To Cape Town - if we went straight home

Crossing the Equator

9 November: Ethiopia – Addis and then heading south via Lake Langano, Yabello and Moyale

Addis wasn’t a very exciting city. Actually, I found it a little bit frustrating because it felt like we were wasting time there. Everything was so slow – especially the internet that was jokingly called the World Wide Wait. Martin and Rickard found the best solution to this painful waiting was to drink beer at the meantime. They had a brilliant six hour session on the internet in which they emailed all their friends and relatives. Later at night I found Rickard in the lobby slurring to his grandmother over the phone – they definitely had a great night.

Possibly the only thing Addis had that was of interest to me personally was the skeleton of Lucy which is a small little woman that kind of fills the archaeological gap between apes and humans. I learnt about this back in Archaeology I at the University of Cape Town a long time ago but it was good to see the famous little bones.

The museum takes their security really seriously. The woman guard squeezed my backpack and then before I had time to react squeezed both my boobs and gave my crouch a grab. Fortunately this was all rather quick as it was shocking and they were armed. As I walked off I said to the boys, “What the heck was that all about!” They were disappointed they didn’t get the same treatment - and I’m still shocked.

We’d realised that pretty much nothing would be organised in Addis and had a bit of time to kill so we walked to the Hilton Hotel that is reputed to be The Bar to hang out in. We’d met a Canadian couple in Lalibela who lived in the Hilton – lucky buggers! And lucky for us Gordon (who happens to be a pilot) was in. He and a pilot friend came down to join us for a rather jovial, beer drinking and pizza session. It was a great break from all the cultural challenges we face while travelling. We could have been hanging out in Sandton or London. This made me realise that if you have money, travel can be really easy. It could be so easy but then there would be almost no point in actually leaving the comfort of your home country.

The roads south of Addis are excellent and by this I mean tarmac with fewer potholes. The traffic was not bad either – but the dopey animals and people still were the most dangerous obstacles. By late afternoon we had reached Lake Langano and followed a dodgy little dirt road to an exceptionally pretty campsite that was clearly freshly built and teeming with bird life.

The lakes are famous for their birdlife. I have never seen so many beautiful and interesting birds as I did in Ethiopia. This country is surely a bird-lover’s paradise. In the morning I was woken up by a flock of very noisy black and white birds that have nests that look like untidy weaver nests. The little birds were unafraid and hopped about our breakfast table picking up any crumbs they could find. I enjoyed the way they twittered and puffed out their feathers and hopped about our feet. There were also shy metallic blue and purple birds that wanted to snatch crumbs but were too chicken. We had a pair of orange billed hornbills inspect the car. And there were swallows swooping over the water. Well, I don’t know anything about birds but it was incredible.

Later that day, the Good Lord who looks over me presented a bona fide bike mechanic shop and I was able to have the frame bolted back together again and face Northern Kenya with renewed confidence.

In the evening we reached Yabello Sanctuary and stayed in a field with cattle and goats behind the motel that appeared to host Western tour groups. Most of the time, we find that camping in a hotel’s grounds is preferable to sleeping in the rooms. Paul and I get to stay in mozzie infested rooms more often but the Swedes have a tent on top of their car. They really have the best solution: all they need is to park up in a parking area, pay for a room and then use the toilets and frequent the bar. At the Yabello Motel a smart waiter came out to the field to take our orders for dinner and breakfast. It was a bit early and a bit strange but we don’t question these things any more.

In the morning while we were packing up the tent I noticed a goat being lead by two men, one armed with a large knife. I also noticed vultures circling in the sky and landing nearby. While Paul was watching the vultures I witnessed the goat having its throat cut and slowly die with its legs kicking and horrible noises as the air-pipe drew in air and spluttered out blood. I thought this would really gross me out. I don’t like eating meat and have been partly vegetarian most of my life – not because I feel bad about killing animals but rather because I don’t like the taste or texture of meat. When Paul realised what was happening he grimaced with disgust and said, “They are supposed to kill the animal quickly without suffering.”
I didn’t say anything because it didn’t seem appropriate but thought, “Maybe in England that is the case but here the animal is supposed to bleed out with its jugular cut – just like it did.” We can’t take our ideals with us and expect them to be implemented wherever we are just for our comfort and ease of mind. I smiled at Paul and said, “Hey, good thing you didn’t order breakfast then!”
I watched the rest of the skinning and cutting up of the animal. Every little bit had been used up and was probably the exact amount needed to feed the guests in the motel. The vultures and dogs then came to look for any little bits that may be cast aside. Absolutely nothing was left.

When we arrived in Moyale in the afternoon, after the visit to the Immigration Office and Customs, we booked into a cheap hotel (inappropriately called the Tourist Hotel as it was not tourist orientated at all) so that we could cross to Kenya early in the morning. There were two cute little goats head-butting each other. I joked with Paul, “Hey, look at the cute goats but don’t get too attached because they’ll be dinner.”
Paul looked and agreed, “You are probably right.” But he was not amused.
Later in the evening the goats were gone and I poked my head into the kitchen. It was a small room off the back of the room that has a couple of doggy pool tables. It was a scene right out of Natural Born Killers. There were bits of meat hanging off the chairs and pilled up on the table. It seemed that the whole room had a red spray effect and there was a cute little ginger kitten that looked very happy, well fed and as bloody as the rest of the room. A very big lady asked me if I wanted “tibbs” which is a local dish of fried meat with garlic and onion. I declined but sent Paul over to see what was on the menu. He came back with a face of disapproval. Rickard then went over, took a look at the kitchen and ordered a serving. When it arrived, both the guys at the meat and admitted it tasted good. On the upside, it was fresh!

During my visit to Ethiopia I’d met two really likeable boys, Daniel and Dude. Daniel lives in Moyale and attached himself to Rickard. We are so used to all kinds of touts hassling us, trying to help and then asking for a tip or fee but this teenage boy was just special (and a serious football fan). He said he was the brightest kid in his school and we could tell he must be. We spent the evening with him and had a really great time. When we left we gave him our leftover Ethiopian small change (I wanted to promise to help him get to university but know to be realistic). The other little fella was Dude in Gondar and he stole my heart. He was probably ten or eleven years old and even though scruffy, had a trendy look. I liked his cool way of talking and frankness. When we got back from the Simian Mountains he asked Rickard how it was and when Rickard said it was cold Dude replied, “I told you so.” followed by “I said you should borrow my jersey.”
I still think of his broad toothy smile and how when we said goodbye he told me to ride safe and watch out for the crazy donkeys.

What we hadn’t realised about Ethiopia is the extent that people and animals eat a leaf called “chat” and get themselves completely stoned. I couldn’t understand why the whole country was on a huge go-slow and almost everyone and every beast seemed dopey. We eventually realised that all the little leafy twigs that people carry about are actually chat leaves to get high on (not to swat flies with). It’s a tree that grows in abundance and the animals are just as addicted - this is why nothing gets out of the road to avoid certain death.

Looking back these are my favourite things about Ethiopia:

Bird life is extraordinary

Feeling really safe and relaxed (even though harassed by youyous)

Paul being able to provide such high quality entertainment for locals

The Dude Gondar

13 November: Kenya – Cross border at Moyale. Tough truck ride to Marsabit, then Isiolo, Mount Kenya and Nairobi

While Ethiopia was on chat I was on anti malarial tablets. The package warns that people with a history of mental illness might react badly and that side effects include attempted suicide and depression. And even though I fall into the above mentioned category, I risked taking them all the same. By the time I was travelling through Ethiopia I had to really fight with myself. During bad patches it’s a battle to make my intelligent mind override how I feel. I feel like an empty vessel and that my soul has departed but I can still figure out what I need to do to maintain a perception of normality. All the same, in Addis I was very nearly ready to just say, “Stuff this. I’m going to stop now.” I’d lost the will to travel, to see Africa, to meet people… to get out of bed. Fortunately since stopping with the tablets I’m better now. The trip will continue and I am having a fantastic time again.

Luckily, as a result of no longer feeling deeply depressed, I was on a bit of a high when I did the road from Moyale to Marsabit. This was the last stretch of really bad, unavoidable road. It’s not only a bad road but it’s also in bandit territory and so the prospect of being stuck in the mud is not a good one. It’s really hard to guess how bad things really are but we’d been advised to either drive with a convoy or take police escorts. Rainy season had set in already and we’d already seen the kind of daily downpours that were turning the dirt road to a deep, muddy, rutted mess.

Moyale on the Kenya side is a very unpleasant town and renown for its thieves and con-artists. While we tried to find out information about the road – if it was passable, etc a huge crowd gathered around us and it became very stressful. Eventually we went with the most conservative option: we put the bikes on the back of a truck and we had two policemen – one to travel with the boys and one with us in the truck. It was a journey from hell and one that Paul will probably never forgive me for (as he wanted to ride and take risks while I was worried we’d be slow and make ourselves a target for the bandits). The truck driver (or who knows who) wasted so much time and we felt like they were messing us about. They would either be driving flat out at a silly speed or stopping and there would be lots of yelling and people jumping on or off. All the time we were in the back unable to see out except through small gaps with the bikes tied up precariously and boxes and goods bouncing about violently. Ironically, I was having a great day (I blame the lack of drugs). Certainly, it’s a day that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

We were not even half way and it was afternoon already. The news was that there was a section of road that had a lot of trucks stuck on it and that made it impossible to pass. Martin and I (with our policeman) went ahead in the Landrover to see just how serious the problem was and if it there was any chance of taking the bikes off and giving it a bash. It was pretty bad… Eventually the trucks moved and even later our truck arrived with Paul and Rickard, severely bounced about and dirty. The short version of the story is that it was nightfall when we reached Turbi (about half way to Marsabit) and after long arguments we decided to stay on the truck rather than camp there. We reached Marsabit by 11pm. Rickard and Paul were bruised, bashed and traumatised from the truck ride in the pitch dark, Martin was shattered from driving his car at night at one heck of a speed to keep up with the truck – and I felt really bad because I was a terrified passenger and unable to do a thing. To make things much worse, Paul’s bike had broken loose in the truck, got smashed about and wouldn’t start. We didn’t know how bad the damage was.

I’d like to say that in the morning things looked better but Paul was like a beast from hell. He got his bike starting again which is impressive as he had a lot of dust in his ignition switch and had to basically short circuit the wires. He didn’t rip out anybody’s jugular which relieved us a tremendously as we were all keeping a good distance and hoping the crowd of nosey bodies would be a barrier if he snapped and attacked someone.

We then faced the last 250km of bad roads, possibly the last for the rest of the whole trip. Once we’d reached Isiolo there would be a tarmac option all the way to Cape Town. I’m pleased to say that Paul can no longer call me slow or give me condescending attitude about doing tough roads. I really CAN do it.

A note for woman bikers: I wish I had handle bar raisers (available from Touratech). I had to always keep my weight on the footpegs but crouch low enough to keep my arms bent at the elbow for strength. This takes up a lot of energy and my legs got really tired but otherwise my arms were too straight and had no strength to control the front wheel when it kicked about.

A party mood set in when we found a campsite at Archer’s Post near the Samburu National Park. We set up camp and then celebrated with red wine and beers. We were supposed to have a braai (barbeque) but the meat was utterly pathetic and didn’t even qualify as dog food… We moaned about it and had bread for dinner but who cares! We’d broken the back of the trip and as Martin pointed out, “Now the vacation begins.”

While riding I’d seen these incredibly tall, elegant people dressed in a red cloth, casually holding a spear and moving in a very graceful way. The thing that struck me was firstly was how attractive they were and then also how well dressed and proud they looked. Both the men and the women were impeccably dressed in bright cloth with decorative beads. I really did think that these people were gorgeous.

The campsite we stayed in is run by Samburu. They put on a dance in the evening and it’s possible to visit the village and buy hand crafted beadwork. For a bit of background, the Samburu are very similar to the well-known Masai, especially in clothing but their language differs slightly. There are various songs and dances that include the men jumping and women making a wave-like motion with their shoulders. Quite obviously it all costs quite a bit which sparked off a debate on the relationship between culture and tourism. I think the boozy conclusion was more or less that tourists pay to see the Samburu village and way of life and that has become an income that is preserving their culture. So we agreed to pay and they entertained us. I did notice that the girls really did put on a performance for us (and were not as pleased to see us as we were to see them) as the moment the camera was turned away the smiles were replaced with dead-pan faces.

Rain, rain and more rain. We reached Mount Kenya and couldn’t see much because of the thick rain and clouds. However, we did see an elephant. At about 2am I woke up because I heard a rather loud tummy grumble followed by some snapping branches. Fortunately we’d already seen the elephant earlier, that saved me from a heart attack on the spot as I pulled the curtain aside and the entire window was one big elephant arse. I woke Paul up who then in his dozy state tried to find his camera. In the morning the elephant was still hanging about, walking around the hotel garden as if it was his part of the jungle, casually munching anything and walking through the wooden fences. He got on with his elephant business but kept one eye on us and if we were too close he turned to face us and flapped his ears. Predictably, we all retreated.

The real tough bit of the trip ended as we arrived in Nairobi. We were glad to be there but it also felt like the best bit of the adventure was over. We all collapsed in a state of fatigue. For a few days all we have done is eat and sleep and sit about chatting. To my surprise I met a guy that looked exactly like a guy I met in the UK nearly two years ago – and then I realised that it was the same guy! Mike and John have made it from Alaska to South America and from Cape Town to Nairobi (see www.exploringrtw.com).

On the touristy side of things we went to visit Karen Blixen’s house. I remember being about fourteen and very impressionable when I watched a badly scratched video of Out of Africa. I’ve watched the film a few times subsequently and am always swept away by Meryl Streep’s portrayal of Karen. I can hear her voice saying, “I had a farm in Africa.” and I remember how much I longed to be a brave, adventurous woman like her. Her life was full of hardship as well as disappointment and loneliness but she was so passionate and compassionate. I realise now how much she was loved and what a great impression she made on her community. It was emotional walking around her house, looking at the Ngong Hills and the school she started. I felt inspired all over again and my heart was if full of love for Africa.

For a bit of fun we went to the giraffe centre where I was able to feed some giraffes by hand. Usually wild animals are so wild we only get to see them from a distance and fear them so having a funny faced giraffe eat out of my hand was FUN.

The bikes are nearly up and running again and we still have some things to sort out before we will head towards Uganda and the Stand Up For Africa charity SAFU in Kampala.

Some Answers to the Questions Girl Travellers would love to ask

I spoke to a woman friend of mine on the phone recently and she asked me how I coped with sanitation. I said that the toilets were filthy or we just did a bush pee but then she asked more specifically about how I handle “that time of the month”. This is a very valid question and one I would have liked to ask before I left… so here is some information just for girls.

Underwear

I have five pairs of comfy knickers. They are cotton, big, saggy and don’t creep up my butt or chaff my legs but are really unattractive. Sometimes the seams can dig into by sitting bones if it’s a really long day on the bike. I don’t know if a seamless option is available but that would be even better. I think less than five pairs and I’d really struggle – considering it can be more than 10 days before I’d be able to even hand wash a pair.

I have one sports bra-top that is extra strong anti-bounce for doing off road and am thankful for it. My second bra is a push-up black girlie one. This is for easy days and just to remind myself that I’m a girl after all.

Periods and Sanitary Stuff

My period has been completely erratic since travelling. This is totally normal but annoying. I guess we just have to be ready to expect any thing.

Panty liners are available in supermarkets and in cities even in Sudan and Ethiopia. It’s easiest to find a store with a woman shop assistant if you have to buy some. I have lots of the extremely thin panty liners and they are proving to be great. I also use them when unable to clean knickers. Tampons are not easily available (actually, I haven’t seen them about). I calculated approximately how many I used in a cycle and have enough to last 4 months. Important: keep all your bits in plastic bags and in a fabric bag so that the package won’t rip or get wet.

When on the road it’s hard to find toilets and so I have found that if you use a tampon that is for heavier flow than you need it lasts longer and then a panty liner too will let you get through the whole day. By the evening you can use the comfort of your tent or darkness to sort yourself out. (By the way, guys hate this subject so much that you don’t even have to so much as hint and they will give you space and back off for the whole week.)

The icky side of things… you can’t throw these items away as they are not biodegradable so in your kit keep small plastic packets that you can seal and dispose of when you find an appropriate bin or fire.

My last and final resort is a mooncup that I bought off the internet. Don’t bother trying to find a stockist – you will just humiliate yourself even trying to ask for one – it’s not on the shelf (believe me). I hope I never have to use this but it’s there if I’m utterly desperate.

Another option a woman friend of mine discussed is taking the pill and skipping the pills that allow you to menstruate. I would fear turning into a hormonal psychopath but apparently it’s a safe option.

Clean and Moisturised

I have disposable face wipes that exfoliate and clean pores – they are brilliant and perfect for when I was unable to wash for days on end.

I’ve also used a lot of wet wipes. The Detol ones are particularly good. I can wipe down most of my body using one of these and feel surprisingly fresh. I use them like a cloth and add water and soap if needed.

Sometimes I’ve hung my Camelpac (water carrier with hose and a nozzle) on my bike and used it as a mini shower. By doing this I could at least dousch the basics with soap.

I use a good face cream with sun protection factor 15. I have a darker complexion and would suggest that this is the absolute minimum for anyone. In addition I use a factor 30 on my face and arms while riding. I have a night cream too that is rich and moisturising because I don’t want to finish this trip ten years older. I use lip balm with a high factor too.

I decanted all the creams and toiletries into smaller plastic containers to save weight and stop them breaking. I have had to use pieces of plastic as ceils because the vibrations can open and spill anything.

My best advice here is that you get used to being dirty – don’t worry!

Toilet Business

I have a tough plastic bag that is labelled “loo bag”. It contains:

A small, light trowel in a plastic bag

Toilet paper in a plastic bag

Matches and lighter

Wet wipes

Please note that the desert is a dry environment and preserves remarkably well! This means that toilet paper will stay there forever – it has to be burnt. This sounds like an awful ordeal but its quite fun when you actually get to do it. As for the more rained on terrains, it is possible to bury toilet paper in a hole and it should degrade just fine.

Bush peeing is fine. Sometimes it’s hard to find a bush or rock to hide behind but guys are really easy about this because they do it all the time… so it’s just up to us girls to take it in our stride. I find it best to announce loudly that I’m taking a pee and indicate which way I’m going so that the guys know not to go there or look. As for any strangers who might see me… well… its all part of the big travel thing. I’m sure they are more traumatised than me.

Girlie Luxuries

I have a few luxuries that I’ve really appreciated and made me feel REALLY GOOD.

Disposable leg wax trips. I honestly don’t know what I would do without these but not easy to find.

Sachets of intensive hair conditioner – planned as treats for Khartoum and Nairobi.

Tiny make up kit of a foundation, eyeliner and waterproof mascara… For special occasions - I feel so much less scruffy when I’m slightly made up.

I hope that helps!

Inspiration – South African Ladies

I met these old biddies in Wadi Halfa. They travelled from Nairobi all the way to Cairo on public transport (and I've experienced one of the spine crushing truck rides)! They’re both in their seventies and bright adventurous people who have also been to the Artic and trekking in Nepal.

Reached Nairobi!!!

We have reached Nairobi and all the boys and the machines are okay. We are really tired and the vehicles need a good service and some fixing. The tough bit of the trip is behind us and it is all relatively easy from now. It's great!! It's a little bit of a strange feeling - almost disappointing (did I admit that?!). It's just that we are bearly over four thousand kilometers from Cape Town and that will mean this wonderful adventure is over. Well, we have quite a few detours planned... I've had the most amazing time and I can ride bad roads like a demon. It was such a daunting stretch of "road" across some extreme terrain facing massive cultural challenges (and stomach wrenching sanitation) - and now I'VE DONE IT.

Will write up some blogs and do some photos before we leave Nairobi and head towards Uganda.

Please please!!! To all those who read my blog... Please make a happy Christmas donation to the Stand Up For Africa project as I'll be there soon to see the project begin.

Go to www.justgiving.com/longwayhome
Or check out www.standupforafrica.org.uk and contact them direct

Lalibela to Addis

I’ll get stuck into travel stories because – well – I’m distracted by channel 2 TV which is unbelievably entertaining after a few weeks of camping. We are in Addis for two days in a relatively expensive hotel (hot water and TV) and then will be heading towards Nairobi – a 1500 km of tough adventure.

“We” is still us on the bikes and the two Swedish brothers Martin and Rickard in their Landrover. When I watched Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman’s Long Way Round I remember feeling sick at the thought of taking on a big trip over extreme terrain without a support vehicle – without any support at all. Since Aswan we have been travelling with the guys who have been long-suffering with our punctures and lifting up our bikes when we fall. They are also really funny and as sound as can be. Rickard even got out of the Landy with a baseball bat to chase kids who’ve thrown stones at me. In return, Paul and I have good maps and a GPS that the guys would be lost without. Paul does the cooking and the boys do the dishes. What heroes! Heck, I don’t know what I bring to the team. Not like I’m doing the pretty girl thing and sometimes I really moan about the roads. We make a great team and I couldn’t do it without them.

1 November: Ethiopia – Simian Mountains, Lalibela and Addis

Rested up, we headed north (for a little detour) to see the Simian Mountains that have quite some reputation and completely lived up to all expectations. The mountains are absolutely beautiful but at over 3200 meters altitude – it was freezing.

Next we went to Lalibela to see the very famous Rock Hewn Churches. On the map it’s not much of a detour but in reality, it is. The road is the usual thing here i.e. not tarmac. More dangerous than the roads are the stupid sheep, skittish goats, dopey donkeys, ecstatic children, loping camels, dangerous looking cattle, armed men and over burdened women – all of whom are deaf and have no fear of death. We then decided to take a different route via Dilbe back to the main road to Addis. This turned out to be the worst 60 km of road we’d take on so far. I’m still amazed that I managed to do it at all. Paul did help a few times over particularly rocky river beds so I admit that at times I was a big chicken. My arms were so tired that on two occasions I managed the crossing but rode straight into the opposite bank. Not only was it very difficult getting the bike up or down steep inclines of loose rock but there were youyous running alongside trying to beg! Tell you what, compassion fatigue set in big time!



What are these kids thinking? I realise that over the years the culture of begging has been deeply engrained. The only thing they associate with white people is freebies. But I still think of them running alongside the motorbike on a steep rock incline with hands out shouting “Pen” and wonder if they actually really thought I’d just miraculously ride with one hand on the gas and one eye on the cliff edge while rummaging about for that stash of free pens that I managed to find place for in my tank bag.

Paul in particular has been providing masses of local entertainment. In this respect he has been a patient, untiring saint. (Unlike me who is inclined to snap fuck off after about five seconds of attention.) We did a tyre change in which the two of us did a well practiced team effort and pulled quite a crowd. The final touch that got gasps and a laugh from our audience was when I pulled out the wet wipes to clean our very dirty hands. I was disappointed we didn’t get applause. Paul did an excellent Jamie Oliver show with his little multi fuel cooker and small coffee percolator at a hotel that didn’t even have running water. It was such a good show that the kids ran off to call grandma and all the other local ladies who watched his every move. There were enthralled and delighted as Paul handed out cups of tea and coffee to us.

I am enjoying Ethiopia (still, really) but it can be so hard when trying to sort out things. Access to internet is really slow and practically useless here in any case. Even in the sprawling city of Addis there are mostly shops working out of shacks and so finding dealerships or mechanics is near impossible.

The damage to the bikes is not too serious all things considered – given what the bikes have been through by now and the fuel they are running on. They sound strange and our gears are knackered. I’ve a broken bolt that holds the frame together and can’t seem to find a mechanic who 1. understands the problem and 2. will be able to get the bolt out without wrecking the rest of the bike. It’s a pretty serious problem and right now it’s all held in place with wire that has been twisted around. Hopefully it holds.

While I was having a great break from biking in Gondar I also decided it was time to tackle my hair that seems to be giving my age away. I’d had enough of the grey hair jokes and so bought some hair dye that kind of looked like about the right colour on the box. I can’t seem to age gracefully. Paul says I can’t do anything gracefully… Humph.

The grey was gone and replaced with Ethiopian orange. Its so bad that I’ve been trying to cover it when ever possible – and given I wear a helmet for up to nine hours a day – I’ve mostly managed to ignore the orange. When we arrived in Addis a young lad tried to attract my attention by shouting “Orange.” Ah that did it! I took out some even dodgier looking dye decided to try to dye my hair black. So now I have orange AND black hair. It looks like hell.

So this afternoon, with my very bad hair, I went to the reception of the hotel and asked if they had a telephone directory or could help me find a mechanic nearby.
“No there is no mechanic.”
“Do you have a book for me to look for one?” I do my best telephone directory book mime.
“No mechanic in hotel.”
“Okay. How do I find a mechanic?”
“There is no mechanic.”
“What do you do when you need a mechanic? Do you walk down the road and look for one? How can I find a mechanic?!” I can see she is staring at my hair and is probably thinking that I should be looking for a hairdresser. I smiled and walked away because I had the urge to scream and dive across the counter and strangle her. Let’s face it, when ever would this girl ever look for a mechanic? I just hope the wire bodge-job holds the frame together!