2024 Big Red Pigs in Kenya - Season 9 and Doin' Fine!

Sun is shining! Time to go for a ride and see what’s what down in the Valley. Panic and I met Wry at the usual morning quarry Ngong Hills viewpoint. The plan was to ride the SGR and see if we can click Wry’s shock and forks into behaving better. I gave it a few kms. Shock seemed fine to me, but forks were a bit harsh, and the cockpit setup was cramped. After some judicious clicking and rearrangement of the handlebar position a bit further forward it was a big improvement. Need a couple more rides to get it perfectly dialed in. It's a process, but worth the effort.


Above: Morning meet-up point


Above: Wry with training wheels out already...

At the bottom of the SGR we met up with Snoop-Doggy-Downward-Facing Officer Flattop van der Dawg and Cousin who were out testing their T7s on some rocky ground. They’re prepping for a big trip up North this year, and wanted to see how the big girls handle buggared roads. Both of these lads have done the Roof of Africa hard enduro race, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me but they were right on my tail all the way to the top of the trail. They threw those big bikes around like it was nothing. They plan to hunt for better knobbies and want to lose a few sprocket teeth (there’s no need to go 180kph in Kenya, no need at all… better to have more control at low speed in the stones) but otherwise the T7s are ready.


Above: That’s a lot of bikes in one place, at least for our standards. Three Big Red Piggies and T7^2

The T7 boys had meetings to attend and Wry had to get back to his houseguests, so Panic and I kissed them farewell and returned back to the valley to throw stones until choma time. The typical Saikeri-Najile road had been abused by running water, exposing stones and making the ride a banger. This left us with a powerful thirst, so we popped into Casablanca Wines and Spirits in Najile for a warm 11AM White Cap. The usual group of men trying to make sense of our bikes was there in force. They’re always surprised by how small the rear brake pedal is until I explain it’s hydraulic and they they go Oooooooh! And one of them found the shock absorber hidden underneath and covered in a sock. Aaaaaaaaah! Then we corrected them on the engine size (they estimated 175cc)… Eeeeeeeh! This follows with how much money the bike costs, but first I want to know their estimate of the age. 2 years here, 3 years there… when I tell them mine has 21 years, you get the whole appreciative chorus: OooooAaaaahEeeeehWooooweee!


Above: Casablanca Wines and Spirits after a spirited morning ride so far

After Najile, it was throttles on. We were in the mood to ride, not to futz around, so we blasted it toward Oltepesi. It was the same road we took a couple of weeks back, and it seemed to somehow have gotten worse. That is to say, better for riding XRRs. The rocky sections were rockier and the watery sections were somehow waterier. I sucked H2O into my airbox crossing the deepest part (it was deeper than last time), and Panic just managed to avoid it. Took several minutes of kicking to rid the carb of moisture, but she fired up after a bit.


Above: Panic starts the crossing


Above: Panic in the crossing… he had chosen a better line than I had, but the water was still dangerously close to the airbox.




Above: After the deep section, it was out into the usually sandy floodplain which was still muddy and flooded all the way to Oltepesi.

We stopped for another refreshing beverage in Oltepesi before hopping out onto the Magadi road for a sprint up toward Cona Baridi. On the way, we passed at least 5 other riders who I guess had taken the tar down to Magadi and back. Went past them like cruise missles. Adventure comes in different shapes and sizes. Some slow, linear and clean… others convoluted, messy, rocky, braapy and fast. I have my preference.

Back on dirt, over to Saikeri again, up past the windmill to Muturis where for the first time in a long time we were stuck dealing with a very pushy drunk. He and his mate were at a table. We greeted them and went to the next. He slurred: “No no no, come sit with us, I like wazungu!” And though his mate had passed out on the table already (2pm on Sunday mind you), and though we said no thank you, he didn’t get the hint. Soon he was at our table hiccupping next to me.

He said: “I’m Kenyan, see, I’m Kenyan” and pulled out his ID. I said I didn’t need to see ID, but he forced it at me. It was a Kenya Defence Forces ID. Ah... that’s how it is. This friendship isn’t optional. So, we tried to politely ignore him and enjoy our lunch, but couldn’t help but had to listen to heaps of rubbish all the same. For example: “I like white people”, “You (panic) look like military”, “You (me) look Israeli”, “I’m not a begger, I can buy my own beer (we hadn’t implied otherwise, but ended up buying him a beer in the end anyway)”, “Find me a white woman”, “I’m a sergeant, I’m respected”, “You live happily here in Kenya because of me”… etc etc etc.

But, the sun was shining, the choma was delicious and the beers were cold. We’d had another rock-smashing day on the Pigs (280kms of it) and were home by mid-afternoon. One drunk, semi threatening military man wouldn’t spoil that… though maybe next time, maybe we go to Olepolos if it’s late on a Sunday.

Braaaaap!

Elkanah said:

You should tie up with Noraly (Itchy Boots) in Malawi.

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Well it looks like maybe that plan couldn't happen even if I had wanted to! She broke herself in Tanzania not far from Mbeya. Seems TZ is the Bermuda Triangle for semi-famous YouTube ADV riders. First Poskitt, now Itchy Boots.

Sijui.

Osadabwa said:

Well it looks like maybe that plan couldn't happen even if I had wanted to! She broke herself in Tanzania not far from Mbeya. Seems TZ is the Bermuda Triangle for semi-famous YouTube ADV riders. First Poskitt, now Itchy Boots.

Sijui.

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It's not like she hasn't dealt with ruts before, or that she was going very fast or was overloaded. Just a fluke accident. So it's interesting that a lot of these accidents still happen in TZ regardless. Almost like if I was planning a trip to the East Africa, I need to avoid TZ.

their T7s

Can you walk in and buy a T7 in Nairobi or do you have order,pay and wait for it? Or import yourself?

Chrisl said:

their T7s

Can you walk in and buy a T7 in Nairobi or do you have order,pay and wait for it? Or import yourself?

Click to expand...

No idea. Dawg's were brought in from SA.

We managed to get together four XR650Rs for a ride!

That’s the most since I don’t know when, and on an overnighter no less! We were dragging along our mate Officer Flattop van der Dawg on his T7. It’ll only be his second overnight ride on the big girl. Last time he went with Panic he lost half his kit off the back of the bike (earning lots of verbal abuse) and got soaked by a torrential downpour, yet he was still keen to join! We set off for a 2 nighter to see what sort of changes all the rain had made to the Ewaso Nyiro river near Nguruman, but first it’s up Mt. Suswa.

I waited for Wry at Muturis with a cold one and then we sprinted up to the top, but not before pausing for an hour while I repaired a puncture. How’s that for an inauspicious start to the ride? Bloody TuBliss finally kicked the bucket, so I chopped it up, made a make-shift rim lock out of it and whacked in my spare (unpunctured this time) tube. Rode into the crater in the dark getting passed by local guys on their bodabodas who know the tracks by heart and sport headlights 10x brighter than ours.


Above: A fine way to start the ride

Panic, Kolobus and Dawg were already at the campsite. Fire was lit and they’d started on the White Caps. But with the arrival of Wry and me, the party could kick off in earnest. Beers went bye-bye and so did a fair measure of whisky. Highlights included Flattop freaking out over the appearance of a Solifugid (aka Kalahari Ferrari, aka Sun Spider) who did seem to rather fancy ol’ Dawg’s toesies. We had a bit of music and a lot of laughs, I think. At some point it drizzled, but not quite enough to chase us off at a reasonable hour, if I’m not mistaken. Let’s just say headaches had been pre-arranged for the following morning.


Above: Banter


Above: Dawg’s best mate. Now listen, Flattop ol’ pal, I promise you, these creatures are chill. He’d already run over my bare foot earlier with no ill effects. They’re wicked hunters and will scarf up cockroaches etc whenever they get a chance. Leave the poor confused buggars be!

Sleeping the sleep of the sinless, we were up none too early. The routine was as ever: coffee pots boiled, tents dismantled, sleeping bags stuffed away, sausages were skewered and roasted, one by one the chaps sauntered down to the long-drop with a bog roll in hand. Luckily the sun was hidden behind cloud so our 10AM departure didn’t start off in a puddle of our own sweat. It was actually kind of gloomy up there to begin with and much appreciated.


Above: Breaking camp


Above: Coming down the mountain in the fog


Above: Four bikes ready to disappear down country

We picked our way down to the inexplicable rectangular set of shops near the Oldepe primary school for a bit of fuel and a refreshment. I hold a grudge against this village. It’s always annoying (some guy once put my helmet on for fun) and they never have good beer. We only stop out of necessity. This time we tried an Allsops Lager hoping for the best. It counts as the worst beer I’ve ever had the displeasure to imbibe. Possibly it had sat in the heat for several years judging by the layer of dust on it.


Above: Kolobus tries to get Mpesa to connect in SCV


Above: Dawg and I are not impressed with the bouquet of Allsops

From SCV down it’s a joy. You peel off onto a rocky bulldozer/4x4/cattle path and start rattling south. It’s rocky, so you don’t set any records, but the place has a very wild and untouched feel to it and there are some sections later on with a lot of flow and good pace. And we were making good pace. I thought maybe Dawg on the T7 would lag behind, but the extra 50kgs were nothing to him.

Brief detour here: Twice during the ride I swapped over to see what the T7 is like and this is my assessment: The engine is amazing. Responsive, great power and Japanese delivery. Smooth as good whisky, but can get angry as a bucket of bees. Suspension on this bike had been done up (let’s face it, if you’re going to ride any bike the first thing you should do is ditch the stock setup) so it handled smaller bumps and rocks marvellously, but it was obvious I was missing 2 inches of travel from what I’m used to. I didn’t have time to feel comfortable cornering with any confidence, but she didn’t seem squirrely, and I was able to drift her out with no effort. The way Dawg tosses her down the road or up a track strewn with bowling balls and baby heads reminded me that again, it’s 80% rider, 20% bike. Knowing that, I’ll stick with my XRR since I need all the help I can get! End detour.


Above: Moving down country. It’s unbelievably green out there. The foliage has grown together completely. Ordinarily we take a footpath down past Little Lake Magadi, but we skipped it to make time and I’m glad we did… I think we’d have struggled to find the way in all that green.


Above: Blue skies, green leaves, red soil and bikes


Above: Dawg coming 'round


Above: My Piggie stops for a little graze


Above: Dust bowl hooliganism.



Above: T7 tearing it up


Above: Pigs on the move


Above: Officer Flattop Dawg Lightyear van der Todger – “To the catwalk and beyond!”


Above: Panic giving it socks

To be continued...

Gawking around in search of a bit of shade for a snack break, Panic trundled off a ledge into deep sand and stacked it at about 60kph. Ploughed through the dirt with his face prepping to plant potatoes, it looked like. No zero-till ag here, no siree. Had to climb out from under the bike, but there was no real harm done to man or machine (try that with aluminium panniers, GSuckers). Then after lunch he clocked puncture #2 of the trip. He was thrilled about that. Sensing danger, I put on some workshop tunes and tried not to be too unhelpful. We were in for a shock when we saw the culprit of the flat… the bead was shagged. He’d been given the tyre used, and recalls some drunken tyre changing done in haste and anger sometime back (something about a TuBliss failure again I believe), so we think the bead had been broken and finally pushed its way through. We taped up the area, popped in another tube and let ‘er rip again.


Above: You don’t see that every day... punctures, yes, but not split steel beads. PSA: don’t take somebody’s used tyres!


Above: A giraffe along the way

Kolobus bid us farewell and hugged the tar back to Nairobi to catch a flight. We hung a right and raced toward Ol Kirimatian for more shenanegans. It’d been over 30C for the past few hours and we were ready for a) beer (obvs) and b) a dip in the river. We weren’t ready for what we saw at the bridge though. I knew there had been major flooding recently, but the high-water line was a shocker.


Above: At the Ol Kirimatian bridge, flood damage evident everywhere. Sand dunes and debris for days!

And then we were surprised to find the road flooded and the rivers to Nguruman still swollen. None of it was too difficult to manage, but it was unusual for sure. This place is usually as dry as a sandworm's hole on Arrakis with that river not much more than a cocoa coloured trickle most of the year.


Above: Dawg breaking trail


Above: Followed by Wry who charged ahead in an uncharacteristically aggressive (wo)manner


Above: After fuelling up, we headed back across to find those beers.


Above: Found ‘em… no, they weren’t cold. Yes they were excellent. Grow a pair Dawg! It’s Kenya ffs!

The day was getting long in the tooth so we aimed for camp. Back through the lower flooded roads, off into the incredibly long grass among the acacias and down into a lovely campsite we’ve been to before. But it had changed! The water had come up from the bottom of the riverbed some 6-8 meters and washed all through camp. Sand dunes were everywhere. The trees managed to hang in there, but they were festooned with grass, weeds, brush, trees and the flotsam of everybody who got too close to the shore upstream.


Above: Takeaway beers in the panniers, I'm off for camp!


Above: Amazing to see Kirimatian looking so lush


Above: Camping has its pros and cons… I’m considering bringing along a portable changing room to avoid unfortunate views such as the above…


Above: That's what peak male performance looks like people. Take note!. Panic and I put up tents, grabbed beers and hit the river. The water was really moving. You had to hold on to the embedded stones beneath to keep your place. If you put your head underwater and held on facing upstream you feel like a soggy Superman! Of course Panic squealed like a schoolgirl at the water barely going past his ankles… Up the hill near the tents were some XXL sized elephant tracks. Old boy had come in to scratch his ass on one of the trees. Surely we can all relate.

Night was upon us in no time. The fire was lit with the ample firewood that was positively, absolutely, literally everywhere (Panic, ffs) and we all tucked in to our meals. Wry whipped up some ramen with hot dogs, but not before offering me a piece of biltong he’d rescued from the sand. Cheers mate! Panic grazed a trio of cheese krainers. And Dawg? Well, ol’ Dawg just hit the Viceroy and Coke. And kept hitting it from what I remember, which isn’t much. I do hazily recall inappropriate discussions, brief nudity (Dawg of course, we’ve let a damn nudist in the group), the odd serious discussion, Wry getting pushed off his mincy little camp chair (me this time, getting revenge for the biltong), Dawg barking at the baboons and lots of Panic’s belly laughs.


Above: A fire in the sand near a river in Africa. Can’t beat it.


Above: An appropriately blurry pic of the evening’s goings on.

Panic disappeared at some point, as did Wry. Dawg and I hit the river and I’m happy to report that nobody drowned. We were making noise, my friends, shouting and carrying on. Daintily as a pair of hippos on roller skates we weaved to our respective tents. Amazingly, Panic was already snoring in his. It’s uncanny. By now it had started a drizzle and I recall saying: “I’m just gonna stand here in the rain ‘til I dry off.” Which about sums it up. We collapsed in a pile of wet sand and slept like four-day gone corpses.

To be continued...

Morning came on little cat’s feet… tied to kettle drums, attached to the inside of my head it felt like. And another cat had rolled in its own scat, scampered over and tumbled in a patch of cockleburs and began performing somersaults on my tongue. I was the last to crawl out of his sandy cocoon. Head pounding, I walked blurrily, grumpily and directly to the water, holding up a finger to Wry to say “shut the f*** up and wait” and vanished beneath the muddy current until I thought I might be able to face the day. Nothing like a dip in a cold stream to bring you back from the dead.


Above: Wry’s camp in the morning… I’m still unconscious somewhere in that orange bump to the right as this pic is taken.


Above: System error. Processor rebooting. Press F2 during boot-up to access the BIOS…

Long story short, we breakfasted and broke tent. Dawg and I were the worst off, but nobody had escaped the night unscathed. Packed up, it was time to roll, but first we had to get out of our sand hazard. I effortlessly and deftly went first and documented the boys’ variously feckless escapes. Dawg handled it well. Panic had his outriggers outrigging and Wry came on strong but fizzled out midway, paddling like a kayaker in most shameful fashion. See video of shame.


Above: Dawg demonstrates correct attack posture. On the begs, knees bent. Aggressive as!


Above: Yus bru! And just look at the T7. The War Horse. Getting it done (read in Andrew Reiman’s Ozzy Drawl).


Above: Panic doing the tree-branch limbo


Above: Paddling through the waves earning a single fart award (in vid).


Above: Wry somehow managing to roost while simultaneously sitting with neither foot on the pegs… unacceptable! Collect your multiple fart awards in the video!

Out of the sand, we were back in paradise briefly. Look, nobody could enjoy it, we were hungover as hell. So, from here it was like this: Kirimatian for water, across the bridge, down toward Oloika where I get another goddam puncture. Fix that and rip on. It’s slow going through Lenderut Volcano (the dead one we ride through… I found some colonial texts and hand-drawn topo maps online with it labelled) but we all enjoyed that. I took a wrong turn which treated us to 50m of proper baby heads and bowling balls, but nobody dumped it, and in no time we were in Torosei for a refreshing, shade-warm beer!


Above: Wry and Panic in the long grass


Above: Water stop at the bridge


Above: Officer van der Dawg testing out a BRP (says they feel twitchy, ha!)


Above: Panic and I make short work of a tube swap. Had one stupid little hole in it. Don’t know why the OKO didn’t solve that for me. Nothing works 100% of the time in Africa!


Above: Dawg on the horn with his eldest, pointing out the extinct volcano we're about to ride through


Above: An hour later, Wry with eyes like two pissholes in the snow… it’s hot in that volcano!


Above: Wry again doing absolutely fecking god knows what. Possibly checking if his carb light is on.


Above: At last in Torosei for a refreshing shade-cool beer surrounded by thirty gawking Masai men

Ga! The day was just beninging! The Torosei – Mi46 track was demolished, making what used to be a real face-peeling ripper much more subdued. Deep sand holes appeared to tighten the sphincter separated often by lovely patches of big, sharp stones. At the turn-off, Panic pulls up with another puncture. Dummy out, toys flying out of the pram, we get to work in a bit of shade. The thing was cut as with a pen knife, but on the inside of the circumference. No obvious cause. Total mystery. Total failure. Africa strikes again (or Thailand where the tube is made).


Above: Chilling while Panic swaps out his second burst tube… we’re even for this trip, Panic! Guess it’s cause we ride like a…


Above: I could explain, but I prefer to let your imaginations run wild!

Right. So from Mi46 to home we rode on eggshells. Backs sore, heads aching, hands callused… all we wanted was some kuku choma at Olepolos, a COLD White Cap and a hot shower. In a couple of hours, we’d have all of that.


Above: Of course Wry managed to cock up the exit to a riverbed somehow. A fitting end to this tale.

Again fellas, an excellent weekend out. Hoping we can do it again soon. Thinking we might want to put some limit on the whisky, but otherwise we’ve got it pretty well dialled in.

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Bloody brilliant ....again!!!. That camping in the riverbed can't be beat

I moved this thread to Roll of honour ride reports. Brilliant as always

imbibe.
I had to go look up the meaning of this word!!

"they were imbibing far too many pitchers of beer"

Heimer said:

I moved this thread to Roll oh honour ride reports. Brilliiant as always

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Wonderful, thanks! Though I wish I were able to promise better, more varied stuff. Previous years have had us up in Northern Kenya and Northern Tanzania and everything in between. So far though, apart from that one nice ride to the Tugan hills and Bogoria, it's been all short stuff. But there are many months left in the year and it looks like I'll be here in Kenya through 2024, so I'll endeavor to see some more interesting topography before that!

Osadabwa said:

Wonderful, thanks! Though I wish I were able to promise better, more varied stuff. Previous years have had us up in Northern Kenya and Northern Tanzania and everything in between. So far though, apart from that one nice ride to the Tugan hills and Bogoria, it's been all short stuff. But there are many months left in the year and it looks like I'll be here in Kenya through 2024, so I'll endeavor to see some more interesting topography before that!

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I want to move most if not all of the big res pigs threads over

Spain and back again - Late Summer Riding

Summertime means cheating on my XR650R with another beautiful lady in red… my indominable 1999 Vespa PX125. She lives in northern Spain and though we meet rarely, it’s a love affair that’s been going strong for thirteen years (nearly as long as I’ve been married…) and I refuse to apologise for it! First of all, she’s a ripper. Pimped out to 185cc with a neat cylinder change and further souped up with a tidy little go-fast exhaust, she is not only deafening but she is a screamer in the speed department too. 100kph you ask? On the flats at sea level or with a tail-wind or on a slight decline, you bet your ass she will! Secondly, what better weapon for the little winding lanes and twisty roads of coastal and mountainous Asturias? (Ok, a SUMO XRR would be better, but we gotta work with what we got.) Thirdly, everybody loves her. Even my family doesn’t give me shit about riding a “motorcycle” around like a hooligan because its “only a Vespa”. Mark my words, if I’m written off on a bike, it’ll be this bike. Three words: Ten Inch Wheels…

Anyway, let me share a few pics from that trip and then I’ll get back to Kenya and some solo rides. I’m stuck currently solo parenting in Nairobi, so the best I can do (and I ain’t complaining too badly given what I can do) are solo day rides in the Great Rift Valley. iVenga, vamos!



Above: There she is, La Furia Roja. My son made a nice portrait of her with a Polaroid just before the thing broke… crappy modern knockoffs.



Above: My local beach. I’d finish my morning run there and take a dip to get the day going, let the sun come up for a ride.



Above: The church in Niembro. At high tide the estuary fills in and makes the mirror effect. Apparently I have in-laws interred there.


Above: Just a few kms from the coast, the mountain roads start. They’re tiny, twisty and very scenic. With little villages scattered everywhere, there’s always somewhere to stop for a coffee or a cheeky beer.


Above: Sometimes I take her to the beach, or to the shops or wherever really. With that big glovebox and ample floorboards, you can carry a lot of stuff.


Above: Picked an amazing day to climb up to a viewpoint with the Picos de Europa in the background. In Northern Spain, not all days are sunny... not even close.


Above: Coming back down I found a heated game of 10 pin bowling underway so I grabbed a cold one and watched for a while.

With summer ended, I was back in Nairobi feeling like a duck out of water. Thankfully I had set myself up with XRR projects to complete that included replacing valves, timing chain and sprockets on my Desert Piggy. Really amazing how relatively simple that is once you have an idea how to do it, but I am lucky to have Panic and his workshop in the neighbourhood. While swapping out the timing chain sliders a bolt sheared off and without him around I’d have been stuck. But a nut and some spot welding later and the problem was solved, so in a couple of days I was ready to get back in the dirt where I belong.


Above: Before leaving Nairobi I’d left myself a note on the bike so I wouldn’t ride it away (empty tank), and that the radiator has a small leak somewhere. But that note seems to imply that the two things are somehow related! Anyway, I understand me. When I broke open the head I discovered that something had damaged one of the rockers and my cam, but fortunately we have spares aplenty so I popped them in and off I went. Also, Panic got a new dog and she’s adorable.

First ride out I just opened the throttle and rode. Took about an hour before I remembered how to ride the rocky, washed-out roads of the valley, but soon I was ripping along with a smile on my face. Found a dry riverbed and gave her the beans for a bit then headed up into the Mau Escarpment to find a bit of cooler air.


Above: Just love these dry riverbeds.


Above: Since I’m solo I’ve started propping the phone in the dirt to take videos. These are screen grabs from the short video at the end.


Above: The sound of the XRR reverberating off the walls of this wash is especially lovely.


Above: High in the Mau Escarpment with hazy views back towards Mt. Longonot in the distance. Still fairly green after a really good rainy season. The Valley is already bonedust dry.


Above: Rolling hills as far as you can see, the Mau used to be forested… now it’s hand sown fields.


Above: After 250km of dirt I roll in to Muturi’s Rostman for roast goat and a cold one. That really makes for a good day. Well, half-day really… I'd left after the school run and was back by mid-afternoon.

To be continued...

Another day another solo mission. This time I’d set my sights on a patch of ground east of Lake Magadi. I discover new tracks using Google Earth but since rural Kenya isn’t exactly marketable terrain, the imagery out here can be very old, so I was surprised to see some 2024 imagery down in places I’ve never been and made some tracks to test out.

The universe had other plans. Not 20 minutes into the ride and just barely underway I came to a halt with a pinch flat in the front. This killed the plan. Without a backup tube I wasn’t going to embark on a long solo mission to parts untested. Frankly it was probably for the best since I felt kind of iffy on the bike anyway.



Above: Roadside repairs. It only takes me about 30 minutes to swap out a tube by now.

But leaving untested tracks lie is impossible, so the following week I tried again. This time I was feeling a lot more with it and had an excellent ride. Even though it was majority tarmac getting to and from the tracks I wanted, it was worth it. Right away they were stunning and tricky. Within the first kilometre I was faced with a steep, loose and rocky section that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to ride back up. Decision time: Turn back or trust that your tracks have an exit and go for it. I went for it.


Above: Just down from this spot the steep and loose began. Easy enough to fall down, but potentially very hard to climb back up.


Above: Once down I was happy I’d come. The 2 track I’d seen from Google Earth was just as amazing as it looked. Cutting through dry grass, flanked by stony outcroppings and not a soul in sight.


Above: One of my potential tracks got a bit too enduro for me, so I backtracked a bit and reconnected with the double track.


Above: Battle Piggy enjoying the scenery.

The tracks I’d made all led down to the Northern part of Lake Magadi, a dead-end lake where Tata Industries extracts Trona (Soda Ash). The bit I was aiming for was a vast section of dried mud that I wasn’t sure I could ride across. I’ve been fooled before… these dry lakebeds have a way of not being as dry as they look. But this time, pikipiki tracks led confidently across so I gave it a go.


Above: Deciding whether to chance it or not, the piki tracks gave me the courage.


Above: About halfway across I deviated from the track and, sure enough, the mud was just under the surface. A little rain and this would be a mudpit.


Above: Black tendrils of soda-rich water creep their way south toward Magadi. Caustic stuff, I rode very gingerly through it so as to not splash it on any bearings… it has a way of rapidly accelerating wear.

Having succeeded in crossing to a known track, I was not ready to call it a day. I’d made a second lakebed crossing, so I thought I’d go check it out. Farther uphill from the first one, this crossing was set in a wide, deep sand plain that was just too good to ride past. I hopped in and did a bit of hooliganing, surprised how deep and soft the sand was. Once on the move, the Pig glided brilliantly, but stopping and getting going again was an arduous process.


Above: Bike, sand and African sky


Above: From zero, the sand was like a tyre magnet


Above: But once on the move it was just pure joy


Above: Yeah yeah, you were flying, braaaap, etc we get it.

After my rip around the sand, there was still plenty of time to check out the second track I’d plotted. Took some hunting around to find it – ended up disrupting a group of Masai dudes having tea, but they were cool – but I got there in the end. Tighter and rockier, it’d be the way to go if the mud pan is too wet to cross, but the other way had more flow.



Above: Just posing the XR with some rock features


Above: On the little track around the rocky outcrops

Back across the mudpan I sped onto the shoulder that keeps Little Magadi from spilling into the main lakebed and paused for a rest at the shore. Beautiful desert scenery there and the lake makes it all the more spectacular. While I was snapping some pics a couple of guys showed up on their bike, shuka-clad with walking sticks at hand, and we had a nice chat about tracks and rain and goats. The driver of the boda hopped off and took a pic of the lake just like I had been doing. Before the smart phone, that guy would have never been able to have a pic of the lake to show the family when he got home.


Above: Little Magadi, Big Red Pig


Above: Don’t go swimming though… that water will leave you itchy I reckon

It was time to make tracks, but I wanted to set up the video in a couple more places. It’s just such a ripper leaving the lake. Starts out rocky then gets into the fesh-fesh powdered flats. Too much fun.


Above: Leaving the lake with style


Above: Heading home


Above: But of course I couldn’t go home without pausing at Muturis for a bit of sustenance…

So that’s it for now. I doubt there’ll be any big rides until 2025, but as long as I’m able to get into the dust for a day now and then, I’ll be A-OK.

Braaaaap!

Oh, and here's the short video... make sure to turn the sound up:

Fast Blast to Jinja - 2.5 days on a T7

Look out! I’m about to cheat on my XR again! This time with a big, beautiful Yamaha Tenere T7 lent to me by Officer van der Dawg for a wild rip to Jinja, Uganda and back over the course of 2 ½ short days. We wanted to see some people there but neither of us had any time in the calendar to make it a more substantial or laid back ride, so we fought through the visa procedures and hopped on the bikes mid-day on Friday and hit the road.



Above: My wheels for the ride. 2023 T7 with stock everything and a crash under her belt already. I tossed on my old Giant Loop Coyote which fit perfectly and carried all I needed for this lightning-fast visit.



Above: The trip was ambitious. We would share the ride over two days going out but would have to do the whole thing in one go coming back. Kenyan roads are narrowish 2-lane country roads jam packed with human and animal activity, speckled with potholes and ribbed for nobody’s pleasure with a zillion speed bumps so the travel time estimates from Google Maps was double that of a similar distance in the US. On the bikes we were confident we’d be able to shave some time off those estimates if I could muster the courage to make use of the T7’s 6th gear. I'm a road-biking novice and the most cautious of the guys I ride with in traffic.

Kenya decided to start us out in expected fashion. The lower road to Mai Mahieu was chaos. A truck had overturned, dumping its cargo of luxury SUVs all over the place. Police and cranes were on the scene doing salvage, but the queue it produced led to typical shitty African driving behaviour in which people drive past the queue on both sides and create gridlock. We only just squeezed past the snarl, cursing every single overlapping asshole as we went (I really enjoyed doing it to the safari cars full of tourists slogging it back from the Mara).


Above: But just as we got past it, Dawg pulls over with a puncture. We hurried to pump it back up and get out of there because trucks kept overtaking and it looked like the whole area could fill in, blocking our way.


Above: As we were farting around with Doug’s wheel, a solo German guy on a massively overloaded “Super” Tenere came up from below. I didn’t have any time to chat, just told him: get the hell away from this shitshow, go back to Naivasha and take the other road. Don’t know if he heeded my advice.

From Naivasha, the road to Narok is long and straight. I was getting used to my borrowed steed and started tickling the 140-150kph mark where I felt it was safe to do so. I’m a high-speed novice, so this was taking some getting used to, but the T7 inspired heaps of confidence with its extremely polite road manners and ABS.


Above: On the road I obliterated a pigeon who deposited her guts on my tailpipe. Didn’t put us off from nibbling on some of Dawg’s homemade biltong though.

From the long straights in the valley, the road climbs up to the tea estates near Karicho and Kisii. It was gorgeous so we took only our second break of the day to take a pic of the tea.


Above: The tea estates are always lovely. The roads are twisty and there aren’t many people around unlike the rest of the countryside.

After the tea, we descended into a rather hectic mess of humanity around the outskirts of Kisumu, Kenya’s 3rd largest city. It was a Friday afternoon, so there was a lot of movement. We decided to give Kisumu a miss and went around the bypass to a little dodgy lodge called the Rock Motel where we spent the evening fixing another of Dawg’s punctures and drinking beer and talking nonsense.


Above: Dawg at work while a guy cleans his bike. He was very thorough, and athough we didn’t ask for him to do it, we were chuffed with the results so we gave him a nice tip. That, however, inspired him to be back at it the following morning, washing the already shiny bikes which unfortunately for him didn’t result in another tip. Sorry mate.


Above: Those goddam insta electric showers are a nightmare! I’ve been electrocuted twice in my life by them and take warnings like this one very seriously. Imagine dodging bodas and goats for 6 hours at motorway speeds only to be called to glory by a goddam showerhead!

Following day we were off at seven for the Busia border. It was slow going since I had a splitting headache from the beers that made me paranoid. Every car looked like it was going to cross into my lane. Every goat looked like it might jump out in front of me. Once we figured out the procedure at the border, we were delayed by not having printed something the guys needed to see. A bit more than an hour later we were on the Ugandan roads heading for Nile River Explorers, Dawg’s old stomping grounds where we would meet up with some guys he knew from back in the day. UG roads were much wider and nicer (no goddam speedbumps! Seriously Kenya, kiss my ass with those things! There must have been 150 of them between Kisumu and the border!)


Above: Lunch beer at the Source of the Nile

After lunch, we did a short recce down to Lake Victoria to trip down memory lane with Doug. Here’s where he used to buy his Rolexes (these, not the watch), here’s the farm he had built from the scrub 12 years ago, etc. It was lovely but brutally hot so we didn’t linger. Just saw what we needed to see and headed back to the lodge.


Above: Dawg and the mukene selling ladies


Above: Dawg and his farm on Lake Vic, now gone back to nature.

We got soaked by a thunderstorm on the way back, but didn’t mind given how hot it had been. Only thing was the last bit was on dirt and I was properly wimpy about riding that big T7 in the mud. Crawling on all fours would have been faster. Didn’t need to be such as weenie, I admit. The bike is very stable. After that, we explored the lodge a bit and I did my damnedest to stay sober while Dawg got dragged into beer after beer and a couple of shots by his old mates. I didn’t fancy doing a whole day home with a headache, so I stood my ground.


Above: The lodge had a 3 storey slide that shoots you straight into the Nile. Would have been cool if I were 10-20 years younger!


Above: A red-tailed monkey. Much nicer than your usual Vervets, these fellas stay to themselves and have a heart shaped nose.

I successfully stayed sober and was ready for bed. Unfortunately for me, Dawg was a bit… tipsy and was also sharing a very small room with me. Guess who lied to me about snoring like a sawmill? My lord I don’t think I slept more than a couple of hours that night, so I was happy when we crawled on the bikes at dawn.

The return journey was very… spirited. Being a Sunday morning the pedestrian population was far reduced from the previous Friday so we got to test WFO on the T7s in several places before losing two hours at the border. Thankfully for us, we’d overtaken five full busses full of kids earlier, otherwise we might still be there. The queue was down the block! Out the other side of the border, we kept up the pace and made ripping time past Kisumu where Dawg declared he needed some grub. So a quick coke and a chips and chapati roll later and we were back on it.


Above: Roadside grub and bike-gazing at the T7s

We roared through the tea-estates without stopping, leaning happily around the corners and launching the speed bumps. One of which was a bit taller and squarer than the others, and I used all of the suspension on the T7 and wished I’d had more. Out the other side of the tea, the twisty roads kept up, but we had to tone it down due to a soaking downpour. Thankfully from near Bomet on, it was flat out 6th gear wherever possible all the way past Narok and to the turn-off to the Suswa-Ngong road. There was a little section of drifty dirt there and to my surprise we met another guy on a T7. He was on a 2024 model lent by Yamaha and was out doing some sort of review. When we told him we were from Jinja, his eyes nearly poked the insides of his goggles. After a quick chat about the pros and cons of the T7 we were off to Muturi’s for some late afternoon Nyama Choma. We’d shaved two hours of Google Maps’ ETA and were buzzing from it.


Above: Cold White Cap and hot Mbuzi Choma with chips.

Necks sore from holding them straight against 100mph winds, we were chuffed to be back in our home turf. I decided I had to try the T7 off-road a bit more, so after our lunch we did a short section to see how she performs. Honestly, she does well. Because of where I live and what I like to ride, I wouldn’t choose to ride an ADV bike but if I had to, she’d do the job. I’m leery of pinch flats and won’t just smash over the Rift Valley’s rocks like I do on the XRR, but for an ADV bike, I think she’s the bee’s knees. That said, I’d like to try the KOVE 450 Rally…

I get my XRR back from Dawg today. Probably for the best. That high-speed nonsense is addictive and probably life-shortening. Let me stay off-road with my nonsense.

Braaaap!

Very nicely done, as usual!

Much appreciate the time it takes to do these, awesome read!!

Fantastic reading and great photos.

The Quixotic search for the elusive Nguruman-Loita Hills Link continues. I’ve come at it from the top twice, once with Lobomoto and once with Panic. Both were awesome rides, go check ‘em out HERE. This time Lil’ ol’ Officer Snoop Dawgy van der Dawg and I took off for Shompole Conservancy and the heretofore unexplored settlement of Ngarakete, ignoring the threat of catastrophic rain in favour of epic (if brief) adventure. People in Nairobi were practically boarding up their houses in apprehension, and I’d be lying if I didn’t credit the rumors some, but we’d said “hell or high water” both out loud and in writing, so off we went.


Above: Dawg on his T7 and my trusty XR650R blasted away from the impending Nairobi deluge in a light and refreshing drizzle


Above: And like many intrepid explorers, were soon waylaid by a grumbling tummy. As an army marches on its stomach, so too do bikers occasionally need grub. Chef Dawg had done his nation proud with the home-made chili biltong he’d brought. We chowed it, but with moderation… fearing the following morning’s reprisals.

We were making cracking time through just the faintest drizzle. Brooding skies on every side didn’t bode well for our chances, but we pressed on, leap-frogging one another to make the best time.


Above: Hardly any dust on the Mi46 road… unusual, that.


Above: A bit of moisture had tamed the deep fesh and sandy sections as well.


Above: Taking turns in the lead is a great way to make time while getting some pics and vids.

I’d been going a while and was throttling to a stop when I realized my pocket was unzipped and my phone was gone. I said several things at high volume in my helmet that would have dismayed a trucker. It’d be the second time I lost my phone while riding. How could I be so stupid? (Don’t answer that). We rode back slowly to the last place I had it. No dice. We tried in vain to “find my phone” with Dawg’s phone. Hopeless. So, dejected, I took off down the road, still cussing. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an angel in the form of a Masai kid in a tattered shuka holding my phone up like an offering to the gods! I dropped anchor, did a neat pirouette and roared back to him, retaking possession of my gadget and offering the kid a reward for his honesty. Best part: he had already figured out how to make play Spotify, and “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers was blasting from it as he handed it over. Lovely day indeed! Let’s go!


Above: After the phone mishap and recovery, we needed a celebratory beer in Torosei. A shelf-warm Tusker hit the spot… or at least it got really close to it.

Still not wet, we blasted down the rocky track through Lenderut Volcano to Oloika for a fuel up, then on to the south Shompole Conservancy Gate where a reasonable chap called Musa made us a proper receipt for entry and wrote his number down for us “in case anyone bothers you”. That’s good stuff. If you’re going to run a conservancy, here are four steps to success a) charge reasonable fees b) have obvious boundaries (the gate is helpful) c) give receipts d) tell everyone in the conservancy to leave visitors alone or face The Wrath of Musa.


Above: T7 moving through the easy..


Above: … and rumbling over the hard.


Above: Lenderut Volcano here we come


Above: Dawg dancing through the trees


Above: Me hopping along and singing a song (Lovely Day, no doubt)


Above: The big girl does very well, but it takes a lot of effort and lacks 2” of travel (like Wry)


Above: Rocks and bush


Above: Bush and rocks


Above: Rocks and bush and bush and rocks etc


Above: Good man Musa the ranger and the Shompole South Gate

Immediately, the scenery changed. Riding through some head-high scrub, suddenly an immense floodplain spread out in all directions heading south to Lake Natron and North to the horizon. And on the horizon, distant thunderstorms were dropping rain in all directions… except West, which was where we were headed.


Above: Dawg looping around a bit on the dry stuff. A bit farther in and he’d have surely seen his ass since the clay just below the surface is like ice!


Above: Mt. Shompole posing with Mount van der Dawg and her T7

It was closing in on 3pm, so we scrambled past Mpakase village, past the carcass of the old Shompole Lodge (which closed years ago when the mzungu owner couldn’t make it work with the locals) and up farther than I went with Lobomoto many years back. We were officially in new territory for both of us, and it was going surprisingly well. The path was clear and there were boda tracks in the dust. It clearly went somewhere. Maybe we’d make it the 30+km along the Nguruman escarpment to link up with my descent track from Loitas.

But, as often happens, Africa had other plans. We passed through the sparsely settled but lush Ngarakete settlement where crops were fed with channels of clear water and the track all but vanished in the scrub. The path had been traversed enough on foot that we could follow it, but there had been no wheeled vehicles on it for over a decade. We manhandled the bikes around a deep washout, scratching ourselves to death on the wait-a-bit thorn trees, and then started the climb. Rolling rocks, shoulder to shoulder with bigger rolling rocks and the occasional boulder made up the track, and all of it was hidden in tall grass. Treacherous riding at the best of times, and we were knackered from a long day.


Above: Only took one pic of the afternoon’s hack. Didn’t want to break what little momentum we carried.

Panting like a poisoned pup after barely bulldozing my way up another awful section, I hear the T7 hit the rev limiter. I figured that was a sign. We were cooked. It was time to call it a day. So, I pointed the pig downhill but immediately got off the track (it was impossible to tell where it was). So now in addition to rolling rocks under my wheels, I was pushing my head and shoulders through thorn trees as well. Nearly out of it, in sight of Dawg, I dropped the bike and couldn’t lift the thing up again. Dawg sauntered over and dead lifted it one handed while I squatted on my haunches trying not to puke or pass out. Shaaaaameful shit. But hey, that’s why I brought a tame Seffefrikan along with me!


Above: A burned spot in the brush shows what lies beneath. Most of the way the rocks were obscured by golden knee-high grass. Brutal.

Back on two wheels, I led us back a piece to a nice little spot recently cleared by fire. It made for a spectacular campsite. Clear views down as far as L. Natron and beyond L. Magadi and still no rain. We pitched the tents, got a fire going, greeted the pair of curious young guys who had walked 3km from Ngarakete to see what the hell we were doing, and settled into the evening. Dawg won Man O the Ride by bringing along not just his tasty biltong, and jaunty and optimistic disposition but also two frozen flasks of water for our whisky. I had ice cold drinks all night long. Massive win!


Above: Evening camp setup


Above: My ice flask with Black Label inside put a stupid smile on my mug that never left. Camp chair I finally gave in and brought along might have had something to do with that as well… but no, I was so chuffed to be in new territory. Somewhere that after eight years of wanting to go I’d never been. So nice!


Above: Officer Flat Ass van der Dawg of the Tyre Leaners settled in. Guys in the background were nosy, sure, but very chill and were satisfied with our receipt and left us be. Some light banter, a bit of intel exchange and they were off. Next time we go, we can call them and they’ll organize a goat for us…


Above: Nighttime fell like a weighted blanket of silence pierced only by cricket song and hyena calls. And wouldn’t you believe it? Not only no rain, but a clear sky to showcase the full moon.

To be continued...

Sensible boys, us, we had intentionally rationed our booze in advance of coming on the ride. If you overdo it, you suffer the consequences. Ask me how I know. This trip, and this trip, are only two examples. Turns out 300ml is the perfect amount to keep a couple of guys happy but not stupid. We slept reasonably and awoke with our eyeballs facing straight which was a game changer.


Above: Dawg off to greet the dawn with a deuce.

Morning was gorgeous. Sunshine lighting up the valley. Not too hot yet. We had our coffees and a bite or two (Dawg the Human Garbage Disposal ate two raw cheese sausages… I couldn’t stop him), took care of the morning constitutionals and were dressed and on our way… almost. Like a tit, I waited until the last moment to ask, almost in jest, “everyone’s tyre pressures okay”? Dammit. Dawg’s front had a thorn like a six penny nail in it. But once that was sorted, all we had to do was reattach the triple tree top nut which was literally on its last thread and we were on the trail. I mean how the hell? Phew…


Above: Puncture, triple clamp near calamity, and sadly… a wounded soldier. Apparently a $15 chair is worth precisely $15. Guess I’ll return to my tyre leaning tribe where I belong. I always felt morally superior without a chair anyway.

Now it’s just the small issue of getting off this mountainside and riding through the depths of the now sweltering Rift Valley in time for nyama choma at Muturis 250km away. The first few km were rough going. We thought riding up the grass covered baby heads and bowling balls was tricky, but it was 10 times worse riding down it. Brakes don’t work. Can’t see if there’s a rut. It was touch and go and very slow, but we made it down to Ngarakete and from there it was smooth sailing.


Above: Finally a pic that kind of does it justice. Tell me, do you see a trail? How many rocks can you count? I promise there are gazillions. Almost as many rocks as kapenta in Lake Vic.


Above: Have a go at Dawg on the big girl, just getting it done!


Above: Less rocky, no less steep and tiring.


Above: Finally down off the slopes, time to make tracks.


Above: But first, pull the nature out of your wheel before you break something.


Above: Oh yeah, and then there’s that damn gully to re-cross


Above: Ok, now we’re ready to move, baby!


Above: A parting shot of Shompole. This is Dawg thanking his lucky stars he’s still alive. Two minutes earlier he had given the T7 a big squirt of throttle only to find out the truth about what lies beneath that thin dry crust. We went back to have a look at the two-wheel drift he miraculously pulled off… sketchy!

Time to move. We were on a cool hillside in the morning, down at 600m at Lake Natron’s elevation a bit later, and 40km later we’re up at Little Magadi, another alkaline lake glimmering like a jewel under the African mid-day sun. This place is fantastic. First came here a few years ago with Panic, and since it’s been a highlight of trips to the area. But since then, I’ve discovered a couple of other tracks which make it even better. It’s scenic and a blast to ride. I think Dawg would have cried if he had any water left in his carcass.


Above: Little Magadi, a dangerous beauty. Alkaline lake in the 40C baking heat.


Above: Big Red Pig. World’s greatest desert motorbike. Fight me.


Above: Put them together, my god what a view! (Apart from that slightly twisted fork boot… shaaaameful shit.)


Above: After sight-seeing at Little Magadi, it was time to explore my new tracks. First we have to gamble with the mud-flat crossing. Would recent rains upcountry have transformed it to viscous sludge? I’ve been there before… see here. Only one way to find out.


Above: Silent but for the wind and our tinnitus, this place has incredible desolate beauty.


Above: And rocks. It has lots of rocks.


Above: I pulled off the track to check out what looked like little sand dunes but were very compact sand instead. And there in the sand was a kid’s drawing of what is clearly the cycle of – or hope for – rain. You’ve got sun on the left, clouds building up, a tree growing and then some kind of fruit. The people who live in this place are hard as nails, and it would seem they often dream of rain. I wonder if the kid that drew this has ever eaten a fruit.

I’d forgotten one tiny detail about this track... When I discovered it a month ago I thought: it’s a one-way road. Gotta go down, not up, because there’s one section there that’ll kick your ass! But our bad asses are not so easily kicked apparently, and not knowing/remembering how hard something is can make it doable just because it must be. I took off up the track using the ample low-end grunt of the Pig to crawl out of the hole. Dawg’s Tenere is a long-legged girl though, and he hadn’t given me much space, so before he knew it, he nearly on me. His only hope was to climb the craggy solid stone on the inside of the corner while I spun and puttered around the outside rut in the loose stuff. Oblivious to his plight, I finally hooked up just as he was about to eat my ass and we both made it up without dabbing. Good damn thing too, because starting the XR on that hill would have been disastrous.


Above: After our unexpectedly harrowing ascent.

And that’s it folks! We hit the tar for Muturis and devoured a kilo of mbuzi choma. The photo Dawg took of us was so unflattering though that I’ll just leave it out to save our fragile egos. We nearly ran over what looked a lot like a spitting cobra on the tarmac after lunch, but that was the worst of it. Almost… I discovered a puncture literally 30 seconds after saying goodbye to Dawg, but two separate sessions with the hand pump and speedy wheeling got me home.

In summary: The Loita-Nguruman link remains untested, and I have more tracks to explore. Rain in Nairobi means sweet fakall for what’s happening in the Valley. It’s always better to go than to stay home. A frozen flask is a game changer; a camp chair… less so. Kenya is amazing and the XR650R is the best motorcycle ever built (fight me).

Until next time.

Braaap.

And as ever, here's the video for the illiterate...