Let me out of here!

Saturday 15^th June

A typical village Mauritania style !

Wow, that was a day or parts; it threw just about everything at me from a gentle, cool start to sweltering heat and finished with a sand storm! In between, well, read on!

6am saw me up finishing my last bit of packing, taking advantage of a nice hot showerand ready for a 7 o’clock departure. Having paid Ursula & Martin last night I could escape just as the dawn broke. The morning air was pleasantly cool as I rode along the few kilometres along the track to the road. As is always the case this early in Africa, the street were already busy with people going about there business and kids getting off to school . I slipped unnoticed through the first police check point and then again at the next, hoping my luck would hold I took the new bypass around St Louis, evading about 3 further checks. Once out the far side of town and back onto the main road I could hardly believe my luck when the last check point appeared to unmanned. I didn’t hang about, just in case they were lurking in the shadows. Just before the turn for the Diama border crossing I stopped at a bakery and bought a nice fresh loaf of bread straight from the oven and rode off munching a piece of it.

Camping Saada, Northern Mauritanis last night's accommodation

I arrived at the border crossing and entered the police post with my documents, the policeman stamped them and passed them back “ Ten Euros” he said. “What for ?” said I. he repeated his “ten euros”.  “you give me receipt, I’ll give you ten euros” said I in my best English! He shrugged, I walked, trying my best to keep the smirk from my face. With a deep breath I crossed he road to the customs office. My sigh of relief must have been almost audible; my nemesis Moulay  must have still been in bed.. Yes: my cunning plan had worked, with hardly a glance at my passport it received the customs stamp and I was away and out of Senegal, although not before being parted from 5 euro by the gate keeper, Hell !,  fresh from my victory at the border I hardly even questioned it. Now for the Mauritanian side…  Police first, no problem, then customs, documents stamped passavante written out, “ten euros” came the cry once more. I had managed to grab each of my documents in turn as the customs officer had finished with them. “You give me receipt I give you ten euros” I tried again… reaching into his draw, he pulled out a couple of very scruffy photocopies of a blank receipt, damn he had called my bluff. I had one more ace though! I tossed him a 5 euro note and then emptied all the change from my pocket onto his desk. “ Paper” he said, “ I don’t have any more” I said, he smiled and slid the passavante across the desk.  Pushing my luck just a bit I asked for the receipt, he shook his head, “five euro, no receipt” he said, I laughed and headed back to the bike feeling as though I had just won a couple of small victories…

Better inside than it's looks from the outside...

And so to the Diama Piste! Now I’ve ridden along it five time now on a C90, but I must admit I was just a trifle worried about riding the heavy GS together with all it’s luggage through the soft sandy sections of the 100km Piste. On the C90 it’s great fun, on the GS it was “interesting” suffice it to say that I managed to stay upright all the way, inspite of a couple of “slaloms” across the road. Thankfully, as I was wearing the full protective kit, the weather stayed nice and cool, fresh even!  I heaved a sigh of relief when the tarmac main road appeared. I also saw more wild boar than on any of the previous runs, most of them with several young in tow. I stopped to eat some more bread washed down with luke warm water… nice! and I pushed on, having no Ouguiyas, buying any food or even fuel was a bit of a problem. I had some euros having changed some Senegal CFAs with Martin at the Zebrabar but I had a 100 euro note and knew I wouldn’t get a good rate at a garage or shop and also didn’t want to end up with lots of Ougulyas that I would have to change, however my tightness was to come back later to bite me. My 15 Euro bought me 10lts of fuel and I reckoned that on top of the full tank I has stared with should give me the 700km I needed to the border. What I had taken into account was the 100km of piste run mainly in low gears, and the heat which I’m sure reduced the mpg a bit. In fact I hit reserve at 600km about 50km after passing a fuel station…  

The fuel station also had a shop and so armed with a 5 euro note (my last) I tried to purchase a couple of cans of coke; I was getting a bit fed up with bread and water!  The shop, unusually,  wouldn’t accept the euros, but just as I was about to leave empty handed another customer insisted on buying them for me… another of those random acts of kindness! I thanks him as best I could in my appalling French and gratefully downed them both instantly; never has cold Coke tasted so good, and I rode on.  Then the weather suddenly changed, whilst it had been bright and sunny, the air had been relatively cool, probably no more than about 28c. Suddenly it was as though I had driven into an oven! So sharp was the rise in temperature that I actually stopped rather quickly thinking the bike was in flames under me!!! Having ridden in 46c in Greece last summer, I can only guess that it was now well into the 50s. I could hardly breath, my nostrils were being singed and my eyes were smarting from the sweat running down my face. Pleasant it was not!

To be continued… battery going flat!