The long grind: Aswan to Luxor in a day

After one and a half frustrating days in Aswan, attempting to persuade the police to let us take the road south to Abu Simbel we finally gave into defeat. We had heard of one other Brit successfully gaining permission to cycle that road in reverse. Law states, tourists may only pass via police convoy due to concerns over a terrorist threat. In this special case the chief of Abu Simbel police had gained special permission from Cairo and the man was aided by 50 different police in a succession of escorts as he covered the 280km road in one day. Despite the inherent waist on police resources since by all accounts the terrorist threat is overhyped as it seems to have been in all of Egypt and the only related terrorist attack we had managed to find was back in the 90s, we were still determined to cycle to Abu Simbel by any means possible, and if that meant also having to be escorted and complete the mammoth distance in just one day, we were still up for it. However no matter how much we flattered, pleaded and argued we were stumped by it seems a wall of bureaucratic intransigence with the departmental officers both of "the tourist police" and conventional police un willing to collaborate with central power which we knew was the only possible way of bypassing that certain law. It was increasingly vexing how the officers in question raised again the same reasons for us not being able to do it..."it very far" "it too hot" things that had nothing to do with them really. Anyway suffice to say we did not gain permission and so instead set ourselves a different challenge: cycling from Aswan back to Luxor in a day.

We set off early, 6:08am to be precise and a magical time to be cycling out of a city. There was hardly a car in sight, the was air was fresh and perfumed, the breeze was low, as the sun made it's languid ascent over the horizon. The Nile glimmered in the first honeyed dregs of sun light and our spirits were high as we sped alongside it.

Three hours later, the verdent Nile banks had been replaced by barren desert, the sweet perfumed air of dawn had been replaced by a cloud of dust and the stink of singed carcasses strewn along side it, and that pleasant breeze was now a ferocious head wind. As for the sun, well, languid it was no longer as it burned the backs of our necks.

By then we already knew it wasn't about setting record pace or going about cycling the 145miles in any special way, it was simply about getting there, bike bound, about grinding it out. Thus the pace was turgid as we heaved up long accents, the sort of thing that's nothing with the wind at your back, but into this headwind it was a different story and I spent hours out of the saddle trying to bludgeon my way through. But I found the stress of the other days was gone, I felt strangely euphoric as I took the time to contemplate every inch of that arid landscape and when the desert road gave way to a shadier stretch beneath palms, and locals were again present I no longer felt wary of them. Yes there was the odd aggressive shout here or there and a taunt or two, but I just let it all wash over me, and when I did pass a smiling old man or group of veiled women waving and cheerioing enthusiastically I couldn't help smile returning back a wave or "hallo". We got to Edfu for Lunch, eating at the same greasy spoon as we had done a few days before. Half way there!
After Lunch the going was tough, the sun shone harder than ever and the head wind battered and bruised. We got our heads down and got back to work, though I was still determined to seize any opportunity for light heartedness, a particularly bemused looking kid gawping atop a donkey, what a sight he would make back home I thought, or a passing truck packed to the rafters with camels, all peering around with the strangest expressions, their heads bobbing with every bump in the road. Strange old country I mused. Anyway the afternoon dragged on, and still we were pedalling but slowly we made our way to Luxor. What a feeling when we took that right and rolled down a side street back to the Bob Marley hostel...Maria, the Belgium owner uttering a little yelp of surprise...she thought she'd got rid of us. "Beer" Luke just about managed to pant...the hardest earned beer of my life after 10 and a half long hours on the bike.