Livingstone and the Spectacular Mosi/Vic Falls

9 January: Tanzania – ferry from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam & Iringa

By the time we left Zanzibar I was well rested and raring to go. Of course, it would not be that simple, as Paul’s suspension was still broken and that had to be resolved. Via someone we met at Maweni farm we were able to make contact with a “bike shop”. Of course a BMW shock was not in stock but they suggested taking the shock off in the morning and seeing if it could be fixed. I was sceptical. My scepticism was well founded as it was not a simple job to remove the shock in the first place. By noon the shock was still not off and I had to walk away from the situation leaving Paul with two guys ripping the guts of his bike out in a dirty, stinky, chaotic, cramped little space. By the afternoon a second-hand Yamaha mono-shock had been sourced but it was the wrong size. I didn’t say much, except that there was no going back if this “fix” didn’t work as Paul agreed to have his BMW shock chopped and bits welded to the other shock to make it fit. If it worked it would be a crude fix and would probably get us to SA if we stuck to good roads. The rest of the day I read a gigantic novel that was meant to last me much longer. By 10pm the bike was re-assembled and worked. The suspension wasn’t perfect, but it would go. Paul looked at me like I was ye of little faith.

In Africa there are many mechanics that will happily bodge about till something works. They work in workshops that would make a Health and Safety Officer faint. I find this stressful to watch as these guys scramble about using broken tools to man-handle the machines... I guess the point is that a fix is available. The alternative is to have parts sent from UK or SA and fit them yourself (there are no BMW mechanics except for Nairobi).

Finally, the next morning we were on the road again. The countryside in Tanzania is just beautiful and the road was excellent except for the bus drivers who are completely mad. They drive like lunatics and this is not because of their superior skill – there were plenty of wreckages to testify that they are simply bad drivers with a really bad attitude.

Anyway, we got to Iringa and along with the increase of altitude to 800m there was a disproportionate increase in rain. It seemed that every time we got a little bit drier, it was only a matter of hours and we’d be soaked again. The rain continued so much so that we stayed an extra day.

This extra day gave Paul his first opportunity to see a real live snake in the wild. We walked back to our safari tent after a very entertaining evening with some lively guests and the owners Will and his Liverpudlian wife Amanda who kept me giggling with her brassy humour. I noticed a little grey snake outside the toilets. It looked pretty harmless but before I got myself into a vulnerable position in the loos, I stamped the ground to check the snake’s response. It turned in an aggressive way to face my foot. That indicated to me that it wasn’t a harmless little mole snake and I was just thankful it was cold so the snake was too sluggish to strike. Sensible Paul suggested we tell Will who marched off with a torch and stick. A few minutes later he came back swinging a juvenile cobra by its tail. Its pretty body glistening and smooth but minus its head.

13 January: Malawi – Koronga, Livingstonia, Chintheche & Lilongwe

In my experience, at borders it’s always necessary to keep you eye on your possessions as well as your carnet and passport. Kenya and Tanzania are well known for corruption. We managed to get through ok but we did have an official try to get us to pay for road tax that we know on motorcycles we don’t have to pay. In this instance we insisted we knew the correct legislation and politely refused suggesting we are only in transit this avoided backing the dodgy fellow into a corner. Never back a corrupt official into the corner or call him corrupt! Another common trick is to tear off the wrong carnet slip which will then be used as proof that you sold your vehicle and I’d be liable to pay import taxes loosing my deposit held at the RAC. The guy tried this one too but I noticed and politely told him he was trying to tear off the wrong page. He sullenly tore off the correct one. I’ve also gone into offices on my own where the men refuse to help me but as soon as Paul goes in they are helpful. That is just men being twats – so the solution is to be assertive and insist on being treated in a way you expect them to behave (even if they don’t like it). I’ve been asked how much money I have and have asked why they need to know. It’s the “curse of the mzungu”: we get to pay, pay and pay some more. So I always check and ask why. I think it helps that I’m a bit more forward and cheeky, friendly but show I’ll question strange requests and ask for receipts or documentation. We haven’t paid a single bribe or “thank you tip” (so far). Keep your eyes open and always ask if you think something is wrong. Do not assume these people 1. Know what they are doing and 2. Have your best interests at heart. If the guy made an honest mistake he will rectify the problem. Well. We haven’t had problems crossing borders (so far).

I went off onto a tangent about border crossings because at the Tanzania border there is a little counter that could squeeze four tourists shoulder to shoulder but behind the counter there were nine uniformed officials. All of them were trying to check cards, three would read it, while one would tick it and the single official stamp got passed up and down. It’s not possible to call that job creation – it’s just crazy.

Malawi and it RAINED AGAIN.

The weather may have been unwelcoming but we certainly received the warmest welcome possible when we arrived at Mdokera’s Camp in Chitimba. Mr Mdokera reminded of me of Chris Ewbanks who is an eccentric British boxer. Just this guy is a whole lot sweeter and is utterly passionate about his country, family, photo album and camp. He got quite a few smiles out of me, even though at times I just didn’t quite know what to say.

It seemed a great idea at the time. Livingstonia is a 15 km ride up a steep mountain road and the views are meant to be extraordinary. We’d blast up and pending weather, see some stuff before coming down the next day. Ah. As expected it was a dirt road that got progressively gravely. We’d only gone about 5 km when the hair pins got unbelievably tight and rocky. My bike was fully loaded, including extra fuel and so I was struggling. I said to Paul, “This could be a really stupid idea.” However, we still continued on the snaking road upwards.

We seemed to be near the top of the mountain when the road turned to hard, slippery clay. And then the rain really started. The road was like ice. I couldn’t even put my feet down as they too would just slip away under me. So I dropped the bike. Frustration set in. I couldn’t manage to ride the heavy bike and I couldn’t lift it either. I dropped it again and again. By now the rain was pouring down and the road was more like a river. I just stood in the rain, utterly soaked through, and refused to get back on the bike until the rain subsided. It was so dangerous and as I couldn’t control my bike, it was so possible to slip off the edge of the cliff. I was really afraid. It was the first time I was afraid of having a really serious accident.

Paul had gone ahead and found a small shelter where we would be able to wait for the rain to stop and rode my bike up… It was a 2 km ride up to Livingstonia or a 13 km ride down again. I was faced with what seemed like two equally horrible options – clay upwards or hairpins downwards. The rain went on for ages. I finally decided that 2 km was far better than 13 – surely.

Eventually the local chap we’d been talking to said, “Go, while there is still water running down the road. You must ride in the water to keep the tyres from getting coated with clay.” With him coaxing me, I got back on the bike. I was dreading the last 2 km. I was wobbling like crazy and the bike was sliding about. But this complete stranger walked behind me, encouraging me. “I’m right behind you.” he’d say. “Keep going. I’m still holding you.” I don’t quite understand why this guy was so kind to walk up a steep, clay road in the rain balancing my bike and keeping me going but I was (and am still) eternally grateful. Some people are blessed with the ability to be extraordinarily kind and once again I realised that I’m being looked after and my trip was destined to be a safe one. It would have been so easy for me to fall and slide off the edge.

At the top we reached Stone House but our troubles were not over yet. We were bluntly told that the place was fully booked and we couldn’t stay there. I insisted we sit down for a bit and rest before asking if there were any options like camping. A cheery American voice announced: “Hey! There are two motorbikes.”
“Great.” I thought. “And now to be entertaining and polite to these people when all I need to do is have a drink, dry out and figure out what to do next.”
I could hardly walk for my legs wobbling with exhaustion. Then Rob came over, introduced himself, and said we should stay as they had booked the place and we could stay with them. I couldn’t believe how kind they were. I think they were genuinely concerned for our well being. I was dead beat. Not only did they sort us out with a dry bed but also insisted that we were fed and helped carry our luggage and fussed about us. I was just amazed that we’d been welcomed so warmly.

The Americans continued with their meetings while I had time to pull myself together. I found out that they were from the Presbyterian Church and were busy researching the setting up of a mission centre. Livingstonia was turning out to be quite an interesting visit after all. The town was established by a missionary called Dr Laws who succeeded Dr Livingstone. The town itself is small and sleepy but sill revolves around the original Christian settlement. There is a quirky museum, church and Stone House that was the actual house that Dr Laws lived in along with some of the original furniture.

This sounds really corny but every minute with our Christian friends was a warm and happy one. I felt so embraced by kindness and love – it’s just silly to describe. Admittedly, I was feeling thankful to be alive and aware that God had protected and provided for me once again.

We could not stop talking. It was lovely! We chatted, discussed and theorised. We shared stories and ideas. It was so good to speak so openly about so many things. We’d already decided that if the weather was dry all night and sunny in the morning we would have to make the trip down the mountain while we had the chance. It was sunny and dry the next day. I felt very sad to be leaving. I’d just found a handful of the nicest people in the world and I wanted to cling to their friendship for as long as possible… but it was time to go.

Back down the slippery clay road and down the hairpin gravel roads. Paul was a gallant hero and took my bike around some of the tighter pins. I was feeling too tense and so whimped out. I wondered what I would have done if I was on my own (as originally I’d planned to do the trip on my own). I would have had to take the luggage off and possibly either walk it down or hitch a lift for the extra weight. Anyway. I wasn’t on my own and Paul was supportive and butch enough to manage the burden of travelling with me.

After the intense Livingstonia experience we spent two days on the shores of Lake Malawi in a luxurious resort. It was extremely peaceful.

We’d been on the road for six months already. I was already a bit, no completely, sick of rain. I was feeling ready to do something else. I’d been thinking about what I’d do with my life when I got back home and the bikes were starting to really fall to pieces. Even the most amazing experience can be too much of a good thing. Fortunately, the roads improved and so we could really make some good progress without any particularly exciting tales to tell. Only one thing worth mentioning is that we nearly ran out of fuel because we’d become too accustomed to fuel in every town – and Malawi doesn’t have that much fuel about. Luckily we still carried a few extra litres and it got us there on the sniff of an oil rag.

20 January: Zambia – Lusaka, Livingstone & Mosi

The whole point of going to Zambia was to see the mighty Vic Falls near Livingstone. We kind of blasted there on fairly good roads. By this time Paul’s second battery had completely died and he had to rely on my bike to jump start his bike constantly.

I prefer to use the original local names and so the Vic Falls are also known as Mosi-oa-Tunya which means “smoke that thunders”. It’s easy to remember because Mosi is also the local beer. The falls are one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

It’s an exhilarating experience seeing the falls that span 2 km and plummet over a 100m cliff. The spay from the churning water flies up into the sky like a rain cloud that drenches tourists who all seem to have enigmatic bright eyes and can’t help smiling. It’s as if they have found the secret. It kind of bursts a big whoop out of you. As I walked down a small path through the undergrowth and I could hear the thunderous roar grow. The gentle spray eventually became a thorough down pour. Standing on the viewing point, water pouring down, water flying up and thunder roaring, having reached the crescendo I shouted, “Now that is a WATERFALL!”

The trip is not finished yet and I’m not sure what tomorrow brings but so far, my most special memories are: diving in the Red Sea, Auschwitz and Mosi (in no specific order as they are all the best).

Paul probably has a different favourites list. He did the adrenalin thing here and I suspect that would get onto his list of extreme experiences. For me… I had a wild and hectic youth that I enjoy thinking about and now the mature me is enjoying being laid back and not having to do it all over again.

Various Camping Tips and Ideas

I was about to start writing this section but then I realised that I am so not passionate about camping! So I will leave this section to Paul to write as he is actually interested in this stuff.

Over to Paul:

Ok – it’s not that exciting, but we’ve learned some stuff that may be useful…. but if you’re planning to stay in 5 star hotels you can skip most of this.

Essential pieces of kit:
• Head-torch
• A Leatherman or Swiss Army knife
• Ortleib roll bags - Water proof (but not bullet proof) – kept our sleeping bags dry.
• A kikoy, i.e. a square of material – you can sleep on it, under it, use it on beach, as a towel, even wear it.
• Bathroom plug
• Elastic washing line - twisted elastic line (Life Adventure) – used every day.
• Flip-flops for showers/toilets – just trust me on this one.
• Small calculator that has a programmable exchange function – we’ve been through a dozen or so currencies and it takes the guess work out of how many zeroes to plug in whilst standing at the ATM!
• Nationwide current account (zero charges for withdrawing currencies from ATMs)

Main Stuff:

Tent
We bought a lightweight (2.4kg), easy to assemble, but expensive 2 man tent (Exped), reasonably inexpensively from the US. It’s done ok, but now leaks – I think the built in groundsheet needs re-waterproofing – no more obvious holes!

A brief insight into tent vernacular: a 2 man tent means tent big enough for 2 bodies, laid out side by side, with no luggage, not moving; i.e. you need to add at least 1 man to your requirements – for 2 people get a 3 man tent. The domed design is best so you can at least sit up straight. We use the porch area for bike gear – boots, helmets, jackets etc… having learned the hard way the first time it rained really hard, we now put all our gear in an orange plastic survival bag.

Reflective guy ropes - will stop you tripping over them … repeatedly. (we don’t have these). The elastic in the poles will probably need to be replaced during the trip.

Groundsheet - under the tent we put a thick plastic sheet which provides a waterproof base in the porch and protects the tent’s base from thorns etc….

Rubber Mallet – for outside the UK where the ground is hard. (a 6” nail on a string can make a hole for your tent pegs in really solid ground (tip courtesy of Steve Langton). The mallet doubles as a hammer for the bike or anything else you feel like hitting.

Sleeping mats – the lightweight Thermarest are great, even on rocky ground, well worth the money.

Sleeping bag - In the mountains in Ethiopia it went below zero, our 3 season bags were good. I’d be happy with a lightweight bag (+5 c), but in Africa Sandi still needs something designed for the Antarctic. We have small pillows, courtesy of a couple of airlines. Sleeping on a bundle of clothes is ok for a weekend, for 6 months a small pillow is needed and weighs very little. We bought a silk sleeping bag liner, the kikoys were more useful.

Stove & cooking
A multi fuel stove – it’s expensive, working with most fuels, which means it runs on the same fuel as the bike. However, petrol is dirty and the Primus Omnifuel blocks constantly – easy to unblock but a pain in the butt. I am assured that the MSR stove suffers the same.
I use a firesteel to light the stove, attached to the stove with a piece of string, saves scrabbling for a lighter every time.
Pots & Pans – minimum of 2 – non-stick won’t survive so don’t pay extra.
Enamel mugs & bowls are really practical.

Food
Don’t carry too much – they sell it everywhere!
Take multi-vitamins.
Hot chilli sauce – can save many a terrible restaurant meal
If you don’t already, develop a liking for canned tuna and pasta. This will get you through North Africa.
Hard bread/biscuits and honey/jam/peanut butter make a quick cheap meal.
A single bladed lock knife just for food is useful & easy to clean – getting mango juice from your Swiss Army is not time well spent.
My luxury is a tiny hexagonal stove-top coffee perculator – I have great coffee every day.
A useful gadget to save cash & hassle is an element kettle that you can heat water in a cup – for $5 hotels don’t provide tea/coffee in the rooms.

Water
We splashed out on a fancy ceramic filter (£80) but to be honest have only used it a few times, and then it clogged easily. Instead we have generally treated ourselves to bottled mineral water for drinking, and boiled tap water for cooking. We now also use WaterGuard – a simple, (readily available in E. Africa) additive to water from tap or lake etc. 1.75ml treats 10litres. A 500ml bottle cost 35p and treats nearly 3000 litres!

Mosquitos
I must have donated more than a litre of blood in 6 months of mosquito bites. They love me, ignoring most insect repellents. Anything with Deet in it really works, but the 100% Deet really does melt plastic e.g. watch straps. The coils than you burn are ok but can make your eyes sting in a room. A can of spray (e.g. Doom) is good for hotel rooms. The electric killers with small mats also do the job – if there’s a plug. We have a mosi net but haven’t had much cause to use it.

Anti-malarials – I use doxycyline – the downside is you have to take it daily and it can make you more sensitive to sunlight. On the upside the side effects are much much less severe than the others which can be mind altering. In the UK you can pay £1/tablet in Kenya I paid £0.035/tablet !
After hearing so many horror stories even Sandi is now taking them. The best advice is still to cover up – long sleeves & trousers.

Other Useful items
Omo powder – great for getting grease off your hands as well. Available everywhere.
Small scrubbing brush
Plastic waterproof boxes e.g. “Lock&Lock”– great for keep things organised and bug free.
Gerber knife sharpener
Pacsafe – metal net for locking roll bags etc. allowing you to leave bike unattended for short periods with peace of mind.
Night lights (if you cut the top off of a plastic water bottle, put 10cm of sand in the bottom, cut a small door to pop in the night light you have a cheap & wind proof lantern)

BMW F650GS Bikes: Tips and Our Experiences

Paul and I were having a quite pensive moment over dinner and then said, “I think its time…”
“For a blog about bikes.”
“And camping.”
“I think by now we’ve made most of the mistakes we possibly could.”
“And know what actually works too.”
We then sat silently again thinking about the things on the bike that broke and wondered where to start. We wondered if it would be easier to mention the things that didn’t break and realised that between the two bikes, almost every thing had broken or was knackered.
“But they are still going, even if barely, all things considered.” I said with a cheery smile, “and we will probably get all the way home on them.”
Paul grimaced. His bike has to be jumped into life by mine every time we start up and cuts out constantly while riding especially over bumps. We can’t find a motorcycle mechanic in Livingstone, and so the feeling is slightly desperate. Fortunately, the pool is lovely and the sun is out so being stuck here is not the worst thing in the world, by far!

Here we go with bike stuff:

All the indicators are broken on both bikes and taped on with black electrical insulating tape. Paul broke one of his to pieces. We carried one spare with us and it’s been used. We carried 4 spare bulbs and used one.

Both bikes have had the headlight bulb replaced. We carried 2 spares and have managed to find one replacement en route.

Paul’s headlight casing is broken as the plastic clips are rather weak. As a fix it is now glued into place.

We had Perspex headlight covers stuck on with Velcro. Mine is still there but Paul’s has fallen off.

Truck and car drivers constantly flash us to let us know our headlights are on. They are permanently on by BMW design but this is considered rude in the Middle East and unnecessary in Africa. We just wave and ignore now.

If the headlight is disconnected, the engine can’t run properly. In other words, it can’t be disconnected with out knowing what you’re doing.

We have fitted extra lights as at night the single beam is just plain inadequate on a dirty or potholed road. We used after market car fog lights. They seem to do the job. We’ve attached them to the front crash bars and have a small crude switch on the handle bars.

Both bikes have had to have the rear brake light tweaked because the metal contacts came loose. The whole rear light unit on Paul’s bike broke in Europe and Germany couldn’t supply him with a spare so it’s been held on with a bungee ever since. We used one of the 2 spare bulbs we have.

The ignition switch on Paul’s bike got completely clogged with dust. We assumed it was broken but it was okay with a good cleaning.

Paul’s side-stand cut off switch is utterly broken. He has twisted the wires together so that it shorts out. It’s a constant pain.

My side-stand’s damper has broken off and so I struggle to pull the stand from under the bike. I had to tie some rubber around it to stop it making a clanging noise. It still works fine.

The mirror on my bike broke off. We loosened the controls on the handlebar so that things would move rather than break, but mine still gave in and broke. It has been welded back on but broke again. I’ve used a big lump of metal glue and it holds for a while until it cracks and then I reapply.

From time to time dust got into the switches and stopped things like lights and ignition working. Before assuming something is broken, check and clean off dust and mud. Sometimes that is all that is wrong.

Paul’s handlebars are quite bent. It will probably be possible to straighten them at some point but it isn’t too much of an issue, just to be aware that the steering isn’t straight.

When using the heated handlebar grips they can cause the accelerator to stay on, causing a bit of alarm for the poor rider. Probably needs cleaning and then once the problem exists just anticipate it.

I haven’t broken any of my levers on this trip but did in the UK before leaving. We have one spare of each clutch and brake.

My bike has an electrical problem that I can’t place. Each time I start the bike it makes the sound of the battery reconnecting and the clock and odometer resets to zero. Nothing obvious is wrong like exposed wires… Please email me with any ideas. Sandilangton at yahoo.co.uk.

Both of our batteries have failed and been replaced. We don’t have the correct battery but as long as it’s close and fits into the space, it seems to be working for now.

Paul’s bike appears to have a problem with the alternator / regulator – we guess. The battery won’t charge. We have a clever way of jumping our bikes off each other without having to take all the plastic coverings off. Email us if you want more information on this idea.

Jump leads are essential.

Paul has gone through two sets of rear brake pads! With the pedal where it is and heavy bike boots, sometimes he leans on the brake and it wears out. We know of other chaps with the same problem. Perhaps move the pedal. My brakes are all still okay. I replaced them before leaving. I tend to not be as heavy on the brakes as I tend to ride more slowly and use less brake.

Same for the clutch pedal. I would have found it much easier to change gears if it were in a slightly different position especially for standing. It is possible to do this.

My clutch is knackered. It pops out of first gear into neutral. This usually happens in busy intersections or on steep gravel hairpin bends. It’s annoying because sometimes I have to hold the gear down with my foot to keep it from popping. Paul’s is only slightly sticky. I would desperately like a gear between first and second when doing off road – I can’t get on with the gears as they are: too little or too much.

My chain and sprocket are utterly shagged. I’m worried they won’t make the next 2000 km to SA. The chain was zig-zagy by the time I reached Nairobi but still had some life in it. The sprocket is now worn to sharp teeth. Paul fitted a heavy-duty X-ring chain and both chain and sprocket have lasted much better than my normal O-ring chain.

We have Scott Oilers to lubricate the chain. This system is good but also has to be maintained and can be a little temperamental. We have cleaned the chains and grease them often too.

We fitted rim locks. These are probably unnecessary unless you intend doing lots of deep sand and letting the tyre pressure right down, which you will probably avoid on a loaded bike. The rim locks make tyre changing a ball ache. The front one is probably completely unnecessary.

We had punctures – 4 rear and no front. Have at least one front and one rear spare tube. I think heavy-duty tubes don’t seem to make a big difference. We bought normal ones as that was all that was available and they work just fine and are much easier to carry.

It’s not easy to fix the puncture at the side of the road, so use the spare tube and repair the punctured tube in the evening. A sink with water and a plug (!) help to find the leak.

In your puncture kit, add Rema patches and glue. It appears that any other brand may not withstand the heat (as we experienced). Get a set of the long tyre irons with a curve at one end. We also use one or two small tyre irons. Talc and washing up liquid or Vaseline are essential. Pressure gauge. Chalk. Sand paper. Valve remover. Spanner and socket wrench for the rear wheel.

Carry a bicycle pump and check it actually works. The ones with a tube work better than the ones that push directly onto the valve. A small compressor might work but not sure. Depends on battery power.

Carry your whole puncture kit together. Obvious but saves cursing.

Best way to break the bead is to use the side stand of another bike as a leaver. I’ll have to post a photo to demonstrate.

Check your spokes and have a spanner small enough to tighten. Tap them and listen for a dull sound – tighten those ones. We have spares but haven’t used them so far. Tie spokes together with small cable ties to prevent damage if one does break.

We changed to off road tyres in Turkey. I have Continental TKC80s and they lasted a lot longer than Paul’s Metzeler Karoos. He had to buy a second hand rear tyre in Nairobi. Our tires still have tread but just barely.

The wheel alignment bolt on Paul’s bike came loose and broke. He has continued without it.

We had to remove our front mud guards when the mud got sticky. The mud guards just clogged up. If keeping the guards, they need to be raised away from the tyre.

My rear mud guard was ripped off on a stretch of sandy ruts in Sudan. We have now adapted the rear cover, cut off the bit that covers the chain only and put that bit back on.

The frame bolts tend to break off. This requires drilling out and putting another bolt in. I had to trust a bit of wire twisted around mine and a few cable ties across hectic roads in Ethiopia until I found a mechanic with a drill.

We went with the standard suspension that is fitted at the BMW factory. This was probably a mistake. Both bikes have tired front suspension making it tough to handle on bumpy roads. Cover front and rear suspension some how with rubber, an old inner tube perhaps, as this protects the oil seals.

Paul’s rear suspension damper broke in Uganda and had to be replaced. He managed to find a “bike shop” in Dar es Salaam who was able to take an old Yamaha mono-shock, chop and weld it to fit. It is not strong enough but will get us to SA enshallah.

We had our seats lowered professionally and a special gel inserted for comfort. I think it was a waste of money. The big difference is a sheep skin. On the downside, it gets wet when it rains but is much more comfortable.

We had power sockets fitted. They are really handy for charging various cameras, phones and things. Just remember that being BMW means the plug is not a standard car charger and so an adapter is required (and held on with cable ties and elastic bands).

Our panniers are Metal Mules. They have withstood many, many crashes and dings. The boxes are designed to pop off rather than drag. The levers have been bent back and that seems to be the only damage after a drop n’ pop. They haven’t even dented much. The frame is fine except the fitting to the rear foot rest continually fails and pops out. It is held together with cable ties. The locks also loose their waterproofing seals. My own addition to the design is making dots on the locks so that I can easily see if the locks are locked.

Insulating tape is very useful. Duck tape perishes quickly in heat.

Carry extra oil for the engine. Swap to oil for hot climates (20-50).

Carry spare nuts, bolts and washers (for your bike).

Carry lots of extra cable ties of good quality – or they just break.

Make sure your tool kit has all the correct size of spanners and sockets for your bike.

Have a good tool to undo/do all the screws holding the plastic covers and indicators because you will come to hate this job. You will fantasize of knee-capping the engineer who thought up this design.

Carry a spare service kit. Air filters need to be cleaned out from time to time – more often than service requirements.

Buy a copy of the service manual off the internet. BMW doesn’t have them for customers.

We fitted Touratech crash bars and bash plate – expensive! But worth it.

I tie various things onto the crash bars to keep the weight forward. The bikes are very back heavy.

Extra fuel is in plastic square cans strapped to the front of the pannier boxes. We have needed to use this reserve on quite a few occasions.

Octane booster for North Africa is essential but is not readily available in shops so stock up on a few bottles. Fuel quality improves further south and gets much more expensive further south too. We used a sock to filter dodgy fuel.

I wish I had handle bar raisers.

I hope that helps.

And you know what? If I did this again… (no, I’m not actually going to) but if I did, I’d seriously consider a Yahama no bigger than a 450cc and make sure it’s an old engine so that mechanics and spare parts can be found in abundance and at a reasonable cost. A fuel injected, computer managed BMW isn’t necessarily the thing to have in Africa if you are on a budget.

Back! Uganda to Zanzibar

I know that people have been wondering what has happened to me and in more than one telephone conversation my father has reminded me that it is time to write again. He told me that people have been asking after my well being and I should knuckle down and put these kind people at ease.

I shall start off this blog with a big HAPPY NEW YEAR. And now I need to go way back to the beginning of December to catch up with travel writing!

Kenya: 2 December – Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo

The day finally came when we left Kembu Campsite and headed northwards again, across the Equator again, to see Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo. It was raining just like it had been for the previous three weeks. We had a choice of the quick tarmac road round or the short dirt road to Lake Bogoria – we took the dirt road. I’d looked forward to the day I would have easy riding and so the hankering for tough roads took me by surprise. We didn’t get far down the road when it the dirt turned into thick red mud, as expected. I was in the lead. On a lot of the off road bits Paul would lead so I could see his bike wobble and avoid taking the same path but as I’d become so confident, I was taking the lead even on difficult roads.

The mud coated my wheels and all of a sudden it was as slippery as ice. When things get this hectic the primary course of action is to maintain a straight line and keep off the brakes. This meant I was unable to dodge a huge pothole that made the bike lurch violently to the side. The best thing to do in that situation is to give a bit of gas to straighten the bike up. I went straight into another pothole and the bike lurched right over to the opposite side. I looked ahead and saw a small patch of mud that had gravel on it and then slammed on breaks when I reached that spot. I finally came to an abrupt stop. The guys all pulled up behind me with wide eyes and instead of encouraging me to go further, they insisted that we turn back and take the easy road option. The bike had been lurching so far to the side that the boxes were hitting the ground and the guys were amazed that I didn’t have a spectacular crash. Pumped full of adrenalin, I didn’t notice that my ankle was quite so sore.

We made it to the Lakes through some beautiful landscape (with a few river crossings to keep the riding interesting). By the time we reached Roberts Camp at Lake Baringo the sun had come out. The place was extraordinarily beautiful, the rain was gone. There were hundreds of fascinating birds and hippo and other animals at the lake.

I was so excited about being in this lovely place teeming with wildlife that I kept doing little “Who-hoos!” and waggling my arse while I scurried about putting up the tent in a hurry so that I could get down to the lake. As there were no fences, I’d suggested parking the bikes in a V close to the car for a little protection. I thought I was being too cautious but then the manager came by and calmly said, “Actually, you should put the tent closer to the car. And if you need to pee at night, don’t go further than the back of the car.” We all looked at each other with big, excited eyes.

We all went to bed rather eager and at the same time nervous about the nocturnal visit we may receive. I’m a light sleeper but not long after going to bed we were all awake. I could hear grass being pulled and sloppy munching that sounded like it came for a pair of rather large of gummy jaws. I stuck my head out of the tent and could see Martin and Rickard’s legs dangling out of their very safe roof-top tent. We whispered to each other and they pointed, “The hippo is over there. And another one over there.”
I wished I was in their tent but there was no way I was risking even a short dash to the car. I’d never been so close to a hippo before! I couldn’t stand to look at it. I pulled my head back into the tent with my heart pounding. It felt like hours that I lay there listening to the massive, bad tempered animal chomp away. How could a vegetarian with a silly face and lumbering chubby body be so mean? At one point it sounded as if it was unbelievably close to the tent but when I braved another peek I didn’t see anything. In the morning Rickard told me that the hippo was less than a meter away. The reason I didn’t see it was that I didn’t realise that the grey mass was hippo and not just my bad night vision. In retrospect, it’s a good thing I couldn’t see it.

The next day I twisted my ankle while walking down some stairs. I had completely forgotten about smacking it the day before. It completely buckled. I’ve hurt my ankles many times but this was the first time I’ve twisted my ankle and had to lie down to deal with the pain. I don’t mean to sound really tough, but I don’t believe in crying over pain and I don’t like to whinge about injuries. But I tell you, it hurt like heck.

4 December: Uganda – Kampala

We left Kenya on a high. I was feeling a bit determined to get to Kampala as soon as possible as we were already a week later than we’d promised to arrive at Safe Alternatives for Youth (SAFY) and the later we arrived, the later we left... This would have implications for further on. It’s so hard to set dates when you travel. The roads were mostly good enough, bar a few massive boulders, numerous pot holes, stretches of road works, mental truck drivers, dust and pushy matatus (minivan taxis), but with a relatively stress free border crossing. By 7pm we arrived in Kampala completely exhausted and dirty and having completed over 500 km, a long day. I was frazzled as every single time I changed gears and every time I put my foot down my ankle hurt. I was pleased to be there but was in a grouchy mood.

Throughout my trip planning I hadn’t considered linking with a charity. I didn’t see any point as people appeared to just use the charity to get sponsorship and didn’t seem to actually care about the issues they were supposed to be supporting. So when I tentatively asked Stand Up For Africa if I could help them, I hadn’t thought about it much or how involved I’d become. I just knew that I’d give the fund raising a bash (with SUFA’s help), have some interviews that would help SUFA get some publicity and finally ride via Kampala to meet Safe Alternatives for Youth and find out about the project’s progress. I didn’t know what was expected of me or what I’d be facing. I had no idea at all. I didn’t even know if the money had been raised. I hadn’t yet even found out about the whole thing with my ex-colleagues or just how tough things had been back in SUFA’s office in London.

Before we arrived in Kampala I didn’t really have any time to imagine what I expected Rita to be like but she arrived with a bright open smile and very pregnant belly. She was well spoken and so down to earth and unpretentious, unlike any lawyer I’d ever met before. Rita filled us in on the background of the NGO and how she felt compelled to do something about the kids she saw on the street near one of the law centres she frequented. They’d been working on this project since 2002. With a new centre they will be able to increase the range of skills training to even more young people. Finally I found out what would be expected of me and Paul too, we had dates, plans, etc and I asked to see a doctor.

That afternoon we went to the SAFY centre in Kitamanyangamba. With my ankle as sore as it was I found it difficult to pick my way around the slum that had deep ruts where the constant rain have cut the soil away. I still felt a bit odd, uneasy, about being there and was acutely aware of being the “generous mzungu” and felt a little embarrassed by the attention I was getting.

At the moment SAFY has a small office in one of the slum areas of central Kampala. The centre does what it claims to do which is: offer a safe alternative for youth. They organise social and sporting events and have a drama club. They offer advice when teenagers arrive with problems and assist them in making the right decisions and include sex education and free condoms. They have access to computers and give free training. When the new centre is built the education courses will include skills like carpentry and training on how to run a business.

Having put up with the NHS for the past eight years of my life, my expectations of health care are nice and low. So when I arrived at a medical centre in Kampala and had x-rays taken within 10 minutes of waiting I was really astonished. The radiographer came back out with a grave face and announced that he needed to show the patient something. I hobbled after him. He pointed out a big fracture that was very obvious even to my ignorant eye. He said I needed an orthopaedic surgeon and so I hastily called in Rita’s boyfriend and looked at him pleadingly as he examined the same x-ray. I sat down and another man was ushered in, more x-rays were taken and 15 minutes later I saw the orthopaedic surgeon. He asked me about my biking and how often I had accidents. I told him, that from time to time, especially recently I crashed and had trapped this very same foot under the bike on a few occasions. I explained that I’d had a particularly bad crash on the BMW off road training course and my ankle had ever since not been quite the same. However, this twist had really hurt. He had gathered all his facts and then gave me the full story: There was indeed a fracture but it was an old fracture probably the crash I’d mentioned. The bones had healed apart rather than knitted together and that is why there was this 5mm gap in the bone. This accident had torn ligaments. “And so,” he looked at me sternly, “You need to let this foot heal. When it rains the water runs down the same ruts and this injury will only get worse.”
I gave my sincere promise that I’d take it easy. Besides, this time I was really suffering. I was then slapped with the bill for this speedy, efficient medical attention including x-rays and medication. It came to a whole 20 British pounds and I’m now even more unimpressed with the NHS.

During the first couple of days at SAFY I felt awkward. The first thing in my “programme” as it was called, was to go to a centre for vulnerable children, many of whom are orphans as a result of parents dying from AIDS and live on the streets. I watched the SAFY drama club doing an educational performance on HIV/AIDS and drug abuse. I could tell that they were all checking us out as much as we were checking them out. The “programme” included visiting some of the SAFY members homes, but having grown up in SA I’d already been to slums and seen poverty so this made me feel frustrated rather than educated. I didn’t want to look at poverty, I wanted to get stuck in and do something meaningful with the kids. In the evening I had dinner with Rita and the other founders of SAFY and I suggested that I make a small video following the lines of the play as I’d noticed the kids were interested in my tiny digital camera. They agreed that it would be a nice thing to do. So I had a task, a mission and a real reason to be there.

Also, since hurting my ankle I found myself in a very black mood. I wasn’t coping well with living in a leaking tent. We had daily down pours and often centimetres of water flowing around the tent. I couldn’t sleep. Every thing was wet. All my clothes were muddy and I was constantly grovelling around in the mud. I was struggling like crazy not being able to walk properly or ride my bike without pain. I didn’t know how long it would take for my foot to get better and what implications this would have on the trip. Paul and I were also finding we needed some space in the relationship as the 24/7 thing was making us crazy. I was even getting annoyed with the Swedes. The only thing I could think of doing to relieve my morose mood was to get focused on something and work. Work has always been a solution for me. Working hard meant I had less time to feel sad.

Over the next two weeks I went daily to the SAFY centre and, well, made a film. Medy who was the hands on fellow in the office helped me with meetings and introductions during the first two days and then just let me get on with the project. Paul had escaped to Jinja to go river rafting for a couple of days and when he got back was quite surprised that I’d written a script and motivated the drama club into preparing for a the making of what was growing from a little video into a proper film. I had the kids doing drama rehearsing, organising locations, translating into Lugandan, scheduling and generally understanding the complexities of film making. Paul then also got stuck in and rushed about Kampala traffic on his bike carrying out errands and sorting logistics. I was completely focused on filming but found my friendships with the lead actors growing daily. The more I knew them, the more I liked them.

Kampala is a city full of contradictions and one cannot take any thing for granted. I found myself in the slums having friendly conversations with people whom I got to know and like – I was more at ease there than in a coffee shop in London. How wrong it is to think people in slums are less intelligent or progressive in their thinking. But life in the slum is tough. There are hardly any proper roads, there is no water management, very little waste management, electricity is on and off all day, for all the rain, the taps are often dry… and yet, I was meeting trendy, groovy, sophisticated people every day. I met kind, generous people who would stick up for me and negotiate non-mzungu prices for me. I met people who talk so casually about their lives and I’d discover that they are really extraordinary.

Time just flew and before I knew it my Zimbabwean friend, Ngoni, had arrived as promised. It was four years ago that I went to visit her in The Netherlands where she was completing her post graduate in Sustainable Development and I told her that it was my dream to ride my motorbike across Africa back home. She promised that she would join me for some of the trip – and here she was in Kampala – delivering her promise. I was delighted to have company. She laughed at my braided hair. It felt so good hearing her loud, infectious laugh. I’d missed her so much!

Unfortunately my time in Kampala was running out. I’d agreed that we would leave on the 24th December to make our way towards Zanzibar where the Swedes were desperate to celebrate New Year and I had to go as they were giving Ngoni a lift. We’d finished the filming but had massive problems in the editing phase. The electricity seemed to be off more than on and I was getting frantic. I had made everyone work so hard and some of the film looked so good… I couldn’t bear, at this point, to become slap-dash. I wanted to stay and edit but I managed to tear myself away to Murcheson’s Falls and get excited about the thousands of hippos even though I was itching to get back and try to finish editing before we left.

There was no way I’d finish the editing. On my last day in Kampala I took the laptop to the centre and explained to a jam-packed room that this was the first editing draft, it needed more work and music. I promised that in the New Year, before I left Zanzibar, I’d finish their film and post it to them. I stood at the door and watched the children’s faces as they nudged each other and giggled when they saw themselves on screen. I was relieved I hadn’t made any big errors as there is a lot of Lugandan spoken and I had often guessed where and what to cut. I felt very proud of our efforts. I watched at the faces of the young stars of the show as they saw their debut performances and could hardly believe that this was their first filming attempt ever and they had learned so fast and been so good.

There were obligatory speeches in which I was thanked and I again promised to finish the project. I was quite moved and for the first time I realised just how much I’d miss the youths, especially the lead actors who had worked so hard with me for the two weeks. They had been dedicated, bright and made me respect them so much. I was outside dishing out balloons that were causing a bit of a riot when Hady (the female lead and peer educator) called me and said she had a song for me. I followed her back into the room. Hady’s face beamed as she and Medy lead a room full of bobbing heads yelling We wish you a merry Christmas at max volume. For all the Xmas carols I’ve ever heard, this was the best one ever! I plan to remember that rendition for the rest of my life as without a doubt it will cheer me up when I’m being a ba-humbug.

24 December: Kenya – Nairobi

I was sad to leave but all the rushing to get somewhere for New Year was annoying me so I was also pleased to just go. The first part of the journey was uneventful until we were about 250 km across the Kenyan border where the road turned to a mass of potholes and then traffic ground to a halt as there had been an accident that had completely closed the road. Paul and I could squeeze past the side of the trucks and continue but before long, the dreaded rain was back, and then soon after, the sun set and we were crashing through potholes in the dark with our eyes burning and straining to see through the rain. We kept going until just outside of Nakuru where we turned off to Kembu Camp and shortly the Landrover joined us. I knew the guys were disappointed that Xmas was turning out to be a non-event but it just is that way sometimes. In Europe it’s a big family thing with gifts and dinners. In Africa, it’s hot and quite often not celebrated at all. Kembu was celebrating it with a decidedly colonial feel. All the same, it meant the guys were emotional (if not, then just plain moody). I was tired and the loud merry drunk people bashing out carols on a clapped out piano weren’t my cup of tea and so went to bed early.

The next day I noticed that Paul was a bit out of sorts. I’d suggested that the Landrover just go ahead and meet us later in Nairobi so that we could travel at a leisurely pace. His suspension was broken and the ride the night before had shaken him up a bit. The roads were wet and still potholed. I thought we were taking it easy and I kept an eye on him as he followed slowly trying to avoid bouncing his bike about. Just as soon as the road smoothed out, I glanced behind me as I wanted to go faster. I didn’t see Paul’s lights. I pulled over in the soonest safe spot and waited. We’d agreed that we should wait two minutes before turning in case it’s not an urgent situation. Nothing. Then I saw a car pull over with hazard lights on. I turned around and went back not knowing what I’d find. Fortunately I saw Paul walking about but his stuff was all over the place. I could see he was shaken. His pannier had bounced off his bike and dragged the bike making him crash into a ditch. Honestly! He is lucky he fell into a soft ditch as it could have been under a truck. The 200 km ride to Nairobi felt like one of the longest rides ever.

Given Paul’s shaken state we spent the Xmas day in Nairobi. Ngoni and I went shopping. For me, it was the best thing in the world. I hadn’t realised that for six months I’d been deprived of female company. I’d not been shopping nor done any of the things girls like to do. I’d not really had any one to talk to for ages and forgotten how nice it was to natter about anything and everything.

But all was not well. Martin was getting moodier by the day and there was a frantic race to get to Zanzibar for New Year that was increasingly getting on my nerves. I wasn’t happy about it but agreed that given the bad weather, it was best that Ngoni travelled to Dar es Salaam with the guys and we’d follow a day later arriving on the 30th. I felt bad about the way things were with the guys and they were probably annoyed with me for holding their holiday plans up with charity work.

26 December: Tanzania – Arusha, Soni, Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar

The self-imposed rush was annoying but the weather was so bad that I couldn’t face hanging about, not even for the Serengeti. Besides, the cost of everything in Tanzania is extortionate. On principle I didn’t want to pay those ridiculous prices.

Just 350 km north of Dar there is a small town called Lushoto that we’d heard that it was a pretty ride and as it was near to evening, we decided to go there. To our surprise the road led us through green mountains alongside a waterfall and white water river. Paul and I had stopped to discuss if we should go further when a chap pulled over and suggested we go to Maweni Farm. We agreed to follow him. As Paul’s bike’s suspension was broken, I was carrying a lot more luggage than normal. On good roads this is fine but the road to Maweni was a muddy rutted road with all kinds of obstacles that required me trying to manage a very heavy bike on a not so strong ankle. When we reached the farm a lovely lady greeted us with a smile I can only describe as angelic. It was the final straw for me after months of hard living conditions and various travel stresses, I finally burst into tears and had to quickly walk away and hide until I felt able to face the world again. There was no camping there but I wasn’t going to ride down again. Instead we were given a good rate that included breakfast and dinner and stayed in a luxurious safari tent in a tranquil setting. It was clean with hot showers and a flushing toilet. The food was a whole taste extravaganza. I realised that it had been a long time since I’d eaten a cooked meal that tasted good. One night in paradise with angelic people was not enough to make me feel entirely human again but it was a little comfort that make it easier to get back on the bike and do it all again the next day.

Reunited with Ngoni, we decided to spend New Year at a campsite in Kigamboni rather than pay the outrageous prices for accommodation in Zanzibar. We were camping right on the beach and it was pleasant enough. Besides, New Year for me has always been about setting goals for the coming year – I’m not interested in a party as much as a planning session. Ngoni and I spent a few days having real serious chats about serious things… and I think our theme of Success for 2007 is a great one.

On the 3rd of January we finally took the ferry to Zanzibar. Tanzania has been consistently overpriced and, so far, has consistently under delivered too. It is UN-believably frustrating dealing with this attitude. I understand it’s not possible to change this attitude as it is far-spread and ingrained but IT IS SO FRUSTRATING! In any case, besides having to fight with myself to control the urge to throttle people a few times a day, I’m enjoying Zanzibar. It is as pretty as a postcard. The waters are crystal clear and warm. The sand is white and as soft as a rabbit. It is peaceful and as long as you stick to sunbathing, it’s relaxing.

I read The White Massai by Corinne Hofmann – and blame it for having sunburn as I couldn’t put the book down. It’s an extraordinary story. It cheered me up no end to read about a woman who has more ludicrous ideas and is more stubborn than me. She fell in love with a Massai warrior and despite not even having language in common, left Switzerland to marry this man. I’d been watching these Massai in their fine traditional dress with arrogant attitude and had been intrigued. These men do nothing but strut about like peacocks and do feminine things like braid hair while their women have shaved heads and do all the work. Corinne gives such an honest, frank account, I think most of my curiosity is satisfied. Even though these men are girlie by my standards, their women are given less value than livestock. I’d never thought about love being a cultural thing. I guess I thought all people loved the same and would treat a loved one in a similar way – but it’s not the case. Again, I was thankful for being a Western woman where, things are not perfect, but I will have independence, freedom and be able to stand up for myself.

We have splashed out and spent a few nights in a bungalow with all the lavishness of running water and electricity. Ngoni has gone back to Zimbabwe to crack on with being a successful woman. I’ve finally finished making the SAFY film and, if I might say so myself, it looks pretty good. For a bunch of amateurs and a budget of about 50 US Dollars, I think we did ok. Swimming and walking on the beach seem to have done my ankle some good and it feels much stronger. I even woke up this morning and saw a refreshed tanned face rather than dog-tired one – what a pleasant change. I’m ready for the rest of the ride home and looking forward to all the comfort and friendship that home promises (and I’ll be writing consistently from now until I arrive safely).