November 16, 1999 Nouakchott, Mauritania - Auberge Centrale Afraid of our visas that we needed for the rest of West Africa taking beyond the weekend to get, we opted to go directly to Nouakchott, skipping a stop in Chinguetti. We said goodbye to Appie, Markus and Wolfgang, who were going to Chinguetti, and thought we might meet up with them again in Nouakchott. The 436km road from the center of Atar to the center of Nouakchott, is a beautiful newly tarred smooth road. The existence and rumored condition of this road is the sole reason why we took the train from Nouadhibou to Choum. Other than an occasional lone house, and one town, there is nothing but desert along the 436km. We stopped in the town of Akjout, which is almost halfway, lying isolated in the desert. It's a typical desert village, that has grown beyond the size of a hamlet, and now could use a bit more layout to transition into a town. Like other desert villages in this area, the buildings are almost all made of mud brick. Other than the new highway that runs through, only one street exists, The rest is laid out like a hamlet with open ground separating the homes rather than any order imposed by something like a street. The garbage dump is uncontained in the city, and has been blown such that there is garbage everywhere... A couple of months ago, imagining stopping in a village in the Sahara desert for a snack, might involve having some fermented goat milk served out of a gourd or skin, with some dung beetles fried up in camel fat, in some Tuareg's tent. Instead, I was stopped at an Elf gas station, drinking apple juice out of a cardboard carton, eating a Mars candy bar, and a French baguette. The reality didn't live up to romantic imaginations... We passed several herds of camels wandering the desert with sparse vegetation grazing on what little clumps of grass that existed. We drove by some small sand dunes and stopped to take pictures. About 20km from Nouakchott, the sand changed from being either yellow or tan, to white. The drifting white sand looked just like snow banks in the outlying suburbs and reminded me of a Christmas scene blanketed in a white snow. In Nouakchott, we stayed at Auberge Centrale, It had been recommended to us by two British travelers back in Daklah. Ate wonderful pizza for dinner $5, and had two cans of warm imported mediocre Spanish beer ($3.50 per can). I stopped at a grocery store, and asked in French, "Do you have some beer or some wine?" The clerk repeated back "some, some", as if the operative word that he was wondering if he had was "some". I said, "beer, wine", and made a motion to drink.... He figured it out, and got the giggles. I suppose it would be the equivalent of a Chinese tourist walking into a 7-11 convenient store, and asking if they have some marijuana... a good Muslim would never have alcohol. I'm surprised at how many people I have run into today in Nouakchott that don't speak French. Just the opposite experience was Appie's. Over the past week when he spoke to people in Arabic, they often reverted back to French. He just figured that was some Mauritanian elitism... i.e. French is the language of the educated which is preferred when speaking to someone who has been educated. Rather than sleep in our room, the hotel had a Tuareg tent set up outside on the roof, with some mattresses, intended to be a Mauritanian hang out area. Jim and I were the only guests, so I set up my mosquito net under the tent and slept out there in my sleeping bag. Jim was short of a mosquito net, and so had just closed up our room and bombed it with bug spray to kill off the mosquitoes, intending to sleep in the mosquito-less fog. From the under side, the tent looks like a giant quilt. It was supported in the middle by two wood poles that meet in the middle and spread out at about 70 degree from each other. The side of the tent didn't reach the ground which allowed air to pass under, they were secured by ropes. It looked like it would be excellent for portable shade in the desert. I saw this same style tent in use in the desert today by camel herders. Observations When people ask where I'm from, and I tell them I'm an American, they usually look surprised... only because Americans rarely come here as a tourist. One guy said to me today, that he had never seen an American before. In Nouakchott, Americans are around in the form of peace core or missionaries. When European travelers find out that I'm an American they are also surprised. When asked why Americans don't travel, I said, they do, however, they usually travel within the US, and Europe. I think this perception has several contributing factors. Americans typically get 2 weeks vacation per year which is often taken up between Christmas and New Years and maybe a week in the summer. Third world country travel often takes a lot more time. Besides, who would want to spend their only annual vacation in Mauritania? So, few make the opportunity to get there. Europeans typically get 4-6 weeks vacation per year, making it much easier, and less of a sacrafice Since few Americans travel to these third world countries, few Americans know people who have been to some of these countries, as a result the only source of information comes from the news of which only the worst problems are reported. Seeing a country only as reported by the news would leave one with problematic impressions. The best thing for a countries tourist industry is to keep it from being in the news. A good example of this is Columbia. Most Americans wouldn't consider a trip to Columbia, given all the dangerous narcotic trafficking one hears about in the news. I didn't see any signs of this during the several weeks I was there. I did meet one Colombian guy while I was there who when he found out I was from the US, he told me that he thought the US must be one of the most dangerous places in the world. He got this impression from watching CNN. November 17, 1999 Nouakchott, Mauritania - Auberge Centrale All taxis in Nouakchott cost a non-negotiable 100 ouguiyas ($.40) We went to the Mali embassy at 9:00am. Mali visa took 15 minutes, two passport size photos, and a copy of my passport, and 1700 ouguiya ($8). The Ivory Coast visa and Burkina Faso visa were gotten from the French embassy, and cost 5600 ouguiyas each, one passport photo and took 24 hours. When I returned back to our hotel, I found 5 foreigners walking out of our room. The hotel clerk had showed them were the bathroom was. It was then that I understood our private bathroom attached to hotel room, was intended to be accessed by everyone, hence why we never received a key, and why our door could not be locked, and why the door looked like it had been busted open a few times. What seemed like the primo room of the hotel since it was the only one with a bathroom, turned out to be more like sleeping in a hallway. In the afternoon, I put on the Michelin deserts in the back and front even though the current tires installed in Norway and Finland had a lot of tread left. I used the special spacer that I had bought to put on the extra wide rear tire on to my bike. I saved the front T66 tire for future use. The rear tire, I couldn't sell or trade. I'm told from workers at the Michelins (tire change shops) that no one but foreigners with large motorcycles use this size tire. Not being a sand or off-road tread makes it not very desirable here. While my half used tire should be worth $30-$40, I can't even get a buck for it. I visited the cyber cafe, which seemed 56kbps fast and was only $2 per hour. November 18, 1999 When I work on the bike, I like to work alone. I prefer to work slowly, methodically, and without interruptions. When I have others around, I get distracted. I put on my rear tire, alone, and everything went fine. Since it was dark, I decided to put off changing the front tire until morning. Jim encouraged me to roll the bike under the fluorescent light and do it now. Since I felt that he wanted to leave right away, and I was interested in staying, I thought it would be considerate to make an effort to be ready when the time came. I conceded to work on it now. Jim likes to have people around when he changes tires, and so I guess that he wants to be very pro-active to help when I change mine, thinking I'll want to return the favor. The results this time were disastrous. The tire wouldn't inflate last night with the hand pump. That was determined after 600 or so pumps from my bicycle pump. The next morning (today) I took it to a tire changing place to use their air compressor. It still wouldn't pump up. The guys at the tire changing place pulled the tube out only to discover it needed four patches. It was a new Continental tube; The most heavy duty made, had four punctures where the innertube had been punctured by the tire iron. This was the first time I have had this happen in 16 tire changes. Last time I had people talking to me while I changed the tire, I was in Quito, Ecuador, where I put the tire on backwards, and had to take it off again. Lesson learned then, do it alone. I don't like to let the tire change repair guys change my tires in these third world countries, because they are familiar only with steel rims, and truck wheels. Aluminum rims, especially tubeless require a lot more care. I cringe when I see them go at it. Wanting to be done with it, and not wanting to take the taxi back and fourth again, I let them scratch up my aluminum rims, and let them put oil rather than patience and soapy water on the tire to set the bead, In my mind it was a disaster, especially after making a pact with myself to never compromise the state of the front tire. The cleaning girl at the hotel is skinny black African girl who looks to be about 19. She makes flirtatious gestures with all the male foreigners staying at the small hotel. When I left for the day, I saw her rolling around on the ground with one French guy under the patio tent. Later Jim saw her disappear with a Spanish guy for a half hour. Strange place... The woman I see on the street are different from those of Morocco, or other parts of Mauritania. Many are not afraid of making eye contact, and in many cases, suggestive eye contact. November 19, 1999 I attempted to change money before Jim and I left Nouakchott. The banks were closed since it was Friday. Several of the change bureaus were also closed. While I had gotten 39 ouguiyas to the French Frank, In Nouakchott, they are saying the French Frank is falling to the dollar, so dollars are now looking more attractive. Because all the competition was closed, and I didn't have time to shop around, I got a rate of 36.5 on a small exchange, that isn't official, and so I won't have any papers to declare on exit from this final exchange. We left Nouakchott, heading East on the road called "The Road of Hope". The idea of giving a name like this to a road gave me a little anxiety. Hope for what??? Is this a marketing name to sell to the World Bank for funding? Is this hope for a more prosperous economy, hope for tying a culturally diverse nation together through closer ties or hope that my vehicle will make it across in one piece, Given the previous roads, my thought was for the later. Several sources had said the road was good except for the 2nd quarter which was really bad. "good" and "really bad" are all relative terms. All relative to the speaker who hopefully has recently experienced it first hand. It's also relative to the method of transportation used, and whether or not the speaker is attempting to make adjustments for the method of transportation I'm using despite qualifications to. The variables are huge, and the only slightly reliable method seems to be from increasing the sample size. The good asphalt road past over rolling sand dunes. Sometimes in the valley between these dunes their would be little villages. Sometimes the homes were made of tents, and sometimes they were made of mud brick. Usually there would be a simple water tower. I stopped on top of a dune in a spot outside of Bxxx with nearly a hundred camels in the valley. I wanted to take a photo. Jim, a bit more daring stopped in the valley. I followed. The kids who came over immediately were excited to see us, and one who spoke English attempted to talk to us. After talking for a while, I let him try on my helmet, and asked if I could take a photo. He enjoyed that. Soon several of the kids wanted to try my helmet and get their photo taken. The adults who were cautious at first warmed up, and I ended up taking portrait photos of all of them. Fortunately most of the time with out the silly looking helmet. I asked them how much for one of their camels, the reply was (I think) 20000 ($85) for a baby camel, 40000 ($170) for a grown up one. Along the road of hope, the terrain turned from sand dunes to savannah after passing the town of Aleg. While driving down the road, after the landscape changed to grass land, I saw a giant termite mound over a meter high, and a rare desert fox, which was sandy tan colored with white highlights and big ears. It's body seemed unproportionally skinny relative to its large head. The road was in excellent shape from Nouakchott until Magta Lahjar 20 miles after Magta Lahjar it turned to bad potholed road. It stayed bad until Kiffa. We filled up with gas about at almost every stop, not knowing for sure if the next town might be out or not which is always a possibility. Petrol sells for around 130 ouguiya per liter out here (122 in Nouakchott) At one gas station, a crowd of ten curious kids quickly formed. Jim was in one of his hypoglycemic moods, or tired, or hot or thirsty moods, or any combination of the above, and had no patience for the kids. With a quick wave of the hand, and a fierce "Shooo!!", he attempted to send them away. They stepped back a couple feet. Being the uninvited stranger, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable at this sudden treatment. One or more of these kids may belong to the gas station owner and belong here. Attempting to smooth relations, I lifted my right hand and waved. Most of them lifted their right hand and waved back. The synchronization seemed humorous. I lifted my left hand and waved, so did they. I lifted both hands, and so did they. I sprung my feel out, and so did they. The kids were having fun, and I thought this was so goofy, I carried it out. While wearing helmet, and riding gear, I did jumping jacks leading 10 kids in aerobic exercise which they all happily followed. A couple of adults couldn't help but laugh. Jim took a picture. It was getting near dusk, and we were looking for a good place to camp away from towns, away from homes, and out of clear sight from the road. Around here, people choose to drive off road making there own piste since the asphalt on the road was so potholled. So we were really looking for a spot out of sight of the parallel running piste and the potholled road. In the dirt patches of the potholes, and paths around large potholes, I noticed motorcycle tire tracks that were too large for a local motorcycle, and that belongs to a bike of the same class Jim and I were on. A little later we came upon the dust cloud kicked up by the motorcycles in front of us, and accelerated to pass. It was Jorg and Andreas from Germany. They had left a day earlier than us from Nuoakchott and had stayed at the same hotel. However since they left so late in the day, they really didn't get very far ahead of us. We camped 85km from Magta Lahjar. grass land. It didn't get cold at night like it did in the surrounding areas. The entire time we were there, there was a dust haze which I assumed was kicked up by the large vehicles avoiding the paved potholed road and driving on the dry dusty piste. Andreas and Jorg slept without a tent (even though they had one). For several reasons, the main one being mosquito born diseases (malaria, meningitis, dengue fever), Jim and I took the time to set up our tents. [LATER NOTE: Despite the occasional mosquito at night Andreas and Jorg slept out under the stars every night for the couple of nights we traveled with them. After we had gone our separate ways, I heard through e-mail that they had both come down with malaria. Timing was such that they must have contracted during the week we were traveling together.] I saw many dead camels, donkeys, goats, and cows lying on the side of the road. Once they get hit by a vehicle, they are just left on the side of the road to decompose. Haven't seen and vultures. The animals just bloat, and afterwards all that is left is skin hair and bones. Fresh roadkill is left to rot... November 20, 1999 R100GS 44996 Jim and I drove on ahead of Jorg and Andreas... Jim led this morning. He drove by a police check, since the cop was off in the shade talking to others, he was difficult to see. However when I came through he was visible. I slowed down and waved, It was clear he wanted me to stop. I had passed through, but turned around. He said in French, "hello, how are you?", "good and you?" Another officer came up, and spoke something I couldn't comprehend quickly..They usually ask where I'm from, and where I'm going so, I said in French, "sorry, I only understand a little French. I'm American, and speak English. How are the roads from here to Kiffa?" The response came in English translated by the first guy for the second one... "How come you no stop here?" I explained that at some of previous stops, they just wave, and I go through. That seemed to satisfy him. He then asked, "do you have water?", "yes", I said. "You must take water and food, all that you need". I thanked him, and he said "bon voyage..." Jim was waiting up the road just out of sight for me. We stopped in Guerou thinking it was Kiffa without checking our distance. A crowd of 50 kids quickly turned up to look at us and the motorcycles. They were fascinated, and just wanted to look. Jim was revving his engine to intimidate and clear some distance as he turned it around in the shade. When he got off, before any kid could think of touching the bike, he gave a glare. He was again in one of his moods probably caused by hunger, heat or fatigue. Before Jim could sew any seeds of discontent in this large crowd (40-50) and make the situation uncomfortable and possibly even dangerous, I suggested he go off and find something to eat and something cold to drink, knowing the kids would stay with me which I don't mind. Jim asked if I was going to get them to do jumping jacks again... We had lunch at a restaurant in Kiffa. While waiting for our dinner, A very wealthy Venezuelan and his Venezuelan team, pulled up in a loaded Hummer and a Defender 90 LandRover. Their vehicles looked like they were out of the Paris Dakar, covered with brand-name stickers. I stopped to talk to the driver of the hummer, and the electric window of the hummer lowered. Inside this wide vehicle, I could see they had multiple GPS with external antennae, a video camera mounted in the front window, and loads of other equipment. There were eleven 20-liter jerry cans of fuel on top, and what looked like several hundred liters of water. To put that in perspective, our water conserving consumption rate in the desert was 3 liters per person per day. We didn't look like we had recent showers like these guys did though. The owner had bought the Hummer in the US, shipped it to his home in Venezuela, had it customized there, and then shipped it to Spain where they were doing a 40 day ride from Madrid to Mali and back. The driver of the hummer was asking about the route from Kiffa to Atar, one I didn't remember existed since no one ever considered it. Later I looked at my map. It was listed as one of the crudest of pistes going over vast dunes.... One that I wouldn't want anything less than a hummer to consider crossing. They had a web address at hummer expeditions.com As he left, he wanted a picture of our motorcycles. Afterward, he said to look for it on the web. At Kiffa, the 'road of hope' went from terrible potholed road to a nice smooth road. One of the many police checks had a hand painted sign posted for vehicle drivers that said "Stop Herse". I wanted to take a picture, However it was clearly pointed out that that was forbidden. I came about a meter away from hitting a camel. The camel was spooked by the motorcycles, and ran right in front of me, I just missed its foot. Later, a cow ran out in front of me. I was able to pass it before it crossed my path. Jim who unfortunately was behind me then, came much closer and got as close to doing a stoppy on his bike that one could. Goats, camels, donkeys and cows wander all around the road, some getting skittish as we approach. I spotted a dead snake on the road... no idea what type. it was tan with brown spots. Markus mentioned horned vipers in the desert. Andreas woke up with a white scorpion under his sleeping mat a couple days ago. Of course, these just help to reinforce my feeling about sleeping in a tent rather than open under the stars which Andreas and Jorg were doing most nights. Our business in Anyoun el'Atrouds (get food and gas) took too long, and it was way past dusk before we left. For some reason, Jim's battery was drained, and so he drove without his light on. Jorg who was driving with a Mauritanian purchased headlight on his BMW had a very dim illumination equivalent to a small tungsten flashlight. Andrea had an XR600 which had a relatively small bulb compared to the BMW. It was decided that I should ride in front since I have by far the brightest headlight. I, who has the strongest dislike for riding at night in third world countries, outwardly gladly volunteered. I decided my dilemma was my own fault for not asserting my opinion loud enough about stopping earlier... Fortunately, I didn't encounter any donkeys who sometimes stand stubbornly in the middle of the road. And didn't see any camels that commonly hang out along the sides. I'm always afraid they will get skittish and run across our path. We only passed two cars that didn't have headlights or tail lights turned on because either they had burnt out and weren't replaced, or more likely the driver was saving wear on the battery by driving by moon light and putting his faith in Allah. We pulled off the road about 17km from Anyoun. The surrounding area was savannah with grassland and occasional small trees and bushes. As I was setting up tent, there were many little but very prickly burs stuck to my pants. They penetrated the skin of my hands as I tried to remove them, and left splinters. From a distance the source of these burs appeared to be a type of grass. It's no wonder why the herbivores of this area are skinny. I would be on a diet too if I had a thorn or bur in my tongue all the time. The grass is full of burs, and most of the trees and bushes are thorny. I suppose in this desert savannah, the plants of a lessor defensive nature have been selectively eaten out of existence. There is only one plat with green broad leaves that doesn't have thorns or burs. I assume it must be poisonous, or taste awful as the animals leave it alone. Fresh, good tasting bread is easy to find. Every town has it and sells it for cheap. Unfortunately in these desert towns, it's impossible to find any that doesn't contain sand. If it's not on the outside, it's baked in, and the crunch from my teeth is usually quite loud. I've eaten so much sand that I'm afraid I might start dropping pearls. Unrelated note that came up in conversation: Jim discovered in Argentina, Duct tape is called McGeyver tape, because on the TV show McGeyver, the star (McGeyver) always used it. While we were in Holland, we found out that duct tape is called "A-Team tape", because on the TV show A-Team, they always used it. November 21, 1999 R100GS 4523 Slept on the piste between Timbedgha and Nara Last night, when we arrived at our chosen camp sight, Jim attempted to start his motorcycle since the bike had a chance to charge up with the light off. The battery was not any better, however he only had 17km of charge time with the light off. This morning, we pushed him back to the road, and then push started his bike. He road with the headlight off for 153km to Timbedgha to charge it up. It didn't get any better. In Timbedgha, we took a closer look. The positive terminal on his battery had so much corrosion that this was a likely candidate for cause. I scrubbed the positive terminal and leads, while Jim scrubbed the negative terminal and leads until both of them shined. We hooked it up to the battery, and the bike had a strong starter turnover... Crossing to Mali can be done at several points along the "road of hope". All routes require travel across a piste. For a while now we had been asking around for advice of which routes to take. One traveler had written that the route from Kiffa to Kayes was the worst route he encountered in the world. We decided not to choose that route. Our guide book had suggested a route to Nioro which we were seriously considering, however several locals were telling us that the preferred, and most common route is Timbedgha to Nara. We decided to do the later. Our Michelin map said it was 171km, but several local said it was more like 185km. Our experience was that it was more like 185km. In Timbedgha, we found the unmarked customs building. We got our carnets and passports stamped out. I didn't have any hassles on the currency declaration forms which I was concerned about since I had exchanged most of my money on the black market. From the officials we heard that the big red overlander truck full of kiwis, ozzies & brits that we had crossed with at Daklah during the military convoy were a couple of hours ahead of us taking the same route. Since this former German military supply truck was about as ideal as a Hummer for crossing this kind of terrain, there was little chance that we would catch up. In preparation for the piste crossing, we filled our tanks with gas, and picked up additional bread and water. We all were thinking that we be done with our crossing by tomorrow. However Jim and I loaded up on water, by splitting a case (18 liters). Jim and I had previously calculated our total rate of water consumption between the two of us to be about 7.5 liters per day in this winter climate. While none of us thought the crossing would take long, Jim and I chose to error on caution. Jorg and Andreas thought we were nuts carrying so much heavy water and bread. They got 3 liters each, and not much additional food. Thinking about group interactions... I know how people die of thirst in the desert. They don't plan for contingencies, or underestimate travel time, or don't think about what about the seriousness of where they are going while they still have a chance. The piste was hard going. While we only had 185km to our destination, we didn't figure on the bikes overheating as much as they were. The slow driving speed on this terrain meant that we could only drive about 5km before the bikes would overheat and then we would have to sit for 15 minutes or so waiting for them to cool down. Since my motorcycle was the only one with a temperature gauge in our group of four, it was left to me to decided when we would stop. We stopped when my oil temperature would reach about 290 degrees Fahrenheit. When driving, we were moving at about 25kph (15mph) the slowest speed in 2nd gear. Most of the day was crossing grass lands. The grass would get caught up under my bash plate and the engine. Twice my engine started a smoking fire. I pulled out the packed in grass and the embers were glowing. I've never seen that before. Jorg ran through a skeleton that the grass had obscured from his view until it was too late and all he could do is drive through it. Driving through the grass was a challenge. The grass grows up to about a half meter in some places. It grows on sand and sand dunes, so occasionally there would be a patch of sand. The piste had ruts of loose sand, that were virtually impossible to drive on, so we chose to drive in the virgin terrain. One of the problems with driving on the virgin terrain is the acacia thorns. These thorns can get up to 3 inches long, and are strong enough and sharp enough to easily puncture a tire. Two travelers heading North in Morocco had told us about 5 tire changes on the piste due to these acacias. There is a seemingly benign variety of short thorns that stick to the tire. During one stop Jim counted 23 plucked from his tire, fortunately none fatal to his inner tube. The trees on the other hand have large needles, which can easily puncture the tires. The grass is tall enough such that its difficult to see what one is about to ride over. Occasionally I'd be driving along and come upon some broken acacia branches hidden in the grass. This would be the desert equivalent of riding over a broken bottle. Since Jim had been lost on the piste once before, naturally he was a bit concerned about having a plan of what to do. For good reason, he wasn't content with the plan of just staying together. We decided that we would form a chain. Each person continuously keeps an eye on the person behind him. If he doesn't see him, he stops.... this way the chain eventually halts waiting for the person who has fallen behind to catch up. If that person does not catch up, we go back. We also decided on how to use the horn. A short blast was to get attention, two short blasts means everything is ok. A long blast means that there is a problem, such as one has fallen.. so stop... This is one of those instances were those extra loud Fiams installed on Jim and my bike came into play. Jim and I were carrying 9 liters of water each. We've been figuring on 7.5 liters per day for the two of us, and planned for a second night ... just in case. By nightfall, we had only traveled 28km of the 185km. While they didn't voice there concern, I could see they no longer thought we were nuts taking so much food and water. far from it. As dusk was approaching, we came across a high orange brown sand dune that stood out overlooking the grass plane visible for many miles. The pure sand dune looked untouched. We drove up, and I parked my bike by spinning the rear wheel into the sand. As the rear wheel sunk, sand came up to bash plate and the bike stood on it's own. Actually this wasn't an intentional parking job, but it worked well enough for the night. The dune and it's location was beautiful. It was one of the most wonderful camping places of the trip. At night I walked barefoot along the cool untouched sand of the dune. The sand dune had a crust of ripples formed by the breezes blowing over. Walking barefoot, my foot would break through the crust into the soft sand just below. It was now cool on the surface and warm underneath, so burying my feet in the sand kept them warm. The moon was full, and provided enough light so I could see the vast plane below that my position allowed me to look from. I sat there on the dune and worked on my journal by moon light. It was most excellent.... slept under the stars on the sand dune. mosquitoes were nonexistent. The only nuisance on the dune being the dung beetles, which are continuously scouring the dunes looking for something.... dung? I had some thoughts on group interactions... which was something I spent sometime thinking about while on the plane... Unfortunately, I didn't complete the thoughts to this journal before they were forgotten. some quick and incomplete notes: Being in the desert, we're in a serious situation where some forethought needs to be made. There is a natural feeling of safety in numbers that may cause some to let down there guard. One unprepared person becomes a burden on all. The larger the group, the more slack that can be taken up. Of course no one plans to be unprepared, it just happens, so your safe bet is in a group. The problem with this is that without a shepherd doing the thinking, the whole group can be compromised by this safety in numbers feeling. The group can break down if some feel like they are contributing more and receiving less, or if their safety seems feels like it is compromised rather than augmented. some more ideas about groups... Jim was telling me about a study done on conservation of resources amongst a group. The gist was that the larger the group, the less effective people were at conserving resources. group interactions... too large of a group conservation of resources... group thinking. -------------- We wandered away from the main piste. I remembered something I wanted for navigation was a protractor and a ruler. It was on my list desert preparation acquire list written up last year in Morocco, that I forgot about. My anxiety could have been reduced if I could have used it today to find our location on the map, since we lost the main piste, and now are on a much smaller secondary piste. Fortunately, according to guestimates with the GPS, we are still on the right path. In a situation like this, its good to have people who pay attention to details, and are thinking of contingencies... here we have two people who are winging it. The look of their motorcycles should have been the clue that these two are the type to "just do it". They were a bit of a liability, rather than an asset. Important lessons for the future. I expect we'll be sharing water, as well as food. They are already carrying a reputation as money borrowers, I think Appie is still owed 250 dirhams by Jorg. November 22, 1999 Again, I'm writing my journal by moon light while sitting on a high point of the landscape overlooking the savannah.... All day today was piste driving... or at least it was intended to be, We left the dunes just after dawn. We hoped to make it all the way to Nara. Yesterday, we had stopped so many times because the engines were overheating, that we ended up not getting very far. Each break would last 15 minutes, and they were happening every 3-5 miles. Couldn't get speed for the overflowing engine to cool it down. But the cool morning air was good... we were able to ride an hour before we had to stop for a cool down break. We started out wanting to get back to the main piste. We came upon a little village (actually a hamlet) The houses were round made out of mud with a thatched cone roof. Some of the structures had a type of animal fencing made from sticks. Thinking that we would go in easy, Jim and Jorg stayed off in the distance while Andreas and I approached. In this rural conservative land, it was apparent that the woman were not approachable by a stranger. The sound of the motorcycle brought out the men. Like in other parts of Mauritania, they wore blue ankle length tunics with patterns on the chest, and some wore turbans. We asked where the road to Nara was... It was explained to us that it was 12km East of where we were... on the other side of the dune. We followed the directions... the piste out of town ended up curving in the wrong direction, so we continued by compass bearing, and came across the town mentioned by the previous village. Again we got directions which seemed quite clear... Follow the piste in that direction..." Out of town the piste splits off into many directions, some of which end. others curve in the wrong general direction. Going through the whole courtesy protocol was taxing our time, and not getting us very far since there are so many trail going every which way. Our limited resources did not afford us the time to follow this method. All of us feeling the same frustration, Jorg suggested what was on everyone's mind... stop asking, and just follow a compass bearing. Which we did... With my GPS tracking direction, I led the group due South East. As a backup, Jim and I both had separate compasses, and Andreas and I had working odometers. A protractor and ruler would be all that was necessary given that our map was accurate. We were not in a position to miss Nara, as a miss on all sides would be continuous desert. A miss to the East would be much worse than a miss to the West, as we would be likely to pick up a different piste. Unfortunately, I didn't have a GPS coordinate for Nara at the time. This key would have made life completely anxiety free. As it was though the GPS was very useful for reassuring that we had been heading due SE the entire time, which those in the party without compasses (Jorg & Andreas) questioned due to obstacles I circumnavigated while leading on the plain. Jim was tracking my performance so closely with his wrist compass that his perception of my error matched up with the magnetic north declination that he had forgotten to take in consideration. [For future reference, that anxiety free GPS key to Nara is N15d09.951, W7d17.378 (WGS84) - even better, this is the coordinate to the only hotel in Nara, and the only source for Ice cold liter sized beer] Reading due South East, we were crossed grass lands with sand underfoot Occasionally we would pass clumps of short broad leaf desert trees, and clumps of thorn trees. In one area, there were huge ant hills That being 10 or more feet wide, shaped like a crater with all of the surrounding vegetation gone. Some of these huge ant hills would only be about 30 feet apart. In other areas, there were huge termite hills often built around a tree. Some of the termite hills would stand 2 meters high and 2 meters wide, with the branches of the former living tree poking out of the top. We stopped to let the engines cool down and see how everyone was doing. After they had cooled down, we started up again and took off. we drove over an embankment, and then over a second, all the time I was watching in my mirror maintaining the chain. After I had crossed over the second steep embankment, I could see a village with a large piste running through. Before I headed over there though, I waited. Jorg who was my rear "link" didn't show up. I waited for him. Andreas didn't turn up either. Not really wanting to risk falling on this sandy grass embankment, nor waste my valuable engine cool down time, I walked back to the embankment edge. Jorg and Andreas had been waiting between the first and second embankment, and appeared to have just taken off to catch up to me. I hopped on my motorcycle, and met them. They had stopped because they hadn't seen Jim. Inside I was saying, "Dammit Jim, can you not get lost for piste crossing????" He was a terrible follower. I told the other two about the village over the embankment, and said that would be our meeting point. Jorg and I went back looking for Jim. We retraced our route, and couldn't find him. I got out my binoculars, and spotted him. I flagged down Jorg in the distance and let him know I was headed to him. Andreas way off in the distance followed too. Jim hadn't moved from our last stop. Rather than happy to see himself found, my greetings were returned with the brunt of his feeling left behind. Though thoroughly irked, I contained my reactive desires. His ground cable had completely broken near the battery terminal during our stop. He said he didn't know how it happened. When we took off, he couldn't start the engine or beep the horn. Apparently Andreas and Jorg were a little slow in realizing that their tail man wasn't there. However, the chain did work, and we did find each other again because of it... despite that it took 15 minutes. We spent the next hour rigging up this cable. While I had spent a great deal of time putting together a selection of spare parts, an authentic ground cable was not one of them due to the likely hood of it breaking. I had brought along some substitute cable for that intended emergency use, but had used it for other purposes while travelling with Sharon, and never replaced it. We were able to rig it up such that Jim's bike started up just fine, and was no longer a problem. A few days later in Bamako, we found a replacement that Jim carried as a spare. Later in the afternoon, Jorg's after market oil pump cooler hose sprung a leak, and was ejecting oil 10 meters from his bike. He had a spare hose and stuck it on in no time. Fortunately he also had spare oil. Days before leaving, he had rigged up an after market oil cooler to his BMW. He didn't have protected braided oil lines like which was stock, and the unavoidable trees and branches ended up ripping his lines. It was his last spare line. I eased his anxiety and told him I was carrying 2 meters, and an oil cooler bypass so he could break it at least four more times. Later, in the afternoon, I was still in the lead tracking South East for the group on the GPS, We were passing through a desert tree area. I was looking down at the GPS, standing on the foot pegs because the road was so bumpy for the speed I was going. My front tire fell into a narrow sandy fissure, and I went flying over the front of the bike landing in one of the desert trees. Other than knocked out of breath, I wasn't hurt, but one of the tank bag snaps ripped off, such that I couldn't carry the tank bag on the tank anymore. I set it on the pannier and bungeed it in place. Later from the bumps, it did end up falling off once again. Fortunately Jorg caught it. Jorg and Andreas didn't bring enough water in case of problems on the piste like we were now having. Nor did they have enough food. While I still had five liters, and Jim had 4 or so, they weren't drinking as much as they should today, or eating very much. I also conserved knowing that we would end up sharing soon this afternoon. They weren't about to ask for any water, but I could tell they really appreciated it when I offered them my water bottle to drink from. We had travelled so far, we thought for sure we must be in Mali. We came across a local and I stopped. From the way he was dressed, I suspected the answer, but I asked him anyway, he said we were in Mauritania...., We decided the next village, we would ask for water. Andreas, who was the most skilled at French in our group went to do the talking, and Jorg who had a 20 liter plastic collapsible water can accompanied. Not wanting to seem too offensive with four loud motorbikes carrying distant strangers descending on this extended family little hamlet (population 20), Jim and I stayed out on the outskirts at a respectable distance. In this remote of an area, kids have only heard of white people. The locals in the desert greet with two hands up in the air which has been unusual in our travels so far. Two hands in the air puts an emphasis on the sincerity of the greeting. Then they shake hands with the right hand, followed by a touch of the right hand to the heart to further show sincerity Meanwhile, this is followed up with Cava, Cava bien, Cava, Cava bien.... [ later note... two hands in the air is common sincere greeting in black Africa... shaking the hand followed by a touch to the heart is more common in Arab Africa... We were in a area where the two meet, hence both sincere forms of greeting] Jorg said that after they had been greeted, water was immediately offered.... They didn't have to ask. Jorg filled up his 20 liter bottle. That night I dumped some of my iodine in it and we spent the evening filtering it. The water was cloudy. I skimmed a dead ant and some plat debris from it. The new filter I had just installed into my pump clogged the filter to the point of needing cleaning, three times. It was a great relief to have the water anxiety taken care of. Jim and I had plenty for the two of us, but not comfortably for four. All day we were dreaming about the beer we would be able to buy in Mali, since its so difficult or expensive to get in Mauritania. Notes for earlier. donkey caravan carrying truck tire inner tubes filled with water The inner tube rests on its back, like a saddle bag. These burs are the worst part of the piste... they leave splinters,, and have cause me to bleed. They come from the grass, and are virtually impossible to avoid. I've probably pulled out 30-40 splinters today from these burs. nasty.... An amazing olfactory system these dung beetles have... it's well tuned for food that higher level organisms have no interest in. They must have a digestive system more efficient than mammals. We completed 20 miles the first day, 52 miles the second, and the remaining 40 on the morning of the third day. The day went well, and the terrain was nice and flat. However, I still cleaned out the brush that caught between the bike and the bash plate to prevent fires, and help the cooling of the engine. Flying through the grassland, which occasionally was surrounded by trees seemed dangerous. The motorcycle would roll over the 1-2 inch diameter trunks... Fortunately they were hollow and would snap from the weight of the motorcycle. The bike would hit some as they passed. Fortunately they broke easy enough. I couldn't always see what was coming up on the ground in time to react since it was obscured by the grass. At 30-50kph, I would pass by hidden logs, or holes in the ground created by animals. Sometimes I would fly over the giant ant hills. The large ones were easy to spot, however the dead medium size ones were most dangerous since grass had overgrown and obscured them. Jorg flew by a small termite mound which his pannier nicked and almost lost control. Fortunately, today I didn't encounter any more fissure in the ground like yesterday that my front tire got stuck in and I flew off. Morocco is Arab predominantly Arab both genetically and culturally ...Muslim. Mauritania is predominately black African genetically and culturally Muslim. Mali is black Africa... I feel like I'm in Africa now. Some Muslim, but to a much less degree than the above. First impressions of Mali. The people seem very dignified. Both men and woman seem very strong, and physically fit. more so than any other third world I can remember. Woman are often dressed in attractive flowing floral prints... While still on our quest for Nara, but knowing we should be getting close, we stopped in a little hamlet. Jorg and Andreas went off in one direction to find someone to talk to. Meanwhile, an old man with decorative old vertical scars on in face came up to me. He told me the way to Nara, and explained the best way to get to the main piste. While we hadn't seen the piste for some 80 miles, we were right on track. Later, this old man told me in broken French that he had a pain in his head and asked me for some aspirin. Not giving it a thought, I just dumped into his hand half my packed bottle of ibuprofin. Use to the Moroccan and Mauritanian greeting of "Give me a gift.", when this guy asked for some aspirin, I was caught off guard. I told him to only take one at a time, but given the language barrier, I think the subject got through, but not the details. I started to regret dumping that half kilo of ibuprofin that I left behind in Holland. The route the old man told us left no doubt we were back on the main piste. It was well traversed with little deviation. It took us straight into town. The four of us pulled up, and asked for directions to the police station. Jim lead with a local kid on his back pointing the way, and Jorg followed. I saw Andreas was having difficulty starting his bike. I went after Jim and Jorg to let them know what was up. It turned out that Andreas had just run out of gas. He switched to reserve and was fine. The piste from Timbedgha to Nara was much slower going than expected. The hardship of the piste, anxieties over our partners being short on water, heat of the afternoon, left us fantasizing about the beer we would be able to drink in Mali. Offers to buy each other cold beers were going around. Nara was becoming the Emerald city of the long journey with a frosted holy grail waiting for us filled with a liter of ice cold beer. Nara contained several excellent microbreweries, with stocks stored in ice cold refrigeration. Nara is a town of 5-10k with no electricity. It's the first town many from Mauritania will cross. We stayed in the nicest "hotel" in town. This was an unmarked bar, with a cement block room in the back that could be mistaken for a closet. The room by itself was too small for the four of us, so Jim and I slept on the floor in the bar kitchen just out side of the room, giving the room to Jorg and Andreas. By morning, it was clear, we had the better end of the deal since their mattress had fleas, and the just swept cement floor I slept on was free of the pests. Nara has a sort of lake at the end of town. So far on my trip through Africa, the landscape has been void of lakes, and standing water, so no mosquitoes. The only place that I've encountered mosquitoes so far has been in Atar, Mauritania. Were I slept made putting up a mosquito net impractical, so instead I slept with my body covered in a sheet, and my shirt over my head breathing through the neck hole. While I fell back to sleep, I contemplated taking a Malaria prophylactic. After the visit to customs, and the police where we showed our passport and carnet, we went to look for a bar/hotel. We couldn't find any in the center of town that had a sign, and so had to ask around. When I asked one person where a hotel was, he pointed to his shack... I thanked him and went on. We found the bar/hotel listed in the German guide book, and rolled our motorcycles inside the open air courtyard. Despite no electricity, this bar had two kerosene powered refrigerators which kept their 24oz beers very cold. The first thing the four of us did was to quickly drink one. Then , before we were too intoxicated, we changed some money. Mali, along with several other countries use a currency that is fixed directly to the French Franc. official exchange rate is 100 to the French Franc. However in practice, less. We were offered 95 per franc, but bargained a rate of 97 which wasn't bad considering where we were. We spent the afternoon drinking ice cold 24oz beers from Bamako. A friendly Ghana woman asked us to buy her a beer to which Andreas did. I think she forgot who bought her the beer, as she then became a bit overly friendly with Jim and I. It was clear that the wrong word to her might get her way too friendly. She sat in the corner and laughed when she thought one of said something intending to be funny. While her company wasn't annoying, her gratitude for having been bought a beer was off my cultural scale. We were staying at a bar/hotel, if you could call it a hotel since it only had one room. Being the only hotel in town, it didn't need a name, nor did it have a name. "The bar with a hotel room" will do. Robert Kofi from Ghana politely introduced himself after sitting at a table by himself for a while. He was a Ghana traveler who had been here for quite a while. He appeared well educated, and one who spent some time thinking. He said he thought traveling is very good for a person because it opens up the mind to new experiences. Some day he wanted to go to Europe. A guy from Dakar, Senegal stopped in the morning while I was talking to Robert. He was dressed in traditional robe and head band turban. Robert said, "This is the problem with Africa. People cling to traditional culture, and keep Africa behind." I didn't tell him my views... "My distaste for homogenization of cultures to western values... My strong interest in preservation of cultures and diversity. I started to think that preservation of culture in this sense may be considered a luxury. The individuals must choose whether they value their own culture to preserve it. Hopefully they are not blinded by marketing of western products, and reruns of Knots Landing, On the wall of this bar, there were a few posters. One showing pictures of animals of the world from Pandas to Giraffes, One of African fashion designs with a heavy set model who looked like Oprah Winfrey, and another commemorating the 9 hour visit of Bill and Hillary Clinton to Ghana. It was a poster full of photo shots of the two of them with leaders of Ghana waiving to the crowd, and superimposed flags of the US and Ghana. Obviously it was a *big* deal here that the US president stopped by. In Morocco, several people I talked to pointed out they were "friends with America". The next sentence was often that Bill Clinton came over for the funeral of their King a couple months ago. His visit was clearly very powerful for friendship of the citizens. November 24, 1999 Doubabougou, Mali - camped off the road In the morning we bought supplies for the road to Bamako, in case it was bad enough such that we would have to camp. Jorg and I walked into the market, which was made up of woman selling what vegetables they had, While sitting under thatched roof supported by cut trees. Mali is black Africa, Arab blood in Nara seems almost non-existent. French is spoken more readily than Arabic. Jorg and I drew attention and friendly smiles. In the stores (boutiques), I picked up some rice. The stones and bugs in the rice influenced me to buy some couscous. Jorg was looking for some jam (confiture). It was easily available in all but the rural areas of Mauritania, However in Nara, it seemed that the people had never heard of it before. In the third boutique store we tried, a clerk demonstrating his worldliness to another clerk, explained to him that it was like mayonnaise. We gave up after that. We found bottled water (Tombuctu brand) in the school supply store which sold for 500 CFA each ($.84). At that price, I suspect few locals drink it. We picked up a case. I also picked up a protractor and ruler to use in the future for navigating. We settled up the bill at the "hotel" we stayed in. It was the most expensive place in town. We each had 3-4 large beers, a couple soft drinks, dinner and breakfast, and the total came to $15. We prepared to take off, rolling my motorcycle out of the front entrance of our hotel with the use of a ramp to get it over the stairs. The other three motorcycles fit through the side entrance. Andreas discovered that his luggage frame had broken on the piste, and so took it to a welder. I waited by my bike outside. Meanwhile curious kids came by. They were sitting by me checking me out. They were curious about the hair growing out of my face, and the hair growing on my arms. I then noticed that the locals don't have facial or arm hair. The gas station received it's gas in barrels. They sold petrol by the liter from a hand pump located inside a shack. The pump was inside the dispensing barrel, and when cranked by the handle, it filled up a glass jar which was hand marked with liter increments. This jar could be filled up to 5 liters, and then the release valve was turned, and the petrol would flow into a receptive jerry can which could be carried to the vehicle to be filled. They charged 500CFA per liter ($.84) which was a nice even number for doing calculations of price in one's head. Around 1pm, we set out on the road to Bamako. It's a two lane wide red gravel road which is all corrugated. By 5:30, we had traveled 160km on this continuously corrugated road. Jorg and Andreas coming from the land of the Autobahn had never encountered a corrugated road before. After a few hours, they realized the lesser of evils for driving on corrugated roads is to drive at high speed. I found it necessary to drive at 60kph or more to fly above the bumps and not be rattled to death. This speed requires intense concentration, since there were also deep potholes that must be navigated around. Some of them being two feet deep and wide enough to eject a motorcycle flying at 60-80kph into the air. Many times my back wheel bottomed out hitting the top of the rear mud guard. A couple times, my back tire went flying off the ground, once seeming like a foot in the air. All the while reminding myself the nearest hospital is a long way away. The amount of dust kicked up was so intense that we followed each other with a minimum two minute gap. During the 5 hours of travel, we passed 3 oncoming cars, and 3 oncoming trucks. We camped out near the side of the road just up from Doubabougou. ---- Dave Thompson http://www.roadkill.com/~davet/worldtrip ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com