A missed turn enroute to The Gambia saw us forced into a truly awful patch of roadway. Deeply broken and rutted, the bikes raised enormous plumes of dust behind them, and the occasional passing truck left us gasping for breath and everything coated in grimy powder. Our group became separated here by more than 20km, and the InReach Explorer device was invaluable in allowing us to message and regroup successfully. This involved backtracking for Gary and I, not a pleasant prospect in these conditions. Following the lead of a friendly local (Maki), we headed off across the open veld instead of using the track. Much smoother, and generally well compacted except for the occasional soft spot to keep us on our toes.
Having regrouped, the next destination was the Gambian border. The border is accessed via a massive open estuary system that appears as an apparent mirage on the horizon before resolving into a huge shallow body of water. We headed off the track and out towards the shimmering water - carefully. Our last sojourn off track and out towards a body of water ended up with two bikes nearly stuck in quicksand on the edge of the Sahara, so we proceeded very judiciously.
Once we reached the water's edge, we were amazed to find that this is fresh water. Our assumption has been that this would be salt water coming through some form of basin from the nearby coast.
After a short break, we decided to move on towards the border. This involved easing the bikes off the mud, careful to ensure everyone remained safe and clean. At least that is the accepted practice. Ty, on the other hand, elected to engage in abject bastardry. Finding his bike positioned directly broadside to mine, he accelerated aggressively and showered me with heavy wet clods of compacted mud. Unlike normal 'squishy' and viscous mud, this had partly pan dried and came away in semi-solid projectiles that struck both bike and body with a resounding thwack. Unable to accelerate out from the line of fire, I could only cower as these mud missiles coated bike and rider. Within seconds the bike was all but obliterated under a thick coating of slime.
Arriving at the Ferry crossing (three semi clean and one indescribably filthy) we made the brief crossing to the border town of Foundigne, and have come to a grinding halt. It seems that The Gambia border may be closed due to political strife in the country. Recently renamed to 'The Islamic Republic of The Gambia'; things have been tense for some time, but it appears that this may have spilled over into military strife and street arrests. Going around The Gambia is a possibility. It's a long detour, but may be the best option in the circumstances. We will hang around Foundigne for a little longer this afternoon and try to gather some local intel before making a final decision.
It's worth noting that The Gambia is a long, thin country that pokes into Senegal from the west coast of Africa. At the point we propose to cross, the country is only 50km wide. We can enter one side and be out the other side in an hour if all goes well. We'll see what happens...
