A cheap one at that. Refusing to pay Crayfish Camp's ludicrous hire prices I stomped off down the road on what could have been a fool's mission there appeared eventually a vision: several bikes lined up under a tree. $5 later I was crawling up the hill on a bright yellow mountain bike. It had brakes, and everything.
Hell's Gate is the only National Park in Kenya that encourages walking or cycling. On one level that's rather handy, since the weak concentration of beasties would hardly make this a must-see for the minibus brigade. That said, seeing how close you dare wander to a group of chomping Giraffes is a bit of a rush.
The place is named so because if the gate-like formation of the opening of the broad, animal-filled(ish) gorge that eventually lead you to volcanic hot springs (or to the belching geothermal power station that shares their energy source). The first Europeans to see it were butchered at the entrance by forward thinking locals, so that could be considered a smidge hellish also, or at the very least inconvenient.
What they don't tell you is quite what a big hill you have to cycle up. Weirdly downhill seemed to account for only about 5% of the cycling, which seemed terribly unfair; I couldn't even enjoy the one major downhill stretch as it was so steep, and to let rip on the rock strewn road would have been suicidal for all but the most experienced mountain bikers. Also the far side of the hill is a disappointment; forewarned about the power station, the profusion of workmen, sheep and pylons was an atmosphere killer. If I'd known, I'd have stayed on the near side with my giraffes a little longer.
But the path does lead you to the rangers' post and the entrance to Ol Njorowa gorge. It was at this point I linked up with George, a Maasai guide, and probably a good thing I did. The gorge was carved by running water, and a gentle trickle still snakes through the bottom, creating slippery footholds and patches of quicksand ready to ensnare the unwary and either hurt him or at least his camera equipment. George helped me up and down a few dicey cliff faces, as well as filling me in on a few details. The Maasai community have apparently reclaimed much of the Gorge from the Kenyan Wildlife Service - so I was pressed by the rangers into buying yet another ticket and - more happily - engaging George's services. He also told me that there are very few Europeans about at the moment. He thinks it is the trouble with Somalia keeping them away. I just think they've looked at the weather trends a bit more carefully than I did.
It's hosing it down outside. Again.
The gorge was formed following a volcanic eruption - delightfully at one point water has eroded the side of the looming volcanic plug above, giving you a clear cross section of the path if the former molten rock's upward progress. To see that you have to follow a smaller, younger gorge, do rapidly carved that graffiti from 1992 looms impossibly high over your head.The whole 30m deep trench was probably nothing but a shallow ditch by the time Bucks Fizz were whipping their skirts off.
The final stretch of the park was beautiful, with red cliffs looming at every turn, but still a bit light on animals. If you're a fan of warthogs, though, the place is pig infested. Knock yourself out.
I made it back to Crayfish a broken man. After 4 days in a bus, following a long haul flight, my body was a tad surprised at being asked to cycle up a massive hill, clamber and climb through a gorge with a good bit of walking thrown in. I approached the restaurant and asked if they did snacks.
"Yes. We have sausages."
Me: "Anything else?"
"Samosas."
I brightened. "Vegetable samosas."
A disappointing head shake.
"Oh. I'm a vegetarian. Do you have anything for vegetarians?"
There was a moment's thought: "We have some cabbage."
Worth every fucking cent this place.
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