[Help] Gentle fundraising request - For Rangers Ultra (protecting Kenyan wildlife)

[jimhigham]

I have coughed up. Having come across a poached rhino when on safari 4 years ago, I hope their protection is improving.

Many thanks. That’s hugely kind of you and really appreciated.

I’m sorry you saw such a heartbreaking scene. It would break my heart. Fortunately the anti poaching initiatives in Kenya are having excellent outcomes, as they have not had a single rhino lost this way since 2019. Sadly, it is still a dangerous business for the rangers too and one of them was trampled to death by a rhino while I was out there. There are no easy wins in the conservation battle out there.

At least this event provides funds for both Save The Rhino and the rangers.

 

[raymondo]

I DID IT!!!!!

It’s been the adventure of a lifetime. Undoubtedly the hardest physical challenge I’ve ever taken on but all the more rewarding for it. I’ve adored the entire experience and, after three years planning leading up to this, I’m left wondering what happens next.

56 participants began the event. 44 completed the entire course, representing a dropout rate of 20%. I placed 22nd, spending 36 hours and 21 minutes out on the course. For a chap that only wanted to finish, that’s a thrilling outcome.

I’ll post some proper pictures when I’ve enough data back in Blighty to do so.

If you possibly have the means and ability, please consider donating to all the wonderful work that goes on to protect the wildlife in Kenya and rhinos across the world.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/James-Higham3View attachment 152006

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Many congrats to you - fantastic effort!

 

[jimhigham]

I made up a race diary while it was still fresh in my mind. It’s lengthy so I wouldn’t expect any of you to see it through but here it is if any of you have an abiding interest in what a Kenyan ultra is like…

Race Diary

Day 1
Off to the airport. T5 working smoothly and time to say goodbye to Karen and Rebecca within minutes. Nothing but love and support from them these past three years. Quick coffee from Starbucks. Still get staff discount. Nice. Meet Liz and Ricky at Pret. Liz and I nervous. Ricky pretty cool. He’s done this sort of thing before. Off to the gate and suddenly participants everywhere. All sporting regulation Ultimate Direction backpacks. There’s me, Liz, Ricky, Mark, Russell, Cathy, Kenneth, Graham…

Wheels up and away. Arrive in Kenya bang on time. But of fun getting my bag, which is stranded on the other side of a closed shutter. A little manhandling and it’s free. Airport transfer not there as promised. Airport staff sort out a cab. Patrick is my driver. Warmest welcome to Kenya. In half an hour we cover the Queen, conservation, his family and a lot about the Premier League. Arrive at the Weston and straight to my room. Quick FaceTime with Karen before bed.

Day 2
Half decent sleep. Time to take stock of my surroundings. My room is cramped and despite being marketed as “luxury” is a little rough around the edges. Curtains a foot too long taking up floor space. A fridge exactly the same temperature inside as the room it’s sat in. Nothing in it either. It’s decorative. Aircon that acts independently of its controls. Best to shut it off. Bed is comfy and the shower works well, which is all I really need.

Breakfast and it’s clear that vegetarianism will be suspended for this trip. Fruit is flavourless. Only the bananas have any taste. Try to load up on omelette, bacon, sausage and the like but the appetite won’t cooperate. I don’t know it yet but this is going to be a theme of the trip.

To the pool. It’s cold. Properly cold. Not going in that. Just sit and wave my ankles in it to rest up the dodgy left one. Fredrik arrives. Tall, chiselled and disgracefully handsome. I should hate him really but he’s just too damn nice. We sit and chat about clobber for ages. The international language of the running nerd.

Anita joins us at dinner time. We eschew the buffet. No idea how long it’s been sat there. Turns out to be a bad move, as the eventual wait for dinner is almost an hour. Anita is already struggling to maintain her vegan status, with the vegan options being off. She compromises and goes dairy. I completely lose it and go for sirloin. My God, it tastes good. That’s also going to be become a theme.

Day 3
Anita joins me for breakfast, which makes me feel guilty about going for the meat options. Then Harry joins us “fresh” from his three hour nap. I’ve be in touch with Harry before the race through Facebook. He’s done the Highland Ultra before and has been an excellent sounding board for hints and tips. Lovely guy. Big smile. Great company. We stroll down to the supermarket for supplies for the drive to Lewa. Then a sit by the pool for a bite to eat and a nice cold bottle of Tusker. Lengthy conversation about Star Wars follows. Always a good thing but only masking my nerves. Early night for an early start.

Day 4
Bus transfer to Lewa at 05:00. All the runners in the Weston appear. Backpacks everywhere. We look on with concern as the luggage is strapped to the roof of an ageing bus. Then we’re off.

Harry gets a window seat. He’s not been to Africa before and is pressed up against the glass watching the sights go by. I forget how complacent I can be about the world outside the window. I’ve not been to Kenya before but it immediately feels familiar. Similar street life to Nigeria or Ghana. We enjoy the various improbable company names and peculiar hybrid butchery businesses. Butchers and car parts? Butchers and nightclub?

Things turn dark as the traffic momentarily snarls up. There are rocks in the road ahead. The standard traffic calming measure in Africa. I can’t see from the aisle but Harry grimaces. A body in the road. A recent accident awaiting attendance. Things turn quiet for a bit.

The city passes and we enter rural Kenya. Things get greener. Polytunnels everywhere. Apparently this is where all the supermarket flowers from Kenya come from. Not sure how sustainable this is in an area suffering from increasing droughts. Then we turn left towards Mount Kenya and the conservancies.

Last stop in Nanyuki and Cedar Mall. Big supermarket shop for everybody to do some late calorie cramming. The Java Coffee House does a mean drop but this is Kenya I suppose. Shouldn’t be surprising.

Then to Lewa and base camp. Tents are decent. Beds comfortable enough. At least they’re off the ground. Room to stuff things under, which leaves a corridor for shuffling about down the centre. Monkeys roam about looking for things to nick. Eventually they make do with the largest biscuits in the world, left by Laurence. That monkey is probably King by now.

Drop toilets. Of course. A freshly dug hole with a portable throne perched above it. Do your thing and use the spade provided to cover your business. It’s at this stage that I realise toilet paper was not on the kit list. I’m going to have to go through the week “Indian style”. Wash my undercarriage with water and be super diligent about hand washing. Oh well!

Kit check happens. Thankfully a formality, which makes up for weeks of fever dreams where I’m eliminated before the race for want of a safety pin. Harry provides tips on how to pack. Then we survey our surroundings. There’s a rhino over there. Some buffaloes over there. Then a something over there, a little too far away to successfully ID.

There’s a fireside chat from race director Chris. Somebody mentions that only a hundred people have run this race before. It’s simultaneously humbling and terrifying. We’re introduced to the BTU team and the medics set to take good care of us. Darkness falls and it’s time for bed. Harry is asleep within seconds and stays that way most of the night. I’m comfortable enough and enjoy being horizontal but sleep won’t come for me. It’s replaced by fear; gnawing and insistent. There’s a hyena out there somewhere and it’s noisy.

Day 5 (Race Day 1)
Up at 06:00. A slightly later start for day 1, as it’s a shorter course. Just the 24.5 miles apparently. Harry wakes me. Must have got to sleep eventually. Breakfast is a Clif Bar. It’s adequate but will become steadily more unappealing as the race progresses. Small cup of coffee and then it’s time to climb into my kit and sort out the backpack. With water it probably comes in at a little over 10 kilos. It’s heavy but fits well.

For the first time I’m not feeling too bad. The phoney war is over and it’s time to run. I know how to do that. At least I know how to do that once. I’ve never run more than a marathon and I’ve certainly never done more than one in a row. This means everything after today is going to be new but I can worry about that tomorrow.

We set off. 56 of us in all. The weather is kind. It’s overcast and a decidedly UK type temperature. The ground is decent underfoot. The ankle seems happy. The race chopper flies no more than 30 feet above my head, which is quite a buzz. Then we pass through a village. Life goes on around us unchecked. Children find us entertaining and run out to receive high fives. I later hear one of the participants got their flip-flops pinched. The price of friendliness? Perhaps. Shall I stop being friendly? Never.

As I leave the village, my first thrilling wildlife encounter. A ranger asks me to stop. A lone male white rhino is trudging towards the road I’m on. It has right of way. It’s a pleasure to stop and watch it amble past. I find I’m grinning from ear to ear. Other participants catch up and wait. When we get the all clear we edge past. The rhino senses the movement behind and turns to face us, watching us as we troop by. A ranger watches it in case it decides it wants to head back but I like to think it’s just enjoying the show. It’s a complete thrill.

Then the trail begins to head up. It’s the first time I’m aware of altitude. I’m running but very slowly and I begin to fight for breath. The air is thin and I can’t get enough of it. Time to begin walking. This becomes the pattern for the rest of the day. Run anything that isn’t going up and walk the rest.

Check Point 3 is on the Pride Rock. Apparently Disney took their cue from it when drawing up The Lion King. I’d say they took liberties, as it’s pretty much unrecognisable as the sort of place to dangle infant lions off.

Eventually the finish line arrives. I’m probably among the last of the runners but well ahead of half the pack. Harry has his feet up, having got home in very good time. He tells me there’s showers. They’re cold. He tells me to get in them as soon as possible and to just jump in fully clothed. That will be refreshing and wash the already stinking, dusty kit. I try to follow his advice to the letter and pile in within about ten minutes. It… is… GLORIOUS! As good as any five star spa. I feel alive all over again.

Once out, I get my ground sheet and a Cup a Soup, which will become my favourite treat over the course of the week. I begin to do stretches. Sean, a model for a life well lived, lean and seemingly made from granite, and Harry immediately tell me to stop. “All you’re doing is tearing more muscle” I’m told. I’m new to all this. I know nothing. I’m taking every bit of advice going. I elongate the legs, propping them on a facing chair. I like this advice. Stretching is a ball ache. Time consuming. I can do without it.

I take stock of the day. I feel good. I’ve not eaten enough. I’ve barely touched the bag of peanuts that was meant to give me a 1,000 calorie injection on the road. They turn into a dry pulp in my mouth and are inedible on the move. By the end of the week I shall be giving them away. I’ve not gone to pee yet. Again, more experienced people tell me that needs sorting. This becomes the start of a week long preoccupation. I’ve never known a group of strangers take such inordinate interest in a stranger’s pee. We’re all fascinated in each other’s flow and colour. Harry tells me his first pee has come out like chilli con carne, which is a great line even if it’s physiologically worrying. I drink and drink and drink for the rest of the evening. By the end of the night I have attained the holy grail of pee the colour of pale straw. Back on track.

Kris tells us that we all made it back intact today. 56 finishers.

Bed at 20:00. Up at 05:00 from now on.

Day 6 (Race Day 2)
Today is apparently more or less a straight marathon. The kicker is that there’s a hill around seven kilometres in that goes on for ever. We eventually find it and it’s a complete bugger. Up and up and then some more up and I’m still not really altitude ready, so it’s tough work. One false peak after another. I round one bend only to see another endless climb open up and some expletives pop out of me. Just as they do, a ranger I’d not seen to my left gives me a friendly wave. I apologise for the swearing.

Today is moving into Borana, which seems to be more open expanse than Lewa. It’s certainly more what I had in mind when I came to Kenya. It’s hard to run across, as it doesn’t offer anything resembling shade, but the scale of it is awe inspiring. I do remember to take the time to look up and take in where I am and why I am there. When I do, the emotional punch is profound and tears are never that far from the surface.

I don’t see anything like as much wildlife up close as I expect (and that the race trailer on YouTube suggests). Encounters tend to be fleeting and distant but also frequent. I catch glimpses of zebras, warthogs, elephants, lots of impala and so on.

It’s today that I begin to really develop my love affair with the check points. They are primarily there for our welfare and are staffed by members of the six strong medical team as well as BTU crew. We top up on water at each stop. I always have water in one bottle and drop an energy/electrolyte tablet in the other. I also always greet the crew with warm smiles. It’s not out of pure politeness. I’m genuinely pleased to see them. The added benefit of the check points is that the crew have time between runners to break out their binoculars and scan the horizon for critters. Kris points out a pair of sleeping rhino far below, while vultures circle wonderfully nearby, as they assess a recent buffalo kill for lunch.

In an odd late development, I discover a competitive streak I never knew I had. Around two miles from home, I spy a group of five or six participants up ahead. I assume they must have all been asked to wait for crossing creatures, else why would they all be bunched up like that? There were a lot of elephants on the move in this area earlier, which would explain it. However, they’re all just walking and I am ever so slowly reeling them in with my almost a run shuffle. As we come into the final mile I pass them all. Pride means I can’t stop now, which means I have to maintain a run all the way to the finish line. I just about manage but I can feel my legs tying up in a pretty dramatic way. In the end, I place 16th for the day, which will turn out to be my high water mark.

I pay for it immediately. My legs, which have never been asked to bat out back to back marathons before, protest vociferously. Long distance etiquette demands that participants eat as soon as possible after completion to begin refuelling. However, today I can do nothing more than lie down immediately. I go to my tent to do so but am flushed out by the heat after only half an hour and when I emerge I feel like death.

I’m well below the required calorie count again and can only manage another Cup a Soup to begin with. Cat tells me to get eating and suggests that I might not be looking all that great. Cold showers are available again today but in a more rudimentary form. Some of the crew simply fill water into a bag attached to a shower nozzle, which they then winch up above head height. We have half a bottle each to get clean in a hurry. So I hurry. Get wet. Lather. Rinse. All in very short bursts but the effect is still out of this world. I feel like a new Jim, which Cat observes with some relief.

We all sit with our legs up, drinking drinking drinking and admiring a large gang of elephants (a “memory” apparently) that are mooching along close to tonight’s camp, which is unfenced and open to the world. There are elephants of all ages but it’s always the babies that steal the show.

Later, a group of buffaloes come very close to camp and can even be seen from the squatting position in the drop toilets. A poo with a view, if you will.

The remaining participants come home here and there. As it begins to get dark there is some genuine drama and alarm. Asgard and Jakob come in. Asgard immediately says he has to lie down. His chest is rising and falling with alarming speed. He complains of chest pains. The medical team calmly go to work but it’s obvious there is genuine concern. He remains prone for the longest time. He is wrapped up in warm gear. Stuff is administered. I don’t know what. He is eventually taken to hospital where he will be submitted to a battery of tests. Ultimately he is given the all clear. Nothing more than a serious dose of exhaustion. He is retired from the race and spends the night in a hospital. We do not see Asgard and Jakob again. It’s a cautionary moment and reminds us all of the need to keep eating, keep drinking, keep taking what we are doing seriously.

Earlier bedtime tonight because I’m bloody tired for some reason. The stars are enough to make the firmest jaw drop. The Milky Way is clearly visible. It is spectacularly beautiful.

Day 7 (Race Day 3)
Today is the big one. The one I have been afraid of from the day I first set eyes on the race pack. It’s the longest stage and it’s got a brute of a climb in the final six kilometres. I’ve managed back to back marathons now, which is a first, but in my mind’s eye, this is the day with the potential to break me. My misgivings are not helped by the news that it is to be our hottest day yet on the road.

We set off. 07:00 sharp and straight up a big hill. The chopper flies straight above us, Ed leaning out the side getting some great footage no doubt.

The plan is always to try and start fairly briskly, to try and get as much mileage as possible under the belt before the sun gets its stuff together and cracks on with the serious business of baking us all.

Nobody ever seems to know an actual temperature reading but it doesn’t matter. Once the sun is working it’s enough to say that it’s “bloody hot”.

I begin nicely enough and the field is settling down into its increasingly familiar layout. Speed demons up front. The runner/walkers in the middle and the thoroughbred walkers at the back. I’m firmly mid-field.

I keep it in mind to hold something back for what’s to come and stay well within myself. I admire the views on this glorious morning. To my right there’s one of the largest herd of zebras I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a few). It’s a majestic sight. Then, all at once, it becomes a frantic sight. The entire “dazzle” take off as one. They’ve clearly been spooked by something. I scan the horizon to try and see if there are any predators nearby. I can’t see anything. Whatever caused the furore, it’s an amazing moment.

I gradually catch up with Ricky. While we met at the airport, we’ve not had much in the way of chat out on the course. We seem to be running the same pace and, as the day progresses and the heat rises, we settle into a very sensible brisk walk. We agree to be buddies for the day.

It’s an absolute pleasure.

While Ricky is Blackpool born, it turns out that he’s a Hassocks resident. That immediately gives us some Sussex based banter as a starting point. We discuss all sorts over the next few hours. He’s almost 60 and has done this sort of thing before, if not a five stage race. I’m very glad of his experience but get massive pangs of jealously when he takes out a Peperami as a mid-race snack.

I’m increasingly worried about my poor race nutrition. My nut based diet simply isn’t working and I’m getting by on sweet items during the day. I swapped a big bag of nuts with Beibei, who offered a Snickers and a protein bar in return. I’d snaffled the Snickers for breakfast this morning. I’m sure that’s not what sports scientists recommend but it was the best start to a day I’d had yet.

Ricky and I continue. Much fun is had once we settle onto football as a discussion topic. He’s just been to see the last Brighton match. We talk about all things Albion and hatch a plot to catch a match together once this is all done.

A hyena crosses our path, no more than 50 yards ahead. There are two of us and only one of it so it’s not sticking around to discuss matters. It scurries up the hill and out of sight. That’s normal then.

The landscape changes yet again as we head deeper into Lolldaiga. We cross an airstrip seemingly made out of scree, in the middle of baking flatlands. There are hills up ahead, which are shrouded in clouds. One of them must be the dreaded “big hill” at the end of the day.

There’s been an extra check point this day, to allow for the fact that it’s the longest stage. The final one has sensibly been positioned just six kilometres from the finish and right at the foot of the final ascent we’ve all been dreading. As Ricky and I approach the final check point the race chopper comes in to land. Tun is one of the passengers. He’s one of the medical team and is also taking part in the race next week. As he disembarks he raises his hands in triumph and let’s out a lengthy whoop. He’s completely delighted with his helicopter ride and it’s a lovely thing to witness his excitement.

We begin the final ascent and it’s an odd one. We are told it’s the same elevation as the beast on day two that had me swearing but that it takes place over half the distance. By rights it should seem twice as tough. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am now acclimatising or perhaps it’s the good company but the climb seems to be over in no time and with few dramas.

The view from the summit is superb. We can see down into Ol Jogi, which is a further change in terrain. There are hills in the distance, which are clad in rain clouds and a light dash of lightning. Between the peak we are on and the peaks in the distance lie lowlands blanketed with trees. Our camp is only a few kilometres away and in there somewhere but we can’t see it.

The descent to camp is deceptive and takes much longer than expected. Just before we reach it we pass an animal rescue centre. A school group feeds two elephants.

Then we finish for the day. Much better time than expected, which is welcome as it always allows more time to shower, get the feet up, eat and prep the bed for the night. Today there are apparently “hot showers”. It’s a lie. They’re tepid. I opt to go cold instead, which offers greater refreshment value. I note that my running gear is beginning to look seriously manky by this stage, although not as fearfully smelly as I expected.

As light falls I am surprised to see American Jonathan (there are a surfeit of Johns in this race) coming home in some distress. He looks absolutely beaten. This is a surprise. I’d passed him on day two in Borana and we had chatted a while. He’s 41 and a New York firefighter. He’s a unit and he’s completed the Marathon Des Sables, the Fire and Ice race in Iceland and The Lost Kingdom event in Bhutan. Despite his undoubted ultra pedigree, he’s simply not been able to get the food required on board. He says he feels nauseous and has only eaten a couple of hundred calories all day. The medics take a look at him. He’s given something or another for the nausea that should help him to eat. It’s a worry.

We begin to see more DNFs at this stage. While Asgard and Jakob do not return, all the other participants are still allowed to proceed the following morning and have another go. They won’t get a finishing time or place but they’ll get the thrill of almost all the ride, which is nice. This ultimately turns out to be the only day that Liz cannot complete. She subsequently smashes the following days out of the park, meaning she still put in 120+ miles all told. She describes herself as “a housewife from Essex”. Wonderfully self deprecating and entirely at odds with her strength within.

And so to bed. While I keep going to bed at 19:00, I’m really not sleeping well at all (to match my not eating well). I feel very sorry for Harry who, by virtue of his better nature, has gone and saddled himself with arguably the worst tent mate in the world. I don’t sleep, I kick about like a donkey due to my restless legs and I’m up and down all night because of my microscopic middle aged man bladder.

One plus point. I’m now content that it’s not nearly as cold as the organisers suggested. At least not for me. This means that I don’t need my down jacket or base layer in bed. I repurpose them, rolling them up and stuffing them into my Buff, which I fashion into a sausage shaped pillow. It’s a triumph. I can’t sleep but I have a very comfy head.

Final oddity of the day. The rescue centre next door has a lion. Apparently it got into a scrap in it’s youth and had to be taken into care. It’s said to be disabled and a bit of a mess, which means zoos won’t take it in. This sounds sad but it seems the lion is living its best life. It’s undisputed king in its world, with regular food deliveries. It roars all night long, which keeps a good chunk of the camp up for the duration.

Day 8 (Race Day 4)
So I’ve made it past the day that had me terrified and begin to think I might actually be able to bring this thing home. While completely failing to eat another breakfast I take stock.

I seem to in remarkably good shape. No blisters and no chafing from the backpack. Also no sunburn or even any redness. It turns out the ground sheet I have strapped to the top of my backpack has been keeping the sun off my neck this whole time. Genius. If only I had meant it. I’m pleased with my resilience. I’m certainly not the fastest participant but I seem to be well up the field and everything is ticking over nicely. Some of the other competitors look like they have been in the wars. Renata is something of a legend though. She only brought road shoes, which have created merry hell for her feet. The medics are patching her up each day. Her feet are covered in tape and each of her toes seems to be wearing a little hat. She powers on every day, well up the field, in spite of this.

A giraffe strolls up to camp while I am having coffee. I go and admire it. It ambles off nonchalantly once it has attracted a crowd.

Day 4 takes us into Ol Jogi and is a little over marathon distance. We really are privileged to be here. Essentially, you don’t get to safari in Ol Jogi unless you are filthy rich. There are all sorts of rumours about what it actually costs but it seems you won’t get any change from $150,000 US for a day’s entry. Apparently Tom Hanks likes to hang out here between movies.

We don’t see any safari vehicles during this day. There aren’t any. We do see a chopper that isn’t our own. Presumably it’s an aerial safari for somebody with pots of cash.

I say we. I have paired up with Ricky again today. I’m very impressed with his steady power and his ability to snack all day long. By now, I’m giving nuts and Clif Bars away because I can’t stand the sight of them. I’m getting by on the sweet snacks I’d picked up in Nanyuki before the race began. I didn’t envisage using them for this purpose but there you go. I’m rationing jelly babies by the mile along with raisins.

It turns out that when I’m ultra running I crave sweet things while I am on the go, which immediately reverts to a yearning for salty items the second my legs stop moving. There was no way of knowing that this would be my preference until I ran a multi stage event. I tell myself that I’ll be so much better next time, now that I am armed with this important information. Next time! Hark at me. There’s going to be a next time?

The day is relatively uneventful. The wildlife sightings keep coming but at a distance. As we reach the 20 mile mark I become aware that my legs are protesting more than at any other stage thus far. This is not great. I’d just begun to believe I had this covered when my body steps in to remind me that I very much haven’t. I am lucky to have Ricky as wingman. The conversation deadens the pain. He is also very good at geeing me up on the infrequent downhill stretches, cajoling me to get me jogging again. It eats up the time and brings us towards the finish sooner than expected.

In the final stretch we wind our way along a river bank. There are luxurious single story homes in evidence on the other side. We round a bend and are surprised to see a garden featuring a raised viewing platform. There are four young women on it. They seem to be drinking something cold and fizzy. They cheer at us enthusiastically as we run by. I have no idea what just happened there but am very glad of it.

And then we’re home again. We made good time and have ample left for rest. Another camp without fencing. Another cold shower. A frankly terrifying toilet block. A small concrete hut built over a sizeable pit. My head torch reveals the contents of the pit are heaving with maggots. My nose tells me the remainder of the contents. Grim.

The evening conversation is now turning towards food with alarming frequency. We are all fantasising about the damage we will do to any post race offerings. I am now craving meat. Lots of lovely, delicious, not officially forbidden meat. Even five year vegan Anita has declared she is going full carnivore at the finish line.

I catch a lucky break. Mitch is a fantastic guy from Canada. I think he has been a DNF the last two days. I’m alarmed at how he repeatedly says he has “failed”. He’s always smiling so it seems he hasn’t taken any perceived failure to heart but the truth is he’s anything but. He’s a wonderful presence in camp. Always smiling, always laughing. He gives the group energy. He’s a crucial part of the team and it would be a far poorer ride without him. In this case, the lucky break is that he’s farming out surplus meals he doesn’t need. I get a freeze dried chicken pasta dish off him. Sweet joy! A double dinner night. I wolf down 1,600 savoury calories. It is ridiculously timely. That final burst of food should be enough to get me to the finish line tomorrow. Mitch, I love you!

It’s another clear, star glazed, chilly night. I actually catch the best sleep yet, with two decent chunks of three hours worth. Between sleep chunks I get up for a wee break. No way am I mooching across to the toilet block of doom so I stroll a respectable distance from the tents and make do. My head torch leads the way. Several sets of illuminated eyes look back at me. African Savanna Hares. They freeze momentarily before scattering. Well that answers one question. Harry had asked me on day one if there were bunnies in this neck of the woods and I honestly didn’t know. Now I do.

Day 9 (Race Day 5 - FINAL DAY)
So this is it. The final day. I’ve made it over a hundred miles but there are a further 28 to go to successfully pull off this escapade. I have felt good almost all the way but the late leg twangs yesterday have me a little nervous. No Ricky with me today, as he says he’s planning running with his brother-in-law Tony. I have a race plan for the day to allow for this. If the legs feel alright, try and get some miles down early at a good pace before the heat gets up and then take it very steadily.

The plan is thwarted almost immediately. Today’s stage was said to be flat as a pancake but it’s all relative out here. The first part of the day involves steady inclines followed by some sharp up and down sequences. It’s hard to get any steady running going and by the time things have levelled out I have developed a stitch. It takes me a good hour before it passes, I settle down and get into a steady rhythm approximating a run. This takes me through miles six to eight. I finally begin to feel resolute. This is OK, I tell myself. I’ve got this.

My resolution is also thwarted, shortly after the first check point. The steady road I have been on ends, only to be replaced by a gnarly field full of goats. There is no path. The white dots marking the route are sporadic and without a clear line. The ground is treacherous, with many small holes waiting to turn the ankles of the unwary. We were told to just aim for the pylons at the top of the field, which is fine except that they are a long way off and on the wrong end of a considerable gradient. The hill goes on forever and I become more aware of the pain in my left ankle with each step. Is it going to give? It it simply my mind playing tricks on me, as it’s had too long left to its own devices?

I reach the pylons and the field finally ends, only to be replaced by an endless government road. It’s not sealed or anything glamorous like that. It’s just a rocky track reaching off into nowhere. All told, it’s about five miles long, steadily uphill and utterly maddening. The rocks are just too large to allow for a steady run and I can only shuffle safely.

I’m starting to curse beneath my breath. There’s no wildlife here save for goats and their carers, who look slightly befuddled as I pass by. I can’t see any competitors ahead of me. There are some behind me. I think that’s Rudolph, with Renata and Keith behind him and Tony behind them. I think they’re gaining on me.

Things finally become more entertaining as I reach the last mile of the government road, shortly before the gate to enter Ol Pejeta. I enter a small village clinging to the side of the road. There is a church to the left. Nothing more than a single large room constructed from corrugated iron. However, it is Sunday morning and the sounds of the singing tumbling out of the unprepossessing shack are astonishing and joyous. Another couple of hundred yards and there is a group of about ten children, probably aged between six and twelve. They’re singing for me and my fellow participants. Again, it sounds spectacular. There is a man with them. I assume a pastor or teacher. I stop, put my hands together and thank them all vociferously for their efforts. They smile and wave as I resume my shuffle towards the conservancy gate.

I enter Ol Pejeta. Immediately inside the gate is the second check point for the day. I have already mentally resolved to take a longer stop here. My hips and ankles are hurting and I am in need of running repairs. For the only time in the entire event, I take a seat. I top up my water. I reapply sun block. I ask the medics for permission to take a couple of paracetamol, just to take the edge of the various aches and pains. They ask when I last took some. I say I haven’t had any all week. They begin to laugh and tell me to go ahead. It seems some of the participants have been popping painkillers like they’re Polos. While I am restoring myself, Rudolph makes a short stop and leaves. So do Renata and Keith. Tony arrives at the check point just as I set off. That pit stop has cost me three places. I shouldn’t care but I do.

The check point has worked it’s magic and I feel rejuvenated. The tracks in the conservancy are flat, forgiving and easy underfoot. For the first time all day I am able to make a decent fist of running. There are around 12 miles to go. I allow myself to consider the sweet joy of the finish line as I pass Renata and Keith. Rudolph comes back into view and I pass him after a good mile or so reeling him in.

It is now very, very hot and there is nothing at all offering shade. I am chugging the water and electrolytes with some gusto. I have to remember to pop the bottles out of their holders occasionally to check their levels. I’m rationing to make sure I make it to the final check point.

The leading 12 participants set off an hour later today. The organisers have arranged for there to be food soon after the finish and the staggered start is designed to bring as much of the field as possible in at the same time. I was passed by the race leader on the “road to nowhere”. As we enter the final stages I am passed by Fredrik. It is sight to see. He’s running with purpose, maintaining a good stride. We exchange pleasantries and encouragement. Then, just like that, he’s gone, vanishing over the horizon in a puff of pace. Sickening!

The wildlife is becoming more frequent now. Impalas, zebras, elephants and a decidedly groovy Kori Bustard.

As the heat takes its toll, my head starts to drop as I dig in to maintain pace. I shouldn’t but the body won’t be denied. It’s better to keep your head up. If your head’s down you could be anywhere. When your head’s up you’re in Kenya. However, even with the head down, there are things to see. I admire the beetles busying themselves on the trail. I see termites ferrying eggs to and fro. I see several embryonic ant hills: small pimples in the road with a tiny caldera at the peak. The occupants scurry to them for safety as I pass. Their efforts seem doomed to failure, as these empires lie in the path of all the Defenders and Land Cruisers that will inevitably pass this way.

Final check point now. My chasers appear to no longer be chasing me. I am now all alone for the final stretch. I’m feeling in decent nick. Just need to take on water and away I go.

I’m scanning the horizon, looking for anything that might be a camp or a finish line. As always, there’s nothing. They always manage to disguise the magic mark that denotes the point where it all ends.

I hear footsteps behind. I am being caught by another pair from the leading group. It’s Harry and Canadian John. I call out to them. Tell them they’re looking good. As they’re catching me, Canadian John announces matter of factly that my hips are looking decidedly swivelly. Well thanks for that! That’s a fairly major breach of the ultra protocol. The unwritten rule is that you always encourage other participants. Always. Now I know that my run to the line is a limpy one but I don’t need to actually hear it from somebody else. Harry salvages the situation. Reminds me that pain is temporary and glory is permanent. That’s more like it. Harry knows the rules and always follows them to the letter. Good lad.

They gradually pass me but I soon catch them, as they stop for what turns out to be my final wildlife sighting of the race. A hundred yards away or so there is a mother rhino and its calf. The baby is apparently around a year old. It is sublime sight and I allow myself ample time to drink it all in.

It energises me for the final mile. Harry and Canadian John move off into the distance but only slowly and I largely keep pace with them. Turns out there’s still life in the gammy hips yet. Suddenly, I spy flags up ahead. About a quarter of a mile uphill is the finish line. Wow! Actually wow! I’m doing this. It might be uphill but so what? All at once I am the Duracell Bunny. I positively power through the final yards of this 135 mile odyssey.

The finish line itself is right on the Equator and just off the road I have come up. I turn left to be greeted by Kris, who is holding a medal. Will is brandishing his camera. Jenny is leading the cheers. There are some recent finishers and some supporters of other participants. I’ve imagined this moment for… well, three years really. I’ve always imagined that the emotion would bubble up and I’d have a little weep. In the event, I come over all Alpha Male, begin bellowing “YEEEEAAAAHHH” and fist pumping across the finish. Kris beams as he hands me the medal and Will is snapping away. Ricky is there. We hug. Harry is there. We hug. Jenny is there. She’s an organiser and not a participant so I am enough of a gentleman to ask if she’s prepared for a sweaty hug. We hug. Life feels amazing.

Jenny offers me a soft drink or a beer. It’s not a serious question, is it? I take the lovely cold Tusker and take a long swig. It goes straight to the top ten beer moments of my life.

We sit and chat. We discuss the day and the week just passed. Absolutely everybody is grinning from ear to ear. It’s like a group of Lycra clad Cheshire Cats.

I scurry off to the monument marking the Equator. Have to get a selfie with that. It can match the time I saw it in Ecuador.

Because the finish line is on the Equator, it is the one day where we don’t run straight into camp. We all need to be transferred there via a five minute drive. We’ve been promised a luxury camp tonight. Now I’ve stayed in some fairly luxurious camps in my time. Some of those ones in India were properly decadent. Our camp tonight isn’t anything like that standard but judged against the past five nights, it is opulence itself. Out tents have real beds with mattresses and everything. Bedside tables. Some lights. Out back there is a separate space with shower and toilet. The shower is still a bag on a winch and the toilet is still a hole in the ground. We don’t care.

Harry says he wants to remove the K-Tape securing the Compeed plasters that have protected the wounds created by his backpack straps. He goes for it in one solid yank. His right side wound immediately begins leeching goo. “Is it bad?” He asks. I race for a couple of hefty Band-Aids and temporarily patch him up. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.

Oddly, the sky chooses now to rain. After five days when we would have sold a lung for a light shower, we get a decent dousing the very moment we finish. It turns out that the rear area of the tent housing the shower only has a gauze roof, which means that the entire space is a shower for the duration of the rain. You can only shower when the camp guys come around with a bottle of hot water that they winch up. My turn arrives and I crack on but I got a short measure of the hot stuff. The water runs out halfway through. Demand is too high and there is no way I am getting any more so I towel off the suds and prepare for food.

Food. Food. FOOD!!!

Dinner will not be served until around 20:00 but we are all offered a late lunch. There are homemade burgers, hot dogs, potato salad, coleslaw and a carrot salad I wisely avoid, because I’m told that it’s central ingredient is fire. Those of us safely in camp dive on the food without a scrap of dignity. Conversation stops, replaced by an endless series of “Mmmmmmmms”. Anita the vegan has a very meaty platter. Our bodies demand protein.

There is a small pay bar. We all question the wisdom of proceeding before proceeding blithely. We form rounds. I try a White Cap. It’s fine but it’s no Tusker, which is the cornerstone of the festivities to come. I believe that I clear seven of them before the night is out. It’s enough to make matters merry. The Save The Rhino team come home and eventually crack on with the wine, because they’re classy. Laughter is everywhere.

Darkness falls. The campfire is lit. The smell of cooking begins to fill the air. There are beef skewers, lamb chops and chicken breasts. Somebody is trying to give away that carrot salad but people are wiser now. There are jacket potatoes filled with garlic butter that are as good as any meat. I keep a hawk eye out for seconds and race up, snaffling additional potatoes for some of the vegetarian medical crew.

We are finally sated. People begin to drift off to bed. Although the race is done, we don’t have the luxury of a lie in tomorrow. We have to vacate camp by 07:30 so breakfast will be served shortly after 06:00. Harry and I make ourselves comfortable, shut down the lights and sleep the sleep of the righteous.

Day 10
A lovely sunny morning, made all the sunnier by breakfast. No dry old Clif Bar this morning. We get eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans and toast. It’s tasty and plentiful. Second helpings are inevitable.

And then it’s time to pack up and go. There are three coaches to take us all back but myself and the rest of Team Rhino are the fly in the ointment. No sooner will we be extracted from the conservancies than we shall be diving back in. It’s about an hour and a half back to Nanyuki, where we all decamp back at Cedar Mall for an hour’s break. Aside from Team Rhino, the rest of the crew will be continuing back to Nairobi.

And then it hits me. A sudden and intense stab of sadness. I am leaving this beautiful group. They have become family in the blink of an eye. We’ve run together. Laughed together. Cried together. We’ve learned so much from one another and now it is time to part. I know that aside from a few exceptions, I am unlikely to see anybody in this group again and the realisation genuinely hurts. I leave the remainder of Team Rhino at the coffee shop and head back to the far side of the mall to say my goodbyes. It takes a long time. I am genuinely moved by the remarks of both the BTU crew and the medics. They say I was always a pleasure to encounter on the course, as I was always smiling and unfailingly positive. Every single day. Odd. That doesn’t sound like me. This event does strange things to a person. There are excessive hugs. Nobody really wants to let go of the moment but pass it must. I return to Team Rhino. The buses return to Nairobi.

Cathy, Kenneth, Laura, Graham, Charley and myself return to our new vehicle for the trip back to Borana. If I am honest with myself, I am a little nervous about the next two days. I am from a different social milieu to the remainder of the rhino squad. They are… well… let’s not mess around here. They are wealthy. Talk has turned to second homes, third homes, skiing, opera and fine art. Everybody is absolutely lovely, warm and welcoming but I am getting an attack of impostor syndrome. They have walked every step of the way together and have the additional bond that comes with that. Do I belong here?

It’s another 90 minutes more or less the way we have just come. As we reach Borana we inevitably reach trails that we ran on three days previously. We know when we have reached the race route as the tracks wear the unmistakable white blotches we’ve become so used to. It’s ridiculously exciting to return to the scene of all the mayhem. It also quickly becomes apparent what a good job the BTU team made of protecting us from the local wildlife. Encounters on course were relatively rare. Now that the area is devoid of runners, it’s teeming with Kenya critters.

We reach Laragai House. Borana as a conservancy is primarily known as a rhino sanctuary. Entry points have short, stubby wooden poles that prevent rhinos departing. There are relatively few occupants. A small group of shareholders have the right to build a residence in the reserve. Laragai House was one of the early properties built in 1989. It is a small slice of heaven perched atop a ridge. One of the owners is a trustee of Save The Rhino, which is why we have the privilege of access. It usually requires several thousand dollars a night to book and is rented out as an entire property. Meals and drinks are included. I have hit the jackpot entirely by chance.

We are ushered into the sitting room, which probably has the same footprint as my house. Grand fireplaces are at each side. The back of the room is primarily made from panelled glass and looks out across the valley below. There is a terrace perched just above a man made waterhole. A family of elephants are taking a drink. We have arrived.

We are shown to our rooms. I have a bed so large I’d struggle to find my way out of it with a map. There are windows on three sides looking out over immaculately tended gardens. The sound of birdsong is everywhere. My en suite has his and hers sinks. I adopt the right hand one. I have a bath, which I plan on spending a lot of time in, as I’m fairly sure I am 80% dust at this point. There is also a capacious dinner plate shower in a space so large there is no need for any screen or curtain. This is going to be very comfortable.

A short familiarisation trip around the grounds. To the left, up the hill from the sitting room and bedrooms, is the dining room. To the right and over a hill is a covered dining area where we shall take lunch, along with the breakfast terrace and pool area. Every one of these spaces offers stunning views.

We take lunch. It is sumptuous and not simply because we’ve all grown accustomed to eating dust this past week. Beautifully tender chicken breast is accompanied by a pair of superb salads. Perfectly chilled rosé is served. I have to pinch myself. Weaver Birds and Superior Starlings flit past, occasionally stopping to take a drink from the shallowest part of the pool.

We have a couple of hours to kill before we are taken for an evening game drive. Most of the group retire to the pool for some rest and relaxation. I am still feeling a little unconnected from the wider group and crave a little solitude. I also crave WiFi, which is apparently on offer. I have been unable to maintain any meaningful communications with home throughout the race. The occasional WhatsApp message has been as good as it gets. I am finally able to read messages from Karen and Rebecca, as well as see photographs taken during the race. Suddenly the various congratulations from home ping up on screen. I smile broadly when I come to a selfie of Rebecca, Karen and Glue in the kitchen, all holding a glass of fizz to toast my completion. I feel close to home again. Secure. I send a message plotting a FaceTime with Karen and Rebecca after I have had dinner tonight.

I join the group for the evening game drive. We are all armed with binoculars and warm clothes for once the sun goes down. The seats are draped with thick blankets ready for that same moment. We head off. We see elephants up nice and close. They eye us nonchalantly. A big batch of zebra. There is a buffalo carcass draped with a family of feeding vultures. We are downwind and can smell the decay.

Our driver, Benson, clearly has a mission in mind, as he heads uphill and into an area of dense vegetation. It is unclear how he plans to proceed as it feels like we’ve run out of road. He proceeds nonetheless, carving out routes that simply aren’t there. We think we’re stuck at one point but a masterclass in four wheel drive clutch control from Benson sees us free. Then the destination becomes clear. We reach the crest of a hill, clad in trees, which turns out to be home to a pride of lions. There are ten in all, with two males. We are told that the pride ate last night, which means they are supremely relaxed this evening. They are just waking up after a hard day of sleeping. They are little more than yards from our Defender. We stay with them for half an hour, as they mooch off into the descending night.

We head for home. Benson scans the surrounds with his torch while he drives and picks up a pair of cheetahs. They look affronted by the disruption and skulk away.

We return home and head for the sitting room. It has been transformed. Despite its high ceiling and considerable size, it has been turned into a wondrous, cosy space. The curtains have been drawn and both fires have been lit. It is warm and smells gently of smoke. The crackle of both fires welcomes us in. Drinks are offered, which offers a chance for another Tusker before dinner. I can feel the barrier I have erected between me and the remainder of Team Rhino coming down.

Then to the dining room for a three course dinner. After days of rehydrated nonsense we are given the royal treatment. A delicious soup to begin, followed by a fish main and a coconut ice cream for dessert. This can’t be real. Can it?

We retire to our rooms at the end of a full day. I try to FaceTime Karen and Rebecca. Contact is established but sadly not maintained. The connection is not up to the task. We manage little more than a couple of minutes before the line drops out. All attempts to re-establish contact fail. I feel deflated. I am missing my ladies badly now. I have done all trip but have had plentiful distractions to keep the ennui at bay. Now that my mission has been completed, I could happily jump on a flight and go home now, despite all this luxury.

I resort to one of my favourite methods of restoring mojo, which is taking a bath. It is hot. The bubbles are piled high. I remain in there with my book until I resemble a raisin.

As I prepare to shut down for the day I spot a girthy spider on the wall. All hair and knuckles. I have to gird myself to do the old cup and paper trick, which I execute adroitly. Years of practice, that.

Day 11
Breakfast is due to be served at 09:00. I have opted to have coffee served to my room at 08:00. It is brought to me by Jane. She asks if I slept well. I really did. She asks if my room is OK. It really is. I mention the spider for comedy effect. She asks “did you…” and mimes a squitching with a foot gesture. I go to some length to explain the cup and paper palaver. She seems amused at this act of arachnid kindness.

I am getting used to luxurious breakfasts. I am also getting used to jettisoning vegetarianism. I’ll get back on that wagon once I return home. Breakfast is taken on a raised terrace. The views across Borana are frankly ridiculous. I can make out wildlife in the distance but it’s too far to identify. I grab granola and plain yoghurt. Coffee comes. Passion fruit juice packed with flavour. Then scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, beautifully grilled tomatoes seasoned to perfection. It’s all delightful.

We have a full day ahead. We are travelling to an education centre that has been part funded by Save The Rhino. It’s a great opportunity to see where some of those pounds I have been nagging everybody for actually go. We “ran” through the centre on day two. At the time I resented it but only because there was a big step up to get in, which hurt a lot at the time. Today I am in far better fettle.

Cathy and Kenneth are royalty around here. Cathy has disbursed funds for any numbers or projects in these parts. The team at the centre are delighted to see her. We all follow on in, in her wake.

The centre is single storey and looks, by Western standards, to be fairly rudimentary. It is made from local materials and is carbon neutral. Used glass bottles have been used to create a form of windows and part of the flooring out back. We enter into a large room containing a big screen and projector. The walls contain various posters extolling conservation initiatives. Seating is provided by pouffes made from recycled flip flops. There is a separate conference room behind this.

After Cathy has spent some time fact finding, we reconvene in the main area. A short video is played. It’s been made by Gonerazhou National Park in Zimbabwe and was created shortly after rhinos were successfully reintroduced there at the third time of asking. The video features a “rhino” walking across the country trying to find a dance partner (the rhino is one of the famous Save The Rhino costumes). The rhino eventually finds a home and willing dancers in Gonerazhou. It is whimsical and it’s happy and… I’m crying. From nowhere I am having a crafty weep. I imagine it’s a lot of emotion that has been bubbling beneath the surface the last week. I’m suddenly acutely aware of where I am, what I have done and why I did it. It makes me absurdly happy. I am proud.

We take a short bus ride in another Save The Rhino funded vehicle to observe the rangers operations centre. We see Earthranger first hand. It is a piece of environmental analysis software. It can be used to log wildlife sightings, ranger reports, invasive species sightings and so on and so forth. It’s impressive and it seems the rangers are only just beginning to realise it’s power as a tool. They will shortly be integrating more attachments in the form of photographs and video. There is so much more it will do once they master it.

We leave the education centre and head to Lengishu. It is the latest home to be built on Borana. It was finished in 2019 and it is architecturally astonishing. It is fully solar powered but there isn’t a panel in sight, as these are housed far away. There are hidden water reclamation tanks. The gardens are immaculately sculpted with indigenous, drought resistant plants. It is a feast for the eyes before you even cross the threshold. The interior is a Homes and Garden editor’s wet dream. It apparently rents out for ten thousand dollars. I think that’s per day. I’m too shy to ask and the website is very cagey about the bottom line.

We are there as guests of the owners, who are shareholders for the conservancy. There are other guests too. Small talk is exchanged. I prefer to glide past my day job and concentrate on the plus points of life as a freelance photographer. Despite the fact that we are all only just meeting for the first time, conversation flows well, ably assisted by more very passable food and wine. Many lovely things are offered up and devoured. I seem to be having food thrown at me of late, which is fine, as I have been permanently hungry since crossing the finish line. A lot of the conversation pertains to our recent exertions. It’s interesting to see other peoples’ responses to the ultra. It veers from astonishment to amusement. The latter normally surfaces whenever we discuss food or toilets, which is more often than is healthy.

Time is moving on. We head back for a quick costume change. We don’t have time for a game drive tonight. Instead we press straight on with sundowners. We are driven out to a ridge in the middle of the conservancy where a semicircle of chairs has been set up around a campfire. A small table is still up with a makeshift bar. We are offered drinks and snacks as we watch night fall. Sadly the sun has been replaced by clouds but it is still a grand sight. We are joined by Michael, who we met earlier in the day. He has brought his dogs, who try and spectacularly fail to pester an oryx, which simply buts them away with an air of superiority. It is all very, very pleasant.

And there is still a further dinner at home to come. Three more tantalising courses. Beef for the main and a startlingly good drop of red to wash it down. I must not get used to all this because I shall shortly revert back to being a normal mortal again.

Day 12
Our final day. I feel happy the second I emerge from my vast bed, after another marvellous sleep. I’ve another wonderful breakfast and lunch to look forward to, along with a last spasm of fun before we set off for home. Just knowing I am heading home to see my family raises my spirits. It feels slightly disrespectful towards Kenya to feel this way, when the country has been astonishingly kind to me and given me arguably my greatest single adventure. But the pull of family is greater than all this. My work here is done. I want to see Karen and Rebecca again as soon as possible.

But first, that last bit of fun. Kenneth, Graham and myself take an early breakfast. We have an appointment. We are going e-biking. I’ve never been on an e-bike before. It looks like a regular bike but chunkier, with a cryptic cylinder towards the back that seems to be where the action is. We are given helmets and a brief run through of the controls. There are four power settings. The names of the first three seem fairly cryptic but the final one; turbo, seems fairly conclusive.

We set off. A few hundred yards out of the house I am confronted with a hill. The bike stops and I don’t have the muscle power to get it moving again. I’m advised to switch to turbo, which I was too embarrassed to use. It feels excessive. I flick the switch and pedal. I take off like the hill is fictitious. It’s remarkable and exhilarating. This is going to be fun.

We spend the next 90 minutes out on safari by bike. We see all sorts. All the usual contenders. Rhino and elephants take top billing but we also have to hold up while we negotiate the same stretch of trail with some buffaloes. At one stage we reach the bottom of a hill that was the scene of a check point on day two. We are cycling it in the opposite direction. I remember enjoying the descent when I was running it but it looks daunting the other way around. I flick turbo and pedal like fury. It’s like the hill and it’s hundred metres of ascent are not there. The bike simply flies. Kenneth said before we began that e-bikes are a nice toy. I’m inclined to agree.

Then it’s home. Lunch. Pack. Depart.

The road trip back to Nairobi takes around six and a half hours. I enjoy the sights, check some messages, fall asleep a bit and look forward to happy homecomings. We stop just outside Nanyuki (again) to buy gifts. We’ve not been anywhere near a place selling them before now. Karen gets all the high quality smelly things I have been using the last few days. Rebecca has a necklace with snuggling lizards. I’m disappointed not to find anything rhino related.

We arrive in Nairobi with time to spare. We dash into the Sheraton for dinner. One last Tusker for the road. Then off to the airport. I’ve got the worst seats going. Plum centre of a middle row. I ask if there’s a single aisle seat. There isn’t. My chagrin is doubled when three of Team Rhino are upgraded. Two are even in First. Heigh ho!

The rest of the team make their way to the club lounge. I go and grab a coffee and spend the last of my Kenyan shillings. I won’t see the rest of the crew again until we land in Heathrow.

The flight just happens. I can’t sleep and I’m trapped on both sides. It’s long and no amount of televisual entertainment will speed it up. Eventually we…

Day 13
Touchdown.

London.

Home.

Arriving at the Border is always fun, what with me working there and all. I catch sight of Julia and say hello. She shoots out of her chair and congratulates me on all my nonsense. It is fun. I bid her goodbye. I’ll see everybody again in a week or so.

I reunite with Team Rhino in the baggage hall. They have all had pleasant flights. Growl! That said, my luggage is off first and I am free. Graham beat me out, as he went to go and get coffees. I bid farewell to my remaining colleagues. It’s been a pleasure but I now have tunnel vision and Karen and Rebecca are at the end of that.

Out of customs and into arrivals. There they are. I’m about to go all giddy when Graham is there carrying coffees. I have to maintain my cool a moment longer and introduce him to Karen and Rebecca. Once pleasantries are completed I am able to turn aside and commence the huge hugs. We all squeeze. In a trip full of dizzying highs, it’s the best feeling of all.

 

[Seagull58]

That was a great read. Congratulations on your achievement and the excellent diary.

 

[jimhigham]

That was a great read. Congratulations on your achievement and the excellent diary.

Glad you enjoyed it. I just needed to get something down on paper before the memories faded.