Day 142
Sleeping location: Family compound, 12.19N 39.53E, Ethiopia
Distance (km today/total): 88 / 10711
Estimated climb (m today/total): 800 / 72800
Mountain completed: 13/42km
Distance (km today/total): 88 / 10711
Estimated climb (m today/total): 800 / 72800
Mountain completed: 13/42km
Day in three words: A generous climb
We both slept atrociously due to a combination of a nearby disco and the room absolutely teeming with mosquitos. This culminated in me going on a 3am rampage with a flip flop, during which I killed seven of the little bastards but still missed loads. The music stopped around 4am, having played for about six hours without once altering the beat. The music production software they use here must be a trial version with only limited drum samples. In the morning we made lots of bathroom coffee in an attempt to wake up, and got away for 9am. On the way out of town we stopped to get some bananas and a man tried to “take” a “photo” of us with a phone that clearly did not have a camera on it.
The morning’s cycling was very nice, across a flat plain with a slight downhill trend and the odd gradual bump to keep things interesting. There was lots of lush agriculture and mountains in the distance to supply constantly good views. Due to the rubbish sleep I was in the mood for some personal space, so I put both earphones in* and put on Frances the Mute by the Mars Volta, which I hadn’t listened to in years and had a great time reacquainting myself with**. There were three small incidents of note along here:
-A fly somehow went up my NOSE, which was as gross as it sounds
-We went through a village with the amazing name of Kukufutu
-I terrified a camel, which ran away and terrified its camel friends, which terrified me as they flailed their silly limbs and necks around me. The first camel then shot me the dirtiest look you can imagine as I rode away
We had lunch in the quite big town of Almata, where Rebecca and I got confused and accidentally both ordered spaghetti at two different cafes. My cafe had a nice man called Seko who spoke very good English, and we struck up a conversation about our trip, then his guesthouse, then religion. As he left he told me that I was his guest and he had taken care of my lunch, the absolute legend.
The next 20km was fairly nondescript grassland, some of which weirdly reminded me of Strensall Common in Yorkshire. The best bit was having a bike race with a kid who was wearing a football shirt with “Pogba 6” written on the back with black marker; the G was backwards for maximum adoreableness. Just before we left the main road we left Tigray region and entered Amhara; we had been in Tigray since we arrived in Ethiopia and it had been a great introduction to the country. And then we arrived at the moment of truth: the turnoff to the biggest climb either of us had ever attempted by far, 2000m from bottom to top. We knew the gradients, the distances, the elevations, but what we didn’t know was the surface. Komoot said asphalt, Chris in Mekele said dirt. Chris was right. This was going to be tough.
Initially it was good dirt, not too bumpy, slow but not too slow. We climbed gradually then suddenly launched into a series of very tight, very steep switchbacks, which frequently left me right on the edge of losing traction. From here it got more and more rutted, alternating small downhills with lots of steep climbing sections as we made our way up the rugged green foothills. It was all rideable unless I had to emergency unclip from my pedals, at which point it often was too steep and dusty to get riding again and I had to push. Memories of the hell of Albania started to haunt me. Rebecca was finding it even more difficult as her front panniers were broken and kept falling off on the bumpy sections. It was very quiet and we mostly just had to share the track with the odd cow, including one which was proudly licking its penis right in the middle of it. I assumed it was sufficiently occupied and crept around the back of it. After 9km we came to a “village” and lots of people appeared out of the fields to stare at me whilst I waited for Rebecca whilst doing the crossword. After some hellos we all just hung out in silence for ages, but they seemed quite nice.
By now it was clear that there would be no hotels on this road so we were going to have to camp, wild or otherwise, but it was going to be tricky to find flat ground that wasn’t someone’s field. Close to sunset, having done 13km in 3hrs, we came to a small collection of huts and asked some kids via mime if there was anywhere to sleep around here. They shouted and a young woman appeared in a nearby compound and mimed that we could come inside (after the usual “what the hell are you” stares had been made). They spoke as much English as we did Amharic, but they were nice and offered us a space in their bedroom/chicken coop/storeroom hut. We didn’t want to impose so we identified a flat(ish) patch of ground and said we’d sleep there in the tent, although we had to literally erect the tent before they understood what we meant. After this they were absolutely lovely to us, giving us some sugar cane to chew on***, injera with lentils and finally some of this horrible fermented milk/yoghurt thing with a weird smoky taste and loads of slimy lumps in it. We, or more accurately I, as Rebecca shirked her duty here, drank down both big glasses in an attempt to be polite, which seemed to go down well. They had an adorable baby goat which Rebecca made eyes at, prompting the older woman to jokingly make a throat slitting gesture followed by an eating gesture; thankfully the little cutey was spared and spent a happy hour frolicking around our panniers. We went to bed early with the noises of sleeping cows, goats, chickens and humans all around us. Definitely one of the most memorable places I’ve slept on this trip.
*And judiciously checked my rear view mirror of course mum
**Two days previous I had done the same with their first album and done a dangerous amount of air drumming to the opening track
***Think wood, but sweet. Personally I don’t see the appeal
We both slept atrociously due to a combination of a nearby disco and the room absolutely teeming with mosquitos. This culminated in me going on a 3am rampage with a flip flop, during which I killed seven of the little bastards but still missed loads. The music stopped around 4am, having played for about six hours without once altering the beat. The music production software they use here must be a trial version with only limited drum samples. In the morning we made lots of bathroom coffee in an attempt to wake up, and got away for 9am. On the way out of town we stopped to get some bananas and a man tried to “take” a “photo” of us with a phone that clearly did not have a camera on it.
The morning’s cycling was very nice, across a flat plain with a slight downhill trend and the odd gradual bump to keep things interesting. There was lots of lush agriculture and mountains in the distance to supply constantly good views. Due to the rubbish sleep I was in the mood for some personal space, so I put both earphones in* and put on Frances the Mute by the Mars Volta, which I hadn’t listened to in years and had a great time reacquainting myself with**. There were three small incidents of note along here:
-A fly somehow went up my NOSE, which was as gross as it sounds
-We went through a village with the amazing name of Kukufutu
-I terrified a camel, which ran away and terrified its camel friends, which terrified me as they flailed their silly limbs and necks around me. The first camel then shot me the dirtiest look you can imagine as I rode away
We had lunch in the quite big town of Almata, where Rebecca and I got confused and accidentally both ordered spaghetti at two different cafes. My cafe had a nice man called Seko who spoke very good English, and we struck up a conversation about our trip, then his guesthouse, then religion. As he left he told me that I was his guest and he had taken care of my lunch, the absolute legend.
The next 20km was fairly nondescript grassland, some of which weirdly reminded me of Strensall Common in Yorkshire. The best bit was having a bike race with a kid who was wearing a football shirt with “Pogba 6” written on the back with black marker; the G was backwards for maximum adoreableness. Just before we left the main road we left Tigray region and entered Amhara; we had been in Tigray since we arrived in Ethiopia and it had been a great introduction to the country. And then we arrived at the moment of truth: the turnoff to the biggest climb either of us had ever attempted by far, 2000m from bottom to top. We knew the gradients, the distances, the elevations, but what we didn’t know was the surface. Komoot said asphalt, Chris in Mekele said dirt. Chris was right. This was going to be tough.
Initially it was good dirt, not too bumpy, slow but not too slow. We climbed gradually then suddenly launched into a series of very tight, very steep switchbacks, which frequently left me right on the edge of losing traction. From here it got more and more rutted, alternating small downhills with lots of steep climbing sections as we made our way up the rugged green foothills. It was all rideable unless I had to emergency unclip from my pedals, at which point it often was too steep and dusty to get riding again and I had to push. Memories of the hell of Albania started to haunt me. Rebecca was finding it even more difficult as her front panniers were broken and kept falling off on the bumpy sections. It was very quiet and we mostly just had to share the track with the odd cow, including one which was proudly licking its penis right in the middle of it. I assumed it was sufficiently occupied and crept around the back of it. After 9km we came to a “village” and lots of people appeared out of the fields to stare at me whilst I waited for Rebecca whilst doing the crossword. After some hellos we all just hung out in silence for ages, but they seemed quite nice.
By now it was clear that there would be no hotels on this road so we were going to have to camp, wild or otherwise, but it was going to be tricky to find flat ground that wasn’t someone’s field. Close to sunset, having done 13km in 3hrs, we came to a small collection of huts and asked some kids via mime if there was anywhere to sleep around here. They shouted and a young woman appeared in a nearby compound and mimed that we could come inside (after the usual “what the hell are you” stares had been made). They spoke as much English as we did Amharic, but they were nice and offered us a space in their bedroom/chicken coop/storeroom hut. We didn’t want to impose so we identified a flat(ish) patch of ground and said we’d sleep there in the tent, although we had to literally erect the tent before they understood what we meant. After this they were absolutely lovely to us, giving us some sugar cane to chew on***, injera with lentils and finally some of this horrible fermented milk/yoghurt thing with a weird smoky taste and loads of slimy lumps in it. We, or more accurately I, as Rebecca shirked her duty here, drank down both big glasses in an attempt to be polite, which seemed to go down well. They had an adorable baby goat which Rebecca made eyes at, prompting the older woman to jokingly make a throat slitting gesture followed by an eating gesture; thankfully the little cutey was spared and spent a happy hour frolicking around our panniers. We went to bed early with the noises of sleeping cows, goats, chickens and humans all around us. Definitely one of the most memorable places I’ve slept on this trip.
*And judiciously checked my rear view mirror of course mum
**Two days previous I had done the same with their first album and done a dangerous amount of air drumming to the opening track
***Think wood, but sweet. Personally I don’t see the appeal
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