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In the first of our Great Rides series we feature Ross Hopkins story of one day in their epic 10,500km ride from Ethiopia to South Africa.

Africa by Bike

Having completed bicycle tours in Scandinavia, South America, South East Asia and New Zealand, Africa loomed as the next big adventure. After months of planning and preparation, on December 29 2006 we landed in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia. This was to be our starting point for our African bike trip. Travelling by bike to us is the ultimate in freedom and adventure. We both share a love of experiencing different cultures from the saddle of our bike, and although we knew Africa would be the most challenging yet, nothing could prepare us for what we endured throughout our 7 months cycling through Africa. It pushed us to the limit of our physical and emotional boundaries and nearly broke us.But it was living a dream. It was an opportunity to escape our cultural cocoon in which we live.

It was an adventure and it was real.So nothing can really compare to the wave of relief and sense of independence we felt when we cycled out of Addis Ababa. The daunting prospect of having ¾ of the African continent ahead of us was a distant second to the feeling of pure freedom.The excitement of being in an unknown land with everything we needed on our bikes made us feel alive. The adventure had begun. To describe our trip in a short space is merely impossible. Every single day provided us with memorable adventures, intriguing encounters, unique scenery and a new glimpse into the remarkable life of Africa. So rather than try and describe our 7 months and 10,500km through 11 African countries, I have instead included one of my journal entries written on the day we crossed from Rwanda into Tanzania.

Rwanda to Tanzania … What a day!
We woke at 6:30am after quite a restless night. Our bed for the night had a large dip in the middle, so we spent much of the night kneeing and kicking each other as we attempted to roll over. We set off and it was straight into the hills. The legs were heavy from yesterday, and felt more like tree trunks than light, fast and nimble pistons. There were people everywhere along the road all pretending to be on their way to somewhere, but nobody was in a hurry. The roads were lined with people carrying water, boys on bikes, women carrying babies and a random assortment of other characters. Being a Saturday there was no school. No school in Rwanda means kids everywhere with not much to do, a kind of Mzungu (white person) bike tourers dreaded combination. The vehicle traffic was pleasantly light, but the human traffic was as you would expect for the most densely populated country in Africa. Everyone was friendly, and we must have averaged one “bonjour” per minute. Even those who were lazily hanging around found the energy to spring up and jump on their bike to chase us and see if they could keep up with the Mzungus. In typical African young male fashion, they would often speed past us to show off, and although they were shouting out to their mates in French, we could guess the calls went something like “look at me, I’m faster than the Mzungus”. To see me cycle past often created minimal fuss, but Christine was a different story. Women don’t ride bikes in Rwanda, so to see Christine ride past stirred up the mainly male roadside crowd, often motivating them to jump on their bikes to ride with her. Today we weren’t in the mood for any cycling battles, as our legs weren’t feeling up to it, so we had to settle for an easy defeat and friendly laughter from the roadside audience.
We agreed that we would cycle until 8am, and then look for a spot on the side of the road for breakfast. We spotted a stall with half a dozen juicy looking pineapples on the side of the road, and decided that this would complement our weetbix perfectly for breakfast. After pulling over in search of the person who owned the pineapples, people came from nowhere to observe and ‘help’ me buy the pineapple. All of a sudden I had a decent congregation of locals all interested in my purchase. After agreeing on a price, I strapped it to my front pannier and we headed off to the friendly smiles and waves of the now rather largish crowd.

Our hunger and impatience got the better of us, and we had to stop amongst the human traffic. We had a lovely spot with a nice view over the fields, but sure enough a small crowd was gathering.

We got out our weetbix and pineapple, and the crowd, who were keeping a safe distance, peered with curiosity.There was some commentary and discussion, but it was kept to a whisper, just in case we could understand French. Over the course of our breakfast we had quite a high turnover of onlookers as people came and went, but we also had a loyal audience who stayed for the entire time, about an hour, we took to relax and enjoy our breakfast.

A crowd definitely attracts a crowd, and people were coming from everywhere to see what everyone else was gawking at. A few of them settled in and found a comfy front row spot to sit with a good viewing angle. If you see something different, for example a nice car, you stop and have a look for a bit. But after say, 5 minutes, there isn’t much more to see. We assumed the same theory for our breakfast eating, but no, the crowd were waiting

and watching with anticipation, as though they were hoping, or almost expecting some entertainment. I tried to provide this by joining them across the road, and then pointing and laughing at Christine calling her a Mzungu. They might have thought we were strange before this, but it was now a certainty after this episode. We finished our breakfast and packed up as the crowd’s confidence was growing and their safe distance was now an intrusive swarming. We would have to save our teeth cleaning performance for further down the road. We rode off, and as usual many of the crowd rode and ran with us for some time. I needed to stop to relieve myself, but again it was difficult to find anywhere without people watching. I normally pull over to the side of the road, and go to toilet while still straddling my bike. This is a bit of a skill I have mastered over my many days of bike touring.The ability to do this makes Christine very envious, as her obvious constraints make toileting a little more challenging for her. Anyway, every time I pulled over suspecting a quiet spot, kids would come from everywhere shouting “Mzungu” attracting much attention. When I finally did find somewhere and begin, I had a small audience of kids watch, totally undeterred by the fact that I was going to the toilet.

The next two villages were like ghost towns. We wondered where everyone was as we rested our voices from saying “bonjour”. After a steady stream of people all morning, it was quite strange that two villages in a row were empty, and quiet. As we rounded the corner to begin a long climb, the human traffic once again picked up, all of them also walking up the hill. As we slogged our way up, the kids who were walking slowly and peacefully on the side of the road, were now running with us, laughing and shouting as they went. As we progressed up the hill, we picked up more kids like we were some kind of kid-magnet, and the noise and excitement could be heard through the valley. As we neared the top, I turned around and there must have been 100 kids running alongside Christine, all of them shouting, laughing and basically going nuts with excitement. We then found out where everyone was as a sea of bright colour stood out from the green surrounds to our right. We’re not sure what was going on, whether it was a market or some kind of community working bee, but it was loud and chaotic. People were working, there was lots of noise and boys were carting rocks and water to where the mass of people had congregated. This combined with the 100 ecstatic kids running with us made for a pretty crazy 20 minutes or so. It was the kind of experience where you definitely know you’re in Africa. The gang of kids having a great time running with us came to an abrupt end. At the top of the hill there was a police roadblock, and an important looking officer shouted, actually he ordered, that the kids halt their chase. Although it wasn’t bothering us, in fact we found it to be quite enjoyable as the kids were very friendly and happy, we responded with a polite “merci” (thankyou) to the serious looking officer carrying a big gun. He took this thanking seriously, and as more villages were ahead, and the hill actually kept going, meaning we couldn’t speed away from the kids, he ordered another officer to escort us up the remainder of the hill and through the next village. So here we were now cycling along, with a policeman on a motorbike purring along in front of us with his light flashing as an escort to deter chasing kids. As if we didn’t attract enough attention already, now we had a police escort. Thankfully we were spared too much embarrassment, as the next village was empty. They too were at the crazy happenings in the last village, and although we did feel silly as we called out “bonjour” to the few remaining people wandering around, it was quite a nice novelty and we thanked the officer as he left us at the real top of the hill.

As we sat and rested after a challenging morning, we sculled the mango juice until we were bloated and felt sick. We had made a few friends in this time. A group of 4 young kids were busy chasing chooks and playing with old tyres, but one of the young girls took quite a liking to Christine and I. She didn’t say anything, nor did she smile.But she liked to touch our white skin, and took particular pleasure in playing with my leg hairs. She was only about 4 years old, had a snotty nose and grotty clothes, but she was beautiful. I saved her no more than a mouthful of juice, and as we got ready to leave we observed her taking the smallest of sips. By the look on her face she had never tasted mango juice before, but she liked it and she was going to make this mouthful last as long as possible.
We pedalled off not really knowing what to expect on the Tanzanian side, and also not really knowing where the next town would be. The hills kept going, and they were steep. We crawled up, and flew down. On one descent I hit a top speed of 75km/hr - a bit scary on a loaded bike with a trailer. The black clouds that were closing in above us finally opened up, and started to pelt us with large drops and hail stones. It wasn’t cold though, so we were happy to resist our waterproof jacket and simply get wet. Thunder and lightning roared and flashed above us, and we welcomed the coolness of the water on our backs in the humid climate. We also welcomed the lack of people on the Tanzanian side. There was bush everywhere, and people nowhere. Getting excited by this, we decided that we would look for a nice place to camp, and enjoy a night in nature without people and noise. Before we found somewhere though, we crawled into a small junction town looking very soggy. We found a lovely little guesthouse for $3.50 and the lady owner was lovely. We decided that we would keep dry for the night and take a room. We are so glad we did because the lady and the other workers were very kind and welcoming. But we were also glad after our conversation with the lady who had excellent English and a million stories to tell. Hiding in the bush for 100km on this side of the Rwandan border are some “left over” Rwandan and Burundi refugees. They are causing trouble in the area as they are heavily armed and have taken to a banditry lifestyle. Hijackings have occurred, and only 2 months ago a car was stopped and the driver and passenger were robbed and then shot dead. The police went into the bush in search, and found and killed a group of “suspects”, but some escaped and are still hiding in the bush. Apparently it is safe during the day, but the lady said that wild camping would be fraught with danger. We breathed a sigh of relief at our decision to not camp tonight.We listened to more of her fascinating stories and realised how much we learn about the people and country when we can communicate with locals. Language is a barrier that makes really getting to know a country and the people difficult, so we milked the lady for all sorts of stories and information. We enjoyed a plate of beans and rice for dinner and reflected on yet another adventurous and eventful day.

Fund Raising

As a bi product of our trip, we raised money for two different charities in Africa that aligned with our personal beliefs and values. We visited both charities, one in Tanzania and the other in Namibia, and felt very happy to be able to contribute to such wonderful concepts. We raised a total of $9,196 which will go a very long way to helping those in need. To find out more about the two charities please visit http://benbikes.org.za/namibia/index.htm and http://www.globalallianceafrica.org/. To read more about our trip visit www.biking4bikes.com.au.