Some days just ain’t worth a good goddamn, and they often let you know it right up front. So it was for me today. It was a harmless enough plan: Having replaced my destroyed front tire with a new, super-rugged rally tire, I just wanted to go for a quick zip to see how she holds corners and eats stones. The Universe had other plans. Not 200 meters into the dirt from the tarmac, I crashed.

Above: Lovely day for a ride
It was a stupid one. Shouldn’t have happened. That’s how you know it’s gonna hurt. I was zipping along and hammered on the rear brake as I often do. This time, though, I hit too hard and the bike stalled. No matter, right? Just pull the clutch and drop it again. Alas. I pulled it in, dropped it, and kept right on skidding, but by now I was mostly sideways and was rapidly approaching a berm that did a nice job of pitching me headfirst down the road. Gravity, not wanting to miss out on the fun, did an even better job of returning my ass to earth. I landed superman style with a “whooompforfucksake!” and my wee little pinky-winky took one for the team, bending in an unnatural direction on an embedded stone to slow my slide. Cheers, mate, cheers.

Above: Scene of the accident. It’s all harmless enough terrain, but I’d wager more bikers have crashed on this section of dirt than any other outside an MX track in Kenya. You’re fresh off the tar, full of piss and beans and ready to measure your cock. Well, be careful, ‘cause you might squash your pinky instead.
Annoyed, I dusted myself off and commenced straightening my handlebars. Because I was kitted up, I had not so much as a scratch anywhere but the aforementioned pinky, and he didn’t seem to be broken, so I was chuffed. Bike didn’t care I fell, just stood there passing judgement like a damn aluminum horse while I cussed and fussed.
Anyway, on with the rest of the mess. I took off again and had a nice time of it for a while. The Ngong hills were wearing a very cool wisp of cloud, not unlike Trump’s toupee only more natural looking, and the air was cool.


Above: The Ngongs and their cloudveil comb-over
I took my usual track. It has a bit of everything. Loose stones, stuck stones, sand, lateral washouts, vertical ruts, quick stuff, slow stuff etc. On a whim, I turned down a track I hadn’t seen before and was pleased to find a nice pond at the bottom with some big, welcoming, shady acacias.

Above: My new Mitas felt pretty good. I was ready to open up a bit after the short rest

Above: “Welcoming acacias”… hmmm. In case anyone doubts the thorn situation in Kenya… this is my rear tire (which, yes, should find a new home… it was like riding on marbles). Glad it went in sideways.

Above: Not sure if this is an actual reservoir, or just a consequence of our recent, abnormally heavy rainy season, but it was a nice spot.

Above: Happy biker, ready for the rest of the day…
After a little rest, I started back up the road (the track dead-ended into a military firing range) and immediately heard the characteristic “tink, TINK, twaaang” of a dead front tire. Fun fact: Zero PSI = Zero Bar = Zero Kpa fafaksake. Again, this should be no big deal except for two things: 1) I was running Nuetech TuBliss, which meant if the tire was totally flat, I was in for a faff and 2) that pinky of mine was purple and throbbing, so it was going to be no joyful event in any case. Anyway, long story short, I got stuck in, found my Zen and replaced the TuBliss with a tube (last TuBliss I use up front… I’m going to have to try mousses sadly). I felt my good juju was outflanked and outgunned by the day’s bad juju, so I suited back up and bee-lined it for home.

Above: At least it was kinda shady

Above: The face of a former TuBliss customer: Second time the little inner tube’s valve stem has been cut. I don’t doubt it could be user error, but I could give a rat’s ass. I’m done with them. Too expensive for partial, unreliable benefit.
The silver lining in my aborted solo ride was that back home my boy Panic was free to hear my tale of woe over lunch and a beer at the neighborhood choma joint.


Above: White Cap, Purple Pinky
And you know, at the end of it all, the old adage is still true: Even a shit day of riding beats a good day at work!
