Roof of Africa

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I felt weak and dizzy. As I staggered off my bike I realised I was at my limit. I put the bike on a big rock slab in the middle of the small stream (the sidestand had long since broken), and rested for a moment. It was the first place for miles that the track was flat enough or wide enough to stop without causing a log-jam of riders. I took off my helmet and dipped my head in the water. It felt good. I could almost feel my brain cooling down and starting to work again. I thought back over the last few hours - I had been in first gear for at least the last hour edging precariously along the off-camber sheep track that wound its way around the profile of the mountains. The scenery was stunning - utterley awe-inspiring - though you hardly dared look in case you missed a marker or strayed off-course. A little while back I had made the mistake of glancing at a huge waterfall way off in the distance, my footpeg clipped a rock, nudging the bike 6in to the left. That was all it needed to leave the safety of the track and begin to slip down the steep, boulder-strewn hillside. I threw myself and the bike to the ground before the situation worsened, and lucky for me I was going so slow it was still retrievable with a bit of pulling at the front strap on the fork yokes. In the 32-degree heat, these were the things that sapped your limited reserves of energy the most. A few minutes earlier as I crept along the 'trail' I had noticed something bright green off to my left. I stopped and looked down the steep embankment. There was a Kawasaki - upside down - about ten metres away in the rocks, almost at the edge of where the cliff disappeared vertically down to the river below. I shouted to see if the rider was okay, but there was no sound, other than the burble of my bike on tickover. I dared not turn it off as kicking it over again at this altitude was more effort than I could manage right now... All these things started to play on my mind as my head heated up again. I laid myself down in the cold water and let it soak through all my riding gear and fill my boots. I crawled into the shade under a bush, took off my bumbag and looked for any food I had with me. A pack of Jelly Tots had all melted into one gelatinous lump and mixed themslves with a bag of peanuts. I put them all in my mouth anyway but had no energy left to chew them with, so I filled my mouth with energy drink from my hydration pack, lay down and waited to dissolve. The rock felt strangely comfortable and though I desperately wanted to sleep, I knew I had to stay awake if I was to stand any chance of finishing the Roof of Africa Rally.

I opened my eyes and looked around. It was about three in the afternoon, the sun was still beating down and I felt much better for the short rest and chance to chill out. Or maybe it was the peanut-and-Jelly-Tot combo taking effect. Either way I was back from the brink of exhaustion and ready to carry on. It had to get better. At my last pit stop 20km back, my pit crew had assured me I was through the worst. That's what a good pit crew do - encourage you or lie to you if necessary. I think they could see how close to my limit I was as I arrived at the last refuelling. 'Don't worry' they said 'the worst is over. It'll flow nicely from here'. And sure enough they were right. Well.... for the first 4 kilometres at least, then as I arrived at the next steep uphill I could see three riders being helped uphill by locals. I worked hard and made it up to that point without assistance, the locals looked impressed: 'Very good, very good. Where you from?' they asked. 'England' I replied. 'Very good, money please'. I wasn't about to stop to get my wallet out so I kept moving and eventually made it to the top of the pass unaided. I passed a bunch of guys flaked out at the side of the trail, which gave me a small buch of energy. At least I knew I wasn't dead last! The sun was getting low in the sky as we set off once more, and there was less than a litre of fuel left in my tank now. A few minutes later we came across a rider lying in the rocks with a suspected broken hip. It was one of the local hot-shots and the medi-copter had just arrived. He'd been waiting for three hours in the scorching sun, unable to move. It was a sobering thought. At last we began heading down off the mountain and could see the refueling point. As we rolled to a stop they told us we had been houred out. Many riders were in the same situation. Nobody complained - we were all too tired to ride on. So after 11 hours hard riding and just over halfway around the proposed route of the 2009 Roof of Africa, my race was over!

Kriega supported expert rider Chris Salt is an infectiously enthusiastic extreme rider and all-round diamond geezer...originally from Buxton, the distinctive gold-toothed and tatooed racer now finds himself at the centre of the metropolis where he co-runs the Docklands Riders 'project' which features the world's first inner-city extreme enduro track! A two time finisher of Romaniacs and the Tough One, he also lists finishes at Weston Beach Race, Le Touquet and La Course Infernale on his riding CV.

Without whom:

Thanks to all the people that made this adventure possible: Kriega, Docklands Riders, Pro-Carbon Racing, Paul Green Tyres, Jim Aim Motorcycles, Acerbis, Dr Shox, to my daughter Jemima for the lucky pictures she made me. And a special thanks to Anthony and his family. Paul, Dom, and all the others who made me feel so welcome and supported. Without them it would have been impossible!

Read the full ROCK SALT story is in TBM issue 174 (February 2010)