It was now dark, we were stranded, and we had just received a call from the conservancy that we would not be allowed in after dark due to the new security situation, and would need to find somewhere else to stay until morning. Pissed off, nervous, and now stranded, we called for a matatu (minibus) to take us to the nearest sizeable town called Nyahururu. After another hour we got ahold of a matatu with a leaking gas tank and broken headlight that would take us after dark, and loaded it up with field gear and bags. 15 minutes after we set off, now 8 pm and very dark out, our matatu sputtered to a stop. The driver took a panel off of the floorboard, removed a component that was full of gasoline, blew the gas out all of the car and road, replaced the piece and we all got out to push the matatu so the engine would start. It started, we hopped in, and off we went again. 30 minutes later, we broke down again, same problem and same solution. The situation was getting almost comical, except for the fact we were breaking down along dark roads in dangerous country with no guarantee of making it to a town and a safe bed that night. We rode off again, when suddenly from the darkness came a pair of flashlights signaling us to halt. Police checkpoint #2. The driver negotiated with the policeman for 20 minutes to allow us through, but the cop confiscated his license, refused our bribes, and refused us access to the road due to our broken headlight. He told us to get the headlight fixed before we could pass and held onto our driver's license. Great.
As we turned around, presumably to wait several hours for another dubious repair job, our driver took a sharp turn down a dark dirt road through the bush. He told us he would leave his license behind, and we set off in the same matatu down a series of backroads to avoid the numerous police roadblocks which we would be denied access too. After a very hairy hour and a half of dark driving along nervewracking roads to avoid police, and 2 more breakdowns along the way, my stomach sunk as I spotted the familiar flashlight beam of another armed roadblock ahead. In a broken matatu, on a dark road, with a now license-less driver, we would surely be denied access, and stuck for who knows how long in who knows where, with no vehicle and no way to reach "civilization". As the police motioned for us to stop the driver pulled in slowly alongside the cop, with several more standing in the wings keeping an eye on us. As the head cop approached to question us, our driver gunned the engine at full speed, made a sharp turn, and shot through the roadblock! A very tense moment indeed, but without vehicles to pursue us the police had no way of stopping out vehicle short of gunfire, and we clearly weren't worth the ammunition expense, so we travelled on to the relative safety of nyahururu.
After a long search through town for Nyaki House, the only hotel in town, we pulled up weary, hungry, and ready for somewhere to crash. The accomodations were interesting to say the least, with a lovely collection of rats and mice for our enjoyment, and tiny rooms with well-used red satin heart covers. The hotel kindly provided a pair of used, broken flip flops in each room to keep guests from having to tread on the floor in their bare feet, but luckily there was such little floor space it was hardly a problem. The tiny bathroom took up 1/2 of the room, with the showerhead located directly above the toilet (explain that one to me!) and the bed using up the other half of the room. We ate in shifts so that no one could steal our bags from the rooms as we were out, but the restaurant was closing so dinner consisted of a cliff bar and a cup of tea. We arranged for a taxi to come pick us up at 6 am, as early as we could possibly get out of Nyaki house and off to the conservancy, and I had a restful nights sleep in my sleeping bag with a chair braced against the door. Ah, the joys of travel. Keeping with our car luck of the previous day our taxi never arrived the following morning, and and hour later we tracked down the only other available taxi driver in Nyahururu and his tiny 4 door 1980 sedan. It had rained before, and I had once again visions of our car not making it up the muddy bush roads to gallmann, but once again assured the car would do just fine, and literally out of options, we piled in and set off. After a 2 hour drive on what should have been a 1 hour road, we arrived at the gallmann gate, cleared security, made it inside, and were halfway to our destination when a massive, watery mud pit confronted us. I hopped out and cut some branches out of the way so our driver could go around the obstacle, but lacking proper training or strategy he floored the tiny engine and the car drove straight ahead, plunging into the puddle, spinning wheels fruitlessly, throwing up 15 foot cascades of mud over the car, the bush, us, and everything around. We were completely sunk. With nothing to do but laugh at our misfortune, I sat down and had a good chuckle, to the displeasure of our now very angry driver. After 10 minutes of sitting helplessly beside the car, with fresh lion tracks from the previous night all around us, we heard the welcome sound of an engine approaching. A big transport truck of heavily armed kenya wildlife service rangers, out on patrol, had chanced upon our position. They hooked up a cable to the bottom of the taxi, we all got in a line and pulled the car free. Soaked in mud but out of the puddle, handshakes and thanks were exchanged and we all went off our separate ways. Finally we had arrived at Gallmann, after one hell of an adventure, and could begin our field study.