Travel Log Tales - Africa
Posted: Sun Jan 03, 2021 8:59 pm
Had a bit of a new year clear out this weekend and found my old travel log diary.
Whilst flicking through the pages my mind rolled back the 24 years and I though the following tale might be worth telling;
‘Sole’ Searching.....
Back in 97’, I embarked on a trans-African trip with my life long mate Richard (I call him ‘Dick’).
We were around three months into our overland journey and heading West through Tanzania to visit the Ngorongoro crater aboard our Yamaha Tenere’s.
After studying the trusty Michelin map earlier that morning, we were excited to see that the road would take us within spitting distance of Kilimanjaro, but due to low cloud it had been completely obscured all day.
We were therefore somewhat disappointed to be passing by without seeing it, especially as we’d considered taking a week out of our journey to trek up the giant but decided to keep on riding due to Dick suffering with increased bouts of fatigue.
A few days later his health deteriorated rapidly and was diagnosed with malaria so it’s fortunate we didn’t attempt the 19,341ft accent.
Anyway, after riding miles of broken, badly potholed tarmac, we were enjoying the unusually good road surface that allowed us to drop our guard, but still remain cautious of the reckless coach drivers that were heading to and from Dar es Salaam.
Whilst having a road side fag break earlier that morning we witnessed a ‘near miss’ when a fully laden coach came barreling down the hill towards us.
He drafted past so close we had to stop our bikes from tipping over before watching in horror as the vehicle started weaving across both lanes just as another coach approached from around a corner in the distance.
The anticipation of being the only witnesses to a multi casualty head on crash, we both stood hands on heads fearing the worst.
Using gravity, the driver managed to find a bit more speed to pull the vehicle back in line just seconds before passing the other coach with barely a visible gap between them.
Whilst speaking to a local chap later that day, I asked why the drivers put themselves and their passengers at such risk to which he responded with a shrug of the shoulders and said “insha'Allah’.
This reinforced our opinion that the drivers must consider their actions inconsequential if they were destined to die that day.
It was passing one of these coaches that our relaxed ride turned into a serious situation in the blink of an eye.
Following Dick past a small village, we viewed the empty straight road ahead so both accelerated to overtake the vehicle.
After completing the maneuver we pulled back onto our side of the road and sat at around 60mph a few hundred feet ahead of the coach.
It was at this point that Dick’s front tyre exploded, causing the biggest tank slapper I’ve ever witnessed.
I watched in horror as his handle bars whipped violently from side to side, leaving a trail of front tyre skid marks that resembled the pattern a snake leaves when traversing sand.
Recounting the incident later, Dick said his perception of time slowed down, allowing his brain to process the life threatening situation and decide upon a fight or flight reaction.
As fight was his only option, he had no choice but to wrestle his overland laden machine to stay upright whilst gradually slowing down without touching the brakes.
His grip was no match for the rapid oscillation of handle bars that whipped back and forth, smashing the clutch and brake lever into his fingers, leaving bruises that remained for several weeks after the event.
On seeing his predicament, I dropped back slightly in an attempt to shield him from the coach that was bearing down on us whilst shouting to myself ‘HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT’ as events played out.
After what felt like an eternity, he brought his bike to a wobbly stop at the verge just as the coach, horn blazing, swept past without slowing down.
Dick immediately dismounted, whipped off his helmet and slammed it to the ground in a fit of rage before reaching to his breast pocket for a calming roll up whilst shouting a string of expletives.
We inspected his bike to see what had caused the blow out and were shocked to see a badly ripped tyre, buckled front rim and a number of snapped spokes.
He said, after checking his mirror he’d glanced down at something in the middle of the road just feet ahead but couldn’t react quickly enough to avoid it.
I therefore jumped back on my bike and went In search of the item causing ‘foreign object damage’.
On returning a few minutes later there were three young lads observing the ‘Mzungu’ removing his wheel at the roadside, so I presented them with my finding In an upturned hand whilst gesturing with a shrug to see if they knew what it was.
On producing a metal cylinder that was around 2” diameter and 5” long, Dick shouted “yes that’s what I hit. It was stood vertical in the road”.
Remaining silent, one of the kids pointed up to a telegraph pole and we realized it was some sort of sleeve/spacer for the cable mounts.
Under a cloud of suspicion, we set about removing the damage tyre, thankful that we were both carrying a spare.
As Dick threw the knackered tyre to one side, the crouching kids leapt to their feet and pursued the tyre as it bounced and rolled down the verge.
We then observed a tug of war before they were interrupted by me asking why they wanted the tyre?
One by one they lifted a foot to proudly show me their home made sandals shod with shredded coach/wagon tyres.
Despite seeing my eyes widen with realization that I was looking at the culprits, they seemed totally oblivious to how I might react and were more preoccupied with their newly won rubber sole material.
Like a headmaster reprimanding naughty children, I held up the offending item and said “YOU LOT nearly killed my friend with this. That was very dangerous!”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry once wrote “Language is the source of misunderstandings.’ and looking through the lens at these kids smiling for a photo before walking off to ‘up-cycle’ the knackered Pirelli, we wondered if they had any notion or care that their basic needs had put us at great risk.
Our attention was then drawn back to the task in hand as Dick crouched over the wheel and said “I hope this new tube doesn’t balloon out between the tyre and dinted rim!”
On approaching to assist, I was stopped in my tracks by the backdrop. “Wow Dick! Look behind you!”.
Standing together, we gazed in awe, as once again this magical continent dealt another unforgettable moment.
There, rising up from the plain beneath a silver lined halo of cloud, was Kilimanjaro, the highest free standing mountain in the world.
Whilst flicking through the pages my mind rolled back the 24 years and I though the following tale might be worth telling;
‘Sole’ Searching.....
Back in 97’, I embarked on a trans-African trip with my life long mate Richard (I call him ‘Dick’).
We were around three months into our overland journey and heading West through Tanzania to visit the Ngorongoro crater aboard our Yamaha Tenere’s.
After studying the trusty Michelin map earlier that morning, we were excited to see that the road would take us within spitting distance of Kilimanjaro, but due to low cloud it had been completely obscured all day.
We were therefore somewhat disappointed to be passing by without seeing it, especially as we’d considered taking a week out of our journey to trek up the giant but decided to keep on riding due to Dick suffering with increased bouts of fatigue.
A few days later his health deteriorated rapidly and was diagnosed with malaria so it’s fortunate we didn’t attempt the 19,341ft accent.
Anyway, after riding miles of broken, badly potholed tarmac, we were enjoying the unusually good road surface that allowed us to drop our guard, but still remain cautious of the reckless coach drivers that were heading to and from Dar es Salaam.
Whilst having a road side fag break earlier that morning we witnessed a ‘near miss’ when a fully laden coach came barreling down the hill towards us.
He drafted past so close we had to stop our bikes from tipping over before watching in horror as the vehicle started weaving across both lanes just as another coach approached from around a corner in the distance.
The anticipation of being the only witnesses to a multi casualty head on crash, we both stood hands on heads fearing the worst.
Using gravity, the driver managed to find a bit more speed to pull the vehicle back in line just seconds before passing the other coach with barely a visible gap between them.
Whilst speaking to a local chap later that day, I asked why the drivers put themselves and their passengers at such risk to which he responded with a shrug of the shoulders and said “insha'Allah’.
This reinforced our opinion that the drivers must consider their actions inconsequential if they were destined to die that day.
It was passing one of these coaches that our relaxed ride turned into a serious situation in the blink of an eye.
Following Dick past a small village, we viewed the empty straight road ahead so both accelerated to overtake the vehicle.
After completing the maneuver we pulled back onto our side of the road and sat at around 60mph a few hundred feet ahead of the coach.
It was at this point that Dick’s front tyre exploded, causing the biggest tank slapper I’ve ever witnessed.
I watched in horror as his handle bars whipped violently from side to side, leaving a trail of front tyre skid marks that resembled the pattern a snake leaves when traversing sand.
Recounting the incident later, Dick said his perception of time slowed down, allowing his brain to process the life threatening situation and decide upon a fight or flight reaction.
As fight was his only option, he had no choice but to wrestle his overland laden machine to stay upright whilst gradually slowing down without touching the brakes.
His grip was no match for the rapid oscillation of handle bars that whipped back and forth, smashing the clutch and brake lever into his fingers, leaving bruises that remained for several weeks after the event.
On seeing his predicament, I dropped back slightly in an attempt to shield him from the coach that was bearing down on us whilst shouting to myself ‘HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT’ as events played out.
After what felt like an eternity, he brought his bike to a wobbly stop at the verge just as the coach, horn blazing, swept past without slowing down.
Dick immediately dismounted, whipped off his helmet and slammed it to the ground in a fit of rage before reaching to his breast pocket for a calming roll up whilst shouting a string of expletives.
We inspected his bike to see what had caused the blow out and were shocked to see a badly ripped tyre, buckled front rim and a number of snapped spokes.
He said, after checking his mirror he’d glanced down at something in the middle of the road just feet ahead but couldn’t react quickly enough to avoid it.
I therefore jumped back on my bike and went In search of the item causing ‘foreign object damage’.
On returning a few minutes later there were three young lads observing the ‘Mzungu’ removing his wheel at the roadside, so I presented them with my finding In an upturned hand whilst gesturing with a shrug to see if they knew what it was.
On producing a metal cylinder that was around 2” diameter and 5” long, Dick shouted “yes that’s what I hit. It was stood vertical in the road”.
Remaining silent, one of the kids pointed up to a telegraph pole and we realized it was some sort of sleeve/spacer for the cable mounts.
Under a cloud of suspicion, we set about removing the damage tyre, thankful that we were both carrying a spare.
As Dick threw the knackered tyre to one side, the crouching kids leapt to their feet and pursued the tyre as it bounced and rolled down the verge.
We then observed a tug of war before they were interrupted by me asking why they wanted the tyre?
One by one they lifted a foot to proudly show me their home made sandals shod with shredded coach/wagon tyres.
Despite seeing my eyes widen with realization that I was looking at the culprits, they seemed totally oblivious to how I might react and were more preoccupied with their newly won rubber sole material.
Like a headmaster reprimanding naughty children, I held up the offending item and said “YOU LOT nearly killed my friend with this. That was very dangerous!”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry once wrote “Language is the source of misunderstandings.’ and looking through the lens at these kids smiling for a photo before walking off to ‘up-cycle’ the knackered Pirelli, we wondered if they had any notion or care that their basic needs had put us at great risk.
Our attention was then drawn back to the task in hand as Dick crouched over the wheel and said “I hope this new tube doesn’t balloon out between the tyre and dinted rim!”
On approaching to assist, I was stopped in my tracks by the backdrop. “Wow Dick! Look behind you!”.
Standing together, we gazed in awe, as once again this magical continent dealt another unforgettable moment.
There, rising up from the plain beneath a silver lined halo of cloud, was Kilimanjaro, the highest free standing mountain in the world.