Into the Void - and out with Headaches

Rub al Khali… the Empty Quarter, named so for its extreme isolation and absence of human life. It’s the largest sand desert in the world, roughly the size of France, with vast, imposing dunes reaching several hundred meters of height and an unforgiving arid landscape.
And here we were to cross it!

Yet, instead of the fantasized traversal through an endless ocean of sand, we hit the only existing highway skirting the edge of the desert. World's longest straight roads are also located here, listed in the Guinness Book of Records. Traveller warnings were clear: fill up on fuel (and water!) before you go, as the only fuel station sits 300 km in, with the next one another 350 km further. So we left Oman with full tanks and loaded bags, aiming for that first and only bit of infrastrucutre.

Despite sticking to the road, we were surrounded by majestic deep orange dunes of all shapes and heights, stretching as far as the eye could see. Every now and then, the road would be half eaten by shifting sand, sometimes even completely, but we were too mesmerised to care - just cross. This is how dunes are formed: sand carried by wind, slowly piling up over time... Relentless, stronger and more persistent than the bulldozers trying to be hold of it.
It is hot, it is windy, and it is so beautiful out here...

So we made it to that fuel station, which felt like a small, well-stocked village (as most Saudi fuel stations do). Mosque for a quick wash and water refills, shops, a tea house, one or two Pakistani restaurants, and, of course, fuel. We set up camp a little outside the station. Dodgy, but despite the trucks, the night felt quiet.

The next day we hit the road again, excited for more dunes. But it turned harsher today:
First came the wind, carrying waves of sand that slowly turned into proper mini sandstorms.
It hits your skin wherever it is exposed and grinds, it somehow enters the luggage, the clothes, the ears, the mouth... The visibility dropped. The landscape shifted to white salt flats - remnants of ancient lakes, we later learned, from a time when this region was fertile. The wind got so strong we were riding at a constant lean just to stay straight. With low visibility, the sand-covered roads stopped being fun, especially with trucks drifting into our lane to avoid buried sections.

We pushed hard, aiming to finish the remaining 350 km and get out of this funny mess. But RidingKismet started slowing down... At first we blamed the wind, but soon the bike wouldn’t go faster than 70 km/h. Then came the final blow: it wouldn’t start properly and lost compression. Again?

Luckily, a police patrol passed by and helped us push-start the bike. Slowly, we limped our way to the end of the road and the final fuel station, the unofficial exit of the Empty Quarter. As usual, the station had a small, overpriced inn, so we checked in, washed off the dust, and collapsed after a brutal day.

Our original plan had been to head west, crossing the country from east to west. But with Kismet acting up with attitudes again, we decided to play it safe and head to Al Ahsa, the world’s largest palm oasis and home to the Al Ahsa Motorcycle Club.

The ride there started badly: push-starting again, and power dropping. At some point, the bike would barely do 60 km/h - throttle wide open, stuck in third gear. Any attempt to shift up killed the revs and stalled the engine. Not something you want in the middle of nowhere.

We pushed on to the next fuel station - just in time before the engine gave up completely on the deceleration lane. A bottle of water needed to be poured into the right side saddle bag as smoke was coming out of a huge hole in it - how comes the pipe was that hot!?

By now we had learned some resilience, so we pulled out the chairs in the shade and got some fizzies and sweets. Let's see what happens next.
We contacted Ahmed from the bikers club, who immediately organised a tow truck.

A few hours later, the truck arrived and brought us to Al Ahsa, straight to Ahmed, chief mechanic and one of the heads of the motorcycle club. He welcomed us like old friends and insisted we stay at the clubhouse for as long as needed while the bikes were being worked on.

Engine out, to the trusted "enduro bike specialist", who quickly said there's nothing more to do, the engine is dead: again, there is a loose valve seat, also a burned exhaust valve, and a couple good scratches on the barrel. Nice. Good luck in finding some spare parts when there's a war in the neighborhood and the airspace is heavily constrained.

So let's see what happens next... There's always an answer, always a solution, right? Let's be optimistic. Please. Let's kick some ass!Read more