Once this was done there was a break to prepare for the Miss Rhino Body competition. The break was so all of the children could go home and the men could move closer to the stage. They used to have a wet t-shirt contest but apparently it all came off anyway. At this point I left with Diane, so I can only report back based on second hand evidence. My fellow riders said the turnout for the contest was light. In the end there were two finalists, one who was well endowed and another. Neither had done anything more then, shall we say, jingled around and danced a bit. When the announcer asked for a show of applause the winner, apparently, was the one who had the ‘«£better‘«ō build. But he announced that it was too close to call and couldn‘«÷t the girls offer a little more for the rally participants. At this point the women with the lesser build flashed her breasts, but that was all she needed to win the Miss Body competition and the R2000 (about $300) that went with it.

All night you heard motorcycles screaming around the campground. Quiet camping is an unknown item here. Around two in the morning things settled down, until five when people started going on their way. Some of these bikes were in need of a tune-up so you really had to race your engine for a long time before you left. We were out of the campsite and off by around 7:30. There was long line to gas up and then we headed back. There was a brisk wind, which a bit disconcerting for Vincent who is a novice street rider. However, we still rode briskly back towards home. After about 220 kms we stopped for gas and breakfast. Vincent showed up shortly after me and he really needed to use the loo (toilet), so he left his F650 to be filled. The attendant promptly began to fill up his oil tank with petrol (gas). When Vincent returned the attendant denied everything, in spite of the oil on the tank and the gas oil mixture on the ground. Not knowing how much gasoline was put in; it was decided to change the oil. Of all the BMW‘«÷s the F650 is the one in which I have no familiarity. The boys looked underneath and removed one of the drain plugs, out came the oil into the bucket. Upon further inspection they discovered that the oil level in the oil tank had not changed. They had drained the transmission fluid. The next problem was to find out how to put it back in. Fortunately there was something that was vaguely familiar to me about the transmission level check from the old airheads and I managed to steer them in the correct direction. After considerable investigation no one was sure where the drain plug was for the oil so Vincent decided to siphon out all of the oil in the oil tank and replace it. Having done that we were ready to head home. We rode up with Dave and K12RS and we managed to ride the 139 kms (86 miles) back to the border in exactly one hour. Not too shabby of a ride, though the roads are fairly straight.

So though many things are the same here at an African rally, you still know that you are not in Kansas any more.