Even though Tukuyu is only at about 4200 feet above sea level, this was enough elevation to give us our first truly cool night's sleep since Swakopmund (on the coast of Namibia). We were glad we put the rainfly on the tent the night before , since it helped keep a little warmth in the tent. After I rolled out of the tent, I checked the thermometer and saw that it was 61 degrees Fahrenheit! While the morning air was certainly refreshing, we were concerned as to exactly how refreshing the shower was going to be since it was a cold water only shower. Several of the campgrounds where we've stayed have been cold water only, which is fine when it's 85 degrees in the morning, but neither of us was looking forward to the prospect of a bracing shower. Fortunately for us, our rescue came in the form of the camp security guard, who approached and asked if we wanted warm water to wash with. Why yes, we said, and he hustled off behind the reception building and returned ten minutes later with a 3-gallon bucket of warm water. He motioned for Re to follow him to the ablution block, where he left the water for her. While Re went to bathe, I started to strike camp. The guard returned shortly thereafter with another bucket for me. Having never taken a bucket shower before, I grabbed my clothes, towel, and bucket of water and slipped into Re's shower stall. Re had finished lathering by the time I arrived, so I helped her rinse off before lathering up myself. After dressing, Re returned the favor, and we both ended up smelling vaguely like a fine whiskey. The warm water smelled of wood smoke, as apparently it was heated over a wood fire and now, we also smelled smoky and peaty. Note to self: Talisker would make a fine perfume.



Clean and dressed, we headed back to the campsite, only to find that approximately ten small children had arrived for school. The Bongo Campground is also a nonprofit organization that makes documentary films about social issues in the area and is also a primary school. Most of the students were young girls, who were incredibly cute in their apparent hand-me-down school uniforms that all seemed slightly too large for them. Re was greeted by a chorus of hellos and had fun with the children as they giggled and parroted everything she said. Too soon, it was time for school to begin, and their very strict teacher ordered them inside.

After our delicious dinner the previous evening, our chef asked if we'd want breakfast in the morning, and we said yes. She first offered us omelets, and since we didn't sound too excited by that, she offered us banana porridge. We like porridge, we like bananas, so we said yes, with visions of bananas, brown sugar, and creamy porridge dancing in our heads. Since our ride to Iringa was over 250 miles, we had ordered breakfast for 7:00am. Unfortunately, it arrived about 8:15, but we'd used our waiting time wisely and were otherwise ready to go. Once again, our chef arrived on the back of a motorbike and proceeded to unwrap trays and bowls and coffee service. Marc and Katie also thought breakfast sounded good and joined us for a rather unique experience. As we sat around the table and the porridge was revealed, I did not smell anything sweet and yummy, but instead, noticed the chicken bone sticking out of the surface of the porridge. Hmmm, I thought as Re and I cautiously eyed each other. As our chef enthusiastically dished up the food, we noted a look of concern on Katie's face as she dipped into her porridge. Katie is a vegetarian, and like us, was obviously not expecting chicken in her banana porridge. Rather tentatively, we tried our porridge and found it to be tasty. It took a few bites to recalibrate our expectations, but we ended up enjoying it quite a bit. The bananas were more like plantains in that they were starchy and not sweet.

Breakfast finished, we prepared to hit the road. We donned our gear and headed for the bikes. I hit my starter button, and motor no turn. My bike had hydraulic-ed again. Sigh, it obviously wasn't the air filter. Since we were parked on the campground's lovely grass, I wheeled the bike out to the dirt road to clear the fuel. Sparkplug out, bike kicked over, cylinder cleared, plug reinstalled, and it fired right up. We put the tools away, and Re went to start her bike, only to have it hydraulic as well. Well, ****ity **** ****. Suddenly, a light bulb went on over my head. From my vantage point at the dirt road, I noted that Re's bike was parked facing uphill, on its center stand, with the front wheel in the air. I flashed on the first time it happened in my parents' driveway and recalled that the bikes were parked facing uphill, and with the weight of our luggage, the front wheel would have been off the ground. I also recalled that in Senga Bay, our bikes were parked, again facing uphill, on the center stands, as they were when it happened at the campground in Citrusdal. Every time the bikes were parked facing uphill on the center stands, with the front wheels in the air. Up until now, I had suspected a fault with the vacuum petcock, but now I am fairly certain it's the carburetor, and specifically the float. I suspect that the combination of angles prevents the float needle from closing fully, and consequently, this allows fuel to dribble continuously into the float bowl. Since really no one else in the Symba community has experienced this hydraulic-ing problem but both of our bikes have, it has to be due to some set of circumstances unique to our setup, and this makes the most sense so far. The plan from now on is to only park on level ground and to block the rear tire in order to keep the front tire on the ground. I hope I am right, cause this is getting old.



We rolled Re's bike over to the dirt road, cleared the fuel, started it up, and rode the couple of miles back into Tukuyu for more fuel. Gassed up, we headed north to Mbeya, yesterday's original destination. Stopping in Tukuyo last night was the right choice, as the fifty miles to Mbeya were extremely slow going. The elevation rose to over 7500 feet, and every little town along the way had four to six sets of speed bumps, for which we had to slow to a crawl. We wound our way through the mountains, again admiring the green plantations and groves of trees. In Mbeya we turned east and the scenery changed from green to brown. The altitude and steep grades already had the bikes wheezing, but progress slowed even more when we ran into our old friend, headwind, in Makmbako. Even without the headwind, going would have been slow, with the rough roads and speed bumps. After a gas station lunch eaten sitting in the saddle on the roadside, we continued the long, slow trip to Iringa. Approximately one mile shy of Iringa, we reached the turnoff for the town center. Iringa sits on a bluff above the main road at the top of a long, twisty grade. To make the final mile even more fun, the Tanzanian road department has installed severe, tooth jarring speedbumps approximately every 500 feet. These topes required us to again come nearly to a stop before bouncing over them. After one particularly rough one, I heard a thud and turned around to see Re retrieving my MSR dromedary bag that had been ejected from beneath my Rok-straps.

We finally arrived around 5:30 pm, but were happy to see that due to the time change in Tanzania, there was still sun in the sky. We found a reasonable guesthouse, and while unloading the bikes discovered that Re had lost her towel. We have been carrying our microfiber towels in their mesh bags tucked under a Rok-strap so they can dry while we ride. Apparently her towel jumped ship along the way today. This is a bigger problem than you first may think, since many of the guest houses and none of the campgrounds provide towels, and it will be difficult to replace. We grabbed some dinner before returning to the guesthouse for a nightcap or two in the form of Castle Milk Stouts.

265 miles in about 8.5 hours. If I ever meet the person who introduced speedbumps to Tanzania, I will (in my best Eric Cartman voice) kick him square in the nuts.