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Published: March 23rd 2010
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Arusha
Hard to believe, but it was more than a month ago now that I first left Nairobi and drove South to see the ‘Mad Max China Races’ in Arusha. After the exertions of Lake Turkana I had spent the previous week doing nothing more energetic than popping open bottles of Tusker beer and grilling steak. Pleasant as this was, I was getting restless. It was time to get moving again and on Friday 19 February I set off for Arusha, a drive of about 5 hours with an hour or so factored in to get through the border at Namanga.
The road out of Nairobi was potholed and bumpy but with wide views over thick, grassy savannah and scattered Acacia trees. Road-works were constant and the potholes were broken with intermittent inviting ribbons of smooth, black tar, which in turn gave out, without much warning, to long stretches of dusty dirt detours, each clogged with trucks and safari vehicles, themselves crammed with tourists. It was a fun ride though and despite the constant threat of rain from the building cumulous clouds all around I managed to stay dry all the way to Arusha.
The border crossing was
straightforward and as far as borders go, hassle free. There were a couple of very colourful, but rather forlorn looking local ladies selling jewelry but I was not in the mood to shop (like I ever am!) and even the hopeful tactic of leaving various rings and necklaces scattered on my bike and then running away, whereupon I would presumably realise that I suddenly couldn’t part with these treasures and would be happy to enter protracted negotiations to keep them (their direction of run having been well placed to put themselves between me and the exit you understand), didn’t induce me into a purchase. After about an hour of stamping carnets and returning unwanted rings, I got through and continued on the dirt/tar mix South.
It was a beautiful ride. From the road I was still too far West to see Kilimanjaro, but Arusha is located just South of Mount Meru and as the road came in from the North it bent West with the green slopes of Meru rising high on the left and rounded, rolling hills falling away into the brooding skies on the right. The clouds were really building now and dusk was falling, and I
still had very little idea exactly where I was going. I was due to spend the night and next few days with friends in Arusha, but never having been there before all I had was a very rough map jotted into my notebook and a local supermarket as a reference point. Luckily the supermarket was in my GPS and so with only 1 or 2 wrong turns I negotiated my way through the muddy back streets of town and arrived, just as the first heavy drops of rain were falling, at Per and Mirijam’s where I was warmly received and made to feel very much at home.
That weekend Per was putting on an MX event at the 1.3km dirt track he has built around his house on the outskirts of Arusha. Saturday was busy with race prep and I stayed pretty much out of the way, helping here and there where I could, but mostly just wandering about and watching the riders do their qualifying laps and practice jumps. Call me a coward, but I know my limits and they fall quite a long way below MX riding: I was not going to take part in the race.
I’m far too far from home and with far too many miles still to go, to risk a fall and major damage to me or my bike!
The Sunday was race day and it was a lot of fun just watching from the sidelines. The track and surrounds soon filled up with a chaotic mix of locals, riders and their families, trailers, bikes, and food and beer stalls. A mix of MX riders of various ages and skills from Arusha, Dar and Kenya made up the dirt bike classes, but the highlight and theme of the event was the ‘China class’, where locals on their imported Chinese 125cc road bikes got the chance to rip up some dirt: leaving bits of their bikes in broken heaps at the bases of the larger jumps, and generally providing the crowd with much amusement as they weaved and crashed their way around the course. There were a few bumps and bruises, as well as a memorable concussion when one of the young MX riders was forced into jumping the water hazard by an overtaking bike, hit the far lip hard with the front end, and didn’t quite manage to hold it together,
but otherwise no major injuries.
All in all it was a good spectacle and well worth the trip. I just wish I hadn’t eaten the chicken or bought that dodgy beer, or whatever it was that I ate or drank that day which left me and a good few others clutching their stomachs the following morning and groaning. In fact the Monday wasn’t so bad and although I felt a bit rough I thought I’d got lucky after hearing that some of the others had been up all night as their bodies did their best to get rid of whatever offensive food stuffs they’d eaten via both ends. My self-congratulations at my strong constitution were short lived however. The plan had been to leave the Tuesday morning and I packed the bike and got myself ready to go for about 11am. Just as I was leaving I started to feel a bit light headed and half an hour later I was persuaded to go have a lie down by Mirijam who settled me down in one of their outside rooms with instructions not to make any sudden moves until I felt better. 4 hours later I was fevered and
delirious and could barely walk straight as Mirijam packed me into a car and sent me off to a local clinic to get myself a malaria test.
How I managed to make it over the bumpy, rutted roads for the hour long drive into town without soiling myself I am not sure, but manage it I did and at 7pm that evening I was shivering in the muggy heat and feeling sorry for myself as the medic drew blood, took my stool sample and left me sitting about for an hour and a half to await the results. With only the hopeless SA soap opera ‘iGoli’ on the fuzzy black and white waiting room TV for company it was with considerable relief that I was eventually ushered back into the doctors room, there to be further relieved with the report that I was malaria free and instead suffering from a mild case of dysentery which could be handled with a brief dose of anti-biotics. So back to bed it was for me and there I stayed, being wonderfully pampered by Mirijam and Per’s hospitality until, feeling much recovered, I set off on Friday morning back to Nairobi to meet
up again with Marcel, family and fire truck.
To be continued. PS: I don't have the pics for this section at hand any more so those interested and with access to FB will have to check them out there.
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