Limping into Timbuktu

The piste runs directly north of Douentza to Timbuktu, 200km away. It weaves through an undulating Sahel landscape of acacia bushland, sand and close cropped grasslands. The surface has heavy corrugations, an effect created by the passing of vehicles over time. These literally shake a car to bits, and the wayside is littered with parts of exhausts. It is possible to get relief from the corrugations by driving on parallel sandy tracks, but these are also wearing, as you must keep up momentum to avoid getting stuck, and will inevitably hit a large hole and decide to try the main track again.

So, the car was getting a pounding - by half way it was spraying grease from a leaky hub seal on the right, matched by hydraulic fluid from a broken shock absorber on the left. The corrugations are much less noticeable if you can keep up speed, about 80kph, as you then skim the tops, but it takes full concentration to scan the road ahead to plan the route and also to avoid the holes.

About 10km before the river crossing for Timbuktu we hit a big one, the hard surface suddenly gave way to a deep pit of soft sand. The car landed heavily on the front end. We managed to drive out of it, but everything was not well, the front wheels pointing in different directions - the steering push rod was badly bent. We spent an hour trying to straighten it using the bottle jack.

The Sand Trap That Did The Damage

Ferry across the Niger approaching Timbuktu

It was lucky we were not far from Timbuktu. We drove slowly on to the river crossing, having lunch by the bank as we waited for the ferry. We reversed up the ramp, followed by a horseman with a decorated saddle, bare feet in round metal stirrups.

There was only another 10km then to Timbuktu, and we limped in with great grinding and squeaking. We checked in at a hotel and gave them a pile of very dirty clothes and towels, showered, and went in search of repairs. The hotel called a mechanic, and he sat in and showed us the way through the maze of sandy streets. Along the way, the police gave us a hard time about having three people in two seats, which is a bit of a joke considering how they fill vehicles here. They also insisted we should visit the Customs for a laissez passer document, and register with the police, both of which I expect will be opportunities to make donations to local funds.

On the outskirts of town we parked under a tree amid a collection of vehicle wrecks, mechanics, apprentices, consultants and onlookers. With a handful of tools, they set to work, removing the steering rod and dispatching it to the forge for straightening. A couple of hours later, the car was driving better than ever.