Tent Regatta

It is hard to describe the continuous flow of life using discrete events and benchmarks. How does an experience start? What about the held-over subtext gleaned from previous days? When does it sluf off? These questions are easily (and best) answered with cataclysmic events. I think TdA’s baptism came just last night.

The wind started to pick up around 19:45. I heard, and felt, the wind buffet the bus where we were working. The bus rocked gently, but the wind whistled furiously. I knew I hadn’t taken the time to properly pitch my tent. I anxiously gathered my things and resisted the urge to bolt for my tent, finishing a few plans for the next day. As soon as the doors of the bus parted, I felt the bite of the sand. Next I heard the sound of tents luffing like sails.

Almost as I arrived at my tent, my hands were busy twisting guy lines into bites and hitches I was worried I had forgotten. As tents around me lifted off I hurried to bury rocks to anchor my own. Sand quickly christened everything I brought to Africa.

Without the help of Megan, a rider who pitched nearby, I would have had a far harder time restoring structure to my tent. We quickly righted my nylon home and moved on through the group of foundering tents.

Some people were flattened with their tents, bodies moving inside as if shrink-wrapped. We found at least one other who was completely capsized, with only his head protruding. Others tumbled towards, having to be fielded like a skipping infield baseball.

Megan remarked, “I guess this is our first African experience.” As our group came together in the night to help people to reassemble their transient lives and transplant tents, it began to feel like the trip had begun. We each appreciated the emotional support that comes from simply sharing an experience, and we further still enjoyed the earnest assistance offered by those who recognized our frustrated utterances. I began to understand how I might make it through this long journey, buoyed by those around me.

Nick Brennan

Jan 18

As I pull down my tent I feel more like I am flying a kite. The wind hasn’t stopped blowing all night. My tent doesn’t want to cooperate but at last I manage to get it into it’s bag. I pack up my gear and cram it into my rucksack. Suddenly I realize I don’t have the key to my bike which I have locked to someone elses bike and I have to go back and unpack my rucksack, pull out my tent, battle once again with my tent in the wind before I find my key lying loosely down the bottom. Half an hour later I am packed up and munching once again on tastey porridge for breakfast.

It’s a 135km and everyone is wishing the wind would blow in the other direction. Riders p

ull into the lunch stop and everyone agrees that spam has never tasted so good. There’s a few smiles on faces, but most are looking fatigued, sore, and very much over this headwind. At lunch a few decide they have had enough – it’s all too much - and take the bus into camp. Many press on, plowing their way through the wind. I ride sweep.

At the end of the day it’s not the racers first into camp that win my

respect but the ones that are just immediately in front of me, struggling the most, but still pressing on. These guys are the ones that are out battling the longest, spending the most time in their saddles, suffering. I watch as the sun disappears over the mountain and wonder if we will make it to camp before we lose too much more light. But suddenly behind the dunes I spy a colourful tent city and I know we have made it. And I know there is some degree of satisfaction of the last two riders that come into camp as they have conquered a tough day – spending most of the final hour doubting their ability to make it.

Riders are looking tired when I arrive at our third desert camp. At the rider meeting however, the promise of showers, internet and a town for tomorrow nights camp turns everyone’s faces into smiles. The simple things once taken for granted back at home are a luxury on tour.

I sing of some travelers, intrepid they are

They come from all continents, they travel afar

To embark on adventure, now what is in store--

Is it joy, is it pleasure, is it pain or much more?

Cairo’s the start, leading south to the Cape

Will we open our eyes, will we stare, will we gape?

There will be smooth sailing and storms I am sure.

Wind outcrop and boulder, hills, valleys, galore

Our Captain Sharita, she holds the rein

With trusty lieutenants, they see through the pain.

Not one knows his metal on days turn to weeks

Will we break under action or mental fatigue?

Will the Good Lord deliver what every man needs

And bring him home safely or down on his knees.

There are Aussies and Kiwis and Springboxes and Danes

There are Maples and Eagles, not all known by name.

All motley and daring, the boys and the girls

Some wanting glory and others just toil

This will continue as incident occur

The strong will diminish and the weak we’ll call Sir.

Pete Lemond

Poem read by Peter Lamond at the closing of the riders meeting on the evening of Jan 16 (day 2) at the desert camp near Hurghada.

So, finally we start the tour and we are on the way to Cape Town. I am excited and curious about my upcoming job as a medic on the Tour.

During the first week we were just dealing with preps and getting all our equipment ready. There is still a lot of the medical equipment on the trucks in Ethiopia, so we deal with just basic first aid kits, intravenous fluid as glucose, sodium, chloride, a few other emergency medications and little oral medications.

Egypt has a very good ambulance service, and they follow us all the way to Aswan.

In general, everyone looks great and the folks seem to be healthy. I have a good feeling about the coming tour and I feel relaxed.

Once we started, everything will be running step by step.

Our first medical issue today were a few muscle cramps and ancle cramps because of an old ligament problem, nothing serious and we open our little clinic at 4 pm.

Just keep smiling and happy to be here.

Mathias Hediger

Every day arrives someday...

It’s not 11 o’clock at night yet, and the hotel looks like a ghost town. The restaurant is empty, and even the bar closed its doors earlier. I bet most of the riders are rolling on their beds, too anxious and excited to sleep. Mando days, shovel missions in the middle of the night on the desert, ibuttons (for the timing) and who knows what else.

The trucks are loaded, and it looks like no one had

problems on the luggage weight inspection. Our friend “Mike without a Bike” managed to find a decent bike shop (that no one knew about) in Cairo, and it looks like everything is under control.

Tomorrow, wake up will be at 5, and

by 6 o’clock, everyone

is supposed have eaten and be ready in front of the hotel.

All I have to say is that every day arrives someday!

Music is Happiness

We drive a ways then walk a ways in search of somewhere different to eat. Not different in the way of being special, like nothing else, one of a kind, unique. No, just somewhere different as in, not the same Egyptian noodle stand we have been eating at for the past five meals. Regardless of our intended hunt, we find ourselves in a restaurant more akin to this first interpretation.

Picture a small room; just big enough to sit the 10 of us a

round a long narrow table, and just small enough for our shop owner to

squeeze past. It’s a bit dark with one florescent light, a red florescent light to b exact, with our view to the outside world nearly cut off by the counter toppled high in pita and roasting chickens. The walls, as if covered in tin foil, are actually decorated with the ‘best quality’, ‘most shiny’ wrapping paper. Each sheet with its slightly different pattern, were all clearly chosen to work perfectly with our psychedelic red florescent.

At this time I am looking to the front at our old m

an, dressed in long dull coloured garments, cooking up a storm on the grill, seemingly quite a quiet fellow, and I can’t help but ask myself “did he do all of this?”

This is not the excitement on the other end however. The more exciting event, is the fact that there are 10 foreigners in this shop which, may very well have never had any foreigners before.

The level of activity quickly grows.

One man out front is running to get us pepsi’s, plates of s

alada’s are running down the table, bowls of tahini and piles of pita are appearing quicker than we can eat them. We see they are cooking chicken and so order, “Chicken for all”. A couple more young men come in to see that we are happy. “you happy?” Yes, thumbs up, smiles, we are happy. The young men are running in and out of the back to get cutlery and be sure that everything is ok as “Chicken for all” comes out. One chicken for you, one chicken for you, one chicken for you, one whole roasted chicken for everyone! “You happy?” Yes, thumbs up, smiles, we are happy, only laughing maybe a little bit this time. Ok, now everyone is REALLY happy. Now it is time. Our young man squeezes past to

the sound system in the corner, plugs in his music player, and it’s on. The music blares. The ears are full, the mouth is useless, what is left but to continue to feast your eyes. Our young man excitedly hops from one Egyptian pop track to another, each one as loud as the previous. “You Happy? ” said like a question but the answer is obvious to them. Yes, of course we are happy. The music is blasting so loud now that everyone is now in their own little world, left to take in the furry ornaments hanging from the ceiling, the plastic wrapped wall hangings and the swirl of the disco ball lights humming past the front window with everyone’s faces clouded in a veil of the red fluorescent glow. Yes, I am happy.

Adel

Fun Ride - Test Ride em Cairo (Egito)

TDA 2011 first Bike Shop - A primeira oficina de reparos do TDA 2011

Well Done! - Lindo adesivo!

Bikes rule - Va de bike

Elvis (Tanzania) and Mathew (Canada) make kids go wild - Elvis (Tanzania) e Matthew (Canada) levam a molecada a loucura

Racers concentrated on their machines -

Competidores concentrados em suas maquinas

Staff Meeting - Encontro do staff

The beginning of the medicals meeting - Equipe medica

Welcome to the Tour d'Afrique 2011 - Bem-vindos ao TDA 2011

Cairo

The smell. It´s the first thing one notices in Egypt. Step off the plane, suck in your first breath, and there´s no doubt that you´re in a new land. The smell isn´t offensive, not at the airport at least, nor is it overly pleasant. It is simply distinct. The mixing of millions of seperate elements; spices, insence, and perfume, garbage, dust, car exhaust, donkey shit, and cigarette smoke, grilled meats, freshly squeezed oranges, and hot puffy bread. The smell of 20 million people, living, working and breathing in a single city.

The suburban sprawl of this city is dense and appears to go on forever; a dizzying maze of unfinished brick buildings and colourful markets. As you enter, the smells begin to manifest in other forms; visual, tactile, edible. The dusty streets are lined with garbage and choked with tuk-tuks and donkey carts. Golden dripping chickens spin on horizontal skewers- tempting the passerby. Wrinkly old men with missing teeth and scruffy beards, suck on bubbling sheesha pipes. Kids in broken rubber flip flops chase after you- “what is your name?” “What is your country?”- then run off giggling.

Continue downtown and the cacophony of honking takes residence in your eardrums. A slithering line of beat up taxis- old Fiats and Peugeots snakes through the streets. Giant inverted cones of beef are spun in front of a busy flame, carved up, and stuffed into soft buns, crispy and greasy. Young men in slick leather coats strut past, followed by a wave of cologne. Bulging burlap sacks of cumin, coriander, pepper, bay leaves and countless other spices flank the narrow alleys that lead up to the markets. Every corner holds a new surprise, a new frustration, a new delight.

Egypt has been a top destination for as long as traveling has been a concept. The reasons are obvious. The wonder of the pyramids, the magnitude of Karnak temple, the serenity of floating down the Nile on a fellucca. But this popularity comes with a price. With thousands of tourists marching up to see the pyramids daily, the locals could be excused if they've become a little jaded. One can expect to turn down the odd request to 'visit my brother's perfume shop' and expect a little heckling- but feel free to heckle back, it's all part of the fun.

I recently overheard a backpacker explaining to someone her plans for the next day. “I'll see the pyramids, then visit the National museum.....you know get the flavour of the place.” I couldn't help but laugh. No the real Egypt is not to be found at the pyramids, nor at the museum, or at any one of the other world class temples and ruins that bless this country. Sure these things are worth seeing, but these sites are simply dramatic garnish on a country that is intriguing in its own right.

Drop the guidebook and get lost. Catch the scent of fruity sheesha and let it lead you to the narrow alley. Follow the spirited 'click' and 'clack' of a game of backgammon. Shake hands with the leathery man in the gallibeya. Sit back on a stiff wooden chair and sip a strong cup of sticky tea. Engage in a friendly conversation with a welcoming local and let the stresses of another place dissolve. It's the forgotten places in-between that are often the most rewarding, and it is here that the true flavour of Egypt really shines through.