On my second day in Harare I was lucky enough to be taken to WBR's factory in Ruwa, in the south of Harare. The UK office had put me in touch with Gareth Desmond, the guy in charge of their Zimbabwean operations, and he picked me up on Wednesday morning as their site was out of town, about 20km from where I was staying. Apparently it's better for them as it means that the rents are cheaper and you don't get hassled by government instructors and officials as much. We chucked Tina in the bakkie as she was coming along for a well deserved service and spruce up, and set off. It probably only took about 20 mins as we managed to scythe through the roadblocks along the route.
The site is used as an assembly line where bikes, mostly built from Chinese or Taiwanese parts, are put together and prepared for distribution in Zimbabawe, Mozambique and Malawi. They break down the jobs, Henry Ford style, and with 14 guys they can assemble 120 bikes in a day! Unfortunately when I was there they were waiting on a delayed shipment so they was no assembly underway. And such efficiency is needed as some months they are sending out over 2000 bikes a month!
Me wobbling around on a vintage 2010 model. It's amazing to see how far they've come in just 7 years: there's now a 6-speed Shimano derailleur 'Charger' that has servo (car drum-brake esque) brakes front and back. These were found to be much harder wearing and lower on maintenance and replacement parts that the traditional caliper rim brakes. The one I`m one there is ancient technology in comparison, and it's exciting to see how far WBR has come in just 7 years. The next part of the WBR model, aside from the sale and distribution of Buffalo bikes, is aftersales and mechanical support. They take on, and train up willing mechanics in order to keep the bikes running and in use in the areas where they are distributed. They work with the community, and going by local recommendation, will bring in people for central training and tool kit dispensation. In order to keep the mechanics in the fold [and probably to stop the tools disappearing] the workers sign a 4 year contract. They are also supplied with replacement parts and encouraged to make sure that all bikes in their area are kept running smoothly. Below is the excellent John working on Tina. He did a great job overhauling her, including servicing the wheels hubs and retruing the wheels, and she is now ready for the next 1000km and beyond hopefully. In rather typical African style, there are a lot of people watching. I'm not sure I would appreciate such an audience, but I was assured that they are learning, as such! Tina even ended up with a new bell, in fancy matte black to match her bodywork and some Zimbabwe flag stickers to spruce things up a bit. What a lucky girl!
WBR also take care of their own distribution of the bicycles as when they are entering a community they like to go in, deliver the bikes and debrief on maintenance, safety etc etc. This makes for a far more sustainable model where bikes are kept in use and looked after, rather than becoming wrecks or white elephants, like so many aid projects in Africa often do. The key is appropriate technology I think, along with a good follow up, and I must say I think WBR have got it spot on, so well done!
I am now tantalising close to raising the GBP3000 that I originally set out to achieve, and I now feel that 5000 isn't impossible. So please, please donate to my campaign so that we can get as many Buffalo bikes out there for the health workers, students and ambitious individuals as we can. Please see my campaign link below, and thanks very much for your generous support so far!
https://chuffed.org/project/thebikewiffer
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A shot of Tina on the dirt road between Mazvikadei and Mvurwi. Ploughing her own furrow: strong, independent and on topic! After having a bit of a mopey day after getting off the ferry, things started looking up swiftly. I'd replaced my slops and got some decent-ish food to cook, and although that didn't buoy my spirits particularly, they are things that I had to do - especially seeing as my Jesus sandals rub on the back of my heels if I do much walking in them. I had bought a wifi voucher and gone down to the bar overlooking the lake to try and catch up on a few things over a beer (I had a Bohlinger, but it wasn't up to much really). The wifi wasn't working, so after collecting my eggs which I'd got the barman to hard boil for me, I set off to reception to moan at them. It was on the way there that two ladies, Gill and Trish asked me if that was my bike and tent, and what I was doing etc etc. They said that they were going to offer me a bed for the night, but could see that I'd already set up camp. I just said that I was more than happy camping, but if they really wanted to help me out, they could feed me supper. This did the trick, and after some quick directions, was told to come over later for some 'graze'. What a bonus, and I seemed to be back in the hospitality game once more! The woman at reception very kindly let me on the office wifi network, but it was still woefully slow so I enlisted the help of my glamourous assistant Chloe for the last blog posting (apologies for lack of pics). I then changed into my customary dinner ones - bush shirt and my only pair of trousers (non horrible zip off camping ones) - and trotted off to dinner with my duiker man bag of valuables and the ingredients to make tuna mayo rolls for lunch the next day. Gill & Trish are Zimbabwean by extraction, but now living in Lusaka, Zambia and very lovely ladies indeed. I had a Mosi (Zambian beer) thrust into my hand immediately and then introduced to the two new ladies who were over for drinks. We had boerwors and steak kebabs for dinner with some salad and carb-licious tats: both delicious and a lot better than the culinary masterpiece I'd have knocked up on the MSR Dragonfly (Roaring Susie, the Stove). We saw bushbuck wondering by and some fireflies too, which was very cool. Conversation ranged from Zimbabwean politics and land invasions to snakes (and the aggressive or passive nature of each species), game ranging and being eaten by crocodiles, agriculture in Zambia, and how the John Deere (imported in parts to avoid duty) rules there. The topic of tomorrow's ascent up the Escarpment to Makuti also featured heavily; so much so that, even under intense peer pressure from an assortment of 50-year old ladies, I resisted taking on a fifth Mosi. I wasn't allowed to walk home due to hippo danger, and was tucked up in bed by about 10, after collecting my tub of yoghurt from the bar man and making a few FaceTime calls. I was not long settled when I could hear the crunch crunch of grass being cropped very close to my tent. I played dead for a bit but then got bored (and annoyed by the noise) so started fiddling with my zips loudly. This only caused a momentary pause in the grazing, so eventually decided I would rebuke said grass eater for noise pollution. There was a full moon so no need for a torch, but when I thrust my head out I couldn't see anything. There was a blind spot the other side of the tent, but I think we can safely rule out hippo as the Coffin isn't anywhere near large enough to mask the bulk of the vast water horse. I decided it was zebra as apparently they queue at the boom each night to be let in, and I'd seen plenty of them in Kariba when cycling to and from the dam. Then followed a decent night's sleep and a fairly early wake up the next morning. The Life AquaticShots from the Kariba:Ferry, dam viewing, Kapenta fishing boat (little fish like whitebait), sundowners overlooking dams, and a shortcut speeding across Mazvikadei, a visit to Chinhoyi Caves and Tina with an amusingly named (but sadly unused) boat called 'Bitch'. After the ferry across Lake Kariba, and then a trip up to the dam, it was time to leave the Zambezi and take care of some climbing instead. It was about 70km to Makuti, my next intended stop, but up a ruddy great hill. I had no idea how bad it was, but the locals had certainly built it up into an ascent of biblical proportions. I was away by 8:30 as I figured, even if horribly steep, that was plenty of time to get there in daylight hours. I also had plenty of food from the Zambian hostesses and my supermarket sweep so no need to worry about that. I smashed some yoghurt, banana and a muesli sachet and got on my way. There was a bit of dirt road taking me through the township, and then a right onto the tar and straight, straight, straight. It started off pretty civilised, and although warming up, I would describe it as largely flat. However, after about 30km the road started to climb, and rather steeply at that. The road had been pretty quiet and I hadn't seen much apart from some hunters going the other way, but it was tremendous scenery and very beautiful riding. This was just as well because I was not moving fast. I'd taken a couple of breaks but was otherwise just getting on with it when two women pulled alongside and said they wanted to talk to me. Another photo shoot and autograph request I thought, but naturally I cheerfully agreed. It turned out to be Rose Worthington, who knows Ant well, and was going to have hosted me in Kariba the night before if only she'd seen the message in time. It turns out that Caz, in all her brilliance, had been hustling accommodation for me via Facebook. Amazing! We chatted for a bit and after robbing her of her water they carried on. It wasn't long after that when the aforementioned hunters came back the other way, passing me. They wound down the window and asked if I'd like a drink. What a popular chap I was! They passed me an icy coke and a bottle of water, along with 2 boiled eggs and we chatted for a bit - mostly about how horrendous the hill to come was, and the likelihood of me being eaten in the remaining 20km. I just told them to clear a path for me using their trusty firearms. Just as they were about to leave, one of them slipped me $50 and said that it was great to meet someone so mad, and that I must treat myself to a good bed and a steak. What top blokes, and I was left pedaling on a high from having come across so many nice people in such a short space of time. I was still quite worried though as the bottom half had been quite steep, and apparently worse was to come. I lunched under a big baobab and steeled myself for the momentous alpine ascent ahead. It turned out to be pure hyperbole and the top section was pretty tame to be honest. I arrived in Makuti at about 2, with plenty of time and energy to spare. I trotted off to the only hotel in 'town' and asked if I could camp. The signs (literally) weren't good as there was a 'No Camping. No Picnics' sign in the carpark but I chose to be optimistic. Edmos the receptionist dashed my dreams. He was a top oke but he would under no circumstances let me camp due to management basically being knobs. He said to try the police station and otherwise gave me the number for the ranger for a Zim National Parks campsite. The issue was that the campsite was 15km towards Chirundu, both downhill and in the wrong direction, so I decided to try my luck at the police station. It was impossible to miss as they were running a massive roadblock just outside it. I wasn't sure if they were pulling me over or not, but it suited me fine when they said they wanted to talk to me for a minute. There was much 'Eish-ing' and 'Eee, it's too far-ing' but we eventually made some progress and I was sent to the station to ask them for permission. After another half an hour or so it transpired that I had to ask someone more senior at the roadblock. I returned and was then informed by said senior guy that the guy I needed to talk to was more senior still, and had just left to go and watch some football in Kariba. He wouldn't be back until 7, but I could call him. Alas, upon dialing I had no credit - for some reason Zim just munches credit for no reason - so I had to go to the local shebeen for more airtime. Here an explanation of my endeavour caused much confusion: responses ranged from 'how much do they pay you?' to 'are you winning, where are the others?' to 'are they tracking you so you don't cheat?'. Anyway, after clarifying that I was just an excellent solo charity bloke, not a cheat or a scammer, I went back to the roadblock. What ensued was painless - approval granted. I was instructed to set up my tent right in the middle of the plot, next to the road. I wasn't terribly thrilled with the position, but it was free. I needn't have worried as I was swiftly relocated inside the station. Nothing as glamourous as a cell, but rather a store cupboard. The concrete floor made pitching the Coffin hard work as it only stays upright if you have it pegged under tension but it afforded me the opportunity to use the 10m of cord I'd brought with me. I probably didn't need to use the tent, but decided it would keep any mozzies off so went for it. Once set up I read a bit and then mooched about to make friends. Jospeh Matete and I became firm friends after a trip to the borehole and back, and I must say he was a very nice guy. His efforts to teach me Shona were largely wasted, but he did say that I must go to the Chinhoyi caves and try to chuck a stone over the water. He said it was impossible, even with a catapult, due to magnetic forces. Challenge accepted! My petrol stove struck fear and wonder into the station at large, but I didn't burn the place down so it was a success (I cooked off some onions and peppers and had with tuna and boiled eggs). After a night in the police station at Makuti it was off down to Karoi, about 80km away. I got up pretty early even though there wasn't really a rush, and a good job too, as at 7:15 I was invaded by a police force intent on using my bedroom to change in for their 8AM parade. I was off by 8:20 and feeling a bit paranoid about the trucks, so donned my helmet for the first time in quite a while. The wind was absolutely pumping and the first 30km were pretty grim. The route was also certainly not the downhill cruise I was expecting. Yesterday was 1200m climbing and the run to Karoi ended up being 900m. I found my stride eventually and started to rack up the kms, making good progress. I started to come across old tobacco curing houses and a lovely old steam engine used (as the locals told me) to recondition the leaves for grading once cured. I was heading for Alex & Lorna Stidolph, who Caz had organised for me to stay with, and their farm just outside Karoi. I got there at about 1, having clocked a decent average speed of 22kph. Alex and I had a bit of lunch and then he took me on a tour of the farm. This was my first intro to tobacco and very interesting stuff. He grows about 40ha of tobacco and has about 85 full timers on the farm! Tobacco growing is extremely labour intensive I came to realise. I shan't go into too many details but it was fascinating stuff and the complete opposite of highly mechanised, low-labour UK agriculture. We then got stuck into some beers and talked more farming, cycling etc etc. Alex is surrounded by females - Lorna, 3 delightful little girls and a menagerie of lady dogs too, but he handled the females very well indeed, I must say. I suppose he's well used to it, after all! After a lovely evening with the Stidolph's the next day I was off to another host organised by the fabulous Caz in Mazvikadei. That's a bit of a deviation so the agreement was for Tony (another mad, albeit more seasoned, cycle tourer) to meet me in Banket. That would be about 110km. Before leaving I had a look around the drying and grading sheds in the morning followed by a tour of the nursery where they are trialling Stevia (the new on trend healthy sugar from S America) and Eucalyptus. The gum trees are interesting as they are going to be needed to replace a lot of indigenous timber which the smallholders cut and burn to dry their tobacco. After the tour and a huge breakfast (and first taste of mealie porridge - surprisingly ok) I persuaded Alex to brave the roadblocks and run me into town as we were running late (and he had to get food for the (female) rabbits). Again, I struggled a bit initially, and the road was once again quite lumpy. I wouldn't have swapped it for Bots though as it was scenic enough to make up for it. After about 30km I got into my stride and was motoring along at an average of about 23kph. I'm often loathe to stop when things are going well, but by 12 I'd done 55km and saw a nice shady tree by a little lake with water lilies (and lots of rubbish). I pulled over and started prepping lunch, which basically consisted of remembering which pannier I'd put the sandwiches Lynette made me in. I was munching away when a guy appeared from the bush, barefoot and largely toothless. I felt a bit awkward as wasn't sure if he was angling for my lunch, which I didn't really want to share. Anyway, he gabbered away in Shona for a bit, and then disappeared. I was then on sandwich number 4 when he reappeared with what looked like a load of spinach. Much Shona, and me insisting on my inability to speak it in English, followed and I thought he was trying to make me buy greens for lunch. Being very impractical as a snack I began to get a bit eggy, but we parted on good terms in the end having exchanged (and since fogotten) names. Then I was on the way again and had done another 10km when I saw a sign for Lion's Den. I'd heard about this steak and biltong joint since Kariba and was keen to go for one of their legendary rolls, but has been told that they both closed at 1 on Saturdays, and were located near Banket ie too far away to reach in time. I glanced at my watch - 1:01 - could it be that I could manage to plunder a steak roll as a second lunch?! With Chloe's instructions to always eat lots ringing in my ears, I prised open the shop doors and placed my order. Success! At $14 for a roll, ginger beer and some biltong, it was an expensive stop by my SA standards, but a box ticked and extra sustenance. It didn't do much for my rhythm and made for some rather bloated, uncomfortable riding, but overall no regrets. After about another hour I started getting tooted a lot, and recognised the convoy of Dutchies from the ferry who had headed up to Mana Pools. I caught up with them at the Chinhoyi Caves and had a bit of a chat. The caves were a bit sooner than I wanted, but nothing could be done about that and they came highly recommended by Joseph and Caz, so I lied about being a Saffer and paid $8 entry ($10 for others). The parks guys were being a bit dickish, saying I needed a permit for my duiker skull and not allowing me to take my catapult (for the stone experiment) through. I ignored them on both counts but this backfired somewhat when a ranger decided to shadow me in order to enforce the rules. He was a rather smelly chap who overall detracted from the experience, especially when he said it was an extra $2 to use a camera. I told him not to be so stupid and made him take pictures of me and my duiker handbag as punishment for his insolence. The cheeky sod then asked for a coke at the end but I decided to treat him as I quite enjoyed winding him up. Back on the road by 3, I still had 30km to go so I gave Tony an ETA of 4:20. The run into Chinhoyi was fine, drafting a little tractor and fertiliser spreader for a bit. He was quite surprised to see me there I think, and it was a good pace for about 5km, the drawbacks being it was a noisy bloody thing that obscured pothole detection and covered me in fertiliser dust whenever he drove through them. Last 20km I was getting a bit tired, but made Banket Mac Morgan fuel station bang on time. Tony picked me up and we put Tina in the bakkie and tackled the 20km or so of dirt to Mazvikadei. There I met the whole gang - parents, sister and niece and nephew, who were all very lovely. Watched the Lions give the Bulls a good smacking at Ellis Park and then ate a whole load of roast chicken, all washed down with a few beers. Tony was a wealth of knowledge as had just cycled Uganda to Vic Falls, including getting the Liemba ferry that I want to catch. They also had a little sausage dog puppy which was very cute. The next morning had a slow start and by the time we had eaten a very large and tasty fry up it was getting on. We then loaded Tina onto their boat and took the 15 minute ride across the glass smooth and deserted lake to the bridge. It was all very cool and by 10.40 I was on my way to Mvurwi to visit the big Forrester estate there. The cycle to Forrester was dirt roads for the first 22km, and again I was feeling rather sluggish initially. Luckily there was roadkill, an old plough and lots of great scenery to distract me and by the time I hit the tar I was feeling better. I came across an extremely bored looking roadblock at the t-junction, and would come across 2 more later on. That's in addition to the 8 from Karoi to Banket and I must admit that I found it rather perplexing that I hadn't seen a single police car in all my time in Zim. How did these okes get to their chosen bribery hotspots - I certainly can't imagine motorists offering them a lift given their intended activity, but there we go. Apart from the great scenery I passed some Zimasco mining sites (interesting as I used to fix some of their chrome exports) a baboon as big as a horse, and many, many potholes. The estate was further than expected and I also got a bit lost which didn't help my humour. Anyway, I found the right section of the farm (it's 12,000ha so rather large) but had a real meltdown when, despite asking about a million locals where Chris Brooker's house (the GM I was staying with) was, I ended up at HQ, with the house about 3km away (and uphill). I demanded a bakkie to take me back to the house as I was tired and fed up by now, having clocked 85km, and extra 15 on what I was expecting, a lot of it on dirt. My obvious displeasure shook them all up a bit and a guy on a motorbike appeared and said he would take me back to the house. It wasn't a bakkie but it had a motor so I was happy. I selected my favourite pannier (clothes) and my duiker handbag and off we went. He wasn't a great driver and the first few gear changes convinced me that my cycle trip was likely to end at 1600km on a sandy road in Mvurwi. There were also no rear pegs so I had to alternate between resting them on the exhaust and kickstand, or stretching them out in front. Neither position was comfortable, and I was extremely grateful to arrive cramp and horrific injury free. I then dropped my stuff and jumped onto my own (albeit child's) motorbike and followed a guy up to Gota house where my host and co were having lunch. Everyone was pretty well oiled by the time I arrived - so much so that they thought I was coming by motorbike, not bicycle. When I explained that I had in fact arrived by motorbike, but only for the last bit, that caused much confusion. The driveway snaked its way up to the top of a huge granite koppie, and then you burst out onto the top, with the most James Bond style lair I'd ever seen, stretching its way across the horizon. Apparently it took 7 years to build, and it was all polished concrete and floor to ceiling glass. It was an uber cool house, but the centre piece was the view - out across a dam on the estate with not a single other house in sight! It turns out that it was the house of the owners of the estate, which explained why it was so impressive. We headed back to Chris's at about 6 and had a braai before chatting some Zim, family and estate history. It used to be owned by Poms (Forrester & Thomson) but they sold it to the Austrian Von Prentsels in 1988. I'm told they got a very good price, but due to land reform the estate has shrunk from a gargantuan 21,000Ha to a far more moderate 12,000. That put the arable at about 3,000Ha, down from 7,000, with about 700Ha currently under tobacco, employing about 2,500 people. The next day we were up early and Chris and I headed to HQ. Tina was still there with all her accoutrements so John the security guard got a hearty handshake. We then spent the day touring the estate, taking a look at tobacco grading, pea and mange tout growing, picking and packing, citrus orchards and finally the lemon packing facility in town. It's a very impressive set up with a tonne of staff (5 full time mechanics for example) and was a very interesting insight into large-scale farming in Zim. The plan was then to cycle the 90km to Harare on Tuesday morning, but Chris was driving down to do a recce on the sales so insisted (not that I took a whole bunch of persuading) on putting the bike in the back of the Land Crusier seeing as he was going anyway. We made an early start and then hit a couple of tobacco trading floors. The first one was a competitive floor with bales of tobacco zooming about on trolleys pulled by frantically beeping drivers. There was a real buzz there, as you'd probably expect from a trading floor, and it was highly amusing watching the buying line do the conga down the aisles scrapping, whooping and arguing about who had won what. It was a fast paced affair, with each bale auctioned in about a second or two. Then the label guys followed behind marking up who bought what with the price etc. I had very little idea of what was going on, but apparently it was conducted in English, not Shona as I had initially thought. The second floor was a private one run by Northern Tobacco and altogether a more sedate affair, although they had a fancy conveyor belt for the bales in this place. This stuff is all grown under contract against input finance (banks no longer like lending to Zim farmers due to securitisation issues) so the prices are just settled against the day's matrix. It's a complicated affair as there are about 300 variables in terms of type, grades,colour and disease level, but just not as exciting as the open market. That concluded my foray into tobacco (and not a cigarette neared my lips) and then it was just a case of trotting about 2km down the road to Caz and Bren's. It's from their spot near Alexandra Park that I am abusing both the formidable snack-preparing talent of their chef Jean and their super-fast (ish) fibre wifi. That's why you've got so many pictures this time! They've been excellent hosts and I've had a lovey time in Harare so far. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but I must say it seems a pleasant city and a lot more functioning than I thought it might be: indeed it is quite civilised and I recommend a visit. That brings you all up to speed now, and the next update will cover the remainder of Harare and then the push through Moz into Malawi.
I was up early on my only night in Livingstone, but not really because I had to be. It was nice to get a head start and try and plan things a bit. Unfortunately, there has been so much rain that the cool activities that I had in mind for Vic Falls - swimming in the Devils Pool and exploring the base of the waterfall - were not available due to the high river level. It's poor form to moan about rain in Africa so I shan't do that, but it did leave me with a bit of a free day. I had a bit of breakfast and then decided to head into town for some kwatcha withdrawal and to see what it was like. Livingstone isn't big, but dwarfs Vic Falls, on the other side of the Zambezi, by comparison. It used to be the capital of Zambia/Nyasaland before the decision was taken to move things up to Lusaka due to Malaria issues. It's a bit of a faded gem I thought and I enjoyed wandering through the local (not craft) market and peering through fences and over walls. It had an air of Melville, Johannesburg about it, with green tin roofs and paint peeling off the verandahs, but not as many walls and electric fences! I considered it much more my kind of town than say Gaborone where everything was new and a bit sterile. It is also quite green with a tropical tinge. I'm sure the mozzies would be a constant plague but it had a run-down charm to it. After a stroll about town I conducted a bit of itinerary planning, and arranged to head across the border to meet (and stay with) Brent, who I had been put in touch with via Tinks, Chloe's ex-bosses' sister. As you can tell, suitably tenuous, but any company and non-hostel board is very gratefully received. However, before that I wanted to check out the falls from the Zambian side. I took the panniers off of Tina and packed a dry bag with the bare essentials and set off for the falls. Very easy directions, but was further than I thought - about 10km. I was advised to just go in stuff that you can get wet in and then brave the soaking. Paid my entry and locked Tina up with the security guards. I spent about an hour doing the other paths - along the ridge and then down to the 'Boiling Pit' at the bottom. Saw some good birds but the little shits are impossible to photograph. I also had a stand off with a baboon. It was right on the path so I chucked a branch at it. This backfired though as it didn't move it off, it just squared up to me and we proceeded through with a macabre dance of fake lunges as I edged around it! They've got some teeth on them and I was fresh out of lumps of wood so it wasn't a very pleasant experience. Anyway, I then proceeded to the proper part - Knife Edge bridge and Rainbow Falls. You couldn't see much as the water was so high it was just spray but it was bloody loud and extremely wet. There was so much water coming down that when I decided it was safer to go barefoot on the bridge, the torrent washed my flip flop away! Luckily it wouldn't fit under the barrier, but a nervy few seconds. On the way back to the hostel to pack up and ship over to Vic Falls I came across a mini peloton of Zambians so I got on the front and formed a chain gang. I reckon even with panniers I'd have come out a comfortable winner, but unencumbered they stood no chance and were soon dropped. I then saw a John Deere with English plates so I stopped to get to the bottom of that - it was 2015 and only had 200 hours on the clock, and had been brought overland from Walvis Bay by truck. Once at the hostel I had some ham rolls and a Mosi beer, and then broke camp. I'd arranged to meet and stay with a guy called Brent Williamson who I was told was an avid cyclist and keen to meet me. To give you an idea of my continued tenuous links to hospitality Brent was put in touch with me via Tinks, who is the sister of Chloe's ex boss. Cheeky I know, but the fun of a trip like this is meeting people and putting yourself out there. So I crossed over the border, this time with some form filling, but overall without much fuss, and met Brent and his wife Annette for a couple of beers. We then moved to another bar, them by bakkie, me by Tina and met some of their clients (Brent has an excellent travel company called Adventure Zone Vic Falls). They turned out to be Danes and they stood me a beer in exchange for some photos and my website address. A fair trade I'd say, and nice to catch up with some Copenhageners seeing as I used to live there. In the evening I went to Vic Falls on the Zim side to try and catch a glimpse of the elusive 'moonbow'. For 3 days across full moon time the park opens late so punters can come and see the falls by night. At $40 it ain't cheap, but apparently it's very rare and you can't really do it anywhere else in the world, so off I went. There was quite a crowd, and initially I was pretty annoyed as it was just a bunch of morons wondering about using their cell phones as torches or taking pictures that were never going to look any good, but eventually everyone spread out and it was far more pleasant. I was loitering at the back and managed to get lost, but the moonbow was visible which was great. It doesn't photograph well, but it kind of like looking at a rainbow through a load of smoke. One for the bucket list anyway! After that Brent picked me up and we went for a game drive up Zambezi Drive. No elephant but saw a porcupine which was cool as that was a first for me, along with some kudu and impala. The next day I was up early as I was going rafting. Brent very kindly did mates rates and it was excellent fun. I was with 3 others, but they weren't a terribly interesting bunch to be honest... Except the American girl who seemed to be incapable of descending into the gorge (very scenic) without falling over every third step. Eventually I got bored of the gentlemanly enquiry of 'Are you Ok? Can I carry your paddle for you?' and took to sniggering instead. The rafting got rather real quite quickly - on the third rapid we were unceremoniously flipped over backwards and we were all in the water with an upside down raft. I think we all took a couple of dunkings, and I was underneath the raft for a bit, but overall nothing to worry about really. I think I preferred the calmer stretches really as it allowed the opportunity to stare into the murky, swirling depths rather than being doused by them. The rapids were quite fascinating in their unpredictability and it was really difficult to read what it was going to do next. After about an hour and a half of rafting it was back up to the top for a couple of cold Zambezis and a nice bit of lunch. On the way to the launch sight we turned off of the tar so I paid close attention to the condition of the dirt road as I was trying to decide what route to take to Mlibizi for the Kariba Ferry. The options were 200km of mostly dirt roads or about 260km of tar. I wanted to do the dirt but there was no denying that Tina and I make better progress on the black stuff. The road seemed manageable, and as it turns out, it was exactly that road which I would be setting out on. On the way back I dozed as it was warm and I'd been drinking beers. After rafting we went down to Brent's bit of land where he's hoping to set up an elephant interaction experience. I petted the lady elephant as she was very chilled and she came to say hello. She'd been rescued as she'd lost about a quarter of her trunk one way or another. She had a bit of a drippy schnozz but was a very pleasant beast. On the way back we saw some canned lion being taken for a walk by their rangers and some volunteers. It was quite surreal to turn the corner and see group of people walking two lions. I meowed at them out of the window. I was leaning more towards the dirt road to Mlibizi and just taking it slowly as I had 3 days to do 200km and on road I'd have done it too fast and end up twiddling my thumbs in Mlibizi. So dirt road it was! Brent and I made a plan to camp first night at the Batoka Dam site, where construction is due to start at some point in the future, African time. So after some oats and a shower I was off at about 8:30, going via the 7/11 for some lunch and miscellaneous supplies. Bit of a climb out of Vic Falls but was going along fine when I saw a snake in the road. It's hard to see exactly where your front wheel goes due to the panniers, but I circled back for a roadkill pic. It was light brown and about 2ft long - and still squirming. There was no traffic about and it had a suspiciously thin crush mark right on the head. Tina claims her first vertebrate! Now snakes and I don't mix terribly well and since that last live roadkill snake incident I've favoured caution. Not so the local coming the other way who had crossed to see what all the fuss was about. He informed me that it was a Mozambican Spitting Cobra, and then picked it up by the tail and hurled it into the bushes. A braver man than me, for sure. I mixed things up a bit by taking the dirt road after the one I'd driven on the day before as Brent said it was in better condition and joins it further along. He was right for the first 5km or so as it was hard packed mud, perfect for gliding along, and rock free. However, as it approached the village it become noticeably more sandy, and much harder going. That aside it was actually a pleasure to be cycling on dirt again, forget about the wing mirror and traffic and just plod along admiring the scenery. You must stay alert though as dirt roads like to keep you on your toes: they have the ability to change very quickly for no apparent reason and it's important on a cumbersome (Fat Lard) bike such as Tina to pick your line and keep it steady as quick manouvres are very tricky. The road chopped and changed a lot, but nowhere was it awful, as it had been for the last 30km to the Bots crossing on day 3. One thing you can say for sure is that it wasn't busy: I saw 4 vehicles all day - one abandoned/wrecked bus, a bakkie (twice, once in each direction) and a bakery truck. The dam site snuck up on me a bit. I was expecting it at about 70km so had to make sure I had plenty of water from about 60km. So at 55 I saw a village with plenty going on and enquired. I think I disturbed an important under-tree meeting as there was much huffing and eye-rolling from the speaker, but I was directed into the bush. There were a bunch of guys ostensibly working, but not really doing much, and they informed me that water must be obtained from the bush pump. How exciting! I'd already checked with Brent re water situation and he said that anything borehole you're good to go. So off I headed following one of the guys to the bush pump. They'd been laying a pipe to bring water up to a new clinic so we were straddling a freshly dug trench - which we both unceremoniously fell into at various points. Jesus sandals aren't the easiest to walk in, but I now had no choice as I'd lost one of my slops somewhere back along the road due to poor stowage. This was a severe blow, but I kept the sole remaining one in case by some magic virtue of the bush, the other might be returned to me. The bush pump was pretty cool - a modern version of those ones you sometimes see in quaint English villages with the spout and long handle. We filled my bottles (it's a two man job and you can't pump and hold the bottle as too far away. On the way back we chatted a bit and I asked the name of the village. I was expecting something unpronounceable but it turns out it's Village 55, so named after the bush pump's number. Anyway, back to the dam. I knew it was good roads as they keep it in good nick for when they decide they'd like to start building, but the turn off was at 57km, and a whopping 14km to the site. Apparently you can get water there (according to the local I quizzed) so that wasn't an issue, but I was hoping to get more under my belt on day 1, and to deviate less. With this weighing on my mind I decided to honour Brent's advice and give it a bash. I took the turning and then missed the next one. I was pretty sure I had, but decided to check as there was a car just down the road parked under the tree. It soon became apparent that I had stumbled upon a bit of bush butchery: they had a cow winched up by the hind quarters and were working away with a combination of wood saw and rusty machetes. The hide was on the floor, as were all the guts, along with a prodigious amount of shite, and about 2/3 of the carcass was shoved into the back of said car, which was lined with plastic. Flies were everywhere and there were quite a few dogs mincing about on the periphery - it certainly wasn't your 30day dry aged on the bone affair! Anyway, once I'd confirmed routing I set off again. It was certainly hilly, which heightened my apprehension. Finally, about 8km in I came to a section, that although downhill today, was so steep it had been concreted. This was the last straw, and I'm ashamed to say I bottled it. The wasted 16km were certainly annoying, but I'm glad I gave it a go and pursued the option. I had some ham and cheese sandwiches whilst on the detour, so decided to get my head down and at least knock off the requisite 66km or 1/3 of the distance. At about 90km I came into big village territory. I used bush pump number two for the day, and asked about camping. They said there was something about 12km further on, and didn't really seem to want to host me. That's fair enough, and it was easily the least nice spot I'd been through all day so I carried on. I was starting to get tired and keen to call it a day, so as the village and people started to thin out, I turned my mind to bush camping. I'd say it's a pretty quintessential part of African cycle touring and I did feel a bit of a cheat having not done it yet. So, when I lost control going down a rather rocky and unruly descent, dumping the bike, but managing to remain more-or-less upright myself, I decided that was it. I pulled off the road at the top of the hill and wheeled Tina off about 30m into the bush. I was a bit tired and fed up, but there's no denying it was a nice spot - on top of a koppie, hidden from the road in Mopani scrub. The only issue was the flies - the little shits had been plaguing me all day whenever I stopped, and were driving me mad. I was in a real rage, and boiling hot, when I figured out a plan. Get in the bloody tent! So I set the Coffin up, leaving the outer sheet off, and clambered in to catch up on my diary. I must have killed about 20 of the bastards inside the tent, and I was still pouring with sweat, but I took satisfaction from the swarm of frustrated insects on the other side of the netting. I was under siege until about 5:30, when I deemed it safe enough to emerge. I then finished setting up camp and started supper. Stove out and special bowl-pan set up, I decided to try the Millet I'd lugged 1100km from Woolies in Bryanston. I knew it would be a fairly plain affair, so chucked in 2 stock cubes. It was ok, and a bit salty (one stock cube next time I think). The view helped me persevere with the plain storage that was supper - watching the sun set, and then the stars begin to appear gradually was beautiful. I even saw a fantastic shooting star just before 6:30. I was pretty beat, so was in the tent by 7, having put the food pannier and remaining Millet (breakfast) up a tree. I didn't sleep that well to be honest, but it was a nice bush camp I must say. Was on the road by 8:30 before those goddam flies got up. It was apparent soon enough that today was going to be a struggle: I was into the wind and could tell I was suffering because I just couldn't push the big gears that I was yesterday. I had clocked a decent 106km, that is to say 90 of proper progress so I was looking forward to a chilled day of about 50-60 to take me to Msuna Island for the night. I thought that would take me about 3,5 hours, but I was struggling so much I didn't get there until about 1:45. Thankfully the last 10km were pretty much downhill, but boy were there some low points that day. I guess it must have just been nutrition as I wasn't ill or anything like that. I was probably a bit dehydrated but whatever I was putting in just wasn't fueling me. Millet is off the menu I think! I battled the 45 odd km to the turn off and had a sit down and a think. Msuna was a diversion from the route but I wanted a shower and a restaurant or shop for some decent grub and thought the only place I was likely to get that was down there as it's a popular Tiger fishing spot. I was assured by a local chap named Billy that there was loads of camping options inside, and a restaurant, but when I spoke to the camp manager Larry, I was informed that there was a no camping policy. Absolute disaster! He said I could stay in a room for $25 but the shop was shut and there was no restaurant. I was pretty exhausted anyway, and being turned away was a blow as I really wanted a shower and the chance to relax a bit, but I stuck to my guns, saying I was on a budget and not really interested in a room. I asked if I couldn't just camp in a spot out of the way, but this wasn't allowed he said. I eeked things out a bit longer before I headed back up into the village to try my luck there. I necked a couple of glasses of water and must have looked pretty sorry for myself as he then decided I could stay in a room for free and Elvis would open the shop at 5 when he was back. Msuna Island is a really beautiful spot, right in the midst of the Zambezi, scattered with very nice looking fishing bolt holes. It also has some great birdlife. Shame I didn't have any binos, but one has to travel light on the bike. I saw trumpeter hornbills picking at the figs, long tailed starlings (which are better looking than you might think) and could hear the cry of fish eagles in the distance. Elvis the shopkeeper never appeared, which wasn't the end of the world as I had some food still, but it left me short of beer for what promised to be a lovely sunset over the river. So I snuck over to Larry's with a few bucks in my pocket and asked if I could buy a couple of beers for sundowners. He wouldn't hear of it and very kindly gave me a couple of Amstels to enjoy. I rushed over to the lake, having put long sleeves and trousers on, as the sun goes quickly down here, and enjoyed the view listening to the grunts and complaints of hippo in the river. Very nice indeed! For dinner I had use of the kitchen so made rice and chili flavoured soya mince. Not great, but better than that crappy millet I had had the night before (and for breakfast). I got another early one as was tired, even though Larry very kindly said he would organise me a lift in the morning back to the 'main' dirt road. This took the pressure off a bit as the Msuna turn off was a 10km detour that would be mostly uphill the next day. I was up at 7 and informed that I could go over to the main house for a fry up. Bonus! 3 poached eggs, 4 bits of toast and some lumps of bacon later, I was shoving Tina in the back of the bakkie for Clement to take me to the T-junction. I was thankful of the leg up as I quickly came to realise that today was going to be the worst road condition of the 3 days. I was hoping it would only be about another 10-15km of dirt before I hit tar, but it turned out to be 40km. The first 20km were pretty gnarly, with a fair bit of climbing on loose sand and gravel. I suffered the ignominy of pushing a couple of times, but I was happy to have an hour in hand, and there were lots of baobabs, along with another dead puff adder, to keep things interesting. The back 20km became a lot more manageable and I began to make decent progress. When I hit the tar it was a relief to have a more consistent and smooth surface under the wheels, especially seeing as I felt I was long overdue a puncture on the rough stuff. However, I quickly came to realise that old Bob wasn't as good mates with the Chinese as some of the other African nations are. Parts of the road descended into a slalom course where Tina's agility was really put to the test. I had a good chuckle when I came across a road repair gang; about 30 guys, 15 of whom were relaxing in the shade, the balance watching 2 guys effecting repairs. Guess what they were filling the potholes with - bloody dirt! Better than nothing I suppose, and it might hold up until the rains come in October time, but it seemed a rather pointless effort to me. They gave me a good heckle, which is always appreciated. I undertook my first biscuit distribution after buying a packet of lemon cremes. I stopped for more phone credit really, but this proved to be a very complicated undertaking as the shop guy thought I was trying to pay for the biscuits with my 'Ecocash' phone wallet. The whole situation wasn't helped by the blaring music he had pumping out of full on concert speakers. I was close to losing my temper but we got there in the end. So, the biscuits. I took one for myself and then decided to be a nice guy and offer them around seeing as they hadn't been shouting 'SWEETS!' at me, as some had. The biscuits took a bit of a hammering so I had one more and decided to go for another packet. Then when I turned around there were about 20 more kids! Bit awkward, but a cyclist needs his biscuits so I shoved the other pack in my pocket and whizzed off, too ashamed to eat them in plain view. The remaining 35km of tar to Mlibizi was pretty straightforward. As I said, a lot of potholes, hot, and a bit of a headwind. I encountered a buffalo bike on the side of the road, and seeing as I am raising money for them, decided to stop for a pic. I'd seen one guy in Zambia on one, who looked like he either didn't need one, or had done very well for himself since receiving this 'personal industrial revolution'. Let's hope the latter. Anyway, I took one pic, and then the proprietor sauntered out of the bush. I was looking forward to a conversation with him, and being lavished with praise for being such a generous guy. As it turned out, he was a bit of an arsehole: he wanted $3 for a photo, wasn't at all interested in my fundraising, and ended by asking for food. I cycled off indignantly as this chap certainly wasn't getting any biscuits! I then stopped with about 10km to go and ate the rest of yesterday's soya mince and rice. I was hopeful of blagging lunch at the B&B but decided I had more chance of that if I didn't pitch up and eat my own stuff. It also allowed me to play the waiting game better. Caz, a Zim contact (from Ant again) has set this up for me, and the deal was $25 for dinner and a bed, which was pretty reasonable. I followed Rose's instructions and took driveway 107 past a decent-sized baobab (they're everywhere in this part of the country, and very cool) and announced myself. Both Don & Rose were lovely, and made me feel right at home straight away. Their property was what I envisage a proper African retreat to be - tin roof, single storey, concrete floors and a huge verandah looking onto the (Mlibizi, a tributary of the Zambezi) river. Rose was baking some bread rolls, which smelled amazing (and duly remarked upon). They very kindly offered me lunch too, and I gratefully accepted. I ate about 5 rolls and all the trimmings, but tried to spread it out so I didn't look like too much of a glutton. Then I just relaxed, chatting to them and sitting on the raft with the binos watching the wildlife. It was in the course of conversation that I discovered that those goddam flies were Mopani flies, and are a general scourge wherever Mopani trees are growing. At 5 we started on the beers, and I tried out a few 'Eagles' - a local sorghum brew. Not bad, I must say, and dinner was both delicious and very filling. We ended with a game of darts (me using the Union Jack arrows) and came close to not losing. Something inside the mozzie net that night (which I could hear so was cowering away from) zapped me on the forehead and made me swell up for some reason. The next day it was up at a sociable hour, and a short pedal down to the ferry dock. When I arrived they were busy loading the overlanding trucks of a big party of Afrikaaners. I'd heard the ferry was struggling so it was nice to see a full boatload. I got bought a beer immediately, which I wasn't really looking for, but they thought I was well hard because I was a mad cyclist, and there was patriotic pride at stake. We got underway at about 10am and the journey would last 22 hours, taking us eastwards about 300km to Kariba, the head of the lake where the dam (opened in 1952 I think) is situated. The ferry was good fun, and after a nice 1,5 nap on the aft deck after a very respectable lunch, we stopped motors for the traditional (optional) Zambezi dunk. About 5 of us (no Dutchmen) took the plunge, and it was very pleasant drifting about in the Zambezi far enough offshore not to worry about crocs or hippos. Then it was sundowners followed by dinner and bed about 10ish, sleeping outside on the deck as the wind and moving water mean no mozzies. At $130 the ferry was certainly an extravagance, but a very pleasant experience. It also doesn't feel like cheating in the same way that getting a lift does. The next morning there was a good breakfast and we docked at about 7:30. I hadn't been feeling great in the saddle sore department as 2,5 days of dirt roads weren't kind to my posterior, aside from costing me my slops (annoying), battery pack (not ideal) and my foam seat cushion (disaster). For that reason I decided that I would take it easy, go and peer at the Kariba dam, get some shopping in, and try and get Tina serviced. Kizito the bike mechanic soon (ish) arrived with his tool kit, but he had no Bottom Bracket wrench to take off, clean and regrease the BB as I wanted to do. He wanted to attack it with all sorts of implements but it was serviceable so told him not to gippo it and leave her alone. I then trundled up to the dam and had a look around. Not quite as cool as the Katse Dam in Lesotho but certainly rather impressive. I then proceeded to one campsite, Warthogs, which was deserted and had no wifi, so I moved on to the more expensive Lomagundi. I saw quite a few zebra on my 10km or so to the campsite, and I've been warned by a few people about Lions for the ride to Makuti tomorrow so let's see what happens. Tomorrow will be about 80km with quite a lot of climbing as I am ascending from lake level up to the top of the escarpment apparently. Today I've been a bit mopey again, and wonder if I've got myself into too much of an adventure, but I often get like this when not cycling when I think about how far I've still got to go. Getting proper food is becoming a bit tiresome and it's quite annoying having to think about it so much when there's a lot of other stuff going on. My foray into the more local food left me rather weak and useless, so I need to try and either avoid it, or wean myself onto it. That said, things have gone well so far, and although the supermarket I went to in town today was a bit of a dump and underwhelming, I did go into the local market and emerge with everything intact, bearing some $1 slops to replace my ipanemas. Quite a long update, but that brings you up to speed I think. Hopefully I don't get eaten tomorrow and with some more miles under my belt I'll feel better.
I don't think I've ever had as many puddings as when staying with Pat & Ed. Perhaps I was looking a bit too skinny, but we had puddings with lunch and dinner, and even breakfast was a 3 course affair. My full rest day was a very relaxing affair to be honest - just a bit of a lie in as birds (either the ground hornbill pecking on the patio doors, or the southern bulbul flying into the bedroom window), ensured full relaxation after dawn was impossible. I basically spent the day pottering about and trying to accomplish things using the wifi, with limited success. We drove out to a great little pan for sundowners, passing giraffe, kudu and a few other bits and pieces along the way, a cold beer, then back for dinner (and pudding). The next morning was up fairly early, but no huge rush as Pat was going to drop me on the tar road on the Kasane side of town. We passed baobabs lit up by the early morning sun, looking very impressive and eerie. They're protected in Bots, so even in Pandamatenga where they have cleared blocks for agriculture, these trees remain stubbornly protruding out of the fields of sorghum and cow peas. We also saw a couple of Kori Bustards, which was nice. They're the heaviest flying bird in Africa so quite impressive watching them getting airborne. I guess I was under way at about 8am, with just under 90km to go to Kasane (at the top of Bots). I couldn't decide whether to go all the way to Kasane for 2 nights or break the journey up by stopping at a lodge 20km before Kasane which an overlander I had been stopped by had recommended. I called them and I can't say I was left with a very favourable impression - I would be risking my life cycling to them as game area etc etc, and wanted to charge about R100 to pick me up. They also didn't do food. Thus, initially I was all for the full run to Kasane, but after a few more kms thinking about it, I decided it would be nice to see an extra place and I could eat noodles for supper. The cycle went very well indeed. The headwind wasn't out in full force that day, so I was averaging about 25kph on the tar and a nice relaxed effort level. I was running along at about 110/20bpm on the HR strap, and I think the only time it spiked was when the roadkill snake I was in the process of photographing, starting slithering towards me. It was only little, but I think it was a puff adder (bites are quite often fatal) and I was still awkwardly astride Tina. Cue some rather frantic shuffling - I don't think the Jesus Sandals had moved that fast before! I came across another snake later on, and I made very sure it was dead before approaching too closely as this one was rather large. Such was my serene progress that before long I'd done 70km and was at the turning off for Senyati camp. I decided it wasn't worth bothering trying to wangle a free lift, so set off up the dirt road to the village Lesoma. I asked for directions a few times, and there were some deep sandy patches which ruined my very respectable average speed, but I got to the camp without too much bother. It was a nice spot with a bar and viewing deck overlooking a waterhole, and the even cooler feature of an 'elephant bunker' where you go through a tunnel into an ankle level viewing point about 3m from the watering hole. The campsite is also pretty fancy, with an ablution block or campsite and electricity. However, I was unable to make any camping buddies this time. In fact, the check in lady seemed to think I should have been arrested for cycling with skulls on my bike (a particularly odd notion seeing as the camp she worked in was similarly adorned with bones everywhere), and management made me pay a deposit for a blanket, despite it being very clear that I wasn't going to haul an item of their bed linen across Africa on my push bike. She also wouldn't let me use her kettle for making my noodles, which upset me further. It's funny because when you travel alone, your interactions with strangers influence your day a lot more, and although obviously not 'bad' experiences, they put your nose out of joint more than it would otherwise. All in all though, I'm glad I gave it a go and visited the place as the watering hole game viewing and elephant bunker were very cool. There seemed to be a lot of youngish French men about, which could well have been on a homosexuelle tour of sorts. I couldn't be sure, but they were certainly well groomed. I consumed my 3 minute noodles (made on the stove and fancy bowl) overlooking the waterhole, watching about 20 ellies come and have a drink. Apparently they'd had wild dogs 3 days earlier, and although there was nothing quite that exotic, they are fascinating creatures to just watch. There were a few large phalluses on display, which put me off my noodles a bit (and probably explained why the Frenchmen moved into the bunker for a closer look). I'd been expecting to grab a lift with the night shift back to the village at 8:30, but decided to watch the sun up by the waterhole. Nothing much exciting happened until a juvenile martial eagle (thanks Joost) tried to wallop an Egyptian goose. I am not a fan of those ugly, noisy birds so it was a shame to see it escape with its life, honking belligerently for all it's worth. The eagle then turned to harrying impala, which although amusing, I thought rather ambitious. The ride turned out to be at 7:30, so I had to pack up camp sharpish, and after collecting the R300 deposit management insisted on taking for a blanket, we loaded up into a suspiciously long Land Cruiser bakkie. It was confirmed as a home modification, and wasn't bad, although not as cool as the 6-wheeler I'd seen on the cycle from Gaborone. The guys kindly dropped me on the tar road rather than in the village, so I bunged them some petrol money and then set off. Not a long cycle - only about 25km - but it was quite interesting. I'd just recovered from being dive-bombed by 3 Lilac Breasted Rollers when there was a family of ellies to negotiate. Swiftly after that there was a dead nightjar, and then the queue of trucks for the Kazungula border crossing began. I was cruising past them when a herd of warthog crossed in front of me. What an exciting ride! I checked into Chobe River Lodge campsite and booked myself on the afternoon river cruise. I then spent a while chatting to neighbouring campers, but failing to generate an offer of breakfast, pedaled up to the Choppies in town. Here I bought some supplies for that day and the cycle to Livingstone the next. It consisted mostly of cakes and biscuits. Then I went to the offy and bought some beers. Classic! My canvassing for fridge space got me in with the other neighbours, and if they were bothered by me asking for a cold one every half an hour they didn't show it. Hoffie and I were kind of opposites - myself lithe and travelling with minimal equipment, and he was a little more corpulent with a bush lapa fancy caravan of epic proportions. They were on a 5 week trip across Bots & Namibia and had all the gear. I ran into a strange ginger French Canadian with a horrible tache and oddly German accent who I had met at the Francistown taxi rank, and there was a bit of obligatory small talk (mostly about how expensive his visa for Vic Falls was) and then I had to meet his motley assembly of fellow odd ones. I was immensely relieved to find out we were not on the same boat so I scuttled off on the pretext of finding a good seat on the edge. The cruise was very cool indeed. Lots of birdlife which I enjoyed - Pied Kingfishers for days! Also the usual crocs, elephants and some buffalo thrown in. Saw a couple of fish eagles, giraffes and vultures too. Then watching the sun set over the river was the cherry on top. It did take on a rather romantic hue at this point, which enhanced my loner status. I'd been umming and aahing about what to do for dinner for the whole day. I was obviously losing my touch as no dinner hosts were forthcoming so I could either make my own again, or take on the hotel buffet. It wasn't cheap so I sidled up to the buffet manager Victor and asked him what his doggy bag policy was. He took a rather dim view of them and explained that any takeaway must come from the a la carte menu. My status of charity cyclist left him similarly unmoved. I did enjoy sparring with him, but left feeling he was a bit of a jobsworth. Upon collecting my last beer from the neighbour's fridge, we made a plan and I departed for the buffet with 5 ziplock bags stuffed in my pocket. I made sure to pace myself carefully, but felt that I got my money's worth in the end. I took care of probably 4 plates of food in the restaurant and surreptitiously filled 3 bags with a mixture of steak, miscellaneous snacks, duck and apricot tart. Upon departing I decided to try my luck with a more brazen attempt - I asked the chef to shove a steak in the last bag over the counter. As I sauntered off Victor shouted at me. Oh shit! I readied myself to flee but to be fair to him he sent me back for another one (which the chef had already plonked on his own plate). This meant that I could do the 80 odd km to Livingstone without stopping for food - a big plus as I wasn't sure how long the border crossing would take, or what the road conditions (and roadside provision situation) would be. As it happened, the border was an absolute breeze. I don't think anyone really enjoys border crossings and I must admit that they feel me with a sense of unease; you're at the mercy of officials and in Africa there's the added spice of a bit of a shakedown. Luckily I think it's far easier on the bike, and they don't see an opportunity to extort you in the same way compared to if you pitch up with a fancy overlanding rig. I bagged up the skulls again in order to avoid any complications, but sailed through the Bots side and then timed it perfectly for the ferry. It was a stinky noisy thing, but it didn't sink so I was pretty happy all in all. They are building a bridge, and in fact I cycled with a Philippino the other side of the border who reckoned it would be done by 2020. The verdict is out on that one! There was also an absolute dude on the Bots side who was running fuel across dodging customs. Petrol is subsidised and very cheap in Bots, so he was loading his push bike up with about 6 Jerry cans at a time. The bike was an absolute piece of crap, but it had a rebar pannier rack and he reckoned it could take 220kg when he loaded it up. I should point out that he didn't ride it like this, but just pushed it. Why he didn't prefer a wheelbarrow I'm not sure. Perhaps that's just too brazen! There were the usual guys hawking currency (in this case kwatcha) and I didn't like the look of some of them, so I locked Tina up outside the police station next to a great oldschool police motorbike and sidecar and trotted off to the immigration building. I had to have a health temperature scan and obtain a 'healthy' coupon, which was rather novel. I then just queued and asked for a KAZA Univisa, which allows unlimited travel between Zim and Zambia for $50. It all seemed ridiculously easy and I was waiting for the snag; it never came, and I was through the border in about 10 mins without even touching a pen or filling out a form. Easy peasy, and I was on the road again by 8:30. The Zambian side was an absolute pleasure - There were immediately a lot more cyclists on the road compared to Bots and I passed a few live goats, feet tethered, and then plonked on the rear rack of the bikes. Some bleated their indignation pathetically, but for the most part they bore it with stoicism - so much so that I thought the first one was dead! There was a fair bit of roadkill about, most of it birds and snakes and it was nice to be in new territory with some undulations and views - I got a nice shot of Tina with a descent sloping away and the Zambezi in the background. It was quite interesting seeing the contrast between the tar roads I was on and the neglected sandy tracks and goat paths leading off down to the various villages on the way. There were also a lot more stalls and thatched rondavels, with both charcoal sellers and schools featuring heavily. The roads were also great, which nice smooth tar and a decent shoulder - not that I needed it often as the roads were quiet. There was also some welcome variety in the form of hills! I came to call Botswana 'Big Ring Bots' as all I did was sit in the front ring and use the bottom 3 gears, churning along the flats. I like hills as I'm good at them, and you feel like you've earned a rest once you're at the top, whereas with flats I struggle to decide when to, or indeed justify stopping at all. I got to about 15km outside Livingstone when I saw a combine harvester in action along with a John Deere with planter on the back. I pulled over for some pics and was chatting to the workers when the owner, Greg, turned up. It was interesting chatting to him about the difference of government support between Zambia and Bots. He had about 320ha, all under irrigation from a pipeline he'd put in from the Zambezi, and was growing soya beans as well as trying out some haricot (baked) beans. This is an interesting option as fertiliser is very expensive this side, and the beans are nitrogen fixing and would be sent to the little cannery in town. Hopefully the trial is a success! The rest of the way was mostly through another National Park/Reserve (my seventh in 5 days). I just jumped the queue of cars and the barrier, and the official didn't seem bothered about me - the one at the entry even shouting encouragement! It turns out it was Big 3 (elephant, buffalo, rhino) but I saw absolutely nothing so was none the wiser. I got to Livingstone at about 12 and checked into Jolly Boys. I think it's fair to say I'm not really a hostel guy, mostly regarding those strange traveler types as not my cup of tea: there were some very dubious haircuts and outfits knocking about. Thus, it was with some relief that by complete chance a friend who now lives in Melbourne for the last couple of years came round the corner with a couple of others. They were here for a wedding in SA and doing a bit of a trip. We decided to be very cultural and trot off to the David Livingstone Museum, spitting distance from the hostel. It was a rather surreal affair, and not very impressive apart from it's bizarre village display, including bicycle mechanic, and some 'crap taxidermy', featuring a full size duiker to match the one on my handlebar bag.
There were some other nice people at the hostel though - I also met a cool Swiss guy who was just driving around the world in his Defender 300tdi. He was stuck in Livingstone as he had come to see Foley's (a renowned LR mechanic apparently) about his cam shaft. It sounds like he was going to be in for a rough time as it was bent and had to be sent up to Lusaka to be remachined etc. But who wants a Toyota anyway! Now it's just time for a bit or R&R in and around Vic Falls along with a bit of route planning for getting to Milibizi for the Kariba ferry. So quite a lot has happened since departing Gaborone and surprising the poor Wards a day early! The free day in Gabs I used to clean Tina up a bit after the last few days of dirt, swap the chains over (I'm running a chain rotation system as one chain won't last the whole trip, and a new one wouldn't fit the worn cogs, as per advice of cycling whizz Josh), and try a bit of planning. Undertaking the latter was when I realised that apart from the first few days in SA, and a bed in Gaborone, I'd been rather blasé about the whole thing. Given that my chicken korma was still sat in the fridge, it's fair to say not planning had worked well so far, but it seemed unwise to believe my luck would hold forever. So basically I got into a bit of a tizz and moped about stewing on things because I had nothing else to do. We went for a quick tour of Gabs, which isn't particularly impressive to be honest, and had a beer at the legendary Bull & Bush. That was also dead quiet, and bordering on the grotty. Shabby chique is perhaps a kinder way of putting it. Sarah had very kindly invited people over as a kind of 'question the weirdo' evening, and it was very good fun meeting some new people and gauging reactions to what I'm planning. The food was also delicious - I took care of 4 pork chops and 2 lots of crumble and custard. Preying on my mind was also the fact that I had a sore throat. A big factor of this trip is trying to stay as healthy as possible, and the beginnings of a cold on day 3 wasn't good. I don't normally get ill, so half blamed it on the dust roads, but kind of knew what it was. So basically I swapped beers for honey and lemon, and hoped for the best. The other reason for fretting was that Mahalapye, the next town up on the A1, was a rather daunting 190km from the capital, with very little in between. Sarah helped me out wonderfully by making me lots of food (sandwiches were specced weeks in advance) and dropping me on the A1 on the outskirts of town. So I saved a bit of distance and wouldn't have to stop anywhere for food, which was great. But there's no getting away from the fact that 180km is a long way on a bike, and even more so when it weighs 50kg. This would be the day when I cut my touring teeth, and find out what I could do, and the A1 is just one long, straight (thankfully mostly flat) road, with very little variety. There were some grim moments, mostly caused by a very draining head wind that sprang up at about 8:30. I tend to lie to myself and set targets, which I then move as I approach it. Not sure why I keep falling for it, but I normally take a while to get settled so I started saying I wouldn't stop until 30km, a mere ninth of what I needed to do. Even this was a struggle as I could feel the pork chops beginning to disagree with me. I wasn't far off my first bush dump, but managed to power through and the rumbling passed. I eeked the first stop out to 55km and had some food whilst chatting to a traffic cop on speed trap duty. I slunk off with a smirk as he pulled a guy over. Sucker! At 66km a white land cruiser pulled over in front of me, and out hopped a very enthusiastic chap called Ali. He was very nice indeed and was very impressed with me. He offered me a lift and water, both of which I refused. A lift on the first day, at only 1/3 of the way....impossible! So off he sped after a handshake and a few photos. There were times where I regretted my refusal, but all in all, I was pleased with the day. I made good time, and got to Mahalapye at just after 4. Roadkill was a constant distraction, and only the choicest picks were snapped (please see gallery for latest additions). Other than that it was fairly uneventful. I checked out the first lodge I came to, and it seemed fine. Pricey though. Luckily I enjoy a good haggle, and with the charity card tucked up my sleeve, full price was relegated to the realms of the fantastical. 33% off, check! They were very nice, heating up the korma for me and making me bacon sandwiches (albeit with raw onion in) for the road the next day. I was glad to see the back of the korma to be honest. It occupied an empty 1kg yoghurt pot to the very brim, and I probably shouldn't have risked eating it, but I hate food waste, and having both lugged it around for 3 days, and chaperoned it in and out of various fridges, decided it must be sampled. It smelt fine, and tasted good. I scoffed the whole lot along with 4 (mini) naans I had brought along. Following that I just vegged out using the free wifi to catch up on FT with various parties. I was obviously tired after such a long ride, but as soon as I was off the bike I felt surprisingly ok, so was pleased overall. Another neat milestone was crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. However, what I had accomplished wasn't really much in the scheme of things so I couldn't really relax - there still wasn't much before Francistown, and that was another 250 odd km away. I decided that having pedaled such a long way, I was now allowed to cheat: I formulated a bit of a plan to do the 80km to Palapye and then scrounge a lift all the way to FT, thus giving me a nice spare chunk of time to enjoy further north. I suppose that's the issue of doing this kind of thing on your own: there's no one to talk you out of bottling it or talking you back around. It's also dead easy to flag down a bakkie and chuck it in the back when you're just one. I bumped into a large group of Lycra clad roadies just outside of town. They seemed to be from the local mine and were sponsored. Some of them were friendly, but the head cyclist was rather rude, cutting me off and saying they had to do something important. Bit of a tosser really, but funnily enough he wasn't on a Pinarello - weird! Luckily I was distracted by a couple of girls wanting pics with me. I'd recently had a nose bleed so not sure what I looked like, but they seemed happy enough, and the press guy (there were police and lots of journalists knocking about) was papping me too. I politely declined chest autographs (I am afiancceed now after all) and set off towards the town centre for lunch. What a disappointing affair that was - fried chicken from Chicken Licken or Hungry Lion. I didn't really want the fare on offer, and when I eventually chose a burger looking type option, was informed this wasn't available. So I went to Spar instead, and bought what turned out not to be a sausage roll, but a strange bratwurst cross pepperoni. Two women tried to shake me down for a free lunch, but rather than point out that they would probably benefit from skipping a lunch or two (especially of the Chicken Licken variety) I said I was on a budget, and thus not in the habit of dishing out free lunches to strangers. I did sponsor the security guard a coke though. So after a pretty average lunch in a distinctly average town, I decided there was nothing for it but to get back on the road: I pulled out of town and had done a few more kms, when a lorry-ette type thing went past. I gesticulated enthusiastically and the guy pulled over. I asked how far he was going and although not Francistown, it was about 15km for Serorwe, where I had envisaged making it to under my own steam. That would put me about 150km from Malhalapye - decent enough for a day. The van/lorry man turned out to be a top bloke called Kennedy who was really really nice. Turns out he's a farmer, and was on the way to his plot, so he could give me a bit of a lift. We chatted about all sorts; the merits of Tswana vs Brahma cattle; snakes and how puff adders (confirmed the roadkill ID) hate it when you chuck soil on them; where best to farm in the country, and prices/hectare. We ended up by swapping numbers and him inviting me back to visit again, tempting me with the offer of hunting (rifle was behind the seats). I promised I would chauffeur him around some of the U.K. if he made it over to visit. I felt a bit guilty about getting a lift, but he assured me I wasn't cheating. My strength was referred to a lot, and I was left buoyed by his enthusiasm and good company, thoroughly glad to have flagged him down. Having a nose bleed was the only awkward moment, but soon passed after staunching the flow. When he dropped me off I took about 30 mins to get to Serorwe, and it took me past the Jaera Inn, where some other cycling tourists had stayed. It looked pretty grim, and it was only about 2pm so I thought I would use the time to my advantage and carry on. FTown was definitely out of range, and I thought Tonota was too, so was planning on throwing myself upon the mercy of some villagers inbetween the two. However, the tar was just so darn smooth and flat that I was sailing along, and by about 3:30pm I was only around 36km short of Tonota. There was some exciting roadkill, but otherwise I just kept my head down and churned out the miles. The last 20km were a pretty tough, and there was a lot of distance checking, and even doubting of the functionality of the poxy Garmin. I was cutting it fine as had a self-imposed rule that you should be off the road by the time your shadow reaches across the whole width, and my gangly frame was now comfortably protruding onto the verge on the far side of the road. I ended up in Baraka lodge on the far side of town, about 27km from FT and 190 ish from Mahalapye. Not bad, and even considering the lift, I think I'd done back to back 100 mile days. The lodge was pretty grim, and I soon realised why my haggle was successful - guests were a rarity! But it was what I needed - a hot shower and a bed. Even if there was a kitchen, I wasn't going to use it, so it was out with the stove and my fancy collapsible bowl/pan. Maiden outings on the trip for both of them, and it felt good actually using the things after lugging them around for days. I put the pasta on to boil and headed to the services across the road for chocolate. I shan't go into gruesome detail, but long sweaty days in the saddle had produced some chafe that threatened to become an issue if I didn't sort it out. There was some thorough scrubbing, inspection by use of my wing mirror, and cream application. I decided that best plan was to have a bit of a rest and let things recover, but I didn't really want to hang around Francistown. I decided to make an early start and get into town and hit the local bus rank. I'd seen plenty of 'Teddy's Express' coaches thundering past on the A1 in the previous few days, so figured I could jump on one of those easily enough even though I was now transitioning onto the A3. Not so. It turns out Nata isn't a big coach destination. I was left with the choice of one operator. It should be P40/person up to Nata (asked around, hadn't I!) so we calculated that, seeing as it was a little mini van, he'd lose 4 seats. That seemed fair enough, so we had a proviso agreement on P200. Then the boss arrived, shoved the bike on the roof, and put the price up to 220. I tried being nice, and then got pretty annoyed with him, especially as a girl had since nabbed the comfy front seat during negotiations. I probably could have just carried on past FT and chanced my arm with a bakkie, especially seeing as Kennedy the day before was such a gem, but I didn't want to risk having to cycle too much and get saddle sores. It was also a new experience, and I must admit, quite fun hanging around the bus rank. Of course Tina was the showpiece, with myself merely playing the part of orator, and she had soon accrued quite a crowd. The skulls brought their own bit of buzz too, and it was nice to have some conversations after time by myself on the road. The Jesus sandals, and their clip-in functionality caused similar fascination. One guy was very keen to have a go, but less keen to listen to clipping and unclipping instructions. So off he went around the bus rank, sitting on the cross bar because he was too short to reach the saddle. He certainly lacked style and speed, but was enjoying himself. Then things got even better - it came to dismount time and much hilarity ensued as he collapsed against the side of a passing bus, unable to get his foot out or right himself. At last the crowd got what it wanted! Then Tina went on the roof and we set off at 11 (early start was very unnecessary, but a pleasant ride in I must say). Bus rank mingling was very fun, only marred by one shifty looking character sidling towards my bags. I can only imagine he would be a more successful and enterprising criminal if he hadn't looked so unsavoury - you could see him coming from a mile off. I got in between him and the bags, and then put them in the car. He lingered for about another 10 minutes, scowling and gum-chewing, no doubt inwardly seething at his foiled plot, and then sloped off. The drive itself was fine. Learnt the Tsetswana words for donkey (tonkey) and goat (budi) and a few other ones I've forgotten. Tonkey amused me greatly. It also soon became apparent why I was put in the cheap seats - Zed, the driver, was earnestly worming the woman in the passenger seat. I dubbed it the love seat, and whilst not desirous of Zed's amorous intentions, a little extra padding on the seat would have been much welcomed. It wasn't much comfier than Tina really, but a whole lot faster, and I felt more vindicated in my decision to cheat as the thus far buttery and expansive tar roads of Botswana descended into the shoulder-less potholed affair more prevalent across the continent. We got to Nata in about 2,5 hours, saving me a day of cycling and much ointment application. A nice chap from Zim called Rodwell insisted we swap numbers at the end of the ride, so I shall drop him a line when I'm in Harare (which is where he lives). Very nice guy. Once in Nata I put the panniers back on Tina and headed across the road for lunch and wifi. No wifi unfortunately, but Barcelo's do a lovely chicken schwarma. I put the local Bots sim I bought in the phone and set about arranging the next few days: 5km backtrack to Pelican Lodge for camping, 60km next day to Elephant Sands, and then Saturday 135km to Pat & Ed's farm in Pandamatenga for 2 nights. All in all a successful day. Pelican was a very pleasant place, but rather empty: I was the only person in the campsite when I arrived, and couldn't find anyone else in the lodge either. Luckily there were beers and free wifi, so I didn't get too depressed. I had my first Botswanan brew there - St Louis. It was quite lovely: so much so that I had another even though I'm a bit coldy (nosebleeds have been plaguing me, even erupting mid conversation at the bus rank). Bit of a chilly night again, not helped by me collapsing the tent by pulling the pegs out after a midnight wee (damn you St Louis!). Beautiful morning, and was away at about 8 after forcing down some hard boiled eggs. I pulled into 'Choppies', which was very jolly indeed. It's a supermarket chain here, and at 8:30 it was blasting out some very upbeat tunes at full blast. I stocked up on a Swiss roll (which with no cream in, turned out to be a significant disappointment), some muffins, and a yogi sip. Then we were off again for the 55km to Elephant Sands. For the first 40km or so it was very uneventful - some rather large snapped tree trunks, and excrement was all I saw of elephants, or indeed anything apart from Hornbills and Lilac-breasted Rollers. Then a rare roadkill find - a bat eared fox! I would much rather have seen one alive, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers, and it wasn't long after that when I spotted elephant. I pulled over and started rummaging around for the GoPro, found the battery had drained itself, put another one in, and started filming. I have no idea what it looks or sounds like as my iPhone and GoPro are not friends in the format department. I'm not doing very well in that respect as I'm pretty sure my camera is about to break too - it won't focus properly if you change the zoom, unless you switch it off and on again. This would be a severe blow to my trip, so hopefully will right itself. It was very cool seeing some ellies, and even more so not being trampled! I lost count of how many times I got told I was going to die at the bus rank. One bus driver, Sidney, even took my number and said he would call me to check if I made it. He hasn't yet, but I suppose I'm not at Kasane yet either. The campsite was pretty nice. Not as good as Pelican, but busier. I wasted no time ingratiating myself with the neighbours and was plied with 2 Castle Lites and invited over for evening braai. They're Saffers from Potchesfroom, and rather than butcher the spelling of their names , shall refer to them as M&A. Whilst they went off on a game drive I minced about the camp spinning road yarns and talking to the two Defender 130 owners that had pitched up. I think the contrast in Landy fans was well illustrated here - one lot was headed by 'Safari Joe', a peanut-coloured Dutchman whose mates were all wearing camo gilets adorned with 'Fok Jou' and Orange Free State badges, and the other was a group of Christian missionaries on their way up to Zambia, headed by Keith. Both great in their own way, but I secretly hoped for a bible-and Klipdrift-fuelled showdown on whose truck was better (missionaries was, by the way, as could carry an impressive 275l of diesel!). When M&A came back we got the fire going and chatted some more. Both thoroughly nice people who served me a lovely supper of potato wedges, pork chops and chicken drumsticks. I was obviously quite popular as, whilst enjoying my beer the other side of the termite mound, some cheeky girl set up her tent right next to mine. If it was a bloke I'd have told him to scram, but I couldn't imagine shaking the feeling of ungentlemanly behaviour if I had asked her to bugger off. It turns out she was a Japanese lady who had been travelling for a whopping 1,5 years. She'd done 10 months in Latin America (not that her Spanish backed that claim up) and was now on her way down to Cape Town before turning round and heading north again as far as Ethiopia. Anyway, it was clear she hadn't shaken the Tokyo lifestlye and realised that in Africa everyone has a bit more space! The next day was a fairly long stretch from Elephant Sands to Pandamatenga. I thought it would be about 140km, and not too bad as long as the wind was kind. It was hard to get away on time as I had to wait my tent, AKA 'The Coffin', to dry, and the promised lift to the road rather than tackling their sandy drive was withdrawn. I was probably underway by about 7:40, and the wind was already picking up. I’d gone about 5km when an Elephant Sands bakkie came past and stopped. I thought I’d forgotten something, but it turns out that they were checking on a pump up the road, so would run me up a bit further. No complaints there, so Tina and I clambered into the back and enjoyed the free miles. Then disaster struck! A tourer coming the other way! To my eternal shame, there I was, breezing along in a bakkie whilst he made his way by manpower. Rather embarrassing, but it looked like he only had rear panniers, and was going with the wind. It would have been great to talk to him, as by my calculations he would have camped rough that night (passed him at about 8:15 and nearest town was Pandamatenga, 130km away). Either that or he got a lift, made a very early start from Panda. An early start would probably have been dodgier than camping as you could hear the trucks honking to clear the road of wildlife from about 4am. That said, I did hear lion the night before, so a bold decision either way. A shame to miss him, but there we go.
It was a pretty uneventful ride initially, and apart from an elephant skeleton (close enough to road to be classed as roadkill), I only saw Steenbok and some zebra in the first 60km. Highlights were a lorry crash where one of them had fallen asleep and gone across the road into another one, and some truckers who I chatted to and got a water refill from. They were both Zambians from the same trucking company, one going North with machinery, the other going South with copper. Good lads, and I got fist bumps, lots of ‘you’re moving’ comments, and congratulations. I believe the implication was that I was moving fast for a bike, but thought it was a bit obvious that I was indeed in motion. Things got interesting when one started tearing up an old newspaper and fiddling around in a pouch. I politely enquired what was going on, and was informed that they were rolling up some ‘ganja’ for a little teabreak. Now smoking weed whilst operating heavy machinery is ill-advised at the best of times, but to use bits of newspaper as your mode of ingestion is just mad! Bloody nutters, and as I set off I wondered if the guy who crashed had had too much, or not enough weed. I then started to hit a patch of Elephants, and had to pass a good few in the space of about 10km. The gopro was deployed, but with limited success. I have a good video of me trying to look like part of a lorry as we chug through the middle of a herd. Cue some ear flapping and hysterical noises (from myself). The driver was absolutely wetting himself, and I can probably understand why – some nutty cyclist pedalling through the bush and weaving between elephants. Still, an excellent alleviation of the boredom, and a bit of a shot of adrenalin for the legs. Otherwise it was a fairly boring day, and one where I struggled mostly because the campsite girl had lied about there being a town half-way where I could get food. I completed the day mostly fuelled by custard and cakes of various sorts, and was pretty fed up by the time Pat came and got me from the side of the road. There was another ‘question the weirdo’ night where my sanity was repeatedly challenged, before I sloped off to bed at 10pm. The food was excellent, but a day of riding on not a lot (and plenty of beers of course) had taken their toll. Today has been spent relaxing and re-realising how much farmers can talk! Luckily it was interesting stuff, but 1 hour for a cup of tea did take me back to getting bored stiff by the old man chewing the cud with other farmer types when I was a kid. Apologies for all those visual types, but here is what I might call ‘bush internet’ and I have only managed to upload a few pictures in this whole time. Chloe my PA might be able to put some more up for you shortly. Otherwise, happy Sunday. Here is my first update on the road, issued from Gaborone, Botswana. After Easter weekend away it was all packing and organising last minute emigration things. That meant no time for riding, but I figured that probably wasn't a bad thing as I would be seeing plenty, if not too much, of Tina in the coming weeks anyway. There was also some tour admin to take care of, and inbetween selling the cars and packing, I went for a bike fit, got a last minute service and some more spares, and changed some Rand into Dollars. I also had a mean looking haircut to deter ruffians, and a shave so that I can grow a 'tour beard'. After a long time planning, and a fair few training rides, suddenly the departure date was ominously close. I was nervous but also keen to finally get underway and see how things went. I just felt a little underprepared what with everything else going on: after dropping Chloe at the airport for her flight home, I was off out to dinner, and then up until 11 getting stuff ready. Anyway, Friday morning came around, and the plan was to ride the first bit with a cycling buddy called Francois, leaving at about 6am. The plan was to sleep at Kgaswane Nature Reserve, just outside Rustenberg. That was about 130km to the gate, then another 8km to the campsite. Francois cycled to mine, and we were underway, in the dark, and about 6:15am. The Garmin was being particularly annoying that morning, as is its wont. I certainly shan't become a Garmin ambassador at this rate, unless the sign on bonus is significant. It wouldn't load the routes and generally pissed me off. But luckily the first part was the standard route to the Cradle. It was a bit surreal doing the same old ride I've done many times, but knowing I was continuing all the way to Nairobi. The ride went well, and one of the hills I was kind of dreading - Hekpoort - we were zooming down without really having done much climbing. Absolute bonus for me, not so for Francois who would have to do it on his return home. Not long after that came the first overtake of the tour - a backhoe digger! It was probably doing about 45kph, but I smashed him anyway, the sucker. No photo unfortunately, but you can take my word for it. Just after Hekpoort we stopped at a service station for some food and farewell. We were about 60km in so time for Francois to turn back. A couple of guys came over to ask what I was up to, etc etc. Cue the usual expressions of doubt, insanity, caution and good luck. Then it was just Tina & I, with a lot of miles left. Strava then started misbehaving and tried to take me on gravel roads. Knowing that there was quite a lot of dirt either side of the border, I decided to reroute and take the R24 instead. This was tar, sometimes dualcarriageway, and sometimes not. Fairly busy with traffic, but a decent shoulder to ride on, and not many trucks. Made pretty decent time from about 9:30, so decided to stop at Von Dam Brauhaus at Olifants-something. Very pleasant spot, and after a rather frosty stare from the receptionist as I wheeled Tina into the lobby, I was pleased to be introduced to a pleasant sunny terrace overlooking the dam. Seeing as I was in a brewery, I figured a beer was a must (and reasoned only another 30km or so to go) so I ordered a shandy and perused the menu. Food looked good and I ordered a scotch egg and a ham and emmental baguette. By this time I had taken off my jesus sandals and got out the solar panel to charge iphone and garmin, and a small crowd was beginning to gather. The table next door were very nice, and we engaged in a lengthy conversation, taking in the steepness of the hill awaiting me at the entrance to Kgaswane, how mental I was, and the importance of sunscreen reapplication at lunchtime (not necessary with Reimann P20 I informed them). One of the guys wanted to pay for my beer, and the barstaff were informed accordingly. But then disaster - a fresh beer arrived before I had finished the first. Not the ideal mountain ascent prep, but because I'm a bloody lad I just necked the first one and then tucked into the second. Cue round of applause from the onlookers. I took a fairly leisurely lunch, and then got a bit lost on the way to the reserve (I had since given up on strava, but then google maps started mugging me off too). The workers on the roundabout I circled about 4 times found it rather amusing. I was back on track and then I came to the aforementioned hill. I must say it was really rather horrible. It was about 100m ascent and max gradient of about 13%. It was also very straight so you could see exactly what was coming. It was the first time I'd used the lowest gear possible, and I still probably would have stopped if I thought I would be able to get going again. Pushing certainly wasn't an option on day 1. Goddam beers! I thought to myself. Anyway, I got to Kgaswane and the gate lady tried to mug me off by more than quadrupling the camping fee because it was a long weekend. She also told me that I shouldn't come here but rather go somewhere else as cyclists have been mugged and had bikes stolen. Sales 101! Obviously I knew better (and more to the point no alternatives for the night), so I paid the normal camping fee and set off into the park. The park was actually lovely, and after ascending another horrible looking hill, came onto plains where I saw zebra, eland & hartebeest. I then set up camp away from the screaming children I could hear and started yearning for another beer. However, I then decided that I was a bit isolated, and prime bike thievery was a risk, so I moved next to a group of 2 couples from Joburg. After exchanging some pleasantries, Jonathan, Devon, Michelle & Tam then took me in for the night. After getting their braai going for them (haha) we had some beers and had a lovely supper. My pre-prepped korma and naan would be saved for another day. I underestimated the temperature on the first night, and was rather cold. And the laziest nightwatchman alive decided that it was best to drive around the campsite with full beams on every hour, thus ensuring a bad night's sleep. I was up and away by about 8:30. The garmin was being shit again, but I found a boerie roll stand nearby so chowed two of those while the technology sorted itself out. Strava took me a ridiculously conservative route out of Rustenberg, which really annoyed me, and then tried to make me do 2 junctions of the motorway, which annoyed me even more! Luckily navigation was straightforward after that - past Sun City, up the side of Pilansberg, and then aim for Madikwe. I pulled in at a safari lodge gate for a water bottle refill, and chanced upon both a store & a lovely gate keeper named Lucky. He said he would put me in the book he was going to write, and took pictures of me. Seeing as I could barely understand the guy, I wasn't sure the book would be up to much, but I got him a coke (which he squirelled away somewhere) whilst I enjoyed a Stoney and custard-flavoured magnum (better than it sounds). That equated to lunch, and by then I had about 75km done, so I was on the road again at about 1. It was a pretty uneventful ride, apart from some useless bint that gave me a taste of her wing mirror. Just a nibble, but enough to prompt a barrage of abuse from me. I carried on none-the-worse, but she pulled over, probably to recover from the foul-mouthed tongue-lashing she'd just received. Aside from one other truck that boomed past so close the draft almost stripped me of my t-shirt, everyone was pleasant, and at 86km the tar petered out into dirt. It was a pretty decent gravel road and I was still able to trundle along at about 20kph. I got my solar array out again, and began to turn my mind to accommodation for the night. I knew there was not going to be anywhere official to camp, so was either going to rough it, or bed down in a village along the way. I was probably happier with the former, but game fences either side of the road made this a bit tricky. I asked a couple of locals for advice, and after plenty of handshakes and photos, was informed there was a hotel further on. This was good news, and I got there about 4:30. I wasn't sure whether it was abandoned or not, but either way, I couldn't gain entry. There was a farm drive opposite, so I thought I might as well try my luck down there. I happened upon a group of about 5 Afrikaaners who informed me that there was indeed a campsite on the farm, but it was a family one, not commercial. Paul was my lead consult, who informed me that they would have to check if I was allowed for the night as it was a Terblanche family gathering, that I had not been invited to. So we walked into the campsite, with me wondering whether I could hide the Union Jack on the mudguard before anyone noticed, and was promptly introduced to a good 15/20 people in one go. I must say they were all super lovely, and it wasn't long before a cold beer was pressed into my hand and I was given a spot to pitch my tent. Such was their hospitality that I was soon sat around the (massive) fire, being fed braaipie and potbrod until I could burst. And then being fed some more. I was also given a spot in the chalet due to the cold. But this backfired when a combination of overheating and (mostly) spectacular snoring, drove me back to my tent. The next morning I was packed up, and after 4xweetbix, on my way by 9am. I must say that everyone was really lovely, and couldn't believe I'd been so lucky two nights on the bounce. The Korma remained festering in my front pannier, and it was a real pleasure to experience the legendary Boer hospitality. I calculated about 80km remaining until the border and given that I had been advised that the road condition deteriorated further along, I thought I would be riding hard and aiming to camp at the border, before making my way to Gaborone on Monday. The road did indeed become pretty shit, and there were more than a few wistful glances at my wingmirror, willing a bakkie to burst into view and give me a lift. All I encountered was a Fortuner and a broken down police van. However, by 11am I was at what appeared to be the border. Bonus! A quick couple of phonecalls to Sarah to check if I could stay an extra night, and Hamish for a routecheck, I went through the border and was on my way again by about 12:30. The border was dead quiet, and after two incredulous border guards basically calling me liars after not providing a car registration number, I was through. A pretty boring stamp by all accounts, but free entry, which I wasn't expecting. It was tar for about 10km, and then back onto the gravel for about 30km. I had arranged to cycle from the border to Gabs with Hamish on Monday, but after a few changes to the plan, he picked me up with his bakkie en route. Bit of a bonus, as only rode 66km, and a free lift into Gaborone. We then went to a braai for a few beers, and to meet some Botswana high society (for which I felt woefully underdressed). Monday has been a rest day (although probably haven't really earned it) where I have charged my gadgets, given Tina a wash, and swapped the chain over. Bots will be about 1000km of flat tar, so looking forward to seeing what I can accomplish in those conditions. There is a rumour of a headwind, but let's hope that's not true. The first 450km or so to Francistown are pretty dull from what I've been told, so I'll aim to zoom through that. Then further north it gets wild and more remote. I have a local sim now, but unsure what coverage is like. Thus far, Bots is pretty similar to SA - malls with Woolies, PnP etc, and lots of white bakkies.
So, it's been a while since my last post, and I apologise for depriving you of such detail rich snippets from the world of bike touring. The main reason for lack of activity is that I've not done much of interest - one 70km tandem ride with Chloe, and a couple of half loaded cradle rides on Tina. Kept to around 120km/week, but not exciting miles to be honest. All that changed however, with the Easter break. We were looking for somewhere new, and hayfever friendly for Chloe. That translates as somewhere dry and brown, which is normally what the Northern Cape looks like. SA is bloody massive, so I booked 3 nights camping at Augrabies Falls NP. Upon map consultation and the realisation that it's about 900km from Joburg to Augrabies I decided 3 nights offered a fairly poor sitting in a land rover:outdoor enjoyment ratio. So I then booked a night at Witsands Nature Reserve on the way out. This was supposed to act as a bit of a journey break, but wasn't really. It's very nice, with massive sand dunes and good birding, and a very nice campsite, but its 'driveway' is 70km of pretty terrible dirt roads, made worse by recent rainfall (bad for hayfever too!). We were on course for about 7,5 hour journey time when this happened... For the record, the landy was trotting along fine and we were going along nicely - there was also a Fortuner (the Defender's mortal enemy) behind us towing a larnie bush trailer, so it was nice to rinse him on the dirt. I suppose I got a bit bored of the little puddles, so I started to increasingly just plough through the middle of them, spraying filth and water everywhere. It was glorious! Then disaster struck; the puddle fought back. I was basically caught out going too slow (2nd high range), and lost momentum. Every off roader worth his salt knows that one of the golden rules is never stop in mud, and we'd come to a rather ominous standstill. Cue LR and some wheelspinning etc; NOTHING. Then the Fortuner sailed by....and didn't stop to offer insistence. I couldn't decide whether this was just plain rude, or a relief given that he was in a Toyota. Anyway, a farmer soon came along is his bakkie (pick up) and we had a go getting me out. We snapped my tow rope straight away, so he went off for a chain from the farm. That didn't snap, but it didn't get us out either. We tried from both directions and decided that she was sat on her diffs, so wheels weren't touching the ground. A few more bakkies came by, and there were a few unintelligible conversations about what to do (and probably what a stupid English wanker I was, in a stupid English car). It was all denim short shorts with khaki up top, and leather ankle boots for a while, but I must say they were all very nice. In the end message was sent to the camp to bring the tractor. It turns out camp was only 5km away - soooo close - but it still took a while to chug its way to us. I was hoping for a John Deere, but was disappointed in those stakes. It was some light blue contraption being managed by a delightful toothless chap with fag in mouth, called Petrus (or Petrietus). Their towing cable looked a bit iffy, but we had a go anyway - she wouldn't budge! The tractor was then put in low range and we had another go. That's when the cable gave out. So I was right in that regard at least. Cue some rather African bodging of said cable to make another loop for the towbar and we gave it another shot. Success! The makeshift knot held, which was impressive considering the force bent the D-Link holding the other end to the truck. I thanked them heartily and sent them off with a pack of Windhoek for their troubles. These were returned with an instruction to drop them at reception as too bumpy to hold onto them. I duly depostied them, and was rather surprised when Petrus reappeared half an hour later and uttered one single word: 'Beeer'. I informed him that it was at reception and off he trotted. I thought I was about to be shaken down for another six-pack, and with no camp shop, got slightly worried, but my fears were unfounded. Phew! Witsand was a nice spot, but Augrabies was still another 4 hours away, so after a morning walk and a slice of homemade simnel cake (extremely delicious, especially if you are a marzipan fan as I am) we set off about 11. It was 50km the other way to tar, but better roads so not too bad. We saw a couple of Southern Chanting Goshawks which was nice, and the Social Weaver nests on all the telegraph poles were quite amusing. Such was their proceative zeal that there were a lot of collapsed, or collapsing poles along the route. This one reminded me of a jellyfish, with the old wires resembling tentacles. I actually only decided to take Tina with me on the morning we departed, so it was a fairly last minute decision, but I'm glad I did. She got some early use at Witsand when I packed the panniers with beer and crisps and cycled to the bird hide. Fairly disappointing turnout with Namaqua doves, Laughing Doves, and Red cheeked Mousebirds dominating proceedings. Anyway, I agreed with Chloe that I would drive most of the way to Augrabies (whilst she slept) and then I would get out and cycle the rest of the way. It was quite a long drive, but I must say a beautiful one, with the dry, open landscape contrasting with the fruit and wine farming along the banks of the Orange River. I also thought I saw a crocodile at one point, but turns out it was just a huge lizardy type thing basking on the tar. Less exciting, but still fairly exotic. After a bit of an argument over toilet breaks, we diverted to a back road rather than the N14, and we stopped there for lunch. So that's the view from lunch, and I set off from there with what I thought was about 70km to go. After some time fannying around with the gopro, I was underway at about 3pm. Not too hot, but with a gate closing time of 6pm at the park I was under the cosh a bit time-wise. It was great but tough riding. Not too corrugated or sandy, but enough to keep you on your toes. It soon became apparent that Tina wasn't a massive fan of the rough stuff - my rear mudguard started rubbing and catching as it had torn, and I lost a horn on my rear skull. Then one of my water bottles mysteriously punctured - so mysteriously in fact that I was puzzled by my sudden slightly wet feet, but looking heavenward and seeing clear skies I dismissed rain delays. It wasn't until about an hour later when I was thirsty for some Ice Tea that I realised I'd left it all on the road about 20km back. After that my front derailleur decided it didn't like the middle cog. I felt a bit sorry for Tina as I was giving it the beans to try and make the gate, and not being a terribly sympathetic rider. Luckily only the first 30km was dirt, so after some really beautiful riding, and about 3 cars and one pedestrian, I was spat back out onto some tar and civilisation. I got to the gate at 6:01, but they were very chilled and friendly. Then it was a leisurely 3km to the campsite as the sun was setting. The next day I did 50km all on dirt roads within the park. I saw 6 cars I think, and a herd of about 40 Springbok. It was very cool seeing them as you don't get in Kruger etc as not the right habitat. You can also hear them stampede when you're on the bike, which is fun. The following day I persuaded Chloe to help fold up the Rooftop Tent and go for a drive. We left at 11 and stopped for lunch at 1 ish having seen 1 car the whole time. Initially we saw naff all, but I think it's a case of getting your eye-in in a different bush landscape as we began to see Oryx, Hartebeest, and lots of springbok. Eland (apart from a dead one in roadkill section) eluded us despite all the spoor on the roads. Chloe took a few action shots of me before zooming off so that she could relax (or sleep) by the pool. I think we were about 50km from home, and was going along nicely for about half an hour. I had 10km done, and was coming up to a steep section ascending from a dry (but deep sandy) riverbed. The uphill is concreted for grip for the cars, so as I came zooming out the river bed I hit the concrete. There was a big lip so I wheelied the front wheel over, but then the back wheel caught it with full force at speed. Pop and hiss - the tyre was flat before I'd got to the top of the hill. Bloody shocker! Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but because I was on holiday, and on half panniers, all my spares and tools were back in Joburg. I forlornly put the pump on to see if the sealant would hold if I reinflated. That did not work, and neither did cell phone coverage. I reasoned that I wasn't going to die given that Chloe would probably realise and come and look for me if I didn't show up eventually, but I was very aware that that would not be for at least another 3 hours, and that I was on the remote part of the loop. I decided that I would just carry on riding with a flat and deal with the consequences later. I'd done about 6km when I came across a whole other type of bachelor herd - 4 Indian guys in a Hyundai Tucson. It was very quickly apparent that me and the bike were not going to fit in, so I issued Gogol with instructions to call Chloe when they had signal and appraise her of the situation, and gave them my panniers so that I was lighter. As they sped off, I did wonder whether I should have tried a bit harder to force Tina into their tiny, hire-car-clean boot, but I soldiered on. I was a bit worried about what damage I was doing to the bike, but decided the risk outweighed the tedium of walking and pushing. It was good resistance training, like cycling through treacle, and the back end kept squirming about, which kept things amusingly spicy. It was like Tokyo Drift in the countryside at pointsAfter about another 6km I got onto the 'main' loop and was rewarded for my efforts by a white bakkie (classic) going the other way. It was an Afrikaans family on holiday from Springbok, and after ascertaining that they were turning around, I asked them if they could pick me up on the way back whilst I cycled a bit more. I didn't want them to feel like they had to alter plans to suit some mad cyclist in the middle of nowhere, but they reappeared about 15mins later just as I was attempting to parley with another car I'd come across. In the end it was fine. I felt pretty guilty when the wife vacated the front seat and got in the back, but think I kept the tone light enough to not be awkward by regaling them with plans for my trip. We then moved onto serious man-talk at the business end of the car - Rolf was a mining engineer for Vedanta at Graskop, so we discussed mining and shipping and how complicated ventilation formulae are. They dropped me off at the (wrong) swimming pool, and then I went via reception for my panniers which Gogol and co had left there for me. Lesson learnt: you can't bunny hop a tourer, so slow and steady wins the race. It was a formative experience though, and only a ruined tyre and inner tube to show for it, so not too bad. All in all, it was a great trip. Unfortunately the last time all the 3 women in my life will be together, as the truck has now gone to a new home, and Chloe flies back to the UK a week today. Soon it will be just Tina and I taking on Africa!
So on Saturday I finally undertook what may be described as a fairly accurate test run for the tour. I was still lacking a couple of things such as bike spares and maps, but with a bike weight of 44kg it was pretty much all there. I don't expect to go over 50kg, and what's 6kg, eh! The plan was to cycle with my mate Ben, who had the loan of my suitably old and crappy Peugeot racer, leaving early doors and then meeting the birds at the campsite early afternoon. We'd booked the campsite and plotted the route on Strava so ready to rock and roll. We were supposed to get away at 5:45am, but I think we left at around 6:15am rather. This didn't surprise me as I'd already experienced Ben's propensity to faff extensively in the mornings. Not an issue really, and it meant it was a bit lighter by the time we set off. Ben was clearly still not fully awake when assembling the bike as, after about 3km, we had to stop for him to realign the wheel. I gave him some stick for this, naturally, and informed him I wanted no more 'mechanicals' masquerading as break time. It was nice seeing the sun rise, and it was a lovely day already. I was testing out my expedition clothing and it wasn't long before the merino jumper went back in the pannier. The first 20km were pretty tough to be honest, and a strava cock up didn't help matters - routing us into dead-ends repeatedly. There were a lot of steep climbs and passing what may be described as the uglier side of Joburg. Things got a bit more interesting when we got to Tembisa - a big township on our way out of Joburg. There was a lot going on, with the taxi mini vans driving in their customary godawful fashion, accompanied by a cacophony of hooting. Why they insist on beeping all the time is beyond me; it's not like people stand by the road, not sure what to do, and then upon hearing a taxi horn, suddenly realise that they want a lift somewhere! We also cycled through a fair bit of sewage-y smelling water and around plenty of broken glass, but overall it was a pleasant experience. Highlights being having, 'You're strong' and 'Eish' (in an inspired tone) shouted at us. It meant a lot more to me as they weren't mincing about on Pinarellos. We also passed a herd of goats penned up on the side of the road next to a petrol station, which amused me rather a lot. My shout of 'You've got to be kidding!' seemed to pass Ben by without hitting the mark. I blame his city upbringing. It was either an impromptu market, or they were about to have a big old party and eat them all. I would like to have shared some photos with you, but I was still in progress mode, and waving an iphone about in a township is ill-advised, especially when your means of escape is a massive, unwieldy bicycle. We stopped for a brief spell at about 36km, but it didn't feel like we'd accomplished enough to hang around for long. General consensus was that what we'd done so far was pretty tough going, and at under 1/3 of the way, things were looking slightly ominous. So we pushed on and luckily things got easier. It wasn't long until we were pulling over for a half-way break. Here we ate a combination of cold pizza and chicken sandwiches. We were also visited by a nice lady offering us ice cold water for our bottles as she had seen us on the road and was out supporting her husband and her mates who were doing 100km. I wondered what kind of shape they were in to warrant a support car for that kind of distance, but she was very nice, and was a very pleasant treat. From this point the road was nice and smooth with a decent shoulder to keep out of the way on. There were a few trucks, but nothing like the 511 to Marakele I went on a few weeks back. I cheated a bit and hid behind Ben most of the time, which although aware of the fact that this wasn't an accurate representation of solo riding, I thought why not cheat whilst I can. It also meant I could go a bit faster and hold him up less. Very quiet on the roadkill front - passed one obliterated scrub hare, but it was so mushed up and un-carcass-like that wasn't worth photographing. However, when we got to about 94km and saw some ostriches by the side of the road, I decided it was time for a pic. I know people don't like to read very much these days - even such intelligent, erudite folk as yourselves, indulging in high-brow blog material such as this - so I was to be able to get a picture to break things up a little. They were a somewhat churlish bunch, spurning the camera and abandoning the fenceline as I was trying to get a shot. We stopped for some more snacks next door, in a pleasant church carpark. Here we discussed the good progress made since 36km marker, and the difficulty of naming different tree species. We got to Bronkhurstpruit shortly after that brief sojourn, and that is where the dirt track began. It started off as nice hard-packed dirt which, whilst a bit bumpier, wasn't really much different to tar. Here Tina came into her own a bit more, with the 35c tyres coping with the terrain better than Ben's Peugeot. We both commented that it looked a lot like Australia, despite neither of us being particularly qualified to comment, never having visited. There was a bit of eucalyptus about so had that feel to it. There were also lots of lovely flowers out - cosmos, of S American origin according to Ben the Botanist. They smelt pretty nice too, actually. I like to consider myself an equal opportunities blogger, so please see picture of said flowers below. We weren't on the dirt for that long when things began to unravel a little bit. Parts of the track were rather sandy so routing became a bit more interesting. I think we must have looked pretty drunk to the casual observer, wiggling all over the road and cursing and yelping indiscriminately (for my part at least). It's a rather unpleasant experience cycling on sand - you're just heading along nicely and then it's like someone has just grabbed your tyre and started yanking it about furiously. You've got to just try and ride it out, as overcorrecting would throw you off. In true touring style I had long since binned off the helmet, so the speed wobbles had an extra edge to them. I had wider tyres than Ben, but given Tina's weight we were more prone to sinking. The sand ruined our until-then respectable looking average speed, but it was good to test out some varied terrain and see how we fared. We made good time, and totalled 126km with about the last 26km on dirt, taking about 6 hours and averaging just under 22kph. We then arrived at camp to be greeted by suitably impressed gate officials and receptionists. We'd beaten the girls so had a chance to admire the taxidermy without being admonished by Chloe. The baby Rhino was rather sad looking, but it was the snakes and pickled warthog foetus in jars that really won the prize for most grotesque. I was saddened to be informed that none of it was for sale. Once the ladies arrived we picked a spot and set up camp. Then I decided to deploy some of my toys. Tent and sleeping mat were put up, as was the washing line. And I made cups of tea for the others on my MSR multifuel stove. Very exciting! The park manager also had a cute puppy called Jock who took a liking to Deerdre (sic) the Duiker. We then proceeded to drink a lot of booze and slapped a big old fillet steak on the braai. A very pleasant evening, albeit one not entirely representative of my tour. It would have been a bit of a tough sell to the ladies to drive out for a night of camping, with no alcohol, and pasta or rice for dinner though! I felt I'd remained true enough to the fundamentals of the tour for it to be deemed an accurate field test. We then went walking the next morning followed by cooking a full english on the wonder machine that is the Cobb. Things I Learnt from the Test Ride...- Tar beats sand, and to a lesser extent dirt, as a cycling surface. Expect closer scrutiny of routes and surfaces when I start touring properly.
- The stove is good, but bloody noisy. It also covers you in petrol no matter what you do. - Spare bolts for pannier racks are essential as one shook out on the dirt road on the way to camp - The stool is a pain to stow - thinking replacement with foam padding instead. - We had some rain so waterproof essential. I think I will take a poncho as better cover than a normal jacket. - It gets chilly - very glad I have now taken delivery of my luxurious (but lightweight) down jacket. - Most people on the road are nice, and love a bit of a 'ding' on the bell. - I need to find a comfier saddle, pronto - or wear a padded nappy some days. - The wing mirror needs moving in order to give me another handlebar-holding option. So on Saturday I decided that I would do a 'dummy pack' where I actually sat down and looked at all the stuff I was aiming to take, and then load it onto the bike. Above is the majority of the kit needed. I'm missing a few bike spares, and there will be a First Aid kit and some food to join it, as well as a camera and go-pro (thanks very much Toby) joining from the UK next week. Volume-wise it was OK, but once loaded up the bike and cargo came in at a rather daunting 45kg. That's more than I was hoping, but I suppose fairly in line with what was to be realistically expected. I think there is a bit of fat on the bone - for example the torch will probably not accompany the headlamp, and I shan't take 3 knives, even though I'd like to. I've since upgraded my trowel to a sturdier metal folding one, and got a very slim first aid pouch. Bike spares I think I'll just wing it with a spare tyre, spare tube (or maybe 2), patches, glue, spare cables and spare chain links. Oh, and some lube, haha. My King of the Mountains cap might get binned too, although I planned to put it on for special occasions when I was about to overtake someone on the uphill. There is also some paperwork and maps to add to the mix. I think closer to 50kg is going to be my fighting weight, so my swift progress with 38kg baggage has taken a blow. With that in mind, I decided to do a short ride to see how things went. The plan was to head to Walter Sisulu Botanical gardens with Chloe & Ben. I plotted a 35km route on backroads, and packed picnic stuff in my panniers.
The rest of the ride was pretty straightforward really. Some steep hills, some robots, and a rather boisterous driver in a Range Rover Evoque - a close pass and a beep for no reason, prompting the old middle finger treatment from Ben & myself. To be fair, he was probably rushing to his next hair appointment, but still no reason to honk us. We were back on track and going well until we came to a golf-course/housing estate that Strava had routed us through. I was keen to keep Chloe off the busy roads, but knew when we saw the fancy boom gates and a rather plump security guard, that we were likely to have problems getting through. It turns out the guard was called Victor, and he was as pompous as he was fat. Didn't catch his second name, but I believe it could well have been Jobsworth. Things weren't going well, and my attempts to make up names and addresses we were visiting made an unfavourable impression. I was close to getting the rage when a guy on a racer came by, so I flagged him down. Cue some spiel about cycling brethren and being impressed with his 85km average speed, and he agreed to give us an entry code. Alas, it wouldn't come through so we just entered under his fingerprint. After flashing Victor a sly smile we coasted through. The racer guy sped off and we turned the corner to another boom gate - balls! This one we just went up on the pavement and dodged though. A friendly wave and determination not to stop normally gets you past the average security guard. The estate was pretty surreal, like those big American estates where it's all the same and fake. Nice roads though. We then hit some busy stuff, which wasn't too bad, and got to the park. Chloe swiftly decided that a return cycle was off the cards (requests for uber vans were running through my mind as we went along a dual carriageway) so we put her bike in Kate's car so she could get a lift home. The next obstacle was getting the bikes into the park - not allowed as per the sign, along with guns, braais, booze and a lot of other things besides. It all got rather confusing with a lot of double negatives and pawing at my handlebars, but eventually we ascertained that the bike would not be allowed, and they must be handed over. We put them behind the ladies' loos in the end - a safe spot as they were still there upon our return.
The rest of the ride was uneventful and we zoomed home in about an hour. Good to try Tina out fully loaded and the main takeaway was that the difference between 38kg and 45kg is quite significant. The granny ring went from no use at all, to heavy usage. Very glad I got a triple ring on the front, that's for sure.
We'll start things off nice and easy, with a picture - the now obligatory mid-ride selfie. Whether a selfie-stick will make the pack list or not is still out for discussion...
We were supposed to be entertaining Friday night, so had Sunday as the cycling date given my anticipation of that evil scourge of body and mind - the hangover. As it turns out we didn't have people over - but plenty of beers and a curry took care of feeling rubbish on Saturday comfortably. Luckily England mauling the old Hairy Backs at Twickenham aided my recovery and by Saturday night I was quite excited at my first 'proper' cycle on Tina. I wanted to try and get a day's worth of distance in, and see how long it would take me. If you're a cyclist in Joburg, it's typical to just drive to a place called 'The Cradle of Humankind' and just do laps there. Think of it as a hotter, hillier Richmond park, where the game is fenced in rather than free range.
Anyway, the Cradle is a loop of about 30km, so the plan was for me to cycle from home (about 35km) and to meet Chloe at the Cradle where we'd do 2 laps together, have some grub at a biker cafe (the lycra rather than leather type) and then put the bikes on the back of the truck and drive home. I did a pre-cycle weigh in, and the bike came in at a rather daunting 36kg packed. So, I instructed Chloe to meet me at the cradle in 1,5 hour's time. We live quite high in Joburg, so it's a fairly downhill run to the Cradle, although it's not really flat anywhere in Gauteng. I would describe it as pleasantly undulating. My best run in on the racer is 36km/h so I was budgeting around 25km/h on Tina. I managed 23,6km/h to the meeting spot - not a bad start. I was expecting my reputation as a decent climber to be left in tatters, and my ignominy at being overtaken peaking at agonising levels. Thus, as I approached the last uphill into the cradle, generally where things start to get busy, and two okes on racers and full lycra, passed me on the downhill I wasn't too happy. One was on a Pinarello (which I hate) so all thoughts of not over-doing it and just keeping a steady pace went out the window; getting mugged off by a Pinarello is simply out of the question in my books. Anyway, I got on their wheels and stuck it out to the top, earning an "You're an inspiration" for my efforts. Bit gay, but I'll take it I guess. The second bit of excitement (and unfortunately Chloe wasn't about to confirm this) was some guy following me up the hill. I thought it was a bit of a dick move drafting someone on a tourer and 25kg of luggage when he was on a racer, and I was about to call him out on it when he said, "Are you that Guy from Carte Blanche?". I had no idea what he was talking about but thought, 'Yeh, I do what I want most of the time, in a carte blanche style'. Anyway, he thought I was some famous touring cyclist who was interviewed on CB (it's a TV programme) who had cycled all round the world. I toyed with the idea of assuming a world famous tourer (if there is such a thing) but details were very sparse so figured I would be found out quite quickly on that count. Such was his enthusiasm I felt pretty bad informing him that my celebrity status is only burgeoning, rather than fully fledged. Roadkill count for the 95km: 1 dog. A disappointing haul in many ways, but worthy of a photo. It was a rather stinky and strange photoshoot (I had to wait until lap 2 as a car was parked by it watching me on the first one). I then proceeded to meet Chloe and we set off on our ride. She hadn't cycled since the 94,7 in November, so she was quite brave (or I suspect foolish as she isn't great at judging distances) to take on 60km without any previous riding in the legs. She did very well, and we spent a fair while tootling along. Initially I was worried she might be stronger than me on the hills, which would have been a big problem for me, but luckily such apprehension was misplaced! I'm a proud man, and it was pleasant to be able to keep an eye on her in the wingmirror instead. She did call me a freak, which wasn't very nice - at best a very back-handed compliment - but better suffering slander on the hills that than losing going up them. We'd ride together until I found some mug who wanted to race, and then I'd sneak in behind them for a while. I pissed off a couple of Triathlon guys doing this, much to my glee. But these Tri guys are pretty useless on the hills, so not a bonafide feather in my cap to be honest.
I got heckled a fair bit, and it was quite fun to say 'Nairobi' when they were shouting at me where I was going with so much stuff. It's also nice to go at a more sociable pace and enjoy things a bit more. The first lap went fine, and following some gentle persuasion Chloe agreed to a second lap. In hindsight this was probably a mistake as the grumbles starting to set in. This wasn't helped by the heat (it was in the low 30s by now) and then she failed to unclip when stopping and fell over. This amused me rather a lot, but unfortunately the same could not be said for Chloe. I regret to inform you that I didn't get a picture, but as it was things were a bit frosty for a few kilometres, and I'm quite sure a picture would have extended the cold front! As fatigue set in, Chloe began to converse less, and in the end I took the hint and fed her the only snack to pass muster - a delicious custard tart. It wasn't terribly gratefully received, but it disappeared rather quickly. However, it seemed to have the desired restorative effect, and after being asked how much further, and how many hills were left (here I told her a few white lies) I left her to it as that way I could add some extra kms in. In the end Chloe had done a very commendable 60km and I managed just shy of 95km in 4 hours. It went pretty well and it gave me a good benchmark for route planning. I now know that, as long as the roads are decent, I'll be able to knock off 200km in a day if I have to, or fulfill my quota in half a day and chill for the rest. It'll all depend on where I'm heading and what's inbetween but it gives the option of a long day followed by relaxation and sightseeing rather than pedalling every single day. |
AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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