Through the evening, it dawned on you that you're not simply racing against time. You're battling the original donkey's remaining instincts, which hampered you at every turn.
First, after sighting a particularly lush and inviting field along the highway, the donkey suddenly decided that it was no longer interested in trudging the miles necessary to reach your destination. It wanted to graze.
"No! We've got to keep going!" You brayed in loud, vehement protest, but in the end, you dropped your head and swung it back and forth in a sidewise manner, using your blocky teeth to mow plants in the field, chewing them slowly, contently, between those aforementioned blocky teeth, before swallowing the grassy pulp and stretching your mouth toward the ground to continue the process.
Overhead, the moon drifted across the sky. Midnight arrived and passed. Donkeys don't wear watches, obviously, but it was very apparent that the crucial period had been reached. For the next 12 hours, the medallion offered a sort of loophole. You now could use the medallion to change yourself back into your former human body, with the obvious caveat you needed to reach town and your home and do something to convince the donkey in your body that restoring each other was in the interests of both parties. You raked your large, slimy tongue against your teeth, feeling scraps of vegetation lodged in them. Hunger finally subsided. Dancing headlights zoomed past in the dark as vehicles sped toward town. You needed to head in that direction, too.
It would have been nice to find yourself behind the wheel of an expensive automobile. As a successful human, you settled for nothing less than the best, including in your choice of cars. Your latest acquisition was a Cadillac Escalade. You had only purchased the luxury SUV a couple of weeks ago. But you realized you'd never ride in a car, let alone drive one, ever again unless you succeeded in your mission. You tossed your head back and let your hairy ears pivot, intending to head back toward the road's shoulder.
Now, the damn donkey wanted water. Your hairy upright ears picked up the sound of water gurgling in a small stream. Once more, the donkey mind controlled your action, trotting you to the side of the stream for a long drink of refreshing water. You stubbornly acknowledged that, considering the task ahead of you, perhaps it was for the best to approach things without the nagging sensations of hunger or thirst.
You started down the road, but each time you raised a hoof, the effort left you feeling exhausted. Your large eyes felt heavy. A full stomach and the exertions of the previous day meant the donkey wanted a period of rest.
"No! There isn't time!" You brayed several times in rising frustration.
Your donkey brain disagreed and had turned and erased what little progress you had made by heading right back toward the field. You tried to fight every step of the way, but the donkey brain moved you to the center of the field, lowered your head, closed your eyes, and promptly put you to sleep.
Fortunately, donkeys need very little sleep. Three or so hours a day and a donkey's doing fine. So, the nap didn't cost you too much time. You began to wake to the early morning sounds of birds singing in the trees at the edge of the field and increased traffic on the road. You took an alarmed breath of air and exhaled slowly. If it was morning, that meant you'd entered the final stretch. You had six hours, perhaps less, before noon. After that, if what the donkey in your body had learned about the Zulu Medallion could be trusted, it would be too late to ever regain your body.
Some cars slowed, curious to see a donkey walking along the shoulder of the road, but they all kept going. Eventually, you began to recognize familiar landmarks, and then you came across another sign identifying the next exit as the one that led directly to your neighborhood.
You were only a couple of miles from your destination when the truck pulling a horse trailer signaled its intention to pull off the road and came to a stop on the shoulder directly ahead of you. As you came to a stop, your body took the time to do two very necessary things. You dropped a load of donkey manure and began taking a long piss as the driver of the truck got out and stared toward you.
The trailer didn't even belong to the driver. His truck had a hitch, and he'd agreed to haul the trailer to a horse ranch for a friend of a friend. But he was not a man to look a gift horse, or rather a donkey, in the mouth.
He saw a lone, unclaimed donkey walking by the side of the road. He had a trailer designed specifically for equine transportation. Those two facts were foremost in the man's mind as he reached for and took hold of your rope bridle.