Breakfast at sunlight in our patio lying down at perfect timing like requested at 8.30AM.
Red woke up earlier than I did that day which was odd.
We said our goodbyes and parted, only to stop 20 meters from the gates of Auberge Amach.
Red cleaned the sparkplug, then changed it, then we went off, at 20km/h, then 30km/h, then 15km/h, then stopped, cleaned it, parted again, stopped, changed it, stopped, cursing away under the sun almost reaching it's high point on a clear blue sky bathing us with heat along the way, burning us everytime we stopped. Being tested for patience is bearable when you know the reason to the chalenge. Red was at the end of his wits and is angered by the fact that there was no clear reason to the cause of the ill-burning sparkplug. And so, just to use all possible ideas since none of the 3 mechanics that had placed their hand on the Aprilia has though of it, he took off the muffler in a rather violent manner, only to discover that it wasn't the problem.
There was no solution to this problem.
We had to go through that 170 km to the border at the velocity that the Aprilia manages which fluctuated frequently. Furthermore, Red having forced to take off the muffler had also bent the tube and now we have another problem. The Red man is now not only audible from 5kms away but the distinct repetitive noise of the 2 stroke is worst than a firing Tommy gun. Our drive by attracted many people that lived alongside the road, especially children who were the most curious. However, from afar you could see also a different kind of reaction. We were scaring people and animals. I'd see from afar (because I myself needed to stay away from the noise) children running away and camels, goats, birds, mules freaking out and stampeding off. Red later tried to connect it back. Forcing was no use and after series of trials to tied it up with plastic bands, strings, elastics only to have the exhaust fall out a dragging, Red was praying for more patience and I was about to just give up my scooter to end his suffering. It was of course unknown to me that we had to both arrive at the border and to leave the scooter in the middle of the road would make crossing to Senegal harder.
We arrived at Rosso, Mauritania, around 4.30PM. It took us 7 hours to cross 170kms.
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Along the way during some stops people would offer to buy the scooters. It was the same at the border but the men were not just interested in a deal. They were like hungry vultures. In plenty, surveilling us to see if there was something they could gain from us. In this folly, we actually managed to sell the Aprilia for the cost of our ferry passage to Rosso, Senegal, for the pay of customs and we earned 150 dollars. Senegal lives from the black market of vehicles. However, I can't understand why they would buy anyway a scooter that was not working and wasn't even too sure that the part of this plastic bike already ruined from past accidents would be that much of value.
Our patience was tested also at the border. Red was dealing with endless lines for bureaucratic means and also with our Machiavellian 'broker' who paid our way since we had no more money, but tried to give us false prices in the meantime. I was dealing with questions about topics that ranged from selling my SH50 to my origins and then eventually about sex in a crude manner. At some point after 2 hours, we've crossed the river onto Senegal, and after having waited not in peace, I lost my head and yelled at a very insistent boy who was also hammering Red for money for his 'services', in his opinion already rendered.
Once the money issue was settled, we took the necessary items from the glove compartment and just gave almost every tool we've purchased to the mob. We then waited another half hour for the clearance on customs on Red's passport due to the 'missing' Aprilia. At that point, we've lost the tank with 15 liters of fuel and our tent. We had wanted to give it away anyhow but it got stolen before to good deed was done.
Once cleared by the border police, we were off on the SH50 with 2 backpacks.. I think that totals to more than 200kgs.. on a 50cc.. Smiling again. Happy it was all over and that we were again on the road.
We didn't have a map or book of Senegal and was quite surprised that St. Louis was 80 km away, so we went off to the nearest village about 8 kms from the fork to Richard Toll. I loved the smell in the air of burnt fields. A smell of cultivation of a country close to tropical. It was already nightfall. We were laughing away our moments of the days and then the scooter stops...
We ran out of fuel... and so we marched, heading towards the nearest light, singing away.
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Sounds like a fuel line problem
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