I would like to state right at the beginning that this is a true account of the exact events that transpired during a riding tour I embarked on with my friends Eric and Evans. I begin by telling you that this is a true account of things as they happened because some of the things that happened were so unbelievable, that if someone were to tell me this story, without first cautioning that it is nothing but the truth, I would not believe it myself.
I made a resolution at the beginning of this year to be a more honest and sincere man and I hope this story shows the magnificence of my endeavour. And so I shall begin:
We were in my house, frying sausages after a day servicing Evan’s bike, when I suggested that a man with a bike such as his, a CBR 600RR, should have achieved more as a rider. I said that it was a wicked shame for him to own such a bike and to never have exercised its limbs beyond the usual office commute.
There was justice and truth in my rebuke but Evans is an unjust man. He scoffed at me saying that it was a wicked shame too for a man as fat as myself to be riding a 200cc bike.
“Take those road trips you do for example,” he said, “I would rather commit suicide than ride a 200cc bike all the way from Nairobi to Kisumu,” he continued, picking up a sausage and stuffing the whole of it into his mouth.
He is a wicked and greedy man I tell you.
The conversation continued in this vein until I managed to convince him that what he ought to do is take a ride with me to Nanyuki for a weekend so that he could see that even small-engine bikes such as mine could make such trips. He was open to the idea but said some unkind things about my bike. He said that he would have to ride with his brakes fully jammed on if he was to sacrifice himself for such an undertaking with me. But I let him pepper me with abuse because I was determined to make a better man of him and to show him what small under-powered bikes could do over long distances. He swallowed the last of the sausages and agreed that we’d set out the coming weekend.
Friday came and we met at my house for lunch before setting out. It was all nice and jolly until I told him that our mutual friend, Eric, would be joining us for the ride.
“Why the hell would you invite that man for the ride?” exploded Evans, “He rides a Hero Karizma for heaven’s sake!” he shouted.
As much as I didn’t like his attitude, truth compelled me to agree on the point of Eric’s bike. Eric is a decent enough man but he has one fault – he absolutely adores his Hero Karizma ZMR. I am usually more philosophical about his love for that bike, saying that some bikes have looks that only a mother could love and perhaps Eric feels this motherly instinct very strongly towards the Karizma ZMR.
Evans on the other hand uses very violent language and coarse expressions whenever he hears of it. I have often urged him to take a more Christian view, telling him that he ought not to say things to injure Eric’s feelings because Eric and the entire class of ZMR lovers, are a sensitive, yet lovable bunch of people. I succeeded in getting Evans to accept having Eric as part of the trip and later that afternoon, we set off.
The ride started alright and the first incident of note happened when we realised that Eric was no longer following us. I signaled Evans to stop and we waited on the side of the road. After 5 minutes we decided to turn around and ride back to look for this Karizma loving fellow that was delaying us. We passed the point where we’d last seen him and rode for about 5 more kilometres beyond that point. We stopped, looking at each other with puzzled expressions. What could have happened? Even though when I say ‘puzzled expressions’ am not really telling the truth because we were both wearing helmets and thus I could not see Evans’ expression. Mine though, I feel, was a puzzled expression.
At around that time, the news was awash with stories about a cult called the House of Yaweh that believed that the world would end on that very day we were taking the ride. So in a moment of weakness I asked Evans if he thought Eric was a member of House of Yaweh and if he could have been snatched up to heaven.
“They would never have taken the Karizma with him!” retorted Evans indignantly.
I paused for a while to consider this and I too felt that it was highly unlikely that a Karizma, of all the bikes in the world, could be taken up to heaven, especially considering there were two other bikes on offer right on the same road.
As if by a miracle, we saw Eric emerge from a corner. He explained that he did not have enough fuel and had decided to stop for fuel. He thought it was OK to let us ride ahead because he felt he could easily catch up with us if he opened the throttle a bit. We exchanged looks with Evans and let that last statement slide and continued with the ride. A ZMR catching up with a Pulsar 200NS and a CBR600RR is like suggesting a tortoise can hunt an antelope.
If you go to Nanyuki, I suggest that you use the AirBnB app to find a lovely house to stay in rather than a hotel. That part of the country, Nanyuki/Timau, is a magnificent place to visit. Through the app, you will get to stay in an amazing farm house with a river flowing nearby with the sound of livestock and the smell of burning wood in the air.
We rented a room in such a house for the night and it was wonderful. The host cooked up some amazing meat balls and served tea that was creamy and hot. We spent the evening sitting by a bonfire listening to the host, who was an interesting chap with lots of stories.
Just as the stories were getting into high gear, Evans and Eric expressed an opinion that they would prefer to listen to the rest of the stories in the morning when they were not so tired. I protested saying that it was only 9pm and that I did not expect anyone to be tired having ridden only 200km! But I was speaking to the wrong kind of people – they have weak spirits and are not used to fine living.
Much later in the night I too trudged off to sleep. Being a courteous and respectful man, I thought it wise to quietly sneak into the room with the lights off so as not to disturb my friends with whom we were sharing the same bedroom. I opened the door and slowly walked into the room quietly closing the door behind me and telling myself to only remove my shoes when I had sat on the bed so as not to make any kind of noise.
As I was walking in, I found the floor to be quite uneven with some hard bits and some soft bits and I was struggling to keep my balance. I tripped on something hard and roundish and my entire 90kg weight landed with a thud on even more hard and soft bits of the floor.
From the nature of language that arose from the still Nanyuki night, I figured that I had walked over and fallen over some human beings. I stumbled back across the room to the door and switched on the lights and saw those two idiots lying on their mattresses on floor!
“What the hell is wrong with you?” thundered Evans wiping a shoe print off his face.
“I didn’t know you were lying on the floor when there are perfectly fine beds in the room!” I shouted back.
It had transpired that the two spineless idiots had felt that their mattresses were not thick enough to rest their aching backs sufficiently, and Eric had suggested that they stack the two mattresses so that the two grown men would lie together, under the same covers, on thicker mattress.
I was furious, but glad to have taught them a lesson by walking over them and to have finished it off by dropping my significant weight on them just to warn them against such behaviour the next time.
It is only my Christian attitude to things that keeps me as friends with these two people.