12.28
For almost 2 years IC3 has been trying to get a donated bike to Kenya. The bike was originally shipped out east to travel with someone going to Kenya. For whatever reason, the bike never made it. So it sat in someone’s garage until recently when it was shipped to me to “hand deliver” to the guys in Kenya. As luck would have it happened to be a perfect fit for me. So I figured I’d get a chance to break it in while I was in Uganda before I eventually traveled to Kenya.
Everything seemed to be working fine when I took it for its maiden test run up and down the block a few times before Stage 1 of the Jinja Events Race – but as I made the final turn into the church I noticed the rear tire was getting soft. I knew these roads were tough but gezz a flat in only a few blocks…
I had the guys stick a fresh tube in and then I’m back in business. I figured I’d run into the church and grab a quick soda and then take the bike out for some more “testing” before the race started in about an hour. As I was walking out of the building I turned the corner just in time to hear the front tire blow like someone had set off an M-80 (that’s flat number 2 for those of you doing the math).
Ok a quick fix and I’m back on the road over to the start in plenty of time. Well… as you might have read in an earlier post (Stage 1 Jinja to Imbali) the race never happened that day, so we sat around taking pictures and talking all day. At the end of the day I’m riding back to the house from a hectic day of sitting around and I look back to notice the third flat of the day. So far – I’m not enjoying this bike so much.
Ok after a thorough look at the tires and everything related to the tires I felt like the next day had to be a good one. Stage 2 to Imbali looked to be a fun one somewhat flat, but hot. As we roll out of town the crowds are huge and people are shouting Muzugu everywhere we go. The bike was performing well – no issues at all.
Up ahead at the bottom of the hill I notice a broken down car and a matatu behind it. No big issue until the matatu just out in front of me right in my path. Suddenly I’m faced with a decision to make. Do I lay the bike down? That might hurt a little. Do I rear end the Matatu at full speed? That might hurt a lot…. Just at the last instance a gap barely wide enough to squeeze the bike in opened up between the car and the matatu. As I shot the gap, I didn’t notice the street bumps right there. These things are like cattle guards on steroids. Picture five or six speed bumps lined up side by side and about six inches in between them. Anyway, I didn’t prepare for the impact very well and as I hit the bumps at full speed my shoes came flying off the pedals and I think I lost a filling or two. As I stop to quickly access the damage I notice my right cleat has been ripped in half from the force of the impact. At this point, only 40K into the race I’m faced with the decision to go on with one pedal or go back to the start and abandon the race. In the hour or so it takes me to pedal one legged back to Jinja, I’m constantly thinking to myself this bike and I may not be a match made in heaven.
To help reduce some of the travel and shipping costs I decided to “accompany” the bike via bus to Kenya. With the bike crammed into the last remaining space below the bus – we set off to Kenya (see Buses and Matatus). As we arrive in the terminal in Nairobi the crowd is anxious to get the luggage off the bus and get on their way. However, everyone’s luggage is nicely blocked by this huge bike box that is stuffed into the bottom of the bus. As the crowd’s anger level rises at this box that will not budge I feel everyone staring at me as if it’s my fault their luggage can’t come off in time. Eventually the box frees up and the frenzy grab for luggage begins. I’m beginning to learn things move at their own pace and here in Africa.
Meeting the guys in Nairobi was a treat. A great bunch of guys and some really good riders. So when they asked me to join them on a ride I gladly accepted. They suggested I ride the yellow Specialized I brought with me. Knowing my history with this bike I reluctantly accepted. They outfitted the bike with some SPD pedals and I squeezed my huge feet into some strange shoes and we were ready – or so I thought. As we rolled out of the parking lot I hit the brakes to stop for something… but then as my bad luck would have it I couldn’t get my feet to unclip. Frantically, I fought with these pedals – all the way to the ground. I can’t remember ever falling off a bike because I couldn’t clip out. So this was a first. They must have thought so this guy obviously isn’t on the IC3 board because of his riding skills. It was like a slow motion train wreck and nothing you could do about it. They told me that the thought there might be something wrong with the pedals. I pretty much confirmed that theory moments earlier on the way down to the pavement – but I accepted their hypothesis. After a quick change of bikes (at this point I was convinced the bike was cursed) onto Jeff’s mountain bike – we were off into the Nairobi streets like New York bike messengers in a bad traffic jam. Starting a ride in downtown Nairobi is a thrill seekers dream. Cars, buses, trucks, exhaust, and dirt on one giant obstacle course. You have to constantly be aware of your surroundings and trying to guess where everyone is going to go next and realize that you are not a protected species out there. In the states, we have bike lanes and a neat and orderly process to everything – not in Nairobi. I realize why these guys ride mountain bikes in the city – it’s rough out there. It made for one heck of an adventure a great rush of adrenaline for a newbie to Nairobi. An everyday ride for those guys.
The next day we had another ride planned. This one promised to go outside the city a little and had a few “small climbs” according to Jeff. When they told me my date for the ride would be my Cursed Yellow Specialized friend I was less than excited. Jeff assured me he had fixed the pedal issues from the day before. So after clicking in about 20 times to convince myself that this might be fixed, I decided to give it a try. I was beginning to feel like a cowboy trying to ride a wild horse for the first time. I figured one of us was going to win this battle – I just wasn’t sure it was going to be me.
Off we rolled through the same Nairobi streets jammed packed with traffic as yesterday – somehow this seemed less stressful. Almost like a game this time – it was fun. As we moved outside of town and began climbing the scenery was amazing and the weather was perfect. I was riding with Zak, James and Dedan, Victor and James were in the car providing support. I should mention the Dedan is a one legged cycling machine. This guy can ride up hill faster than most guys can ride with two. I’ll admit that I got my butt kicked by a one legged cyclist. Check out his website www.dedanireri.com
It was a great ride, despite the fact that I think we climbed so high I think I need an oxygen tank. It felt like I was breathing through a straw at times – and best of all I managed to ride the cursed bike for one full ride without an issue. I finally felt like I had exercised all the demons and could hand the bike over to the proud new owner – Jeff.
I still hate that bike.
Gary
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