6 days to go.
"Hello, come over here"
Interestingly these were the only words he knew in English. He did pedaling sign language and said "instagram," instagram! Yes! I did share my instagram with the guy who locked my bike.
Few minutes later a pickup drives in with the bike on the back.
I pack it all up, as rickety as it is this rig will have to take me over the mountains. My bearded friend is not at my favorite grocery store in Khasab and I roll out right as the sun sets. In the dark, I am very reluctant to pick a camping spot, it looks like there are some military buildings all over the place but I settle for a not-too-far from the road flat spot.
5 days to go.
Now, I did see the giant sign proclaiming no visitors on the road and was told by friends that you cant go across but it is worth a shot anyway. The uphill was pretty much all a push, the bike too uncomfortable to ride. Helicopter was doing rounds back and forth and so were many army trucks, an observation point I had hoped to visit was actually a military base.
A man from Nepal who had driven tourists to the pass spoke some English with me. He assured me I can't pass and even checked the ferry back to Dibba. 7am tomorrow. If I were to make it, I need to go back right now. But even if there was a 0.1% chance of me getting across that gate it would be a shame not to take it.
Riding down that spine felt like descending into Mordor, under a cloud of dust and the sound of rattle and murmuring apologies to the bike. And just like in Mordor, it was clear that I shall not pass. Sadly there was no higher up at the checkpoint and nobody to contact (what kind of an army installation is left with no communications?). So in bitter defeat I turned around.
While looking at the monster climb back up, one thing caught my eye. It appeared that there was a partial road. About 3km straight line down the mountain was blank. I rolled into some town whose name I do not remember and the local bike gang led me to the road.
4 days to go...
and nowhere near. The Great Escape from Oman continues.
There was also another catch. Even if I make it to my boat in Dibba there was conflicting information on whether I can leave from there. Two border officials at where I entered said yes but a tourist said you cant leave from a different point than where you came in.
After some brake burning descend the goat trail began, or goat trails. There seemed to be a principal route to follow and all in all it was not as tough. A woman walking uphill bare feet and hoping from rock to rock stopped to speak to me. The only thing I gathered was that there is some water at the bottom.
In an epic finale I walked the last fifty meters in ankle deep goat shit, creating mini avalanches to the curious looks of the goats. There was a road!
And I was the king of the road once again, no army checkpoints, no cliffs, nothing can stop me now. At Lima on the coast a man took me to the port and showed me a boat:
"They leave in 15 minutes."
Well... haha... Oman police, take 7.
5 minutes before departure two cars drive up,
"Come, come"
"But my boat is going..."
"No problem, come"
I get in the pickup and a man stands in the back holding my bike. We stop at the police station but I enter another building. People shake hands with me and we sit down. Lima is a small town and when somebody shows up coming from Khasab, where there is no road everybody is curious. I chat with the sheikh and the police chief for a bit. They also ask me that if I write a book, I should only get information from the government and I assure them that if I do, I only write about encounters and people. Just like this one, nothing too serious. I also get a confirmation that I cannot leave at Dibba, as originally planned and will need to return to Khasab.
A little upset that I just missed my boat ride, I return to the port to see the same boat waiting, we load up and go. Two men from India share lunch with me, and I assure you that if you are kayaking there and see one of these boats coming, you get out of the way! They take turns driving and napping and so do I, napping.
At Dibba or Deba or Diba as it is spelled differently in English on all the signs, I am glad to find out that my friend from Bangladesh, Raju did not decide to paddle the seven seas and my raft is still there. A fisherman whom I met few days ago helps me find a ride back to Lima and I wait until they sell their fish to hop in. Big boats drop off groups of tourists, from the boat to the bus, hats, suntans and shiny backpacks. What a shame, its just now that the sky and the mountains start to change colors. A very moving ride back to Lima, humming Xavier Rudd songs in my head and watching the cliffs roll by.
Oman police #9.
Well... I figure if I cant beat them, I better join them. I may mock the way these encounters go a little bit but they are nice people, doing their job and they really like looking at passports. The page with the Oman visa already has a small rip on it. We chat for a little, drink tea, recharge electronics, eat Indian food and I even mooch a little wifi.
3days to go
At 3am the night watchman watches me push my boat off into the ocean. I cannot help but wonder: what is he thinking?
It was my plan to meet with the Dubai Travelers Festival Organizers Awad and Hasan but I got their message that they are leaving in two days to climb Kilimanjaro so I need to hurry up, if I make it to a big bay by sunrise I can do another 20km to the only access road on the Khors from where I can ride the bike.
after about 3 hours in the dark I could finally see a little
I round that point at 8am and oh... wow. Even the headphones at full blast cannot block the sound of the headwind, progress from the point is slow and I do not dare to look back. When I do and when I keep looking forward all the khors and mountains don't make sense. Turns out that in addition to the headwind I am getting carried to the middle of the big bay. An army boat zooms by close but I don't wave them down, I don't know why. Four and a half hours after that point I pull out the GPS map. 2.5km in a straight line progress, mostly to the middle of the bay.
If it was any other time, I would go to a beach following the current but with this deadline it may not be the best idea. I tie a red plastic bag on my paddle and wave down a boat half an hour later. Bike on raft on boat, we buzz through what would have taken me two days and arrive to the road. There, it seems that a rescue operation for a boat crash few days ago is just wrapping up.
I continue up the road but when a car pulls up I do not refuse the offer for a ride. By the time we reach town two tires on the trailer blow out. Next I get to the end of town, hitchhiking is the only way out but I don't even know if that can work here. A man driving to UAE picks me up and patiently goes with me through immigration, from the town we make the bus to Dubai with seconds to spare and I get in touch with my friends there.
Dubai.
"I have worked 12 years as taxi driver, bike in Honda - never." Says the Bangladeshi taxi driver, he points out how new the cab is and shows me the dashboard reading 171km. Well... crap. I keep thinking of the dirt and oil stains my bike will leave on the backseat. At last I meet up with Hasan and spend the night in a small immigrant flat. 4 Indians snoring through the blankets in a room with no windows and yet I sleep like a baby.
1 day to go.
My friends leave for... Tasmania I think but I am left to hang out with Ahmed, the camel man.
"I can travel with you, you have positive energy," he says through a friend. He is learning English for two months before going to Kyrgyzstan. I say that we will meet again some day but cant help wondering how cool traveling with a camel would be. My plan B, or C or D was actually to go to Yemen and get a camel if I had missed the flight.
my friend's fridge was pretty well stoked...
The great escape from Oman and Dubai now finished, I look to making it for the new year in Colombia and continuing south.
Except.
The Dubai flight gets delayed which means the manual connection in Madrid is not possible.
Paying the penalty fee and taking the flight on the next day was the easy option but... what about saving $20 and spending two weeks in Spain? Or maybe I just didn't want to spend new year in the airport.
I also had friends in Granada and a 4 hour carpool ride later we were counting down 2017 by eating 12 grapes like people in Spain do.
And as for those two weeks here... why not go to Africa?