Feeling blue

I fell in love instantly. Love at first sight. Man, what a beauty she was. A blue 2005 KTM 990 Adventure S. It was the first bike I went to check out and I was sold instantly. A colleague had suggested this bike to me, but the pictures on internet weren’t enough to win me over. Seeing it there, there in that show room right in front of me, was. Damn!! No other bike would ever do for me, I knew it in a split second. She was destined to be mine.

Unfortunately, the love wasn’t mutual. Somewhat embarrassing, I was to find that I wasn’t man enough for a bike that big: my feet barely touched the floor as I sat down on the beauty in blue. Like a threesome with two chicks, I could never handle it, and I knew it.

But the seed had been planted and an immense desire was instilled in me. Soon after, another beauty crossed my path: a 2006 KTM 990 Adventure. Being a non-S version, she was slightly lower and a test ride revealed that this bike didn’t allow for any compromise. There was to be no comfortable Sunday afternoon cruising the Limburgian highlands. Her motto perfectly matched mine: if you go, go hard! Finally, I had found a soul mate.

There was a “but” though… a big BUT. She wasn’t smurf-like blue, but bright orange. Admittedly, she was beautiful in her own right and it would be a legitimate expression of my patriotism, but I couldn’t deny that she was no match for the heavenly blue angel I laid eyes on before. I was confronted with a huge dilemma; I had some thinking to do.

Over the years I had seen my friends fall in love, get married and have kids. In some instances their wives paled in comparison to the ideal images they had wished for, and indeed aimed for, during their younger years. With time passing and their looks rapidly fading, they had clearly abandoned their goal of marrying THE most beautiful woman in the world; they settled for (considerably) less.

Obviously, I would have none of that! It’s a show of weakness, I cannot even fathom. I’ve dreamed of Penelope Cruz, imagined marrying Cameron Diaz. And I have even fantasized about Pamela Anderson, although admittedly, that was with different motives altogether. What it comes down to, is that I’ve set myself a goal: my future wife is to have the beauty of Cameron or Penelope, simply because I’m worth it. Hell, I’ve lived a celebrity lifestyle over the past months, with people screaming and waving at me, looking at me in total awe or surprise. So I think I kinda deserve it now. Anyway, if I were to ever settle down, I will not settle for less. (hence, I am now old and single…).

It must have been the only time in my life that I did settle for less, when I bought the orange beast that I now call “my Katie”. Our characters matched and -like so many of my friends- I figured I would probably grow to appreciate her as time passed by. Eventually, I would grow so accustomed to her, that I would even be able to call it love.

And truth be told, I did follow in my friends’ footsteps and after being with her for 1.5 years now, I can honestly declare -from the bottom of my heart- that I truly love my Katie.

BUT -like too many of my friends- every now and then I would dream of “the one that got away”, “the one that eluded me”. And whenever I would come across my dream of a bike, I would -like so many of my friends- secretly eye her, momentarily tormented by grave desire, tormented by the thought that I would never have what my heart so badly wanted.

Although Katie hasn’t given birth to any offspring (imagine: a garage full of cute little baby KTMs.. WOW!), she was to resemble my friends’ wives to a fascinating (and somewhat worrying) degree. She’s had to work hard for her man, and she’s gone through great lengths to keeping him happy. But as a result her beauty has started to fade a bit. She’s still beautiful, but a hard life has clearly left its marks on her appearance.

Then my luck changed for the better: I had an accident that left the bike with a broken radiator and a torn tank. Man, this was the break I had been waiting for. Things were looking up now!!

Through an internet forum, I contacted Jerome, who had a blue tank available for sale. It took some convincing but in the end I guess he understood he was to be part of some glorious love-affair-in-the-making and he made a huge effort in helping me having it sent to Kampala.

I had another lucky break. Upon suggestion of Tony, a guy I had never met or spoken to, I contacted Leo, another guy I had never met or spoken to, who then emailed some twenty other people I had never met or spoken to. Within days, a Dutch guy working in Uganda whom I had never met or spoken to, named Jacques offered his help.

And after two days of frantic emailing, sms-ing, phone calls and then some excruciating waiting, the word was finally out: the tank was added to a shipment of Jacques’ company and would be arriving in Kampala soon.

Within days it did, and upon delivery I mounted it immediately. I guess, after my return from the African lands from afar, some additional cosmetic upgrading needs to be done to transform my Katie into the swan that she really is, but then I’ll have a quite unique orange/blue KTM 990 Adventure.

Of course -as my friends have known for years- beauty isn’t all and deep down I know that as well. In the end it is character that makes all the difference. But now, with my augmented Katie, I have the best of both worlds. I’m absolutely crazy about her personality, (s)lowriding Noa will attest to that. But soon her inner beauty will be matched by an outer appearance that blinds one’s eyes. And yep, I guess I will settle for that!

 

Good vibrations

I finally left Kasese Saturday and arrived in Kampala without problem. The patched up tank and African home-made radiator did the job perfectly. It’s such a shame that I’m programmed to not take the risks, but honestly I really should try them longer.

I mostly spent my days just hanging around, waiting for parts, waiting for full recovery, making plans, wondering what the hell had happened. Once again I was amazed by all the concern, encouragement, support and willingness to help I got from complete strangers, people I have never met before and maybe never will. It definitely helped me to stay positive. At first, Mr. Dan (the hotel’s owner) watched over me. He thought I was lonely; I wasn’t. I wrote a lot, re-living the stories, reminding myself not to get depressed by the accident, but remaining determined to continue… for this is me, this is what I do, this is what I love!

After Carlos left, Jose & Noa showed up for a long planned reunion. We hadn’t seen each other since they set off from Tim & Kim’s and we had lots of stories to exchange, interesting thoughts to discuss and many laughs to share.

As the days passed, Mr. Dan remained positive. The tank will work he’d say. The tank will work until Kigali he would add, taking much away from what he had just said. As I reassembled the tank, it started leaking right away. Better! Mr. Dan said, So they can fix it now. It’s the African optimism and hope that I admire, love & hate at the same time. We know it won’t hold. Even the guy who did the repair said it will hold… long enough for you to get a new one.

The radiator took five days to replicate. Difficult it was. And the radiator guy wanted to make an additional spare one for me. Why? If it’s gonna hold, then why? But TIA: as long as we live, there’s hope. I have little faith, however, in it taking me very far. The brass, copper and aluminum parts couldn’t be welded, so the guy simply used a lot of silicone to seal it. For now it will do, I hope. I have to try, though, I have to do at least 1000-2000kms with this home-made piece of art; for I am in Africa and to the little extent that I can, I should do it as the Africans do.

Joined by Jose & Noa I rode to the equator again. It felt good doing this with friends. It felt good to be there again. It felt good to be there without looking back at what had happened, but looking forward to what is to come.

I rarely use my mp3-player while riding, but I turned it on after saying goodbye to the friendly (s)lowriders. The first song was a song recently given by a stranger who’s a good friend. I stopped the bike and listened. Then pressed repeat and listened again. Yeah man, good vibrations… that’s what it is… good vibrations indeed!!

 

Squat toilets & hot nurses

I don’t think I have ever seen any hot nurses in real life… there’s talk of them on TV and in bad (or really good, depends on your perspective I guess) movies. But there were no hot nurses here in Kilembe Miner Hospital. What a shame!

It did have squat toilets; and with a severely bruised leg and injured knee, these were not fun at all. F-in’ hell, I won’t even tell you how I negotiated these, as it is too nasty, but yeah.. the art of traveling… or whatever..

I was discharged from hospital yesterday. Whoohoow! My knee is still quite painful, my leg all black&blue, my wrist can barely handle a shake of hands and when I tilt my head the wrong angle, I go all woozy. But yeah, I walked away.. and I guess I should be happy with that.

The first couple of days, Gerald (the UWA ranger who brought me to hospital) stopped by daily, buying me a shirt, shorts, slippers and some food. He showed me some local eateries, as the hospital doesn’t provide any meals. I guess, here you’re depending on your family and friends.

Mr. Januariu, head of hospital security, also stopped by daily to see how I was doing. He was the sweetest man, although I sometimes wished he would come by at a later hour than 7AM.

Thankfully, my buddy Carlos stopped by the day after the accident. I could definitely do with some support, but most of all, I needed to tell my story to someone I knew. To someone who knows what African roads are like. Even though there was no story, I had to tell it.

There still is no story. I have no recollection of what happened. Yesterday we picked up the bike from the police quarters in Katunguru. One of the officers claimed it was he who had saved my life, for while I was unconcious he had removed my helmet, since the strap was suffocating me. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t. I vaguely remember some other guy who, minutes after the accident, told me he had taken me out of the grassy shoulder. And later on, a third guy stepped forward claiming to have saved my life as well.

The tale of the accident remains vague and hard to believe. It is said that I tried to overtake a small car, as it slowed down for speed bumps. The location of the speed bumps varies from 20, to 50, to 80mtrs from the junction. Within days, I predict, the accident will have happened before the junction.

We checked my gps-readings and all there is to be found is that it stopped recording some 150mtrs after the junction. We went to see it yesterday, and this is actually the location where I had my go at setting the world record for most what the hell??’s in one minute.
Last recorded speed of the gps is 71kmph.. and increasing.. then it stops suddenly. I must have hit it hard…

So I celebrated my birthday in hospital as well. Happy dayzzz…
It could’ve been drama, and stuff, but basically I snuck out off the hospital ward to play pool with Carlos and some locals in a bar across the road. I still managed to go to bed at a descent hour, although I was slightly intoxicated. Needless to say, the next morning I was woozier than ever!! No regrets though!!

As far as the Ugandan hospital experience goes, it wasn’t that bad. Obviously, my injuries weren’t that severe, which made things easier I guess. It was a busy hospital though, with approx. 200 cases of malaria each month. Number of patients dying each month was approx. 50, most of them on the pediatric ward… During my stay there were two occasions that I heard crying; man.. it was so heartbreaking, so gut-wrenching.. afterward, I was afraid to ask..

Total cost of a six day stay: 108.000 Ugandan shillings + 120.000 USh for the X-rays. This translates to 27 and 30euros respectively. For me, the wealthy mzungu covered by extensive health insurance, almost a joke. For most Ugandans, however, with an average income of just over a dollar a day, this would have been a struggle. It’s hard to imagine.

So you won’t hear me complaining. The nurses, even when they weren’t that hot, were lovely and caring; the doctors were professional and well-trained. And again, I walked away.. What more could I have asked for??

Well then, for the bike. I may have to go through some investigative procedures since the blame of the accident has been put on me. We’ll see how that develops. Seeing the bike again, for the first time since the accident, was kinda emotional. I usually don’t get that attached to physical things, but I guess the bike represents more than just a thing.

One of the fuel tanks is cracked (I cannot imagine the force that was needed to do that); the radiator took a big blow and is unlikely to be repaired. Apart from that it’s damage to plastic and indicator lights and things like that. On the plus-side, the forks & wheels seem to be okay and guess what: the engine still runs and purrs like a little kitten!!

So we’ll see how things proceed from here. I guess, if I ever get to write a book about my trip, this only makes it more exciting to read. And then again, it’s starting to have all the ingredients for a great movie too, although I wouldn’t know which famous actor could possibly be the charismatic, handsome main character… DeNiro, Clooney, Pitt… hmm, I don’t know whether they could pull it off…

In the meantime I’ll be working on the bike a bit (as long as my wrist remains as it is, this is not a priority) and luckily for you, I once again have plenty of time to update the blog. Some awesome stories coming your way, I can tell you that!!

 

Go deep!?!?!?!

So, during his stay in Bujagali, this hot chick told our hero Jeroen that when visiting some exotic country you should “do as the locals do”. Her -even hotter- friend totally agreed. So Jeroen figures this was the way to go from now; do as the locals do would become his new motto.

Now, being the drama-queen that he is, Jeroen thought it wise not to waist all this time slowly immersing himself into Ugandan society, but to go in deep right from the start. Just like the general idea behind his trip basically, he figured: if you go, then go hard, go fast, go deep!!

And so he did. Since these hot chicks had told him all these stories about Ugandan health clinics and hospitals, he actually thought that this would even score more point with the ladies, and being the single guy that he is, he desperately needs those points.

Now, the question is.. did our hero take it too far? Was it another of his great plans or did he just go slightly over the top with this?!? Let us know what you think, how you feel about it. Your thoughts and ideas might even be taken into account on his upcoming adventures, who knows…

 

Shattered dreams

I recognise the location as I approach the equator line close to Queen Elisabeth National Park. Two years ago I had been there as well, backpacking. But this time I was actually quite emotional. In Kenya crossing the equator hadn’t affected me at all, but here in Uganda it suddenly dawns on me that I have driven my bike to the equator. I didn’t just board a plane and fly; I have driven my bike from the 51st parallel north to the equator. I’ve dreamed of doing this, and now I’m living the dream man. I am actually living the dream!

Half an hour later it’s all over. My beautiful dream turns into a nightmare, is actually shattered into pieces. I have no clue what is happening or what happened. Some 10 or 15 people are around, grabbing me, pulling my arm, urging me to go to hospital. All I can do is look around -eyes wide open- in a state of total shock and disbelief. What the hell?? Huh? What??…… What the hell???

I look around, move my head from left to right, then back again. I try to make sense of what I see and hear. Come to hospital! Huh, what?!… NO… what the hell… Tell me what happened. What da fok happened?!?

People keep yelling at me. Why are these people yelling at me? It makes no sense. It totally makes no sense at all.

Where am I?

What time is it?

Huh??

What the hell happened??

All these people.. why are all these people here? And my bike.. OH NO, why does my bike look like this. Fuel is leaking from the right tank, the fairing is in bits, the radiator looks strangely twisted. But the spare tube that I carried inside the fairing is neatly placed on top of the bike… HUH? What the hell happened?!?!?!

Still, I have no clue what is going on here. I’m still in a state of shock and disbelief. But the second I see the bike, I have this clear moment. I don’t know what happened, I tell myself, but if this is real then my trip is over.

The thought hits me hard. I need to sit down for a minute. I fight back the tears. What the hell happened? Where am I? Where is the equator? I was at the equator until 14.20.. tell me where I am!? What time is it… I’m still trying to make sense of it all.

They tell me it’s 15.05 and the equator is some 5kms from here… What the hell happened?!?

Some guy guides me into the shade. You have to go to hospital, he says. My leg is feeling more and more painful now, I can barely walk. As I sit down, my chest aches. As I take off my gloves, I see my right hand is swollen. Meanwhile, sweat is gushing out my pores. Okay, Okay, I’ll go to hospital… but PLEASE, someone please tell me, what the hell happened?!

You had an accident, he replies.

I am carried to the UWA pickup truck and without too much concern for my well-being I am pushed into the passenger seat. Accompanied by Gerald and the driver, we go to Kilembe. The rush of adrenaline that must have kept me up and going so far, is now subsiding and pain is everywhere. There are speed bumps everywhere; they hurt like crazy.

I’m taken into Kilembe Miner Hospital. The doctor quickly, but barely, examines me, and mostly talks to Gerald. Okay, X-rays it is. But not here, the machine is not working. For that we have to go into town. There are speed bumps everywhere; they hurt like crazy.

The doctor ordered X-rays only for my leg and chest. I order two extra for my hand and neck. The whole procedure is tainted with unfriendliness. The girl yells out her commands at me. Move up, move down. Bi-itch, can’t you see I have a problem?! Stop Shaking! Bi-itch, shut up, I don’t even notice any shaking on my behalf. I tell myself, stay calm, relax, she’s doing her job. But man, does this chick get on my nerves. But I have no energy to fight, I give in, I do whatever she tells me to do.

Then we wait for the results. It takes ages. I still have no clue whatsoever what happened here, so I ask Gerald what he knows.

You had an accident, he says. There’s a junction near the entrance of the park and you overtook a small car there. Hey, wait a minute.. I remember that junction… I remember a car.. two cars maybe…

Yes, two cars. As you passed one, the other slowed down for the speed bumps, and you didn’t know the speed bumps were there. You hit the car and it took you to the left. It looked like you jumped off and fell to the right; the bike fell to the left. Your helmet came off. You were unconscious for 30minutes and then you refused to go to hospital.

Gerald’s story leaves me bewildered. It explains the pains, the injuries, the damaged bike. But I don’t remember anything, not a single thing sound familiar. The junction and the two cars, yeah, I remember those.. vaguely.. I believe one of the cars was blue-ish. But the speed bumps were at least a few hundred meters away from the junction. I have no recollection of that part at all. What the hell???!!

The X-rays show no fractures or dislocations. So basically I am fine, I’m told. It doesn’t make sense man; when I move my arms, I can clearly feel something moving inside my chest. And I am sure this wasn’t like this before… But I guess, this is good news..  I don’t have a lot of faith in it, but I’ll take it.

Back in hospital I’m assigned a bed in the private ward. The other man in the room leaves minutes later. Whether he was really discharged or simply sent away, I don’t know. God will provide, he says as he closes the door behind him.

I’m offered an injection against the pain. But I refuse: no African needles into my body. I’ll take the pain. I’m a biker. I’ll take the pain. The night is as uncomfortable as you can imagine. I can barely take the pain. But then again, maybe I’m no longer a biker….

Parallel lives

Some 18 days in a row I wake up in the same spot, with the same view. 18 days in a row I sleep on a self-deflating mattress, riddled with holes. 18 days in a row I eat from the same menu, each morning and most of the nights. I am stuck! Sucked in without getting spat out. Two years ago I visited the very same camp site in Bujagali and that time I stayed 7 days instead of the planned 3. I only left cause I had booked a plane ticket in advance.. thankfully.

So I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew what I was setting myself up for. I have no excuse for what happened. But then again, who says I need an excuse?

The first night I met John & Amy, two of the most “true” people I’ve ever met. They were honest, open and enthusiastic. No sarcasm, no cynicism, no shield. Just themselves. Inspiring.

Local Jinja girl Happy joined the three of us for a night of hedonistic dancing in debauchery inducing nightclub Sombreros. She had her mind set on making me really happy, if you know what I mean (come on, you know what I mean).

I kayaked with instructor Matt, who each time I flipped over and swam commented sweet!. Kayaking didn’t go as planned at all though; the many boils really proved to be my nemesis. And I had this one day of training my roll; I succeeded 44 times in a row, then swam for 3 out of 5 tries. The next day I swam 3 out of the first 4 attempts. I gave up.

I met Zimbabwan Rastafarian David, jump master at the bungee jump John & Amy did. Somehow, almost magically, he managed to sneak the words Happy Dayz into every sentence he spoke. Wonderful guy who even invited us to his home for sharing some “good stuff”.

With Carlos and Arno, we shared the many new stories we had to tell, relived the stories of the past and celebrating our little reunion in the local night clubs, we created some new memories.

A German guy, who was riding his bike north from South Africa, told me enthusiastically that he could tell me all about every tarmac road in Tanzania. We didn’t become friends. But it may not have been conducive either, that he kept smooching his girlfriend while talking to me. Dude, don’t do that..

I had daily little chats with Ebro, who worked at the kayak school and always -seriously: always- had a broad smile on his face, showing a perfect set of bright white teeth. The guy always had a reply to whatever dumb thing I said. When I took a kayak to do some roll training I mentioned no swimming today. Oh, there will be swimming today he said. There will be joy, there will be success, there will be improvement. And there will be swimming he said laughing.

I got to meet Alicia, who after breaking down the protective walls of sarcasm, became one of my closest friends. The svelte girl with the huge backpack who definitely turned out to be a stranger who is a friend, although she may forever be a stranger. I loved her company, her short stories on interesting -sometimes completely futile- little facts, her word-of-the-day. I even accepted her stealing my French fries.

During the last couple of days I was introduced to Catherine, a cool chick; once a raft guide, now volunteering as a nurse in the local clinic. Despite all the despair she got to see every day, she kept her faith and remains convinced God has a plan for each.

I spent many nights watching these two funny, little raft guide buddies who, after a night of drinking, could speak in onomatopoeias only.

Sebastian would have said I “traveled through the people”. I was stationary, not going anywhere, stuck in this place; but the people I met took me to see some other worlds I had not traveled to before.

18 days I stayed in Bujagali camp site and for sure, all wasn’t great. The freaking overland buses kept waking me up in the early morning; the bars kept me awake the very few times I went to bed early; and waiting for the rear shock to be returned from Nairobi made me depressed at times. But always there was something or someone to pick me up.

My stay lasted too long, but that wasn’t bad actually. I even extended my stay after receiving the rear shock, by joining Alicia on a backpacking-style weekend trip to lakeside Munyonyo. It took forever to get there, but again it was the small things that made it all perfect. The crazy Kampala traffic; the men playing board games in the streets near the matatu station; hoofing it, getting “lost”, but still ending up in the right place; the hotel DJ totally occupied mixing his soon to be released new album; the classical music while having brunch in the hotel’s lush garden; the huge, hideous birds at the water’s edge.

During the last days in Bujagali, I was left with a lot of time to do some thinking. Certainly not a favorite pastime, but I couldn’t escape it. I got to think about those little things, those little -sometime even insignificant- decisions you yourself or others make that can simply change the course of your life. Maybe long lasting, maybe short lasting; lasting nevertheless.

In a parallel life, I would have mastered the art of rolling and kayaking.
I would have visited Amy in the Congo to see what awesome work she does there with Coperma.
I would have let Happy make me happy, if only for the few minutes that it would have lasted.
In a parallel life, I would have betrothed and married Alicia and probably spent a few happy years with her before she filed for divorce.

Yet, in this life, I still suck at kayaking and enthusiasm won’t make things better.
Yet, I will not get to visit Amy as Congolese visa applied for in Uganda are apparently not accepted at the border.
Yet, I did not have insane sex with Happy, ‘cause I came up with some lame excuse of two people not fitting in a 1-person tent.
Yet, in this life, Alicia is happily married to Jesse and we will remain soul mates inhabiting completely different, sometimes opposing, worlds.

However, in yet another parallel life I could now be at home or at work, killing time reading someone else’s blog, someone else’s stories of someone else’s adventures. So I guess this parallel life I’m living now isn’t that bad at all. It really isn’t bad at all..

The child in his eyes

Two years ago I visited Uganda on a backpacking trip during summer holidays. I had spent most of my stay in the superb southwest, but regretted not being able to visit the north. This time I really wanted to ride there. And so I did. The Sipi falls were nice, and certainly the setting was gorgeous, but in the end it was just a set of waterfalls, and hiking up there didn’t appeal to me at all. With only earth roads ahead of me I knew I was taking a bit of a risk but I wasn’t to be stopped.

It’s enigmatic how easy it is to write about bad luck, bad experiences. It may even be fun to describe every little detail of agony, pain, stress. But when it comes to describing some really good experiences, it’s hard to find the words to describe one’s emotions. Why is that?? We’ve all had good and bad things happen to us, so it shouldn’t be too hard to relate to both. Nonetheless, I may have less friends to intimately share my happiness with than my depressing moments..

Riding north in Uganda made me overjoyed. It was something of a dream come true. Until a year ago I had thought of maybe, at some point in time, going back and visit Kidepo NP. A plan like so many plans that will never be executed. But never had I imagined riding here on my bike.

Having traveled on my own a fair bit over the past years, I have had to explain numerous times how much fun that actually is. Everyone seems to understand that the lows are lower when there’s no buddy to pull you out of it. But so far, only a limited few seem to apprehend that the highs are equally higher. The highs are more intense when there’s no one to share them with. Like the lows, the highs can suck you in. Like the lows can drown your blood in fear, the highs can drown your blood in adrenaline. Like the lows can make you depressed, the highs can make you elated.

Such were the roads north. If life is measured by the moments that take your breath away, my life was complete now. Truly, this was the most awe-inspiring region I have visited so far.

I had been warned of these lands of the Karamojong. Up until a few years ago this was a war zone, the LRA roaming these lands and committing vicious acts of inhumanity. These remain lands of the tribes, with fighting and cattle stealing still of frequent occurrence. But a process of disarmament and rehabilitation started some years ago and I figured this was as good a time as any to go there. There was no excuse.

The villages were small, the towns lively. Similar to the Turkana region in Kenya, people wore their traditional dress and showed a degree of traditional mistrust and disinterest towards strangers. Most parts were barely inhabited; people were only to be found close to their villages; after 16.00, with sunset approaching, they would all be walking back to their homes.

Mostly there was nothing, just me and the view of winding roads ending at the horizon where they plunged into unknown depths. Each hill, each bend offered a new view, a new panorama to be discovered. Many times I stopped and sucked it in. I hardly took pictures though. There was no need for that; there was no need for sharing this, the intensity cannot be shared. It’s not the views, it’s an emotion. There’s no need for pictures to remember; pictures will only merit explaining. It’s like meeting the woman of your dreams. I’ve met her twice; there’s no explaining, you simply know. Likewise, I don’t want to do any explaining, I simply know I am riding through the land of my dreams.

Then I entered Kidepo National Park. It turned out to be the wrong season, for the rains had come, the grass was high and the wildlife had been dispersed through the inaccessible areas of the park. But nevertheless it was THE most beautiful park ever! With two German girl (one of whom I kinda fancied, until I realised -to my own shock and horror- that she reminded me of a blond ex-girlfriend from the northern regions of Holland) we did a game drive and barely saw any wildlife. Mind you, we saw some buffalo, giraffe, lions and Ugandan kob. But it was nothing like the Masai Mara, or the Serengeti, or Etosha. However, the park is stunning, absolutely magical. Just to sit there and stare off in the distance; that’s all one needs. Life can be so simple.

I was like a little boy unwrapping his birthday or Christmas presents, to find he got all he wished for.. and then some. The dropped jaw, the wide-open and twinkling eyes, the joy, the screaming.. it was all there. I was a little boy again. Life was simple, life was uncomplicated. It was me and the nothing. I was happy.

The road leading west from Kidepo NP was superb. It was of course unpaved, but it was smooth as a baby’s butt. Going on high speed was all too easy. And to protect myself from that I left the road and took uncharted roads to small towns, asking locals for directions. At some point I asked a man how far it was to Gulu. The man replied in the best way imaginable: you’ll make it is what he said. How far, you’ll make it… it’s the perfect answer, a declaration of trust and faith. What else can one wish for?!

From Gulu, I once more went north on unmapped roads. I unfortunately missed Baker’s Fort in Patiko, continued anyway, and was told to ignore a sign saying “road closed, bridge collapsed”.
The past couple of days I had barely been able to stop riding. But when I reached Atiak, with the intention of riding into the West Nile province, I suddenly realised it had been enough. It was time to head back and go to Bujagali. The past weeks had been intense. Via e-mail I had tried to explain to one of my best friends that there were too many stories to be told, but I don’t know whether she fully comprehended. And now, I realised it was enough. It was time to sit down and let it all sink in.

But of course, I couldn’t let it happen that easily. Uganda is one of only a few countries that allows you entry to the national game parks on a motorbike. And after having elephants cross my path in Kidepo, I had to go to Murchison NP as well. Now, you should be aware that locals do this every day, so it really isn’t that special. But it did feel pretty damn special to me to pass through Uganda’s largest park and see buffalo, giraffe, elephant and hippo as I passed by. I had been told to head straight to the ferry that takes you across the Victoria Nile river, that bisects the park. Of course I didn’t. I explored, I dreamed, I discovered. But exploring and discovering with buffaloes nervously looking at you isn’t very reassuring. Nonetheless, it took me 7hrs to reach the southern gate, much to the surprise of the park ranger who checked my entrance ticket.

Unfortunately, my rear damping was busted on an awesome but very rough track between Gulu and Pakwach, so I was confined to taking tarmac roads to Kampala. There I spent a couple of days fruitlessly looking for a repair shop. But the image of the rapids of Murchison Falls had been edged in my mind days ago and this minor misfortune could no longer keep me from heading to Bujagali.

It had always been one of the main goals of the trip, the white waters of the river Nile. And as I neared Bujagali I remembered every corner, every bit of road from two years ago. I got so excited I even opened up the throttle as I hit the last unpaved stretch of road; never mind having no damping. As I entered the camp site I was exhilarated, I was a little boy again. And I had just unwrapped another present I had wished for..

More angels & same demons

A friendly, but fragile looking man puts his hand on my shoulder. You’re safe he says. You’re safe he repeats. Obviously, the drunk are also repeating themselves over and over again. So I ask the man whether they are all drunk here in this little village. You’re safe now he says once more.

Once again I had put my fate in the hands of the weather Gods, and over the past weeks it had become quite clear that I wasn’t their favorite disciple.

A few hours earlier I had crossed the very basic border between Kenya and Uganda and thankfully the procedures had been short: 5min 34 sec on the Kenyan side and 8min 48sec Ugandan side, but that was only because there’s a 4min walk between the two structures that make up the immigration and customs offices.

But I had arrived too late. Riding into Kitale after a horribly potholed road last night, I -once again!- encountered fuel filter problems and had flushed the tanks hoping to clean the dirt that was apparently in them. But because of the reassembling it was noon as I passed the border, and seeing the rain clouds steadily grow left me worried. The Israeli guy had told me the road gets extremely bad after the rains and I wasn’t to waste time.

I had anticipated a combination of very rough roads, steep inclines and sharp hairpin bends, but luckily it wasn’t that challenging. The road was fun and left me with plenty of opportunities to enjoy the villages, the surprised villagers and the fantastic views of the Ugandan lowlands surrounding Mount Elgon. It was absolutely dazzling, but there was no time to stop and take it all in. All in all, getting stuck in muddy roads hadn’t been that bad and had even made for some memorable encounters with adorable people, but it had also been exhausting and today I was aiming for an eventless ride. As if entering Uganda isn’t an event in its own right.

But that wasn’t to be. At 15.00 some particularly dark clouds had passed over, turning the road into a giant pool of mud once again. Of course, it went uphill and it took forever to get to the top. Cars were struggling to stay on the road as well. I stood no chance.

When passing some truck that was stuck, I slid down to the side of the road from where it was impossible to move away. Immediately, two drunk showed up, annoying me with their drunken bladibla. A crowd of 40-50 gathered to see the mzungu being harassed by two drunken idiots. Man, this was really so nót what I needed. But there was nowhere to go; I had to endure it. Just stay calm, let it happen, don’t get mad. Every second of being mad is a second of wasted happiness. I don’t want to do that, I don’t want to waste my happiness.

This is when father Jackson comes to my aid. He takes me to the nearest home, which happens to be the home of a church member, so I am safe, he tells me. Nobody is present however, and for a minute I wonder what I have gotten myself into this time.

Pastor Robert shows up shortly after and he welcomes me into his house. I am safe.

Then one of the drunk runs off with my camelbak. Apparently I am safe, and my gear isn’t. But it’s retrieved in no time. Unfortunately, days later I am to find out the bastard has also stolen my much needed leatherman. Grmpf&!#^!

I have to say, even though it sucked getting into this situation, it did turn into an unforgettable experience. Pastor Robert is an educated man with some traveling experience and we talk about just about everything. Even the economic crisis comes up.

Meanwhile, I am treated to delicious roasted ground nuts, while the father keeps repeating how safe I am. The sweet, innocent man even mentions how I may be an angel testing their faith… 

At night, the family gathers. Pastor Robert, his wife and the teenage boy & girl they are taking care of sit across the table from me, and we engage in some more talks. They offer me a bed, but before heading off to the land of dreams, of course there has to be prayer. While I remain silent, the four of them pray out loud. Obviously, I am thanked for my descending from the heavens and I am blessed extensively. The pastor even calls upon all the people in the world (including the citizens of Turkmenistan & Tajikistan) to guard my safety.

Then, as if this hasn’t been enough, they start singing the wonderful gospel song Amazing Grace. Now, I’m not into religion or prayer that much (although, on this trip I may have uttered the words Oh my God, help me several times), and neither am I into worshipping any god or godlike creature other than myself. But these people, they are so sweet. I was in something of a shitty situation and they simply take me in, provide me with food and shelter, give me their care and love and now they are asking their God to stand by me and protect me on my further travels. Being the cool biker that I am, I hate to admit it, but yeah, these people touched me. It wasn’t enough to convert me, but it left a deep impression.

Father Jackson insisted I visit his home and family before leaving. For I am an angel and my visit will bring blessing to their home. And so I am introduced to his son and some of his daughters, but whether I bring any blessings… well, angels work in mysterious ways, don’t we they?

By now the roads have dried. So I say my goodbyes to the families, accept the little bible they offer me with mixed feelings and set off again. 15kms further I reunite with tarmac. For a second there it feels like I have returned to heaven.