My work here is done

I had imagined a moment where i crested the brow of a hill to see a sign saying "Welcome to Cape Town", with a panoramic view of the city and Table Mountain laid out below me, basking in in the crisp winter sun. But no. The final kilometers of this 6 month trip were reminiscent of the fist few. Layered up in every piece of warm clothing i had with waterproofs over the top of my riding gear. The elation of finally arriving was overridden by by the now familiar confusion of arriving in a strange city and trying to find a place to stay.

It was the 11th August. The 29,000km trip (this is an approximation as the speedo/odometer broke in the Congo) had taken 1 day less than 6 months. The next day was a scorcher so i headed down to the Cape of Good Hope for the obligatory photo by the sign and gave the bike its final long run on African soil.

The road to Cape Town as the weather starts to turn






riding the big bird.





During my 6 days in Jeffrys Bay with all the surf "dudes" i caught a surf movie where the stars headed off the coast to go and ride ostriches. I decided that i must do it too. I managed to stay on for about 30 seconds as the bird ran around the enclosure trying to shake me off. Probably a little cruel but funny as hell.


Tomorrow the bike flies back to Heathrow on South African Airways and I follow on BA on Tuesday. My work here is done.

So close, yet...

The Makgadigkadi Salt Pans, Botswana. This was just before

i realised that i was in the wrong place

Only 700km from Cape Town and my trusty stead is in bits in a mechanics workshop for 4 days.

The engine had been under performing and vibrating excessively for a couple of weeks but when i got here to Jeffrys Bay, it became difficult start, wouldn't tick-over and sounded dreadful. The excellent mechanics here quickly had the engine out and dismantled. Verdict: Broken piston ring causing piston seizure and damaged cylinder, or in the words of one Queensland mechanic- 'the fucking fuckers fucked'.

Its not all bad though. New parts will be delivered on Monday and the guys here will re bore and rebuild the engine on Tuesday/ Wednesday and all for snip of what i would pay in England. Estimated cost is 2000 rand (about 130 quid).

Ive also learnt that its not possible to sell the bike in South Africa 'legally'. I would have had to complete the paper work before arriving to do so.

The bike is travelling on a Carnet de Passage which is like a passport for the vehicle which allows me to temporarily or permanently import it, in line with the the country's laws and tax regs. To ensure the owner of the Carnet (me) complies with such laws, the issuing body (in my case the RAC) holds a deposit based on the value of the vehicle (1200 quid for me) which they will release when the Carnet document is returned in order and correctly stamped by customs. So i flog the bike- i lose my dosh.

On the plus side South African Airways will fly the bike back for a reasonable sum, AND i can ride it to the airport leave petrol in the tank and that's it. I don't need to drain the fluids and crate it up which is what i was expecting to have to do. If all goes well I will ride it home from Heathrow the day i arrive back, though flights are yet to be booked. A job for tomorrow.

So I'm stuck in Jeffreys Bay, an international surf mecca, for 5 days. It could be much worse. If this happened in Angola it probably would have ended the trip!

A clever chap here has managed to recover the deleted photos off my camera so Ive dropped in a few in from Botswana.

Heading into the pans, shortly before my tumble

piss stop

Baobab Tree, Botswana

I spent most of last week in the beautifully wild Transkei, walking, riding the bike and even riding an old nag of a horse. There were loads of whales off the coast too.

Final Land Border is Crossed

my route is in green, overnight stops get a red circle

When I remarked on the great view of Johannesburg from my hostel's reception office, the manager responded with a "yeah......you wouldn't think the streets are teaming with crime from up here". Perhaps an exaggeration but ever since arriving in South Africa I have received warnings from well wishing locals:

"Don't pull over by the side of the road- only use service stations"

"Are you going to Jo'Burg?....oh be very careful there" etc.

So whilst expecting to get robbed or mugged, i didn't expect to be driven into by an old man carrying a minibus full of school children. And this is precisely what happened as i was driving into Soweto last week. The guy completely ignored the stop sign and hit me side on. After hobbling around in shock for a couple of minutes i picked up the bike with the help of the crowd that had rapidly congregated. I inspected the damage: The clutch lever had snapped, the left pannier was ripped off (again), one foot peg mangled and the front wheel was had twisted 30 degrees out of line. On top of that the engine was refusing to start. The driver, a sweet humble old man, accepted full responsibility but clearly was not going to be able to pay for the damage. Insurance is not mandatory here and therefore neither of us had any cover. We agreed that he would use his van to transport the bike to a garage if need be, rather than him pay me cash that he didn't have.

After a trip to one of the Soweto cop shops to complete the incident report, the bike decided to start enabling me to ride precariously to to the homely Soweto Backpackers Hostel where i managed to straighten the steering and repair the pannier (with a hammer and bit of wood). I had a spare clutch lever in the spares box and i decided the i could ride just the same with the mangled foot peg. My right leg was just bruised so i was back in business. I had worried briefly earlier in the day that the bike might not make it to Cape Town.

I spent another day in Soweto and did a fabulous guided bicycle tour seeing the good bad and the ugly of what is now quite a prosperous, friendly and relatively safe township (excluding traffic accidents).

5 days before i did what will probably be my last bit of adventurous riding of the trip across the Makgagikgadi Pans in Botswana. A fall (the 3rd decent one of the trip) on the dirt tracks heading into the pans left me and the already weak left pannier laying in the sand- no damage done.

The perfectly flat, salt encrusted pans are interrupted by grassy 'islands' and an array of 4x4 tracks - some leading to nowhere. After a mellow night at a campsite on a rocky outcrop covered in 4000 year old baobab trees i managed to pick up one of these tracks that headed to nowhere and found myself not exactly lost, but not where i wanted to be and with no visible way off the pans. After loving the morning of riding over this stark, bright landscape and stopping to take loads of photos, i suddenly felt the fear. I had not seen another vehicle or person all morning. I back tracked all the way back to the campsite where some friendly big bellied South Africans were fortunately still around and pointed me in the direction of the correct set of tracks. Very clear once i was on them.

I was off the pans and into the bush repairing a puncture in the front tyre (puncture No 6 of the trip) when a lone boy strolled up and asked for water. I had only a litre left and wasn't sure where the next village/town was and the way my day was going was reluctant to share. I reasoned that he thought I had loads and plus he being local, must have set off from where ever knowing how far he had to walk. He hung around and i felt like a real tight ass. When i had the wheel back on i shared my water and custard creams with him and felt my conscience easing.

Now i have inadvertently wiped my cameras memory card and lost all the pics since i last backed up in Namibia so not many new pics here. I have dropped a few in that i picked up from Laura when i met her in Windhoek plus my route to date.

I am currently in St Lucia, Kwazula-Natal making the most of the warm weather and abundant wildlife. Off to get a pizza!

I just missed capturing the one on the right taking a lazy 'mid-sleep' poo

Morocco (inc Western Sahara)

West Africa. Mauritania- Nigeria

Central Africa Cameroon- Angola

Tom and I, Congo

Botwana- Zambia

The Okavango Delta, Botswana

The welding job on Wilfred's Land Cruiser went on and on until i decided i couldn't hang around any longer. My time in Namibia was coming up to 1 month and i wanted to get going so i travelled back to Windhoek from Damaraland where we had arranged to meet. I was also suffering from my second bout of African 'man flu' so hanging around in basic camp sites in the bush was loosing its appeal. The timing worked out well as Tom and Laura were in town having driven up from Cape Town in the hire van. They were gutted not to be in their 4x4 that had taken them most of the way across Africa, but at the same time more relaxed at having reliable set of wheels complete with a sink and fridge!

nice place for a puncture- number 5 of the tip and the first in the front tyre

The day after hooking up with T&L again, i took the road heading east to the Botswana border. That evening i found myself holding hands in circle around the fire with 2 lovely South African couples as one of them said grace in Afrikaans. They had taken pity on me in my little tent on the bitterly cold night and invited me over to share in their braii (BBQ). They had a load of south african meat that could not be taken over the border for some reason, so i happily made sure none of it went to waste. Both the guys were fruit farmers supplying Asda in the UK with sun kissed apples and peaches. They said that had tried to set up trade with Waitrose and M&S but their buyers were so damn picky about the appearance of the fruit that it just wasn't profitable. In the morning the condensation on the tent had frozen!

Riding through Botswana takes me within 500km of Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwe/ Zambia border which i thought was too close and too good an opportunity to miss. The plan for the final part of the trip was in place. Cruise through Botswana to Jo'burg making a detour to Livingstone to see the falls, then from Jo'burg- Durban and the coastal route to the Cape.

Paul takes a poling lesson

The first stop in Botswana was the town of Maune. A bit of a sprawling tourist town to access the Okvango Delta but i stayed in a great lodge by the the river owned and ran by 3 heavy drinking Botwanans and an English girl who grew up 10 miles from Tunbridge Wells. And when i say heavy drinking- it was not unusual to see the one of the owners and local white business men at bar at ten in the morning with a beer and a sambucca. From here i took a 2 day mokoro (a kind of dug out canoe) trip into the delta through the shallow waters and reeds to one of the large islands where we (Saul the guide/poler, a Japanese girl and I) set up a bush camp for the night and Saul gave gave us each a poling lesson in he mokoro- i was rubbish at it.

After short safety brief which was along the lines of 'if an elephant gets too close run' and 'if a lion gets too close hold your ground and keep looking at it', we headed off on foot in search game. Whilst i didn't see as much wildlife as in Etosha National Park it was a real buzz to be out of the protection of a vehicle walking around. Ironically, the animals were really wary of us walking around, where as they tend to be totally at ease when your in a car. Most of the animals we saw made a run for it as soon as we started approaching.

I'm now spending my final night in Livingstone, Zambia right next to Victoria Falls. Its been real holiday here over last few days. White water rafting, all you can drink sunset booze cruises and this morning i took a microlight flight over the falls which was amazing. My pilot had driven his motorbike here 15 years previously so after bonding over our similar experiences he foolishly let me take over the controls. Controls is over selling it a little- Its basically a bar connected to the fixed wing, but i definately fancy another go sometime.

Gin and Fanta on the Zambezi

The dunes near Swakopmund, Namibia

Namibia

Since arriving in Namibia the focus of the trip has changed. Central Africa, from Gabon through to Angola, was all about progress southwards towards South Africa- the challenge of getting me and the bike to the Cape. But from here Cape Town is is easy 3 or 4 day drive on good roads with regular fuel stations (with fuel), good places to stay and KFC. The trip is now about being a tourist again and seeing and enjoying southern Africa. Its a change I'm relaxing into.

Central Namibia
Before i go too far though, Ive had to give the battle weary bike a bit of TLC. Since arriving in Namibia I have done the following:

New front tyre, new battery, replaced the rear hub bearings, replaced the front brake lever, remounted the bashplate fixings, changed the oil and oil filter (4th of the trip), fixed an oil leak (actually a mechanic did that) and renewed the chain and sprockets.

I also need to collect my new passport from the British High Commission here in Windhoek. 120 quid! but the current one is full which will really limits my travel plans. And what are those plans?

Well...... Will, the Frenchman, and I didn't make it to Kaokoland in the north west as we planned to do after my last blog entry due to mechanical problems so that's the first thing. Then rather than going directly south to Cape Town I plan to cut through Botswana to RSA near the Kruger Park area then toddle down the east coast at a lesuirely pace taking in the best of South Africa. Hopefully it won't be too cold.


And what have i been doing for the last 3 weeks? Well......As mentioned previously I spent 3 days in Etosha National Park. It was these three days of cruising round spotting game and feasting on BBQ'd steak in the evenings that marked the change in vibe of the trip. I was now on holiday.

The backpacker hostels here are incomparable to the cheap hotels of central Africa. Whilst I'm normally in my tent or a dorm, they generally have a swimming pool, bar, pool table, lounge, garden and kitchen. The campsites are comfortable too. I stayed at one recently each plot was separated from the others by 500m, had views across the dessert valley and an immaculate private toilet and shower with hot water! I'm currently on the coast in Swakopmund. If Namibia is not like Africa, Swakopmund is positively a German seaside town. Old colonial buildings sit next to seafood restaurants and estate agents advertising new beach view apartments. The sand dunes are the main attraction here which stretch for hundreds of km's to the north and south. dessert tours are on offer learn about the fragile ecosystems but i chose opted for 2 hours of quadbiking- blasting over 300 foot sanddunes, ripping up the said ecosystems. Great fun. Actually the areas for quadbiking are controlled but there is still local resentment against it.

I spoke to Tom and Laura last night, my companions from the Congo. After i left them in Brazzaville, Laura got Malaria and a kidney infection and had to spend three days in hospital. After finally making across the Congo river to DRC the gearbox on the Nissan packed up. They decided to sell the car and fly to Cape Town. They are driving up to Namibia in a hire van so hopefully we'll catch up.
typical Namibian gravel road west of Windhoek

A little overdue this entry. Partly because i was on a none stop riding mission through Angola and partly because I've been taking it easy here in Namibia in the knowledge that the hard part of the trip is over. I did however write some stuff over the last couple of weeks which i will get get down here.

Democratic Republic of Congo/DRC/Zaire/Belgium Congo

The sight of a UN peace keeping force is reassuring, but not really a good sign. Dotted around Kinshassa blue berretted soldiers packed into the back of big white trucks and convoys of brand new UN Land Cruisers patrolled the streets. I saw no signs of any trouble and my 4 days in this country were fairly uneventfull.

I had said farewell to Tom and Laura that morning. Repairs to their Nissan were taking longer than planned and with the weekend coming up could have gone into the following week. On the basis that I could be in Namibia in a weeks time i decided to go it alone. A decision i regretted more than once over the following week.

Travelling with other like minded people is certainly more relaxing and more fun. Chatting about the days events over a beer and meal in the evening is definitely a nice way to end the day. Ive never cared for much for eating alone in the evening. And its been great having tom around to assist in making impromptu repairs to the bike by the roadside. However, when its just me and the bike, riding into a new country or a dropping into a new landscape the feeling is so much more liberating. I also interact with a lot more with the local people when alone. In short i guess it smooths out the peaks and the troughs

The journey from Brazzaville (Congo) to Kinshasa (DRC) is a short ferry ride across the Congo River and for me was a jolt back into chaotic stressful side of African travel. The immigration official was angry and unhelpful, the ticketing system for the ferry was totally confusing and as i was struggling to get the bike down some steep steps on to the boat some guy was screaming at me that i had only paid for the bike and not myself, despite having a wad of six different tickets in my hand.

Getting off on the other side was no better. Rather than heading to some customs and immigration buildings (or even an outside desk) to sort out the formalities, a policeman demanded my passport before i was off the boat and casually flicked through it standing on the slatted floor of the jetty as people shoved past. I was petrified of him dropping it into the river below. At the same time another chap demanded the Carnet for the bike and someone else my yellow fever certificate. Utter chaos.

The drive across DRC was uneventful and that evening i was at Matadi on the Angolan border. Packing and loading the following morning i started to feel nervous about the days ahead. I had learnt only a few phrases of Portuguese (my efforts to find a dictionary or phrasebook had failed) and i didn't have a guide book (only 4 pages photocopied from an old lonely planet for the whole of Africa). I wished i had waited for Tom and Laura.

I needn't have worried, well not that day anyway. I got the border to learn that i needed to get my Angolan visa at the consulate in town and not at the border as i was planning to do. It was Saturday and they would be closed till Monday.

Angola

On the Monday I walked away with my 5 day transit visa after 2 hours at the Angolan consulate answering relevant questions such as:

“Does your mother have any brothers and sisters?”
“yes”
“Which countries do they live in?” etc

5 days to cover the 1,600km. A tough call but possible. I had read reports of people driving from dawn till dusk and making it so i wanted to give it my best shot.

The roads in northern Angola were as bad as Congo, though fortunately not as wet. It was evident that few cars came up this far- grass grew in between the tyre tracks and i only saw one other vehicle on that first day. The fist night i spent at the Catholic Mission in Tomboco. Gustav, the Mexican priest invited me to sleep at his house and i dinned with him and 5 Angolan nuns- all a bit surreal given my lack of Portuguese and their lack of English, but amusing all the same after having tucked into Gustav’s scotch before dinner.

The second night i camped in the car park of the sailing club in Luanda, the capital. I arrived after being on the road for 11 hours and as soon as i stopped felt overcome with tiredness and just sat next to the bike trying to summon up the energy to put up my tent. It was a beautiful spot though, on the other side of the bay to the main city with views across the water to the high rise offices of the CBD.

It was when i took a shower that the shivers started. Followed by a thumping headache and a slight fever. I hoped it was just fatigue and nothing worse. In the morning, after poor nights sleep, i was drenched in sweat too. Classic malaria symptoms. This is not the country i wanted to get Malaria in and i thought about just setting off and trying to get to Namibia before i felt too bad, but everything i’d read about malaria indicated that early treatment is key to a quick recovery so i dragged myself off to the clinic for a blood test. I was relieved that when it came back negative, so i left town and continued south.

Lack of available fuel, two punctures, grinding rear wheel bearings and a sinking fuel tank hampered progress but on the 6th day i crossed into Namibia. Into civilisation.

I had three days in Etosha national park with Wilfred, Thomas, Claudia and little Leon (pic at the top) whilst my bike had some work done on it at the garage in town. They had arived in Namibia a week before me also having driven from Europe so it was good to exchange some stories.

In half an hour Wilfred in his Land Cruiser and me on the bike will head to the remote north west of Namibia for a few days. I then need to get to get Windhoek to buy some warm clothes (yes it gets really cold here at nights) and straighten the flat spots out of my front wheel.

still in the Congo

Le Route Principle

i didn't get the chance to finish the last entry so here goes.....

The road was well and truly blocked. A logging truck had got stuck in the mud so when the next truck had come along, the driver tried to drive around it. He got stuck. So the Caterpillar 'log loader' had been brought down to pull them out. Yes, he too got stuck.

When we arrived they were waiting for a bigger Caterpillar 'log loader' to arrive. Whilst i could have got the bike through with a struggle, there was no way the Nissan could pass so we waited. Plus I wanted to how they would pull out two 40 tonne trucks that were axel deep in mud. Eventually the big one showed up and in usual African style with every one barking instructions at each other they got to work. For the first half an hour nothing budged. But slowly slowly, bit by bit, they managed to free one of the the trucks. We took the opportunity to nip through before another truck blocked the road then continued south. It was getting dark by this stage and we had to decide whether to bush camp, or push through to a hotel that we had heard about from the stranded truck drivers. With the thought of a cold beer and possibley a cooked meal we ventured on. Well, until my rear wheel seized. The brake pad, which i knew was nearly finished, finally said 'no more', came away from the housing and wedged it self between the caliper and the disk. We freed the pads, removed them and continued with only the front brake.

The hotel was more of a logging camp. The rooms were little more than wooden shacks around a bar and seating area with men getting drunk on small plastic bags of whiskey and occasionally dancing to the distorted music. We negotiated a good deal to have sole use of an outside elevated seating area where we drank some beers, cooked up some of our supplies and i pitched my tent. Earlier that day i had noticed that many of the truck drivers were oriental looking, and we had joked that the Chinese logging companies had brought them over as the locals kept crashing the trucks. They turned out to be Malaysian, but yes the reason they were here was as we had joked. They were training up the Congolese after so many trucks had been wrecked.

The following afternoon we arrived in Point Noire and treated ourselves to a decent hotel and a Pizza. I was shocked by the how wealthy the town appeared. Fancy bars and restaurants, shops selling quality electronic goods, and plenty of white people driving around in fancy clan 4x4s(clearly expats). The contrast between the isolated rural villages and the city was more extreme than i had seen anywhere before on the trip. It is the same here Brazzaville the capital where i am now. This morning I was sat in pavement cafe drinking an espresso watching sharply dressed young Congolese men on their way to work clasping leather briefcases chatting on the latest Nokias. Incredible when you consider the journey we had to undertake to travel between these 2 cities.

I tried and failed to get new brake pads in Point Noire so i e-mailed Ground Control in Reading, where Ollie dropped sorting out the Three mobile billing system to get a new set DHL'd over to Brazzaville. 76 quid to send a 10 gram package acroos the world in 5 days. Now received and fitted.

The road to Brazzaville was no better than the roads in the north, the traffic just as infrequent and progress just as slow. Every 10km we would have to stop and walk through the muddy water or a river to find the best route. In some places the local villagers had created a deviation which could be used for small, or in some cases, large fee. There were also chancers who tried to get money for using the main route, claiming they had improved it.

How????

At the first really bad section, a house adjacent to the road had put a barrier across the entrance to their land. We could use it but would be charged twenty five quid for the privilege. A colossal amount for them and we were clearly being stitched up. I figured i could get my bike over a steep path on the other side to the house. But that was not possible for the car.

We tried to play it cool. Made some coffee, attempted to renegotiate and had another look at the slosh pit that lay in front of us. Tom (and I too) thought he could make. He didn't and got stuck, water filling the foot wells of the car and burning out the stereo (the second of the trip, fitted only two days before).

The sand ladders and shovel came off the roof, some lads came to help and I was in my boxer shorts up to my thighs in mud and still we could not free the car. It wasn't looking good. The villages here have no vehicles and we had not seen one on the road for three hours, so when two new 4x4s showed up we were relieved. They managed to pull the Nissan back out but the sump guard and bash plate and been ripped off again and the clutch was not gripping. T & L talked about going back, but that wasn't an easy option either and we had heard that the road got better the further on. A reduced rate of ten quid was finally negotiated and we both passed through the garden.

Later on

On the second afternoon I stood chatting to a Canadian chap from the Red Cross who was traveling in the opposite direction but was waiting for a stuck vehicle to be freed before he could pass in his Land Cruiser. I suddenly heard Tom, just out of site round the corner, going ballistic swearing loudly in Dutch. I ran into view thinking their car had dropped into a ditch, but he seemed OK.

" The f#cking bastards are asking for money" he yelled "can you believe it??!!".

Tom had just spent over an hour pulling three 2x4 cars through a particularly treacherous section of mud and deep water. The local young male villagers, who always flock to such situations had been helping to push when we arrived and continued to help afterwards, and naturally asked for payment for their efforts. Fair enough. But when the drivers of the stuck cars thought that Tom should pay he lost it.

The Red Cross guy didn't seem so surprised. "These people have just come out of a long civil war" he reasoned " they are used to doing anything can just to get by and make a buck".

This was another occasion

Before i left, i had said that if anyone with a gun wanted money off me i would simply pay up. But here we were arguing over two quid with an angry man holding a revolver . It was the cheek of it. He, and his mates were claiming to be responsible for improving the only passable section of the road and had put up a bamboo barrier. We had been driving behind two Red Cross Vehicles and claimed to part of their convoy. This had worked the last time but this guy was more determined to extract some of our money. As he got angrier I saw sense and handed over the money he opened up and we sped through. I doubt it was loaded anyway. Bullets cost money.

Our last bush camp

Not surprising the bananas were cheap here

We both crawled into Brazzaville. The Nissan needing some serious work- the brakes were shot, the suspension on one side broken, bumper hanging off and the clutch needing some attention. T&L are at the garrage now and are not sure how long it will take to get the car road worthy again. I've picked up my DHL package and have replaced both sets of brakes and this afternoon will fix the speedo/odometer. The odometer is key for me judge how much fuel I have. I would like to leave tomorrow, taking the ferry over the Congo River to DRC. It will be a shame to part company with T&L but at the same time I am not keen on staying for what could be a week. A decision to make.

Into the Congo

I crossed the equator around 1pm on the 11th May. A grubby sign on the side of the road was all that marked, what was for me, a significant mile stone. London 6,500km it says, yet i had driven over 18,000 to get there.

I had arranged to meet Tom and Laura at a catholic mission in Lamberene a further 100km down the road where we would stay the night. Ive actually been staying a quite a few missions in this part of Africa. They are generally cleaner and quieter than the cheap hotels and often let you camp in the grounds for a small donation.

We left town (and the last of the tarred road) the next morning and were soon confronted with our first obstacle. Recent heavy rains had caused localised flooding and series of 20 m long puddles lay before us. It wasn't that deep (18") so Tom drove through first and after gauging the depth from his tyres blasted through getting totally soaked with the spray. After a couple more of these i felt pretty unstoppable . And then we came across this.

A river had burst its banks and thigh deep fast flowing water cut across the road. A couple of beefy 4x4s crawled across from the other side and Tom figured he could make it too, but there was no way i was. One bad move and bike would be pulled down stream. I loaded my luggage onto Toms roof and waited for a truck. After 15 mins a Land Cruiser showed up and agreed to take the bike. I dashed him a fiver and gave the young lads 20p each.

Late the following afternoon, we arrived wet and muddy at the Congo border. After completing all the formalities, we were informed that the one road that continued south was worse than we had come through. We though it best to stay the night, and after seeing what rooms were on offer T&L decided to sleep in their roof tent. I took one of the two pound rooms complete with nowhere to wash and a shitting shack out the back.

They weren't wrong about the road. It would barely be rated as a farm track in Europe. After the previous few days we had worked out a system for the deep mud and water. If it looked reasonable Tom would drive through first and I would look for the shallower side or even a way around the edge where locals on foot had cut a route through the bush. If the water came over his mud guards for more than 2 meters I knew the bike would struggle. Where it looked especially difficult we would wade through first to check. Generally this worked. My bike stalled twice in deep water and had to be pushed out with help from T&L, and the Nissan got stuck on its axles in section of particularly stinking mud. Our effort with the shovel, jack and sand-ladders did nothing to budge the 2 tonne car and as we had seen no traffic all day I rode back to the last village about 1 km away to get help. They had no vehicles so a possie of 8 scrawny lads were summonsed and headed off to the car. An hour later after much revving and grunting the car was out and laura rewarded the guys with a pound each, A gerry can and a football. They were all happy with the football but when the dosh got handed over, the old fella grabbed it and the squabbling started.

By 7.30 the following morning Tom and I were covered in diesel under the Nissan fixing the fuel line that had ruptured the previous day with a length of garden hose. If anyone knows how to get diesel out of clothes please let me know. It was also confirmed to us that a bridge on the main route south was out and only the bike would be able to get across. We tried an alternative route, but the surface of the road was covered in a slippery clay that gave me no traction at all. I fell 5 times in the first hour. The third fall faster and harder ripped the right hand pannier from its frame smashing the indicator on its way. the sump guard was bent and tank bag buckle broken. I was fine just a little bruised an more muddy from sliding along the slippery clay. Thank fully the pannier fitted back on with the help of a luggage strap but with in 5 minutes i was off again. We decided to turn back and try the remaining route south which would take us to Point Noire.

The road now being used by logging trucks was better and we made good progress until:

Cameroon to Gabon

It was one of the guys that got involved in brokering my deal for 3 bananas and 2 bags of nuts that pointed it out. " Look, you have flat tyre". It was my last day in Nigeria and my first puncture of the trip.

Whilst I was expecting to have many more punctures and even to be on number 5 or 6 by now, this did nothing to cool my frustration in the midday heat. However, as is often the way in Africa there is a man (or twenty) eager to help. Within minutes we had the bike to a tyre repair man 20 yards down the street. Yes very fortunate.

White man in town always sparks a little curiosity. White man on a loaded motorbike that has broken down was a real treat and soon a crowd of onlookers had gathered. Everyone was especially curious as to the contents of my panniers and bags, and seemed ammused that i was carrying tools and a puncture repair kit. 40 minutes later i was on my way and an hour later at the Cameroon border where the sealed road finished and the dirt began.

The main road from the Nigerian border into Cameroon

I spent a clammy night in a town called Mamfe in a hotel with no power or running water and the following morning set about finding petrol. Whilst Mamfe is a reasonably sized town, the roads linking it to the south and east are too poor to consistantly take petrol tankers so there are no fuel stations in town. I was initially sent to a government depot which apparently sold fuel but there was no one around so i had to resort to the 'fungi' fuel sold in gerry cans on the street. This is imported illegally from Nigeria and is of a slightly lower quality than the fuel station 'super' but the bike didn't seem to notice the difference as we continued south on the red dirt roads through the forest.

I arrived in Limbe on the coast as the sun was setting, in time for a cold beer in a beach side restaurant where i met a Cameroonian living in Hackney. He was here on holiday with his " year old boy and visiting his 'Cameroonian' girl. I got the impression he also had a 'London Girl'. The following day was the 1st May- Labour Day and an all day booze up for the workers of the country. And me.

My rear tyre was now resembling my head and was worried about finding a decent replacement. In England i was advised to change my rear wheel for a larger 18 inch one as 18inch tyres are less rare in Africa. I had ignored this advice, primarily on cost and was now beginning to regret it. I had found good tyres in Togo but only 18inch and when i eventually found somewhere selling motorbike tyres in Cameroon i had the same result. 99 percent of motorcycles in west Africa are small Chinese bikes with small Chinese tyres, hence my difficulty. So when a mechanic rolled out a 17" rear Michelin T63 (good on dirt and acceptable on the tar) I was a very happy man. The chap sensed this and i probably paid over the odds but i didn't care.

The luxury of camping with a car-Tom and LauraIn Yaounde, the Cameroonian capital i met up again with Tom and Laura who i had ran into a couple of times since Nigeria. They are from Holland and also heading south to Cape Town albeit following a different route and in in the comfort of their Nissan Patrol 4x4. I had 5 nights in Yaounde sorting out myself and the bike: I got visas for Gabon, Congo and DRC; stocked up on cash ; washed some clothes; changed the oil and filter; fitted the new tyre; replaced the spark plug and Tom helped me check and adjust the valve clearances (easier than thought it would be). I also discovered a few problems with the front end of the bike. The bearings were knackered (now changed), part of the fork that holds the axle in place had sheared off (now fixed with some new bolts), and the front trye is wearing an a strange and uneven manner (still not sure why?)

campsite mechanics

I headed south into Gabon with my new support vehicle (the Nissan) to Libreville. We took a direct but minor road which runs close to the southern border with Equatorial Guinea, once again cutting through the thick jungle along a very interesting road- great fun on the bike a little bumpy for Tom and Laura in the car. I took my first proper fall of the trip spinning 270° on some slippery mud. Bike and rider dirty but unharmed.

After 250km with the light beginning to fade the road deteriorated further. At the fist big mud hole (about 8m long) i stopped, got off and looked for route around the edge big enough for the bike. There was none. I waited for Tom and Laura. They went through first no problem so i followed apprehensively knowing that if i slipped it would be tough work getting the bike out of the 2 foot deep sloppy mud. Anyway i made it. It wasn't pretty but i made it and the following two deep sections were much easier with my new found confidence.

I just managed to avoid this little fella crossing the road- he's about 6 inches long

Nigeria- Don't Believe the Hype

This is Sargent Ubeki and his number 2 of the Nigerian Highway Police

The Road to Lagos 24.04.07

It was a bad start to the day- following through on a fart on the way to the Nigerian border. My fist stomach upset of the trip. Apart from this and a touch of African "man-flu" in Mali, I've remained in good health. I was a little hung over too that morning, having met up with Sean again the previous night and drunk beer till the bar kicked us out at a respectable 11pm. Sean, and the previously mentioned Andy, make up the trio of overland bikers in West Africa at the moment. Andy is way ahead of me now- the draw of his wife and 3 month old daughter in Cape Town has put him on a tighter schedule. Sean on the other hand has come all the way from India on his old BMW stopping to work in Europe for a while and is no rush to get anywhere. We may meet up again further south.

The Nigerian border officials gave me a very warm welcome and relatively speaking for Africa, the whole thing was fairly efficient. And so I began the road to Lagos.

All over Africa there are road side checkpoints manned by the Police, Army, Customs or any other corrupt organisation with a uniform, all after a dash/bribe/cadeaux/"a little something for me". Nigeria seems to have more of these per km of road than anywhere else, and the most heavily armed too. The 25km stretch of road from the border to Lagos had about 20 checkpoints each manned by a group of uniformed me, each man with a weapon. I saw guys armed with rifles, pistols, machine guns, sticks and even saw one chap with a 5 wood! I would have gone for the stiffness of 9 iron myself, but each to his own.

Some vehicles pass a dash (typically 30p) to the policeman as they cruise through, others get pulled over and interrogated, whilst others whizz straight through as if immune to the police. I was expecting to be asked to pay big being the being the white tourist, but not at all. If I did get pulled over it was out of their curiosity to me and the bike and I was again greeted with smiles, handshakes and "welcome to our country". The road conditions though, were far from welcoming. The roads are in a terrible state and the drivers frantic. Here the traffic was heavy and cars and trucks would swerve violently to avoid potholes with buses and taxis stopping in in the middle of the traffic flow. Each time the traffic slowed young boys would fill the spaces between the cars selling fruit, drinks, socks, phone cards and the like. Around Lagos itself it was virtual gridlock so the motorbikes, and even some cars, would find alternative routes along the central reservation or round the back of the market stalls and piles of stinking rubbish that lined the road though the mud and sand. No rules apply, anything goes seemed to the order of the day. It was demanding riding and very tiring so i was pleased when i got through with only one slow speed collision with a mini bus. I was enjoying it though and in a great mood- pleased to be on the move again in the right direction and glad the police were my new best friends.

That night (in Benin City) i had some beers with with some students in a bar next to my hotel and chatted about the rigged elections, bent police and African women. They were saying that no one has any respect for the police - only the army.

The following day i was riding behind and old merc as i approached a checkpoint. The policeman gestured to the car to pull over. It didn't and so he raised his AK47 and pointed it into the windscreen at the driver. But rather than the stopping, the driver rolled his vehicle on slowly shouting back at the policeman who in the end let him through. I gave the powerless copper a sympathetic smile and he waved me through. I guess few of the police have ammo for their weapons and the people know this.

Going back to the African woman subject, here is a snippet of a conversation i had in a bar in Benin but is typical of many I've had in Sub-Saharan African since Ghana.

"So you have had African woman yet?"

"No.......no" I laugh knowing were this is going.

"Why not? you don't like the black women?" his tone is inquisitive not critical.

" I have a girl in England." This does nothing to discourage them.

"Achh....the Benin girls are very good. Yes, very good. You much touch one at least before you go" he laughs and gestures to the two women sat at his table and continues "even if it one of these".

Seeing that I'm unimpressed he then tries to attract the attention of girls walking down the street.

After stopping off in Calabar for 2 days to get my Cameroon Visa and change some money, i headed up in to the rain forest near the eastern border to a drill monkey sanctuary and spent a couple of days there with in the company of 2 vets (one local, one Spanish), an American zoologist and a hundred or so monkeys and chimps. The sanctuary aims to release the drill monkeys, orphaned by hunting, back into the wild but also keeps 2 communities of chimps all in large fenced off sections of the forest. The animals were very amusing. The male chimps would throw mud, sticks and coconuts at us whilst the male drills seemed more interested in sex. It is typical for them to mate every hour, and one fella i was told (and then unfortunately witnessed) masturbated at the same frequency.

This is a young male drill- smiling for the camera

This is a 3d mural that amused me on the wall to a hospital. Other panel depicted people with broken bones, so i guess this means that they can sort out your bowel problems. Sort of advertising their services

A sober fact to end on:

Nigeria has a population of 140 million people which is 20 percent of the the whole of Africa. That surprised me.

Benin

"Why should I buy some for you?" I said to the chap who had been shouting at me from across the street as I ate my deep fried dough balls.

"Why....because you are white and i am black and you have lots of money."

This conversation typifies the attitude of many of the Beninese people i have come across my the week here. Until now people have tried to extract my money by more noble means- "I wash your bike/clothes/boots", " i be your guide" or a good old fashioned scam. But here, healthy working men feel no shame in simply asking for money, something i would normally only expect from the elderly, sick, children or the very poor. Yesterday i was walking round town with a pineapple i had bought for my lunch and twice i got asked to give it away.

Nonetheless I've had an interesting time whilst waiting for the Nigerian elections to finish. (I had initially planned on riding straight through this country).

Voodoo originated in Benin and Oiudah, where I spent a day and a night, is reported to be its heartland. Voodoo was then exported to the Caribbean with the slaves that that got channelled through this town. After seeing the main sights of the town and hiring a guide to show me the the old slave road and explain Africa's own part in the slave trade, he took me to a Voodoo dance ceremony.......type thing.

Under a big old mango tree 5 guys banged constantly away on their drums, while for most of the time 5-20 rotund women danced rhythmically around the tree and parading in front of what looked the chiefs. Every so often another woman would enter the circle and lift her skirt to reveal a huge dildo which she would thrust into the 200 strong crowd who encircled the tree. Needless to say the crowd loved this and egged her on to get even more filthy! At another stage a skinny little chap entered the arena with a machete and jerked around the tree in a trance sporadically lunging at the crowd. This, needless to say again, didn't go down quite so well. The random comings and goings of various other characters went on for the 2 hours I was there. Unfortunately there were no monkey sacrifices.

With more time to kill i headed to the north of the country. I wanted to see the Samba country. This remote and fiercely independent tribe had managed to resist raiding slavers and the French colonialists, and until the 1970s walked around bollock naked. They wear clothes now but still hunt with bows and arrows and live in beautiful 2 storey mud huts that look like mini fortresses with thatched towers in each corner.

After riding along many of the tracks that link up these dwellings (feeling very intrusive whilst doing so) I eventually found the place i had planned to sleep that night. It was closed, only lizards occupied the sleeping building and it looked unused for months. To make matters worse, my biking jacket that had been tucked under a strap on the back of the bike had come off. I back tracked to where i had last seen it but it was gone.

My plan was to take a guide from the camp i had hoped to stay at to show me around some of these unique buildings. As my own attempts to communicate with the Samba was not received well, I headed back to town, mission failed and minus the jacket. Back towards the town a crowd of about 50 had gathered around one such house just off the track. Children were shouting from the roof over the sound of the drums (yes always drums). I stopped to take it all in and was surprised to be invited over by one of the few french speakers there and offered some murky brown, still fermenting, home brew. It was a funeral and the party was centered around the dead mans house. After paying the chief a couple of quid i was taken to the roof of the house where i was proudly shown a freshly slaughtered cow. Part of the cow had was being paraded and danced around outside as a sacrifice. I think the rest was to be feasted on later that evening.

This is the beer tent

After another slurp on the home brew i was given a go on one of the drums. I think they were laughing at me rather than with me but it was certainly a crowd pleaser. I handed back control of the drum and bid farewell. I think they wanted me to leave so they could start doing all the really freaky stuff. A few chaps asked for some more money but i settled on giving an old fella lift home. I normally refuse to give lifts as i am worried about my rear suspension which is already carrying a lot of load and bottoms out over rough terrain, but i could hardly refuse on this occasion. Now it squeaks.

The sky was getting darker with thick clouds rode back and i just managed to get back to town and into a bar before the heavens opened, the rain making a deafening din on the corrugated iron roof. The streets were suddenly deserted.

Im back on the south coast again now in Porto Novo. I changed my oil again yesterday for the second time this trip in the hope that it would alleviate the sloppy gear changing/transmission that I have been having. The jury is is still out as whether it worked. I was hoping to wait until Yaounde, Cameroon to do the oil change where I hopefully have a new oil filter waiting in Post Restante. But with some rough roads in Cameroon before i get to Yaounde and with 10,000 miles on clock since London I thought it would be prudent to do it now and just clean the existing oil filter.

I will need to find a new rear tyre in Yaounde if not before. Ive been warned that 17 inch tyres are hard to come by in Africa so who knows what i will end up with.

Change in landscape pic, and beard update for Ollie.

I really enjoyed Ghana. I'm not sure if its the fact that most people speak some form of English, the change in landscape or perhaps the people i met. I could have stayed longer, but as with trips like this one there are always opposing thoughts about the plan. On one hand i'm thinking i may never come here again so should make sure i see everything, on the other I feel this pull south to complete my "mission".

My first full day in Ghana gave me what i had been wanting for the previous three weeks- some rain to clear the air. In much of Mali and Burkina the constant heat haze combined with dust obscured the sky and in the cities this became thick with the addition of diesel fumes from 20 year old trucks and 2 stoke mopeds. The rain, heavy and sudden took me by surprise. My waterproofs, redundant for 6 weeks were deep in my panniers and i got soaked and even felt refreshingly cold for while. The Sahel Landscape gradually gave way to lush tropical rolling hills with quaint colourful villages nestled into the forest. Each village has a clearing for a football pitch with the size depending of the size of the village. The use of timber for building huts houses was noticeable after the north where a lack of trees means mud bricks are the construction material of choice in the rural areas.

A couple of days later i hit the south coast at a place called Cape Coast. This was the former British capital of the region formally known as Cape Coast and a major port for the slave trade. I had lunch here at a beachfront restaurant with a couple of British expats who offered to fix me up with a job. They are working on a port extension project in the east of Ghana and by all accounts loving the expat life style. It was Easter weekend so they were spending their time off on a beach bar crawl down the coast with their driver waiting diligently in the 4x4.

I was going to stay here but when the police turned up, due to a Dutch tourist getting here phone stolen, i decided to move on. And i'm glad I did as I ended up here:

This is one of those gems that could easily hook you in for a week or more. A collection of bungalows, a bar and restaurant on a remote section of pristine beach. Its owned and run by a British couple and due to the Easter break was full- luckily i had my own tent. Most of the people staying here, in fact most of the westerners i met in Ghana, were either volunteers, aid workers or expats. There are as many aid and religious organisations there as anywhere else in the world (according to my guide book).

After a couple of days of lounging, swimming and playing volleyball i reluctantly left. I wanted to get to the capital Accra when the Nigerian Embassy opened on the Tuesday to apply for my Visa.

Christianity is the main religion down here and is noticeable everywhere. Many of the businesses are titled on this theme, so you get things like: "Jesus Shines Mechanical Services" and "God is Love Printing". Or a taxi will have "2 wrongs make no right" emblazoned across the back window.

Here's a work related pic of a train station in Trakadi. As you can see, the tracks make a lovely pathway! Shortly after taking it I was asked by a chap why i was taking the picture. He claimed it was a breach of security, but as I worked "in the industry" it would be OK.

I'm now in Lome, Togo in an internet cafe supplied by a very noisy generator. The power here is so erratic that that the cafe could not operate with out it. Whilst waiting for a machine i cast my eyes around the various screens to see what people were up to and chatted to others waiting. It soon became apparent that most of them were Nigerians busy scouring European web sites for contacts to e-mail with some bullshit story to facilitate some kind of scam.

It was good to get their views/advice on the potential trouble in Nigeria foll elections this weekend and again on the 21st. The feeling seems to be hold tight and wait. I think i will follow their advice.

Go back to Burkina

dWell my attempt to get a Ghana visa on the border failed. The Ghanaian border police said they were just not able to issue me a visa, and it seemed any hints of paying extra was not going to change that. I was going to try the 'we used to own you' line and then thought better of it.
So after getting myself and the bike stamped out of Burkina i had to drive back in, and I thought, get a new visa. Fortunately the immigration guys were sympathetic and just stamped me back in and the customs chaps waved me through. Sweet. That was the silver lining to the cloud of having to turn back and head north. Which i really wasn't happy about.

With time on my hands before the Embassy opened today (yesterday was a national holiday for Mohamed's birthday) i headed up to a national park and spent the following morning watching elephants eat, wash, wallow and pull branches off of trees, all from the small campment with a restaurant and bar.

So back in the capital now, a little hung over after joining in the birthday celebrations yesterday ( yes, surprisingly everyone was out on the beer yesterday) and trying to escape the heat in an internet cafe but the air conditioning is groaning I'm dripping sweat on to the keyboard.

Andy has gone ahead (he had his visa) and i will meet him on a beach in Ghana. We will travel through Nigeria together and see how it goes from there. He to is headed for Cape town.

I have repeatedly been warned about travel in Nigeria, firstly by a Spanish businessman who imports chinese building materials all over the continent except there. Then by someone from the World Food Programme. And then by Nigerians themselves! We will try and blast though in 4 days. I have to start operating on high security mode something that I've not needed since Brixton. Every where so far i've felt very safe, even in the cities at night, and never really worry about the bike.

Tomorrow its pick up my passport and head south. Again.

Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso,

Pronounced Waggadoogoo, or simply Wagga, is the capital of Burkina Faso. Whilst not somewhere that I'd want to spend too much time, i am glad of the slightly more prosperous environment. In Mali it was sometimes difficult to find cold drinks meals etc. Primarily because outside the tourist areas there was no demand for such things- the villagers could not afford bottled water and to pay for meals. Here there cold Fanta everywhere- i love it.

From Bamako and my last posting i basically headed north east roughly following the towns and sights along the Niger River finishing up in Timbuktu before heading south to where i am now.

Ive been getting more adventurous too, venturing off the main routes and onto what my map calls minor roads/tracks. In reality these vary between a good graded dirt road to a jumble of bicycle and cart tracks connecting various villages. The route i took on my first day out of Bamako fell into this latter category to such an extent that by 5pm i realised that i was never going to reach Segou, my destination before dark. And so as i pitched my tent by the river lit a fire and cooked up my emergency camping food (bought in England) to the sound of the crickets. I had a real 'cowboy moment' and felt very pleased with myself. Then at 3am i was awoken by what i thought was some kind of very dangerous creature trying to get into the tent. Lighting my lighter and generally making a noise didn't seem to put the thing off so i let it be, by this time realising that it was probably just some harmless river vole or something equally tame.

A couple of nights later i was having dinner with Fritz and Andrew. German and US Embassy guys up from Bamako for the weekend. Fritz keeps a bike in Mali so he was all ears about my plans and wanted to know all about the bike and good routes in the country. Andrew on the other hand was super cautious about travelling anywhere, something partly drilled into him by his embassy who, for example, would not let him drive to Timbuktu for fear of bandits in the desert. There are no Foreign Office warnings to this effect and tourists trickle up there often enough in the winter.

This time of year however the temperatures in Mali hover around the low 40s making doing anything after 10am very hard work. It was with this in mind that I kept changing my mind about going up to Timbuktu.

Reasons against were:

It would mean heading directly north which is against my general flow.

Its too hot, i need to get south where its is cooler.

The route is reputed to be very hard work.

Not much exists of the old Timbuktu and the current town is generally uninteresting.

Reasons for were:

I'm within 400km- this is the best opportunity I'll ever get to go

I'll only regret not going if i don't.

So i went.

The pic at the top is from the first, nice part of the route. After that the road deteriorated into heavy corrugations across flat Sahel landscapes. Corrugations, for those that haven't experienced them, are when the road surface forms a washboard like surface causing the bike/car/ lorry and passengers a very bumpy and noisy journey and feels like the vehicle is being shaken apart. The effect can be minimised by driving at 50mph which tends to let the vehicle skim across the top of each ridge. However, at this speed on a a bad road it gives little time to react to the random pot holes and patches of sand that keep cropping up. At least the track was easy to follow so i made good time.

Of the 5 vehicles i passed on that road that day, one was Andy Bell, Another British biker on his way to Cape Town. We arranged to meet here in Ouagadougou.

The final part of the journey is to cross the river Niger by ferry. The day before i was there this truck had a break failure.

Well i made it to Timbuktu, and as expected it was a bit of a hole. But hey.....Ive ridden my bike there and I'm kind of proud of that.

Douenza- Koro (my last day in Mali)

This was a great day of riding. I had hired Mousa, a local guide with a bike, for the morning to take me round some 'Dogon vilages'. One of the villages was perched up on the cliffs of an escarpment. Historically they are there to escape the fighting on the plains, now it means that they live a very remote life which remains largely unchanged. The most disturbing thing for me was the sight of a man with his hands and feet chained together. Apparently the chief of this village knows his stuff about mental illness and the chained up chap was being 'treated'.

Mousa and i parted i headed south to the border town of Koro along a sandy track that linked many beautiful and untouched villages. The tracks generally ran right through the center of the villages along narrow corridors impassable for a car almost into peoples yard's. I always felt like i was intruding - loud bike and trail of dust- but the villagers were without exception pleased to see me. When i showed these children below the picture they went ballistic with excitement, juping up and down in a frenzy.

Tomorrow Andy and i set off for Ghana where they speak English- horay. I am a little unsure how it will go though as i havent got a visa. I got to the Ghana Embassy as it was closing on friday. They said they could proccess my visa, but due to the weekend and a holiday on Monday, it would not be ready untill Tue 2pm. Not wanting to hang here till tuesday I thought i'd try and get one on the border. This is not the norm but im sure its possible for the right price. Watch this space.

Greetings From Balmy Bamako

They don't call it a dirt road for nothing.

I'm currently laying up for a few days in Bamako, Mali's bustling and very humid capital. I need to change the oil and clean the air filter, do some washing and rest my sore ass ( from the riding that is). Beer is also widely available here.

Tonight i am heading out to shake the afore mentioned sore ass to some Bamako beats with Umar the Hoteliers brother . I've got a feeling there won't be any other white faces there so should be interesting if nothing else.

Ive done a lot of miles since my last post so i'll break it down.

South through Mauritania

Haakon and i had a couple of long but easy days ride down to the Mauri border and crossed relatively painlessly. Actually I had a small problem (though the army chap thought it was a major problem) in that my visa was not due to start until 1st April and it was still March. I thought he was leading towards a sly bribe but after an hours wait when he eventually spoke to his boss in town he stamped my passport and sent me through. When i say through i mean from one ramshackled wooden hut to the next which housed the customs guys- again in military uniforms.

In Nouadibou Haakon and i decided to go our separate ways he to the east and i to the south to the capital Nouachott. Another long stretch though the desert. I set off early with a full tank hoping to top up after 100km in a small settlement but soon learned at a police check point that there was no petrol at this town- only diesel. So i back tracked 40km to pick up a 5l gery can. In the end i managed the 450km without it. Ce la vie.

It was a beautiful ride. The landscape here was much more sandy than further north. Rolling dunes and flat planes spoiled but the many wrecked cars that litter this 2 year old road.

On the road I bumped into a nutty french chap id met in town who is cycling across Africa on a recumbent bike with a trailer. I didn't think too much of it town but when i saw him on the road crawling along, the differing nature of his journey realty struck me. It would take him 5 days to cover what i did in 1. Thats a lot of water to carry!

The further south the more sandy and less rocky it got. It was reasuring to me that when ever i pulled over for a break, a truck or a pick-up with a camel in the back would pull over to see if i needed assistance.

And then a few hours later came across these italians on Harley's. Making use of the newley sealed road now running all the way to Dakar.

East through Mauritania to the Mali Border

This proved to be a bit of a slog. There is now a sealed road that go's all the way and passes through some of the poorest villages and towns of this very poor country. The first morning i ran into some french travellers who i had met in my hotel Nouakchott. One of there cars had hit a pot whole at full speed and broke one front wheel. We lunched together on rice and camel intestine, served local style on a tray. Every one sits on the floor around the try and gets stuck in with their hands.

Hitting livestock has now become a 'real and present danger'. The road here was littered with animal carcases- goat, donkey, cow and camel. Hit by cars- mainly at night i was told. I reminded myself of one of my basic rules- never travel at night. So what happens later that day? i find myself crawling through the darkness at 30mph scanning the periphery of my headlight for animal movement. I was 100k from Kiffa, the the only town in the area, so it was push on or free camp in the bush with water but little food.

The next day i planned to changed my rear tyre (hooray no more carrying tyres), fill up with fuel, water and some food, then head for the Mali border. I eventually found the only fuel station in town selling petrol as (opposed to diesel) only to learn they had an electrical problem. The guys were confident they could fix it, so i waited........and waited......for 5 hours i waited and then realised i was stuck in this dusty, end of the earth town for another night and so went back and re pitched my tent. There was no other petrol between there and Mali.

You can' fit quicker than a quick fit fitter! Actually I had do half the job. There are no motercycles in this round here so it was all new to them and we had to use my tools. I dont think i got my 1200 Ougius worth (4 euro)

The following day i returned to find the guys smiling. No they hadn't fixed the fault but the 'Grand Technician' of the petrol company was coming to town to fix it. At ten thirty he rolled in and within an hour I was fuelled up and on my way.

The the terrain is flatter and drier, the villages and towns further apart and the police checkpoints more frequent. Welcome to the desolate Provence of Western Sahara.

From here it is a 2 day, 1,000km ride to the Mautanian border. A potentially tedious ride as the road is good and straight and the scenery consistent- flat stony desert with the occasional glimpse of of the Atlantic crashing into the the rocky shore to the right. But rather than than view it tedious i will adopt my uncles philosophy (who is currently sailing from asia to europe). He prefers to think of it as "timeless".

Haakon, the Norwegian finally arrived in Merzouga 4 days ago, and so together we set off for Tagounite. A 240km off road route. For us an introduction to test our riding and navigation skills. Within the hour we had taken a wrong turn, got a little lost and i had dropped my bike down a dry river bank. Fortunately only cosmetic damage. This is me struggling through a deep sandy section. In fact its a river bed.

And this our camp.

I need to go and eat now, but ill try and write more later

Fez to Merzouga

I had planned to take 2 days to do this journey, but the scenery was so damn good and i was enjoying the riding so much after 4 days in Fez i couldnt bring myself to stop. the route took me through the Atlas Mountains, across semi desert plains and then over the arid Anti Atlas onto the Northern Fringes of the Sahara. I arived in what i thought was the village of Merzouga in the dark and fortunately stumbled across a nice little auberge

Id like to upload more pics from that day but i dont think broad band has reached thius town yet so the uploading is very very slow. Painfully slow.

Hi from Fez

I've spent much of the last 4 days on the roof terrace of my hotel in central Fez, soaking up the sunshine, chatting, reading, route planning, watching the comings and goings in the market below and generally being a lazy bum. Nice. I have managed to procure some wine though from the out of town hypermarket. All the alcohol is in a separate section with its own till and side exit, so i felt like a dirty alcoholic as i exited with my 2 cold beers and bottle of Moroccan Cab Sav.

I rushed back to the hotel (well you wouldn't want a warm beer) and cracked open the beers on the sunny terrace- the first for a week. The wine got savoured that evening with the other english residents. 'Alright after the fist glass' was the verdict.

Fez is great. Miles of little alley ways full of shops, butchers, cafes, donkeys and a few hustlers to boot. Time to move on though. I leave first thing in the morning for the desert and the dunes of merzouga. The bike is spotless, thanks to the car park attendant who gave it good scrub this morning. Actually he scammed me a bit but i didn't argue with the man as he is looks after the bike every night. And we're only talking a couple of quid after all.

Now i can't turn this pic around but i wanted to put it on anyway. It shows the tanneries where all the leather and other animal hides are treated then dyed. It was stinking as they use pigeon poo, cow piss and fish oils amongst other things in the dyes.

being a tourist.......

Since my last post i continued south up into the Rif Mountains to Chefchauen, a pretty little town in the heart of Moroccans infamous dope growing area and a hot favourite for euro dread locked warriors who seemed to make up half of the tourists there.

I put myself into a cosy little guesthouse with a couple of German students, a slightly mad old french artiste and a French Canadian couple who are taking a break from their cycling tour of Spain (bonjour si vous etes dire)

With crappy cold weather and with plenty of time on my hands before meeting Haakon in Fez (Haakon is the Danish chap that i will be doing the Sahara leg of the journey with.) I west west to the Atlantic coast. Where the weather was crappy and cold.....

but only for a bit...
So I decided to test the Maroccan campsites and threw my lot in with the Franco- Germanic moter home brigade, who seem to swarm down the Atlantic coast in search of the sunshine that may have escaped the Med. Some come on there own others as part of a tour- the only prerequisite is grey hair and a love of washing your vehicle. Not a bad way to spend the winter though.

The last couple of nights i spent in a campsite on the outskirts of Rabat, the political capital, and put the time to good use by getting my visa for Mali at their embassy there. The biggest van on the site yesterday actually belonged to a retired couple from Manchester who had sold up, house and all never to return to blighty- at least that's what they're claiming 3 months in.

Now for a nation of non drinkers they are (the males that is) an aggressive bunch. I was sat in a cafe on the square in Chefchauen have my breaky, when an argument broke out between the owner of my cafe and the owner the adjacent cafe. My chap, who i was backing, was accusing the other chap of touting for business on "his" piece of pavement. My chap then throws his glass of mint tea at the other- narrowly missing his head and it all kicks off. And this is not an isolated incident. Where i parked my bike yesterday there where 2 scuffles in the space of 15 minutes. Mind you, i was also offered "fuckie fuckie" there so perhaps that was just a dodgy area.

The bike is running sweetly, only one little panic when the engine ground to a halt 2 days ago. Fortunately, it was only air intake to the fuel tank that had pinched so i was on my way in no time.

I had a great journey up to Fez today. The scenery changing over every hill. Here are some pics for your viewing pleasure:

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The blog title is finally true

And this was supposed to the easy border crossing!

I arrived at Moroccan immigration at midday today and finally rode over the border at 6pm; by the way this keyboard is not a standard qwerty type, so some of the letters are in different places and i can,t find the full stop; i will use the ;

It was all going swimmingly at immigration; after a previous visit, they had all my details on computer; but also after a previous visit they had a record of me bringing in a 1981 mk& vw golf into the country(the Plymouth Dakar Rally), so when i got to customs they expected me have the exit paper for the vehicle from 2 years ago!

I was immediately referred to the chief of customs who was currently dealing with a couple who had attempted to smuggle about 60 cartons of wine over the border under the seats of a clapped out Renault; No exit paper= no come in was his response, and off he stormed; He thought i had sold the golf in Morocco without paying the import duty;

After having previously shrugged off all the so called fixers/helpers, thinking i can do this on my own, i had to skulk back to them for help; but all all they suggested was to get hold of this damn exit paper! One chap said he could the computer for 80 euros but only at 7pm another helpfully recommended ; I rode back into Spanish soil, had a beer, some tapas, forged a sales receipt for the car (allegedly faxed from my dad), brushed up my French, rode back and had another bash;

after another hour i was though and incredibly relieved; Didn't make it to where i wanted to today-I'm in Tetouan- but have dined on fresh fish and even had a couple of beers; a rare treat over here; So all good in the end

No pics today; just keeping a low profile;

besselama

What all that stuff on the bike?

Many of the folk i´ve met so far have asked "what´s all that stuff you carrying.....do you need all of that?". Well my few days here in Alhurin have given me the opportunity to take stock of my possessions and dispose of some unnecessary ones. Here they are (minus the dirty laundry):

Left Pannier- 20kg- My dirty stuff:
Engine oil, brake fluid, chain oil, water bottles, tyre levers, air compressor, spares, bike manual, box of handy stuff, first aid kit, tool kit, puncture repair kit, tyre pump, tyre pressure gauge, waterproofs and lucky rag.

Right Pannier- 10kg- mainly camping stuff:
stove, pot, silk sleeping liner, spare inner tubes, water filter, mosquito net, 5l water carrier, maps, foldable plate-bowel-cup (as seen on "Dragons Dens"), chess set, box of useful stuff (cables, playing cards etc), washing up liquid, Johnson's baby powder (for tyre changing only-honest guvnor), hot weather riding gloves and frisbee.

Tank Bag-6kg- on the road essentials:
Maps, compass, guide book, trashy novel, GPS, phone, pens, torch, sun glasses, memory sticks, camera, leatherman, i-pod, 12V charging leads for aforementioned technology, passport, carnet de passage, V5, journal and address book

Big Red-about 10kg-soft and not too heavy gear:
Tent, sleeping bag, thermarest, clothing, underwear, goggles, flip flops and lucky pants.

And lets forget the pain in the @rse off road tyres. These will be fitted in Mauritania when the sealed roads end, at which point i will say goodbye to the current tyres.

I leave the relaxed environment of Southern Spain for Morocco on Tueday. So the next update should be from Fez at the begining of March. Ta Tar.....

The European Bit

At 2pm toady i was eating my lunch in the sunshine in my shorts and flip flops, nut its not been quite so smooth.

After emotional farewells in Tunbridge Wells and London I bowled up at the docks in Portsmouth on Sunday 12th Feb to be told my ferry was cancelled due to bad weather over the Bay of Biscay. I was to either head home and wait for the next ferry in 3 days or take another crossing to France. I took the latter, arriving in St Malo, Britannny at 5am and headed south with my new biker mates i´d met on the ferry.

Within 3 miles they had shot off ahead and i found myself being buffeted across the autoroute by the very same winds that had cancelled my ferry to Bilbao. And precisely the reason i had opted to miss out France and head straight for Spain. For the first day of my trip it was roller coaster of a day both physically, due to the weather and lack of sleep, and emotionally- I was questioning my decision for doing the trip and felt deeply alone and very down about the whole adventure. This must have been a little mind tantrum as by the late afternoon the sun was out, i was on the back roads and casting long shadows over the vineyards of bordeau singing along to the Chili Peppers. The trip was good again.

I spent the night in in the lovely rambling Le Chateaux Gatte, St Andre Cubzac. A vineyard and B&B.

The following morning I had a good run through to Spain, stopping for lunch on the beach near Biaritz. The bikers round these parts liked to give me a strange below salute as they rode past. Is this a local kind of ¨hello fellow biker¨, a respect to amount of crap i´m carrying or disrespecting the my low speed and British number plates. I took it to be former and waved back.

Now i left my Spanish ¨Roughguide¨ which i was relying on for the language section at the back in England, so whilst Spain got warmer, especially as i descended on to the Med coast, i found i was embarrassingly lacking on the language side. I persevered on cervaza and cafe negro and arrived at Dad´s yesterday very hungry!

As you can see below (photo by Dad) the weather here is perfect, and i´m finishing off the bike jobs that did´t get done in the UK-i.e. changing the fork oil and renewing the clutch cable.

Moving Out

I moved out of my flat today and into the master double en suite of a nice little B&B in Tunbridge Wells and spread all my gear out. Its even got a garage/workshop for the bike! My new tenants seem to have settled in my flat - all good.

First Post

Well its 4 weeks till the big off, so time to get this blog up and running. I plan to update it every week or so, or when the local technology permits.

I suppose i should start with the plan:

Leave London 12th Feb ish

Ferry to Spain. Drop in on Shane (an old work buddy who's started a family and a donkey farm in the Basque lands) then a few days ride to Dads in Alhurin el Grande, Andalucia. The journey should be a good test for the fully laden bike and and at Dads i'll have the oportunity to fix any glitches/work on the bike in the warm med sunshine rather than the front yard of a london terrace house.

Ferry to Morroco. Then head over the Atlas Mountains, via Fez, to the dessert area in the east of the country. Here i can try out the bike on rough semi desert pistes in relatively populated areas before hitting the Sahara proper further south. I'll generally be heading south to Mauritania.

Mauri is where the sahara will start for me. The pistes deteriorate and i'll ditch the current tyres and put on the off road knobly tyres. Hopefully these will last till Togo where i am told there is a decent bike shop. I plan to head east after crossing the border almost following some train tracks that head out to an iron ore mine. I won't be going there but to the desert towns of Chinguitti and Atar.

I haven't planned to much detail after this but the following countries should see my grubby face:
Mali (incl Timbuctu)
Burkin Faso
Togo (give the bike a service)
Benin
Nigeria
Cameroon
Gabon
Congo
Democratic of Congo
Angola
Namibia
South Africa