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My view was FAB. I was afraid to lose me. The physical and mental effort that bedeviled my desert bike ride was added. Leaning over the handlebars, between his teeth, I tried with sand, to not become lost. At the same time washed subtle fears to the surface. I saw things that could be there. For example, a car.
Sometimes I moved between reality and unreality. British Airways Suddenly rings around me was a lake with a large ice floes. Very remote, I sighted a dark line, the banks, and a small point, which was a stone mound. Then again, I drifted on an ice floe. Advance something I came to, that grew into straight into me. Palm announced an oasis, and a white-dressed man with a bag full of bottles stood right by me. Next went my tour. Sand passed. Yellow. Dark. Rocky. Just desert. I looked forward to a bed, but I saw only grey, torn sand Plains. As enchanted me were a bird, but it only the chickens of the final settlement. They had no dung heap. What wonder, the feces of animals was brought right to the needy date palms.
British Airways Reservations
Back to reality. No one was there. Nothing. No people, no point, no sign, no Telegraphenmast. To me around only treeless, hilly desert. Distance and silence. Freely tensed desolation from horizon to horizon.
British Airways A place of unspeakable melancholy. White walls drooped. Kinky scrub. Rows of tree stumps. Leaning over the handlebars, I liked not descend and thought: what have I gotten myself only? The tents were provided to the North and with barriers made of sticks and mud against the shifting sands of the prevailing wind. A donkey, a goat, many camels were wandering freely. You can save yourself in the desert fences. Here no one runs away.
One night later was this brilliant, dazzling, glistening ORB the Sun again, about me. And after my desert map, an oasis was 30 kilometres in front of me. The card, now in items tattered, was my only support against the fear of lost me. I drove on a gravel sand slopes typically for an hour at a time. Then made a break, ran as a signpost a few stones one above the other, and then it was on. On the day I no longer managed more than 30 kilometers. And not always exactly in the right direction.
In the middle of the empty, british airways gently rolling ocean of stone and sand at last an oasis! Daraj. As-salamu alaikum, the constantly recurring greeting. My bike has been admired as you have never seen one. Forward I hunkered down on a wall. There were tea and water, and curiosity. Yes, I had found this point in nothingness right off the bat, I confirmed.
Daraj was an oasis without Lake, but with Bottagone, Palm bushes, bit Thistle-like herb and a handful of leafless shrubs. Not ten people lived here. But there was a well. At least three women were hanging on a rope and pulled up a role with water buckets. Camels and goats were as usual free.
With millet and cake in a bowl for me alone and water in the jug, I fueled up for the next day. Even before sunrise, I pushed my bike at the start of the last stage. I thought, but 50 kilometers were not to create. Not after I had quite a few hundred in the legs. Bullshit, some thousands – of Germany from expected. The last stage lasted three days. To stick with the truth: three half days. An all day long in the pedals, which was no longer.
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