When we left off yesterday, I had just finished a 45-minute hike through the gorge at Hell’s Gate National Park. It was beautiful and very much worth a visit, but now I’m strapped for time — it’s around 5:25pm and I’m supposed to bike back to meet my motorbike driver back at the main gate by 6pm. It’s over 8km back to the gate… uphill. I’m pretty sure I won’t make it, but I’ll rush as fast as I can.

I’ve barely started back on the main road when I spot a herd of buffalo — dozens and dozens of them — headed towards a watering hole at the gorge. If I don’t whiz past them right now, they’ll block the road for the next few minutes and I don’t have time to spare. My heart beats faster, knowing these are among the most dangerous animals I’ll encounter here — they are prone to charging humans without provocation, and perhaps me riding by on a bike counts as provocation. So shit. I put my head down and peddle as fast as possible, holding my breath until I’ve crossed the herd.

NOTE: the above photo is from this morning’s wildlife walk at Crater Lake nature reserve. I’m too scared to take out my camera during this afternoon’s buffalo encounter… which in itself should communicate just how freaked out I am.

Yikes, that was a close call. I’m beginning to think these “up close and personal” wildlife encounters aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. If someone said, “Hey, want to see these crocodiles up close? Just jump in the swamp. Go ahead, you’ll be fine.” … would you do it? Because I wonder if that’s the same situation I’ve gotten myself into now, except it’s with volatile buffalo near a watering hole at dusk.

I’m past the danger, or so I think. As soon as I wipe my brow and mumble, “That was a close call,” I come across MORE buffalo just to the left of the path. GEEZ! Is someone trying to kill me?! They snort as I put the pedal to the metal (or however you’d adjust that saying so it’s appropriate for a bike) and fly past them.

Then I come to my THIRD herd of buffalo within ten minutes, and this time they’re sitting in the middle of the road. With dense brush on either side of them.

I stop in my tracks, totally screwed. Clearly I can’t move forward without risking my life. And there’s no way I can circumnavigate the road without veering into other animals in the bush (perhaps even more buffalo). If I turn back now, those herds I just passed minutes ago will now be crossing the road behind me… so I’m blocked by buffalo in either direction. SHIT.

For the meantime, I back up so I’m out of the buffalos’ line of sight. My only option is to wait it out. Either the buffalo in front of me will move — hopefully not forward — and I can pass by them. Or maybe a vehicle will come along and I can flag it down.

A few minutes pass until I hear the noise of an engine not to far away. Wahoo, I’m going to be rescued! A school bus rounds the corner. This presents a new challenge… African schoolchildren love to wave at foreigners (and vice a versa) but I have to communicate that this is not the average wave — I actually need help. So using big gestures I throw my hands up in the air and swing them back and forth, and the bus comes to a halt. The door opens and I climb on board, leaving my bike on the side of the road. I explain my dilemma to the teacher in the front seat and he tells me no problem, take a seat.

I am so relieved.

The kids make room for me near the front. The teacher assures me that it’s fine to leave my bike here, just tell a ranger at the Elsa Gate and they can retrieve it later tonight or tomorrow. (This makes me nervous but I’m not going to question it.) Off we go.

On the ten-minute ride back, the teacher explains to me how elections work in Kenya. I’m not sure how we got on that topic so quickly but he’s keen to talk and I’m just happy to be here. (Apparently the tribes here vote for whichever candidate will benefit their region, regardless as to who’s best to lead the entire country as a whole.)

Someone points out a giraffe in the distance and the kids rush to that side of the bus for a closer look. I ask the kids next to me what their favorite animal is, expecting them to answer rhino, elephant, giraffe, hippo — some safari creature. They respond without pausing: “Dogs.” Huh. And those giraffes were trying so hard to impress. But who can resist the cuddly persuasiveness of a puppy? “Me too,” I nod in agreement.

We reach the main gate and I already have my camera out. “Can I take a photo?” I ask the teacher, indicating to the bus full of kids. He nods.

My motorbike driver is waiting for me at the gate when we arrive just before 6pm. I never would have made it by this hour on my bike, even if the buffalo hadn’t blocked my path.

I wave goodbye to the schoolchildren — a normal wave this time — and they return the gesture as the bus takes off. They have about a five-hour drive back to their village. Ten minutes later I’ve returned to our campground and eagerly tell my overland tour mates about that time a Kenyan school bus saved my life.