Any normal driver treats a pothole in much the same way as a speedbump, slowing down carefully to gently roll over it. On a dirt bike it's a bit different. Ususally you gun the throttle and hope that gravity is feeling generous. If she is, then you'll soar over the top and land happily on the other side. If she's feeling mean, you'll receive a nutt-busting bump as penance for your bravado. But whether you're driving a car or riding a bike, the way to go over a pothole is straight. Or at least it should be. Not so in Uganda though. Most Ugandan drivers come from the homicidal school of motoring and prefer to brake harshly and swerve recklessly around potholes, sideswiping whoever might be in the other lane.
On one occasion I was following an articulated truck which suddenly slammed on its brakes and skidded to a halt. I just about crashed in to the back of it. Was there a child that had run out? A dog perhaps? Had a tree fallen over? No. There was a pothole and the driver was more concerned with his suspension than who might be following. If that were an isolated incident then it would hardly be worth mentioning here. But in Uganda, thanks to the insane minibus drivers, that sort of behaviour is the norm rather than the exception.
Fortunately the trials of the Ugandan roads were all worth it when we got to Mburo National Park. We arrived at night, as is usually the case, and there was a stretch of dirt road in front of us. But there was another more immediate challenge too. The headlight on Tyson’s bike was barely working - his electrical problems had returned yet again. But rather than camp near the road, our solution was to ride the 15 mile stretch to the lodge side-by-side with my headlight lighting the way for both of us. It was like a computer game - riding three feet off Tyson’s rear wheel - and like any computer game it had levels.
Level 1 – the ride to the lodge – was reasonably challenging on the rutted gravel, but Tyson and I managed to bump our way to the end without incident. Jerry on the other hand took a wrong turn, forcing us to go back to look for him and for Level 2. With the terrain now familiar we egged each other on to go faster, skidding round the corners and braking only for the occasional zebra crossing (that’s literally a zebra crossing the road). Having ridden all the way back to the park gates with no sign of Jerry, we turned back for Level 3. Even faster this time and standing up we nearly made it the entire way. Tyson did actually complete the game. But a slight twitch on my front wheel sent me sliding out on the final corner. I stopped the bike from skidding into the adjacent ditch, but because I was standing I failed to jump off in time to stop the bike from falling over. The bike toppled on to its side in a cartoonish slow motion fall. Gameover. Can I play again?
After the rangers had found Jerry, we pitched our tents on the shore of Lake Mburo, falling asleep to the sound of warthogs grunting outside our tents. The following morning we got up for a wildlife tour Team Canuk style. With our cameras dangling round our necks we rode through the park one-handed using the other hand to snap blurry pictures of zebra, impala and buffalo that would occasionally cross the road. We’d seen these animals just a few days before, but the experience was much more memorable on a bike. A motorcycle safari – how many people can say they’ve done that?
But the best was yet to come. Making our way further south in to the heart of Uganda the scenery turned from the mundane to the spectacular. Volcanic mountains jutted sharply in to the sky creating winding mountain roads around crisp blue lakes. Our destination was Kisoro and the Parc de Volcan – home of the gorillas in the mist.
It costs five hundred dollars to go gorilla tracking and only eight people are allowed to do it per day. You have to book months in advance to secure a place and even then double bookings can mean you don’t get to see the beautiful creatures at all. We had written off any hope of seeing the gorillas. We hadn't booked. Our calls earlier in the week had proved fruitless. But Tyson’s desire to see them – a childhood dream of his – was enough for us to go through the motions anyway. And what a good thing we did. Fortune shone on us and we managed to secure three places for the very next day. Unbelievable luck.
The mountain gorillas are found in the Impenetrable Forest – an area named for the endless shoots of bamboo that block your path. It’s a bit of a misnomer. Armed with a machete you can hack your way through it. But it’s an exhausting experience and one that makes finding the gorillas all the more rewarding.
The gorillas are visited everyday by the same guides and a different group of tourists. Usually there are eight tourists in each group, but in our group there were just four. Us three and an Australian pilot named Matt. More good luck.
If I were a gorilla that was visited by tourists everyday, I would occassionally want a day off. The gorillas seemed to be thinking the same thing, so they sent one of their number in one direction up the volcano while the rest of the group scarpered in the other. Our guides mistakenly followed the lone gorilla's track leading us on a six hour hike up Mount Gahinga.
By early afternoon, with only piles of gorilla dung and shoots of half eaten bamboo as encouragement, we were all starting to get a bit tired. But then, Matt turned around and passed on a message from the guide - 'they're up ahead' he said, 'we can smell them'. The thick ozzy accent could only be reminiscent of the late great Steve Irwin - a fitting character to be with us at such a time.
And sure enough, up ahead I caught my first glimpse of a black ball of fur rolling playfully down the hill. The guides were muttering their greeting call - a low nnnnnnnnn sound, which the gorillas interpreted as hello. Their response was a much deeper and slighty bored nnnnnnnnmm sound, as if to say 'not you again'.
There were eight gorillas in all. A couple of silverbacks, a few females and a baby. The mother with her baby only gave us a quick glance before heading off in to the thick brush, but the head Silverback - Big Mac - was more than happy to put on a show. Initially he was completely unbothered by our prescence, lying sleepily on his back, sunning his giant belly.
After a short while he got up. Obviously hungry, he wandered over to a shoot of bamboo and proceeded to pull down half the forest. Then he munched happily away, stripping vines with his teeth, occassionally giving us a glance to say, 'well, what are you looking at?'.
But Big Mac warmed to us and before long he was happily sitting just a few feet away. In fact, I think he liked the attention. All four of us were snapping pictures left, right and centre. Ever the showman, Big Mac got up from his spot about 8 metres away and wandered over to sit right in front of us. You're not supposed to get closer than 7 metres to the gorillas, but here was the biggest one of them all sitting just six feet away. Those intelligent orange eyes gleaming at us.
The hour we were allowed to spend with the beautiful beasts seemed to fly by in seconds. The experience was completely different from the safari in the Masai Mara. Much more engaging. The animals not only knew we were there, but they accepted us, and even looked upon us with interest. To answer my question from the previous blog - seeing the gorillas in the flesh was completely different from any image you see on TV. It's the proximity of the encounter. The connection you feel with the animals. Such a priveledge - I'd recommend it to anyone.
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