A f r i c a

One Final Ride

2005-05-18T07:01:00.000-04:00

When I finished the Tour d’Afrique in Cape Town, I had cycled 11,915 kilometres. 85 kilometres shy of the 12,000 mark. So yesterday I got my sore butt on the bike one more time and rode to the Cape of Good Hope, the most southwesterly point on the African continent.

When Portuguese explorer Bartolomeu Dias discovered the cape in 1488, he named it the Cape of Storms. And that name seems much more appropriate than the Cape of Good Hope: it rained intermittently all day and the northwesterly wind was ferocious. It gusted at 95 kilometres and hour and threatened to knock me off my bike. Soon after I’d reached the Cape, coastal roads were closed due to the severity of the wind. But no matter. I was finally able to sit at the tip of the peninsula and watch the waves spray huge white plumes against the rocks.

Twelve thousand kilometres. It usually takes me several years to ride that kind of distance, and I did it in four months. A third of a year to travel more than a quarter of the way around the earth. I think I’ll put my feet up for a while.

Njama Safari

2005-05-16T10:31:00.000-04:00

Now that our trip is over, I'd like to thank everyone who dropped by the blog to check up on our progress. Knowing you were still attached, even by that invisible thread, meant a lot.

I'll be spending the next month in England and Wales working on a book about the Tour d'Afrique. If you'd like to contact me with praise, criticism, ruminations or accusations, just send an email to:

davidonabike@hotmail.com

Of course, I won't literally be on a bike. I have no desire to so much as look at a bike for the next six months.

All the best, David

The Facts

2005-05-16T10:22:00.000-04:00

One rider died. Three riders quit the Tour. Two broke their collarbones, one broke his hip. Two riders were hit by trucks. Riders received a total of 39 stitches, suffered 9 infections and 2 burns.

Personally, I had 33 punctures. I replaced 2 chains, 3 seat bolts, 1 set of brake pads, 2 gear cables, 1 derailleur cable, 1 rear rim, 1 rear tire and 1 derailleur hanger. I broke or wore out a pump mount, a mini-pump, a spoke, a jersey, a pair of gloves, a seat and a tool bag. I lost 2 water bottles, 1 pair of gloves and 1 computer. I took over four thousand photos and wrote over fifty thousand words in my journal. I had diarrhea for 33 consecutive days.

On the plus side, we managed to climb a total of nearly 44,000 meters of altitude. That's equal to nearly five trips to the top of Everest. We saw more wildlife than we'd imagined, we were exposed to more diverse cultures than we could have dreamt. It's fair to say every rider pushed themselves harder than they thought possible. We have suffered and we have grown.

I underestimated the difficulty of the trip. But I even more vastly underestimated the exhilaration that comes with an adventure of this magnitude.

Cape Town

2005-05-16T10:16:00.000-04:00

Forty kilometres from Cape Town, I could see Table Mountain looming over the city. I've never seen Table Mountain before, but it overwhelmingly felt like I was coming home. After 121 days and nearly 12,000 kilometres, I was finally home.

I felt, and I'm sure every rider felt, a rush of emotions. Joy, fatigue, relief, sadness. As difficult as the trip has been, it's also been difficult to see it end.

The Bitter End

2005-05-16T10:12:00.000-04:00

I naively thought the last couple of weeks would be easy. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The ride from Keetmanshoop to Fish River Canyon was one of the toughest days of the entire trip. The headwind was so malevolent that nine riders got off their bikes and onto the truck. In the past few days, when we haven't had a headwind, we've had hills. When the hills have flattened out, we've had rain. There seems to be no end to the challenges that are thrown our way.

It's been a difficult ride, right to the very last day. And the last day was difficult because . . . well, to be honest, we were pretty hung over from our celebrations the night before. Masochists.

Countdown

2005-05-01T16:09:00.000-04:00

In two weeks, we will ride into Cape Town and end our adventure. My butt is happy about this, but my brain resists.

Of the ten countries that we've travelled through, those that were the least industrialized were the most exotic and therefore the most interesting. As we've cycled through Zambia, Botswana and Namibia, we've slowly been reintroduced to all those things we gladly left behind months ago. Like cel phones that ring La Marseillaise and BMWs blasting Kid Rock.

The funny thing is, I already miss all those subsistence farmers, standing at the side of the road, smiling and waving in their torn clothes. I already miss seeing rusted Chinese bicycles laden with firewood and plastic jugs of water. I already miss watching steam rise from the thatched roofs of village huts in the early morning light.

But I do like toilets that flush. And double espressos. Cape Town here I come!

Windhoek, Namibia

2005-05-01T15:35:00.000-04:00

This week we had what we hope is the longest ride of the entire tour: 208 kilometres from Ghanzi to Buitepos. It also turned out to be the most boring ride of the entire tour.

Some riders left at 5 AM, concerned about the time it would take to cover the distance. I left at a less ungodly hour and rode with a group of eight riders through Tsootsha and into the Hanahia Valley. The landscape was unendingly flat, and offered up trees and grass and trees and grass. The only relief was from dead Lilac-breasted rollers, the most beautiful roadkill in the world. We turned right onto the Trans-Kalahari Highway and the tailwind appeared right behind us, pushing us out of the Kalahari, out of Botswana and into Namibia. As 200-kilometre days go, it was an easy one.

Yesterday, we crossed the 10,000-kilometre mark of our trip. After celebrating and taking a few pictures, we rode on another 110 kilometres to Witvlei. There we spent the night at a former ostrich farm, across the road from a very popular and very loud late-night club.

Today, bleary-eyed, we rode a century (100 miles, 161 kilometres to you metric-heads) to the aptly named Windy Corner, Windhoek. We've arrived on a Sunday and tomorrow, our rest day, is a national holiday. All the stores are closed. Which means there's nothing to do but wash our clothes and clean our bikes.

Damn.

Kiwis

2005-05-01T15:25:00.000-04:00

It’s challenging for sectional riders, who ride only a part of the Tour d’Afrique route, to be dropped into the middle of our group. We’ve been living together nearly four months, and have developed many, shall we say, idiosyncrasies along the way. But three Kiwis, who left us today in Windhoek, did it effortlessly. Brian and Anene, on their zebra-striped DaVinci tandem, and Russell, on his black Giant, joined us from Wellington and managed to fit in comfortably right from their arrival.

Maybe it’s because they’re doctors, and we have a horde of doctors on the tour; maybe it’s just the easygoing nature of New Zealanders. But everyone seemed to enjoy their company. They were unapologetic birders and I won’t soon forget the Blacksmith Plovers, Slatey Egrets and White-fronted bee-eaters we discovered together in the wilds of Chobe National Park. Happy trails, guys.

Conundrum

2005-04-26T04:41:00.000-04:00

Anyone who knows me knows how I feel about smoking. But you know the most puzzling thing about this trip? How many riders smoke. There's a coterie of hard-core smokers, who light up in the morning, ride for a few hours and light up again as soon as they reach camp. They smoke with their dinner and after their dinner. I don't understand it in the least. The only time a smoker has asked if I mind their toxic fumes, I was already eating and he was already smoking. So it was rather a pointless question.

Don't let anyone tell you cyclists are a bunch of health freaks. Freaks, maybe, healthy, no.

The Elephant Highway

2005-04-25T07:13:00.000-04:00

We find ourselves in Maun, Botswana, after spending the last few days crossing the Elephant Highway. I spent my last rest day in Chobe National Park; although Chobe can sustain 50,000 elephants, the population has swelled to 182,000. There are elephants absolutely everywhere. Bathing, fighting, eating, emerging unexpectedly from the trees. Chobe is also host to herds of impala and kudu, hippos and crocodiles, and dozens of species of birds. The animals wander down to the Chobe River, then wander back past the Land Cruisers and into the trees.

We've spent the last few days dodging huge piles of elephant dung on the road. A couple of days ago, six of us were riding together when we spotted an elephant beside the road. We stopped and drew closer to get a better look at him; a huge three-year-old male with long white tusks. Suddenly, he trumpeted, flapped his ears and took a few quick steps toward us. You've never seen cyclists sprint until you've seen them sprint away from an angry elephant.

Tour d'Afrique Diet

2005-04-15T08:59:00.000-04:00

At lunch this week, we had sandwiches with tomato, potato, cheese, avocado, butter and mayonnaise. All in the same sandwich, I mean. So it might be a good time to discuss the TDA Diet.

Jack from San Diego has lost over 30 pounds. Kim has sensitively described his former, heavier self as 'a donut in clothes'.

Allen from Montreal has lost 39 pounds. It's now at the point where he has to jump around in the shower to get wet.

I've tried not to lose weight during the trip; I feared that dropping weight too quickly would make me susceptible to illness. Nonetheless, I've lost 24 pounds. Seems unavoidable.

Nevertheless, the TDA Diet isn't for everyone. Sure, you can eat as much as you want, any time you want. But you have to spend every day cycling for hours, sweating in the blazing sun.

Stomach-stapling, I'm convinced, would be so much easier.

Lusaka

2005-04-15T08:52:00.000-04:00

The roads from Lilongwe have been good, so we've cranked up the distances. We covered 500 kilometres in three days' riding, and have crossed the 8,000-kilometre mark.

We've now travelled the distance from Vancouver to St. John's, Newfoundland. Martin from Cochrane and I celebrated with a few Zambian Castle beers, having no Molson Canadian at hand.

I like Zambia. I saw very few Malawians who smiled and I've seen very few Zambians who haven't. The children shout "Howayou!" like a command, and not one of them has hit me up for money.

The Zambian rainy season typically extends from December to April, but we've found ourselves in the midst of a heat wave. The temperature this week rose to 47 degrees as the tall grasses at the roadside hissed in the hot afternoon sun.

More Numbers

2005-04-10T08:37:00.000-04:00

Since last time I posted the standings, a few things have changed. Henning De Jager, who was in fifth place, has begun to make more cola stops and has dropped to sixth. Fifth place is now occupied by David Buchanan-Dunlop, a young mountain biker/harp-maker from Edinburgh. The little bastard is chipping away at my fifteen-hour advantage every day. He had the nerve to win the stage two days ago!

When takes fourth spot from me, and I'm quite sure he will, I'll console myself with the thought that I have stopped to take a substantial number of pictures along the way.

Many of those pictures, of course, are of the back of David Buchanan-Dunlop, riding off into the distance.

Lilongwe

2005-04-09T08:40:00.000-04:00

Not to put too fine a point on it, Malawi is my least favourite country so far. I haven't connected with the people, the culture, the landscape, the architecture. And the wind has opposed us from the moment we crossed the border. Today we battled another 105 kilometres of headwind to make our way into Lilongwe.

And another thing: internet connections are extraordinarily expensive here. So I must away. On to Zambia!

Mzungus Reach Mzuzu

2005-04-06T08:25:00.000-04:00

As soon as we crossed the border, Malawi immediately reminded me of Ethiopia: desperately poor and astonishingly overcrowded. There are over 90 people for every square kilometer of this tiny country. Every single kilometer.

In the short distance we rode between the border and our first night's camp, some riders had already been hit with rocks and sticks. Hordes of children stood at the side of the road, demanding "Give me my money!" as if trying to settle an outstanding debt.

We've reached Mzuzu today and I've plunked myself down at the City Cyber & Business Centre. Although I can't imagine anyone getting much business done here. Hotmail doesn't work, Blogger is hanging by a thread and the power goes down every twenty minutes. I long for North American technology!

We have 402 kilometers in front of us before we reach the capital city of Lilongwe. We will rest there a day and then continue on toward Zambia. The rain seems to have abated for the past couple of days; it's been replaced by oppressive humidity. Not a bad trade-off, if it gives us the chance to dry everything out.

Out Of Tanzania

2005-04-06T08:15:00.000-04:00

Our final day in Tanzania was, for me, absolutely the best day of the Tour d'Afrique so far. Not even crashing my bike and getting stitches could diminish it.

In the morning, we climbed for 20 kilometres out of camp, then began the most beautiful descent I've ever experienced. It lasted for nearly 60 kilometres, during which time we dropped over two thousand meters of elevation. Canopies of banana trees hanging over the road opened onto huge sunny expanses of terraced vegetation. Tea plantations spread out on either side of the road. Lake Nyasa appeared in the distance and extended all the way to the horizon. At one point, I pushed the speed over 80 kilometres an hour; most of the descent was over 60.

And therein lies the other part of the story. I went through a village and, without warning, found myself facing a series of three very large speed bumps in succession. My water bottle was in my right hand so I jammed on the brakes with my left hand. And the left hand, as you may know, controls the front brake. The front wheel stopped. The back wheel kept going. Upward. I went airborne straight over the bars and the bike came tumbling after me.

At our lunch stop, a few kilometres further on, our nurse Edie checked out the damage. My first finger had been degloved; the tip was cut off but for a shred of skin. There was a chunk of stone lodged in the heel of my hand that, despite painful prodding with tweezers, she could not get out. My elbow had a puncture wound. And, on my arm and leg, I had some nice expanses of road rash. She patched me up temporarily and I continued the ride to camp.

In the evening, Edie set up a makeshift O.R. beside the dishwashing bowls. She sterilized the equipment and cleaned all my wounds. Then Marius, one of two highly qualified surgeons who happen to be on the trip, went to work. He took a surprisingly large needle and froze my hand and arm. He cut the skin off the end of my finger, then dug the stone out of the base of my thumb. He stitched my hand, then my elbow, then Edie wrapped me up in bandages.

In the midst of surgery, Edie made an unnerving observation.
"Marius, you wore your glasses last time you did surgery."
"Yes" Marius said, "but that was on my wife."

It had still been a perfect day. The challenges we faced in northern Tanzania, both physical and emotional, all disappeared once we reached the southern part of the country. The more I saw of Tanzania, the more beautiful it revealed itself to be. And our final farewell had perfect weather, perfect views and the perfect ride. And now I have the scars to remind me.

Mbiking Into Mbeya

2005-04-02T06:45:00.000-05:00

Today is our fifteenth consecutive day of rain. But our spirits are not dampened, because the roads and the landscape have been so favourable.

Being back on smooth blacktop, we have to share the raod with other vehicles. Predominantly mutatus and buses, but also hundreds of bicycles. The locals ride cheap Chinese Phoenix bikes, but the bikes work hard. In the past week, I've seen bikes loaded with lumber, firewood, charcoal, plastic jugs of water and gasoline, bags of grain, tomatoes, watermelons, cases of soft drinks, stalks of sugar cane, wicker baskets, stacks of newspapers, chickens (both dead and alive), luggage, cartons of eggs and bundles of clothes. I've seen a bike carrying two more bikes on the back. I've seen a bike, unbelievably, carrying a sofa.

Yesterday, we looked out on the vast expanse of the Buhoro Flats on our right and, in the distance, the Kipengere Range on our left. The smell of eucalyptus hung in the air. Today, we climbed through the foothills of the Poroto Mountains and ascended into Mbeya. Tomorrow we ride south to the border at Malawi.

In two days we rest at Livingstonia, Malawi. The ride continues, the rain continues.

Iringa, Tanzania

2005-03-30T04:46:00.000-05:00

It's been a challenging week on gravel, dirt and sand roads from Arusha to Iringa. The rain has fallen for twelve days straight. I've had at least one puncture every day; in fact, I'm renaming this country Thornzania. One morning I had a helmet full of ants. Of course, I didn't find that out until 50 kilometres into the ride. I've also had every kind of mechanical problem from broken spokes to another broken seat (and another 48 kilometres riding standing up). Mosquitoes have bitten my face and blackflies have stung my chest.

On three occasions our trucks have gotten horribly stuck in deep mud, and our bikes are gummed up with large quantities of red Tanzanian guck. We've spent the past week filthy from our helmets to our shoes. Everything we own is dirty, smelly and unpleasant.

But there have been high points. On Easter Sunday, I sat outside a church in a tiny village and listened to the congregation sing hymns in Swahili. Two nights ago I sat at camp and drummed with a blind Mpwapwa man who played the five-stringed zeze. Yesterday we climbed high into the Rubeho Mountains and looked down onto the lush green plains a thousand meters below.

And who knows, maybe today the rains will ease. Although the locals laugh when I suggest that.

Ngorongoro Crater

2005-03-30T04:38:00.000-05:00

We arrived at the crater in the evening, and, in the fading light, spotted Cape Buffalo and Waterbuck. The rain fell as we set up our tents at the Simba Campsite on the rim of the crater. We saw Zebras grazing nearby, and in the night I could hear them placidly grazing beside our tents.

At 6:30 the following morning, we climbed into Land Cruisers and descended along wet switchback roads into the crater. As we drove around the 18-kilometre crater, we saw a wide variety of birds: White Storks, Crested Cranes, Black Lapwing, Cattle Egrets, Yellow Masked Weavers and Sacred Ibis. And everywhere we looked, there were animals aplenty. Thomson's Gazelles, huge herds of Wildebeest, Grand Gazelles, Black-Backed Jackals, Hartebeest, Ostrich and Eland. And, in the span of a few hours, we were able to check off four of the Big Five: Lions, Black Rhino, Hippopotamus and Elephants.

It's rare to find a place that sustains such diversity. Many animals spend their entire lives inside the crater and never know the world beyond. We ascended in the afternoon to leave the crater as families of baboons, jumping and shrieking on the road, bid us farewell.

The Numbers

2005-03-21T06:38:00.000-05:00

I battled with Maarten from South Africa for the stage win today. It was too close to call, and we may well share the victory.

Now that we've passed the halfway point of our trek, it might be a good time to review the numbers.

In terms of the race standings, I'm 4th out of 33 riders. I'm 20 hours, 27 minutes and 45 seconds behind the race leader, Kim Bremer from Denmark. That's fine with me, he's a very strong rider and I have no intentions of catching him.

The good news is that I'm 15 hours, 30 minutes and 43 seconds ahead of the 5th-place rider. So I have a good cushion that allows me to dilly-dally, drink sodas and take pictures whenever the mood strikes me.

To date, I've spent 183 hours, 51 minutes and 17 seconds on the bike. But that's nothing. Some of the slower riders have spent more than 300 hours in the saddle. No wonder our butts are so sore.

Arusha, Tanzania

2005-03-21T06:29:00.000-05:00

We left Kenya this morning and crossed the border into Tanzania. Our ride was 130 kilometres of rolling hills around the base of Mount Meru. The mountain was shrouded by clouds and we rode into drizzle as we ascended, then the sun came out as we approached Arusha. Tribesmen in traditional dress stood at the side of the road and watched in fascination as we whipped by. I'm sure we look as exotic to them as they do to us.

We have two rest days in Arusha, a very special event. Many of us will be spending both days in the the Ngorongoro Crater, camping on the rim of the crater overnight. The crater attracts all kinds of wildlife - particularly after dark.

It was the spring equinox yeasterday, which signals the start of the rainy season. And, true to form, it rained yesterday afteroon, last night, this morning and this afternoon. We may be in for two weeks of rainy weather.

Being wet on the bike doesn't bother me in the least but being in a damp sleeping bag with a soggy pillow in a wet tent - now that is disgusting.

Nairobi

2005-03-19T02:32:00.000-05:00

We've passed the equator, and if we had access to toilets we could watch the water swirling in the opposite direction.

We have a rest day in Nairobi today, then set off tomorrow morning for the Tanzanian border. Our list of misfortunes continues; three days ago a Dutch rider took an unexpected trip over his handlebars, requiring twelve stitches to his face. The following day a French rider did exactly the same thing, but needed only five stitches to close his wounds. Good thing: our resident surgeon is fresh out of sutures and has to stock up again while we're in Nairobi.

The Full Fed

2005-03-16T06:21:00.000-05:00

Despite the obvious risks, I like to sample the local foods whenever possible. A few days ago, when we were in the mountaintop town of Marsabit, Kim, Jack and I went out for dinner.

We ended up at the restaurant of the Nazareth Hotel. Plastic tables and chairs, dirt floor, tiny TV in the corner showing a PBS program on the engineering of the first 747. A dozen local men nursing beers, no women whatsoever. We scanned the menu written on the wall. It began with:

Full Federation
Half Federation
Quarter Federation

Everything after that was unintelligible. We asked the waiter what the Full Federation was.
"It's everything" he replied. "Pasta, beans, meat, potatoes, rice, vegetables, chapati bread . . ."
Kim and Jack, both vegetarians, ordered the Full Federation without meat.
"No. Too much" our waiter said. "Get Half Federation."
They backed down and ordered the Half Federation, but I was hungry, and on principle, I wanted to see if I could get through this digestive juggernaut.
"I'll have the Full Federation."
"No. Too much. You cannot finish."
"I'll finish. Bring the Full Federation."
He shook his head and walked away. Only minutes later, he brought us two huge trays. The Half and the Full both occupied platters about sixteen inches in diameter. They were heaped high with food. There was barely enough room on the tabletop for both of them. The three of us looked at each other and dug in.

I will say, in my own defense, that I was able to eat as much as both Kim and Jack had eaten. But I could not finish the Full Federation. Luckily, by that time, a local man had plunked himself down at the table beside me.
"I am poor" he said. "I am hungry."
Well, you've come to the right place, I thought, as I passed the huge platter to him. He finished off the Full Federation, thanked us profusely, and kissed my hand.

The bill arrived, and we split it three ways. 125 shillings each. Less than two dollars. I was so full I could hardly walk, but we set off into the night, back to our campground, the sound of Swahili and motorcycles swirling around us.

Meet The Samburus

2005-03-15T05:46:00.000-05:00

Ever since I was a young boy leafing through my father's back issues of National Geographic I've wondered if there really are bare-breasted women wandering around the African subcontinent. And now I have the answer.

When we descended from Marsabit three days ago, we rode through the vast desert that is populated by the Samburu, a traditional Kenyan tribe. The men dress in robes of red, yellow and orange, and carry long spears. And the woman dress in - well, a lot of jewellery and very little clothing. They wear necklaces, anklets, bracelets, headdresses and glittering silver earrings. And not much else.

They are an exceptionally beautiful tribe and I parted with a few shillings in order to take their pictures. They were the first people we've seen who are dressed more colourfully than we are.

Zero degrees, and hot

2005-03-15T05:25:00.000-05:00

We are now within one degree of the equator. And the temperature certainly reflects that fact. Tomorrow morning, we will cross the equator and begin our journey through the southern hemisphere.

At the equator, we will be spinning with the rotation of the earth at over a thousand miles an hour. That's some small compensation for the pitiful pace that we've been riding at for the past six days.

Today is also Day 60. Technically the halfway point in the trip. But we are still three days behind schedule thanks to the whims of the Egyptian government. We will try to make those three days up in the next two months but the trip may well end up being 123 days instead of the scheduled 120. No big deal. I'm in no hurry to get back to the real world.

Isiolo

2005-03-15T05:17:00.000-05:00

We've arrived in Isiolo, Kenya, which means we've survived six days of the most sadistic roads on the face of the earth. The very road that Paul Theroux described in Dark Star Safari as 'spectacularly bad'. And he was in a truck, not on a bike.

The past six days of riding have been a test of our patience and our sense of humour. Stefan failed the test. Yesterday, he got off his bike and hurled it into the bush. We all knew exactly how he was feeling.

On the upside, we now have six glorious days of riding on blacktop before us. We will arrive in Nairobi on Friday and rest on Saturday. Then we continue south through Arusha and toward the Tanzanian border.

Wildlife

2005-03-12T02:40:00.000-05:00

This morning I was woken by baboons, and I don't mean my fellow riders. We're camped at the Marsabit Wildlife Reserve and there are thirty or forty baboons that run madly through our campsite on a regular basis, screeching at each other. It's a beautiful campsite, as lush and exotic as you'd expect a Kenyan mountaintop to be.

In the past week, we've seen zebras, hyenas, jackals, dikdiks and more species of birds than I thought possible. We heven't yet spotted any of the Big Five but there'll be lots of opportunity in the next two months.

In the meantime, we're trying to keep the baboons out of our tents so they don't steal our biscuits.

Thin Orange Line

2005-03-12T02:21:00.000-05:00

Throughout Ethiopia, we had to cordon off our campsites with orange rope. Outside the rope, local Ethiopians with too much time on their hands gathered to stand and stare at us. They stared at us as we sat and talked, as we ate dinner, as we went to the bathroom. Children, adolescents, adults, seniors, sometimes the whole damn village. We provided endless hours of entertainment. One morning I woke up and there were 189 people standing staring at me. I counted. And they stared at me as I did that too.

It's a pleasure to be in Kenya where we are, for the most part, taken for granted.

Marsabit

2005-03-12T02:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was, for me, absolutely the toughest day of the trip. So far.

We've had three days of riding from Moyale to Marsabit through Kenya's Didu Galgalu desert. The road has been as nasty as anything Sudan threw at us - with the added pleasures of rain, volcanic rock and a very strong headwind. The road has been busting seats and puncturing tires daily.

Yesterday, it took me over three hours to ride a mere 45 kilometres to the lunch truck. I left the lunch truck and, seven kilometres later, my seat snapped off. Not having any other options, I rode 30 kilometres of gravelly road to the top of a volcanic crater, standing up. All in all, over seven hours on the bike. Tusker beer never tasted so good.

This morning I ache in muscles I didn't even know I had. But I made it, and so did every rider but one. Today we recover in Marsabit, then face a few more days of nasty road as we approach the halfway point of our trip - Nairobi.

The Upside

2005-03-03T03:08:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned some of the hardships we've encountered but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how spectacular some days are. Like yesterday.

I walked my bike to the blacktop in anticipation of our race start at 8 AM. In the trees above me, Vervet monkeys were chattering and swinging from one branch to another. When we began riding, the road was excellent, the wind behind us, and the weather pleasantly warm.

I stopped to take pictures eight or ten times. Here in southern Ethiopia they bury their dead in tombs which they paint with tributes to that person's life. I saw tombs painted with soldiers, office workers, housewives, even cyclists!

We arrived at camp to a chorus of birds. There are dozens of species endemic to the area and they all seemed to be in the trees above our tents, chirping and calling throughout the afternoon.

We had a great dinner of curry on rice and sat back with a cup of tea. The sun set over the lake as we talked about our route for the next few days and our impeding arrival in Kenya.

Although we've had exceptionally hard days, we've also had many days like yesterday. The balance between the two, between difficulty and leisure, is important. If we went too hard for too long, we'd never finish the trip. If we took it easy every day, we might as well be on a tour bus,staring through the glass at our own
preconceptions of Africa.

Legend of the Gorge

2005-02-28T05:00:00.000-05:00

The ride through the Blue Nile Gorge is legendary. It's known as the toughest day on the entire Tour d'Afrique. And this week we found out why.

After riding 85 kilometres from camp, we reached the edge of the gorge. The earth seemed to drop away and the other side of the gorge was just a faint, misty ridge. We had lunch and then, one by one, began our descents.

The ride down is 19 kilometres long, and descends 1300 meters. The ride up is 21 kilometres long, and ascends nearly 1400 meters.

Let me put that in perspective. I had a flat tire on the way down but still reached the bottom in just 40 minutes. I had a flat tire on the way back up but it took me 3 1/2 hours to struggle to the top of the gorge. The heat was in the mid-40s and the road was loose, bumpy gravel that was infuriatingly unpredictable.

With the distance we climbed in the morning to get to the gorge, and the ascent, we climbed 2150 meters. To put that in perspective, we climbed over 2 kilometres vertically.

Alpe d'Huez? Mont Ventoux? Bring it on. We beat the Blue Nile Gorge.

Sex change

2005-02-22T01:37:00.000-05:00

Randy, our Tour Director, figured it was time we had a party to blow off a little steam. So last night, at the Dib-Anabessa Hotel, we had a party.

A cross-dressing party.

It's a little unnerving to see how quickly grown men can procure colourful dresses and fashion breasts from various kinds of fruit. Jack made a sexy mini-skirt from his ground sheet and Stefan draped himself with long garlands of flowers.

After being away from home for a month and a half, men dressed as women can look pretty attractive indeed. I don't know who ended up in whose room, and I don't want to know.

Sticks and stones

2005-02-21T06:20:00.000-05:00

We've travelled to Bahir Dar, at the southern end of Lake Tana, the source of the Blue Nile. And in the past two days, a new form of punishment has begun.

We've endured a shower of rocks being thrown by children. Nice, hefty, baseball-sized rocks. They shoved a stick in one rider's spokes, knocking him to the ground, and stole another rider's computer from her handlebars. Another popular trick for the kids is to pretend they're helping push us uphill, meanwhile unzipping the tool kits under our saddles and stealing everything inside. Cute.

On descents (and there are precious few of them) we can speed past these rascals before they have a chance to harass us. But on a gravel climb up the side of a mountain in the raging sun, churning out a pitiful 6 km/hr, we're easy targets for the kids, who run alongside us in packs, shouting "You! You! You! You! You! Money! Money! Money! Money! Money!"

It's tolerable for the first hour or two, but after five or six hours, and several thousand kids, this Ethiopian welcome wears a little thin. Our patience will continue to be tested for the next five days to Addis Ababa. Those riders who have not lost their cool by that point will promptly be granted sainthood.

Gonder, Ethiopia

2005-02-18T09:04:00.000-05:00

An Ethiopian friend told me before I left how beautiful Ethiopia is. I smiled and nodded my head. Sure, I thought, beautiful in an empty, endlessly vast kind of way.
Well, Addane, I apologize. Ethiopia is truly beautiful.

As soon as we crossed the border from Sudan, we faced the foothills of the Simian mountain range. The Simians have been called 'the roof of Africa' and now we understand why. We've been climbing these dramatic, tree-covered peaks for two days and have arrived, after a long, hot, dirty, difficult week, in Gonder.

Gonder has been called 'Africa's Camelot'. That ruse was surely dreamt up by someone at the tourist office who clearly has never visited the place. This camelot is built around a brewery; in its dusty, crooked streets, the donkeys redirect the taxis and children run barefoot, playing with discarded plastic bottles.

The heat has increased as well as the altitude. Yesterday at 11 AM, I asked Giles what the temperature was. "Well, my thermometer only goes to 50 degrees" he said. "And it's pinned there right now." I don't even dare calculate what that is in Fahrenheit.

Alfons

2005-02-18T08:52:00.000-05:00

We have lost a fellow cyclist and a good friend. Alfons Zehnder died in Sudan on Monday, Febuary 14th. Mountaineer, outdoorsman, musician, husband and grandfather, we came to know Alfons in the past thirty days for his bright yellow bicycle and his beautiful wide smile.

We had a memorial for Alfons last night and, for the first time in a month, the heavens opened and sent us rain. We figure it was Alfons, still smiling on us.

We will miss him every single day of this trip.

Evolution

2005-02-11T04:29:00.000-05:00

As we've travelled south through Sudan,we've seen subtle changes along the way. Nubian villages, so colourful and friendly, eventually gave way to endless open desert. We rode without seeing pavement for a few days, then glorious blacktop appeared to welcome us into Dongola.

South of Dongola, we began to see vegetation appear. Small bushes at first, then tall, stark thorn trees, gnarled and forbidding. The appearance of thorn trees, unfortunately, meant the appearance of punctures. Many of us have had flats just walking our bikes through the campsite.

The wildlfe has changed too: south of Dongola, we've seen more and more camels, roaming from tree to tree for sustenance. Camels wander past our desert campsites looking aloof, or mildly amused. A tan-coloured sand adder was spotted laying under a bush in camp two nights ago. All that was visible was pair of beady eyes peeking out from the hot sand.

There are plenty of scorpions as well, and Matthew found one in his sleeping bag. We've never seen him move so fast, even at dinnertime.

The fairer sex

2005-02-11T03:30:00.000-05:00

There are four women on the tour and I marvel at how they manage to keep themselves smelling sweet. Franzesca from Switzerland always has her earrings in and her toenails painted. Liana from South Africa has been seen bathing in her red box (the one we keep our belongings in). Hannie, married to Marius, has stitches in her elbow (from an unplanned meeting with a Toyota Hilux) but always has a smile on her face. And Christine, from Quebec, can be heard laughing when she rides her pannier-laden bike into camp, no matter what the hour.

They put up with all the men can dish out: the belching, the farting, the peeing in the bushes. They maintain their sense of humour in all conditions. Without their presence, I fear what kind of primitive animals we male cyclists might become.

Khartoum

2005-02-10T07:11:00.000-05:00

The very name of the place sounds exotic, and the city lives up to it. After five more days on Sudanese 'roads' (and I use the term very loosely) we have arrived in the capital. There was great fanfare as the police escorts, sirens wailing, led us into a stadium in Omdurman where we were treated to apple-flavoured Stim, barbecued chicken and carefully worded political manifestos by various ministers and dignitaries.

Our long wagon train then continued on to the Blue Nile Sailing Club, where most of the riders have set up camp. A few have chosen hotels in order to enjoy a warm shower instead of a cold one. The prospect is very appealing. After ten days in the desert, our bikes, our bodies and all our possessions are covered in a gritty layer of sand and dirt.

Photos

2005-02-10T07:06:00.000-05:00

I apologize that I don't have the time, equipment, or tenacity to post any of the photos I've been taking along the way. But Matt and Jenn, friends I met up with in Cairo before setting off on the Tour, have posted some great images of Egypt at:

http://www.giggity.com/~mshacklady/gallery/Egypt

Matt is a great photographer and has managed to capture some of the madness of Cairo and the Souk-al-Gamaal. Have a look, you'll enjoy them.

Hell

2005-02-05T04:39:00.000-05:00

Nothing can prepare you for the roads in Sudan. In fact, to call them roads is a disservice to roads everywhere. They are ruts, trails, tracks, but they bear no relation to roads.

First, there is the sand. Sand so deep your rims disappear into it and it drags your bike to a sudden stop. Then there are the rocks. Not nice, rounded river rocks but angry, pointed rocks of every size that have been biding their time for centuries, just waiting for a bicycle tire to come along so they can shred it. Then there is the washboard. The roads have eroded to an endless series of bumps that rattle the bike, rattle your bones, rattle your brain until you want to get off the bike and scream at the faceless desert. Then there is the heat. In the open desert it has approached 40 degrees for the past four days we've been riding.

Any one of these elements on their own would be bearable. All of them at once, for six or eight hours, are excruciating.

How bad are the roads in Sudan? Every rider in the group agrees this is the toughest cycling they have ever faced. In our first four days here, six riders have gotten off their bikes and stepped onto the truck. It's that bad.

Death On The Nile

2005-02-05T04:32:00.000-05:00

The good news? Our barge trip from Aswan to Wadi Halfa didn't take 28 hours. The bad news? It took nearly 42 hours.

It was an excruciatingly long and hot trip and we discovered that five-card poker can only amuse for so many hours. The captain was using celestial navigation so each night (and there were two of them!) he had to dock the boat and wait for the stars to appear so he could chart our course.

The Sudanese authorities boarded our boat on the second night. They took all our passports in a plastic bag and we had to wait until dawn for their return. Smiles were exchanged, then a few comments in Arabic, then a plastic bag full of passports. Then we trundled onward, belching diesel all the way to Wadi Halfa.

Happy snaps

2005-01-28T08:38:00.000-05:00

Not that you'd know it from the TDA website, but there are hundreds of pictures being taken all along the way. Every rider seems to have a little digital camera that they pull out of their Camelbak at opportune moments: sunset over Lake Nasser, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, or another rider having a pee in the desert. The problem is that the internet connections were find are pitifully dial-up slow, so sending images is, for the most part, out of the question.

We have some hard-core camera buffs among us. Eddie from the UK has two beautiful 35mm cameras, loaded with colour and B&W film, which he sets up on a tripod. Martin from Alberta has a great eye and has taken some lovely shots. I've managed to snap about 1200 pictures myself. I'm of the 'shoot everything possible and half of it has to turn out well' school of digital photography. If I keep shooting at this rate, I'll have a hundred-thousand-picture show to bore my friends with when I return.

Of course, every kid in Egypt wants to have their picture taken because it means they'll probably get an Egyptian pound or two in return. We walked past a kid of about ten yesterday who had a well-rehearsed line for us. "Happy smile picture?" he asked eagerly.

We were the ones who smiled, and kept on walking.

Wasting Away In Aswan

2005-01-28T08:20:00.000-05:00

The great thing about being back in Aswan is that it has one of most sensory souks in all Egypt. A marketplace that meanders for twenty city blocks, filled with beautiful fabrics waving from stalls, multicoloured Nubian caps, djembe drums and everywhere the smell of dozens of spices. Impossibly tall heaps of saffron, nutmeg, cardamom, and bright blue indigo. The merchants call the indigo 'Viagra' to try to interest us in buying it; little do they realize we'll be away from our paramours for four long months. "Viagra give you big machine" they tell us.

Reassuring that here in Egypt, just like everywhere else in the world, men are focused on only one thing.

U-turn

2005-01-28T08:01:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we were scheduled to sail from Abu Simbel to Wadi Halfa, a ten-hour crossing. But 'scheduled' doesn't neccessarily carry a lot of weight in Egypt. The Minister of Defense, a particularly high-ranking official, felt it was inadvisable for us to sail from Abu Simbel. We would have to sail from Aswan. 275 kilometres north. The same 275 kilometres we had cycled just two days before. Why? Just because.

This morning, we boarded a bus and made the trip from Abu Simbel back to Aswan. We will stay in Aswan overnight and in the morning, Allah and the Minister allowing, we will set sail. Now, when I say 'set sail' I mean that as a figure of speech, because our boat has no sail. In fact, it has no engine. It is a flat, shadeless, rusting barge lashed to a tugboat that we will inhabit for at least 28 hours. Apparently, there are a few rats that will inhabit it with us. And there is one toilet to be shared between 36 people.

Heart of Darkness ring a bell for anyone? It seems our real adventure is about to begin.

Repairs

2005-01-26T03:21:00.000-05:00

One person we couldn't do without is our mechanic, Ewald. He jumped in his Land Cruiser in December, left Holland, stopped in Greece for Christmas and continued on to Cairo, where he met us just before the trip began. Since then, he's been fixing anything that can shake loose over the course of a thousand kilometres.

Yesterday, I asked him to tighten my brake cables and he also noticed that I had a loose spoke, a loose headset, a bent derailleur and the my rear hub needed to be repacked. Clearly, he has an eye for detail.

I'm grateful that I brought a simple, low-tech bike with me; the snazzy full-suspension bikes are the ones that are up on his repair stand most often.

Leaving Egypt

2005-01-26T03:11:00.000-05:00

We've reached Abu Simbel, in the vast expanse of the Nubian Desert. A one-horse town, or one-donkey town, to be more accurate. From here we catch a ferry for a full day's trip across Lake Nasser to Wadi Halfa in Sudan.

We've crossed the Tropic of Cancer and the heat is slowly increasing. Temperatures at night are still cold, perhaps 5 or 6 degrees, but the afternoon temperature yesterday reached 40 degrees.

Yesterday we had a great ride into town from our previous night's camp in the desert. The tailwind pushed us effortlessly into Abu Simbel in just a few hours of riding. Along the way, I saw camel roadkill for the first time. After seeing the mess, I can't imagine what the vehicle looked like.

Glorious food

2005-01-20T07:18:00.000-05:00

Rizik, our cook, has been very busy trying to keep us nourished. Riding at 25 kilometres an hour, we're each burning about 700 calories every hour. Over the course of a five-hour ride, that's a minimum of 3500 calories we need to replace.

We eat breakfast at 6, then meet up with the lunch truck mid-morning, where we wolf down pita, cheese, sausage, bananas and halvah. We eat as soon as we arrive at camp in the afternoon, then Rizik prepares vast pots of food for dinner. We've had lamb and potatoes, macaroni and falafel, lentil soup with vegetable salad. Many of us are back up for seconds as soon as we've finished our first plate.

We're eating anything that isn't nailed down. And food never tasted so good.

Police protection

2005-01-20T07:07:00.000-05:00

Police escorts have accompanied us all the way through Egypt. They drive ahead of us, they drive behind the last rider and they are at every campsite, vigilant through the long night.

In Safaga two days ago, we had a particularly rambunctious crew. They watched Ewald, our mechanic, repair a bottom bracket with childlike wonder. They pointed at parts of the bike and spoke to each other animatedly in Arabic. When Matt, one of our British riders, pulled out a soccer ball, the police all shouted at once. We set up an impromptu game in the campsite with rocks for goalposts. Five cyclists in sandals and Spandex against five Marlboro-smoking, black-trenchcoated members of the Egyptian military.

It was a close game, but we let them win. They had some serious guns.

Luxor

2005-01-20T06:23:00.000-05:00

Day six of the trip and already there is so much to tell. First, the race story.

Aris, a Dutch rider, had finished first on four of the five days of the trip. Yesterday, he took a spill after touching another rider's wheel and broke his collarbone. He flew home to Amsterdam last night and may or may not rejoin us later in the trip.

Another of the Dutch racers took the opportunity a few days ago to slipstream behind a truck. Slipstreaming allows a rider to coast at 60 or 80 km/hr. But the downside is that the rider has to be so close to the back of the truck that he cannot see what's approaching. Hitting roadkill at 80 km/hr means the rider is roadkill too. Our Dutch racer got to the finish line 40 minutes before anyone else. He was then assessed a 2-hour penalty. One step up, two steps back.

We have travelled east from Cairo to the Red Sea and followed it down to Safaga. We then turned back inland, returned to the Nile and have now reached Luxor. We have a rest day tomorrow and every rider is thankful for a day off the bike. Muscles are aching. Derierres are sore.

Two paths

2005-01-18T06:33:00.000-05:00

When each of the riders signed up for the Tour, they chose to join as a racer or a tourer. Racers are timed every day from the minute they leave camp to the minute they cross the finish line. Tourers cover the distance at their own pace, stopping whenever they choose. But the distinction between racers and tourers is not obvious on the tarmac; there are racers who hang back, saving their energy, and there are tourers who are right in the midst of the racers. It's impossible to tell who's who.

There has already been a lot of good-natured competition to see who has the stuff. A rider will break away from the race group just to see who is able to keep up with him. There are half a dozen racers who have made their presence known already. But these are early days. There may well be illness and accidents that change the standings completely.

Cruel & unusual

2005-01-18T06:24:00.000-05:00

Our first day of riding took us 100 kilometres directly south from Cairo. Day two was supposed to be a 140-kilometre ride, but due to some 'navigational rearrangements' we unded up riding over 200 kilometres. Our Tour Director had directed us to last year's campsite, but due to the whims of our Egyptian police escorts, we had to set up camp 60 kilometres down the road.

Many of the riders on the trip had never covered 200 km in one sitting, so there were some sore derierres by the end of the day. Those in the lead group spent 7 hours on the bike. Those who trailed behind spent as much as 9 hours in the desert sun. Already it's clear that everything is approximate, from the distances we cover to the time dinner will be served. We're learning to adapt; there's no other option.

Lingua franca

2005-01-18T06:16:00.000-05:00

The majority of riders on the Tour are Dutch. We also have riders from Germany, Denmark, Switzerland, the United States, Belgium, South Africa, France and Canada. The Dutch riders speak Flemish and the South African riders speak Afrikaans (the next best thing), and the Belgians and Germans join in.

So I'm doing my best to learn Flemish in the midst of a country of Arabic.

Setting off

2005-01-18T06:11:00.000-05:00

We began our ride at the pyramids of Giza. The Egyptian Minister of Tourism was on hand to make an official speech before we began. We assembled our bikes under a banner at the starting line and he took the microphone.

"Welcome. Good luck. One, two, three, go."

Perhaps the shortest speech ever delivered by a politician of any country.

The group assembles

2005-01-13T03:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I met Bart, a participant from Belgium, as well as Colin (the Race Director) and Randy (the Tour Director). Colin rode the TDA two years ago and Randy rode it last year. We had a drink and talked about what to expect of the Tour. They told Bart and I about their experiences in years past: the roads, the motorists, the bikes, the riders, the challenges. More participants arrived throughout the day. There will be 32 riders in all, or perhaps 36, depending on who you ask. There will also be a number of sectional riders, who will be with us for segments of the trip.

Now that I’ve been here for nearly a week and the bike is ready, I’m feeling itchy. It’s time to begin.

Deflated

2005-01-13T03:18:00.000-05:00

I’ve already set a Tour d’Afrique record. For having the first flat tire. In fact, the flat tire occurred in my hotel room three days prior to actually riding the bike. I pumped up the tires, put the various pieces of the bike together and by the time I had installed the seat, the front tire was completely flat. I pulled the tube out, found a small puncture and repaired it.

If I ever find myself at the Cheng Shin Tube Company in Taiwan, I’m going to give those Quality Control guys a piece of my mind.

Mystery

2005-01-11T04:50:00.000-05:00

The Sphinx was commissioned by Khafre, the 4th Dynasty Egyptian king, who lived from 2558 to 2532 BC.

The Sphinx now directly faces a KFC.

Souq Al-Gamaal

2005-01-11T04:31:00.000-05:00

I set off at 7:30 AM with Ali, my taxi driver. He was full of fascinating and unexpected information: he told me that raw camel liver cures cancer; that the Israelis are adding chemicals to the crops to make Egyptians sick (“Jews are a lying people” he added); that there is a small mango that works better than Viagra (“give you strong machine”, to quote him directly).

After asking for directions a time or two, we finally arrived at the Birqash camel market, Souq al-Gamaal. As we walked in, Ali told me that God had given camels the impression that people are bigger than they are, otherwise they would kill us. Good thing. Inside the huge walled souq were three thousand camels. Hundreds of traders were shouting in Arabic. The slap of wooden sticks against the camels was everywhere and the camels’ ornery response, a sound between that of a donkey and a lion. Camels were running every which way, thicker than Cairo traffic.

As I was taking pictures, Hassan, one of the camel-boys, pointed out the distinctions between Somalian, Sudanese and Egyptian camels. Another trader asked if I was from America, and I set him straight. “Bush bad” he said, and spat on the ground defiantly. “Old Bush bad, young Bush bad.” Ali and I sat eating peanuts in the sun, speaking with a Sudanese camel trader. Ali explained that I would be riding my agala through Sudan and onward all the way to Cape Town. “I don’t understand” he replied to Ali in Arabic. “I don’t understand.”

Traders were securing their purchases. Camels, sold for 3000 to 7000 Egyptian pounds apiece, were being herded onto trucks. The camels clearly seemed to like the idea of staying at the souk. They strained at the ropes that tied them down in truck beds, braying and foaming at the mouth.

My shoes were covered in camel shit. It was the most wonderful smell.

Adaptation

2005-01-10T07:49:00.000-05:00

I brought five adapter plugs with me. The box told me they worked in Great Britain, Ireland, Hong Kong, Singapore, South America, China, New Zealand, the Caribbean, Asia, South Pacific Islands, the Philippines and parts of Africa. Well, I seem to have found out which part of Africa they don’t work in. The hotel has a strange system of three parallel holes which no adapter seems compatible with. So one of the first things I set out to do was to find an adapter so I could keep my laptop charged.

My guide and I searched a dozen electronics stores for an adapter. We came up with nothing. Returning to the hotel later that afternoon, I went to the front desk to demand a converter. The housekeeping staff appeared twenty minutes later. One of the men pushed my bike away from the wall where the porters had set it two days earlier. And there, praise Allah, was a two-pronged plug!

I plugged in my laptop, and when I saw the recharge light shine, I shook his hand vigorously. “You’re a genius!” I told him, something he probably hadn’t heard much in his room-cleaning career.

Afternoon in Cairo

2005-01-10T07:36:00.000-05:00

I've been seeing all the sights that every tourist is obligated to see. Memphis, the first capital of Egypt, founded in 3100 BC. Saqqara, site of the step pyramid of Zoser, built in 2650 BC. And the tomb of the unfortunately named Masturba of Ti. Wonder what he did in his spare time?

I've visited Cheops, Khafre, Menkaure and the Sphinx. Hebba, my guide, had an accent that made comprehension difficult. She’d been talking about reality for more than half an hour before I finally realized she was actually saying royalty. That put everything in a different light. She led me through the Egyptian Museum, talking about bodies being embalmed in ‘liquid raisins’. I thought that was a startlingly novel idea until I realized she was saying resins.

With all this sightseeing, I’ve taken 325 photos in two days, not counting the ones I deleted. On the way back to the hotel, we drove past the head office of the Egyptian Society of Engineers. It was crumbling. Some miles later, there was a young boy at the side of the road who appeared to be selling dung. In Cairo, anything's possible.

Morning in Cairo

2005-01-10T07:28:00.000-05:00

I awoke to the sound of Arabic echoing along the long tiled corridors. I walked down to the Ballroom for breakfast, a huge empty square, walls of dark wood hung with bright green batiks. No one ever talks about Egyptian cuisine, and it quickly became clear why. The baked beans were bland, the sausages were bland, the omelettes were bland. But then I discovered the bread table: a dozen different kinds of flatbreads, croissants, rolls, danishes and Baladi. Some dipped in chocolate, some dusted with icing sugar, some baked with cherry and raisin. I sampled a few, rationalizing it as carbo loading. All the while, the ubiquitous table of Japanese tourists snorting, hacking and spitting.

I anticipated hearing the muezzin, the call to prayer. What I didn’t expect was to hear it from five or six mosques simultaneously, the sound overlapping to create an effect that is hypnotic and hallucinatory. Five times a day, the voices begin again. The fact the voices are broadcast through loudspeakers gives them a Big Brother quality.

If Big Brother was muslim and had a pleasant singing voice, that is.

Toronto > London > Cairo

2005-01-10T07:15:00.000-05:00

I finished reading my first book over the wreck of the Titanic, off the coast of Newfoundland. By that time, I’d surveyed the in-flight entertainment, enjoyed a dinner of BA Roasted Chicken Tenders (Code #3507) and had the back of my seat kicked repeatedly by a six-year-old. We had a tailwind that averaged 200 kilometres an hour, getting us to the gate at Heathrow 45 minutes early.

One bag that I had intended to check had ended up as carry-on; an eagle-eyed security guard in London spotted something in the x-ray. Security made me take everything out of the bag, then confiscated my Swiss Army knife. I tried to explain that I hadn't intended on carrying it, which didn't make any sense to the guard. In all, it took an hour and a half to get through security. Things were getting a little hazy. It was 10:23 local time, but my body knew full well it was 5:23 in the morning and I hadn’t slept all night on the plane. My connecting flight to Cairo didn’t leave until 4:05 in the afternoon.

Hours later, BA flight 155 to Cairo flew over Luxembourg, Zurich, Venice, Dubrovnik and Athens as I watched Michael Palin’s Himalaya. As we arrived just before 11 PM, I finally got my first glimpse of Cairo. Hundreds of clusters of light, interrupted by a wide black swath. The Nile.

At the airport, I was met by Ihab, who got me through customs and into the van with Mothsin, our driver. We drove along Al-Uruba as cars weaved every which way. Mothsin asked where I was from, and I explained. He then asked where Canada was. “Is it in South Africa?” I guess he doesn't drive far beyond the city limits.

Perspective

2005-01-02T10:30:00.000-05:00

It gives one pleasure to say, "I'm flying to Cairo." It gives one even greater pleasure to say, "I'm flying to Cairo and riding a bicycle all the way to Cape Town." But this feat, like any, is dwarfed by the feats of other explorers.

Like Goran Kropp, a Swedish climber who rode his bicycle 11,000 kilometres from Stockholm to Kathmandu, climbed Everest without bottled oxygen or sherpas, then descended and rode back to Stockholm. He carried all his equipment on his bike and was so concerned with travelling light that he had only one pair of underwear. (It's clear why he was travelling alone.) The round trip took a year; he fixed 132 flat tires en route and had to make three attempts before he could finally summit Everest. Near the peak, he passed the frozen corpses of Rob Hall and Scott Fischer, experienced guides who had been caught in a sudden storm that claimed 11 lives.

Whatever you do, there will always be someone who's gone farther, faster, lived closer to the edge. All you can do is make the trip your own. Experience it for all that it means to you. And bring plenty of clean underwear.

Cairo digs

2004-12-30T13:41:00.000-05:00

Once I arrive in Cairo on January 5th, I'll be staying at the Cataract Hotel. Not the Cataract Resort or the Cataract Aswan (with so many Cataracts, it's a wonder anyone can see) but the Cataract Pyramids. It's described in the literature as 'relatively new'. Relative, of course, being a relative term, especially in Egypt. Was it built a year ago? A thousand years ago? Will there be hot-and-cold embalming fluid? I'm not quite sure what to expect.

Good friends Jenn and Matt have been on a whirlwind tour of the Mediterranean and will be arriving in Cairo at 1 AM on the 13th. In the morning, I'll rouse them from their jetlagged slumber and we'll go out for coffee to catch up on their travels through England, France, Spain, Tunisia, Libya, Morocco and elsewhere.

How to travel light

2004-12-24T09:47:00.000-05:00

The Best American Nonrequired Reading by Dave Eggers, Specialized Stumpjumper Comp, 3 spare chains, spare bottom bracket, spare middle ring, 12 spare spokes, 2 pair long cycling pants, 1 cycling bib, rain jacket, rain pants, rain boots, 5 pair bike gloves, Anti-Woo Gambits by Steven Potter, 1 pair winter bike gloves, 5 short-sleeved bike shirts, 2 long-sleeved bike shirts, 1 sleeveless bike shirt, cycling vest, cycling hood, arm warmers, Kryptonite lock, 3 spare brake cables, 3 spare gear cables, 2 patch kits, 2 multi-tools, 4 tire levers, 120 zip ties, 3 pair sunglasses, dust mask, compass, 3 sets spare brake pads, Trieste by Jan Morris, 1 set cleats, neckerchief, reflective vest, pedal wrench, 1 spare set cleats, Velcro tie-down, Foreign Correspondences by Lesley Krueger, bungee cords, GPS handlebar mount, first aid kit, 2 spare wheels & 1 cassette, aerobars, computer & battery, 2 Z-Max 26x2.1 tires, 2 Roll-X Race 26x2.0 tires, 2 TopSlick 26x1.0 tires, 2 VelociRaptor 26x1.95 tires, 1 Navigator 26x1.9 tire, 5 sets of tubes, spare water bottle cage, 2 water bottles, The Man Who Ate Everything by Jeffrey Steingarten, Camelbak, helmet with visor, 3 pair bike shorts, 5 pair bike socks, clipless shoes, 2 heart rate monitors, mini-pump, GPS, tent, ground sheet, tent pegs, spare poles, Tempur pillow, pillowcases, mess kit, spare cutlery, 2 55 litre dry bags, sleeping bag, Deet insect spray, Thermarest, 2 bottles Campsuds, rubber mallet, Screen by Jessica Helfand, gloves, mosquito shirt, 4 pair shorts, 1 pair thick socks, sun hat, touque, 5 T-shirts, fleece jacket, A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson, fleece vest, long sleeve shirt, thermal hood, long underwear, 2 sleeveless shirts, 4 pair thin socks, shoes, sandals, shirts, underwear, pants, hiking shoes, backpack, sunglasses, iBook G4, 24 blank CDs, A Writer's House In Wales by Jan Morris, baby wipes, antibiotic, alcohol swabs, gauze pads, moleskin, ammonia inhalant, chamois butter, 5 rolls 800 ISO Film, digital camera, Lomo camera, 2 128 MB memory cards, toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, shampoo, scissors, The Golden Ratio by Mario Livio, tweezers, nail clippers, wallet, Canadian passport, EU passport, 10 photocopies of passport, 10 photocopies of health insurance, 20 passport photos, immunization record, The Glass Bead Game by Herman Hesse, Sudan visa, Ethiopia visa, 6 ballpoint pens, 6 notebooks, computer case, list of Canadian Consulates, Scuba log, Petzl headlamp, voice recorder, spare AA and AAA batteries, Blistex SPF 50, Last Chance To Eat by Gina Mallet, luggage tags, Robaxacet, multivitamins, iron pills, Fiberblend, money belt, plane ticket, mesh bags, water bottle, water filtration tablets, razor, razor blades, Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton, shaving cream, dermal restoration gel, antiperspirant, Polysporin, diaper ointment (better that you don't ask), Advil, Visine, sunscreen, dental floss, Sulcabrush, waterproof tape, bandages, address book, maps, safety pins, Swiss Army knife, reading glasses, The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, umbrella, flashlight, bike box, 2 duffel bags, AC adapters, 2 Sharpies, 2 sets earplugs, 20 Cipro tablets, Created In Darkness By Troubled Americans by McSweeneys, whistle, oral rehydration salts, dummy wallet, Q-tips, 120 probiotics, 120 Omega-3, Dukoral, alarm clock, Larium tablets, After Bite pen, heat rub, all heal salve, Traumeel, Kleenex, 2 lighters, drawstring bags, Strepsils, PowerBars, Gravol, headphones, bike rag, towel, swimsuit, envelopes, FireWire cable, hand sanitizer, antihistamine, antacid, The Shape Of A Pocket by John Berger, Immodium, Pepto-Bismol, stack of US cash and the Lonely Planet Guide to Africa.

Ironically, my biggest fear is that I've forgotten something.

Red tape, part two

2004-12-17T18:25:00.000-05:00

Now that I've successfully procured my Sudanese visa, I thought I might test my good fortune and apply for a visa to Ethiopia. I sent the paperwork to the Embassy in Ottawa a week ago and called today to check on the progress. The woman at the other end of the phone told me my visa couldn't be processed. I had sent payment for a one-month visa, which, according to their web site, was the only visa available. She told me I required a three-month visa. I was happy to discover there was such a thing.
"How much is a three-month visa?" I inquired.
"Forty-four dollars."
"But the one-month visa was eighty-six dollars."
"Yes" she replied.
She was either unaware of the illogic, or more likely immune to it.
"So I can have a three-month visa for forty-four dollars or a one-month visa for eighty-six dollars?"
"Yes."
A money order for forty-four dollars is on its way to Ottawa.

Eating Africa

2004-12-11T17:07:00.000-05:00

I hate surprise parties. But last night a whole bunch of people convened at The Swan to send me off. It was the perfect non-surprise party. No one yelled 'Surprise!" and jumped out from behind any furniture. Emma brought out a cake that featured a map of Africa with our route traced in red icing and candles. We got out the knife and ate our way northward, from South Africa through Namibia, Botswana and halfway through Zambia. Delicious.

Thanks to Hannah, Adam, Beth, Paul, Tony, Lily, Emma, Brian, Jessie, Howie, Anna, Kris, Jamie, Pam and everyone else who was part of the ruckus.

Time off

2004-12-07T16:16:00.000-05:00

Many people ask how it's possible to get time off work to travel. My employer has been kind enough to give me a six-month sabbatical. In my opinion, you qualify for a sabbatical only if you satisfy one of two criteria:

1) You're indispensable.
The company absolutely could not do without you as a long-term employee, so they'll do whatever is necessary to keep you happy. If you want to take time off to recharge, off you go. Send us a postcard. Don't worry about a thing.

2) You're dispensable.
If you disappear for six months, your role is so inconsequential, so meaningless, that absolutely no one will notice your absence. Meetings, practical jokes and office parties will all continue, and no one will give a shred of thought to the fact that you ever existed. The only person who will benefit is the cleaning lady, who won't have to dust the pathetic plaques on your office wall.

Here's my concern. I don't know which of these two categories I fall into.

The red tape begins to tangle

2004-12-05T20:08:00.000-05:00

Visas are a necessary evil. Necessary to justify the jobs of bureaucratic pencil-pushers, and evil for much the same reason. On the Tour d'Afrique, two visas are notoriously difficult to obtain: Sudan and Ethiopia. So it's important that we procure them in advance of the trip. But, of course, there's a catch. They're only valid for a month.

I contacted the Sudanese Embassy in November and they assured me they could arrange a visa that would be valid on January 27th, when we cross the border into Sudan. I sent off the paperwork with my passport and a cheque for a hundred and two bucks. Waited a month. Called the Embassy. They told me they had no news for me. Mysteriously, two days later, my passport arrived with a small green visa tucked inside. I checked the tiny handwritten dates. It was set to expire on January 26th, the day before we will reach Sudan.

I called the Embassy the next morning and explained the situation.
"Send it back." the woman at the other end of the line commanded.
"Are you sure you can arrange for it to be valid on the right date?" I asked.
"Send it back."
"Do you need another application form?"
"Send it back."

I've sent it back. It's been nearly two months and I still don't have a visa for Sudan. And no time left to get one for Ethiopia. Ah well. I've been patient with the bureaucrats. They'll have to be patient with me.

34,000 kilometres, give or take.

2004-11-29T20:57:00.000-05:00

The itinerary for the first six months of 2005 is now in place. Here's how it goes.

On January 5th, I'll fly from Toronto to Cairo. I'll stay in Cairo until we begin the trip on January 15th. That's the day we set out from Cairo and begin to ride south. On January 27th, we enter Sudan and have a rest day in Khartoum on February 8th. On February 13th, we enter Ethiopia and have a rest day in Addis Ababa on the 25th. We enter Kenya on March 5th and will have a rest day in Nairobi on the 15th. On March 18th, we enter Tanzania and have a rest day in Iringa on the 28th. We enter Malawi on March 31st and have a rest day in Lilongwe on April 8th. We enter Zambia on April 9th and have a rest day at Victoria Falls on the 18th. We enter Botswana on April 19th and then travel into Namibia on April 27th. We have a rest day in Windhoek on May 1st. We enter South Africa on May 7th and reach Cape Town on the 14th. I'll stay in Cape Town until May 21st, when I fly to London. I'll travel in the UK until June 18th, when I return to Toronto.

Both Cairo and Cape Town have some of the best scuba diving in the world, so I'm hoping to spend some time underwater at either end of the trip. An antidote to all the dust and sand I'll experience for four months in the middle.

Happy Birthweek

2004-11-18T20:50:00.000-05:00

My birthday was November 8th but, through careful planning, I was able to stretch the event more than a week. It finally came to a conclusion with an excellent brunch in Aberfoyle last Sunday. Peter and Lori gave me books, as did Chris and Vickie. I know I'll have a lot of time to read in Africa in the new year and these books will be my close companions. My mother, ever practical, gave me a Tilley shirt which is wrinkle-free, UV protected and damn near bulletproof. Hannah gave me cooking lessons; French Bistro cooking to be exact. I'm not sure if I'll have the chance to rustle up Braised Lamb Shanks in Ethiopia, but if the opportunity arises, I'll be ready.

Thanks also to Terry, Erin, Cory, Jamie, Kim, Connor, Emma, Brian, Lily, Jessie, Dave, Susan, Kate, Peter, Amy, Mike T, Mike S and Patti for all their birthday wishes.

Two months until the adventure begins.

2004-11-01T06:08:00.000-05:00

I’ve been immunized against tetanus, diphtheria, polio, typhoid, hepatitis A and B, yellow fever, meningitis and rabies. I've bought a new tent, boxes of water purification tablets and a mask to keep the dust out of my mouth. I’ve taken out travel insurance that provides emergency air evacuation. I’ve bought a new bike, one that I hope will be able to withstand the rigours of intense heat, deep sand and rutted roads. I’ve also completed 12 duathlons, a half-marathon, an adventure race, the 24 Hours of Adrenalin mountain bike race, over 40 hours of running and over 100 hours of training on the bike. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

25 Canadians have completed Tour d’Afrique in the past two years. I won’t be the first, or the youngest, or the oldest. I won’t be the fastest or the slowest. But I will see it through my own eyes. And I’ve been waiting a lifetime for that.

William Hazlitt said it well: “You know more of a road by having travelled it than by all the descriptions in the world.”