Hello everyone. My introduction to the bicycle tour has been "luxurious" according to the cyclists who have been along since Cairo. I arrived in Nairobi, Kenya, a day ahead of the group and stayed 2 nights in a beautiful, secure hotel. Even the campsite I moved to on the third night to be with the group was 4-star compared to most of the other places they had stayed, they tell me.

Then, Thursday morning (3/18) we all left together about 7:30 at a moderate pace so police could halt rush hour traffic for us. Usually the riders who are actually racing this thing head out first on a timer and the others follow at widely varying paces. This means you have individual bikers battling for space on narrow roads with lawlessness that makes Roosevelt Boulevard look tame. Since Nairobi is the capital the roads there are also pretty smooth.

So how did I do on my first day?

I was nervous as heck as I packed up all my gear that morning. Since I was so focused on being ready on time I missed breakfast, served promptly at 6:30 and gone by 6:40. So instead of porridge (which no one calls a real treat anyway) I had one of the many protein bars I brought from home.

Daily riding distance is determined by road conditions (paved, rocky, dirt, sand) and terrain (mountainous, flat, etc.) So this day we did 169 kilometers (about 100 miles) because it was mostly flat. (As I winced on the inside, a few of the riders told me that was the most they'd been assigned in a day since smoth-sailing Egypt, so at least my nerves were founded.)

The first 15K we did together behind the police escort. Everyone had to stay together so cars wouldn't cut in. Rush hour in Nairobi looks like rush hour in any other major world city.

I was feeling so good in this cycle-cade of about 30, the sun just gloriously warming the air, me chatting it up with a few riders, marveling at the crowds this pack of helmeted spandex wearers constantly draws.

Then once out of town tour director Henry Gold started the clock and the racers disappeared. Moderates eased out of site. And the slowpokes (that would be me) picked up the rear.

A doctor named John Brewer rides about 15 miles an hour with his wife daily. But she was bent over sick that day so I rode with him instead. Having been over here in Africa on various excursions since September, he had great advice for me on how to greet the locals in Swahili, how to ease my soreness and pain while riding - and how not to get killed.

When I go up hills, for example. I tend to put my head down to focus on my movements and not the climb itself. But at first I wasn't looking far out enough ahead to see potholes or rickety trucks bearing down on us from the other direction.

At least while riding I remember more frequently that vehicles drive on the left. But in Nairobi I was constantly looking the wrong way and stepping into the street in front of speeding cars. I promise I am being more careful now.

The tour has two support trucks that carry all of our gear we don't need while riding. Of of those trucks goes all the way to the next town ahead of the cyclists. The other drives half the day's distance, parks and makes lunch. (The non-human speedsters are so fast they don't even stop for lunch. They're ar the next camp in 3 hours and change most times).

John and I reached the lunch truck about 50 miles in (and not dead last either, thank you very much). Everyone tells me my standards on pretty much everything - manners, personal hygiene particularly - will plummet as time goes along. So I was fixed with a dilemma as I looked at lunch sitting out on the table with the crew. Flies were on my sandwich like they had more right than me. Back home we know what to do with food that has flies on it. (But, frankly maybe we need to stop wasting).

I hesitated for about 3 seconds and scarfed down my two tomato-cheese sandwiches, pretending to eat around where the flies had been.

Lunch and time off the ass-killer of a seat really rejuvenated me. So I told John I'd try to do the second half. But we told the crew that as they passed, look at me to see if I'm giving the thumbs down, which means "Stop please. I am ready to die."

John and I set off. 5 miles in I tell him I better get on the truck as it passes. So a few minutes later he looks over his shoulder and says "Is that the truck?" I turn around and reply, "no, I don't think so." Seconds later the @#&%! truck zooms past us paying no heed to our frantic hand signals.

Luckily a man driving a car with government plates stops, tells us he is also heading to Namanga and asks if we want a ride. John asks him to tell the crew when he catches them to please come back for me. They did just that, ending my day 1 ride at 63 miles. Personal record, Henry kept teasing me.

Friday was hilly-er but shorter distance - 130K (about 80 miles). I did the first half again with John. Felt great except for a soreness you know where. Had the good sense to tell the crew at lunch I was getting on the truck after I ate. A super biker named Yuko Isuzu rode my bike the second half because she was having tire problems so that worked out for everyone.

Posted March 22, 2004 10:08 AM