Journey to the Equator

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mikeb8man

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Apr 25, 2009
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Bike
Kawasaki KLR 650
                         
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This is a story about a father and son, expert and novice duo, who rode 20,000km through eight southern African countries on their KLR 650's. Retirees at 22 and 55, we rode for 3 months, straying away from the tourists and tar roads. The stories that follow are our daily journal entries from the time, along with photographs...enjoy!


It had never really dawned on me, exactly what it was I was doing, until I pulled up alongside my dad, out from under his dust, on our first real dirt road. I did not need to be able to hear him; I could tell so simply by his facial expressions just how much he wanted that moment.  On a dusty gravel road passing through the outback of South Africa, father and son were screeching like excited school children on tuck shop day, hooting and hollering at each other, the vast emptiness of the Karoo swallowing up any evidence of their boyish behaviour. As if to say to each other, finally the teachers are not around, we can play tomfoolery. Yet we were men now, men amongst the mayhem of Africa.
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The preparation had begun. It was like being offered our own continent to discover, like some early sixteenth century explorers. Our journey will start at the very landing spot of the first South African settlers and continue its way north, following the rivers and pathways that connect Africa. Departing on January 2nd 2008, we will travel for four months, listening and learning about how Africans live in every country we explore. We want to discover what their normal day is like, where they go to work, what their lives are truly like – a view into the hearts of people that represent the countries we will be discovering for ourselves. For us it is a chance to learn, a chance to be truly humbled, a chance to be taught about Africa.

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We will travel from Port Elizabeth in South Africa up the east coast through Mocambique, into Tanzania and to the equator in Kenya(Uganda), our half way point. From here we will drop back down into Tanzania, slip down Malawi, skirt through Zambia, zig zag through Angola and head back down through Namibia before returning home. We will stop at five scheduled fishing stops along the way, namely Pomene (Mocambiuqe), Kilwa Ruins (Tanzania), Rubondo Island (Tanzania) Zambelozi Lodge (Zambia) and Flamingo Bay (Angola), to rest our weary bodies and minds. In total, 20, 000km, with no support vehicles, one novice son with 4 months riding experience and one retired father of fifty odd.

Yet, as one can imagine, these words can be easily seen and spoken in a dream. It is months of research, paperwork and bike work amongst other things that are required for the dream to be seen in colour, and full of life.

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We chose the Kawasaki KLR 650’s for this trip due to their reputation for simplicity, hardiness and cost. We knew that some after market replacements would be necessary but were slightly complexed about American slang words like Doo-Hickey. After intensive research on the many websites available, a repetitive list became obvious. The short comings of the bike, besides the fact that it does not perform, will not stop, has no suspension and will vibrate the fillings from your teeth, included, rear suspension and front fork modifications, replacing the Doo-Hickey thing with an aftermarket one and changing the sub frame and other mounting bolts. All the necessary bits and pieces are available from a number of American suppliers. However dealing with these American suppliers initially proved difficult. They sleep while they are suppose to be working, so you can never phone them during our business hours, and they don’t talk like they mean what we do.

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Expert

The KLR 650 2005 model with roughly 8000km on the clock cost between R33, 000 and R35, 000. They are seemingly bullet proof. We purchased two of them and set about organizing the accessories and luggage. All in all we have completed forty eight separate modifications for each KLR 650. Including a last minute cut-in-half rusty braai grid to stop a soft pannier burning/melting on the exhaust.  Our luggage comprises of fully waterproof soft side panniers which are fitted to customised side frames and a waterproof soft top bag, which is fitted onto a customised aluminium plate to spread the weight.

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Novice


For South Africans, the countries that make up Southern Africa are actually highly accessible, with all our visas being obtainable on each countries border post.  Angola has been of recent complication for us though. The South African government have in late November made relations between the countries very comforting, apparently allowing South Africans to enter with no visa. It’s just a matter of whether this news reaches the far corners of their country to the Angolan border posts or not, that worries us. If you are less hasty than us and want to take the probably more sensible option of obtaining visas beforehand, then use a visa courier service, just be sure to take out a second bond on the house, sell the car, TV and dog and get use to riding your bicycle to work.

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To be honest with you, we have had little worry surrounding the non-bike preparatory issues for this trip. Although perhaps this is due to the fact that one of our trip motto’s is “Life’s not about packing, it’s about going!” None the less we have had the necessary needle therapy sessions with the travel clinic. Yellow fever, Hepatitis A/B, Cholera and Malaria tablets are dead certainties for a trip of this degree. Along the way, just to keep the ladies of the house (girlfriends and mothers) happy, we will be carrying our cell phones with free roaming. “Really there isn’t that much you need to organise”, one guy told us, after he explained how his best mate had simply jumped on his bike with R3000 on him and left on a similar trip. Somehow we wanted to believe him but felt compelled to speak to our bank manager who mumbled something about no ATM’s in most of the countries we want to visit and how our pin numbers change length etc…We listened a bit but got bored after the part where he asked, “So Tanzania, ok that’s right up there near Cameroon right?”
None the less we are taking ATM cards and hoping for the best.

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Satellite Communications

It was with a “Life’s not about packing, it’s about going” attitude in mind that my dad and I ended up hollering and hooting like school children, out on the wire, going balls to the wall, heading in land toward yonder Karoo, on our first preparation tour. Yet between the coast and the Karoo lands of South Africa is a barrage of mountains that stand mean and unforgiving, as if reminiscent of the Berlin wall and its entrance to another world. This is where you would think good navigation would come in handy. I felt compelled to not interfere with my dad’s map reading what with the hierarchy and all, but after riding for three hours with no towns popping up, and getting one solely response of “I’m lost as hell son!”, I chose to interfere. Needless to say we now own one GPS navigational tool.

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Learning to "ride"

Our chosen route was not a new one though. The missionaries and traders used this route, as their oxen pulled carriages laden with supplies, barely made it through these mountains passes hundreds of years ago. Yet these lands now have permanent settlers here, small populations that one can simply drive through, glancing quickly at the few houses that make up each town, before it fades into the distance, shrouded by the dusty silhouettes of mountains and scrublands that make up the Karoo. We stop in one town and my dad asks a young waitress,
“Is the petrol station here open?”
“No sir” she replies.
“When will it be open?”
“Maybe next year”.


On our way home the next day, riding back through the Karoo, back toward our mountain pass, a young springbok suddenly sprang out into the road, hitting my father’s tires, then mine. After coming to stop some thirty yards passed the animal, I turned off my engine shaking in shock. I turned my head. Looking back I could see the animal was struggling to walk, its hind leg bones piercing through the skin. We both rode back to the animal, which was lying almost peacefully, just waiting.
My father told me I did not have to watch. I chose to.  I thought he would break its neck. Yet when he stepped forward, I had no idea of his intentions, until he raised his boot to the animal’s skull. Three times in all!  A grimacing reminder of the reality of our journey.
As my father said, “just hope that along the way, this won’t be our blood on the ground.’

                   
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Jan 1 2008

“Father and Son, there and back!”

“When we are riding on our motorbikes through the desert in Angola on thick sand roads in amongst the thorn trees where you cant turn around or get off the road and you come around the corner and here is a pride of lions lying sleeping in the hot African sun, twenty feet in front of you, and you are travelling at 60kph….what are you going to do?

This is the email I received from my father, a year ago today. It was my father’s way of testing my nerve on the idea of riding our motorbikes through eight African countries, as a pair, for over three months. Well, since then the dream has become a reality and we have spent over a year planning our “Journey to the Equator” which will lead us up the east coast of Africa to Kenya and the equator before we cross down through Zambia to Angola and make our way home via the west coast.

My dad is a long time adventure motorcyclist; I myself have merely been riding for the past four months on and off. We hope however that between the two of us we can lift a bike sunk knee deep in thick gooey sand while fifty degree heat scorches our backs. We aim to follow no particular roads, make no reservations and have no real plan, apart from reaching the equator, and back!

We now have ten hours before we leave. Just ten measly hours after months of paperwork, visas, phone calls and bike work into the early hours all in honor of this great adventure. This daily blog will allow you to be a part of our journey, venturing into the Mozambique fish markets we explore at night, measuring our kingfish caught on lure in Tanzania and being on the back of our bikes as we duck and weave through thorn bush hollowed out sand roads.

Well, here is to a good first days riding and three months of adventurous, boyish and traditional “just wing it” type adventure…

Jan 2 2008

“Day of days”

What a day to remember. The first time you do something, you never forget it and well, today certainly will be in my mind forever. My father and I left our house this morning at 6:30am to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime, which unfortunately had the most uninviting start to it.

The day began with tears, sadness, joy, fear and excitement all rolled up into my pounding heart which was bursting at the seams with all these different emotions. Within twenty minutes of being on the road, something was wrong with my bike. My back tyre was rubbing violently to the point where it locked up once on the swing arm (frame) causing me to almost stop, turn around and go home right then, it scared me such. We figured it was due to the weight and no doubt I feel even worse about packing my last minute guitar, tripod and other luxuries. But “What wears away today, won’t have to wear away tomorrow my son”, my dad laughed at me, which should have eased my worries but it did not.

The morning finally got rolling as we made our way through the Zuurberg mountains and on into the Karoo towards Hogsback. Most of it was spent skirting round flamboyant brave warthogs and bush buck that sprang and leaped through holes six foot high in fences, as we drove through the Double Drift Game Reserve. Yet the afternoon was not without its problems. As we pulled into the outskirts of a rather nameless dodgy remote scary town, my engine cut out. Completely. I tried starting it, but it just lulled. We tried and failed numerous attempts at getting it started as a crowd of eager looking “entrepreneurs” gathered. Finally after holding the throttle wide open and pushing the starter for a near thirty seconds it started, but the revolutions counter would jump from one to six thousand like a jack in the box. Like this I stalled, started and made my engine scream all the way till we limped into Hogsback, forty kilometres short of our destination at Stutterheim.

But the problem has been solved. We drained the carburettor which had water in it, from where we don’t know, and it works like a charm now. Now for dinner of biltong, biscuits and left over sandwiches and a lovely cup of tea as the mist encircles our tents and the gathering thunderstorm makes the Hogsback back mountain forests seem like a far off mysterious fairytale land.

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Jan 3 2008

“Rain, oh sweet rain”

Ok, I promise that is the only inkling of moaning you’ll get from me. By my oh my how it has “rained on our parade” to put it plainly. This morning as I crawled out my tent smothering myself head first into a fog that was like gelatin as it filled every gap in the air, it began.

At first it fell slowly and light across our goggles as we skirted pot holes filled of murky chocolate water, the road much the same colour. The rain struggled to really pierce the forest tops as our bikes crawled slowly along the enchanted road that connects Hogsback with Keiskamahoek, its pathway covered by trees that towered over passing waterfalls.

Now that we were essentially forty kilometers behind on our plan, we had aimed for a solid days riding. Our only real set plan on this journey is that where is there is an alternative road, a road less traveled, one of clay, mud, dirt and sand, then we shall choose it. However this reasoning soon clashed with the likes of mother nature’s virtue.

It was to be a morning of slow riding. My mind was so deep in concentration, as we passed jumpy calves at their mother’s sides, loose goats being chased by their herdsmen, stray dogs fighting in the rain like giant wet rats and the most daring crab who thought doing battle with a 200kg bike going 60kph was a good idea. All the time battling thick mud that seemed to have the claws of a devil. Mud that I swear lines the top of hell. You are gripped by its vice, then as soon as you feel safe in its traction, its hurls you away, left and right as you plummet into the depths of melted red chili chocolate mud that jerks and fishtails your bike from side to side.

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There is a point where adventure unbalances the scale between fun and fear. We ended up sleeping all night through the rain, rich fog and dense cold wind at Gubu Dam near Stutterheim. A days mileage of sixty kilometers, putting us a whole day behind “schedule”.

Jan 4 2008

“Good fortune”

I awoke this morning to find that I had wrapped most of my clothes over me in the night and had my sleeping bag over my head. I poked my head out and lifted my tent edge. It was cold enough for my breath to be seen on the air and the rain and fog had still not lifted an inch. Isn’t this supposed to be summertime?

We awoke in the rain, packed in the rain and were finally back onto the slimy glassy mud…in the rain no less. We came slowly tottering out of Gubu Dam campsite, our legs folded out, acting as learner wheels in the conditions. Like this we slid and twisted down what felt like a slip ‘n slide course laid between the rich emerald green fields of farmlands.

If you had been watching our tracking beacon you would have been able to view our whole days riding over a quick cup of tea. We covered a mere twenty km’s before the recklessness of passing traffic and the state of the roads pushed us to the ditch at a junction where above us sat several B&B, hotel and campsite signs. We felt it was a sign (Pardon the pun). We chose Eagle Ridge Hotel and spent the rest of the day engulfed by their helpful staff, drying our clothes, bikes, tents, even guitar cases that were all sopping wet.

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We finally spent a great evening at the Stutterheim Engine Museum, the largest in South Africa, watching some of the world’s first engines being run. I now know how an engine works; something I thought would have been good to know before we left, but what a fantastic way to learn.

Jan 5 2008

Canned vs. Real McCoy:

The choice is simple. You either ride on or off road. Our bikes are dual purpose and thus we have the power of choice. The comparison is much like that of canned vs. home made soup. Let me explain.

The first, is simple. It’s effective, always the same and immediately pleasing. The latter however, is unpredictable, challenging and requires great deals of preparation. Yet, if paid due attention, has the potential to be the best bloody well home made soup you ever had or on the other hand you could burn the whole lot and not eat anything at all.

Today, we wanted immediate satisfaction. Immediate results. Reliable mild mannered pleasure. Due to us being already two days behind our trip, a rough 600km, we needed to put some inches between us and Port Elizabeth on the map. And with the weather still being of the “English winter” variety, we had but no choice to stay on tar.

I must admit though I quite thoroughly enjoyed my first real today of tar riding. After an hour of 90km/h riding, the scenery begins to slow down, your concentration seemingly extends into your peripheral and the country becomes part of your view. You begin to absorb the candy floss pinks and bubblegum blues that reflect the shape of the Xhosa peoples thatch roofed circular huts, which at glance appear to have had the surrounding boulders and scrawny foliage placed by hand around these huts so as to provide a surreal setting. 

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When the going is easy though, one must take advantage. We rode for 450km today. Much of it spent waving to passing children, being chased by boys on their bicycles through busy taxi infested, music blaring city streets and dodging the odd stone being hurled at you from passing youngsters.

So as you can imagine, we are both exhausted. Our luck has spun a little though, as the weather has finally cleared and we now sit, in shorts, drinking a cold beer and admiring the surrounding hills of Matatiele, our rosy burnt cheeks tickling in the warm wind.

More to follow....


 
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