Motomonkey Makes An Appearance On Sidestand Up

This Tuesday night (EST) Im going to be featured on "Sidestand Up".
I will be catching the regular listeners up with what's been happening to me from Sudan (where I last spoke with Tom) and talk about my latest engine disaster! 

You can listen to the show, which starts at 8pm (EST) to 9:30pm (EST) live through their website.

Want to know what time that will be where you are? Go to this site and confirm your times.  
If you miss it live then, check out this link where you can either listen to it or download it.

I hope you enjoy listening for me! 

'I helped MOTOMONKEY go forward' t-shirt

*Limited Edition*
'I helped MOTOMONKEY go forward' t-shirt

With the cost of a new crankshaft assembly and labour being my main problem, I thought it would be quite fitting, to make a limited edition t-shirt showing a hand drawn sketch of an exploded view of the crankshaft assembly, with the caption "I helped MOTOMONKEY go FWD" 

This is the design of the t-shirt, it comes in black for light coloured shirts or white for the darker coloured shirts.

Click here to find your favourite t-shirt style, colour and size.

Thanks you so much for supporting me! 

Danielle ♥

Bring On Nai–Robbery!

Long before we hit the outer city ring of Nairobi we were already crammed between hundreds of cars travelling at five kilometres per hour. This was going to be a killer for the bike. I could not only feel the temperature rising from under my motorcycle gear, I could feel the heat rising from beneath me. I wanted to look for a faster way through the traffic but I didn’t have the directions to the infamous Jungle Junction camp site plus I wasn’t on my own, I had to think about the two other motorcyclists.

Lane splitting and footpath riding works well when you’re on your own or only have one in tow. I remember back to when Frank (German overlander) and I drove into Indonesia. We also followed his GPS, but we worked as a team to inch forward in the tangled mess of the Jakarta traffic. I have a feeling this won’t work with these two guys. One might follow but the other would end up sitting back and waiting it out.  I couldn’t help but try a few simple traffic leaps.

Spotting a narrow dirt verge I took it to avoid sitting behind a bus bellowing charcoal coloured clouds heading straight for my helmet. Watching in my rear vision mirror, I see the other two following. This is good, despite their religious efforts to never ride on dirt again! Heaven ends and we are back in the queue of traffic, but this time behind a new 4x4. I needed another escape route.  I spotted one on the far side of all the traffic. The guys thought I was crazy, but I knew what the trick was.

Crossing the Equator just north of Nairobi! I was forced to fly over the equator the first time, so for me this is an achievement and also feeling like I'm back in my part of the world again! 

Standing on my foot pegs, I make eye contact with each driver, mouthing “Jumbo Brother, Can I go in front of you?”  A massive smile breaks across their faces when they realise I’m a woman and then they nod vigorously. A few minutes later a path has been opened up for us and we jump to take the chance to inch not only forward but across the traffic.  We repeat this action until we are sitting next to the foot path, where I had seen a bus lane under construction. We followed a stream of traffic that already had the same idea as me. But something was wrong, the troublesome bike was becoming more and more stroppy.

We had already stopped a few times earlier that day to clean the sparkplug, but now this wasn’t even working. His bike was just backfiring all the time and it couldn’t just sit and idle anymore. The accelerator had to be constantly fondled. This was becoming a joke, with my bike starting to overheat and not being able to trust his bike to leave the safety of the footpath, just in case it broke down.  We re-grouped and decided this was rediculous. We all needed to get out of the traffic.

We forged a plan that meant we had to cross the river of cars and trucks once again. Performing my Moses trick, I got us cross to the centre, so we could take the first right that appeared. That first right never appeared. We shouldn’t have left the safety of that footpath. The wheezing bike stalled and wouldn’t start again. The Moses trick had to be performed for a third time, this time one bike was pushed back, but we had lost our safety net and had to park our bikes right outside a bristling second hand market.

With the bikes lined up tire to tire, without a gap in between, two of us stood staunch at either end of the line of bikes, watching all three and the luggage with eyes like eagles.  Nairobi has a second name amongst the travellers, Nai-robbery. This was a name I wasn’t hoping to experience. One of the guys ran off into the middle of the crawling traffic and flagged down any pickup truck passing by try to arrange a ride for the last ten kilometres to Jungle Junction. 

I stood fascinated with the market proceeding around me. All the young local men trying to flatter me by attempting to sell me a pair of size 6 skinny jeans! You’re got to be crazy, I’ve never been that skinny! It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by the local women asking me questions about my travels, my country and of course my brother. When they found out he was in his early twenties, unmarried and had a job, they all asked me if they could marry him and move to New Zealand. I also had a few marriage proposals by  young cheeky guys, but  I sadly told them, they had better go and talk to both my husband’s over there, pointing to the two guys I was travelling with.  Two husbands! You could hear the murmur travel down the market street, over the roar of the traffic.

Thanks guys, for pretending I’m your wife! I know it’s unfair to lie to people, but you do get kind of tired of the same questions. After awhile, you start to change your story and make things up just for a giggle during helmet time. I don’t think I’ve ever lied as much in my entire life. I’ve even started to surprise myself with what I can pull from thin air when I’m under pressure. This wasn’t one of those times but I did want to be left alone, and I was getting tired of explaining that marriage doesn’t mean you can live in New Zealand. 

I had upper class women speaking perfect English, young girls studying,  one who worked in the market selling clothing and accessories and a couple of street cleaners with a bag of rubbish over their shoulders, all approach me. I was in my element, this is what I hope to achieve when travelling. Travelling was changing for me, it had been since Pakistan, but I hadn’t fully realised it until now. It’s nice to visit the world wonders like the Pyramids of Giza but it’s more magical and full filling meeting the people living their daily lives. I was so caught up in talking to the local women I hardly noticed that the wheezing bike was loaded onto a pickup truck and was ready to take us to Jungle Junction.

With the help of the guard from the apartments next door, we found a gate set back off the street with only a monkey spray painted on the metal gates. Tooting, we were greeted by the campsites' guard and welcomed in. After parking my bike, I looked around and was overwhelmed with the amount of trucks, 4x4’s and motorcycles parked there. One small group of overlanders were enjoying a beer outside their landrover. Approaching them, I asked if they could give us a hand to get the bike off the pickup.

Tired, worn out, but happy to have finally reached Jungle Junction in Nairobi! A slice of paradise, a place to get up-to-date information about the route south to Cape Town,  a place to fix your vehicles, a place to rest, a place to use the internet once again but more importantly a city to shop in. Nairobi is the first developed city I have been to since Turkey. I knew I was going to enjoy just going to a supermarket and choosing what kind of shampoo I want, instead of being forced to take anything available. 

Jungle Junctions Main Gates - Now you know why you can not find it too easily in the dark and you would have no hope without a GPS! 

Until You Hit The Asphalt

I froze as I climbed out of my tent in the morning. Staring at my bike I was completely shocked into silence. My bike looks like shit. What happened? Oh yeah I was forced to load it onto an overloaded truck last night, and endure a 6 hour ride crammed in like sardines on top of sacks of cumin ready for sale at the market. It seemed like a dream to me and I kind of wished it was! Leaving Moyale at 8 am and arriving at Marsabit at mid-night! It should have only taken nine hours to ride that distance.

When I left Australia 18 months ago, I had left with a beautiful bike. One that was clean, tidy and where white, was actually white! Now, my bike has undergone 18months of sun, sand, dirt and now a truck ride that has done more damage to my bike in six hours than I have ever done to all my bikes I’ve ever owned put together! Before I even think about it, before I start to freak out, I need to take a leak or I’ll have to do some extra washing I wasn’t predicting.

After my breakfast, after checking my emails, after a walk around the village I come back to my bike and take another look at it. Noting all the things that had changed or broken on my poor baby. Tail light was nearly snapped off and the wires going to the tail light had broken . Number plate numbers has nearly scraped off. Alternator cover has been scraped. One front indicator has been snapped off. One mirror lock nut has snapped. The other mirror top ball joint casing has a huge crack in it. One handle bar grip is nearly ripped off. Another thing I noticed was a few really deep gouges at the back of my engine, where the swing arm attaches onto. The only thing I could think of was a huge stone got in there somehow and then got stuck between the engine and swing arm while I was riding along yesterday.

Parachute houses, it seemed like all the houses were  built like this. I took a peek into this house and discovered it was just a empty kitchen with one gas cooker and nothing else. 

None of this was anything major, it was just annoying little things that makes my life a little harder. I started to straighten everything up. The two guys came along to help me repair my bike, as they felt like it was their fault our bikes were in such bad shape (Their bikes were in a really bad condition especially the last bike to be loaded). One guy took my indicator bracket off to be cut down to fit back on my bike but just a little shorter. The other guy pulled out a pipe clamp and fixed it onto my mirror to make it useable once again. I fiddled around and got my tail light straightened out but I’ll wait until Nairobi to fix the wiring. After a couple of hours, my bike was fixed up but looked still shabby and a bit Frankenstein-ish.

The Teacher on the broken limping bike. 

The Mechanic, the amazing rider who wanted to come with me on my whole trip.

I sat down with an expat girl who was trying to find a lift out to Lake Turkana with her friend.  We got chatting, and I ended up telling her all about what had happened yesterday at the Moyale border.  As I told the story, her and her friends eyebrows started to rise in surprise. ‘Do you know that in Northern Kenya, they are not bias to crowd prosecution?’ ‘No’ I replied completely taken back, now fully understanding the seriousness to the situation yesterday and how lucky we all were. Later that day, I quietly tell the others what I learnt. ‘I’m glad you told me, sometimes I can get out of hand!’ Don’t I already know that! I thought to myself

The guys were adamant to never set foot on another dirt road. I was adamant never to go on a back of a pickup truck unless I or my motorcycle was damaged. They had spent the day trying to organise a truck to the asphalt 100km south of Marsabit. They ended up finding two young guys to ride their bikes. One was a mechanic and the other was a teacher /guide, and also a friend of two Americans we met on the truck to Marsabit who use to live in a small village not far from where the asphalt starts.

The  Mechanic and I 

I was to ride with these guys, but I said to the owners of the bikes ‘I will ride with them, but by no means am I responsible for your bikes or your gear. If they decide to turn off the main road and drive down a dusty dirt road, I’m not following!’ They agreed I won’t be responsible for their bikes.

As it turned out, I did follow the guys down a small dusty road to a small village. But not because I thought they were about to steal the motorcycles, but because I was having so much fun with these two guys. They were not only a mechanic and a teacher but two amazing riders, with great sense of humour and huge hearts! I followed them down this dusty road, lined with rocks or you wouldn’t have known it was a road. We arrive at two buildings sitting in a large empty field. Children come running out to greet us, the teachers struggle to round them back up and shove them back through the doors into the classrooms. Two stayed behind. They were the teacher’s children and he hadn’t seen them in over a month.  A moment I had to capture.

One of the Drivers and his children out side the school.

The sick bike broke down several times, and the teacher who was riding it struggled to keep the revs up high enough to wobble through the deep sandy sections. I was extremely sick to death of this bike, but also extremely proud of the teacher to be able to get the heavy thing through the sand without falling off. We arrived at the meeting point, where the two others were waiting for us. They had passed us riding on the public bus while we were trying to fix yet another problem on one of the bikes.

The two Dutch guys jump on the two locals overwhelming them with questions all about the ride, the bike and if they had any problems. I interrupted and asked if they wanted a cold drink and something to eat. I was annoyed. The two Dutch guys were not showing any gratitude to the two locals. I silently wished I that I was continuing on with the two local guys. My attention got turned towards the two Americans I had met on the truck. They had just introduced me to an elder in the village and shown me a picture of him when he was in his 30’s. Wow, I felt so honoured at meeting such a distinguished man that obviously meant so much to the American couple. They were about to walk for two days up a dry river bed to a village where they had spent many years living just after university.

Me, and My bike! 

I just can not get over how beautiful Northern Kenya is like.

Driving off on the boring smooth asphalt, I realised I should have asked if I could have joined them. An opportunity to visit a rural village, staying in a local traditional hut, with men and women dressed in little cloth but weighed down in layers of beads around their necks, arms and ankles. I too wanted to dress up in the local clothing,  that is, until I passed a woman exposing her sagging breast! Oh well, it was a missed opportunity. I hope I will never repeat that again. 

Not Paying For Fuel = Bad Karma

For days now, I’d been wondering where the four Australian cyclists were, hoping I would get to pass them once again and have my dose of Australian humour. Just like last time, I met them on entering Moyle Township. Passing the two guys I’m travelling with I overtook the cyclists, laughing! A cheer erupts and we all pulled off the road to have a chat. I hadn't seen these guys since Sudan and was keen to find out if they had been keeping up the massive daily kilometres in this mountainous country. They were about to celebrate their third country of the trip with an honorary beer at the next bar. That sounded like a perfect idea, we decided to join them.

The three of us decided to go and find a place to stay and wait for the others to catch up. Following the GPS directions to the camp site, we navigated through the town, crossed a bridge, but suddenly everyone jumped up and started yelling at us from all sides! Then the traffic started to come directly at us. What was going on? Just as I was thinking this, I clicked. We had just crossed the border! We were now inside Kenya.  Quickly turning around we see the Australians entering customs, laughing at us.  

 The border crossing was by far the easiest I’ve come across in months! Passport stamped in seconds, customs only took a couple of minutes because I stole a chair and placed a sticker alongside all the other overlanders mark – kind of like a dog marking its territory.  The Kenyan side was just as good we were done in minutes. No bribe, no taxes and no hassles just good old smiles and a whole lot of jokes!

We found the nicest hotel in the city. I spent more money than I was hoping but I did want a nice shower and a comfortable bed. The other option was staying for free at the police station where they only supplied a long drop toilet. It was sure nice to be in some sort of comfort for one night even though I couldn’t get the hot water to work.

We discovered that all the cars and trucks leave as early as possible in the morning to make it to the next big town during day light hours. We would follow suit and travel in the daily convoy with everyone else. I don’t like to leave people behind when you make a plan, but I felt as if the Germans hadn’t made an attempt to catch up with us. Even after receiving a message they would be there in two days, I still felt guilty when we decided to leave them behind.

In the past few countries I’ve tried very hard to make sure I fill up with petrol before leaving a country and exchanging any left over money. I did manage to exchange money despite the one of the guys telling the exchange guys to go away and leave us alone. I cherrily asked ‘hey brother, before you go, what’s your exchange rate?’ I agreed to the rate and changed all my Ethiopia money except a few small notes and coins I wanted to keep for memories. One of the guys followed suit! I couldn’t believe it, after he told the guy to sod off he’s now interested in exchanging money!

In the excitement of meeting the Australians and getting confused with the border, we didn’t fill up with petrol before we crossed over. In the morning, we discovered that was a bad move. The locals were trying to charge us three times the price of petrol in any other city. Angry, we discuss with the police what the price should be. We returned with better knowledge and bargaining power. We screwed the price down to 180 Kenya shillings (KSH) ($1.80??? USD) from 300 ksh.

We rode over to the corrugated shed that also sold bananas, and all began to fill up. I finished first, only requiring 10 litres. I paid the money at the agreed price and waited for the others to finish.  One guy finished behind me but the guy filling his bike decided he wanted to change the price back. I did a quick calculation, the money he gave him was slightly too much so I stood on my pegs, standing taller than the crowd surrounding us and yelled at my team member to just forget the change, just drive away.

The guy in front of me was the last to finish. I waited patiently for him to finish so I could also drive away from the crowd of people. We move away from everyone, but for some reason the crowd was angry and were following us. I parked my bike outside the surging angry group of locals forming around the last guy to fill up. I ask the other guy (who has a helmet intercom with the other guy) ‘what happened?’

‘He was angry at them for ripping us off and decided he shouldn’t have to pay, you and I paid enough for everyone.’

‘What?’ I asked again – I couldn’t believe my ears ‘We agreed to the price, we should pay the price.’

Lucky for him the army stepped in and helped to mediate the situation. I sat on my bike, engine running. Did he forget we are in a dangerous area? I was fuming, why was he not only putting himself in danger, but all of us and especially because I had decided to join the group for safety - not to get into more trouble! 

The guy paid the money, but the other guy in the group was quick to realise he paid way too much and followed the petrol guy back to his shop and demanded the money back. Again the army followed, he had his money returned to him. Now, they were both angry at the guy for being dishonest. This was becoming a bit of a joke, I thought to myself sitting on my bike off to one side. He pays the guy once again, and the army told us to just go, get the hell out of here. I bet they were wondering what the hell they had stepped into too.

We drove off, over some beautiful dirt road, lined with low line scrubby bush. Excited by the scenery I danced closely behind the leader. Slow down Danielle, what happens if he comes off and I am forced to drive over the top of him! Slowing down, I struggle to keep to that low 40km an hour pace. We enter into a village, one that lacked people. Everyone had gone during the rebel uproar. Some houses were boarded up, some the wind  blew the curtains out through the empty window frames.

Just as we were about to leave the eerie place we were stopped at a police check point. I looked around me and couldn’t help feeling a shiver run up my spine. No one but the police, a handful of locals and us in this village, anything could happen. I stop just a motorcycle length back from the guys, just enough to hear what was happening but enough to say I’m not with them. I cannot believe it, this isn’t who I am. I swore to myself I will never leave people if we agree to travel together.  Now, after the petrol incident, I’m thinking of breaking my own rule and ditching these guys on my first chance.

‘Go back to Moyale’ the army officer bellowed at one of the guys
‘Why?’ He relied
‘You haven’t paid for the petrol’
What? I thought. ‘I thought he had paid for the petrol?’ looking at his brother

‘He didn’t pay the whole amount after the guy ran off with more money then he should have’.

You have to be kidding, that was his fault – I really wanted to say this out loud but I bit my tongue and kept it to myself, lets watch and see how this pan’s out but meanwhile it just got worse.

‘What are you looking at?’ called one of the locals
‘What fucker?’ called back my first team member
‘Did you just call me fucker? You’re the only fucker around here!’
‘Ok, that’s enough!’ said the army officer
‘He’s the fucker around here, didn’t even pay for his petrol’
Please drop this. I thought to myself, these two get really angry really quickly.

‘You must return to Moyale to pay for the fuel’ the officer said, trying to get into control of the situation.

‘Look, I’ll give you the 400 KSh to give to the guy, would that be ok?’

Radioing back to Moyale, he conferred with his superior, who told him it would be fine. He paid the money and we could carry on.

This actually reminds me of Mongolia! Heart pounding, I can feel excitement tingle through my body

We continued along the dirt road, stopping occasionally to take a short break or fix something on one of the big bikes. Then finally we reached the half way point! We took a longer break and two of us ate some local food. I frowned at the one who didn’t eat anything. ‘You should eat something, a banana, biscuits – just something to keep your energy up’

‘I’ll be ok, I’m feeling fine’. I shake my head, remembering when I use to think like that back on my first trip and getting absolutely exhausted, finding myself getting lost in the Cambodian jungle and falling off at a drop of a hat. This is going to be a fun afternoon!

Sitting on the leaders tail isnt going to make him go faster. I stopped to take this picture to hopefully gain some distance between us - it turned out that I made up the distance quite quickly and was once again on his tail. 

We left the village with 90kms to Marsibit, a good size village with a few guesthouses. The large overloaded trucks were still passing us. I couldn't seem to push the group to move a bit faster and in the afternoon heat, I could feel my bike starting to cook. Now, we had to stop every hour to let my bike cool down. I just wish we could travel just a bit faster and we shouldn’t have to do this. Then something happened, it was like a switch that someone turned on...

I had the front guy falling off his bike in front of me, I looked in the rear mirror to make sure I wasn’t about  to be crashed into if I stopped, to find the guy behind me is falling off. With the guys swearing about the shitty road, we lift the bikes back upright and carry on. But a few meters on another one hits the ground and then again! This was becoming ridiculous! Then they gave up. Sitting in the dirt, under our bikes for some sort of shade, they refused to move an inch more.

Looking up the road I could see a flat area off to one side of the road with a couple of guys working in the fields with a truck. I suggested we drive 5kms down there and ask if they can take the bikes to Marsibit. They refused. No, we will stay until a truck passes. Taking a walk around I couldn’t find even a slightly cleared spot to set up the tents if we ended up camping the night. One guy suggested we could light a fire to keep the hyenas away – I shake my head again and said we will have a serious situation then, the whole desert would be on fire with this super dry grass and this strong wind.

And this is where it all ended, here on the side of the road. I'm completely gutted I couldn't ride the rest of the way. 

After two hours of sitting and waiting, a truck finally arrives. I sat back and let the guy negotiate the price for the bikes to be loaded on. I refused to go on the back of a truck but they refused to let me travel on my own. With my arm twisted, I got my bike loaded onto the truck first, it was a good thing I did because, when the second bike went on, I could hear things breaking. When the third bike got loaded, everyone could hear metal breaking along with the plastic windscreen. I winced, wondering how my bike is going to hold up to this over the next 60kms.

We arrived into Marsibit at midnight. The bikes got unloaded, I didn’t even bother to look at the damage in the dark, I pitched my tent and let the guys (for once) arrange food and some beer before hitting the sack. Tomorrow, I said to the guys, I’m taking a day off. I need to sort out my bike and just relax a bit. They agreed we all needed a day off and a good sleep in.  

Exploding Spark Plugs

We left fairly early the next morning. I’m not sure if it's a good idea knowing from previous experience of German overlanders morning schedule. But on the other hand I was happy to be travelling with morning people. People who like to get up and get moving early – so we can either enjoy the sights along the way or stop in plenty of time to unwind at the end of the day.

Not before too long, the sick limping bike decides to cut out completely. We all park our bikes on a nice wide piece of road verge and pull the cap of the spark plug off. Something drops. Looking down on the ground we find a long piece of metal.  Hummm, that looks like the inside of a spark plug!

Sure enough, when we took the spark plug out it was missing the inside steel piece. I just hoped for the owner of the bike that none of it went inside the engine to the piston head or we are going to have more trouble on our hands. He replaced the spark plug with a spare one and we set off once again, hoping to find a mechanic in the next village. We found a mechanic, and sure enough, they take one look at the spark plug and say, here is the problem! Walking off to get us all a cold drink, I laughed to myself. This was becoming ridiculous.

This was a calm village where only a couple of people came out  to see us. 

We know the spark plug is a symptom but not the cause of the problem. But anyway, they trusted this mechanic to fix the problem while I went with one of the guys to sit on the main road incase the Germans drove straight past us. 

While we were waiting, two of us went to withdrawal money from the ATM. But their MasterCard wouldn’t work, and the guy got angry at the security guard, asking why the machine says it will accept MasterCard but actually in practice it doesn't. I managed to withdrawal money and loaned some to them.

Thanking the guards as I left, the guy turns to me and asks ‘why thank him, he didn’t help us at all! My card still doesn’t work.’  Quietly fuming to myself, but trying to keep my words from sounding harsh, I couldn’t help myself and spit out ‘It’s not his fault the machine doesn’t accept your card, he’s just the security guard. It’s the banks fault but overall, not many countries around the world accept MasterCard!’ 

A few hours later, the bike was running better for the time being and we hit the road once again. We drove on and on. I wondered if we somehow missed the Germans and they were now in front of us. But as the kilometres slipped past, I realised they were in fact still behind us and as more kilometres slipped past, the distance between the two groups increased and my hope of ever joining up faded.

Another pretty sane village - I even trusted my helmet and gloves on the bike while eating lunch!

Just on dusk at a small village we stopped and found a local hotel and restaurant. Obviously they only had traditional food and I ordered a simple fried meat dish called ‘Tibs’ with Ingeria. Finally I got approvals for the food from both sides as the beer slipped down our throats and we can rest our tired bodies. 

This is the true Ethiopian reception! We ended up having someone with a stick to take care of the bikes while we had coffee and a donut! 

Just before I fell asleep, I finally got a text message to say the Germans just arrived into the town we got the bike fixed in... This convoy wasn’t really working. They were not keeping up or not leaving earlier enough...

Spicy Food, Strange People

One must be careful when deciding who to travel with. For the last year and a half I have been mainly on my own. I do join other overlanders, but it’s always been because we have enjoyed each others company not because I have to.  Until now. On my way down to Addis Ababa, I met two German motorcyclists who had informed me about the rebel fighting going on in and around Moyale (Ethiopia and Kenya border)and how the army had just moved in to help diminish the problem. 

Just when I was wondering what to do and how to approach the area, an opportunity rose to join other overlanders and create a convoy to travel through the area. I decided to leap on board eyes wide shut and travel with two German campers (people I had met back in Egypt while waiting for the boat to Sudan) and two other motorcyclists that I had spoken to for only a few minutes the day before leaving. This was actually meant to be a treat! Oh, how wrong could I be!

The motorcyclist and campervans split up right from the word go. This was understandable, since we with motorcycles can travel a lot faster and easier in and around traffic, but we made a plan to meet up every night. First stop wasn't too far from Addis, an overlanders camp ground beside a beautiful lake. This meant we (the motorcyclists) could take it easy and take plenty of breaks for coffee, food and photos. The day rolled out pretty uneventfully, well, except for me learning a few fast and hard lessons about who I’m actually travelling with.  Before the day was out, I started to form a picture in my mind.

Stopping for lunch in a small village along the main road, I asked what everyone wanted to eat so I could go and order it. But my team mates had never tried local food despite being in Ethiopia for over two weeks!  I gave them a crash course in Ethiopia cuisine and ordered my favourite spicy meat dish piled on top of the slightly sour oversized pancake called ingeria. I  then showed them how rip off a piece of ingeria and gather a bit of meat mixture and place it in their mouth without making too much mess. One followed suit but using his left hand. “I don’t mind if you use your ass wiping hand to eat your food but IF your been invited into a family’s house for dinner then only use your right!” laughing. He quickly swapped hands and continued to try to eat the dish which turned out to be too spicy for him and he gave up eating after a few mouth full’s.

One motorcycle had an issue, one that had been ongoing since they left home. When I heard it back firing and consistently spluttering I figured that there was something wrong with the air and fuel mixture in a carburettor. I quietly made the suggestion, but I’m no expert, it just something I would have looked into long before now. The rider responded that a lot of mechanics had checked it out and never found the problem. They just kept on blaming it on the spark plug and replacing it. He was just waiting for Jungle Junction (another well known overlanders camp in the heart of Nairobi that also has a workshop) where Chris can work his magic and finally sort out the problem. However that’s over 1000kms away with 300kms of really bad and dangerous gravel road in between!  I wonder how this is going to pan out?

It was around 3pm when we arrived at the pre-arranged meeting point. The driveway into the camp site was riddled with bull dust and deep sand patches. After northern Ethiopia, this was no real challenge for me, but I had enough sense to hang back and let the guys go first and let the dust (so to speak of) settle on at least one or the other trapped under their heavy over loaded motorcycles, crying out for help. Surprise, surprise... Every time, I leapt of my bike and helped them out.  For the first couple of times (each), I laughed at them but then it got a bit tiresome and they started to get grumpy. So I couldn't help wonder – is this what it would be like if I was to ever do motorcycle tours and didn't know the people or their abilities beforehand??

It was a good time to slowly set up camp in the best spot and to walk down to the resort and have a sunset beer on the shores of the lake. We were pretty happy until I received a phone call from the German side of the convoy team. “What’s it like where you are?” I told them of the nasty expat owner and of the limited faculties for the price he charges. They responded with “We have decided to stop 20km down the road and have a look at the national park, why don’t you came and join us” The three of us sat, there slightly bitter – we would have liked to have done that too, but we had already paid and set up our tent for the night at the location we had all agreed to only a few hours ago in Addis. Again my brain was wondering how well this convoy was going to work when we really needed to be together and work together. This was indeed going to be a trying few days with a team that was already falling apart within a few hours of starting out!  

This is the day of wondering. Wondering what I was doing with these people? Wondering how I was going to cope over the next few days? Wondering why a group of likeminded people cannot even stick to a simple plan? So many thoughts, so many worries about what the next few days is going to bring me. For now I have to shove those thoughts away and drift off to sleep, I'm going to need all energy and patience I can get. 

Information, Visa and Insurances In Addis Ababa

Dieter, Juliana and I left Lake Hayk together but we didn’t arrive into Addis Ababa together.  It was a pity because with my lack of a GPS, I wouldn’t be able to find Wims Holland's house, a typical overlanders camp ground in the heart of Ethiopia’s capital. Pulling out my printed guide book, I found yet another place that had been recommended. I lost Dieter and Juilana when I stopped to chat to two German motorcyclists just before a small town called Dessie.

Normally there is a protocol to stop and get any news or tips for the direction you’re heading in from anyone who is travelling in the opposite direction. Since these two German guys were about to cross into Sudan, I told them where to change money, get fuel and what the road conditions were like. They in turn were able to give me up to date information on the main border crossing between Ethiopia and Kenya.

They explained to me that there had been some rebel shooting in the last week and about 40 locals died in the cross fire. Villages had been emptied out and now it was like driving through an eerie dead area. This wasn’t the news I was after. Originally I had planned to slowly make my way down to the border hoping to meet an overlander in a big truck to try the Lake Turkana route with.

The Lake Turkana route would have been extremely tough route to take on my own. I would be driving over melon sized boulders, through deep sand, which I’m not very confidant with, plus I would have had to carry at least an extra 25 litres of fuel with me.  With the extra weight, and the remoteness of where I would be driving through, I was forced to team up with an overland truck. The flip side to this is I would be driving through areas untouched by tourism and communities still with their primal traditional settings and values.  If I don’t succeed in finding a travel buddy for Lake Turkana, I would carry on alone to cross at Moyale despite the rebel fighting.

In the morning, after I arrived into Addis, I was sitting in the sun enjoy a late easy breakfast in the garden when Dieter walks in. Hugging him, I quickly apologise for losing them and I hope they didn’t wait around for me somewhere. But that wasn’t the case. They had stopped in Dessie to exchange money when they saw me zoom past them. I didn’t even see the monster truck parked there, somehow it just blended in!

Dieter was dropping in to see if I wanted to join them for a convoy through the Moyale border and to get my Kenyan visa here in Addis. It was well known that you’re able to get the visa on the border but we wanted to have a smooth quick crossing, so everyone wass getting their visa beforehand. Grabbing my passport and spare US cash I leap in the taxi with them and head to the embassy.

My Kenyan Visa

After filling in the usual visa form, handing over $50 USD and a passport size photo of myself, Dieter and Juliana take me to where I can organise a COMESA (or commonly known as yellow card in Africa). The yellow card should take some hassle out of crossing borders and not having to pay extra on the border for each country I enter into. This card takes all the hassle out of it and it covers several countries and lasts for 6 months for only $20! After filling out all the paper work, and paying my money to the cashier, I came back to hand the first guy my receipt when he told me to come back in one hour, it was lunch time. 

I knew from watching Dieter and Juliana go through the process that I only had another two minutes and I would be out of there with my insurance but instead I had to sit there and wait for everyone to return back from lunch. An hour later and two minutes I was finally finished and heading back to my guesthouse to wash my petrol tank out and maintain my chain.

The COMESA insurance I'm required to have for the next 6 months.

Two days later, Dieter and Juliana with their big truck, another young German couple in a camper van, two other motorcyclist and I are standing at the gates of Wims Holland's house ready to make a slow convoy to the Moyale border. Dieter, Juliana and I might not arrived into Addis together but we can sure leave together!

Birds, Birds, Birds, sorry not the ones in bikinis!

After a morning service at Lalibella main stone church, Dieter and Juliana take the lead and chug their massive tank of a truck back down the mountain to the main road. Pulling this old super truck through the mountains ranges at an average of 2500m above sea level is quite difficult. At times Dieter would throw the old girl into first and then tether between first and second to chug up a steep section of the road. Cruising at 15 kilometres per hour I couldn’t hover behind them anymore and would quickly accelerate and pull in front,and within seconds I had lost them behind my small dust trail.

Dieter and Juliana's truck coming up the hill.

I’ve learnt from previous experiences when travelling with a camper you need to stick behind them or you quickly get excited and forget they cannot travel as fast. So, at the top of a hill, I would stop and take out my camera and be ready for when they arrived.

The Grandmother of these kids came out of the hut and asked for medicine to fix her blind eyes.  I tried to explain that's part of getting old and no medicine could help. 

While standing next to my bike waiting for Dieter and Juliana to arrive, I would promptly have a few locals come up to me with their cows and donkeys and start asking for birr (money) once again. I was so fed up with one particular kid asking for money, pens or clothing, I picked up his foot and removed one of his sweaty plastic shoes and stuck it under the elastic cargo net I had on the back of my bike. Pretending I forgot about it, I would carry on taking photos or talking to the locals, this would temporarily confuse the child and gave me the effect I was after, silence.

It wasn’t long before he would work up some courage and under my watchful eye, work his shoe loose from the elastic net. When Dieter finally arrived, I would move on closely behind them, trying hard to keep out of the billowing dust cloud that the four monster wheels would kick up.

Here is just some of the people I was talking too, including the boy in front who's shoe I took.

Passing through the large town of Wolida, I as usual, have to stop for petrol. The first place I came to only sold Diesel. The second petrol station had run out of petrol and the third one had just filled up the last tuk tuk. This is a huge town surely someone must have a few litres of black-market fuel. Sure enough a boy comes running over to me. ‘You want Benzin? You want Benzin?’ ‘Yes’ I replied ‘how much per litre?’ Now the standard rate at the petrol station is 20 birr per litre ($1.25 USD), on the black-market you can normally get it for around 25 birr per litre ($1.50 USD) so when the boy said ‘30birr ($1.80 USD)’ I was shocked. I laughed and said ‘I’ll take 10 litres at 25 birr, no more! It’s the usual black-market price’. The boy laughs back and said ‘No, 30 birr’, shrugs his shoulders and walks back to his spot in the shade. Damn you guys for trying to rip off foreigners. I looked behind me and saw I was still carrying 4L of fuel in my fuel bladder. Perfect, at least I don’t have to support their exorbitant fees and am able to carry on for at least another 100km.

I had been given a tip about a camp site on the shores of Lake Hayk. Driving down to the shore in search of the camp site we passed a stream of cars kicking up dust into my face. I couldn’t shut the visor as it was already caked in a thick layer, I just had to bear dust slapping my face and takeing the occasional mouth full.

I was beginning to wonder what I had suggested to Dieter and Juliana, but they seemed pretty keen to carry on. Arriving at the end of the road, we just stopped the vehicles and stared at birds as tall as me, congregating on the shores of the most beautiful lake. Wow, the tip paid off and here we were in the heart of a bird sanctuary and the wedding party had just left, hence why we passed so many cars coming into this area.

We nestled the big truck and my motorcycle down by the shores of the lake and I pitched my tent in the dark. I woke in the morning to the sounds of the fishermen checking their nets before heading out on a boat made from reeds lashed together with a bit of rope, to try and set their nets in a semi circle before chasing the tiny fish into the enclosure. Apparently the boats become water logged after a couple hours, therefore they have to return to shore and let the boats dry out before trying again tomorrow. 

As soon as the fishermen had finished, we sat down at Dieters table and watched the herds of cows come down to the shore, one by one in their small groups along with their herder, to take a drink from the lake. It was just a crazy phenomenon, having cows standing taller than you're sitting, wandering all around you while you are spreading boiled eggs on your toast!

This is a great place to resting up, while drawing some cartoons in my sketch book.

My view from my cabana, another favourite place to sit while sketching. 

Sorry, I couldn't stand next to one, but seriously these birds are massive! Almost the height of me.

Early morning fishing for a beautiful King Fisher. 

The early morning fishing, noticed the boat is just reeds lashed together?

Sun rise over Lake Hayk

We nestled the big truck and my motorcycle down by the shores of the lake and I pitched my tent in the dark. I woke in the morning to the sounds of the fishermen checking their nets before heading out on a boat made from reeds lashed together with a bit of rope, to try and set their nets in a semi circle before chasing the tiny fish into the enclosure. Apparently the boats become water logged after a couple hours, therefore they have to return to shore and let the boats dry out before trying again tomorrow. 

As soon as the fishermen had finished, we sat down at Dieters table and watched the herds of cows come down to the shore, one by one in their small groups along with their herder, to take a drink from the lake. It was just a crazy phenomenon, having cows standing taller than you're sitting, wandering all around you while you are spreading boiled eggs on your toast! Between the herds of cows, we sat sipping our coffees watching the different flocks of birds flying over. Today, our plan was to drive the remaining 400 kilometres to Addis, the capital of Ethiopia but plans change like the wind and we decided to stay here watching the wild life for the day.