The red sand is sifting through the toes on my feet; I watch the black sky, sprinkled by stars, with the mountains in the middle of the desert, whose outlines are becoming more and more visible in the rising moon. The tent is just a couple of minutes away, the KTM is enjoying its well-deserved rest in front of it and just a stone's throw away from them there is the silhouette of Martin and Sandra's Unimog. The only sound I can hear is the throbbing of a vein in my head. The silence is so intense that the noise in my ears is piercing through my head. We're at 1,100 metres of altitude. I go to sleep, but the noise in my head is still there, along with the slow beating of the wind-rattle somewhere high in the rocks, while the wind is weaving its way through the cracks. Or is it all just the eco in my head?
6.20, the alarm clock goes off. Well, finally! The tossing and turning in the cold tent on the hard sand is over. 1.4°C. The outside of the tent canvas is covered by morning dew and there's condensation of the night’s breathing on the inside. I'm wide awake in a second, it's time to start jumping. The diesel heater in the Unimog is already on and buzzing. I take my camera from inside the sleeping bag, where it was kept warm all night and go chase the sun rays. I climb one of the hills and soon the sunlight pours all over me. Beside me there are also the flowers, which are fighting for survival in the cracks between the rocks. The doors of the Unimog open and Martin climbs down the ladder. I whistle and wave my hand. Soon he sees me and starts approaching the rock, with a cup of coffee in his hand.
Martin and Sandra with their four-year-old daughter Lovis arrived in little less than four weeks from Germany to Aqaba, where I met them in the camp. The ride here was pretty much a race, considering that the Unimog's top speed is 80 to 85 km/h. They stopped here for a while, because the little girl needs some peace, playing and hanging out with other children. She has practically been attached to the baby seat beside the truck's locking differential. She misses her little friends, she was telling me just a couple of days ago how "tomorrow her and her mummy will take the plane back home so she can play with this and that friend."
This really will happen in a month and a half when they fly from Egypt to Germany for a while, because Martin doesn't want to drag them along in the difficult parts (concerning the terrain and safety) across Sudan and Ethiopia. They're headed to central Africa, which is where they see their future. The nerve-racking lifestyle and the constant drive for success in Germany are getting on the nerves of the two adults. In the camp south from Aqaba we agreed to take a trip to the desert together, which was just perfect for me. I can run in the front and the "service vehicle" in the back is transporting all my junk and can pick me up from the sand if need be and take me to wherever it takes. The sun is rising quickly from behind the rocky hill and I'm not all that frozen to my bones anymore. Another day of off-road has come. Wadi Rum is different from the deserts in Syria and parts of Sahara. In Syria I could stick to the track, but I could also always drive off it if I liked. Wadi Rum is protected area and you're only supposed to drive inside the tire ruts in the soft sand. But of course that also means they're pretty deep. While you're still timid and holding back a little, they cause a lot of problems. But when you hit the gas, the front wheel smoothly swims on top, but holds its direction perfectly and sudden curves of ruts present no problem either. I felt the most adequate speed in the ruts was from 60 to 80 km/h, and up to 100 in the deep sand, although in such an uneven configuration of the terrain you have to expect sudden short intervals between the sandbanks. I soon figured out that starting off in first gear hardly makes any sense. And the greatest pleasure was going back in the unprotected area through the desert all the way to Aqaba. Martin revved up the engine of the Unimog to 70 or 80 km/h in the combination of rocky and sandy terrain, while I was going up to 105 with the wind in my face. Whatever looked potentially dangerous going there, went by unnoticed on the way back. I'm talking about shallow riverbeds (probably like the one that got me to the hospital one and a half months ago), rocks, uneven parts of terrain, rut shifts... I only felt a stroke to the handlebars every now and then. What from? Don't ask me, I saw nothing. In the back, Martin was floating and leaning left and right with his boat on wheels, wider than the ruts, hitting the gas all the way. Imagine a Unimog, shifting the track in 80 km/h and missing the rut. I'm sure the sight would be more spectacular than if I was "torn to pieces" in the air. When I was going off-road on four wheels, the goal was to get across. Overcome this and that obstacle. Often by going 5 km/h. But the trouble with the machine I'm taking across the desert this time is, getting across goes without saying. And to "get across" isn't enough of a challenge. Speeding is a challenge. If what I was doing on four wheels was called field ride, whatever I'm doing on two is more like a field race.
And what I was doing the last few days, digging in Wadi Rum, will probably become an entertainment I'll get to afford less and less. Like I said before, they didn't let the group of Israeli KTMs enter. Probably not so much because of their passports as for the fact that the guards knew very well they intended to race in the protected area. I was lucky. They let me in (after I had entered through a side valley and made more than an hour of off-road before reaching the official entrance) and told me only a small area is accessible to motorbikes. Outside of that area I stuck to the dug out ruts. As was said before, you can not register motorcycles in Jordan. So, whoever would like to try taking a ride in the mentioned part of Jordanian desert, will have to bring suitable machinery from back home.
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