A curious contrast to the Maasai’s simple approach to life out here, the cyclists from all over the world arrive with bleeping mechanisms and technological paraphernalia. The natives casually stoic, draped in their tartan shukas, machete on their belts, observe our trivial concerns for tyre pressure and GPS battery life as ‘modern’ humans a thousand miles from their own daily lives. They are constantly confronted with these quirks – their homeland attracts tourists from all over. Yet these two-wheeled tourists bring commerce, and this bike race happens to be one of the more curious (and dare we say it beneficial) forms of tourism that invades the pastoral life they have inherited.

The first night’s camp felt like it had magically appeared in the middle of nowhere. Individual tents were set up, with showers and toilets, a refectory, and enthusiastic cooks already in action to feed 200 very hungry bellies. Over four days the organisation also succeeds in the remarkable feat of washing every rider’s bike, offering hot showers, and a mechanical service. The quality of the logistics is very impressive considering how everything must traverse difficult terrain – often steep, stony and muddy to places that aren’t often easy to find.

She finishes the stage in the top three. Annabel understands that her intestinal problems have got the better of her excellent form, and Maria and Isabelle ride steady, Maria for the classification, Isabelle for the pleasure. That evening at camp a spectacle of rare grace, like a hallucination, presents itself. Over there on a ridge sway a tower of giraffes, the elegance of their wandering is sumptuous. The athletes have their tired eyes glued to the horizon. Our Maasai hosts are more numerous than usual too. The women have improvised a craft market, the men have lit a fire and are grilling meat for the group. A beautiful atmosphere for the penultimate night out here under African skies.