African Enduro

South Africa

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 17:01:00 +0000

Sawubona

That's local lingo for hello, directly translated as 'I see you'.

This final blog post picks up from the Mozambican border of Ressano Garcia where my exit & entry formalities were undertaken with ruthless efficiency. I suspect this was aided by all the border-post experience that I had garnered on my trip, and the 'border-face' that I was sporting; a smug grin that suggested to the mustached official that there was no manner of red tape I hadn't seen before.

I briefly stopped-over at a petrol station in Komatipoort to see if I could exchange my leftover Mozambican cash. I was approached by an inquisitive gentlemen, who remarked in Afrikaans: "..and all that gear, you've just come back form the bike rally haven't you?" "No, I'm....ah....I've just....um.....Yes, I've just come back from the rally". There was no simple & efficient way of my explaining that I'd just ridden a shade over the 150kms from the local bike rally.

I then made my way towards Shane & Gina's farm nearby (brother-in-law & sister). I was looking forward to the bumpy & wet dirt road that leads to their house but sadly it had recently been renovated; or perhaps my expectations of a fun dirt road had been altered. I'd be lying if I said my pulse wasn't slightly elevated at the prospect of seeing the first human beings I was acquainted to for the first time in two months. As I rounded the corner to their farm gate the said pulse increased yet further; there was the security guard at the boom gate waiving an orange checkered flag and standing next to a welcome sign (to right).

As I approached their house I was greeted by more orange; Shane riding towards me on a KTM dirt bike. His front wheel was considerably elevated from the ground. Gina was standing next to a large canvas poster that she had painted the night before (to left). We promptly moved to their neighbours place for a cold beer, victory cigar and a typically wild Komatipoort braai; guinnea fowl and impala. This was to be the first treatment of my dietary rehabilitation program (I had lost 10kg's during the trip). Despite protests for me to stay the night so as to be able to imbibe much more alcohol, I didn't want to rest until the job was done and desperately wanted to press on to my final destination of home in White River. My chain and sprockets were still playing on my mind and I had to find out whether they would convey me the last 100km's.

The ride from Komatipoort to White River takes one through a gorge at Kaapmuiden. To native Lowvelders (myself included) this gorge is quite often taken for granted as one focuses on passing slow-moving trucks & buses. After seeing many places of superb natural beauty on my trip I was attuned to paying attention to my surrounds and must say that this gorge is quite breathtaking when viewed 'for the first time'. As I wound my way up from Karino to White River I passed a large rock on the side of the road where my Grandfather and his brother once sat and observed a motor vehicle for the first time in their lives. As special moments go that was pretty much up there.

As I got into White River I could taste victory and I was ringing the neck of my bike regardless of the chain woes. I was over-cooking each corner, locking the brakes, and on the odd occasion liberating the front wheel from the terra firma. Apparently the noise of my approach was observed from some distance. As I entered the driveway a small welcoming party was on the scene; Mother figure and closest family friends the Tates. The overriding emotion was one of relief and not achievement - that would come later.

I needed a quick 'warm down' ride so after taking a final picture of my GPS odometer (below) I went to see my good friend Hennjean for a drink from the hip flask he had given me for the trip.

Both the bike & I spent the following week on a hygiene & nutrition improvement program. I was prescribed beer and biltong at regular intervals during each day, and my bike was in the hands of the best KTM mechanic I have come across a third of the planet; Mark of ReAction racing in Nelspruit. After the extensive service and then a clean by Michael Thabete the KTM looked and felt brand new, despite having 17,000 hard km's on the clock.

Examples of dietary rehabilitation

Recreational riding in the Lowveld

I then embarked on the final leg of my trip, a 'warm down' run to Durban to visit Monique (other sister). I had also caught wind of a necessary detour on-route; the Alfie Cox dual sport festival. The Northern interior of Natal (to left) were quite pleasant, especially considering it was the middle of winter. On-route I misjudged the amount of fuel in my tank and ran dry on the N3 highway, at night. Clearly some more lessons needed to be learned. The event was a rally-raid type friendly enduro for dual-sport bikes like mine. It was particularly good fun, especially riding my bike competitively against others, and without any luggage and on proper offroad knobbly tyres. I was surprised how my riding skills had come-on during my trip, the number one skill being that of not falling off - an essential when overlanding by ones self.

After the long weekend in Durban I headed back to White River, tracking along the North coast of Natal and then into Swaziland. I headed through a fairly remote part of Western Swaziland and the appalling roads were great fun to ride up until the tiny capital Mbabane and then along the King Mswati II highway (a single track barely tarred road). At the old gold prospecting town of Piggs Peak I hooked a left and proceeded along the very slippery but scenic dirt road through the plantations to the Bulembu border post. The mountains in this part of the world are incredible (pictured to left) and put any others in the Eastern Transvaal in the shade. My Grandmother (Jackson) spent here childhood here exploring the mountains on horseback with her sister while her father was catching Tiger fish.

After conducting my formalities at the border-post I rode along the South African side of this road, which sadly is being significantly upgraded. Then it was past the old mining town of Barberton, through Nelspruit and back to White River. My trip was now well & truly over. Although it was sad to unpack my luggage for the very last time I realised by my constantly shaking hands and much deteriorated dexterity that I need a break for riding all day every day.

I was asked many questions by family & friends on my return, so thought I'd share a few answers here. As you can imagine there is more than just one favourite of each.

Best day; a tie between the first day on African soil in Tunisia and riding through the trackless Sahara in The Sudan.
Hardest day; both days on THAT road in Northern Kenya were tough, but the first 50kms of Mozambique after the Rovuma river was insane.
Scariest moment; being mobbed by a crowd of very poor & hungry locals in Isiolo, Northern Kenya. It put the gunfire in Khartoum in the shade.
Best food; the fried goat in Ehtiopia, despite the goat being slaughtered in front of me an hour before supper time. Also the fresh seafood in Southern Tanzania. I was presented with a menu three hours in advance so that the cook had time to go out & catch it on his dugout canoe.
Best beer; St Georges beer in Ethiopia (probably due to the lack of beer in The Sudan)
Worst beer; Stella in Egypt. Nothing like the European stella. It's official slogan is "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger". Say no more.
Biggest annoyance; stone throwing kids in Ethiopia.
Funniest moment; countless locals on bicycles bit the dust due to not being able to take their eyes off team orange. The funniest was seeing a guy on his motorbike do the same. His wife was was sitting side-saddle and she disappeared into the tall grass.
Lowest moment; missing the ferry from Aswan to The Sudan due to being detained at a police checkpoint. My anger was off the scale.
Highest moment; 3,400ft above sea level in Ethiopia. No seriously probably riding into White River and up the driveway after experiencing all of the above.

Before I sign off for the last time some thanks are in order. Due to the difficulty of finding decent internet connections on the road there is no way that I would have persisted with the blog postings if it wasn't for all the warm words of encouragement (and the odd heckling) I received on the Interact page.

Thank you Monique, Alan, Gina, Kevin, Kathryn, Robert, Bruce & Irene, Hennjean, Gareth, John, Colin, Bronwen, Jason, Irene vd M, Bruce L, Nicky, Craigh, Lynda, Michael, Braam, Charlie & Rensche, Brett T, Jill, Sean, Jaime, Shane, Shaun, Gene, Brett W, Tash, Gary, Will, Sue, Piet, Hylton, Darrel, Ivan and Lisa & Ulrik.

Many people asked whether it wasn't lonely travelling by myself. The answer is absolutely not. When travelling on your ace you're much more approachable to the locals, and there are people EVERYWHERE in Africa. Despite this I really felt close to home each time I could read the messages you left on the site.

Also special thanks to Diana for being such a patient, understanding & unselfish girlfriend and to my Mom for being so mega supportive & brave and such a good Mother figure. I'm also thankful to my Dad for my passion for motorcycles and ability to fix stuff.

I took a few thousand pictures on my trip, and have selected some of the better ones and put them online. They're available from the photos link at the top of the page.

Until the next time*

Mark

* www.southernenduro.com

PS. I've also written an epilogue on The Bike and made a detailed map of my trip available here for those interested.

Mozambique

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:08:00 +0000

Bom dia!

After rifling through so many different languages on my trip 'Good morning' is what the Mozambiquans got from me at any time of the day.

This blog post starts where the last left off - in the middle of the Rovuma river, the border between Tanzania & Mozambique. Once the bike was loaded we pushed off the bank and into one of the channels. It was about a minute before the vice captain was able to persuade the knackered old outboard motor to start so we had some ground to make upstream as well as across the river. Being close to the sea, the river at this point was incredibly wide, with many large sandbanks and various fast-flowing channels. We hit a couple of low but submerged sandbanks along the crossing which resulted in much of the crew disembarking to push off into deeper water, and the vice captain lifting the engine and once again convincing it to restart. Each of the crew insisted on being part of holding the bike, so one of them had to be enlisted to water bailing. Thankfully low tide meant no hippo's

Due to recent troubles encountered by South African vehicles in the South of the country I took this opportunity to remove the ZA sticker from the front of my bike and stick it in the bow of the boat - a nice little reminder to the locals that non-xenophobic South African tourists are visiting even their most remote parts. The chap pictured was the chief sandbank spotter, new to the job I suspected. At least his diminutive 4 foot height made him useful in making the boat appear bigger than it really was.

After about half an hour the spluttering outboard and relieved captain arrived at the far-side of the river. Unfortunately however, due to low tide the bank was a 10 foot hight, 45 degree angle of soft river sand. I flashed an even greater incentive in the form of an additional $10 note and the crew & myself dragged the fully laden bike up the slope and onto level ground (pictured to left). I was relieved to be back on terra firma but anxious about the unknown road ahead. This side of the river was distinctly less developed & populated, but a couple of locals that were loitering around the riverbank pointed me in the direction of the first village, which I knew from my map was approx. 5km away. After a few kms of rough & tumble through the sandy riverbed I found a track which although in appalling state looked like it headed in the direction of the village.

At the tiny village I conducted my Mozambiquan entry formalities and then pressed-on further South into the unknown. The immigration official was equipped with some basic English and when I enquired about the route he reckoned the road wasn't used an awful lot - only twice a month to relieve him of his shift. Nice. The track was literally that, two faint tyre marks through the deepest sand in all of Africa, even surpassing the Sahara. The going was slower and tougher than anything I had encountered so far, even putting 'that' road from Northern Kenya in the shade. Despite a fresh rear tyre the rear would often bed down until my panniers were touching the sand and I need to lift it out onto higher ground.

The midday temperature was high and the engine revving flat-out in first gear just to creep forward at zero km/ph. To quote W C Fields, this road was "fraught with imminent peril" and something had to give. Thankfully that something was the bike and not rider and the overheating blew one of the radiator pipes from the engine, spewing all radiator fluid onto the sand. Although I was relieved that it was coolant and not engine oil, I was nonetheless in a pickle. I repaired the hose but didn't have enough drinking water for myself and the radiator so found a shady tree to sit under while waiting for a passer-by. As luck would have it after a short while a local chap emerged from the thick bush (not the road) and I explained in my best sign language that I was in the market for some of Mozambiques finest mineral water. He understood the requirement and returned half an hour later with a bucket full of Rovuma river water. Accompanying him on his return was his son, who was the shyest little fella I'd ever come across. He seemed very scared & nervous and when I enquired his father rubbed the skin on his arm. By this gesture of skin colour I could only assume that the lad had either seen few or no fair skinned people before. I was eventually able to convince him to pose for a photo but he ran back in the bush when I started my bike - his father pointed at the bike, probably his first sighting of such a peculiar machine.

I resumed the tough riding and eventually made it to the next village of Palma. My first 40kms in Northern Mozambique had taken three hours of riding and one hour sitting under a tree - by far the toughest single stretch in Africa for me. Despite the conditions I was able to appreciate the surroundings. The bush was beautiful; thicker and wilder than anything I've ever seen before, and the sandy tracks were littered with elephant dung & broken branches. With no fencing or nature reserves in the immediate vicinity but plenty of big five game, this part of Mozambique really is wild Africa relatively untouched by man.

I eventually made it to the town of Mocimboa Da Praia and a pleasant campsite. The next day the quality of the dirt road improved as each km passed and eventually turned-into some semi-decent tarmac and I pressed-on to the largest town in the North called Pemba. The photo's below show a quiet village along the route, some rather nasty ruts in the road, and some of the fuel I had to make use of along the way; a cocktail of petrol and palm wine most likely.

I spent the next day in Pemba conducting a small service on my bike; new spark plug & tightening valve clearances. My local contact was through an old family friend (Ivor) who has a business partner in the area. He showed me around the town and we then retired to a great beach-side bar for a few cold ones. Pemba seems to have the perfect balance of a small town yet with enough amenities, and is relatively undamaged by mass-tourism, probably given its remote distance from anywhere else. Being four full days drive from South Africa, flying in is the only viable option, which probably accounts for its unspoiltness.

After Pemba the next two days riding further South was all inland and all on boring but fairly good surfaced tarmac so I put in some big km stretches. Mozambique is a much larger country than most realise (the longest by far on my trip). The only interesting highlights of these days were the riving crossings. There are several very wide rivers in Northern Mozambique, which by far overshadow the nile at its widest, but just don't contain the same flow of water (at this time of year). Pictured below is a bridge over untroubled water, a typical mountain in the central interior, the section of the very wide Zamezbi which is still crossed by ferry, and lastly the very tall roadside grass which probably accounts for so many pedestrian fatalities on the Mozambiquan roads.

Although the interior was relatively boring I was entertained by a self induced paranoia about my bike. The chain and sprockets were badly worn and I had already used up my spares. It required regular tightening and at one point I need to fabricate a new chain guard at the side of the road as the old one had completed worn through and was busy degrading other components. I used a peice of car tyre and a flattened Laurentina beer can and the fabrication seemed to hold up alright. There were also a couple of 500km stretches without any fuel, which didn't buoy my spirits either. I did however finally get that photo of an armed local posing at my bike. I had been asking AK47'd citizens along the entire route but none wanted to be captured on film with a weapon. This chap with his shotgun obliged much to my delight.

The next day was spent riding into Southern Mozambique where the number of upmarket lodges and retreats increase with each passing kilo. The chain was now stretching as though it was made of elastic and I spent much time at the side of the road adjusting it and massaging oil into it. Now that I was so close to home I was determined to make it all the way and not have to become a passenger on the back of the pickup for the last stretch. I spent several hours that afternoon trying to find a suitable place to stay (a campsite and not a 5 star lodge). At one point I had to ride 10kms over dunes to get to a campground (pictured to right) which looked like its last visitor was Vasco Da Gama.

On my final day in Mozambique I purposely woke up at 3am to begin my daily packing and bike prep tasks for the last time on my trip. I knew in weeks to come I would miss the daily grind of getting ready for the road so wanted to drag it out as much as possible. The chain held itself together for one more long day of riding and I coasted down the....well the coast really, and into the Capital of Maputo. I could almost smell the Lowveld braai fires from there as it was only a short 45 minute ride to the border post with South Africa.

Stay tuned for the last blog post; my arrival into the R of SA and a short wind-down ride.

Parting shot is of this chap selling coconuts on the side of the road. I stopped to point out that his fly was down but he paid no attention to me and seemed intently focused on his coconut sales.

Tanzania

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 04:13:00 +0000

Mambo

Thats how they say hello in Tanzania, and most replies are 'poa' which means 'cool'. Tanzania is a very cool country.

After completing my Kenyan border formalities I moved over to the Tanzanian counterparts at this very remote border post. The sole immigration official undertook a comprehensive perusal of my passport, after which he put it in his top pocket, tore off a piece of the newspaper he was reading and then excused himself for a few minutes. I was intrigued but had faint idea where he was headed. He returned several minutes later, washed his hands with his bottle of water and then started the usual bribe request spiel. Thankfully the scrap of newspaper was missing and all of the pages in my passport were present. As I walked out of the door I gingerly inspected it for a brown stamp.

The only report I had on the road leading from this border was a few years old and described by an accomplished dirt-rider as being 'fun'. Fun it was. The road (pictured to left) was a slippery track that skirted the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, twisting & turning around little ravines and through the odd low-level water crossing. Despite the muddy surface it was particularly fun riding as the report suggested. The photo isn't a good reflection of the vegetation as most of it was thick, jungle-like bush covered in a blanket of misty precipitation. It really was like the equatorial jungles of Central & Western Africa, so a pleasant surprise to be able to encounter these conditions even if briefly in Eastern Africa.

The road eventually led to tarmac and then to the base-camp town of Mt. Kili where I camped for the night. Unfortunately all of the mountain was covered in cloud and the locals said one could wait days or even weeks for a good view to emerge, so I didn't stick around. The next day I took a directly Eastward course along the very impressive Usambara mountain range (to right). Although I was tempted to ride the rocky tracks that lead into the mountains I saved that for the special-stage later in the day.

After briefly posing with a tame baboon (to left) I made my way to that special stage which was a dirt track to a relatively remote town called Pangani on the North coast of Tanzania. In the village the only flea-pit was full of locals waiting while a broken ferry was being mended and there was nowhere to camp so I treated myself to a very secluded but up-market tented lodge called Mkoma Bay. That evening I had a first class meal with the couple who own the lodge and the local Chief, and the next morning a long kayak ride on the flat sea at sunrise in a light drizzle. After the drizzle a remarkably clear rainbow appeared on the sea (below). The other photo's show the road to this village the day before and then the day after (after an evening of rain).

The following day was a slow & dangerous ride back along the said muddy track and then a boring tarmac run Southwards to the capital, Dar Es Salaam. The highlight was seeing numerous overloaded cyclists, the clear winner being a guy with some livestock graze pictured to left. In Dar I was looking forward to the conveniences of supermarkets & to searching for decent internet access, being desperately behind on my blog posts at this point.

In Dar I stayed at a great tented beach camp which was staggering distance from the turquoise water but spent each day I was there at a hotel in town using their good internet facilities. My bike seemed in good health and didn't need any work so just enjoyed a rest on the beach. The camp had a steady flow of other bike & 4x4 travellers which provided good company swapping stories & tips. After four days there I was blogged-out and ready for the assault on Southern Tanzania.

My route South from Dar to the Mozambiquan border was the very first time on my trip that I had not heard of, or met anyone having taking a particular stretch of road and thus had no idea what the conditions would be like. I enjoyed the ignorant state of mind and after a while the tarmac suddenly disappeared and the most appalling soft yet bumpy 1st gear track held my full attention. After 70 slow kms I was beginning to worry that this would be the norm for the remaining 700kms to Mozambique when suddenly the sand turned into smooth, new tarmac and I rode down to my stopover at a camp on the coast. The camp (to left) was empty except for a cook and Askari-warrior security guard (all I required really). I unloaded my luggage and went for a long and enjoyable ride along the beach and through the breaking surf, which was bloody good fun.

The next day was an eventful one towards the mostly Southerly part of Tanzania. The road was good tar but fuel was still not to be found since Dar. My tank ran dry and I refuelled with the 5litre can I was carrying. That took me further but not quite enough, and I emptied the 700ml of petrol in my camping cooker into the tank. This gave me 15kms more and after free-wheeling the downhills I coasted in the last town and came to a halt just a few paces from the petrol pump, phew. Below is my distance from the pumps.

In this final town before the border I also changed my rear tyre to the very offroad biased one that would be required in Mozambique and I enjoyed seeing the local tyre changer struggle as much as I do with this task. The other picture is of a particularly large baobab I saw along the road. This day was a Saturday and along the way I was looking out for any establishment or house with a satellite dish so that I could try & catch some motoGP action. The 3rd photo shows the only dish I saw, but sadly not a very functional one which was fabricated out of a loop of wire and some white plastic. Classic Africa, and not Pariis as the signpost suggests....

That evening I had yet another not too unpleasing beach-side camp. Thus far Tanzania was by far my favourite country. Its attractions are incredibly diverse; from the beautiful beaches along the entire coastline to the dramatic mountains in the North and ofcourse Kilimanjaro to the best game viewing in Africa at the ngorongoro crater, not to mention the spice island Zanzibar. I had missed most of these features but without any regret as I plan to take a holiday in Tanzania some time and explore them all with some company and a four-wheeled vehicle.

The next morning was an early start in search of a top-up of fuel before Mozambique, which was to be found from a dirty bucket & rusty can (to left). The challenge that lay ahead was undoubtably one that I was looking forward to most out of my entire trip through the continent; the crossing of the Rovuma river into Northern Mozambique. The river is very wide but its level varies considerably with the coastal tide, making the crossing on a small ferry very erratic. This gamble of a river crossing is what puts this route Southwards very much off the beaten track and thus a big adventure.

After completing my exit formalities from Tanzania and complying with a quick bribe request that would have slowed me down, I rode on to the abrupt end of the track to the steep & sandy banks of the river, which featured no ferry but a collection of small boats. Each of these vessels sported a healthy amount of water in them and by the look of the bailing apparatus I had a sinking suspicion it wasn't rain water. I decided to chance the largest looking one of them for my crossing rather than wait maybe days for the ferry to appear. The hustle of locals jostling for employment to load the bike was very aggressive and I had to get physical with some of the citizens in order to select a crew of six to lift the bike onto the boat and accompany the captain (me ofcourse) on his voyage. With much exertion we loaded the bike onto the boat and I was very curious as to what its clearance from the water level would be once we pushed away from the side.

Stay tuned for the Mozambique posting, to find out how this precarious crossing unfolded.

The parting shot is of Mr.Tanzania, on a proper ferry, that crosses the port of Dar Es Salaam, not much fun at all really...

Kenya

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Tue, 27 May 2008 07:32:00 +0000

Jambo from Kenya

I had been looking forward to the challenge of the Northern Kenya for many months. The road from the Ethiopian border has much hype surrounding it, and is widely known as the worst road of the entire Cape to Cairo journey. It also boasts some particularly nasty armed bandits that prey on passers-by. Charming.

After a quick 200km run through the last bit of Ethiopia I completed Kenyan immigration & customs formalities in record time (less than five minutes). I enquired about the security situation with the sole policeman at the border & he said there were no problems at all...this week. I didn't enquire about the previous week.

Although I had plenty of time while on this road to think about how I could describe it, I couldn't come up with anything that gives an accurate portrayal without sounding obtusely exaggerated. For a high-level description; the length is approx. 520kms between the border and the first tarmac. There is one village with accommodation & fuel, half way along this distance. The first half is characterised by muddy ruts almost meter deep at times, and an incredibly rocky surface the rest. The second half is nothing but corrugations, mostly irregular and some so large they have smaller corrugations inside them. Due to my light baggage weight and more offroad biased bike I was able to set a faster pace than most can on this road in did it in two days rather than four.

Day one was incredibly physically demanding and during a particularly rocky section I didn't leave first gear for almost an hour, making my progress over 10kms considerably slower than my best 10k running time. Thankfully I only had a few sightings of nasty looking armed characters lurking on the side of the road. Most gestured for me to slow down & stop but I tended to do quite the opposite. I also managed to keep the bike (and myself) from submitting to the pull of gravity, although the bike did suffer four small dents on the front rim, one on the rear and a flat front tyre from one of the harder knocks. The bushveld along the road was quite picturesque and there was plenty of small antelope and some baboons along the way. There was also an interesting looking crater (to left).

At the stopover town called Marsabit I just about collapsed onto the farm of a Swiss guy (and family) who offer tented or mud hut accommodation. As per the photo's below the interior is considerably easier on the eye than the exterior. They sold me a few bottles of lager, a loaf of home baked bread and a wedge of homemade swiss cheese, which perked me right up after the tiring day.

Day two was mentally tiring where day one was physical, as the corrugations never ceased for almost the entire day and the 270kms to tar took almost seven hours. Some of the corrugations were like riding camel humps featured on motocross tracks. I started noticing more of the aggressive looking Samburu tribesman along the road, immaculately attired in their traditional get-up and carrying assegais. At one point I came across three teenage tribesman walking their herd of camels along the road. As usual they gestured for me to stop. When they realised I wasn't going to comply one of the chaps launched himself at me with assegai leading the charge. It was probably a mock gesture but afterwards I decided to ride just in front of the only other truck I encountered going the same direction as me, even though it was pushing an uncomfortably faster pace. My bike (a.k.a The Wind Eater) performed amazingly during these two days. Unfortunately the corrugations wrote off the memory card in the smaller of my two camera's so no photo's of the rough stuff until I can try & salvage them.

I finally reached the end of the bad road and start of the tar, and given my square rims and slowly deflating front tyre I pushed-on all the way to Nairobi. Along the way I stopped for a few photos at the Equator and then continued on in the equatorial rain past a hidden Mt. Kenya. I finally arrived at the well known and well appointed overlanders hangout of Jungle Junction in Nairobi. There were many other travellers at JJ's and even more bikes getting serviced by the owner of the establishment. Most travellers were in 4X4's and heading North, and I picked up some very useful information on routes off the beaten track further South. I remained at JJ's for a few days, servicing my bike and repairing a few bits of my luggage arrangement that had taken strain on the rough road.

I left Nairobi (which was strangely my most favourite of the large cities I'd been through so far) and headed South towards Tanzania. Some of the less hardy travellers look forward to travelling from Nairobi to Cape Town as it can be done on tarmac all the way. Given this, and the revived health of my bike I decided to take a much lesser known route on dirt roads through a remote part of Kenya towards a tiny border at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. The road (pictured to left) was most enjoyable to ride and part of it passed through a game park, where I briefly road alongside a galloping herd of Zebra & Wildebeest.

It was also on this road that I had a chance encounter with another rider. The charity I'm highlighting on my site assist a few remote areas of Africa with healthcare & medicine by training nurses & doctors how to ride and supplying them with 200cc Yamaha's and offroad riding gear. I noticed a Riders For Health sticker on this guys bike (just like the one on my bike) and had to stop him for a chat. He was taking some supplies to a remote village on this road. I explained that I was trying to raise a tiny amount of cash for them (please donate here) and we took a few photo's. We rode on together until the next village and his ability on the bike was quite remarkable.

As I approached the border I started to see Mt. Kilimanjaro but unfortunately in the rainy season there is nothing more to see than a few low lying clouds. I hadn't heard of anyone who had used this border so it was a gamble but thankfully passing through was Hakuna Matata (no problem). The staff at the tiny border post were pleased to be able to process the 182nd person through the border for the year.

I was looking forward to the beaten track that continued on the other side of the border and then getting back to the coast for the first time since Egypt.

Ethiopia

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Thu, 22 May 2008 06:23:00 +0000

DehnaNeh?

Thats 'how are you fine?' in Amharic - or Ethiopian.

I was feeling particularly fine after escaping Khartoum and being even closer to non-desert terain & conditions. The long ride from Khartoum to the Ethiopian border of Metemma was on relatively good tarmac, but that's where it ended. Civilisation seemed to be notched down one level in this part of Ethiopia, where the roads were appalling rocky tracks and the immigration office was a dung-walled shack (pictured to left). The local customs office was closed so I had to ride 50km further to the next town to get my bike allowed into the country. The road consisted of almost perfectly placed tennis ball sized rocks, which made the going pretty tough, but there was the odd diversions off the road & into the bush, which was pleasant.

After getting my bike stamped in I went over to the best residence there was to offer (tin hut pictured to right) in this very dirty & uncivilised town. This was feeling more like propper Africa to me. No sooner had I checked-in & completed a thorough flea inspection than I was invited to join a coffee ceremony. The Abyssinians invented coffee (they say) and place a high regard on the preparing & drinking of their coffee. The coffee lady (pictured to left) first roasted some green beans in a pan over a coal fire, then crushed them using a mortar & pestle, and finally boiled the granules for a short while before straining & serving. It was one of the nicest espresso's I've ever had, however after the alcohol prohibition of The Sudan I washed the coffee down with a quick succession of Ethiopian lagers. My company for the evening was a couple of water engineers staying at the hotel & working nearby. I joined them for a meal of fried goat (called Tibs) and a sour pancake-like bread (called Injera). This was the best meal I'd had on my trip so far - but then it was always going to taste fresh as the goat was still breathing and tied-up next to my bike when I arrived earlier.

The next day I held a small coffee ceremony of my own (thanks for the espresso pot Mom) and then hit the same bad road Eastwards towards the Ethiopian highlands. As per the previous day it was a slow & rocky dirt road but the horizons were slowly unfolding into large hills and then even larger green mountains. It took a concerted effort to keep my eyes on the gravel. By midday I reached tarmac and the town of Dongola where I started hunting for fuel station which had petrol in stock (this was to become a popular pastime in Ethiopia). I saw two bikers with very interesting looking number plates in going in the opposite direction so followed & stopped them. One was an Eastern Cape EC plate and the other a Gauteng GP one and they were heading North the way I had come. I also bumped into Gary & Joan (from The Sudan) who were taking a different route through Ethiopia.

I stopped at this shady looking tree for a bite of local bread & processed cheese. This flock of shepherds appeared so I fed them too. The little guys had never seen laughing cow cheese (melrose) so I had to open the foil cover for them. The taste was most displeasing so they wrapped & returned the cheese and scoffed down the bread. My route continued Southwards (on tar) to Lake Tana, where I camped on the shore. The bird life at the lake was incredible.

The following morning I was woken by a couple of noisy fish eagles perched in the tree above my tent. Not an entirely unpleasant alarm clock chime. I took the morning off to visit a monastery on an island on the lake. The monks were a pretty laid-back lot and totally self-sufficient on the tiny island. The monastery seemed as old as time, and the goat parchment books & helmets pictured below are well over 500 years old. (Thats St.Mark in the middle - still some beard growing to go for me I think)

After the Lake visit I hit the apalling track to the Blue Nile Falls. Although impressive they have lost much of their water due to a hydro electric plant just to the left out of the photo. The rest of the day was spent riding on pleasant tarmac roads Eastwards in the direction of the Capital. In the afternoon the skies opened and I was treated to a hail storm and didn't at all mind the cool bullets that were hitting me, with the Sahara in the back of my mind. Shortly after the storm I encountered my first of the famed Ethiopian stone throwing kids. Although I had ridden through a few unsuccessful strikes before, this time a large stone hit me on the left-hand. Thanks to the storm I had switched to my thick & heavy waterproof riding gloves so the impact wasn't too bad. They say that Ethiopia is the cradle of humanity as it boasts the oldest remains of (un)civilised man. I can only assume that these stone throwing kids are a very direct relative of the stone throwing neanderthals that roamed these parts in by gone days.

The next day was to be the final push Eastwards to the Capital Addis Ababa. The highlight of the day was the Blue Nile gorge (to left). The gorge is 20kms of winding road down a 4000ft drop and then another 20kms of road winding up a 5000ft ascent on the other side. Although half of the distance is dirt road the tarred corners were great fun. The rest of the road to Addis was a good surface but the going was very slow passing through little villages every 20 minutes. I had to keep my litchis peeled for stone throwers and devise a technique for slowing down to run off the road & towards any group of youths that didn't have empty hands. The only hit was a harmless one on a luggage bag. The country side was almost artificially green, as per this shot to the right. After a long slow days riding I reached the Capital, Addis Ababa, baby.

I didn't find anything particularly interesting or pleasant in the Capital but had to stay for a day to repair a broken chain and effect a few other minor repairs to the bike. I also spent a great deal of time hunting down an internet connection, with little success. Like the lack of fuel in the rest of the country, the availability of electricity in Addis was very rare (sound familiar?). During my day there we had none from 7am till 10pm. Although there were many more sights to see in the North of Ethiopia I had experienced enough of its ghat chewing people and also wanted to conserve mileage for my next bike service in Nairobi. Ghat is a mildy narcotic legal drug that is chewed in the form of a green leaf, and to my observation renders a large proportion of the population terribly lethargic and disengaged from reality.

I left Addis after my day off and headed South towards the Kenyan border, passing through some of the countries famed coffee plantations. I became a bit of a coffee snob in London and my favourite coffee on the planet is from a place called Yirge Cheffe in Ethiopia. I diverted via this town in search of some of their finest but it was unobtainable. This coffee is extremely rare in London so I suspect that every little bit is exported. I did however manage to buy some green Yirge Cheffe beans from a little general dealer on the outskirts of the village (to left). I shall attempt to roast them myself on a braai sometime. As I headed South the terrain was slowly becoming less populated with homosapiens (as per the little warriors to the right) and more so with fauna & flora. It also boasted some very high ant hills. I spent the night in a small one-horse town in the South, leaving only an early morning 200km run to the kenyan border the next day.

Stay tuned - Kenya update coming soon!

The Sudan

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Fri, 16 May 2008 07:34:00 +0000

Salaam,Tamaam?

That's "Hello, you alright?" in Sudanese. At first I thought they were inquiring about my state of health, as I was in on the brink of expiring from heat exhaustion during most of my time in The Sudan. The Sudanese summer is serious.

After my lengthy delay awaiting this famed ferry to The Sudan, I was very excited to get back on the bike and ride to the port on Lake Nasser. There I completed the el-Gippo customs release formalities and also met two couples of travellers, both in vehicles. Raidar & Ella from Norway in a Landcruiser and Gary & Joan from Aus/New Zealand in a VW transporter. We then drove our three vehicles onto a barge (separate to the ferry) which was to make its own way (much slower) in the same direction as the ferry. The others had opted for the grubby bunk bed cabins on the and I chose to rough it by sleeping on the top deck of the boat. There were apparently in the region of 700 other citizens on the ferry (about 400% of the boats capacity) so I sat patiently on the deck from 10:30am until we set sail just before sunset to ensure I saved some space for myself to sleep. With no shade the heat was intense, so I made things more comfortable by flattening my hip flask of Captain Morgan rum. I had little option as any alcohol is strictly forbidden (and unavailable) in The Sudan. After a brief altercation with a neighbouring Egyptian felah who was encroaching on my meagre sleeping area I settled to a good nights kip under the stars. There were bodies occupying every tiny space on the deck. Being out on the lake and in the desert the star gazing was very vivid, with several moving satellites in eyeshot just about anywhere you looked in the sky.

In the early afternoon of the next day we arrived at the Sudanese port of Wadi Halfa, conducted our immigration & customs tasks and then headed to the dump of a town centre to the best hotel money could by - where the stench of the shared open latrine was available in all of the rooms, and a bucket of water was provided for showering. It was here I met an Irish biker by the name of Hugh who was heading North after almost a whole lap of Africa. As per this blasphemous photo I took, his bike was parked in the reception and obviously at an Eastern tangent, which meant a local chap bowed down to the almighty BMW 650 (and Allah).

The barge containing our vehicles and enough goods to sustain Wadi Halfa for several months (pictured to left) arrived at midday and after yet more customs tasks our convoy hit the road out of Wadi Halfa. For the obvious advantage of not breathing in pure dust I lead the way and after a brief spell of tarmac we were on a gravel road. I was delighted to be slipping around on the dirt after all the tar or Egypt, and being in front I could give the odd burst ahead of the others. The terrain could only be described as like that of the moon - rocky & sandy and totally devoid of any plant or animal life. At an opportune time before sunset we stopped at a tiny village and made our way to the banks of the Nile, where we set up camp for the night (pictured to right). After some keen interest by the locals they wandered off to their village and we were left to a pleasant evening & camp fire, made even more so by Raidar & Gary revealing a small stock of beers they'd concealed in their vehicles. I made a mental note to ignore all alcohol forbiddance in future.

The next morning the VW & I were keen on an earlier start so we hit the road further South. Due to various navigational nuances that was to be the last we saw of Raidar & Ella on the road to Khartoum. As we made our way south the terrain was becoming more sandy and less rocky. I was revelling in these conditions so pushed ahead of the VW and agreed to stop & wait for them every few hours. The villages I past through all seemed to be deserted, although I later found out most folk get indoors for shade during the hottest part of the day (from 10am - 4pm).

My swagger in the soft stuff was ever increasing and then suddenly and without warning my bike observed a particularly soft patch and I found myself spitting out sand a few metres ahead of my bike. Thanks to the armour in my jacket, and the knee protectors which I had replaced in Egypt I was left with nothing more than a few bruises after flying over the handlebars. I took the opportunity to wait for the others under a shady tree, where a local family appeared and served us some very nice mint tea when Gary & Joan arrived. Shortly after the break we hit a patch of incredibly soft sand (called bull dust in Australian). I made it through (very slowly) but there was no obviously easy route through for the VW and it got stuck just before the end of the soft stuff, impaled on the centre ridge of the tracks, that was higher than the VW's ground clearance. Gary & I spent some time (and perspiration) digging the sand out, placing rocks under the wheels, and jacking up the rear, but all to no avail. We employed the digging services of some of the men from the local village but in the end a 4X4 pickup drove past and effortlessly pulled Gary out. We were quite fatigued by this endeavour in the heat of the day so after a short while found another even more pleasant spot on the Nile to make camp. We were suitably covered in dust so had a bath in the Nile while the local boys kept their litchi's peeled for Crocodylus niloticus (Nile Crocodile). At one point they started gesticulating and throwing stones into the river close to me, but thankfully it was not a croc and only my bottle of soap which was heading downstream and needed retrieval.

Another early start the next morning and briefly further South along the Nile before we cut inland to cross the Nubian desert where the Nile was meandering around for a few hundred km's. Again I headed out in front and after a few km's there was no longer any road but rather an extensive choice of tracks that previous vehicles had taken. I opted for the most enjoyable looking hard-ish surface and had a really good ride (featured in video below) until my tracks faded away. I was obviously on an old track which slowly weathered away into nothing. With a GPS pretty useless in this location I cracked out my old fashioned compass and made a line through the desert towards the East where I knew the Nile would be. It was very soft & slow going at times but I eventually found the river. The going was just as slow through thick sand for the rest of the mornings ride and at one point I came a cropper again. This was a slower 'off' but I had used my right leg to try & correct the fall and it was now trapped under my right pannier luggage bag - facing at a precarious angle in the wrong direction. I was pinned-down and in some discomfort as I was unable to lift the fully laden bike while on the floor. I whistled some locals over from a nearby settlement and they lifted the bike just enough for me to pull free and realise a healthy & functioning leg. Thanks only to my very sturdy motocross boots, and some miracle of a supple knee joint I was in good (yet somewhat John Wayne) shape. This was another advantage of wearing good protective gear, regardless of the discomfort in heat.

I pushed on to the town of Dongola and then a faultless tarmac road, the first since leaving Wadi Halfa three days previously. Gary & Joan had found more fortune on the desert crossing and were there before me. We took this perfectly tarred road (thanks to the Chinese) across the desert for 200kms to cut off yet another long meander of the Nile. I parted company with Gary & Joan at this point as I wanted to push further east before the day was out, but it was certainly not the last I would see of them. The hot wind while riding was furnace-like and not sufficient to cool my bike, even at high speed. I stopped several times for a cool-down break. At one stop I measured the temperature with the little digital thermometer I carry. It was 53.7 in the shade at 2pm. I placed it in the sun and it stopped working at 69.9 and hasn't since. That day I consumed almost 10 litres of water.

The following day was a tarred but tiring slog down to Khartoum due to a large amount of trucks on the road - making their way from The Sudan's only port towards the capital. There were however some very unspoilt and interesting looking Pyramids to stop & look at along the way.

I pulled into the famed overlanders haunt of the Blue Nile Sailing Club in central Khartoum. Its a pretty much derelict sailing club on the banks of the Nile which now uses its green lawn to offer camping. The reception is Kitcheners old gunboat, perched on the sandy banks (pictured to left). After hot cold water shower I walked into the city centre to try & locate some internet access. I had only sent a few emails when the owner came running in asking me to vacate as there was violence in the streets and he had to close his shop. Outside there was a distinct trend in people running in one direction (out of the centre of town) and all shops were locking their doors closed. I was told that there was some shooting in the neighbouring district of Omdurman which had spilled over into the town centre. The gunfire sounded quite close but then it would in a built-up area. After double-taking at a couple of tanks rolling past at a high speed I shed my flipflops and legged it back to the campsite. That evening we watched a delightful display of mortar fire across the river from us in neighbouring Omdurman. We were reassured by a boat load of soldiers who tied-up at the jetty to check for crooks in the campsite, and periodically by pickup loads of soldiers jeering and shouting as they road past, obviously victorious and fresh from the front-line. The next morning I rose very early in an attempt to escape the city. There were road blocks at least every 200m, all operating independently from each other as I was able to pass some by not others. At one roadblock I encountered a particularly slovenly looking warrior who insisted on going through my luggage. His interest was fixed on my very large and expensive digital SLR camera & lens. He slung it over his shoulder and ushered me to move on back into town. This philistine couldn't understand any English (nor could his comrades) so I simply refused to move. Eventually a senior looking officer drove past and I pleaded my case with him. After giving him a short slide show of the pyramids & desert photo's on the camera he let me have it back and I headed back to the campsite. I had tested each of the three exits roads from the city that I knew and had eventually hit brick walls with each.

So I spent the rest of that day at the sailing club, whiling away the heat & the tedium of a military curfew in very good company; an English couple travelling South by public transport and a young German guy travelling South on a DT125 (small bike) - all pictured to the left. I don't know who was more brave. The curfew & checkpoints meant that we couldn't leave the camp and were reduced to emergency rations. Unfortunately we didn't run short enough of food for me to switch over to Roy Mears mode and cook up a pot of sand.

The next morning the number of roadblocks had subsided enough for me to make a run for it and I didn't stop running - riding all day and into Ethiopia. I was looking forward to exploring the interesting area of Omdurman (epicentre of the gunfire) but instead had to leave it with a bitter taste in my mouth - I think it was cordite from the mortars.

I was really looking forward to leaving the desert terrain that I had been in since day three of my trip in Tunisia, and longing for the cool and rainy highlands of Ethiopia.

The parting shot is of this weeks hot finalist, a panting Mr Sudan in 50 degree heat.

PS, here are a few clips showing the terrain in the Nubian desert. Again, if its slow to play press the pause button & wait for the video to load.

Egypt

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 14:51:00 +0000

Hallo-wherefrom-whatyourname

That's a typical Egyptian greeting, which is closely followed by a rapid fire of insistence to buy any thing or service you could imagine not requiring.

Ironically at the Egyptian border of Salloum in the North West of the country I was unable to solicit the services of such an Egyptian entrepreneur, well not instantly. This border crossing was supposedly the most complicated I would encounter on my entire trip, and it exceeded even those expectations. A brief summary of the objectives of this border are as follows:

Validate pre-arranged visa & get passport stamped
Get carnet book checked against chassis number
Have vehicle emissions checked, and chassis number traced onto a piece of paper
Buy 3rd party insurance
Get carnet validated & stamped
Get 'mini carnet' & Egyptian drivers license (plastic card)
Rental & attachment of Egyptian number plates
Final check of passport and processed paperwork

In addition (and crucial to ensuring the end-to-end process took 4.5 hours) was that each of the above items takes place in a different building well spread apart, and more importantly after each step one must visit a photocopying office to make duplicates of each, as a pre-requisite for the next step. After step three I managed to employ the services of a local entrepreneur who helped me through each of the steps slightly quicker than I could have done myself.

Then, after having several hundred Gippo pounds liberated from my wallet I pushed through to my overnight destination of Marsa Matruh. It was to be my longest riding day so far given the stretch in Libya to get to the border. I pushed for this town because I had fond memories of visiting it many years ago, and it was were my Grandfather (Jackson) was stationed in WWII.

In the morning I rode further along the coast to Alexandria and then into the mayhem of Cairo, where I reckon the traffic is slower moving than it was when they built the pyramids. I spent a few days in Cairo arranging my Sudanese visa (only place it can be obtained) & servicing my bike. I took my bike to a back-street mechanic named Mohammed Anwar, who had come highly recommended by countless other bikers. We did an extensive service and changed sprockets, chain & tyres (all of which I was carrying). We worked late into the night and I shared some tasty nosh with the lads afterwards.

The following day I was to be caught short of a latrine on a few occasions with the first strike of the unavoidable gippo guts. I like to call it the 'Cairo Quickstep' and have a new appreciation for the robes that these chaps wear. I can't think of anything more practical for performing a dark alley squat in.

After a few days in Cairo I was busting to get off the khazi and back into the saddle and on the road. After a brief stop at the pyramids to take the compulsory, token Giza Pyramid photo I headed East for Suez and then down the coast. I had planned this to be a very long and diverse day of riding to sample a little bit of everything Egypt has to offer; the madness of Cairo, winding roads & turquoise waters of the Eastern coast, the mountainous desert crossing to; the fertile banks of the nile. Although long (870kms) it was a thoroughly enjoyable day. I should probably explain that I wasn't missing everything else Egypt has to offer as I had explored Egypt extensively for five weeks as a juvenile backpacker almost 11 years ago.

The following morning (Saturday) I had to make for the Southern Nile town of Aswan to process my paperwork for the Monday ferry crossing into The Sudan. Unfortunately I was detained against my will at a police roadblock for several hours and as a result missed making it to Aswan in time. There was an arsenal of weapons on display at this checkpoint and I wasn't going to test any of the itchy trigger fingers. As a result I've spent just over a week in Aswan, among other things strolling their big and very interesting market (picture to left), tinkering with my bike, and doing a bit of soft sand desert training in preparation for the Sudan.

Like myself, my bike had started developing a slightly concerning noise from below, so I took the opportunity to check my valves (well the bikes valves). My local contact found the ideal place for me to perform this work; the lounge of his cousin (who's seen showing off his water refrigeration facility)

The photo's below show the Nile view from my balcony, a typical Felluca on the Nile and then lastly me getting a few beers in with the lads. As you can see I like to dress so as to blend in seamlessly with the locals.

Tomorrow (Monday) I'll finally be catching the ferry across Lake Nasser and into the Sudan, where the adventure riding really starts. The road to Khartoum tracks the Nile most of the way on very bad or non-existent roads, in sweltering heat, but encountering the very friendly Nubian people.

The parting shot is of the April playmate of the month from the africanenduro calendar.

Libya

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:06:00 +0000

Aaaah Salaam (informal arab greeting).

By the grace of Allah (and his prophet Mohammed) I made it into Libya! The queue of Tunisian vehicles attempting to gain entry was crazy; about 1km long & moving at a rate of 5 cars per hour. Many cars were carrying provisions (including livestock) for a very long wait. Thankfully foreigners have their own queue, and even better motorbikes get waived to the front. After only a moment of indecision as to whether I should be allowed to leave Tunisia I was into no man's land (between borders), waiting for my guide to arrive.

Non-arab nationals can only enter Libya by invitation from an established tour company. They also need to supply a guide to accompany the tourist from entry to exit. My shadow was a very nice, educated & well spoken chap by the name of Mahmoud and he had a driver by the name of Masaap. After they did all the paperwork legwork for me at the border we made for the capital Tripoli. Oh and Mahmoud & Masaap were in their own car and not perched on my luggage. I was promptly introduced to Libyan driving rules by encountering a large truck approaching head-on in my direction (overtaking). It would not be the last time I had to leave tarmac & take to semi-desert surfaces to ensure longevity. The etiquette employed is that if you're overtaking into oncoming traffic (as this truck was) flash your lights to indicate to the approaching traffic that they should disembark the road. Thanks to the KTM's awesome suspension & offroad handling these divertive manoeuvres were most enjoyable.

Tripoli was fascinating. Thanks to everybody's favourite colonel (that's Gadaffi, not Saunders - dictatorship not chicken yeah) there has been virtually no tourism in Libya for almost 40 years. I took a day off in Tripoli to do laundry & launch my website, and walking around the city and souq (market) was amazing as there are none of the tourist facilities that we take for granted in foreign cities, such as;

All road signs in arabic, nothing at all in English (even adverts & product names)
No tourist-type retailing, such as souvenirs or western fast food
Not a single non-arab looking person in sight, and very few hotels

Before reversing out of North Africa in WWII the Italians left behind a penchant for good coffee and ice cream. The esspresso's were as good as anywhere in Europe. Sorry, no photo's of Tripoli. The AK47 clad gendarmes aren't that keen on american looking tourists waving big Nikons around.

The next day was a 200km ride eastwards to visit the Roman ruins of Leptis Magna. The ruins are of a huge port & market town dating back to 100AD and although most of the ruins are still under the cover of sand, the larger more impressive ones have been excavated. I've seen many similar sites in the mediterranean but these were by far the most impressive.

While we were at Leptis a scary looking sand storm was starting to develop and by the time we left the sandy wind was intense and visibility down to a couple of hundred metres. After about 100kms it was too gusty to be able to ride in a straight line and my lung capacity was much reduced due to inhalation of enough sand to build a small castle, so we turned into a little town called Misurata. Accommodation facilities were limited to a lovely little Moroccan run brothel but at least, as per the Tripoli hotel, the VIP KTM was allowed to spend the night in the reception of the hotel. It was to be this way throughout Libya, and riding up the stairs & through the front door of each hotel was a fitting way to the end each day.

The next day was a long old slog of 770kms through featureless terrain outside of view of the coastline. We stopped for lunchtime prayers and while M&M were facing east I tucked into a scrumptious grilled chicken & veggie soup. We (the three M's) were following the african diet of one VERY large meal a day, only punctuated with liquids either side. My bike was enjoying a diet of very cheap & high octane petrol. Fuel is subsidised my Gadaffi, and I paid £2 / R30 for 25 litres of petrol! If you're just topping up your tank with one of two litres there isn't a monetary denomination small enough, so its free!

That evening in a town called Ajdabiyah we again struggled to find accommodation, eventually checking into the town's only hotel. Well I use the term 'hotel' losely. Their primary business concern was a thriving bed bug & flee breeding outfit, as I was to find out when the scratching started the next day. The following day, instead of tracking the coast through Benghazi I opted for the route through the desert, as I had seen plenty of the coast & not much of the desert. As the map below shows; it is a very long and very straight road right through the middle of the desert. At 440km's long with no towns along they way and not a single vehicle that I encountered in the same direction as we were heading it was quite a relaxing & secluded ride. The tranquility was amazing.

The photo's above show the long & straight road through the desert, Mahmoud posing with his Daewoo and my libyan plate (note the burnt corner from my akrapovic flame thrower).

The desert wasn't sandy (that's far to the south of Libya) but slightly rocky with some desert shrub and on a few occasions the bad state of the tarmac (probably due to melting) turned the route off into desert sand for a few kms at a time. The sand was really powdery and up to a foot deep at times; not sure how M&M's Daewoo Nubira made it through. After the desert road ended we were back at the coast and pushed for the Egyptian border, which although not as much of a gamble as Libya, I was expecting to be the most complicated & time consuming.

I managed to get a bit of video on my little camera. The sound quality is a bit rough so I overlayed some arabic pop music I found on this PC at an internet cafe... Enjoy!

PS, if you're using a slow connection press the pause button & wait for the video to load.

Tunisia

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 12:28:00 +0000

The ferry crossing was pleasant and after a decent steak in the restaurant and a Corsican whiskey with John in the bar I retired to my shared accommodation - a four man cabin. My three Freddy Mercury lookalike room mates were well into a snoring competition but I still enjoyed a good sleep.

To my surprise I passed through Tunisian border control quickly and proceeded around 250kms south to a coastal town called Mahdia. My first observation on the road is that most of the local lads knock around on all manner or mopeds & scooters, and they were paying particular appreciation to the large orange jugernaut that came hurtling into each little village. Another observation was the Tunisia folk are very fond of a good, fresh barbecue. This photo is of a road side stopover that serves up bbq'd lamb as fresh as you like.

In Dijon France I suffered the first (and unsuccessful) attempted break-in to my luggage locks so this night Najeh, the head of security & motorcycle surveillance at the hotel I was staying at (pictured) kept an eye on the bike.

Then in the morning it was a brief stopover at a town called El-Jem where I had a look at the leftovers of a Roman Coloseum. All these people came for a show but sadly I couldn't enter the main stage as I had to press on down the coast.

The rest of the days riding got more & more enjoyable as I started entering more deserted roads. I stopped at the roadside service station pictured below for some fuel but this chap refused to let me pay with my BP bonus points accumulated in the UK. He was also all out of decaf soya latte's so I decided to take my business some place else.

After the enjoyable desert ride I was back at the coast to catch a ferry to a little island off Tunisia called Jerba, where I made my way to a little market town called Houmt Souq. I stayed in a charming little cave and my bike in the secure courtyard. In the morning it was an early start to get to the Libyan border 150kms further to the east, to discover my fate at the border after so many others have struggled to gain entry to Libya. Next post from Tripoli (hopefully).

Team orange finally hits the road

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 18:00:00 +0000

Finally, after a freighting & customs delay of 4 days I could collect & re-assemble my steed. My good friend Gary helped me knock the bike back into shape at the heathrow cargo terminal at 3am on Friday morning. We then headed back to his place for a 2 hour power nap before assembling the last modifications such as a waterproof top box for camera & electronics and side stand. (BTW 'THE BIKE' is yet to be annointed with a more affectionate name). Gazz also added a few useful items to my inventory; either bits I hadn't been able to find or others that I needed more convincing to take with.

Then at 9am on Friday the 11th of April I left his place in London headed for Folkstone. We stopped at a petrol station to top-up where I abruptly came to terms with my laden weight & new spring-action side stand (In other words I dropped the bloody bike). What a confidence instilling manouvre - thankfully no cameras were rolling.

As we were leaving London on the A3 we both noted with particular attention a bike passing in the opposite lane. It was a bike we both knew of (named Fred) from the online journal of a guy by the name of Jeremy who has travelled the globe and trans-africa twice. It's the same bike as mine and I had spent many days researching his website to decide on the bike modifications needed. Anyway a good omen I thought.

Then onto Folkstone where I said cheerio to Gazz & rode onto the eurotunnel train. The under-tunnel train crossing is impressive - only 20 mins. Then from Calais at approx. 12pm I started the mammoth assault on the very long & very straight highway south. The bike handled superbly despite exhibitting the weight & aerodynamic properties of a sherman tank. After 770kms from London it was the cold (snow) and not fatigue that got the better of me and I headed into Dijon for a bit of kip.

At this point I should probably explain the aggressive itinerary. Since picking up a potential problem with entry into Libya I had commited to the weekly Marseille/Tunis ferry crossing at 11:30am on Saturday. After the stopover in Dijon it meant another 550kms from 5am. The last 200 into Marseille were particularly troublesome with gale-force winds which at times shifted all of team orange accross lanes. Overtaking trucks required some careful consideration. I pulled into Marseille port like Valentino Rossi on the last corner at Catalunya and made the ferry with 10 mins to spare. Now the adventure begins! Au revoir

First bog post

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 16:50:00 +0000

Welcome welcome. If you're reading this you probably know exactly who I am and what I'm doing. So this is the first posting on my blog. Writing this block is going to be similar to sitting on the bog; something I'll have to do regularly (or not as the case may be), sometimes pleasurable, other times slightly painful, at times rushed or perhaps prolougned. So stay posted to my blog and you should experience each of those states, just without the smell and other unpleasant defacatory hazards such as running short on blog roll in a muzlin country. Anyway enough shit talk, here's a posting from a brand new, double layered, quilted roll of toilet paper...

So the history is that for many years I've fancing embarking on a trans-africa adventure. Several naive years ago are I invested much enthusiasm in a 4x4 suitable for the trip, but the rest just didn't materialise. This time round I've done months of hard graft researching & planning, and only the worked out the logistics. This is also a much better approach of understanding the financial implications well in advance.

Then, having seen the back of the enslaved preoccupations such as regular employment, mortgage payments and a neat appearance, I've spent the last few weeks in South Africa pulling together the final, crucial ingredients. On a very early morning on the 11th of April my good friend Hennjean & I drove a trailer from White River up to Johannesburg to collect my bike; a new KTM 640 Adventure, from ProAction KTM. I had ordered & reserved the bike a few weeks prior and it was both a joyous & momentous occasion finally laying hands the figment of many daydreams while commuting in sub zero conditions on a 15 year old 90cc scooter in London for several months.

The subsequent weeks were spent gently running-in the engine for 1000km's, attaching & upgrading to the various aftermarket parts that I had brought with from Londres (see Bike section for more on that). It was genuinely gratifying riding the only 'real' dual purpose bike on the roads & offroads of the Eastern Transvaal Lowveld, especially in the company of such an accomplished Enduro rider as Hennjean.

I was also fortunate enough to dive into DIY tyre repair just days after collecting the bike. One morning after meticulous addition of riding gear I dropped the bike off its stand to realise a properly flat rear wheel. I then spent the rest of the day embarked on both physical & mental preparation for the first solo tyre-change. With two tyre leavers slightly shorter than dinner knives, I was always going to be generating copious amounts of sweat coercing the tyre from its rim. However what I didn't prepare for was the brutal & sustained damage to my knuckles and much spilling of claret from fingers. After an hour and a bit of panting, cursing and temper flares I had finally repaired the tube & re-inserted it into the wheel. In doing so I had also managed to add another much larger whole to the tube by means of some cavalier tube levering. So with quick succession take two on the tyre repair drill, this time replacing the damaged tube with a heavy-duty offroad one, and to my pleasure a marginal improvement in the time taken. All-in-all it was a good learning experience, and if nothing else a reminder to pack my tyre repair kit right next to the first aid kit and hip flask of whiskey!

So as mentioned the running-in was generally good-fun, although always skirted with a slight anxiety of treating a new machine with the respect it deserves in the interest of fostering a long, pleasant and mutually beneficial relationship. Then with the very kind loan of my heavy brother in laws' (swaer) truck, team orange headed back to the dealer in Johannesburg for the first service and the addition of yet more tasty little add-ons such as the Akrapovic silencer. While I was loitering around the dealer I had the pleasure of meeting a Turkish guy by the name of Veysl, who was there getting the very same bike serviced on route from a Trans-africa ride along the same route as my intended one. As it turns out he actually rode some of the way with a couple of other ruffians that I was following (Robin & Matteo on Ducati Multistrada's). Veysl is a top guy and gave me some very useful information & contacts along the the route. All this served to put much wind in my sails for the coming weeks.

Then after the service it was over to Jan Smuts airport where I partially disassembled the bike & packed it onto a crate ready for shipping to London (well air freighting actually). I watched them fork-lift the pallet away with a tinge of trepidation, only calmed by the inevitable that the bike couldn't accompany me on my flight as hand-luggage.

So whilst waiting for BA Cargo to grace me with the other 50% of team orange I've been conducting some last-minute shopping, topping up on final vaccinations, and conducting numerous pannier packing exercises. One of the most notable additions to my arsenal has been a Thuraya satellite phone, which was very reasonably priced and is only slight larger than a regular GSM phone.

Thats all for now, stay tuned for the departure post.