tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-334213562024-03-07T23:00:27.471+00:00BEP and SJD in Accra, GhanaThe occasionally updated blog while posted in Accra, Ghana.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-20779230826456503352008-04-03T17:04:00.004+00:002008-11-13T03:24:39.366+00:00High-Tech Trash<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBul3aYWXrMXSEAClaCWb02e-1zheJiE-XrP8qcntWf46wMVTv2mdWJV0kNsisUcbsnLCreHTdk93Ri8uEWoqIIVnpfZ3yoGiVvk5zB0jZzrgQYoEvPJH0UiuniT7AyDFf6__/s1600-h/trash_feature.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185069213620279746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBul3aYWXrMXSEAClaCWb02e-1zheJiE-XrP8qcntWf46wMVTv2mdWJV0kNsisUcbsnLCreHTdk93Ri8uEWoqIIVnpfZ3yoGiVvk5zB0jZzrgQYoEvPJH0UiuniT7AyDFf6__/s320/trash_feature.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here is something to think about from <em>National Geographic</em>. All credit to NG.<br /><div></div><div><br /><a href="http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2008/01/high-tech-trash/carroll-text">High Tech Trash</a> or <a href="http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2008/01/high-tech-trash/carroll-text">http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2008/01/high-tech-trash/carroll-text</a><br /><br />I've seen the kids pushing carts of discarded electronics across Accra town. Smelled the wretched burning as I was riding here and there. I didn't really understand what they were doing or where they were going with their haul. </div><div> </div><div>Thinking that you're doing the right thing by recycling is getting more and more complicated.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-61887266514398551552008-03-12T12:55:00.007+00:002008-11-13T03:24:40.405+00:00Mangos in moderation<div align="justify">I’m not sure this really this qualifies as a locally acquired taste since there is evidence of my appreciation of mangoes prior to arriving in Ghana.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179718281369917826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcez9SgP8tfiXLUpGmkWE0ZkDgA_iBQ6EgEJ7FpxLF6X29Zs42EcPft-LmZP9mOuM3tkkbYndQcdKtPB1PlIkawJZPqEHTbDlxGaIfRmdQtBYP_eSEiDsUVF5LY9UFeSjcK6FI/s320/Picture+111.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="justify"><br /><em>Here I am somewhere in Australia delighting in mango ice-cream next to the world’s largest mango. Oooh that was good.<br /></em><br />Even before that though, I was making a concoction I called mango salsa. It included (duh) mango, red and green pepper, cilantro, onion and a liberal dash of tequila. Batches varied wildly from what might be described as “a nice balance” to “who put the mango in my tequila?” Perhaps not always intended for the kiddies, but it was generally a hit at the office.<br /><br />Fast forward a few years when my office setting did not quite allow for mid-day communal munching. Trader Joes filled the void with pre-packaged, sliced, dried and very sweet mango chunks. A few of these babies could send my blood sugar sky rocketing. They made (and still are) a great mid-ride treat when legs are flagging.<br /><br />Ok, now onto Ghana – a country up to its ears in tropical fruits – pineapples, coconuts, papaya, oranges, bananas, plantains and, of course, mangoes. At least two varieties of mangoes even. Big juicy mangos are my favourite. Apparently they are not native to West Africa, but do well enough economically. The smaller, stringier variety is native, I’m told, but is really not worth all the teeth cleaning effort involved to really enjoy it. So…<br /><br />Almost every outing included at least a quick glance at the road side fruit-n-veggie stands to check supplies. Sometimes they were perfect to be eaten now. Others needed to wait a day or two to ripen. I’m still not sure how to tell the difference. There was usually room in my bag for a mango or two. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179718289959852450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtIWq_-1Fi3vZBQgQFxNVv7sApRTILBK3dZaqvjZcyEOU9j6nlwKQRL3J-1psuOW8dxdcXdRzsrAHS4v4rEctz7SlhyphenhyphenjE29geyCHknYVCau4jgyNu1WI4XTkBNeOH90qiRN8zs/s320/IMG_2554.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><em>Before</em></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179718285664885138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHHnF9aM-W1pfxXtrTyhYBtiJ1SY60G6ofjCpJl-PHj5iWLMafgqLE2gznlD6agIFefRca7vKwALd2CMHnaKn6k7PUGPa2Ef1I-SngBlbSq6Lf7wc3v1puOrQ1B3Q2WgZgwdTb/s320/IMG_2552.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><em>After </em></p><p align="justify">Mixed with yogurt, ice, milk and other fruit.<br /><br />Always a mess to prepare.<br /><br />Unfortunately, after several months of eating mangoes, I seemed to develop some sort of allergy. Not right away as would be ideal. No, I would continue to eat plate after plate of mango. A few days later my lips would become almost chapped lasting for two weeks. I will spare you the pictures. We weren’t certain if the allergy was caused by ingesting too many mangoes, or handling the sappy ones right from the tree. At least twice this happened – the last being in May 2007. It was pretty frustrating, but I swore off mangos for a while.<br /><br />Now March 2008, and it appears that I still have a slight allergy. This only after SJD carefully did all the washing and slicing. All I did was admire the bright color and have one little bite. Mmmmm…so good, but so bad too.</p><div align="justify">Now, I'm afraid that mangos are just out to get me. There are a number of fruit bearing trees on my project site - including mangos. Most of the fruit has been picked by passersby for personal consumption or perhaps resale at the tro-tro stop. It is just the way things work around here.<br /></div><div align="justify">The project site gate keeper swings open the gate in the morning when I arrive for work on my bike. The larges mango tree is litterally a few feet beyond the gate. A few months ago during prime growing season, the branches were hanging quite low full of fruit. Only after riding head on into a low hanging mango a couple dozen times, the mangoes disappeared.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179718294254819762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSVCo7Fnd_WfBnXgfQezwynj4Am5RvDlZIk6GzLq9FEmnEMFziEstJxeyIbJpI7Xz6DpaM-EHttAph9M5tomILyVFlcQM-zIbSZ29VXBwME_qqVNz0qyDXy83cwrvkpugUtZy/s320/IMG_0118.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="justify">A coworker still, every now and then, surprises me with a plate of freshly cut fruit. Mostly pineapple, papaya or bananas now. And not just one banana either. Sometimes as many as five of the tiny variety. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-25226930761713501572008-02-11T21:58:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:40.812+00:00Pharaohs v Indomitable Lions<div align="justify">As Marta mentioned, Ghana was host the African Cup of Nations for the past three weeks. An event much more exciting that my sock sorting for sure...</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Millions of spectators were expected to swarm to newly constructed or refurbished stadiums in Accra, Tamale, Secondi and Kumasi. Ghana's Black Stars promised to keep the cup in Ghana. While neither expectation nor promise materialized quite as planned, the pride and spirit felt on the streets of Accra was hard to ignore. Businesses closed early. Night guards huddled around grainy TV's or transistor radios.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I managed to catch three games in Accra. Ghana defeating Morocco. Cameroon eliminating Ghana. Egypt winning the cup by beating Cameroon in the finale.</div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD76S89Q0hyphenhyphenW6-4zCIo_d3KTjByOfAfF516RcXifAlJ-BzAm_0qw_G6yteODFbVA4bSCcTVu0sjM_3IO4XvVuu85A3jUm2kVDA6egFSwCHvsOkKBrAx1hgiColXeFGb_IL-dao/s1600-h/IMG_0205.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165852336713940242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD76S89Q0hyphenhyphenW6-4zCIo_d3KTjByOfAfF516RcXifAlJ-BzAm_0qw_G6yteODFbVA4bSCcTVu0sjM_3IO4XvVuu85A3jUm2kVDA6egFSwCHvsOkKBrAx1hgiColXeFGb_IL-dao/s320/IMG_0205.JPG" border="0" /></a> <em>SJD waving the flag for Cameroon in Sunday's finale versus Egypt.</em> </div><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOHeeEqW1KWGJULPQjRJhwwOV9y2WMOLVGskpq6Bf8lnLdJU6lWhewPsxFe3KNDbfCdYeBCXQE1Lga6ErD1lnXx8jOdutP_nWfs2xWTy5Nen00GVzbelhosduwf6rRCt1Ymr0/s1600-h/Stadium+panorama.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165852388253547810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOHeeEqW1KWGJULPQjRJhwwOV9y2WMOLVGskpq6Bf8lnLdJU6lWhewPsxFe3KNDbfCdYeBCXQE1Lga6ErD1lnXx8jOdutP_nWfs2xWTy5Nen00GVzbelhosduwf6rRCt1Ymr0/s320/Stadium+panorama.jpg" border="0" /></a><em> A not quite filled stadium in Accra moments before kick off. Most seats were filled once the game started.</em></p><p align="left">Ghana's Black Stars defeated Ivory Coast's Elephants to take 3rd place in the 16 team tournament.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-43643318001370309352008-02-08T16:10:00.000+00:002008-02-08T17:33:58.184+00:00Sooner or later all that was new and interesting becomes old and ordinary. I include myself in that analysis of course, although SJD, diplomat that she is, would likely conjure up a statement to the contrary. I hope at least. Right hon?<br /><br />So we've settled into a bit of a routine here. Already eh? Yup, eighteen months in and we don't have anything new and/or exciting to report covering the past eight weeks apparently. Note the date of the previous post.<br /><br />Why just today I was contemplating organizing my sock drawer, when it dawned on me that, today being Friday, I have all day Saturday to complete said task. I could do it then. Then an even more ingenious realization entered my mind. I've worn socks perhaps ten times in the past eight weeks. Finding an appropriate pair shouldn't be too much of a problem really. Barring any mood swings of Mother Nature, this open toe trend is likely to maintain its current path.<br /><br />Sort neck ties darkest to lightest? Puuuuuulleeeezze.....<br /><br />Well, looks like Saturday's plans are wide open.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-24156819860393255502008-02-01T08:48:00.000+00:002008-02-08T17:53:49.233+00:00So here we are in February already. While many of you shoveled snow or braved ice slickened trails to get in some winter riding, I washed the harmattan dust off the car and rode the stationary trainer indoors...again. Yup, we've just come through the "cold" season here. Our very polite and diligent guard, Godsway, battled the evening chill with a trench coat. Babies were bundled up with blankets and hats. Moto couriers fought the biting chill with with appropriate gear. We obronis simply enjoyed the respite from sweating the moment we stepped outdoors.<br /><br />Sure the trees lose their leaves and exercise outdoors usually concludes with a hacking fit and blurry vision. In spite of the dust, we quite enjoyed the harmattan break from normal heat and humidity. The dust blown down from the Sahara lays a thick haze over Ghana. You can stare directly at the sun without going blind. Not sure why you would want to do that, but you can... And did I mention that every outing does not produce 4 gallons of sweat? Alas, the harmattan has passed and heat and humidity are back with a vengeance. The haze is still here. And to make it even worse, the Black Stars lost to Cameroon in the semi-finals of the African Cup of Nation Soccer tournament.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-10383189584749358412007-12-13T13:41:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:40.965+00:00N6 10.409 W0 05.012<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNfODVzdca2AwBLMyuiz8eCq91dQlyLBqLH5Julc1KGDsxpO660jvp5VfvcQvkSeTQCWorjs2nHibAXfuXPFxxEpNYguOakOIeEJfQ5sq5cTlgOhtuZBnX3u30kNreBsRIQWJ1/s1600-h/Akasambo+ride+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143452569004156162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNfODVzdca2AwBLMyuiz8eCq91dQlyLBqLH5Julc1KGDsxpO660jvp5VfvcQvkSeTQCWorjs2nHibAXfuXPFxxEpNYguOakOIeEJfQ5sq5cTlgOhtuZBnX3u30kNreBsRIQWJ1/s400/Akasambo+ride+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Here we have two rides worth of GPS data overlayed on GoogleEarth. Both rides started from Aylos Bay Hotel - more or less at 1 o'clock on the image and proceed clockwise.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>In red, Chris, SJD and I headed down some valley and up to a ridge top. Eventually we turned around since we were not certain which trails lead where.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>In blue SJD and I did a 42 mile road and dirt road ride. Maps were accurate enough showing the intended route on lightly traveled paved switchback mountain roads, however we still missed one turn as indicated by the little spur on the left side. Luckly the topo maps indicated the power transmission lines running parallel to the road. It was enough information to tip us off we were indeed on the wrong track.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>Back on track one valley over heading NE we were expecting some dirt road, but were a bit surprised when road surface deteriorated so badly about half-way in. Packed dirt gave way to sand washes and exposed rocks before reaching Akasambo.</div><div> </div><div>Notice the yellow spot in the center of the image - land clearing fire. Lake Volta is a the top. The Akasambo Dam is just barely visible at the top of the blue loop where the lake gets skinny.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-40902776444757399022007-11-26T20:07:00.000+00:002007-11-26T21:55:21.230+00:00Tour d'Accra<div align="justify">So I overestimated the distance of the race by 266%. Nobody is perfect, and I'm a prime example.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Yesterday, with a fair bit of arm twisting by one of the Ghanaian cycling superstars, Randolph Mensah, I started the Tour d'Accra road race. When he showed up at our house on Saturday afternoon he didn't have all the details on the tip of his tongue. In fact, all he knew was the starting location (Teshie-Nungua police barrier) and approximate time - 8am Sunday morning. I thought I had him convinced that I was in no condition to race unknown distances. No, my target heart rate lately has been set on "recreation" not "decimation." Cleverly, he upped the ante by presenting two bright green sponsor t-shirts for me and the missus. Everyone asks about the missus - SJD. I had to accept.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Really, I did not want to race. The bike wasn't prepared. I didn't feel like waking up early.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Later that evening I was feeling a bit guilty. Here I am in Accra with a small fleet of bikes, parts and gear to spare. These guys bust their bee-hinds every race in the same duds, on beat up bikes, on terrible roads in scorching heat. No classes based on weight, age, ability or gender. Just show up and ride what you have. It is rough on the edges with just a hint of rules, but is pure racing in some sense. This time though we actually had to pin on numbers. The big time!</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">SJD, who has much better sense than I much of the time, told me that I really should race. She didn't go so far as to say that she would wake up at 6am to make coffee for me. Just nudged me out of bed. A free t-shirt and a nudge got me going. In fairness to SJD, she did drag herself out of bed by 10am to cheer us on passing Burma Camp.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I had just enough time to lube the chain, pump the tires up to pressure, and get all gussied up in City-Bikes/Metro Gutter wear before riding to the Teshie-Nungua - about 10 miles. It would be a perfect warm up...if the race were to begin on time.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Geez, that road between La and Teshie is in horrible condition. Potholes, dips, sand, crumbling edge rumble strips. I'm trying to think of a road in DC that might compare to it. Hmmm...</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Things are running late again. About 90 minutes late. Given that many of the racers arrive by tro-tro, taxi or riding (like me) a little extra time is okay. After several introductions, a prayer and display of the prizes, the promoter goes over the course - in one of the local languages. I heard three laps, and mention of a few landmarks - Burma Camp, Achimota, Kaneshie, La. No doubt it seemed like a long race to me. I didn't really have any high expectations of finishing with the leaders. As these races go, once you're spit out the back from the pack, you tend to lose ground quickly.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Finally around 9:30am we're set loose behind a rolling enclosure police escort. Police, bikes, team cars. Add Sunday church traffic, goats, chickens, pedestrians, tro-tros and everything else Ghana into the mix. There is a lot to pay attention to. Early on I was content to sit mid-pack. The pace was pretty high at first, and the police were having a tough time clearing traffic. At one point we bunched up and instead of simply slowing, the lead riders overtook the police and weaved through a sandy shoulder between waiting tro-tros. Everyone followed including the team motorcycles. Talk about hairy.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The course eventually made its way onto roads with less congestion with the pace hovering at around 25mph. Seemed comfortable enough. I recognized the landmarks, but noted that we were headed farther and farther northwest of town before finally turning left on the Tema Motorway. The pack was split in two by a mid-pack crash. Two riders seemed to run out of road, or simply squeezed into a stopped car. Meanwhile the front of the pack seemed to accelerate, creating a gap. I was in the chase group now trying to bridge up to the lead. The police escort abandoned us and zoomed ahead. Traffic took over the roads, but a few volunteers were able to keep a few intersections clear while we passed. The 15 second gap steadily increased until we reached Kaneshie Market - notorious for traffic jams. We more or less had to give up the chase at that point.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">At this point we had clocked 30 miles and were just now pointing back eastward towards Teshie. Two more laps of this? That is absurd! I rode out the lap with two other riders, eventually dropping one with a flat and the other to fatigue. Back at Teshie, I completed the first lap logging 47 miles. Do the math. Three times 47 equals 141 miles. I did this while stopping to purchase a water sachet. I have never ridden 141 miles, let alone raced that distance. The officials checked my number and I began the second lap. A few miles in, I decided I really could not face another 94 miles of Accra traffic and smog. I phoned SJD and told her my sob story and that I was coming home. She promised an ice cold smoothie would be waiting for me.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">In the end I logged a decent 72 miles at 19.5mph average. Not bad, all things considered.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Today, I had to laugh reading the newspaper coverage of the race. In the end, Samuel Anim, of Accra won a TV and about $300 for first place. Randolph did not place, but was glad to see me out there. Total distance was stated as 53 miles. Apparently the course was one 47 mile lap, plus two 3 mile laps. Not 141 miles. Oops. Guess I mis-understood the pre-race instructions and didn't notice the course marshall telling me to turn right instead of left.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Oh well... Like I said, I'm not perfect.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The Ghanaians, for whatever reason, like to see me fizzle out and will likely invite me to the next race. The silly thing is is that I'll probably do it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-9514521799192805472007-11-24T16:34:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:42.193+00:00Tug of War - Ghana styleHappy Thanksgiving! Stay away from those nasty malls and read our blog instead. It doesn't cost a dime.<br /><br />Friends Rebecca and Joe from DC were visiting Ghana this week.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136514866813095330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYTmsOTsy9F67XITZ-zs7LeFM2xSk1FtJiFcY7puGNrydEGFmQhsBWEm3pXfR26EWtU6tdh9ncp4x6fwYBW784cuuptwAwnFpSCAL7Vny9QQ0PNOxPrwn_N3wkjRUorsqs_go/s320/DSC01431.JPG" border="0" /><br />As you can see, they came prepared...definitely prepared for Ghana. REI is great!<br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">They spent their time between Accra, Cape Coast and Volta Region walking in the canopy, taking in slave forts, stamping batik fabric, observing monkeys and buying beads. To wrap up their visit, we drove (we didn't make them to bike) past the small coastal fishing villages that dot the sandy road west of Ada on our way to the Songaw Lagoon Bird Santuary. A group of men, women and children were pulling a fishing net to shore, so we decided to stop long enough to watch and perhaps snap a photo or two if they didn't mind.</div><br /><div align="justify">Well let me tell you they didn't even pause long enough to greet us, but asked us to get in line and start pulling. Perhaps he said, "Don't just stand there, fetch us some drinks." I guess it is that mid-western instinct kicking in that tells me hold open doors or push cars free from snow banks. Or perhaps we're just crazy. Whatever the case, we grabbed hold of the net, dug in our heels, and leaned backwards. Figured we'd have the net up on shore in no time with four extra bodies. Wrong!</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136523345078537650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1o5SZZwHfyei4HRj82AInrzu-fuX5MwNxpEjpi4CwX5sd_qgnf9jrl9N0b47fnUozi9hykNhZmDiCSfN2c3HPUw361JpU2UwVkskuKI_RIvBFYuM9xxKYmqNiUVEhcFhaHUhh/s320/IMG_0898.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136527743125048770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1N_Jo0uYwRkHG4-g-CH4WWksEak4XAJv7m5MaHIzHsGHMcRSF2K2ShXqXb_0ysRIMU7LGeomaTmZ0qQA44gmGKkF3ou9WvnBAv8G6EoVqTp4MKQ-Z_RWIIMnirz8yDMCAF7e/s320/DSC01485.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRKbydkKY2hLnWuXVcjS6VWciwZfFXWys24qMATB-OhyphenhyphenjKtJHn1JQ11yerIaL1_3MnbsmQ3FL0bCT-5nbi_LkyqEr-L4O6ObIjVCUpevQ9s9XOXLtKzjNWYbG4W2cDhjATY_z/s1600-h/IMG_0901.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136463683687828834" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRKbydkKY2hLnWuXVcjS6VWciwZfFXWys24qMATB-OhyphenhyphenjKtJHn1JQ11yerIaL1_3MnbsmQ3FL0bCT-5nbi_LkyqEr-L4O6ObIjVCUpevQ9s9XOXLtKzjNWYbG4W2cDhjATY_z/s320/IMG_0901.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div align="justify">See the other group beyond the beached fishing boat in the distance. That is the other end of the net. Twenty of us on each end. Out in the water, all sorts of fish...hopefully.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">When enough of the net was far enough up onto shore, one of the older boys would anchor it to the nearest palm tree with a rope while the pullers headed down to the front of the line to repeat the process over, and over, and over.... We pulled for a good thirty minutes.<br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBU2jXCLwQtNkozBTAbxgdegA9yp7WqM9KBHoKWf-IwzwLSggCC1VUKfm_cclVzsLr94L-GxR_kO22pD5R5fLQDJqtWcXt9divhZyrzuuW4hrCFZ6iEQDkXGufuI19X4IbwLwL/s1600-h/IMG_0900.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136463705162665346" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBU2jXCLwQtNkozBTAbxgdegA9yp7WqM9KBHoKWf-IwzwLSggCC1VUKfm_cclVzsLr94L-GxR_kO22pD5R5fLQDJqtWcXt9divhZyrzuuW4hrCFZ6iEQDkXGufuI19X4IbwLwL/s320/IMG_0900.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div align="center"></div>Small children waited patiently with baskets and aluminum bowls for the catch to be revealed.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddxQd4T7DnbcpvaKziISgww66hmQedv4NK07WeshuPSnsOqX46mgdNk58i_t0UKIAhZWRTXSc5olaSCCsHQIXsTRvQfS2gAJHEDeusxdKUwzOFn8NiwphWmLyxngRoajN6Z22/s1600-h/IMG_0905.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136463692277763442" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddxQd4T7DnbcpvaKziISgww66hmQedv4NK07WeshuPSnsOqX46mgdNk58i_t0UKIAhZWRTXSc5olaSCCsHQIXsTRvQfS2gAJHEDeusxdKUwzOFn8NiwphWmLyxngRoajN6Z22/s320/IMG_0905.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div align="justify">The smallest of the children simply added ballast to the mamas who were tugging in unison. That is SJD in the center background.</div><br /><div align="justify">Nobody seemed to notice or really mind that we jumped in. After thirty minutes we were soaked with sticky salt water, coated with sand and begining to sun burn. </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">The other mid-western instict - well timed rest breaks - seemed to be ignored here in Ghana.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Our hands and arms were so fatigued that we could barely thank them for letting us have the fun of lending a hand, before we had to let them finish what they started. We hadn't seen a single fish tangled in the net at that point. SJD was assured by one man that the catch today would be a good one though. If not they would try again. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">Back in the lovely AC of the car, we gulped down a few cold drinks and continued west past more villages with people wrestling nets against a stubborn tide. At the end of the road we reached the lagoon but were too exhausted to set out for more exploring. Turned around and headed back to Ada - this time without stopping to take photos.</div><br /><div align="justify">So we may not have actually caught any fish, but at least we worked off a few of those extra Thanksgiving dinner calories trying.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-64252406746172935382007-11-03T20:31:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:48.630+00:00Tanzania to Kenya by bike - part two<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgnqTsbwJny1whRaupgABfubpNkyjrq4Ka6cFiON6TDu0w7wOyMzF44WKPVegFOe9085x37hqIhx4WIH9F_t0QiFL7cM2sKuTHKzmmjiSp8phP68FFBhWrQBwo-y9zsU92yPq/s1600-h/IMG_1503.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127983226461094194" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgnqTsbwJny1whRaupgABfubpNkyjrq4Ka6cFiON6TDu0w7wOyMzF44WKPVegFOe9085x37hqIhx4WIH9F_t0QiFL7cM2sKuTHKzmmjiSp8phP68FFBhWrQBwo-y9zsU92yPq/s320/IMG_1503.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Part two of two (thank goodness, right). I'll try to wrap this sucker up shortly. Any of the included photos can be viewed in larger format by simply double-clicking on it.<br /><br /><strong>Day 9<br /></strong>The Land Cruiser and driver met us at camp at 6am to whisk us up and over the 8000' rim that creates the Ngorongoro Crater. 2300' below the crater rim is teeming with all sorts of critter life.<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-sW23DyhkPozOaWEFAnY3cCFoEEXYfzb6NCwYlTAM9iFMi-ZUZZJInPBjmHULXdI1gXEokoxt2SH5PqWiudAYykmLOTCOeMG3hKJG-PTEnjDGycZXcS57oFSmTd15q0D3l4S/s1600-h/IMG_1371.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127991275229806962" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-sW23DyhkPozOaWEFAnY3cCFoEEXYfzb6NCwYlTAM9iFMi-ZUZZJInPBjmHULXdI1gXEokoxt2SH5PqWiudAYykmLOTCOeMG3hKJG-PTEnjDGycZXcS57oFSmTd15q0D3l4S/s320/IMG_1371.JPG" border="0" /></a><em> </em><br /><em>Wildebeest sparring</em><br /></div><p align="center"><em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKui_Ozv3dtUnBy-apBiOeVjL4l_3cQ5ySDZlAQ_BInLXrKYw_VEJemHWFJZLditdChkJKxv7AdYIeH3b9wz-fALKslu6L3ec0JHq73DFyYrX-0TREDhwLrjZ3XYQ1FDW9zfT/s1600-h/IMG_1411.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127892538226638674" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKui_Ozv3dtUnBy-apBiOeVjL4l_3cQ5ySDZlAQ_BInLXrKYw_VEJemHWFJZLditdChkJKxv7AdYIeH3b9wz-fALKslu6L3ec0JHq73DFyYrX-0TREDhwLrjZ3XYQ1FDW9zfT/s200/IMG_1411.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjjzjecRvkmAAe4RxAZTsmgHtwrhAPCC1DnMNFKDMtwi_rGNvuAa7fAnFJ8xunk_I0wLwnBDAiFgVw9SIYBTAM5O6zSslupmxQxZXGc7vM6Bv52fctF5-aBe9efx45vvI4xx-/s1600-h/IMG_1408.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127960802436841602" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjjzjecRvkmAAe4RxAZTsmgHtwrhAPCC1DnMNFKDMtwi_rGNvuAa7fAnFJ8xunk_I0wLwnBDAiFgVw9SIYBTAM5O6zSslupmxQxZXGc7vM6Bv52fctF5-aBe9efx45vvI4xx-/s200/IMG_1408.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></p></em><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Hippos staying cool -- occasionally one would roll over to get the top side wet but that was as animated as they got .</em></div><em><div align="center"><br /></em><em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87CD3AWCrD5iL8hSmNVR7xw24mV_iNxTisPaz70r7jLHC6YS5T2Rpxia4ilJykstpjCxFKBgvrpbXupwJCLdJUxe83Lk2W5yL3KavgE75PB9930O6s4bROfd16Rk6-iG84lbG/s1600-h/hippo+tracks.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127960699357626450" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87CD3AWCrD5iL8hSmNVR7xw24mV_iNxTisPaz70r7jLHC6YS5T2Rpxia4ilJykstpjCxFKBgvrpbXupwJCLdJUxe83Lk2W5yL3KavgE75PB9930O6s4bROfd16Rk6-iG84lbG/s200/hippo+tracks.JPG" border="0" /></a></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Hippo tracks - when they decide to move, stay out of the way...</em><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrn2JvZ1kIdafDbrohtl63FcMGv9BzADrwVLzmRuEXB0pnaovtvARwZElOlMgIekRfDkuOUqoXlOJHCDOx5ffELzMX6k2Lr7XhSZkwHHtP4xaMVa2o2fM0KMMFaqsBg-DxtIq/s1600-h/IMG_1393-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127967798938566850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrn2JvZ1kIdafDbrohtl63FcMGv9BzADrwVLzmRuEXB0pnaovtvARwZElOlMgIekRfDkuOUqoXlOJHCDOx5ffELzMX6k2Lr7XhSZkwHHtP4xaMVa2o2fM0KMMFaqsBg-DxtIq/s320/IMG_1393-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1B-dLQQj6Re0xUO5Xq5hKT8cO7z1iL7_eYHIN1TeLOxNSacGxlAenZ-r8lliR1MIsdFxuGzsnPlssqtQOM477QO1YJhEczwpNLRTnN4JtHLT6oiCcnOXwRFiUPEZyGni02Mm/s1600-h/IMG_1392.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XzZloqk0GnMWSG17rHoBzPPLfVeBiObD2-KIAJAgQyHH4P9oRyfd_NR94XvAphXohOSbL91BSXN4zkHJggI0s_mQIBwVMy2bXGv-rrv-U0fNiOQCiCMTW39i-VJt3T64PXiR/s1600-h/IMG_1392.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127991266639872354" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XzZloqk0GnMWSG17rHoBzPPLfVeBiObD2-KIAJAgQyHH4P9oRyfd_NR94XvAphXohOSbL91BSXN4zkHJggI0s_mQIBwVMy2bXGv-rrv-U0fNiOQCiCMTW39i-VJt3T64PXiR/s320/IMG_1392.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><em>King and Queen of the crater (these were taken just after they mated - we captured that moment as well but thought it might not be an appropriate image for a G-rated (so far) blog)</em><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5MscaVJzmvOEvk0RD9ITktPqd4r1dxkP2u8keFiLnFYOVunMetxaf0PnxTne6iUvfCzf956jqFYIXcTsjkjNMSlD41dKkxickWEeRB9Y3G-O9HNTj-Z4t4RFlKgrOnWdu6ya/s1600-h/IMG_1402.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127892533931671362" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5MscaVJzmvOEvk0RD9ITktPqd4r1dxkP2u8keFiLnFYOVunMetxaf0PnxTne6iUvfCzf956jqFYIXcTsjkjNMSlD41dKkxickWEeRB9Y3G-O9HNTj-Z4t4RFlKgrOnWdu6ya/s200/IMG_1402.JPG" border="0" /></a> <em>Thompsons gazelle </em></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMdS9wqvKofwV0PcKNiZeuwnD2mONYBTaiT-JhCaDyXHylTjBAXBA6O8Rnzi6PmdlDEDHVmm-tylCIV2Eh7C768yOT2UAwD1Ivo79ii9Vmr-sZD7bt5YwEWlXyr169_244Fq-f/s1600-h/hyenas.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127991258049937746" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMdS9wqvKofwV0PcKNiZeuwnD2mONYBTaiT-JhCaDyXHylTjBAXBA6O8Rnzi6PmdlDEDHVmm-tylCIV2Eh7C768yOT2UAwD1Ivo79ii9Vmr-sZD7bt5YwEWlXyr169_244Fq-f/s320/hyenas.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><em>Hyenas - it was fascinating to watch the other wildlife quietly move away as these guys approached. Earlier we had seen some hyenas finishing off the bloody remains of a zebra that obviously hadn't moved away in time.</em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbW4bhQ6C4tDJdgPTTDq51gNT4WFrZRY4BiTF4pBwiGE2cC2_-zvq8BhH-wSdRlnWOHgqb2n0u7cFqoBw42OOnDnzQ5FxfgPie5-93PIHJ5Y8NS-OTUUoCjA4RKQ6b5cGZ6hRY/s1600-h/black+rhino.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128689920379978210" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbW4bhQ6C4tDJdgPTTDq51gNT4WFrZRY4BiTF4pBwiGE2cC2_-zvq8BhH-wSdRlnWOHgqb2n0u7cFqoBw42OOnDnzQ5FxfgPie5-93PIHJ5Y8NS-OTUUoCjA4RKQ6b5cGZ6hRY/s320/black+rhino.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><em>The black dot in the center is (honest) the highly endangered black rhino. There are only 25 of them in Ngorongoro. We got a good view through the binocs...<br /></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj947cfM5k-HptX-ZZH2FTLPpOtIp7e9W0pm3v6f1FCSaEPAui0ralL4HIpdpaZXVw-Xl6RUsOjcHxF81VHPL6rxbxBXDmSz1rE7uZdmQ7CE4smpDTuJlldBqGsaU5YQoDQYJ4Z/s1600-h/IMG_1418.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127892542521605986" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj947cfM5k-HptX-ZZH2FTLPpOtIp7e9W0pm3v6f1FCSaEPAui0ralL4HIpdpaZXVw-Xl6RUsOjcHxF81VHPL6rxbxBXDmSz1rE7uZdmQ7CE4smpDTuJlldBqGsaU5YQoDQYJ4Z/s200/IMG_1418.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Safari dorks<br /></div></em><div align="justify"><br /><br /><strong>Day 10</strong><br />We headed north to the land border crossing into Kenya at Namanga. Along the way, Sabrina's fuel supply line sprang a leak - no doubt a victim of rattling down washboard roads. Come to think of it, Sabrina did seem a bit sluggish up some of the hills. As SJD, Trevor and I pondered our fate, ate some popcorn and looked for shade, Scott and Fish scurried under and inside Sabrina taking it all in stride. Hakuna matata... Matters were under control before we could panic and grab the bikes to attempt a self rescue.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBdP9GxoGPPN3WOoblJFzutsvDNrFSDvRvtKdb5M80Xpq4shrVY6ez0Z_mSM-UC9eg6nPmFwa9uJaPvXUHwuPm2u0PFIuQwSOeCYfb6GblX6pSznxnBfC1g47642qMhX9ddlu/s1600-h/checking+Sabrina"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127898190403600242" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBdP9GxoGPPN3WOoblJFzutsvDNrFSDvRvtKdb5M80Xpq4shrVY6ez0Z_mSM-UC9eg6nPmFwa9uJaPvXUHwuPm2u0PFIuQwSOeCYfb6GblX6pSznxnBfC1g47642qMhX9ddlu/s200/checking+Sabrina%27s+fuel+leak.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDxYQDbnGfOq8Llm_9vXRqND1GQeW70uM3-g5B_xxj32_rF2oDPps29Z3vJE18pmyZGMeOj3ZPRvrze6VIBEw8ZXQftqDjUUMA6HVJRxmKKnGvtWwL2x7MsbG0fYzdVDzUHYK/s1600-h/fixing+Sabrina"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127898220468371330" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDxYQDbnGfOq8Llm_9vXRqND1GQeW70uM3-g5B_xxj32_rF2oDPps29Z3vJE18pmyZGMeOj3ZPRvrze6VIBEw8ZXQftqDjUUMA6HVJRxmKKnGvtWwL2x7MsbG0fYzdVDzUHYK/s200/fixing+Sabrina%27s+fuel+leak.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Under here? Hmm...maybe up here?</em></div><br />Onward up the road to the border crossing. Entry visas were obtained easily enough and we were allowed to proceed to the start of the day's ride.<br /><br /><div align="justify">The ride, a relatively flat 30km meander, started as a washboard road but soon deteriorated into a sandy 4wd track winding through the scrub paralleling the international border by 1/2Km. Very likely we could have simply ridden the bikes across the border, but then we would have had some explainin' to do with immigration officials in Nairobi later in the week. Interestingly enough though, my GPS indicated that we had crossed the border a few times during the ride - wonder whether it is accurate.<br /><br /><em>(Bike set-up:<br />We decided to take our own bikes on this trip. We had the option of renting bikes, but reasoned that 550Km on an unfamiliar bike would be a bit of a drag. So we have well traveled bikes.<br /><br />The only modifications we made before the trip were to the tires. Actually, we replaced the tubes with Slime tubes - self-sealing ooze limits the number of thorm punctures. Also, we installed tire liners between the tire and tube. Same effect.<br /><br />The rest of the bike remained in normal XC mode – rather Africa proof and simple.)</em></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpwyoWni1puSnRZNdQJ1adIzZhuxfRrK-bywYjHpCkol9Rh35C6E93EHV_V-u1ynIy5diVixtfBtJFc9HaWrt2eu-CIIVWjFRn6oWSW4QPjYGdKKJ-TjueHb85ga8Y2_iCFEw/s1600-h/SJD+&+Fish+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127941384889696322" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpwyoWni1puSnRZNdQJ1adIzZhuxfRrK-bywYjHpCkol9Rh35C6E93EHV_V-u1ynIy5diVixtfBtJFc9HaWrt2eu-CIIVWjFRn6oWSW4QPjYGdKKJ-TjueHb85ga8Y2_iCFEw/s200/SJD+%26+Fish+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="justify">Riding off the gravel road instantly exposes your tires to all sorts of thorny grasses, bushes and trees. The sandy 4wd track eventually narrows down to a few Km of flat single track before reaching a rock outcropping named Solomon's Rock. At first I thought this was just a rest break before pushing on to the next village, so I goofed around a bit on the rock itself. It wasn't until the bus pulled up that I realized we were actually going to camp at the foot of the rock. This place is remote and exposed but incredibly beautiful as well. It is hard to imagine how it supports life and it seemed empty as we rode in but soon enough signs of life and appeared (including while SJD was taking her sun shower out in the open behind the bus...she thinks she covered up before the view got too racy). Winds kicked up as the sun sank towards the horizon making setting up tents a bit of an adventure. We thought we might inadvertently go paragliding.<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB0z-Xr12wxVpuDZgEWMy_gvShjO77geWRc4boFK3Gx5HA3Q0DA0Y_Ey5MpQRc2mDj3q1RThkW0XUTEMHlb7A2kyXlIov39pgynq-TDFrr68GIWpyIGQrmB147aysJ0tYeMMa/s1600-h/IMG_1458.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127971166192926930" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB0z-Xr12wxVpuDZgEWMy_gvShjO77geWRc4boFK3Gx5HA3Q0DA0Y_Ey5MpQRc2mDj3q1RThkW0XUTEMHlb7A2kyXlIov39pgynq-TDFrr68GIWpyIGQrmB147aysJ0tYeMMa/s320/IMG_1458.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5bcGYu_W0n0SGtw3l_37uvU4wdsxATVFUHK413mMFgkS7n6d_iliUPzSuZaWT0yHP0QaoYU7tiiF-PGQh9aDDEvHEem5_PTw4DN9WyFvPtFyXD3xVGmKhEDg7ThLNVhci-lz/s1600-h/IMG_1465.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127967777463730338" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5bcGYu_W0n0SGtw3l_37uvU4wdsxATVFUHK413mMFgkS7n6d_iliUPzSuZaWT0yHP0QaoYU7tiiF-PGQh9aDDEvHEem5_PTw4DN9WyFvPtFyXD3xVGmKhEDg7ThLNVhci-lz/s320/IMG_1465.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Me riding up Solomon's Rock; Scott taking in the scene</em><br /></div><br />Fish and Scott made a simple but delicious picnic up on top of Solomon's Rock as we watched the stars take over the night sky.<br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOyzdgGTTIxT3b_yMCGjZ_9A6LdZigQYpx1DzlVQyKLhSEZ-JzO_Ul5VTg6AosOYAY9TfL3lISBjWGzp_3q2ss4H9SrBc8FVOlNRp_gjG4Q2qwG31FZk7RTJ_DNbMJ2TCpnfT/s1600-h/IMG_1474.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127976178419761426" style="CURSOR: hand" height="237" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOyzdgGTTIxT3b_yMCGjZ_9A6LdZigQYpx1DzlVQyKLhSEZ-JzO_Ul5VTg6AosOYAY9TfL3lISBjWGzp_3q2ss4H9SrBc8FVOlNRp_gjG4Q2qwG31FZk7RTJ_DNbMJ2TCpnfT/s320/IMG_1474.JPG" width="320" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Two local Maasai were hired to watch the camp as we slept, keeping hyenas at bay. They made a small fire and chit chatted softly until the morning. I assume the spears were for real.<br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPjinqUA0e1tCSppeUHYTsfr76OB_PBO467ZudgqpIXzHtTPG6i3lLvgG84fGl5rpfFvxxvUEeKzNWY4QM6b6DR7afwJkFjyD7yLKcjvmrzi4lquW0shVgKonDx_Gjsqa0lhne/s1600-h/IMG_1471.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127967794643599538" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPjinqUA0e1tCSppeUHYTsfr76OB_PBO467ZudgqpIXzHtTPG6i3lLvgG84fGl5rpfFvxxvUEeKzNWY4QM6b6DR7afwJkFjyD7yLKcjvmrzi4lquW0shVgKonDx_Gjsqa0lhne/s320/IMG_1471.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjki2GECNWnl-qwLGnrgtpsOKX0Hyn19NpPs_81Htg-fG_QU3Dar8w2-TDrUNP3NLs_DGiZauCSWHkZevGjFmH66RvA9q88dHEN-oGWVLlzyH5QflvB_4h_K5uNz6JVZgiOwg/s1600-h/IMG_1476.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127898357907324834" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjki2GECNWnl-qwLGnrgtpsOKX0Hyn19NpPs_81Htg-fG_QU3Dar8w2-TDrUNP3NLs_DGiZauCSWHkZevGjFmH66RvA9q88dHEN-oGWVLlzyH5QflvB_4h_K5uNz6JVZgiOwg/s200/IMG_1476.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div align="justify"><strong>Day 11</strong><br />Word had spread quickly that we were passing through the area and morning brought several Maasai men and women jewelry vendors out of the distant villages to visit our camp. They unrolled their blankets to display their handiwork for us to peruse, bargain and purchase. It is a shame that I'm not necessarily a big fan of the colorful bead bracelets and dangly earrings. What looks completely appropriate on the Maasai, seems a bit ludicrous on me. I made up my mind to buy something from every third person.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfdK51UXbQ6SdQ0MjQfrJWe3IpMpfH1OpLTrSwPZvA1driTTIYbsYP54QSnEYq828Qg0WUcx2O-w2M2U1qWLblRN3PddKBuKc1ivPjQDPRCo986zzB8oWz16wC2araglS3jeH/s1600-h/IMG_1493.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127983230756061506" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfdK51UXbQ6SdQ0MjQfrJWe3IpMpfH1OpLTrSwPZvA1driTTIYbsYP54QSnEYq828Qg0WUcx2O-w2M2U1qWLblRN3PddKBuKc1ivPjQDPRCo986zzB8oWz16wC2araglS3jeH/s320/IMG_1493.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWLYaPnw3NdTleEzyqEL0CdTvi3qL1TzMN_32afTxuP0NxJS4GIOjz2yyw8AOpwL6dg3Pe_lJK0NIXWAJOjpMOkKFUXjO0Arc-j3sGBbfBsEF23G2HGaJRLNg9Cxnp3ZGV4EuV/s1600-h/IMG_1495.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127941376299761698" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWLYaPnw3NdTleEzyqEL0CdTvi3qL1TzMN_32afTxuP0NxJS4GIOjz2yyw8AOpwL6dg3Pe_lJK0NIXWAJOjpMOkKFUXjO0Arc-j3sGBbfBsEF23G2HGaJRLNg9Cxnp3ZGV4EuV/s200/IMG_1495.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqgX__UgiPNUFBkkU_EBVBFde0hHTMy_AE3F4n7T9oZCVF2qKJVb3hLU99c1W_oqutGcnucYxROE77rmhbjPYr__4ArNDVv752POXHI3vFH5GYXYGzNy93KwRUHnzlCMc48xM/s1600-h/IMG_1494.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127941367709827090" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqgX__UgiPNUFBkkU_EBVBFde0hHTMy_AE3F4n7T9oZCVF2qKJVb3hLU99c1W_oqutGcnucYxROE77rmhbjPYr__4ArNDVv752POXHI3vFH5GYXYGzNy93KwRUHnzlCMc48xM/s200/IMG_1494.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div align="justify"><br />We met a Maasai man named Solomon who gave us a tour of his family compound on the opposite side of Solomon's rock. (Oh, now I get it.) He was very open and honest about the Maasai culture and practices. We asked whether they continued the practice of female circumcision and Solomon matter-of-factly said the government tries to stop it but they are not ready to give it up. Easier to understand customs such as how the males become warriors were explained as well.<br /><br />Solomon's two wives and eight children live in the compound with two other family groups. I asked if they get along - the wives- and he replied, "yes" but was quick to move onto the next subject. He said his mother wants him to take a third wife but he's not so sure he's up for it.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73QThwkOQEW-vQepdovLd21nVIQ6gRLWnoE_II9E-1bBitji7aOeCbqmgfhAMNeYn-b9reW_MTHEffmOSNutU3UvxRyofaJbl3hxFcAymRffqEzMti4nTezgG5B-PFOBzrI_m/s1600-h/Masai+house+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127935689763061730" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73QThwkOQEW-vQepdovLd21nVIQ6gRLWnoE_II9E-1bBitji7aOeCbqmgfhAMNeYn-b9reW_MTHEffmOSNutU3UvxRyofaJbl3hxFcAymRffqEzMti4nTezgG5B-PFOBzrI_m/s200/Masai+house+2.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz54WQdm26W291ilCYrqT8eulP93ZqW7sFLABZFdMCEmzOeZ1s1LvmEIhTC4woUKEnxRmtEAutqbMhovYR-kEiszxWCCyirYofaWBKoRU3AmQ70a2NjpSDT7ornLHFE6fBVFs/s1600-h/Masai+family+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127941380594729010" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz54WQdm26W291ilCYrqT8eulP93ZqW7sFLABZFdMCEmzOeZ1s1LvmEIhTC4woUKEnxRmtEAutqbMhovYR-kEiszxWCCyirYofaWBKoRU3AmQ70a2NjpSDT7ornLHFE6fBVFs/s200/Masai+family+1.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div align="justify"><br />This house that SJD is posed beside to provide some scale seemed to be fairly typical construction - branches tied together for structure; dung to cement things together; low, thatch roof. Solomon indicated that much of the family had relocated 5-10Km south (probably into Tanzania) to be closer to more reliable water sources. Once the rainy season resumes, the family and livestock will likely move back.<br /></div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9Upfx9WUDDkFTOUNVns1KlBLK5b_T_3XaxuYUSnNcFL9ou5HqHEawD-xa8EvWPUv1lPRt1Dys9JjK8bKEC2VnOoqFKR5PvO4B8FnfZQ04iwvh5uoEejw9btQqH4idtNh45-_/s1600-h/IMG_1485.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127983222166126882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9Upfx9WUDDkFTOUNVns1KlBLK5b_T_3XaxuYUSnNcFL9ou5HqHEawD-xa8EvWPUv1lPRt1Dys9JjK8bKEC2VnOoqFKR5PvO4B8FnfZQ04iwvh5uoEejw9btQqH4idtNh45-_/s320/IMG_1485.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PHCS75tYiZ6wgMMNVdL7ffR-ZWEKwI_I1r-yft4TVx0lgtQPdIzZwp-ZGIAfPL7-S4B2UXj0UBSCwUuXaSULO790gxw2PhqLX3Cd8i6nt-jctcxdVwqit_4fxpgt5Lnna_CY/s1600-h/School+under+tree.JPG"></a><div align="justify"><br />This is the local school. How did we miss it right there under the acacia tree when rode in the previous afternoon? Solomon introduced us to the teachers and students who were all on perfect behaviour. SJD and I were handed chalk and asked to teach the class for few minutes. We froze for a moment wondering just what we might say. Economics? I'm still juggling currency conversion rates. Construction? I could learn a lot here. Geography? I'm not even sure where I am let alone which other countries border Kenya besides Tanzania. Then it clicked.<br /></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3-aqt4EWyZeMpHg8ULs4qzvaXfEkaQi1VeJ0aG7yjdB8XYXsjwmM0-G1Zb23IsIM4q4-IFd4zs_DN9qsITikbM1AELt1CQpV3zfmT-H49Re5kF2mxkGYRnNRZ0zKGlhRYxsN/s1600-h/SJD+math+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127935685468094418" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3-aqt4EWyZeMpHg8ULs4qzvaXfEkaQi1VeJ0aG7yjdB8XYXsjwmM0-G1Zb23IsIM4q4-IFd4zs_DN9qsITikbM1AELt1CQpV3zfmT-H49Re5kF2mxkGYRnNRZ0zKGlhRYxsN/s200/SJD+math+2.JPG" border="0" /></a> <em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUZ8ojFK_Ne6zYK3V_KnwelrjPgaRNG4ltdgg_ZfQTp0XCWxxsOlEczIE_75Vih7ndeGXxmYD5TZcP4jkobzCVFk4-sXJ_CnEmuYcbc68jAOcvnmasgw5ohE9MHm3S4O8Ws0D/s1600-h/IMG_1488.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127941363414859778" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUZ8ojFK_Ne6zYK3V_KnwelrjPgaRNG4ltdgg_ZfQTp0XCWxxsOlEczIE_75Vih7ndeGXxmYD5TZcP4jkobzCVFk4-sXJ_CnEmuYcbc68jAOcvnmasgw5ohE9MHm3S4O8Ws0D/s200/IMG_1488.JPG" border="0" /></a> </em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>SJD taught arithmetic; I taught art </em></div><em><div align="justify"></em><br />The little boy drawing the giraffe was such a picture of concentration. He took several minutes to carefully draw a long neck and a box-like body and little ears. His classmates watched with delight and rewarded him with a big round of applause.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB861U58rhnnahNCDwHlx9LnHNuZj1ThZyjwYvOpafyOZpod5u5VLrpCJ2AME3JY2ftjkSmWCa9y3Y52EbnWdeWXJzz0Y1WIduvM7ihtQX4MvAR0TzqpmBnOpEmNJg0pMCJhM/s1600-h/Art+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128682683360084386" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB861U58rhnnahNCDwHlx9LnHNuZj1ThZyjwYvOpafyOZpod5u5VLrpCJ2AME3JY2ftjkSmWCa9y3Y52EbnWdeWXJzz0Y1WIduvM7ihtQX4MvAR0TzqpmBnOpEmNJg0pMCJhM/s320/Art+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijp6PH6A3GeYpVbajigacEd2AnI1bHBT4ot8kMwCm3HG7BQwwDidFqOzdRtxE5JSREdjuK8pZMRkQpumGUZu2eqKNKJ0WmaZ5B00ycGoeQLlU-fGlMIMLGVtRefoLr0KJVS-EL/s1600-h/IMG_1490.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128689916085010898" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijp6PH6A3GeYpVbajigacEd2AnI1bHBT4ot8kMwCm3HG7BQwwDidFqOzdRtxE5JSREdjuK8pZMRkQpumGUZu2eqKNKJ0WmaZ5B00ycGoeQLlU-fGlMIMLGVtRefoLr0KJVS-EL/s320/IMG_1490.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br />Of course more singing broke out. The children entertained us with several verses of "one little, two little, three little elephants" accompanied by clapping and percussion on the benches. Very cute.<br /><br />After all this excitement we geared up for a short ride across the dry Lake Amboseli into a stiff head wind. But first we had to take turns riding each other's bikes.<br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__IbJqLHujjeHrLA-OBci6mAfLUsAOOsaIXzhaGF00ogeN68dCtxuTUD5KdfGpJSfhPMNXGUkk630y85HFtvX1mKpUCTFNAiKLGVRnp0CuOFkWcS9DfQ4YB4IvvaKi4uiZ22p/s1600-h/IMG_1484.JPG"><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127935719827832818" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__IbJqLHujjeHrLA-OBci6mAfLUsAOOsaIXzhaGF00ogeN68dCtxuTUD5KdfGpJSfhPMNXGUkk630y85HFtvX1mKpUCTFNAiKLGVRnp0CuOFkWcS9DfQ4YB4IvvaKi4uiZ22p/s200/IMG_1484.JPG" border="0" /></em></a><br /><em>A Fish on a bicycle! </em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqc1WLgKrkPFoO0aCysDX4fzF57jsBzlm4EUCY2UhSGWJM3Ch4OgwQuWxmiSZjn35KyaLkh5RI3gxl23edJJEUXEp3uzz7UoHmXoZC8w-XiIgYIWiNqto9tORCQ-bucE5pejcK/s1600-h/Masai+Rider+1.JPG"><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127935672583192514" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqc1WLgKrkPFoO0aCysDX4fzF57jsBzlm4EUCY2UhSGWJM3Ch4OgwQuWxmiSZjn35KyaLkh5RI3gxl23edJJEUXEp3uzz7UoHmXoZC8w-XiIgYIWiNqto9tORCQ-bucE5pejcK/s200/Masai+Rider+1.JPG" border="0" /></em></a><br /><em>Maasai guy on Fish's K2.</em><br /></div><br /><div align="justify">Midway across the lake bed, herds of wildebeest grazed nearby. Generally they seem pretty skittish around vehicles, but on bikes we gave them plenty of room and rolled past as a group. I was the only meat eater of the bunch. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJYSDB7hb8VtuI3LV-bPLABPr8HXgVbPg8iQwYDo3j8Mlo1fTwQ0zFH0yOu1HPSLE-H-VhowwyaVjMNKQtHkzqD6OEEHeRXN81TPw7tiHGy35LbvqjVDbqinMYSDDu029fh2B/s1600-h/IMG_0849.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128705532586099186" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJYSDB7hb8VtuI3LV-bPLABPr8HXgVbPg8iQwYDo3j8Mlo1fTwQ0zFH0yOu1HPSLE-H-VhowwyaVjMNKQtHkzqD6OEEHeRXN81TPw7tiHGy35LbvqjVDbqinMYSDDu029fh2B/s320/IMG_0849.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div align="justify"><br /><br />We jumped back into the bus before entering Amboseli NP since carnivores and other tramplers and head butters were present in the area. Camp for the night was inside the confines of a rather flimsy electrified fence. There was plenty of evidence that elephants passed through regularly. Trampled fence poles and piles of dung here and there.<br /><br />Another windy sunset, then dinner at the base on the north side of Mt. Kilimanjaro.<br /><br /><strong>Day 12</strong><br />Wildlife viewing is best in the morning hours before the heat of the day - although I would argue that the sun is pretty intense even at 9am. We packed up camp and headed out on a two hour self-driven loop through Amboseli NP. As required, we drove very slowly and stayed on the established track but apparently no one told a large male elephant that was SOP. He made some unhappy sounding noises as he approached the bus and seemed on the verge of poking a tusk through the window. We had no desire to upset so sneaked off as quietly as a bus can.<br /><br />Once again we were lucky to have Kilimanjaro as a backdrop and soaked up the iconic scenes of wildlife seeming to pose for us in front of the mountain.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv9w37_0NJjPYwMQcMH2WGnHWA7IV4nKWGZVpg2L2UvO6C1AiLoqrnpcYfemejxVZseVuIY5MnKJv5omFRpyHrmOiI1GIYFUZTaW_zqnz62UnzyFxp9jkO_qEWYO7B94RS78e/s1600-h/IMG_1517.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127971170487894242" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv9w37_0NJjPYwMQcMH2WGnHWA7IV4nKWGZVpg2L2UvO6C1AiLoqrnpcYfemejxVZseVuIY5MnKJv5omFRpyHrmOiI1GIYFUZTaW_zqnz62UnzyFxp9jkO_qEWYO7B94RS78e/s320/IMG_1517.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbI6v2EJNxdbg_tmFdk_KyeRPLrvzjXmG8MB8TeIbsW4hoYfN2oURG9rLqaUc_Jog0DUfQgaIujI3u6yVjPcQsXM65eEyWPtp7qGwA-XrYxTFRXtQZjqJetyjRkMkJy-RtqqRz/s1600-h/IMG_1508-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127971183372796162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbI6v2EJNxdbg_tmFdk_KyeRPLrvzjXmG8MB8TeIbsW4hoYfN2oURG9rLqaUc_Jog0DUfQgaIujI3u6yVjPcQsXM65eEyWPtp7qGwA-XrYxTFRXtQZjqJetyjRkMkJy-RtqqRz/s320/IMG_1508-1.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOkH0rIkhS3CL0ZOV3QUA_0g2dh98U9rbn_02w2ZXzYCn4H_fMTJnZMWMOOixYWUmE-zN8DBsSBQAZOKuzt0OZDOJlzzvpQ7JrtzO600eJhc-aOw5lXijKhHjiFjTgo1Yz-8i/s1600-h/IMG_1522.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127971179077828850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOkH0rIkhS3CL0ZOV3QUA_0g2dh98U9rbn_02w2ZXzYCn4H_fMTJnZMWMOOixYWUmE-zN8DBsSBQAZOKuzt0OZDOJlzzvpQ7JrtzO600eJhc-aOw5lXijKhHjiFjTgo1Yz-8i/s320/IMG_1522.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">We exited Amboseli on the north side 4wd track leaving most animals behind and continuing on the bikes. This was grind of a ride. Slightly uphill, dusty, sandy and into a wind during the hottest part of the day. We did spot a few giraffe at close distance, but were too slow to grab the camera before they trotted off.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ6TK-Td9ykGphFlyCjrzwqG8DS4gHmXN9ZB1wF0i4YeUfKEWOW5prmrGdB2J-9ZdX5Oss_sqJzqwGZOJbqXc5YUxTGidTrTLlCNHf4i5JhgX61NdT4WvqAtiPsepOh0yCgla/s1600-h/IMG_0875.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127991288114708882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ6TK-Td9ykGphFlyCjrzwqG8DS4gHmXN9ZB1wF0i4YeUfKEWOW5prmrGdB2J-9ZdX5Oss_sqJzqwGZOJbqXc5YUxTGidTrTLlCNHf4i5JhgX61NdT4WvqAtiPsepOh0yCgla/s320/IMG_0875.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />At our deserted lunch stop, we quickly attracted a crowd of children who seemed to materialize out of nowhere on their way home from school. They watched our every move ... before we left, we gave many a turn on the bike.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6TLOSi_3Rrwp2w4Uo_rX1wctG_IQxOkiV3jmgGnYoZIE_w6wicvgPK9FezEBFWjxvjNhqwH7bQPZm1h2sJ1bf9qR1QR5TQt8QyTdKhUphseiLxh60hKHeWQaRA8DH47-kGCC/s1600-h/IMG_0881.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128682717719822786" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6TLOSi_3Rrwp2w4Uo_rX1wctG_IQxOkiV3jmgGnYoZIE_w6wicvgPK9FezEBFWjxvjNhqwH7bQPZm1h2sJ1bf9qR1QR5TQt8QyTdKhUphseiLxh60hKHeWQaRA8DH47-kGCC/s320/IMG_0881.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">By the time we rolled into camp for the night the winds had picked up once again and SJD and I resorted to strategically placed tethers to keep the tent from folding in the wind. Our host for the night was Robert, a 73 year old Maasai who was quite a character. With his limited english and lots of body language he regaled us with talks of being tossed into a tree by a rhino and attacked by a lion (he had the tooth mark on his leg to prove it) as a young man. His second wife, Beatrice, and several children also stopped by for greetings. In contrast to Robert, they exuded calmness. It made for a nice mix in that family.<br /><br />As we prepared to turn in for the night, we looked a bit anxiously at the gray clouds and wondered if we might need to put the rain fly over the tent. Robert assured us that it would not rain until November 14. A few hours later we were all scrambling in the moonlight and wind to get the rain flies over our tents before we were soaked by the rain.... </div><br /><div align="justify"><strong>Day 13</strong><br />We hit the road early knowing that a 77Km ride with 2000' of climbing awaited. Scott mentioned that this was a trucking route, although we saw maybe eight vehicles the entire day -- one of which came roaring and sliding down a hill at us; we wisely got off the road for a moment to let it pass. The term “highway” in these parts takes on a different meaning. More cattle, donkey and ostrich and zebra used the road than vehicles.<br /><br />For whatever reason we made good time since finally, we we're able to take advantage of a tail wind. My rear tire developed a slow leak that didn't seem to seal properly until later in the ride. Considering how far we'd come already without any major mishaps, I was pretty pleased.<br /></div><br /><div align="justify">Camp seemed pretty posh after the last few nights in the remote and dusty plain -- it even had hot showers.<br /><br /><strong>Day 14</strong><br />The home stretch and into Nairobi. We were not in any hurry to eat breakfast or break down camp, and in doing so got dumped on by a brief rain storm. It was just enough rain to make packing a mess, and cause us to rethink the final bike route. Scott thought the tracks might be a bit of a quagmire for the bikes and bus. I didn't really feel like dragging a filthy bike through a Nairobi hotel lobby either. The decision was made to stick to the paved road. Not the most exciting option in the end, although the Kenyan rural roads are in even worse condition than some of the roads in the remote corners of Ghana - and this is just 30Km outside of Nairobi -- so we had ample opportunity to practice bunny hopping potholes.<br /><br />We loaded the bikes into Sabrina and drove the final few Km into the center of Nairobi to our final destination, the Heron Hotel. After all those nights sleeping on the ground, a real bed felt downright odd. </div><br /><div align="justify"><strong>Day 15</strong><br />Following a farewell breakfast with our group, SJD and I headed into the city center on foot to wander, window shop, snack and relax. Nairobi is a big city with busy public parks, crowded sidewalks, proper storefronts, cafes and action - so much larger feeling than Accra and in some ways Washington, DC. During the daylight hours, it was pleasant and inviting. The National Museum was closed for renovation so no serious educating took place, but we visited the memorial at the site of the US Embassy bombing back in 1998 before heading back to the hotel for a quiet dinner.<br /><br />We're back in Accra now with two dusty bikes to reassemble sitting in the middle of the foyer.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">Many thanks go out to <a href="http://www.escapeadv.com/">Escape Adventures</a> guides Scott and Fish for always providing tasty meals, safe driving and a relaxed camp atmosphere. As well, <strong><em>asante sana</em></strong> to all the amazing Tanzanian and Kenyans we met along the way for showing us your country.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">So...where to next?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-69191842087201560882007-10-30T22:22:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:53.471+00:00Tanzania to Kenya by bike - part one<div align="left">We're back from our supported bike and bus trip from Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania to Nairobi, Kenya. What a fantastic way to see two countries up close and personal! Sure it was a bit of an unconventional way for westerners to get from A to B, but it was all worth a little discomfort and a bit of effort.<br /><br />Back on 10/11 we arrived in bustling Dar Es Salaam right around afternoon rush with two boxed bikes and three duffel bags. The pre-arranged transport to the beach villa was waiting outside the airport to scoop us up. A bit to our suprise, the transport was simply a compact Toyota Corolla. Let the adventure begin...</div><div align="center"> </div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127408602786561234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghL2fJh1N1nGqdNNJ6OLz5WFgSOCZVPUu7OQROcJITv29BGQr6GHwaIr6fp26Xf5ndoHg8ak-QTWPDFvf30KIxD4UUMB6VGxxQfg3u958GDabe6gN9TKndj7I12gGmX_wYG3d5/s320/Dar+Es+Salaam+Ferry.JPG" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Waiting to join the ferry crossing.</em></p><p align="left">With one bike box hanging precariously out of the trunk and the other across SJD's lap in the back seat we made our way across town to catch the ferry, and continued down to Kipepeo Beach Village a few Km south of Dar. </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127408684390939890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCHoq56ktohVaij2Fl5DgOgaxQeW0iV3Y3SaoZTfk7T5JfDYrv73aZ8enteHss87Rtgd1sWrLGzKtyg3q8wyvRHzk-KtL4cjMObDtBqIiXraHKfDB2avDxZcxMKYSArWKVRu6T/s320/Kipepeo+Beach+Hut.JPG" border="0" /> <em>Kipepeo beach chalet</em></p><em></em><p align="left"><br />Safe and sound we moved into our chalet, napped and then hit the white sand beach. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127408675801005282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiET6j6avGSCVLHGZF6Yd65QkqN1emN30V8GKMtZvKiIf9FuZy-zRXhpGeZqY3qQsgz-c_ZqmY2Kcnkv9BPTCemTK_1B0OijfOSuUcR8m42iRVVcy5xRj0i8IJSOf9_Ky7UGe7s/s320/IMG_0018.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em>SJD</em><br /></p><p align="justify">No vicious Gulf of Guinea under-tow sucking us out to Zanzibar. Just crystal clear warm water. Colors were spectacular.<br /><insert><insert><br />The next day, Friday, we hailed a taxi back into Dar simply to hit an ATM and say that we've been there. There wasn't much time really to do much exploring. Wasn't much going on either. Friday was the last day of Ramadan, so most streets were empty and shops closed. We headed back to Kipepeo to swim, reassemble bikes and eventually meet the rest of our biking group and guides.<br /><br />Our biking group was quite small. In fact, SJD and I made up 2/3 of the paying customers. The third biker, a Brit, made up the other 1/3. The two guides, Scott and Fish (short for Falesha). Just five of us. Normally the entire group is twn or eleven. Knowing that mechanicals and accidents seem to multiply exponentially with larger groups, we felt a bit lucky to be a sleek an somewhat inconspicuous group. Fish and Scott explained a typical day, and what to expect along the way.<br /><br />Bright and early Saturday morning with the bus loaded we left Dar behind to avoid simply battling traffic. Since I get to deal enough with horrible drivers in Accra, I was happy to sit back and take in the scenery for an hour or so. There would be plenty of riding in the days ahead. </p><p align="justify"><em>(A few quick notes on units of measure. </em></p><p align="justify"><em><strong>Distances:</strong> They'll be measured in Km, instead of miles since 100km sounds further than 62.4 miles.</em><br /><em><strong>Elevation:</strong> Recorded in feet rather than meters for the same reason, and nobody really likes to multiply by 3 to get an approximate elevation in meters.</em><br /><em><strong>Time:</strong> Standard African time applies. Leave the watch in your pocket. A rooster will let you know that you need to wake up in one hour.)<br /></em><br /><strong>Day 1<br /></strong>Before lunch we pulled to the side of the road outside of Dar to start the day's riding segment - a mostly flat dirt road out to the seaside town of Bagamoyo. Spinning the legs felt good after being cramped in airlines, taxis and lounging on the beach. The ride was not all that long, 25km, but was quite hot and humid and provided a decent opportunity to make sure the bikes were operating properly. Although SJD and I have adapted somewhat to similar weather in Ghana, Trevor (the Brit), having come from a much more dreary and cooler UK seemed to struggle a bit in the tropical climate. He seemed to perk up a bit with a beer and sunscreen.<br /><br />Later that afternoon we strolled into the dusty center of Bagamoyo to scope out two small local artists' galleries. I noted that many of the wood carvings I see available in Ghana look remarkably similar to those in Bagamoyo. Masks, animals, heads. I bought just one knowing that the opportunity to shop would come again later down the road.</p><p align="justify">Even though the town sees tourists now and again, I was still quite the novelty for this little one.<br /><br /></p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CpRm5YCLA5J8i0QjH6BJBOaB8DqtDJMSGl-UiVMhLczv0WG3cdf26kKW1OEBnNtSFCfH_Ka-SHt9_kjjqLU-bo9wG0PXBgaSJI9tRYcxHEBjOwoLWq4g_yQ0qLUJIoNJrv9I/s1600-h/little+one+checking+out+BEP.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127654691527720642" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CpRm5YCLA5J8i0QjH6BJBOaB8DqtDJMSGl-UiVMhLczv0WG3cdf26kKW1OEBnNtSFCfH_Ka-SHt9_kjjqLU-bo9wG0PXBgaSJI9tRYcxHEBjOwoLWq4g_yQ0qLUJIoNJrv9I/s200/little+one+checking+out+BEP.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><strong>Day 2<br /></strong>We departed Bagamoyo by bike for a much longer and hotter 65km stretch heading inland. Pretty quickly we were far from any major towns and safely away from any vehicles except bikes. Lots of people on the all too familiar Phoenix singlespeed - a.k.a. The Black Mambo -covering decent distances.<br /><div align="center"><br /><insert><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HRjkc3B6dENom8EDT6UF5etiKtgkhCW9MtBxY6MonEBnwTgTrqKEWxfY0mMyK8UbHd6wPEoOFKmZzy4cMGjmVffkaLylxSJWFQ0oRlw6pec3b1ub4Xr7Y2i61ob_BcOaUNhg/s1600-h/IMG_0049.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127644602649542082" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HRjkc3B6dENom8EDT6UF5etiKtgkhCW9MtBxY6MonEBnwTgTrqKEWxfY0mMyK8UbHd6wPEoOFKmZzy4cMGjmVffkaLylxSJWFQ0oRlw6pec3b1ub4Xr7Y2i61ob_BcOaUNhg/s200/IMG_0049.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"><br /><em>SJD bridges a gap on the Black mambo</em><br /></div><div align="justify"><br />A bit optimistic perhaps, Trevor thought he had spotted a giraffe far accross an open field. We all stopped briefly but realised he has spotted a parked yellow Caterpillar backhoe. Be patient. No animals today, except for a spooked baboon or two scampering away into the bush.</div><div align="justify"><br />The ride segment headed mostly west and inland a few hours. Scott followed in the bus a few minutes back and picked us up before we reached the main north-south highway. We drove north an hour through enormous sisal plantations to our camp site in the junction town of Segura. </div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmVodR9BH0vmGzSjXuEb4EqsZjwmyTikhGKh8hToLJvW7GQQRHdWEGiVNT-TxryquSYEQh4WgimTuPPHw7NXGPWlupY9MThKuvtS4ZYEPvVDyPFSdCPDka8230Z3H2xdWNC2t/s1600-h/Sisal+2+10-15.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127783806834573058" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmVodR9BH0vmGzSjXuEb4EqsZjwmyTikhGKh8hToLJvW7GQQRHdWEGiVNT-TxryquSYEQh4WgimTuPPHw7NXGPWlupY9MThKuvtS4ZYEPvVDyPFSdCPDka8230Z3H2xdWNC2t/s200/Sisal+2+10-15.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><p align="center"><em>Sisal plantation</em></p><p align="justify">Noticeable, so far, compared to Ghana has been the lack of speeding privately owned cars, sputtering taxis and rickety over-loaded tro-tros . Ghana is full of them. Transport in TZ, so far, seems dominated by large buses and tractor-trailers. Not sure if we're just way far away from any towns, or just a indicator of some economic status best left to someone else to analyze. Whatever the case, it makes traveling seem a bit less death defying even if the habit of passing on blind curves and crests of hills was readily observed. Roads too - so far - seem to be pothole free, albeit narrow.<br /><br /><strong>Day 3</strong><br />We've settled into a morning routine already of: wake up at 6am; pack tent and sleeping bags; eat breakfast; load bus; depart by 7:30 am. Small groups are nice.<br /><br />While loading the bus, I heard a crash from the nearby junction. I walked around the front of the building but didn't see anything obvious, so went back to loading. A half-hour later as we were driving away, we saw the remnants of the mishap - overloaded tractor-trailer misjudged corner plowing into ditch and power pole. I spoke too soon apparently.<br /><br />Fish drove steadily north towards the lush Usambara Mountains - apparently the highest population density outside of Dar Es Salaam. We followed a steep and winding mountain road up through the small towns of Lushoto and Soni. The hillsides are lush from the mountain streams and are heavily cultivated with vegetables I have not seen in several months. Fish did some quick window shopping for veggies in Soni - literally out the bus window -before pulling over to unload the bikes.</p><p align="justify">We rode a few more km up the road before hitting the jeep tracks, attracting a retinue of small children running alongside, and a stop at Irente's overlook. The last few hundred meters before the overlook included some steep pitches. SJD and Fish were cheered on by some old gents sitting near the track and sailed right to the top; I tried to put on a burst of power and snapped my chain... </p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwLtWusXAni8xV5uijzTP1xjq3V_v_pyoIBJe3cCZ-2ElUDDPxHbWp1bNxTdfAQclO73dc_8L2NG1KS3Z3qhnu7OgQtGon2A0Flpm82k-HV1Jxv6jS9IQpGVuNaQEAn9k4-Kl/s1600-h/IMG_1295.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127644735793528322" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwLtWusXAni8xV5uijzTP1xjq3V_v_pyoIBJe3cCZ-2ElUDDPxHbWp1bNxTdfAQclO73dc_8L2NG1KS3Z3qhnu7OgQtGon2A0Flpm82k-HV1Jxv6jS9IQpGVuNaQEAn9k4-Kl/s200/IMG_1295.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBvx8oxlBn0BZYk6U-GUD1to5ZPCinh0boxTbn65rbjxMbfOjRiaA4tb61HDjhPxKVngtY8HJMQDu0zGl70IzwVMnXdTy6OilWY0h5VnUedfn8N1yhYxHolisRTPP5Bl3fu2_/s1600-h/IMG_1323.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127651586266365570" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBvx8oxlBn0BZYk6U-GUD1to5ZPCinh0boxTbn65rbjxMbfOjRiaA4tb61HDjhPxKVngtY8HJMQDu0zGl70IzwVMnXdTy6OilWY0h5VnUedfn8N1yhYxHolisRTPP5Bl3fu2_/s200/IMG_1323.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG9UHHksxngiZd9pHS5-xNj8Ccu5UEANFQbTfb7_jqWaMAjvVT6GkEQwLHkybpIB4XpVxjdUoDTlHuRCslu-gFhIe-fSFBYqA8zv3_czxr7sQRH6jVpgBQt6X5HgjnHL597GBM/s1600-h/SJD+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127783819719474962" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG9UHHksxngiZd9pHS5-xNj8Ccu5UEANFQbTfb7_jqWaMAjvVT6GkEQwLHkybpIB4XpVxjdUoDTlHuRCslu-gFhIe-fSFBYqA8zv3_czxr7sQRH6jVpgBQt6X5HgjnHL597GBM/s200/SJD+1.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br />We were all rewarded with great views at the top.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5YlK2XWjGiI_A5FZVRNa2cg6vumlK8h1W-eoD61aJLJot7JcvqUw3aO9NzXP4b0_j3iC21ZduT6zTJmKTVhkTxd54RRmdR2xMsmAJaOFriOOFMTuoqYkp7D4vZsYYcQY-1Yu/s1600-h/IMG_1298.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127651530431790658" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5YlK2XWjGiI_A5FZVRNa2cg6vumlK8h1W-eoD61aJLJot7JcvqUw3aO9NzXP4b0_j3iC21ZduT6zTJmKTVhkTxd54RRmdR2xMsmAJaOFriOOFMTuoqYkp7D4vZsYYcQY-1Yu/s200/IMG_1298.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vdNpZ4aToNyF_JLncjj66Y8JFbKrSTWhNKL3L45xEVheNgKdkmYt4Li_JOivd_yjTMyuWBUcepGU1R8_bG1J9t0j06MihkZsnObbZnPXsfTTJIbiarKVYzYlWREMubla0X_X/s1600-h/IMG_1318.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127651581971398258" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vdNpZ4aToNyF_JLncjj66Y8JFbKrSTWhNKL3L45xEVheNgKdkmYt4Li_JOivd_yjTMyuWBUcepGU1R8_bG1J9t0j06MihkZsnObbZnPXsfTTJIbiarKVYzYlWREMubla0X_X/s200/IMG_1318.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127408753110416658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdQtp2R8ocislOiurwzv6a6uqg-dk-T_wD9_1kSea_QFhFG4OO591RulaOqp8xqRsXfM9brdxLJTZhSI3Gku7uL5GBBjnVipMsLm0yl2USvgHRDtB_MJ_pweysOE9VcGnYe1k/s320/IMG_0062.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><em>I snapped this picture after repairing my snapped chain.</em> </div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxVyL9SwLCoenJna50FzTXqjqM9wI9N0njNBecTAjsi85J28jH4o1br4rv9pj_8bJB4y0TJUywPA0xoD33xQL7XV5MkV3nZ-1SW3SCOzg9WkU0FoMmbyxz8WhR7z_YiXqwA9u/s1600-h/IMG_1302.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127651543316692562" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxVyL9SwLCoenJna50FzTXqjqM9wI9N0njNBecTAjsi85J28jH4o1br4rv9pj_8bJB4y0TJUywPA0xoD33xQL7XV5MkV3nZ-1SW3SCOzg9WkU0FoMmbyxz8WhR7z_YiXqwA9u/s200/IMG_1302.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><p align="center"><em>Everyone lines up to slap my hands.</em></p><p align="justify">We continued climbing and following ridge contours, and attracting a crowd of children whenever we stopped, before ending our 45km ride zipping a lengthy downhill into camp - a former colonial era farm now a campsite and lodge run by a German, Mr. Muller. Nice place. We enjoyed the cool mountain air at elevation 5200'.<br /><br /><strong>Day 4<br /></strong>No biking today. Instead, we met a local man named Francis who acted as tour guide and answer man. Francis is a retired elementary school teacher - taught for 35 years. Everyone knows Francis in these parts it seems, and he is quick to greet people as well as scold school kids who are late to class. He lead us on a brisk hike up the side of the hills through fruit and veggie crops to the Mkuzi primary school.<br /><br />At Mkuzi, the students were rehearsing for an upcoming Parents' Day presentation, so formal class studying was being put aside. We were treated as special guests - greated by the entire teaching staff for a short Q&A session that we were not really prepared for. What did we learn?</p><ul><li><div align="justify">English is the dreaded subject (and even the english teacher seemed to have a pretty slim grasp of the language). </div></li><li><div align="justify">75% students pass primary school exams, but many can't afford to pay the fees to continue to secondary school when families must pick up half the cost, about $20. </div></li><li><div align="justify">Children are taught about HIV/AIDS. </div></li><li>Nine of the twelve teachers were women. None of us westerners considered this to be odd, until Francis pointed out that only relatively recently have women been given the opportunity to earn money outside of the house.</li></ul><p>Afterwards, the students - all 400 of them sang and danced a few songs for us. Very cute. One of the teachers tried to teach SJD the moves. She gets an A for effort but just a C+ for full flow and rhythm.<br /><insert></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36KkgdmTm4QTv5RTRmDh-EsFqq7Cfo2wXZYzNS0rMIFrx-4MADQLTBP6Syt9azEVSZrDOQlQ21E-fwMzcAVVeqx0t5uU5dJs_aBYCdAEnhxL0n3lDb-sZKARwIfq9jBL8clg2/s1600-h/IMG_0083.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127644628419345874" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36KkgdmTm4QTv5RTRmDh-EsFqq7Cfo2wXZYzNS0rMIFrx-4MADQLTBP6Syt9azEVSZrDOQlQ21E-fwMzcAVVeqx0t5uU5dJs_aBYCdAEnhxL0n3lDb-sZKARwIfq9jBL8clg2/s200/IMG_0083.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7jVy8YbeQg9TUeLvaqTWZ1dDEXszxa6EoWnNpxNaYXdooC0KxTu0saBD6-8JMPc5BNSYqy58oIhjx80srLZYfbf2aDnzgRHRcAZ_tDVCKVgvkNK8t0KKjOGp0rVh0dq5P3Yg/s1600-h/IMG_0087.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127644667074051554" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7jVy8YbeQg9TUeLvaqTWZ1dDEXszxa6EoWnNpxNaYXdooC0KxTu0saBD6-8JMPc5BNSYqy58oIhjx80srLZYfbf2aDnzgRHRcAZ_tDVCKVgvkNK8t0KKjOGp0rVh0dq5P3Yg/s200/IMG_0087.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center"><em>SJD kinda has the hang of the hop, skip, wiggle, clap dance.</em></p><p align="left">The hike though the village continued with stops here and there for Francis to purhase a single cigarette, or show us his house before arriving back at camp.</p><p align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZGEEQMLSSWjDDcXCYMZ6seRA6ucaYpE79VYLz05mZlKpaPwnQYsYZwC7eG3m0HpnT6WQOIWtavmNLNtKpDiXbgAdOE5ebKJYaS2D56VJ9s_07gl1hOYor9KwVY-ZAncouPLs/s1600-h/IMG_1314.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127651564791529058" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZGEEQMLSSWjDDcXCYMZ6seRA6ucaYpE79VYLz05mZlKpaPwnQYsYZwC7eG3m0HpnT6WQOIWtavmNLNtKpDiXbgAdOE5ebKJYaS2D56VJ9s_07gl1hOYor9KwVY-ZAncouPLs/s200/IMG_1314.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></p><p align="center"><em>BEP and Trevor</em><br /></p><p align="justify">SJD and I headed back out on our own looking for a nearby waterfall. Along the way a teen decided he would be our escort, guessing that anyone heading that direction must be going to the waterfall afterall. He never announced his intent or asked permission, but simply walked about ten steps in front of us for a good half hour. We paused before heading into the woods behind him, and then had to make it clear that we did not want him following us. He did anyways, and was joined by several smaller boys. They all just kept an eye on us from a distance when we stopped to rest on the boulder below the falls. Kind of creepy, but mostly just annoying. Sorry pal, no tip for you. He followed us back into town another half hour, but seemed content that we didn't offer a tip. Weird eh?<br /><br />Ok, another GH:TZ observation is this. Kids in Ghana (and plenty adults) love to scream "obroni, obroni, obroni...give me X" at us until we think they might just pass out. It is so grating after a while. The swahili word for white man/european is "mizunga" and the children do call out but more often than not, they just shout out a cheery "jambo" (hello in swahili) with a big smile. A nice vibe. We quickly mastered jambo and a few other swahili words so we could return their cheery greetings.<br /><br />Fish prepared camp fire charred veggies for dinner and chocolate cake cooked over the coals. Yum.<br /><br /><strong>Day 5<br /></strong>After breakfast of crepes with banana sauce, we loaded the bus and departed on a longish serpentine ride through the Usambara Mountains. So far the weather had cooperated, but just started to spit rain as we rolled out.<br /><br />The rain continued on and off for most of the day. Once you're wet you're wet, and even if the sun comes out you'll still be wet, so you might as well just forget about it and enjoy the ride. So we did. More heart pumping climbs leading up to incredible views as well as a stop at a Benedictine Monastery with a beautiful garden in the midst of their orchard and farm. SD bought some of the local macadamia nuts. I certainly did not envision Africa looking like this. </p>The Usambaras are chock full of paths connecting villages. We would have been happy to spend more time here exploring.<br /><insert><br />We made quick business of the long descent out of Soni - dropping from elevation 5868' to 2019' in 21Km. A total of about 55 km on the bike for the day. Changed into dry clothes, ate lunch, and packed the bikes to drive north to Pangani River Camp.<br /><insert><br />The view of the gentle river was nice but was also home to some really vicious mosquitos who did not seem to find clothing or deet to be a barrier to biting. Soon after dinner we retreated to the tents.<br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgGwewFbarRqrHgzAFlGaXv77KM1P64s9t9Ahvw88WRe_QA1QAadiRxV90iYfJ9oNeP4fEw1gf44lYx1xHw4V0-A1dHUS1tQ2ZABbyGzfALzmEqtqLvx2i6OX3IH2U9yMxM8a/s1600-h/IMG_1332.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127654536908897938" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgGwewFbarRqrHgzAFlGaXv77KM1P64s9t9Ahvw88WRe_QA1QAadiRxV90iYfJ9oNeP4fEw1gf44lYx1xHw4V0-A1dHUS1tQ2ZABbyGzfALzmEqtqLvx2i6OX3IH2U9yMxM8a/s200/IMG_1332.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><p align="center"><em>Pangani River Camp at sunset</em></p><p align="justify"><strong>Day 6<br /></strong>In the morning, we rode out of Pangani Camp heading north along rail road tracks some 40Km at a pretty good pace. Pretty flat, straight and not very interesting. We more or less skirted a mountain slope, but visually the scenery never changed much and one needed to be attentive to avoid slipping on off-camber bits or weird drainage gizmos. A passing train would have been interesting to see, but that didn't materialize. It was a good work out I guess.</p><p align="center"><br /><insert><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5tGcN9vlK8VL32bfBTXkD-hoKs30R27gIGIKPKghnnvZrxgF89NYirS6B4Pq_56sAyMbMvDbjm3Cp8eN0c4DJymeIWPJPC9GG0xOAGXenLKxinKLRErmUcl2RUTHTCgpxX7I/s1600-h/IMG_1338.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127654571268636322" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5tGcN9vlK8VL32bfBTXkD-hoKs30R27gIGIKPKghnnvZrxgF89NYirS6B4Pq_56sAyMbMvDbjm3Cp8eN0c4DJymeIWPJPC9GG0xOAGXenLKxinKLRErmUcl2RUTHTCgpxX7I/s200/IMG_1338.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><em>Me along the RR</em></p><p align="justify">Ahead of schedule again, we loaded the bus (aka Sabrina) and headed north to camp at the ominously named Snake Pit Farm near Moshi for the night. I think the guides were probably thinking by now that this group is way too easy - up on time, efficient and more or less self reliant.</p><p align="justify">Moshi lies pretty much dead south of Mt. Kilimanjaro, and seems to be a base for many of the trekking companies. When skies are clear you can get a decent panorama view left to right. Skies cleared just before sundown.</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdqawnLK-BJS5IQJbf96sTW4-wTF6JHRVzhxpEpwJHEk8Siuu7DSJVJor8JdHHYxvF3ZFTAjlolxXnw5WFA8NvK8SG4kDKF-1gHOsTwv4Z7BRGKwTtfqCC2lLoNM9fwMUUx48/s1600-h/IMG_1356-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127654627103211186" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdqawnLK-BJS5IQJbf96sTW4-wTF6JHRVzhxpEpwJHEk8Siuu7DSJVJor8JdHHYxvF3ZFTAjlolxXnw5WFA8NvK8SG4kDKF-1gHOsTwv4Z7BRGKwTtfqCC2lLoNM9fwMUUx48/s200/IMG_1356-1.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><em>Mt. Kilamanjaro in the monring sun</em></p><em></em><p align="left">Sure looks like you could just walk up the side to the summit, doesn't it?<br /><br />Before the sun totally dissappeared, SJD and I wandered through the dusty village looking for activity. </p><p align="center"><br /><insert><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Eqm0Td7of1luRyqN7zZG18usGUp62Yomsv52sGDe-eSYF6Tf-bSzatwpsWHqxKSuYE1aMjR9SDcM-A29HofumTjpeV-NK3CUNytbYn59P5xTVrJsBYQeRg7QnVh0JAKjh2Nn/s1600-h/Car+toy+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127414632920644914" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Eqm0Td7of1luRyqN7zZG18usGUp62Yomsv52sGDe-eSYF6Tf-bSzatwpsWHqxKSuYE1aMjR9SDcM-A29HofumTjpeV-NK3CUNytbYn59P5xTVrJsBYQeRg7QnVh0JAKjh2Nn/s200/Car+toy+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgkVTsW4MgkwGCTE9jydhTo1TURD3ezOKP130xjy9JNL-a0hpEc5A9B2ryzvsDSw5Hi4g-5gRtyHc6dVHXyrNxniXDS7wScW6LG9sBZ36DxEjWWk3Zs_ky0GHDQuagQomblOl/s1600-h/Car+toy+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127414654395481410" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgkVTsW4MgkwGCTE9jydhTo1TURD3ezOKP130xjy9JNL-a0hpEc5A9B2ryzvsDSw5Hi4g-5gRtyHc6dVHXyrNxniXDS7wScW6LG9sBZ36DxEjWWk3Zs_ky0GHDQuagQomblOl/s200/Car+toy+2.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><em>These children posed with their "cars".</em></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsg33x2TLa7TzkqLvzBxmIvDgym-E2ezoTSrt2gsVrXWGUbWVeDAumWGMhdCuFjR6fKVw53RjDDQ5hLQ2uAmJ-coVv4OaI0No96geZ1n-H8flpFMKRRa127T3YoO_kbA3nVQk/s1600-h/Beer+run+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127414693050187090" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsg33x2TLa7TzkqLvzBxmIvDgym-E2ezoTSrt2gsVrXWGUbWVeDAumWGMhdCuFjR6fKVw53RjDDQ5hLQ2uAmJ-coVv4OaI0No96geZ1n-H8flpFMKRRa127T3YoO_kbA3nVQk/s200/Beer+run+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center"><em>Beer run!</em></p><p align="left">The best activity can usually be found at the local beer vendor. We happended to be around when the delivery bike came by. That would be 60 bottles balanced on top. Crazy! Note the small rock placed in front of the front tire to keep the entire load from rolling away.<br /><br /><strong>Day 7</strong><br />On to the big city of Arusha for a half day visit without any scheduled activities. We managed to ditch the touts and money changers that greeted us as soon as we stepped from the bus. (Yeah, easy target.) We simply wandered through the produce markets marveling at how orderly everything appeared compared to markets back in Accra. Picked up a few gifts and escaped the bustle in a cafe.<br /><br />The afternoon ride started on the outskirts of Arusha heading west into Maasai territory to the rather touristy campsite. The camping area filled up quickly with large overland bus groups. The Snake Camp features several species of snakes (with clinical but still very frightening blurbs on how common and poisonous each could be), crocs, lizards and raptors - all behind glass, walls or cages thank you. After that little visit we were looking at sticks and rocks much more closely - looking for any movement or distinct patterns.<br /><br />And smack dab accross the street from the Snake Camp - curio stalls. And we were drawn to them. Hmmm....more mask carvings and painting of Maasai guys in odd numbered groups. Mass produced someplace perhaps. I haven't seen anyone yet actually carving or painting.<br /><br />Walking back to the camp we stopped into the small, but well done Maasai Cultural Center for a short but interesting tour. Perhaps more on the Maasai later.Day 8Back to the bikes early. The ride for the day covered at distance of 87km all on lightly traveled paved road. Easy enough although riding a bouncy mountain bike on pavement is not as much fun as cruising along on a proper road bike. Through one police checkpoint, we're into the rolling plains of the Maasai cattle grazing lands. The only other vehicles to pass the entire day seem to be the hired Land Rovers and Land Cruisers heading towards Serengeti NP or Ngorongoro Crater.</p><p align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrXSQv5gRSBLN4_mDnhKD8PrBomvZKvtt9P621UPh2AgWPWJK8vbD8OiHbwU9P3ntrGjiNxVzbXeJNKcFDv5nRcUbpyLUcv1MKLvXL0BEyIfzt1Qo-oJARJJpcZ4n7e-94enM/s1600-h/masai+mamma+selling+at+rest+break+10-21.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127654747362295506" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrXSQv5gRSBLN4_mDnhKD8PrBomvZKvtt9P621UPh2AgWPWJK8vbD8OiHbwU9P3ntrGjiNxVzbXeJNKcFDv5nRcUbpyLUcv1MKLvXL0BEyIfzt1Qo-oJARJJpcZ4n7e-94enM/s200/masai+mamma+selling+at+rest+break+10-21.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><em>Fish wheelin' and dealin' for jewelery with a Maasai mama during a rest stop.</em><br /></p><p align="justify">The Maasai red robes really contrast against the sandy terrain. For the first time, we started to hear less "jambo" (or "sopa," which is the Maasai greeting) and a bit more "give me X" as we passed. We were told to keep an eye out for giraffe grazing in the Acacia trees along the road, but were not lucky enough to see any.</p><p align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB4mNKIIYZIwEy5kyNb0pHj5-VXwiyf6y8vlMl_vEQqbapR94myVhR5QIgyDm5bjV0H4NeJ0TbCZ7UHleU_UIrt50dKi1GbQSjJuW1TwiE2svvkYqB7NtpCJWmerw2H8CtEfY/s1600-h/SJD+and+Masai.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127783763884900082" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB4mNKIIYZIwEy5kyNb0pHj5-VXwiyf6y8vlMl_vEQqbapR94myVhR5QIgyDm5bjV0H4NeJ0TbCZ7UHleU_UIrt50dKi1GbQSjJuW1TwiE2svvkYqB7NtpCJWmerw2H8CtEfY/s200/SJD+and+Masai.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><em>Maasai and SJD heading north</em><br /></p><p align="justify"><br />With a tail wind and net elevation loss, we finished the 87km riding segment early into Mto wambu town. Busy place. Look out for all the bikes, peds and livestock.<br /><br />Fish and Scott took the night off from preparing dinner to take us out instead to the oddly named, but very local Fiesta Complex. Sooo much food. Yet another variation of bananas, local bean dish, BBQ'd beef. Tasteee!<br /><br />It was an early night to bed for the next day's jeep trip to the Ngorongoro Crater for critter viewing. The bikes have been working hard and needed a rest anyways.<br /><br />The good stuff -- wild animals and stunning scenery-- follows in part II. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-52666229850874128312007-10-29T17:59:00.000+00:002007-10-29T18:02:08.309+00:00Jambo!We're back from a little bike trip from Dar Es Salaam to Nairobi. Pics and stories to follow for sure.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-13013774466826576262007-10-11T09:42:00.000+00:002007-10-11T10:11:33.365+00:00Wow! A 14 year travel journal.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.expedition360.com/">Expedition 360</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-66299615888904263812007-10-03T12:16:00.001+00:002008-11-13T03:24:53.776+00:00Timber !!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-Ki98-kVRrnPPTLTyy-dboqmOlT1k3Nw9SsJrO5PGk_vhw_91Uj2wqRM6b3TdKWV0GaHowFRv5OromlOgCcCkVmr7mLvV9b5cHXw7glFwi2DwYgHyh8zl1U1QmBg8msfu_g4/s1600-h/IMG_0788.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117158482851553378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-Ki98-kVRrnPPTLTyy-dboqmOlT1k3Nw9SsJrO5PGk_vhw_91Uj2wqRM6b3TdKWV0GaHowFRv5OromlOgCcCkVmr7mLvV9b5cHXw7glFwi2DwYgHyh8zl1U1QmBg8msfu_g4/s320/IMG_0788.JPG" border="0" /></a>This photo was snapped last weekend along a path we have covered many times now over the last year. Just beyond the bend were several much larger stacks of freshly cut 2x12 planks.<br /><div><p></p>Illegal logging? Perhaps. Chainsaws are often heard buzzing away in the forests, but are rarely ever seen. Boards processed in the cover of the forests are carried out to the dirt tracks one by one.<br /><br /><p>An arcticle that appeared today on the BBC website below.</p><p><strong><em>Ghana hopes for EU timber deal </em></strong><br />Ghana hopes a new timber trade deal with Europe will reduce illegal logging but activists warn that time is running out for the West African country's trees.</p><p>Read the rest of the article here: </p><p><a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/2/hi/business/6983895.stm">http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/em/fr/-/2/hi/business/6983895.stm</a> </p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-36177716465227395932007-09-11T10:11:00.001+00:002008-11-13T03:24:54.607+00:00Wli Falls<span style="color:#3366ff;"><em>Arg! I deleted this entry by accident.</em></span><br /><br />Last week we broke with tradition of the last seven years and did not race the 100 bike race. Instead, we swapped Shenandoah mountain laurel for West African palms and headed back up to the Volta Region for some riding and relaxing.<br /><br />Rain was threatening more or less the entire time we were driving up. The drive is getting to be quite routine, but the rainy season has taken a toll on the road surface. Potholes riddle already uneven surfaces. Every now and then a volunteer road crew appears over the crest of a hill, mobilized to extort a few pesewas from passing motorists while presumably filling the potholes with sand and gravel 50m at a time. It beats simply begging, but is also a bit unnerving as we scramble for loose change while the guys block the road with their shovels. One has to imagine that the activity repeats itself after every rain or perhaps only whenever a car passes.<br /><br />Up at the Mountain Paradise we headed out on the bikes again to map out a new section of trail from Biakpa to Gbedzieme through the forest bypassing Amedzofe. A cadre of small boys followed us through the village and into the bush curious why we wouldn’t just take the road like everyone else. We tried to explain our intended destination. The oldest boy – perhaps 8 years old – insisted we follow him although his directions seemed a bit suspect. Eventually after four or five confusing trail-junction discussions they simply deemed us hopelessly lost (or perhaps just stubborn) and went back to fishing in a nearby stream. They were half right.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_0WbM-OV-G89ucOmEXqhLswvP_BxHnFkI21C0PFArvDbO5QuO_BqGKUmdkVWIYMgq1LCQy9P2E2w3FrY_F7yzfWYELVr5JZjzCNlPyYpV3F4hL2I_V_Odfn0xdsJupU7Wrqa/s1600-h/IMG_0719.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109077764804916098" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_0WbM-OV-G89ucOmEXqhLswvP_BxHnFkI21C0PFArvDbO5QuO_BqGKUmdkVWIYMgq1LCQy9P2E2w3FrY_F7yzfWYELVr5JZjzCNlPyYpV3F4hL2I_V_Odfn0xdsJupU7Wrqa/s320/IMG_0719.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><div align="justify">All was going well enough for twenty minutes or so. We could guestimate our location using the landmarks of the lodge on one ridge and Mt. Gemi high up on the other. Soon, we topped out on a low knoll. From such a vantage point we would normally see over to Lake Volta and distant mountains. The dark clouds heavy with rain were rolling in and obscuring the view. As well, the trail ahead disappeared into the tall grass. At this point we decided to retreat past the small boys and back to the lodge. We arrived back at the BMP, once again, minutes before the skies opened up for the next few hours.<br /></div><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidwI-EJQsLFw8gnt-nkKex5s3Dr4Hw06H-Oxf0LYURHlWwdPIf0gzeAa4CD87jBVlvFltFhTym_voaSdE14r-3vMjX-OKD3aXVP0yuzOwsVdb3FAzXnUAeD0aJluQ6JqeXUDJ/s1600-h/IMG_0721.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109077781984785298" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidwI-EJQsLFw8gnt-nkKex5s3Dr4Hw06H-Oxf0LYURHlWwdPIf0gzeAa4CD87jBVlvFltFhTym_voaSdE14r-3vMjX-OKD3aXVP0yuzOwsVdb3FAzXnUAeD0aJluQ6JqeXUDJ/s320/IMG_0721.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div align="justify"><br />The following morning we ate breakfast and headed up to Wli Falls on the border with Togo for a short hike. Not bike.<br /><br />It seems that most of the few – okay tourist attractions – require some sort of formal log book and “foreigner“ fee to keep tabs on who is visiting. As well, we are usually expected to hire a guide. Wli Falls is no different. Somehow, after paying the requisite “foreigner” fee we convinced the rangers that we did not want a guide. Trust me – if you can find your way from Hohoe to the Wli Falls parking lot in the first place, the very flat and well maintained path should not pose much difficulty either. I suppose a guide might mention other facts about the area as well. Assuming you can restrain yourself from jumping into the pool at the bottom of the falls, all should turn out just fine.<br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1W9CMMm4-c3_EZGhBOlFiPMa37NEaA-rlr0mUUP2vyEIDg4BZMkItd8gFUqW8lX0GNHWpM7PiFrRjLGM9SjrrUaIJ74kfDzfvLyXrQhmxCY_nCGS1kYx0EzFpB8I0FzOht5u3/s1600-h/IMG_1221.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109081020390126530" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1W9CMMm4-c3_EZGhBOlFiPMa37NEaA-rlr0mUUP2vyEIDg4BZMkItd8gFUqW8lX0GNHWpM7PiFrRjLGM9SjrrUaIJ74kfDzfvLyXrQhmxCY_nCGS1kYx0EzFpB8I0FzOht5u3/s320/IMG_1221.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div align="justify"><br /><em>Several types of butterflies flutter about along the path, although they’re difficult to photograph</em>.<br /></div><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8KIunogz6TNaey4fkV_3C1tjpt_tdTKbb3L1gL6V2QnB2ft0Uu7s1aVnP6D1nTW6Lql6_yVE1_jvjK02qW3S4WLvvdAhStdTuOeLPqRhf9CZlLGatLm7UsO2JHE6CEx4Ndgy1/s1600-h/IMG_0748.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109077794869687202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8KIunogz6TNaey4fkV_3C1tjpt_tdTKbb3L1gL6V2QnB2ft0Uu7s1aVnP6D1nTW6Lql6_yVE1_jvjK02qW3S4WLvvdAhStdTuOeLPqRhf9CZlLGatLm7UsO2JHE6CEx4Ndgy1/s320/IMG_0748.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div align="center"><em>An common millipede sneaking up on SJD.</em> </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="justify">The glossy photos hanging on the walls of the ranger station indicated a nice cascading falls that you might want to cool off in on a hot west African day. Well, let me tell you this. That must have been snapped during a drought. The falls today were full on, no doubt fed by the overnight rains. As we approached the falls, the wind picked up and a heavy cool mist was blowing hard through the air as we approached. We couldn't see much of anything, even when we tried hiding behind a big tree for protection from the wind and wet but SJD managed to get a snap of BP pretending not to notice how wet he was getting. On our way to the falls, we had seen a few other families walking back from the falls, but none appeared to get nearly as soaked to the core as SJD and I did. Guess that would get kind of old for the guides after a few trips.</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-LUJpK1RVwe-Qiocd0F0_jRVKcCEkU4ASXMO6qG7vwosp4kadSSbIYqPIzpMdXcKgLWkSJYR2mV3pjCRjZXwZBoDazLGS20_3sa1UoqPXZ9mYi5WhsA4a8xf86wocHE7vwkd/s1600-h/IMG_1228.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109081007505224626" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-LUJpK1RVwe-Qiocd0F0_jRVKcCEkU4ASXMO6qG7vwosp4kadSSbIYqPIzpMdXcKgLWkSJYR2mV3pjCRjZXwZBoDazLGS20_3sa1UoqPXZ9mYi5WhsA4a8xf86wocHE7vwkd/s320/IMG_1228.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOruy_T8dVer5_-K6H89ucbd3obyKSXjJRF-UBm4FVanIVsIANAw16rPzYcB1z3BAxsl4egih2T9sMcIWsoJYWGQaamF44Ufqkbkmke1U4LZ2VF3gT-dk8-KukA3ReXgg2xDGI/s1600-h/IMG_1235.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109081024685093842" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOruy_T8dVer5_-K6H89ucbd3obyKSXjJRF-UBm4FVanIVsIANAw16rPzYcB1z3BAxsl4egih2T9sMcIWsoJYWGQaamF44Ufqkbkmke1U4LZ2VF3gT-dk8-KukA3ReXgg2xDGI/s320/IMG_1235.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">Apparently it is possible to hike all the way to the top of the falls and across the border into neighboring Togo. We clambered a little way up a very steep trail in order to get a look at the falls away from the "storm" at its base (photo on the right). We'll be back.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-82363471374297512112007-09-05T15:36:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:54.769+00:00Emmanuel's new bike<div align="left">Emmanuel the gardner has been dutifully sprucing up our yard for the past year. Since he relies on tro- tros or walking to get to and from work we don't really keep close tabs on his coming and going. Tro-tros seem to be the cheapest way to travel, but at the expense of being slow and unreliable.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Every now and then I see a bleary eyed Emmanuel around 7am stepping out of a tro-tro or walking down our street as I'm returning home from an early morning ride. A few weeks ago he commented that the tro-tro operators were increasing fares to offset the rise in fuel costs. (The federally set price for a gallon (US) of standard petrol currently runs about $4.08.) The additional cost was being passed onto the the passengers. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">We had planned to go give Emmanuel a raise anyways to account for inflation, transportation and being a generally pleasant fellow. Instead we were able to work a deal with Emmanuel to incorporate the cost of a new (to him) bicycle into a portion of his annual pay raise. It was actually his idea in order to offset his transportation costs. Since I ride almost everywhere already, I thought his idea was brilliant. Sort of a green version of a car allowance. So off I went on my bike Monday afternoon to the Nsawam Road bike markets in search of something maintainable, reliable, safe and used. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The markets are sprawling with all sorts of bikes standing in perfect rows ready for inspection. The selection ranges from tri-cycles to mock-mountainbikes to Chinese farm bikes to road racers, to BMX to Dutch folding city bikes. I have yet to see a tandem in the collection.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The men that clean and repair the bikes used to be helpful, if not a bit pushy at times. Since I've never actually purchased anything in the past - just looked, yesterday they barely showed any interest in me - which was actually fine by me. I was able to inspect the repairs and components closely without being asked if I wanted to buy everything I touched. Sometimes the guys will do such a good job cleaning the bikes that broken bits can be overlooked easily.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">When it came time to make a deal, the prices were just too high at the first vendor, so I carried on down the road to three more vendors. I was about to call it a day when I saw a 15 year old fully stock Specialized Rockhopper mountain bike. No rust or dents to the purple to blue fade paint scheme. Original tires. Everthing worked. By far the nicest bike I had seen all day. I haggled the price to fit within my budget. Paid in full, we loaded both bikes into a taxi and headed for home.<br /></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">[SJD and I both owned the same circa 1992 Specialized Rockhopper as our first mountain bikes even before we knew each other (coincidence?). It is one solid machine. In fact, SJD has been riding her's almost daily ever since. Mine was long ago passed along to a friend and then sold in DC. It was last spotted a few years later at an anti-war rally on Constitution Avenue a few years ago. Good bike! So, we're a bit partial towards the Rockhopper...] </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Emmanuel was finishing up the sweeping when I arrived home with the two bikes. I explained to him that he had to wait two more days before he could ride it home so I could make a few minor tuning adjustments. But I let him test ride it briefly. He hiked up his coveralls, swung a leg over the saddle and rolled away towards the corner narrowly missing the trash barrels and bushes. It was a bit amusing to watch the expression on his face. Sort of joy and terror. It hadn't really crossed my mind to ask if he had actually ridden a bike with hand brakes and freewheel, or even any kind of bike for that matter. Ooops.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106774150505771762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfuDfFsH-w1uGRSAz8f9nCuLjnJsku6teWPUgmIGjR-8sL9bvQ6h8KJp7bEaCcli5wghBVgIfl5eTaMyehwJaBFJf9tQgOBOJOYD3_GUAKCUkdFDHisgjNmofezDTCiowB5_aI/s320/IMG_0062.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center">So here he is this morning with his new ride.<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-35623447847168559922007-08-23T22:34:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:54.928+00:00Odd week here in Accra yes indeed, and there are still two more days to come.<br /><br /><strong>Monday</strong>: Biking home from work, a motorcycle cop gave me the right hook. Yup, he came up from behind and made the all too common sharp right turn across my path leaving me to grab both brakes and weave to the right in unison with him. It is one of those bonehead moves that if you anticipate happening is easy enough to avoid, but still infuriating. I followed the officer one block back to his barracks, and told him that he really ought to be more careful being a cop and all. He didn't seem too bothered or concerned, but explained that he thought I was going straight. Well, if I had not turned with him, he surely would have flattened me. Eh, why bother arguing...<br /><br /><strong>Wednesday</strong>: Biking to work again in the morning I noticed an expired horse in a taxi pull-off area of the road in the central business district. In Ghana, anything that might obstruct the flow of traffic is quickly cordoned off by placing a few broken tree branches or clumps of grass around the obstruction. Doesn't matter if it is a stalled taxi, missing manhole cover or dead horse apparently. Would this scene draw attention on Constitution Avenue in DC? You betcha! Might even shut down the city for the morning, or at minimum warrant a $25 parking ticket. Accra...not even a single gawker. Come to think of it, there really is not much road kill on the roads here given the large number of goats, chickens and dogs roaming freely. Luckily the turkey buzzards that flock to my project site in the afternoon didn't catch a whiff before matters were cleaned up.<br /><br /><strong>Thursday</strong>: Evening bike commute from work. Ok it was dark out, but my bike is outfitted with headlight, flashing tail lights, reflectors and a bell. I've been riding in traffic for years and have never been hit by a car. Until tonight. I paused briefly balancing at an T-intersection waiting to turn left when the car behind me hit me. A bit more than a love tap, but not hard enough to send me over the hood. Perhaps I was a bit lucky that I was moving just slightly when I felt the bumper nudge my rear wheel. I exchanged a few unfit-for-print phrases with the driver, somewhat expecting her to pull over. Instead, I think, she hollered "sorry!" before driving away into the dark of North Ridge. Not quite sure how to explain her actions, except that Ghana seems to be having a rash of mob justice reactions to petty crimes that usually have an ugly ending. Maybe she thought I was a nut case. No, just a bit miffed. I did get a little bit more than her license plate number though - the whole dang plate fell off in the ruckus!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxQo6lgWgiolinGNMcUXv7Tii1P6T_1v9aAPjmMcGaQFgXJgaWykKhdIlw-ctZSwGSBJ7yEzYzzKgWFFRPc26_o6TmjQYdG1FELzSu8N6rJ40nM_6FYdPw-V94tb_2sH_j-xf/s1600-h/IMG_0037.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102045271253791458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxQo6lgWgiolinGNMcUXv7Tii1P6T_1v9aAPjmMcGaQFgXJgaWykKhdIlw-ctZSwGSBJ7yEzYzzKgWFFRPc26_o6TmjQYdG1FELzSu8N6rJ40nM_6FYdPw-V94tb_2sH_j-xf/s320/IMG_0037.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />So now what? No witnesses. No harm to me. I've got better things to do than file a police report that will likely just be filed away.<br /><br />TGIF!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-71106638920697890182007-08-07T16:05:00.001+00:002007-08-08T09:06:37.853+00:00Part 2Here is Part 2 of the Al Jazeera video. Another 12 minutes. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/d-LwKxPwzWM"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/d-LwKxPwzWM" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-80978576393233135192007-08-07T13:54:00.000+00:002007-08-08T09:05:02.117+00:00Part 1Here is a 13 minute video from Al Jazeera TV showing bits of life in Accra. <br /><br />Transmission will be slow and choppy on US dial-up or Ghanaian DSL.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jMc3L3PhNNo"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jMc3L3PhNNo" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-36561667685664402142007-08-06T13:33:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:55.120+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcS2941iYj6Tbl8aXpobD9awYtlfmanqwUJn_OcgwlOEMGB3fuoWgsRi-U5SSMWSwYI9TqSAr7ERxSfR76M37Xv1CKyozLAoMs3-b0kwoPCVQ1Vg7XEufLq6K7VbC11IK1iKo/s1600-h/Biakpa+mtb+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095580318462672370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcS2941iYj6Tbl8aXpobD9awYtlfmanqwUJn_OcgwlOEMGB3fuoWgsRi-U5SSMWSwYI9TqSAr7ERxSfR76M37Xv1CKyozLAoMs3-b0kwoPCVQ1Vg7XEufLq6K7VbC11IK1iKo/s400/Biakpa+mtb+2.jpg" border="0" /></a> Another good weekend in the Volta Region. Weather looked threatening, but held off for the most part. Just a few sprinkles, but the clouds and fog kept temperatures comfortably in the 70sF.<br /><br />SJD unfortunately pinched a nerve in her lower back before the rides even started. Simple movements were excruciating, so she decided to hang out at the lodge and get in a few short hikes when I returned from riding.<br /><br />I headed out on two familiar, but somewhat remote routes laden with the GPS, cell phone and maps, camera as well as the requisite bike parts/tools, food water and enough good natured greetings to go around. All went well enough even if the rocks were slippery and trails were overgrown. The image above shows the GPS bread crumb track of the two rides overlayed. Green is day one. Pink (hard to see) is day two. The yellow squiggle indicates the Ghana/Togo border about 2 miles into the distance. Ain't technology grand?<br /><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-4567052018877841812007-07-10T22:42:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:56.026+00:00The Ps visit Ghana - Part 2More than a month has passed now since went to sleep in the Mole Motel. So... picking up where we left off 52 miles down a bumpy dusty road up north near Mole National Park, here is Part 2 of Up, Over and Down 'round Lake Volta in a Compact Car.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Mole to Tamale to Yendi to Nkwanta</strong><br /><br />We were back in the car at 6AM barreling back down the wash board road at a somewhat quicker pace leaving the elephants, monkeys, bush bucks, wart hogs and baboons behind.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi909m4RSxXnz750RaQ2WFyMzrO1_UuEEmZ3F5xjMpH2g85o9LJ8IF-Ofxejg7gdJGO4iTsvb8y2xQg9i7ZaNlCqd7XBgxyotljefafLIrhgMhxXhjx0XzEiaixUDZQGjB6ecrt/s1600-h/IMG_0998.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086404400588695282" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi909m4RSxXnz750RaQ2WFyMzrO1_UuEEmZ3F5xjMpH2g85o9LJ8IF-Ofxejg7gdJGO4iTsvb8y2xQg9i7ZaNlCqd7XBgxyotljefafLIrhgMhxXhjx0XzEiaixUDZQGjB6ecrt/s200/IMG_0998.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbQiQFL62VNy4J5sOXWp2gK_vKqklndtB5cu5pAIOtIaASGtwkYNJDSMWKe405qXVxG1TfXx7HJtRBauiCFv08QPhuYk72_dvyNA5H_vKDaqgzbH52VE259ha-tltD_2esKof/s1600-h/IMG_0037.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086404396293727970" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbQiQFL62VNy4J5sOXWp2gK_vKqklndtB5cu5pAIOtIaASGtwkYNJDSMWKe405qXVxG1TfXx7HJtRBauiCFv08QPhuYk72_dvyNA5H_vKDaqgzbH52VE259ha-tltD_2esKof/s200/IMG_0037.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfh1Mgi1RcNnRRBy8qseCOaqzfIxo5CCreHNPFsbX3X4_mV686666zoZzkKCwA4DJ4yk6QJz4YOzFlsV_W38_5qegrUt17TodeneNGgLRrUxvoygW_2hGgRRVFwJ_ddQ3gB-h/s1600-h/IMG_2697.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086404383408826066" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfh1Mgi1RcNnRRBy8qseCOaqzfIxo5CCreHNPFsbX3X4_mV686666zoZzkKCwA4DJ4yk6QJz4YOzFlsV_W38_5qegrUt17TodeneNGgLRrUxvoygW_2hGgRRVFwJ_ddQ3gB-h/s200/IMG_2697.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><em>Whoa, talk about leaving something behind!!!</em><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFc1o2RMYNkFvwzG6c1MeMRDmZAuZkNKLm53-SeAPtZClly07plNH1bgcUYX551dgC2JCYBlErjjAIRlNU0WDcsrfrSH3VvB8TGTaK68zjfZ93DSHngBybnD86o_V7LRsXTzWx/s1600-h/IMG_1010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086404409178629890" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFc1o2RMYNkFvwzG6c1MeMRDmZAuZkNKLm53-SeAPtZClly07plNH1bgcUYX551dgC2JCYBlErjjAIRlNU0WDcsrfrSH3VvB8TGTaK68zjfZ93DSHngBybnD86o_V7LRsXTzWx/s200/IMG_1010.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Reaching pavement towards Tamale was really quite a refief if it would only last. The car seemed to be floating on air.<br /><br />There is a very noticeable bicycle presence in the north, but especially near Tamale. I haven't been to China or the Netherlands yet, but this is the greatest concentration of bicycles I've seen anyplace. Cars are hardly noticed. I guess there are many factors that contribute to this. Tamale seems flat (perhaps flat like a tortilla...Tamale-tortilla-tamale. Oh well) Bikes are somewhat affordable - certainly more so than a car. Remote villages get cut off following a big rain, but bikes can usually push through the puddles. And holy cow can you carry the goods on a bike even if you have to push it. (See previous post) Also noticed - the number of women and girls riding bikes. You don't see that in the more affluent southern regions of Ghana. Ironically, Tamale was just a refueling stop for us this time.<br /><br />Privately owned cars between Tamale and Yendi were few and far between. All tro-tros, mopeds, bikes, pedestrians and few bush taxis. If the road conditions continued, by any reasonable estimation, Nkwanta should be just another 2 hours away. Hah! Wishful thinking. The paved road continues to the junction town of Yendi where we turned south. The next 112 miles of dusty, rutted, pot holed roads into Nkwanta were covered in just over 6 hours at a break-neck average speed of 18mph. Believe me it seemed so much faster. So, 260 miles in 11 hours was a bit overly ambitious. By this time the family was getting used to the jolts, weaving and sudden stops. Even SJD, normally a jumpy passenger, didn't really mind what she could not see from her perch in the back seat.<br /><br />Every dusty little village seems to have its own form of barricade manned by a drowsy officer of some sort. Sometimes a swinging gate must be opened. Other times, a rope is dropped, or a barrel is rolled out of the way. Rarely did there seem to be any purpose served. We'd probably passed through 30 or more of these make shift road blocks on the trip so far. A lorry driver, during a stop for a cool drink (we werethe only ones at the bar not drinking beer) about 50 miles from Hohoe assured us that we'd be there in "one-hour" because our car was "strong." We had all grown used to noises emanating from the underside of the car as it scraped over mounds, holes, ruts and rocks, but an hour seemed and absurd time/speed estimation to Hohoe given our pace so far. But safety and time are merely concepts here. Every now and then we stopped to make sure we had all four wheels still attached.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrWnyuHV8tqXIlBXG-zgi4wp0E1Y9eaQucVIcToY9kVU1a3pnXwcKbQxl58PcbHaRkWiwWgH89abHKUrl9ds8mgi9LbG2xdpztxCjgf2dh4rEmYUzJU1IA17jEc60kKBOUGRp/s1600-h/IMG_2695.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086414068560078626" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrWnyuHV8tqXIlBXG-zgi4wp0E1Y9eaQucVIcToY9kVU1a3pnXwcKbQxl58PcbHaRkWiwWgH89abHKUrl9ds8mgi9LbG2xdpztxCjgf2dh4rEmYUzJU1IA17jEc60kKBOUGRp/s200/IMG_2695.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />We rolled into the only known accommodation in the dusty little town of Nkwanta - The Kilamanjaro Hotel around 4:30pm stiff, tired and willing to accept almost whatever was offered resembling a resonably clean bed and shower. A rather sudden, brief but intense storm must have been chasing us into town. Dusty little town was turned into a muddy little town. After that passed, we ordered dinner and strolled the main road with a bit more energy before the sun went down to see what Nkwanta had to offer. The ubiquitous auto repair lots, tro-tro stop and vendors selling "Aligator" machetes for sale apparently. They seem to be as Ghanaian as kente and banku. (Be careful opening holiday presents this year).<br /><br />Nkwanta is home to another game park straddling the Ghana/Togo border. According to the signs, lions are present, or have been spotted. Another time. So there is more to Nkwanta than meets the eye.... Time to update the Bradt guide.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaqtrDsJtoe8-Sglm1VlhazsrXimAfH8oRw2TQAUN-hRnxKWB3DDXexTKoGsLg1ycdezmqml6_wWZveAvOMQtgQGyUe5v1c0KYpp9fFpIY9PD69GOAsK_ix4096IvF0fA66cK/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086411143687350034" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaqtrDsJtoe8-Sglm1VlhazsrXimAfH8oRw2TQAUN-hRnxKWB3DDXexTKoGsLg1ycdezmqml6_wWZveAvOMQtgQGyUe5v1c0KYpp9fFpIY9PD69GOAsK_ix4096IvF0fA66cK/s200/IMG_0108.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Back at the Kilamanjaro, the staff produced the oh-so-common flimsy plastic chairs and table in the middle of the parking lot so we could dine alfresco. I guess we were served more or less what we ordered even if it did appear to be hastily puchased on the street and plopped on a clean plate.<br /><br />The rooms were again very basic, but had probably seen better days and perhaps a broom from time to time. But sometimes you get what you pay for. In this case $10. So you try to remind yourself of that when the bar TV showing the football game blares until 1am, or the mobile public service announcements van begins it's rounds at 4:30am. It's Ghana. (Yes, need to update the Bradt guide on this one too.) As we drove South out of town, we saw a new hotel, the Gateway. It looked more promising than the Kilimanjaro as we zoomed by with a touch of regret. We'll check it out next time.<br /><br /><strong>Nkwanta to Kpandu to Biakpa</strong><br /><br />Not surprisingly, we were up and out the door of the Kilamanjaro before 7am again without breakfast. More stretches of dirt road south into Hohoe had me a bit annoyed at this point. Eventually pavement returned as well as the lush greenery of the Volta Region. It is absurd to think of the VR as home, but the scenery does seem much more familiar and refreshing after so many hours in the more barren north.<br /><br />Hohoe is just another refueling stop in the push down to Biakpa.<br /><br />Kpandu is known locally for its pottery coop. We stopped for a looksee and a few purchases. River clay hand moulded pots, figurines, and other objects. Many of their products are exported around the globe.<br /><br />At last we reached Biakpa Mountain Paradise and settled in for a light lunch on the newly constructed dining porch. The more we visit BMP, the more we like it and the staff - Tony, Enno and Wisdom. There is a steady rotation of teens from the village of Biakpa who assist with various tasks or guide work. No electricity ever. Water usually. But all is forgotten once the cool evening breeze kicks up around dinner time. The fufu and ground nut soup with chicken is tasteee. Mom and dad bravely ordered up banku and tilapia having grown tired of variations on fried rice and chicken since leaving Anamabo. But the fermented banku is a bit too zippy for our tastes I'm afraid.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcrkjsCK3RefdLbn4aQPyMfLxSbwyMnfKIdwiid4ZpiF4K44QNpY71AvcNcH-MI1pUV_yIZLrv4ziP5Iw3sFcDaXmv3dLcMA_5V0jeMN-IgvQ-0SKoUe776A_8j66Dm3xtCIa/s1600-h/IMG_1052.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086419609067890482" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcrkjsCK3RefdLbn4aQPyMfLxSbwyMnfKIdwiid4ZpiF4K44QNpY71AvcNcH-MI1pUV_yIZLrv4ziP5Iw3sFcDaXmv3dLcMA_5V0jeMN-IgvQ-0SKoUe776A_8j66Dm3xtCIa/s200/IMG_1052.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So, the final leg of the trip into Accra was pretty uneventful except for a torrential rain storm that we waited out, which was just fine by all.<br /><br /><br />We really had a fine time on the trip, however it was a lot of driving in a short period of time. A few more days to stop and explore would have been ideal. TdG V2.o will be even better.<br /><br />So for now, it is back to Accra, work and catching up with that bike race in France.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-87420480457657495182007-07-05T07:20:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:58.215+00:00DCMTB takes on the best of Ghana and...Two weeks ago I was tipped off by a friend that a major race was going to be staged in Accra on July 1. A few days later I managed to get invited to participate in the Bahmed Cycling Challenge Cup - a showcase of the best talent from Cote d’Ivoire, Togo, Nigeria, as well as Ghana. Ghana would use the race to select their national team to for the All-Africa Games this month in Algeria. The opportunity to show the DCMTB colors in a real race was something I could not miss.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30JZ_l-4Vr-sj_Ia4Dvy-bp9nodwvsrIHYvzbKmqjKRTZEtqvKWr8_lSoVrwBnGsFY_N6uBQhAavkac0llE8ORgmesOGnEGlxbr3RL_EJnOAEwAY1zn4OM7GQt1WY91iQAlFx/s1600-h/IMG_1075.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083658434974086354" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30JZ_l-4Vr-sj_Ia4Dvy-bp9nodwvsrIHYvzbKmqjKRTZEtqvKWr8_lSoVrwBnGsFY_N6uBQhAavkac0llE8ORgmesOGnEGlxbr3RL_EJnOAEwAY1zn4OM7GQt1WY91iQAlFx/s320/IMG_1075.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The BCCC was billed as a 115km (72mi) road race and criterium. I am probably better suited for races requiring the sharp bike handling skills and short bursts of speed common in multi-lap crits, rather than the long sustained efforts of road races. The BCCC was sort of both, but really neither. Seventy two miles is a long race, especially considering my steadily declining level of fitness since becoming employed a few months ago. I was resting my hopes on residual fitness, well rested muscles, but mostly eagerness to represent the <a href="http://www.dcmtb.com/">DCMTB/City-Bikes/Metro-Gutter</a> team overseas.<br /><div><br />Since the race advertised a 9AM start, SJD and I rode from home down to Osu leaving a full hour to do the formalities of paying entry, signing liability waivers and pinning on racer numbers. One little detail we forgot - there is no United States Cycling Federation here. At 9AM it was pretty clear that no race was going to begin at 9AM. Nope. A few bikers milled about. There were signs, chairs and the requisite wall of speakers pumping out Ghanaian hip-life and rap at level 11. (The wall of speakers - they really do deserve an entire blog entry. It is no wonder everyone gets up so early in Ghana.) But anyway…no sign of any race promoters. </div><div><br />When asked, a rider named Prince explained that the race will begin in about “an hours time.” Yeah, it is always good to allow a lot of extra time here, and not get too upset when things don’t start when advertised. So I decided to do a quick course 4.5 mile loop to warm up the legs and lungs, as well as note any tricky corners or stretches into headwinds. After a few minutes I returned to the shade of the vacant VIP tent. And waited...</div><div><br />The BCCC was not the only event going on in Osu this day. The Milo Marathon seemed to step off on time, and several of the lead runners were streaming by to the finish at Independence Square providing entertainment while we waited. Milo is a powdered chocolate flavored food drink with “MORE ENERGRY RELEASING B VITAMINS”. Guess you’d need it to keep going in these in fancy shoes. Ouch! Several competitors forgo even the flip-flops, preferring pave' au peid. Ouch again! So as runners pass through the various check points on the course, they are handed a ribbon necklace to wear. By the time we were seeing the racers go by, they had quite a stack around their necks. Very festive. </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyExh8BIrf27aIu53cfGNCqMHWxA_UN5KtsWG40Pmpni8YmVY4QhDjUF5Cq1gjZd1Qb9gm-WBjU0pvTlNsGTy0rN-O-ZVVEXaLGfpb26Uys4CMzQ_MbFVeuA9saRXeiQdD_XXh/s1600-h/IMG_1126.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083658469333824786" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyExh8BIrf27aIu53cfGNCqMHWxA_UN5KtsWG40Pmpni8YmVY4QhDjUF5Cq1gjZd1Qb9gm-WBjU0pvTlNsGTy0rN-O-ZVVEXaLGfpb26Uys4CMzQ_MbFVeuA9saRXeiQdD_XXh/s320/IMG_1126.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1T-1E6rl8osv-kbG_sFosZdcX2glWjs-PN4JrqDY8ClGgF9AyGMvnY36dqz-9equybY4F6RNLfNHJJw9cWd3zWEm8rPMiOdkq1t_Af50VMfE0XNYtdATYQ6hXCGwhdmzz1Eo/s1600-h/IMG_1101.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083658456448922866" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1T-1E6rl8osv-kbG_sFosZdcX2glWjs-PN4JrqDY8ClGgF9AyGMvnY36dqz-9equybY4F6RNLfNHJJw9cWd3zWEm8rPMiOdkq1t_Af50VMfE0XNYtdATYQ6hXCGwhdmzz1Eo/s320/IMG_1101.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>None of the activity seems to warrant much reason to divert or close roads to traffic. Life kind of just goes on around the runners. Every now and then a police officer would swat the toes of spectators crowding the road for a better look. It seems a bit harsh, but is taken in stride.<br />On top of the marathon and bike race, the 53 African heads of state were meeting in Accra this morning , adding a few extra speeding, honking, passing motorcades into the mix.</div><br /><div>Back to the bike race, or waiting for a bike race.<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXqAoTRT77dYuIVpTAvqeb3NE1g5FroQbrnV8tFETCMw9ngzvNCcSOmFYmgIPQGjVZP8tVGeVt3KKn2eRXjocUHUIdcqRUKAYx4AygF3w0XLSS3jnRX_kTLR1-889UTKiDYQN/s1600-h/IMG_7919.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084026844383835458" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXqAoTRT77dYuIVpTAvqeb3NE1g5FroQbrnV8tFETCMw9ngzvNCcSOmFYmgIPQGjVZP8tVGeVt3KKn2eRXjocUHUIdcqRUKAYx4AygF3w0XLSS3jnRX_kTLR1-889UTKiDYQN/s320/IMG_7919.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><br /><div>10AM comes and goes with little action. Promoters and more teams have arrived. A roll of tape appears, and the start/finish line is adhered to the road. Progress in small small steps. Apparently all of the formalities have been waived -- no entry fee, no race number, no waiver forms -- making all the delays seem even more puzzling. I take to my shaded chair again to watch the marathoners, thinking I surely should be able to run 26.2 miles. I’ve got the fancy shoes after all.</div><div> </div><br /><div>11:10AM. No kidding. Motorcycles, TV crew and support vehicle are in position. Brief team introductions were made. All of us were proclaimed to be “professionals”. I alone was introduced as “the foreigner. The white man.“ I waved politely and thanked them for the invitation. All a bit unexpected but a little bit funny.<br /></div><div> </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5vFWkiOu_YQ_27xwrLwmr8kRjzZ45TrUI6UAtmy7a4lbr-ILg04VSXa-YhuCy9qpNFBCS4moZ2eoIxNs4iBxY-6h0K5aU24eWxPFWbtuu1g3074Eya7c0JE2fBGkzFkTwOZB3/s1600-h/IMG_1089.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083658447858988258" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5vFWkiOu_YQ_27xwrLwmr8kRjzZ45TrUI6UAtmy7a4lbr-ILg04VSXa-YhuCy9qpNFBCS4moZ2eoIxNs4iBxY-6h0K5aU24eWxPFWbtuu1g3074Eya7c0JE2fBGkzFkTwOZB3/s320/IMG_1089.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><em>After a parade lap in the sponsor's t-shirts, things got serious. Note the lone rider that did not understand this step.</em><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeJ8YKP_9HDOZUsKQUJKiMFKCmn_Y6J0EWjSoTkjLUMiLnYMpZLVj71AeVRLv8ekGlV5TfoH21mtOl4eEcJi6qyOp2PSPYHBRGLc4vKWS3bdJdOB52arMvLLvdswsWNZ1WXNN/s1600-h/IMG_1108.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083658465038857474" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeJ8YKP_9HDOZUsKQUJKiMFKCmn_Y6J0EWjSoTkjLUMiLnYMpZLVj71AeVRLv8ekGlV5TfoH21mtOl4eEcJi6qyOp2PSPYHBRGLc4vKWS3bdJdOB52arMvLLvdswsWNZ1WXNN/s320/IMG_1108.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><em>Riders ready. Set....</em></div><div><em></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjle_sqyDrJoaZ17chlgvSgLi68cJlwSFpf2zVWwmZvJhO5mvLte7SNEHNGZXZvySW6tfCLGYHGo3SlQQ9BLt8l60SPZRaaVeepJ-oCxknPXdo2nBEAi36Aa1CXjjwIGzKZep8m/s1600-h/IMG_1128.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084038200277366146" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjle_sqyDrJoaZ17chlgvSgLi68cJlwSFpf2zVWwmZvJhO5mvLte7SNEHNGZXZvySW6tfCLGYHGo3SlQQ9BLt8l60SPZRaaVeepJ-oCxknPXdo2nBEAi36Aa1CXjjwIGzKZep8m/s200/IMG_1128.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div>Go!</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJI61Skvb9iDO8XBbZ5xeel6K36fOPhICJ10-MHr6crVuuBinjjWrRxCbC1r1U3VTdDp-QOFiuuC2_BhIGxXedFlY20To_Cge6QgnOS-CfzXoOxvlFRdBQ4aAX4LRrxpNOzX8/s1600-h/IMG_7931.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084038195982398834" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJI61Skvb9iDO8XBbZ5xeel6K36fOPhICJ10-MHr6crVuuBinjjWrRxCbC1r1U3VTdDp-QOFiuuC2_BhIGxXedFlY20To_Cge6QgnOS-CfzXoOxvlFRdBQ4aAX4LRrxpNOzX8/s200/IMG_7931.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><em>Bunched up.</em><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_17Zg1zAlSKziR5VNVBT5h2r-TnDy2Lhzrehu8awfiLwHicVNJnR4Lwpa9reN3hvKHf0jwKbgY8ziiGkR6DtsUOXT2RhAJZHuHe6ramT839XWiQK5C94KZAkG0Bcgash7JD7K/s1600-h/IMG_1117.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084038208867300754" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_17Zg1zAlSKziR5VNVBT5h2r-TnDy2Lhzrehu8awfiLwHicVNJnR4Lwpa9reN3hvKHf0jwKbgY8ziiGkR6DtsUOXT2RhAJZHuHe6ramT839XWiQK5C94KZAkG0Bcgash7JD7K/s200/IMG_1117.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><em>Bikers overtaking the marathon</em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTtsmbdEgwhuQ5yTX-mMC9qa1_wCL4ic5Zh3NpYBSvAmwT-N6jeKbvwDgWYun5dwp1qyU2MOt1XVYFkzQjYrXdAYeCrgBthTfQy_qR4erj9WJSs4xtHKZAR_B1gNV0Qwp18J9/s1600-h/IMG_7926.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083664576777319730" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTtsmbdEgwhuQ5yTX-mMC9qa1_wCL4ic5Zh3NpYBSvAmwT-N6jeKbvwDgWYun5dwp1qyU2MOt1XVYFkzQjYrXdAYeCrgBthTfQy_qR4erj9WJSs4xtHKZAR_B1gNV0Qwp18J9/s320/IMG_7926.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div><em>The round-about at Independence Square with me taking a breather mid-pack.<br /></em><br />Two hours later than anticipated we are sent out to race with the typical first lap shenanigans. The road surface irregularities are painfully noticeable at 30mph - almost like a washboard with potholes thrown in to keep everyone alert. It is clear pretty early that many of the riders are fairly inexperienced with pack riding where maintaining a line is just as important as reacting calmly and predictably, and even more important than simply being fast. The bumps are painful to the wrists and bum, but riders weaving around them upredictably creates waves in the pack. Not even a mile is complete before the first crash occurs. The first rider to go down simply gets bucked by a bump hitting the deck in a tangle of scraping metal on pavement. A rider behind him swerves right into the adjacent open gutter and endos onto the sidewalk. Looked pretty bad. It takes a few laps before the high pace begins to thin the pack creating more room on the road. </div><div><br />Without a team to support, I was pretty much free to ride my own race. I would be thrilled to finish. Content to hang beyond half way. Happy to affect the outcome of the race somehow.<br />The two hour delay did not do me any real favors. On lap eight my hamstrings began to cramp signaling the end was near for me unless I could get liquids quickly. I guzzled the last of my three water bottles as a small gap opened between the pack and me. My last gasp chase attempt merely resulted in holding steady for a half lap before I pulled over to refill a bottle from SJD. I chased one more lap with another straggler until it was clear that we were losing ground rapidly. </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwz-e8rJisaq2098sxR3QLo74llkKPfRBV4Br78aHd3i6CgB5bGCzlH6jYurTiTXzf9wBa9J-9Rp1X3JmvUPqRGkkjcmgFA0qpmvfTYPiXsFNhmdlK0dSYVtseivdW5k0D3WmT/s1600-h/IMG_7932.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084038174507562322" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwz-e8rJisaq2098sxR3QLo74llkKPfRBV4Br78aHd3i6CgB5bGCzlH6jYurTiTXzf9wBa9J-9Rp1X3JmvUPqRGkkjcmgFA0qpmvfTYPiXsFNhmdlK0dSYVtseivdW5k0D3WmT/s200/IMG_7932.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br />Then out of nowhere I heard the familiar honka-honk-honk-honka of the Fan-Ice guy pedaling his ice-cooler bike full of frozen goodies towards me. I bought one Fan-choco and a one Tampico and faced the fact that I was cooked. It is probably the most shameful example of mental toughness, but frozen chocolate milk tasted sooooo good. Might as well ride back to the start/finish and watch from the sidelines as the rest of the race unfolded. It was a bit of a let down to race just 9 laps of 15 and all of a sudden not be able to turn over the cranks another rotation, but generally a good workout.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaAxyJ_EM8VhcyqgO-fjSQABJ1EG574qo7Mgk2biFPt0PpwdSpkFwggiqJdhEwRGmFr_7mpljBOSgmZ9r2-DZkn4lX7ChM-dUz_EHtI_BFKoXOclZwUFg3NsloEc5DST-AfxA/s1600-h/IMG_1141.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084097406401541538" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaAxyJ_EM8VhcyqgO-fjSQABJ1EG574qo7Mgk2biFPt0PpwdSpkFwggiqJdhEwRGmFr_7mpljBOSgmZ9r2-DZkn4lX7ChM-dUz_EHtI_BFKoXOclZwUFg3NsloEc5DST-AfxA/s200/IMG_1141.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div> </div><div>The view from the sideline was much more pleasant. With four laps to go the pack had been whittled down to a select group of ten racers still dropping the hammer up to the sprint finish. Local riders claimed the victory as well as second and third spots. All three racers were immediately hoisted upon the shoulders of the crowd for a heroes march back to the start/finish tent. I have never seen such an enthusiastic reaction from a bike race crowd like this. </div><br /><br /><div>The next day we read the coverage by the local papers and had a good laugh at the reference to the foreigners' fizzle . See below. Save your eyes and double click on the image for a larger view.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHNgDuAS_8BCu6Lu8EdfOKGs7RT5SIz7vVnDUlr-c9se_S6DdrdjuqKtZinGHsiE_UHEs2uhzU7qEZLfNaVRhxzhUOrYUFeYRtKSh11Rdcw9BmSBOMWobBTT0TudghlOrf8Wj/s1600-h/BCCC10001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084148185799882162" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHNgDuAS_8BCu6Lu8EdfOKGs7RT5SIz7vVnDUlr-c9se_S6DdrdjuqKtZinGHsiE_UHEs2uhzU7qEZLfNaVRhxzhUOrYUFeYRtKSh11Rdcw9BmSBOMWobBTT0TudghlOrf8Wj/s200/BCCC10001.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWn0nZgTVdzVoU8J8m5Tmyr6dRyefzE5U4Vz5FyBVK7R6trPXawq-yqbI7FjKk5CLdZ-76pbqUvhJzr9CKXttg6LOK0D5sxJVBjiHw6-vGNDQzkSbWqQtsjGGHs4gvgawCnOE/s1600-h/BCCC20001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084155036272719298" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWn0nZgTVdzVoU8J8m5Tmyr6dRyefzE5U4Vz5FyBVK7R6trPXawq-yqbI7FjKk5CLdZ-76pbqUvhJzr9CKXttg6LOK0D5sxJVBjiHw6-vGNDQzkSbWqQtsjGGHs4gvgawCnOE/s200/BCCC20001.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div></div><div>(Also, photo credits to SJD, and Dan & Giselle. Thanks!)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-33191944709757034862007-06-28T10:15:00.000+00:002007-07-03T11:22:45.227+00:00Bamboo bikes - part twoHere are a few days old photos of the actual bamboo bikes here in Accra. Notic that it is quite different from the racing bike pictured in the previous post. Take a peek.<br /><br /><a href="http://duck-rabbit.ldeo.columbia.edu/bamboo/Photos.html">Bamboo Bike Project</a> photos.<br /><br />SJD, Chris and I met Mr. Ho, Muter and Calfee for pizza and beer the night before their demonstration to learn more about their research and offer any ideas or assistance. There is always room for another bike at the D-P household. :-)<br /><br />We all rode the bike around Osu a few minutes. It really is an impressively simple design, but tough and rides very much like a normal bike.<br /><br />Sorry for all the "bike" posts lately.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-90423504239015231202007-06-23T22:45:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:24:58.461+00:00Ghana, bamboo and bikes.The following article appeared in the Los Angeles Times. Dan, from home forwarded it to me.<br /><br /><strong><em>Bamboo bike quite the offshoot</em></strong><br /><br /><br /><em>By J. Michael Kennedy, Times Staff Writer June 18, 2007<br /><br />Funny where an idea will take you. Ten years ago, Luna the dog — part pit bull and part Labrador retriever — was gnawing on a piece of bamboo growing behind Craig Calfee's bicycle shop outside Santa Cruz.On Sunday, Calfee was due to arrive in the West African nation of Ghana, intent on making bamboo bikes for the desperately poor. Chew toy to bicycle. Whimsy to good deed. Santa Cruz to Ghana.</em> More of the article <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-bamboo18jun18,0,7672267.story?coll=la-home-center">here</a>.<br /><em></em><br /><br /><br /><em></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wmHIzbg6ID0g9CCVwAkToFZN7Qjo2bp2RZ7cjgbCPwImDyk8ampIOVSZRK6HAvAHkDECA0tD1ttk3ryVaj8KMi7QoSoJO5DbBuVBk35amooXwa_0PcNfWkHB5606CLrEZ0WN/s1600-h/NewBamboo.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079397883687910018" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wmHIzbg6ID0g9CCVwAkToFZN7Qjo2bp2RZ7cjgbCPwImDyk8ampIOVSZRK6HAvAHkDECA0tD1ttk3ryVaj8KMi7QoSoJO5DbBuVBk35amooXwa_0PcNfWkHB5606CLrEZ0WN/s320/NewBamboo.png" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />The Calfee bamboo bike image <a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.calfeedesign.com/pages/images/NewBamboo.png&imgrefurl=http://www.calfeedesign.com/pages/bamboolarge.php&amp;h=529&w=671&sz=718&hl=en&start=3&um=1&amp;tbnid=xe7AII8CGlCTnM:&tbnh=109&tbnw=138&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcalfee%2Bbamboo%2Bbike%26svnum%3D10%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26rls%3DGGLR,GGLR:2006-38,GGLR:en">here.</a><br /><br />So, SJD and I will likely meet Mr. Calfee and his group tomorrow afternoon to chat about Ghana, bamboo and bikes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-58109333801426375382007-06-21T09:24:00.000+00:002007-06-21T12:02:24.916+00:00Cycling competition to mark Republic Day<em>There is some speculation whether or not the Ghana contingent of the <a href="http://www.dcmtb.com/">DCMTB/City-Bikes</a> squad remembers how to go fast and hold a line enough to participate, but the invitation has been extended anyways. - BEP</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Cross posted from <a href="http://www.ghanaweb.com/">http://www.ghanaweb.com</a></em><br /><br /><strong>Cycling competition to mark Republic Day</strong><br /><br />Accra, June 19, GNA - About 78 cyclists drawn from nine Clubs in the Greater Accra Region and neighbouring countries, Cote D'Ivoire, Togo and Burkina Faso will compete for honours in a cycling championship race on July 1, as part of activities marking Ghana's Republic Day Anniversary.The competition under the sponsorship of Bahmed Travel and Tours with a sponsored of over 50 millions cedis which is tagged "Bahmed Challenge Cup" will cover a 115 kilometre criterion race. The race according to the organisers will commence at the Osu Mobile Filling station and take cyclists through Jokers Night Club, Labadi with the Independence Square as the termination point. Among the participating Clubs are All Stars, Dome Cycling Club, Quick Step, Nippon, City Migro, Fire Bunch, Gutten Cycling Club, Young Stars and River Park.Briefing the press in Accra On Tuesday, Mr Albert Oku, Executive Member of the Greater Accra Cycling Association (GACA) said the championship is part of their effort to revive the sport in the Region and the country as a whole.Mr Oku said cyclists competing in the All Africa Games will also use the opportunity to prepare for the pan African event. The Executive Member said 18 cyclists from Togo, Burkina Faso and Cote D'Ivoire have confirmed their participation in the event with the rest of the majority cyclists drawn from nine Clubs in the Region to sum up the list of participants.Mr Oku expressed the hope that the competition will be the first step in bringing the sport out of the doldrums and create more participation from the public.Alhaji Ahmed Bandoh, Chief Executive Officer of Bahmed Travel and Tours called on stakeholders to make cycling a national sport by encouraging the youth to take up cycling. He said his organisation hopes to encourage mass participation in the sport since the sport has been identified as a leisure sport and is an easy and cheap means of transportation in the country. The competition will see the winner pocketing four million cedis and a racing bike, with the first runner up taking home three million cedis and a 24-inch colour television, whilst the second runner up will receive 2.5 million cedis and a 24 inch colour television.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33421356.post-16270551708494290732007-06-10T17:07:00.000+00:002008-11-13T03:25:00.221+00:00On the roadThe natural scenery driving from Mole to Nkwanta via Yendi gets a tad monotonous after the 100th mile on a dirt road through the flat scrub but luckily the people along the way keep things interesting. We were amazed, amused, and periodically alarmed at the views out the window. <div><div><br /><div>As you get farther north in Ghana, bikes seem to be the equivalent of the family car. We often saw Mom, Dad and a child or two on a single bike. </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzXU4R2neJ-DL11a_nB95qJH6xamoNqqbmY1rN5GwpDEFssh-DW4TIVhudoZGIimeuUrQGx1ZaSKCN61Cc3I0w_8XbZVvaYuO064oUK-CWjefxSXKZdN8yP4_6MUo02mEV7nW/s1600-h/IMG_0969.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074488598629628306" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzXU4R2neJ-DL11a_nB95qJH6xamoNqqbmY1rN5GwpDEFssh-DW4TIVhudoZGIimeuUrQGx1ZaSKCN61Cc3I0w_8XbZVvaYuO064oUK-CWjefxSXKZdN8yP4_6MUo02mEV7nW/s320/IMG_0969.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUiTm7z_BsSpvXj1ZgUZXX-GNlFmr0rkQf3qslk0HZLp2bo8vImlLLoVk8kW_wz6CAzh65kzJWWhyUoR3LUB8a6PcD3_JDrSYKK_H3qd2pJBPOaDVe90_UHhN6edS51hPbGK1M/s1600-h/a+ride+to+church.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074488602924595618" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUiTm7z_BsSpvXj1ZgUZXX-GNlFmr0rkQf3qslk0HZLp2bo8vImlLLoVk8kW_wz6CAzh65kzJWWhyUoR3LUB8a6PcD3_JDrSYKK_H3qd2pJBPOaDVe90_UHhN6edS51hPbGK1M/s320/a+ride+to+church.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>The young boy above was picking up odd jobs at Mole with his sister in the basket... The elegantly clad ladies on the backs of the bikes seem to magically stay clean. We think they were headed to church. </div><br /><div></div><div></div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZjTSeiS6hcrjf92821KiDQGfG_MIJU_UKO1_Fzq3CrIkz4ZLdw15qAMBHA6JkoNowezDYerho1GL8pqCUgsOCUflNlV0PeBkQ86g-f0mwpt_C9KGXpdRN5uwVL8-0AcdFRN5/s1600-h/man+bike+bundles.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074490952271706594" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZjTSeiS6hcrjf92821KiDQGfG_MIJU_UKO1_Fzq3CrIkz4ZLdw15qAMBHA6JkoNowezDYerho1GL8pqCUgsOCUflNlV0PeBkQ86g-f0mwpt_C9KGXpdRN5uwVL8-0AcdFRN5/s320/man+bike+bundles.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8xAHLOuB0u9fq9jFxls42j3YkrOly2VBI6uHQ2Prb9uXJknFMXO4rWln0RLan1yJyC05xMTYkIi7rPj9LWX54PAFfKIqlNfi8RGw2b0kZjcXWNp6WkVhv3g14GjdfKwX3nJz/s1600-h/woman+with+wood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074490956566673938" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8xAHLOuB0u9fq9jFxls42j3YkrOly2VBI6uHQ2Prb9uXJknFMXO4rWln0RLan1yJyC05xMTYkIi7rPj9LWX54PAFfKIqlNfi8RGw2b0kZjcXWNp6WkVhv3g14GjdfKwX3nJz/s320/woman+with+wood.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><div>Above - a dapper looking fellow with his big load and a woman who can't manage to stay on the bike but at least she gets to roll the load instead of the usual head-carry method.<br /></div><div>Tro-tros and cargo trucks are loaded seemingly beyond the point of no return. Here are a few </div></div><div>we managed to catch through the front window...<br /></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PzCbh0Ba2FcOZCZoXu-2NMK9Vth4vBvfZ87qP25EeiWeJmyD7vIFRC5wxSBS3QSQsleHSNuEMOiJXa9IBffMLuMJrC5D_S0S6f5GimvaojdmOBIolfWAJY3zjQ8ujn-ruWW0/s1600-h/topped+up.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074490960861641250" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PzCbh0Ba2FcOZCZoXu-2NMK9Vth4vBvfZ87qP25EeiWeJmyD7vIFRC5wxSBS3QSQsleHSNuEMOiJXa9IBffMLuMJrC5D_S0S6f5GimvaojdmOBIolfWAJY3zjQ8ujn-ruWW0/s320/topped+up.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9V_Xrc6jmRUqxuZZB3Rddm1bWZ5SnstyChh55puhjz4OP5jLbvlo3rI0tAjN9wmHqgp1hys0hQaYwpZ-sR8kXXB6t18N2regMViVrK8SOeKxoEOuFu09NAqMcxGHC1_Y8bgMp/s1600-h/IMG_1031.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074488607219562946" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9V_Xrc6jmRUqxuZZB3Rddm1bWZ5SnstyChh55puhjz4OP5jLbvlo3rI0tAjN9wmHqgp1hys0hQaYwpZ-sR8kXXB6t18N2regMViVrK8SOeKxoEOuFu09NAqMcxGHC1_Y8bgMp/s320/IMG_1031.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKLZSlvjbZixp6d40EbYrkLLmXtNlzyhepBvR-Uv2AaNgF54ncht25YArC1Slgyy-rEkPeqvaLKKZee3VQ7Qc3Rf1QLcb4i7LW24RBqN2AOKwardh434nCTtUaoEfCaBXC6xc/s1600-h/IMG_1021.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074488607219562930" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKLZSlvjbZixp6d40EbYrkLLmXtNlzyhepBvR-Uv2AaNgF54ncht25YArC1Slgyy-rEkPeqvaLKKZee3VQ7Qc3Rf1QLcb4i7LW24RBqN2AOKwardh434nCTtUaoEfCaBXC6xc/s320/IMG_1021.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGC6Ado_c6JR__miOAnnLJqa_mOFwH5yHEOZipcQTNpxtBZcllIl8kVx40lc70WfntJcfZPH04YcOfYZtlvj1BmsMpguejAn6ZzIJE-bXSAPI2k9RJpHRTNDS5fmg6wIFSdGm/s1600-h/overturned+bus+-+no+visible+injuries.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074490952271706610" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGC6Ado_c6JR__miOAnnLJqa_mOFwH5yHEOZipcQTNpxtBZcllIl8kVx40lc70WfntJcfZPH04YcOfYZtlvj1BmsMpguejAn6ZzIJE-bXSAPI2k9RJpHRTNDS5fmg6wIFSdGm/s320/overturned+bus+-+no+visible+injuries.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>Oddly, it's the one that looks most roadworthy that was upended on the side of the road. As we approached, we had a sick feeling that we were going to see a bloody scene but there seemed to be no evidence of injury or panic. Our guess is that the bus may have had a minor mishap (e.g., drove into the ditch) and the "helpful" crowd that always materializes in Ghana most likely caused the somersault as they tried to rock it out... Maybe the bus was swerving around some cows who frequently cross all manner of roads -- dirt tracks and highways alike. </div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnkDA8XsTbW4I0CKpKQtJli4R3O-qrpN47MgbvXszZDt29NktSKQXau-CQPEKLd4xZL0R4jFHT-FErKUwcAfmgXus0z-pMpxFedgUTRkO6RRaBoGZFEXSbMK1ufr8a2zpJiop/s1600-h/cows+crossing.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074488620104464850" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnkDA8XsTbW4I0CKpKQtJli4R3O-qrpN47MgbvXszZDt29NktSKQXau-CQPEKLd4xZL0R4jFHT-FErKUwcAfmgXus0z-pMpxFedgUTRkO6RRaBoGZFEXSbMK1ufr8a2zpJiop/s320/cows+crossing.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>Of course, the old stand-by head-carry is always an option.<br /></div><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDqSyTa4qc3UynLI9XAC3wHUdDFTcaR1RSn3y9tGKHqw0xaD1NplRBlkKTUMhhFbMhXULoEa0nQoJLcHd1btV_z38B-_p60PMX1rhWzeS1bldpV7hfOCyk40OlxKnzzbcxETR/s1600-h/IMG_1033.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074493314503719474" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPDqSyTa4qc3UynLI9XAC3wHUdDFTcaR1RSn3y9tGKHqw0xaD1NplRBlkKTUMhhFbMhXULoEa0nQoJLcHd1btV_z38B-_p60PMX1rhWzeS1bldpV7hfOCyk40OlxKnzzbcxETR/s320/IMG_1033.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetqW0yuuBHcrvdD2iu5cmiAtG03YKbe6H3yIs1DugoxEv7J-gfGFPTSPOzpdE9nO5jUogmOrQvHgHo8HB3SzAhUQ5G2ANeSRaK2c1EfLW6sthHZBXgbIYC3E9K4giHHTdV8N1/s1600-h/young+girls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074495109800049218" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetqW0yuuBHcrvdD2iu5cmiAtG03YKbe6H3yIs1DugoxEv7J-gfGFPTSPOzpdE9nO5jUogmOrQvHgHo8HB3SzAhUQ5G2ANeSRaK2c1EfLW6sthHZBXgbIYC3E9K4giHHTdV8N1/s320/young+girls.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><div>It's a little sad to see such little ones carrying heavy loads, even if they do manage a welcoming smile as we pass. At least the bath looks like fun -- until the thought of waterborne disease comes to mind.</div><div></div><div>. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7reLeyE9MyFAG95kW9k90gKoDT0Ifz-Od_Rz1vkzBa-59cKG8vHcdrpkjole9AA7arvGHVLICIaXGrYNzJg73KQX7kLL1x3H4U0Q1pLxpMXD7THoqwIDekCGEsjgXpNLe_nch/s1600-h/boys+in+river.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074496458419780178" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7reLeyE9MyFAG95kW9k90gKoDT0Ifz-Od_Rz1vkzBa-59cKG8vHcdrpkjole9AA7arvGHVLICIaXGrYNzJg73KQX7kLL1x3H4U0Q1pLxpMXD7THoqwIDekCGEsjgXpNLe_nch/s320/boys+in+river.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0