Up at a leisurely pace, the Clever Three scratched around awhile before sauntering out for breakfast. It was a lovely sunny morning. We hoped our good buddies were having a lovely time riding up in the glorious sunshine… no, we hoped they were getting soaked! And lo, upon arrival, the first thing I hear Holesaw say is “!@#$ I’m cold”! They’d been drizzled on all morning long. LOLs, suckas!
Above: Five bikes in a line, ready to get clear of this cold weather and ride some riverbeds and deserts.
With no further ado, we shot north. Used to be a torturous, rocky, rutted mess getting from Nyahururu to Maralal. Now it’s tar almost all the way, so there’s nothing of interest there for the avid Pig rider. That said, we did have a nice diversion in Mugie looking for a mate of Wry’s (total legend, always has snacks and beers ready for us when we pass through, except for last time… and this time too…) who unfortunately wasn’t around. We did get to meet the friendly pet giraffe however, and she absolutely loved us and the Pigs.
Above: That giraffe was hilarious… wandered delicately between the bikes, sniffing our helmets, looking for treats. Cool girl.
Enough of the Laikipia experience. We can visit wildlife sanctuaries with the 4x4s and families, it was time to break North where there be monsters. We flew through Maralal, stopping only for go-juice at an out-of-town station (to avoid the muppetry) where I saw a 1990s Cagiva W16 600CC motorbike… you see the weirdest stuff in Maralal! From there, it was a stop at our perennial lunch spot on the side of the escarpment. Four of us got there unscathed, but Holesaw wiped out on a quick off-camber right hander. He spent most of his lunch break fixing his brake lever and hand guards while we ate liberally from his kilo bag of biltong.
Above: Me looking down on it all… I think we should ride that riverbed
Above: Lobo and I ready to rip!
Above: Panic all smiles now that the rain is behind us... but I'll be watching out for the stink eye when the heat comes!
Hunger satiated, we dropped off the escarpment and down into the lugga, ripped around in there for a few km and popped out en route to the Milgis… the 80km long lugga of legend. So wide you can lose your riding buddies, the Milgis is prone to sand storms, you’ve got to mind the drop offs, sand snakes, and tree debris because now and then she’s cause for concussion. Enjoy, but enjoy responsibly! Fortunately, the lugga’s grabby and relentless sand keeps even the torquiest bikes in check to some degree… at our gearing it wasn’t easy getting over 120kph, but it was pure joy trying!
Above: My beauty in the warm-up lugga
Unfortunately, not after the warm-up lugga, Lobo’s bike went poop. While idling, it just flamed out. On the XRR, that usually means one of two things: 1) dirty fuel, so drain the carb bowl 2) dust in the kill switch, so clean it out. Panic advised Lobo to try the Pig Remedies and lo! The 520 started up and we were ripping on our way to the Milgis…
Above: Lobo’s first hiccup
…where the 520 promptly pooped out again and wouldn’t start. I was impressed that the battery kept going so damn long while Lobo tried every variation of choke, throttle and prayer to get her started again, but then somebody pointed out the battery isn’t made by KTM, so that made sense.
Above: At the start of the Milgis, coaxing the 520 to play nicely
Above: And that’s when Holesaw proposed! I’d never been so happy in my life. Whisky! Oh my gawd! I do! I do, you curly haired gorilla with glasses, I do!
After all the excitement and the immediate annulment of our nuptials (fafaksake, I have my own whisky! I don't need no man! Also, wait, I'm already married!) at the start of the lugga, it only made sense that muppetry would ensue. We told Lobo to just head up the lugga, but in no time he’d somehow gone up a track into the bush. Wry took off after him, but of course missed him and kept going for 5km before coming back. I went after Wry, and followed a track up the wrong lugga assuming it would be Wry’s or Lobos… anyway. By the time we found each other again, Lobo’s bike was dead again, so we repeated the procedure and took off… again.
Above: Once we were underway, it was time to take bike portraits in the lugga
Above: Since I write these reports, and it takes approximately half as much time to write them as it does to ride them (not counting the preparation of tracks etc), I feature my bike in the bike and scenery portraits, cause you know what fellas? Mine’s the most beautiful! End of discussion.
Above: That said, I’ll sometimes allow Panic’s bike in a scenery shot too cause if I don’t, he won’t let me wrench in his garage any more… #iamstupidbutnotthatstupid
The best feeling for this riverbed is in the video I’ll post at the end of the story. It is such a joy to rip through. The size of the thing makes it tricky to get your head around. Pics make it look like everyone's idling, and in videos, a guy appears slow unless he nearly grazes the cameraman going past... so that's what we have learned to aim for. Hold it wide open and aim for your buddy with the camera, miss him at the last second if you can! It’s a lovely way to spend a couple hours.
Above: See… My bike makes the scenery look even better IMO
About two thirds the way down the lugga, you reach a stone waterfall. Lobo got there quick, not wanting to stop and tempt fate, and his bike promptly died as he waited for us to show up. So while he did the fuel dump routine again (by this time, it’s not making much sense that this is the main issue) we bragged about our speeds and close calls and generally hooted it up like the 40 somethings we wish we weren't.
Above: Wry and I helping Lobo with his bike
Above: Holesaw, a BRP and a KTM
As soon as Lobo got the 520 running, I was up the trail leading him the short way past the falls. Not having the luxury to find a gradual entry, he just dumped it straight in and then he was gone in a roar of fury. One by one the others came and made a dog’s breakfast of the entry (I may include shameful waddling footage in the outtakes later) but we were soon again on our way, blasting for the entry to Ngurunit.
Above: Wry making it look easy (or more accurately, me picking the shot that makes it look like he made it look easy…)
Above: Panic on his way after roosting himself into a hole a minute earlier
Damned if we didn’t find Lobo again after only a few KMs. Not sure where the exit was (he hadn’t loaded the track on his Garmin… probably because Garmin makes you load each track one at a time and he got dizzy at some point doing it #garminsucks... more on that later) he stalled again waiting for us. We’d of course been taking pics as the hour was nearly golden. Lucky for him, he stopped near a portal and a pair of harmless looky-loos popped out to watch him work.
Above: Looky-loo One and Looky-loo Two watch Lobo curse his luck... note the special way they carry their walking sticks... hmmm
Above: By now the 520’s smaller tank was drying up, so we had to steal from Wry’s Pig to get her moving again. Once he was sorted, we gave him strict instructions to follow the lugga until the track turns out on the left about 20km… little did we realise that the track he was following was actually a river on his basemap, so off he went with no idea where to turn.
Above: What’s that you say? You’d like another pic of my Pig? Oh very well!
Above: This is actually not a pic of my bike, it’s a pic of the Ndoto mountains and a crazy sky
Above: This is also a pic of the Ndotos… but if you look closely, you'll see my bike there as well
We probably should have insisted that Lobo follow us to the turn, but we were so caught up in the beauty of the place we were all gawking at it and taking photos. Wry was closest to him and had him in sight when he went racing past the turnoff. Not wishing to break his neck in a 120+kph race to catch him, Wry stopped and when I got there I took off in pursuit. Eventually I saw Lobo turning back, so I looped around ahead of him.
On the way we passed one or two herders with AK-47s. It’s pretty common to see them, and sometimes they have their guns in their hands, not shouldered… young guys in these places are expected by their cultures to be macho and tough, to fear nothing and nobody, and to intimidate would be adversaries. But one guy took the Theatre of the Morani too far this time… I went past him with a wave, but when Lobo approached, he took a bead on him with his gun, got down on one knee to do it, and followed him squinting along the barrel until he was out of sight. Understandably, this was upsetting as hell for Lobo, who gave it full throttle and got the hell out of there. Again, this is why we don't like to backtrack, and why it's key that everyone follows the tracks I make... you pass people more than once, and some of them will take the chance to be a c*nt. I hope that guy gets liver flukes. I hope his willy falls off. Feel free to wish ill on him in your own special way as well.
Above: Last of the Milgis, Ndotos in the distance
Finally on the road to Ngurunit, me in the lead, Lobo behind me… wait, where’s Lobo. Right, he’s out of gas by now. I hook back and we repeat the procedure for the nth time. Holesaw and Wry toodle on to Ngurunit to make sure beers are ready when we arrive, and Panic and I help Lobo as best we can. Now that we're on hard-packed ground, Panic gives him a pull-start… obviously the pilot jet is blocked, right? Bike fires up. Eureka! Off we go.
Above: A knackered Holesaw on the road to Ngurunit... he and Wry had been riding over 10 hours by that point
Above: Ndotos always impress. I know what you're thinking... this pic would be better with my bike in it...
Above: Okay, okay, if you insist!
At the camp, Lobo gets busy stripping the bike while the rest of us get busy drinking Tuskers and talking shite. I take a quick rip into the village to buy another sarong (they have the best ones up there, so soft! At the coast or in the North, there’s nothing better. Gotta let the boys breathe after a long day on the throttle) and then we settle in to rehash the day. Sadly for Lobomoto, the jet, though clogged, wasn’t the (only) culprit. The stator/coil/or maybe CDI was no longer making any spark. Panic called time of death by headlamp light around 8pm. Lobo's trip was done.
Above: Many dead soldiers and one dead KTM
We shot the breeze in the heat and the wind until the beers were gone.
Tomorrow – Chalbi Desert to North Horr... it's a whole lotta desert!
:snorting:
