RTW on 100cc underbones - Underboning the World
 

In December of 2010, I floated the idea of riding around the world on motorbikes past my wife. Fun, excitement, the open road, oh, and crooked border agents, rain and stifling heat, and “It’s gonna cost how much?!?” After some discussion and basic research, we decided that it was a dumb idea. We had recently completed a nearly 9 month backpacking trip in SE Asia and were getting antsy to go somewhere again, but where? We settled on backpacking around India and then revisiting our favorite places in SE Asia with the idea of finding a place we liked and settling in to teach English for a few years. Plan decided, we started doing the research but never could get really excited about it. No other plan had the excitement, challenge, or potential epic nature of the motorbike trip. So in the end of May, we once again returned to the RTW idea, but with a twist.

We would do it on underbones. We were, of course, inspired by nathanthepostman and Dabinche and our own travels through SE Asia. We had rented scooters and underbones in Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Indonesia and had enjoyed the slower pace that they enforced. We’ve found that 35 mph is the perfect pace for much of the developing world. Parts are widely available, mechanics know how to work on them, tires are easily available, and we wouldn’t look like invaders from another planet. They are also inexpensive (better for Carnet) and lightweight (better if they decide to take a nap or need to be loaded in a boat). We also chose underbones for more personal reasons. We had considered going 2-up on my V-strom, but Re (my wife) is too small (and short) to ride it solo if I was ever unable to. So we looked at taking two bikes. Most of the advice suggests taking identical bikes as to only have to carry one set of spares and tools. So what then? We considered CRF-230s and XT-250s but finally settled on underbones for the reasons mentioned above.

So which underbone? Initially I had thought of the Honda CT-110s, but eventually settled on the mighty SYM Symba! Our local dealer was having a sale on Symbas ($1999 each) and they were about the same price as a good CT-110 but with the advantage of being 30 years newer. Some basic research into the Symbas showed that they are (probably) capable of the miles and hours we will be requesting of them. Another advantage is that there is a SYM importer on every continent we plan to visit (hopefully eliminating the 3-month wait other riders have encountered for a new final drive or other such nonsense). Additionally, they are just good old motorbikes, no ABS, no EFI, no computer of any sort - just a carb, a piston, a backup kickstarter, and one fuse. I can fix these with hand tools and a shop manual. All that and about 100 mpg!

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These bikes will hopefully be our trusty companions for the next twelve to fourteen months as we wind our way across the USA (from Oregon to North Carolina), up to Toronto (where our bikes get on the plane), to Capetown, South Africa and through India, SE Asia, and (if our money and butts hold out) Indonesia and Australia, before flying back to Los Angeles and riding up the coast back to Portland.

I guess we should tell you a little bit about ourselves and how we ended up at this point. I (Colin) am 44 years old, have a professional degree, and have been an avid motorcyclist for many years. My parents always forbade motorcycles and it took me a few years to realize I was old enough to do whatever the I wanted to, so at 25 I took the MSF course and never looked back. In the past 19 years I have racked up over 180K miles of street, dirt, and road racing with WERA and CCS. I have wrenched on and rebuilt both motorcycles and cars, both two and four stroke, and my wife has been my “tool monkey’ all along. Re is 42 and has less riding experience but is an MSF grad and has lots of miles on her (former) KLX650C ‘motard that we built for her.

A few years ago we had an epiphany of sorts, realizing that we really don’t have to do anything we don’t want to. At the time, we had been married for 19 years and had always lived as if we might someday have kids. Working two jobs, buying homes in good school systems, climbing the ladder, moving for better jobs, and saving for the proverbial “rainy day”. We, however, found ourselves childless and forty. So why were we doing what we were doing? We had just moved to another town we didn’t want to live in, farther from friends and family, for a job I didn’t really want and it suddenly hit me - why? Why be here? Why not just do what we wanted to do instead? No kids, no responsibilities, no reason to leave a legacy - why wait any more? Honestly, it was kind of staggering - if you didn’t have to do anything for at least a few years, what would you do?

When we were in high school, I would get the new copy of the “Lets Go Guide to Europe” every year and sit down with a highlighter and we would dream of where we would go. But after college there were jobs and houses and careers and friends and family and never any time to go anywhere for more than a two week vacation. That pesky “Let’s Go” memory came flooding back, and we decided to quit our jobs, put everything we didn’t sell or donate into storage and just go. We settled on SE Asia (as we love the food and we really just travel to eat!) and started planning. It took about 10 months to disentangle our lives and shoulder our packs, but we were off with a one-way ticket to Vietnam. After about 9 months of bumming around Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Indonesia, and Singapore, we found ourselves in Portland, Oregon. We once again tried to get back into the daily grind but it didn’t last long. The genie was already out of the bottle. We found ourselves cruising ADVRider, HUBB, and various “Teach English Abroad” websites. (One of our traveling companions said to never fly first class, that way you don’t know what you are missing - we now know what we are missing) Perusing the RR section of ADV led us to nathanthepostman’s trip, Dabinche’s Alaska adventure, and to Brian and Marie’s 2uprtw story and off we go again!

So what are we taking?
 

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For luggage we decided on a Pelican Storm iM2600 topcases, topped by an Ortlieb 49L waterproof duffel, all mounted to Carter Brothers’ rear racks and secured with a pair of Rok-Straps each.

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We also installed stock SYM front racks to carry our spare 1 gallon gas cans on. We also made a set of “custom” bike covers to attract less attention when parked.

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We are carrying a fairly complete tool kit including wrenches that can turn every fastener on the bikes as well as spare wire, JB Weld, zip-ties, rags, rubber gloves, a funnel, and more. We were also able to get some spares from the new SYM importer and have a spare set of cush rubbers, a brake lever and cable, a complete set of wheel bearings, an air filter, spare chains and master links, inner tubes, and spark plugs, spare tires and a set of stock sprockets. We also have tire irons, a Lezyne micro pump, Dupont Teflon chain lube and a fairly extensive patch kit. All of our bikes and luggage will be secured by a couple of Krypto cables, Pacsafe covers for the Ortliebs, and a couple of alarmed cable locks and a bunch of padlocks for the Pelicans.

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For riding gear we are each wearing Darien Light jackets and pants and Nolan N90 helmets. As we plan to do a fair bit of walking and hiking, we went with Vasque Goretex hiking boots in lieu of dedicated riding boots. We are also each carrying 5 sets of underwear, socks, and shirts and three pairs of convertible pants. A lightweight Marmot rain jacket, set of Smartwool micro weight base layers, bathing suit and pair of sandals each rounds out the wearables.

For camping we have a Mountain Hardware Drifter 2 tent and footprint, Big Agnes Yampa bags and Air Core pads, and silk bag liners. A Coleman Expedition 442 stove (runs on unleaded) and MSR Quick 2 cookware will provide us some snacks and a First Need XL water purifier (and a spare cartridge) and two 4L MSR Dromedary bags should give us safe drinks. Two Big Agnes Easy Chairs will give us a place to plop at the end of the ride.

Our first aid kit includes the usual potions and plasters as well as some dermabond, suture closures, needles and syringes, doses of malaria meds, Cipro and azythromycin (apparently Dehli Belly is now Cipro resistant). For toiletries we have the usual bathing, brushing and shaving stuff but are using Dr. Bronner’s liquid soap for most things and Re is trying the solid shampoo and conditioner from Lush Cosmetics.

For electronics, we have an iPhone, and iPod touch, a GoPro Hero HD video camera, a laptop (complete with the Symba shop manual), and a Panasonic DMC-ZS1 camera, and a Garmin 60CSx, and a ton of cables to plug this into that.r

Add in a poop trowel, kite, a Frisbee, a compass, storm lighter, a headlamp, a tent lantern, a couple of flashlights, some clothes drying stuff, and a Swiss Army knife or two and we are good to go.

More trip preparation
 

When we decided to actually go on this trip it was nearly the end of May. The lease on our apartment was up on July 31st. This made August the natural starting point for the trip, but it only gave us 13 weeks to plan the trip and get everything else done.

Excited about the idea, we went to the travel section of Powells Books and pulled out the Lonely Planets. We quickly came up with a list of countries we’d like to visit and of those we wouldn’t. Central and South America are natural destinations for North Americans, but given the security concerns, we quickly crossed them off our list. We had traveled in Southeast Asia a couple of years ago and loved it. We wanted to return to see the places not easily accessed via public transportation, so we put it on our list. We had already done a bunch of research on India and Nepal, so they went on the list as well. Also on the list was riding across the US from Portland, Oregon where we lived, to Missouri, North Carolina, and Ohio, where we had family and friends. This left the question of how to connect the east coast of the United States and India. We briefly considered Europe but nixed it due to the expense and relative cultural similarity.

That left Africa. But where? Central Africa was never on the list- visiting active war zones like the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Somalia was not an attractive proposition. Northern Africa also seemed iffy with the unrest of the Arab Spring and recent relocation of the Dakar Rally. That left Southern Africa. So we filled our shopping basket with the Lonely Planet Southern Africa, India, and Southeast Asia on a Shoestring and headed home.

The next day, we consulted weather charts on the internet, which pretty much set our schedule. Our route will (hopefully) hit the dry but not too hot path around the world. We also made a list of countries that require carnet, visas in advance, and made a quick list of comparative costs by country. After doing some ciphering on the money, we decided we could afford the twelve to fourteen months of travel our trip now encompassed.

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So, decision confirmed, I headed down to Classic Scooter and Cycle in Portland and purchased two brand spankin’ new, baby blue Symbas. I spent the next couple of weeks glued to the computer screen scouring ADVRider, HUBB, and Symforum for advice on gear, the bikes, and travel planning. We soon started making decisions on gear purchases, and boxes began to arrive at our door. It was like Christmas every day! At the same time, I started working to arrange Carnet du Passage for the trip. This was a relatively easy process; Suzanne Danis, at the CAA, is great to work with. The only hitch in the Carnet process was a strike by the Canadian Postal Service, but a digital camera and email got our documents to Canada without trouble.

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Re was in charge of medications and vaccines. She did the research as to what we needed and set up the appointments. We added yellow fever, polio, and our final hepatitis shots to our list of immunizations. We also got prescriptions for Cipro, Azithromycin, and curative doses of Malarone (for malaria) to include in our first aid kit.

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The bikes were prepped for the trip- we had a blast putting on the break-in mileage. We installed various racks and a 12V charger to keep our electronics juiced up on the road. Spare parts were difficult as SYM has recently changed importers, but Michael at Alliance Powersports came through for us in a big way. Because of the lack of spare parts in the country and the time involved in getting them from overseas, Alliance actually pulled our spares off of the last new Symba they had in stock.

Shipping the bikes was a nightmare all on its own and almost stopped our trip before it began. It turns out that getting bikes to Europe is easy, but to Africa, not so much. Re spent untold hours on the internet and telephone trying to find anyone who would even give us a quote for shipping to Africa. I also spent hours scouring HUBB and ADVRider for any possibilities. Re finally got a quote from a US shipper of around 4200 USD for a 20 foot shipping container, which would take a mere 50 days to get to Durban, or 8500 USD!!! by air to Johannesburg. That seemed like an awful lot for two tiny, little 199 pound bikes. But Re persevered and out of a call to Royal Air Maroc, the idea of shipping from Canada arose. Re then researched route maps from eastern Canada to Africa and discovered that British Airways has service from Toronto to Cape Town, South Africa. She definitely didn’t have her hopes up when she called British Airways Cargo in Toronto and was connected with our new best friend, Savio. When asked about shipping our bikes, Savio said, “Sure, when do you want them there?” He followed this up with an email quote and an explanation of weight by volume. Basically, if we pull off the front wheels and fenders, detach the handlebars, and stuff both bikes into a crate, the rate will be approximately 2000 USD. He also recommended a crating company and a company to handle the dangerous goods paperwork.

With most of the trip planning done by the beginning of July, we turned our attention to making arrangements for being on the road for a year or more. We sold our cars, other motorcycles, and a variety of household goods with the assistance of eBay and Craigslist. We also had to quit jobs, cancel utilities, and pack all of our worldly possessions for storage. Arranging to have our few bills paid, mail answered and taxes completed took a bit more doing (thanks mom and dad!). We also had to arrange to maintain our professional licenses while we are gone. Paperwork out of the way we then had to pack up everything we still have and move it to climate-controlled storage. Over the last two trips we have pared our possessions down to a minimum and now all our stuff (including a Honda Minitrail 50 and a Honda RS250/CR500 race bike) fit in a 7.5ft x 10ft x 10ft storage unit with room to spare. With two days to go before departure we were camping in our now empty apartment. While Re cleaned the apartment (hopefully we will get our security deposit back!) I did final prep on the bikes and made a run to the hazardous waste disposal. The final night saw one last trip to the Horse Brass for fish and chips and a pint of deliciousness before our departure. Tummies full, we crawled into our Big Agnes bags and tried to sleep.

July 30, 2011
 

After a surprisingly decent night’s sleep, we awoke before the alarm even went off. It was kind of like Christmas morning, we were wide awake and ready to go. I had estimated that we should be able to make 300 or more miles per day, but this was based on nothing more than a guess. Around town we had seen speeds of 50mph or so, but we had never ridden our bikes fully loaded and had no idea what kind of speeds we’d be able to maintain as we headed up over the mountains with 50-60 pounds of gear. As our first stop was about 275 miles into the center of Oregon, I figured we should be on the road at 8am. We quickly showered, drank our coffee, and got busy loading the bikes and taking out the trash. We soon found that we didn’t have nearly as much luggage space as we thought, so the 1 gallon Ziploc bag of Corn Chex and almost full bottle of whiskey were unceremoniously chucked into the dumpster.

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After shedding a quick tear (for the whiskey), we heaved our little piggies off of their side stands and headed out for the first stop of the day. Which was about 5 miles down the road for a bagel and coffee. Now we were ready to roll. It took us a few miles to get used to the effect the added weight had the bikes and stop looking like a couple of drunken sailors weaving down the road. We made our way through urban Portland into the suburbs and eventually found ourselves facing the first real climb of the trip - Mount Hood. Highway 26 (our route for the next couple of days) winds its way around the side of Mount Hood and we soon found that while we could comfortably cruise at about 43-46mph in fourth gear on level ground, third gear and 35mph was our best pace on anything steeper than a moderate hill.

It was on this stretch of road that we discovered that images of cars and trucks in our side mirrors as they jockeyed to pass us were to be our constant companion for most of the trip. As we neared the pass at the top of 26, the sun broke through the gloom that has been winter, spring, and summer in Portland and we both started smiling inside out helmets. Re let out a whoop that I could hear from 50 feet away - we were finally on our way. The rest of the trip that day was fairly uneventful, we had to stop and refuel from our fuel jugs, we met some nice people who were interested in our trip, and we rode into the high desert that is central and eastern Oregon.

I also discovered that I had a lot more time to look around and enjoy the scenery at 45mph than I ever had on my Concours or Strom. We also both found our flinch at being passed way too closely began to subside by the end of the day. At the end of a beautifully warm and sunny day, we rolled into the Clyde Holliday state park in Mt. Vernon, Oregon. The sign said that the campground was full, but the camp host quickly pointed us to their “Bike and Hike” section where motorcyclists, bicyclists, and hikers can pitch their tents for $5 per person.

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We set up camp and then rode into John Day for dinner at Subway. We used to live and work in John Day a few years ago and also ran into a few old friends and acquaintances. We then headed back to the campground for a good night’s sleep.

293 miles today, bikes ran great except that Re’s bike made a “funny sound” once.

July 31 and April 1, 2011
 

We woke with the sun, we are going to have to learn to adjust to the new schedule of going to bed when the sun goes down and rising this freaking early. This was a rest day as our friends were throwing a BBQ later that afternoon. After a leisurely morning around the campsite, I broke out the tools and gave the bikes a once-over. The tire pressures on both of our bikes were inexplicably low (operator error, I’m sure) and I set them to my preferred 30/34. Chain tension was still correct (for what would probably be the only day of the first half of our trip), so they each got a shot of chain lube and were pronounced good. Oil levels were also good and fasteners were also tight except for Re’s swingarm nut that was an RCH loose. After a quick brunch of fried chicken and local peaches from the grocery store, we toured a few of the places we used to live and wandered to the BBQ in the early afternoon. We spent the rest of the day eating, talking and laughing before heading back to Clyde Holliday for another night.

The next morning we rose early (again) and exchanged pleasantries with a couple of Harley-mounted riders who spent the night there as well. We struck camp and were on the road by 8am, and we reluctantly stopped at the local McDeath to eat a breakfast of Sausage McMuffins standing next to the bikes. Little did we know that those greasy, pork-like handfuls would be our only food for the next 12 hours. The day started out warm and quickly turned hot; by noon the bank signs read 96 degrees. I know that this is cool compared to the summer many folks had, but we were living in Portland - which just experienced the third coolest spring ever. We were pleasantly surprised by the venting in our Darien Lights- hot temperatures and low humidity weren’t too bad. Riding out of Prairie City, Oregon, we faced our first 5000 foot pass over Dixie Mountain. We made it, but again found ourselves in third gear and cruising at 35mph. Throughout the morning, we wound our way through the sagebrush and scrubby junipers that dominate the landscape in eastern Oregon and western Idaho. Over the next several hours of riding, fuel stops, and water breaks, we hop-scotched back and forth with the Harley riders from the campground.

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Because we can’t legally travel on interstate highways (anything with a blue sign is a no-go) we have to take the “scenic routes”. While they do provide some nice scenery in places, we also found them to be lacking in services. Bringing extra gas cans turned out to be great planning as in many places, gas stations were father apart than our 100 mile range. We also learned to shake out the fuel nozzle on our fuel cans, after we stopped to refuel and watched helplessly as a beetle that apparently crawled inside the tube spiraled around in the refueling funnel before disappearing into Re’s fuel tank. Doh! The “scenic” nature of the route also meant that there were few places to eat along the way. This combined with the heat led us to skip lunch and simply press on. We finally arrived in Bliss, Idaho (after missing one turn and subsequently backtracking) after 8pm with no campground and no dinner. We finally ate at a café inside a local gas station (it was pretty good) before hot-footing it south to Hagerman, Idaho and our campground for the evening. We set up the tent by the light of the headlamp and crawled inside to pass out.

359 miles in about 12 hours of riding. The bikes ran pretty well but don’t seem to like the altitude, I had to adjust the idle speed higher a couple of times.

8/2 Hagerman, Idaho to Hoback Junction, WY
 

We awoke to an overcast morning, and the lack of sunlight coupled with the hard ride the previous day made for a slow start to the day. After firing up the Coleman 442, I unrolled my tarp and got to work on the bikes. Both bikes needed a chain adjustment and quick lube. The oil level was still mid-dipstick on both bikes, but Re’s exhaust header nuts were slightly loose. Re also needed a couple of psi in the front and rear tires. We eventually got everything packed up, and a shower and coffee gave us the necessary kick in the pants we needed to get back on the road.

We rode back to Bliss, Idaho and fueled up at the gas station where we ate the previous evening. We also enjoyed another breakfast standing bikeside, but this time of some pretty damned good breakfast burritos from the same place. Re also took the opportunity to add a couple of Clif bars and some trail mix to her daypack so we would at least have something to snack on if we couldn’t find lunch again. Suitably provisioned, we pulled out once again onto Hwy 26 and headed east. The central and much of the eastern part of Idaho reverted back to the sagebrush, juniper and rocks that dominated much of our Oregon leg, but without so much elevation change. Some people would describe it as starkly beautiful, the less romantic might call it monotonous.

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One interruption to the monotony was the Craters of the Moon National Monument area that we encountered. Lava fields stretched on in all directions for many miles before giving way to… more sage. Sigh. Our other constant companions for the day were huge rain clouds visible to the south of us nearly the entire ride, but we never saw a drop. We eventually stopped in Blackfoot, Idaho for a late lunch and fuel stop, and both of our bikes refused to idle. After Re’s bike stalled and refused to re-start quickly while sitting at a now green light in front of a cement truck that was impatiently honking at her, I had to turn the idle screw 1.5 turns to have any semblance of an idle. I also fattened up the A/F screw .25 of a turn to try to reclaim some of our lost power - when you only have 6.7 hp to begin with, you can’t afford to give much of it up! After a few more hours of riding we found ourselves in the beauty of the Targhee National Forest and were very happy to have the change in scenery (even if it did come with a whole new set of long, slow climbs).

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As the sun started to get low in the sky, we wound our way into Wyoming and into the Bridger-Teton National Forest. This area is south of Jackson, Wyoming and the Grand Teton National Park and was absolutely stunning in its beauty. The bikes wheezed up and coasted down the roads on our way to Hoback Junction and the KOA that would be our home for the night. While Re checked us into the KOA (and scored a $5 discount with her storytelling skills) I again richened up the A/F mixture by another .25 of a turn; the bikes were not happy with the thin air at all. While I set up camp for the night, Re ran to the grocery store for the eggs, cheese and tortillas for dinner (and breakfast). As a special treat, she also came back with a couple of big bottles of Lagunitas’ Hop Stoopid Ale. Yum! We spent the chilliest night of the trip so far- I had to put my fleece on in the middle of the night, but Re was OK as she had opted for the insulated Big Agnes Aircore mat.

326 miles in about 12 hours of riding, bikes not at all happy with the altitude and hill climbs and were punishing their chains.

8/3 Hoback Junction, Wyoming to Alcova, Wyoming
 

After a chilly night we awoke to a hot breakfast of eggs and flour tortillas and coffee all fixed by my lovely riding companion. It’s so nice to wake up to a familiar face in an unfamiliar place (and to curl up with a familiar form when sleeping in an unfamiliar place!). I once again set upon the bikes while Re began striking camp. The chains were a little loose, but I opted not to adjust them but instead to give them a squirt of lube. The tire pressures were still good, but our oil levels were both nearing the bottom of the acceptable fill level. We rode out in the still surprisingly chilly morning air and headed south on 191. The route across Wyoming was perhaps the least direct of all the states. Not being able to ride on I-80 really forced us into an odd route. The day’s trip zigzagged us south on 191 from Hoback Junction to 28 in Farson, north to nearly Lander and then south on 287 to Muddy Gap where we would finally head east on 220 to Alcova, our destination for the night.

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Western Wyoming is a truly beautiful piece of the world. We have traveled all over the US (and the world) and we both agreed that western Wyoming is one of the prettiest places we have been. It’s what we always imagined the west to look like before we moved there. The high mountains, prairies full of wildflowers, and beautiful blue sky made today’s ride one of the most scenic of our trip so far. The roads were also nice and smooth, with very little traffic - truly and enjoyable day’s ride. The central portion of Wyoming is more stark than the west but was still enjoyable.

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The bikes, however, were not enjoying the altitude. We struggled up and over a few 8000+ foot passes and cruised through several prairies that were at over 7000 feet. The bikes ran OK at full throttle but completely lacked any midrange, and no amount of adjustments to the A/F screw seemed to help. We are going to have to figure out a better solution before we get to India and Nepal! On the plus side, the lack of midrange and looong climbs up the many hills did allow us to hone our drafting skills. If our speed fell below 45 mph, it was a quick trip to 35 mph and third gear. Re scoffed at the idea, but when I came by at about 5 mph faster than she could maintain, she quickly adopted the full TZ250 tuck as well. We spent much of the rest of the day swapping the lead and sniffing for the draft. These higher speeds and more time at WFO may have also contributed to our big problem for the afternoon.

Throughout the trip so far, we refueled whenever our main tanks would get low if fuel was available. If it wasn’t, we would share one of our gas cans and begin to look for fuel in earnest - keeping the second can for real problems. Toward the middle of the day, we stopped in Farson, Wyoming for gas and a Clif Bar. I figured we would be able to get fuel in Lander, about 80 miles up the road. When we arrived at the crossroads for 287 (the road we would take east) we found that it was about 10 miles short of Lander, so we pressed on without getting more fuel. We dipped into our first gas can shortly after we turned onto 287 and began to look for fuel. Now, we realized that Wyoming only has about 564,000 people, but what we didn’t know is that apparently only about 5 of them live on Hwy 287. After emptying our second gas can into our thirsty little piggies, we started to get a little more than a little concerned. Miles of nothing rolled by, and we lowered our average speed in an attempt to conserve what fuel we could, eyes straining to see around the next corner or over the next hill. When our fuel lights started flashing to warn us we could only ride about 15 miles before we’d need to start hoofing it, we stopped and pulled out the GPS to try and locate the nearest town and (hopefully) fuel. The GPS showed that Muddy Gap was a mere 3 miles farther down the road and that there was a gas station there, too. Yay! We hot-footed it down the road and whooped in our helmets as we pulled into the station. As I rode up to the pumps, my excitement quickly turned to dread when the meaning of the hand-lettered signs on every pump that either said “Out of Order” or “Empty” sank into my brain. I went inside and asked the cashier if they really had no fuel and he replied that “Maybe tomorrow we will get some more”. I then asked where the nearest other station was, and he said either Rawlins or Alcova, both about 45 miles away.

I slowly walked back to the bikes and broke the good news to Re. While we sat there contemplating draining all the fuel into one bike and going for it, the cashier came outside and suggested that we might try the fire department across the highway. I spied the large fuel tanks behind their building, so we rode over prepared to do many kinds of things in exchange for some fuel. We, however, found that it was a volunteer fire department and no one was there. While our thoughts started turning to larceny, a pick-up truck pulled in carrying our new favorite people, Jim and Donna Sheridan. They asked what we were looking for and we explained our plight. They then invited us to their house up the road a mile or so, and Jim was gracious enough to give us each about a gallon of liquid love (it was actually 85 octane unleaded) and refused to take anything for it. We thanked them and quickly headed up 220 towards Alcova as BIG thunderstorms moved in our direction from the south.

They finally caught up with us as we arrived at the outskirts of Alcova and drenched us for 10 minutes or so. We arrived at the only gas station in Alcova at 7:30pm only to find that they closed at 6! Unable to easily find camping, and wet from the rain, we spent the night at the Riverview Motel (where you pay the bartender at the bar/restaurant out front for your room). It was a very nice mom-and-pop type motel and we ate at the bar before heading to bed for a great night’s sleep.

334 miles in about 11 hours, bikes had altitude related problems but otherwise ran fine.

8/4 Alcova, Wyoming to Sterling, Colorado
 

After a good night of sleep at the Riverview Motel, we awoke to a our usual routine of bike maintenance and packing up stuff. It was a nice change not to have to pack up all our camping gear for a change, and this allowed us to get on the road a little earlier than normal. The bikes, however, did need some extra attention. Forgoing the chain adjustment the prior day was a mistake- both of our chains were swinging pendulously inside the chain cases. The spec is for .66 - 1 inch of play but our chains had nearly 2 inches of play! After they were adjusted I also found that our oil levels were at the minimum on the dipstick, my swingarm nut was slightly loose, and Re’s tires again needed about 2 psi each. Our first stop was the gas station that closed at 6 pm the prior night, where we fuelled up, got some hunormous breakfast burritos and a quart of oil. With everyone topped off, we headed out for Laramie and Colorado beyond.

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This was the worst day on the road so far (hopefully it will turn out to be the worst of the trip), bad roads, bad weather, aggressive drivers, and sore butts to boot. The ride started out OK but it started to rain on and off after we got through Laramie. The rain stopped by the Colorado border but would return with a vengeance later. The roads today were punctuated by expansion joints at what seemed like 10 foot intervals and our butts and spines took a pounding (something was said about feeling like Mike Tyson’s cellmate at one point). We also encountered the most aggressive drivers of our trip so far, and the peaceful pace that we had experienced up to that point evaporated south of Laramie. Traffic was flying and even though we were on a divided highway, drivers crowded us and passed extremely closely. I had a couple of instances where I could have slapped the back of a pick-up truck as it cut in front of me. No fun. The common denominator seemed to be Colorado license plates and trucks. We then had the misfortune of reaching Fort Collins at around 4 pm and traffic got worse, I guess it was early rush hour as we hit 14 East. Here we had people swerving at us as they passed and had to take to the shoulder a couple of times. This was usually accompanied by a driver flipping us off. Nice. Better roads and calmer driving resumed as we put some distance between us and Fort Collins and we soon forgot about those troubles when we spotted a huge thunderstorm in our path.

While it was sunny and clear to the north and south of 14, directly in our path was a storm that must have been 50 miles wide. There was no light visible through the storm, just solid blue-black from cloud to ground. It looked like Mordor from The Lord of the Rings, and I half-expected to see Sauron’s eye peering out at us as we rode closer. It seemed like we rode towards it for hours. As we neared the edge we stopped and zipped up all of our vents and said good-bye to each other (in case we didn’t make it through!). When we got to the edge of the storm we both waved to the three lifestyle riders on a side road who were watching us ride by. They pulled out and roared around us and we noted that they were wearing jeans and t-shirts - no jackets, no helmets, and no eye protection. (As an aside, while we are ATGATT riders, we normally don’t care what other people wear - not our business) They disappeared into the blackness before we hit the pea-sized hail followed by the huge raindrops and eventual downpour. The hail and rain pounding on our helmets made quite a racket and stung where it hit our jackets. I honestly have no idea what it must have felt like to our fellow riders. We rode on through the storm for about 30 minutes or so and eventually came out the other side about 20 miles from Sterling, Colorado, our destination for the night. Our Darien Lights did a great job. Despite the downpour, we both came through perfectly dry and so did the rest of our gear.

We rode into Sterling with one eye on the sky and started looking for a place for the night. The sky was dark in the distance but was clear overhead. We found our way to the tourist information center and used their wifi to check the radar and scout for campgrounds. The radar showed the storm we had just ridden through, but it appeared to all be passing to the north of Sterling, so we opted for camping. We found a campground about a mile out of town and set about putting up the tent before Re took off to find something to cook for dinner. While Re was gone, I continued to set up camp and watched the sky slowly turn darker and darker. About the time Re returned, the lightening began and the rain soon followed. We ended up cooking dinner under the overhang of the bath house and ate inside the laundry room while the storm raged outside. We have never experienced lightening striking that close to us or rain that hard. By the time the rain stopped 45 minutes later there was about 2 inches of standing water outside. We waded through the water to our tent and dove in for the night. One of the reasons we chose the Mountain Hardwear Drifter 2 tent was because it was guaranteed to be waterproof and we now believe it, not a drop of rainwater made it inside.

335 miles in about 11 hours, we could hear the chains dragging inside the chain case by the end of the day. Fuel mileage so far appears to be about 91 mpg.

8/5 Sterling, Colorado to Belleville, Kansas
 

We again had a great night's sleep but awoke to a soaking wet campground. After unzipping the rainfly and crawling out of the tent, we surveyed the damage. The water that surrounded the tent the previous night had disappeared but left behind a high water mark on the tent and our Ortliebs. One factor we didn't consider when we chose our lightweight and highly packable backpacking tent was exactly how little space we would have inside. We can get ourselves, our helmets, our daypacks and some odds-and-ends in the tent, but out other gear overnights in the vestibules of the rainfly when it is on the tent and hides under the partially attached fly when it isn’t. Our Darien Lights, however, have spent nights cable locked to the bikes. Hey, they're Goretex, they don't get wet, right? Wrong. The torrential rain and high wind of the previous night combined to completely soak our jackets and pants. Fortunately the laundry room/romantic dining spot was only about 100 feet from our front door, so we pitched the Dariens and our Yampas into the dryers for a quick tumble. We also moved our tent and footprint into the sun to speed their drying while we ate a breakfast of leftover bread and peaches and coffee. The bikes required some attention, too. Both bikes again needed a big chain adjustment, literally the chain adjusters had to be moved about half of one of the set of notches on the swingarm. The adjustment, a squirt of lube, and a quick prayer to the gods of tensile strength would hopefully get us to the middle of Kansas that day. All tires were about 2 psi low, and one of Re's exhaust header nuts was loose. After fixing those issues, I also adjusted both of our front brakes and pronounced them good. Both of us seemed to be working in slow motion all morning. Between the wet camp and the unpleasant ride of the previous day, neither of us felt very enthusiastic about getting back on the road (or doing anything, really). But with everything finally dry and packed up, we eventually got on the road at about 9:30 am.

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Once we started riding, our moods began to improve. The roads were smoother, the traffic friendlier, and the morning air was cool and sweet. We could both feel our spirits lightening and were soon smiling in our helmets once again. As we headed into the morning sun, we both appreciated the tinted sunshields in our Nolan N-90s. As the morning went by, we found ourselves at the Nebraska border and were glad to put Colorado behind us. Nebraska was a welcome surprise- the roads were even better, the other drivers gave us room to live, and the gently rolling hills were much more to our Symbas' liking. In fact, the mighty SYMs were now cruising at an indicated 50 mph or better, up from our previous cruising speed of 45 (which is actually about 43 on the GPS). We were happy to see the better speeds as we had set for ourselves the ambitious goal of 750 miles in the next two days. We didn't realize the effect our higher speed was having at that time. Nebraska gave way to Kansas as we rode down US 83 towards Oberlin where we headed east once again, this time on US 36. US 36, our constant companion for the next 440 miles, was a revelation to me. We have driven all the way across Kansas a couple of times on I-70 and always found it to be eye-gougingly boring. This route, however, was made up of rolling hills through varied farmland, punctuated by small farm towns every 30 miles or so. Early in the afternoon, we stopped for a lunch of Clif bars and apples on a bench in front of a grocery store in one of the pretty small towns (whose name I forgot to write down). The afternoon turned warmer, but we unzipped all of our vents and were comfortable enough as long as we were moving. Mankato, Kansas was our original goal for the evening, but because of our new found speed, we reached it earlier than expected. The sun was low on the horizon, but we decided to head for Belleville which was about 35 miles farther down the road.

We rolled into Belleville sometime after 8 pm and started hunting for a place for the night but soon found there was no room at the inn. The two campgrounds that we found were both full?? We discovered that Belleville is the home of the “Belleville High Banks – The World's Fastest Half-Mile Dirt Track. And it was a race weekend. Whoops. Re soon spotted the billboard that let us know that this was also the weekend of the free County Fair. Double whoops. We split up and started canvassing all the hotels and motels in town, but there was only one room available – and what a room it was. The room was at America's Meth Value Inn, but the A/C was broken. We were offered this room and a fan for the low, low price of $51+tax (and that price included the AAA discount!). At this point, Re asked the manager if there were any other campgrounds in the area and I watched his eyes glaze over as he gestured towards an employee by the pool. She wasn't much help- she was obviously tweaking hard, as evidenced by her constant hopping form one foot to another, arms flailing in random directions, and inability to string five words together coherently. Meth – not even once. Our rapidly sinking hopes were suddenly buoyed by a man in a pick-up truck who was watching this bizarre spectacle. He called out to us to follow him to a campground and we fired up the Symbas and chased him into the fading evening light. A few twists and turns later, we arrived at Rocky Pond County Park and a beautiful campground near the lake. We waved our thanks to this kind stranger and quickly unloaded the bikes. It was extremely humid that night, but the temperature rapidly dropped to a more comfortable level and, thankfully, there were no mosquitoes. As I began setting up the camp for the night, Re took off to find dinner. It was already about 9:30 pm, and her choices were limited to Dairy Queen and Pizza Hut. When she returned, she had a large pepperoni pan pizza strapped to her topcase and two oil cans of Foster's Lager hanging from her handlebars. I love this woman. We sat down to dinner and only saved one piece each for breakfast the next morning (which she hung in a tree in case of marauding raccoons). Manna from heaven! Stuffed with food and beer and exhausted from the day, we happily crawled into the tent and crashed.

375 miles in about 11 hours. The bikes are running better and better, I fattened up the A/F screw and additional ¼ of a turn and had to adjust the idle higher a few times. It seemed like we stopped for fuel more often than usual. The chains are audibly dragging and the clutches are grabby.

8/6 Belleville, Kansas to Columbia, Missouri
 

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After not getting to bed until sometime after 11 the night before, I had set the alarm for the comfortable hour of 7 am. The sun, however, had a different idea and woke us up nearer to 6 am. I looked up to see condensation hanging from the inside of the tent roof and remembered how amazingly humid it had been the previous evening. We rolled out onto the damp grass and saw that our tent looked like it had been rained upon. The sunrise over the lake and morning breeze made for a pleasant walk to the loo before we began our morning routine again. We once again had to put the tent and footprint in the sun so they could dry while we ate and began packing up.

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A long row of picnic tables under a pavilion made a good place to lay out our stuff while we rolled and repacked our bags. Cold pizza and coffee finished, I set to the bikes. The chains were again dragging in the chaincases and had over two inches of play. Sigh. It was at this point that I knew they would need to be replaced once we reached Columbia, Missouri. At least all of our fasteners were tight and air pressures were still good. I also adjusted both clutches as they had become increasingly grabby, particularly when downshifting. When I record the adjustments made to the bikes, I also tote up the amount of fuel purchased the previous day and other costs. Yesterday's fuel purchases amounted to 10.2 gallons, which seemed awfully high – but maybe we started empty and filled up late in the day? And we did cover 375 miles, our most miles in a day so far. Huh.

Bikes sorted and repacked, we turned back onto US 36 for another few hundred miles. The morning was still damp and soon the temperature began to climb. Today's weather forecast called for highs in the mid-90s and a heat index of 105. Good practice for India and SE Asia, we both thought as we unzipped all our vents and loosened our wrist velcro for that extra bit of airflow. With lots of miles to cover, mostly flat roads, and a good place to be that night, we continued our faster pace through the day. Stopping for fuel on the outskirts of St Joseph, Missouri we noted the change between the less populated and more relaxed west and the more crowded and busy midwest. More towns, more cars, more stuff, less space between that stuff – not bad, just different.

Sometime after 1 pm we stopped for fuel at a station that had an attached Wendy's and decided to sit for a while and cool off with a drink that wasn't warm water from our MSR Dromedary bags. We, of course, walk in wearing our gear and again fail to blend in. We ended up chatting with several sets of people about our trip and the bikes, of course. Re has heard me give the spiel about SYM and the Symbas so often that I'm sure she could recite it verbatim. Talking about the trip can get a little tedious sometimes, but it can also be the kick in the pants that we need. It can occasionally be easy to forget what we are really doing when all we can see is another 150 miles before we can take off our gear and sit somewhere comfortable, but talking about it and seeing the reactions of others never fails to remind us. Feeling re-energized, we rode US 36 to Macon, where we stopped for gas again (haven't we been stopping for gas a lot today?) before heading south on US 63 for the final 60 miles into Columbia, Missouri, our destination for the night.

As we reached the outskirts of Columbia, I found myself once again watching our fuel lights rapidly go dark. When we finally stopped for dinner, I pulled out the figures for the last two days and discovered the price of our faster pace – our fuel mileage had dropped from an average of 91 mpg at 45 mph to something nearer to 75 mpg at 50mph. Ouch. The real concern with this much higher rate of usage is our range. With only a maximum of two gallons each, our range just fell from 180+ miles to 150 miles. We are going to have to watch this carefully in the future, especially in countries where fuel isn't so readily available. We stopped for dinner at Lee's Fried Chicken, and our chicken and ribs soon arrived to distract me from this new issue. It's amazing how good food can make other problems seem much less important. Totally stuffed, we waddled back to our bikes and hefted them off of their sidestands for the last 8 miles to the home of Glen and Martha Heggie, our hosts for the night. Re and I are both graduates of Mizzou and Dr. Glen Heggie was one of Re's professors. He and his wife were both avid motorcyclists before their children were born and graciously insisted that we stay with them and make use of their fully equipped garage(!) while we were in Columbia. Martha whisked us into the shower and fed us more and we spent the remainder of the evening chatting and laughing. A nice ending to a hot but good day.

372 miles in under 10.5 hours. The bikes are loving the lower altitude and are running great. The chains, however, are toast – snatching all the way through Columbia and I swear I heard Re's chain skip a tooth.

I'm enjoying your post. I can tell that you spend some time writing them. Keep it up. I like the light weight approach.

Great read! Thanks for taking the time to share your story. Look forward to more. Keep up the good work!

Kindest regards,
John Downs

+ 1 for enjoying this RR, I can't believe the amount of miles you are doing each and every day, maybe you will slow the pace down once out of the US ?

8/7 Maintenance Day
 

It was hard to get up this morning as after our long ride of yesterday and then staying up late with our hosts. Plus we spent the night in a comfortable bed and, with shades on the windows, no sun to wake us. After coffee and a delicious breakfast of ham, eggs, and potatoes we headed for the garage. After 2400 miles of hard riding and noisy chains it was time for some much needed maintenance beyond the daily fettling. With the very kind assistance and advice (and garage, and tools, and rags, and enthusiasm) of Glen, we set to work on the bikes.

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The first order of business was the chains. After we removed the chain guard on my bike, I discovered what poor condition the chains were actually in. My chain had tight spots to where one run had an inch of play and the other was drum tight. Re's chain actually had a kinked link. I don't know why they degraded so rapidly, we knew they wouldn't last the trip but had expected to get more than 3000 miles out of them. While we are carrying heavy loads and running the bikes pretty hard, the chains have been well maintained. Since we purchased them, the chains have been adjusted and lubed every 300 to 400 miles with DuPont Teflon chain lube. Our bikes, however, did sit on the showroom floor for over a year before we purchased them, so I am unsure of their condition prior to sale.

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Regardless of why, they needed to be changed. While I removed the old chains and inspected the sprockets, Glen got out his Dremel and cut the new chains to length. The RK o-ring chains that I had purchased prior to the trip only came in a 120 link length but the Symbas only need 96 of them. The new chains went on easily, but after the chain guard went on, we quickly discovered that the o-ring chain is wider than the stock one, and it was dragging on the chain cover. We removed the covers, spread them slightly, reinstalled them, and everything was quiet once again.

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It was also time for an oil change, so while the oil drained and I checked other fasteners for tightness, Glen was kind enough to run to the auto parts store for two new quarts of 10w40 Castrol GTX. The used oil was somewhat discolored but neither black nor burnt smelling, and the oil screens were clean. While the bikes' oil was drained, Glen and I took the opportunity to adjust the valves. I have the Symba shop manual on our laptop and was able to use it to muddle our way through my first valve adjustment on this type of bike. Screw adjusters are certainly easier than shims but finding TDC on these was not very intuitive. We did learn that my bike lacks many of the timing markings on the A/C generator that are present on Re's, too bad we started with mine first! The valves on both bikes were slightly loose and were easily put back to spec. In my visual inspection of the bikes I found that the tires were still in good shape and appear to have enough rubber to make North Carolina at least. I also discovered that we had donated three bolts to the road along the way – Re had lost one countershaft sprocket cover bolt and we both were missing one leg shield bolt each. With inspection done, valves adjusted, new chains installed, and fresh oil in the crankcases, the bikes were once again ready to roll.

I have said since the beginning of the trip that in my toolkit, I have a wrench to turn every fastener on our bikes. But while changing the chains and adjusting the valves, I discovered there were three fasteners on the bikes for which I lacked an appropriate tool – a deepwell 14mm socket to turn the crank, a big washer to unscrew the cover to get to the crank bolt, and a stubby crescent wrench to turn one rear axle fastener (that must be a 21mm or so). Many thanks to Glen, who donated those tools to our cause and was a great help in getting the bikes fit.

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Re also took the opportunity to clean up the bikes a bit and we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening eating and swapping stories before heading off to bed again.

0 miles today. Topped off the oil in both bikes and added a couple of psi to all the tires.

8/8 Ride to the Lou
 

After another easy morning, rising late and enjoying a home cooked breakfast we bid our goodbyes to our hosts and started down the road again. No maintenance this morning after the marathon session of the previous day. Our time at the Heggie's was a nice break from the road and the bikes seemed to appreciate it as well. The new chains were quiet and smooth and I no longer feared the damage that they might wreak if they broke at speed. We cruised around some of our old stomping grounds and rode to the outskirts of town to see how our old house was fairing before heading back into town for coffee with another old friend. The bikes were parked on 9th Street, a fairly busy street, and we could see them from our table. We smiled at the many passersby who paused when they spotted our steeds and their Oregon plates. At least three people took multiple pictures with their cellphones, but we were enjoying our coffees too much to visit with them.

Jazzed on caffeine, we soon set out for St Louis. The bikes were purring right along, enjoying the lower altitude, smooth roads and relative lack of hills. We marveled at how silent and smooth the new chains were; the clutches were still very grabby, though. It is approximately 120 miles from Coulmbia to St Louis on I-70 and takes less than 2 hours. We, on the other hand, couldn't take I-70, so once again we found the “scenic route” and headed south to ride east along the Missouri River. It was a pretty ride- we'd forgotten how picturesque the town of Hermann was. While it was a nice ride, it also added about 40 miles to the trip and took nearly 4 hours as we soon found ourselves winding our way through the St Louis suburbs on surface streets during rush hour. We spent the warm afternoon idling in traffic and were quite happy to finally make it our destination for the night. We stayed with Michael, another old friend we knew from our days in Raleigh, NC and St Louis. We spent the rest of the evening catching up on life and love and business over Racanelli's pizza and Schlafly Kolsches. We were up well past 1am and finally collapsed into bed for the night.

159 miles in about 6 hours of intermittent riding. The bikes are running good with exception of the clutches.

small horse power means BIG fun, lots of people don't understand but I do!

Love the read, keep it up

Glen

8/9 A day off in St Louis
 

We rose late today, felling a little “dehydrated” from last night's libations. Suitably fortified by several cups of good coffee, we eventually found our way to the shower and made ourselves decent again. Michael had to go to work, so we spent the morning doing some laundry and catching up on some blogging with the help of Michael's wifi. (We also have a more general interest blog at underboningtheworld.blogspot.com but, be warned, that it is more current than this trip report for those who want to read ahead). We had a favorite place for cheap, non-authentic Chinese food near the zoo, so we headed there after noon to see if it was as good as we remembered. It was, and after again eating too much, we set out for the Maplewood Scooter Company.

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This shop was recommended to us by Circleblue, a fellow Symba rider who has put more than 10,000 miles on his bike. They were a SYM dealer until the recent troubles with the importer situation and hopefully will be once again after Alliance can get their stuff together. We met Mike and Jeff who own/run the place and spent some time chatting with them. Mike is a real enthusiast and a knowledgeable mechanic to boot, he gave me a couple of tips on the clutches that seemed to help. I also told him about our struggles with the thin air in the mountains and asked him for his thoughts on replacement needles when he suggested more air instead of less fuel. While we were riding in the high altitudes I considered removing the air filter or even the airbox top, but nixed it due to concerns of too much air and/or no filtration. Mike disappeared into the back and came back with a pair of Uni pod filters he said would fit our carb inlets. He apparently was unable to get a replacement airbox for a cannibalized Symba he acquired and had fitted a Uni to it with decent success. These may be the trick if we are lucky enough to end up in the Himalayas (we are crossing our fingers for a late winter in Nepal) and Mike refused to let us pay for them. Needless to say, if you find yourself in St Louis and need anything scooter related, we recommend the Maplewood Scooter Company. (Seriously, amongst many other scooters,they had 4 Madass 125s on the floor at a very attractive price)

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From here we then went downtown in search of another Symba and to get a picture of our bikes next to the Arch. Form his blog and other postings we knew that Circleblue worked near a certain area in downtown and went on a hunt for his Symba, Billie. We knew that he must park outside as Billie was recently blown over in a storm and began circling the likely blocks, eyes peeled for a black Symba. We almost gave up when we spotted motorcycle parking down a sidestreet and found Billie. We pulled our bikes on to the sidewalk for a quick picture and then headed toward the Arch. But no photos for us because all decent portrait locations are now blocked by “No Parking” signs and bollards thanks to the post 9/11 security measures. As it was a steamy afternoon, block-to-block riding was fast losing its appeal.

Mid-afternoon we headed back to Michael's house (and A/C) for an unsuccessful attempt at reupholstering our seats. From back in the day when some of us roadraced, Michael still had several square feet of ¾ inch high density stick-on foam that we used for seat pad material on TZs and such. I removed Re's seat from her bike, removed the seat cover and then carved some seat foam to fit. The new foam was too thick and incompressible to fit under the seat cover with the stock foam still in place, and I didn't feel comfortable trying to replace the foam with this high density stuff. Instead, I just put the seat back together unmodified and we tried the pieces I cut as another layer under our sheepskins.

We ended the day with dinner at a local Mexican place and a can't miss visit to Ted Drewes for way too much frozen custard and deliciousness. If you haven't already noticed, we do enjoy eating. We were already much too full before we got to Ted Drewes, but we may never be this way again! Back home for an earlier night as tomorrow we head east again.

28 miles and too many stoplights. The bikes are good.

8/10 St Louis, Missouri to Elizabethtown, Kentucky
 

After a restless night's sleep, we arose to another warm morning and were itching to hit the road again. After breakfast, Re started packing our gear while I headed to the garage to once again subject the Symbas to my tender ministrations. (I'm clearly running out of synonyms for turning wrenches) Both chains took a slight adjustment, which I expected they would after our break-in run. I also removed Re's lower chainguard and gave it a further tweak to clear the new chain since it was dragging ever so slightly on decel. I again adjusted both clutches, cold this time as recommended, and slightly tightened one of my exhaust nuts. Bikes good, goodbyes said, we rode out into the morning sun once more. We lived in St Louis in 2002 -2003 and felt a little nostalgia as we cruised past the Arch on our way to the Eads bridge which was the only non-Interstate crossing we could find in the area. The drawback to the Eads bridge is that it dumps you off in East St Louis, Illinois, a particularly unlovely and dangerous place to be. We followed our directions that twisted and turned us through the city, and the urban and suburban quickly turned rural.

The hot morning didn't ever really make good on it's threat of another hot afternoon as the temperature stayed moderate throughout the day. As the morning went by, we meandered through southern Illinois trying to keep our speeds a little lower today (but still wanting to make the 350 miles my schedule asked for). We soon found ourselves at the bridge across the Illinois/Indiana border where we each paid our dollar to cross the crazy patchwork of pavement that made up the bridge across the Wabash river. Exiting the bridge we found ourselves in New Harmony, Indiana, a truly beautiful old town. There were a fair number of white, puffy clouds in the sky as we rode through Evansville and on to Owensboro, Kentucky.

I noticed that Re was falling back and having a hard time maintaining a constant speed so we swapped off lead duties a few times and finally pulled over for a bathroom stop. Re said she was zoning and actually found herself nodding off - the moderate temperature, pleasant roads and lack of glare were not conducive to keeping her awake. No better time to have some trail mix and apples and a quick nap in the sun before heading out again. Refreshed and more awake, we motored on into the early evening.

We finally made it to Elizabethtown and another fuel stop. We were both surprised when I checked my iPhone for the time and discovered it was already after 8 pm as we had apparently crossed yet another time zone. While I pumped the gas, Re asked the cashier and a couple of patrons about the location of any nearby campgrounds. No one knew of any close by so we continued into Elizabethtown hoping to spy a handy road sign or billboard. No luck, so we spotted the local Motel 6 and rode over to see if they'd left the light on for us. As we had recently spent several nights rent-free paired with Re's sleepy day, we decided to go for the relative luxury of another night indoors. While Re carried the bags into the room, I locked the bikes and gas cans to each other. Somehow, we seem less worried about the security of our gear and bikes in campgrounds than we do at hotels. Everything secured, we walked across the road for a stomach ache from Taco Hell. Neither of us have eaten at a Taco Hell for several years (and we were never totally sober when we did) and we both now remember why. Back to the hotel and off to bed for dreams of flatulent chihuahuas chasing our Symbas across the the savannah.

349 miles in about 11 hours of riding. We rode in 4 different states today, a first for the trip. The bikes are running well, the clutches still aren't smooth but they are better.

8/11 Elizabethtown, Kentucky to Elizabethton, Tennessee
 

Up early again in preparation for the long day ahead of us, we found our bikes exactly as we had left them. I unrolled my tarp and spread out my tools in the parking lot and set to the bikes. I was happy to find that they needed the least amount of maintenance of any day on the trip so far. Just some chain lube and one psi in each tire and they were good to go. While I worked on the bikes, Re headed across the street to McDeath for more grease and coffee. I figured the best treatment for a burrito induced stomach ache would be a full frontal assault. As we rolled out of town, I pointed out the campground that was less than a mile from the hotel and laughed.

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Our route for the day was fairly confusing with lots of turns and confusing road signs, so I wrote them on a post-it note that I stuck to the headlight nacelle. It might have been a sign of things to come when I noticed that it blew away within 30 miles of starting out. The morning was fairly uneventful, and it was a pretty ride through the rolling bluegrass of Kentucky. As lunchtime neared, we found ourselves in the town of Pineville, Kentucky where we pulled off of the highway to look for some Clif Bars and fruit. Not finding any on this street, we headed back onto the highway and looked for another likely street. As we came to a stoplight, I spotted a sign for a Subway and a grocery store on the street to the right. I said, “This looks likely” and thought I had clearly indicated where I was talking about. I flipped on my right turn signal and pulled away when the light turned green. We usually ride in a staggered formation with the outside rider taking the lead. I was leading at the time and consequently pulled out first. I saw that Re was also accelerating smartly, but assumed it was to make it around the corner two abreast. I assumed wrong. As I began to turn right I heard the unmistakable sound of a front tire locking up and looked back to see Re struggling mightily to keep her way too top heavy bike upright. She had managed to stop without t-boning me, but now the bike was leaning too far over for her to save it. I jammed on my brakes and came to a stop in the road and looked back to see her bike gently hit the ground on its right side. ****. I ran back to check on her and help pick up her bike. She was fine, she never left her feet and the bike was surprisingly OK, too. The spare rear tire kept the back end off of the ground, and only her mirror and brake lever apparently hit the ground in the front. I then turned around to see my bike laying on the ground on its left side?!? We ran over and picked my bike up and discovered the same lack of anything more than a few scratches. In my haste to get off of the bike, I failed to notice that it was parked on a pretty good downhill slope, in second gear. The only thing that I could figure is that it slowly rolled off of the sidestand. Double ****. We putted into the parking lot of the grocery store and decided to take a break for a few minutes. Re was seemingly unfazed by the incident and was only mad at herself for not being able to keep the bike upright She had been hitting the gym every other day for about 8 months before we left and she is strong, but not stronger than gravity once the bike got past that certain angle.

While I re-inspected the bikes for damage, Re headed into the grocery store for Clif Bars and some fruit. We once again ate by the bikes and dissected what went wrong. Miscommunication, plain and simple, Re thought I meant that we should head further down the highway and was unable to see my turn signal from where she was stopped next to me. We decided at that point that whoever was leading would also signal all right turns with a hand signal as well as the turn signal.

Feeling better with some food in our stomachs and our bikes refreshed by their naps, we continued. When we got underway again I noticed that my left footpeg seemed to be slightly higher now but wrote it off to bending the bracket and kept riding. As the afternoon wore on we crossed into Tennessee and found ourselves gaining altitude again. Fortunately not so much as to upset our carburetion or force us back into third gear. We studiously practiced our hand signals as we traded off the lead throughout the afternoon. After an hour or so I shifted my foot position and realized that my footpegs were rocking up and down on both sides. I signaled a quick stop and we found a patch of shade to park in. Looking under the bike, we found that of the four bolts that secure the footpeg/sidestand bracket, one was gone, one was tight and the other two had backed out at least halfway. Yikes. Out came the 14mm wrench and we tightened up the remaining three while trying to avoid third degree burns from the exhaust pipe. We checked Re's and found them to be tight, so we saddled up and continued on. I wondered as I rode if the loose bolts were the result of rolling off the sidestand or perhaps were part of the cause. Looking back at it, the hill I parked on didn't seem steep enough to cause the bike to roll forward – but it was in second gear and fairly heavily laden... I guess I'll never know.

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Tennessee was also a pretty ride and we made frequent stops to check directions and maps to ensure that we were still heading in the right direction. The clouds ahead, however, weren't so pretty. We stopped early for dinner when we saw the familiar Bojangles (!) sign in the distance. Like an oasis to thirsty travelers, we could barely contain our enthusiasm as we swooped into the parking lot and ran inside for fried chicken goodness. During our twelve years in North Carolina, we developed quite a fondness for this chain. Stuffed on chicken and biscuits, we continued on into the evening. As we neared Elizabethton, our destination for the night, the skies finally let loose and we again found ourselves in the rain. A quick scan of the town didn't reveal a single campground, but we knew that the Cherokee National Forest lay ahead a few miles. As the rain began to let up, we wound our way into the rapidly darkening evening and sighed in relief when we spotted a campground sign. We pulled in, fully expecting primitive camping but found that we not only had a beautiful site next to the lake but there were hot showers to boot! We set up our tent and stove and had a cup of coffee in the light drizzle before crawling in for a peaceful night of raindrops tapping on the tent.

345 miles in about 11 hours. Bikes are running good after their naps but the footpeg bracket is now added to the daily fastener checklist.

8/12 Elizabethton, Tennessee to Hillsboro, NC
 

The overcast morning and heavy trees around our campsite made it hard to get up this morning. The lack of early morning light coupled with the knowledge that our day's ride would be under 300 miles led us to turn the alarm off and snuggle some more. Eventually we rolled out to yet another wet campsite, but things had already begun to dry. While Re made coffee I walked up to the bikes and again was pleasantly surprised by how little maintenance the bikes needed. Chains OK, fasteners OK, oil level OK, even the air pressures were good. Just a shot of chain lube and a slight rear brake adjustment on my bike and they were ready to go. We, however, took some more work – we were glad for the hot showers and hot coffee.

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We finally hit the road around 10 am, our latest start yet, and cruised through the still misty morning down US 321 towards Boone, North Carolina. We really felt at home in this landscape, having lived in the Raleigh area for about 12 years and spent many weekends strafing the Blue Ridge Parkway, 215 and 276, and the roller-coaster section of 74 around Lake Lure. We have lived all over the US, and this area feels as close to home as any of them. Our trip was soon interrupted by a detour sign, 321 was closed at some bridge up ahead, and this necessitated a trip through Mountain City, Tennessee, where we would follow US 421 south back to US 321. Our mild irritation with the detour soon turned to smiles as the drive to Mountain City was gorgeous, and we finally remembered to start taking photos again. We stopped in Mountain City for brunch and the usual questions from people at the restaurant. We spent more time than we should have chatting with the morning coffee brigade and then turned south for North Carolina.

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We hit the border and had to stop for another photo before winding our way further south and east into Boone. Our planned rout sent us down 421 towards Winston-Salem, but I decided that I knew the roads well enough to ignore Google Maps' suggestions. Instead we rode 321 down past Blowing Rock to Lenoir where we picked up 64 east. I recalled that 64 east would join with 70 east, which is the road that would take us to Hillsboro. What I forgot would be the next surprise. Feeling confident in my navigational skills, I paid little attention to the road signs. I had also apparently forgotten that shortly after passing through Salisbury, 70 joins with Interstate 85. Whoops. I didn't actually remember this until we were on the I-85 on-ramp. With no place to stop or turn around we pinned our throttles and shot out onto the Interstate. Immediately swallowed by semis and flying traffic we hugged the right shoulder, but we were in a work zone so the shoulder itself was closed. For nine vaguely terrifying miles we let the mighty Symbas run as fast as they could. I saw an indicated 60 on a slight downhill which unfortunately turned uphill before we saw an exit. We dove off the exit and pulled out the map, which was no help since all we had was just a Rand-McNally road atlas that lacked much detail. Out came the iPhone, and Google Maps once again came to our rescue as it routed us along a couple of country roads and highways that eventually rejoined with 64. All glory to our Mountain View overlords.

We followed 64 through Asheboro before turning north on 49 towards Burlington where we would again try US 70. The sky had again been threatening most of the afternoon and made good on its threat about halfway up 49. We pulled under a gas station awning to zip up vents and then rode into the storm. The Symbas came through the standing water with flying colors. We hit several flooded areas that were about 6 inches deep at speed with no aquaplaning. It rained on and off for the rest of the afternoon and finally stopped when we were about 5 miles from our stop for the night. We pulled into the driveway of our friends Bill and Dawn and were happy to see Bill there to greet us. We had a lovely evening of dinner and conversation, catching up on each others' lives and families. Bill and I worked together for years and started riding at about the same time. It was fun to reminisce about some of our early adventures (like rebuilding my first racebike in Bill's driveway and then putting 50 break-in miles on a totally not street-legal Moto Guzzi V50 with an open megaphone exhaust on the back roads of Durham County).

275 miles in about 9 hours. The bikes are running great but the clutches still aren't quite right.

8/13 Hillsboro, North Carolina to Sneads Ferry, North Carolina
 

We again woke late and had a lazy morning of good coffee and homemade waffles, bacon and strawberries. Thunderstorms were still booming this morning, but since we only had about 200 miles to ride, we were in no hurry to get wet. The radar showed that the line of thunderstorms was slowly working its way east, so procrastination was the order of the day.

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We spent the rest of the morning admiring Bill's stable of bikes, which includes a PC800 and a GB500, and working on ours. Minor tweaks were all they required – a little oil, some chain lube, and a cinch on one of my exhaust header nuts.

Around 1 pm we decided that we should get on the road since we had 6 or so hours of riding ahead of us. We worked our way slowly through Durham before the road opened up slightly, but then we reached Raleigh and again had to slowly wind our way out the other side. Here we were greeted by faster roads and darker clouds and spent the rest of the afternoon dodging showers and other vehicles. The scenery in eastern North Carolina isn't nearly as pretty as the rest of the state, but we were excited to finally be nearing the coast and the end of Phase 1 of our trip. While we tried to exercise some throttle restraint for the sake of our fuel mileage for most of the day, our excitement won out once we turned south in Jacksonville and headed the last 20 miles to my parents' house. Turning into Sneads Ferry we could smell the salt in the air and zoomed down the last couple blocks to our destination for the next couple weeks.

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My dad met us in the driveway, and we got off the bikes for the final time in this leg of our journey. Our butts were looking forward to a couple of days of hot sand and salt water therapy.

We have done over 3800 miles in 12 days of riding, and aside from the chains and one simultaneous bike nap, it's been a trouble-free trip. Thanks to our generous friends who provided us with several nights accommodations and home-cooked meals along the way, our 15 days on the road only cost about $850. Over the next couple of weeks we'll be visiting family and friends, going to the beach, eating east Carolina barbeque, and surveying our vast tracts of land (we just bought 2.5 acres in Selma, NC) before we head out again to Ohio and on to Toronto in early September.

195 miles in 6 hours. The bikes are running well, but the clutches are still unhappy.

8/14 – 8/31 North Carolina
 

For the past couple of weeks we have been staying with family and friends in North Carolina, waiting for Phase 2 to start. It was convenient to leave Oregon when we did as our lease had expired, but we didn't really want to get to Africa before mid-September for weather-related reasons. Initially we had planned to fly to South Africa around the 8th of September but found that we would save about $400 per person if we fly on the 15th. So that gave us a few weeks of downtime to spend visiting in NC. We lived in NC for about 12 years, and most of my family is still here, so it seemed like a natural place to stay. We have had the opportunity to see all of my immediate family and see how much all the kids have grown.

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We also recently purchased about 2.5 acres of land in Selma, NC adjacent to the new “family compound” and wanted to spend some time doing a little work on it. We spent a couple of days clearing some land and “mowing” the section that was formerly a tobacco field with my dad's DR Brush Machine. It was hot and sweaty work, but it at least looks like we did something (at least until the weeds regrow).

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Food has also been a priority and have made the rounds of all our favorite place to eat. Chief amongst them is Scott's BBQ in Goldsboro, NC. We have been eating their porky goodness since 1989, and it's still the best anywhere in the US. Unfortunately they are only open on Thursdays and Fridays for lunch since they reopened after Hurricane Floyd, but we were there on the 18th and we'll be there tomorrow, too!

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We've also been to the beach several times and have been working on our base tans so hopefully we won't get too burned in Africa and India. We took the Symbas to visit North Topsail beach and were ATGATT over our bathing suits. We got a lot of stares and a few smiles as we stripped off our Dariens and hit the sand. The bikes loved the ride, it was the first time in a long time that they weren't carrying a ton of extra weight and we found ourselves swooping through the turns and twisting the throttles wfo at every stoplight. The clutches liked it better, too, and weren't grabby at all – maybe it's just all the extra weight?

Additionally, we did some banking (to get brand new, uncirculated USD to take with us and also a few traveler's checks) and got our International Driving Permits while we were in Raleigh one afternoon. Oh, and hit the Char Grill for the ½ pound steak burger, naturally.

We have also been catching up on these RRs and trying out our new Hero Gopro video camera which we will hopefully soon start using to add some excitement to our RRs and blog posts. Re has also enjoyed having a kitchen again and has been treating people to such good stuff as Steak and Guiness pie and homemade gnocchi. She loves to cook and we have been putting on what I have been jokingly calling our “Africa reserve layer!”

Hurricane Irene also made an appearance last week. Before Irene made landfall about 50 miles up the coast, we put up boards on the windows and got the generator ready for the inevitable power outage. Lots of wind and rain and trees down but we escaped any real damage. We had the boards down by Saturday evening, and by Sunday the yard was clean. The power went out at about 2 am on Saturday morning and came back on at about 2 am on Sunday. The generator kept the beer cold and a few lights on, so it wasn't even much of an inconvenience.

We have had a couple of bike-related issues while we've been here. Re was trying to start her bike one morning, and the starter wouldn't turn over, as if the battery was weak. Because we were in a hurry to get to Scott's BBQ, I just ran over and gave the kickstarter a kick to get it going. The kickstarter would barely turn for a revolution or so and then it turned easily...? The bike fired up, but I almost didn't notice the strong smell of gas when it did. We took off for the gas station as we were nearly empty, and when we got there Re said that her bike wasn't running right. When I filled up the tanks I saw that Re's took nearly .1 gallon more than mine, which is unusual since they usually take almost identical amounts. I swapped bikes with Re and found that her bike was hesitating but would pull a normal top speed, it was just jerky while doing it. Thinking back through our trip, I recalled the beetle that went down the funnel into Re's tank on our third day of our trip. My suspicion was that the low fuel level in the tank might have resulted in beetle parts being pulled through the fuel screen and into the fuel filter, restricting fuel flow. (Maybe?) After a few miles, the bike began running smoothly and kept doing so for the rest of the trip. But the beetle-induced fuel restriction just didn't make sense, the bike would still pull full speed – not like there was a fuel restriction. And then it hit me. I signaled to pull over and looked at the clear airbox overflow tube and saw just what I was afraid of. It was full and it didn't look like oil. Hard to turn over, strong smell of gas when it did, using too much fuel, and blubbering because of too much fuel. My suspicion was confirmed when I pulled the drain plug on the airbox drain and watched the gasoline drain onto the pavement. The bike had “hydraulic-ed,” the cylinder had filled with fuel, probably due to the vacuum petcock not stopping fuel flow to the carb when parked or perhaps a sticking float. Crap. We were only about 5 miles from my sister's house when I finally figured it out, so we stopped for a quart of oil and headed for her place. We drained the oil and it was full of gas, we shook and tilted the bike to try to get out as much as we could – another time when a 200 lb bike is handy. While the oil was draining I dropped float bowl and pulled the float. The float hadn't sprung a leak and the float needle and seat both looked OK, too. (Another nice thing about the Symbas is you can remove the float bowl with the carb still in place on the bike. Just remove the leg shields and the two screws that hold the carb bowl on, and you have full access.) We buttoned the carb back up, pulled the fuel line and found no fuel flow, so whatever the problem was appeared to have fixed itself. (I still think its the ghost of that beetle!) We filled it back up with oil and changed it again the next day. (Another nice thing about the Symba is an oil change only requires 800cc's of oil!) The problem hasn't reoccurred yet, but we are keeping an eye on it.

The other problem is my broken rear spoke. I just found it this morning as I was doing my usual maintenance in preparation for getting back on the road tomorrow. All the other spokes were tight enough, so I don't know why this one broke. It snapped on the end near the rear brake hub, approximately 1 inch from the hub itself. I have a call into Alliance Powersports to try to have a couple Fed-exed to us in Ohio. I hope they come through as it would be the easiest solution, but I also have already checked out Buchanan's as a back-up. Sigh.

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We also partially disassembled the bikes yesterday so we could measure them for crating. We are going to have a crate built by a company in Toronto and are in the process of finalizing our shipping plans. The big bummer is that it appears the crate is going to weigh 275 pounds!?! Apparently it is made out of depleted uranium or something... The bikes only weigh 200 pounds each. And at $6.53 CAD a kilo to ship from Toronto to Cape Town, that is one expensive crate. We are looking into an uncrated option right now and are waiting for a call back. I'd rather they be crated, but between the cost of the crate and the added weight it has added nearly $600 to my estimate.

Tomorrow we head to Selma, NC to visit more family, Friday and Saturday we'll be in Raleigh with friends for drinks and debauchery. Sunday (my 45th birthday) we start our two day ride to northeastern Ohio for a visit with the in-laws before riding to Toronto on the 11th where the bikes get crated on the 12th for a flight on the 15th. We fly out on the 15th and land in Cape Town on the morning of the 17th, where we hope to soon be reunited with our Symbas for Phase 3 of this little ride.

9/1 – 9/3 Last Stand in North Carolina
 

9/1 Ride to Selma, NC

No maintenance today since I did it all the previous day. We re-packed the bikes and rode out about 10am for a lunch date at Scott's BBQ in Goldsboro. As this was the first time we had ridden the bikes fully loaded in over two weeks, we were surprised by their girth. It took the whole day of riding to get re-acclimated to the weight, topheaviness, and lack of acceleration that results from carrying a full 50 pounds of gear on each bike. I also stopped periodically to check on my rear spokes but had no further problems with them. We made our way to Goldsboro and sat down for another meal of porky goodness at Scott's before riding to my sister's house in Selma. We checked over the bikes when we arrived and found no problems, so we toured the property to see what Irene had wrought. Our new mailboxes were still standing and, other than a few downed limbs and split trees, there was no other significant damage to her property or ours. Later that evening we went to my great-nephew's soccer practice and spent time with the family. Afterward, we adjourned to Heidi's in Smithfield for a truly excellent burger and a couple of beers.

122 miles in about 4 hours, bikes running fine.

9/2 and 9/3 Ride to Raleigh

We enjoyed a late morning with my sister before heading for Raleigh. A short ride later we were at our friend Matt's business where we unloaded the bikes and headed out for (wait for it...) more food. A delicious taqueria at the BP gas station on Capitol. Yummy! We spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on what has changed (and what hasn't) before heading out to the Flying Saucer for beer and visiting with more old friends. After another stop for a few more beers we returned to Matt's for the night.

The next morning we woke late (I'm getting too old for this shit) and drank some coffee in an attempt to clear the fog. Shortly after another old friend came by, and we spent many hours catching up on travels and times. Benjy lived in the Chiapas region of Mexico for many years before leaving on extremely short notice due to increasing drug activity and violence in the area. It was fascinating to talk to someone who actually lived in the area for so many years and hear about the changes that he has seen over the years. Lunch and then dinner and then a little hair of the dog before heading to bed early so we could head for Ohio in the morning.

43 miles in about 2 hours, all the spokes are still ringing clearly.

9/4 Raleigh, North Carolina to Front Royal, Virginia
 

We woke up a little late again but felt better than the previous morning. It was my 45th birthday today, and I was looking forward to a good day on the road. Coffee downed and shower taken, I headed out to the bikes for the now familiar routine of morning maintenance. It was a happy surprise to find everything basically in spec, they just needed some chain lube and one psi in the rear tire of each bike, and we were good to go. The weather was good but a little humid as we rode north out of Raleigh towards the Virginia border. We were both experiencing some mixed emotions about our stay in NC. We lived there for 12 years and still have family and friends in the state but left under some unhappy circumstances. Neither of us ever thought we would want to return but both found ourselves a little sad as we rode farther away. These emotions seemed to cloud our journey today. The weather got hotter and more humid, the roads were busier than they needed to be, and I had a bad case of “bike noise paranoia”. We also seem to have lost our paper map somewhere along the way. It was tucked in its usual spot inside the Rok-straps behind Rebekah but went missing sometime during the afternoon.

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I kept checking over the bikes every time we stopped, sure I could see or hear something odd as we slowly made it further north. We stopped for a lunch of Clif Bars and warm water and took a rest in the parking lot of a high school in Oxford, NC. When I once again checked the spokes, I noticed what turned out to be the cause of the erratic tapping that I could occasionally hear – the funnel which is clipped to the helmet lock on the left side of my bike was turned around from its normal position and was banging against the side of the bike in the wind. One mystery solved, we got back on the road and found ourselves in Front Royal, Virginia at about 6:30pm. We had only ridden about 260 miles by this point but my sister (who travels for a living) had mentioned how much she liked Front Royal a couple of times, so we decided to stop for the night. Mistake #1. Maybe there is a North Front Royal?, or maybe life at the Fairfield is nicer?, or maybe it was just our general funk, but we never found the good side of Front Royal. Since it was my birthday, we checked out the under $60 hotels and quickly decided not to stay in any of them. Cigarette burns and moldy carpets were the common denominator and apparently (as evidenced by the numerous non-operable cars outside) the inexpensive hotels in Front Royal also double as Section 8 housing.

So we decided to camp. Hey, it's a tourist area – there has to be good camping, right? Mistake #2. We fired up the iPhone and located several local campgrounds and ruled out a few due to distance. We stopped by one and found out that tent camping (no hook-ups!) was $32, so we rode on. By now it had started sprinkling and our standards quickly plummeted, and the “right” campground turned into the “right now” campground. About this time we spied the Gooney Creek campground and pulled in, determined to take whatever we found and pitch camp ASAP. Mistake #3. If you get bored you can read the reviews on TripAdvisor (that we later found) and appreciate the loveliness of this place. One of the reviews likens it to a campground from Deliverance and that is a pretty apt description. If the place hadn't been packed due to the holiday weekend, I think we might have seriously worried about banjo music late at night. But I digress. As I set up camp, Re once again headed out in search of food. Lightning was flashing in the hills around us by the time she returned. She did a nice job of approximating a birthday dinner with a steak and blue cheese pasta dish, salad, bread, and a tiny cheesecake for dessert, all washed down with oil cans of Foster's lager. We soon went to bed and fell asleep to the sounds of falling rain and the drunkards down the way.

Just a quick update on our spare spokes – it turned out that Alliance Powersports, the SYM importer, was unable to get spokes to us after all. Michael, in the parts department, did put me in touch with Chris from Ootys Scooters in Santa Barbara. Chris recently installed a new front wheel on a customer's Symba and was able to salvage some spokes from the damaged wheel. He, very kindly, is sending a few via UPS to my in-laws house in Ohio, gratis! Thanks, Chris!

280 miles in about 10 hours. The bikes are running fine, I'm just having a little trouble trusting them right now.

9/5 Front Royal, Virginia to Kinsman, Ohio
 

After a not very restful night, we woke up to a soaking wet campground. At least it wasn't raining while we fixed our coffee and ate our peaches. We started taking down the tent and wrenching on the bikes when it began to sprinkle again. A quick check of the radar on the iPhone showed what a long day we were in for. I did an abbreviated service on the bikes, adding a bit of oil and actually airing down the rear tires to 32 psi (from 34). I also dutifully rang every spoke in my new ritual of penance to the gods of tensile strength as it began to rain harder. While riding yesterday I had the opportunity to think about my spokes. Before we started this trip I decided to set our tire pressures at 30/34 (up from the recommended 25/28) for lower rolling resistance and longer tire life. I wonder if the increased pressure might have contributed to the spoke failure by decreasing the amount of “give” in the sidewalls? I guess I will never know, but I decided to lower the pressures just in case.

We decided to skip the shower that morning as we couldn't figure out how to dry off in the rain and (honestly) the bath house was more than a little scary. While the bikes warmed up before we set off, I noticed that my tail light wasn't lit. The brake light still worked, but I had no running light. Fortunately we had an auxiliary bicycle light (my dad insisted that we have them for heavy traffic) that I clipped on and set to continuous red. We hopped on the bikes and headed out once again and strained to see any clearing in the distance.

Our route for the day was confusing. In order to stay off the interstates, the route involved so many different roads that I actually had to write them out as a list. Our missing paper map also added to the confusion since I couldn't check the directions against reality. For a while we were on a different rural highway every 10 miles or so. And it rained, and rained, and rained. It rained for the first 8 hours of the trip: occasionally it sprinkled, occasionally it poured, but the water never stopped. And it was cold. The highest temperature we saw was about 65 degrees. Our gear was purchased with Africa, India, and SE Asia in mind, so warm it isn't. We stopped shortly after we started the ride and cinched up all our vents. Later we donned our fleece pullovers, and by the end of the ride we were shivering. We didn't break out our wool base layers but, in retrospect, should have.

We stopped for lunch in the early afternoon at McDeath, which looked like the warmest and driest place in whatever that town was. We sat and ate for a while as we watched the rain continue to soak our bikes. The gear mostly did what it was supposed to: the Dariens kept the rain out, and our Ortliebs and Pelicans kept our stuff dry. Our boots, however, appear to only be waterproof for 6 hours or so, as we both eventually found our toes squishing in water.

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That afternoon we rode out of Virginia into West Virginia,

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through Maryland,

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and into southern Pennsylvania. The roads in places were as steep as many in the Rockies, and some may have been steeper. Re and I found ourselves struggling up some of the hills in third gear and had to resort to second gear on more than a few occasions. The roads here were beautiful and twisty, and they would have been a lot more fun in better weather (and on a bigger bike). The rain finally stopped somewhere north of Pittsburgh, and we were glad to see some sun trying to break through. After spending the afternoon wringing the water out of our gloves at every stop, our spirits started to rise as we pushed through the last two hours of the day. We finally crossed into Ohio and arrived at the in-laws' sometime after 6 pm and jumped in the hot shower to warm up. Eggs and potatoes and coffee also helped to warm our cores before we headed off to bed.

299 Miles and 5 states in about 10 hours today. The bikes ran well, the spokes held, but I lost a tail light bulb.

9/6 – 9/10 Yet another pause in the Trip
 

Our last stop before leaving the US was a familial obligation visit with the in-laws in northeastern Ohio. One last chance to do some maintenance on the bikes before we pack them up. Yay! And one last chance to listen to my in-laws express their disapproval of our lives. Boo! Tuesday was an easy day of slacking off and sleeping late. The in-laws have 100 acres of land that used to be a rod-and-gun club, complete with a 10 acre or so lake. My father-in-law recently purchased a small pontoon boat with a 2hp electric motor for general lake duty. In the afternoon the sun made one of its very few appearances for the week and in order to take advantage of it, we took the boat out for a cruise and some fishing. The rest of the evening we again tried to explain our reasons for this trip, to little avail.

Wednesday we borrowed a car and rode into town for some last minute supplies and to get out of the house for a while. We picked up fresh oil and a new blue tarp to replace the “custom” bike cover that we somehow lost in Raleigh. It rained most of the day, so it wasn't very conducive to getting much else done. Fortunately we went out to dinner so we could make polite small talk about the food instead of hearing how we are throwing our educations away (again).

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Thursday was a better day as it was not raining too much and we could escape to the garage to do some bike maintenance. Our rear tires were shot and needed to be replaced. We had been carrying a new Michelin Gazelle each in case the stockers didn't last this far, but they did an admirable job for the last 5500 miles. Changing the tires couldn't have been easier. No bead breaker was required, just a firm squeeze with the hands, and no more than one tire iron was ever needed. We did Rebekah's bike first, the tire was easily removed and a tire iron was only needed to start the first bead over the rim. The tube was still in good shape, so it went back in and the new tire popped right back on. On installation, a tire lever was only required for the last couple of inches of the second bead. Sweet. The owner's manual has you remove the exhaust to facilitate getting the tire in and out of position, but I just lifted the back of the bike off of the ground as Re wiggled the tire back in place. Another advantage to a 200 pound bike! I just removed the tire from my bike since I was still (somewhat nervously) awaiting the delivery of my replacement spoke. I also took the opportunity to change the oil in both bikes and to adjust the valves. The valve adjustment is easiest with two people and only takes about 30 minutes, including removing and re-installing the leg shields. The intakes were less than .02mm loose and were easy to put right thanks to screw-type valve adjusters. The exhausts were both still good at .12mm, so we just buttoned them back up. A visual inspection of the chains showed no real change since the initial adjustment after installation. The sun made a brief appearance later that afternoon so we grabbed the binoculars and went out for a bird watching cruise on the lake before another uncomfortable dinner.

Friday was a nervous day, waiting for the UPS man to arrive with my spokes. This was the last chance for them to be delivered before we left for Canada and Africa, so I was more than a little anxious. We spent the morning shopping for my belated birthday dinner and having lunch at a great little hotdog shop in Sharon, Pennsylvania. The UPS man finally showed up around 3 pm with my spokes. Yay! Once again I would like to say “Thanks” to Chris at Ooty's Scoots for saving my butt and sending me these spokes. One of the most pleasant surprises of this trip has been the kindness of complete strangers who have helped us when we needed it. I installed the replacement spoke and popped the new tire on and lifted the rear of the bike so Re could wiggle the wheel back into place. Re got the wheel into the gap, and when I set the back end of the bike back down, we both saw and heard a nut fall out of the rear end of my bike... Well now, that's not right.

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Re pulled the rear wheel back out, and we soon found where the nut came from. The rear wheel of the Symba actually fits on a splined hub that remains attached to the bike when the wheel is removed. Similar to the set-up on bikes with single-sided swingarms, it's a nice system because you don't have to disturb the chain when you remove the wheel. The rear sprocket is bolted to the splined hub by four bolts that are held in place by tabbed washers. This is where the nut came from. Closer examination revealed that only one bolt was mostly snug, one had lost its nut entirely and the nuts were almost off on the other two... More worryingly still was that one bolt head had clearly been rubbing against the inside of the swingarm and had machined some thickness off of the bolt head. Not cool. The tabs on the washers appeared to have not done much good as they were all partially bent away from the bolt heads. I removed the hub from the bike, removed the bolts, re-flattened the washer tabs, and put it all back together and re-staked the tabs as tightly as I could. We then put it all back together and fit the wheel in place once more. We tightened everything back up, adjusted the chain and pronounced the bikes (after I inspected the bolts on Re's) fit for Africa! Ahem.

Saturday was our last day in Ohio and most of the day was taken up by lunch with many of Re's extended family, which was nice; it was good to catch up with some people we haven't seen in a long time. The not so nice part was the 1.5 hour ride each way with the in-laws. Later that evening we had the big discussion over dinner. Re and I both know that our lives make some people very uncomfortable. One common reaction to our situation seems to be that our lives make people reflect on decisions in their own lives that they have (or haven't) made and things they have or haven't done. The reactions to this seem to vary from people looking quietly confused to outright hostility. It's very peculiar. We often say how our lives aren't for everyone and that everyone has to do what makes them happy. We certainly never try to push our way of life onto other people and we wish other people would do the same. After another awkward evening, we headed to bed early so we could be on the road in the morning.

No miles, just a lot of maintenance.

9/11 Ride to Toronto
 

We rose early and got going quickly as we couldn't wait to get on the road again. Re's mom cooked us omelets, potatoes, and sliced tomatoes all accompanied by some good coffee. We loaded the bikes under gray skies (again) and said our good-byes and we were off. Heading north towards Lake Erie the sky began to lighten and the sun made a brief appearance. Our spirits felt lighter than they had all week as we approached the North Coast. We turned east on US 20 and crossed into Pennsylvania.

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We stopped for a quick commemorative picture at the border as we had just completed the first 5000 miles of this trip. The ride was pretty even though the sun decided to hide again, the light traffic allowed us to enjoy the fields of grape arbors that populate this region.

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Enjoying the sights and smells we soon found ourselves at the New York border where even the light raindrops dotting our face shields didn't dampen our spirits. We turned onto NY 5 which followed the coast more closely and we spied glimpses of the water through the grape arbors as we cruised along. We stopped in Dunkirk, NY late in the morning to stretch our legs and have a peach. Refreshed we continued towards the ever darkening skies which finally let loose near Angola, NY. At first we attempted to keep going but the pummeling rain limited visibility to only a few hundred feet. I spied a car wash on the left and we quickly pulled off through the standing water and into the shelter of an empty bay. We hid out for about 30 minutes, waiting for the rain to subside. We also enjoyed another Clif Bar and water lunch. Only the best for me and my lady! The rain eventually slacked off and we made for the Canadian border and (hopefully) drier pastures. As we approached the Peace Bridge we were happy to see blue skies ahead. A few minutes later we had completed our first border crossing, paid our $6 toll and promptly missed our first exit. A few u-turns later we were heading west through the Canadian countryside. This was our first real visit to Canada and were surprised to see how similar it is to the US. There are some notable differences, though. We really are enjoying the cultural diversity and the associated cuisines. I am also enjoying the denim shorts that seem to be the style here for women. As an unrepentant ass-man I certainly appreciated the “scenery” as we rode. (Sorry, I didn't get any pictures) We wound our way through the countryside and eventually made it to our hotel that will be our temporary home until 9/15 when we depart for Cape Town.

279 miles an about 9.5 hours. The bikes are running well.

9/12 – 9/14 Prepping the bikes for their flight to Cape Town
 

Monday morning we rode the mighty Symbas through Mississauga morning rush hour traffic to Pack-All Crating. This crating company was recommended to us by our contact at British Airways Cargo. We arrived around 8:30 am and met with our contact who directed us around to the warehouse. We rode in, and the foreman found us a safe spot to park the bikes. We had to explain our plans a couple of times before everyone understood how we wanted them crated. Everyone was very friendly and helpful and let us get to disassembling the bikes.

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While I removed the front wheels and fenders from each bike, Re disconnected the batteries and also acted as a counterweight. We then unbolted the handlebars and folded them so they were parallel with the front forks. The handlebar mounting bolts are partially hidden below the speedometers and were a pain in the ass to remove. I then zip-tied the handlebars in place, and we arranged the bikes as they would be fitted in the crate. Once we had them arranged, measurements were taken and the crate size finalized. The whole process took about 1.5 hours. The good news of the day was that due to the small size and light weight of our bikes it was determined that we could use a lighter weight crate (apparently the depleted uranium option wasn't required). Our crate will now only weigh 212 pounds instead of 275 and at $3 CAD per pound, it adds up rather quickly. We left our bikes in their capable hands and walked the 3 miles or so to the airport terminal where we picked up our rental car. We are out of the habit of walking so far, especially carrying all of our riding gear in hand. We drove back to the hotel and collapsed. The shipping issue has been the most stressful part of the trip so far and getting this far was a relief.

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Tuesday we wrote some blog posts and RRs and generally hung out. We did go out for a really delicious thali lunch at some Indian restaurant and sweets shop in a strip mall across from the airport. They were doing renovations so we had to get our food to go. We tried to find a park to eat in but settled for the bleachers at a ballpark next to the Powerade Centre. I always take Re to the nicest places! At least the food was excellent, with one of our favorite taste treats, soan papdi for dessert. We called the crating company later in the afternoon and were told that we could come by the next morning to put the last few items in the crate.

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Wednesday we headed back to the crating company early in the morning. When we got there, we found our bikes loaded in their crate and the top waiting to go on. We put our helmets and riding gear in the crate and then watched while they closed it up and stenciled on all the appropriate markings. Shortly thereafter, the cartage company arrived and loaded it into their truck for the 3 mile ($100 CAD!!) ride to the British Airways Cargo facility. We followed in our car and met with Desmond Green who was filling in for Savio that day. In less than 20 minutes, we completed all the paperwork and paid for the shipping and were on our way to lunch. Our crate came in at 70x44x38 inches and 301 kilos, which meant that we had to pay for 320 kilos since that was our weight by volume (length X width X height in inches /366 is the formula to calculate volume weight in kilos, and they charge you whichever is heavier, actual or volume weight). Including the $250 CAD dangerous goods fee and $25 CAD in paperwork, the total was $2364.60 CAD. Add in $389 for the crating and cartage, and our grand total was $2753.60 CAD. Since we have an address in the US to invoice, we are not subject to the 13% HST, which saved us a little bit on the crate cost. More than I hoped for but less than I feared, my original guesstimate was around $2400, but after we heard the crate weight and HST when we were in NC, I was figuring closer to $3000 CAD. . This is still far better than any quote we could get out of the US. We were offered our own 20 foot container by sea to Durban for over $4000 or airfreight from New York for $8300!!

Our flight for Cape Town leaves at around 11 pm on 9/15, so between then and now we have laundry to do, and we have to completely re-pack our luggage for the airplane.

Our trip so far has covered a combined 10484 miles. We have used 113.25 gallons of fuel over that distance for an average of 92.6 mpg. We also averaged 327 miles per day of riding, which ain't bad for 100ccs!

good job! excellent ride report, well-written and entertaining. :thumbup1:

looking forward to the next part... although slightly worried about how the bikes are going to fare in africa! :confused1:

9/15 – 9/19 Africa!
 

9/15 and 9/16

Thursday morning we got up and repacked our luggage for the plane. We stuffed our Ortlieb duffels into the Pacsafe sacks for the first time in anger, and they fit! We had to return the car by 1pm, but our flight didn't leave until 10:45 pm. We hoped to be able to check our bags at 1 and have the afternoon to visit Toronto via public transport, but no luck. Instead, we sat in the Toronto airport for over 10 hours. Our flights were relatively uneventful, just long. From Toronto to Abu Dhabi was 11 ½ hours in flight followed by a 3 hour layover. Our flight to Cape Town went via Johannesburg, so it was 8 hours to Joburg, a 1 hour layover, and 2 more hours to Cape Town. This was our first flight on Etihad, and overall, we were impressed. The seats have good leg room, the food was excellent, the flight attendants wear cute hats and tight little skirts.

9/17

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We arrived in Cape Town around 8am, breezed through immigrations and customs, hit the ATM, and hopped the MyCITI bus into downtown Cape Town and arrived at the Cat and Moose Backpackers' Hotel by 10am. This is the place that Fishfund and company spent a month earlier this year while waiting for their bikes. Hopefully we will have better luck. When we checked in, John remembered Nick and Luke and laughed about their misadventures. They apparently made quite an impression here. While we dozed some on the plane, we were still very tired, so we took a 3 hour nap before heading out to see some sights. Cape Town is a strange place. The poverty, high rate of unemployment, and racial tensions makes for an uncomfortable mix. Some areas of the city are very beautiful, but I feel like I have to be constantly aware of our surroundings, which lessens the enjoyment. Still tired, we hit the bed early and (accidentally) slept for 13 hours. The biggest surprise is how chilly it is here. I thought Africa was supposed to be hot! Today's high was only 65 degrees and the overnight low was in the upper 40s.

Accommodations and food also seem like a poor value compared to southeast Asia.

9/18

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After a long night's sleep we woke to a gray , rainy, and chilly morning. We are glad we brought wool base layers and fleece pullovers. With our Marmot rainjackets over top, we are staying reasonably warm (but I thought this was Africa?!?). Originally we had wanted to tour some museums, but most of them were closed since it was Sunday, so our quest instead, was for a gas can. The staff at the guesthouse made some suggestions, but we had no luck at the 3 stores we visited. We can't seem to find either an auto parts store or the equivalent of a Wal-Mart. We really need a gas can for tomorrow because, after signing up for the shitty wifi, British Airways cargo website informed us that our bikes had arrived at noon today!!!! We spent the rest of the day consulting the maps and guidebooks while planning our next week or so of travel. In the name of science, we retired to our room in an attempt to determine if, like water in the sink, anything else spins in the opposite direction now that we are south of the equator. The results were inconclusive, so we have planned further testing!

After dinner we stopped out at a local bar to enjoy our first Carling Black Labels before hitting the bed early, as tomorrow will be a busy day.

9/19

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We got up early this morning and gathered all the tools and paperwork we would need for our trip to the airport. Re found the number for Swissport Cargo, who handle British Airways cargo handling, and called and confirmed that our cargo was ready and waiting for us. John was finally back on duty at the front desk and pointed us to apparently the only store in Cape Town that carries gas cans. We walked the ¾ mile to the store, then another ½ mile to the nearest gas station, then another ½ mile to the bus to take us back to the airport. With 4 liters of gas in our new can, we rode to the airport.

Around 10am we arrived at the passenger terminal, and Re got directions to Swissport, and we walked another ¾ mile to the cargo building. Along the way, we collected a number of strange looks from the workmen and passersby as we trudged along the highway with our backpacks and our gas can. We found our way to the counter at Swissport Cargo and procured our paperwork. Our next stop was the neighboring Customs building, where our journey was almost interrupted. The guard escorted us to Room 39, where we met Susie, who looked none too happy to see us. We passed our paperwork through the slot in the counter, and after examining it, she told us we would need a broker to complete the transaction. Luckily I was in the process of pulling out our Carnet documents at the time, and upon spying these, she asked whether we had Carnet. After finding out that we did, her mood changed entirely, and she said it would be no problem. She filled out some paperwork for us to take back to Swissport and told us to bring the bikes back when they were uncrated. We returned to the Swissport counter with papers in hand, turned them over, paid the 195 Rand (about $26.50 USD) handling fee, and took the papers to the warehouse.

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Here is where we met several of our new best friends. Chief among them was Karim, a supervisor in the warehouse. He immediately took us under his wing, due in no small part to Re's charming ways and quick humor. For insurance reasons, we could not uncrate the bikes inside the warehouse, so Karim brought our crate to the parking lot and proceeded to help us uncrate the bikes.

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Over the next hour and a half or so, we had a rotating cast of at least 7 helpers who “assisted” us with reassembly. Apparently we were the funnest thing going that day, as we attracted new friends from the warehouse and from the customers who came to pick up their own freight.

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The bikes went back together relatively easily, but it may have been faster with fewer people involved! Both bikes fired up immediately and don't appear to be any worse for their trip. We were a little concerned about how to dispose of our crate, but one of our helpers asked what we were going to do with it and was overjoyed when we told him it was his for the taking. After a quick test ride around the parking lot, we rode over to Customs, where Susie came out to do her inspection of the bikes. Back inside to have our Carnets stamped, and we were on the road by 2pm. We were surprised how easy and pleasant an experience this was: we cleared Customs ourselves and reassembled the bikes in less than 4 hours and had a good time to boot! It was exciting to actually pull out onto the main roads on another continent. We got a lot of bewildered looks from people in passing cars as we made our way down the N2 into the center of Cape Town. A 100cc bike may not be much in the kingdom of motorcycles, but as we cruised down the roads we'd walked earlier today, I realized it's a hell of an upgrade from walking.

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Back at the Cat and Moose, John held the front gate open for us as we rode down the hallway and into the courtyard, where our bike sit safely tonight. Tomorrow we plan to hit the museums we missed on Sunday before we head south to Hermanus on Wednesday.

9/20 – 9/22 Cape Town and around
 

9/20 Museums and Laundry

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Because we missed the museums on Sunday due to the rain, we decided to get some culture today. We first went to the Castle of Good Hope and wandered about. Re and I were both left with an odd feeling after visiting this museum. Most of the displays in the museum were military in nature (obviously) but dealt with the area's history from the perspective of the people who colonized it. Prior to this, whenever we visit a museum in another country, the history has been told from the perspective of the native people. Strange.

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After the Castle we walked up to the District 6 Museum. This museum traces the history of the District 6 section of Cape Town before, during, and after it was declared a “whites only” section in the 1960s. Since District 6 was populated entirely by black and coloured people, they were all removed, sometimes forcibly, to “townships” far away from the center of Cape Town. This policy destroyed the communities of District 6 and eliminated all the industry and jobs that used to be. We both left this museum feeling sad and angry. We spent the rest of the afternoon doing laundry and reinstalling luggage on the bikes.

9/21 Ride to Hermanus

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We got up early, had breakfast, and got to work on getting on the road. The bikes survived their flight well, but the tires all around were 2 psi low. After remembering where all this crap went, we piled it on the bikes and rode out of the courtyard, down the hallway, and into the streets of Cape Town, where we promptly stopped for gas. We headed east on the N2 and were excited to finally be on the road again. One of the issues we've come across in Africa is maps. Before we left the US, we purchased the Michelin Central and Southern Africa map. While it's a large and pretty map, the one thing it lacks is road numbers of any kind. Oh, it shows the roads, it just neglects to tell you their names. So here we are, heading down the N2, and I am navigating using a not to scale map ripped out of a hotel guide. This shouldn't be a problem since I know it's the N2 to the 44 to the 43 to Hermanus. It's a cool but sunny day as we zip down the highway when suddenly, I spot the M44. That sounds right, so up the exit ramp we go. When we get to the top, we both experience a moment of panic when we realize we are not in Kansas anymore. Stretching on as far as the eye can see, both north and south, is a shanty town of shacks, homes, and businesses. We turn south on the M44 and ride right into the Khayelitsha township. We follow the road through at least 10 miles of this township, never stopping completely at the stop signs, but smiling and waving at all the kids as we ride by. The road eventually ended at the coast, and we knew we had taken the wrong road. I pulled out the GPS and punched in Hermanus, and it led us back to the N2 via a different road. Once back on the N2, we came across the R44. What a difference a single letter makes!

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The R44 soon led us to the coast and to one of the most beautiful rides anywhere. The ride from Gordon's Bay to Bettysbaai is breathtaking, it's a beautiful ribbon of road sandwiched between the cliffs and the ocean.

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We stopped in Bettysbaai to see the colony of penguins (aren't we in Africa?) and a quick lunch outside the takeaway shop. Maybe we are in Africa, since the shop had a hand-lettered sign to keep the door shut in order to keep the baboons out.

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We spent the rest of the afternoon winding our way to Hermanus, which is a beautiful seaside town that is famous for the whales that calve in the bay. We spent the night at the Hermanus Backpackers Cottage and had a delicious dinner of fish and calamari at the local fish house.

100 beautiful miles today, bikes ran great!

9/22 Ride to Cape Agulhas and Back

Re decided that we needed our picture at the southernmost point in Africa, so after breakfast and a quick look over the bikes, we hit the road. It was a cool ride today, but another sunny, clear morning. This area of South Africa is known as the Overberg (over the mountain) as a ridge of mountains runs from the sea northward through this region. We spent the day riding up and down some fairly steep hills. The scenery was not what we expected when we imagined Africa. It reminded us of Scotland and somewhat of the Cascade Range of Oregon. Since it's currently spring, there are wildflowers everywhere, and we also saw baboons, ostriches, and blue cranes as we rode. About 20 miles from Cape Agulhas, we stopped to pick up a picnic lunch and then rode the final distance. We were both amazed at the color of the water when we saw it. It was turquoise water running up to white sands.
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We wound our way to the lighthouse and then rode the final 1.5km to the parking area 150 meters from the southernmost point. We had a picnic lunch on a bench, chatted with a few other riders, and walked down to the marker.

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Cape Agulhas is also the point where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet, and Re dipped her hand in each ocean just for fun.

We rode back to Hermanus and hit the cliffs for some whale watching. One of the splurge items we are carrying is a full-size pair of binoculars, and we put them to good use watching the four whales we spotted within about 30 minutes. We hit the grocery store for some ostrich burgers, new potatoes, carrots, and a bottle of local wine and went back to the guesthouse to cook some dinner.

180 miles, bikes ran well, but I lost my sheepskin seat pad along the way.

9/23 Ride to Citrusdal
 

After an interesting breakfast of mealie pap and toast, I gave the bikes a once-over while Re packed up the room. The bikes finally seem to be broken in, as no adjustments were needed. One piece of equipment we are still missing is a gas can for Re's bike. We checked in a few stores in Hermanus but came up empty handed. So as we were returning the keys at the guesthouse, I asked the receptionist if she knew where we could get one. She assured me they would have them at the Total station on the way out of town. We stopped there and I went inside to ask for a gas can, and the lady behind the counter said they didn't have such a thing and directed me to one of the guys working the pumps (all gas in South Africa is full-serve). I asked him if he knew where to get a jerrycan, and he smiled and asked if a 5 liter can would be okay. Sure, I said, how much? 5 Rand (about 66 cents), he replied. Since the last gas can I bought in South Africa cost $17 USD, here is where I became a little suspicious. I followed him around to a door on the side of the building, which he opened to reveal a storage closet. He pulled out a 5 liter plastic bottle that formerly held some kind of cleaning fluid and was ignominiously hand-lettered with the word, “toilet” on the side. Awesome, I thought. He rinsed it out with some fresh (?) water and proceeded to fill it up with Total's finest dino squeezins. I just giggled as I carried it back to Re's bike and giggled even more as I strapped the toilet bottle to the front rack on her bike.

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With that, we were off. Our route today took us west along the R44, taking us back through all the pretty scenery from a couple days ago, and when the R44 turned north, we continued on it through wine country. At one point along the coast, we stopped at a scenic overlook to refuel and were surprised when a sightseeing van unloaded next to us, and there were several Americans in the crowd. Some of them were from Washington state, and we ended up chatting with them for at least a half hour. They were incredulous that we are here on these bikes. We had a good time telling them all about our trip, bikes, and gear. The ride through the wine country was scenic and became more mountainous as the afternoon wore on. We eventually made it to the small town of Citrusdal, our destination for the evening. We rode through the orange orchards on our way to The Baths, our campsite for the night. The Baths is an old resort with a range of cottages, rooms, and campsites, but the real attraction is the mineral hot springs that feed the baths. While the guidebooks and their own website describe The Baths as overlander friendly, we didn't find them friendly at all. There are a lot of riders of a certain brand in South Africa, and our reception from them has been unfailingly chilly.

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We pitched our tent, cooked up a dinner of sausages and apples with oranges from the local grove for dessert. Then we grabbed our suits and headed for the baths. We soaked in the pools for a couple of hours as the sun set and the moon rose before heading back to our tent for the night. As we zipped ourselves into the tent, we were both a bit nervous since this was our first night of camping in Africa.

199 miles in about 7 hours.

9/24 Ride to Kamieskroon
 

After a surprisingly good night of sleep (we weren't visited by lions or elephants or even giant spiders in the night) we woke with the sun and started breaking down camp. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, more oranges, and coffee, we set about preparing to get on the road. The bikes needed nothing – even the tire pressure has been holding. We enjoyed the most powerful shower this side of a firehose before suiting up and jumping on the bikes. I hit my starter button and the crank didn't even spin a half a revolution before coming to an abrupt stop. Since we had a similar incident with Re's bike in NC, I had an idea what the issue was. I tried to give the kick starter a quick jab, and it wouldn't move. While I popped the spark plug access panel off and removed the plug wire, Re retrieved the factory “toolkit” from under the side cover. I pulled the spark plug, kicked the bike over, cleared the fuel from the cylinder, popped the plug back in, and buttoned everything back up while Re stowed the toolkit. The entire procedure took less than 5 minutes, and my bike fired right up.

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We pulled out of the campground and went back toward the N7 with my bike showing no ill effects of my little hydraulicing problem. Note to self: install petcocks sometime. The ride up the N7 was relatively boring, just a long straight highway and a headwind to boot. We've been off the bikes too long and need to get back into riding shape, as both of our butts were barking by late afternoon.

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We did however, see some animals along the way: ostriches, weaver birds, and our favorite was the pygmy giant land tortoise (at least that's what I told Re it was. I don't think she believed me.). This little guy was cruising across the highway, and I have a soft spot for things that are even slower than us, so we banged a u-turn and went back to rescue him. Apparently African tortoises are just like their American cousins, as this one peed all over Re's glove while she held him.

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The day's ride was warm, but that changed in mid-afternoon when we crested one hill and it got just plain hot. The landscape suddenly changed from orchards to rocky, dry desert. The heat made the ride seem even longer and our butts even sorer, and we decided to stop riding early today. Our original goal was Springbok, but Kamieskroon was 50 miles sooner. Upon exiting the highway we spied the Kamieskroon Hotel, which the guidebook said had camping as well. Since we were the only campers there, we made our choice of the sites and set up camp. We needed fuel and food (and beer) so we rode into town in search of sustenance. Unfortunately, everything was closed, which seemed odd for a Saturday at 5:30pm. The only store with food that was open was adjacent to the gas station, and Re made the best of the limited selection and we headed back to camp, where she fixed a sort-of corned beef hash with sweet potatoes, crisps, and more oranges from Citrusdal. The sun sets early here, it's dark by around 7pm. We did enjoy the early sunset tonight since the sky was completely clear and there is no light pollution in Kamieskroon. We pulled out the binoculars, laid on the patio on our backs, and looked at more stars than we've ever seen anywhere in North America.

221 miles in about 8 hours. Once we got my bike running, they ran fine.

9/25 Ride to Namibia
 

The day did not start well when I realized that the sun was already well up in the sky by the time I finally awoke. I looked at Re's iPod Touch that we were using as an alarm clock and realized that I had created a new alarm time but had failed to activate it. Instead of getting up at 5:30, it was now 6:30. Grr. Normally we snooze for 30 minutes or so, but now we had to bounce. I wanted to get on the road early today since we had a short day yesterday and didn't know how long it would take to cross the border. We made a quick morning of it and got on the road by 8:30. The bikes have me spoiled now, needing no adjustments or fiddling for the past several days – just a shot of chainlube and the usual checks. No repeat of the previous day's fuel problem, either. The one worrying issue is that our new rear tires seem to be wearing quickly. We only have about 1000 miles on them, and they have squared off noticeably and are losing tread depth faster than I would like. Considering we got over 5000 miles on the no-name stock tires, I am disappointed in these Michelins so far. We do have another spare tire each but we will have to start looking for another set of rears before we hit the more remote regions. The fronts, however, are still going strong with over 6500 miles on them!

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The ride this morning started out warm and felt like it was going to be a hot one. We are carrying 5L of water each and haven't yet come near to drinking it all in a day, but we are making a concerted effort now to drink more as we ride. We continued north on the N2 and stopped for fuel in Springbok, we filled up the bike's tanks, my fuel jug and Re's “toilet bottle” as we were unsure about fuel availability further north. It is a long way between places out here. We also stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some provisions for the day, Re went in for a loaf of bread, some biltong (dried meat), and some apples. While I sat and waited with the bikes, I enjoyed the curious stares of the local people who were obviously surprised to see me and the bikes in the parking lot of their local grocer. After getting back on the highway for the final 70 kilometers to the border, we hit an even hotter headwind that slowed us to about 40mph and (as we discovered later) killed our fuel mileage. I would estimate that it was nearly 100 degrees or warmer. The scenery continued to change as we rode further north, all vestiges of greenery were gone and the land got rockier. Traffic was also extremely light after Springbok, 20 minutes or more would go by between vehicles overtaking us. The drivers in South Africa have been extremely patient with our slow progress; the majority give a friendly wave as they pass.

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We finally made it to the border with Namibia at about 12:30pm and were amazed to see that there were no vehicles waiting to cross. Maybe it was because it was Sunday, or maybe its that Namibia is a nation of only about 2 million people and most can't afford motorized transportation. Whatever the reason, we breezed through the South Africa side and found them to be very prompt and professional. The border area is secure and surrounded by a tall fence and guards, so no border “helpers” to deal with. We hopped off the bikes, went through immigration, then to customs to have our Carnet stamped and finally to a check of our passports by the police. Then back on the bikes to the final inspection station where we met Constable August, a most funny and friendly fellow. We suspect he was just bored but we ended up chatting with him for 15 minutes or so until another vehicle showed up and he waved us on.

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The Namibian side was different. Much less professional, people were just kind of hanging around and watching the world go by. The immigration official was the cheerless sort but processed our paperwork efficiently and sent us on to the road tax department next door. Here we met two women who appeared more interested in chatting with each other than helping us fill out the odd paperwork required. We struggled through and eventually paid our 140 NAD each (the guide we have says it was 70 NAD each in 2010?) and received our receipt. (We later learned that we were indeed overcharged. 140 NAD is the rate for cars, 90 NAD is the correct rate for bikes) Then onto the Customs department where our Carnet was processed, but no one even ever looked at our bikes or verified anything. Strange. But we were through and headed back to the bikes to start turning wheels in the fourth country of our trip so far. The whole process took about an hour, and we did get very warm while crossing the border and were feeling very sweaty by this point. Our Darien Lights do a remarkable job of keeping us comfortable in fairly hot weather, but only when we are moving. Standing around at counters waiting for stamps is another matter. It felt good to get some airflow as we pulled away. We soon spotted a fuel station and dove in for some more 95 unleaded. We were happy to see that fuel is a little cheaper in Namibia than in South Africa. The Namibian dollar is pegged to the South African Rand and can be used interchangeably, which is handy as we still had about 1500 ZAR on us. After fueling up the bikes, we sat in the shade and had a lunch of the items Re bought earlier and a couple of cold! Coke Zeros.

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Back on the road, we headed north on the B1 for Grunau, our destination for the night. If we thought there was nothing in northern South Africa, we were wrong. There is really nothing in southern Namibia, no towns, no houses, just fences stretching on for miles and miles. The afternoon wore on, still hot and still nothing to see. This is the part of riding I don't like, just grinding out miles, and I did find myself wishing for a faster bike (gasp!). We were also picking up elevation the whole way and found ourselves around 4000 feet above sea level at times. The long hills and still strong headwind slowed our progress and it took nearly 3 hours to go the final 100 miles to Grunau. When you only have 7 hp, you learn to dread headwinds and long climbs.

Once we reached Grunau we were underwhelmed by it, to say the least. We didn't expect much, but it is a name on the map so we expected more than just a few houses, one hotel and a gas station. Re checked the hotel and found that a room would be nearly 70 USD for not much. We rode on a little further, and I spied a sign that said “Accommodasie” on the side of the gas station so we pulled in to check it out. They had bungalows next to the gas station for about $65 USD but they did also have camping for about $14. Camping it was as it was nearing 5:30, and the next town was over 150 kilometers further. The camping was actually very nice, and we were the only campers that night. Each campsite had two concrete walls to screen it from the wind and a private (lockable) bathroom. Built into the walls are a braai pit (bbq grill), an outdoor sink, and some counter space. The compound was also surrounded by a 7 foot tall electric fence?!? We felt very secure and a little weird once they closed the gate for the night, why do they need such a fence. We ate dinner in the restaurant at the gas station and drank an entire 2L Coke Zero between us. We also enjoyed their wifi until they shut it off when they closed the store at 8pm. We were very sad to see the beer cooler locked and the sign that said there were no beer sales on Sunday. We must have looked sad enough at this as the cashier later sold us a couple of Windhoeks (since we were staying at their campground it was OK, she said). One of the best parts of the trip so far was later that evening when Re and I sat on the counter, drinking our cold Windhoeks, talking about the day's ride, while the moon rose and the electric fence hummed faintly in the background. The air was rapidly cooling, but the concrete of the counter was still warm from the day and we talked and laughed into the night.

229 miles in about 9 hours, with a border crossing. The bikes are starting to wheeze a bit from the altitude, and the headwind was hard on the mileage.

9/26 Ride to Mariental
 

After a decent night sleep, we woke up to a chilly and windy morning. We had breakfast at the gas station and made use of their wifi to Skype home. We had another long ride ahead of us today, and neither of us was really looking forward to it. Our original plan for this trip was to average around 100 miles per day, but so far we're averaging many more. The distances between cities in Namibia is so great that we grinding out miles is our only option. Today's ride was made even more difficult by another strong headwind. Instead of cruising 45mph at three quarters throttle, we rode most of the day at WOT and could barely maintain 40mph. As we rode, the elevation rose to over 4500ft, and I adjusted the A/F screw one quarter turn leaner to try to minimize the power loss. As the day got hotter and our butts got sorer, the enthusiasm dwindled.

After refueling in Keetmanshoop, we decided to have a hot lunch and a cold drink in the air-conditioned comfort of the Wimpy's. Feeling a little cooler and happier, we continued our journey north. As my new 5 liter fuel jug had no gasket in the cap, I've only been putting 4 liters in it to minimize leakage, and for the same reason, we've only been putting 3 liters in Re's toilet jug. Up until now, this has been enough fuel to get us to the next stop. Today was almost the exception. The fuel stop between Keetmanshoop and Mariental is in a town called Asab, or at least it was supposed to be there. As we rolled into Asab and pulled into the gas station, I noticed that all the fuel pumps had their outside covers removed and that there were local people camping, both inside and outside of the gas station building. Knowing the outcome, I still pulled up to the pump and cringed when a man ran up and shouted, “No petrol.” Well, poop. With no other choice, we turned back onto the highway and continued north at an even slower pace. Today's ride became an economy run. We lowered our speed to 35mph and my attention was now divided between our dwindling fuel lights and my GPS as it counted down the miles to Mariental. Maybe it was because my attention was focused on matters of fuel economy that the little black dots hovering over the highway ahead didn't register until the last moment. I reached up just in time to close my face shield before riding through a swarm of bees. They sounded like hail on my helmet and ricocheted off my jacket. Re later told me she just ducked and closed her eyes. It did have the effect, however, of getting my eyes off the gauges and back onto the road.

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The scenery has continued to green ever so slightly the farther north we get. The race between the fuel lights and the GPS countdown was over when I spied the gas station at the southern edge of Mariental, and we pulled in to the pumps for some much needed fuel. My fuel light had been blinking for almost 7 miles, and Re still had a little more than I did, but it was close. Partly because of this experience and partly because Re is tired of me calling her bike “Toilet,” she went into the spare parts store at the gas station while I supervised the filling of the bikes. I paid the man and we rode away with our big new jerrycan. We made have found the last room in Mariental that night, as there was some sort of fishing tournament going on in the area. I'm not sure what bait you use for sandfish, because I sure didn't see any bodies of water in the area.

The two highlights of the evening, however, occurred at the local grocery store. The first was Rebekah riding in through the exit of the parking lot right past the universal “do not enter” sign, which was met by a whoop of the siren from the police car parked about 20 yards from the scene of her crime. Fortunately, we must have looked like more trouble than we'd be worth, as the policeman just waved. For good measure, I pretended to give Re a lecture, complete with oversized hand gestures. The second was when we were leaving the store and one of the usual group of men who gather around wherever we park struck up a conversation. The gist of the conversation was that when I was bored with my motorcycle, that maybe I would come to him and offer him a very good price for my bike. The people in Namibia know quality when they see it! We chatted with him for maybe 5 minutes, and everyone had a nice laugh.

264 miles, 8 hours riding. Bikes still not enjoying the altitude.

9/27 Ride to Windhoek
 

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After camping for 3 nights in dry and dusty conditions, it was nice to sleep inside, especially with air-conditioning and a comfy, comfy bed. The bikes needed no adjustments, but I did add about 2 ounces of oil to my bike. After yesterday's economy run, I made the decision to throttle back a little today, both for the sake of our fuel economy and for a less frantic ride. This decision was made easier by the fact that today's ride would only be about 200 miles, and for the first time in several days, there was no headwind. The temperature was more moderate today and we were both in better spirits. The landscape continued to become more green, and there were more trees.

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Shortly before lunch, we ran into a police checkpoint. They were stopping all traffic, and when it was our turn, they asked to see our drivers' licenses. The young man in fatigues, who appeared to be in charge, handed our licenses to another man with a clip board, and then he suddenly noticed Re's new 10 liter jerrycan. While I rummaged in my top case to find our international driving permits (IDPs), the man in fatigues told Rebekah that the jerrycan blocking her headlight was unacceptable. I handed him our IDPs, which he again passed to the man with the clip board, and then he proceeded to reposition Re's jerrycan in a horizontal, non-headlight blocking position. As Re's jerrycan also doesn't have a gasket in the cap, it's a good thing it was empty at the time. Once the jerrycan business was taken care of, the smiles broke out. While the man with the clip board just stared at our licenses and IDPs looking lost, the man in fatigues spied my seat pad and decided to wear it as a chest protector. More smiles and laughter ensued until our licenses were returned and we were free to go. Re got them to pose for a photo, and then we were on our way. We both have enjoyed how friendly and quick to smile the people in Africa have been.

We made it to the outskirts of Windhoek by around 2pm and quickly made a wrong turn. Within about a half mile I realized our mistake and made a right turn (across traffic. Remember, we are now driving on the left) into the Windhoek Country Club to turn around. I made it safely through, but was shocked when I looked back and saw that Re was stopped, partially in a lane of oncoming traffic. I yelled to see what was wrong, and Re said her bike would not move. I hopped off my bike and ran to see what was wrong. Re revved the bike up, but sure enough, it wouldn't move. Another good thing about SYM Symbas is they only weigh around 200 lbs, so I grabbed the rear rack, lifted the back wheel off the ground, and wheel-barrowed Re and her bike out of traffic. Once in a safe place, I checked the front and rear brakes for free play, but they weren't the culprit. When I looked at the rear of Re's bike, I saw that both the upper and lower halves of the chain case were deformed at the rear sprocket. I popped the inspection plug on the chain case to see if the chain had broken, but it was intact. It was then that I realized what happened.

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The bolts that I discovered had come loose on my bike in Ohio, had now done the same on Rebekah's.

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So out came the tools, and we got to work. We removed the chain case halves to see that one bolt had backed out so far that it caught on a swingarm tab that the chain case mounts to, stopping the wheel from turning. Over the next hour, we removed the rear wheel, sprocket and hub, found that all three of the remaining bolts were loose, and put it all back together, this time with loctite. The most time consuming part of the repair job was refitting the mangled chain case.

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The tab that the bolt lodged against was twisted, and the chain case halves were bent and torn. I would again like to give credit to Nathanthepostman for the inspiration to carry the ball-peen hammer that we used to massage the covers close to shape. Fortuitously, another underboner stopped to see if we needed help and told us the location of the nearby nut and bolt store. Once Re was mobile, it was our first stop. They had a suitable bolt for 1.20NAD (about 15 cents). We made our way into Windhoek, found a guesthouse and opted for a room over camping once we heard the thunder and noticed the black sky overhead. We had heard thunder in Mariental the night before, and our hostess said the little rains might be early this year. Apparently, she was right. Yay.

200 miles in 7 hours, including 1.5 hours repairing the “final drive” failure. I'm just sayin', a final drive failure on a SYM Symba can be fixed in about an hour with hand tools for 15 cents.

9/28 Quest for Tire
 

The first order of business today was to install our recently acquired bolt in Re's rear end (er, her bike's rear end). We set up our tools and tarp in the parking lot of the guesthouse and got to work. We've done this enough times lately that we have the routine down. Off with the rear brakes, off with the rear wheel, and off with the hub.

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In went the new bolt, complete with loctite, and we put it all back together. Out of an abundance of caution, I decided to loctite my bolts as well. Imagine my surprise when I removed my rear hub and found that the bolts I had tightened less than two thousand miles ago were slightly loose. Sigh. We loctited everything and reassembled it, paying particular attention to staking the tabbed washers that (should) hold the bolt heads. I don't understand why this system isn't working. I've used similar tabbed washers on other bikes before, and they have never loosened. The material that the SYM washers are made of appears to be too soft a metal, and I believe that this is what is allowing the bolts to loosen. Hopefully, the loctite does the trick and we won't be doing this again any time soon.

We spent most of the rest of the day on a quest for tires. You may recall that we installed new Michelin Gazelle tires on the rear of both our bikes before we left Ohio. These appear to be wearing very rapidly, and although we each have a spare Gazelle, I'm afraid that these won't last until India. Consequently, the search was on. During our roadside repairs of the previous day, a friendly local stopped by on a Yamaha underbone of some sort and mentioned that there was a Yamaha dealer in town. He also mentioned that there was another brand of underbones, named Vuka. We Googled the location of the nearest Vuka dealer and went looking. The big problem we are finding in Windhoek is that nobody uses street addresses, and nobody knows the street address of anything. The Vuka dealer was supposed to be on Nelson Mandela at the BP. We cruised the length of Nelson Mandela twice, never seeing anything Vuka or anything BP. Hmmm. We also had an address for a Honda dealer that appeared to sell cars and bikes so we headed there next. They didn't sell tires, but told us of the Yamaha dealer, but the only directions they could give were that it was next to the cemetery in the Southern Industrial District.

We went back to the guesthouse, fired up the computer, and Googled the cemetery in the Southern Industrial District. This at least gave us a cross street and we were off again. We rode to where we thought the Yamaha dealer might be, but instead found a Kawasaki and Suzuki dealer. We stopped here and found they did have a couple of tires that would fit our bikes. It turns out the Vuka dealer no longer exists and that these tires are the stock replacements for the Vukas. They were no brand I've ever heard of and were nearly 40 USD each. Considering the Michelin Gazelles were 16.99 each, these were some pretty pricey tires. They also felt very plasticky, and I couldn't figure out whether they were a front tire only or were universal. Either way, it wasn't a very impressive tread pattern. I asked the parts kid if he could tell me where the Yamaha dealer was, and he directed us there. We rode over to the Yamaha dealer, where I was informed that Yamaha underbones use 18” wheels, not 17” wheels like the Symba. Discouraged, we headed back to the guesthouse with no tires. We discussed the situation over dinner and decided that the Vuka tires were at least better than nothing, and as we weren't enjoying Windhoek very much, we'd get up the next morning, buy the tires, and head for the coast.

20 miles of riding in tons of traffic.

9/29 Ride to Swakopmund
 

It rained overnight again and was still sprinkling in the morning, so no bike maintenance today. We were on the road by 8:45 and were at the motorcycle store by 9:00. I went upstairs to the parts department, picked up the tires, and took them to the counter. Not relishing the thought of paying nearly 80 USD for these unlovely rubber donuts, I asked if there was a discount if I bought two. The parts kid looked them up in the computer and said he could sell them for 470NAD (59 USD) for the pair. Sold. I carried them back down to our bikes and strapped yet another tire onto each of our loads. I am afraid our bikes are beginning to resemble the Clampett's truck as they pulled into Beverly (Hills, that is).

At least it had stopped raining as we headed west out of town. The ride was cool this morning and the scenery changed from green scrub and low trees to desert by the end of the ride. Around 1pm, they temperature warmed dramatically and stayed that way until about 40 miles from Swakopmund, when it dropped noticeably. During the ride we stopped for gas in Karibib, where we saw several BMW R1200GSs in the parking lot and pulled up next to them. While I walked the gas can to the pumps, Re met the rider of one of the GSs, who was an Edelweiss tour leader. We ended up chatting with him for 10 minutes or so while his group reassembled and compared notes on our two completely different rides. I had to smile a little when I noted that not only did they have a chase vehicle for the luggage, but that they were also carrying a spare R1200GS in the back. Makes our tool pouch look kinda chintzy by comparison, doesn't it?

Back on the road, we did see a hornbill and some sort of humongous eagle, but no other wildlife today. We made it to Swakopmund around 5:00pm and found a place to camp for the night. I would like to mention, we are carrying the 2010 edition of the Lonely Planet Southern Africa guidebook, which is the most recent edition and is supposed to be “fully updated.” Well, it ain't. The prices have been wrong by about half again, and even the maps are wrong. A few years ago, Namibia changed the names of many streets to those of important figures in Namibian independence, but the maps in the Lonely Planet don't reflect these changes. Also, for instance, the book lists a tour of the Hansa Brewery, which has apparently been closed for three years or more, according to the proprietress of our guesthouse. And just about every guesthouse they list as having internet access does not.

235 miles in about 8 hours. Bikes are wheezing a little and did not enjoy the all day headwind.

9/30 No Welwitschias for You
 

Our plan for today was to ride through the Namib-Naukluft Park, specifically the Welwitschia Drive. The welwitschia is an extremely long lived desert plant, living up to 1500 years. In reading about Namibia, we've seen plenty of pictures and wanted to see them in person. Also not mentioned in the Loser's Planet is the permit required to drive the loop. When we went to get the permit, Re found out that motorcycles are not allowed in the park. Even though there are no lions in the Namib desert, there is a blanket exclusion in all Namibian national parks. Boo. Re spoke to the Chief Warden of the park and found out that we could at least ride part of it without a permit since part of the loop is on public roads, and we might see a welwitschia in that section. But we didn't.

But we did have a great ride and saw lots of other cool stuff,

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including springbok, two herds of ostriches running across the desert, and some spectacular desert scenery.

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Re also enjoyed riding the dirt and gravel D road that took us back to the main highway. We also experienced our first Symba watersplashes on this same road. The Swakop River crosses this road, and enough rain fell recently for the crossing to be muddy and have a few inches of water in it. We powered our way through!

We ate our picnic lunch around 1pm and headed south toward Walvis Bay.
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The route we took went along Dune 7 most of the way. Dune 7 is a humongous sand dune- it must be several hundred yards high and miles and miles long.

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We pulled into the public dune riding area for the photo op. Walvis Bay was kind of, meh, but we did see dozens and dozens of motorcycles in town and riding toward town as we headed back north to Swakopmund. It suddenly occurred to me that I had read it was bike week in Walvis Bay this weekend in another ride report. It was again a chilly and foggy ride back to Swakopmund. The high temperature has only been in the 60s with lows in the 40s at the coast. We have now been on the road for two months and celebrated with a self-catered dinner of toasted cheese and creamed spinach with feta (and maybe too many Carling Black Labels).

118 miles in some number of hours. The bikes ran well and handled the sand and watersplash with aplomb.

Munching on me popcorn and enjoying the trip report

Thanks
geordie

10/1 A Three-Hour Tour....
 

Re and I were planning to start our trip toward Victoria Falls today. We had a choice of two routes- one that was paved the entire way, and another that involved about 200 miles of gravel roads. Initially, I was planning on the paved route but had heard from many other people who had driven in Namibia how good the gravel roads were. Mistake #1 was that I listened to them.

It rained overnight and the power went out in the entire town near morning. We woke to a wet campsite and no electricity for the coffee pot at the guesthouse. We dawdled around, hoping the rain would stop but were honestly freezing our butts off. Fortunately the water heaters that fed the showers at the guesthouse still had enough hot water for both of us to shower and warm up before we packed up the bikes and started out at around 9:30. Our first stop was the gas station for a quick fill-up, but it didn't happen that way. While our bikes were being filled, two Africa Twin riders pulled in and hopped off their bikes for a chat. It turns out that one of them was Onno (1NiteOwl) and one of his friends, who were in the middle of a ride from South Africa through Botswana and Namibia and back home again. While we were chatting with them, some other bike week revelers pulled up and also wanted to chat with us. We again told our story, shook hands, posed for photos, AND declined the invitation to ride with them to Walvis Bay for bike week. Mistake #2 was not going with them.

After at least 30 minutes at the gas station, we headed north up the C34 toward Henties Bay. It was still drizzling and cold as we rode further north and eventually turned east on the C35. As we rode toward Henties Bay, the theme song to Gilligan's Island was going through my head. I kept looping on the three hour tour part. I'm not a superstitious person, but I think ignoring this “sign” was Mistake #3 for the day.

The first 10 miles or so of the C35 were nicely groomed, hard-packed dirt and sand and was easy riding. Suddenly the road surface changed to imbedded rocks covered by larger gravel and drifts of dusty sand. Our speed went from 45mph down to 30, and even to 20 on some of the more roughly corrugated sections. Maybe Mistake #4 was continuing on after Re saw one of her spare tires rolling through the desert, since the roughness of the road caused the bungee to let loose. But we persevered. With visions of broken spokes and punctured tires dancing in my head, we continued. That's when Re apparently decided to see whether the sand in Namibia tastes the same as the sand in America. We were in one of the smoother sections and were riding close to the left edge of the road at about 35mph when, in my rear view mirror, I saw Rebekah drift farther to the left and into about 4 inches of soft sand. Well, ****. Re put up a valiant fight against the forces of physics, but like all of us, she eventually lost. I could see her bike fishtailing and then saw the puff of dust and nothing more. Well, double ****. I spun my bike around and went back to see what the damage was. Re was lying face down in the sand, not moving and more concerning still, she was not swearing. She said she was okay and that everything was working but was clearly very shaken up. She spent enough years at the racetrack with me to know that the first concern is the bike, so after she got her leg out from under the bike, we assessed the damage. I figured it was better to keep her focused on something besides what just happened and sent her off to pick up the various ejecta from the bike. Her one spare tire was, once again, in the desert, along with her bike lock. The bike actually crashed well- nothing was broken, only a bent footpeg, the headlight out of adjustment, and a bent turn signal mount. The real casualty (other than Re's confidence) was her MSR Dromedary water bag, which was now crying all over the desert. Re's only complaints at this time were a bruise near her elbow on her right arm, her right pinky finger, and her right shoulder. All were working but sore.

After we repacked the bike, we continued on for maybe 10 more miles at no more than 20mph, and the road never got better. And then, we discovered that Re's tire had gone AWOL once again. Re was still looking a little upset, so I said I would go look for the tire while she took a break. I headed back from whence we came, figuring there was no chance I would actually find this tire, that it would have rolled off into the desert someplace, gone for good. It was a pleasant surprise, when about 6.5miles back, I found it laying on the shoulder of the road. At least one thing went right today. Not wanting to find a place for it in my pile of crap, I wore it like a necklace for the ride back. When I made it back to where I'd left Re, she giggled at my new jewelry. We consulted the map and realized we were only about 40 miles into this 150 mile gravel section. At this point, I started doing the math to determine how long it would take us to reach our destination, and it wasn't going to be tonight. It was at this point that Re suggested we admit defeat, put our tails between our legs, and slink back to Swakopmund. This was the best idea I had heard all day. Re knows that I do not like to backtrack, but in this situation, it was the wisest thing to do.

We retraced the nearly 90 miles back to Swakopmund, only to find that most of the guesthouses were full (it was Saturday night). We didn't want to camp again since our tent and gear were still wet, and it was still cold. Re did find a nice place for us to stay that was a little beyond our usual budget, but in light of everything that happened today, it was well worth it. The ride back was miserable for a couple of reasons: first, it was genuinely cold, and our hands were nearly numb by the end of the ride, second, we were fighting a fierce headwind for the final 40 miles of the ride, finally, it gave me plenty of time to think about Re's crash. Back on her KLX650, she's tipped over at a near standstill several times, but this was her first real crash. She seemed to be okay with it, or was at least putting on a good face, but it's a bad feeling to watch the woman you love crash in the rear view mirror. It also made me consider, why are we here, and why are we doing this? We spent the evening talking about a lot of these issues, and Re is fully committed to going on. But we did agree that we are going to have to realize the limitations of our little bikes and stick to paved roads for safety's sake.

161 miles in 7 hours. Re's bike took a nap and my speedometer cable vibrated loose.

10/2 Heading North, Take Two
 

After yesterday's misadventures, we were both anxious to get on the road, the paved one this time. After a great night of sleep under a fluffy duvet, we ate our included breakfast, and I heartily enjoyed my bacon, eggs, and toast. This was the first bacon I've had since Ohio, and I remember why I like it so much. After lowering the tire pressures for the gravel section yesterday, I aired them back up to road pressure to the entertainment of several other hotel guests. As I previously mentioned, this hotel was much nicer than our usual accommodations, and I don't think the other guests were expecting to see our kind there.

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We hoped that it was a good sign that it was sunny and clear this morning, as this was the first sun we'd seen in Swakopmund, so we left. The ride started out cool, but as we headed inland, it warmed up nicely and the sun stayed with us all day. The other factor that made the day's ride so enjoyable was the absence of our nemesis: the Namibian headwind. We were able to cruise at 45mph at three quarters throttle and covered the miles quickly. Last night, Re and I carefully looked at the maps and possible routes eastward, with the new understanding that we will be confined to sealed roads. We discussed the northern and southern routes to Botswana, and eventually to Victoria Falls. The southern route would take us through the northern edge of the Kalahari and Ghanzi before heading to Maun and up to Victoria Falls. The northern route would take us through Grootfontein, up to Rundu, through the East Caprivi, and into Botswana at Chobe National Park. We decided on the northern route on the advice of several other travelers and Namibians. They stated that northern Namibia is the true Namibia. So north it was.

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Our new route took us back up the B2 to Karibib, then north on the C33 through Omaruru, and then to Otjiwarongo for the night. Around lunchtime we stopped for fuel (again) and picked up yet another lunch of pies to picnic on at a nearby rest area. After our lunch of pies and carrots, we continued north. Along the ride today, we saw warthogs, the biggest baboons we've seen so far, giraffes, and some sort of curly-horned antelope. We rolled into Otjiwarongo around 5pm and soon found a very nice campground. While I set up the tent, Re headed into town and soon returned with the makings of dinner. She cooked new potatoes with onions and boerwors (the local sausages). After we finished dinner and washed up, a couple of the local cats showed up for dinner, but they were too late. We told them to come back in the morning, and maybe there would be some leftover eggs for them. The other odd featured of the campground was the flock of 50- 100 helmeted guinea fowl that pointlessly ran back and forth all evening. I wondered aloud how they would be on the braai.

I also took the opportunity to figure out our likely route to Dar es Salaam. We've been in Africa for two weeks now and need to figure out how and when we are getting to India. Zimbabwe looks most likely, not for Zimbabwe sake, but mostly because other travelers have warned us away from Zambia mostly due to the border corruption issues, road conditions, and relative expense. Ciphering done, we headed for bed.

259 miles in about 8 hours. The bikes purred along today.

10/3 North to Tsumeb
 

It got cold overnight. Re and I both woke up in need of a warm shower. Since we only had a short ride today, we were in no particular hurry, so we made a relatively easy morning of it. Re had picked up eggs for breakfast today, so she scrambled them, and as if on cue, the local cats from last evening made an appearance. We had a fun time feeding them and a good laugh when one helped himself to what was left of our butter. Everything on the bikes was in spec except for the header bolts, which all needed slight tightening. Oil level is okay, but it needs to be changed.

The ride to Tsumeb only took about 3 ½ hours but we did fight a headwind the entire way. Today's short ride was dictated by tomorrow's long run to Rundu, and Tsumeb was chosen because, according to Loser's Planet, our guesthouse for the evening had internet. Along the way, we saw a couple of different kinds of antelope (we really need to look these up sometime), another hornbill, and wildebeest.

We arrived in Tsumeb around 1:30pm, and it was a bust. Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, the guesthouse had no internet. On the plus side, the rate to camp was lower than listed in the book. We decided to take the afternoon off and catch up on RRs and blog posts that we will upload at the local internet cafe when they open in the morning. Lunch and dinner were self-catered again from the local grocery store. We also took the opportunity to get some laundry done. We also spoke with other travelers who were staying at this guesthouse and heard of a place to stay in Chobe.

131 miles in 3 ½ hours. The rear tires are getting thin, will need to be replaced soon.

10/4 The Run to Rundu
 

Up early this morning since I wanted to change the oil in the bikes before we hit the road. Unfortunately the wind was blowing very hard, and the sand and dust storm made the oil change no fun. As an added bonus, I trapped my finger between the wrench and the oil sump, giving myself a humongous blood blister at the tip of my left thumb, which promptly split and bled all over the place.

Maintenance done, we hit the road toward Grootfontein, and of course, fought a head wind the entire way. We stopped for lunch and fuel in Grootfontein, where we loaded up our jerrycans for the further 160 mile run to Rundu. From now on, fuel stations will be even farther apart. The ride to Rundu was what we imagined Africa to be. We didn't see another white face until we reached Rundu.

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All along the road were traditional dwellings and people going about their daily business. Both Re and I could barely lift our left arms by the end of the ride- they were worn out from waving so much! The little kids, especially, seemed to be excited to see us, running toward the road and waving, ofter with both hands as we rode past. Everywhere we stopped to refuel, we drew a small crowd. The only wildlife today were hundreds of cows and goats (mostly in the road).

We finally rolled into Rundu at around 5:30. We cruised through town to find accommodations, and not seeing anything, reluctantly consulted the Lonely Planet. One recommended place was near the town center, so we headed in that direction. We turned left onto a road made entirely of 3” deep sand, and the recommended guesthouse was another 2.5km down the sand road. Fortunately, 275meters down the sand road was another guesthouse with camping. Re and I quickly decided to try here and found that in addition to camping, they had a fan bungalow for a reasonable price. Since tomorrow's ride to Katima Mulilo will be over 300 miles, our longest ride in Africa so far, we opted for the bungalow to save the time of striking camp in the morning. After paying for our room we walked back to the bikes, and it was then that I noticed Re's flat rear tire. Yay.

As our bungalow was only about 100 yards from reception, we decided to ride to the bungalow slowly and fix the flat there. As I got back on my bike, I thought I smelled burnt oil, looked down, and discovered that in my haste this morning I failed to screw in my oil dipstick all the way. After reaching the bungalow I added oil to my bike and found that it had only lost approximately 150cc's. Hopefully no damage has occurred. Note to self: double check everything. Before Re headed out for food on my bike, she helped me remove the rear wheel from her bike. I am once again glad the Symbas have center stands. We both inspected the tire for a puncture, and neither of us could find one. After she left, I partially dismounted the tire to get to the tube and immediately found the problem. Before I removed the tire, I noticed that the balance mark on the tire was no longer lined up with the valve stem, which seemed odd, because it was aligned when I installed it. Apparently the 7hp of the apocalypse was enough to spin the rear tire on the rim and put a wrinkle in the tube. I never thought I would have needed rim locks on a Symba. I got the patch kit out, glued on a patch, waited a few minutes, and put the wheel back together. I pumped the tire up to 33psi and left it sit overnight to see if the patch held. We are carrying two spare tubes if needed, but I want to save them until they're really needed.

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As I picked up the tools, Re returned with dinner. So what are we having for dinner tonight, Rebekah? How about, more pies. The local grocery store had few options that could be prepared easily. At least we are eating a lot of fruit to balance out the pies (I like pies. The USA needs more pies). The best part of dinner was watching the sun set over the Kavango River and looking into Angola while we ate on the porch of our bungalow. We both enjoyed a shower before bed to remove the thick layer of dust that covered us.

210 miles in about 7 hours. Remember to tighten anything you loosen, and we had our first flat tire of the trip.

10/5 East to Katima Mullilo
 

Our plan for the day was to ride east to Katima Mulilo, our final stop before the border with Botswana. If we made it all the way there today, it would be our longest ride yet in Africa at over 300 miles. As the middle of the ride transited the Bwabwata National Park, there would be a potential for no fuel for nearly 200 of those miles. One way or another it was going to be a long day, so we got up at 6 am. First order of the day was to check the status of my repair job on Re's rear tire. I was very happy to find that the tire held 32 psi overnight, so Re and I quickly reinstalled the rear wheel and then checked the other tires and lubed both chains.

Maintenance done, we had a quick breakfast on the front porch of our bungalow and enjoyed the sunrise over the Zambezi River. After showers and once again, loading up the bikes, we were on the road by 7:30. We stopped for fuel but didn't completely fill our jerrycans as there was another fuel stop about 125 miles down the road in Divundu. Our constant companion, the Namibian Headwind made another appearance this morning and fought us until lunchtime. We made it to Divundu around 11:30 am and stopped for fuel and lunch. We filled up our tanks, 9 liters in Re's jerrycan, and 5 in mine, which would hopefully get us to Katima Mulilo. The OpenStreetMap GPS maps I downloaded indicated that there was “Fuel (not all the time)” in Kongola, approximately 120 miles east of Divundu, but we didn't want to rely on the chance that they would have fuel. We were heavy. Our lunch choices were limited because Divundu seems to consist of a gas station, small grocery store, bottle shop, and bar. We had leftover droewors and “chilly bites” (dried sausages and spicy meat), half a loaf of bread, and oranges, which we supplemented with sodas and ate straddling our bikes in the shade of the grocery store. While we ate, I noticed that I was able to understand some of the signage in the store window and realized it appeared to be in Spanish. I commented on this, and Re said it must be Portuguese since we were right across the river from Angola, and Portuguese is the official language of Angola.

Leaving Divundu, we passed through an agricultural checkpoint staffed by Namibian police force members. Apparently, hoof and mouth disease is a major problem in this region of Africa, and the checkpoint was to help prevent the spread of the disease further into Namibia. While we waited for the arm to be lifted for us to pass, we once again answered many questions about our bikes and the journey. After 5 minutes or so of questions, the sole female officer (who was clearly not impressed) left her booth, walked over to the arm, and lifted it and waved for us to pass, thus ending our conversation and allowing us to ride on.

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Shortly after entering the park, our eyes lit up when we saw the warning signs that told us to look our for... elephants. We spent the next several hours scanning the roadside for large, gray objects, but to no avail. We did, however, see several different types of antelope and some warthogs. The next several hours passed relatively quickly, the lack of headwind and search for pachyderms made the time fly. We had seen plenty of elephant poop on the roadside, but we began to suspect the signs were a ploy to lure tourists to the area and that the elephant poop was planted by unethical tourism officials.

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But our patience was rewarded just before we left the park. In my rear view mirror, I saw Rebekah slam on the brakes and turned around to see why. It was then that she pointed out several groups of elephants gathered around the pools in a marshy area next to the road. We stopped, got out the binoculars and camera, and spent about 20 minutes watching elephants do what elephants do. Very cool. At about 4:30, we exited the park and found ourselves in Kongola, another very small village, but lo and behold, there was... a gas station with a big chalk check mark next to the word petrol on the sign out front. We had recently refueled the bikes, emptying Re's jerrycan and using 3 of the 5 liters in mine. We had enough fuel in our tanks to make it to Katima Mulilo but have learned enough to never pass up the opportunity to get fuel. We swung into the station, confirmed that they had unleaded, and got 6 liters in Re's jerrycan. I had to laugh when another attendant came rushing out of the station to see our bikes, and I noticed that he was wearing and obviously counterfeit Orange Crappy Choppers ballcap, those buffoons are everywhere! He appeared excited but a little disappointed to see that we were only riding little bikes.

The sun was beginning to set, and we raced it into Katima Mulilo, wanting to honor our pledge to never ride after dark in Africa. As we entered Katima, we encountered a veritable flood of people walking toward us. The workday must end at 6 pm, and everyone seemed to be leaving the “downtown.” I smiled as I saw everyone laughing and chatting with each other as they walked, rush hour in the East Caprivi seems much more civilized than in Ft Collins. We made it to downtown Katima at about 6:15 and the sun dipped below the horizon. Lonely Planet came through for us this time, directing us to camp at the Protea Hotel grounds, which is a very swanky hotel with camping on the side for “our kind.” By the time we registered and made our way to the campground it was well after 6:30, so we yanked the camping gear off Re's bike and she headed out in search of the local grocery store for some dinner. We hadn't seen any food stores on the way into town, and here in Africa, most of them seem to close at 7 pm, so the race was on. Fortunately for me, Re was smart enough to stop and ask a guard at the gate where to find the grocery store. He smiled and said, “I will take you there.” He said it was too difficult to explain, and she should just follow him. Since it was nearly 7 and the big stores would be closed, he took her to a small local store with a very limited selection of food options. He apologized but said it was the only thing open at this hour.

Re returned with a small bag of potatoes, milk, and (wait for it)... more pies. While I continued to set up camp, she made mashed potatoes and reheated the pies, and we had a reasonable dinner looking out at the moonlight on the Zambezi while the grunting hippos serenaded us. Tummies full and butts barking, we climbed into the tent and fell asleep to the sounds of hippos.

350 miles in almost 11 hours. Re's rear tire patch is holding air.

10/6 Botswana- Country #5
 

Since our ride to Kasane, Botswana would only be around 100 miles today, we were in no hurry to get up this morning and instead, spent some quality snuggling time. Again, the night was cool, but actually a little clammy. The climate is changing, as this is the first humidity we've experienced since South Africa. Crawling out of the tent into the sunlight, we looked down the riverbank and could see crocodiles basking on the river's edge. Not wanting to try and find our way back to the grocery store, we had a breakfast of dry muesli, fruit, and cowboy coffee. I took a quick look at the bikes while Re started on the tent. All of the vitals were good on the bikes, but the rear tires are getting very thin. I am trying to milk them as long as we can. It would be best if these rear tires last long enough that our other Michelin Gazelles could get us to India. I really don't want to have to put our locally sourced, plasticky front tires on the rear of our bikes.

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The ride to the border was brief, only taking about an hour. The border crossing itself was very easy and very professional, especially on the Botswana side. The total cost for both bikes was about 31USD; that amount included road tax and 90 days of mandatory liability insurance.

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Before we reached the border post on the Botswana side, we had to stop for a hoof and mouth disease control station. We both had to get off our bikes and do a little dance on a wet towel in a basin before riding our bikes through a 9” deep pool of dirty water. Maybe it will help prevent the spread of hoof and mouth disease, or maybe the guards just videotape it to laugh at later. Either way, it was our second water splash in Africa. Once the final paper was stamped, fee was paid, and gate was lifted, we rode into Botswana- our fifth country so far. We found ourselves on the A33 that is the transit road through Chobe National Park. As usual, motorcycles are not allowed in national parks in Botswana,(something about lions or leopards), but we were allowed to ride through on the public road.

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We had planned on taking an organized safari tomorrow, but this ride turned into a safari all its own.

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In the next two hours, we saw numerous elephants, including one group of at least twenty within 50 feet of the road's edge. We also saw zebras, baboons, giraffes, warthogs, several types of antelope, and at least ten different species of birds in all colors of the rainbow. Since we didn't refuel the bikes before entering Chobe, we both found our fuel lights blinking at us before we exited the park. I was a little nervous about stopping to refuel because we would have to shut off the engines and consequently, wouldn't be able to run away. We were climbing a hill about 5 miles before the park exit when Re's bike coughed, and mine would no longer accelerate. We were out of gas. We jumped off the bikes, grabbed the jerrycan, and quickly put some fuel in each bike, all the time looking over our shoulders for predators. I told Re she was absolutely not allowed to be calling, “here, kitty kitty,” and yet, she still did.

We made our way into Kasane and headed for the campground that another traveler had recommended to us. My moment of ignominy came as we pulled into the campground. We just cleared the security gate when I became confused about where we needed to turn, grabbed the front brake, not realizing that the driveway was made up of 3” of fine sand. Once again, the laws of physics took over. The front wheel snapped right, I tried in vain to save it, and found myself face down in the sand. With the help of the rather startled looking guard, we picked up my bike and thankfully found no damage. I'm beginning to notice a pattern: Rebekah goes down, then I go down. She's really going to have to stop crashing.

This campground was mostly frequented by the big safari trucks which would take up a whole group site each, but we were able to find a corner of one of the group sites for the night. Since it was before 2pm when we arrived, we decided to take the afternoon off and catch up on some personal maintenance. Re gave me a quick haircut, and we both showered before heading back into town for food and a trip to the ATM. Where we used to live in eastern Oregon, we had mule deer that would walk through town, but here in Kasane, they have warthogs. Riding down the main street, I came within about 6” of slapping a warthog on the ass as he lazily wandered in traffic. Later that afternoon we booked our early morning game drive and afternoon river cruise. We spent the rest of the evening doing laundry, relaxing in the pool, and cooking dinner.

90 miles in about 4 hours, with an international border crossing and lots of stopping for animals. Bikes are running fine, with the exception of a quick nap.

Awesome!
 

Have just read the lot, fantastic! Ewan n Charley eat your heart out!
:funmeteryes: :clap::clap::clap:

10/7 Acting Like Tourists in Chobe National Park
 

Except for a quick run to the grocery store in the afternoon, there was no riding today. Instead, we got up at 5 am to go on a game drive in Chobe National Park. 5 am is way too early to get up on any other day, but today it was worth it. After splashing some water on our faces and brushing our teeth, we assembled at the pool and bar to wait for our ride. Our guide arrived in a large, 4-wheel drive truck that had several rows of open seats where the bed would be. Before we left the campsite, Re grabbed her fleece and asked me if I wanted mine. I said no, we're in Africa (forgetting once again how cold it has been so far). It was only about a 20 minute drive to the park entrance, and I spent the entire time wishing I had brought my fleece and contemplating the irony of hypothermia in Africa.

Once we entered the park, the driver hopped out and locked the front hubs before proceeding onto the deep sand tracks that crisscross the park. The first animals we came across were elephants and impalas.

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As the morning went on, we also saw giraffes, warthogs, banded mongooses, fish eagles, and a variety of other birds.

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The highlights of the morning were catching a glimpse of the rare wild dog, seeing a leopard sleeping in a tree, and coming upon four lionesses basking in the sun. Our guide explained that there were perhaps only 13 lions left in the park and that their numbers continue to decrease. We felt very privileged to see these beautiful animals in their natural habitat. The entire trip was only about 4 hours, but Re and I arrived back at camp absolutely overwhelmed by what we had seen.

As the group campsite the previous night in had been reserved by one of the big safari trucks, we had to move to another campsite. The reception office gave us our choice of two possible sites, but a security guard suggested that one was much better than the other. We moved our gear and tent to the suggested site and were very pleasantly surprised to find that our new site was huge and less than 100 feet from the Chobe River's edge. While we were setting up in our new site, Christel (a solo female backpacker from Rouen, France, who is taking a year to travel around the world) stopped by with her leaking Thermarest pad. We used our Big Agnes pad repair kit to fix the leak, and while we were doing so, the security guard stopped by to chat. We thanked him for recommending the site, and that was when he mentioned that most nights there are hippos and elephants on the riverbank by our site. We were hopeful but a little skeptical that we might see something good tonight. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking it easy before our afternoon boat ride.

We left the camp again at 3:30 and took a short truck ride to the boat dock, where we boarded a large pontoon boat and shoved off. The chance to see such amazing wildlife in their natural environment is such a treat to Re and I that we were disappointed when we saw that some of our companions had obviously come from one of the safari trucks and were lugging a 60-quart or larger cooler with them. Now, Re and I are all about having a beer or two, but it seems like many of the people who travel in the safari trucks are drunk most of the time. Fortunately, they were well-behaved and quiet for most of the trip.

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Over the next 3 hours we got to get up close and personal with hippos, elephants, crocodiles, and water buffaloes. We also saw impalas, water bucks, red lweche, warthogs, and dozens more different species of birds. Our boat must have gotten a little too close to some of the hippos, because at one point we felt a large bang on the bottom of the boat. Our guide explained that hippos are very territorial and will strike boats from below in an attempt to overturn them. He went on to explain that the hippo then bites the boaters, killing them, but then leaves them for the crocodiles. He assured us that we were completely safe in such a large boat. Some people kind of smiled at this story, but hippos actually are responsible for more human deaths in Africa than any other animal. A little while later, we pulled away from another pod of hippos and were pursued by one of them who actually porpoised out of the water, snapping its jaws at the boat. It was one of the most incredible sights I have ever witnessed.

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Another cool experience was to see a group of elephants wading across the river to one of the many islands. When they exited the water, they were still dusty gray on the top but black where the water washed away the dust.

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But perhaps the very best experience was seeing a very young baby elephant rolling in the river with its mom and aunties. The baby elephant still had some pink coloration around its face and head and was squatting to drink instead of using its trunk. Our guide said that it may only be 3 or 4 days old, as they soon learn to drink with their trunks. Through the binoculars, Re could see that its umbilical cord hadn't fallen off yet. The little guy (or girl) sure seemed to be having fun rolling in the mud. Again, we felt very privileged to see such sights.

Later at camp, Re and I had dinner at the lodge and talked about the day's events. We both were having a hard time processing everything we'd seen that day. We've been to a lot of zoos and seen most of these animals in captivity, but there is something magical about seeing them in the wild. Instead of being a display of hippos, then a display of elephants, then a display of birds, here it was fascinating to see them all together and interacting with one another.

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Perhaps the picture I will remember the most was watching the sun set over the river and the islands, with a herd of elephants silhouetted on the horizon, surrounded by dust.

But wait! The night got even better! After dinner, we walked back to our campsite and heard branches breaking somewhere in the dark. We walked to the edge of the campsite, and just beyond the electric fence were elephants. A small herd of 8- 10 elephants of various sizes were working their way down the riverbank less than 50 ft from where we stood. At one point, some idiot turned on his flashlight, and one of the elephants turned and walked toward the source of the light with ears held wide and trunk out. Fortunately for Mr Flashlight, it turned away before it reached the fence. After this the elephants moved further down the bank, but we could hear their occasional trumpeting. Worn out, we went to bed.

6 miles, the rear tires are really very thin.

10/8 Ride to Zimbabwe (or maybe Zambia?)
 

Having not slept very much in anticipation of our safari the previous day, we were both very tired and slept really well. The sun finally kicked us out of bed around 7 am. Today's ride was going to be a short one, so we weren't in any particular hurry to get on the road. The Zimbabwe border was only about 10 miles away, and Victoria Falls 35 miles beyond that. We had coffee and some breakfast and chatted with some of our fellow campers. One of them had some potentially worrying news. They had taken a minibus from the campground to Victoria Falls the previous day, and when they were in immigrations had seen a sign that said, “effective November 2010, no more foreign vehicles would be allowed across the border.” Huh?!? She seemed pretty sure of it, but this was news to us. I asked at reception if they knew anything about it, and they said as far as they knew, foreign vehicles could cross the border, but I should check with one of the drivers of the many safari trucks. As I walked out of reception, I saw what turned out to be the last of the safari trucks pulling out the front gate. We decided to head for the Zimbabwe border anyway, knowing that the ferry to Zambia is less than 10km from the Zimbabwe border crossing.

During the short ride to Kazungula, I spotted a big adventure bike heading our way. I flagged down the couple on it and asked them if they knew anything about the border situation. They had been to the border and were under the impression that they could get through but were heading into Kasane, Botswana, to find a bank and the requisite USD.

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Feeling more positive, we continued to the border, where I was assured at Botswana Customs that everything would be fine on the Zim side. Again, the Botswana side was very professional and efficient, the Zim side... not so much. Once it was finally our turn at the immigration window, we had some good laughs with the guys working there. For some reason, they were “suspicious” that Re might be a spy and that I was a criminal of some sort. I assured them that no, I was not a criminal, I was in fact, an attorney. This elicited even bigger laughs, as they assured me that attorneys are the biggest criminals of all, but they still let us in. Then to the Customs line. After waiting for 3 commercial truckers to get their loads cleared, I handed our Carnet paperwork to the rather sullen looking Customs official. He did not appear very happy to see all the paperwork that we would be creating for him. He finally cracked a smile when we got to discussing the bikes. He was filling out the liability insurance screen on his computer when he asked me for the engine size. “100cc,” I said. “1000cc,” he said. “No, 100cc.” He said, “100cc?!?” I pointed to the bikes out the window, and he smiled and kind of chuckled. As he continued to work on our paperwork, he also asked why the small bikes? I explained that on big bikes it would be too easy. He thought it was very funny that I would want to make it harder. We both left with a smile, and I then encountered the big bike riders from across the border. They were a husband and wife from Germany, who were riding a DR800 with a way too loud exhaust. I let them know how much things should cost and was on my way.

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Back at the bikes, I found Re chatting with a commercial truck driver who also was sure that some day Re would tire of her bike and want to sell it to him at a good price. Shades of our grocery store encounter in Mariental. We were waved around the queue of trucks and headed for the final gate, where we spent another 10 minutes chatting about the bikes, the cost and fuel economy, and our trip. The gate then went up, and we were through. It was about an hour's ride into Victoria Falls and our accommodations for the night.

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We arrived at about 1:30pm, set up our tent, and got to work changing the rear tires. After 3350 miles, I could still, if I held my tongue just right, hook a fingernail in the center groove of both rear tires, but they had to go. So we found a concrete pad, got out the tarp, and got to work. Start to finish, it took us about an hour and a half to change both rear tires, and it probably would have taken less time without the “help” from a local. For one reason or another, Re and I have had the rear wheels off enough times to know the drill, and the extra hands always seem to be in the way. From here we have about 3000 miles to Mombasa, so hopefully, these Gazelles will make it all the way. As we were finishing the tire change, we ran into a fellow traveler, Sue, from Darwin, Australia, and she invited us for a beer and a chat once we were finished. Never ones to turn down beverages and a chat, we got cleaned up and met her at the bar. We spent much of the rest of the evening chatting over pizza and beers before heading to bed.

56 miles in about 3 hours, including and international border crossing. Single entry visas were 30 USD each, and 46 USD for fees and liability insurance for each bike.

:yes:I'm in....!:funmeteryes:

10/9 Tourists in Victoria Falls
 

After a surprisingly good night's sleep in the yard behind the bar at Shoestring Backpacker, we spent a lazy morning of internet surfing and travel planning. Around 11:00 am, we headed out for the 1.5 mile walk to the Falls. On the way, we stopped at the local Spar grocery store for picnic provisions. We were surprised at the lack of food in the store and the high cost for what they did have. Food prices here are higher than they are in the US and anywhere else we've been in Africa so far. Boxes of Kellogg's cereal range in price from 6USD to 9USD. We purchased some locally made peanut butter, cheese, and crackers.

From there we continued on to Victoria Falls and ran the gauntlet of souvenir salesmen. Due to Zimbabwe's meteoric inflation a few years ago, they recently changed their official currency to the US dollar. The souvenir salesmen have wads of the now out of circulation Zimbabwe dollar. The note we were most commonly offered was the 50 trillion dollar one! Dollarization has had two primary effects in Zimbabwe: that food and fuel are now generally available, but the price of everything has increased. I guess that's why admission to Victoria Falls has gone from 20USD to 30USD in the past year. As we paid the 60 bucks to get in, we hoped it would be worth it, especially since we were here during the dry season. And it was.

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We spent the next couple of hours walking between viewing points and marveling at the beauty of the Falls. Along the way we ate our picnic lunch and chatted with other visitors.

After the Falls, we walked back into town with the plan of stopping at the grocery store again for the makings of dinner. What we hadn't realized was that today was Sunday and the store closed at 1 pm. Fortunately, we found the local handy mart, which was open. From their odd selection of foodstuffs, we were able to buy some frozen ground beef, 3 packages of ramen noodles (mushroom flavored), and half of a basketball sized head of cabbage. I was skeptical, but Re promised she could make something out of these ingredients.

Back at the guesthouse, we spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening working on RRs and blog posts. Re disappeared into the kitchen and came back a while later with ramen, meatball, and cabbage soup, which was actually better that it sounds. While she was cooking, one of the guesthouse employees was also fixing dinner for the other employees. Re admired the curried sausages and mealie pap he was making, as he looked enviously at the huge amount of ground beef that she was making for just two people. Since there was no way we could eat all the cabbage ourselves, she offered the half she didn't cook to her fellow chef, which he gratefully accepted. Later, she offered him the soup that was left in the pot, and he was again happy to have it. Times here seem to be very hard for people in Zimbabwe, with low wages and high costs. After dinner, we ran into Sue again and were entertained by the traditional dancing and singing (?) by a local troupe. A few beers later it was bed time, so back to the tent we went.
0 miles.

10/10 Ride to Bulawayo
 

After another good night's sleep in the tent, we used up the last of our wifi credit over our breakfast of peanut butter and crackers and apples. Since the only ingredient in the peanut butter was peanuts, we were unsure how it would survive unrefrigerated. Re offered the third of a jar to her fellow chef from last evening and he responded with a “God bless you.” The tourism industry has dried up in Zimbabwe over the past few years and this has compounded the difficulties for the local people.

After striking camp and looking over the bikes, we began our long ride to Bulawayo. Today's ride was boring, dry, and dusty. We fueled up in Vic Falls before leaving town but were looking for fuel by the time we reached Hwanke. There was no petrol at the first two fuel stations in town, but I was directed to another fuel station a few kilometers farther. The taxi drivers laughed when they pointed me to this station, and when I arrived, I could see why. It was a very dodgy looking place, and I silently hoped that the gasoline being dispensed into our bikes didn't have any “extra” additives. Back out on the main road, our bikes didn't seem to enjoy this load of fuel much at all, but they kept running.

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Once past Hwanke, there were no towns of any size before Bulawayo. Since it was a long, hot ride, we were both longing for a cold drink. We eventually spied the Coca Cola logo on the side of a building at a dusty, wide spot in the road. We wheeled in past the surprised faces of the local villagers, who were sitting around, watching the world go by. We walked into the store, found the ice chest (there was no electricity) and selected our beverages. We sat on the front porch and drank our Cokes under the solemn, watchful gazes of the shopkeeper's three young sons. About 10 miles shy of Bulawayo, we were stopped at another police checkpoint. After pleasantries were exchanged, we were on our way again. Being a police officer in Zimbabwe must be a good job, as they were universally the friendliest and happiest people we met in Zimbabwe. After we cleared the checkpoint, the land turned green almost instantly.

Once into Bulawayo, we searched in vain for any road signs and finally asked for street names when we stopped for a much needed splash of fuel. We eventually found our guesthouse, as recommended by Lonely Planet, and were (again) disappointed. The price had doubled, there was no camping, and of course, the internet didn't work, and the woman at reception was unpleasant. Since the sun had set and we had no other options, we reluctantly decided to stay. As Bulawayo is not safe to walk around at night, we went next door to the Bulawayo Athletic Club for dinner. I opted for the fish and chips, and Re enjoyed a local meal of sadza (mealie pap) and beef, accompanied by the thumping soundtrack of African hiphop videos. A strange day indeed.

294 miles in about 9 hours. The bikes were a little unhappy, maybe the fuel, maybe the altitude.

10/11 No Matopos for You
 

Bulawayo is a big, ugly, decaying city made up of a mix of colonial buildings and Soviet era concrete architecture. Our reason for being here was to visit the Matobo National Park (Matopos), which is a Unesco World Heritage site made of a game park and a recreational park. It's about 25 miles south of Bulawayo and was our destination for the day. Most notably for us, it is the burial place of Cecil John Rhodes, an important colonial businessman that my father claims some relation to. It's also the home to some of the last white rhinos in the wild. Before heading there, we stopped in town to find a working ATM and a grocery store. I eventually found the only working ATM while Re picked up lunch.

Tasks accomplished, we turned our bikes south for Matopos. The 25 miles or so passed quickly, through an interesting landscape full of large, granite boulders. We pulled up to the gate, hopped off the bikes, and walked to the office to purchase our entry tickets for the park. The guard, who was busy texting on his phone, only looked up after we asked how much it was, and he informed us, “no motorcycles in the park,” and went back to texting. When we asked why, he simply replied, “animals.” Re assured him that we promised not to get eaten, but he never looked back up. It would have been nice if the motorcycle ban had been mentioned anywhere in the literature we consulted, but no. Discouraged, we rode back to Bulawayo and our crappy guesthouse.

Since it was after 10am, we wouldn't have been able to make it all the way to Harare today, so we decided to make the best of it in Bulawayo. After a brunch of more apples, peanut butter, and crackers, we sat on the bed and caught up on ride reports and blog posts. In the middle of the afternoon, we walked into town, found a local internet cafe, and posted our work. Walking back to the guesthouse, we stopped at Mr Chips for dinner. Five USD procured us two orders of greasy chips and three large “Russians,” (a sausage sort of like kielbasa). We then stopped at the grocery store for fruit, a rock bun (which lived up to its name), and some Castle milk stouts to round out the “Dinner of Champions.” We arrived back at our guesthouse and found Sue, the Australian we met in Vic Falls, and that the power was out. With assurances that the power would be back on by 9 (am or pm, the grumpy lady at reception didn't say), we sat on the bed and enjoyed a candlelight dinner. Shortly after we ingested more than our recommended daily allowance of grease and stout, the power came on in time for us to go to bed.

51 pointless miles.

10/12 Ride to Harare
 

Since we'd already spent more time in Bulawayo than anyone really should, we were anxious to get on the road early today. Re and I had initially planned to go to Great Zimbabwe, an archaeological site near Masvingo, but decided instead, to make a beeline for Malawi and, hopefully, for greener pastures. The shortest route to Malawi took us through Harare, so that was our goal for the day. The ride to Harare looked like it would be around 300 miles, so we wanted to be on the road by 8:00 am.

Around 7:30, I walked out to check on the bikes and soon found that Re's rear tire was flat. This was the tube that was wrinkled and had already been patched once. When I installed the new rear tires in Vic Falls, I opted to reuse the old tubes. Since the easiest way to remove the rear tire is with two people, I went in search of Re. I found her getting out of the shower and while she greeted me wearing nothing but a smile, it soon disappeared. So much for our early start. Out to the parking lot, off with the wheel and tire, and I soon discovered another hole where one of the wrinkles had been. I pulled out one of our new tubes and we very carefully (no wrinkles this time!) installed it. Since the tools were out and we were dirty, we decided it would be a good time to adjust both chains and check some fasteners. Back to the showers to get cleaned up.

We finally hit the road around 9:00 am and settles in for another long, boring, dry, dusty ride. While we did encounter some headwind today, at least it was a comfortable temperature all day. One feature of Zimbabwe is the large number of police checkpoints and frequent tollbooths. One good thing about being on a motorbike in Zimbabwe is that you pay no tolls. Another good thing is that the police don't seem to bother you. So by the end of the day, we copied the locals and blew through the tollbooths and checkpoints. Shortly after midday we reached the town of Gweru and stopped for fuel and groceries. While Re was in the grocery store, I sat and waited with the bikes. I enjoy people watching and was interested to note that we were apparently the only white faces in town. Zimbabwe is different from the rest of Africa in this respect, as usually, there are at least tourists in town. While I was watching people do what they do, a man came up and introduced himself. He had noted our American license plates, knew of Oregon, and we had a nice chat for about 5 minutes. He was interested in how Zimbabwe compared to the rest of Africa and to the US.

For the rest of the ride to Harare, fuel availability was spotty, and again, the bikes seemed to hesitate at partial throttle but were fine WFO. We neared the outskirts of Harare around 5:00 pm, and once again, the landscape changed from dry and dusty to green and interesting. We rode through a section of large, granite boulders, some of them balanced precariously on top of each other, and then encountered Harare rush hour. Harare seems to be powered by crazy shared minibus taxis that, without rhyme, reason, or signaling, pull off the shoulder of the road. Dodging taxis the entire way, we made it into the center of Harare and again found very few road signs. Navigating from the tiny Lonely Planet map wasn't working out well for us as I was sure we passed our turn. Sitting at a light, I noticed the occupants of the vehicle to our right looking at our bikes and talking to each other and then saw the police chaplain sticker on their door. I motioned for them to roll down the window and asked for directions. They were able to direct us to the right neighborhood, but we cruised around for more than 20 minutes but could not find our destination.

Sun nearly down, we pulled into the parking lot of the local grocery store, thinking that we would ask for directions. On a whim, I typed the address of the guesthouse into my GPS and it told me we were 0.4 miles away. We followed the directions to the gate. Originally, I wasn't going to bring a GPS on this trip and was going to rely on paper maps. I can't count the number of times I've been glad I changed my mind. We beeped the horn at the front gate and waited to be disappointed once again. The guard unlocked the gate and we rode into what must be the nicest guesthouse in Zimbabwe. And, they had a room! And internet! And a clean pool! And a lovely restaurant serving good, cheap food! We unloaded the bikes, schlepped our stuff to the room, and ordered a delicious dinner. We spent the rest of the evening relaxing and chatting with other travelers.

302 miles in about 8 hours. Bikes were hesitating - maybe altitude, maybe fuel.

10/13 Day Off in Harare
 

Since our guesthouse was such a pleasant surprise after a couple of no fun days, we decided to take the day off. While touring the grounds of the guesthouse, Re had spied a laundry sink out back, complete with washboard.

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As there were no signs saying that you couldn't do your own laundry, Re decided this was a perfect opportunity to de-crustify some of our clothes. While she played charwoman, I sat down with the GPS, map, and guidebook and plotted our route through Mozambique and Malawi. Mid-morning, Re rode to the grocery store, where she found a much wider selection than we had in western Zimbabwe. We had heard, almost bitterly, from some Zimbabweans, that people in Harare have it better, and that seemed to be true. Tired of grease and peanut butter, Re returned with a ton of fresh fruit, a big tub of yogurt, some muesli, a liter of 100% fruit juice. For lunch we had yogurt with fruit salad and muesli on top, with large glasses of juice on the side. While it was delicious, I was secretly afraid of how my body would react to that much nutrition all at once. Fortunately, she also brought donuts, which helped to restore the delicate grease balance my body has developed since arriving in Africa.

After lunch we jumped on the bikes and headed for the Bally Vaughn animal sanctuary. Located about 35 miles east of Harare, Bally Vaughn is an organization that rescues injured or abandoned animals. While we were there, we saw lions, a leopard, zebras, a civet, a caracal, assorted other small animals and birds, and a whisky barrel on legs, named Kylie, that used to be a hyena. Also visiting the sanctuary was a group of high school students from a local, rural school. We understood after speaking to their teacher, that this trip was reward for having done very well in a national drama competition. While we sat drinking a Coke at a table outside the cafe, five of the female students sat at our table and began chatting with us. We spent about an hour talking with them about a wide variety of subjects while we walked and watched the large carnivores being fed from the wheelbarrow of gruesome (and flies). Their teacher thanked us for spending time with his kids and said what a treat it was for them to talk with Americans.

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I think we had as much fun as they did, and Re developed quite a bond with several of the young women. I also had the opportunity to speak with the woman who runs the sanctuary and was impressed with their commitment to the animals. If you ever find yourself in Harare, we both recommend a trip here.

We arrived back at the guesthouse at around 6 pm and pulled in next to the DR800 we had seen at the border. It was a reunion day of sorts, as we also found Sue sitting in the lounge. Later that evening we ran into Stephan and Nicole, the DR800 riders from Germany, and spent the evening chatting with them and Sue. Stephan and Nicole seem like a neat couple who have ridden that DR all over the world. We had another delicious dinner at the guesthouse, and I used the rest of our internet credit to upload all the photos we'd taken through Victoria Falls.

63 miles in about 2 hours. Lots of laughs.

10/14 Ride to Mozambique
 

Today our goal was Tete, Mozambique, which is located approximately halfway across the strip of Mozambique that separates Malawi from Zimbabwe. Since today's ride would be about 240 miles plus an international border crossing, our plan (once again) was to get on the road promptly. We woke early, had a breakfast of leftover fruit salad and muesli, but sadly, found that the rest of our juice had “disappeared” from the refrigerator overnight. While Re packed up some things in the room, I checked on the bikes and was confused by our tire pressures. For the third day in a row, they seem to be all over the place, some higher, and yesterday some lower. I'm beginning to suspect that the dust has gotten to my tire gauge, because I can come up with no other explanation.

After saying goodbye to Sue once again, we headed out to the bikes by 8:30 am. Here we ran into Stephan and Nicole and spent 30 minutes more chatting with them. So much for our early start (again). The ride leaving Harare was pretty, with the rocks, hills, and flowering trees, but as we approached the Mozambique border, it turned brown again. Proof once again, that it is a small world: we stopped to refuel our bikes from the jerrycans at a dirt road somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Harare and Mozambique, and a pickup truck came up the dirt road to the main road. The passenger rolled down the window, and told us that he was from Portland, Oregon. Having traveled in southeast Asia and run into lots of scams, I was suspicious and asked what neighborhood he was from. I was pleasantly surprised when he identified a small neighborhood near the Lloyd Center. Benny Brown was his name, and it sounds like he's led quite a life. He appeared to be in his late 50s and told us of his travels through Europe before settling in Zimbabwe in 1994. He's now working as a solar energy consultant and dabbles in some sort of mining. We had a nice 15 minute chat before we said our goodbyes. Cue the singing robots from Disneyworld.

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We arrived at the border around 1:00 pm and were immediately approached by an insurance tout/border helper. Despite our repeated, and repeated, and repeated objections, he would not leave our side. Other than him, the border process leaving Zimbabwe was quick and professional. As we rode off, our border helper assured us he didn't want any money, he just wanted us to buy liability insurance for Mozambique from his company.

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As soon as we crossed into Mozambique, we were swarmed by money changers and insurance salesmen. Because it was so poorly signed and surrounded by insurance agent offices, we rode past Immigration and parked next to Customs. The shortest of the insurance salesmen also turned out to be the fastest as he made it to us first as we got off the bikes, and we again had an unwanted border helper. He followed us into Customs and waited while our Carnet was stamped. I had heard from other overland travelers that our insurance should be about 25 USD and was only available from third party vendors, so when our insurance salesman told us it would be 23 bucks a bike, I thought that was close enough. He assisted us with the Immigration and visa forms that were written in Portuguese and sort of translated into English. We presented our completed forms to a rather stern official, who took our money and told us to wait outside, apparently the air-conditioning belongs to him, and he's not sharing. While Re waited for our visas, I went next door to the insurance office and waited while our insurance was issued. While waiting for change, I had an interesting chat with another gentleman who walked into the office about the United States and its relationship with Israel. We discussed the prospects for peace in the Middle East and both agreed that it seemed unlikely. Change made, I went and found Re, who was now in possession of our shiny, new Mozambique visas.

We hopped back on the bikes and rode into Mozambique. I must admit that I was a little disappointed how similar Mozambique was to Zimbabwe. I'm not sure what I expected, but I thought the Portuguese influence would extend beyond the language. We made for Tete and arrived near sundown. After a few wrong turns, we found our way to the center of town and a guesthouse recommended by Lonely Planet (when will we ever learn?). While Re headed inside to find out about accommodations, I waited on the rather dirty and poorly lit street and spent my time chasing off three little urchins who were grabbing at items on Re's bike. Fortunately everything was securely attached. Re returned with that look on her face... wait for it... the 35USD room was now actually...95USD. Re noted that it was air-conditioned, but apparently the drain exited into the wall as evidenced by the mold farm in the room.

Our only other option was a campsite that was listed as “very basic” in the Losers' Planet. We rode across the suspension bridge to the north side of Tete and tried to follow the signs to the campground. We knew that it was supposed to be river side and initially headed west. There were no street lights at all, and our jerrycans block most of our headlights. We rode up and down that road a couple of times, then went back to the bridge and rode east from the bridge. Here we entered a “lovely” neighborhood that I wouldn't ride into during daylight hours in the US. It did not appear to be a safe area, but we were out of choices. We eventually spied the sign for the campground, beeped our horns, and were once again, disappointed. I'm not sure very basic even begins to describe our accommodations for the evening. Since it was well after dark, we set up the tent by flashlight and proceeded to lock everything to everything else. The bathrooms were rustic, or rusty, or filthy. The wood-fired water heater only added to the charm. Once again, I was glad to be a boy, since I didn't have to touch anything. And all this for only 22USD per night. After our big breakfast, we skipped lunch, and in our search for accommodations, also missed dinner. Of course, the campground had no food, and we were not going to venture out on foot, so we had handfuls of muesli and water for dinner before crawling into the tent and hoping for a better day tomorrow.

263 miles in about 9 hours, including a frustrating international border crossing.

10/15 Ride to Malawi
 

After a bad night of sleep, we awoke not to the gentle “marimba” of the iPhone, but to the sounds of muffler-less vehicles crawling down the bombed out road that ran in front of the campground. By the light of day, the compound was even more crapulous than it was at night. The predominant decorating theme seemed to be rust, crumbling cement and 10-year old woven reed mats. Whereas the previous evening the bathrooms seemed filthy, better illumination revealed them to be disgusting. And the log in the water heater had burned out overnight. In a repeat of last night's dinner, we sat on a crumbling step and ate dry cereal for breakfast, but at least we made coffee this morning.

We did chat with some of our fellow travelers, including a couple in an overland truck that they had shipped from Germany and a Belgian couple who decided to ship their black, 4-door, 2.8 liter diesel Jeep Wrangler to Africa as well. They were both headed to Malawi but were unaware of the fuel situation. I told them I had read on HUBB that while petrol was no problem, diesel was scarce and that they should fuel up before getting there. Around 7:00am our camp host unchained the front gate to let the shittiest looking overland safari truck that we've seen out onto the “street.” Unfortunately, he did not close it after they left. In came somewhere between 7 and 10 street urchins who proceeded to try to “help” all of the remaining campers in exchange for pleas for money. The Belgian gentleman was trying to refuel his vehicle from a jerrycan, and I helped him retrieve the jerrycan from the kids who were holding it for ransom. Later, I came back from taking a cold shower and saw several of the younger ones crowded around Re, who was packing up one of our bags, apparently blocking her view of one of the older boys who had sidled over to our bikes and was looking at our daypacks when I chased him off.

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After Re showered, she came back laughing and grabbed the camera to snap a couple of pictures of the rabbits who apparently live in the women's side of the ablution block. It's still hard to believe that this only cost us 22USD a night.

Back on the road, we were on the hunt for food and fuel. We never saw anything that looked like a grocery store or a market, but everything is written in Portuguese, and neither of us read it. We did, however, find a gas station before leaving Tete and spent 400 of our remaining meticals filling up the jerrycans. My plan was to spend our remaining 350 meticals on another load of fuel before we exited Mozambique, but we never saw another fuel station in the 70 or so miles to the border.

We made it there before noon and were immediately swarmed by at least 10 money changers. As we tried to weave our way through them, they kept trying to step in front of our bikes to stop us. We ran the gauntlet and headed for the Immigration building, all the while being chased by the pack. We were immediately surrounded again when we stopped at the Immigration building and were only saved by a border guard who actually gestured with his AK-47 to chase the money changers back. He told us it was okay to park the bikes there and that he would keep an eye on them. Undaunted, the money changers retreated about 10 feet from the bikes, all the while shouting to us like dogs baying at a treed raccoon. The border formalities were taken care of quickly and professionally, and then we were back in it. As we got back to our bikes, the guard was called away and disappeared around the corner of the building. The official exchange rate for the US dollar to Malawi kwacha is approximately 165 to 1. The money changers were offering us 125 to 1. I laughed and hopped on my bike, but Re had to physically muscle her way past the money changers to get on hers. We rode for the gate and were through.

We immediately noticed there was no Malawi Immigration building on the other side of the gate as is customary. After riding for 2 km or so, we passed a sign that said something about being in Malawi, but still no Customs or Immigration buildings. We stopped and consulted the book, but it was no help. We reluctantly rode back towards the Mozambique Immigration building to ask for direction, but this had the unfortunate effect of apparently making the money changers that we had changed our minds and really did want to get in on some of that horrible exchange rate action. Re hung back while I braved the gauntlet again and found out that the Malawi Immigration post is 10 km inside of Malawi.

We wheeled around and soon found ourselves there. Here we were greeted by a similar swarm of insurance salesmen/touts. Unfortunately no one came to our rescue and we had to fend them off ourselves. Once we reached the Immigration building, again with the pack nipping at our heels, we were approached by the local pen salesman/vehicle guard, who offered to guard our bikes for a fee. Since we had to park quite a distance from the building, we reluctantly agreed to his services. Insurance in Malawi is only available from third party vendors, and we did need it, so I began discussing our options. In addition to liability insurance, our new best friends were also border helpers (no charge if we buy their insurance) and money changers. While Re filled out the Immigration forms for both of us, I negotiated our insurance down from 36 USD to 25 USD per bike and also exchanged 100 USD at a good rate of 170 kwacha per 1 USD. Passports stamped, the six of us now headed for Customs, where the officer mis-stamped one of our Carnet documents. After I caught this, he re-stamped it and drew an arrow with a note. We returned to our bikes, paid off our guard, and were through the gate and into Malawi.

Our destination for the night was the town of Monkey Bay on Lake Malawi, but we needed more fuel to get there. We spied the first BP station after the border and swung in to find that there had been no petrol in the area for 4 days, and they weren't expecting any anytime soon. Huh. The attendant went on to tell us that there was no petrol anywhere in the area, but maybe in Blantyre, a big city in southern Malawi. We had enough fuel to reach Blantyre but had no other reason to go there. Our other option was a town called Liwonde, which at least has a national park with some animals, but probably no fuel. We discussed our options, came to no decision and rode north towards the junction where we'd have to make a decision. We stopped at the junction and reluctantly decided that Blantyre was the safe option, so we turned east.

We rode about 15 km down the road to Blantyre, and lo and behold, there was a gas station with a scrum of cars, minibuses, and people carrying jerrycans, all crushed in around the two pumps. We pulled in line behind several cars and I jumped off with our jerrycans. As I made for the pumps, I met the town drunk. He grabbed the cans from me, bulled his way to the front of the line, and incessantly called for the two women who were in charge of the station. Thanks to his persistence and my pleas that we only needed 15 liters, we were able to cut in line. The elation I felt when the fuel nozzle went into our jerrycans soon turned to sadness when the numbers on the pump stopped spinning after 7.2 liters, and a collective groan was heard from all in attendance. That was it. No more petrol. Happy to have scored at least 7 liters, I paid the ladies and tipped our helper approximately 1.15 USD for all his help. This gave us barely enough fuel to make it to Lake Malawi, but it was going to be a race against not only empty tanks, but also the sun.

As it was now 3 in the afternoon and the GPS said Monkey Bay was 110 miles away, we each had approximately 125 miles worth of fuel, and the sun would go down at 6pm, we headed north once again and were surprised when the GPS indicated a right turn off the paved road and onto a graded dirt road. Thinking this must be wrong, we continued on the paved road, and when the GPS recalculated the distance, suddenly 20 miles was added. We didn't have enough fuel to go an extra 20 miles, so we made a u-turn and followed the directions onto the dirt road. The GPS indicated that we would be doing 20 miles on this road before rejoining the paved road. Fortunately, this road lacked serious corrugation and was in pretty good shape in general. But the going was slow, as our average speed was reduced to about 25 mph. As we passed through small villages and farms under the gaze of surprised looking locals, the sun continued to sink to the horizon. We finally made it back to the paved road as the sun slid behind the mountains to the west. Crap. So much for not riding at night in Africa.

During the brief twilight, we made it closer to the turn off to Monkey Bay but soon found ourselves in the full dark. The Symba headlights are weak to begin with and are even less useful when partially obscured by jerrycans. Somehow, I spied the sign for our intended guesthouse, and we turned off the paved road. The guidebook said it would be about 1.5 km to the guesthouse and it turned out to be the longest 1.5 km of our lives. The first half km was undulating, hard-packed dirt punctuated by the occasional pot hole. The final km, however, was the real challenge. It turned out to be soft sand. It seemed like forever, but it probably took us 20 minutes or so to go the final km. In sections, the sand was at least 6 inches deep, and our bikes just sank in and bogged. At one point, I actually got off my bike and walked next to it while it ground along in first gear. I am happy to say that both Re and I remained upright the whole time, but I have no idea how. After duck-walking our bikes that long, our hips and lungs were burning by the time we made it to the front gate.

We found this guesthouse through Lonely Planet (you would think I would have learned by now) and were once again, disappointed. They had no private rooms, only dorm beds. As it turns out this weekend is a holiday weekend. It was Mother's Day on Monday, and a large group of Malawians had come to celebrate. The woman at reception cryptically said there was room in the dorm but she would need to “negotiate” with the other occupants, and we should have dinner in the restaurant while we wait. While we waited for dinner we had a couple of cold Diet Cokes, which were delicious after such a hard ride. Dinner was unremarkable and finally our room was ready. We got to our room to find no one else in it. Our hostess said they had left. Huh? The room was very basic- uncomfortable foam mattresses under mosquito nets and no fan. The bathrooms were again, rustic, and the whole experience was a big disappointment. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

270 miles in about 10 hours, including an international border crossing and 20 miles of dirt road. No visa or other fees at border, only liability insurance at 25 USD per bike. 29 days in Africa so far averaging 95 USD per day.

10/16 Ride to Cape Maclear, or the Longest Short Ride Ever
 

After an extremely hot and sweaty night's sleep (remember mosquito nets and no fan), I woke to find little flying bugs in my face and hair and covering the bed inside the net. I was relieved to see that they weren't mosquitoes but appeared to be something more like fruit flies. Looking at the net, I could see they covered the outside of the net and could actually crawl through the mesh. More effective than any alarm, I was wide awake. A few minutes later, Re woke up and noted that not only were she and her bed in a similar state of bug coverage, but the entire wall next to her bed was covered with the same. Yay.

Determined to find a new place for tonight, I went out in search of petrol. Both our bikes were nearly empty, and we only had about 3 liters remaining in one jerrycan. I poured 1 liter into my bike and headed back into the sand and town. On my way to the BP station, I spied an ATM but had neglected to bring my card. I made my way to the BP station, only to find that they had not had fuel of any kind in the past 3 days, and the earliest they might get any would be Tuesday, but they weren't very hopeful about that. They suggested I try the petrol station back towards Cape Maclear, so I headed south. After about 5 miles I came upon the other station and was told a similar story. They expected to get a small quantity of diesel that day, but no petrol any time soon. Crap. I fought the sand back to the guesthouse and gave Re the good news.

One of the guesthouse employees, who assured us that his real name in fact was, Cheeseandtoast, said he may have a solution to our problem. He had a neighbor who was a fisherman who had some black market petrol that he might be willing to sell for 425 kwacha per liter. At this point, we could carry about 20 liters, so while Cheeseandtoast went in search of his neighbor, Re volunteered to walk into town to hit the ATM for some much needed cash. Twenty minutes later, Cheeseandtoast returned with the news: apparently his neighbor had already sold his fuel, but Cheesandtoast just happened to meet another guy who had 20 liters but wanted 520 kwacha per liter. I quickly did the math and realized that at 170 kwacha per USD, this is 12 dollars a gallon (the official rate for petrol in Malawi is 290 kwacha per liter, which means that 1 gallon is already 7 USD per gallon). Highway robbery, but what other choice did we have? I didn't have enough kwacha to pay him at that point, but Re soon returned with a fistful of notes. We did the deal, filled the bikes and jerrycans, and headed back into the sand, hoping for greener pastures once again.

My earlier ride in and out was much easier due to the lack of luggage, but now we were fully loaded. While the daylight allowed us to pick some better lines through the sand, it was still an arduous 1 km back to solid ground. I again found myself walking next to the bike for a particularly deep stretch of sand, but Re simply powered her way through. When we made it back to the paved road, both panting heavily, we stopped for a water break and brief rest. This was one of the few times on this trip that we both wished for bigger (or at least more powerful) bikes. Or maybe just sand ladders.

We rode the few miles of paved road to the turnoff for Cape Maclear, where the road turned to dirt again. We had spoken with a couple at the place in Monkey Bay who said that at least on four wheels, the road “wasn't bad at all” (this couple was also in a bind, but not due to fuel. They had rented a truck in Lusaka, Zambia and driven to Malawi, where the transmission broke. Their flight left Lusaka in two days, and they were waiting for a ride that was coming from Lusaka, almost 600 miles away, in order to make their flight). The first 50 feet or so “wasn't too bad,” but the rest of it was horrible. Heavy, heavy corrugation in the center of the road and loose, fluffy dust at the edges. At least it was only 12.5 miles to Cape Maclear. We alternated riding very slowly in the center of the road, where the corrugation was the least, and the edges of the road when the center was too rough. In Africa, we've resorted to following the tracks left by the local bicyclists, as they seem to know the smoothest way. In one particularly rough section while we were riding near the edge, I glanced in my rear view mirror in time to see Re get bounced out of the corrugation and into the fluff on the side of the road. In this section of the road, the edge fell away quickly and I was yelling in my helmet for her to stay on the gas. Unfortunately, she couldn't hear me and instead, closed the throttle. She was nearly stopped but the inevitable came to pass. As I ran back to help her pick up her bike, I couldn't help but laugh at her singsong chant of, “**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****.” Unlike her oopsie in Namibia, she didn't appear to be the slightest bit phased by this one and was just angry. As she was nearly stopped, there was no damage to her or the bike, and we didn't even spill a drop of our precious fuel. While we were talking about what happened, we both wondered aloud how anyone could have described this road as not bad. I said at the time that if any driver of a 4-wheel vehicle ever tells us that an unpaved road is good or not bad , I am going to immediately, without warning, punch him or her in the teeth out of general principle. We got the bike dusted off and continued towards Cape Maclear. Fortunately about 1.5 miles of the road was paved through the hilliest section. We were glad that it was because of the steepness of the hills. At one point, I had to shift into first gear to make it up one of the hills.

We eventually made it into “town,” where the road turned to sand. We found a place to stay that while basic, appeared to be much cleaner, friendlier and less buggy than the previous. To go 16 miles, it took us more than an hour and a half, and we were exhausted, both physically and mentally, by the time we got there. We parked the bikes, dropped our stuff in our room, and grabbed the bread that Re picked up on her walk to the ATM and headed for the beach chairs. The bar was fresh out of Diet Cokes but did have plenty of Carlsbergs. We normally don't drink in the middle of the day but decided to make an exception. We sat with our toes in the sand, munching on our bread, and drinking our beers, looking over beautiful Lake Malawi. We decided to take the rest of the day off and do exactly nothing.

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Lake Malawi really is beautiful, with white sand, clear blue water, and many islands dotting the horizon. But for the lack of salt in the air, you'd swear it was the ocean. We spent the rest of the afternoon lounging and reading and chasing off the various “guides” and trinket sellers who smelled fresh meat.

Later that evening, we wandered down to a local restaurant and enjoyed fish from the lake while we watched the sunset from their second story deck. Shortly before dinner arrived, the power in the area went out, and we ate by kerosene lantern before walking back to our guesthouse in the very dark night as we had forgotten to bring our flashlights. Back at the guesthouse, it was a lively scene at the beach bar and many westerners who were volunteering in Malawi had come to the beach for the long, holiday weekend. Before we joined the festivities, we wanted to refill our water bags from the local safe drinking water tap. The water in the bathrooms comes directly from the lake and is therefore unsafe to drink, so some western NGO has installed water taps at half km intervals along the road. I grabbed my flashlight and the water bags and headed out the gate to the nearest one. Since the power was out, it was pitch black on the main road, and I noted one of the very few cars in the area had started its engine maybe a hundred feet down the road from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the reverse lights come on, which handily illuminated my path. Suddenly, the driver seemed to floor the accelerator and flew in reverse towards the building behind him. He turned the wheel at the last second and clipped the side of the building. Now he was coming straight at me at full speed in reverse. I ran back towards our guesthouse and missed getting hit by about 10 feet as he careened in reverse through 3 fences before eventually coming to a stop, half inside an unoccupied curio shop. Thinking the driver may be in distress, I pointed my flashlight inside the vehicle and saw a rather startled looking local. When he saw the light, he threw the vehicle into gear and tried to drive off, striking another fence. At this point, several locals came up, shouting for him to stop, and he made two more attempts at driving away. I quickly read his license plate number aloud for anyone to hear, and he came to a stop. By this time, there was a crowd of 30 or more local people, including the owner of the building he'd backed through. A couple of the local men yanked him from his vehicle and brought him in front of the woman whose building he'd damaged. At this point in time, I stepped in to give my account of what happened and left them to sort out the details. I filled up the water bags and headed back inside the compound.

Happy to have not been run over by a car in Malawi, I decided to celebrate my good fortune at the beach bar. There were 15 to 20 people already there, a mix of westerners and local guides and “beach boys.” (beach boys are local men who hope to “entertain” wealthy, western women. Their main skills seem to be dressing well, excellent grooming, and playing the drums.) There was already a large fire burning in the fire pit, which seemed kind of redundant as it was around 85 degrees, but we grabbed some beers and found a doublewide chaise near the activity. We had our backs to the fire and the drummers but enjoyed the scene nonetheless. The stress of the past couple of days, coupled with the heat and cold beers, made us kind of punchy, and we laughed and had a good time. At one point, the wind picked up, fanning the fire, and the drumming seemed to grow especially loud. As the light of the flames danced on the blowing leaves overhead, I had the strange feeling that the next thing I would see was an ax coming down to lop off the buffalo's head. A strange night indeed.

18 miles in an hour and a half. Re's bike survived yet another nap unscathed.

10/17 Hanging Out in Cape Maclear
 

After another hot night's sleep, we woke to another beautiful, clear morning. Somebody really needs to bring ceiling fans to Malawi. We walked down to the beach and looked at the water while we woke up. We had decided that another easy day was the plan. Wifi is available here, but the place that sells access cards for it is 2 km farther up the beach. We decided to head there early in the morning when it's at least a little cooler. The walk was uneventful and ended at a very nice guesthouse and campground. After walking in through the front gate, Re went to look for a wifi card while I headed for the large, overland truck I spotted in the campground. The Green Monster is hard to miss, as it is one of the biggest private overland trucks we've seen and is painted an interesting shade of green. As I walked around admiring the setup, the owners came down the steps. While I chatted with them, Re joined us and we spent more than an hour talking about our travels and traveling. The couple to whom the truck belonged (I wish I could remember their names) have been everywhere in the Monster. The highlight of the conversation, however, was when we commented on the difficulties we'd had driving in. They also remarked how bad the road was for them. Re and I have always assumed that those roads would be a breeze in a big truck with big tires, but apparently no, the washboarding shakes them as much as it shakes us and is damaging to the contents of their rigs. But our biggest laugh was when the driver told us how they were also told that the road was fine, and he said if he ever met them again, he would...and gestured as if he were strangling someone. I then told him what I'd said yesterday about punching people in the mouth, and we all had a good laugh. After they gave us several recommendations for campsites along our route, we said goodbye, bought our wifi card, and headed out for breakfast.

We stopped at the same restaurant as last night for coffee and fruit pancakes before heading back to our guesthouse for another lazy afternoon at the beach. We did spend some time catching up on RRs and blogposts and were able to post them when the wifi finally started working sometime after dark. As the weekend was over, we were the only people staying there. Around 7pm we went out in search of dinner, but many of the nearby places seemed to be closed. We happened across a small restaurant with a good sounding menu out front and were invited in by the waiter. As we took a seat, I started to have second thoughts about the place but didn't listen to my better judgment. Re had a local fish with lemongrass and mashed potatoes with onions and coriander, which was very tasty. I had chicken curry with nsima (the local version of mealie pap or sadza) which was also quite tasty. After dinner, we went back to our guesthouse for a drink at the beach bar and a low key evening. As we headed to bed, I was concerned by how much my stomach was grumbling. Oh no.

4 km, but all on foot. Hopefully the bad fuel I put in my tank won't result in an exhaust problem.

10/18 Ride to Senga Bay
 

Another early morning after a long night, but today we were heading north. Today's ride would only be a few hours, so we weren't in a particular hurry to get on the road. We also weren't looking forward to the 12.5 miles back to the main road. We packed up the bikes, showered, and were on the road by about 9 am. We made our way back down the horrible road, again taking about an hour to go the short distance back to the paved road. I am happy to report that we both made it without incident. The rest of the ride to Senga Bay was easy but there was no petrol along the way.

We reached the town of Salima, which is the turn off for Senga Bay at around noon. We were excited to see a line of minibuses surrounding the local BP station. In anticipation, we swooped in, only to find that fuel had been expected early in the day but had not yet arrived. Low on kwacha, we continued into Salima to look for an ATM. The first one we found was not working, but fortunately the second ATM was. Though we had cash in hand, we discovered that there would be no petrol anywhere today. We rode the final 14 miles into Senga Bay and found a very nice campground as recommended by the Green Monster people. We are staying at Cool Runnings, a campsite and guesthouse run by Sam, a very cool woman who does many good things for the community. Camping here is cheap, but the restaurant is kind of expensive. It is a beautiful place though, with the first grassy lawn we've seen since Victoria Falls. It's so much nicer to camp on grass than in sand. We noticed a set of Trax bags outside the tent next to ours. Chatting with Sam, we found that Stefan (the DR800 rider from Harare) had just left that morning for Tanzania, but that still here was Garth, an F800GS mounted rider from Seattle.

We spent the afternoon setting up camp, inquiring about the fuel situation (not good), having lunch, and chatting with our fellow travelers. Later in the afternoon, Garth returned from his ride, and we spent much of the rest of the day talking about our respective trips. Initially we were surprised at his friendliness, but later found that at home he rides a Harley... Garth flew his GS to Frankfurt many months ago and has been riding southward ever since. His trip has been very different from ours and it was fun to hear of his adventures in northern and western Africa. After dinner and a couple of beers with Garth, we retired to the tent for another sweaty night. While we've experienced warmer air temperatures in other parts of Africa, the humidity here in Malawi is much higher. I imagine this is what much of the rest of our trip is going to be like.

110 miles in about 4 hours, including 12.5 miles of bad road.

10/19 Bike Maintenance and Trip Planning
 

Sam, the owner of Cool Runnings, is also in need of petrol, so every morning she checks on availability. The bad news is that there will be no fuel today unless we would like the privilege of paying 750 kwacha per liter on the black market. Since we need 13 liters, that means it would cost us about 57USD for a little more than 3 gallons. Maybe some day, but not today. Instead, we decided to do some bike maintenance, namely clean the air filters and wash the bikes.

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While we were getting ready to start on this, we said goodbye to Garth, since he was heading south. We spent some time comparing luggage setups and looking over eachother's machines. Quite a study in contrast. Two completely different solutions to the same (or similar) question. Shortly after Garth left, I made a mad dash for the bathroom. It seems that bad fuel I consumed the other evening did turn into an exhaust problem after all. Call of the wild answered, we got to work. By luck of the draw, we started with my bike. This was when I noticed that gasoline had apparently leaked into the cylinder again. Puzzled as to why this has happened a couple of times now, I grabbed the laptop and fired up the shop manual. The petcocks on our bikes are vacuum operated, and the petcock is located between the fuel tank and the battery. I decided to pull off the leg shields and examine the vacuum system. I inspected the petcock and found nothing obviously amiss and couldn't find any other defects with the vacuum system. Of course, I do not have a vacuum gauge with me, so I was limited to a visual inspection. Next, Re and I pulled the float bowl to check the float needle and float. We found no crud in the bowl, and the needle and seat looked fine. Still confused, my thoughts turned to the air filter. This problem first occurred to Re's bike in North Carolina when it had about 5600 miles on it. I have neglected to clean the air filter, ever, and thought there was a possibility that a dirty air filter could somehow be involved? We removed the bottom of the air box, popped out the filter, and as there is no diesel in Malawi, cleaned it with gasoline. It was filthy. Clean, the filter weighed what felt like half as much as it did when dirty. We then oiled it with motor oil and put the whole works back together. After pulling the sparkplug and clearing the cylinder of fuel, we tried to start the bike, and this is where the real mystery began. The bike would only start with the throttle cranked wide open and refused to idle. Puzzled, I looked over everything we'd touched and made sure we'd put everything back together. Finding nothing amiss, we cranked it back up again, with the same results: the bike refused to run. Maybe the bike wasn't used to having this much clean air available? So I grabbed the screwdriver and attempted to adjust the idle speed. No matter which way I turned the screw the result was the same: bike no run. Huh. Then I decided to get stupid and randomly started twiddling the A/F screw. Carburetor settings now thoroughly screwed up, I then decided to check the spark plug. When I first pulled out the spark plug and grounded it to the cylinder head to check the spark, which was strong and regular. Huh. Suddenly, a bad feeling crept over me. I pulled the dipstick and looked in the crankcase to find the crankcase was nearly full to the dipstick opening. Well crap. We grabbed a Ziploc bag, unscrewed the oil drainbolt, and watched in disbelief as 800ccs of oil and at least 1 liter of gas came pouring out the hole. If the crank can't turn, it's kind of hard for the motor to run. I had fortunately picked up 1 liter of fresh oil a couple days before in Monkey Bay, so at least we had dino-squeezins to put in the bike. Concerned about cross-contamination, I found a straw, shoved it in the oil fill hole, sealed it with my fingers, and blew as much of the remaining gas/oil mix as I could out of the motor. After cleaning the oil screen, I refilled the motor with fresh oil, reset the carb settings to match those on Re's bike (once again, it's handy to have two identical bikes for reference), and she fired right up and purred.

By now, I was not feeling very well, so I decided to take a break and make another break for the loo. Since I was feeling warm and achy we decided to spend the rest of the afternoon researching our trip to Tanzania, and if necessary, to Mombasa. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the chaise lounges on the lawn next to the lake, books in hand. I felt somewhat better later in the day, so we went for a swim before dinner, shower, and another warm night in the tent.

0 miles, 1 liter of fuel lost to the oil. Hopefully this will be the end of it.

10/20 Still No Petrol
 

Second verse, same as the first. After rolling out of the tent, my first stop, once again, was Sam's office. The only thing that changed since yesterday was the price of the black market fuel. It had now gone up to 1000 kwacha per liter for the final 40 liters available. That makes it 6 USD per liter, and later in the day, a couple from Israel was desperate enough to actually pay that. Considering that camping in this idyllic spot is only 1600 kwacha per night, our decision was obvious- stay another day.

As I had pooped out (literally) before getting to Re's bike yesterday, it was the job for today. Fortunately, her bike was not having the same fuel problem as mine, so it was a relatively quick and easy task to clean and oil the air filter and adjust the chain. Since we sat at eye level with the bikes, there was no escaping the fact that they were filthy. We had picked up some cleaner in Harare but hadn't yet found the opportunity to use it. As I still wasn't feeling very well, Re volunteered to find a bucket and some water and wash the little piggies. I once again headed to the chaise lounges by the water and put my time to good use playing spider solitaire on my iPhone.

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After a while, I returned to find that Re had decided to change into her bikini to wash the bikes. Given the conservative dress displayed by most Malawi women, this was perhaps, the first ever, bikini car wash (ok, motorcycle wash) ever in this country. Earlier in the day I broke into the prescription meds and began a course of Cipro. It eventually makes me feel better, but when I start Cipro, I feel “off” for the first day or two. After lunch from the market, I also put on my bathing suit and we went for a lovely swim in Lake Malawi. The water here is crystal clear, and it was the perfect temperature. What I neglected to put on this morning, was any sunscreen. Due to this oversight and my British heritage, the result was inevitable.

Later in the afternoon, now safely out of the sun, Re and I found ourselves chatting with Sam and a couple of her British volunteers. While we had heard of fuel smuggling across Lake Malawi from Mozambique via the local ferry, and while swimming earlier, I couldn't help but notice Sam's speedboat with attached 40 hp Mercury engine. So later, while we were chatting, I wondered aloud, about how many liters of fuel her boat could bring back across the lake. Doing a little bit of quick math, it was determined that, with the driver and guard along, it could haul approximately 800 liters back to Malawi. Fuel at the dock on the Mozambique side was going for the equivalent of 350 kwacha per liter, and if one could sell all 800 liters at 1000 kwacha per liter, that would net a tidy profit of over 3100 USD (less expenses). Of course, I would never advocate for breaking the law, but pointed out that this could be considered a mission of “mercy.” When we left them, everyone was smiling and laughing about the idea, but maybe the seed was planted. Then, we were back to being beach bums for the rest of the day.

10/21 Will There Be Petrol Today?
 

Third verse, it's getting worse. With a strange feeling of deja vu, I walked up to Sam's office, asked the same question, and got the same answer. No petrol today, and no black market available at all. Maybe there will be black market fuel available tomorrow from the Mozambique ferry. And I was also “glad” to see that no one broke the law at my suggestion and made their own private run to Mozambique. Sigh.

Overnight, a new couple had arrived at the campground. Marc and Katie are an American couple who have been volunteering in South Africa for the past four years. Their time on the continent is almost up, and they decided to have one final hurrah and camp their way through southern and central Africa before heading back to the states in February. We spent several hours talking with them, and it was good to get their perspectives on Africa and the role of NGOs here.

We spent much of the rest of the afternoon out of the sun (@!#$% sunburn) working on RRs and blogposts in anticipation of finding internet access tomorrow. After a dinner of some things that Re found in the local market, good news arrived. Sam came and found us to say that petrol had arrived at the Caltex station in town and was also due later in the day tomorrow at the BP. Since she was going anyway and had a permit to buy (legally) 200 liters in jerrycans, she said she would pick up 13 liters for us at cost. I really do love this woman! This was the best news we'd had in days. Since tomorrow is Re's birthday, I decided to get her the gift of unleaded. The news got even better a little while later, when Sam realized she needed to empty one of her 20 liter jerrycans in order to take it with her tomorrow. I grabbed our cans and ran to the generator room, where she filled them with 13 liters of sweet, sweet love (in the form of hydrocarbons). Well, this changes everything. We've been stopped for so long that we were going to have to remember how to get back on the road. We headed to bed early in anticipation of forward movement.

0 miles but more tomorrow!

10/22 Ride to Mzuzu
 

Since we had to repack virtually everything, we rose early and got to work. There was no repeat of my bike's fueling problem, but for some reason, the last several days we've ridden, my front tire seems to lose a bit of air and reads 25 psi every morning. In my excitement, I didn't want to get out the valve tool, but I suspect it's the valve. We hit the road around 9 am for the 250 miles or so to Mzuzu. Less than 5 miles down the road I spotted a problem: in my haste to get the jerrycans filled, I neglected to make sure that my bike was topped up. If full, the first fuel light should last approximately 25 miles, but mine only lasted for 5 miles. Oops. Considering that even with everything full, 250 miles was close to our limit, that missing liter could turn into a big problem. Consequently, today's ride would be an economy run.

As we reached Salima town, we spotted Sam, sitting on the hood of her 1980s vintage, yellow, Chevy shortbed pickup, and swung in to say hi. After again thanking her, she passed along the news that petrol had arrived about 60 miles up the road in the direction we were going. Not sure if it would still be there, we stuck to the economy run idea and cruised at 35 mph, north towards Nkhotakota and the promise of more petrol. After nearly two hours, we reached Nkhotakota and quickly found the fuel station. In fact, we couldn't have missed it due to the near riot situation going on there. We pulled in through the out door since they allow motorcycles to jump the queue and I pulled up to the pumps while Re stayed a safe distance away. I pulled up with the other motorbikes and stopped to appreciate the scene.

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There was a soldier with a rifle standing next to the pumps and using said rifle to push the crush of people away, while another, much larger officer (in fact, he was the largest non-westerner I have seen in Malawi) grabbed “patrons” by their throats and physically moved them out of the way. The motorbikes kept trying to inch up in front of the cars to get to the pumps but were trumped by a pickup truck that came screeching in. The driver of the truck proceeded to push the crowd out of his way with his fenders. I thought to myself that this just isn't worth it. About this time, another uniformed police officer walked up to chat. I couldn't help but notice the chaos going on behind his back as he encouraged me to consider his friend, the black market petrol salesman. He told me the price was 500 kwacha per liter (of which, I am sure, he gets his cut) and led me to his friend. Five liters would be enough to ensure that we could make it to Mzuzu safely, and so I shelled out the cash and got the fuel.
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We continued on toward Mzuzu at the same slow pace, determined to save every ounce of fuel we could. At one of the many police checkpoints, we heard there was petrol in the stations in Mzuzu. The slow ride allowed us to appreciate the scenery. Whereas southern Malawi was brown and dusty, northern Malawi was green and verdant. We passed through groves of banana trees and several rubber plantations along the way. The strangest vignette of the afternoon occurred when we stopped for lunch in some unnamed town. There was a small Cash N Carry behind the empty petrol station, and Re went in to find something cold to drink and hopefully something to eat. While she was inside, I stayed out with the bikes and entertained several of the local boys who'd shown up. Re shortly returned with some juice and digestive biscuits (which was pretty much all that was available). We had barely cracked the lid on the juice and opened the biscuits when an odd apparition appeared. I still don't know where she (he?) appeared from, but all we saw was a bony old hand reach in to snatch our juice. We turned to find a person who appeared to only be 4.5 feet tall and maybe 75 pounds after our goodies. She wouldn't take no for an answer and kept lunging for our stuff. Neither of us wanted to touch her with our bare hands and were once again, glad for our Dariens. I finally gave her some of our biscuits and she slipped away.

We made it to Mzuzu around sundown and found the recommended guesthouse. It was again, crappier than described, but it was only for one night (we hoped). Also staying there was a Canadian couple, and we spent a while comparing travel notes before we hopped back on the bikes to head out for dinner. It is Re's birthday, so I wanted to do something nice and had found that there was a good Indian restaurant in town. We had a great dinner before picking up a couple of beers and heading back for the night. The bad news is that there are lines at every petrol station and none of them seem to be moving.

246 miles in about 8.5 hours. Economy run, have approximately 5 liters for tomorrow.

10/23 Time To Get The F@#$ Out Of Malawi
 

Somewhere, anywhere out of Malawi was our destination for today. Actually, it was Mbeya, Tanzania, which is located approximately 260 miles away. To cover that many miles and an international border crossing was an optimistic goal, so our plan was to get an early start. But once again, my plans and Africa collided. We woke to find no power. Perversely, that meant that the shower only had scalding hot water and no cold water. Huh? In Africa, it somehow makes sense. Re braved the heat and got a shower, but by the time I tried, it was too hot for me and my sunburn. Re went to inquire about the water situation and order the included breakfast while I started to pack up. She returned with the news that there might be a tiny bit of cold water soon and that they were cooking breakfast on a gas stove in the courtyard, so it might be a few minutes. I tried the shower again, and sure enough, there was a trickle of cold water, but the hot water had run out. I took a quick shower and we headed for breakfast.

We rolled out the front gate around 8:00 am and went in search of petrol. Mzuzu has at least 5 petrol stations, and every one of them had the same non-moving line as last night. We tried several stations, and at each one, the men with the huge jerrycans directed us to the next. After striking out several times, we found the BP station, where we were offered petrol for the low, low price of 1000 kwacha per liter (6 USD). Figuring there had to be cheaper fuel than 24 USD per gallon, we pressed on. We circled the central market and spied two guys carrying the ubiquitous yellow plastic jerrycan and 5 liter measuring jug. We flagged them down and found out that their rate was 700 kwacha per liter. Better, but still a lot of money. They refused to negotiate and walked away. We were then approached by two other guys who said they had 20 liters for 11000 kwacha. They agreed to sell 10 liters for 5500 kwacha, and we agreed. The ringleader jumped on the back of a bicycle taxi and motioned us to follow him. We turned off the main road into what can be politely described as a shanty town. The buildings that line the dirt roads are made out of corrugated metal and sticks. He led us down several streets before stopping in front of a stick building. The further we rode into this area, the more paranoid I got. He hopped off the back of the bicycle taxi and motioned for me to follow him through the fence and into the backyard, all the time, smiling broadly. My momma didn't raise no fool. I refused to get off the bike and told him to bring the fuel to the road. He stopped smiling and walked through the fence. I instructed Re to turn her bike around, heading from whence we came and to keep it running and in first gear. I figured that if things went pear-shaped this would give us the best chance of escape, however, given the leisurely pace with which our bikes accelerate, it would require that our pursuers either twist their ankles or step on nails while they chase us. As I watched through the gap in the fence, I saw the ringleader's head peek around the corner, followed shortly by he and another guy peeking around the corner, and then I saw a third guy peek around the corner. At this point in time, I told Re to hit it, and we “zoomed” our way back to the main road. I don't know what was going on, but I did not like it.

So we rode back to the market where yet another helpful salesman directed us to the land of 700 kwacha petrol. In the back of the BP station there is a “store” full of large jerrycans, and I was able to negotiate 10 liters for 6500 kwacha. That works out to be 16 USD per gallon! Ouch. But it should be enough to get us to Tanzania, the land of milk and petrol. Loaded with petrol and wallets lighter, we headed north.

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The ride today was beautiful. Mzuzu is in a mountainous area, and we wound our way through the relatively cool air and green trees before again descending to the shores of Lake Malawi. We rode along the lake. The elevation of today's ride began around 4500 feet, descended to 1600 feet, before climbing back over 7500 feet in Tanzania.

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While we were wiggling our way through the mountains, I signaled for Re to pull over so we could take a picture of another milestone: the 10,000 mile mark. We reached the border sometime after 1:00 pm and breezed through the Malawi side. The Tanzania side was another story. The guides we had consulted said the visa fee would be 50 USD, but it turned out that it had changed and was now 100 USD per person. We also met the local insurance salesmen and dealt with them in time. Approximately 1.5 hours later, we left with visas, 3 months of liability insurance, and another hole in our wallets where 270 USD used to be. Double ouch. But we were through. The scenery in Tanzania was beautiful and mountainous. We rode through pine forests, tea plantations, and rubber plantations and had plenty of time to appreciate them as we chugged slowly up the hills. The good news was that we picked up an hour of daylight crossing into Tanzania, but the bad news was that our progress was slow. Earlier at the border, we again ran into Marc and Katie, and they told us of a campground in a town approximately 40 miles shy of Mbeya. This was starting to look like a good idea, as we were tired and sore. We were sore chiefly due to the roads in Tanzania. Every small town has multiple sets of speed bumps that required us to come virtually to a stop and crawl over them. Any faster than a snail's pace, and our bikes bottomed out. If you've seen the topes in Mexico, you know what I'm talking about. The road surface was also potholed, patched, and undulating, all conspiring to jolt our spines and beat our butts. We made it to Tukuyu, the town with the campground, where we easily found an ATM and a couple of petrol stations, WITH PETROL! After stocking up, we made for the campground, where we met Marc and Katie. As we were so high up in the mountains, it was chilly enough for Re to actually put on her polarfleece while we set up camp. Because we hadn't seen a grocery store along the way, we ordered dinner from reception, and it was eventually delivered by motorcycle. There are a lot of small bikes in Tanzania, and we've even seen a couple of CT-90s and CT-110s. We enjoyed a delicious homemade dinner before heading to bed.

220 miles in about 7.5 hours. Once again, no mid-range due to the altitude, but we're chugging along.

I've read every word, and I look forward to more.

Appreciate you taking the time to share your trip with us. It's also great to see a RR written with excellent grammar! bier

:clap:

:mchappy:I want MORE!!!:funmeteryes:

10/24 Ride to Iringa
 

Even though Tukuyu is only at about 4200 feet above sea level, this was enough elevation to give us our first truly cool night's sleep since Swakopmund (on the coast of Namibia). We were glad we put the rainfly on the tent the night before , since it helped keep a little warmth in the tent. After I rolled out of the tent, I checked the thermometer and saw that it was 61 degrees Fahrenheit! While the morning air was certainly refreshing, we were concerned as to exactly how refreshing the shower was going to be since it was a cold water only shower. Several of the campgrounds where we've stayed have been cold water only, which is fine when it's 85 degrees in the morning, but neither of us was looking forward to the prospect of a bracing shower. Fortunately for us, our rescue came in the form of the camp security guard, who approached and asked if we wanted warm water to wash with. Why yes, we said, and he hustled off behind the reception building and returned ten minutes later with a 3-gallon bucket of warm water. He motioned for Re to follow him to the ablution block, where he left the water for her. While Re went to bathe, I started to strike camp. The guard returned shortly thereafter with another bucket for me. Having never taken a bucket shower before, I grabbed my clothes, towel, and bucket of water and slipped into Re's shower stall. Re had finished lathering by the time I arrived, so I helped her rinse off before lathering up myself. After dressing, Re returned the favor, and we both ended up smelling vaguely like a fine whiskey. The warm water smelled of wood smoke, as apparently it was heated over a wood fire and now, we also smelled smoky and peaty. Note to self: Talisker would make a fine perfume.

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Clean and dressed, we headed back to the campsite, only to find that approximately ten small children had arrived for school. The Bongo Campground is also a nonprofit organization that makes documentary films about social issues in the area and is also a primary school. Most of the students were young girls, who were incredibly cute in their apparent hand-me-down school uniforms that all seemed slightly too large for them. Re was greeted by a chorus of hellos and had fun with the children as they giggled and parroted everything she said. Too soon, it was time for school to begin, and their very strict teacher ordered them inside.

After our delicious dinner the previous evening, our chef asked if we'd want breakfast in the morning, and we said yes. She first offered us omelets, and since we didn't sound too excited by that, she offered us banana porridge. We like porridge, we like bananas, so we said yes, with visions of bananas, brown sugar, and creamy porridge dancing in our heads. Since our ride to Iringa was over 250 miles, we had ordered breakfast for 7:00am. Unfortunately, it arrived about 8:15, but we'd used our waiting time wisely and were otherwise ready to go. Once again, our chef arrived on the back of a motorbike and proceeded to unwrap trays and bowls and coffee service. Marc and Katie also thought breakfast sounded good and joined us for a rather unique experience. As we sat around the table and the porridge was revealed, I did not smell anything sweet and yummy, but instead, noticed the chicken bone sticking out of the surface of the porridge. Hmmm, I thought as Re and I cautiously eyed each other. As our chef enthusiastically dished up the food, we noted a look of concern on Katie's face as she dipped into her porridge. Katie is a vegetarian, and like us, was obviously not expecting chicken in her banana porridge. Rather tentatively, we tried our porridge and found it to be tasty. It took a few bites to recalibrate our expectations, but we ended up enjoying it quite a bit. The bananas were more like plantains in that they were starchy and not sweet.

Breakfast finished, we prepared to hit the road. We donned our gear and headed for the bikes. I hit my starter button, and motor no turn. My bike had hydraulic-ed again. Sigh, it obviously wasn't the air filter. Since we were parked on the campground's lovely grass, I wheeled the bike out to the dirt road to clear the fuel. Sparkplug out, bike kicked over, cylinder cleared, plug reinstalled, and it fired right up. We put the tools away, and Re went to start her bike, only to have it hydraulic as well. Well, ****ity **** ****. Suddenly, a light bulb went on over my head. From my vantage point at the dirt road, I noted that Re's bike was parked facing uphill, on its center stand, with the front wheel in the air. I flashed on the first time it happened in my parents' driveway and recalled that the bikes were parked facing uphill, and with the weight of our luggage, the front wheel would have been off the ground. I also recalled that in Senga Bay, our bikes were parked, again facing uphill, on the center stands, as they were when it happened at the campground in Citrusdal. Every time the bikes were parked facing uphill on the center stands, with the front wheels in the air. Up until now, I had suspected a fault with the vacuum petcock, but now I am fairly certain it's the carburetor, and specifically the float. I suspect that the combination of angles prevents the float needle from closing fully, and consequently, this allows fuel to dribble continuously into the float bowl. Since really no one else in the Symba community has experienced this hydraulic-ing problem but both of our bikes have, it has to be due to some set of circumstances unique to our setup, and this makes the most sense so far. The plan from now on is to only park on level ground and to block the rear tire in order to keep the front tire on the ground. I hope I am right, cause this is getting old.

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We rolled Re's bike over to the dirt road, cleared the fuel, started it up, and rode the couple of miles back into Tukuyu for more fuel. Gassed up, we headed north to Mbeya, yesterday's original destination. Stopping in Tukuyo last night was the right choice, as the fifty miles to Mbeya were extremely slow going. The elevation rose to over 7500 feet, and every little town along the way had four to six sets of speed bumps, for which we had to slow to a crawl. We wound our way through the mountains, again admiring the green plantations and groves of trees. In Mbeya we turned east and the scenery changed from green to brown. The altitude and steep grades already had the bikes wheezing, but progress slowed even more when we ran into our old friend, headwind, in Makmbako. Even without the headwind, going would have been slow, with the rough roads and speed bumps. After a gas station lunch eaten sitting in the saddle on the roadside, we continued the long, slow trip to Iringa. Approximately one mile shy of Iringa, we reached the turnoff for the town center. Iringa sits on a bluff above the main road at the top of a long, twisty grade. To make the final mile even more fun, the Tanzanian road department has installed severe, tooth jarring speedbumps approximately every 500 feet. These topes required us to again come nearly to a stop before bouncing over them. After one particularly rough one, I heard a thud and turned around to see Re retrieving my MSR dromedary bag that had been ejected from beneath my Rok-straps.

We finally arrived around 5:30 pm, but were happy to see that due to the time change in Tanzania, there was still sun in the sky. We found a reasonable guesthouse, and while unloading the bikes discovered that Re had lost her towel. We have been carrying our microfiber towels in their mesh bags tucked under a Rok-strap so they can dry while we ride. Apparently her towel jumped ship along the way today. This is a bigger problem than you first may think, since many of the guest houses and none of the campgrounds provide towels, and it will be difficult to replace. We grabbed some dinner before returning to the guesthouse for a nightcap or two in the form of Castle Milk Stouts.

265 miles in about 8.5 hours. If I ever meet the person who introduced speedbumps to Tanzania, I will (in my best Eric Cartman voice) kick him square in the nuts.

10/25 and 10/26 Catching Up in Iringa
 

10/25

After yesterday's uncomfortable ride and the stress of our time in Malawi, we decided to take a day (or two) off from the road to rest and plan where we go from here. We spent the morning sitting on the porch, drinking coffee, and talking about a wide variety of subjects. While preparing for the trip, we considered the pros and cons of a bike to bike communication system and ultimately decided against it. While this means Re doesn't have to listen to me constantly talk about the bikes, and I don't have to listen to her singing, we do miss out on the opportunity to discuss our feelings and experiences during the day. I'm not sure that skipping the communication system was the right choice, so it's good to have times like this to sit and talk for as long as we like.

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Later in the morning, we met our new best friend, Titho, a local man who recently finished high school and was curious about us and our travels. He helped us with a few basic Swahili phrases, and we answered his questions about life in the west. Around lunchtime we wandered over to the local internet cafe to check our email. After lunch we returned to the guesthouse to work on ride reports and blog posts. Around dinner time, Titho reappeared and we spent more time finding out about life in Iringa before heading to dinner.

0 miles.

10/26

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Another lazy day in Iringa. We uploaded the ride reports and blog posts we wrote the previous day using the very slow internet we had. We also uploaded many photos to our smugmug account while we researched further travel in Tanzania and shipping options to India. The wifi was fast enough to allow me to Skype my parents, which was a nice treat after no internet for more than a week.

0 miles. Tomorrow we ride.

10/27 and 10/28 Ride to Morogoro and Morogoro
 

10/27

In danger of growing moss in Iringa, it was time to move on. As Titho had told us that Morogor was the hottest place in Tanzania, we wanted to get on the road early to try to avoid the heat in the afternoon. I was pleased to find that after blocking the rear wheels on the bikes, there was no hydraulic-ing this morning (which proves nothing, as it's happened only very occasionally). We hit the road by 8:30 and unfortunately had to ride down the road we came up two days ago. After a slow bump, bump, bump back down the hill, we rejoined the main road and started the crazy 200 mile ride to Morogoro.

Crazy because of the traffic and the accidents along the way. The number of buses and trucks traveling the road increased dramatically from the previous days' rides, and so did the insanity of the drivers. The buses race each other to the next bus stop in an attempt to reach the waiting passengers first. The bus drivers will pass anywhere, uphill, around blind curves, through the center of town, at police checkpoints, it just doesn't matter. There is apparently a phrase in Swahili that translates to, “god willing, we will arrive,” and this must be the prayer of every bus driver and passenger in Tanzania. Unfortunately this same sentiment appears to also be shared by every semi driver and passenger vehicle driver on the roads, as they all clearly don't give a ****. This devil may care attitude shows itself in the four semi trucks we saw wrecked in the ditches today, and in the many scorch marks and puddles of metal from burned vehicles we saw along the highway.

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When we weren't dodging other vehicles, we were enjoying the scenery. One stretch of the highway today rode took us through Baobab Valley. Baobabs are giant, ancient trees that we've seen all along our ride in ones and twos, but here they numbered in the hundreds. Re is especially enamored with the baobabs and really enjoyed this section of the ride.

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Later, we crossed into Mikumi National Park, which motorcycles are normally not allowed to enter, but they are allowed to transit on the public road. The signs entering the park were especially humorous, as they warned it was illegal to view the wildlife from the public road. Re and I got quite a chuckle out of that and both agreed that we would not look left or right as we rode through. Well, that didn't last long. Cue Judas Priest's “Breakin' the law, breakin' the law.” Over the next many miles, we saw herds of zebras, giraffes, elephants, buffaloes, baboons, several types of antelopes, and one very large stork in its nest at the top of a strange looking tree. I normally don't stop to sightsee roadkill, but we had to make a u-turn to go back and see a completely intact spotted genet on the side of the road. Fortunately we made it out of the park without being arrested for looking at the animals and continued on toward Morogoro.

The other odd sight of the trip were the Masai people. They wear traditional garb, which for men includes a very colorful toga-like wrap garment and (for some reason) white gladiator style sandals. It seemed normal enough to see them herding cattle alongside the road, but a little more odd to see one gentleman talking on his cellphone while riding a bicycle.

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We arrived in Morogoro by 2:30 and began to look for a hotel for the evening since Tanzania doesn't seem to have as much camping as other African countries. We had the name of a hotel but no map, and my GPS didn't have a detailed map of Morogoro either. Consequently, it took us about an hour to find the Mt Uluguru Hotel, where we stayed for the night. This hotel was the bargain of the trip, with air conditioning, a comfy bed, and breakfast included for around 15 USD. Since this was the first AC we've enjoyed since southern Namibia, we found it hard to leave the room. We did however, pry ourselves away from the cool air for a quick look around town, a visit to the ATM, and to purchase one delicious watermelon. We returned to the hotel for dinner and a cool night's sleep.

205 miles in about 6 hours, including countless topes.


10/28
Since Morogoro looked like and interesting town and we couldn't bear to leave the AC, we decided to stay another day. While walking around town yesterday we saw several internet cafes, and since we still need to figure out how and where we are going to ship the bikes to India, we spent a couple hours this morning looking for answers (and finding none). Mombasa, Kenya seems to be the best shipping point in the area for Mumbai, but even before we left the US, I was hoping we could do it from Dar Es Salaam. Mombasa has a reputation as an especially shitty town, Kenya has a much higher crime rate, and we would have to pay again for visas and insurance, just to ship our bikes. We now have the extra reason to not want to go to Kenya, in that Kenya has invaded Somalia, and Al-Shabab have promised to retaliate in Kenya. Yay. So our hopes are pinned on Dar. Unfortunately, ADVRider and HUBB have provided no reports of shipping from Dar Es Salaam, and we were unable to find any businesses advertising such services.

So we went to lunch. One of the things we like to do while traveling is to eat at local establishments. Unfortunately, all of the restaurant menus here are written in Swahili. Not above pantomiming and imitating the sounds of various delicious animals, we found an outdoor cafe that seemed popular with local diners. As we stared cluelessly at the menu on the wall next to the grill, a kind gentleman, who also spoke English, came to our rescue before Re had to start mooing and clucking our order. John, a Tanzanian forester who was working on his Master's degree at the local agricultural school, stepped in to help us order and then joined us for lunch. We enjoyed ugali (the local version of sadza, nsima, or mealie pap), some beef cooked in foil, and a delicious vegetable medley. We spent the lunch chatting about Tanzanian agriculture and forestry and Re's love of baobab trees, which John found particularly humorous.

After a nice lunch, we returned to the internet cafe to research hotels in Dar and catch up on the news. Later in the afternoon, we grabbed some more fruit from the local market and headed back to the room for a blast of AC. Later that evening we made our way to one of the swanky local hotels and splurged on a delicious Indian dinner. Stuffed, we waddled back to the hotel, grabbed a beer, and settled in for the night.

0 miles.

10/29 Ride to Dar Es Salaam / 3 Months on the Road
 

Since Dar was only about 120 miles from Morogoro, we were in no particular hurry to get on the road. Our plan was to stay at the Jambo Inn Hotel in Dar Es Salaam, and I found it listed in my GPS, so I set it as our destination. After another delicious breakfast at the hotel, we loaded up the bikes and headed for the nearest gas station. When we pulled in, I saw several men crowded around the pump, and one was holding what appeared to be a filter. As we pulled up to the pump, they waved us by, and as the station only had one pump, we continued down the road to another station I had seen on one of our walks. What I apparently didn't notice at this point was the GPS recalculating our route. We made it to the next station and through some sign language got enough petrol to get us to Dar.

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We turned back onto the road and followed the GPS directions. Since there are so few roads in Africa, I normally don't depend on the GPS, but instead rely on the map. However, when we arrived in Morogoro, we got ourselves completely turned around while searching for the hotel, and I honestly couldn't remember the way back to the highway. So, GPS it was. After a few miles I started getting a little concerned, because I thought I had remembered from my cursory glance at the written directions earlier that morning, that it should have been under two miles back to the highway.

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My suspicions were confirmed when the road turned to hard-packed dirt. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered riding on a dirt road coming into town. We pulled over, and I took a better look at the route and realized that yes, in fact, the GPS recalculated our route due to our side trip to the petrol station. It appeared that the dirt road would last for about 6.8 miles before rejoining the highway. Re and I discussed it quickly and decided that (in light of my hatred of backtracking) we would continue down the dirt road. The road was very rough and rutted and became more so as we rode on. Our average speed fell to under 20 mph as we picked our way through the rocks and ravines.

After about 5 miles, we came upon a crossroads and an odd road feature. It appeared that someone had planted a row of stones across the width of the road. These stones stuck up about 8 inches out of the dirt, but there were a couple of motorcycle size gaps between them. I aimed for one of the gaps that was about 10 inches wide and did not make it. Re however, made it through with no problem. As I passed between the rocks, I felt a sharp impact, and the bike lurched sideways. After clearing the gap my bike slowed drastically. Well now, this can't be good.

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(This is what it looked like after I pried it off the footpeg)

Before I even hopped off the bike, I looked down and saw the damage. I'd hit one of the rocks with my rear brake lever, and it bent back so far that it was now caught on the footpeg. This was also causing the rear brake to bind, hence the slowing. We hopped off the bikes and looked underneath to see the deep gouge in the rear brake lever. As we were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, we needed to effect a quick repair. Not wanting to remove the rear brake lever at the time (and not really knowing how to remove it) we did the next best thing and got out the hammer. I pounded on the brake lever, trying at least to free it from the footpeg, but was only able to move it about 1 inch. As it was now at least 4 inches farther back than it was supposed to be, it made for a difficult ride. After stowing the tools, we got back on the “road” and made our way to the highway.

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(This is what it should look like, as seen on Re's bike)

Back on terra firma, we pulled into the first layby and inspected the bike for any more damage. It seems the lever took all the impact and was just deformed. The good news was that the brake was not binding, the bad news was that I had to ride the next 115 miles with only the very tip of my boot on the footpeg. If I shifted my foot any farther forward, it applied the rear brake. When you're a big man on a little bike, you don't need your riding position to be restricted any more than it already is.

Fortunately, I did not remain focused on my brake problem for too long, as traffic today was even worse than the ride to Morogoro. As we frequently took to the hard shoulder to dodge oncoming traffic and to pass slower vehicles in order to prevent being run over from behind, we decided this was good practice for our upcoming rides in India. The closer we got to Dar, the more insane the other drivers became. At one point in time, I was “passed” by a UN Toyota Land Cruiser that came within two inches of my handlebar as he jammed in beside me. As I was already at the edge of the pavement and there was about a 6 inch drop off to the dirt below, I was a little irate. I'm glad to hear that the US will be withholding some funds from UNESCO. To add to the excitement, there were suicidal baboons everywhere.

We lived in California for about 18 months many years ago, so I'm fairly comfortable with lane splitting. Re however, never got used to it and doesn't enjoy it. Once we reached the outskirts of Dar, lane splitting was the only way to go. Dalladallas are what the local minibus taxis are called here, and they are many and aggressive. Also, many of the intersections are uncontrolled (or at least people treat them that way). If the traffic signals are working, no one seems to care what color they are, they just go. So we ducked and dodged, weaved and wiggled the next 10 miles into town. We found the Jambo Inn Hotel on Libya Street and liked it except for the lack of motorcycle parking. Re spoke with the manager, and he agreed to let us park the bikes behind a locked gate at night. She has discovered that in Tanzania, the best negotiating tactic is to walk away. It's amazing how many times that has resulted in better service or a lower price. We sprung for the air-conditioned room, and as an added bonus, the hotel has wifi from noon until 11:30 pm for 3 bucks a day. As today's ride was especially hot and sweaty, we collapsed into the room, turned on the AC and set the ceiling fan for takeoff speed. After we recovered, we headed downstairs to get some lunch and have a quick walk around the area. Back to the hotel for some more AC and wifi before dinner, and then off to bed for an early night.

120 miles in 4 hours. I'm going to need to fix that brake lever.

On our journey so far we have covered nearly 11,000 miles, 18 US states, and 9 countries. Not too shabby for two little Taiwanese underbones. After 93 days on the road, our average daily cost is 62 USD total (not per person). This does not include air freight, air fares to Africa, and health insurance, but it does include every other expense incurred on the trip.

10/30 “Shipping Motorbikes to India? Talk to This Guy”
 

We spent the morning looking at the map and trying to plan our time in Dar (and maybe beyond). Unable to locate the shipping port on the map, we walked down Morogoro Road to the water. Lo and behold, it was the port! We walked north along the water, past the docks for the ferries to Zanzibar, and around to another local ferry dock. I was extremely disappointed to see one particular boat in the harbor. We stood and watched one of the Hoegh Autoliner RORO ships back away from the jetty. I had found out that this ship comes to Dar once a month, and eventually makes its way to Mumbai, but couldn't find the schedule. We watched as the one option I knew of sailed away. Well, crap.

As we walked back to our hotel, we once again passed the ferries to Zanzibar. This area is full of touts who want to “help” you get a ticket to Zanzibar, or if you're not interested in Zanzibar, they have the safari “just for you.” after repeating no Zanzibar, no safari a few dozen times, one tout asked us, “well then, what do you want?” Figuring it would get him out of our faces, I told him we wanted to ship our motorbikes to India. I almost guffawed when he said, “India? You need to speak to this guy.” He grabbed me by the hand and led me to a tiny office that “unsurprisingly” sold ferry tickets to Zanzibar and to safaris. The tout said something in Swahili to a person in the front office who then led us to the back office and to Mr. Msuya. We were motioned to sit down in his chairs, and he asked us what we wanted. I said we needed to get to India by ship, and he laughed and replied in very good English that there were no passenger ships to India. I explained that we actually wanted to ship our motorbikes to India, fully expecting the same laugh, but instead he said, “we can do that.”

Surprised and suspicious, I asked how they would go about doing that, and he proceeded to explain that he works with cargo consolidators who could “stuff” our bikes in a consolidated container and get them to Mumbai. They would simply need our documents and a deposit, and he could get to work. I asked how much this might cost, and he said he figured maybe 300 USD per bike based on the fact that he had shipped a Land Rover some time in the past, and it was around 1200 USD. Intrigued, I said we would think about it and talk with him tomorrow. He said he would check further into prices and the schedule before we met. Re and I left excited but a little nervous at how irregular this seemed.

As it was nearly 12 noon and we would have wifi, we headed back to the hotel to try and get some quotes on air cargo rates. Since it was Sunday, we didn't expect to get a response from the airlines but hopefully would hear something on Monday morning before we met with Mr. Msuya again. We also found the location of the India High Commission, as we need to apply for visas tomorrow as well. We spent the rest of the day reading about India and a possible trip to Zanzibar.

0 miles. At least we may have a shipping option.

10/31 Researching Other Shipping Options
 

The first order of business today was to procure our visas for India. There is no point in shipping the bikes there if we can't get there as well. The High Commission of India branch in Dar Es Salaam is approximately 3 miles north of our hotel. We did discover one problem when reviewing the visa requirements, namely, our passport photos. Knowing that we would need a bunch of passport photos on this trip, we snapped some photos before we left home and had them printed at the local Ritz Camera. According to the US State Department website, glasses are now okay in passport photos, but according to the High Commission, they are not. Of course in our photos, we are wearing our glasses. But this problem was easily solved when reception pointed us to a local film processor and camera store. For about 3.50 USD we had new pictures taken and each received four prints. If I ever look as bad in real life as I do in the photo, it's time to cremate me.

New photos in our grubby hands, we hopped on the bikes and headed north. The High Commission only accepts visa applications between the hours of 9:00 and 10:30 am, and we arrived at 9:35 am. They apparently only allocate 25 slots per day, and we were fortunate enough to be 22 and 23. After surrendering our helmets and my Swiss Army knife (whoops) to the machine gun-toting guards, we made our way inside the building. It was when we began to fill out the visa application form that we got a little nervous. The application for an Indian visa wants you to provide the names of two referees from the country you are leaving (in this case, Tanzania) and two referees in India. Of the four total required, we had exactly zero. When you submit your application, you are also supposed to show proof of an onward ticket (proof that you will leave the country). Since we are traveling by motorbike and plan to ride out of the country and into Nepal, we also don't have onward tickets. We also discovered when looking at the application fee chart, that since we are American, we are citizens of the only country lucky enough to get to pay an extra fifty percent for our visas. Yay.

Our numbers were finally called, and we headed to the counter. There, the officer questioned our lack of referees, to which we lamely explained, we're riding motorcycles...we don't know nobody. And when asked for proof of an onward ticket, we explained that we don't have them because we will be riding into Nepal. Met with a raised eyebrow, we explained that we could show that we had sufficient funds in our possession for the duration of our trip. At this, she made a cryptic notation on each of our applications and sent us to the next window to pay. Feeling rather unsure at this point, we went to the next window, where the cashier could answer none of our questions and simply took our money. She was able to tell us that the notation was an instruction to collect and extra 9 USD from each of us since we didn't have any referees. I was glad I brought some extra shillings with me in the morning. We left that morning expecting to pay 82 USD, but when all was said and done, we left with our wallets 142 USD lighter. We were instructed to return on Friday between 4:00 and 4:45 to retrieve our passports and hopefully, our visas as well.

We rode back to the guesthouse to pick up some more paperwork and then rode down to the ferry dock to see Mr. Msuya. Mr. Msuya was not in, but he had left instructions with an associate to have them call him when we arrived. I was having a hard time understanding Mr. Msuya over the phone, but the one fact I was able to understand was that the ship would not leave until November 10th, which is 10 days from now. I also understood that the transit time would be 21 days. Bad news, everyone. That means our bikes would not arrive in Mumbai until December 1st. We thanked Mr. Msuya for the information and said we would be in touch with him tomorrow.

By the time we returned to the guesthouse, it was nearly noon, which meant that wifi would soon be available. While Re walked out to get lunch, I got the wifi activated. We checked Re's email and found that she had received a couple of responses from the airlines she contacted. Qatar Airways had a maximum height of 84 cm, which is too low for us. Emirates Air had no problem with the size but gave us a quote of nearly 4 USD per kg. Mind you, we paid 6.52 per kg from Toronto to Cape Town, which is almost three times the distance. Including all the fees this would make shipping on Emirates almost 1500 USD (not including a crate). We spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the new reality of what to do for the next ten days, and more importantly, what to do without the bikes for 21 more days. We decided that we would head to India shortly after our bikes left and spend a couple weeks as backpackers while we wait for them to arrive.

For dinner, we tried a new restaurant called Mamboz Corner BBQ. We had walked by last evening and saw them cooking hundreds of pieces of chicken on giant charcoal grills. It smelled delicious, but we'd already eaten, so tonight we gave them a try. It was delicious! We got the combo plate that included a quarter chicken and three types of beef. We also got an order of the deep-fried fish and shared it all. Everything was delicious, and we vowed to return.


8 miles of crazy lane splitting.

11/1 Shipping Confirmed (?)
 

After breakfast we walked back toward the ferry dock to see Mr. Msuya and find out more about shipping our bikes with him. Along the way, we spied the office of a freight forwarder bearing Hellmann logo, which Re recognized from her days in cargo. To compare prices, we stopped in and inquired about shipping our bikes with them. The agent we spoke with said it could take up to 45 days to locate a shipment with which he could consolidate our bikes and could not estimate the cost without more information. I asked what it would cost for our own 20 foot shipping container, and he guestimated it to be around 1500 USD to Mumbai, not including any wharfage, other port fees, or document preparation.

Knowledge in hand, we continued on to see Mr. Msuya. Mr. Msuya had done further checking and had prices for fumigation, “stuffing the bikes,” document preparation, and port fees. I had expected the 600 USD we were quoted to go up (obviously), but when he gave us the grand total of 1300 USD, we were a little shocked. Seeing our faces, he assured us that some of the things, like “stuffing,” were negotiable. So negotiate we did. I pointed out that for that price, we could very nearly ship them by air and gave him the Emirates quote details. Of course, I failed to mention the crating, dangerous goods fees, documentation fees, and delivery to the airport fees. Somehow, they slipped my mind. At this, Mr. Msuya pulled out his phone, made a few calls (of course, in Swahili), and came back with his rock-bottom price of 850 USD and the assurance that it would take less than 21 days to get to Mumbai. He was unable to say how many days less, but less he assured us. Re and I stepped outside to discuss the new deal and decided to commit to this. I will say, Mr. Msuya seems like a very honest and straightforward man, but it was with some trepidation that we left him our Carnets and motorcycle titles in order for the export documents to be prepared. We also left him a deposit of 425 USD, which honestly, was the least of my worries. Re and I walked back to the guesthouse, both feeling a little unsure about what we had just done. But Mr. Msuya provided us with multiple ways to contact him and a receipt.

Later in the afternoon, Re emailed Alan and Maggie (fellow travelers from our time in Malaysia) for advice on India. Alan and Maggie are an amazing couple who have traveled extensively over the last 20-plus years and have spent a considerable amount of time in India. After returning from dinner, we found a return email from Alan, and shortly thereafter got an incoming Skype call from him as well. I spent an hour or so catching up with Alan and Maggie, telling them about our travels, and getting advice on all things India. It was a nice way to end the day. We headed to bed with visions of thalis dancing in our heads.

0 miles. A little nervous about surrendering our Carnets and titles (at least I have a receipt...).

Gear Review
 

While we have too much time off in Dar Es Salaam waiting to ship our bikes, I thought I would do two special posts about our gear and our impressions of Africa. As the gear requires some less thought, I decided to start with that.

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This is not another gratuitous bikini shot, if you look very closely you can see how fast the rear tire is wearing...

SYM Symbas. Life in Africa has not been easy for the Symbas. The roads have been rough, and we've spent most of our time at or near wide-open throttle, but the bikes continue to chug along, asking only for petrol and periodic oil change. Overall, we've been happy with our choice. They have made the trip entertaining, to say the least. The drawbacks have been the occasional hydraulic-ing issue (which we've hopefully figured out), the sprocket carrier bolt problem (which Loctite seems to have fixed), and the limited fuel capacity (which our bigger jerrycans solved). Additionally, a little surface rust has begun to show in some areas on the exhaust and on other areas where the chrome or paint has cracked. Some of the bolts and other fasteners are getting a little furry from corrosion. Re's factory front rack bent under the weight of the 10-liter jerrycan to the point where it contacts the front fender, but surprisingly, none of the welds have cracked. The paint and plastic have done well, with just a few wear marks and scrapes that were mostly our own faults. The white plastic leg shields show some staining and marks from our boots that don't wash off. After replacing the crappy stock chains in the US, daily maintenance has dwindled to checking the oil level and tire pressures. We are still running the stock front tires and they have yet to reach the end of the wear bars with over 11,000 miles on them.

Michelin Gazelle M62 tires. These are the tires we used to replace the stock rears. While handling and grip have been good, the wear has been poor. Whereas we got more than 5,500 miles from the stock rears, the first set of Gazelles only yielded 3,300 miles, and the second set appears to be wearing at the same rapid pace.

Garmin GPSmap 60CSx. The surprise of the trip for me. Initially we did not plan to bring a GPS and only bought it two weeks before we left. I'd never used a GPS before and found the learning curve a little steep. But after using it for a couple of months, I can't live without it. It has made our lives easier many times, finding fuel stations, guesthouses, and campgrounds. Our maps are the freebies from OpenStreetMaps.nl, and they have been pretty good. There were some problems in Zimbabwe, but we muddled through with paper maps. It is also durable, as I have lost count how many times I have dropped it.

Pelican Storm iM2600 top cases. Work as advertised. So far, they are 100% waterproof and dustproof. The two padlocks have given us peace of mind when we are away from the bikes. Re's suffered some scrapes and gouges in her 30mph desert oopsie, but they continue to work perfectly.

Ortlieb 49-liter waterproof duffel bags. Very happy with their performance, also 100% waterproof and dustproof so far. White, however, might not have been the best color choice, as they have discolored a bit where the spare tires rub. Combined with the Pacsafe covers they have given us secure storage.

Rok-straps. 100% bombproof, even when muddy or sandy. Just make sure they're cinched tight.

Darien Lights. Can't say enough good about them. They are waterproof and comfortable for extended wear in a variety of temperatures. Re discovered that they crash well, with no damage from her 30mph faceplant in the sand. They armor is stiff when it's cold, but that hasn't been of much concern in Africa. The amount of air they flow when riding has made the very hot days tolerable, but they do get sweaty when standing in them for 1.5 hours at a border somewhere.

Nolan N90 helmets. Overall, we're happy with the helmets, though they are noisy at higher speeds (which usually isn't a problem for us!). The built-in sunshield is great, and the flip-up chin bar has served us well at petrol stations and police checkpoints. The liner is easy to remove and wash, and it dries quickly too.

Vasque hiking boots. We opted for these boots in lieu of specialized motorcycle boots due to our limited carrying capacity and the amount of time we plan to spend off the bikes. They have worked well as riding boots as they have relatively stiff soles and are Gore-tex. They are also comfortable for walking but can be a little hot for extended hikes.

Gloves. My Aerostich elkskin ropers have held up well but are getting rather dirty. Since the Aerostich gloves do not come in a size small enough for her, Re bought a couple pairs of gloves at a local motorcycle store. One pair of deerskin gloves lasted less than 3,000 miles before the leather wore through. She has had better luck with a pair of Tourmaster summer weight gloves, but even they had a few stitches pop loose (easily repaired with her sewing kit).

Mountain Hardwear Drifter 2 Tent. We chose this tent for the small size and claims of 100% waterproofness. The size has been a positive and a negative. It certainly packs small and is lightweight, but it is also very small inside. Essentially, the tent is wide enough for our bags and pads but no more. We have enough space at our feet for our daypacks and helmets, but that's it. The cramped quarters give us no room to bring anything else in out of the weather and require us to be creative with other “endeavors.” Other than the size issue, the tent has been great- 100% waterproof and good ventilation with or without the rainfly. If we had to do it again, we would upgrade to the 3-person version of the tent, the Drifter 3.

Big Agnes Yampa sleeping bags and Air Core pads. Love the system. The bags are an oversize mummy design, which gives a little more room to roll over. We ordered ours so that they zip together on chilly nights. They pack extremely small and are lightweight to boot. We had an issue with Re's pad very slowly leaking air, but eventually found an outdoor bathtub(?) in which to submerge it, where we located an apparent weak spot in the material. We used the included patch kit to fix it- so far, so good. We tried to get the Big Agnes Air Core pillows before we left, but they were out of stock everywhere, so we ended up with the REI dogbone shaped, inflatable pillow, which is not great. It's too small for either of us, and we've taken to wrapping our polarfleeces around them to give them a bit more size and fluff.

Sea To Summit silk sleeping bag liners. Shortly before we left, we sprung for a pair of these bag liners and are very happy we did. They pack to the size of a beer can but unfold to a spacious size. On hot nights, we've slept inside of these on top of our sleeping bags, and on cold nights have used them as an extra layer inside the sleeping bags. They are definitely worth the money.

Coleman Exped 442 stove. Has worked well, but doesn't simmer as well as we'd hoped. It seemed to work better in the US, so it may be due to the variable quality of petrol in Africa.

MSR Quick 2 cookset. Disappointed in the quality. Overall, it's worked okay, but the nonstick finish on the one pan is flaking and peeling. The bowls are getting discolored where they rub against the nonstick pot, and the cup lids stopped fitting tightly after only half a dozen uses.

First Need XL water purifier. Extremely easy to use and fast. We can fill our 10-liters of capacity in less than five minutes, and no drops are required. Screws directly to our MSR Dromedary bags and Nalgene bottles. It removes everything from the water, including bad tastes and odors.

MSR 4-liter Dromedary bags. They work great and are easy to strap to the top of the pile. Re's developed a small leak as a result of her oopsie in Namibia, but she was able to turn it inside out and repair it with the patch kit from the Big Agnes pads. Over a month later, there are still no leaks.

All in all, we are happy with most of our choices in gear. We are especially glad that we brought good quality binoculars, a hammer, flashlights, extra passport photos, Cipro, clothesline and clothespins, and a laptop. There are a few things we wish we had brought, including a bigger tent, a DSLR camera, and waterproof gloves. We could have left behind our Big Agnes chair kits and our poop trowel (we fortunately have not needed it (yet!)).

Bike Stuffing Day Has Come and Gone
 

Bad news, everyone. Bike stuffing day has come and gone and our Symbas are still sitting forlornly in the parking lot at the hotel. Around 2:30 pm local time we received a message from a courier that the departure date for the ship has now been moved to the 21st of the month. ****. That is two weeks from now. I was stunned, to say the least, and we are both gutted by the prospect of being bikeless in India until the 13th of December. Fortunately we haven't yet bought tickets to India, so at least we avoided that problem. After staring blankly out the window for several minutes and silently cursing everyone involved, we fired off an e-mail to Emirates Air to find out more details on the quote they had given us. Basically our choice is to hang out in Tanzania until after the 21st, ship our bikes by sea, and hope that the ship actually goes this time or try to ship by air. (I guess we could also head to Kenya and try from there, but we have already wasted a week waiting in Dar). The real problem with changing our plan to shipping by air is that the sea agent has our Carnets, titles, and our 850 USD. Ugh, I hate this shit. We are awaiting a reply from Emirates and will see the sea agent tomorrow. Wish us luck. We just want to be riding, somewhere else than here.

11/2 – 11/8 Dar Es Salaam Shipping Saga, Part 1
 

11/2

Having paid our 425 bucks and left our documents with Mr Msuya yesterday, we didn't have much to do today. Tanzania is experiencing problems with their power supply, and sure enough, the power went out at the hotel around 10:00 am and stayed off all day. The hotel fired up their generator around noon, which gave us power for the computer, which allowed us to work on ride reports and blog posts for most of the day. We also read quite a bit of the Lonely Planet India book and took notes on the places that interest us.

Dinner was the highlight of the day, as we visited Mamboz Corner BBQ for dinner again. We looked Mamboz up on the interwebs and discovered that it was listed as the #1 restaurant in all of Dar according to TripAdvisor.

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It doesn't look like much, with large, outdoor, charcoal grills set up on the sidewalk every night that are surrounded by plastic tables and chairs, but the food is delicious and the service was excellent as well.

11/3

Since we have become disenchanted with the Jambo Inn, we decided to look for a better hotel. Around the corner from Jambo is the Starlight Hotel, which appears to be a slightly rundown business hotel where we were able to get a room at the same price as Jambo. Advantages to the Starlight were a bigger room, ceiling fan, the large wall of windows overlooking the city from our fourth floor room, and better bike parking. Another big advantage to this hotel is their internet service. We had been paying about 3 USD per day for wifi at Jambo (that only worked from noon to 11:30pm and not while the generator was running), the Starlight has cellular modems that you can borrow and only have to pay for the air time, which was about 4.50 USD for 7 days of unlimited usage.

Also staying at our new hotel was Patrick, a white gentleman from South Africa and his Triumph Tiger 800XC. He invited us to the very much swankier Peacock Hotel next door for beers at their top-floor, open air bar. Patrick is an interesting fellow, he was born in Dar Es Salaam and lived there until he was about 4 years old, when the political climate changed and his family left Tanzania for a stint in the Seychelles before settling in South Africa. Patrick is visiting Dar Es Salaam and Zanzibar for an extended period of time as a trial run to see if he likes it enough to make it his permanent home again. After too many beers, we all wandered back to Mamboz and another delicious dinner. After we finished dinner, we walked around the corner to a small grocery store and cups of saffron almond ice cream. Today was a fun day.

11/4

The big event of the day was (hopefully) picking up our Indian visas at 4:00 pm. Since we had nothing else on the agenda for today, we posted the ride reports and blog posts we worked on a few days earlier and also posted the rest of our photos to our Smugmug account. Around 3:30 we set off for the embassy, battling traffic and lane splitting the entire way north. We arrived at the India High Commission and joined the queue outside the gate. At 4:00 pm they opened the gate, and we rushed along with the crowd into the visa section. We waited patiently for our turn and were overjoyed when we received our passports and shiny, new Indian visas.

After leaving the High Commission we rode directly to Mr Msuya's office to let him know the good news and make final confirmation of our shipping plans. He was not in his office, but one of his staff called him on his phone, and Mr Msuya said he would stop at our hotel at 8:00 am. Happy that we got our visas and our shipping confirmed, we returned to the hotel and shortly, went out for dinner at the New Zahir Restaurant.

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New Zahir is a local “non-tourist” restaurant across from one of the big mosques in Dar, and they have excellent and inexpensive Muslim and Tanzanian food. The interesting tidbit about New Zahir is that it has quite a history as a hangout for revolutionaries. Most notably, Che Guevara and Malcolm X used to frequent the place back in the day.

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We weren't there for the politics, however, we were there for the chicken biryani (which may be the best we've ever had).

11/5

One of the reasons we want to get out of Tanzania soon is that the “little rains” start in November, and that's what we woke up to. Mr Msuya was supposed to be at our hotel at 8:00 am, and we needed to get some copies of our passports before he arrived. I went out in search of an open copy shop in the rain. I finally found one and returned to find Mr Msuya waiting. We provided him with the copies and the other information he needed and confirmed that we could pay the remaining 425 USD in Tanzanian shillings (TZS), but at a very disadvantageous rate. You know a country's currency sucks when even the people who live there don't want it.

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Later in the morning we hit the ATM for the 755,000 TZS we needed and walked down to Mr Msuya's. While we sat in Mr Msuya's office sweating our asses off, I noticed that he seemed a little eager to get the rest of the money. He once again assured us that we would be stuffing the bikes on Tuesday, and he would let us know what time soon. On the way back to the hotel we stopped at a nice grocery store and picked up muesli, juice, and yogurt for lunch. Our big complaint about Dar Es Salaam so far (other than the daily power outages, high heat and humidity, and insufferable taxi drivers) is the lack of variety in food. Regardless of which restaurant you go to, the menu is virtually the same. It is very difficult to avoid greasy foods and find anything with fresh fruits and vegetables. Re has been hitting the local fruit vendors and we have enjoyed a smorgasbord of bananas, watermelons, papayas, mangoes, pineapples, and raspberries. So for lunch today, we had yogurt with muesli and mango accompanied by glasses of 100% fruit juice.

We spent the rest of the day hiding from the heat in our room with the AC set on comfortably frosty. We worked on firming up our India itinerary. For Africa, we had no real plan and found that a bit frustrating, so for India, we want to at least have a better idea what we want to see before we get there. Dinner? Where else but Mamboz?

11/6

Re and I are both getting a little antsy from the sitting around and waiting for bike stuffing day. We have researched hotels in India and flights to Mumbai as well, but will not commit to anything until our bikes have left the country. Another piece of advice gleaned from other people's travels is to never leave the country before your bikes do.

So today we decided to repack all of our luggage for shipping with the bikes and carrying with us on the flight. We aired our our sleeping bags and Re washed the tent, inside and out, down in the parking lot. She also laundered our silk sleepsacks and polar fleeces that we'd been using as pillowcases. Since we do not plan to do any camping in India, we wanted to get all the camping gear clean, dry, and packed well. We stopped for a lunch of more fruit, muesli, and yogurt and then spent part of the afternoon figuring out exactly where each piece of gear would spend the next few weeks.

Dinner? Do you really have to ask? Once again, it was Mamboz, for too f#!%ing hot chicken. Re and I decided to try the Gajaar Sekela, which we had been warned was extremely spicy chicken. Since we are gluttons for punishment, we also ordered it with masala chips. Re and I both love hot food, but later agreed that this meal may have been too hot. To try to damp the fire in our bellies, we returned to the store for another round of saffron almond ice cream. Later in the evening, we were both laying on the bed, holding our tummies, and swearing we'd never, ever do this again.

11/7

Since our bikes were going to spend three weeks in a shipping container before they'd arrive in India, we decided to do a little maintenance and oiling of the metal parts before we sent them off. After my hydraulic-ing problem in Malawi we changed my oil but not Re's, so I decided to only change hers. I headed up to the BP to pick up some oil and nearly choked when I saw that one liter of 20W-50 was over 9 USD. I was glad we didn't have to change the oil in both bikes. Back at the ranch, we unlocked the bikes and got to work. We have been using one gallon Ziploc bags as oil drain pans, but that makes the oil change a two person job – one to do the work and one to hold the bag. I pulled the drain plug, dipstick, and cleaned the oil screen while Re held the bag. At some point I looked down and noticed that the used oil in the bag didn't look too bad. It was at this point that I looked up and saw that the bike we were working on had a brown seat. Well, poop. Re's bike has a black seat, my bike has a brown seat. Sigh. Back to the BP station for another 9 bucks worth of oil. While we had the tools out, we adjusted the chains on both bikes and the clutches as well. Maintenance done, we squirted a little WD-40 on the bare metal parts like the sprockets to hopefully prevent any additional corrosion and also oiled the locks on the Pelican cases, our Krypto cables, and put a squirt in each of our ignition locks for good measure.

Job done, we rewarded ourselves with a lunch of falafel sandwiches and samosas. We spent the afternoon in the room, waiting for a call from Mr Msuya informing us of the bike stuffing time tomorrow. The call never came. While we were waiting, we finalized(?) our India itinerary. Finally at around 5:30 pm, we called Mr Msuya, but he had no news. He assured us that he would stop by at 8:00 am tomorrow with the good news. We had dinner at a new place called Zaiqa (quite literally a new place as it had just opened on 11/1). Their specialty is Pakistani food, and we had beef Nihari, a type of stew, and it was deeeelicious.

11/8

Will we stuff today? No. We waited downstairs at the hotel for Mr Msuya, but he never arrived. Instead, at around 10:00 am, one of his flunkies arrived with a note. Good news? No, bad news. The date of the ship's departure had been moved to 11/22, fourteen days from now. Stunned, I walked back upstairs to the room and gave Re the bad news.

The rest of the day was a blur. It seemed like a bad dream. What I do recall was Re emailing Emirates Cargo and confirming that they could ship our motorbikes, getting the name of the freight forwarder that we should use, and determining that the forwarder could arrange for crating our bikes. We also found out that they could ship our bikes any day we wanted them to, except Sunday, when the Customs office is closed.

We also visited Mr Msuya at his office and informed him that the departure date change was unacceptable, that we needed our documents returned, and that we needed our money refunded. He looked shocked at this and stammered something about meeting us at our hotel at 4:30 after he spoke with the shipping company. He also tried to convince us that two weeks wasn't that long and that he could get us cheap tickets to Zanzibar while we waited. We said no and that we had already arranged shipping by air. We left his office feeling angry and vaguely nauseous and went back to the hotel to wait for the man who never arrived.

Great story! Keep it going! :funmeteryes:

11/9 – 11/12 Dar Es Salaam Shipping Saga, Part 2
 

11/9

Plan B was now in full effect. The scramble to ship our bikes by air as soon as possible was now on. Early in the morning we hopped on the bikes and rode out to the airport. We arrived at the security gate for cargo, where we had arranged to meet Tamim of Gateway Global, the freight forwarder. He told us to stop at the gate and have someone call him from there. When we arrived at the gate, we asked the guard to call him since we have no mobile phone. Two guys in slacks and shirts and wearing airport ID badges said to follow them in their car and that they would take us to Tamim. A little puzzled, we wheeled around and followed them back out of the cargo facility and back onto the public road. They took us to a row of “businesses” down a side road near the airport, and that was when their true motive became clear. They were agents for Turkish Airlines and were trying to scoop Tamim's business out from under him. They assured us that anything Emirates could do, Turkish can do better (and cheaper too). We were in the middle of discussing rates when a mobile phone rang and I could clearly overhear somebody yelling at one of our agents quite loudly. The gentleman hung up his phone and said that was Tamim on the phone and they were to return us to the airport immediately. Very funny.

We followed them back to the airport and were left with Tamim, who escorted us into the cargo facility. Shortly thereafter we were joined by Yusuf Abulrahman of Emirates Cargo. We discussed our options and explained that we needed to retrieve our documents and money from our previous shipper before we could commit to any specific plans. Yusuf said he would hold space for us on Friday's flight and that it could be changed to Saturday or Monday if needed. Tamim explained that he could do all the paperwork and handle the crating the day of shipping. The flight departed at 4:45 pm each day, and as long as we delivered the bikes by 8:00 am, they could be on the flight. Awesome. We had already established the air freight costs, so all that was left to discuss was the crating and Tamim's fee. We agreed on 300 USD for the lot. I explained that as soon as our other situation was resolved, I would return to the airport and pay Tamim his fee so crating materials could be purchased. We rode back into town feeling more confident that we could leave Dar Es Salaam quickly after we'd resolved our business with Mr Msuya.

Mr Msuya's office was our next stop, and when we entered his office, he was all smiles. He seemed very proud that he'd retrieved our Carnets. Unfortunately, all that he'd retrieved was our Carnets. We were still missing our titles and Tanzanian insurance documents and, surprise, surprise, our money. He explained that the shipping company would not return any of our money. He showed us some documents that he claimed were shipping documents related to our bikes, and that this was the reason we couldn't get our money back. I gave the documents a quick once over and saw that they claimed to be from a company called Diamond Shipping. I told Mr Msuya that we were going to get our money back and we would accompany him to Diamond Shipping, right now. No no, he said, he wasn't done negotiating with them. He would explain our position to them again, and we should come back tomorrow for the results and the rest of our documents. Before leaving, I reiterated our position, that we were not leaving Dar without our money and if Mr Msuya would not accompany us to Diamond Shipping, then we would go ourselves. It was very clear at this point that blaming the situation on Diamond Shipping was a load of crap, and this knowledge gave us a sliver of bargaining power. I decided to play along with the ruse and let Mr Msuya think that I believed he was on our side against the big, bad Diamond Shipping.

Walking back to the hotel, Re and I discussed the situation and had both independently come to the conclusion that there never was a ship on the 10th, that it always was on the 22nd and that this was just a way to string us along until that date. Back at the hotel, we discovered that Patrick had returned from his excursion to Zanzibar, and we told him our tale of woe over more beers at the Peacock.

11/10

Once again, we made the familiar walk down to Mr Msuya's, only to find he wasn't there. Instead, we met with two of his flunkies. Once again, they were proud that they had retrieved the rest of our documents. And they seemed especially proud that they had 300 whole dollars for us. We told them in no uncertain terms that this was unacceptable and refused to take the money. Their position was that work had already been done, and that was all the money there was. I explained to them that I understood that work had been done but that we expected a minimum of 700 USD to be returned. (on our walk to the office this morning, Re and I discussed what we actually expected to be returned- I was going to be happy with anything over 500 bucks, and Re wanted it all but didn't expect more than the 300 they'd already offered) Out came the cell phones, and calls were made to Mr Msuya, who (they assured us) was at Diamond Shipping at that very moment, still pleading our case. The previous night I had looked up Diamond Shipping's address on the interwebs and had the flunkies relay to Mr Msuya that we would be right over. Immediately, phones were hung up, and we were told it would be a waste of time for us to go there, that there would be too many questions and we don't speak Swahili. I had been trying to remain patient and friendly, but at this point my calm evaporated. I very clearly explained that in the US, I am an attorney and that I am a prosecuting attorney. I explained that means I am very familiar with theft and the law. I further explained that I would go over to Diamond Shipping and have a long discussion with them about contract law and theft (still playing Diamond Shipping as the bad guys). After this, the mood in the room changed, and they assured me, again, that Mr Msuya was doing all he could and that he would have more money for us. As we left, I told them that I expected to hear from Mr Msuya by 3:00pm that afternoon, or I would have to go to Diamond Shipping myself.

Back at the hotel, no Mr Msuya, and no call by 3:00 pm. Since Rebekah was champing at the bit to tear somebody a new one, I let her make the call. She spoke with Mr Msuya, who seemed to have lost his cockiness and instead, was very much more defensive. He said he was able to “negotiate” a total refund of 600 USD, but that Diamond Shipping would need to write a check, which he would pick up in the morning. Re insisted that we receive cash, and Mr Msuya said he would cash the check in the morning and we could pick up the money sometime in the afternoon.

Unfortunately, tomorrow was Friday, our tentative air shipping day. Fully expecting to get another story (and no money) tomorrow, we emailed Yusuf at Emirates and moved our shipping date to Saturday. Today has been one of the most frustrating days in our lives. This process has been a series of tomorrows. We have now spent nearly two weeks in Dar Es Salaam and have seen almost nothing besides our hotel and the route to Mr Msuya's office.

11/11

Hopeful that Mr Msuya would, for once, be true to his word, we spent the morning re-researching flight options and hotels in Mumbai. At this point, all we wanted to do was get out of Tanzania as fast as we could, and move on to the curry scented pastures of India. The good news was that Oman Air still had cheap seats on Sunday, and our preferred hotel by the airport had rooms available for Monday onwards.

Around 10:00 am the phone rang, and it was reception calling to say that someone was waiting for us in the lobby. Figuring this would be round 27 of excuses, we wandered slowly downstairs and found Mr Msuya's sister waiting for us in the lobby. She handed me the cellphone and said Mr Msuya was on the line. Waiting for today's chapter in the ongoing saga of bullshit, I said hello. Mr Msuya explained that his sister had in her grubby little paws our 600 USD, and he just wanted to apologize. He felt very badly about the way things worked out and that mean, old Diamond Shipping were actually the bad guys. I briefly considered confronting him over his lies, but quickly decided that it would be pointless. While Mr Msuya was still talking, I handed the phone back to his sister and took the money from her. I immediately laughed when I saw what she handed me. Before we left on our trip, we got a few thousand dollars in brand new, uncirculated, sequentially numbered 100 dollar bills. What I now held in my hand was four of our 100 dollar bills, the exact ones we had given Mr Msuya a week before. What a coincidence. According to his story, he had given all our money to Diamond Shipping and they returned the money in the form of a check, which he apparently took to the bank, and somehow, exchanged for the exact same bills we had given him. What are the odds? Re and I spent a couple of minutes laughing about the “coincidence” but had no time to be bitter. We had reservations to make, bags to pack, and motorcycles to get to the airport.

The first order of business was to reserve airline tickets and a hotel in Mumbai. The internet sure does make life easy and business fast. While Re started packing in the room, I hopped on the mighty Symba and headed for the airport. Once there, I found Tamim and paid him his 300 USD fee with some of the bills we'd just gotten back. We had been informed that we would need to pay him for the actual air freight charges as well. Since Emirates doesn't accept credit cards in Tanzania, I wanted to check with Tamim as to whether we could pay the remaining charges in in TZS. Of course not. It has to be in USD. Since we've used more of our stash of USD in Africa than we anticipated, we really didn't want to use any more of our very pretty bills. Instead, I rode back to town, hit the ATMs and the forex bureaus for enough USD to pay the freight. Back at the hotel, I found that Re had done quite a bit of packing and we really didn't have much else to do with the rest of the day, so we celebrated with dinner at Mamboz again.

11/12

Since we had to get the bikes to the airport by 8:00 am, we got up, had breakfast, and were on the road by 7:30. It seems like Tanzania won't let us go without one more spanking, and this morning, it was delivered in the form of rain. Our bikes are nearly out of fuel since they have to be shipped with the fuel tanks empty. We made our way through the rain and early morning traffic to the airport with our fuel lights blinking the entire way.

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We arrived a little early and soon found that we were the only people at air cargo. Tamim arrived around 8:00 am and found us a spot under the awning to disassemble the bikes. We got to work removing the front wheels and fenders and detaching the handlebars. The entertainment for the morning came in the form of various officials who insisted that the bikes be not only drained of gas but also drained of oil. I didn't want to drain the oil, and both Tamim and Yusuf said it wasn't necessary, so every time an official asked about draining the oil, I just nodded and said yes, I'd drained the petrol. They'd say, no, the oil, and I'd nod my head, yes, and say, the petrol. This happened several times, and they finally just gave up and went away. As for draining the petrol, the bikes were nearly empty, so I just drained the float bowls and fuel lines so I had some petrol in a water bottle that I could show anyone who asked.

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By the time the bikes were disassembled, the craters arrived, and Re and I started getting a little bit nervous. They arrived with six boards that appeared to be approximately 1.5” x 7” x 7', two approximately 4 x 8 sheets of eighth inch plywood, two used pallets in reasonable shape, and one broken pallet, a hammer that had lost its grip, a handsaw, and a very tiny paper bag of new nails.

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How do I start? To make the crate base, they used the two good pallets and a section of the broken pallet, all held together with wood plates across the joins. They then built uprights out of the 1.5” x 7” boards. It was at this point that I got a bit concerned and asked for a tape measure. We had specified that the crate should be 178 x 112 x 96 cm, since that was the size of our previous crate and would be 320 kgs of weight by volume. The crate they were in the process of building 192 x 122 x 96 cm. If they had continued building this crate, it would have cost us an additional 180 USD to ship. I found Tamim, showed him the issue, and he made them tear it apart, saw apart the pallets, and put them back together in the proper size.

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Before they started modifying it, it looked crappy enough, but after they tore it apart and started reassembling it, it was extra crappy. Hey, at least the eighth inch plywood sheeting should add structural strength? A couple of hours later, the crate was ready for the bikes, and we lifted them into place. When we uncrated the bikes in Cape Town, Karim insisted that I keep the ratchet straps from our original, beautifully made crate, and I reused them to strap our bikes down. I didn't crank too hard on the ratchets because I didn't want to break the crate before it even got inside the warehouse.

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Once the bikes were strapped down, the craters soon realized what Re and I had noticed early that morning- that they had nowhere near enough plywood. After they paneled two sides of the box, they disappeared behind an outbuilding, from where we could hear much hammering and sawing. They returned with two “recycled” pieced of 3/8 inch plywood that eventually made up one side of our crate. These two pieces were probably the highest quality wood of the entire crate.

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Before the top went on, Re and I loaded our Dariens (which were still damp from the morning ride), helmets, jerrycans, spare tires, and Coleman stove. Shortly thereafter, some other official came out, gave it the thumbs up, and on went the top. Since Yusuf from Emirates was unavailable that day, his boss, Ali Hamdoun, came to the airport to handle the paperwork. To make the experience at the Dar cargo complex complete, we walked around the side of the building and watched a man, sitting on the sidewalk, type our air waybill and dangerous goods paperwork on a manual typewriter. Eventually the paperwork was completed, the crate was measured and weighed, the bill was paid, and we left our crate in the care of Swissport Cargo.

Since our bikes were now crated, we had to take a taxi back into town and since it was after 2:30, we headed directly for lunch. Since it was early enough in the day, we made a beeline for New Zahir and one more plate of their delicious chicken biryani. Later that afternoon, we tracked down Patrick at our usual spot on the 7th floor of the Peacock Hotel for another round of beer and good conversation. Since we were still full from lunch and too much beer, we skipped dinner and instead collapsed into bed early.

Africa: 7 countries in 57 days. 4843 USD in daily expenses = 85 USD per day. 485 liters (128 gallons) of petrol for 5600 miles = 88 mpg

Africa: Our Impressions
 

Having only spent two months in Africa, we certainly can't speak from a position of authority, but we thought we would share our impressions of the countries we visited.

South Africa. With all the negative news about South Africa, we were reluctant to visit. We searched hard for a shipping option that would allow us to avoid Johannesburg, especially because of Joburg's reputation for violence and murder. Cape Town was a nice place to visit, with little in the way of hassles, but we did heed the warnings and didn't venture out after dark. The rest of South Africa was surprisingly nice, and all the people we met were very friendly. Once outside of Cape Town, we never worried for our safety. South Africa is an easy place to visit for westerners, as English is widely spoken and most businesses operate as they do in the west (eg. There are modern supermarkets that look like the ones at home and sell similar foods). The roads are also very good, and petrol is widely available. The scenery is beautiful, the weather in the western Cape is temperate, but the food can be monotonous. Overall, it was the least “African” country we visited.

Namibia. Again, a very easy country for westerners to visit, since it's similar to South Africa in many respects. The people are friendly, the roads are good, businesses operate in a familiar way. It is a little more challenging than South Africa due to the distances between population centers. Namibia is a vast country with very few people, and consequently towns are very far apart, especially in southern Namibia. Southern Namibia is a land of desert and dunes and wild coast, whereas the north is dry, but has more vegetation and more people, and much less of a German influence. One big problem with touring Namibia on motorcycles is that they are not permitted in any of the national parks (though this is true through most of southern Africa). Like South Africa, the food choices are limited.

Botswana. Our impressions are based on the extreme northeast corner of Botswana, and therefore, may not be reflective of the rest of the country. Another easy country for westerners to visit but with the bonus of more wildlife. Businesses and services work as westerners would expect, and the borders are very orderly. In the area we visited, English was widely spoken and travel was easy. The people were also very friendly.

Zimbabwe. A more challenging country to visit for westerners due to Mugabe's many failed policies. The borders are chaos, and it seemed like no two people were charged the same rate for visas. The roads varied in quality from okay to horrible, and petrol was only available at about every third station. Prices for food, accommodation, and fuel are higher than they are in the US. The people were not unfriendly, but they appeared too downtrodden to be friendly. The whole mood of the country, with the exception of Harare, was different from any other country we visited. The people seemed dispirited and like they were simply going through the motions. While westerners would find restaurants and grocery stores there familiar, there are ongoing food shortages that limit the supply and variety at both places. We would not visit Zimbabwe again.

Mozambique. Our impressions of Mozambique are based on our trip through the Tete corridor and may not reflect the rest of the country. The borders were chaotic, but the border officials themselves seemed professional. This was one of the most “foreign” places we visited in that English was not widely spoken, and Portuguese is the national language. While we were not asked for any bribes at the police checkpoints, we heard from numerous other travelers that they were shaken down by the police. The Tete corridor is an unlovely and unfriendly place, and we won't be back.

Malawi. It should be an easy place for westerners to visit, but right now, it's not. The country is compact, the people are extremely friendly, English is widely spoken on the tourist trail, there was more variety in the food choices, and the scenery is beautiful. The real problem with Malawi right now is that the government is basically on the verge of collapse and hasn't paid their bills for quite some time. This is turn, has led to a massive fuel shortage and subsequent skyrocketing prices for basic goods and services. Another major irritation in Malawi is the constant chorus of, “give me money” that you hear from every kid, everywhere, and the attitude of many of the adults is no different, Malawi is a nation of beggars. That said, we would love to go back if they were to fix the supply issues.

Tanzania. For us Tanzania is a tale of two countries. We loved western Tanzania, but did not particularly care for Dar Es Salaam. English is not as commonly spoken as in other countries, as Swahili is the official language. On the tourist trail you can get by, but off the trail, it's more difficult. The scenery in western Tanzania is very beautiful, with mountains and forests and wildlife. The farther east you travel, the hotter, more humid, and less attractive it gets. Petrol, ATMs, and food are widely available, as are good accommodations. The roads are chaotic due to the higher population and relative affluence that allows for more private car and bike ownership. The roads are generally in good condition but are marred by speedbumps across the highway in every place that might qualify as a town. Dar Es Salaam is just a big, ugly city with too many people, too much traffic, and too many diesels belching fumes in your face. Tanzania has more food choices, including Indian and Middle Eastern options. Their currency is currently in a free fall, and consequently, many businesses insist on being paid in USD, which is available from forex bureaus at a bad rate.

One thing that struck us about Africa in general, is how cheap human life is. The rate of murder and violent crime, the prevalence of home invasions, carjackings, and banditry in general, are astounding. Living in the US we are used to a certain level of violence and murder, but in Africa it is done with amazing cruelty, with machetes and gasoline soaked tires. The willingness of Africans to kill Africans over a few dollars or tribal hatred is sobering. While men seem to most often be the victims of murder, women and children fare equally poorly in African societies. The amount of sexual violence and cruelty that both women and children are subjected to is unforgivable, and the daily newspapers bring fresh accounts of new atrocities. Everywhere we went, people live behind bars, virtually every door, every window, on every house and every building has bars. Businesses surround themselves with armed guards, most of them nothing more than a uniform and a rusty old gun. Re and I have visited many places in the world, but Africa is truly the most foreign place we've been.

11/13 Fly to Mumbai
 

Since we had arranged a 1:00 pm checkout and all we had to do was shower and pack, we were in no hurry to get out of bed. The past several days have been extremely stressful, and we were both exhausted, so we turned off the alarm and snoozed for a while. When we did finally get up, we made short work of packing. We've been living out of the same bags for 3.5 months and know where everything goes. Later, we headed down for breakfast and then back up to the room for some quality internet time. Around noon we went out in search of lunch and scored a couple of extra delicious chicken shawarmas, which we took back to the room and enjoyed in air-conditioned comfort. As we had heard that the Dar Es Salaam airport is not air-conditioned, we stayed in our room until the last minute, trying to soak up as much cool as possible.

At 1:00 we schlepped our bags downstairs, where we ran into Patrick and Eddie, who is one of the hotel owners. Eddie is also a motorcycle enthusiast, and we spent the next hour chatting about bikes and riding in Tanzania. Eddie is an interesting fellow. He's first generation Tanzanian, and his parents emigrated from Yemen. Eddie's dad apparently amassed quite an empire in Tanzania- the family's holdings encompass rice farms and real estate. Most of their holdings are in the western part of the country, so Eddie often travels to the Mbeya area, usually by motorcycle. He's also traveled extensively in central Africa, mostly by bike. His most dramatic story involved a nighttime ride back to Dar from Mbeya and an encounter with bandits. Eddie and one of his friends were on the road between Morogoro and Dar Es Salaam and came upon an area of road construction at around 3:00 am. When they slowed due to road conditions, they suddenly heard several motorbikes fire up and people yelling. By their headlights they could see six or seven motorbikes being ridden by machete-wielding men. Eddie and his friend were on big bikes but were barely able to keep ahead of the bandits due to the road conditions. He said they could hear shouts and engines for the approximately 20km they were chased. Eddie and his friend finally stopped, pulled out their pistols, and fired several warning shots into the air. He laughed when he told us that at the sound of the gunshots, the headlights turned around and they could hear the bikes riding away at a fast pace. Eddie went on to tell us that he never rides in Tanzania unless he is armed. Good to know.

After story hour, we grabbed a taxi and headed to the airport. We had low expectations of what we would find, and they were mostly met. I'm glad we arrived more than two hours early, because to get through the multiple security checkpoints, the ticket counter, and immigration took more than 1.5 hours. We finally boarded our Oman Air flight to Muscat (for all of you who survived music in the 70s, Re didn't seem to enjoy my rendition of Muscat Love). The flight was very nice with good food and plenty of legroom. The one funny moment on the flight came when it was time for dinner. When we booked our tickets, Re requested the Hindu vegetarian meal service. The stewardess walked up with the special meal, looked in our row, looked back at the meal, looked back at Re and I with a puzzled expression on her face, and finally asked, did we order a special meal? Re laughed and said it was hers. I guess the stewardess wasn't expecting a blonde American to have ordered that meal.

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We arrived in Muscat near midnight local time and looked for something to kill the two hours before our next flight. What we found was the Dairy Queen! Since it has been over two months since I've had a Blizzard, it was time. Lucky for us, the cashier accepted USD and we enjoyed a midnight snack of familiar ice cream. Shortly thereafter, our flight left for Mumbai. We tried, mostly in vain, to get some sleep, but neither of us could more than doze.

Transportation wrapup. Our flights on Oman Air from Dar Es Salaam to Mumbai were 455 USD each. The air freight cost for our 320kg was 3.96 USD per kilo, for a total of 1367 USD (including 10 USD air waybill prep and 80 USD in dangerous goods fees). We also paid 300 USD for our “deluxe” crate and freight forwarder fee.

I enjoy your trip in africa and now i'm waiting for your stories from your new adventures!!

11/14 India!
 

Our flight arrived at 5:30 am local time (which is 3:00 am in Tanzania) and we sleepily made our way through immigration and customs. We found a working ATM and withdrew the maximum 10,000 rupees (200 USD). We had booked a hotel near the airport, but were advised that if we arrived before 9:30 am, we would be charged for an extra night, so we sat at the airport. We were both very tired but couldn't find a place where we felt it was okay to snooze, so we walked outside and sat in the arrivals waiting area. 9:00 am finally came, so we found a phone and called for pickup. There are apparently a lot of scams centered around hotels and transportation at the Mumbai airport, so we were advised to look for somebody holding a board with our name on it. The car ride and 10 minutes later, and we were at the hotel. The first thing I noticed was the lack of any secure parking. Bummer. The hotel was okay, but not as nice as it looked in the pictures. No matter, we checked in and took a quick nap until 12:30 pm.

We then headed for air cargo via autorickshaw (aka tuk-tuk in other parts of the world). We quickly found out that many of the autorickshaw drivers have no idea where they are going and rely on the passenger for directions, which didn't really work for us, since we didn't know where we were going either. He got us to the airport and from there, we asked directions to the cargo facility. Once we arrived at the cargo facility, we were astounded by the chaos. Lines of cars and hundreds of people just sort of milling about. From my research, I knew we needed a gate pass, but didn't know where or how to get one. I started heading toward the entry gate and was stopped by a man whom I will refer to as “Helper.” He didn't speak much English, but he knew what we needed to do. He took us to the photocopy shop and helped us get copies of our passport photo page, India visa and entry stamp page, and a copy of our air waybill. With these in hand, we made our way to the gate pass office and, surprisingly quickly, got our gate passes (NB – you must leave a photo ID with the gate pass office, which is returned when you return your pass. We left our Oregon drivers' licenses).

While we were picking up our gate passes, Helper called over another guy, who we will call, “Big Man.” Big Man escorted us through the security checkpoint and took us directly to the Emirates office (if you are doing this yourself, the cargo offices are a right turn after security and on the second floor of the building marked, “Heavy Cargo”). We followed him up to the second floor and into the Emirates office, where we were given the shipping paperwork. The fee for the paperwork was 20 USD which we paid and went back downstairs. From the main room on the main floor, we walked through the door marked “Public Area” and headed for the Customs window. At this point in time, Big Man introduced us to someone we will refer to as, “Agent.” We followed Agent and Big Man into a blissfully air-conditioned waiting room, and Agent asked to see our paperwork. We didn't really know who Agent was at this time, just a well-dressed man who spoke English well and knew what to do. We also knew from our research that we would need to visit the Western India Automobile Association, which is in central Mumbai and procure a clearance letter before we could continue with the customs process. Agent confirmed that that was what we needed to do and said if we headed for the WIAA now, we should make it there in time to get our letter today. Agent then told us to bring back the clearance letter and meet him at the Customs area at 10:30 tomorrow morning. If we did so, we should have our bikes by 5:30 pm!

So back out of the cargo facility, where we exchanged our gate passes for DLs and took an autorickshaw to the train station. We rode the commuter train down to the Churchgate station and back for the princely sum of 32 cents each. Since we were on the slow train that stops at every station, it took nearly an hour to get there, and we arrived at the WIAA at around 4:30 pm. Since we knew we would need a letter for the Canadian Automobile Association in order to get a clearance letter from the WIAA, I had email Suzanne Danis from Tanzania and had a copy of the letter. At the WIAA we met Victor, who was in charge of issuing the clearance letters, but he informed us it was too late in the day to issue them, and we would need to return the next day. It was also too late to get liability insurance, so we'd have to come back the next day, regardless. Victor told us to return at 10:30 am, which was unfortunately the same time we were supposed to meet Agent. I guess we won't get our bikes tomorrow after all.

It was after 5:00 pm when we got back on the train to return to the hotel, and the cars were much fuller at this time. The good news was that we were able to find the express train back, and the journey only took 30 minutes. Back at the Andheri East train station, we hopped in another autorickshaw and went back to the hotel via the scenic route. We overpaid for our trip but were so tired, we didn't care.

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Back at the hotel, we perused the room service menu and ordered a veritable feast to be delivered to our room. It turns out the hotel doesn't prepare the food, they just go four doors down to a local restaurant to pick it up and deliver it to the room. The markup for the service is literally, pennies per dish. Not knowing how big the portions were, we came up with a list of things we like, and Re asked the manager if that was enough food for two people. He assured her it was enough food for four people, so Re deleted one of the nine items since we hadn't eaten anything since we got off the plane. We stuffed ourselves silly and were unable to finish it all. Even delivered to our room the entire meal cost less than 8 USD. Absolutely exhausted, we then went to bed.

11/15 Will We Get Our Bikes Today?
 

We did not want to get up when the alarm went off but had place to be and people to see, so we dragged ourselves in and out of the shower and were back in an autorickshaw by 8:30. The drive to the train station requires one left turn in the 3km ride. Traffic was very heavy this morning, and our autorickshaw driver turned left early. Maybe he's taking us on a shortcut? Or maybe he's leading us down the garden path. Which one do you think it was? First we drove past the international terminal at the airport. Then, we drove past the cargo facility, then past the domestic terminal. Then, I started yelling at the driver. Then, he turned right, and we eventually arrived at the train station. The ride to the station should cost no more than 30 rupees, but he was trying to charge us over 100 (the autorickshaws in Mumbai have meters, but they're so old, that you don't pay what's on the meter, you refer to a conversion chart. Even by what was on the meter, it still should have been less than 70 rupees). I offered him 50, and he refused. At this point in time, some locals overheard the commotion and signaled for the three police officers who were standing nearby. The young female officer initially thought that the disagreement was over the meter/chart issue. I explained to her no, that he took us on an extra long ride. I pulled out the Lonely Planet and showed her on the map where he had taken us. She said something to the driver and when he responded with a weak smile, she smacked him in the head. At this, the senior officer walked over and asked the female officer what was going on (I assume, as they were speaking in Hindi?). The senior officer instructed our driver to turn off his vehicle, remove the keys, give them to the officer, and to produce his license. At this point, the female officer apologized for the inconvenience and sent us on our way. Moral of the story, just take the damn 50 rupees!

The real problem with our “detour” was the time it wasted. Instead of being at the station at 9:00 am, it was nearly 9:30. We couldn't find an express train at this time, so once again, onto the slow train. We made it back down to the WIAA shortly after 10:30, but found that the director had not yet signed our clearance letters. In the meantime, we met with Abdul and arranged for liability insurance. The minimum policy period for liability insurance is one year, but even that only cost 15 USD each (and it also covers Nepal). While we were waiting we also met two German overland truck drivers whose vehicles were stuck at the seaport for five days and counting due to Carnet problems. We chatted with them while we waited for our paperwork and after hearing about all of their issues, left feeling nervous about our impending Customs visit. The other problem was that we would have to return to the WIAA tomorrow to pick up our insurance papers.

Back to the train, back on an autorickshaw, and back to cargo by 1:00 pm. Sure enough, we were met by Helper and Big Man (who we both noted were dressed much more nicely today) and they again assisted us with getting a gate pass, and took us to meet Agent. We met with Agent again in the air-conditioned waiting room next to the Customs office, where he took our documents and passports and sent them off to be photocopied. While we waited for the copies to return, he began filling out several import documents with our details. He then mentioned that he was an agent and that if we wanted to use an agent, he charges for his services. We asked, “how much?” and he replied, “how much do you want to pay?” “Not much, “ we said. He said he usually charges 80 USD per bike, which we countered with 40 USD per bike. He misunderstood and thought we meant 40 USD total. All the while, Big Man sat in the corner against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Agent countered with 100 USD for both bikes and we then offered 80 USD for both. The agent said he could not do it for that, but he would finish filling out the papers for us, and we could clear them ourselves. Confused by the negotiations, Re and I stepped outside to figure out what the scam was. Intimidated by the amount of paperwork and reports of needing 20 different signatures from the Customs office, we agreed that we would pay the 100 USD for both bikes. We went back into the waiting room and told the agent we agreed to his price. He just waved us off and continued filling out the paperwork. After the runner returned with our photocopies of our passports and other documents, the agent motioned for me to join him outside. Once outside, he told me that I could clear customs myself that day and did not really need his assistance. Further confused by this strange negotiation tactic, I asked him if this was true. From his response, it became clear that he was not affiliated with Big Man and apparently didn't care for him either. He said we should tell Big Man that we would pay 80 USD for both bikes and no more, and that if he did not agree, that we would do it ourselves. Feeling more confused, we found Big Man, who as predicted, refused the offer, and Big Man left. Agent handed me all the papers he'd filled out and all the photocopies he'd had made, and told me in which room the process would start. He said he would be in the area all day working on other shipments and if I needed any other help, he would advise us for free.

Now totally confused, I went into the indicated room, where our documents were perused for completeness and was told to wait, as the next person we needed to see was at lunch. We returned to the air-conditioned waiting room, where we met another customs clearinghouse agent named, Danesh. It turns out Danesh is an avid motorcyclist and recently bought a 2011 Yamaha YZF-R1 (which in India costs nearly 25,000 USD). He and his friends all ride big sport bikes and are going to take a motorcycle tour of northern Thailand in February. Maybe we will see them there. Once lunchtime was over, we returned to the office, which turned out to be the “unaccompanied baggage” section. Our motorcycles were deemed to be personal effects, and therefore, our shipment was unaccompanied baggage. We sat in the office for a half hour or so while papers were collated, stamped, signed, and reviewed. Then it was time to get our crate. We were led to the another office, where we were presented with a bill for demurrage (storage) and then went to the next window where we paid 62 USD for the privilege. I did note that the demurrage bill had a note at the bottom that the crate was received in a damaged condition. Oh no.

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We waited an anxious 10 minutes for our crate to be brought to the inspection area and were relieved to find that the damage was limited to a few cracks in the 1/8 inch plywood.

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A warehouse helper helped us remove the top and sides from the crate, and the Customs officials told us we could assemble our bikes in the warehouse before they inspect them.

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Re and I once again got to work putting on the wheels, fenders, and handlebars. After the bikes were put right, our engine and chassis numbers were recorded, and then we waited. And then we waited some more. While we were waiting, I ran into Agent again and told him that everything was going well, and we should have our bikes by the end of the day. I asked him what we should pay him for the work he had done, and he said nothing, that he really didn't do anything. I reminded him that he'd gotten photocopies made and filled out the import paperwork, and he simply stated, that I should remember that there are good people in the world, too. Wow. I thanked him profusely for all his help, and he wished us good luck on our journey. Since the bikes were nearly empty before they were crated, Re or I was going to walk the km or so to the nearest gas station to fill up one of our jerrycans. Lucky for us, we mentioned it to a warehouse worker who informed us that it is against the law in India to fill a jerrycan that is not accompanied by a vehicle. Huh. We may be pushing our bikes the km to the gas station. I was beginning to get nervous as it was nearing 5:30 pm, and that was when the Customs office closes. When we asked in the office, they assured us we would get our bikes today and it would be just a few more minutes. At 5:30, warehouse and office staff started to leave, and soon, it was only us and one remaining Customs official. So far, we had not paid anything besides the demurrage fee and had not been asked for any baksheesh (bribes). We also never paid anything to Agent, Big Man, or Helper. But now, the Customs official was working overtime, and I expected that we would be asked to pay for the “overtime.” It was now after 6:00 pm, and our growing pile of paperwork needed the signature of the head of Customs at the airport. We followed our agent to the next building, upstairs past the armed guards, and into an official looking office. The director asked us a few questions about our trip, looked over every page of our paperwork, and finally signed on the dotted line. Paperwork done, we returned to the Customs office, where final photocopies were made and we were directed to our bikes. Unbelievably we cleared the dreaded Mumbai Customs Office in one and a half days with only a little help from an agent!

We rolled them down the ramp and out into the night. The Customs officer wished us a good night and left. We were never asked to pay anything and found the whole process to be confusing but easy. We now found ourselves standing next to our potentially fuel-less motorbikes while a crowd gathered around us. During the last week in Tanzania, Re's battery was getting weak and we had to resort to the kickstarter a couple of times. Now, it is completely dead. No problem, we can kickstart it. I cracked the drain on both carburetor float bowls and was happy to see gas dribbling out of both bikes. In front of a crowd of 25 or so truck drivers and warehouse workers, I kickstarted Re's bike on the third try. Her bike was idling low, so I gave the idle screw a quick turn and then started up my bike. While we put on our gear, my bike stopped running. I hit the starter button, and the engine spun too freely. Out of gas. Crap. While the crowd murmured and laughed, I sent Rebekah off in search of gas. Hopefully, she has enough to make it to the gas station. After she left, I started pushing my bike to the exit. Strangely, no one stopped me to check anything, and I waited for Re outside the cargo facility. Once again, a small crowd formed, and people asked me what I was doing. I was happy to see Re ride through the crowd with sweet, sweet unleaded. As we've done a hundred times before, we unclipped the funnel and filled up the bikes. My bike fired up right away, Re's bike took a few more kicks. But we were off! Before we left the guesthouse that morning, I had marked its GPS position, so it was a simple matter of following the directions back to the hotel. Once back at the hotel, we were informed by the manager to remove everything from our bikes and to cover them since the people in the area could be “naughty” he said. Yay. We removed the gas cans, all bungee cords, but left the Rokstraps on the bikes. We then locked both bikes together with our cable locks and covered them with one of our custom bike covers. A little nervous about the naughtiness of the locals, we headed inside with our gas cans and extra tires.

Two miles. The bikes run much better with gasoline. Re's gonna need a new battery.

11/16 Acting Like Tourists in Mumbai
 

The goal for the day was to get our insurance documents so we would be legal to ride south soon. We were supposed to meet Abdul at the WIAA sometime after 10:30am, so we spent a lazy morning in the room before heading back out to fight the autorickshaw wars. Since I immediately started objecting when our driver of the day turned down an unfamiliar road, our autorickshaw ride to the train station only involved a slight detour this morning. The express train had just started to roll when we hit the platform, so we jumped into the first available car and headed back into central Mumbai again. Our trip did have one minor hitch in the form of the ticket inspector. Apparently we had boarded a first class car with only second class tickets and were made to get on the right class of car at the next station. Whoops. I can honestly say that the first class car contained the least amount of first class I have ever seen.

We made it back to the WIAA by 11:00 am only to find that our insurance documents were not yet ready. It seems that since the SYM brand is not sold in India (at least not badged as SYM), that the insurance company is not able to fill out the make and model fields in the policy. No problem, we were assured, the local office has sent electronic copies of our documents to the head office in Delhi and our policies will be issued by 2:00 pm.

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Since we were down in the Fort section of Mumbai and had a few hours to kill, we pulled out the Lonely Planet (which appears to be much more accurate and reliable for India so far) and found their recommended walking tour of the area. We walked down to the Mumbai gate and slowly made our way back to the WIAA over the next several hours.

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The architecture in the area is impressive, and we stopped along the way for some street food and sugarcane juice. Later, we stopped to watch a cricket match for twenty minutes or so.

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We had the opportunity to watch some cricket matches while we were in SE Asia a few years ago and have a basic grasp of the rules, but it was fun to watch it in person with two, not so professional, teams. Sometime after 2:30 pm, we made our way back to the WIAA only to find that we still had no insurance docs. Sigh. Abdul agreed to e-mail them to us when they were ready to save us another trip into town.

Back on the train, back into an autorickshaw piloted by an honest driver, and back to the hotel where we spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on blog posts and RRs. Late in the afternoon the e-mail arrived from Abdul containing our insurance documents, but alas, the second page of Re's policy was half missing. Grr. I e-mailed Abdul back but did not get a reply that day. I guess we'll be staying another day in Mumbai. After another veg Indian dinner at a local restaurant, we went back to the room and did some much needed laundry.

11/17 Quest for a Phone
 

Abdul returned our e-mail early this morning and assured us that he would send us a complete page when he reached the office and told us that we should have called him last evening instead of e-mailing. One of the big problems we have run into in India so far is that we do not have a mobile phone. We fumbled our way through Africa without one, but it was becoming clear that life in India would be far easier if we had a phone. While we waited for Abdul to get to work at 10:00 am, we went out in search of a phone. We wandered up to the nearby business area and found an electronics shop that sold mobile phones. For 22 USD we acquired a very basic Nokia phone and then set off in search of a sim card. There are restrictions on foreigners' purchases of sim cards in India, and you are required to provide a copy of (what else) your passport picture page and visa and entry stamp page as well as providing a local address (and perhaps the name and address of a local referee). The manager at our hotel was nice enough to call a friend who has a nearby store that sells Vodaphone sims. We made or way over to his shop and left him the paperwork he needed in order to fill out the application form. He told us to return in an hour, and we should be good to go. We had a lunch of masala dosai at a nearby restaurant while we waited and later returned to find that we were now official.

We spent the rest of the afternoon revising our route through India to incorporate the suggestions we have received. We also finally wrote about the shipping nightmare in Dar and were both feeling angry by the time we finished. I am feeling homesick/culture shock for the first time in the trip and really wanted to find familiar food for dinner, so we went to McDonalds for some food that was nothing like the food in the US. So much for familiar. At least the Kingfisher beers taste somewhat reminiscent of bad American beer.

11/18 Ride to Alibag
 

According to the first route we planned, our destination for the day was going to be Kohlapur, but yesterday when we revised our route, we decided to head down the Konkan coast instead. So our goal for today was now Alibag, a small coastal town that is only 30 miles south of Mumbai as the crow flies, but about 75 miles by road. Since we had no idea how long it would actually take us to Escape From Mumbai (that sounds like the title of a new Bollywood blockbuster in which Snake Pliskin dances his way out of Mumbai) we wanted to hit the road by 9:00 am at the latest. That meant an early morning, as we had to reattach the Pelican cases and repack all of our bags once again. The bikes seem to have survived the flight from Dar unscathed, but the recurring problem of low air pressure in my front tire was not magically cured on the airplane ride. When we were reattaching the Pelican cases, I noticed that someone had apparently attempted to remove two of the Rok-Straps, but couldn't figure out how they were attached. Huh. As we continued to load up the bikes, we found that both of the carabiner clips from Re's handlebars and one of the two from my handlebars had disappeared. We use these clips to hang our daypacks in the stepthrough area, and while the monetary loss is small, the pain in the ass factor is big. We ended up hanging our daypacks over the handlebars, and though we tried to minimize the strap pressure on the cables and wires that run along the bars, we were unable to prevent at least some stress on them.

I punched Alibag into the GPS, and we were ready to hit the road. My bike immediately fired up, but Re's battery is now completely dead. Reason #73 we love the Symbas: two prods of her kickstarter, and the mighty Symba fired up and settled into a gentle idle. Now we were off. We turned out of our side street and into the thick of morning Mumbai rush hour. Many riders before us have described the traffic in Mumbai, and I certainly can't add a lot. It is chaotic, but there is an order to the chaos, and other drivers will give you room if you follow the local rules. While walking and riding in the autorickshaws over the past few days, Re and I spent plenty of time observing how the local riders ride.

On our ride this morning, we attempted to stick follow the example of the other motorbike riders and got through the morning unscathed. We headed east, dutifully following the GPS directions, but quickly found the limitations of the free maps from OpenStreetMap. Many of the major roads in Mumbai have slip or access roads that peel off to the left and are where you make turns onto cross streets. Unfortunately, the GPS didn't differentiate between the main and slip roads, and we found ourselves missing turn after turn. We eventually sorted it out and soon found ourselves again heading south and west toward Alibag. Our route for today took us down two roads that were laughably named, National Highway 4 and National Highway 17.

For the majority of the drive, they were nothing more than narrow, two lane roads that were crowded with all manner of truck, bus, minivan, car, motorbike, pedestrian, cow, and just about anything else that could roll or walk. Overtaking on these roads is crazy. Vehicles pull into the oncoming lane, uphill, in blind corners, and in the middle of a village with no consideration to whomever else might already be using that space. Another factor that made today's riding challenging was the road surface. The roads varied from reasonably well paved to bombed out craters, often without any warning. Our other disappointing discovery for the day was that India shares Tanzania's love of speedbumps. And the speedbumps in India vary greatly in size and height, making it difficult to predict how much to slow down for them. Both Re and I were surprised more than once today by a rogue speedbump and were kicked out of the seat on a couple of occasions.

However, the ride today was beautiful. We found ourselves riding through the Western Ghats, which is the coastal “mountain” range that runs south from Mumbai for several hundred miles. We made our way to Alibag around 1:30 pm, and Re set off in search of a hotel for the night.

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We checked in just in time for the scheduled power outage that apparently occurs daily from 2:30 until 4:00 pm, and we walked down to the beach.

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The beach was a pleasant strip of sand with several small fishing boats anchored out in the water. We walked along the beach and came to an area where we saw a couple of people squatting down at the water's edge. As we got a little closer, we noticed they also had their pants pulled down... Hey, wait a minute. What are they doing there? No, they couldn't be. But oh yes, they were. Since we decided the beach was kind of crappy, we skipped dipping our toes in the water and instead headed back into town for a late lunch.


75 miles in 4.5 hours. Re's definitely going to need a new battery.

11/19 Ride to Ratnagiri
 

Today's ride further down the coast to Ratnagiri should be around 200 miles, so we were in no hurry to leave this morning. We spent a leisurely morning showering, packing, and reading the newspaper before heading down to the bikes and getting ready to go. The air pressures in all the tires were a little low, and Re's battery doesn't even have enough juice to light up the dash lights. I also found that Re had apparently bent her right footpeg the previous day, but she didn't know how it happened. I suspect that it occurred on one of the rogue speedbumps since the Symbas do not have much ground clearance.

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We pulled out of the hotel around 9:30 am, and once again, followed the GPS directions back to the Nh17. As you may recall, I reluctantly purchased the GPS shortly before we left on this trip and was glad to have it in Africa. However, I am really glad that we have the GPS in India. There is precious little road signage, and the majority is in (unsurprisingly) Hindi. I have no idea how one would navigate India with paper maps only. The route the GPS led us down took us south and east, through many small towns, and eventually rejoined the Nh17.

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The condition of the local roads was terrible. There were sections where the road had been dug away entirely and dropped 6 inches down to the dirt beneath. There were stretches where 5mph was the fastest we could safely go. Once on the Nh17, the road surface improved, and our average speed climbed. The road was still extremely busy, but Re and I were starting to get used to our place in the “the bigger you are, the more right you have to the road” pecking order and regularly found ourselves hugging the road shoulder in order to avoid other vehicles. But all too soon, the road surface again turned to shit. Some stretches of pavement would be fine, but then suddenly, it was as if large parts of the top layer of asphalt had simply disintegrated, leaving long stretches of the highway nothing but a patchwork of potholes that no one is apparently interested in patching. We again found ourselves cruising at 5mph on some of the worst stretches. The ride today was actually very hard, harder than almost any road in Africa, and had me wishing for my V-Strom or any other bike with six plus inches of suspension travel. We really fought for many of the miles we rode today. So much for a short ride today, as we found ourselves struggling to average 25mph.

Our bikes have caught the interest of many of the locals and we get many questions about them. Most people here recognize them as being similar to a bike that used to be produced in India, known as the Bajaj M80 (maybe they had a short fuse and then blew up dramatically?). Other riders also pass us and then slow down for a better look or try to catch up after we pass them, and we get lots of smiles and thumbs up. However, one encounter today was a little different. After passing two young gentlemen on one bike, they caught back up with me, and the passenger said something that sounded like English, so I flipped up my helmet and asked him to repeat what he said. In very good English, he asked me, “Do you want to smoke some weed?” A little surprised by this scene, I guffawed and politely declined the offer.

We eventually made it into Ratnagiri around sundown and were unable to find the recommended hotel, so we rode around town and found a suitable place for the night. After dinner, we had some ice cream and went to bed early. We were both worn out from today's ride.

207 miles in 8.5 hours. Both the bikes and us took a pounding today.

11/20 Ride to Calangute
 

Determined not to repeat yesterday's mistake by underestimating how long it would take us to reach our destination, we decided to get on the road early today. Once again, my front tire and Re's rear tire each needed a couple of psi. I need to remember to pull the valve cores and clean them one of these days when I have access to compressed air. I also checked the fasteners today and found that most of the shock mounting bolts were loose on both bikes. But the real problem is that Re's rack has cracked under her Pelican case. The metal appears to have torn in a couple of places where the top plate of the rack meets the tubular outer frame. For now, we will tighten the Rok-straps extra tight, but we'll need to get this welded soon.

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Rolling out of the hotel this morning it was nice and cool and felt like it was in the 70s. The roads this morning were smooth with not much traffic as we again found ourselves climbing and descending through the Western Ghats. Through sweeping switchbacks we rode and were reminded of how nice it is to ride motorbikes. Then the roads turned to hell again. As bad or worse than they've ever been. Through one particularly bad stretch, I heard a funny noise from the rear of my bike, but saw nothing amiss when I looked back. A few seconds later, I saw Re jam on her brakes and head for the side of the road. While I waited for a space in traffic to turn around, I saw her cross the road and start beating the bushes. That's when I realized that one of my spare tires had gone AWOL. Re came back out of the bushes with my tire. Shortly thereafter, we both crashed through a particularly large crater in the road that was hidden in the shadow of a bridge. Re signaled to let me know there was a problem, and we pulled over to find that her speedo cable had popped part-way out of the front wheel. Swiss Army knife to the rescue, we reseated the cable and hit the road again. Calangute is in the state of Goa and approximately five miles from the Goan border, the road disappeared entirely. We went through a section of bridge construction, where the road surface turned into cratered, heavily rutted dirt.

With about a mile of Maharashtra left, the road suddenly reappeared, and we pulled over for a check of the bikes and a much needed drink of water. Before I could tell her not to, Re shut off her bike. Crap. Our bikes are not the easiest to start when very hot, and having spent the last four miles at no more than 15mph, they were plenty hot. We had our drink and got ready to press on, but when Re attempted to kickstart her bike, it refused to comply. I took over starting duty, and after 25 kicks or so, with the throttle held at various positions and under the watchful gaze of the small audience that had gathered, I gave up and we proceed to swap the now gasoline-soaked plug for a dry one from the spares kit. Two kicks later and her bike was purring.

We climbed the steep hill into Goa and the scene suddenly changed. The roads got smooth, the landscape turned green and lush, and it got noticeably warmer and more humid. We made our way into Calangute and found ourselves surrounded by the hordes of eastern European, British, and French package tourists who spilled out into the streets. We made our way to our very nice guesthouse, the Indian Kitchen, and settled into a nice little bungalow by the pool. The restaurant manager and rooms manager are both avid motorcyclists and we chatted bikes for quite a while before heading out to see the area and grab a quick lunch before heading back to the room to unpack and relax by the pool.

Later in the afternoon while making use of the wifi, we met the owners of the guesthouse, and discovered what a truly small world it is. Lorraine and Anthony are an Indian couple who have traveled extensively with their two daughters. It turns out that they were in George Town, Malaysia at the same time we were last year, and in fact, tried to stay in the guesthouse that was our home away from home, but it was full, so they stayed two doors down. They also visited many of the same places we did, including the zoo in Taiping, where no foreigners go. We spent about an hour comparing travel notes and then went out for dinner.

160 miles in 5.5 hours. We're really going to have to do something about that battery soon.

11/21 Easy Day in Calangute
 

Lazy day today. We got up late and worked on ride reports and blogposts by the pool until lunchtime.

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We then walked down to the market for some fruit and then went to a nearby restaurant for a humongous thali lunch.

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After that, we went for a walk up the beach, which was filled with beach chairs and beach bars (and cows). One of the interesting things about India is that many of the tourists at the beach today were Indian. The ratio of Indian tourist to foreign tourist was about 50/50. There is definitely more wealth in India than in most of the countries we visited in Africa. Since the signs on the beach said that swimming was not permitted(?) we went back to the hotel for a dip in the pool. We followed dinner with our favorite dessert – ice cream and beer.


0 miles. 7,340 USD over 114 days = 64 USD per day.

11/22 Ride to Old Goa
 

Our plan for the day was to ride the 25 miles or so to Old Goa to do some sightseeing. Since Re's battery seemed to be dead and I didn't want to replace it before determining if it was the battery or the charging system, the first order of the day was to swap batteries between our bikes. We got out the tools and the tarp and got to work removing my battery. When I removed my battery, I immediately noticed that it felt awfully light. I gave it a quick shake and heard nothing. I looked at the side of the battery and could not see any fluid in it. Huh. It has been several years since I had a bike that did not have a sealed battery and had quite apparently forgotten about checking the fluid level in the batteries. I pulled the caps out of the cells and could see no fluid anywhere. I'm not actually sure why it was still working. Since I had no idea where to find distilled water in India, I refilled my battery with purified water and hoped for the best. We went on with the battery swap and found upon removing Re's battery, that hers was equally dry. We put the bikes back together and got ready to head for Old Goa.

The ride to Old Goa was scenic, we wound our way through rice paddies and small towns before running into the bumper to bumper traffic in Panaji. We battled our way onto and off of the big bridge before heading east back into the countryside.

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Old Goa is an interesting town filled with grand, old, Portuguese churches dating back as far as the mid-16th century. The town was packed with Indian visitors as we were there during the buildup to the Feast of St Francis Xavier on December 3rd.

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After walking around with the other tourists for several hours, we retraced our route back to Calangute for a late lunch and a lazy afternoon. The good news for the day is that both of our bikes appear to have good batteries and functional charging systems.

45 miles in about 2 hours.

11/23 Ride to Gokarna
 

While we certainly enjoyed out guesthouse in Calangute, the rest of the town really isn't our scene. The tourist scene here reminds us too much of Phuket, so we decided to head south to Gokarna. In my quick check over the bikes, I found everything to be good except my front tire, which was low again. One of these days I'm going to need to fix that. The first part of our route this morning retraced our ride back to Panaji, except today we continued south on the Nh17. The first part of the ride was busy with lots of traffic, so we didn't get to do much sightseeing along the way. The roads in India so far have been one of the major letdowns. Between the road surface and the traffic, it has been very difficult to look around for more than a quick glance. Eventually we crossed the border into Karnataka, the state south of Goa, and the temperature seemed to rise by ten degrees. The condition of the roads also changed for the worse at the border, but not too bad. The nicest change in Karnataka was that the amount of traffic dropped dramatically, and we finally had a chance to watch the scenery. The Nh17 wound its way through palm groves, small towns, and gave us glimpses of the ocean every once in a while.

We made it to Gokarna by 2:00 pm and found a hotel that was recommended to us by our friends, Alan and Maggie. We opted to skip the AC and got a room for the low, low price of 9 USD.

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After unloading the bikes (once again) and packing the stuff into our room, we walked through town to find some lunch. Gokarna is a temple town and draws many devotees to its temples every day. It also attracts hippies. Filthy, filthy hippies. But the hippies of today ain't what they used to be. There is just something that seems inauthentic about twenty-somethings with freshly scrubbed faces and dreadlocks, carrying yoga mats and pushing strollers with toddlers in them. You say you want a revolution? I'm pretty sure that didn't involve doing the downward facing dog in designer clothes while little Om plays in the corner... But we pressed on and found a great place for lunch, where we ate too much and paid too little. Re and I are both finding that the problem with the very low food prices here is that it is way too easy to order way too much food. After a quick stroll on the town beach (not the nice one) we went back to the hotel to catch up on some writing and to try and digest. Since we were still full at 9:00 pm, we decided to make a dinner of beer and potato chips, Magic Masala flavored.

120 miles in about 4.5 hours.

11/24 A Day at the Beach
 

Kudle Beach is south of Gokarna by a couple of kilometers and can be reached via a footpath from town. On our way to the beach we stopped for breakfast at the same restaurant where we ate lunch yesterday. We both decided on one of the stereotypical backpacker breakfasts of fruit, muesli, and yogurt and some coffee.

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The breakfast was delicious, but I was a little concerned since it came with at least 8 ounces of yogurt (really it's curd), and I am lactose-intolerant. I knew it was probably going to be a bad idea, but it tasted sooo good.

Once at the beach, we spread out our towels and stretched out to try and get a little sun. We spent most of the morning and early afternoon talking about our plans for after this trip. We discussed several different options, but most of them involve living overseas for at least a few years. Around 2:30 we decided it was time for lunch and picked the beach restaurant that looked the most promising. Strangely, about a quarter of the menu was Israeli, which was fine with me, as I enjoyed falafel and hummus rolled up in a naan, while Re had fried fresh prawns. Since we both felt we'd had enough sun for one day, we hiked back into town. On the way back to the hotel, we stopped again at the same restaurant for an iced coffee lassi and iced coffee shake rest stop.

0 miles. Feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time.

11/25 Ride to Mangalore
 

I woke up this morning feeling very bad. Stomach cramps and a desperate feeling had me running for the bathroom. Figuring it was all the dairy I'd had the previous day, I took a couple of anti-diarrheal tabs and got ready to hit the road. My quick check over the bikes revealed the same conditions as usual, my front tire and Re's rear tire were both a little low, and the shock mount bolts also needed a little snugging. After getting the bikes packed up, I once again, made the mad dash for the bathroom before setting off down the road.

The ride today started out relatively cool and was very scenic as the Nh17 crossed several low bridges over wide rivers that led to the coast. The road surface was again highly variable, with long stretches of smooth road punctuated by potholes and areas where the road base was exposed. As the ride went on, the day got warmer, and several times we ended up riding along the beach before turning back inland. Our original goal for today was a town called Kannur, about 50 miles beyond Mangalore, but I did not feel well enough to ride that far today.

In North America and Africa, we could reliably average 35mph, including fuel and food stops, but here in India, we have to fight to average 25mph. Consequently, we are having to lower our distance expectations. Riding here is also exhausting. The constant stream of oncoming traffic in our lane and general road chaos doesn't allow a moment to relax, and by the end of the ride most days, Re and I are worn out.

We made it to the hotel in Mangalore by 4:00 pm, and I went up to the room to lie down and cool off, while Re unloaded the bikes. I hadn't had to make any emergency bathroom stops since this morning, but I still did not feel good at all. When dinnertime came, we looked in the Lonely Planet to try and find some not spicy, blander food that would appeal to my stomach. We found our answer in the form of a Pizza Hut at the nearby mall. We walked the 8 blocks to the mall and rode the escalator up to the 4th floor, where we enjoyed pizza and garlic bread for a belated Thanksgiving dinner. In honor of our Pilgrim forefathers, I got the pizza that had corn on it. After dinner we wandered around the mall in search of hair bleach for Re. Strangely in India, the only hair colors they have seem to be eight shades of brown plus black. The more we walked, the less good I felt, and we walked quickly back to the hotel. Sigh.


160 miles in 6.5 hours. I'm beginning to suspect that this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no lactose-intolerance...

11/26 On to Calicut
 

Last night's bad feelings turned into multiple trips to the bathroom. Between visits I actually slept well, but I woke up very sweaty in the morning despite the A/C. I checked my temperature with the thermometer from out first aid kit, and it was normal, so hopefully it's nothing worse than a simple case of, “Delhi Belly.” I did take one of the Azithromycin tablets that we brought with us last night, so hopefully it does its magic soon. Our goal for the day was a short ride to Kannur, so we didn't get on the road until 10:30 am. Between the sprinkle of rain and my tummy troubles, I decided to skip any bike maintenance this morning and just started riding.

Like previous days, the ride today was a mixed bag. Traffic was very, very heavy all day, which contributed to slow going. There were long stretches of road that were in good condition, but these were again broken up by patches of shit.

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The first part of the ride was pretty, passing over many rivers and riding along the coast. Due to the heavy traffic, it took us over 2.5 hours to cover the first 45 miles, and we didn't make it to Kannur until 3:00 pm. Once we reached Kannur we pulled out the cellphone to call hotels and found that every recommended one was full. Only certain hotels in India accept non-native guests due to paperwork and reporting requirements, so our choice now was either to search for another hotel that would take us, or to ride the 60 miles further to Calicut. Since I felt pretty good at the moment and Kannur didn't look like much, we decided to continue on. The traffic between Kannur and Calicut was very heavy and especially aggressive, and Re and I found ourselves sandwiched between buses and trucks many times today.

The highlight of the day was being flagged over at one of the police checkpoints so the officer could let us know that our headlights were on. Since we bought our bikes in the US, there is no way to turn off the headlight, and this seems to cause a significant amount of consternation for many people we encounter on the road. On any given day that we ride, we get at least a hundred hand signals or headlight flashes to let us know that our lights are on. Young people, old people, children, men, women, all want to make sure we know our headlights are on, we have even had people come out of stores to let us know they're on. So it was no surprise when an officer stopped us today to let us know that our lights were on. I once again explained that our lights cannot be turned off, to which the officer smiled, shook my hand, and wished us a safe journey.

We arrived in Calicut around 6:00 pm only to find the same situation with the recommended hotels. All of the ones where we wanted to stay were full except for one of the higher-end hotels. Tired and not feeling well again, we decided to spend the 50 bucks on the fancy hotel and rode off in search of it. We knew the general direction, but unfortunately ran into a series of one way roads that sent us off into the unknown. Fortunately, some friendly local people took pity on us and drew us a map to the hotel. As we approached the hotel, Re spotted another hotel two doors down. While I waited with the bikes and chatted with the crowd that gathered, Re walked to the other hotel and found that they had nice, air-conditioned rooms for around 22 USD. Sold! Since the road we were on was one way, we did like all good Indian motorcyclists, and rode the wrong way up the one way street, spending equal amounts of time on the road and on the sidewalk. By now, I hadn't eaten anything all day, but my stomach could not face the extremely spicy Indian food served in this area. Lucky for me, there was a KFC across the street. Re was kind enough to head across the street and returned with a chicken sandwich, coleslaw, and a Diet Pepsi before heading out for some dinner on her own.

165 miles in 7.5 hours. The bikes are running well and seem to enjoy the Indian petrol much better that the African varieties.

11/27 Ride to Cochin (Ernakulam)
 

I woke up feeling better today, but apparently my bowels didn't get the memo, since they had already booked a couple of appointments in the “reading room” for this morning. After taking another Azithromycin, we loaded up the bikes and added a little air to the tires. We were greeted by the best roads in India so far and actually enjoyed the ride for most of the day. There were some torn up areas but only for ten miles or so. The scenery was similar to that of the previous several days, with rivers, and green and coconut palms everywhere. It did sprinkle on and off throughout the day, but never enough to actually wash our filthy, filthy, filthy riding gear.

Before we left Africa, our Dariens were in need of a washing. Now after two weeks in India, they are turning gray. The amount of dust and diesel being belched all over us has made washing our gear a priority.

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Re has taken to riding with a bandana across her face to at least cut down on the amount of grime that gets stuck to her face every day, but I kind of like the Captain Jack Sparrow look. Some nights we are amazed that hotels will even let us in the front door with as grubby as we are. All kidding aside, I have found that I have developed an occasional cough since we arrived in India.

Around lunchtime we stopped in a small town for some lunch and had a nice time chatting with our fruit vendor and the rest of the usual crowd that gathered. We made it to Ernakulam around 4:30 pm and found a good guesthouse run by a friendly Royal Enfield rider. While he was looking over our bikes, Re had the brilliant idea to ask if he knew of a local welder who could fix her rack. She rightly figured that Royal Enfield riders would know all the repair shops, and John said he knew of one to send us to tomorrow. After another dinner of too freakin' hot food, we returned to the room to have some Pepto Bismol tablets for dessert and watch Spider Man 3 on the tv.

131 miles in 6.5 hours. Riding through the multitude of small towns is killing our average speed.

11/28 Two Out of Four Ain't Bad
 

Our plans for today were to get some ride-related problems fixed and do a little touring around the town. The ride-related tasks were to find a place with washing machines where we could wash our Darien Lights and to find a welder to fix Re's rack. Assuming we got these done in a timely manner, we also wanted to take the ferry to Fort Cochin to do a little sightseeing and then book a boat tour of the Kerala backwaters for tomorrow. After a lazy morning, we spoke to John again, and he was able to give us directions to a laundry business that should have machines and directions to a small welding shop, both within walking distance. Re grabbed one of our jackets to use as an example of what we needed washed and went off in search of the launderer. While she was gone, I removed her Pelican case and top rack and saw how extensive the damage was.

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Upon closer examination, it wasn't the welds that had cracked, but the the actual metal that had torn next to the welds. Of the three attachment points between the top plate and the tubular side frame on each side, two had completely torn and the other four had cracked. After a while, Re returned with the bad news that the launderer would not be able to get to our gear for three to four days, so we will need to look for another solution. We then set out for the welding shop, and twenty minutes later, found ourselves at the front door of the Welding House. The shop wasn't much to look at - there were two guys sitting out front, brazing brass fixtures, and from the recesses of the shop we could hear a couple of grinders running.

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The one employee who spoke a few words of English, took the rack from us and gave it to the welder and his assistant, who did a very workmanlike job of repairing the tears and welding the cracks. I assumed that they would remove the powdercoat from the affected areas before they started welding, but no.

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In less than ten minutes, they were finished and handed the still red-hot rack to the employee who had assisted us earlier. He asked if we wanted any grinding, which I declined, or if I would like black paint, to which I said yes. He set the rack to cool for a minute and disappeared into the back, to return with a paintbrush and a can of paint. Since the welding process had burned a lot of the powdercoating off, he quickly scraped the loose coating off with a broken sawblade before brushing on a thick coat of paint. In less than fifteen minutes, we had our rack welded, painted, and returned to us. Since I had not enquired about the cost of the repair before they started, I had no idea what this would cost. Assuming we would pay a rush charge and the foreigner charge, I was expecting to pay between 10 and 15 USD, so Re and I both smiled when we were told the total was 80 rupees (1.60 USD)! We thanked all the gentlemen profusely and made our way back to the guesthouse before noon. The walk back was interesting because most of the rack was still too hot to touch, and part of it was covered in wet paint, so there were only certain places I could hold it while navigating the sidewalks teeming with people.

After dropping off the rack in the room, we headed to the ferry to Fort Cochin. The ferry ride through the harbor was a short twenty minutes through a working port. One thing the ferry ride did not provide was relief from the stifling heat and humidity of the day.

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We spent the next two hours wandering through the crumbling, colonial buildings and along the waterfront.

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Here we saw groups of men operating Chinese-style dip nets, which have been used in this area for the past seven hundred years. We returned to Ernakulam in the late afternoon and went to the tourist office to book our all-day backwater boat trip for tomorrow. But no. Apparently, there will be a strike tomorrow to protest something or other.

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The Indian political system is made up of a number of parties, and the ruling party in Kerala is the Communist Party of India. And apparently, they like to strike whenever the mood hits. Communism- the political system where everyone but the political leaders lose. We were assured that the boat trips would resume the following day, but we didn't want to hang around that long, so we will have to work on Plan B.

Back at the room, Re suggested that she might try to hand wash our riding gear and decided to use her jacket as the guinea pig. After removing the armor and emptying the pockets, she put her jacket in a bucket, added some soap and warm water, and did her best grape stomping impression. Several changes of the rinse water later, she had one dramatically cleaner jacket. We decided to stop now, because we weren't sure that they would dry overnight and it would be better to have just one damp jacket. Since the paint had finally dried on the rack, I took the opportunity to reinstall it while Re went in search of some fruit. I was pleased to find that the rack had not warped significantly from welding, as all the welding points still lined up. Later that evening, we went out for yet another too freakin' hot dinner.

0 miles. Why is the food in southern India so ridiculously spicy?!?! I swear they put chilis in the ice cream!

11/29 Ride to Kollam
 

Since the strike screwed up our boat trip from Cochin, Plan B was to head a little farther south to the town of Kollam and take a boat trip from there tomorrow. Since Kollam was only about a hundred miles away, we took the time to do a little bike maintenance this morning, remounting Re's Pelican case and doing a general fastener check. My front tire is still losing 5 psi every day, but it never seems to lose any more. When we started off this morning, we each had about 2/3 of a tank of fuel, so we were in no hurry to get petrol before we left town, since petrol stations are plentiful (especially compared to Africa). I did, however, notice that most but not all of the petrol stations seemed to be closed, but it didn't really register until our fuel lights let us know we only had about 1 liter each. It was then that I remembered the strike today and realized that was why virtually all petrol stations were either roped off or blocked by empty buses and trucks. Unlike Africa, we have not been carrying much petrol in our jerrycans since we haven't needed to. Fortunately for us, we happened to have approximately 6 liters between our two jugs and had to refuel out of these since every petrol station we passed for more than twenty miles was closed. After refueling, I saw we had enough fuel to make it to Kollam but still pulled in to an open station that we found about fifteen miles later.

The roads today were good and the strike seemed to have reduced the number of vehicles on the road significantly, which was a nice bonus. Once in Kollam, we found a cheap hotel and decided (for some dumb reason) to forgo the AC. We ate another too damn hot lunch downstairs at the restaurant before heading down to the jetty to book our backwater canoe trip for tomorrow. Later, back at the hotel, we started to realize the error of out ways in not opting for AC. Our room had no screens in the windows, and therefore, we couldn't open the windows to let in the slightly cooler air outside. To make matters worse, when we finally did lie down, we discovered that under the sheet, the mattresses were vinyl covered. It's going to be a sweaty night and not the good kind.

101 miles in about 4 hours.

11/30 Canoe Trip and Ride to Varkala
 

As predicted yesterday, it was a hot and sweaty night. Neither Re nor I slept very well, and the fact that it was pouring rain did nothing to improve our attitudes. Since we didn't have to be to the jetty for the canoe trip until 9:00 am, we decided to give it to 8:30 for the rain to stop, or we would skip the canoe trip and head to Varkala once the rain subsided. Since our canoe trip was supposed to run from 9:00 am until 1:30 pm, and our checkout time at the hotel was 2:00 pm, we wanted to have everything packed and ready to go before we left that morning. While we worked on getting ready, the rain did stop. At 8:30 we hopped on the bikes and rode to the jetty, where the boat company people found us a place to store our helmets and park the bikes. It was now that we found out that our 4.5 hour boat tour was actually a 1 hour autorickshaw ride, then a 2.5 hour canoe ride with a 1 hour return autorickshaw ride. Oh.

So at 9:00 am, we boarded our autorickshaw for the twisty, bumpy ride to Monroe Island and the home of our tour guide.

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There, we boarded a 75-year old wooden canoe and headed out through the canals. Our guide was very knowledgeable and pointed out all of the various trees, spices, birds, and other animals we saw along the way.

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We stopped for a demonstration of coir rope making and some tea.

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We made another stop at a boat building business and saw how the local boats are built. They use planks of wood that are stitched together, and the seams are waterproofed with coir and fish oil. After our return autorickshaw ride, we zoomed back to the hotel and loaded up the bikes for our very short ride south to Varkala.

Varkala is supposed to be a nice beach town, and Re and I are looking forward to some quality relaxing. The ride was only about 25 miles, and we soon found ourselves lost. The beach at Varkala is at the foot of a 100-foot high cliff, and all the hotels and businesses are arranged along the top of the cliff. We had a general idea where the hotel was, but the connections from the main road are a maze of narrow alleys and footpaths with very little signage. After riding around and asking for directions for twenty minutes or so, we finally called the hotel and were assured that we were very close, but they would come and find us. A few minutes later, a man appeared on foot and led us the quarter mile to the hotel. The funniest part of the ride was that we had to turn onto the main footpath at the cliff top and ride a couple hundred yards through the pedestrians to the hotel.

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And what a nice place!

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All twelve rooms at this two story hotel had front balconies from which you could see the ocean, and our room was on the second floor with a particularly nice view. We decided once again to skip the AC since the room had big windows, a mosquito net over the bed, and a very powerful ceiling fan. All this for only 14 bucks! After unpacking the bikes and settling into the room, we went for a walk along the cliff to scope out our dinner options and then descended the steps to the beach for a stroll and a dip of the toes in the water. The beach here is beautiful, and the scenery ain't bad either. Later that evening, Re and I found ourselves sitting at a front row table overlooking the ocean and enjoying a delicious dinner. Life does not suck right now.

26 miles in about 1.5 hours. My bike doesn't seem to be very happy at part-throttle.

12/1 and 12/2 Beach Time in Varkala
 

12/1

It rained hard overnight, which made for cooler temperatures and good sleep. We woke to a foggy morning and eventually made our way down to breakfast and then walked along the cliff to get the lay of the land. We decided to wait until after lunch to go to the beach since it was still foggy at the beach. We sat on our balcony and worked on ride reports before grabbing a thali for lunch and then headed to the beach.

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The beach here is the most pleasant we've been on in India, and the water was a fantastic temperature. There were also some good-sized waves, and the water was very clean. We also really liked the vibe in Varkala the best of any beach town we've been in so far. Whereas Goa was mostly older package tourists, and Gokarna was mostly young, hippy wannabes, Varkala was a nice mix of ages, and most people seemed to be there just to relax. After playing a little frisbee and lying in the sun, we headed back to clean up for dinner.

12/2

Again, the morning was somewhat hazy, so we retired to our balcony after breakfast and found that we could get a wifi signal from last night's restaurant and took the opportunity to post some ride reports.

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Later in the morning, we walked south along the beach and turned inland to see one of the local temples and to buy some fruit. After lunch, we headed to the beach again and spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in the sun and playing in the waves. After another delicious tandoori fish dinner, Re washed my riding jacket and some other clothes before we went to bed. As we were finishing dinner, it began to rain, and it rained on and off for the rest of the night.