tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60532025411597165792024-03-05T05:55:49.275+00:00African SupertrampMy plan is to do a solo motorbike road trip from London to Cape Town. I will be taking the western route around the Sahara, and then down south through deepest darkest Africa. These are my ramblings so family and friends can follow my adventure.Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-61917202281961113942012-02-07T05:08:00.001+00:002012-02-07T05:08:38.316+00:00Sunny South Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am finally in sunny SA.... and nearly home!<br />
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WHOOP WHOOP!!<br />
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My plan is to lazily drive down the coast to Cape Town. I should be arriving at the V&A Waterfront (clock tower) Wednesday afternoon. <br />
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This is an open invitation to come join me for a couple long cold beers and some bubbly stuff. I'll be showing off my new beard, come and have a look.<br />
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I will update blog about Namibia in a few days. Just need some time to write.<br />
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Lastly since I am nearly home I expect all off you to click that paypal button. Remember : donate recklessly to the charity...<br />
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<br /></div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-91331858686330526502012-02-01T14:22:00.001+00:002012-02-01T14:22:05.798+00:00Angolan Sprint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been trying really hard to write this blog update for more than a week now. For some strange reason sitting down and writing this makes me feel like I’m closing another chapter of my trip. My problem is that there aren’t that many chapters left over. After Angola it’s only Namibia and sunny South Africa. I’ve been having such a great time that I guess I’m trying to keep things going for as long as possible. <br />
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It was some time before it really sunk in how lucky me and Dominik where with our Angolan visas. With all the waiting for the embassies to open after the new year, we knew of a few groups of overlanders who gathered around us at various towns with Angolan embassies in Congo and the DRC. In time they where all refused visas. Morten who flew back to Europe, as we where told to do, had immense difficulties and after weeks they only offered him a 2 day transit visa. Not nearly enough to transit across Angola. In the end those who could went to Dolisie and where also successful, and those who couldn’t go there had to make other plans ranging from flying or shipping around Angola to taking a very notoriously difficult route through he hart of the DRC. Morten flew back from Europe and also went to Dolisie where they happily gave him a 5 day Transit Visa, and Luis who was refused entry to the Pointe Noir embassy was given his extension. Strange how things work, and different embassies for the same country have different policies. Only in Africa!! But this time it was definitely to our advantage.<br />
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Our biggest problem was which route to take down to the Angolan border. There where three main options. The first and main road was through Brazzaville-Kingshasa, but our DRC visas where issued along the way and not in our home country. The Kinshasa border was thus closed to us. Yes, even with a visa we couldn’t enter at Kinshasa, they only accept visas issued form your home country. The second was a small border crossing between Brazzaville and Dolisie.. Notoriously difficult small track that floods during the rainy season. A group ahead of us spent nearly 5 days on that stretch and it isn’t even 200km long. During our time in Dolisie it has been raining a lot, and the area around us was flooded, so definitely not our first option. The third was a relatively new road that went to Pointe Noir and then down through the Angolan enclave of Cabinda. According to rumour it is all tarred until you reach the DRC border. With all the rain around us tar sounded very good, but it would mean loosing one of our precious five days for Angola in Cabinda. Leaving us only four days to cross mainland Angola. Crossing Angola in 5 days is hard work, trying to do it in 4 would be quite a challenge. <br />
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Crossing Africa has not been short of challenges, but this would be something quite unique. We knew little about the road conditions, our maps and gps showed mostly tarmac, but have been wrong many times. We knew even less about fuel availability, and Angola is notorious for its numerous corrupt road blocks and time consuming beaurocracy. On a normal day we cover about 250 kilometres. It gives you enough time to do all the necessary stops and a hour at the end of the day to find accommodation. Most importantly it doesn’t drain your energy levels and is a distance that can easily be covered day after day. 350 Kilometres a day is quite hard work, and 500 km a day is extremely draining. Not a distance you can do for days on end. Crossing this fast country in a limited timespan would be a massive challenge. Very different to our chilled out approach to the rest of Africa, but one I gladly accepted. <br />
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To save our energy levels Dominik and I planned to have a few lazy days riding to Cabinda, and then one day to cross Cabinda. The road to Cabinda was a gorgeous new road snaking through thick forest, as we knew it was our last bit of rain forest we thoroughly enjoyed it. I do love the rain forests. <br />
All would have gone to plan, but we forgot it was Sunday. The Angolan border posts where open so we easily entered Cabinda and it was a nice lazy ride to the border to exit Cabinda for the DRC. What we only found out at the border was the the DRC side was closed for the Sunday. SHIT! They wanted us to come back on the Monday, but we couldn’t. It would result in us losing two precious days of our Angola visa. Luckily Dominik was on good form, he managed to charm the pants off the border guard (Yes, she was female), and we came to a good agreement. We where stamped out of Angola, but as we couldn’t enter DRC we camped the night on the border and finished the border formalities the next day. <br />
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Again every one was super friendly and helpful at both border posts, and bribes where never mentioned. No one even mentioned that our DRC visas where not issued form our home country. So much different to what we expected.<br />
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We spent a couple days in DRC making our way to the Angolan border. I must say it was easier than expected. We did have a couple of bad stretches of road, but again we where lucky and it didn’t rain. The worst part was the first 40 km just after the border, with patches of very deep and very loose sand. Bad enough that I fell a couple of times, but it was only minor put downs. Rain would have made this so much more difficult.<br />
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There where no signs of any unrest or problems on the route we took, but it was very obvious people where poor and desperate. The requests for food, money, booze, cigarettes etc. reached an all time high. In some places it was so bad that we even cut our rest brakes short. At least you have some peace while on the road. It is unbelievable how thoroughly the local people are brainwashed that the white man is the cause and solution to all their problems. What a load of bullshit!! If only these people knew the fast amounts of money their politicians, their own people are stealing from them!! I really wish there was a way to get the message across, but with little education, illiteracy and no reliable mass communication the masses are doomed to believe the nonsense their politicians tell them.<br />
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Dominik and I reached the Sonoglolo-Luvo border crossing well rested and ready for our 4 day Angolan challenge. We had to average 500km a day, and I was very curios to see how thing would go.<br />
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Day 1 :<br />
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We made sure we where at the border 7:30 am sharp. Right when they opened. We wanted to get the formalities done as quickly as possible, but African time was against us. The chief on the DRC side didn't arrive at work until 09:30, and then they where difficult because our DRC visa’s where issued from Yaounde and not our home country. We tried very hard to explain that we are leaving the country, if there where problems with our visa they shouldn’t have let us enter, but they cannot stop us form leaving. Can they? <br />
An hour later we where finally stamped out. The Angolan side wasn’t much better, no problems but just unbelievably slow. It was mid day when we finally finished our border formalities. No way we would make our 500 km for the day, but we had to try and do as much distance as possible. Things could have been worse though, in the last year there where a couple of groups who spend days at the same border crossing. The longest I know of was 11 days at the beginning of 2011.<br />
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After the border we headed for the coast, a combination of good gravel and brand new tarmac. The scenery was stunning, the police at the road blocks where friendly (slow but friendly) and we where enjoying ourselves immensely. We made up for some lost time, and thought we might end up doing some good miles. <br />
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But at Nzeto the road deteriorated significantly, the strech between Nzeto and Caxito was known to be bad, but it was much worse than expected. Our average speed came down to a crawl. We also started to run out of daylight, and with no chance of reaching the next town we decided on a bush camp. All travellers are aware of Angola's land mine problem, so we where very careful about our bush camping spot. But we saw no signs of anything in the area and found a nice spot with some car tracks around it. My thinking being that if someone else drove around it should be safe. And we where fine. Our first sunset in Angola was magical, huge red sun with stunning blue skies. <br />
Distance for day 1 – only about 350 km.<br />
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Day 2<br />
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We where up bright and early, and ready to tackle the bad road to Caxito. I had a great morning on the bike, one of those days where everything just works and gels. I had a fantastic time playing on the better stretches, but the bad stretches where hard work and very tiring. Most of the road ran through bushveld and boab forests, so the scenery was great and made up for most of the bad stretches. I did get a huge fright though. About half an hour form where we camped I saw some guys cutting the grass along the side of the road. Strange that they wore army uniforms and where cutting the grass in the middle of nowhere? When I came closer I noticed one of the guys wearing what looked like a huge big blue apron, that’s when it hit me… It was a mine clearing operation. The weed eaters where actually metal detectors and the blue apron was a blast suite. Another 30 kilometres further we dove past a big mine clearing camp. The area actually still had mines. Way to close to our camping spot for comfort.<br />
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From Caxito we where promised good tarmac for the rest of the day. Hoping to make up some lost time we had a quick lunch at a roadside stall and headed off for Luanda.<br />
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The traffic through Luanda is supposed to be very busy and agonisingly slow, with an average time of about 3 hours to cross Luanda. We didn’t have that much time to waste and decided to try a short cut… and yes you guessed it… We got hopelessly lost (thanks to listening to the locals and not our GPS’s) and lost all the time we would have gained.<br />
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At sunset that evening we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere again, and so not keen to camp again we decided to continue for the nearest big town. It would mean breaking our rule of driving in the dark, but the town was only about an hour away and we didn’t really have much choice. About half way to the town with Dominik driving in front we suddenly ran into a herd of cows in the middle of the road. They just appeared out of nowhere and it looked like Dominik hit one. I nearly had an heart attack, a big accident was the last thing we needed. But we where so lucky. Dominik missed the cow with millimetres and hit it with the side of the bike’s pannier, leaving a big dent in it. Dominik, the cow and his bike where OK, but it was much to close. What’s the use of safety rules if we don’t follow them? Driving in the dark is definitely out now. Again.<br />
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That night we slept in a cosy hotel in Porto Ambion.<br />
Distance for day 2 – about 450km.<br />
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Day 3 :<br />
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Again another day up with sunrise. On the road bright and early. Our plan was to keep along the coast until we reach Benguela, and then head inland towards Lubango. We where quite a bit behind on mileage and hoped to put in a big day. Again nothing was easy, the morning we where plagued by some rain. Not hard enough to force us to stop, but enough to be cold and miserable, and enough to bring our average speed right down to a crawl.<br />
Strange how we drove through the tropics in the middle of the rainy season and it never rained while on the road, and now that we are pushed for time it’s raining. Just our luck.<br />
After Benguela the rain stopped and we started to make our way into the Angolan highlands. And I loved it. We where on a brand new piece of tarmac with unbelievably green bushveld as far as the eye could see. My favourite was the never ending clear blue skies. I have been waiting for this for months. After the claustrophobic low dark clouds of the tropics and the non descript grey skies of London, these fast expanses of blue gave me goose bumps. Again and again.<br />
That night we camped again, in the middle of nowhere with another stunning African sunset. This time in a safe spot, but the rain caught up with us and it poured down. <br />
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Distance for day 3 - about 450km<br />
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Day 4<br />
We where up at sunrise again, cold and wet, but ready for another big days driving. We didn’t have time to dry our stuff so everything was packed as is. The morning drive in the highlands was unbelievably cold. It felt like we where back in the Pyrenees, but as soon as the mist cleared we where greeted with more stunning scenery. The cold quickly forgotten.<br />
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We had one excursion planned for Angola. The Leba pass. We saw pictures of this pass in some of the Angolan embassies we visited, a pass with dozens of very tight hairpins stacked one on top of the other. It looked like a joy to drive. We where behind schedule, but decided to do the 100km detour anyway. What a blast that was. Reaching the top of the pass the view was breath taking, and going down the hairpins was so much fun. I couldn’t help but whoop with joy! Definitely a big highlight and worth the time lost.<br />
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After Leba pass we made a big blast for the border, but by the end of the day we where about 150 km short of the border. We nearly made it, but a couple of stretches of very bad road just took to much time. The Angolan government is busy with a very big regeneration attempt, and most of the main roads are brilliant new tarmac, but every now and then there are stretches where they are still building the road. These where quite bad and took up a lot of our time. In the end of the day I really didn’t mind. I have been enjoying Angola so much, the people are so friendly, the scenery so beautiful and the corrupt police officials were nowhere to be seen. Another day in Angola was a bonus, I just hoped we didn’t get into to much trouble for overstaying our visas by a day. Fingers crossed.<br />
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That night we stayed in a town called Xhangongo and at sunset we where treated to an amazing lightning storm. Far of in the distance but right where we would have camped if we pushed harder for the border. So glad we didn’t.<br />
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Day 5:<br />
The last 150 kilometres to the border would have been uneventful, but I had to embarrass myself. We where driving in a town, and I just didn’t concentrate for a second. My front wheel slipped on some mud and I put my bike down. Not hard, but right in front of a taxi rank packed with people. Unbelievably embarrassing, but very funny. <br />
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Our Angolan border crossing nearly went without a hitch. We managed to get stamped out without anyone noticing we overstayed by a day. We where both careful to hide our entry and exit stamps for the day in Cabinda as much as possible, and amazingly it worked. Everyone thought we where there on our fifth and last day. Whoop whoop.<br />
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Leaving Angola we where entering a main tourist destination again… Namibia. With this naturally comes the touts. There where a few at the border who tried to ‘help’ us but we quickly told them we where ok. After all this is not our first African Border crossing, and we didn't need the help. Most left us alone but there was one guy who just wouldn’t stop. In the end I had to be quite firm with him and politely told him to ‘piss of’ before he left us alone. He wasn’t happy but at least we had some peace.<br />
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Coming back to our bikes I had a flat tyre. My first one through all of Africa. It all seemed a bit strange… and Dominik also didn’t feel right about the flat. Instead of immediately fixing the flat I only inflated it and checked the pressures regularly. More than a week later my tyre is still ok. It does look like someone wasn’t happy and tried to sabotage my tyre… I wonder who it was?<br />
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Leaving Angola for the Namibian side was a bit strange. I knew the hard part of Africa was over. No more language barrier, no more visa issues and hopefully no more corrupt police. I couldn’t wait to get to Namibia, but part of me was sad to say goodbye to ‘dark Africa.’ I enjoyed it immensely and just didn’t want things to end.<br />
Amazingly I made it this far with my stack of US$1 bills unused. WHOOP WHOOP!!</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-88491046445463389302012-01-17T08:38:00.000+00:002012-01-17T08:38:29.804+00:00Safely in Namibia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are in Namibia. Angola was gorgeous, but I'll update properly later.<br />
Just wanted to say we are ok.</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-18080500802578469342012-01-06T17:45:00.001+00:002012-01-06T17:45:44.071+00:00Angola visa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have my Angola Visa... WHOOP WHOOP!!!<br />
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Unbelievable... The internet is full of people being turned down, but somehow Dominik sweet talked the guys into giving us a visa. It is only a 5 day transit visa, 5 days for 2000km, but it's all we need.<br />
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Yesterday we still thought it would take days, because the Consular wasn't back from holidays, and who comes back on a Friday. I wouldn't. This morning we where told that he was at work and our application for permission to apply for a visa was granted and we could come fill in the forms. This afternoon the embassy called asking us to come pay for the Visa. Done. Just like that. <br />
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There is still the possibility of being turned away at both the DRC and Angolan borders, but I think it's pretty remote. If all goes well we should be in Namibia within two weeks.<br />
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Here is one off the threads on the Angolan Visa : <a href="http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/hubb/sub-saharan-africa/angola-visa-in-abuja-60273" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Visa woes</span></a></div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-86867210445838186972012-01-05T17:07:00.000+00:002012-10-17T18:01:28.240+01:00Nearly stuck in Luango<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bliss</td></tr>
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Luango lodge was everything I expected and so much more. Pure luxury. Clean white sheets. Proper working shower. Fantastic three course meals. Game drives with tons of animals. Gorgeous scenery. Even some fishing. And all the time Wynand was making sure I got spoilt as much as possible. My planned short two day rest, turned into a full fledged five day holiday. Half because I couldn’t get out, and half because I just couldn’t get myself to leave.<br />
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I even met up with another biker. Luis. He is a Spanish guy doing the same trip as I am. He also started in London, and has been on the road for two months. Amazing how different our adventures are. He has been on the road for two months and has covered about 12000km, while I have been on the road for four months and managed to cover 20000km. We have been doing it very different, but we both are having a ball of a time. Was great to sit and exchange stories, I think in the process we even managed to convince Wynand to try and do something similar.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ShZTEp0ouQU/TxWaBqZyHmI/AAAAAAAADIQ/N-dwJOwN-Ho/s1600/P1010635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ShZTEp0ouQU/TxWaBqZyHmI/AAAAAAAADIQ/N-dwJOwN-Ho/s320/P1010635.JPG" width="320" /></a>My definite highlight at Luango was our fishing expedition. I am not really into fishing. I have never managed to catch anything of substantial size, so the bug just never bit me. Wynand was full of stories of cooler boxes of big fish caught in an afternoon, and he quickly convinced me to give it a try. We went out to a nearby lagoon, but in typical fashion I only managed a few small fish. After we decided to give the nearby river mouth a try. Where the river runs out into the sea there is a huge sandbank running about 50m into the sea. The tide was low and the whole bank exposed so we decided to give the spot a try. Just as we where about to cast, Wynand saw a biggish shark in the shallow waves. Here we are knee deep in murky water and a shark is swimming a couple meters away. Scary stuff, but we thought that if the shark was hunting there we should find fish.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqwS3PaGXjE/TxWcLaLWLFI/AAAAAAAADJ0/D7TAhLvxNH4/s1600/P1010664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqwS3PaGXjE/TxWcLaLWLFI/AAAAAAAADJ0/D7TAhLvxNH4/s320/P1010664.JPG" width="320" /></a>Wynand was the first one to hook something, and it must have been big. His reel was singing as the fish took off with his line. After about a five minute struggle his line snapped. We never saw what it was. Wynand had the second big bite as well. Again the fish took off with the line, the reel singing as the line was running out. This time he managed a longer fight. Whatever he caught was big, too big. It snapped his line again. While Wynand went back to shore to put on a new hook I saw another shark, and it was big. It was about twenty meters behind me, in the shallows of the sandbank. It must have tried to chase a fish onto the shallows of the sandbank. The water it was in didn’t even cover half of it’s body, and with a big splash it worked itself into the deeper water. Again I was knee deep in the water, but I quickly dashed out for the safety of our sandbank. In the meantime the tide has slowly started to come in. Our sandbank was gradually disappearing.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkP64k0-8e4/TxWbm9P6UdI/AAAAAAAADJg/UMvTR4s4iis/s1600/P1010658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkP64k0-8e4/TxWbm9P6UdI/AAAAAAAADJg/UMvTR4s4iis/s320/P1010658.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>Not long after I had my big bite. Same as Wynand, the fish made a mad dash for freedom and took off with my line. My reel singing a high pitched whine. I managed a big tiring fight, but as soon as a got the fish into the shallows it took off again. Time after time. After a bout half an hour we saw it for the first time, a big shark. Wynand went into the shallows to try and catch it’s tail and drag it to shore, but it was way too big. Wynand is nearly two meters tall, and the shark was bigger than him. We think it must have been about two meters in length. WOW!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for our shark fishing expedition</td></tr>
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While trying to get the shark ashore our island was slowly being covered by the incoming tide, and we where now standing in the shallows more than on dry land. I also saw another big shark, just a couple meters away to my left side. Just lazily swimming around, but so close it was scary. <br />
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I came very close to pulling the big one ashore, but in the end it snapped my fishing rod, and then just after my line. Nearly 45 minutes of struggling and all I had to show was a snapped rod and burning, aching arms. Gutted, but loads of fun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No fish... but a good story</td></tr>
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It wasn’t until the excitement off the shark on my line died down, that we saw the position we where in. The tide has come in a lot, and our sandbank was now completely under water. Not deep, ankle to knee deep depending on the waves. The amazing thing was the sharks, we could see at least five sitting in the shallows of the sand bank. None more than 20 meters away, the closest just a couple of meters, and all along our route back. They all looked big!! It was hard to see exactly how big though, because of the murky river water we couldn’t see their bodies. Only the pectoral fins and tail sticking out in the current. I chased one of the closer ones, and it wasn’t until I got very close and it started to swim away that I saw how big it was. I got the fright of my live. It was big! Much bigger than expected. I would guess close to 2 meters again, and the body was huge. Needless to say I didn’t chase any of the other ones.<br />
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Luckily the sharks where just as scared as we where and we made it to shore without any incidents, but what an amazing sight. Neither off us has ever seen so many big sharks from so close. Absolutely mind blowing. And I finally have a fishing tale of my own, about the big one that got away and the big one that nearly got me. Loved every minute of it!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only way out</td></tr>
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Getting out of Luango was nearly as hard as getting in. There is only one road out, and for a twenty kilometre stretch there is a Shell gas pipeline running next to the road. Because of safety issues they don’t allow petrol vehicles on that stretch. Diesel vehicles can do the stretch, so I had to organise a pickup truck to load the bike on and take me past the pipeline (you also had to give the gate guards 24 hours notice before you could cross). In Luango there was only one guy with a big enough pick up, but he wasn’t really keen to do it. It took a lot of convincing, and he asked a phenomenal fee. What could I do, I had no choice but to pay up. The first day the guy was supposed to take me he didn’t show up, and the next day we had to go get him at his house. The piece of road going to the pipeline was unbelievably bad. My bike rocking all over the place on the back of the truck. I used everything I had to secure the bike but it wasn’t quite enough. The journey there cost me a broken side stand, it snapped, and another broken mirror. To make things worse the guy tried to drop me off before the pipeline, he didn’t want to take me across and so didn’t give 24 hours notice and used it as an excuse for not taking me across. I have no idea how he thought I was going to do the road with my petrol bike. I think he wanted me to hang around until someone else came by who could load my bike and take it to the other side of the pipeline. Luckily I haven’t paid him yet, so with me threatening non payment he reluctantly organised for my bike to cross with some logging company’s trucks. That nearly turned into a sticky situation, but the guys at the logging company where very helpful and quickly had my bike on another truck. Phew.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_DrszGemksA/TxWelt9pwgI/AAAAAAAADK8/t2Hy1CXM6-I/s1600/P1010683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_DrszGemksA/TxWelt9pwgI/AAAAAAAADK8/t2Hy1CXM6-I/s320/P1010683.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The open road... Just ride</td></tr>
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Luis wasn’t so lucky, he had to camp at the gate while waiting for a truck to take him across. He spent Christmas eve at the gate. Poor guy.<br />
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After the pipeline it was a relatively easy road to reach the highway again. The broken side stand did make things a bit tricky. Now every time I wanted to stop I had to lift the bike onto the centre stand. Usually not to hard, but loaded up with all my luggage and in the bush this turned into quite a job. In the end it was so much effort to get the bike on and off the centre stand that I just cut down on my stops. The short stops just weren't worth it any more, and I tried to combine everything into a couple of big stops. The broken side stand just needed to be welded back together, but I was supposed to meet Dominik and Morten in Congo for New Years, and running out of time I decided to just bare the discomfort. I would get it welded while waiting for the Angolan Visa.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Av4zBHLQNq4/TxWe3RS9cFI/AAAAAAAADLI/nHyLYIE00SU/s1600/P1010690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Av4zBHLQNq4/TxWe3RS9cFI/AAAAAAAADLI/nHyLYIE00SU/s320/P1010690.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast of champions</td></tr>
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Would have been a great plan if it wasn’t for the mud I encountered after crossing into Congo. The border crossing was easy and again no hints at bribes. My luck definitely holding. After the crossing there where a few big muddy trenches, and the normal procedure is to stop and test how deep it actually is. My bike can go up to the bottom of the seat in water, but it’s not the best for the bike. Without my side stand it was such a mission to stop and get off, that I had to just wing it through the muddy trenches. Choose what looks like the best route and hope it’s not to deep. It worked relatively well, and most times the water wasn’t that deep. But (always a but), there was a couple where I nearly got stuck and one very deep trench. The water level came right up to my engine and just under my seat, and the bike nearly stalled. Shit. I came very close to drowning my bike, again. But my luck held and I made it out. The rest of the road to Dolisie was bad but not impossible.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HcgmVVvXI9g/TxUviCjeYqI/AAAAAAAACoY/BfnOWyfdL6A/s1600/P1010694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HcgmVVvXI9g/TxUviCjeYqI/AAAAAAAACoY/BfnOWyfdL6A/s320/P1010694.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home made toll road on the left.</td></tr>
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In Dolisie I met up with Dominik. Morten was in Europe to try and get his Angola Visa from home. The two off them tried for one in Brazzaville but where declined so Morten decided to apply from home. There was a faint rumour on the internet about the possibility of Angolan Visa being issued in Dolisie, but no confirmation of one actually issued. Before this rumour I wasn’t even aware that Dolisie had an Angolan Embassy, but with all other doors closed Dominik and I decided to give it a try. We where the first customers at the Embassy after new years and everyone seemed very friendly. Usually a good sign. The Consular was still on holiday, but they allowed us to make an application to apply for the visa. Yes, I had to apply for permission to apply for the visa. At the same time Luis tried the embassy in Ponte Noir, and they wouldn’t even let him in the door. This mountain is quickly turning into an Everest.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rrHcUXIE_hA/TxUwX_t8mYI/AAAAAAAACqs/_UbapkVqcmw/s1600/P1010706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rrHcUXIE_hA/TxUwX_t8mYI/AAAAAAAACqs/_UbapkVqcmw/s320/P1010706.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red dust everywhere</td></tr>
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This was the Tuesday and it is now Thursday, the Consular was supposed to be back from holiday but he isn’t. No one knows when he will be back, so we can only patiently wait…<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7OVwMyrabK67tAAQWmpGuU88GG1O4FrKabknvlk4NwxN5iAkUOFVc_3R5qQRj1xrbmQe0nPfc0XQLG14eg0KcMWbriCH-28Y4xxewoXL-xxjDaPQojhBL8As8FGh76AiSunq5U101tE/s1600/P1010701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia7OVwMyrabK67tAAQWmpGuU88GG1O4FrKabknvlk4NwxN5iAkUOFVc_3R5qQRj1xrbmQe0nPfc0XQLG14eg0KcMWbriCH-28Y4xxewoXL-xxjDaPQojhBL8As8FGh76AiSunq5U101tE/s320/P1010701.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ETP8mDOeVWQ/TxUwj-S6wTI/AAAAAAAACpM/0KuWjJZHi6k/s1600/P1010708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ETP8mDOeVWQ/TxUwj-S6wTI/AAAAAAAACpM/0KuWjJZHi6k/s320/P1010708.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-8089544059947157382011-12-30T17:06:00.000+00:002012-10-17T15:27:54.334+01:00Road to Luango<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I knew my planned alternative route to Louango had the potential to become quite a trek, but just how hard it was to get there and then back to the main road I could have never imagined. Even the ferrry from Libreville to Port Gentil, turned into a mission, and that was supposed to be the easy part.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yA-FFLXtrsw/TxWS5uMEwdI/AAAAAAAADMY/EirDfjBVE_U/s1600/P1010562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yA-FFLXtrsw/TxWS5uMEwdI/AAAAAAAADMY/EirDfjBVE_U/s320/P1010562.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferry to nowhere</td></tr>
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When I booked the ferry I was very specifically told a few times to be there at 8 am sharp. Ouch. So much for a lie in, but I was keen to get moving so I even set my alarm clock to make sure I’m up on time. When I arrived at the port the next morning their whole story changed, the ferry was now only leaving at 7 that evening and they increased the fare for my bike massively. Not a good start to my day, but I managed to haggle them back down to a reasonable price and now had a whole day to kill. Very frustrating when you actually want to be on the road, but I had odds and ends to do so the extra time came in very handy. I was told to be there at 5pm, to give time to load my bike and learning from that morning I arrived around 6. I thought I learned my lesson about African time, but I was way out. They only just started to load up the boat and it wasn’t until about 9pm that I finally managed to load my bike and go on board. The boat was chaos, there was sitting place for about 30 people, but more than 60 passengers. Everyone was scrambling around for the little space available. I was getting ready for a very uncomfortable night out on the deck when one of the crew came looking for me. It was a guy from Ghana who I chatted to while waiting to load up. To my great surprise him and his brother cleared a berth in the staff cabins for me to sleep in. How nice can you be? My expected night of discomfort turned into relative luxury, with my own bed and two guardians fussing over me. Whoop whoop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NIjGcyG6hvQ/TxWTH4oZvfI/AAAAAAAADEE/HhKrmocV24M/s1600/P1010565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NIjGcyG6hvQ/TxWTH4oZvfI/AAAAAAAADEE/HhKrmocV24M/s320/P1010565.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The warm seats</td></tr>
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During the night I discussed my route to Luango with my two Ghanaian friends. To my great dismay the said the road I wanted to take didn’t exist anymore. Port Gentil is one of Gabon's biggest port cities, but there is no road access in or out of town. WTF? I was basically traveling to the equivalent of an island. They did say I had some options to get off Port Gentil. There should be a ferry going to Ombou (closest town to Luango), there maybe one to the next port on the coast, Gamba, and there might be some smaller boats ferrying goods to Ombou. Plan Z was to get on the same ferry and go back to Libreville, would hate to do it, but at least I had a couple of backup plans. I would be a bit stuck in Port Gentil but the situation wasn’t hopeless.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AMDBrMhVywI/TxWTpfh0w9I/AAAAAAAADEc/oTOmsHXNtzI/s1600/P1010571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AMDBrMhVywI/TxWTpfh0w9I/AAAAAAAADEc/oTOmsHXNtzI/s320/P1010571.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sand, Sand and even more sand</td></tr>
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Arriving in Port Gentil things started to go wrong straight away. I couldn’t get off the ferry. The immigration officer was a sourly, angry man and as soon as he saw my passport he blew his top. He was extremely unhappy that I didn’t have a Gabon visa. No matter how hard and nicely I tried to explain that South African citizens don’t need a visa, he just wouldn’t see the light. The idiot even took my passport and made me stand in the corner, waiting for him to finish. Like I was some naughty school boy about to be punished. In the end my new Ghanaian friends came to the rescue. They found out what happened and went and spoke to a police friend of theirs. He quickly set the sourly guy right, and I got my passport back. PHEW! The sourly guy even made an half hearted apology. It’s good to have a some guarding angels.<br />
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Like any pig headed explorer I wasn’t read to give up on my planned route. I promised my Ghanaian friends I would head straight for the ferry port, but before I did that I had to give the non existent road a try. I gave myself 2 hours to see how the conditions where and then I would reassess. They turned out to be so right. The first part of the road was nothing more than deep, loose sand with dozens off small tracks branching away. I came so close to getting badly stuck. Again and again. I also had no way of knowing which track was the right one. I would pick the whatever looked like it was rideable and going in the right direction. Whenever I met up with some locals I would then ask directions. Sounds easy enough but people where so few and far between that I did long stretches before I could get my route confirmed. And half the time I chose the wrong track, forcing me to backtrack big stretches on the bad sandy terrain. After an hour I knew I made the wrong decision, but being pig headed I kept on trying. Idiot. After two hours I’ve only managed to do about 5km of the actual route and to put the cherry on the cake some locals confirmed that the route ends at the next village. So much for riding out of Port Gentil. I actually made so little headway that I was back in town looking for a boat in less than half an hour.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dHgMnOAA6dw/TxWUSuGTbPI/AAAAAAAADE0/j_9UFOxvpXM/s1600/P1010577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dHgMnOAA6dw/TxWUSuGTbPI/AAAAAAAADE0/j_9UFOxvpXM/s320/P1010577.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for a sea crossing?</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-stE6gRx3SpQ/TxWT9s_L5fI/AAAAAAAADEo/9iF374vPZqw/s1600/P1010574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-stE6gRx3SpQ/TxWT9s_L5fI/AAAAAAAADEo/9iF374vPZqw/s320/P1010574.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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Looking for a boat of off the so called island turned into a disaster. No ferries untill after the Christmas weekend, and supposedly the smaller boats aslo stopped running until after the festive weekend. Aw man, I was stuck in Port Gentil, and I was desperate to make it to Luango for Christmas. Luango was my reward to myself for working so hard on the trip. A few days of pure luxury, after 4 months of roughing it. I really wanted to get there before Christmas, but the more I asked around the more it looked like all doors where closed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H55DwaP0xU8/TxWUYYu83CI/AAAAAAAADE4/OOdqgjkmqQI/s1600/P1010578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H55DwaP0xU8/TxWUYYu83CI/AAAAAAAADE4/OOdqgjkmqQI/s320/P1010578.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain of the boat</td></tr>
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Feeling a bit dejected I stopped for a some lunch at a beach side cafe, my first proper meal in 24 hours. While sitting there and wondering how I was going to get out of Port Gentil, I saw some of the small boats unloading close by. They where quite small, but I decided to give it a try anyway. No luck, everyone I asked said they where finished until after the Christmas weekend. It was only Friday and I hated the idea of being stuck there for the whole weekend. <br />
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As I was walking away, one of the captains came to me and said he was willing to make a trip to Ombue. WHOOP WHOOP. His boat was very small, nothing more than a fibreglass pirogue with a small engine, but his price was very reasonable and he promised to get me there before dark. I was so excited about getting away form Port Gentil that I really didn’t think things through properly, but I was committed. We quickly loaded the bike and set off. The route is supposed to be 100km up river through dense forest and estuaries. What I didn’t know is that we had to cross a big bay to get the river mouth. It’s in this bay that I nearly drowned my bike…<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBi35SZTHNs/TxWWRWbro3I/AAAAAAAADGM/EzaNXa748OA/s1600/P1010600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TBi35SZTHNs/TxWWRWbro3I/AAAAAAAADGM/EzaNXa748OA/s320/P1010600.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous rain forest</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-42umamU0CjHKtvPjSriTceur6oxFcWqllWCQ_sgHkwcPLFQZgq4aiYpVjGUQIwYUd4iw8OxmWWkCsK2XcI6wEQM2VMyn5YOHZx8TpRe5oZT_Zge3-3Bt8XjWTx7RSaW9NR14Syt6Vo/s1600/P1010602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-42umamU0CjHKtvPjSriTceur6oxFcWqllWCQ_sgHkwcPLFQZgq4aiYpVjGUQIwYUd4iw8OxmWWkCsK2XcI6wEQM2VMyn5YOHZx8TpRe5oZT_Zge3-3Bt8XjWTx7RSaW9NR14Syt6Vo/s320/P1010602.JPG" width="320" /></a>As soon as we left the calm water of the harbour, the sea swell picked up significantly. Our little boat was being rocked from side to side, and my poor bike was soaking wet from the boat’s spray. Soaking wet with corrosive salt water. Not a clever thing to do after the problems I had with my electronics. I could just see days of meticulous hard work going up in a puff of smoke. I was so angry at myself for trying to do a semi sea crossing on such a small boat, but there was not much to do, I could only cross my finger and hope that the electronics would be ok. As luck would have it things became worse before they became better. The swell picked up even more as we headed further out and our boat started rocking quite violently. With the bigger swells my bike was rocking even more than the boat. We where listing so far over that the bike was threatening to fall over. Into the ocean!! In my minds eye I could already see the newspaper articles : ‘The winner of the 2011 Darwinian awards’ is…’ I couldn’t do anything to secure the bike more either. As soon as I tried moving on the boat I only magnified the rocking. All I could do was watch and pray. My only salvation was my Captain, he wasn't fussed in the slightest. He was happily singing away while driving the boat. The harder I tried to signal to him that my bike was trying to take swimming lessons, the more he signalled ‘it’s ok.’<br />
But it’s not his bike.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6n61zwi396I/TxWW2CDKOaI/AAAAAAAADGo/PUf8YIZ5x6o/s1600/P1010609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6n61zwi396I/TxWW2CDKOaI/AAAAAAAADGo/PUf8YIZ5x6o/s320/P1010609.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on the boat</td></tr>
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In the end I did the only thing I could. I turned around, looked ahead, and prayed my bike would be ok. I had no choice but to trust my singing captains’ boating skills.<br />
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After what felt like an eternity we reached the river mouth and the water became glassy smooth. I don’t know how the bike stayed on the boat, but it did and that was all that mattered.<br />
The next few hours where breathtakingly beautiful. We lazily made our way upriver, traveling through thick equatorial jungle. We barely saw any other boats, and only a couple shacks every now and then. It was only me, my bike and our signing captain lost in a mountain of jungle. The feeling of extreme remoteness was unbelievably intense. It looked like I was in my own episode of National Geographic. I loved every minute off it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uGtDwExLNBA/TxWYnrcu44I/AAAAAAAADHk/SFEET4OObhc/s1600/P1010623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uGtDwExLNBA/TxWYnrcu44I/AAAAAAAADHk/SFEET4OObhc/s320/P1010623.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choices?</td></tr>
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Our supposed three hour journey turned into a six hour epic. Never believe an African when it comes to time. Darkness came way to quickly and we finished the last half of the boat trip in the dark. Initially I was sceptical about traveling in the dark, but my singing captain was more than happy to continue. It looked like he knew the river very well, and seemed to anticipate the sharp turns and forks along the way. I could only trust him, so I spend the rest off the journey looking at the gorgeous stars. It was a near cloudless night and there where no other lights for miles. What an amazing sight. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LMHDhu2FPxM/TxWZKt0jXoI/AAAAAAAADHw/0fmDhRoosgE/s1600/P1010627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LMHDhu2FPxM/TxWZKt0jXoI/AAAAAAAADHw/0fmDhRoosgE/s320/P1010627.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creeping insanity?</td></tr>
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<br />
We didn’t reach Ombue until about 10 that night. I was shattered and really dreading having to look for accommodation in total darkness, but my all singing captain dropped me off at a hotel on the waters edge. After the initial panic of crossing the bay, the rest of the boat trip was phenomenal. Definitely one of the highlights of my trip, and I was on track to reach Luango before Christmas. I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear when I went to bed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I1N5JxGH9Po/TxWY0T4p2eI/AAAAAAAADHo/X99JHb0LfRE/s1600/P1010624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I1N5JxGH9Po/TxWY0T4p2eI/AAAAAAAADHo/X99JHb0LfRE/s320/P1010624.JPG" width="320" /></a>Ombue was only about 70 kilometres from Luango, and I was keen to reach it early the next day, but I first had to sort my gear out. My bike needed a wash after the salty shower, and half my stuff was soaked. I spend the next morning trying to dry everything and cleaning the bike. It was less than 24 hours after the sea expedition and already the chain was starting to show rust. I was dreading what the corrosive salt was doing to my the electronics, but as usual I could only do so much and then cross my fingers and hope everything will be.<br />
<br />
I arrived at Loango late in the afternoon, shattered and very nervous. It took all of 3 days intense and hard travel to reach the lodge. It is in a very remote part of Gabon, I had no idea what the one and only road out would be like and I didn’t even know if I would be able to stay there. The lodge caters for the well off market and is extremely expensive. About $400 a night. A few nights there is equal to a month’s survival money in Africa. I couldn’t really afford it but I was willing to wing it and see if I could wangle something. Worse case scenario I could just skip Loango, the journey there was so amazing that it would be reward enough.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RQaNUmHuTqU/TxWZjZujbbI/AAAAAAAADH8/nPrg2b4cwJ4/s1600/P1010630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RQaNUmHuTqU/TxWZjZujbbI/AAAAAAAADH8/nPrg2b4cwJ4/s320/P1010630.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paradise!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
All my worries where completely unfounded. At Loango I met another one of my guardians. The manager there, a South African called Wynand. I barely started to explain my situation when he stopped me and said: ‘Don’t worry we’ll sort something out.’ Ten minutes later I was booked into Luango Lodge. WHOOP WHOOP!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l8SnHaDeZNM/TxWZqgOruMI/AAAAAAAADIA/4p2NiWO2Doc/s1600/P1010631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l8SnHaDeZNM/TxWZqgOruMI/AAAAAAAADIA/4p2NiWO2Doc/s320/P1010631.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loango Lodge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-80260175944358044702011-12-21T14:21:00.001+00:002011-12-21T14:21:52.056+00:00Christmas gifts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE<br />
<br />
Hope you all have a fantastic festive period with friends, family and good wine.<br />
<br />
To all those who have been making enquiries about where to send my presents, just use the paypal link.<br />
<br />
My charity needs some money!!</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-57852106421787322382011-12-21T14:15:00.000+00:002011-12-21T14:25:12.298+00:00Spot tracker update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Somewhere in the next couple of weeks the spot tracker will stop working. Might work poorly in Congo, but not at all from Angola and further south. Please don't panic. I'll try my best to keep blog updated.</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-15182883020405709192011-12-21T13:58:00.001+00:002011-12-21T14:18:55.535+00:00Even more circles in Gabon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
In the good old days Gabon had huge amounts of oil money. The Lonely Planet says ‘the champagne nearly flowed into the streets.’ There is one mechanic catering for all these super rich and their expensive toys. Big bikes included. He came well recommended and is supposed to be very clued up.<br />
<br />
Naturally things couldn’t be easy. I only had half the shop name and a rough idea of the area it is in. But how difficult could it be? Psyched up and ready to test my limited French I set of to find the place. When I reached the area I started asking around. The first few people couldn’t understand the combination of my broken French and strange accent and gave blank stares for answers. Nice. <br />
But then I found someone who knew. ‘Just turn right at the next junction. It’s right there.’ Wow, could it really be that easy? I followed his instructions and searched the area. Nothing. Asked around. Nothing.<br />
I went back to the main road and asked another sucker. This time the answer was ‘right at the next turn off.’ Ok, so maybe I turned off to quickly. I followed his instructions again. Searched the area. Nothing. Asked. Nothing.<br />
I went back to the main road again. And asked the next few people. Every time the answer was a variation of go a little further ahead and then turn right. Every time I followed suite and then searched the area. Nothing. This continued for about two hours until someone finally said that I passed the shop and I need to go back. African directions at their best. At least I knew I was in the right area. Close but yet so far… it never sounded so accurate. <br />
Coming down the main road again, it was just another repeat of the same. I searched so many areas but couldn’t find the shop. And everyone looked so sure their directions where right. I even had a guy draw me a picture of where it is, but it was so inaccurate. Turns showed as straight lines, and a left shown as a right. But I found it. Persistence paid off.<br />
The shop was down one of the first right turns I tried, but a little further was another turn down a small alley. Only the last guy mentioned the alley, and that is when I finally found the shop. I drove past the alley twice in the few hours before. Again, so close yet so far.<br />
<br />
Walking into the shop I was flabbergasted. It was a Yamaha dealership and filled with their expensive toys. All the big toys Yamaha was trying to sell to Gabon’s rich boys. I’ve not seen anything like this since leaving Europe. So out off place with the rest of Africa, but I wasn’t complaining. These guys knew what I wanted. It took a bit of time to explain everything in broken French, English and drawings, but the message came through. Initially they the mechanics thought it was a combination of the battery and regulator, but they decided to test things as well. <br />
My bike behaved like any good patient, when the doctor is around symptoms magically disappear. The regulator showed the best numbers yet, and when we revved up the engine the voltages increases. Wow, in the hundreds of times I’ve done the same test, since Moon Head Hill, it’s never done that. Don’t know how it got better, but good result. Very good result. Final diagnosis: I just needed a good new battery. Not the cheap Chinese junk I had for a backup. A good brand new very expensive Yamaha battery (more than double UK prices). <br />
I happily paid for it. If that’s what's needed to get me to Southern Africa, then so be it. Secretly I am not convinced the battery is my only problem, but these guy think that with a new battery I am in good shape to get to SA. I’ll take it with a pinch of salt, but it’s just the answer I wanted to hear!!<br />
<br />
Update :<br />
I went to the mechanics again today to pick up the new battery. Felt like I was back at work. We had a big grand ward round, with my bike as the sickest patient. Even the old professor was present. As the loving patient carer I dutifully explained its symptoms and the run up to everything, while the doctors in their greasy blue overalls where going ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’ as they poked around. Using their grease covered tools they ran another batch of tests. Today the symptoms and results where back to how they where the previous few weeks. Yesterdays improvement gone. <br />
<br />
Damn those sick patients who can’t stick to one illness. Make up your mind already. <br />
<br />
New diagnosis : Both the regulator and alternator are sick. Battery is healthy.<br />
<br />
Prognosis : Both need replacement, but the spares are not available in Libreville (or Central Africa most likely). With a bit of luck I should make it back to SA or Namibia, but it’s not guaranteed.<br />
<br />
Treatment : Carry a good spare battery as back up (the expensive Yamaha one). Keep fingers crossed. Daily prayers.<br />
<br />
Limping just a tiny bit more.<br />
<br />
Ironically the Libreville Police just bought a batch of 100 brand new bikes. All the same make as mine (F650gs), but it’s the local joke that they have no spares for any of these bikes. As soon as they need repairs they will stop running. If the police just did their administration better I could have begged them for some spare parts. So close…<br />
<br />
I’ve had some updates from people who are a few weeks ahead. The rumour mill says that the Angolan embassy in Matadi is closed until 15th Jan, and worst of all they also stopped issuing the transit visas for Angola. Not good news. But there are also rumours that just maybe the visas are available in Dolsie, Congo. Luckily on my planned route. The plot thickens even more. I can’t do much more than trying everywhere as I work my way down. Somewhere, somehow things will work out?<br />
<br />
Between Libreville and the southern coast, where I was heading, is a big estuary and marshes. The road south makes a big loop around these and I was quite keen to not do that part again. It is a good 2-3 days travel to reach Loango using this route, and I have been using my time in Libreville to try and find an alternative way to get there. I did. A ferry/cargo boat leaves tomorrow morning and drops me off at Port Gentil. Very close to where I want to be. Sounds like it’s a full day on the ferry, but it will safe me a few days ride. And I get to experience another mode of African transport. WHOOP WHOOP!!</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-56126788246331372422011-12-20T13:58:00.000+00:002012-10-17T14:53:32.516+01:00Riding circles in Gabon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bzLomb5Jpac/TxVo4JYbcRI/AAAAAAAAC7U/WxW-ZcGv_ok/s1600/P1010332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bzLomb5Jpac/TxVo4JYbcRI/AAAAAAAAC7U/WxW-ZcGv_ok/s320/P1010332.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rare sight - Road signs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Coming into Gabon I was a little hesitant. I didn't really know what to expect. There where lots of rumours about bad roads and huge volumes of rain, turning these roads into a bit of a nightmare. On the other side the Chinese where paving roads at lightning speed, there where also rumours of big money being spent on infrastructure, I would be driving through equatorial forests, and off course I would finally cross the equator. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmjdgfyjAtOLBRqOFML1WUrT4MA6awL-WOp33bLAuegRPqJX6AU4iVjrvBa1Ab7qV23RywwFGKczOOG0nJ7i5aGBQs9lCAJ8KzxzLQQK2w_dLKBodcPDjx1rtZ1iAcuPatGJIfC8fsOs/s1600/P1010343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmjdgfyjAtOLBRqOFML1WUrT4MA6awL-WOp33bLAuegRPqJX6AU4iVjrvBa1Ab7qV23RywwFGKczOOG0nJ7i5aGBQs9lCAJ8KzxzLQQK2w_dLKBodcPDjx1rtZ1iAcuPatGJIfC8fsOs/s320/P1010343.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rush hour traffic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sk11grVSTck/TxVIAqdRumI/AAAAAAAAC3c/eKTFak7sdt8/s1600/P1010346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sk11grVSTck/TxVIAqdRumI/AAAAAAAAC3c/eKTFak7sdt8/s320/P1010346.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wash day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My biggest worry though was my confidence on gravel. It took a massive beating after Moon Head Hill. From Kribi to the Gabon border I did a 200km gravel stretch, beautifully winding through thick forests. The road was in pretty good condition, but I really struggled. I was hitting potholes I should be missing, diving straight into ruts, and going slower than a limp turtle. On gravel confidence is key, you need some speed to smooth things out, you need to be relaxed so you can use your body weight to steer and dodge, and you definitely need to look where you want to go and not at the obstacle you want to miss (Target fixation – you go where you look. Stare at that pothole and you will hit it).<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_gZwRy2Nq0/TxVIknpsuII/AAAAAAAAC34/ctCkXjh-XGo/s1600/P1010351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_gZwRy2Nq0/TxVIknpsuII/AAAAAAAAC34/ctCkXjh-XGo/s320/P1010351.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
I was doing none of this. But at least I knew how to fix things. Do as much gravel as possible. I was hoping for some good gravel in Gabon. And it didn’t fail to deliver.<br />
<br />
Gabon was one of the countries I fell in love with within the first hour. Not sure why but driving those first few kilometres through thick rain forests with beautiful little villages scattered along the way just did it for me. And the road was in perfect condition, brand new tarmac like I haven’t seen for a very long time. Even the grass along the side of the road was cut, it looked like a manicured lawn. Very surprising in the middle of Africa. <br />
This looked like a country that tried to look after itself and I liked it very much.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UAnZ6N9Pkgw/TxVJpAzJFKI/AAAAAAAAC4M/Sgnvoz7_4fE/s1600/P1010358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UAnZ6N9Pkgw/TxVJpAzJFKI/AAAAAAAAC4M/Sgnvoz7_4fE/s320/P1010358.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding among giants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
It is quite a long stretch from the border to Libreville, the capital, but on my map there was a bit of a short cut. A long unpaved stretch just short of 400 km. I was very keen to do it, but wasn't sure about the condition it was in. Looking at my map it cuts through some thick rain forest and was quite remote, with very few towns along the way. I desperately needed the confidence boost, but at the same time I didn’t want another lot of big falls. I was on my own, and didn’t want to get stuck with a broken bike.<br />
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Choices… choices. I didn’t know what to do. <br />
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In the end I asked a police man just before the turn off. He’s answer was ‘No you can’t do that, it’s all gravel.’ Perfect answer. I decided to face my fears and tackle the long gravel stretch. If the road turned out to be another Moon Head Hill I could always turn around.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6OFzM0lvpsc/TxVKsfEhr0I/AAAAAAAAC4o/5jVQGwvJNSw/s1600/P1010365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6OFzM0lvpsc/TxVKsfEhr0I/AAAAAAAAC4o/5jVQGwvJNSw/s320/P1010365.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forrest villages</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What a good decision it turned out to be. Nearly all of it was in really good condition, with a few tricky bits just to keep you on your toes. Good road slowly winding up and down hills, a little pass here and there with some hairpins and cutting through thick forest. Very thick forest. It was unbelievable. The best part was the isolation, I drove long stretches without seeing anybody. Was fantastic. I even managed a night camping in the bush. Just me, a bonfire and big trees all around. Fantastic. By the end of the stretch I was feeling much better about gravel, and was actually looking forward to some more. WHOOP WHOOP. Just the result I so desperately wanted.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4BM0-Nhz4A/TxVlwA2hFnI/AAAAAAAAC50/UCswnLwXlrI/s1600/P1010382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4BM0-Nhz4A/TxVlwA2hFnI/AAAAAAAAC50/UCswnLwXlrI/s320/P1010382.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another fall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Nearly perfect… Except for two things.<br />
<br />
One. I had another fall. Nothing serious. Was going down a steep hill, with two furrows down the middle of the road. I was on the inside next to one furrow and my front wheel started sliding into it. Instead of fighting it, I let both wheels drop in, thinking I’ll just coast down in the furrow (can do that sometimes). Simple enough. But for some reason it completely backfired. Don’t know what happened, but the next instant the back of the bike came flying past. I was thrown off, and the bike came to a halt a few meters down hill. The front now facing uphill. Somehow, I did a complete 180. I was ok, bike was ok and it was easy to pick up. Nothing serious. Just perfect for my ego/confidence. Wish I had it on video camera, think it looked spectacular.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iBxnoloIEoQ/TxVntkXbbnI/AAAAAAAAC6s/fRkjlpQyryc/s1600/P1010395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iBxnoloIEoQ/TxVntkXbbnI/AAAAAAAAC6s/fRkjlpQyryc/s320/P1010395.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bush Camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Two. The bees at my camp. For some strange reason there was a swarm off bees around my campsite. They liked something on me or my gear, because they just wouldn’t leave. I think maybe the salt (Yes, I am dirty and smelly and sweaty. Life is good). I tried everything from a smoky fire to insect repellent. Nothing helped even in the slightest. There where so many that I struggled to get stuff out of my panniers. As soon as I disturbed them they would smarm all around me and try to sit on me. Some even tried to come land on my face. Very gutsy for a small bee, but so irritating. To get my gear on I had to shake the bees off, run to the fire, stand in the smoke and get dressed before they could find a landing spot. <br />
Luckily I didn't get stung, it was all just very very irritating.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h5FOtNKr2Ek/TxVojelvPvI/AAAAAAAAC7E/kKVlOQ3l8NQ/s1600/P1010401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h5FOtNKr2Ek/TxVojelvPvI/AAAAAAAAC7E/kKVlOQ3l8NQ/s320/P1010401.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tumble dryer?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Coming into Libreville I had high hopes for the capital. But I was so disappointed. The road coming in was a potholed mess. One of the worst so far. Such a let down after the beautiful roads in the country. They are busy building a new highway, so it will improve. It is here where they are building the new highway that I saw some off the saddest sights of a capital in Africa. A whole lot of houses, buildings and market stalls where bulldozed to make way for improvement. But some of these houses where only halfway collapsed, or partly bulldozed. People would be living there with a big hole for a wall, you could see into kitchens and bathrooms and living rooms. There would be shops with the whole front gone, but business as usual (restaurant with a scenic view of the main road). Very strange sight indeed. The markets sprang back up, right in between all the rubble. People would be trying to sell goods, and food, with rubble and rotting garbage piled head high right next to them. So sad!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YzSuU65HydmjEYciDbi7lS2M2A-zW1ntkZbBr9vR4xvxOtlWY9dbG1XMlek3RazHSrcuRyd17O8O4h5x9BK_OELn42jMAZjuUskT6UoqC0JW3bzPLVUroKeVnQpj3IOqUFac3WgEE3w/s1600/P1010421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YzSuU65HydmjEYciDbi7lS2M2A-zW1ntkZbBr9vR4xvxOtlWY9dbG1XMlek3RazHSrcuRyd17O8O4h5x9BK_OELn42jMAZjuUskT6UoqC0JW3bzPLVUroKeVnQpj3IOqUFac3WgEE3w/s320/P1010421.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yHvb8hGpHis/TxVqPsoSzlI/AAAAAAAAC70/MBaFj9gTGww/s1600/P1010415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yHvb8hGpHis/TxVqPsoSzlI/AAAAAAAAC70/MBaFj9gTGww/s320/P1010415.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Play time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new Africa-2000 washing station. Adults, children, clothes and dishes all done at the same time saving you time and money.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys back together</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the equator</td></tr>
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I joined up with Morten and Dominik again, and our main aim for Libreville was another attempt at getting our last visa. The Angolan mountain. No luck. Same story as before, we need to get them at Matadi, last stop before the border. Was nice to have the Abuja story confirmed. But again it might just be a polite way to get rid of us, and Matadi was in the DRC. We wanted to keep our stay in the DRC as short as possible, and it leaves all our eggs in one basket, we would be screwed if Matadi said ‘NO.’ We weren't happy but didn’t have much of a choice. We tried every trick in the book to convince the Angolan embassy to give us a visa. Dominik’s best smooth talk fell on deaf ears, they wouldn’t budge.<br />
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Both nights in Libreville it rained monstrous volumes. Thunderstorms lasting for hours and hours, pouring down buckets of water. I had nightmares about what the forest roads would be like in such rain. All I could do was to cross my fingers and hope we miss it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Official equator crossing</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Need some champagne</td></tr>
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We spend the next few days lazily exploring the forests of inland Gabon. What an amazing ride. I could go on for hours about how stunning the views were, and just how gorgeous those huge big trees are, but it would never do it justice. There where so many times that you come over a hill, or go down a valley, and this stunning view would just open up before you. To the point of goose bumps. Again and again. Looking at a map we only did such a small piece, but it all felt so immense, so huge. I would love to see what the deeply remote forests look like.<br />
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Aw man, I nearly forgot. Leaving Libreville I passed two momentous milestones. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVH-6DQETAo/TxVvPxS8wEI/AAAAAAAADMk/OY1tbpAiFUU/s1600/P1010459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iVH-6DQETAo/TxVvPxS8wEI/AAAAAAAADMk/OY1tbpAiFUU/s320/P1010459.JPG" width="320" /></a>Firstly I passed the 18000km mark. Huge in my books. Why? According to my initial calculations I should be sitting on the beach in Cape Town. My belly full of big succulent steaks and large volumes of good red wine. Yes, I thought I would be home after 18000km. Amazing that I’ve gotten the distances so wrong. I’ve been enjoying myself so much that I managed quite a few side trips and thus a lot of extra mileage. Naturally there is a down side, I only carried enough spares and consumables for about 20000km. But Africa and my bike has been good to me and I am not worried.<br />
The second one was crossing the equator. My first land crossing of the equator. WHOOP WHOOP. We wanted to make a huge show of it, but where my GPS shows it should be there is nothing. Not even half a sign. Then 20 km further there is a big equator crossing sign, showing London to be 6500km away in a straight line. Somebody made a huge mistake. In the end we had two confused semi-celebrations. But no Champagne!!<br />
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At Lastoursville it was time for us to split up again. Only temporarily. We would meet just before the new year in Congo. According to our calculations we where on track to reach Matadi just after Christmas. Not a good time, we where convinced the embassy will be closed between Christmas and new year. This gave us a few days to explore. Morten and Dominique wanted to head inland, while I wanted to explore the reserves along the south western coast of Gabon. They are supposed to be gorgeous and many people recommended me to go there, but most off them are super expensive and cater mainly for the rich European tourist. I was hoping to go there and trying to wangle my way in. If I don’t, I still get to explore the coast. Good enough for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GEgQ0Uaj-hQ/TxV0lSSw59I/AAAAAAAADNE/h0T0h-8xLQw/s1600/P1010504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GEgQ0Uaj-hQ/TxV0lSSw59I/AAAAAAAADNE/h0T0h-8xLQw/s320/P1010504.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikers' breakfast</td></tr>
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We said our goodbyes and wished each other a merry Christmas. Felt weird to think we are reaching that time. MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE. I then headed off towards the coast. I had another stunning drive towards the main road. Loved every minute of it. Being alone just makes you that much more aware of how huge the forests are. It would have been a perfect excursion if it wasn’t for a few small glitches.<br />
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Why do I only get glitches when I do side excursions? Everything runs perfect until I step off the main path. Guess that’s half the fun?<br />
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I camped along the way in an old gravel pit (excavations made to provide gravel for the road). It was the only semi dry spot I could find and far enough off road that no one on the road would see me. Actually was a pretty good spot. Flat, not to bumpy, and they bulldozed some trees, leaving me with nice fire wood. Nothing like a bonfire to keep you company. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food shopping</td></tr>
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To spoil things there where these small ‘biting flies.’ Not much bigger than a pencil point, you can barely see them, and don’t feel them bite. But they leave extremely itchy red blotches. I had a couple dozen that evening, and it was torture not to scratch. The next morning I tried a double layer of Deet, but to no avail. While packing up camp I disturbed the whole lot of them and had a huge smarm around me and the bike. Nothing I did could get rid of them. By the time I was packed and ready to go I had a few dozen more bites. The itchiness was driving me insane and I just wanted to leave. <br />
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Naturally things are never that simple. I jumped on the bike and it wouldn’t start. Battery flat again. AAGGHHH!!<br />
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Everything has been working perfectly… until the moment I was desperate to leave. Nothing serious, just not enough juice to start. <br />
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And the suckers where eating me alive.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice hot shower</td></tr>
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I was fully packed. It would take me at least half an hour to unload, reach the battery and jumpstart with my spare. Half an hour of being sucked dry.<br />
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Out of desperation I put on another layer of Deet, and sprayed the area around me with insect killer. Insect killer in the forest? Like that’s going to help. But I had to try something.<br />
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By the time I had my bike started (JUST) I was covered in little black blood suckers. More than 10 on me at a time. This was going to be torture. Happy that my bike was running I packed up and fled. About 10 km further I stopped to observe the damage.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damage from the insect bites</td></tr>
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OUCH!! <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsyG93jxIsa5FeWZ4lRJe8kDGo0r1GEpdncn9tuY2CpfNeoOdcRuqnjZnC0PsakGOTOmvtw2Or6jeDXI17PnIeOszpSeCfRCaJ9DY1V4sbcT-dphbByZZxcmhBBrbZjFBvBq-aJllfmY/s1600/P1010548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
My arms, legs, stomach and face where covered in red blotches. My arms by far the worst. Literary hundreds. I took some photos so I could see the back of my arms and shoulders. WOW. I was shocked It looked bad. Nearly one big red blotch (will try my best to upload photo, looked really bad). I was in for one hell of an itchy ride.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_OqcZ2hxfae3wKlbK2l-JNNmDtyuL2hWiTgYq-Jd2Umoexd3QJ7CWFWBfGnim6-LIVNO3qxv9R5-CBys9zArAF47fPiosNunNrjXXwXqCiebt_TH2dLBN575HT0GBsNRte1ETm2Rw1M/s1600/P1010545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_OqcZ2hxfae3wKlbK2l-JNNmDtyuL2hWiTgYq-Jd2Umoexd3QJ7CWFWBfGnim6-LIVNO3qxv9R5-CBys9zArAF47fPiosNunNrjXXwXqCiebt_TH2dLBN575HT0GBsNRte1ETm2Rw1M/s320/P1010545.JPG" width="320" /></a>Trying not to let the itchiness distract me to much, I had a big decision to make about the damn flat battery. I could ignore it as a once off glitch and just continue with my plans, or maybe this was a warning of worse to come. Libreville was a hard days ride away. VERY VERY hard days ride. But it had a good mechanic.<br />
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Decisions… Decisions…<br />
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I wasn’t keen on Libreville, and hated the thought of backtracking so far. I would spend half my extra R&R time going there and back. Riding hard and not getting the planned easy recharge days. BUT, on the other side I was alone and doing remote roads. Our motto for the whole trip so far has been ‘safety first’. What if things glitch again just when I needed it most? In DRC or Angola? I am a month away from Namibia, just need something that will last until I get there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who moved South Africa?</td></tr>
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In the end I made the hard and unpopular decision of backtracking. I would also try to do it in one day, to minimize the days lost. Spend a day or two sorting things, and then leave ASAP.<br />
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Libreville here I come… again. AAAGGGHHH!!<br />
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It was a hellish ride, 550km and 11 hours in the saddle. The furthest daily run for months. For the final few hours I seriously regretted my decision. I knew it was the right one, but I wasn’t enjoying it. The last hour was in fading light and darkness. Did I ever mention it’s lunacy to drive at night in Africa? I can confirm it again!! NEVER DO THAT!!<br />
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Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-75775615058913810722011-12-14T14:40:00.000+00:002011-12-14T14:51:18.342+00:00Movember attempt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Can anyone beat my Movember attempt?<br />
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</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-17484562609881303522011-12-14T13:56:00.003+00:002012-01-25T12:33:33.969+00:00Last of Cameroon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking it all a part. Manual to the left.</td></tr>
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The first morning in Limbe I was up bright and early. Eager for a gorgeous day on the beach. Not so lucky. I had a broken bike to fix. <br />
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My first job was to get my flat battery on a charger, and look for a replacement. Found a charging place easily enough, this time I would leave it on a slow charge for a full day. Give it the best chance possible to magically come back to life. The replacement battery was not to be. There where many available but the reserve capacity was not enough. I convinced some guys to look around town and I would check in with them later the day.<br />
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My second job was research. My bike manual has very little information about the charging system and even less about testing it. If I wanted to know more I had to be able to trouble shoot. A couple of hours with my best friend Google did the trick. I now had a better idea about the workings off the system and slightly better tests.<br />
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My motorbike’s charging system has three main components.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4oo6svekQOY/TvMj0Yj_WmI/AAAAAAAACfQ/DUJor689a4k/s1600/P1010231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4oo6svekQOY/TvMj0Yj_WmI/AAAAAAAACfQ/DUJor689a4k/s320/P1010231.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning coast</td></tr>
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(If you are more electronically inclined than me don’t bother with the next bit)<br />
The obvious one is the battery. It holds spare electricity that the bike uses, especially when starting the bike. My bike only has a electronic start, I need electricity to start it, This uses a phenomenal amount of charge, so I need a certain amount of reserve capacity to run my starter a few times without deep discharging the batteries. Such deep discharges are very bad for any battery and severely shortens it’s lifespan. The battery is very prone to damage and a hard nock can easily kill it, causing it to loose it’s charge either completely or very quickly. A dead battery is by far the easiest part to change of the system. A healthy 12v battery has a charge of about 13.2 – 13.5v, my bike can’t start on a charge off less than 12.8v, and can’t run on a charge of less than about 12.2v. Strange but true.<br />
Second is the alternator. Basically three electronic coils spinning inside or around a magnet. This produces an electromagnetically induced current in the three wires. This current is a garbled mess and the bike cannot use it. This is where the last part the regulator comes in. I couldn’t find a proper way to test the alternator, and my bike’s is very hard to reach. Luckily they have a good reputation and are usually the last of the three to give problems.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nO7QNOsYlaE/TvMmd_u5IRI/AAAAAAAAChQ/rkxO5kFO2aQ/s1600/P1010270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nO7QNOsYlaE/TvMmd_u5IRI/AAAAAAAAChQ/rkxO5kFO2aQ/s320/P1010270.JPG" width="320" /></a>Thirdly is the regulator. It accepts the garbled mess the alternator generates. Combines the three currents and kicks out a smooth single DC current that charges the battery. It should kick out a charging current off about 14-15v, and increasing the refs should increase this, to just under 15v. The regulators used be one of the weaker parts on the older versions of my bikes, but are more reliable on mine. It sits in a relatively exposed place and can die with a hard knock. A dying regulator either gives to strong a charging current (>15v) effectively frying the battery, or to little (<14v) and the battery doesn’t charge properly until it runs flat. The regulator is a pretty specialised part, easy to get in the UK or SA, but not here. There are a couple big bikes that use the same regulator, but you won’t find many of them in this part of Africa.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4W8uljqp9H0/TvMooTL3VvI/AAAAAAAACi4/spwQnB_8Hwk/s1600/P1010297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4W8uljqp9H0/TvMooTL3VvI/AAAAAAAACi4/spwQnB_8Hwk/s320/P1010297.JPG" width="237" /></a>I didn’t have a charged battery to run the tests, wouldn’t have one until the following morning. So I started with basics. I needed to figure out my bikes wiring diagram, to the untrained eye it looks impossibly complex. While doing this I also checked all the wires, switches and connections for any thing that might cause them to function sub optimally. Naturally my first focus was the charging system. This took forever. I found a few places with some corrosion, but not really enough to cause the system to die. I cleaned every important connection until it looked brand spanking new. Hard job, and I didn’t finish until nightfall.<br />
<br />
So much for a relaxing day on the beach. Gorgeous grilled seafood for dinner was the perfect consolation prize. Again.<br />
<br />
The next day I had my newly charged battery. Nobody could find a new replacement, but everyone promised I would find one on Douala. Not putting my hopes on it, but worth a try.<br />
Testing the battery it seemed ok. Charge just below normal. Not behaving like a dead battery, but not like a good healthy one either.<br />
<br />
Next test was for a leak in the system, a possible reason for a discharging battery. Found one.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-COi59uVnQYE/TvMolSNnCaI/AAAAAAAACi0/w30wxPZRgmc/s1600/P1010296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-COi59uVnQYE/TvMolSNnCaI/AAAAAAAACi0/w30wxPZRgmc/s320/P1010296.JPG" width="320" /></a>How the hell am I going to find a leak in the wiring system. I tried to narrow the possible cause down by unplugging the fuses one by one. Result. The bikes electronic circuit. Aw man, the most complex system on the bike. Lady luck wasn't being kind to me. I spend most off the day trying to find the problem. It turned out to be somewhere in the dashboard. I traced it until I reached the electronic circuit board, and couldn't go further. It’s not a huge leak, and not enough to kill the system, but might just be enough to push a dying system over the edge.<br />
<br />
Next I tested the regulator, was kicking out less than 14v. Bad sign. And when I increase the refs the current decreases. Even worse. I tried the same test with Mortens good battery, slightly better results but still below normal. Looks like a dying regulator. This could be bad. Not a disaster, but bad. I wasn’t ready to give up on the whole system so I decided to give the bike a test run the next day.<br />
<br />
And another gorgeous beach day past without setting a foot on the beach. Again the freshly grilled seafood made up for it.<br />
<br />
The next morning the charge on my battery was significantly less. Either the leak, or the battery is also dying. Not enough to kill the system, but again maybe just enough to push a dying system over the edge. Why does everything have to be so complicated?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe29epPTL0odOuYb5zKqNUZhwdd4_8kpfnDmL5xuBgpkvl6bG17VvOhyphenhyphenBKOCjpbZwewiZmOsJxWvz4U4TUI6T_56-nmzd0JwZ5iyfOy8YpnOWzaNQy_K3e55VYDhVfpD3JMGm9a6g1cI/s1600/P1010247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe29epPTL0odOuYb5zKqNUZhwdd4_8kpfnDmL5xuBgpkvl6bG17VvOhyphenhyphenBKOCjpbZwewiZmOsJxWvz4U4TUI6T_56-nmzd0JwZ5iyfOy8YpnOWzaNQy_K3e55VYDhVfpD3JMGm9a6g1cI/s320/P1010247.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing voltages the African way</td></tr>
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<br />
Initially the test run didn’t go much better either, my running voltages where well below 14v. But at least they where steady, and not decreasing. The battery was slowly charging. Whoop, whoop. After about 80 kilometres things where slowly increasing. Result. And after 150 kilometres I was just touching 14v. WOW.<br />
<br />
I had no idea why but the charging system started looking better. Not perfect, and most of the time just below normal, but good enough to run the bike. The important thing was that at least the system wasn’t dying anymore. But for how long? <br />
<br />
Strangely my neutral light now goes on every time I use the clutch. Doesn’t matter what gear I’m in, if I use the clutch the light goes on. All the testing was leaving me with more questions than answers. One of the symptoms of a dying battery is electronics going haywire (not a clue why), I needed a new battery to see if it would make any difference.<br />
<br />
That afternoon I finally had my first swim in the sea. Was fantastic, and the first time since Gambia. Feels like years ago, but it’s only been about two months. <br />
<br />
Guess what I had for dinner? Grilled seafood. Just couldn’t get enough!<br />
<br />
That Sunday afternoon we set off for Douala. My best bet for a new battery. We had four days in Limbe and I barely saw the beach. Definitely didn’t get the R&R I so much needed, but at least my bike was running ok, and I thoroughly enjoyed the fresh seafood on offer.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_hfS4qkC0YrNV5-UzoxHc3GVtbWZrJrdH2ULkhBnJoqq3sZUJpOLkzTuzEz8ZeaXboIjPddEnvcP_AwJ9cHuNd512Le0JFMrgO9wqkdAc4Y8KDsjUh6Q1NAJLdM5P4N0r547Nc1iFDA/s1600/P1010253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC_hfS4qkC0YrNV5-UzoxHc3GVtbWZrJrdH2ULkhBnJoqq3sZUJpOLkzTuzEz8ZeaXboIjPddEnvcP_AwJ9cHuNd512Le0JFMrgO9wqkdAc4Y8KDsjUh6Q1NAJLdM5P4N0r547Nc1iFDA/s320/P1010253.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys from Prague, engine on the floor.</td></tr>
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Douala was good for two things. A new battery, not exactly the capacity I needed, but good enough. And a ragging hangover. Both just what the doctor ordered. Late the afternoon we set off for Yaoundé. The capital and our next visa stop. <br />
<br />
The road there was beautiful new tarmac and went through gorgeous thick forests. The sunset through the forest was just amazing. But most importantly it was a nice long stretch for my newly settled charging system. And it behaved well. Still running just below normal, but it’s ok. Between Limbe and Yaoundé I did more than 500 kilometres on the recharged battery. Before Limbe it was dead after 150 kilometres. But I still didn’t know why things looked better.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tqs_YAzW5oiQjQf8YeeKnvBNh-tgPWNPRo_XBRmtI_6lgLLxwhYlxXR-UalnISTdv_zJ_uEhyphenhyphendKKwYb-OaL3fElG3TUpKBIKzgA2JqPcaH2IHnLXI6eRQpGDQzEmPgbbcXTvVQZJu_0/s1600/P1010304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tqs_YAzW5oiQjQf8YeeKnvBNh-tgPWNPRo_XBRmtI_6lgLLxwhYlxXR-UalnISTdv_zJ_uEhyphenhyphendKKwYb-OaL3fElG3TUpKBIKzgA2JqPcaH2IHnLXI6eRQpGDQzEmPgbbcXTvVQZJu_0/s320/P1010304.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Skoda.</td></tr>
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Our first job in Yaoundé was the dreaded DRC visa. Normally easy, but just DRC had their elections and the results where not yet out. A lot of people around here think the things are going to be very bad in DRC once the results are released. This effectively froze visas until who knows when. Over the last couple months visas have become harder and harder to get, and by now there where lots of rumours that we wouldn’t be able to get them.<br />
But trying never hurt anyone. The first time me and Morten went and we where told to come back the next day. Sometimes in Africa this was a polite refusal, but we would be there first thing the next morning. Morten and Dominique then went to apply for their Gabon visas. Surprisingly I didn’t need one, so I used the time to get my new battery charged and to give my bike some TLC. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting the Skoda, old school with a crank.</td></tr>
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Since I found a little corrosion on some switches and connections I bought some electrical contact cleaner. The idea was to get it all in ship shape condition. I also wanted to solve the mystery of the neutral light going on when I use my clutch. Needless to say the fiddly electronics kept me busy for the rest of the day. When I finally had everything back together I turned on the bike and my neutral light was behaving normally. Don’t know why, but result. When I started the bike…<br />
<br />
NOTHING HAPPENED.<br />
<br />
Lights go on, fuel pump works… Everything looks ok. But when I press the starter…<br />
<br />
NOTHING.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Not even an attempt at starting.<br />
<br />
WTF?<br />
<br />
I desperately ran through all the obvious things…<br />
<br />
Still nothing.<br />
<br />
Tried again…<br />
<br />
Nothing<br />
<br />
And again…<br />
<br />
Nothing…<br />
<br />
AAAGGGHHHH!!!!<br />
<br />
I couldn’t believe this. A whole day of TLC on the bike and then this.<br />
<br />
I was gutted. Worse, it felt like it ripped my heart and guts out. <br />
If just been bitch slapped so hard my balls hurt… by a motorbike.<br />
<br />
So much time and so much effort and for the second time in a week my bike is dead.<br />
I knew the most likely cause would be a slightly loose or poorly fitting connection, that I could solve, but it was also the first time I heard a slight panic in Morten’s voice. I should have panicked, but what’s the use. I was way to fed up to bother. <br />
<br />
A good meal, an ice cold bear and a good night’s sleep make a lot of things better, and by the next morning I was ready to start again. But first was our DRC visa application.<br />
<br />
This time Dominik came with, we needed his best persuasive French. He was good, a sweet talker, but this would test him. We arrived at the embassy bright and early. Too early. Only the gate guard was there, but he let us in and we waited patiently. Dominik speaking French seemed to to the trick, as the staff arrived they where much friendlier than the previous day. We even managed to hand in our applications. One step closer…<br />
<br />
I had no choice but to tackle the bike again. I was determined not to let this beat me. This time I was even more thorough than before. Every electronic component I touched was cleaned, reconnected and tested. Everything remotely connected to the starter had the same treatment.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until late the afternoon that I had everything back together.<br />
And I tried again…<br />
<br />
It started… First time… WHOOP WHOOP!!<br />
<br />
A week after it all started I finally had a running bike and a new fully charged battery.<br />
Was a phenomenal hard slog, but I did it!!<br />
<br />
While I was fighting with the bike, Morten and Dominik went to see the DRC ambassador. They where armed with maps of our route and ready to charm the pants off the guy. I don’t know how, but it worked. They returned with 30 day visas for DRC. Initially the ambassador was very reluctant, but somehow they convinced him. Because off the new visa restrictions they are not actually allowed to give one so we had some conditions to the visa. The first one being that weren’t allowed to tell anyone we got it in Yaoundé (Shhh, don’t tell), and secondly we had to stay out of the Kinshasa, the capital. We didn’t mind, we where ecstatic to have it.<br />
<br />
Now we only need one more visa. Angola. Still a mountain to climb. Morton and I both thought we could apply in Yaoundé, but we couldn’t. There is no Angolan embassy in Yaoundé. Idiots. The mountain would have to wait for Libreville.<br />
<br />
Just 48 hours after entering Yaoundé we had all our visas. Morten and Dominik managed to get both the DRC and Gabon visas in that short time. They where on good form. We where ready to leave, but here our plans split a little.<br />
<br />
They where ready for Gabon, but I wasn’t. Firstly I still wanted to test my new battery and the newly settled charging system some more before I hit Central Africa. I was especially keen to see how everything would handle on rough gravel, until now I only tested on good tarmac. Secondly I still desperately needed some R&R, after the past week’s rollercoaster I needed a short break. We decided to split up for a few days. Morten and Dominik heading for Gabon, and I would go to Kribi. Cameroon’s other well known beach resort.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kribi</td></tr>
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I've been in Kribi for a few days now. What a great place. The small hotel I’m staying in is right on the beach. The waves breaking 20 meters from the bar terrace. Gorgeous view and stunning sunsets. The seafood is great and the beer ice cold. Perfect place for R&R.<br />
<br />
I’ve done test runs with both batteries, on both tarmac and gravel. Everything seems settled. I still have a small current leak, but it’s ok. I still don’t know why everything crashed, but probably never will. Moon Head Hill was probably the killer. The whole system runs just below normal, but it’s good enough. I think the regulator is a little shot, fingers crossed it lasts until Southern Africa. But it’s not a problem until it breaks. I will carry both the old and new battery until I am more certain things will last.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1szJLiOR5Q/TwcqWEYwSEI/AAAAAAAACjk/4El4QKXtxgE/s1600/P1010306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_1szJLiOR5Q/TwcqWEYwSEI/AAAAAAAACjk/4El4QKXtxgE/s320/P1010306.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much luxury</td></tr>
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<br />
I've also met some fantastic people here.<br />
<br />
An Ausie/SA couple who are a few months into a 2 year journey criss-crossing Africa. Lucky people. Great people and a wealth of information for about Gabon, Congo and Angola.<br />
<br />
And two guys form Prague also doing the Western route to SA. In a 1968 Skoda. Unbelievable. The amount of problems they have had is phenomenal, when I arrived here they had the whole engine out on the grass and where covered in grease. They’ve lost wheels, nearly every component broke at least once, the starter is broken so they have to use a crank when they can’t run start. But they are so light hearted about everything. Nothing gets them down and they just laugh about all their follies. Brilliant. I actually briefly met them in Yaoundé but was so caught up in my issues I missed them. Their attitude to trouble is fantastic and I can learn a lot from them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNWiTWIRUc/TxUtMadtrEI/AAAAAAAACmI/8mcwShBtzwE/s1600/P1010323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNWiTWIRUc/TxUtMadtrEI/AAAAAAAACmI/8mcwShBtzwE/s320/P1010323.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alone in the forest</td></tr>
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<br />
I am really looking forward to Central Africa. It seems like the only bit that might still be deepest darkest Africa. But I doubt it. Will have to wait and see. The forests of Cameroon have been an amazing sight and I’m really keen for proper equatorial forest. Never seen it in my life. I also get to cross the equator somewhere in Gabon. A lot to look forward to.<br />
<br />
Update : I’m safely in Gabon. Another easy border crossing, on both sides. Not even a hint at a bribe. Again. My luck seems to be holding.</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-62805157663233260142011-12-12T13:56:00.000+00:002012-01-25T12:15:04.409+00:00Limping into Limbe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
The morning after our slaughter on Moon Head Hill, Morten and I where feeling pretty grim. We where battered and bruised with aching muscles and shattered egos. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJGVNLvM4wLmEkb6xYMmM_yTgCYNfcCRSW_p-IJZZMfARMoO9gx02Wk2iFE5WcVvgroMr-bHnh6xq4bPb5-ENLB022nXSH8J5vC_xoHvUh4VBdPo1xnVQCiK_yd2skxowQPE2rSN38mQ/s1600/P1010176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJGVNLvM4wLmEkb6xYMmM_yTgCYNfcCRSW_p-IJZZMfARMoO9gx02Wk2iFE5WcVvgroMr-bHnh6xq4bPb5-ENLB022nXSH8J5vC_xoHvUh4VBdPo1xnVQCiK_yd2skxowQPE2rSN38mQ/s320/P1010176.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning view from high above</td></tr>
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My big worry was my bike not starting. It was a good sign that I managed to jump start it, and that it ran ok with Morten’s battery. The most likely causes where that the battery just had a hard nock and is not working properly anymore, or that with all the stopping and starting (falling actually) it just didn’t have time to charge. Starting a bike uses so much power that you need to run it for about 30 minutes to recharge the power used. For the last bit we never even came close to that. To top things off I left the lights on for about half an hour when we reached the top. Probably just enough to kill the last bit of power in the battery. We had no way of knowing which one, until we made it to a bigger town where we could properly charge the dead battery, and then we would have to give it a test run afterwards.<br />
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I was desperate for the battery to be the cause, about motorbike electronics I know very little.<br />
<br />
The next big town was Dschang, only 50 kilometres away, but still through forest tracks. We where promised the road ahead was much better. As proof we saw lots of cars in Menji, a good sigh that other vehicles can do the next stretch. There where no cars along the Moon Head Hill stretch, it was impassable for normal vehicles.<br />
<br />
With my confidence in pieces, and my body aching, I was really hoping the road would be much better. Another Moon Head Hill would certainly be my end.<br />
<br />
Our plan B for the bikes was to put my battery in Morten’s bike, and his good battery in mine. His bike doesn’t have all the electronics (fuel injection, ECU etc.) that mine does and he can run on much less battery power. We where also secretly hoping the battery would charge while on his bike, would be a very good sign. My battery was so dead that he couldn’t even kick start his bike, we had to jump start it using both batteries, OUCH! But it worked and we had two running bikes. Limping but running. WHOOP WHOOP.<br />
<br />
Our fabulous host for the last nearly 24 hours, Evaristas, treated us to a huge spread for breakfast, we couldn’t even finish half off it. He really went out of his way to make sure we got the best possible food and rest while we where there. When we set off he was very keen to follow us and help where needed. As great as this would have been if things went wrong, we couldn’t let him. His bar has pretty much been left unattended since he started helping us. He has done way more than many people would. We where extremely grateful, and couldn’t let him do anymore. It was with a surprisingly heavy heart that we said our goodbyes and set off.<br />
<br />
Please let the road be better!!<br />
<br />
The first 10 kilometres off the better road was actually surprisingly tough. Nothing compared to the previous day, but still tough. It wouldn’t have been so hard, but my confidence was in pieces. Instead off relaxing and just letting the bike do the work, I was tense and frozen and because of that steering was a nightmare. I wasn’t dancing around potholes and ruts, I was lumbering through everything, my speed down to a crawl. Aw man, this was going to be a long day!!<br />
<br />
To my great relief the road eventually opened up and became quite decent. We did a gorgeous climb to nearly 2000 meters, with a view to die for. After the climb it was mostly downhill and it started to look like we would make Dschang. My mood lifted a bit and I was back in the Africa I love so much.<br />
<br />
But only for a short while. About ten kilometres out of Dschang Morten’s bike started coughing and spluttering. He was loosing power. We where really limping. AAGGHHH.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CMl56eeZrCE/TvHq_X0qkSI/AAAAAAAACb0/pPobxZ1Fcro/s1600/P1010177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CMl56eeZrCE/TvHq_X0qkSI/AAAAAAAACb0/pPobxZ1Fcro/s320/P1010177.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking things apart in the middle of nowhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Please let us make the ten kilometres.<br />
<br />
Six kilometres out his bike died on a really small hill. He just didn’t have the power to make it to the top. We desperately looked for any other cause, but in the end we changed the batteries back again. The good battery was now in his bike, and it run perfectly. Not a good sign for me, instead off my battery charging in his bike it lost power. And we where only six kilometres out off town. Only six!!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pA0wFq_Eo7A/TvH2HtC9xXI/AAAAAAAACcc/KK5pyXutO_o/s1600/P1010185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pA0wFq_Eo7A/TvH2HtC9xXI/AAAAAAAACcc/KK5pyXutO_o/s320/P1010185.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taxi driver who brought me a battery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Morten head into town with his perfectly running bike, found a hotel, put my battery on a charger and then got on a moto taxi to bring me his good battery. We made it into town without any further problems. We tried looking for a replacement battery, but couldn’t find anything to do the job. We could only hope my old battery wasn’t to broken to charge! The battery needed to charge until the next morning, and we couldn’t do much more that rest our aching bodies. Was much needed and we where both in bed by sunset.<br />
<br />
Our plan was to meet up with Dominik in Limbe. One of Cameroon’s famous beach towns. Well know for its black sandy beaches and abundant fresh seafood. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-71Z5ycM5fnA/TvH2OUlA0fI/AAAAAAAACck/HWN0GtyJjVo/s1600/P1010187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-71Z5ycM5fnA/TvH2OUlA0fI/AAAAAAAACck/HWN0GtyJjVo/s320/P1010187.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nearly home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all wanted a bit off R&R before heading into Central Africa, and we though Limbe would be the perfect place. Camerroon’s main industrial town, Douala, is also only 70 kilometers away from Limbe. We thought that I might be able to find spares there if there where bigger problems with my bike. Limbe was only a couple hundred kilometers away, could I make it?<br />
<br />
The next morning we eagerly fetched my battery, and checked the voltage. It was ok. WHOOP WHOOP. Looked like it charged after all. So we decided to make a run for Limbe. The road to Limbe was all brand new beautiful tarmac. Never thought I would be so glad to see tarmac. Coming out off the mountains the scenery was breathtakingly beautifull, but I just couldn’t appreciate it. My mind was running at lightning speed. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9QZPOOpa84/TvH3ccHr-gI/AAAAAAAACuE/QfDimGmMdp0/s1600/P1010190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9QZPOOpa84/TvH3ccHr-gI/AAAAAAAACuE/QfDimGmMdp0/s320/P1010190.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morten talking to locals while I do roadside repairs</td></tr>
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<br />
Best case scenario the battery only lost charge because of the torture of Moon Head Hill, and a proper charge brought it back to life. There where a few things pointing agains it, but still a slim possibility. Fingers crossed!! <br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tzntl8Cfzr0/TvH3p6CTJ6I/AAAAAAAACc4/vFzvlp8SUFo/s1600/P1010192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tzntl8Cfzr0/TvH3p6CTJ6I/AAAAAAAACc4/vFzvlp8SUFo/s320/P1010192.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt Cameroon in the distance</td></tr>
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Middle case scenario, I just needed a new battery. Not to hard, but not easy either. There are many 12v batteries available, but they are for the small Chinese bikes. My bike requires quite a big reserve capacity (12Amps/hour) to run the starter a few times. Most of the small batteries only have enough to start my bike once, maybe twice (2-5Amps/hour). I could use one of these small batteries as a emergency back up, but not much more. I might be able to find a bigger battery in one of the big towns.<br />
<br />
Worst case scenario my whole charging system was shot. Spare parts would be close to impossible to find, and could be very expensive to fix. Maybe shipping from the UK, again!! And I know very little about bike electronics. VERY VERY LITTLE!!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nGUJax5K0wk/TvMiIqeN_QI/AAAAAAAACdw/qjHgIQ8qhQw/s1600/P1010205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nGUJax5K0wk/TvMiIqeN_QI/AAAAAAAACdw/qjHgIQ8qhQw/s320/P1010205.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VKcbRif7tes/TvMiPhhos5I/AAAAAAAACd4/TIazttjOy6Q/s1600/P1010207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VKcbRif7tes/TvMiPhhos5I/AAAAAAAACd4/TIazttjOy6Q/s320/P1010207.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Limbe</td></tr>
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<br />
We already had a backup plan A, B, C, D, all the way to Z. The chances off this ending my trip where miniscule, but I just couldn't get the idea out off my mind. Yes I could easily finish without the bike, Plan Z, but the bike was my adventure. Africa on a motorbike is the shit!! With my mind racing the road to Limbe was pure torture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PHjcxlKQhdQ/TvMir4E2I8I/AAAAAAAACec/9I2CYTHlZf8/s1600/P1010217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PHjcxlKQhdQ/TvMir4E2I8I/AAAAAAAACec/9I2CYTHlZf8/s320/P1010217.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grilled seafood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
About 70 kilometres out of Limbe we stopped and my bike wouldn’t start again. That threw best case scenario out off the window. F***.<br />
<br />
We managed to jump start the bike from Mortens’ and I tried to make it to Limbe. Not a chance. My electronics where going haywire as the battery died, and the bike finally stalled 50 kilometres out of town. The battery flat again. Luckily there was still enough juice to run Morten’s bike and another battery swop got us into Limbe. This time the battery seemed to charge a little on his bike, but only a little. Strange. And his battery was not charging on my bike. Not good.<br />
<br />
Limping into Limbe… So smooth on the tongue, but such a horrible feeling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That night I pigged out on fresh prawns, fish and shrimp. Grilled to perfection. So good that I had dinner twice. Better than chicken soup for the soul.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-52660400528468672112011-12-10T13:55:00.000+00:002012-01-25T12:00:38.750+00:00Slaughter on Moon Head Hill<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gpsM4si_6I/TtqdrT1-fWI/AAAAAAAACOs/z82gZbKjY3c/s1600/P1010043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gpsM4si_6I/TtqdrT1-fWI/AAAAAAAACOs/z82gZbKjY3c/s320/P1010043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very glad it's dry</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iLwuB0baeJc/TtqeM0IKsoI/AAAAAAAACPM/kcRwoQwZygI/s1600/P1010052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iLwuB0baeJc/TtqeM0IKsoI/AAAAAAAACPM/kcRwoQwZygI/s320/P1010052.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some fun in the mud</td></tr>
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The route we took into Cameroon is the infamous Mamfe-Ekok road. It is 80 kilometres of red African dirt, that winds through the forests and hills of Western Cameroon. The area is also very wet and swampy. During the rainy season the road gets covered in a layer of mud that can be a meter deep. There are numerous blogs and stories of people who get stuck here and when its bad it can easily take a week to do. During the wet the Unimogs are the only vehicles that can pass through, and they leave big meter deep furrows making the road even trickier for anybody else (The Unimog is a specially built ex army truck, made for the impossible African roads. They can literally go anywhere over any terrain.). In my mind I have really built this road up to be a good test of skills and endurance.<br />
<br />
When we crossed the border everyone was very quick to tell us that we where lucky because the rains stopped about 2 weeks ago, it was dry and easy to do. They where even quicker to point put that a couple came through with a Landrover when it was wet, and they got stuck in one of the small villages for a month. Ouch! Dominik was about 3 days ahead of us and he did it in one day, so we knew it was dry and in relatively good nick.<br />
<br />
In some strange masochistic way it was a little bit of a disappointment not having to struggle through the infamous Mamfe-Ekok road. It was a gorgeous track, winding through thick forests and rolling hills. There was loads of evidence of just how difficult it could be, with dried mud pits of more than a meter deep, Deep dried tracks and ruts with steep walls. My panniers just fit into most of these tracks, and I scrapped through a few times. The pannier that now sits higher came in very handy, and actually made things a little easier. The worst and steepest tracks where to narrow to fit the bikes in and we had to balance the bike on the middle man while driving through. This was quite scary, having a 30 cm ledge to balance on with half a meter or more drop to the sides. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HOyS9PqoHBVBBTaaqwZCES-O7L66hxCSpx6ydvk2XnCgOA5LApxlmG07Js34ZDnh9zcK_z-F_KgMorKkoV3LvHwvzEaMFi3bYyjFYxgbUNrDdfIcztyL7GTbnNaLJhXRMUHQ9OIzE7k/s1600/P1010055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HOyS9PqoHBVBBTaaqwZCES-O7L66hxCSpx6ydvk2XnCgOA5LApxlmG07Js34ZDnh9zcK_z-F_KgMorKkoV3LvHwvzEaMFi3bYyjFYxgbUNrDdfIcztyL7GTbnNaLJhXRMUHQ9OIzE7k/s320/P1010055.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad track to the right and toll road to the left</td></tr>
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The worst of these old mud pits was a garbled mess of old tracks, deep ruts and furrows from when the vehicles got stuck into it. The old mud was dried hard as rock, and there was no clear path through. We could run along the top ridges with the bikes but cars couldn’t go through. To solve the problem one of the locals cleared an alternative route through the forest, and was charging toll fees for the vehicles to use ‘his’ track. Brilliant. African ingenuity at its best.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XWDfuW7ru7U/Ttqev4xmewI/AAAAAAAACPg/W_tWfHhnRGw/s1600/P1010057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XWDfuW7ru7U/Ttqev4xmewI/AAAAAAAACPg/W_tWfHhnRGw/s320/P1010057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Difficulty level increasing</td></tr>
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We arrived in Mamfe just after lunch feeling a bit disappointed. The road was tricky, but not very hard. We didn't have any falls and managed surprisingly well through the difficult bits. Feeling a little over confident we decided to to take an alternative route to our next destination. The old route from Mamfe to Deschang. The guide books describe it as very scenic, but sometimes downright scary. I though they where referring to narrow roads and passes, perfect for the bikes. If we had any idea how much this road would test us we wouldn’t have taken it. We didn’t, so we did.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOQlDJdTTJseuUhSQdITiBiSSaXMH2SKANUo5yK2r3ZlaAeTLD0WP1pMsjDlriNPVJCcPqbT31DNF5vGMDISPE6qgT1Fu7bOiv81118_hXJJlDPxxvjFK8aUP1ECH662zJe8HcQERIN4/s1600/P1010083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOQlDJdTTJseuUhSQdITiBiSSaXMH2SKANUo5yK2r3ZlaAeTLD0WP1pMsjDlriNPVJCcPqbT31DNF5vGMDISPE6qgT1Fu7bOiv81118_hXJJlDPxxvjFK8aUP1ECH662zJe8HcQERIN4/s320/P1010083.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous forest tracks</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mUnn6yje1Es/TuidB7QV9SI/AAAAAAAACWg/39X1TymIymE/s1600/P1010129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mUnn6yje1Es/TuidB7QV9SI/AAAAAAAACWg/39X1TymIymE/s320/P1010129.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun in the forest</td></tr>
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The new road immediately became much more difficult. It was a lot narrower, the ruts deeper, and the furrows very deep. To the point that we where forced to stay on the narrow track made by the small bikes. Very tricky with our big lumbering bikes, and the drop on both sides was quite steep. As luck would have it this was not even the difficult bit. The road slowly increased in difficulty, but it was so gradual that you became used to one level before things got harder. If the road started with the harder bits we would have turned away, but it slowly teased us deeper into the forest. By the end of the day we did some really tricky sections. One of the hardest was balancing the bike on a 15 cm ledge while going downhill on a steep hairpin bend, with meter deep ruts and rocks on both sides. After I stopped, looked up and thought ‘SHIT, DID I JUST DO THAT?’<br />
<br />
The scenery was amazing. Thick forest as far as you could see, I’ve never seen so much green, with big mountains on the horizon, and big lazy rivers winding their way through. That night we camped on one of the river beds. Easily the most beautiful place we have camped so far.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kQniBrDqbd8/TuiZaFMiVyI/AAAAAAAACWA/PLzg5gah9FM/s1600/P1010121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kQniBrDqbd8/TuiZaFMiVyI/AAAAAAAACWA/PLzg5gah9FM/s320/P1010121.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't fall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We where up early the next morning, recharged and ready to tackle the rest of the road. We still had another 70 kilometres to go, and we where hoping to reach Deschang by the end of the day.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P6Y-umEJcjQ/TtqhabWCjEI/AAAAAAAACRg/NJF2cCniTbw/s1600/P1010088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P6Y-umEJcjQ/TtqhabWCjEI/AAAAAAAACRg/NJF2cCniTbw/s320/P1010088.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bush camp on a river bank</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My first fall came early. Stupid one, but still a fall. I was balancing the bike on a small ledge my front wheel slipped on some mud and I lost my balance. I kicked out so hard to stop my bike falling to the one side that I dropped it to the other side. Idiot!! Morton was a bit ahead so I had to lift the bike myself. Hard work in the slippery mud but I managed. I could feel my energy levels where very low and I was till quite dehydrated from the previous day. I’ve been drinking as much as I could manage, but with the extreme humidity, the heat and the amount of effort it takes to throw the bikes around I was still behind on fluids. I definitely didn’t have the reserves to do a lot of bike pick ups. At this stage the road has become so tricky that turning around wasn’t really an option. We didn’t want to do the same difficult parts again.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxfFyJOp_5w4dYXRmyYk3-vZb_jXjNF8DjZANZTAXfXpThH_F-XJeKfKTajFcv75IIj_f1RkxJ7ukH4FtFVI5O2II1EarAxA3W1I_17JF3zQHpO5Txx1lDMNVNePB2m6hafFLNcWNwj4/s1600/P1010100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxfFyJOp_5w4dYXRmyYk3-vZb_jXjNF8DjZANZTAXfXpThH_F-XJeKfKTajFcv75IIj_f1RkxJ7ukH4FtFVI5O2II1EarAxA3W1I_17JF3zQHpO5Txx1lDMNVNePB2m6hafFLNcWNwj4/s320/P1010100.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clean, hot shower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I started looking for water and food in all the small villages we passed, but they where tiny and we couldn’t find anything. When my water ran out I was drinking water from cups that the locals offered me. This was not enough and I could feel my energy levels dropping after every stretch we did. The heat and humidity was sapping every little bit of energy.<br />
<br />
After about 15 km we reached a slightly bigger village with a small shop. We managed to get some water, sweet fizzy drinks and some fruit from the locals. We had a decent break and I was drinking as much as humanely possible. By this time my energy was so low that I had trouble lifting the bike form it’s kick stand. While having our break the locals told us the story of the road we where on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyBanWy1le_ZGc9b37OD64jv6vPBN2lu4myM4PfRDT7JTkzldEs_Hfltq02RvYmrmldNA9EPNPjrgg6mDFhOHBEcPBCDT_6IRdvyElY_WJbJnFVXkOExNj35PPKm2qDAzamRy4bHvjno/s1600/P1010125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyBanWy1le_ZGc9b37OD64jv6vPBN2lu4myM4PfRDT7JTkzldEs_Hfltq02RvYmrmldNA9EPNPjrgg6mDFhOHBEcPBCDT_6IRdvyElY_WJbJnFVXkOExNj35PPKm2qDAzamRy4bHvjno/s320/P1010125.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First fall of the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Most of the year it’s only accessible for the unimogs and small Chinese bikes, and when it’s wet only the unimogs can make the journey. (They cause the steep deep ruts.) These people are cocoa farmers and are very dependant on the unimogs to come and load their crops. When its raining they can be very isolated from the outside world, even with the closest town only 5km away. But it’s up a very steep hill. I felt very sorry for them. Hard manual labour on the steep hills to grow their crops and then it costs them a fortune to transport it to the markets. Life can be very tough in Africa. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C_P3i9z9Td0/Tuid4vD0d0I/AAAAAAAACnc/TTZrx_Gdqck/s1600/P1010133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C_P3i9z9Td0/Tuid4vD0d0I/AAAAAAAACnc/TTZrx_Gdqck/s320/P1010133.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They also warned us that the next 5km is the hardest bit. Very steep, very poor condition and extremely tough. But at the top of the hill is a decent sized village, and after that the road is better.<br />
<br />
After what we just did we secretly thought ‘what do they know.’ There is no way things can become harder…<br />
It turned out we where wrong, VERY WRONG…<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tTxmiuN6Kk/Tui0WCsLJCI/AAAAAAAACYE/QFMPleY0GgQ/s1600/P1010140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tTxmiuN6Kk/Tui0WCsLJCI/AAAAAAAACYE/QFMPleY0GgQ/s320/P1010140.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stupid fall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Loaded up with a mixture of fizzy drinks, water and rehydration salts in my camelback we where ready to do the last stretch. Feeling low on energy, but confident we headed off.<br />
<br />
My second fall was just a few hundred meters further. I was going up a very steep climb with lots of big rocks and loose gravel. I hit a rock with my front wheel and my bike started bouncing around, heading straight for a deep rut. I braked to stop, but the slope was so steep and slippery that in stead of stopping I just slid backwards. Picking up speed. Until I fell over.<br />
<br />
It took an immense effort to pick up my bike on the steep rocky slope, but I did. Draining all my new found energy. The slope was so slippery that on my next attempt I went straight into the rut I was trying to miss. Fell again. It took about 10 minutes of hard work, with Morten and a local pushing to get the bike out. I even had to unload all my luggage. After carrying the luggage up the stretch and loading it back onto the bike I was dead. <br />
<br />
No energy…<br />
<br />
Morton was next a few hundred meters further. He didn’t have enough momentum to get his front wheel over a rocky ledge. I had to walk back down the steep track and we struggled a lot to get him up. The rocky ledge was steep and we needed a lot of momentum to get his front wheel over it. But the slope was so steep and slippery that we really struggled. With the help of a local we finally managed to get his bike over.<br />
<br />
Now we both had no energy…<br />
<br />
We managed slightly better for the next few difficult stretches. It was a phenomenally steep climb, but after every few hundred meters there was a small flat bit where we could rest, but we couldn’t hide form the heat and humidity. Sweat was streaming down us. Not good when you where already dehydrated. We where crawling up the hill. AND IT WAS HARD WORK. We did our best to follow the small bike track, but it was weaving in and out of ruts, past big rocks, up steep ledges and climbing over obstacles. This would have been hard and challenging if the road was flat, but we where climbing and it was very steep. I was so tired that I was struggling to stand up on the bike. Standing up makes the bike easier to handle in tricky situations, but I couldn’t.<br />
<br />
Just no energy…<br />
<br />
The final nail in my coffin was a few long climbing stretches, with no plateau for rest at the top. Just a sharp hairpin and then the next climb, sharp hairpin and climb, hairpin and climb. Halfway up my legs where jelly and I was shacking like a leave. Stopping would have been suicide. Speed and momentum was the only thing that kept you going uphill. I reached the top without falling. BUT I WAS SHATTERED.<br />
<br />
No Energy…<br />
<br />
My next big fall was a bad one. My bike slipped off the small track and I went down a rut and I careered straight into the side of the mountain. My bike was off the road, in the gutter next to the side of the road, planted into the side of the mountain with a big rock between the wheels. Using my last bit of of energy I tried moving it, but it didn’t budge. Not even a little bit.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ltr0wgl615g/Tui1X1hXTNI/AAAAAAAACYM/P01ucWIDwds/s1600/P1010142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ltr0wgl615g/Tui1X1hXTNI/AAAAAAAACYM/P01ucWIDwds/s320/P1010142.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuck<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
No Energy…<br />
<br />
I was desperate… And miserable…<br />
<br />
No Energy…<br />
<br />
Morten was a couple hundred meters ahead of me… A hour ahead at the rate we where going… I could hear his bike starting and stopping… Revving it hard and then dying… Again and again. He was also badly stuck… No help from him.<br />
I removed the luggage I could reach, but it didn’t help much. Still completely stuck. I could not move the bike.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aBbUo8VzLzc/Tui2KNlrs3I/AAAAAAAACYU/6Cge3RrGjUw/s1600/P1010144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aBbUo8VzLzc/Tui2KNlrs3I/AAAAAAAACYU/6Cge3RrGjUw/s320/P1010144.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
I wanted to panic… But didn’t have the energy…<br />
<br />
I wanted to cry… But didn’t have the energy…<br />
<br />
FUCK… I was in deep shit…<br />
<br />
The only message my body was screaming was … NO ENERGY<br />
<br />
Richard’s advice came came back to me (Trailquest course). ‘When things are at their worst and you are desperate, stop have a cigarette and just relax for 5 minutes. Something will happen.’<br />
I said a little prayer, sat down and had a cigarette (Sorry dad)…<br />
<br />
Five minutes later I saw a old lady coming up the track. She must have been 70 years old, wrinkled and tiny. With a sack of potatoes strapped to hear head she was walking up the track. One step at a time. The sack must have been close to her own weight. Sweat streaming down her face. I just sat watching her walk up. Absolutely amazed and speechless.<br />
<br />
When she reached me she stopped and in the friendliest manner asked how I was, what I think of Cameroon, and then finally if she could help me with the bike?<br />
<br />
WHAT? Shouldn't it be the other way around?<br />
<br />
Naturally, I politely refused. But I asked her to tell Morten I am ok, but stuck.<br />
This interaction definitely lifted my mood, but I was still suck..<br />
<br />
And still had NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
I followed Richard’s advice again. Sat down, said a small prayer and lit a cigarette.<br />
While I was sat down two guys came down on a small scooter and helped me move the bike onto the track. It took an immense effort from all three of us, but we did it.<br />
<br />
NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
I rested for about 20 minutes before I had the strength to get on the bike and go further. All the time the two locals sat there with big smiles. They just finished helping Morten and where loving it. The driver of the moto-taxi said he was just going to drop of his fare at the bottom and then come back to help us. My legs where jelly but I continued.<br />
I only managed a few hundred meters. Morten was stuck and a few moto-taxi riders where helping him up. Their bikes blocked the way and I used the opportunity to rest a little. The locals where fantastic and a little friendly banter went along way to lift my mood.<br />
<br />
BUT STILL NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
They where offering to ride my bike up, but I was still headstrong. One of them convinced me to give my panniers to him. He quickly loaded up and shot off. A hundred meters further he also fell. I couldn’t help laughing, he was giving me so much lip and then he falls as well. But he was still my hero. Without the panniers the bike was much lighter and I did slightly better…<br />
<br />
BUT STIL NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
And only slightly better…<br />
<br />
I had few more falls, the bike was being punished. Over and over. But with the moto-taxi riders following me there always was someone to help pick things up and give some encouragement. It was easier..<br />
<br />
BUT STIL NO ENERGY… <br />
<br />
Crawling along I made it to the second last climb, but also the most difficult. I rested for a few minutes while the locals tried to encourage me and showed me the best path up. Most of the track was along the steep sides of the road, about a meter above the middle which was a mess off deep ruts and big rocks. Every now and then the track would dip through the middle where the sides where too steep. All this while doing a steep climb. VERY HARD INDEED. All psyched I charged up, trying to do it by will power alone. I only managed to get half way, losing my front wheel going over a steep ledge and the bike started falling over. I stuck my leg out and managed to keep the bike form falling over, it was hovering there just past balancing point. Gravity trying very hard to pull it down. The drop was about a meter, with rocks below, I really didn’t want to drop the bike. The nearest local was about a hundred meters up the slope, and coming down to help. I used all my strength to try and lift the bike. Nothing. Couple of deep breaths. I tried again. Nothing. The local was 80 meters away. All I could do was to try and hold the bike until he arrived, but it was so heavy.<br />
<br />
<br />
My arms started shacking…<br />
<br />
70 meters…<br />
<br />
My legs where buckling…<br />
<br />
60 meters…<br />
<br />
Just a few more seconds…<br />
<br />
50 meters…<br />
<br />
AND THE BIKE DROPPED. <br />
<br />
Not even close….<br />
<br />
My poor bike.<br />
<br />
AND NO ENERGY!!<br />
<br />
I have no idea how we picked up the bike, but we did and before I could do anything the guy who came down to help was in the driving seat. He started my bike and shot up the hill. I didn’t have the energy to even try and stop him. He was a very tall lanky guy, and his legs where flailing every where as he went up. Under better conditions it would have been a hilarious sight. Even with the help of someone pushing he barely made it without falling (I later found out he dropped the bike at the top where I couldn’t see). <br />
<br />
Feeling ecstatic that my bike made it up in one piece I slowly started crawling up. My legs where jelly, and I needed to stop after every 10 meters. (How did I want to drive a bike up this hill when I didn’t even have the energy to walk up?)<br />
<br />
One of the local women was walking up with me and every time I stopped she tried her hardest to encourage me. I thought she sounded very militant, but it worked, and her words managed to drag me up to the top. I later found out she was a teacher. Very fitting indeed.<br />
<br />
AND STILL NO ENERGY!!<br />
<br />
At the top I was reunited with Morten. He got stuck and carried his luggage up the bad section. Two trips to get everything up. It tired him out so much that he couldn’t drive his bike and one of the locals drove it up for him.<br />
<br />
The last climb was easy compared to the others and I made it with only one fall.<br />
<br />
JUST NO ENERGY…<br />
<br />
We limped into town. Thoroughly broken and battered. With three moto taxis and the teacher as an escort. We headed straight to the local shop/bar and had a well deserved drink. They where drinking beer and we where on cold fizzys. Morten and I where shell shocked, we have both been to hell and back, and it took a while for us to get ourselves together. While we rested we heard our four saviours’ stories.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7RxYuo0v-Q/TvHo4x7UhnI/AAAAAAAACng/a-rKhrh7Ojo/s1600/P1010148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U7RxYuo0v-Q/TvHo4x7UhnI/AAAAAAAACng/a-rKhrh7Ojo/s320/P1010148.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our saviours</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The first guy was called Devine, and he was the taxi driver who helped me get out when I was completely stuck. He dropped his passenger at the bottom and came straight back up to help.<br />
<br />
The second, the lanky guy ,was also called Devine. He’s an ex pastor and now drives moto taxis in the area. He was the one who helped me through the worst section, and also helped Morten get his bike up.<br />
<br />
I forgot the woman's name, but she literary dragged me up the hill. She is a local teacher, she lives at the top of the hill, but teaches at the bottom. She does this trip, down and then up, every day. WOW!! That is what I call dedication to your profession.<br />
<br />
The last guy is called Evaristas. A local shop owner and taxi driver. He is the one who took my luggage up, locked it in his shop and then came straight back down to help. He is also the one who looked after us when we where stranded in his village (more of that later). A real good guy and guardian angel.<br />
<br />
The hill is called MOON HEAD HILL. I will never forget it. It nearly killed us and our bikes.<br />
<br />
These taxi drivers are amazing. The buy small Chinese bikes, have them specially reinforced and then carry goods and people up and down the hill. The bikes are much smaller than ours, and they can use their feet more, which they said helps immensely. But still they do this road every day. Up and down. What was our torture and undoing was their way of making a living. Only a few of them go down when it’s wet, but the best still do. Down that hill in mud? WOW!! The best of these guys can load up their bikes with between 200-300kg of goods. Yes, 300kg!! That is equivalent to loading my huge bike and all my stuff on to a 150cc Chinese bike and then transporting it up and down the hill. The word respect falls very short off the mark.<br />
<br />
Once we started feeling better we headed off to Evaristas’ shop. He treated us to all the drinks we could handle and the best grilled fish I have ever had in my life. He only sold beer and the sweet fizzy drinks, so he walked into town to get us some cold water. Later he asked us to spend the night at his place. We initially tried to refuse, knowing that we needed lots of sleep and we would be bad company, we didn't want to throw his hospitality in his face by being rude. But he was very persistent, saying the hotels where horrible and we wouldn’t get proper rest there, at least at his place he knew we would be looked after properly. How nice can you get?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCh48XSBj1NtYu47LN7TRnYgB32KfnuGS7cWYYoRAbYY3JjxDgTcRk5b5HEFh9H9TEWBLk7hID8ojR_uYfaMOb-BOQgWjB1JeW4aV4JuZRXXZsAOTIaGsE6JBGjygRSmBJNnFmp_n8ZuE/s1600/P1010163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCh48XSBj1NtYu47LN7TRnYgB32KfnuGS7cWYYoRAbYY3JjxDgTcRk5b5HEFh9H9TEWBLk7hID8ojR_uYfaMOb-BOQgWjB1JeW4aV4JuZRXXZsAOTIaGsE6JBGjygRSmBJNnFmp_n8ZuE/s320/P1010163.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evaristas and family<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When we tried to go to his place disaster struck. My bike was dead. Nothing happened when I switched on the ignition. Not even a flicker of life. Aw man, what next?<br />
<br />
We struggled for two hours to get my bike going, but the battery was shot. Nobody had a charger in town, the town was to small, and the battery was to flat to run my bike. I managed to jump start the bike from a car battery, but as soon as I removed the cable my bike died. We tried for a very long time to charge the dead battery using the car battery, but it wasn’t enough. We got it working to the point where my dashboard lights would go on, but nothing more. While working on the bike I was surrounded by about 30 locals. They where all having a ball of a time and shouting lots of advice. Any one giving bad advice was given a thorough lashing by the crowd. I was loving it, and it was funny enough for a blog of it’s own. In the end it was dark and we where desperate, we put Morten's battery in my bike. I rode to Evaristas’ place took out the battery and he took it back to Morten so he could join us. <br />
<br />
We finally made it home, more than 12 hours after we started that morning, and we only managed about 20 kilometres. What a hellish day!<br />
<br />
At Evaristas’ we where spoilt with first class hospitality, an ice cold bucket shower (really was amazing), huge plate of food and the only double bed in the house.<br />
<br />
Lying in bed that night I was gutted and miserable. I felt like I’ve been to war and my side lost badly. My bike was not running, I was broken, and my confidence was in pieces. Morten wasn’t feeling much better either. <br />
<br />
Later it dawned on us that actually things could have been much worse. Moon Head Hill was a killer, way above our level of experience. We had more than 15 big falls between us, and could so easily have broken something. One trapped ankle or arm and our heavy bikes would have shattered bones, ending our trip. We where very lucky indeed. Our bikes where in good nick for what they have just been through. The fact that they made it to the top is proof of phenomenal durability. <br />
<br />
Thanks to a plan B for the dead bike, Eviristas’ hospitality and Morten’s optimism I managed a good exhausted night’s sleep. Just what I needed.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-66563231556205107612011-12-03T18:07:00.001+00:002011-12-03T18:13:37.917+00:00Route on Google Earth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You should be able to download<a href="https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B0tsuh5PAAHkNzMyZDIwZWYtM2ExMy00MGU0LTgyYWQtZGFjZGI0Y2NjNGZj" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"> this file</span></a> and view it using Google Earth to see our exact route so far.<br />
I cannot test it, internet to slow, so might not work.</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-24480445277080743102011-12-03T17:40:00.001+00:002011-12-03T21:19:35.609+00:00Nearly pushing things to far<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPahFt8LbR1T2yHk4VVcX5FRyCPEyC0NchJS4Drlxr61Mm5Hgv5sunKw6g8mJgzFe8IlugWyEghFN91iyj2A-IjawtcnWmAr_8kV6QwxoRcfKkRz178EJoMYOHg0FcUumm0MKhyphenhyphen_uiWOY/s1600/P1000977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPahFt8LbR1T2yHk4VVcX5FRyCPEyC0NchJS4Drlxr61Mm5Hgv5sunKw6g8mJgzFe8IlugWyEghFN91iyj2A-IjawtcnWmAr_8kV6QwxoRcfKkRz178EJoMYOHg0FcUumm0MKhyphenhyphen_uiWOY/s320/P1000977.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packing up camp Sheraton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While changing to the new tyres I found another problem with my bike. After the guys stripped the thread for the bolt on my front wheel in Morocco I had to have a new tread drilled for the bolt. What I found out when removing my front wheel was that the bolt has worked its way into my front fork, so now I am slowly leaking fork oil. Not much, but a little every day.<br />
The only way to really fix it is to get a new front fork, is not going to be possible until I am in SA. Because it wasn't leaking before I was sure that I just needed to tighten this bolt to the same point as before and it will stop leaking. BUT, if I overdo it now and strip the bolt again I will loose all my fork oil, and wont be able do drill a new thread. As this bolt keeps my front wheel in alignment I am stuffed without it.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--J5Xe8p9my4/TtpYstjl1QI/AAAAAAAACHw/HxXTtO_cS-Y/s1600/P1000988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--J5Xe8p9my4/TtpYstjl1QI/AAAAAAAACHw/HxXTtO_cS-Y/s320/P1000988.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shopping for camping food</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In Abuja I tightened it as much as I was happy to do, but it kept on leaking. Not very fast, but still to fast. Over a couple of days I have tightened this bolt. Slowly, a fraction of a turn at a time, and I am now at the point where I don’t want to tighten it any more, needs to much force. The leaking oil is down to drops, acceptable. Bike is limping a bit but it is nothing serious, its a problem we can bush mechanic as long as I don’t strip the thread for the bolt. Fingers crossed I don’t need to take my front wheel off too often. My floating rear brake system has seized, meaning that only one of my rear brake pads work when I use the back brake. Not serious, but I loose a bit of stopping power. <br />
<br />
The Nigerian people have been so fantastic that we both where very eager to see more of the country. Not to far from us was the Josh plateau, supposed to be a spectacular drive and we where both very keen for it. The problem was that it takes you very close to Josh. One of the trouble hotspots in Nigeria. I didn’t want to go into Josh. The road turns off about 20km before and then heads south (away from the trouble) through the plateau to Cameroon. We decided to speak to the police and see if it was safe, happy to skip the route if there was any signs of trouble. The policeman we spoke to was great and said there has been no trouble for a couple of weeks and since we are turning off south just before Josh everything should be ok. He was persistent to point out that things could change quickly and we should keep our ear to the ground. He was very clear to warn us not to go more north east than Josh. He also gave us the name of a hotel that according to him would stay standing even if the whole city burns down. The Hill Top Hotel. Sounded good to us and we headed towards Josh and the plateau the next morning.<br />
<br />
Getting out of Abuja was hard work, the traffic was phenomenal, but we quickly left the fake European city feel some Africa. Was great to be on the road again after what felt like ages. About 2 hours before Josh, Morton commented that things felt strange. ‘’It doesn’t feel like Africa anymore.’’ I just thought we may have had to many off the Sheraton luxuries and needed to get used to the rhythm of Africa and the road again. We continued but suddenly there was an immense amount of road blocks. Every 5-10 km, and even more coming in and out of towns. We told the police we where going to Josh and they where happy to let us pass. It wasn’t until we came closer to the turn off that we asked the police about the road through the plateau and they immediately became very worried. There has been some out breaks off violence in two of the towns right at the beginning of the plateau road. More than 100 people injured and undisclosed amount killed. It happened that morning, and the road was closed to all traffic for 24hrs. Ah shit!! We where forced to go to Josh, and stay in the Hill Top Hotel. Exactly what I didn’t want to do, but the safest option. <br />
<br />
About 10km outside Josh we drove past a burnt out car with the grass around it still smouldering. I was starting to feel very uncomfortable. I didn't want to stay in Josh, but the police where very adamant that this would be the safest. I wasn’t going to go against the police but I still felt uncomfortable. Riding in Josh was a bit eerie. Everything was running as normal but none of that Nigerian openness was on display. In town we where passed by a convoy of police trucks, blasting past with a load full of prisoners and police on the back. The police had guns aimed at the prisoners chests. Looked VERY serious!<br />
<br />
The Hill Top was a dump of an hotel, but it is the one the police and army used, and it was right next to a huge army special forces compound. Definitely the safest place to stay so we stayed there. The next morning we where told the plateau road was open and everything was back to normal. Not wanting to back track we decided to continue down the plateau. The first part off the plateau road was one off my strangest African experiences. Nothing happened to us, it was just very un-African.<br />
<br />
The first big town we passed (Barakin Ladi) was the main one where the violence happened. Arriving into the main road through town it was dead quiet. Not a souls in sight. The stalls where all closed, very little traffic, and no people walking around. It looked like a ghost town, with everything shut and boarded. This is not the way Africa is, Africa is very alive in the morning, and usually running at full steam by this time. A little down the main road we passed the police station with about a thousand people milling outside. Not looking for trouble, but safety. A big proportion of the town spend the night outside the police station. A couple of hundred meters further was an old car junk yard, with a big number of wrecks for the size of the town. Most where pieces of junk, but about half where either burnt out or riddled with bullet holes. Not good for my uncomfortable and eerie feeling, but again the police at the road block said it was safe to continue. This town was so strange and out of place, like something out of the twilight zone.<br />
<br />
The next big town was back to normal, or at least it looked like it. Full of people going about their normal daily chores, but it still lacked something. In hind sight I think the open friendliness was gone. People looked very suspicions of us foreigners.<br />
<br />
The third big town was the other one where the violence occurred the previous day. The route took us around the outskirts and everything looked to be back to normal. The uncomfortable feeling still stayed though. I couldn’t put my finger on it and didn’t have a specific reason but things just felt very wrong, and I have been feeling like this for nearly a day. I was reaching the point where I started regretting taking the scenic route.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-td05M88pT40/TtpY0jhnToI/AAAAAAAACH4/r7InU9Fd0D0/s1600/P1000990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-td05M88pT40/TtpY0jhnToI/AAAAAAAACH4/r7InU9Fd0D0/s320/P1000990.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boabs are back. Stunning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Just a couple of kilometres after the town we went down a pass, and everything changed. The landscape changed to rolling hills, with huge boabs and fantastic fields of crops against steep rocky hills. The attitude of the people also changed significantly. As soon as we reached the bottom of the pass people started waving and smiling again. I was extremely relieved to get rid of that weird feeling. We where back in Africa, and it was stunning.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-No6q1w4V1Eg/TtpZ2z8CHDI/AAAAAAAACIY/pT0OOpAyX0M/s1600/P1000998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-No6q1w4V1Eg/TtpZ2z8CHDI/AAAAAAAACIY/pT0OOpAyX0M/s320/P1000998.JPG" width="237" /></a>I was amazed at how obvious the change in peoples attitudes was in areas of violence. How easily friendly and open people can become extremely suspicious. And then how suddenly things turn back to normal, but I was very glad to have normality return.<br />
<br />
The riding for the rest of the day was fantastic. Could feel my shoulders lighten as we moved away from Josh. The day ended with a fantastic river crossing on some big ‘ferries.’ (What the locals called them) They where actually nothing more than big wooden pirogues with a ramp to load the bikes. The start was quite hairy as we had to reverse the heavy bikes down a steep sandy bank onto the ramp. The boat trip itself was fantastic, with great scenery and chatty locals on board. It turned into a photo frenzy, with both us and them taking lots of photos. Was funny to be on the receiving end of the lens for once.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--NgafCpoi2Q/TtpcCV2oPJI/AAAAAAAACJI/dEvC7Wwi5go/s1600/P1010010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--NgafCpoi2Q/TtpcCV2oPJI/AAAAAAAACJI/dEvC7Wwi5go/s320/P1010010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 'big ferry'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We spend the night in nothing more than a little highway town, Wukari, but for some reason we both liked the town immensely. Amazingly friendly locals, and our dinner turned out to be a culinary feast with really well cooked food. We even had salad and veggies. A rare event for us, and we wolfed down every last scrap. I couldn’t help going to bed with a smile on my face.<br />
<br />
The next day was the last stretch to the Cameroon border. Just more than 300km and it should have been an easy days drive. But the police road blocks made a huge comeback, We passed 4 within the first 10 kilometres and 26 in total for the day, and where stopped at about 20 of them. Our easy ride turned into a bit of a PR marathon, but nothing we couldn’t handle.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--U2lM6TftrY/TtpcadDNYaI/AAAAAAAACJY/1Yi7EqziJh0/s1600/P1010014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--U2lM6TftrY/TtpcadDNYaI/AAAAAAAACJY/1Yi7EqziJh0/s320/P1010014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All loaded on the ferry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wtxbZQbVQ7w/TtpdqFk-tnI/AAAAAAAACKM/VKrX-fkDi8s/s1600/P1010027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wtxbZQbVQ7w/TtpdqFk-tnI/AAAAAAAACKM/VKrX-fkDi8s/s320/P1010027.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washday - pots, pans, cutlery, clothes and children<br />
all at the same time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The road block has made a big comeback in the last month or so. In Mali the police was pretty chilled out, but the locals set up road blocks along the main roads. Not to stop us, but the big busses so they will have time to sell their goods to the passengers. Was brilliant. In Togo it was the locals again but this time they where trying to catch foreigners. Anyone who worked on the road in any way would tie a piece of rope across the road and then try and get foreigners to pay them for fixing the road. Funny that the locals who used and ruined the road where never stopped. The best was where they felled a big tree across the road, and asked for money for clearing the path, or kids standing with shovels next to potholes saying they where just about to start working. None of these where serious and a quick joke or friendly chat always got us off. A couple of times we even said the bike behind us is the one with all the money, and whoever was at the back would have to sweet talk himself out of paying.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4k8_7gtxo9A/TtpdUR0wrTI/AAAAAAAACJ4/gemwE5bUT8E/s1600/P1010023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4k8_7gtxo9A/TtpdUR0wrTI/AAAAAAAACJ4/gemwE5bUT8E/s320/P1010023.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids fishing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In Nigeria the police road blocks made a big comeback, but it was still not as bad as expected. Very few asked for anything, but once in a while someone would ask for ‘something to remember you by.’ Again a friendly handshake or a ‘big smile’ would nearly always get you past. We have been through so many road blocks that we have a semi system going. If the police are lazing at the side of the road, slow down, wave friendly and pass. If they are closer again wave friendly, greet them and ride, only stop if they clearly show that they want you to stop. When they stop you stay in the middle of your lane, only go to the side of the road if they are very persistent. The locals are not very patient and want to pass. They hassle the police a lot if they take along time with you blocking the road. Again always give everyone a friendly greeting and shake the hand of the guy closest to you. They love this, and after giving some compliments and friendly banter you get to drive away. Try your best to fill any silences, that is when they start asking for documents and presents. If the question comes for a present we usually make a joke or say ‘a big smile,’ and we are very persistent that we don’t pay. Don’t stay to long, wish everyone a good day (showing you want to go), shake some hands and leave. Always be VERY friendly and open, give the police respect, but firm in steering the conversation away from unmentionables. Our system seems to be working we don’t get stopped to much, and when we do its just a bit of friendly questioning. We sometimes manage to go days without showing our passports, and even longer times without showing our other paper work. This has worked well in West Africa, but we think Central Africa is going to be a bit of a different story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E5AFLAdWVFo/Ttpd-fL-0CI/AAAAAAAACKc/9EpzhjRtv1M/s1600/P1010032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E5AFLAdWVFo/Ttpd-fL-0CI/AAAAAAAACKc/9EpzhjRtv1M/s320/P1010032.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bucket showers becoming the norm<br />
no running water</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I am also convinced that the police have a lot off pressure from higher powers to not hassle the tourists as much as they used to. This has definitely counted in our favour. Every where we go I see people paying the police. Many times the police don’t even want to take bribes in front of us, or try and hide it. But we have been through so many road blocks we don’t miss it. A small minority are so nonchalant they count their bundle of notes while waving us past. Even if we as westerners don’t pay, the locals are still paying. The coke truck gives a bottle of coke, the bread van gives bread, fruit truck gives fruit or just some money. The only reason I see this happening is if the powers above ordered the police to clean up their act in front of tourists.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PXmj_nIGMkQ/Ttpf0cSDvEI/AAAAAAAACN4/5eiYZ-SKD_I/s1600/P1010034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PXmj_nIGMkQ/Ttpf0cSDvEI/AAAAAAAACN4/5eiYZ-SKD_I/s320/P1010034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morton's bike gets a new owner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Crossing the border into Cameroon was a breeze. We used a busy border crossing and where warned to expect long delays, but to our amazement it turned out to be Sunday and the crossing was dead quiet. We flew through with only one guard hinting at ‘something to remember you by.’ A big smile did the job. We made it through Nigeria without paying any extra money. My stack of $1 bills are unused.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SVglItyHdvA/Ttpf59Qw9OI/AAAAAAAACN8/MPK9AbL04pk/s1600/P1010035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SVglItyHdvA/Ttpf59Qw9OI/AAAAAAAACN8/MPK9AbL04pk/s320/P1010035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in the forests. Whoop whoop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Next was the forests of Cameroon and the infamous Ekok-Mamfe road. I was super excited. Little did I know that my stamina and reserve would soon be tested to the max…</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-73450984717981118412011-11-23T13:39:00.001+00:002011-12-03T19:10:34.901+00:00Lows and Highs of Abuja<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NAWturFUBMI/TtpULjXUOII/AAAAAAAACFs/u6wxNqmfaUs/s1600/P1000956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NAWturFUBMI/TtpULjXUOII/AAAAAAAACFs/u6wxNqmfaUs/s320/P1000956.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World's biggest alarm clock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We have now been in Abuja for 9 days. A lot longer than I wanted to, but that’s how long it took to sort out visas, the admin for the tyres and to recharge our batteries. Very little of the time has been spent lazing about. I thought recharging would just take a few nights of good sleep, and a couple of lazy days sorting out our next visas. But in Africa things are never that simple.<br />
<br />
The good sleep never happened. The building right next to our camp is a dog kennel and the dogs where barking and howling all night, and then to top things off there is a huge mosque about half a kilometre away. Every morning 4am we where woken up by the call to prayer. It was so loud that it sounded like someone was standing with the loudspeaker outside my tent. Definitely not the way to convert me to Islam.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GqYlGd33Yr4/TtpTdLaCphI/AAAAAAAACK4/JxljRL_scbA/s1600/P1000946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GqYlGd33Yr4/TtpTdLaCphI/AAAAAAAACK4/JxljRL_scbA/s320/P1000946.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dressed up for visas. Breakfast at roadside stall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The first morning here we dragged ourselves out of bed bright and early. As with any capital, visas was our first priority. Initially we did well with friendly staff at the embassies and it was a breeze getting our Cameroon and Congo visas. Abuja is also the place where we were supposed to get our Angolan visas. This was not so easy.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaN78YFXoq0/TtpUfiPCH0I/AAAAAAAACLw/kuJjzIYa7Ug/s1600/P1000961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaN78YFXoq0/TtpUfiPCH0I/AAAAAAAACLw/kuJjzIYa7Ug/s320/P1000961.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Sheraton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We arrived there early one morning to get our applications and hand them in. When we walked in we where told they only email the application forms, and don’t have any at the embassy. What? We made a beeline for the nearest internet cafe and all sent emails requesting application forms. Some tense waiting followed, The embassy shut at 12:30 and wouldn’t be open again until Monday morning for visa applications (It was only Wednesday). To our relief we got send one around 11 am, but they wanted a lot of information. We worked at a frantic pace and it all paid off. Walking into the embassy just after 12, with everything ready. Phew. But that is as far as we got. They wouldn’t even accept our applications. Supposedly the rules changed and none of the embassies along the way can issue an Angolan visa for us. They tried to convince us that we can get a 5 day transit visa on the border. The guy at the counter gave us some web pages that would confirm the transit visa story, but none had the information we wanted. All bullshit. Massive blow to us! We where gutted, and a bit stuck!! Big dent in our plans!! (Yes we will try every consulate along the way, but Abuja was supposed to be the easy place for an Angola visa.)<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TqMwQsaTHpU/TtpUirfNyCI/AAAAAAAACGA/0hoGA73Kx6I/s1600/P1000962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TqMwQsaTHpU/TtpUirfNyCI/AAAAAAAACGA/0hoGA73Kx6I/s320/P1000962.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of camp<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Our second mission was to find the tyres we sent from the UK. They where sent with parcel force a week ago and by that time should have been in Nigeria. We thought if we could find the Parcel Force offices for Abuja or Nigeria we can speed up the customs process. A simple enough plan, but in Abuja it was close to impossible. Abuja looks like an European city, but in functionality it’s definitely very African. Getting a decent internet connection was close to impossible. Just to many power cuts and very bad connections. Nearly a whole day was lost trying to find the details of parcel force in Nigeria. <br />
<br />
(The irony is that Sheraton has brilliant internet, I could pick up 3 perfect Sheraton wifi signals, but because we where not ‘in house’ guests they wanted to charge us business rates. About £50/hour. Ridiculous). <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOQL6cPmzlo7rf9ze5VdFHlR5uWNYdopp5gxAzvouIrf5MFrrWrgn97bFPH007cEHq2hDihrSLwkjVzOThfS-RuRjIobHjtBiGO4c5NsmpDeyjrVa4hTgE7DPM4kiURDhNTFg_0OtYOU/s1600/P1000949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOQL6cPmzlo7rf9ze5VdFHlR5uWNYdopp5gxAzvouIrf5MFrrWrgn97bFPH007cEHq2hDihrSLwkjVzOThfS-RuRjIobHjtBiGO4c5NsmpDeyjrVa4hTgE7DPM4kiURDhNTFg_0OtYOU/s320/P1000949.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abuja bike show. Weird watching people try burnout tyres<br />while we are desperate for new ones</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next we tried contacting Parcel Force in Nigeria. What a mission. Because of some funny cell phone rules we couldn’t dial out. Skype was to slow to make a phone call. The Sheraton business centre to expensive. And it was nearly a day before we managed to register a local cell phone number, only to find out that none of the numbers we had worked. The address we had has been a hotel for 5 years. Parcel Force Nigeria turned out to be a ghost, and we where extremely anxious about our tyre shipment.<br />
<br />
Out of desperation I bit the bullet and phoned parcel force UK from the Sheraton, only to find out the tyres just left the UK the previous day. To make matters worse Nigeria Post would handle the shipment at our end. I was furious and very disappointed with Parcel Force. We paid a huge amount to courier the tyres for two reasons, one to track them (didn’t work) and the other to dodge Nigerian Post. There are web posts of people who have waited weeks for similar shipments, and the longest wait was more than 40 days. This combined with the Angolan news and the fatigue hit me hard. I sunk to a massive low. Probably the worst so far. All that time and effort to get things done and for what? I enjoy the country side so much and I always get stuck in the capitals wasting precious time. It was impossible to get myself motivated to do more, and I couldn’t see any good reason to even try. Suddenly, Africa wasn’t fun anymore.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KSC-QZmCZRQ/TtpUqih8wmI/AAAAAAAACGI/SEHjWWTSUi4/s1600/P1000963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KSC-QZmCZRQ/TtpUqih8wmI/AAAAAAAACGI/SEHjWWTSUi4/s320/P1000963.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Changing rear while waiting for front tyre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At least it was weekend. No reason worrying about things you can’t change, and I tried very hard not to. I used the weekend to do some mechanics one the bike. Very therapeutic. Put on my new back tyre. Phenomenal feeling finally putting it on after carrying it around for 12 000km. Yes, 12 000. Also sorted out every little thing that was nagging on the bike. Never thought working on bikes would be so good for the soul. Add in a few good meals, a movie, some semi decent sleep and Morton’s optimism, and by Monday I was ready to conquer Africa. I was back, and psyched to tackle Nigerian Post.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXBCZz-LUDY/TtpVnOq-RaI/AAAAAAAACGY/kCp-6_LtSUE/s1600/P1000967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXBCZz-LUDY/TtpVnOq-RaI/AAAAAAAACGY/kCp-6_LtSUE/s320/P1000967.JPG" width="320" /></a>All the psyching up turned out to be completely unnecessary. The friendly Nigerian people came to the rescue. The two ladies working parcels at the post office turned out to be angels. After hearing our story they immediately started phoning around (internet was down, and they had to buy airtime to phone to Lagos) and by the afternoon they confirmed the tyres where at customs. Out of desperation we offered a side payment if they could speed up the process, and they went into over drive. Pure magic at work. The next morning they promised the tyres where released from customs and we would have them the next day. That is tomorrow!! Whoop whoop! I don’t want to get excited until I have the tyres in my hand, but it’s hard not to. Fingers crossed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Roi7gnoQoBI/TtpX4x7BAJI/AAAAAAAACHU/1JS8HQqFt-A/s1600/P1000982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Roi7gnoQoBI/TtpX4x7BAJI/AAAAAAAACHU/1JS8HQqFt-A/s320/P1000982.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving our bikes at the Sheraton</td></tr>
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I have been quite surprised at how entertaining Abuja has been. The highlight has definitely been the Sheraton. It is like a mini country, with it’s own little economy. There are numerous side businesses running from the hotel and masses of people coming and going. First is the dog kennels. Initially it was only for the guard dogs, but someone decided to expand it to breeding and selling dogs. Now they have about 20 dogs in the kennels at the back (these are the ones keeping us up all night). The car wash for the hotel has been expanded to VIP cars and, naturally, our bikes. The grass in the back is available for campers. But the biggest one here is by far the ladies of the night. There is one bar here where they gather to pick up clients and we had an very entertaining night watching them cornering their prey.<br />
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Every day as soon as the sun sets we see gorgeous girls, dressed to the T, enter the Sheraton and gather at said bar. We knew exactly what their business was, but fuelled by a bit of bush fever, boredom and curiosity we decided to have dinner in the bar and watch the proceedings. Upon arriving at the bar there was a little table for cover charge. To our surprise we didn’t have to pay, it was only for the single girls coming to work. What a good way to make sure you get your cut. Brilliant. And one few times in my life I didn’t have to pay cover charge but girls did. Loved it. Walking in the bar it was packed with girls. More than 5 for every guy there, any mans dream, except they all were the working type. It turned out that the girls are only allowed inside the bar, because they are too visible on the terrace. The irony was that there where so many girls inside that most of the other people where sitting outside. A cat and mouse game followed with the girls trying hard to stay outside and corner clients, while security was trying their best to keep them inside. Very entertaining to watch after a few beers.<br />
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Our embarrassment turned out to be the funny moment of the night. One of the girls came to speak to us. Thinking we where the business type she tried hard to make intelligent conversation, but we couldn’t reply. After weeks in the bush and her shoving here cleavage in our faces all three of us ended up blushing and mumbling like teenagers. With our wonderful conversational skills she didn't stay long, and we where left red faced sipping our beers. Needless to say we didn’t stay long and ran for the safety of our camp.<br />
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Again I was very surprised at how open everything was. Africa's biggest profession is definitely running strong. These poor girls though, they pay when entering the hotel gates, when entering the bar, when entering the nightclub and again when leaving the grounds. Without a guarantee of income. Definitely not an easy life! <br />
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(I am not slagging the Sheraton, they have been great to us. The staff all are unbelievably friendly and we had a flow of curious visitors at our camp. But we have been here so long that watching the whole place at work has become quite interesting.)<br />
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Update : Went to the post office this morning. They had our tyres there. WHOOP, WHOOP!! The small fee definitely paid off. The bikes now look stunning with brand new tyres and we are ready to hit the road. Tomorrow morning we start heading for Cameroon. I am unbelievable excited!!</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-27892605259491418612011-11-21T13:39:00.000+00:002011-11-23T13:53:11.501+00:00Welcome in Abuja<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Abuja is Nigeria’s nearly purpose built capital city. The spot chosen because it is pretty much in the middle of the country and will promote unity among all the different groups in Nigeria. Abuja looks like a typical European city with city blocks, freeways, big government and corporate buildings, and huge five star hotel complexes. First impression is really that you left Africa and was transported straight back to Europe. Even the cheap Chinese bikes are gone, all the cars look relatively new and there are tons off big American type vehicles. Coming out of the back country it was really hard to get my head around this. How do people afford this when an hour away it is phenomenally poor?<br />
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(Lonely planet says the Nigerian Government ‘lost’ more than 350 BILLION dollars of oil money in the last 40 years, this is four times the amount of foreign aid flowing into the whole of Africa during the same period. It looks like Abuja is the place to find the money.)<br />
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Thanks to all this development, accommodation in Abuja is easily the most expensive so far, with the budget options in our guide books running at $50 a night. OUCH. Luckily for us the Sheraton has opened their doors to overlanders. According to the internet forums they should allow us to camp in the back yard off the hotel. For dirt cheap. Unbelievable, and initially we where very sceptical about this, but at the same time we where shattered to bits. We didn’t have the energy to go looking for other options so we headed straight for the Sheraton. To our big relief the gate staff knew all about the camping and let us straight in. This is just what we needed, quick access to a hot shower and a decent meal. While waiting in the parking lot to be shown where to camp our luck suddenly ran out…<br />
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Two big guys with big guns approached us asking what we where doing there. They looked like some private security firm and we didn’t give them to much notice, but knowing the warnings about Nigeria, we did try and politely explain that we are camping at the Sheraton. One off the guys looked a bit trigger happy and didn’t quite buy the story, he wanted one of the managers to confirm that they allow campers. The staff send for the manager and in the five minutes it took for him to come all things went downhill significantly. He thoroughly convinced himself that we where up to no good and wanted to take us in for questioning. Questioning where? By the time the manager arrived he was so worked up that even the manager struggled to convince him that we where legit. The manager was keen to show us where to camp but the dude wanted us to come with him straight away. It took some time but we convinced him to allow us to park our bikes at the camping spot and then we would happily go with him, there wasn’t a chance we would leave the bikes unsecured and unattended. At this stage we still thought it was some hotel security outfit, and it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes. This dude was so worked up that he didn’t even want us to start our bikes to drive them to the camping. He wanted us to push them. Obviously he had no idea how heavy these bikes where and how shattered we where. Another five minutes of talking and numerous orders and counter orders and we where allowed to slowly ride our bikes to the back of the hotel to be shown our camping spot. These guys where definitely unprofessional enough to fit the bill of a local hotel security outfit, but on the other side they where way to aggressive and the manager had zero authority over them. <br />
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Our convoy must have been quite a sight for the other Sheraton guests. Three dirty big bikes and even dirtier riders, with a manager ( smiling from ear to ear, and happy to have us) showing us where to go. Flanking us two sourly heavily armed guards and behind us their vehicle. These guys where acting like they where escorting VERY dangerous criminals. To a camping spot! All I could think was WTF? <br />
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Our camping spot was nothing more than a dumpy patch off grass far around the back of the hotel, clearly out of sight off any important people, but it was ours and we where happy. We where very keen to unpack and clean up, but the guard was quite persistent that we had to go with him immediately. We had no choice but to oblige. No reason to fight with an assault rifle. We would much rather oblige some idiots power trip than cause trouble. We had to unload everything from the bikes and put it in the back of their truck. AAGGHH!! It wasn’t until we left the hotel grounds with our friendly guards that we realised this isn’t some local hotel security outfit. SHIT. We had no idea where they were taking us. All I could think was ‘Thank God we are three and I’m not alone.’<br />
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Our dodgy hotel security outfit turned out to be the Nigerian State Security Services, and they where at the hotel to protect some special VIP’s. Because we looked so alien compared the rest off the hotel guests, all alarm bells went off and we where seen as a threat. They took us straight to their main offices, a huge complex completely walled off from the outside world. We should have been a lot more worried, but we where so tired and they where so unprofessional. No one knew what to do with us, or where we should go, or who was going to question us and everyone’s orders where different. This was a really big test of patience, but again guns where at the ready and we couldn’t do more than mumble our disagreement. While waiting to be questioned we spoke to some secretaries telling our stories and where we came from and how we travelled to Nigeria. You could see that it dawned on the sourly guard that he made a mistake, but it was to late. We where in shark territory, and it was lunch time.<br />
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Our questioning session was a disaster. We where under a new guy and he found it even harder to believe we where traveling through Africa by choice. And impossible to comprehend that the Sheraton would allow campers. Our biggest frustration was that he never gave us sufficient time to answer any questions. He was definitely trying to rush through things, but at the same time his inability to listen made it impossible for him to understand what we where doing and why we where at the Sheraton. Half way through an answer he’d leave for 10 minutes to discuss things with his colleagues and then come back with new questions which clearly showed he missed our first answer. Frustration, frustration, frustration. When he found out we stayed in a village he nearly lost it. He gave us a long speech about safety in Nigeria, clearly he had no idea how safe and welcoming we where experiencing rural Nigeria. I was burning to tell him that the only time I felt unsafe was in the hands of his people, but common sense prevailed and I didn’t. In the end we had to write an statement about our motivations and movement through Nigeria. After the statement things lightened up a bit and our questioner even managed a few jokes. We where finally going to go back to the hotel. Or so we wrongly thought.<br />
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Again, no one really knew what to do with us and where to take us. We desperately tried to go back to the hotel. To our great disappointment, we where taken to the back of the building where there was an X ray scanner. We where ordered to unload all our luggage and send it through the scanner. At this stage fatigue really set in. I could barely manage to unload my luggage off the truck, and we had to unpack every thing for a luggage search. To make things even worse the guards wanted to see every little thing, and they wanted explanations for the strange stuff. What did security know about camping and motorbikes? With the amount of explaining we did, obviously very little. When Dominique started unpacking his pannier things looked very bleak, these guys where acting like we where unpacking bombs. One guy looking over his shoulder with a cocked pistol and another a couple meters back with an assault rifle. Very itchy and way over the top!! What happened to the jokes they where making 10 minutes ago?<br />
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Morton was my saviour with a hilarious and witty encounter with one off the guards :<br />
Guard : ‘What's that?’<br />
Morton : (taking out a bag with his dirty laundry) ‘A present… For the cleaning lady’<br />
G : ‘Show me’<br />
M : ‘It’s my dirty laundry.’<br />
G : ‘Show me’<br />
Morton then shoves his dirty underwear in the guys face. Absolutely brilliant!!<br />
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Patience is a virtue and ours was definitely running thin. We’ve had a few days difficult ridding, and have been on the road since 7am, had a really hard days ride and now all this. It would take hours to unpack and pack every tiny little thing. Our saviour was the big boss, he was waiting in his office for everything to finish, and was desperate to go home. He came down and told everyone to take us back to the hotel. Just like that. All over. Guns away. Jokes and friendly faces back. The boss even apologised and said we have to understand their job is to keep people safe… Blah blah. Funny how quickly things change. Just because the boss wants to go home our threat level is taken down to zero. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, I was and am very grateful. I was desperate to leave and go back to the hotel.<br />
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It didn’t take to long to get back to the hotel and we set up our camp as quickly as humanly possible. Hot shower next. Bliss. And a good meal. We reached the restaurant just as the kitchen was about to close. Luckily the chef agreed to make our meal. Six hours after we arrived at the Sheraton and at 11pm I finally had my steak and ice cold beer. IT WAS SO GOOD!!<br />
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(Please do not take this incident as how Nigeria is. It is a completely isolated occurrence. Every day in Nigeria has been fantastic with some of the friendliest and most welcoming people I have met in Africa. The whole day was just so way out and over the top that I really want to remember it and I thought by putting it in the blog I wont forget.)</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-12809765257686930512011-11-19T09:48:00.003+00:002011-12-03T18:51:34.250+00:00Contrast’s of Nigeria<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pwXsNlXFnZQ/TtpOQV9QzMI/AAAAAAAACCU/5H7Uuh6Ka88/s1600/P1000897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pwXsNlXFnZQ/TtpOQV9QzMI/AAAAAAAACCU/5H7Uuh6Ka88/s320/P1000897.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful gravel, absolute bliss</td></tr>
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Nigeria is a country well known for it’s internet scams, corruption and on going fighting. It is also one of Africa’s most fanatical Christian countries, a little like the African version of the US bible belt. Some overlanders absolutely loved it, while other one’s hated it with a passion. Because of all this we where very curious to see what it would deliver. For safety reasons we chose to try and do as little of the far South and North of the country and we had to go to Abuja for the next set of visas. Our route would loosely follow a strip through the middle of the country and then right at the end dip down south to the Cameroon border, hoping to miss all the trouble areas.<br />
It was with much trepidation that we entered the Nigerian border and went to get our passports stamped. We where flabbergasted, both the customs and immigration went as smooth as ever, with unbelievably friendly officers working in both offices. Not even the slightest hint at an extra payment or ‘dash’. Completely the opposite of what we expected. Upon enter the first village the same followed. Friendly face after friendly face. Every where we stopped people wanted to know how we are, how the road was, where we were going. Smiling people everywhere, and we where overwhelmed by curious kids. This was fantastic. Africa at its best.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ud-jr-O9MHI/TtpPDMhfi6I/AAAAAAAACCg/TiLMb4c3d4Y/s1600/P1000901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ud-jr-O9MHI/TtpPDMhfi6I/AAAAAAAACCg/TiLMb4c3d4Y/s320/P1000901.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soaked and dirty. Life is good!</td></tr>
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The road we took started at Chikanda (on the border) and loosely headed east to wards the main roads and Abuja. The first bit was a hellish gravel road. With lots of sand, deep ruts and numerous potholes. Not really much more than a wide track at most times. Very technical, tons of hard work and very slow. But importantly still a phenomenal amount of fun. The second bit was terrible tarmac. Numerous and big potholes. At times the road was so broken up that the big trucks, mini vans and cars where actually doing long stretches next to the road. A strange sight seeing these big trucks just dive off the tarmac for a bit (usually at speed) and then swerve back on. And very scary when they swing towards you to miss the potholes. The bad parts made for some tense riding, not what I would call fun. Just very tiring hard work. It took us nearly two days to cover the 200km stretch and we where all shattered to bits. We where all desperate for some rest, and hoping Abuja would give us a chance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1aw4t7qkhtM/TtpPoBFrm3I/AAAAAAAACCw/nFafqXu4nnw/s1600/P1000905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1aw4t7qkhtM/TtpPoBFrm3I/AAAAAAAACCw/nFafqXu4nnw/s320/P1000905.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is bigger than it looks. Infamous rock</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7jpL2NngDE/TtpQEecaWNI/AAAAAAAACLQ/7cECMGmo56Q/s1600/P1000908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7jpL2NngDE/TtpQEecaWNI/AAAAAAAACLQ/7cECMGmo56Q/s320/P1000908.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly locals</td></tr>
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It was on the gravel piece that I also had my second big crash. It was late afternoon with lots of shadows across the road. I was close to the side to miss some deep sand, and didn’t see a big rock close to the edge. It was covered in shadows and long grass and perfectly camouflaged. Next I heard and felt an almighty bang. My right sided pannier hit the rock full on, at speed. The force was so much that my bike was thrown over onto its left side (The left sided panniers left deep ruts in the sand) and nearly fell down. Somehow I managed to keep the bike up, but only for a few second. My front wheel then hit some deep sand and I smacked down. Ouch!! This was a big one!! I was ok. Luckily. My bike had a partly broken indicator and a lot more scratches. The pannier’s locking and fixing mechanism was bent and it wouldn’t quite fit back on the bike. A bit of bush mechanics, some banging and bending, and it fit again. Phew. The pannier now sat even higher than before and a bit skew. The right side pannier is really taking a beating. Why always the same side? I am quite impressed with what it has survived, so far. I am even more impressed that there wasn’t more damage. The rock was big, so big that I couldn't budge it,but the force off the crash rolled it out off the ground. My guardian angel was definitely watching.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cyyk9cXKMJY/TtpQ3RRFw9I/AAAAAAAACDc/OsBa_hhnmDg/s1600/P1000916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cyyk9cXKMJY/TtpQ3RRFw9I/AAAAAAAACDc/OsBa_hhnmDg/s320/P1000916.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping in the village</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FoJqTJYa59Y/TtpRbrxFqfI/AAAAAAAACD0/sQHwtSIClVE/s1600/P1000924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FoJqTJYa59Y/TtpRbrxFqfI/AAAAAAAACD0/sQHwtSIClVE/s320/P1000924.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning obstacle</td></tr>
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After my beautiful crash we where all desperate to stop for the night, and we took the first side road looking for a place to camp. The little road continued for about half a kilometre and then ended in the most gorgeous little village. A cluster of about 8 little huts sitting smack in the middle of some grain fields with chickens running around everywhere. It was stunning and clean and well kept, so much different from the dumps we constantly see hugging the roads. I immediately fell in love with it. Only one woman in the village spoke tiny a bit of English, but we managed to ask to stay the night and they where happy to have us. WHOOP WHOOP. I have been desperate to stay in some villages, and its finally going to happen. We where shown our camping spot for the night and had our tents up in no time. A bucket full of water was our shower, but after a few days in the dirt it was as good as any western shower. After we just relaxed and watched the people, I loved it. This was the Africa I have had in my head for a very long time. Everyone was extremely friendly and welcoming, and super curious about our trip. We tried our best to explain, but language was difficult. Luckily hand signs and photos worked great. For dinner they killed a chicken, right in front of us. It was sitting in a tree next to us, getting ready to roost for the night, they shot it out with a slingshot and then killed it. Brilliant.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qZ6RLr0vo4orK6jkBfN3xP1k0T7YGXCiMMkatyViwhyP7ZlOTu17E0wVW5c_mNx84NHLqwHh75Rd8WUboocUknuC9EL02S0y-nPfPADrXhVWbkxK6jz7LcsJ42FNFwzUp_UmiKyJSao/s1600/P1000926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qZ6RLr0vo4orK6jkBfN3xP1k0T7YGXCiMMkatyViwhyP7ZlOTu17E0wVW5c_mNx84NHLqwHh75Rd8WUboocUknuC9EL02S0y-nPfPADrXhVWbkxK6jz7LcsJ42FNFwzUp_UmiKyJSao/s320/P1000926.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast on the road</td></tr>
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For dinner they brought us three huge pieces of chicken, I felt so bad, there where more than ten people eating from our pot and they gave us nearly half the chicken. Their hospitality was out of this world. It is amazing that people with so little so easily share what they have. Dominique worked his magic and managed to fix a broken phone. No running water and no electricity but there was two very old cell phones in the village. There was one spot where they just managed to get a single line of signal for the phones. As soon as the phone was fixed, there was a queue of about 10 people wanting desperately to send messages. The poor kid who knew how to work the phone had to type everyone’s messages for them. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ahSO01ZomE/TtpSquG31OI/AAAAAAAACEg/t_z2w2RPgsI/s1600/P1000935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ahSO01ZomE/TtpSquG31OI/AAAAAAAACEg/t_z2w2RPgsI/s320/P1000935.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving and hating the lens</td></tr>
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The peaceful night’s sleep we where all desperate for didn’t happen though, we set up our camp right next to the tree the chickens roost in. And they are a noisy bunch! The roosters started crowing at about 3 am. To our frustration they where all trying to out do each other. Ouch!! Sadly we had to leave early the next morning. I had an unforgettable time, and the one night in the village is definitely one of the highlights so far.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lY7vxj9LW7g/TtpTDl5sNyI/AAAAAAAACEs/Z8MhVbC2ie8/s1600/P1000938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lY7vxj9LW7g/TtpTDl5sNyI/AAAAAAAACEs/Z8MhVbC2ie8/s320/P1000938.JPG" width="237" /></a><br />
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The last stretch towards Abuja was 350 kilometres of tarmacked main road. On the bikes 350 km is a full day with good roads, but this road was horrible. We started at 7am and didn’t arrive in Abuja until about 5 pm. I was so shattered that I was struggling to keep the bike up, and so saddle sore that I couldn’t sit on the bike anymore. All I wanted was a shower, some food and tons of sleep. But thanks to the State Security Services (big guys with big guns) this was to be delayed by quite a few hours… </div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-34350152495006249542011-11-16T09:48:00.000+00:002011-12-03T18:41:00.932+00:00Tyre saga III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cleaning the bike</td></tr>
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Lomé is nothing more than a typical dirty, over crowded and crumbling African capital city. The only thing in it’s favour is the beautiful beaches. But because off all the filth running into them, you cannot swim in the water, and because of the crime you are discouraged from going there after sunset. What a waste. I was so disappointed at not being able to swim in the sea. The good side was that we where able to spend the time searching for tyres. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-06FT3fj2-aw/Troe2evEcNI/AAAAAAAAB6A/pK8zNCpTzog/s1600/P1000839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-06FT3fj2-aw/Troe2evEcNI/AAAAAAAAB6A/pK8zNCpTzog/s320/P1000839.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard at work</td></tr>
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Lomé has the only proper big bike shop and service point in west Africa. All thanks to an ex Paris-Dakar KTM rider who opened shop in town. They where our best bet for finding tyres, but in typical African fashion there was no new tyres. The new tyres where on their way on a ship, but no-one had any idea when the ship would arrive. The best we could manage after two days of searching where some second hand tyres about 50% worn. Only enough for about half way to Cape Town. Everyone we spoke to knew of someone who might have new tyres and we were sent off on many small wild goose chases. No result. Luckily I had a plan Z. Shipping tyres from the UK. After my last experience with DHL and customs I wasn’t very keen, but my options where running out fast. My front wouldn’t make it much further than Abuja, Nigeria. If I want the tyres to arrive in Nigeria at roughly the same time I do I would have to order them ASAP. Luckily Morton was in the same predicament, so we decided to bite the bullet and order tyres from the UK. We could share the shipping cost, which would be about double the price of each tyre. OUCH! <div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62UXpBqVeKI/TrofJL-Y5hI/AAAAAAAAB6s/is9LORdGF5E/s1600/P1000850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62UXpBqVeKI/TrofJL-Y5hI/AAAAAAAAB6s/is9LORdGF5E/s320/P1000850.JPG" width="320" /></a>At least we knew what we would get and they would be good for the whole trek to SA. The supplier in the UK was extremely helpful and had the tyres away relatively quickly. Fingers crossed there isn’t a long customs delay in Nigeria. This is my fourth shipment from the UK, and only one went smoothly. Wonder what is going to happen this time?<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ly--2IybVhM/Troe459yXdI/AAAAAAAAB6I/9iFwddIml_A/s1600/P1000841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ly--2IybVhM/Troe459yXdI/AAAAAAAAB6I/9iFwddIml_A/s320/P1000841.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjwrPiajmC4/Troe8cd7aFI/AAAAAAAAB7M/KEztW_qSd1c/s1600/P1000843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjwrPiajmC4/Troe8cd7aFI/AAAAAAAAB7M/KEztW_qSd1c/s320/P1000843.JPG" width="320" /></a>We also spent one whole day giving the bikes a big service. The KTM dealership had a fantastic workshop that they allowed us to use. Their mechanic was extremely friendly and helpful. Both Morton and Dominique needed some major repairs that would have been close to impossible without the workshop facilities. This was exactly what we where hoping for on the way to Lomé. This was also the first time I did a major service on my own. Took a bit of time, but in the end I was very pleased with myself. Amazing what I have learned since starting to plan this whole trip. It has been a steep learning curve, especially on the road, but I am happy with everything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big repairs</td></tr>
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By the time we where finished with all the bike stuff we had enough of Lomé so decided to hit the road and head for Benin. Most overlanders only use Benin as a quick crossing into Nigeria, but we where warned about Lagos and also the coastal border crossing into Nigeria. In the end we decided to cruise about halfway up Benin, and then head east to Nigeria. This would also mean more dirt roads and less tarmac. Perfect.</div>
</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-59843042347006107582011-11-12T09:47:00.000+00:002011-12-03T18:34:53.788+00:00Togo II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First rains after the desert</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-chYHk6jSS3q5RUTKoYVFUpbgL5AmyewYDoNT2ld7pohtVCKSC_qjLch9FMp4PhY9bzqMOT9fH-xQxqgC_OeQAx95-13t3XYULL6RTSPKZcIkDDiFdpoHrp6aUf9BJ9oQWYTN7pukhRE/s1600/P1000804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-chYHk6jSS3q5RUTKoYVFUpbgL5AmyewYDoNT2ld7pohtVCKSC_qjLch9FMp4PhY9bzqMOT9fH-xQxqgC_OeQAx95-13t3XYULL6RTSPKZcIkDDiFdpoHrp6aUf9BJ9oQWYTN7pukhRE/s320/P1000804.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dominik at his best<br /></td></tr>
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The famous Badou waterfall is actually a few kilometres out of town and about an hours hike into the forest, so we decided to stay in the small village where the hike starts. We where hoping to get away from the crowd of guides in Badou and to find a little peace and quiet. What a mistake. As you drive into the village there was a big crowd of guides sitting and waiting for, and we ended up a big crowd of them trying to show us where the hotel is. I felt so sorry for the owner of the hotel, he had a mass of people around him, all asking for a finders fee. Some where even new faces, who only arrived to claim their fee. It was chaos. Luckily for me it just started raining, a heavy downpour and the first rains since the desert. Was fantastic to just stand there and let all the dirt wash away. A moment of bliss in all the chaos.<br />
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After the rains and unpacking, the chaos continued with the guides. Everyone was desperate to get us to hire him for our hike to the waterfall. In the end we chased everyone away except the guy we spoke to first. He seemed friendly and the least pushy of the lot. He quoted us a ridiculous amount, and also said that we needed two guides for the walk, doubling the price. We seriously considered just skipping the whole hike, but in the end we asked him to meet us at sunrise the next morning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hpuW76Ux6AE/TrbnoTIGGGI/AAAAAAAAB4E/BAm61QbUh9g/s1600/P1000814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hpuW76Ux6AE/TrbnoTIGGGI/AAAAAAAAB4E/BAm61QbUh9g/s320/P1000814.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous forest<br /></td></tr>
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I really liked the owner of the auberge, he was extremely friendly and tried very hard to make us feel welcome. He just didn’t have any control over the guides. They where constantly in and out, harassing us for other excursions. Our peace and quiet was not to be. Dinner time we tried to eat at the auberge, but the owner said the chicken is still running around, and would take a long time to prepare. He politely hinted that we should rather get some food in town. I was flabbergasted. We are the only people in his hotel, the only tourists in town and he says no to business.<br />
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There wasn’t any place to get food, so we stocked up on bread, sardines and spam. Great bikers dinner. While we where stocking up we met another guide who was willing to take us on the hike for a third of the current quote. That was more like it, a reasonable price and we said we would consider it.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_2_P-JLh5tI/TrbnmiQkvpI/AAAAAAAAB4A/O102l8PX-oY/s1600/P1000813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_2_P-JLh5tI/TrbnmiQkvpI/AAAAAAAAB4A/O102l8PX-oY/s320/P1000813.JPG" width="237" /></a>While having our five star dinner another new guide came and spoke to Dominique for about ten minutes. He was supposedly the boss of the guides and he had found out about the counter offer. So he came to offer us the same price, but we where not allowed to tell the original guy because the boss would take out his cut from what we pay. Fishy to the max, but we where so fed up with these guys we said yes to get rid of him. Not 5 minutes later he was back. AAGGGHHH!!! With two girls, maybe 15 years old. WTF!! He was trying to sell us two kids for the night. Unbelievable. Luckily they didn’t want to stay either so we politely got rid of them. I was fuming, but what can you do?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJF2sOIzxgfzCOIIyS5mDu4KY0CmSN8-BKjGszvYm5sKg3myrkllGI9DluTiDqja6xRmDqFLWwBDahZKWvBN1CfDKJjiElRl3ItDKiFv7aIeHApf_ltQyo8M2jep6BPtxJKwC9oPtMKQ/s1600/P1000811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJF2sOIzxgfzCOIIyS5mDu4KY0CmSN8-BKjGszvYm5sKg3myrkllGI9DluTiDqja6xRmDqFLWwBDahZKWvBN1CfDKJjiElRl3ItDKiFv7aIeHApf_ltQyo8M2jep6BPtxJKwC9oPtMKQ/s320/P1000811.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ants at work<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WykKiJSDTe0/Trbnw-4ZtGI/AAAAAAAAB4U/ypaO2-MwekU/s1600/P1000821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WykKiJSDTe0/Trbnw-4ZtGI/AAAAAAAAB4U/ypaO2-MwekU/s320/P1000821.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning</td></tr>
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The next morning our original guide was in a fowl mood. He was obviously not happy that his boss undercut him and took a big chink of his pay. Poor guy. I felt sorry enough that I took with a big tip to give him afterwards, but he ended up shooting himself in the foot. Halfway to the waterfall he told us to just follow the path and took off. Missing out on his bonus. Typical for a bunch of guys we didn’t really care and head off for the Waterfall. Ten minutes later we took the wrong turn off and was lost. Our quick hike engulfed the whole morning. Hilarious. It all ended good though, the peace and quiet was fantastic, and the walk was just what we needed. Phenomenally nice get away from all the hassle for a few hours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Q7r9tqeDAU/Trbn2sDOPYI/AAAAAAAAB4g/809MFVXNt7E/s1600/P1000824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Q7r9tqeDAU/Trbn2sDOPYI/AAAAAAAAB4g/809MFVXNt7E/s320/P1000824.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The waterfall</td></tr>
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Feeling recharged we set of that afternoon for Lomé. The first part of the road was a nice groomed gravel road winding through the forests and some small villages. Half way we found a nice wild camping spot for the evening, and the next morning left the hills to join the main road into Lomé. I really loved the back roads of Togo, especially the last few days in the hills and forests. It was surprisingly sad to say goodbye to them, and join the tarmac.<br />
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Our mission for Lomé was tyres and giving the bikes the big half way service. The tyre saga continues… Brilliant.</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-83733906121522274982011-11-09T09:53:00.000+00:002011-11-09T09:54:01.770+00:00The back roads of Togo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xY_t_L7EqPc/TrbgrEjyE3I/AAAAAAAABz4/XYwjqRjwOeo/s1600/P1000746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xY_t_L7EqPc/TrbgrEjyE3I/AAAAAAAABz4/XYwjqRjwOeo/s320/P1000746.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying great African gravel</td></tr>
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While planning my trip in the UK, I wasn't sure whether I would go through Togo. It was a bit of a detour with the shorter route going from Burkina straight to Nigeria, and the most common route from Burkina, to Benin and then Nigeria. Two things changed my mind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhmfu59HXeXODrhb5tKwBmTfqFoCulMabaWpCSw1ekbcKnsPecoh7HTed0mAfu56tFZMMikJB2iXU8j5sb17IinbZvwo9Sw7VRF87B4hOLgh-eLqp2BYmiAFUhxbom_Jv6D_eRmGSVko/s1600/P1000745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhmfu59HXeXODrhb5tKwBmTfqFoCulMabaWpCSw1ekbcKnsPecoh7HTed0mAfu56tFZMMikJB2iXU8j5sb17IinbZvwo9Sw7VRF87B4hOLgh-eLqp2BYmiAFUhxbom_Jv6D_eRmGSVko/s320/P1000745.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dirty biker, it's only 7am</td></tr>
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One was our desperate need for some tyres. There is a big KTM dealership in Lomé (the only proper big bike garage in West Africa), and the forums are full of people who managed to get tyres there, and of course some who didn't. This is Africa and availability is a bit sporadic. I am carrying a spare rear tyre, and that should last me to SA, but my front tyre is nearly finished. I could at a push reach Abuja (Nigeria), but it would be completely bald by that time. Morton needs both a front and back tyre, and his bike has some niggles he wanted to sort out. The steering bearing has been giving some problems with his bike being difficult to steer at times. Changing the bearing is quite a big job, and would need a proper workshop. Putting it that way, we didn't really have a choice, we had to go to Lomé.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJnciAP9qLTxG5EBH5vlgu1n604WCbMVBLVLhKNl0lAdcLvUhouvG4ia9a1-HyfORZWnPtLtWayJgFB7LcmHYX8XzBgWKPHG-_hbDexcd8orTBjDgjGzXiKTOMA61ifafvgDnd2oK9IE/s1600/P1000748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJnciAP9qLTxG5EBH5vlgu1n604WCbMVBLVLhKNl0lAdcLvUhouvG4ia9a1-HyfORZWnPtLtWayJgFB7LcmHYX8XzBgWKPHG-_hbDexcd8orTBjDgjGzXiKTOMA61ifafvgDnd2oK9IE/s320/P1000748.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fantastic single tracks</td></tr>
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Secondly, the owner of our accommodation in Ouagadougou is a very keen motorcyclist and he takes groups of people on off road tours through Burkina and Togo. He had a group coming in a few weeks and gave us the planned route, it looked fantastic. Criss crossing the width of Togo while taking us down south to Lomé. It also meant spending very little time on the main highway south, which is supposed to be a potholed mess, with lots off big trucks. Something we would love to avoid.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rJd0IVbHGUc/Trbg3jxrp7I/AAAAAAAAB0I/V_p4HMfQfVI/s1600/P1000750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rJd0IVbHGUc/Trbg3jxrp7I/AAAAAAAAB0I/V_p4HMfQfVI/s320/P1000750.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Single tracks with high grass</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fV3Tp63pLaU/TrbhQsQ7Q1I/AAAAAAAAB04/xcJLlzDKucA/s1600/P1000761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fV3Tp63pLaU/TrbhQsQ7Q1I/AAAAAAAAB04/xcJLlzDKucA/s320/P1000761.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dom's first boat pirogue crossing</td></tr>
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The first of these tracks started of as a nice gravel road, running along some small villages, but it became progressively smaller and ended up being nothing more than a wide walking track. Was loads of fun to ride. It was here that Morton had his first crash. His steering locked and he fell over in some softish sand. Luckily nothing serious but his bikes steering was now completely stuffed, luckily he managed to bush mechanic it enough to get to the next big town. After some deliberation we decided that the plan was for Morton to try and fix his bike, while we do the next trail. Worst case scenario he would have to transport the bike to Lomé, and we would be of no use and best case he would have the bike fixed in a day or so and meet up with us. I didn't like leaving him, but we would be of no use, and Morton is a great mechanic. He knows his bike very well and didn't need any help from us non-mechanical people. And, of course, we all have phones, it not like we where abandoning him in the middle of the desert. We left him at the only hotel in town and set of for the next side track.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FhShWCVd0XM/TrbmQUYLUhI/AAAAAAAAB1Q/XV7STL5jYgI/s1600/P1000765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FhShWCVd0XM/TrbmQUYLUhI/AAAAAAAAB1Q/XV7STL5jYgI/s320/P1000765.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overwhelmed by villagers </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-giD5A9eJPrg/TrbmUeQ3IbI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/wTPVyNmuKxs/s1600/P1000767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-giD5A9eJPrg/TrbmUeQ3IbI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/wTPVyNmuKxs/s320/P1000767.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking to see if safe to cross<br /></td></tr>
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This was a 100km semi loop of gravel road running next to the main road. Was nothing more than a walking track running through some fields. Was absolutely gorgeous with it alternating between rice, cotton and grain fields with patches off head high grass. Sometimes the grass was so high that you couldn't see what was next to you. Really stunning. After about a hour we reached our first river crossing. It was just after the rains so the river was quite full and we needed to cross with some pirogues. I have done this a couple of times on the trip and was a bit used to the whole process. Dominique hasn't, and he was very reluctant to trust his bike to these small little boats. It took some time convincing him it's safe, and in the end I loaded up my bike and crossed the river. Denying him the option of going back. In the end we both crossed safely, and Dominique was very relieved that he finally did a pirogue crossing with his bike. The track continued to run through fields and small villages, with the villagers being super friendly, and everyone wanting to chat. In the one village we were told that we are the first guys with trail bikes in a few years. Result!! It was slow going on the trail and we weren't even half way when darkness and fatigue set in. I had a low speed fall in soft sand. Just lost my front wheel, but I had my bike up before Dominique even managed to stop properly. Definitely time to stop and at the next village we asked the chief for a space to pitch our tents. The town had a catholic mission with place to stay for travellers. Great stuff, our first stay in a mission. And what an interesting stay it turned out to be.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8YDOP65VvBQ/TrbmZKeYN-I/AAAAAAAAB1g/xQ2Vj37e7Po/s1600/P1000769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8YDOP65VvBQ/TrbmZKeYN-I/AAAAAAAAB1g/xQ2Vj37e7Po/s320/P1000769.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our accommodation at the mission</td></tr>
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The main priest wasn't there and in typical fashion Africa took over. The hospitality at the mission was faultless. They took us in after dark and gave us a place to sleep and shower. It just after unloading that a guy came over and asked us for a present in exchange for the services of a young girl (15/16) that was with him. WHAT!! He was a bit drunk so we just ignored him, and that was the end of the story. For the rest of our stay we had a constant crowd off onlookers though. Five or more people just standing around, looking at everything we where doing. It was really weird to be scrutinized like that. Still everyone was very polite and they where just curious to see what these strange white people where doing. Very funny!! Had a great night sleep under the starts and then head off early the next morning. The rest off the track was easy riding, and we had a fantastic morning just cruising through to the main road. When we reached the main road I was covered in a layer of red african dust, makes you feel like a proper dirty biker. Whoop, whoop!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wuTdHYCfX_4/TrbmuSoJBeI/AAAAAAAAB2I/vpUDTOWL0Oo/s1600/P1000778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wuTdHYCfX_4/TrbmuSoJBeI/AAAAAAAAB2I/vpUDTOWL0Oo/s320/P1000778.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the crowd at the mission</td></tr>
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We then spend the rest off the day cruising south on the main road to our next detour point. The main road was decent tarmac with some potholes just to keep you awake, and enough big trucks to make sure you don't daydream to much. The scenery was stunning though, with it slowly becoming more hilly, and the vegetation transforming gently into green forests. Love the way you can see the landscape change after a few days on the road, and so glad to finally be out of the desert.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lX3LMy4i-Y0/Trbm7p_svEI/AAAAAAAAB2k/7lup_jet0v8/s1600/P1000785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lX3LMy4i-Y0/Trbm7p_svEI/AAAAAAAAB2k/7lup_jet0v8/s320/P1000785.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small river crossing</td></tr>
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The next morning we met up with Morton again, he managed to bush mechanic his bike and it will now last to Lomé. Fingers crossed. Our next detour was to a small town called Badou on the Togo/Ghana border. The road there was absolutely gorgeous and loads of fun. It was a small tarmac track, with big potholes, lazily snakking up and down some beautiful little hills with dense forests and plantations. After the long flat dry desert stretch this was absolutely breath taking. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red dust everywhere</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SMMcGrQFzNY/TrbnHCB7k8I/AAAAAAAAB3A/NVLlSfLg25w/s1600/P1000793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SMMcGrQFzNY/TrbnHCB7k8I/AAAAAAAAB3A/NVLlSfLg25w/s320/P1000793.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautifull forest tracks</td></tr>
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Badou has one of Togo's few big tourist attractions, a big waterfall in the forest. Naturally this meant lots of guides trying to get hold of our cash. We had quite an adventure with dodgy guides and people trying to sell us under aged prostitutes. But I'll leave that for the next blog.<br />
<br /></div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-44704761565041675582011-11-07T07:00:00.000+00:002011-11-07T07:00:03.717+00:00Blasting through Burkina<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As much as I hate saying it, that is exactly what we did. We blasted straight through Burkina Faso, with a quick stop in the capital for visas and some recuperation.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast on the road</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coolest kid on the block</td></tr>
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Our first impressions of Burkina where fantastic. The people are very friendly, polite and quite curios. In one the small villages we unintentionally stopped right in front of a small mosque, with the call for prayer going out while we were having a coke. The people where so curious about us and the bikes that the Imam stopped the prayer so that they could all watch, with him right in front. Brilliant. Still everyone was extremely polite, standing on the side walk, and not bugging us in any way. But there where more than 20 people happily gossiping about us in front of us, very funny. Even the town mad woman was out in full force, standing in the middle of the road, dancing and singing and chatting away to her self, while chain smoking one cigarette after the other. This ended up being a very curious spectacle, but we loved it.<br />
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So far in Africa the transport of livestock is a bit of a thorn in the side. Animals are being tied up in every available space, no matter how small, with no thought of comfort or pain. Some being in those positions for hours, in blasting hot sun and horrible roads, unable to move an inch.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transporting goats</td></tr>
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We have become quite used to seeing chickens have their feet tied together and then hung upside down from every possible position on motorbikes. Some bikes where so covered in chickens that it looked like a blanket surrounding the bike with just the drivers head sticking out. Amazing that they can drive like that. The worst we saw was a guy transporting goats. He had at least twenty goats tied up by their feet and then hung upside down around his bike. They were screaming in agony and you could hear them from very far away, but this was his way of transporting goats and he was happy to do it. Horrible and inhumane.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curious villagers, the town nearly came to a standstill </td></tr>
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In the capital we easily and quickly got our visas for Togo and Benin. So we seriously contemplated to do a bit of a detour through more of Burkina, but the owner of our Auberge was a keen motorcyclist and organised regular motorcycle rallies through he area, and he advised us to rather spend the time exploring the back roads of Togo. He was even nice enough to show us the route he had planned for a tour in a couple off weeks time. It looked very interesting, so we decided to keep our time in Burkina as brief a possible to give us more time in Togo. Turned out to be a good decision, with the back roads being gorgeous and the scenery mind blowing (more in the next blog).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DtZK_t6VsA7aScmr1bUd-5m5aZpgrvZffhiWg92Ool59Gk9O24QC3iVWpvfV90K3gHU3vb9ZBUo70AIRVgzgRvZzXEsuBbCG6M0Y1B7VTdbEm27Y1wTLbVIIhqdUKVgCE-m88KObTv0/s1600/P1000741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DtZK_t6VsA7aScmr1bUd-5m5aZpgrvZffhiWg92Ool59Gk9O24QC3iVWpvfV90K3gHU3vb9ZBUo70AIRVgzgRvZzXEsuBbCG6M0Y1B7VTdbEm27Y1wTLbVIIhqdUKVgCE-m88KObTv0/s320/P1000741.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cause of Dominique's crash</td></tr>
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The first few days in the capital where spend organising visas and giving the bikes a good service. This has become the regular routine, first get visa applications away, then make sure the bikes are ok. Only after that do we spend some time exploring. We do sometimes miss some of the attractions in the capitals, but in the end the bikes have first priority and a capital city is a capital city. The country side is always the more interesting and rewarding part of our journey. In Ouagadougou we had the usual guides trying to rip us off, and we found a good restaurant with fantastic pizzas and good ice cream for dessert. I have become so bored with the lack of variety with the street food that this was good enough to put a smile on my face for days afterwards.<br />
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The road to the Togo border was a good mix off potholed tar, good gravel and some bad potholed gravel to keep you on your toes. Again we had a very easy crossing, everyone very friendly, no hassles, and no attempts at bribes. My luck seems to be holding.<br />
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After the crossing Dominique had his first fall of the trip. He rode over an empty can which got stuck to his front wheel, causing it to lock up. He had a nice soft little put down right in front of all the people at the crossing. Very funny in deed.<br />
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<br /></div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-54657529912136478452011-11-06T19:54:00.000+00:002011-11-06T19:54:06.551+00:00My first big crash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvj2DDk3Fk-bHuhnES6itfLgbtnwuGrFUFqZTVqD-LJs9Zo5Ci6tzVKMM_iwQAEPvHzpuCfVFYeFq6x0N9WQD9h-VWGqF1NVBx-2dvrV68Jegs8MrSGGQqaZ1zVAwU5NXqFUyNdNuAzKY/s1600/P1000692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvj2DDk3Fk-bHuhnES6itfLgbtnwuGrFUFqZTVqD-LJs9Zo5Ci6tzVKMM_iwQAEPvHzpuCfVFYeFq6x0N9WQD9h-VWGqF1NVBx-2dvrV68Jegs8MrSGGQqaZ1zVAwU5NXqFUyNdNuAzKY/s320/P1000692.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My crash spot, can just make out tyre tracks heading for tree and rocks<br /></td></tr>
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After the trail of Timbuktu my initial plan was to spend a day in Mopti recuperating, but since all three of use where together we decided to spend the day exploring Doggon country. It would be a very chilled out and relaxed day on the bike so I thought it would be as good as a rest day. I was also very keen to see Doggon country, it is supposed to be the one of Mali’s tourist highlights. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scratched up pannier</td></tr>
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The Doggon country is set on a escarpment with 200-300 meter high cliffs to the valley below. The people built their mud houses right next to or on top off these cliffs. Because of this they where very isolated and managed to hold on to their culture and evade the Islamic invasion.<br />
The road there was absolutely stunning. With nice green scenery (great after the desert) and mountains slowly building up. The last 40km was a twisty and narrow little gravel road. Great to play on, and this is where I crashed. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-grSlXARoZSc/TqsKnSs9CVI/AAAAAAAABhE/k7zdPAHlGeo/s1600/P1000693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-grSlXARoZSc/TqsKnSs9CVI/AAAAAAAABhE/k7zdPAHlGeo/s320/P1000693.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon siesta<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Market day, very colourful</td></tr>
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I think I was probably still fatigued, and of course way too cocky after the bad roads I just survived. I was gunning it up a hill and on top off the hill was a deep ditch with a sharp right turn. I hit the ditch, lost my front wheel, but managed to keep my bike upright. Just. When the road turned I went straight off, charging towards a group off rocks and a tree. I tried to steer the bike back onto the road, but the grass was to slippery and I lost my front wheel again. Coming to a crashing halt on the rocks. Ouch!! Luckily (AGAIN), no obvious serious damage. My pannier had some big scratches, my shoulder was a bit bruised and my water bottle was laying in the road some 10 meters away. Morton was just in front off me and he quickly stopped and helped me get the bike up. Only after did we even think of photos. Gutted.<br />
Later when I serviced my bike I saw that my one pannier now sits about 2cm higher than the other and my bash plate is sitting a bit skew. The force off the crash must have been a lot more than I initially thought it was. The panniers did a good job thought, they stopped the bike front squashing my leg as I was lying semi underneath the bike.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3J1uyTMIZIatj4TZZoozKiqE_g14xlOC8_J5jLyI-VbnBeNiiOKIihBzIId35A9bRXTp5LsloXYsOxFLNDX4JXIWJUwbfA1MTCvknn55u1sFnDCfVBz0ZSjvjyAp-iHiF06AbbqMC84/s1600/P1000707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3J1uyTMIZIatj4TZZoozKiqE_g14xlOC8_J5jLyI-VbnBeNiiOKIihBzIId35A9bRXTp5LsloXYsOxFLNDX4JXIWJUwbfA1MTCvknn55u1sFnDCfVBz0ZSjvjyAp-iHiF06AbbqMC84/s320/P1000707.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning Doggon </td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VvzecL1hWQ/TqsMkMIT4lI/AAAAAAAABiE/I3YfzlEoAls/s1600/P1000709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VvzecL1hWQ/TqsMkMIT4lI/AAAAAAAABiE/I3YfzlEoAls/s320/P1000709.JPG" width="320" /></a>The rest off the road to Doggon was uneventful. I learned my lesson and gave the gravel some proper respect. That afternoon we had a guide (they really are useful, sometimes) show us around the villages in our area. Stunning little mud villages and colourful markets built right next to the cliffs. The views where stunning. The kids where more than happy to play next to these huge drop offs, definitely no health and safety here. I did feel very sorry for the villages at the bottom of the cliffs, because the guys at the top use the cliffs as their toilets. HAHAHA. Brilliant.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LZwq4M3RFCo/TqsM0nDyFyI/AAAAAAAABiM/h5-8afZ2Joc/s1600/P1000712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LZwq4M3RFCo/TqsM0nDyFyI/AAAAAAAABiM/h5-8afZ2Joc/s320/P1000712.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly local</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After Doggon country we zig zagged towards the Burkina Faso border. Great dusty gravel road most off the way there. Amazing how a couple of weeks ago I was desperate for gravel, but found mostly tar, and now after Timbuktu when I’m less bothered it’s mostly gravel. Still loving it!! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjySraXms28yEkQRk1dkTJwAT2nRLOvtDZ0ngIr0OMsrmBC0HrzRv8FKMFFW3H4gY4cDHcW_duTkGebAbzwpYhKt5FotkLYXtpN-MyJOEhwCVokLB9A8X6QFTioN7FFpjTxbRgWPX_ocPQ/s1600/P1000717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjySraXms28yEkQRk1dkTJwAT2nRLOvtDZ0ngIr0OMsrmBC0HrzRv8FKMFFW3H4gY4cDHcW_duTkGebAbzwpYhKt5FotkLYXtpN-MyJOEhwCVokLB9A8X6QFTioN7FFpjTxbRgWPX_ocPQ/s320/P1000717.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous scenery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4vyjhMs85WY/TqsM7HTlm_I/AAAAAAAABiU/0aEktB8Ptus/s1600/P1000716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4vyjhMs85WY/TqsM7HTlm_I/AAAAAAAABiU/0aEktB8Ptus/s320/P1000716.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids waiting to ambush us with cries for presents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The border crossing was fantastic on both sides. No hassles, not even a hint for bribes. The staff where super friendly and the only hassle was the amount off time it takes to do all the paperwork. If that is my main complaint then there really is nothing to complain about. I still can’t believe how lucky we have been with the borders. I think the fact that we stay away from the main crossings might help, but I also think that a lot of the West African countries are trying really hard to attract more tourists. It seems like they have realised that friendliness goes a long way and does keep the tourists happy and coming back for more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Ea5XYfEOwk/TqsNoJuoAVI/AAAAAAAABik/2jLGN8L30PM/s1600/P1000720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Ea5XYfEOwk/TqsNoJuoAVI/AAAAAAAABik/2jLGN8L30PM/s320/P1000720.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living right on the cliff edge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifCtgSQPrHQ/TqsOvXJW4eI/AAAAAAAABjM/m2B2NLTHYuQ/s1600/P1000730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ifCtgSQPrHQ/TqsOvXJW4eI/AAAAAAAABjM/m2B2NLTHYuQ/s320/P1000730.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chilling with the kids<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is hard to think of highlights when you have only been on the road for two months, and just as hard to talk of friendly people when Africa is the smiling continent. But Mali has brought this to a new level. The people are fantastic (when you get away from the nagging guides), very friendly and very chatty. We where overwhelmed with curious villagers no matter where we stopped. I had awesome chats in the most random places, and when I was alone the people tried very hard to break the language barrier. Maybe we where lucky, but I never felt unsafe even with all the warnings floating around. I am very glad we made the time and effort to explore Mali, and would have loved to see more.<br />
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</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6053202541159716579.post-69900776335230700072011-10-31T19:30:00.000+00:002011-10-31T19:31:00.592+00:00Halfway in numbers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Since if reached the half way mark, I thought I'd spit out a few numbers for the techies:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Distance travelled : 11600km ( Original plans about 8500km)</li>
<li>Fuel used in Africa : 314 liters</li>
<li>Cost of fuel : £270</li>
<li>Moving average : 61km/hr</li>
<li>Average daily distance : 210km</li>
<li>Fuel consumption in Africa : 29km/l ( I used to get 22km/l riding around the UK, am very surprised that the loaded bike has improved fuel consumption)</li>
<li>Friendliest officials : Mauritanian gendarmerie</li>
<li>Most corrupt officials :</li>
<ul>
<li>Tan-Tan cops, Morocco</li>
<li>Mauritanian border officials at Diama border crossing</li>
</ul>
<li>Unofficial payments/Bribes : about £100</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Countries Visited : 7 ( Original plans 5)</li>
<li>Days on the road : 55 ( Original plans 50 )</li>
<li>Minor falls : 4</li>
<li>Major falls : 0</li>
<li>Accidents : 0</li>
<li>Most scenic route : Todra -> Dades gorge loop - Morocco</li>
<li>Worst Route : Douentza -> Timbuktu - Mali</li>
<li>Friendliest people : the Gambia</li>
<li>Lost items :</li>
<ul>
<li>Camera - It didn't even make it out of France</li>
<li>Original Documents - left them on the ferry to Morocco. Idiot! Luckily staff kept them</li>
<li>Luggage straps</li>
<li>Various bits and piece that I didn't need and conveniently 'lost' along the way</li>
</ul>
<li>Broken items:</li>
<ul>
<li>Windscreen</li>
<li>Mirror</li>
<li>Kindle (Gutted, all my guides and books lost)</li>
<li>Earphones</li>
</ul>
<li>Best accessory :</li>
<ul>
<li>Crash bars/ bash plate</li>
<li>Scott oiler</li>
</ul>
<li>Worst Accessory : Touratech folding brake/gear lever. Horrible. Changed back to originals in Morocco.</li>
<li>Worst performing part : My front tyre. It was supposed to last all the way to SA. Initially it lasted well, with no real wear after 5000km, but it just shredded the last 3000km. Will need a new one very soon. 10000km with a knobbly tyre is still very good. Cannot complain to much about it.</li>
</ul>
</div>Silverbackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274863159707881213noreply@blogger.com3