Once I was across the border into South Africa I decided to make a bolt for Cape Agulhas. I was so close now I just wanted to get there. Chris had gone on ahead to try to find a new front tyre and I was hoping to catch up with him. Although we now had no way of contacting each other as our Namibian mobiles didn’t work here in South Africa.

I only stopped when I needed to fuel up every one hundred and eighty miles or so. It was good to see the first signs for Cape Town counting down the kilometers. I had decided some time during the journey to head directly to Cape Agulhas the most southern point of Africa that was the destination.

I wasn’t going to make Cape Agulhas in one day so I started to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. Many people had warned me not to bush camp in South Africa, so it was going to have to be a campsite or hotel. As it was starting to get dark I still hadn’t found anywhere to stay. Night driving in South Africa is made all that more difficult by many drivers not grasping the concept of dipping their lights for approaching vehicles so I was constantly getting dazzled.

I was now only twenty kilometers from Cape Town and I really didn’t want to enter the city at night. Even though I had left home after dark five month previously I really wanted to see Cape Town for the first time in daylight!

I eventually came across a trailer park and after getting someone’s attention through the locked gates I was inside pitching up my tent. That evening I met some interesting characters in the camp bar.

The next morning I was on the road again heading for the Cape. It was a shame not to have picked up Chris Bone on the way. It was looking like I was going to have to celebrate alone. Dan, Ed and Chris had already been in Cape Town for a week or so and we’re pretty much on their way home.

Dan and Linz that I had rode with in Senegal, Gambia and Burkina Faso were still in Cameroon after an unexpected six-week stop in Niger when Dan had broken his arm.

With only twenty kilometers of riding in the drizzle left to do before finally reaching my goal. I had an urge to stop and have lunch. I wasn’t particularly hungry I just think that I didn’t want to finish the longest ride of my life.

After taking my time eating a toasted sandwich I rode off. The rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to brighten. I followed the signs to the most southern point of Africa and pretty soon I had Cape Agulhas lighthouse in my sights. I pulled up and felt a sudden rush of emotions. I’d made it! What a good feeling! I’ve made it! The bike and I have actually made it and in one piece! Just now a few KG’s lighter and perhaps a little wiser.

The BMW R1200GS after 136 days, 15.176, miles, three punctures, two sets of tyres, 1400 litres of fuel, seventeen countries and eleven ferry crossings she is looking in pretty good shape! Was it the best choice for the trip? Yep!
I must have radiated my elation, as it wasn’t long before I had a little crowd around me congratulating me and asking questions. Once I had taken the obligatory photos I found a rock and looked out it sea I was enjoying the moment and didn’t want it to pass. I sat there for a couple of hours just letting it all sink in and thinking back over the last five months.

It was a shame I had forgotten to pick up a bottle of bubbly but everything happens for a reason. I returned the next day with a bottle of pink fizz to toast the Cape with a couple of people that I had met at Cape Agulhas Backpackers. We pulled up in the van and who was there? Chris Bone!

After a couple of days we found ourselves in Cape Town what a perfect city to unwind in after this epic adventure!

To be continued…….

Namibian customs were friendly and efficient and in no time we were riding into a shabby frontier town. Shabby yes but with ATM’s, shops, petrol stations and under the tyres smooth tarmac. A swerve to the left was needed to avoid an oncoming car Namibia drives on the left hand side of the road. I hadn’t ridden on the left since England. There were also traffic lights I hadn’t seen any of those in a long while ether.

It was only eighty kilometers to Oshakati where we would camp for the night. The first warm shower I had experienced for many months and steak for dinner. We were back in civilization.

Riding on these roads in northern Namibia was a welcome break after the Congos and Angola. Smooth, straight tarmac it didn’t take too much concentration to keep in-between the white lines so for the first time for many weeks I could let my mind wander. I thought back over the previous four months and fourteen thousand miles, only thirteen hundred miles to Cape Town it was going to be easy from now on. I’m almost there I thought to myself.

After a huge breakfast Chris and I said goodbye to MJ, George and Francois. The South African guys that we rode with through Angola they wanted to get to Cape Agulhas and home to Pretoria in only five days so they had to get a move on.

Chris and I rode road 200km to Etosha National Park. As we approached the park along a dusty road I came round a corner as a herd of giraffes ran across the road they were closely followed by a dozen zebras I’ll never forget this moment it was incredible to see these animals running next to me as I rode along.

Motorcycles are unfortunately not allowed into National parks where game roam freely. So we had to take a 4x4 to go on safari. We saw lions, an elephant, springbok, ostriches and buffalo as well as many other birds and animals.

In Windhoek the capital of Namibia I checked into a backpackers named Chameleon. This was a perfect place to enjoy some comforts and relax for a while. While I waited for some parts for the BMW, a new swing arm torsion bar and oil seal for the rear drive.

Chris Bone turned up on his CCM 400 and the next day we rode out of Windhoek and into the vast desert landscape. We both loved the dirt roads which wound up and over mountain passes which reached an altitude of 1850 metres, through dramatic scenery. Ostriches and springbok would race along with us. I clocked them running in excess of 40mph.

We passed the Tropic of Capricorn; the invisible line marks the most southern limit of the tropics. It was good to be moving further away from the equator not just because we were getting closer to our goal but also because the temperature was cooling and it was now light to almost seven thirty.

We arrived at the turning for Sossusvlei dunes it was late in the day. So we headed on in search of a place to camp, easier said than done in this vast country all the land is owned and fenced off. So we pitched our tents by the side of the road.

The next morning we headed back in the direction of Sossusvlei. During the night there had been a major flash flood. It hadn’t rained where we were camped but to the east it must have poured with torrential rain. The small stream, which we had forded the evening before, was now a raging torrent. A tree and some telegraph poles had been uprooted and washed away. We struggled just to walk across; it would be way too risky getting the bikes over. So after a morning of hanging out chatting with locals by the river we rode off hoping that the water would fall enough for us to cross the next day.

We returned twenty-four hours later and the water had dropped enough for us to cross. To say the red sands of the Sossusvlei dunes were dramatic would be an under statement. I love the feeling of space in this country standing at the top of one of these dunes looking around you feel like you have the whole world to yourself.

Ridding further into the dunes involved more water. A stream ran in the same direction that we needed to go it was good fun. The only trouble being that the brown colored water was less than transparent and it was difficult to judge the depth. On a couple of occasions I got the weighty GS stuck.

There was no need to ride on tarmac through the rest of Namibia the dirt roads were well maintained and there was no other traffic. We would camp by the side of the road each night and watch the sunset as we cooked over an open fire.

During a fuel stop Chris was checking his badly worn front tyre, it was now down to the canvass in places. He was going to have to go directly to South Africa and try to get his hands on some more rubber. I didn’t want to miss out on seeing Fish River Canyon so I took the road to the west and Chris took the road to the south. I’m glad I didn’t miss out on the canyon the view was breath taking!

The next morning I crossed the Orange River which marks the border between Namibia and South Africa. Next stop Cape Agulhas, the most southern tip of Africa.

The cockerels woke me at some ridiculously early hour as I slept on the front steps of the police station. While I was waiting for the immigration to open I sneaked back into The Democratic republic of Congo to find some breakfast; baguettes and La vache quirit that is a one of the good things the French did for Africa.

At eight o’clock the policeman came out with our passports, which he held in the police safe over night. The six passports had been stamped in using yesterdays date so we had already lost a day off the expensive and stingy five-day visa.

Customs hadn’t shown up for work apparently he was still sleeping. We didn’t have time to wait so headed off without getting our carnets stamped in.

It was time to ride! I had been looking out over the beautiful view of the Congo River and the green hills for too long, I wanted to get amongst it.
So with only four days to cover one of the biggest countries in Africa and no stamp in the Carnets we rode off into the valley. We would over stay our visas and no stamp in the carnet could be a problem at the next border but this was going to be next week’s problem.

It was a technical ride along rocky and wet roads in the north of Angola after eighty miles we still hadn’t seen another vehicle and I was concerned about getting petrol I hadn’t topped up fully in DRC as fuel was sup post to be super cheap in Angola. With only enough fuel for twenty miles left in my tank there was no way I would get to the next town. I ended up buying some brown petrol out of a jerry can from a midget I can’t imagine what he mixed with it, it didn’t even smell remotely like petrol but the trusty GS lapped it up and didn’t let me down. The machine had to have a couple more drinks of this suspect fuel before I reached Luanda, which had petrol pumps and fuel for a very reasonable price. (Twenty-five pence per litre).

Angola has only been at peace for the last five years but no one has told the millions landmines which still scatter the countryside. After the heavy rains these mines move and sometimes they are washed onto the roads, nowhere is one hundred percent safe. There are reminders of the war everywhere you look I don’t think I saw many building that weren’t riddled with bullet holes.

The country has had more war than any other country in Africa over the last forty years. The war of independence, from Portugal between 1961 and 1975. Followed by the civil war that waged between 1975 and 2002 one side was funded by diamond sales and the other by crude oil. There were also many international influences from the USSR and Cuba and the US and South Africa. I’ve heard that this got as complicated as US oil companies Chevron and Gulf drilling for oil with Cuban soldiers defending the rigs from American armed rebels. Stupid it may sound but then that is the word that best describes war!

We decided to stop for the day in a little town called Tomboco, the nuns at the catholic mission took us in for the night and we’re very welcoming! In the morning we rode the short distance to N’zeto and made camp on the beach we bought some crayfish from the local fisherman and cooked them over our campfire on the beach, it was good to have a relaxing day.

The traffic into Luanda was like running the gauntlet sandy streets filled with trucks, buses, cars and motorcycles. People dashing through the traffic it was complete mayhem and thick with fumes we rode through the “suburbs” which were ramshackle and rubbish strewn. The centre of Luanda was completely different. There are many ships anchored in the bay of Luanda the city has coloionial Portuguese architecture alongside modern buildings it has the energy of a prosperous thriving city. Although it’s very similar to other African cities where the people ether have money or nothing at all.

Luanda yacht club allowed us to make camp on their hard right on the water’s edge. Carlos and his friends made us very welcome it was a real shame that we could only get a visa for five days, everywhere I stopped in this country made me want to stay longer and not one of us had to pay for any accommodation once during our stay in this country.

I went for a walk along the spit of land, which surrounded the bay of Luanda past flashy waterside clubs, kite surfers, Porsche Cayenne’s, and shanty towns the contrast of wealth in this capital city is huge!

After the jungles of the Congo’s Angola’s landscape was rocky rolling hills and plains I loved the ride through this stunning country. You could see for miles and miles, which is how far we had to ride, well around fifteen hundred miles. In between the terrible roads there would be brand new perfect tarmac. The Chinese are busy building all these new roads it seems crazy that Africa imports labor from China!

The roads in Angola are hard going pothole after pothole; this is extremely hard going on the bikes. I hit one pothole hard; the rear wheel took off when it landed again something didn’t feel right. I stopped to check it out and could immediately smell burning rubber. The torsion bar that runs along the top of the swing arm had bent and was rubbing against the rear tyre. This was the first major problem that I’ve had with the BMW and I was going to have to pull some creative bush repair to get rolling again. Nothing a tyre lever, hose clamps and cable ties couldn’t fix. I ran eight hundred kilometers all the way to Windhoek in Namibia like this.

While we were filling with fuel after an epic day’s ride a few sports bikes past us and signaled for us to follow. We did and they led us to the Falcon motorcycle club. It was Jose’s place and he welcomed us with cold beers, he fed us all and gave us a place to stay as well as welding up Chris’s frame and a luggage rack on one of the KTM’s. Jose really was a top shelf bloke! He showed us his old yellow land cruiser, which he had owned for twenty-eight years. In the frame of the windscreen was bullet hole he then pointed to a scare on his ear lobe, the bullet may have only scared him but it went into the arm of a soldier that was sitting in the back.

So I was ridding along, lovely blue sky the only clouds are the clouds of dust in my mirrors dodging the potholes and loving life. Thinking that it’s pretty good making it this far through Africa, and then I see another bike approaching in the opposite direction. That’s not an African bike, we both pull over on the road and introduce ourselves it’s Richard he’s ridden from England to the Cape down the east coast of Africa and now he’s heading home back up the west coast but the best part is he’s ridding a 1956 Royal Enfield. He’s keen to make it home for Easter so we all have a quick chat and exchange road info before we head off in our different directions.

It was a shame to leave Angola, only just seven days. There was no problem over staying the visa if I’d known I would have stayed longer the people we met were very warm and friendly and Angola has fantastic scenery. I’d like to return one day.

Getting out of Congo was time consuming and very bureaucratic it’s all part of the trip I know, but there is a lot of admin to cross Africa! We eventually rode onto the boat to cross the mighty Congo River. The boat left the dock and headed up river a way and rafted up to two other boats. When the vessels were secure we got underway once more, three boats chugging away at about one knot, it took us about an hour to get to the other side. When we arrived at Kinshasa there was a stampede as everyone fought to get back onto dry land. I changed some money on the black market and got stack of local cash, which filled a few different pockets.

Kinshasa, the capital of DRC is an interesting city, we went for a stroll and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves on the terrace of bar, drinking beer and eating good but expensive European food. Along the main street there were a few shops and a supermarket, which catered for the wealthy and many people driving around in Mercedes and four by fours. This was yet another African country with large natural resources of which only a tiny, tiny percentage will ever benefit.

We walked down another street and found the UN building, which was protected by a barricade of razor wire and armored cars with huge machine guns on top. I wandered up for a closer look, then thought it best to move on. There is a huge UN presence here; most of the trouble is in the east of DRC fortunately we didn’t have to go through these areas to pass through. We moved on the next day, twenty hours was long enough in this city. I didn’t want to risk taking any photos, Kinshasa is a city not used to tourists!

We headed to Zongo falls, which were, immense and spectacular camped up on the riverbank at the top of the falls the whole place to ourselves. It was an amazing place, definitely worth the 50km ride down the rough track to get to it. That night there was a huge thunderstorm, which made it a wet and muddy ride back out again, although in this part of Africa this is becoming the norm.

We arrived in Matadi to obtain our visas for Angola this took the whole day and cost $80. I was asked dozens of obscure questions, the relevance of which I wasn’t quite sure but by the end of the day I had my five, day transit visa for Angola. Five days is all you get to ride 1600 km not a problem in other parts of Africa but I think you would have to use the term road very loosely when in Angola.

Just as we were leaving the consulate the Angolan officials just happened to mention that the border was going to be closed for the next two days. We had about an hour to get back to where we were staying pack up, fuel up and get to the border. We managed to get to the border in time and get stamped out of DRC. Although when we arrived at the Angolan immigration point we were too late. Stuck in no mans land for the night! Then the border guards said we could sleep under the porch of the police station in Angola. Which had a beautiful view across the green hills and the River Congo. We met three South Africans heading the same way as us on KTM 640’s; we all agreed a beer would be good after our taxing day. Unfortunately there was no bar this side of the border, but the AK47 totting border guard let us sneak back into DRC so we could get a couple of drinks.

In the morning the Angolan border guards who had slept in the police station all night. Stamped our passports in, although they couldn’t stamp them the previous night. They still put yesterdays date on the entry, so we lost a day on the visa now only four days to cross Angola. We hung around for another hour for the customs to stamp our carnets but they didn’t show. So we ended up leaving without the stamp, hopefully it shouldn’t be a problem at the other end.

Congo

If they’re was one country that I was a little apprehensive about passing through it was Congo but as usual all any doubts about the country I left at the border. There were police and military checkpoints at the border and then we were free to pass into the country. We waited for someone to open the boom gate and waited some more. We’ve lost the key I was told by a one of the police. “So you’ve lost the key to Congo” “Oui” the policeman replied. Half an hour later the key was found in another policeman’s pocket he was having a kip.

We rode into Congo and had one last checkpoint, as they were going crazy with the stamps using up precious pages in my passport I noticed a British registered Rangerover coming in the opposite direction. It was Chris and Jackie, (although I didn’t know there names at this point.) Shortly followed by a German fire engine with Chris and Jessie inside. The first “over landers” that we’d met, so far on this trip coming in the opposite direction.

By now it was three O’clock so we decided to have a few beers and exchange some info. It was a most enjoyable evening, we pretty much camped right there on the border and Jessie cooked us some fried plantains for dinner. Chris just asked if he could sleep in the police station, this was no problem at all and they set him up a bed complete with mozzy net. More rain during the night and after we said our farewells to new friend we were off down the road. Thomas was joining us for a few days with his Landcruiser, he was good company and he had a fridge in his car, cold beer.

Although it was more of a very long pond rather than a road there were deep puddles all along it, by lunchtime we had only made twenty kilometers. Before we could ride across one of these puddles we had to walk it first to check the depth and work out the best route to take. I miss judged one and had water come up as high as the tank. At the same time the engine took a gulp of water through the air intake and stopped. I pushed the GS out and got busy with the tools, and soon enough I was running again. Then Chris got a puncture it was one of those days, I like the days like this in a funny sort of way, character building!

There were some deep ruts that I had to take the luggage off the bike to get it through and for the first time on the trip the BMW cylinders were getting in the way. It was an exhausting day! Although as the day went on the sun was shinning and the puddles got fewer. By five O’clock I think we had made one hundred and twenty kilometers not very far but not the worst day we’ve had so far on this trip.

I really enjoyed the ride across Congo it was around five hundred kilometers of the worst roads. More beautiful scenery and in every village we rode through we would be greeted by many waving and smiling kids and adults alike. There was more deep mud to pass and at one place I counted forty truck stuck in the mud. All the drivers were shoveling earth to try to make the road passable. It was no problem for us though as a local showed us some tracks that led us around.

The pool region is located just west of the capital city of Brazzaville and is still subject to sporadic rebel activity. We were warned that there were some rebel checkpoints that we would be stopped at and they could try to extract some money from us. So it was not too much of a surprise when we came across the rebels or Ninjas, as they are known. There was a large group of them ether side of the road and as we approached they moved into the road and started to wave at us to stop. Fortunately I couldn’t see any visible firearms. I started to change down through the gears and slow down as I approached them. As I was about to put a foot down and shift to neutral I noticed there were no nail boards on the road and the way ahead was clear. So with Chris close behind I accelerated through them and away.

The last hour into Brazzaville was on yet another brand new still under construction road and we were soon in the capital. The Catholic Mission has let us camp inside their holy walls on a bit of lawn next to their bar.

Brazzaville seems to be a prosperous city set on the river Congo, the streets are wide and it is very clean for an African city. There are many restaurants and a lot of things are available to buy here. There is still evidence of the civil war here it’s easy to see bullet holes in some walls and other large houses and office blocks that have been left derelict.

We are stopping here for a couple of days to relax and I have spent a day giving the bike some TLC. It is all sparkly and clean again with fresh oil and filters. The starter motor hasn’t been sounding so good since it’s stint in the muddy water so I removed it and cleaned out all the muck from inside. Apart form that the R1200GS has been holding up exceptionally well but I better not say too much too soon. Not until I get to South Africa.

Across the River Congo is Kinshasa the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo (yes there are two Congo’s). Tomorrow morning we’ll be taking the ferry across and yet another border crossing and another country.

mikeybeckett@gmail.com
www.mikeybeckett.com

We left Kribi on the second of December, Kribi had been an excellent place to relax and enjoy New Years Eve celebrations and a few comforts but now it was time to move on. Around four thousand miles to Namibia, which doesn’t feel that far seeing that I’ve covered eleven thousand miles so far on this trip. It was a rough dusty track through the jungle running east towards the road for Gabon and I could tell I had been off the bike for five days it didn’t quite seem as natural as it should and even though I had my new TKC 80’s (tyres) on it took me a while to get into it. After one hundred and forty miles running east we turned south onto the main highway, which was lovely smooth twisty tarmac. The border crossing from Cameroon to Gabon was time consuming, the actual border is marked by the river Ntem but we had to continue on into Gabon for twenty miles to clear immigration and customs at Bitam it was dark by the time we found a hotel and had parked our bikes up inside the local night club which we were assured was going to stay closed on this night. I’d parked my bike in many places during this trip but a nightclub was a first.

The road between Bitam and Lamberene is incredible more smooth, twisty tarmac running through the jungle with hardly any other traffic. I would highly recommend that you ride this road if you ever get the opportunity. We stopped for lunch on the equator and then continued on our way but as soon as we entered the southern hemisphere the road turned into a pot holed buckled mess, was this to be the last tarmac before Namibia? No, the road improved again and we were soon back to the pannier scratching. The tarmac finished a little past Lamberene and was a mix between gravel and wet mud. What a perfect days ride perfect tarmac and then off road!

We ride into the jungle and pitch our tents and crack, open a couple of beers that we bought in the last village. It’s no problem to get your hands on beer in Gabon every village no matter how small has a bar or drinking den. Everyone seems to be on the piss the whole time, no exaggeration. I was talking to one local man and asked him if the women join in with all this beer drinking. “Of course he replied but only after they have gathered the fire wood and cooked dinner.”

Gabon is one of the richest countries in Africa with huge natural reserves and a small population of only 1.2 million. It is probably the most chilled out African country I have visited so far.

The jungle camping is wild, I left it a little late to apply the deet and little did I know that there were hundreds of tiny little insects feasting on my flesh. It wasn’t till the next morning until I saw and felt the results of this. I was like having brail written up and down my arms.

I was rudely woken at three AM it had started pouring with rain and I hadn’t bothered to use the flysheet. I got up to put it on and crawled back into my tent and it’s damp, sweaty and hot and I’m not getting back to sleep any time soon. Six thirty, thunder, lightening and torrential rain. I stay in my tent to see if it passes by eight O’clock the sun is shinning and the clouds have passed.

After another couple of days riding through beautiful untouched rain forest the jungle starts to turn to savannah. Many shades of lush green and many trees make for stunning scenery. At around four each day we turn off the road and ride through waist high grass to find a camping place.

Gabon has been yet another highlight of the ride through Africa the riding has been loads of fun and it has been an easy country to travel in. Next Congo….

www.mikeybeckett.com
mikeybeckett@gmail.com

Congo

If they’re was one country that I was a little apprehensive about passing through it was Congo but as usual all any doubts about the country I left at the border. There were police and military checkpoints at the border and then we were free to pass into the country. We waited for someone to open the boom gate and waited some more. We’ve lost the key I was told by a one of the police. “So you’ve lost the key to Congo” “Oui” the policeman replied. Half an hour later the key was found in another policeman’s pocket he was having a kip.

We rode into Congo and had one last checkpoint, as they were going crazy with the stamps using up precious pages in my passport I noticed a British registered Rangerover coming in the opposite direction. It was Chris and Jackie, (although I didn’t know there names at this point.) Shortly followed by a German fire engine with Chris and Jessie inside. The first “over landers” that we’d met, so far on this trip coming in the opposite direction.

By now it was three O’clock so we decided to have a few beers and exchange some info. It was a most enjoyable evening, we pretty much camped right there on the border and Jessie cooked us some fried plantains for dinner. Chris just asked if he could sleep in the police station, this was no problem at all and they set him up a bed complete with mozzy net. More rain during the night and after we said our farewells to new friend we were off down the road. Thomas was joining us for a few days with his Landcruiser, he was good company and he had a fridge in his car, cold beer.

Although it was more of a very long pond rather than a road there were deep puddles all along it, by lunchtime we had only made twenty kilometers. Before we could ride across one of these puddles we had to walk it first to check the depth and work out the best route to take. I miss judged one and had water come up as high as the tank. At the same time the engine took a gulp of water through the air intake and stopped. I pushed the GS out and got busy with the tools, and soon enough I was running again. Then Chris got a puncture it was one of those days, I like the days like this in a funny sort of way, character building!

There were some deep ruts that I had to take the luggage off the bike to get it through and for the first time on the trip the BMW cylinders were getting in the way. It was an exhausting day! Although as the day went on the sun was shinning and the puddles got fewer. By five O’clock I think we had made one hundred and twenty kilometers not very far but not the worst day we’ve had so far on this trip.

I really enjoyed the ride across Congo it was around five hundred kilometers of the worst roads. More beautiful scenery and in every village we rode through we would be greeted by many waving and smiling kids and adults alike. There was more deep mud to pass and at one place I counted forty truck stuck in the mud. All the drivers were shoveling earth to try to make the road passable. It was no problem for us though as a local showed us some tracks that led us around.

The pool region is located just west of the capital city of Brazzaville and is still subject to sporadic rebel activity. We were warned that there were some rebel checkpoints that we would be stopped at and they could try to extract some money from us. So it was not too much of a surprise when we came across the rebels or Ninjas, as they are known. There was a large group of them ether side of the road and as we approached they moved into the road and started to wave at us to stop. Fortunately I couldn’t see any visible firearms. I started to change down through the gears and slow down as I approached them. As I was about to put a foot down and shift to neutral I noticed there were no nail boards on the road and the way ahead was clear. So with Chris close behind I accelerated through them and away.

The last hour into Brazzaville was on yet another brand new still under construction road and we were soon in the capital. The Catholic Mission has let us camp inside their holy walls on a bit of lawn next to their bar.

Brazzaville seems to be a prosperous city set on the river Congo, the streets are wide and it is very clean for an African city. There are many restaurants and a lot of things are available to buy here. There is still evidence of the civil war here it’s easy to see bullet holes in some walls and other large houses and office blocks that have been left derelict.

We are stopping here for a couple of days to relax and I have spent a day giving the bike some TLC. It is all sparkly and clean again with fresh oil and filters. The starter motor hasn’t been sounding so good since it’s stint in the muddy water so I removed it and cleaned out all the muck from inside. Apart form that the R1200GS has been holding up exceptionally well but I better not say too much too soon. Not until I get to South Africa.

Across the River Congo is Kinshasa the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo (yes there are two Congo’s). Tomorrow morning we’ll be taking the ferry across and yet another border crossing and another country.

The three motorcycles, Chris, Nick and I made it safely across the river on the small wooden boats. As usual we were quite a spectacle to the local villagers of this small riverside village called Touroua. I sent up a rooster tail of sand as I rode up the riverbank and we parked up in front of a crowd, the police came to see us and stamped our passports into Cameroon. They also sorted us out with a patch of land behind the shack that served as the police station where we could pitch our tents for the night. We then went back down to the river Faro for a swim.

After an early morning walk along the banks of the Faro we packed up and headed into Cameroon. Riding down a dusty track for sixty kilometers we then turned south onto the N1, which was a twisty bitumen road that ran through the forest. We stopped at a small village and feasted on Kebabs, nuts and fruit, which were delicious, it was the best food that I had consumed for days.

I was really beginning to appreciate the more relaxed atmosphere of Cameroon. It was such a relief not to draw a huge crowd as we did every time we stopped in Nigeria. Charles came and introduced himself he was originally from Tchad and told us of the war there and how he was evacuated by the church seven years ago, he longed for the war to finish so he could return home. He was educated and knowledgeable about the world, I hope that he can return home one day soon and rebuild the old life that he once had.

We rolled into Ngaoundere and found an auberge in one of the back streets, which was clean with a friendly owner that was keen for us to stay. We rode the bikes through the small front door and parked up in the lobby. The road got interesting out of Ngaoundere heading for Bamenda it was the dustiest so far on this trip with huge potholes that we rode down into and up the other side. Others were so deep that if the front wheel had gone into them then I would have cart wheeled over the handlebars into a world of pain and broken bones, fortunately I swerved them all and lived to ride another day.

Often we’d come around a corner and see a huge plumb of dust being blown up by a truck. When I made the decision to pass I’d hold my thumb on the horn and accelerate through the dust it would be such a relief to get past each one back into clean air again. Nick managed to seize the engine on his Yamaha. It didn’t take long to relise that this was not going to be sorted by the side of the road. The next truck to arrive pulled over and we loaded the XT350 onto the load of peanuts and he continued the trip to Douala in the cab of the truck. I later heard that it had taken four days to drive one thousand kilometres each time they would be stopped by the customs they would have to give them a couple of sacs of the peanuts by the time they arrived in Douala they had lost a third of the load.

So then we were two, Chris and I loved every minute of this road through the jungle. There was one stretch that turned to tarmac with some lovely twisty bits then after a couple of kilometers it would go back to dirt again then back to tarmac, it was like a super moto track and we rode it accordingly. In the evenings we would stop at little auberges and eat barbequed fish with the truck drivers. In the mornings I would wake up to the sound of the trucks starting up one by one and rolling off down the road.

We rode eight hundred kilometers in two and a half days and met up with Dan, Ed and Chris B. They had ridden on some bad roads also; one stretch of one hundred kilometers had taken them all day. Eager for some more off road action we headed north and around the ring road to the north. The ring road as it’s called links many little villages or chiefdoms as they are called. A lot of the chiefdoms are at two thousand metres the ring road runs through the jungle, which made for a technical ride, we had to ford a few rivers.

I passed the ten thousandth mile mark of the trip driving down to the capital of Yaoundé. We picked up visas in Yaoundé for Gabon, Congo and DRC they are expensive and time consuming stamps to get hold of. Although we had a peaceful spot to camp the gardens of a large house in the city it was a nice combination of peace and tranquility and having things on the doorstep. For a change there were other over-landers their two 4x4s, five of us on bikes, not forgetting Colin who had cycled here from London. It’s always good to exchange stories over a few beers when we meet up from time to time.

This was the week running up to Christmas and the city had a festive feel about it. There was a French bakery that I would visit every morning, as usual Christmas carols were playing it was funny to hear Live Aids “do they know it’s Christmas time” being played over the radio, in Africa with all these cakes and pastries around. Although this is a city and very far removed from the “real” Africa!

From Yaoundé Chris and I rode north to mount Cameroon we climbed the mountain over Christmas making the summit of 4095 on Christmas morning I’m sure this will be a Christmas that I’ll never forget. The mountain is a live volcano the last eruptions were in 1998, 1999 and 2000, we walked past craters that were still smoking away with a trail of laver that flowed down the mountain towards the sea. I love to climb mountains and before I was far from the summit I was thinking about which one to climb next.

After the climb we spent a couple of days at Limbe where the rainforest rolls down to the chocolate brown sandy beaches. I had the good news that my box had finally made it back to London with my MiniDv tapes inside and that my new tyres have arrived in Douala airport. It was a long and expensive day getting the tyres out of customs, £150 for the Continental TKC80’s, £120 for James cargo to send the tyres and £240 to customs and other people to get the tyres out!

My old Metzeller Tourances have done really well I’ve got 10500 miles out of them on all types of terrain and they still have 2.5mm of tread. Although I’m feeling good about having the new Continental TKC 80’s (knobbly tyres) on for this next section of Africa. I think through the Congo’s and Angola the roads are going to be really bad, bring it on!

The rain forests of Cameroon have definitely been one of the many highlights of this amazing country but I hate seeing the effects of deforestation and the constant trucks loaded with huge tree trunks heading for the ports!

We’re camped up in the grounds of a hotel right on the beach in Kribi. Only a mornings, ride away from the border with Gabon and a day’s ride from the equator. Gabon, Congo, and DRC await this next section is going to be a real adventure. If all goes well we should be in Namibia within a couple of weeks.

Nigeria

Nigeria’s repriation precedes it, according to the foreign office; since January 2006, 36 British nationals (including one child), and more than 180 other foreign national have been kidnapped. This is mainly in the south; in Cross River state well I don’t think I’ll go there then. Bribery, corruption, high risk of terrorism, and a country a wash with guns and more con artists than you can shake a stick at.

I passed through the Niger immigration getting my passport stamped by a man wearing military uniform and a AK 47 slung over his shoulder, wearing pink flip flops, that’s something that you don’t see in the UK.

I rode through no man’s land to the Nigeria border control. To be welcomed by the Nigerian police, “welcome to Nigeria you must be Michael” yes I am thanks very much. Chris and Nick had passed through the day before I was planning to meet them that afternoon in Sokoto. They had advised them that I was going to be passing through. My passport was checked and stamped into Nigeria.

Then I was told to go to the SS room, I was led into an office the official told me he was with the “Nigerian, Special, Secret, Security Service pausing between each word for effect. He filled out a dog-eared looking form asking the same questions that the immigration police had asked.

Next was the Anti drug squad the process was much the same as the previous two offices, until he asked me what drugs I had. I’m carrying many different drugs, which I got prescribed to me by a doctor before I left, just in case. I showed him the contents of my first aid kit, which he took great interest in, after checking each package, he said I’m worried that you are abusing these drugs, but as you are a tourist I’m going to let you pass. Then he saw my codeine he cross-referenced this with an anti drugs poster on the wall and told me this was a narcotic. He was going to have to call his boss to who happened to be in Niger praying until he arrived I was detained “I’m sorry to delay you he added”

To cut a long story short I was detained in the office for a few hours while his boss got back then after answering a few questions totally unrelated to the drugs I was on my way. I think the drug squad just loved to invent work and have me around and to ask questions about how they could move to England

I met with Chris and Nick in Sokoto we took a rest day in which I met many Nigerians who were all extremely welcoming and friendly, no hassle at all and the following morning we headed south following the River Niger. We stopped for the night staying by the river and headed down to catch the sunset, no sooner were our cameras out of our pockets we were apprehended by someone who jumped out of the bushes and told us that we couldn’t take photos. It was just a river with not even a bridge or building in sight although we put our cameras away and headed back to the hotel.

Once we were round the corner another random person who claimed to be CID came up to us and told us we had to leave this place right now, which we gladly did. Once back at the hotel our friend from the “CID” turned up again. Don’t worry I’ve sorted it all for you but you’ve got to pay 5000 Nira (£20) for a permit to take photos. He couldn’t show any ID so we didn’t pay and eventually he left. We’ll never know if he was the police or not. He said he couldn’t leave empty handed, as the other police would think he had pocketed the money. “Your problem not ours mate”

We left Yelwa when the sun came up eager to get as far away as possible when we were a sufficient distance down the road we pulled over for breakfast. Immediately we were the centre of attention with hundreds watching us eat our omelets from a radius of a few metres. After we finished eating one of the enterprising locals produced a camera and was charging people to have their photo taken with us.

There were roadblocks all the way down this road at times every couple of miles we were being stopped and welcomed to Nigeria. This was all very friendly but stopping every five minutes was not getting us anywhere fast. One roadblock was not so friendly though as soon as we pulled up you could tell they were going to try to get money out of us one way or another. They checked over my bike looking for faults; your front tyre is too worn, you have to have a Nigerian number plate to drive in this country, I was not having any of it! Especially after the state of every other vehicle on the road, he ended up extracting some money off Nick for not having any mirrors after that he had the cheek to ask if I could invite him to England when I returned home! You can imagine my reply.

The construction of Abuja the capital of Nigeria started in 1981 and it was declared the capital in 1991. Abuja has wide streets and modern buildings with a huge cathedral and mosque dominating the skyline. Once again we were the centre of attention with extremely friendly people welcoming us to their city and asking questions about the ride. When we were preparing to leave a TV crew showed up and interviewed us for the evening news.

The most frightening thing about Nigeria is that it has cars and all Nigerian drivers have thrown away the Highway Code. Foot flat to the floor wherever they are. Over taking into oncoming traffic anything goes.

I had a night in a catholic mission in a town called JOS which is short for Jesus our savior. Very friendly people again although they seemed very keen to get me into church so the following morning I was on the road again.

When it’s time to top up with fuel no problem to find a petrol station there are dozens in every town, but to find one with fuel in it’s tanks. Just look out for a queue maybe one station in every twenty might have fuel. More often than not I was filling Mad Max style round the corner from jerry cans, only twenty-five pence a litre though.

A couple of days ride out of Abuja was a Yankari national park we were all looking forward to stopping here for a few days as there were also some hot springs here to rest our tired bones. Everywhere we set foot in Nigeria people wanted to come and talk to us and have their picture taken “look those white men where’s me camera” we would often hear. As another group would rush over. There were many students here and they invited us to a party they were having that evening, which was fun.

The next morning at 0645 there was a knock on my tent I rolled over pretending to be asleep but it turned out to be another film crew they were making a film to promote tourism in Nigeria. Did we want to come out on a safari for the day in return for being extras on the film? We saw elephants, hippos, baboons and monkeys.

Nigeria had been under military rule for many years since it gained independence in 1960 but now there is a real air of change about the place. All the people I spoke to praised the new government and had hope for the future, there is also a big campaign to stamp out corruption.

Despite a couple of bad experiences, I really enjoyed the ten days that we spent here. Through the many conversations I had with local people I leant a many things about the country and given time I think the new government could put an end to the poor management they have had in the past and put a halt to corruption.

We stopped in Yola the last town in Nigeria before Cameroon changed the last of our money and headed to immigration. While I was getting stamped out of Nigeria I had a phone call from FedEx in Abuja. I had sent my top box back to the UK with a few other things to lighten my load including CD’s with all my photos on and all the miniDV tapes that I have shot so far. The faint voice at the end of the line told me that they could not send the box as it was locked even though they checked the contents and told me to lock it at the depot. Then the line went dead, Abuja was two days ride away and I was stamped out of the country anyway. I decided that I would have to proceed to Cameroon and try to sort it from there. I’ll keep you posted on the developments on this one; I hope I don’t have to return to Abuja to put a key in a lock.

Heading to the river Faro that is the border between Nigeria and Cameroon my map shows a road, which crosses the river. The track lead through a rural area before we found the river and much to our surprise the map had lied. No bridge just a few canoes and one larger boat. A price was agreed and the BMW was lifted onto one of the small wooden boats.

In the last six days I’ve ridden thirteen hundred miles that’s from Timbuktu in Mali to Dongondutchi in Niger crossing Burkina Faso along the way. So I’ve mainly seen life in this part of Africa form the seat of my motorcycle, which is an excellent way to observe life. It’s easy to tell if there is a market in the next town, often I’ll pass or see coming in the opposite direction dozens of; people carrying things on their heads, bicycles loaded up, carts being pulled by donkey or cows or cars with animals on the roofs. The villages with markets taking place are full of bustle and it can be difficult to negotiate my way through.

There are many differences between the many ethnic groups in this region particularly between the often-nomadic peoples of the desert regions and the people that live in the south. It doesn’t seem to be the International border that dictates where the different people live they were living here long before Europeans put the borders in place. I would estimate that there were at least twenty-five different ethnic groups in Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger.

The roads have been good for most of the journey so the riding has not been difficult. So this morning I decided to take the scenic route, I selected a route on some pistes that were on my map and headed off down a dusty track, life moved at a slower pace away from the tarmac. I followed the River Niger once again through villages, bush land and fields. Changing direction and headed roughly in the direction of the road, I wanted to get up to speed in the afternoon when the day turned from hot to scorching hot and the road was the best place to do that. There was less activity on this piste and I wasn’t too bothered when it turned into more of a footpath, no problem for me on the bike. I was still occasionally seeing mud huts and the odd person. I continued on my way, as the path got a little trickier as the surface turned to sand.

Setting a waypoint on the GPS for a village half way between me, and the road. The path snaked off track quite a lot but seemed to be heading in the right direction. I don’t know what happened to the piste though as there was nothing with more than two wheels going down this way.

I reached a different village that wasn’t on the map, I’d been riding for a few hours by now and it was starting to get hot, I thought I’d top up my water supplies. I was sure there would be a well somewhere amongst the huts made of mud, wood and straw.

A local greeted me and welcomed me to his village he showed me the way to the well. The people of the village were all gathered around a central area where the well was located. A group of women were under the shade of a tree, while another group of girls were pulling buckets of water out of the ground. I was sat down and given a cup of water and offered food. I topped up my camel back and chatted to one of the girls who spoke a little French while all the other villagers turned up to greet me. Everyone was very friendly and curious talking amongst themselves in the local language which was probably Hausa, I would like to have understood what they were all saying.

I’m sure this is an experience that I will never forget but unfortunately I had to get going. I asked where the piste led away from the village and half of the village led me through the mud huts and waved me off.

The footpath led away for some kilometers before getting, to be quite a challenge. It was sandy and twisty so much so that I couldn’t keep up the speed necessary to keep the bike in control. When the path led off in the wrong direction I’d just pick my way through the bushes and trees making progress towards the road. It was now only sixteen kilometers away so not too far.

Well I eventually made it after exerting a lot of energy zigzagging left and right. I have to add that I’ve now got the technique down when it comes to picking the fully laden BMW weighting in around 270 Kg off the ground. I don’t think I’ve been so relieved to see tarmac again I accelerated up to sixty MPH and let the breeze cool me down.

Mali

We left the Atlantic Ocean on Gambia’s coast and headed east following the river Gambia. There were now six of us in total Dan and Linz on their Suzuki DRZ 400’s, Dan and Ed on the Honda Africa twins and Chris on the CCM 400. It was good to be on the move again we all now had our Nigerian visas in hand although we checked the entry date when we left the embassy we only had a month to reach Nigeria.

This was no problem in theory although I kind of like not being tied to any dates or times for me that is part of what the ride is all about. Riding in a group was a lot of fun and working as a team a little bit can make things easier.

Although I ended up heading of on my own into Mali I was the only one interested in visiting the Dogon gorge and Timbuktu. I’d heard good things about the Dogon country so didn’t want to miss out on it. As for Timbuktu I was really close to the Mystical city and didn’t know if I’d ever be back so it would be rood not to pay a visit.

In three days I had covered eight hundred miles and had two more visas in my passport. This was a good feeling getting visas a little bit too much like hard work for my liking. I now had visas all the way to Cameroon so it would be a while before I’d have to worry about them again.

The Dogon country was nothing short of incredible geographically it was a plateau with a gorge running around one hundred kilometers down the length of it. I realised this as the road I was riding on dramatically came up to the edge of the plateau and snaked it’s way down the cliff face onto the Dogon plains below. There are around thirty-five villages in the Dogon and everywhere seems to be a hive of activity with animals being herded here and there, crops being harvested and millet being pummeled.

On every wooden surface there are carvings, they are a crafty lot the Doogon people. They exchange lengthy greetings with one another in their language you hear it every time they pass each other;

How are you? I’m good thanks
How is your mother? She is well.
How is your farther? He is good.
How is your village? This goes on the greeting goes back and forth the people that live in this region have real warmth to them.

It was a shame to leave after only a couple of days, with my local guide I rambled through many of the gorges and Africans seem not to be in much of a hurry with day to day life. It’s a completely different matter when they are walking to say I broke into a sweet keeping up with him was an understatement!

I rode down to Mopti a town they refer to as the Venice of Africa. Mopti is on the edge of the river Niger; boats ply the river up and down stream.

Timbuktu was always on my list of places to visit on this trip although my interest was waning a little I had heard that the piste was quite difficult and perhaps the mystical city of Timbuktu was perhaps maybe not so mystical after all. The maps that I had on me didn’t really show a direct route I had read in two different guidebooks that it was seven hundred and twenty two miles. That’s quite a way to go especially when it’s north in the opposite direction that I need to go.

After much deliberation and haggling the bike was loaded onto a boat it was going to be a three-day cruise up the river to Timbuktu. I wasn’t quite sure how they would get the two hundred kilogram BMW onto the roof of the boat but in Africa anything is possible. They just picked it up and sat it down in its place; I think I counted nine of them although it happened so quickly I can’t be sure.

The voyage was an amazing experience amongst other things the vessel was carrying bags of cement and charcoal there were around thirty passengers onboard. I slept next to the bike on some blocks of foam this was a perfect way to see the banks of the Niger. The best thing about the trip up the river had to be the other passengers we all shared each other’s food and enjoyed each other’s company. The truck engine that powered the vessel continued running through the night and we reached Timbuktu in the very early hours, after a couple of nights.

Three days was long enough off the bike, I met up with Radek he was riding a KTM 640. We both took a ride out into the Sahara I learn’t a lot about the GS, it can do dunes. I’ve never had a more rewarding experience on a motorcycle before now. When you learn to ride sand it’s awesome!

I stayed with the Touareg people in the desert and rode camels but now it was time to get going again. The piste south of Timbuktu was corrugated with patches of sand. On the corrugations there is no going slow unless you want your bones shaken out of their joints. Fifty MPH was the speed and this made for some intense riding, I do enjoy being just a little of control. Forty-eight hour by boat and six hours by motorcycle.

It’s now time to make some steady progress towards Capetown, next country Burkina-Faso.

26/11/07

mikeybeckett@gmail.com
www.mikeybeckett.com

Senegal To Gambia

The French have certainly left there mark on the old capital of Senegal St Louis, the crumbling buildings from the eighteenth and nineteenth centaury are all in different stages of decay but this makes for an interesting city and the streets are lively and full of colour.

The people of Senegal seem to enjoy themselves more than their Mauritanian neighbors, there are certainly more smiles in this part of the world. I was sitting on the bike outside a fire station; it wasn’t long before a few of the firemen wandered out to look at the bike. I then had a tour around the fire station with a beer in my hand and a lot of shaking hands.

I had to get down to Dakar to sort some visas out for the next few countries, this can be a bit of a chore and can keep you from moving as it normally takes them a couple of days to process the paperwork.

Dakar is located out on a peninsular so to enter the city you have to negotiate the one road that leads in and out of the city, I’ve ridden on some pretty manic roads in my time but this is the worst by a long way. Thirty kilometers of slow moving carriageway trucks, buses, cars and taxis air pollution which makes you feel like you’ve just inhaled sixty cigarettes. People everywhere in between the cars selling everything form mobile phone top up cards to mosquito nets and sand across the road in places just to makes things a little bit more tricky.

Once I was established in the hotel and the day had turned to night I went out with some of the guys I had met in the north of Senegal. I enjoyed Dakar it had a good music scene and good food, just what I needed after crossing the Sahara.

I got out of the city while I was waiting for my visas, previously I had been in contact with Dan and Linz they are riding a couple of Suzuki DZR400’s down to Cape town and invited me to stay with them at their friends house about thirty miles out of Dakar. Birame whose place it was had been living in London for twenty years but now splits his time between the UK and Senegal. Anyone from the village who wanted to drop in for dinner was welcome and we would all sit, around together in the evening eating off a large platter and telling stories.

I Returned to Dakar and picked up my visas up for Mali and The Cameroon. Then Dan, Linz and I headed for The Gambia. Through people that we have met or been introduced to we have been shown incredible generosity and have been put up in peoples homes this has shown me a real insight to how people live their lives in this part of the world.

Dave was a British expat in his seventies he had met his Senegalese wife Marie, while on a cycling holiday in Senegal. As the story went he was cycling along the road and she was sitting under a tree, they were married three days later. He had paid a dowry been given some land by the chief and built the house for a very moderate fee. We ate very well in their company and many of the villagers dropped by to say hello. During a seafood feast the beers were delivered to us on a tray from the next-door shop on the head of one of the local ladies, dancing away under the tray while singing. It was an interesting couple of days at Dave’s!

We made a schoolboy error crossing into Gambia, after my first African border crossing I said I would only cross in the morning to avoid the mid day heat. We crossed into Gambia in the scorching midday heat, I can handle the heat and I can handle the excessive rig moral but with two together it makes for an exhausting few hours.

Gambia had a distinctly different feel to it than Senegal and reminded me a lot of the Caribbean. We ended up in the peace and love bar in the frontier town of Farafenni drinking wine out of a box and washing down our spicy chicken with the local beer. The local people all welcome you to their county and after seeing the British number plate all ask how long it takes to ride here from Britain. I tell them thirty days and they say you are a warrior or you are a lion. I don’t really agree with that but I do feel very lucky that I have the opportunity to make trip like this. I’ve to had to say no to the following questions: can I have your motorbike: No sorry, Can you take me to England on the motorbike; No sorry, I’ll get in one the panniers and come with you through Africa; humm no I don’t think so.

I am now staying at Max’s house on the edge of Serrekunda on the south side of the river Gambia. Max is putting the three of us up for a few days while we service our bikes and get the visa for Nigeria. Max doesn’t live the modest life, he’s got a seven, bedroom house with outbuildings staff and a couple of four, wheel drives parked with in the compound. I woke up yesterday to find my BMW sparkling away under the morning sun. The driver had washed the Sahara desert off the three bikes for us while we were sleeping.

Today I went for a ride down the coast to the south of Gambia there are lots of interesting fishing villages and the best way to see them is to ride along the beach. I spent a few hours in the company of three Rastafarians sitting out the front of their hut amongst their vegetable patch, the drums were brought out and Bob Marley songs were sung. I think it could be the sort of place that if you didn’t start making tracks you possibly wouldn’t leave. Tomorrow I’m heading east back through Senegal to Mali and I reckon the road to Timbuktu is going to be an interesting one.

Senegal

We left the Auberge Sahara and headed out into the morning rush hour traffic of Nouakchott, the road south to Rosso was at the other end of the city so we had a fair amount of traffic to negotiate to leave the city. When we had passed the police checkpoints and we’re cruising along I cast my eyes off the road and took in the every changing scenery. The sand had changed to a rich red, dotted with green vegetation, which camels, goats and donkeys munched on It was a shame to be leaving Mauritania so soon after arriving, probably not the last time I’d be feeling this on the last days ride in a country.

The heat of the day was rising and I really didn’t feel like the hassle of a border crossing so we decided to pull off the road into the shade and chill out for a few hours. Letting the hottest part of the day drift past from my hammock seemed like a good idea.

No sooner had my side stand hit the sand I could spy a young boy making a beeline for us. I greeted him as I have all other locals shaking his hand and introducing us. He looked on as we ate our lunch, his younger brother joining him. He seemed very curious so I got out my camera and took a couple of shots of him and then passed the camera so he could have a look at himself. He loved that and it wasn’t long before he had taking possession of the compact camera and was snapping left right and centre with himself and his brother doing funny poses and standing on their heads. This I had to video, which in turn he was amazed to watch himself. This continued for some time before I crashed out in my hammock, I woke a couple of hours later when the sun had moved and I was no longer in the shade. The two kids had also crashed out on my sheepskin, which was laid out on the ground.

I strolled off to photograph a few camels that were munching away on the trees. So much for missing the heat it was now four and time to get moving but the day was as hot as ever.

Only a few hundred metres down the road and another police check point. Can we see your insurance, I passed over my insurance certificate, which I knew full well, didn’t cover Mauritania. It covered every other country between Senegal and Cameroon for the next three months but not here. Nothing a few euros in the right palm didn’t sort out.

Rosso is a frontier town on the Senegal River, which at our time of arrival, was hot and busy. We topped up our water and bought bread before heading eighty kilometers west to another border crossing which I’d heard was a lot easier. The ride was on one of the best pistes I’ve ridden so far. It followed the river passing through the national park; we rode into the sunset, birds flying overhead and dozens of wild bore running across the track in front of us.

When the sun set we rode off into the bush to make camp, which was also idyllic that was until the mosquitoes woke up! I made a speedy retreat into my tent for some well-deserved sleep, listening to the sounds of nature around me.

The next morning we were over the border in an hour or so, riding across the dam which bridges Mauritania and Senegal. I had a good feeling about Senegal right from the beginning. The landscape got lusher and it had a more liberal feel about it, women were dressed in bright coloured clothing and music pumped out of speakers on every other corner. Quite a contrast to the desert towns, which were only, a stone’s through away.

Michael Beckett
Zebra bar, Senegal 15° 51.901 N 16° 30.738W
25/10/07

Western Sahara

As I rode south through Western Sahara the settlements got fewer by the side of the road and it would be some time before seeing other vehicles. I filled up with fuel and to my surprise the fuel was about two-thirds the price than the previous stop. The reason for this is that Western Sahara is tax-free.

The Moroccan controlled state is a disputed land, after the Spanish moved out in the mid seventies the Moroccans have taken control and claimed it as part of Morocco. This is still disputed by the UN and of course by nomadic tribes that live in the Region. A berm has been created and land mines placed all along the border with Algeria. A tarmac road has been laid from north to south as well as mobile phone masts. A large mine extracts phosphorus from the ground and shuffles it to the coast on the largest conveyor belt in the world, (or so I’m told). There is due to be a referendum on the control of Western Sahara although this hasn’t yet taken place.

I really enjoyed everything about Morocco and would definitely recommend it as a motorcycling destination. The roads and pistes were awesome, the people friendly and there is a lot to do, I could have easily spent a couple more weeks there but I've still got a long way to go.

The Border with Mauritania was straightforward but time consuming. Three different lines Police, passport control and customs. Then a five-mile ride across the sandy no mans land to do the same with the Mauritanian officials. This was the hardest day so far.

The plan was to camp up in the desert this night but when filling up with petrol the garage owner said we could sleep in a little hut that he had a little way out into the ?desert. It made for a very comfortable nights sleep all for a couple of quid.

AFRICA NORTH TO SOUTH

Who: Michael Beckett

When: Start date: 2 of October 2007 - Finish 6 months as long as it takes

Where: UK to Cape town, Via: France, Spain, Morocco, Mauritania, Senegal, Gambia, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Nigeria, Cameroon, Gabon, Congo, Angola, Namibia, Botswana, Zambia, Malawi, Mozambique.

The route is only roughly planned I’m taking it as it comes and just heading in a rough southerly direction.

The bike: A 2006 BMW R1200GS.

Never before have I put so much planning into something so unplanned, taking the summer off and basing myself in Brighton to prepare for this epic adventure. I had ten weeks to get this mission underway, Bike preparation, paperwork, health, cooking, camping, video and photography were amongst many things that I had to sort.

The day or evening as it turned out to be finally rolled round, the night before the bike was still in bits and a few hours before all my equipment was still strewn all over the floor in my parents lounge. I raced down the A3 towards Portsmouth cutting it fine to catch the overnight ferry to Caen. Once onboard I had a sleepless night due to over excitement at what laid ahead. Rolling off the ferry into a French misty dawn, I cruised along the route national starting my southern bound journey.

I couldn’t resist dropping into a vineyard named Chateau de Thau in a place called Bourg-sur-Gironde, just north of Bordeaux. I had spent a summer here with my best mate Matt Bolger seventeen years previously when we were fifteen. In the summer of 1990 we helped out around the vineyard in between causing mischief and drinking the produce of course.

Albert and Alison were very welcoming and very kindly put me up for the night, packing me off in the morning with as much wine that I could carry, which was only one bottle.

Heading off again I was keen to explore the Atlantic southwest coast of France, an area of France I had not yet visited. I road down through pine tree lined roads stopping occasionally at idyllic little villages and sandy beaches Biarritz was where I checked into a hotel for the night.

In the morning I loaded up and fired up the GS, another day of riding a detour over the Pyrenees was well worthwhile. The roads were fantastic and even with the sixty-five Kilos of luggage that I was carrying the bike handled like a dream, the chicken strips on the tyres disappearing and my motor-cross boots scrapping the tarmac at times.

I rode through the night arriving late in Madrid, had a stroll round a couple beers, sleep then off again on a mission to get across the strait of Gibraltar to Africa.

Picking up a couple of riding companions at the ferry terminal in Algeciras. Chris, Alan and I made ourselves comfortable for the thirty-five minute crossing to Ceuta. A Spanish enclave on the North African Coast. So we crossed to the African continent to arrive back in Spain again! A half hour ride through hectic traffic to the Moroccan border, we spent the next two hours clearing customs, buying Moroccan insurance was on of the entry requirements.

Chefchaouen was a tranquil town set on the side of the Kef Valley, after we were established into our cheap and clean hotel. I settled down to feel more relaxed than I had in a long time. I could have easily stayed in Chefchaouen for a week or more but in the morning we rode east through the Rif valley. The three of us snaked along the twisty mountain road, roadside dealers offering us hashish at each bend.

Fes the spiritual capital of Morocco was my first experience of a Moroccan Medina. Within these tight walls were a labyrinth of tiny streets, which were bursting with people all busy creating. leather and bronze being the main industries.

The 9th of October was a very holy night being the most important night of ram madam. The mosques were overflowing with people praying the night away and as I fell asleep with the sounds of the Koran in my ears.

Rabat, a chance to get a visa for Mauritania, after a goose case finding the embassy I was quiet relived when I was told by the official behind the desk to come back at twelve O’clock the next day. I hung out with other travelers in the shady courtyard of the hostel.

Bikes packed up we pulled up outside the Mauritanian embassy, well at least Chris and I pulled up outside. Alan managed to ride his Triumph inside the side of the Ambassador’s car, complete with diplomatic plates his aluminum pannier, made a bang as it put a nasty dent in the side of the Mercedes. No he didn’t own up to it, no note left under the windscreen wiper and somehow no one noticed with three visas in our passports Chris and I parted company with Alan, he headed to Casablanca while we rode down the European style auto route to Marrakech.

As the Atlas Mountains loomed up in the distance so did a storm of dust, rain, thunder and lightening. Each city in Morocco is a complete contrast to the next and Marrakech was no exception to this. People come out at night, with street performers, snake charmers, people telling the stories the main square of this city was alive. We indulged ourselves on street food whilst trying to find a beer, no chance!

We rode out of the hotel lobby where our bikes were parked up for the night and out of the city up over the Atlas Mountains the road went up to an elevation of 2200 metres. Riding through hail and rain nothing was stopping us despite waterfalls cascading down onto the roads turning them into rivers in some places.

I preferred the more laid back people of southern Morocco and the night in Ait-Benhaddou was spent in the hospitality of a Berber family in a comfortable house made of mud and wood. In a most idyllic setting where a river flowed through the desert.

Now it was time to leave the tarmac and head out onto some of the pistes. We rode on gravel and sand past palm trees through villages with children running after us waving. This is what it was all about this is what I had come here to experience! We camped and slept under the stars, eating figs and dates this is what it is all about.

So far I’ve met some wonderful people, which has been one of the many highlights of the trip so far. A few husslers aside they are all very welcoming and all speak good French, which is really good for me as it’s giving me some much, needed practice.

I'm writing this in a place called Tan Tan plage just east of the Canary Islands. With 750 miles through Western Sahara to the Mauritanian border, I’m up at first light tomorrow morning heading for more adventure, meeting more people and riding father South through this amazing continent. As they say in Arabic Inshallah (god willing).

Michael Beckett, 17/10/07. Tan Tan Plage.