, they had no problem running alongside us as we rode, sometime up to 15km/hr. The border crossing was almost comical – 5 dirty whitties sitting around a small shack filling in some arbitrary forms. Gareth was doing his best to help my passport situation (I have no blank pages left for visas) by dishing out fruit and nuts mix to the officers. It seemed to work, as we were all ushered over and into Uganda we rolled. The road ahead wasn’t much better though, in fact it disintegrated even further to the point that we were only able to cover 58km for the day in 4.5 hours riding before having to pull into a local police compound and set up camp for the night., the officers helping shoo away the local kids who tend to gather around our tents and stare at all the bewildering items and tasks we get up to. 

Locals helping Gareth with his tent

Dirt, dirt and more dirt

Eager to get going and push out the further 60km or so of dirt road before hitting tarmac, we immediately made terrible progress. The road kept getting worse and worse and we were averaging a pitiful 8km/hr as we barely held our heavy bikes on the road. We decided a break was in order so into a tiny village we pulled for our daily fix of rice and beans. As we ate, we decided to visit the adjoining primary school and say hello to all the kids who stared at us through the fence. We have never felt more like rock stars as the kids screamed and waved and tried as hard as possible to touch our white skin. Apparently, white people come through this road “maybe once a month” according to the schools’ headmaster, so the kids were extra excited when Ben did his impromptu singalongs and silly faces to the screaming kids.

Rock Stars

Ben entertaining the kids

 After the excitement of lunch however, we were greeted with a nice little rain shower. No big deal we thought, we’d ridden through worse, but the rain turned to dirt to mud – moreover sticky clay. Within 500m we were all off our bikes, clearing the mud from our wheels, brakes, mudguards….everywhere! Once rolling again, the clay would build up around the wheels rendering them impossible to spin. In the 3 hours after lunch, we’d covered all of 1km and were completely covered in the clay. It seems that in these parts, nobody drives, rides or goes anywhere after a rain as the road becomes literally impassable. Never have I been stopped on my bike through a road that is literally impossible to cycle on. The holes became crevasses; some puddles a foot deep and the clay impossibly sticky and slippery. The situation was quickly deteriorating as we had no food, barely any water and the road couldn’t even be driven on, so hitching a ride was out of the question too. You can imagine the collective mood between 5 people, tired, hungry, wet and completely powerless to move under our own steam for the first time this trip. So for the first time, we were defeated by the road and decided to set up camp at yet another police compound for the night, everyone soaking wet, filthy and altogether not too impressed with spending an entire day only to cover 23km. Getting to the police compound however was an adventure all in itself…with bikes rendered useless through the mud there was no way to move. As luck would have it, the first truck in hours drove by and after quick introductions, we realized it was being driven by a relatively famous Ugandan athlete who had competed in Melbourne Commonwealth games and was happy to help us. So 10 minutes later we had 5 bikes and gear loaded in and had it bound for the police compound a few kms away. We were to follow on foot……It wasn’t until we saw the truck disappearing up a hill that we had the shocking realization that we had just trusted a complete stranger with all our belongings and bikes. After a hasty discussion we thought there was only one option – give chase! If you can imagine the scene – a dusty, muddy little village quietly going about their business when 2 whitties started sprinting through town, barefoot, through the mud and pouring rain in hot pursuit of who we worried was a thief. After Ben and I started to tire up the hills, we heard a scream behind us – in comes Gareth on the back of a local motorbike, yelling in the direction of the truck! All was to end well though as the driver had in fact followed our request and we found him happily unloading our gear to our home for the night behind the police shack. 

The "road"

Mud mud and more mud

Tim clearing the clay

Recovering after the road of mud

After much hearty discussion with some locals (seems everyone has an opinion when it comes to roads and weather), it seemed that the road may or may not harden up the next day, and we were facing the fact that we may be stuck for a few days before we could cycle out. Begrudgingly, we decided the only way out was via a truck that was leaving in the morning and could carry us to tarmac, where we could clean up, free our bikes of the concrete like clay and continue our journey. Negotiating a ride however, was easier said than done. Gareth the negotiation master decided to take on the responsibility of getting a truck at fair price and after starting at 500,000 shillings, he’d managed to talk the driver down to 137,000 ($50), while continually reminding him that he had “taken all of our money and we won’t be able to eat for days”…for those who know Gareth, I am sure you can picture him in this situation!!!! So with handshakes done, we were ready to board our truck. Just when we thought we were to be heading for safety though, the driver informed us that he just needed to “get a few more things” to take to town while he was taking us…..so an hour later he returns to where we were waiting with the truck JAMMED full of empty beer crates, about 15 local men, faming tools and even a TV. Our empty truck was no longer, as it seemed that every man in the village was keen to transport their goods to town on the back of the white guys money. When another local man flagged the truck down and tried to throw a few more potato sacks on, that was the last straw. Gareth and I protested enthusiastically and stormed off with Gareth yelling at the man for being “the only man in East Africa to lie to us so far”. Keen on our cash though, the truck followed us and after a tense standoff, we managed to unload some of their goods and get just enough room for all 5 of us, our bikes and luggage and soon enough, we were bumping down the “road” towards the holy grail of tarmac. As much as none of us wanted to get on that truck and would have preferred to cycle, within a few minutes, we were pleased with our decision, as we saw multiple trucks off the side of the road, one 4x4 being pulled up through the mud by a cable and ten men and motorbikes sliding all over – it was clear that there was no way we would have made it through the clay on our bikes – well, not without carrying them anyway. 

Ben rocking "the shirt" in the truck

Our ride over the mud

4X4 getting pulled up a hill

So for 2 hours and 40 bumpy km, we were holding on in the back of this old truck, trying desperately not to fall out, while balancing on empty beer crates and trying to make sure our bikes made it in one piece. When we were deposited safely on the first piece of tarmac we had seen in days our spirits immediately lifted. A very quick 15km cycle and we pulled in for a well earned rest day in Sipi Falls – a breathtaking series of water falls on the West side of Mt Elgon where we would spend a day cleaning up, re fuelling, clearing mud off bikes and beings and running trails along the beautiful falls.

After only our second day off so far, we decided it was time to make up some ground lost in the mountains. With 200km between Sipi and our next “do some stuff” town of Jinja, we decided to gun it over 2 days. Straight away we descended out of the mountains and picked up some free km’s down hills as Gareth notched the highest top speed of the trip at 70.4km/hr….pretty soon however, the few days on bumpy roads started to take their toll on the bikes. Thus far, we have been relatively lucky on the maintenance front, with only my tires causing any real issues. Today however, our luck turned. It started when Gareth’s rack decided to self destruct and split. As far as problems go, this is a fairly serious one given that the rack carries all your gear! However, a few tent pegs, electrical tape and zip ties later, we were back on the road…..for now…..not 20km later however, Ben’s rear wheel decided to start throwing spokes, then Hayley’s tyre decided to puncture just for fun! 

Gareth impromptu rack - electrical tape and tent pegs!

Awesome camp at Sipi falls

We recovered well though and knocked out over 100km for the day before setting up camp behind a wonderful families house, where Gareth, Tim and I joined the community at the local well, pumping water for a well-earned wash. Another 95km day and we have arrived in Jinja where we will rest for a day or 2 as we explore the area, set up camp and maybe do a spot of bungee jumping at the local adventure resort. Given that we have cycled over 10 hours in the last 2 days in 39 degree heat, continuously having to take “suncream breaks”, we figure we have earned it!

Ben doing it tough at Sipi