Nearly stuck in Luango

Bliss

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.

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.

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.

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.
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!!

Ready for our shark fishing expedition

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. 

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.

No fish... but a good story

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.

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!!

The only way out

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.

The open road... Just ride

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.



 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.

Breakfast of champions

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.

Home made toll road on the left.

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.

Red dust everywhere

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…

Lunch

Road to Luango

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.

Ferry to nowhere

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.

The warm seats

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.

Sand, Sand and even more sand

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.

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.

Ready for a sea crossing?

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.

Captain of the boat

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.

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…

Gorgeous rain forest

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.’
 But it’s not his bike.

Sunset on the boat

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.

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.
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.

Choices?

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. 

Creeping insanity?

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.

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.

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.

Paradise!

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!!

Loango Lodge

Christmas gifts

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

Hope you all have a fantastic festive period with friends, family and good wine.

To all those who have been making enquiries about where to send my presents, just use the paypal link.

My charity needs some money!!

Spot tracker update

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.

Even more circles in Gabon

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.

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. 
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

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. 
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). 
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!!

Update :
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.

Damn those sick patients who can’t stick to one illness. Make up your mind already.

New diagnosis : Both the regulator and alternator are sick.  Battery is healthy.

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.

Treatment : Carry a good spare battery as back up (the expensive Yamaha one).  Keep fingers crossed.  Daily prayers.

Limping just a tiny bit more.

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…

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?

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!!

Riding circles in Gabon

A rare sight - Road signs

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. 

Rush hour traffic

Wash day

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).

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.

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. 
This looked like a country that tried to look after itself and I liked it very much.

Riding among giants

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.

Choices… choices.  I didn’t know what to do.

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.

Forrest villages

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.

Another fall

Nearly perfect…  Except for two things.

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.

Bush Camp

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. 
Luckily I didn't get stung, it was all just very very irritating.

Tumble dryer?

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!!

Play time

The new Africa-2000 washing station.  Adults, children, clothes and dishes all done at the same time saving you time and money.

The boys back together

Crossing the equator

 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.

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.

Official equator crossing

Need some champagne

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.

Aw man, I nearly forgot.  Leaving Libreville I passed two momentous milestones. 

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.
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!!

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.

Bikers' breakfast

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.

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?


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. 

Food shopping

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. 

Naturally things are never that simple.  I jumped on the bike and it wouldn’t start.  Battery flat again.  AAGGHHH!!

Everything has been working perfectly… until the moment I was desperate to leave.  Nothing serious, just not enough juice to start. 

And the suckers where eating me alive.

Nice hot shower

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.

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.

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.

Damage from the insect bites

OUCH!!

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.

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.

Decisions… Decisions…

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.

Who moved South Africa?

 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.


Libreville here I come… again.  AAAGGGHHH!!

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!!

Movember attempt

Can anyone beat my Movember attempt?