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

[Rbacknz]

Have just done the big marathon read of all your RR’s. Fantastic and absolutely amazing writing. The photos are epic. Thanks for letting us see a part of Kenya that most of us will never get the chance.

 

[Osadabwa]

Welcome to another installment! This time, three XR650R Big Red Pigs and the "Big Girl" Yamaha Tenere T7 head out for five days of blasting stones, sand, and everything in between. But this time, we treated ourselves to a civilized pause to take in a bit of Nile Perch and Tiger fishing on the Jade Sea - Lake Turkana here we come!

Our first day is a hellovanadventrue all on its own. We leave Nairobi early and ride 12 hours, nearly kicking it from heat exhaustion in Kenya's Northern Suguta Valley on the way to the shore of Lake Logipi. Have a look at that ride HERE IS THE LINK in case you're itching to get up there now.

Meantime I'm putting this ride report together now.

As has become an odd little tradition for us, we've put together a masterful little intro vid set to music for you to get you further into the spirit. Enjoy!


Above: Prisencolinensinainciusol by Adriano Calentano - but in the backdrop of a dirt-bike and fishing adventure in Kenya. Nonsense all around. Enjoy!

Back soon with the writeup.

To be continued...

 

[Osadabwa]

Weeks ago, Wry announced he’s free from work and guests over the coming long weekend. Hearing that, an occurrence as rare as hen’s teeth, we all scrambled to work around it. Officer Downward-Facing-Snoop-Doggy van der Dawg was 100% in… but then added a proviso: His participation was assured provided the trip included fishing. Fishing? For the love of… we are bikers! We ride bikes! Braaap! Vrooom! Dammit! That should be sufficient motivation, but no, this newbie Saffer who rides the wrong bike thinks he can dictate terms! Obviously, immediately and adamantly we unanimously told him to get stuffed sideways and showed his substantial carcass where to go!

Right, that’s a lie. Instead, Wry, stiff as a boiled noodle, caved and organized for us to fish Nile Perch and Tiger fish off the South Island in Lake Turkana! Had to admit that was a cool plan… and bang! Dawg was back in! A week or so out, we were a band of three because for some reason (moon phase maybe, ominous horoscope reading, pet hamster not feeling well?) Panic declared rather Germanicly that he was out. “Auf Wiedersehen and get stuffed!” seemed to be the subtext! But then we had a braai with a lot of beers and he was back in! The lovefest reborn! Then we disclosed the full extent of the ride and he was out again, schnell schnell. Then we amended the track somewhat and he was back in again! It was an emotional rollercoaster, that made you want to throw spanners at him, but we were all chuffed when on the morning of the ride Panic was kitted up and ready to rock! Four bikes! Let’s go!

Above: We left home from different corners of Nairobi at 6AM to rendezvous at a EsQoffee on the Uplands road to Naivasha. Orthographically challenged place was open early bells, had coffee and tea and the best view of Mt. Longonot around.

Our plan for the day was a bit on the self-abusive side (which Wry, onanist of note, had no issues with). First we needed to ride 4 hours of tarmac from Nairobi to Maralal. We Pig riders were going to hate that, but luckily Dawg and the T7 would also hate it because he’d be stuck going 110kph with the rest of us instead of flying happily along at 160, so it assuaged our pain somewhat knowing it was shared equally. We long ago decided that to get to the north a long transport section was worth the hassle, so after our tea stop, we blitzed a couple hours more to Rumuruti for Rolexes at Willy’s Choma Zone.

Above: Breakfast stop at Willy’s in Rumuruti. Panic looking fresh as a daisy.

Above: Goat and Pigs… the red ones are still on the hoof

Above: The waitress assured us that “Mursik” is Kiswahili… for something. But the chapati and egg roll (Rolex, in Uganda) and sweet, milky tea hit the spot!

Above: Leaving Willy’s, Dawg helped Wry with a little sunscreen… and soon enough he was ready to mime the village idiot.

Another hour on tar and we were in Maralal, ready to drop off the escarpment down to Barsaloi on the track to Baragoi (everyone up to speed on place names now? Good). Since it was 11AM or so and we all had phone calls and work to do, we found a dodgy (really dodgy) bar and hunkered in the entry way, sucking on the last properly cold beer for a while, desperately trying to get the 7-month pregnant waitress to serve us and doing our various dealings. Amazing what you can do in the bush in Africa nowadays. I made an international bank transfer! But getting our bill was next to impossible.

Above: At unnamed shithole bar. We won’t be back there soon…

Above: At least the beers were cold

Business affairs attended to, we gathered up the bikes and ripped out of town. The Pigs saw dirt and let the dust fly! Happy bikes, happy riders, we ripped down the track toward Operoi and stopped at our usual viewpoint for a bit of a snack and a breather. Dawg was getting another taste of riding the T7 in the dirt, but it was only the beginning of what was in store for us that day. (In the biz, they call that foreshadowing.)

Above: Look how clean they are!

Above: Look how clean THEY are!

Off the hills and down in the plains it was time to let fly. Barsaloi to Baragoi is a ripper of note. It’s a beautiful dirt road, mostly tame and forgiving, but with long views and just enough embedded stones and washouts to keep you on your best behaviour. Dawg was fretting about pinch flats, but nothing came of the fuss. Later in the ride he’d throw that concern out the window.

Above: Dawg heading out. 500kgs of rolling thunder coming through!

Above: Oh, sorry camera man… was I too quick? Eat my dust sucka!

Above: That’s a lovely spot. Love the colors here.

In a blink we were in Baragoi. We’d been riding a working day already, but using metrics that matter, the ride had only just begun. Our plan was to descend into Suguta Valley – the Kenya press often calls it “Kenya’s Valley of Death” because of ongoing banditry, cattle rustling and general misbehaviour that characterises the characters who live nearby and hide in the valley when they get in trouble. We’d drop in on a road we knew from years before (link in the first post, go look… it’s cool to see how much has changed!) and make our way over to a rock jutting out from the dry lakebed. That sounds easy enough, but we don’t know the state of said road anymore, and we’ve never camped down there, so we were taking all due precautions (you know, apart from not going, or carrying a satellite phone or In Reach or anything like that). In Baragoi we all grabbed between 6 and 8 litres of water, filled the tanks to the top and left in a cloud of dust toward South Horr (or so we lied when asked… never know who’s asking, so we make like a politician.)

Above: Arranging Wry’s kit… it has been an ongoing struggle. We allow it only because he’s such a good mate… and because just occasionally he organizes things like fishing on South Island or a night at an awesome lodge somewhere! Otherwise we’d dump him like his ex-girlfriend.

Above: Panic spotted this… now I don’t mean to disparage the good folks of Baragoi, but I’m somewhat perplexed… Comedy? Rap Battles? Target shooting maybe!

Anyway, pondering Baragoi’s Talent and happy as hell to get away from what we’d seen of it, we were trundling down into the valley past Nachola on a nice, slightly rocky road. Of course, it wasn’t long before Wry had to fix his luggage setup… I mean have mercy Wry! But soon enough we were flying. Hanging a right, a very newly graded section of track took us along through rocky hillsides with long views over toward Logipi and down into the canyons that feed it.

Above: Wry’s luggage malfunction.

Above: Panic got the zoomies!

Above: Look at that road! A real beauty. It was recently made to allow Turkana from Baragoi to travel in peace to visit other Turkana in Parkati, a village that has long been cut off from the rest and has only been reachable by travelling through Samburu country, a situation that for Turkana is precarious at best, deadly at worst because the two tribes are not on speaking terms… they use each other for target practice. So, in 2021 or so, the Turkana DC of Baragoi just said: Hell with it, I’m making my people a road. You go, Lawrence! Certainly, on behalf of my little clan of misfits, I thank you!

Above: Easy going so far, Dawg takes in the untouched scenery

Above: We’re happy. Really happy. The valley floor is near, the sun is setting… we can almost taste the whisky! We’re almost there! (That’s called irony).

Above: I got inspired enough to do a little dance!

To be continued...

 

[Osadabwa]

And then things took a turn. Literally. The nicely graded road continued past a couple of big pieces of machinery that had just made it and disappeared off to the right, confidently tracing a line off into the distance where no mishaps ever happen. Meanwhile, I steered my little band of lemmings off said track to the left, straight down into the valley on what could be charitably described as a bulldozer track. This was the track we took back in 2021. At the time, we did remark: I bet this thing is destroyed in five years’ time… Turns out we are right sometimes!

Above: Dawg sets off down what used to be dirt and is now heaps of stones. Mostly flat and mostly small, it wasn’t really tough going, but not quick either.

Above: Panic and Wry showed us just how not quick it could be done. Jeeezus, you’d think they were making a contest to see who could be slowest! Want proof? The image above is a video!

Above: Rattling down, you can see Lake Logipi in the distance, tempting you. Did I mention it was hotter than Hades and we were sweating through our teeth by this time? Don’t let those shadows fool you, everything’s hot.

Above: Wry semi-cocked it up but didn’t go down. Lucky I was there to capture it. You’re welcome, mate!

Above: I wondered if I’d have mutiny at this point, but these three are too tough to give in that easily, so we gamely continued on. And it got worse.

At first, it was worse, but in a good way. Technical, but very rideable. I was enjoying it, if sweating a lot in the process. Dawg, we would find out later, was knackered already by this point. Tossing the T7 around effortlessly takes a lot of effort apparently, and that’s just what he’d been doing for the past ten hours or so.

Above: Wry just before things got really tricky

Above: Officer van Hang-Dawg re-evaluating his life choices. “If only”, he must have been thinking, “I had taken that spare XR650R that was generously offered me… alas! Perhaps here I shall perish for my hubris! Just leave me to die with my priiiiide! My only regret is that I shall not have a chance to catch fush in Lake Turkana!”

Soon, things disintegrated completely. A goat path was somewhat etched into the road, but those nimble bastards tiptoe around most of the rocks, where wheeled Pigs and T7s can’t. Wry went first, giving it a solid effort. Sure, the outriggers were out like a swahili Ngalawa coming around the Northern tip of Zanzibar in a gale, but he picked his way through the worst of it and was at the bottom in short order. Then came Dawg on the Big Girl…

Above: Wry makes it through, no harm done.

Dawg approached the stones cautiously, remembering at the last minute to turn off the ABS! (Just kiss everyone’s collective ass, Yamaha, for making bikers remember to do this. Kiss it.) Then, our version of Pol Tarres grunted forth, making a valiant effort to heave his feet off the rocks and onto the pegs, but before I knew it, he’d fallen to the left with the bike atop him, twisting his torso and neck in a very ugly way against the cutout. I managed to get my bike on the stand and hustled down to help him extricate himself from beneath the bike.

After a totally insufficient rest, he launched again at the next section and ended up clobbering a bowling ball that sent the front and rear tyres flying before he could get his body in position to stand a chance of making it. Down like a sack of spuds into the rocks he goes, this time on the right. Dawg’s big on symmetry… just look at his haircut! Again I hustle down to help him out from under the T7. By the time we had it on two wheels, we were completely, utterly exhausted… but the ride must go on. Lungs heaving, Dawg managed to crawl ahead and climb up where Wry was waiting and collapsed in a heap.

Above: Dawg’s second tumble… both spills are faithfully recorded in the video I shall post at the end of the report. You know, for posterity. You’re welcome, Dawg!

Now since I’d been stumbling around on rocks in bike kit and dead-lifting Yamahas, I was well and truly knackered by the time I climbed back up to my own bike to attempt the descent. Prudent Panic wisely bulldogged down the worst of it, walking alongside his bike to the bottom with me kind of half-ass spotting him. By the time he was there, I had caught enough breath to say: Shit. Well, I’ve gotta try riding. It’s my fault we’re down here. And anyway, everybody else is gone! And I managed to tumble and stumble and roll my way to the bottom without totally cocking it up.

Wait, what’s that? There’s no footage of it? Everyone was so tired they didn’t film? Okay then, let me amend a few things…

“To hell with it,” I shouted bravely, “this chickenshit pile of pebbles ain’t no match for me!” And with that, I leapt astride my roaring Battle Pig and launched down the scree pile, screaming victoriously and spouting oaths while my wheels pulverized the basalt! Alive and well, having bested the section with ease, I roared up to my helpless, semi-unconscious mates, leaping selflessly to their aid, administering care for their wounds and kind words all around. So full of vigor was I! Huzzah!

Above: Me schlepping back up to my bike. No footage exists of my epic descent, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

Back in reality and heaving for breath, we all collapsed on the baking rocks for a bit before somebody got up and attacked the next hill. Luckily, it was much simpler going and it lifted our spirits to clear it with no issues. Soon we were rolling along through an amazing landscape of eroded gullies and sandy washes. Dawg took a tumble in the sand once and managed to get his chain derailed on a climb but otherwise we made cracking headway through the most golden of golden hours in the most remote corner Kenya has to offer.

Above: Looking back on the Dawg’s Breakfast we’d just been through.

Above: A lone piggy stands boldly among the stones. The others were administering first aid to the T7 which had thrown her chain in a fit of pique. Dawg had taken a decidedly unwise line (mind was a bit blurry I reckon) and ended up off-piste where the chain picked up a stone and hopped the rear sprocket.

Above: An example of grace and skill. A single dab and I was up. Agile as a gazelle! Light as a feather. Lucky bastard, me.

Above: Sorting the chain. Since the T7 wears a cush drive, Panic just had Dawg roll the bike backwards until the sprocket hopped back into place. There’s enough give in those rubbers to do this without breaking the chain. We’d do it one more time on the ride, so I guess it’s true!

Above: Panic gives the thumb’s up, but the eyes tell another tale… (Panic sees dead people)

From the chain flop, the track was fantastic. It was easier, more flowy, and the battles we fought were easily won (for real this time). The gilded light bouncing off the eroded hills and gardens of boulders was breathtaking. We made decent time, only picking up the T7 a couple of times, in a rush toward the outlet of a big sand lugga that would be our entry to Lake Logipi’s shore.

Above: The road was brilliant here, and just look at that view

Above: A small tumble, nothing to worry about. Check out those boulders! Guess the water gets moving through here sometimes, eh? Couple more rainy seasons and this track will be erased.

Above: Dawg doesn’t quite take the right line, but he gets there in the end

Above: Panic makes it easy. Like Alan Millyard - got it right first time!

Above: The hundreds of paths water makes, and a lonely rider traversing them with a roar. Stupid Mother Nature. Get a bike!

Above: Giving it socks – take me to the whisky!

Above: Obligatory glamor shot of my beautiful beast. So reliable. So enjoyable. That bike is like an extension of my body at this point. Is it wrong to love a vehicle so? How many Hail Mary's shall I say, cause I'll say 'em dammit. If this love be wrong, I don't wanna be right!

Above: Wry has the new GoPro out and we were chasing the sunset with it

Above: At last we made it to the sand flats. Only a few km to the place I’d picked for camp. There’s a stone that juts up out of the sand like the back of a great petrified whale. I figured it’d be protected from wind, have amazing views, and maybe be far enough from bad guys to keep us alive for the night.

Above: Sun glints off the lake in the distance

Above: Our campsite hunkers somewhere on the shoulder of that stone mound.

Above: Panic arriving

Above: We eventually decided to camp in a little cove of yellow rock spilling out of the stone where the sand was soft and we were sheltered on two sides from view

Above: Amazingly, we arrived just in time for sunset. Dawg and I cracked open our still frozen flasks and added a dram or two of whisky to salute a day well earned. That frozen flask thing is a winner. Camp chairs be damned, if I’m splurging on a luxury, this is the one for me.

All jokes and bravado aside, it was a harrowing couple of hours getting to camp. Once we were off the bike, our bodies told us the truth. Every movement was laborious. Our breathing was shallow. We were starving, but couldn’t eat much. Water went down, but almost painfully. It took ages to get set up and settled, and ages more before a bit of life returned and the jollity of the evening could properly commence.

Above: Camp Lokipi

A full moon bathed the world in silver light so bright we hardly needed our headlamps. We chowed on ramen noodles, camel meat (yep, Panic brough it and it was amazing, a tribute to his Somali heritage and a talisman against bad juju down in the Suguta), Dawg’s unrivalled homemade biltong, salty cashews and more. The ration of ice cold whisky went down so smoothly and contrasted with the heat of everything else in the world around us. It was amazing.

But things were still not right with our bodies. Wry and I both had to bolt into the darkness at the behest of unsettled bowels and Dawg found himself chundering violently in the sand after we’d all gone to bed. But in between the noise of camp and the bodily functions was a very pure type of beauty. At one point I got up to rinse out my cooking pot and just kept walking. At first, I wanted to see what camp looked like from a distance, then I wanted to see how far I had to go until I couldn’t hear the guys. Then I realised I could hear flamingos, so I kept walking all the way to the lake shore. Nothing but me and the full moon. Just as I’d hoped. This day was bucket-list stuff for me. I could now go fishing in peace.

Above: Night preparations. Dawg slept sans tent (good thing, considering the chundering episode was on its way soon), the rest of us left off the rain flies. I’d positioned myself several meters away to avoid the snore chorus and slept like the dead.

Above: Parting shots of Dawg who reminded us “we better whip a buff over the globes to keep out the moonlight”

Fantastic day.

 

[Osadabwa]

Morning in the desert is very quiet. So when Panic let rip, it echoed across the plains, startling small desert creatures and making all of us laugh. Time to get rolling. Stories emerged of hallucinations and odd happenings in the night. Wry awoke to the moon in his face thinking someone was standing over him with a spotlight (should’a whacked a buff over the globes…). All told, though, we were in good shape and in great spirits. Wry and I took our coffee and tea up the nearest rock to get a bit of perspective. With the pink morning light and cool air, we could have stayed there forever. But the Suguta doesn’t stay cool for long, so we got ready and got gone.

Above: Camp Lokipi in the morning light

Above: Wry’s new WhatsApp avatar. Maybe a judicious cropping of the lower half wouldn’t be amiss…

Above: Silhouettes in the morning light

Packed and ready to rock, we first made our way over to within a stone’s throw of Lake Logipi. The water level is much higher than when we visited in 2021, so much so that most of our favourite memories from that ride couldn’t have happened this time around. Close to shore the mud kicks in with a vengeance, so we kept our distance, had a look, did some dancing and started for the lugga exit.

Above: Portrait of a beauty in the morning light, Lake Logipi

Above: Guys emerge from the shadow of our campsite rock

Above: Roots and stalks of grasses drown by the lake and left stranded dotted the shore

Above: A good group of fellas… mid 40’s (and one deep into early 50’s) and going strong.

Above: Heading out of the lakebed

Above: Back in the lugga and ready to roll

Well, almost ready to roll. It was at this moment that Wry realised he’d f*ct up. Arriving after having dropped his GoPro in the sand, he then realises he’s lost his mobile phone as well. Open pocket, a couple of excited leaps and there she goes. So we parked Dawg and Panic in some shade and headed back to find the thing. I was 100% sure it’d be sitting where we took that group shot, but after turning the valley inside out, we came up with nothing. Was a bummer for Wry, but I assured him his Grindr profile was safe in the cloud.

Above: Waiting for Wry to get back from his phone search

One hour in the valley is the difference between tolerable heat and thermonuclear death trap heat. Escaping would be far easier than breaking in, however. I’d wisely pre-planned two different routes out of the valley, and we took the lugga option. It’s almost as if I strongly suspected the route in would be difficult… we’ll never know for sure. Anyway, the lugga way is the way. It’s fast and beautiful.

Above: Some funky formations viewed from the lugga escape

Above: Wry bringing up the rear, still cursing himself for the loss of the phone.

Above: Panic on the bigger road ready to make tracks

Above: Look at that lovely road. Namibia eat your heart out. My only hope is that it gets destroyed by the next rains… we can’t have tracks like this making us soft. The North has already been badly marred by the wind farm road. I’m not saying don’t build roads… I’m just saying, can’t we go back to the old Kenyan tradition of never EVER maintaining them?

Above: Me and the tan cone volcano in the distance. I’d initially wanted to go see that up close, but time was a wastin’ and Dawg’s eyes were shiny thinking about fushing!

We only had one obstacle left in our path. Parkati village is a known hotspot of shenanigans. So much so that we had two different parties communicate with he chiefs in advance of our arrival so they wouldn’t sic their warriors on us or something. Way back in 2017 when I first visited this area on bikes and nearly desiccated on the rocks with Kolobus and Rawlance of a Labia (GO SEE IT HERE), we were threatened with stones passing back through Parkati, so I was keen to get in and out as quickly as possible (shut up, Wry). This time, it was easy-peasy. Emerging unscathed, things seemed very calm to us, we ripped up the track to Tuum.

Above: The topography around Parkati is beautiful. Too bad the folks are so kali. I just wanna be friends.

Above: Panic up the Parkati – Tuum road

Above: Making dust

Above: Arriving in Tuum

We rustled up some petrol in Tuum and then followed a boda to a really nice bar on the outskirts of this one camel town. It was Kenyan Independence Day, so there were a dozen smartly dressed Administrative Police guys and a whole contingent of chiefs there when we arrived. Some were keen to chat. We found out then that the only chief who hadn’t come was the one from Parkati… something about the situation down there not being good… it raised eyebrows when we told them we’d just come from there!

Above: Reasonably cold Tuskers at the bar in Tuum. Great way to celebrate leaving the Suguta Valley alive again.

We now had a mission: Get to the Lake! But I knew we also had a treat in store. The track from Tuum to the wind farm road is my favourite in Kenya. It’s a rollercoaster with a million little rises and turns, some rocks but not a pinchflat festival and fast as you like. Once we started screwing on the throttle, it was a hoot. We did a lot of leap-frogging, ripping ahead and taking vids/pics of the guys when they go by, so there’s nice footage in the video of this section, but not much in the way of pics. Man I loved it!

Above: Right out the gate, Panic is feeling the vibes

Above: Around Nyiro the road straightens out and gets sandy. Time to find the throttle stop! Maybe not the wisest time to wave, Wry, but okay!

Through the windfarm road and down to the lake, we doffed our kit and dumped it under a shady tree where a family said they’d watch over it for us. Our captain Nicholas was there to greet us and helped us carry our meagre belongings to the boat. In no time we were blasting across the lake, going with the waves toward South Island. You should have seen Dawg’s face. Like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. We were going fushing!

Above: Down to Lake Turkana. It’s always a spectacular sight. South Island showing on the horizon is where we'd be fishing/sleeping.

Above: Dogs taking in the shade of our boat. 100hp 4 stroke engine on that thing meant she could really zoom.

All aboard and feeling downright relaxed in our civilian attire. No plastic armor for 24 hours, boys, we’re spoiling ourselves!

Above: S. Island is just one crazy shoreline after another with ash cones poking up everywhere in the distance.

Above: The crew of the S.S. Piggie

Above: Our camp. Damn few trees on the island, so the shade provided by these is precious.

Above: Also, the lake level has risen several meters in the past few years, drowning many trees that used to grace the shoreline. The camp was lucky to make it unscathed!

We arrived at camp and greeted Wry’s friends who were already there. Wry had made a hell of a trade. We had booked a day earlier, and his mate wanted to come that day. Wry played coy and said… “well, we do have it booked… but I guess you guys can join us… how about in exchange you let us come a day later and cook us dinner?!” and it worked! That Wry, he’s got some brains between those impressive ears.

Above: But old Wry was tuckered out. Mid day even in the shade is hot as the hammers of hell, so we all lounged around to let the afternoon cool settle in before heading out for our afternoon trolling session.

Above: A mixed blessing of the recent conservation efforts around the island is the resurgence of crocodiles! They were everywhere in evidence. Great for them, but I wanted to go swimming in that water so badly! Alas.

Above: Out on the water, we unanimously decided Dawg should reel in the first fish. He was so keen. And he had great luck as well, hauling in a very respectable Nile Perch which we kept to eat. I was next on the reel and brought in a little chicken of a thing, but it was fun feeling their weight. And at least now we can say we’ve caught in Lake Turkana!

Above: Trolling is tough work. Gotta just sit there, sipping beer, looking at the world bob past…

Above: Yeah, it was an acceptable detour from biking. I’ll allow it.

At dusk we returned to camp, chowed massively on the nice grub prepared for us, made a bit too much noise given that there was a family trying to kip in little mosquito covered cots a few meters away then stumbled to bed. The camp had arranged our four cots cheek by jowl, but I was having none of that. Panic helped me drag mine away from the snore boys and we all collapsed. The wind howled all night long, but the cot was cozy and we were loving it.

To be continued...

 

[Osadabwa]

At first light we were up and at ‘em. I took a little recce hike around then we scarfed some breakfast and coffee and headed back out to slaughter the fush!

Above: Our camp for the night. My tent a smart distance from the others.

Above: Looking from above

Above: The island feels prehistoric

Above: No goats, no people, hardly any trails. Truly pristine

Above: The trail to the airstip was the only sign people have been here.

Above: Wry and Dawg up and ready to fush!

Above: Panic and I stressed out and suffering.

It was Panic’s turn at the reel and he caught an absolute whopper of a Tiger Fish. 6kgs! Nicholas the captain was properly impressed.

Above: Wry’s effort on the other hand left Nicholas unimpressed indeed. Another chicken. But held far enough toward the lens and that thing looks huge!

We’d only booked one night at the camp, so after our morning outing it was back to the trees for a feast. The coolers weren’t working well, so our campmates had to do a big fry-up of bacon and sausages so it wouldn’t spoil. We added to it that massive perch Dawg caught and were positively bursting at the seams… just in time to get back on the boat and go smashing back to shore into the wind over the cresting waves!

Above: Truly a magical spot… just needs a way to get into that water without risking a grisly death.

Above: Karatemzee

Above: The stupid face of a happy man. Or the happy face of a stupid man? OR the happy face of a happy man? Stupid face of a stupid man? Anyway, he was happy.

Above: Back to shore after our rock and roll water crossing.

Above: And an hour later we were kitted up and racing back down the track. Destination: Ngurunit.

The big windfarm road is boring but fast as you like. Only in the South Horr valley did going get a bit more interesting with washouts and such plus nice views of Nyiro. Out the other side, it was more of the big superhighway all the way to Ngurunit. Dawg’s T7 was eating it up, and the rest of us didn’t mind either. Braaaap braaaaaap BRAAAAAAAP!

Above: What is it with Wry trying to smack the cameraman? Hmmm... maybe he just wants to smack me for all the grief he gets in these ride reports...?

Above: South Horr Valley is beautiful

Above: Aiming toward the Ndotos… but look at that road. This is most ADV biker’s dream... meh.

Above: Wry giving socks

Above: Closing in on Ngurunit from the Ilaut turnoff. Smaller tracks with the Ndotos behind. A lovely way to go

Above: Panic and Dawg coming into town

Above: Panic

Above: Dawg

In Ngurunit we had to hunt around for digs. The usual campsite we go to wasn’t open for some reason, so I hunted around to find something else while the guys chilled in the shade.

Above: A lost baby goat fell briefly in love with Panic’s piggy. Who can blame him?

Above: At the container camp. Birthplace of the Kenyan XR650R story. Back in 2015, sat at this very spot, Panic was grumbling to himself. We’d been riding that day from Nanyuki. He on the Tenere 660 (the one that looked like a praying Mantis) and I’d been on my 1985 XL600R. His moment of zen happened when, on the dirt track leading to Ngurunit, while he’s hacking to stay atop the Tenere, I passed him on a culvert in the air (story embellished only slightly). At that second he realised he was on the wrong bike. At the fireside he said: “XR650Rs. We need XR650Rs!” Within the year the dream became reality and the rest is history. Thanks Panic. And to think I didn’t even want one!

We slept like the dead.

To be continued...

 

[Osadabwa]

After a fairly raucous night in which Dawg burned his shorts (this time he had an excuse, he’d split the seam from glugsack to waist) we managed to drag ourselves out of the tents in good time and were on the road. No, that’s not quite right. On the way to find Petrol, Wry’s luck O the Irish struck again and he found himself searching the trailside dust looking for a wee screw that fell out of his helmet. Said screw unfortunately held on his shield, so it was worth looking for, but in the end he had to make due with my very cool safety glasses!

Above: Superb Starling on a Spectacular Motorbike

Above: Leaving Ngurunit is gorgeous

Above: Wry looks for his ass. Comes up empty

Above: Fuel stop in Ngurunit. We managed to piece together enough go-juice to get us up the Milgis and out the Matthew’s

Above: Leaving Ngurunit past the Ndoto Mtns

Above: Lovely track and nice morning light

Above: The turnoff to the Milgis… we coming or going fellas? Come on!

The Milgis Lugga. A perennial favourite for us bikers for it’s wild, free-for-all riding. It’s a sand lugga a kilometer wide in spots. Often very fast and dusty, this time it was wet and tricky. We kept the speeds down to make sure nobody got sucked into quicksand or something. In the past we’ve had a few bad experiences, so we were cautious. In the end, it was great riding but at one point there was so much water we decided to pull out of the lugga and try our luck with a track that looped around.

Above: Start of the Milgis

Above: Looks innocuous enough but the water is just below the surface. This stuff catches out 4x4s often, but the bikes (mostly) float over the surface.

Above: Pausing for a bike selfie

Above: We kept high on the shoulders where possible

Above: In some places it was quite dry. In all places it was beautiful.

Above: Little splashes of water tugged at the wheels, keeping you wary

Above: Wry moving up the Lugga

Above: Tough guy Dawg in the Milgis

Above: Dusty Wry wishing he’d found his lost screw… or his phone…

Above: Me and my father goofing around. So nice he still has the energy for it!

Our track out of the Milgis avoided a lot of wet, but wasn’t the most direct path in the world. It went inland, then further up and eventually curved around back where we’d started almost. It gave a great view of the Mathew’s Range though, so I was chuffed with it. Plus we weren’t in a big hurry, only going to Maralal that day.

Above: The Milgis below was a bit wet, but probably not a bike killer

Above: A false start down one of the Milgis tributaries

Above: Cool riding, great views.

Above: Panic heads back down into the lugga and toward the Matthew’s Mountains after our detour

Back on the other side of the Milgis, we picked the easier of the tracks up the Mathew’s Range. It basically shadows the Seya River and is great fun. We figured we’d had enough rock bashing for one trip, so we left the turn to the middle track for another time.

Above: Dawg was loving this track. He’d long forgotten to worry about pinch flats

Above: Quick break under a lovely shade tree

Above: Dawg had stopped to cool off in the Ngare Narok stream, but when he stood up he realized he’d scooped an entire handful of sand down his jocks! This is him trying to de-grit his ass! The actual ass behind him kept a wide berth…

Above: Wry through the Matthews

Above: View of the Seya

Above: Dawg and the Seya Track

Above: My piggie under a sprawling acacia

Above: And Panic coming though hot

Above: A quick snack break in which Dawg dropped a gummy into a dry cow pie and fished it out with his lips… again, mid 40’s here and still kids at heart

Above: Loving it!

Above: Having passed through Lolkuniani, the main market town in the Mathews which was a ghost town this day unfortunately, we were aiming for Maralal with the throttle pinned.

Above: Off the bigger track, shooting for the climb to Maralal

Above: Last shot. Big Girl and the Dawg coming through Olporoi

Above: Arrival at the Ngari Hill Lodge we quickly took advantage of cold beers and showers!

And that was that! We spent a lovely evening on the porch of the Ngari Hill lodge drinking beers and telling lies. Topped off the night with the remaining whisky out front of the rooms looking down on the Maralal lights. The following day was transport back to Nairobi, but with a small detour over to Muturi’s for roast mbuzi and farewell beers.

Above: Maralal at night

Above: Leaving Ngari Hill

Above: Hundreds of dreadful tar kms later, choma destroyed at Muturis

Above: Home with bones for the pooch.

Well I hope that won’t be the last time I see the North, but if it is, it was a great one to end with!

Cheers fellas, and thanks Wry for organizing the fishing. I begrudgingly agree it was really cool!

And here, as ever, is the video for the illiterate among us. No shame in it. Enjoy:

 

[RobCrouch]

Quite an adventure!