During the stage of February 4 i saw an unknown rider approaching me at km 90.After making the connection he gave a short hello, and decided to hold my wheel, and not do any work up front for the next 20 km..
I stopped alongside the road to have a Cola, my Sudanese fellow-traveler came along and he introduced himself: (after insisting on paying for my Coke): His name was Awad Ibrahim Mohammed, and he added dryly: "I'm the champion of Sudan". That was all the English he spoke.
His bike would not raise more than 5 dollar on any garage sale: it was a steel Raleigh from the 70-ies, the chain and the chain-rings were completely oxidized, his handlebar had no tape on it, the tires seemed to have no connection whatsoever to the rims the should be on. My offer to put some more pressure on them, was refused: they simply could not have more air without coming detached from the rims. The clothing he wore also dated from long ago..
After the coke, we continued our way. Awad kept applying the same approach: not an inch in lead, only following my wheel.
When we reached the finish line at km. 145 we said goodbye to each other. Awad turned his bike around, read to start his way back to Khartoum where he lived. The same 145 km again!!