Just keep pedaling...

To celebrate one of our teammate’s birthdays, 8 of us transported ourselves past the acres upon acres of green tea fields in Kericho, along a bumpy road (and when I say bumpy, I mean bumpy... we were airborne for the majority of the journey and I was two bumps away from losing my breakfast) to the deep cut, spectacular Rift Valley. A brief stop in Nakuru (near Lake Nakuru where thousands of flamingos apparently wade in the water and rhinos crash through the surrounding forest... I’ll save it for another journey), and we moved on to the final destination, Lake Naivasha. It was significantly more arid on this side of the Rift Valley. After some exciting sightings of baboons and zebras, the bus dropped us in what seemed to be a petrol station in the middle of nowhere. Upon further investigation, we determined that our hunches were right. We stocked up on some water and bread for breakfast, and then inquired after the nearest matatu station that could take us to Lake Naivasha. We were directed down the road, but after many unsuccessful attempts to wave down matatus that were already obviously bursting at the seams with overcrowding, I casually suggested hitchhiking (sorry Mom and Dad). I will not fume too much about the number of wazungus that ignored us in their comfortable rented SUVs and Jeeps, but instead will attend focus to the kind Kenyan driver and passenger, Joseph, in a safari-jeep who picked us up and drove us on to Naivasha town for no charge. Joseph was in tourism for Lake Nakuru so he did his best to convince us to visit at a later date. They dropped us at a matatu station, where they helped us bargain for our safe transport to our accommodations on the lake, and when the price was still stuck too high, Joseph paid the difference of 250/=KSH, despite our many protests.

We arrived to our bandas without a hitch and after a steep climb dropped off our bags and went in search of food. We found a restaurant full of wazungus (all of the ones who passed us while we were struggling on the highway), and we stared them all down as we took our seats and adjusted our budgets to the high wazungu menu prices. Penne Arrabiata is delicious after weeks of bland, tasteless food, trust me. Then I slept.

Partway through the night I awoke to the sounds of a giant rat family tearing open my backpack and eating my bread. After I fully awoke, I listened closer and decided that it was actually someone digging, trying to break in to the banda. I couldn’t decide which scenario was more terrifying. I woke up my roommates, and one was brave enough to reach her hand out of the mosquito net to pass me her headlamp. Before I turned it on, I saw a large dark figure pass by our window. Panicked for our safety, I jumped to the window and looked outside. I came face to butt with..... a cow. Eating grass.

The next morning was an early rise to begin our bicycle safari in Hell’s Gate National Park. The ride was pleasant at first, winding through rock cuts and savannahs with our eyes peeled for wildlife. We first spotted a dazzle of zebras, closely followed by a sounder of warthogs (.... which turn out to be much larger than I pictured in my head and a lot less cartoony than Pumba), and herds of impalas and Thomson gazelles. We took a bit of a detour to see an obsidian cave, with oversized, glass-like, black volcanic rock, and then spotted our first giraffe which triggered squeals of delight. After this sighting we discovered why the name of the park is Hell’s Gate. We got slightly turned around and wound up on an unmarked trail that brought us up a sandy, dirt hill to the top of the park. It gave us great views of the surrounding mountains, lakes and grasslands, but on the way back down, three took nasty spills over their handlebars. Allison and I had sped down the hill ahead of the group so while we waited for them, we inched close to another dazzle of zebras and a warthog family. When the rest of the group arrived, we assessed injuries and decided to continue along the real trail we had just met up with. Unfortunately, another spotting of two giraffes and more zebras did not make the next 5 kms of intense uphill (with no flat breaks) any easier. Walking and pushing the bicycles was even a struggle. When we finally arrived, exhausted at the top, we had lunch at a beautiful lookout of the entire park listening to the loud puffs of steam from the geothermal stations rising into the air amongst trees, hills and grasslands with vultures circling overhead... waiting for us to collapse no doubt.

After the fast road down and another teammate bailing, we came to a crossroads where half of the team decided to head home while the other half of us decided to push on to see the gorge. It was getting late – already 4pm, so we had to hurry if we wanted to make it out of the park by dark. The four of us spotted a family of baboons along the way, and got scared back on to our bicycles when the very large male began to lumber towards us.

The gorge was spectacular. It was a few kilometres deep with tall sandy walls on either side of us that had been carved away by an ancient water flow. As the sun was setting, it sent shadows dancing on the side of the gorge’s walls, and we challenged our climbing skills clambering up and down steep rock faces along the now dry river bed. Our guide, Joseph, was encouraging, and helped ‘hold our feet’ so that they didn’t skid on the slippery, narrow, sandy steps below them. We spotted the baboons cave, and were able to orient ourselves to what was above outside of the gorge to realize that the baboons we saw were the likely residents of this location. We stopped briefly to soak our hands and wash our faces in a steaming hot-spring, and then faced a steep climb up a sandy ridge (yes, I was slightly terrified, as I have had reoccurring nightmares about this very scenario) where, I swear, I closed my eyes at a few spots and just hoped for the best with my footing.

Safe at the top at the entrance to the gorge, we passed a group of Chinese engineers who were returning from their work in the geothermal station. We then sussed out the precarious situation we were in... our bicycles waiting for us against a tree, 7.2 kms to bike, and only 20 minutes of daylight left. Joseph wound up escorting us back through the park on a borrowed bicycle, as he was worried about the chance of us being trampled to death by a herd of buffalo... something not unheard of in the park. We set out and were pleasantly surprised at the amount of animals who had come out to feed at sunset, and who very boldly (and boredly) stared at us as we passed. We were meters away from zebras, impalas, warthogs (in fact, I nearly hit one), and the now terrifying buffaloes. When the full darkness hit us, it became a bit more nerve-racking. We stuck together in a group and cycled our little legs off. Sensing dark shapes up ahead, I casually asked Joseph if they were buffaloes. Panic-stricken, he shouted for one of the girls ahead to stop. He then proceeded to cycle at top speed towards the buffaloes, ringing his bell and waving the white shirt he had removed from his back. We saw that the herd had been split across the road, and the remaining 8 buffalo on the right side were now running to cross the road to reunite with their friends. With no fear, Joseph stood straddling his bike and waving his shirt while he motioned for us to go ahead. We asked if we should keep going, to which he replied “keep going straight, they’re looking at us”. We pedaled as fast as we could. Our adrenaline was still shooting through us when we finally made it to the entrance of the park.

That night I drank 3 litres of water and ate a delicious spicy bean burger and fries. I could have eaten two.