Road notes: Days 6&7 West Africa/ Days 132&133 Africa Crossing

Dakar / 0 miles

Monday morning brought the unwelcome news that my disk clutch will need to be replaced. Marmadue (sounds like Marmaduke without the K), the kind owner of Mad Bikes, showed me in detail how some of the gears were worn off one of the 7 or 8 ‘gear disks’… The barest of wear as far as I could see but enough to stop me cold. “Your clutch had been set too tight. That’s what damaged it.” In other words, the ‘great mechanic’ that I saw in Addis could well have been the reason for this debacle. I say “may have” as he may not even have checked the clutch out as I didn’t ask him too. In that case the blame lies with the mechanics in Dilla that worked on the clutch there — a much more likely source.

I went to the fancy Radisson hotel to sit in their luxurious surroundings, an outdoor shaded terrace area with an expansive view of the sea, with super expensive ($5/cup coffee) to figure out what I wanted to do. That’s one of my go to coping mechanisms when I hit a big one like this — I get myself into the most comfortable surroundings I can, order some good coffee, and ponder away, doodling/noodling on the various courses of action, and allowing my emotions to settle. The luxury to do this, to be able to take such a time out from life’s demands, is yet another advantage of the “Haves” in this world.

I also often call Jayne after I’ve thought about things for awhile, run by her my ideas. In this case, she came back with one I hadn’t even considered. “Why not fly to Europe and pick up the part yourself… And see Peder [my son] while there?” Seemed wildly extravagant but less so when you take into account that I would have to stay in lodging here in Dakar anyways, so that cancels out the lodging cost in Paris, at least to some degree. So for the cost of a plane ticket, I’d get a chance to see Peder, and get a welcome change of venue for a week from Dakar, prior to the hardest part of the trip, the crossing of the Sahara. It’s still extravagant but staying 10 days here in Dakar just waiting for a part, that may take even longer than that to come, is so unappealing that I stuffed the $ concerns away, and went for it.

First checked to make sure that I could leave the motorcycle in country while gone, so texted my fixer at the Customs, Jean. “It’s Ok!” He texted back. And than added. “St. Mark”. That’s what he began calling me at the Customs office as we’d talked about the Biblical reference of the name, as well as his, John. St. Jean I call him.

My sainthood also had to do with overpaying his fixer fee, gave him around $45… That’s not so much from any generous impulse of mine but coldly calculated transactional relationship building. Jean works for the shipping company and if I should have any more troubles with Customs/ shipping… I know I can call upon him and he’ll be there. Just like getting a fast answer to my question which ordinarily would have taken a lot longer to secure.