'Stories from the Kenyan Counties' - Baringo County part 2 - Mud madness (In this second leg of the ride to Baringo County, I take you deep into the Aberdare Forest at 3 am, soaked, and riding blind. If you missed part one (1), pause here and read it. Trust me, it sets the stage for the madness ahead). I headed off into the Aberdare Forest at 3 am, and it was raining hard. I am riding my 200kgs (packed weight) Kawasaki KLR 650. Do not ask how I got here. Read part one first. It is well worth it. The road inside the forest was a wet, soggy terrain from hell, and endless stretches of slippery mud. Every adventure rider out there, and I speak for all of us: nothing tests your willpower like navigating a heavy bike on a terrain that is designed to humble you. 3 am, solo, in a forest is pure insanity. Don’t try it! The silence was eerie. It was pitch dark. My motorcycle’s headlight was on plus I have some decent auxiliary lights, and I was kitted out in my high-vis gear. But here is what they don’t teach you in riding school: mud does not care for visibility, my gear turned brown, my lights were covered in muck, I may as well have been using a candlelight on that road. My navigator had gone blank, of course, why wouldn’t it? I had made the rookie mistake of not downloading offline maps. I am crawling through the dark when an animal crosses and stops midway to look into my direction, like a deer caught in headlights. Eyes glowing red. Ohhhh Lawwwwd! I forgot to breathe; it’s a miracle I did not go a number two in my riding gear from sheer terror. To this day, I have no idea what animal it was (unfortunately, my GoPro Hero 12 was also off), and those breathing exercises your therapist recommends? Completely useless in that moment - I should know. Eventually, I saw lights through my side mirrors - Sweet Salvation - a canter appeared. I flagged it down, and the driver agreed to drive ahead of me for cover. I think he felt sorry for this helmet-muffled woman. We crawled in the dark until a town emerged. The driver motioned to me goodbye. I parked the bike, got off, and cried, like proper tears. Then I exhaled, got back on the saddle, and gunned for Naivasha. By 7 am, I was in a mall in Naivasha - remember we are still on the 21st of December, 2024. I was cold, dirty, but alive. I dumped my bike at the carwash and requested the attendant to hose me down, in full gear. He obliged. I got into this decent cafe called the Artcaffe and ordered breakfast worthy of an off-road warrior queen. As I waited, I posted a story recap of the ride through the forest. People started commenting: ‘‘You are lucky you did not run into elephants.’’ Wait, what? Nobody warned me about elephants! Wet riding gear clings to your skin, literally as if you have another layer of skin. But with that and a clean bike, a full belly, my metal mate and I powered on. I rode until my riding gear dried on my body. Naivasha, Nakuru, then… drum rolls… the Baringo County gateway. I’d been in touch with Ms. Ann Keter the entire time (remember her from part one?). She was waiting for me in Mogotio. And true to her word, there she was. A woman I’ll never forget. One who deserves her own spotlight. And this … this is why I ride. To meet women like her, to unearth stories buried, to bring you lives that deserve to be seen, heard, and celebrated. In my world, that is what women’s empowerment is. Stay with me for Part 3, where we meet the woman who turned geography into magic at the equator. You don’t want to miss it. With grit, Kagwiria Murungi Adventure Rider | African Storyteller | Woman Becoming.