Eburru Breakout!
The Corona Lockdown of 2020 ended (for now) which meant the boys and I wasted no time getting on the bikes for a ride. Wry had been to Eburru Forest with the family and no doubt realized how much more fun it would be to go there with bikers, so we packed up our Pigs and hit the dirt for a one-night ride and camp.
Above: My insuperable XR650R in travel trim minus the extra-large tank. We’d find fuel along the way.
We met at Wry’s place at 8AM for some weak-ass coffee and dry-ass toast. To be fair, I made the coffee and the toast was perhaps unavoidably and even desirably dry, being toast and all, but I digress. While breakfasting, I noticed something amiss with our newest Pig owner’s kit. Having prepared in a rush to join us – understandably eager as he surely was to hang out with three real cool dudes like us – his soft-bag setup had one big flaw: The strap holding it on was in a position sure to be ripped to shreds by the rear tire on the first big hit. Fortunately, Panic was on the scene and made a plan, relocating the straps and mounting them afresh. The bag was secure, for the time being, and we took off down the valley behind the Ngong Hills.
Above: On his maiden voyage with the Pig, Mr Phancy Pants adjusts his equipment at Wry’s place. Being his first trip, it was expected he’d have a few teething issues with equipment etc, but nobody could have foreseen the vintage 90’s Fancy Dress Thor Trousers he’d grace us with on the ride! What a treat!
Above: Mr Pants adjusts his equipment, again, behind the Ngongs. It would become something of a theme. Damn those vintage bungee cords… just not enough stretch for the rigors of the Rift!
The morning warmed up quickly and the throttles cried out for twisting, so we ripped past Saikeri on to Najile. This section of road has great flow, good speeds and one or two nice little tricky spots to keep you within the limits. There are many culverts out there ripe for launching, but at least one of them hides a gnarly washout on the other side. Biker beware!
Above: Wry putting kms between him and the office
Above: Nice place, Kenya
Above: Najile petrol-in-bottle-station. Panic holds forth on the prowess of the BRP to the local bikers. They all agree it is a machine.
Past Najile, we kept Mt Suswa on our right flank and pounded over the rough tracks. I had my eye on a nice wide riverbed that would take us up to the Narok Road, so we aimed our wheels and let fly. Upon arriving at the lugga, however, it became clear that it wasn’t going to be easy. A few years of floods had cut vertical walls with no visible entry points anywhere. The road dead-ended into a sheer 3 meter drop off and nobody had cared to make a new way in. We diverted South, found an entry point and thought we had it made, but unfortunately a 3 meter dry waterfall killed that idea too. Given the time and the distance remaining, we decided to have a bite to eat in the shade and take the more direct route instead.
Above: Me checking out the riverbed. 3 meter drop off and no entry point meant we’d have to divert.
Above: Panic wanted to look at the riverbed too, but dropped the Piggy turning around. Luckily, I was there to get this nice action shot. I feel our friendship only grows as we show each other our vulnerable sides. Ha! Muppet!
Above: Only a few hundred meters into the riverbed, a dried waterfall blocked our forward progress so we stopped for lunch.
Above: A nice little shady water hole made a great spot for our repast of tinned fish
Above: Phancy phixing his phucked up luggage while Wry does nothing to assist, and I mean nothing!
Above: Leaving the riverbed in a roar… I’ll return with more time to find a way around the blockage and up the lugga.
Pounding our way along, we reached the Narok road, headed further West and diverted North again. Our tires had just barely hit dirt when Wry decided to examine the soil in detail. And what a spot to do it, too. In a series of tricky mud sections, which I managed to cross with no issues at all it should be noted, Wry pitched himself sidelong into the muck. Of course, he blamed me: “I hit your track and it knocked me in!” What a tw…izzler. A green sheen floated on the surface and his bike was basking nicely in it. I bravely returned to take a photo of his shame, but he seemed to think I should help him pick up his bike. No easy task, that. And just the sheer effort of watching Wry and I struggle and fart around in vain made Panic drop his bike in the mud as well. Comic, really. We’re bad-assed experts for sure.
Above: Wry’s bike takes a mud bath with him along for the ride. The smell became known as “Eau de Muppet”
Above: Muddy piggy needed a bit of help… the throttle body doesn’t spin well when packed full of cow manure and mud, and we didn’t need Wry launching himself like a missile with no tailfins up the escarpment!
Above: Down on the flats, the effect of a series of heavy rainy seasons was obvious
Above: Absolutely beautiful… and the scenery isn’t bad either, heading up the Mau
Above: A patchwork quilt of farms and weedy, treeless areas roll on forever up here. Conspicuously absent: forest.
Above: With one drop of rain, this track would have been a diabolical bobsled course. We got lucky with the weather this time.
Above: Over the top of the Mau and down to Kongoni on some of the roughest, least flowy tracks around… It’s scenic, but hard work. The Pig makes it as easy as it can be, just soaking up the bumps with its
one foot of wheel travel. Remind me again why people like the 690?
Fuelled up, we raced the rest of the way to Kongoni, around to Eburru and up the hill to the Forest Gate just ahead of a doozy of a raincloud that looked to me like it was getting closer. It’s now time for my obligatory sawdust grind about the state of the world, trees and overpopulation. Eburru Forest is a little emerald gem, but it’s a fraction of an ecosystem that once extended to the Mau Forest and down to Masai Mara. Now, the fence line of Eburru is as sharply delineated as American Politics and there is nothing connecting it and the Mau, which has dwindled horribly even since I’ve been riding bikes in Kenya in 2003. It’s a shame, but what to do, right? With 360,000 babies born every day and half as many of us kicking the bucket, I guess we’re all on a one-way ticket to Armageddon. Thank heavens I’m going there on a Pig.
Above: Google Earth shows the damage to the corridor in the less than 20 years since I’ve been riding through… the Mau Forest is almost gone. Eburru has been salvaged, but without a corridor linking other areas, it’s now an island of green in an Agricultural free-for all, with people planting on hillsides with no terraces, cutting trees, and generally getting it all wrong.
Above: Arrival at the gate. Nobody was thinking about deforestation… we were thinking about the whopping rain cloud that was rumbling just over the hill. Wry swore it wouldn’t arrive and for once in all the time I’ve known him, he was right!
In no time, we were signed in and rumbling to the campsite which was a grassy spot on the edge of a small volcanic crater from which was continually emitted several jets of steam. While we made camp and changed out of riding kit, a motorbike appeared with our beer delivery! That’s how it’s done folks. Well done again Wry! Tucking into some Biltong and swilling beers, we slid down the crater rim to the nearest steam vent and lounged around in the heat created by this giant ball hurtling through the universe we all sit on.
Above: Camp all to ourselves.
Above: Biltong at camp
Above: Taking in the vapours
Above: Me wondering how I’m going to get another beer just as Mr Pants arrives with fresh ammo!
Above: Inoculating against Corona by licking the prehistoric ooze… (no I didn’t)
Above: Not a bad place to chill after a long ride… it’s gonna take me a while to lose the Covid-19kgs I’ve put on. That six-pac would work on the Michelin Man.
As dusk settled in, we clamoured back up to camp, arranged ourselves around a fire that Wry and Mr. Pants finally got roaring and polished off our last beers. Two packs of sausage and several tuppers worth of goodies from the depths of Pants’s panniers later and we were stuffed. Out came the whisky and on came the music. Bullshit and blather continued well into the night and 1.5L of whisky evaporated just like the mist. The clouds hung low and sped fast across a dimly lit sky. It was a very funky place to be. Good place.
Above: Me and Panic. Like two nuts in a scrot.
Above: Evening camp. Note Wry is the only one drying his kit… wonder why that is? Do I smell Eau de Wanker.
Above: Someone paint me this still life
Above: Not even dark yet and things are getting silly. I often photoshop funny faces on the guys, but this time, there’s no need! Panic looks like a mad arab refugee undergoing chemotherapy while holding back a fart and Wry is the spitting image of a Chameleon just before he tongues a fly to death.
Above: More kit drying, unsuccessfully we learned later (to our delight) and an ominous Panic bringing over the next half litre of Whisky (to our detriment).
Tomorrow's tomorrow... :snorting:
