Last of Cameroon

Taking it all a part.  Manual to the left.

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. 

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.

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.

My motorbike’s charging system has three main components.

Stunning coast

(If you are more electronically inclined than me don’t bother with the next bit)
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.
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.
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.

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.

So much for a relaxing day on the beach.  Gorgeous grilled seafood for dinner was the perfect consolation prize.  Again.

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.
Testing the battery it seemed ok.  Charge just below normal.  Not behaving like a dead battery, but not like a good healthy one either.

Next test was for a leak in the system, a possible reason for a discharging battery.  Found one.

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.

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.

And another gorgeous beach day past without setting a foot on the beach.  Again the freshly grilled seafood made up for it.

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?

Testing voltages the African way

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.

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?

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.

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. 

Guess what I had for dinner?  Grilled seafood.  Just couldn’t get enough!

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.

The boys from Prague, engine on the floor.

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. 

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.

The Skoda.

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.
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. 

Starting the Skoda, old school with a crank.

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…

NOTHING HAPPENED.

Lights go on, fuel pump works… Everything looks ok.  But when I press the starter…

NOTHING.

 

Not even an attempt at starting.

WTF?

I desperately ran through all the obvious things…

Still nothing.

Tried again…

Nothing

And again…

Nothing…

AAAGGGHHHH!!!!

I couldn’t believe this.  A whole day of TLC on the bike and then this.

I was gutted.  Worse, it felt like it ripped my heart and guts out. 
If just been bitch slapped so hard my balls hurt… by a motorbike.

So much time and so much effort and for the second time in a week my bike is dead.
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. 

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.

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…

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.

It wasn't until late the afternoon that I had everything back together.
And I tried again…

It started… First time… WHOOP WHOOP!!

A week after it all started I finally had a running bike and a new fully charged battery.
Was a phenomenal hard slog, but I did it!!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Kribi

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.

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.

So much luxury

I've also met some fantastic people here.

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.

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.

Alone in the forest

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.

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.

Limping into Limbe

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. 

Stunning view from high above

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.

I was desperate for the battery to be the cause, about motorbike electronics I know very little.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Please let the road be better!!

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!!

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.

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.

Taking things apart in the middle of nowhere

Please let us make the ten kilometres.

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!!

Taxi driver who brought me a battery

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.

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. 

Nearly home

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?

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. 

Morten talking to locals while I do roadside repairs

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!! 

Mt Cameroon in the distance

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.

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!!

Limbe

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.

Grilled seafood

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***.

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.

Limping into Limbe…  So smooth on the tongue, but such a horrible feeling.





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.

Slaughter on Moon Head Hill

Very glad it's dry

Some fun in the mud

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.

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.

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. 

Bad track to the right and toll road to the left

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.

Difficulty level increasing

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.

Gorgeous forest tracks

Fun in the forest

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?’

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.

Don't fall

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.

Bush camp on a river bank

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.

Clean, hot shower

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.

 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.

First fall of the day

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.  

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.

After what we just did we secretly thought ‘what do they know.’  There is no way things can become harder…
It turned out we where wrong, VERY WRONG…

Stupid fall

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.

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.

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.

No energy…

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.

Now we both had no energy…

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.

Just no energy…

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.

No Energy…

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.

Stuck

No Energy…

I was desperate… And miserable…

No Energy…

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.
I removed the luggage I could reach, but it didn’t help much.  Still completely stuck.  I could not move the bike.

Stuck

NO ENERGY…

I wanted to panic…  But didn’t have the energy…

I wanted to cry… But didn’t have the energy…

FUCK… I was in deep shit…

The only message my body was screaming was … NO ENERGY

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.’
I said a little prayer, sat down and had a cigarette (Sorry dad)…

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.

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?

WHAT?  Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Naturally, I politely refused.  But I asked her to tell Morten I am ok, but stuck.
This interaction definitely lifted my mood, but I was still suck..

And still had NO ENERGY…

I followed Richard’s advice again.  Sat down, said a small prayer and lit a cigarette.
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.

NO ENERGY…

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.
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.

BUT STILL NO ENERGY…

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…

BUT STIL NO ENERGY…

And only slightly better…

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..

BUT STIL NO ENERGY…

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.


My arms started shacking…

70 meters…

My legs where buckling…

60 meters…

Just a few more seconds…

50 meters…

AND THE BIKE DROPPED. 

Not even close….

My poor bike.

AND NO ENERGY!!

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). 

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?)

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.

AND STILL NO ENERGY!!

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.

The last climb was easy compared to the others and I made it with only one fall.

JUST NO ENERGY…

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.

Our saviours

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.

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.

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.

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.

The hill is called MOON HEAD HILL.  I will never forget it.  It nearly killed us and our bikes.

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.

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?

Evaristas and family

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?

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. 

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!

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Route on Google Earth

You should be able to download this file and view it using Google Earth to see our exact route so far.
I cannot test it, internet to slow, so might not work.

Nearly pushing things to far

Packing up camp Sheraton

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.
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.

Shopping for camping food

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.

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.

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. 

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Boabs are back.  Stunning

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.

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.

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.

The 'big ferry'

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.

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.

All loaded on the ferry

Washday - pots, pans, cutlery, clothes and children
all at the same time

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.

Kids fishing

 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.

Bucket showers becoming the norm
no running water

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.

Morton's bike gets a new owner

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.

Back in the forests.  Whoop whoop.

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…