fast." We nodded politely to one another, and I headed on my way.
In addition to traveling fast I can also travel light. Shirts, ties, and a couple of jackets, that's the entirety of my wardrobe. One nun at the parochial school I attended sent me home on the grounds I was indecent, and insisting that Mom and Dad fit me out with a pair of trousers. I can still remember Dad's bellow - he said I'd look like a bad vaudeville act - and that was my last day in parochial school ... thank God. (Sorry I'm losing the thread here.)
This being Africa it was warm, and the suitcase began to hang like an anvil off my right hand. I briefly regretted not phoning ahead, and arranging for my version of a limo - guy with a truck and horse trailer - but I'm not an animal, and resent being treated like one. I also have this weird recurring nightmare where they get me in one of those enclosed horse vans like the Brits use, and they trundle me away to the knackers. Not a nice dream.
As I trotted, I considered priorities. I needed to get to Kilango Cha Jaha , the village where many of Kenya's jokers were now squatting, and report to my superior, Dr. Etienne Faneuil. Now, while I'm a robust boy, and enjoy an aerobic workout as much as the next fellow, I didn't really want to travel around Nairobi and environs at the steady 4.2 miles an hour I can maintain when jogging, nor did I want to reduce travel time by running. The sight of a pony centaur galloping through city streets generally causes comment, and I'm always worried some asshole's going to decide it's round-up time and he's a cowboy.
So, the bottom line was I needed wheels; a custom jobbie, a van with handicapped controls on the steering wheel, a sliding side door, and the seats ripped out. Correction, all but one seat ripped out. I do occasionally have passengers, and pretty ladies don't like to sit on the floor, or stand like commuters on a subway.
I had been so deeply engrossed in my own ruminations that I didn't notice the cars which had fallen in behind me like a secret service escort. By the time I did notice one had jumped the curb, and angled across the sidewalk in front of me. Another was in the process of completing the trap to my rear.
I had a strong sensation their motives weren't friendly, so I let fly with both hind feet, and caught the opening car door just below the handle. One of my kicks generates a lot of power. I heard a yell and a curse in something that sounded suspiciously like raghead chatter from the driver of car number two as the door slammed back and caught his leg and hand as he tried to exit. That still left me with two assailants. And there was no doubt now they were assailants. They were brandishing tire irons, and I sure as hell knew I didn't have a flat.
There was a high fence on my right, and beyond those walls I could see the tops of trees. I clumsily threw my suitcase at the two men in front of me. They easily dodged, and I felt a strong sense of ill use. This kind of thing always works in the movies my dad produces. My attempt at Rambo having failed, I opted for flight, and bolted across the hood of their Mazda. My hooves didn't do much for either the body work or the paint job. My agility seemed to surprise one guy. He just gaped as I went clattering past. His partner was less impressed. He swung the iron, and caught me high on the left shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I was down on the sidewalk again, and with the width of a car between them and me .
Grimly clutching my tote and my medical bag I galloped for the gate some fifty yards ahead with the two guys running and shouting in pursuit. I heard a lot of Allah 's and Nur al Allah 's going past as I yanked open the latch, and raced through. It was a park. Beautiful, pristine, peaceful. Later I found out I'd entered the Nairobi National Park. One hundred and ten kilometers of virgin wilderness almost completely within the confines of a major metropolitan center.
Wilderness ... complete
In addition to traveling fast I can also travel light. Shirts, ties, and a couple of jackets, that's the entirety of my wardrobe. One nun at the parochial school I attended sent me home on the grounds I was indecent, and insisting that Mom and Dad fit me out with a pair of trousers. I can still remember Dad's bellow - he said I'd look like a bad vaudeville act - and that was my last day in parochial school ... thank God. (Sorry I'm losing the thread here.)
This being Africa it was warm, and the suitcase began to hang like an anvil off my right hand. I briefly regretted not phoning ahead, and arranging for my version of a limo - guy with a truck and horse trailer - but I'm not an animal, and resent being treated like one. I also have this weird recurring nightmare where they get me in one of those enclosed horse vans like the Brits use, and they trundle me away to the knackers. Not a nice dream.
As I trotted, I considered priorities. I needed to get to Kilango Cha Jaha , the village where many of Kenya's jokers were now squatting, and report to my superior, Dr. Etienne Faneuil. Now, while I'm a robust boy, and enjoy an aerobic workout as much as the next fellow, I didn't really want to travel around Nairobi and environs at the steady 4.2 miles an hour I can maintain when jogging, nor did I want to reduce travel time by running. The sight of a pony centaur galloping through city streets generally causes comment, and I'm always worried some asshole's going to decide it's round-up time and he's a cowboy.
So, the bottom line was I needed wheels; a custom jobbie, a van with handicapped controls on the steering wheel, a sliding side door, and the seats ripped out. Correction, all but one seat ripped out. I do occasionally have passengers, and pretty ladies don't like to sit on the floor, or stand like commuters on a subway.
I had been so deeply engrossed in my own ruminations that I didn't notice the cars which had fallen in behind me like a secret service escort. By the time I did notice one had jumped the curb, and angled across the sidewalk in front of me. Another was in the process of completing the trap to my rear.
I had a strong sensation their motives weren't friendly, so I let fly with both hind feet, and caught the opening car door just below the handle. One of my kicks generates a lot of power. I heard a yell and a curse in something that sounded suspiciously like raghead chatter from the driver of car number two as the door slammed back and caught his leg and hand as he tried to exit. That still left me with two assailants. And there was no doubt now they were assailants. They were brandishing tire irons, and I sure as hell knew I didn't have a flat.
There was a high fence on my right, and beyond those walls I could see the tops of trees. I clumsily threw my suitcase at the two men in front of me. They easily dodged, and I felt a strong sense of ill use. This kind of thing always works in the movies my dad produces. My attempt at Rambo having failed, I opted for flight, and bolted across the hood of their Mazda. My hooves didn't do much for either the body work or the paint job. My agility seemed to surprise one guy. He just gaped as I went clattering past. His partner was less impressed. He swung the iron, and caught me high on the left shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I was down on the sidewalk again, and with the width of a car between them and me .
Grimly clutching my tote and my medical bag I galloped for the gate some fifty yards ahead with the two guys running and shouting in pursuit. I heard a lot of Allah 's and Nur al Allah 's going past as I yanked open the latch, and raced through. It was a park. Beautiful, pristine, peaceful. Later I found out I'd entered the Nairobi National Park. One hundred and ten kilometers of virgin wilderness almost completely within the confines of a major metropolitan center.
Wilderness ... complete
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