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The adventure of three lifetimes

Freedom and endurance over 3,646km and 53 hours
Ian Greasby, with Simon Humphreys and Tim Redman

Overview
We planned to set off on a journey of 3,700km around the edges of Oman, following the coastline and national borders, minimising our travel over tarmac and instead exploring the most uninhabited and inaccessible parts of the sultanate.

We would ride our bikes with no support. We would have to carry all of our fuel, water, tools, clothes, spares and bedding. With no car following, the kit had to be all-encompassing yet minimalist. A rough plan of where we would sleep was made, but it had to be flexible in case of delays or mechanical failures.

Friday, March 23: 5.30am-4pm
Muscat to Mahoot, 485km
From Muscat we headed to Quriyat and then on to Fins. We encountered the first of many washed-out roads. The bikes got dirty and so did we. At Fins, we went up a winding dirt track which leads over the Hajar Mountains, past the beehive tombs and down by Wadi Bani Khalid and into Al Mintrib. We arrived around lunchtime for our first curry.

Can you believe it? It rained as we rode through the Sharqiya Sands. At the southern end of the desert we rode some glorious, big rolling dunes. A great day. Mahoot welcomed us with cold, wet rain.

During our second curry of the day, eaten in a bizarre little fishing town, the locals gathered to stare at their new attraction: Tim’s first lesson in Arabic. An observation was shared regarding the arrival of local people in their cars at restaurants or petrol stations. On arriving anywhere it seems that one should shout out a loud-pitched “Oi!�Tim soon picked it up and began to practise. Just after his third attempt, one of the locals passing by enquired, “You speak Arabi?�Fantastic. This was repeated twice more at various petrol stations along our journey. Tim now claims to be bilingual.

Busy as it was we frankly weren’t up for a night on the town in Mahoot, and we had just received flood warnings: “Roads tomorrow may not be passable, and the south of Oman is grinding to a halt.�Oh glory be to rain.

Saturday, March 24: 6.30am-6.20pm
Mahoot to Shelim, 576km (running total: 1,060km)
We’re off after omelettes for breakfast. Under blue skies, the salt flats of Bar al Hickman were wet, soggy and coating our bikes in thick heavy sludge. But the beach at Khaluf was beautiful �long, white and empty at low tide. A wadi then led us out on to the coastal road and we appeared into Duqm just in time for fish curry.

The roads to Shelim (near Marmul) were incredible: deeply rutted and filled with puddles of red, salty mud. Tim was in his element, splashing through the deep and muddy puddles, but Simon wasn’t: he was tired, his goggles were filthy and he couldn’t see �he was getting a bit grumpy.

Entering Shelim, with its famously rusty Shell petrol station, we found a very basic guesthouse suffering from the recent rains. There was only one towel �Simon had his shower first so got to choose which side of the towel he used. I used the other side, and Tim just drip-dried. But we could put our bikes in the hotel, riding up the stairs �three dirty bikes in a dirty hotel.

At the Bengali restaurant we enjoyed eating all the scraps; the poor condition of the roads prevented food deliveries today. The food was basic and the place was very rundown. Tim started wittering on about how in Africa they can make a wooden shed attractive. I just quoted Monty Python and talked about cardboard boxes. Simon wondered why he was there.

Sunday, March 25: 6.30am-3pm
Shelim to Salalah, via Wadi Shuwaymiah, 447km (running total: 1,508km)
“Eeeeg omletts with vigitibees and tea��no milk, no sugar �one single mass. Breakfast was a treat, especially the pidgin English with which it was decorated. But the cook made such an effort to please that we tipped him handsomely. He was a ‘Good Man� and from this moment on we offered verbal Good Man stickers to many, many people along the way.

Wadi Shuwaymiah was next, a trip there and back. The wadi was rocky and freshly washed out from the rains. Deep water and massive rocks provided the perfect opportunity for glorious photos. Forgetting to fasten up my rear fender bag, my chain-repair kit jumped out. Thankfully, Tim saw it pop out. If he hadn’t then later in the day, my trip would have been over. I owe Tim for this, but he owes me plenty, too, so I guess we’ll settle at quits.

Simon’s bike had redeveloped the radiator leak that was repaired a few months ago in Wadi Kabir. None of us were happy about this. There was no chance of a new radiator �would it last the distance in the Empty Quarter? Could it be repaired again in Salalah?

Back in Shelim we followed the graded swamp to Marmul. Suddenly my brand-new drive chain broke. Thankfully I still had my chain-repair kit, and within 30 minutes the chain was back on. We needed two split links and a new section of chain, all of which we had. The ROP came over to take photos, shake hands and ask if we needed any help.

My chain was still expanding and now my slider bolt had come loose. Simon’s spokes and sprocket worked loose, too. Tie-wrapped and bound in duct tape, we made it to Salalah, which is a very different place in winter to that in summer. Simon fell off at the edge of the road as we posed for a photo. He claimed it was his first. How we chuckled.

At Honda we met Suresh (a Good Man) and we serviced our bikes and were ready to go to the hotel. All except Simon, that is, whose bike was in pieces. The radiator had been scuttled away to somewhere in Salalah for repair, and Simon was looking decidedly sweaty.

Tim and I sped off to meet Edward (another Good Man), the manager of the Crowne Plaza. We hid our bikes (all shiny and clean with fresh oil) and enjoyed a relaxing few hours on the beach, before realising that Simon was still not with us. He rang to say he’d still not seen his radiator back from the repair shop. It was 7.30pm. We were having a great time but Simon wasn’t.

Monday, March 26: 10.30am-6.30pm
Salalah to Ubar, 407km (running total: 1,915km)
The early-morning ritual of putting on sun cream: for some reason, I seemed to use quite a lot, despite only putting a bit on my nose and on the back of my neck. Tim said I must have a long neck. We met Simon at 10.30am with his radiator fixed and set off in the direction of the Yemeni border. At the police check point, the guards were very friendly, expressed interest in our trip, and applauded my wheelies.

Today was Tim’s bad day. First, a broken power cable on his GPS, which we fixed quickly on top of the mountain before riding down the most amazing dirt track to Rakhyut. The track reminded us of trail riding in the UK, except that every now and then there were camels grazing next to the sheep and cattle. Bizarre. We dropped down into a wadi and then on to the most gorgeous white beach. On the way out Tim experienced the only puncture of the trip. The graded road suddenly became a beautiful strip of tarmac that was directed towards Saudi Arabia. Tim took the lead, for the first time in nearly 2,000km. After 15km in the lead, we were 12km off track �he’d missed the turn-off. Tim had stopped to claim an inexplicable interest in rock formations (and to check GPS). I was laughing at Tim’s navigational ineptitude and Simon was blissfully unaware we were wrong at all.

Ubar is not the biggest place in the world. It consists of a big steel vessel containing petrol, some diesel in drums and a ramshackle hut made out of wooden pallets, which houses two little guys who run the petrol pump-cum-restaurant-cum-shop. The shop sold oil (for engines and for cooking), toothpaste, beans, plastic bowls, tinned tomatoes and matches. The men welcomed us with open arms and cooked us a fantastic curry with lovely dry naan (because they had run out of oil). One of them provided us with warm, thick blankets and allowed us to sleep under the stars among the camel spiders.

Just before we slept we were joined by two other guys. One of them sported a fantastic cowboy hat with a matching cowboy-style moustache. He carried with him at all times a video recorder, and spoke constantly of Western and Indian films �wonderful. The other one just snored a lot, all night, all morning and probably most of the next day. The effects of the desert? A glorious night that was most entertaining.

Tuesday, March 27: 5.45am-5pm
Ubar to Qitbit, via the Empty Quarter, 450km (running total: 2,365km)
With fuel strapped to the front forks of bikes and a few litres in our rucksacks, plus extra water, we set off for the desert, straight into the Empty Quarter. We navigated our own way through the dunes towards the Saudi Arabian border. There is no fence but several enormous, stainless-steel telegraph poles with big crosses on the top. Underneath are concrete pillars with the Oman emblem on one side and the Saudi emblem on the other. This really was the middle of nowhere. It was awe-inspiring and I was in heaven: borders do something to me that train stations do to others. Simon wasn’t so sure, not really enjoying the adventure of being a million miles from nowhere. Quote: “I’m not sure I’m really made out for this adventure riding, because when it gets really adventurous�I get scared��which is an interesting thing to come up with halfway through a 3,700km-long adventure ride!

We rode along rough tracks just inside the border for 80km, which was relatively easy going �we played and drew shapes in the huge, perfect sand dunes. We passed an oasis, too, and when I failed to stop, Tim grumbled: “The only oasis in the whole desert and you don’t even stop.�Who cares �I was enjoying the riding too much. Huge rolling dunes, interspersed with sabkha flats. For me, this was the best bit of the trip, but it is not something for the faint-hearted to undertake, nor for those without navigational confidence or dune-reading ability. This was the real stuff and my heart was pounding. The last 30km before Qitbit (a rest house and petrol station on the main Muscat-Salalah road) got very difficult, and I started to wonder if we had bitten off more than we could chew. But we plodded on with a few stops here and there.

Finally we got out of the dunes and came out on the road. We literally crossed over the road to the rest house and garage. Filling up with petrol, Simon announced, “My wheel bearings are broken. I’m not going anywhere.�One look at his bike and yes, his wheel was gone. With no spares this could be the end.

Simon’s XR650R is not an overly common model but there is a handful of them in Muscat. We contacted one of our friends, who arranged for his wheel to be on the Muscat-Salalah bus departing just one hour hence. Amazingly, the bus stops at 3.30am at Qitbit. Simon met the bus, swapped over wheels and was ready for the next day. Incredible.

Wednesday, March 28: 6am-4pm
Qitbit to Yibal, 515km (running total: 2,880km)
We set off early with fuel strapped to our front forks, plus a few litres in our backpacks. We were well and truly fuelled and watered up. But it was just over 500km to Yibal, so we needed every litre we could carry.

Only 30km up the road and we had our first route-planning problem. The army post would not let us through. We were told that in this area, riding was prohibited. We had no choice but to turn back. We went right back and then cut across to take an alternative route from Mushqin. This worked out fine except that it was very, very difficult: soft, small dunes crossing a wadi for 35km. It was a good job that it was the start of the day or it might have been too much for us. Finally the dunes got bigger and easier, and then we picked up a graded road leading us back towards the border fence with Saudi Arabia. The road was waterlogged from the rains and pretty tough in places, so we had to stick to the track and not cut through. We took the long, easy route rather than the shorter, tougher route �we’d done enough tough stuff in the last few days anyway. We then followed the very easy route up through Umm Seqin, passing through the gorgeous dunes close to the Saudi Arabian border before reaching Al Huwaisah and arriving safely at Yibal.

Thursday, March 29: 7.30am-6pm
Yibal to Ibri (the long way), 446km (running total: 3,326km)
Heading out of Yibal we skirted the oil fields and aimed for the point at which Saudi Arabia, Oman and the UAE all meet. The dunes got bigger and bigger and we could ride the backs of them without cresting anything. It was fantastic and got slightly easier as the dunes became larger. We were all riding like demons.

We finally reached the triple border point. There it was, just a couple of hundred metres in the distance. What a sight: the Saudi Arabian border posts and the UAE fence. There were cheers all round. So then we skirted the oil fields again and headed for the road to Safa from Lekhwair. And then the fun started.

We agreed that it was too far �42km of pure yellow dunes on the map �to cross through the middle of the giant Safa dunes. Our tyres were worn, our bodies tired and, as Tim said, “I’ve seen enough of the desert.�We would skirt the dunes. Just as this was agreed, I saw a graded road heading into the dunes. “Sorry guys, we have to try it �maybe it leads us right through?�After a kilometre, the road ended among the dunes. There were only 41km to go to cross them�

I suggested I pop up to the top of those big dunes and have a look, just in case it looked easy. Simon knew what this meant: he was going to have to cross these dunes. I didn’t dare ask, but I think they knew and agreed it was worth a try.

Finally the road. After a good rest and refuel we headed up north again to follow the wadi and graded road looping round to the north to get us to Yanqul. It started raining and we were heading into a wadi. Sensible? No, but we were heroes today and nothing could stop us. We looped all the way round and came back to Ibri, where we spent a luxurious night in a comfortable hotel.

Friday, March 30. 9.30am-2pm
Ibri to Muscat, 320km. Grand total: 3,646km
We looped round to Rustaq, where we took the graded road and sand dunes at Al Sawadi (Massana dunes) which we follow on most weekend rides. We knew the boys and girls were waiting for us in Muscat at a friend’s house. We headed straight down the highway to Muscat, but before we would get there we needed one little detour. We sent them a text message: “Slight delay �enjoying a lap of�Bausher!�It had to be done.

At 2pm we arrived to a welcoming crowd. The totally predictable wheelies were pulled by Simon and me. Tim performed a donut. We were home. Children and wives, friends and dogs met us. Sausages, cold drinks and shouts of “Oi!�prevailed.

We’d finished: 3,700km in eight days. We were actually riding our bikes for 53 hours; on the move for an average of nearly seven hours a day, but generally on the go for up to 11 hours a day. The lap of Oman had been completed by three, unsupported bikes.