You push off at mid-morning and the cliffs close in, wind sharpening the dust into a clean, dry bite. Bicycles crunch over compacted volcanic gravel while a guide pedals ahead, pointing to a slice of sky where vultures wheel. Hell’s Gate doesn’t hide its geology — it displays it: sheer basalt walls, narrow gorges cut by ancient Rift Valley forces, and steam vents that still warm the air underfoot. By early afternoon the landscape softens into reeds and open water: Lake Naivasha, where fish eagles sing and hippos float like hulking, indifferent logs.