Although Rick may have more to write, and
Gunnar may want to upload his interviews for the Norwegian press (!), this is
the first of two final blogs from me from our East Africa Cycle. In retrospect, perhaps we would have been more accurate to call it East and Southern Africa Cycle. To
include the South in the title would be not just geographically as Mozambique and South Africa are Southern countries, but it reflects
the influence that the relative economic giant of South Africa has exerted over
our route, since entering the lower reaches of Malawi. But, before going over
some personal reflections in the next blog, the final weeks cycling was not
without the usual trials and tribulations that deserve some mention.
Given that Swaziland has the title of the
“Mountain Kingdom” and the fact that Johannesburg is 1700 metres above sea
level, you would be forgiven for expecting us to be better prepared for some
hills. However, sporting a nonchalant attitude, we rolled out of Mozambique
with visions of speeding west across smooth South African tarmac into the
setting sun. Bar a few sharp climbs, the first day and a half granted us that
wish. We spent our first night camping out in a Game Reserve before crossing
the Hlane Royal National Park early the following morning where, despite the
warnings we came away our empty handed from our last opportunity to see a lion
or leopard, although did see a few zebra, wilderbeast and giraffe.
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| Crossing the border of Hlane National Park... |
We joined the main road to Mbabane, the
capital of Swaziland, hoping to make it 20 kms past it by evening. Early on we
made excellent time and 10 km’s out from town it was looking good. Only then
did we meet the hills of Swaziland. It was seven kilometres of pure climbing the easiest of which must have
been 7-8% gradients, with my speedo stuck at 7 kph we slowly ground our bottom
gears up the hill. We had spent that afternoon on the hard shoulder of a dual
carriageway and were not keen to cycle on in the dark, so when on the first
descent towards the bowl of Mbanane Gunnar had a two inch shard of glass lodged
in his tyre we started be concerned. A quick inner tube change and tyre patch
and we just had the time to make it to a near by market to buy our dinner. In a
new country, in a city, next to a dual carriageway was far from ideal when it
comes to safe camping. After a few minutes chatting to a few passers by (at one
point Gunnar was being told by a local Swazi guy not to speak to or trust
anyone, while I had someone telling me that Swaziland is the most friendly and
safe place in Africa…) the lady who ran the local market place offered us a
camping spot in her garden! We just had to wait a few minutes for her to close
everything up. Happily, we sat by the market enjoying the Chelsea buns which
seemed to have popped up in local shops – definitely one of the better roadside
snacks of our trip – before being led up a short hill to her house to spend a
very comfortable and satisfied evening.
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| Maguga Dam |
The small, stocky nature of Swaziland
reminded me of Rwanda, and similarly it was only going to take us a couple of
days to ride through it. The next day we would ride to Piggs Peak and then
cross the Bulembo border into South Africa into Barbeton and our rest day. At
about 130 kms it should have been fairly manageable. We covered the hilly 70
kms to Piggs Peak, a stunning ride which swept down to cross the Maguga dam
before rising up to the Peak, comfortably in the morning, and enjoyed a well
earned lunch still buzzing from our climb. Before we were due to set off we
treated ourselves to a nice clean toilet and an ice cream at KFC. We met a
South African couple who gave us a warning – the 20 km road to Bulembo was
dirt, hilly and the border closes at four o’clock, in two hours time. Not
unduly worried but not wanting to rush our cycling, we set off promptly on our
bikes.
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| Climb up from the dam (under my left hand!) |
It was about half an hour in, after winding
out of town on a rough and steep track, at a pace of about 8 kph we started to
be concerned. What happened next I would happily choose to forget. For the next
90 minutes we pounded up rocky climbs and picked our way down technical
descents, barely having a moments rest between the two. In my exercise addled
brain I was constantly trying to work out what speed we were going to need for
the next section to make it on time, but never quite seemed to get it
right. When we finally struggled
into the border post, up a sharp incline with less than 5 minutes to spare
before it shut, we collapsed in a sweaty, dusty mess. A South African family
clapped us in and I swore at that point I would never ride the road ever again
(I still stand by that). Perhaps slightly ironically we didn’t make it much
further than the border. Supportive and generous the Saffer family may have
been (they gave us a couple of beers and some biltong for our efforts), but
they were horrendous at road descriptions. “Ah yah, it’s mostly downhill to
Barbeton”. After another 4km of constant up,
followed by some rolling hills, our legs politely told us to stop and we
pitched up, 30 km short of our rest day. Despite being the sacreligous choice –
nothing messes with the rest day – it was a good one, we were treated to a
stunning campsite and beautiful couple of (definitely not downhill) riding the
next day.
I had been looking forward to entering
South Africa for a long time. I had never visited before and was excited to see
what African flavour development tasted like. At first it felt guilty, I felt
we were breaking the frugal rules of our trip by having a Full English
breakfast, with filter coffee and topping that off with a takeaway pizza for
dinner. But it was difficult to turn down. We had the money and in an affluent
town in a developed country it wasn’t an absurd thing to do, so why not? I
guess after the simplicity of our roadside foods, the choice and opulence was a
culture shock and the inequity that came with it was difficult to swallow.
Either way, it did taste good even if my stomach seemed to struggle with the
extra cheese.
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| Gunnar rides our from freezing morning mist |
The final three days to Johannesburg
happily passed without incident. After being advised the road was “fairly flat”
it wasn’t a surprise to find a 10 km and 7 km climb in our first mornings
riding (Why are drivers so rubbish at remembering and describing roads!?). As
we arrived into Carolina that evening black drifts shimmered by the roadside
and heralded the beginning of 200 km’s of rich coals seam which would take us
all the way into Johannesburg. From the beautiful, green pastoral lands of
Swaziland and Western South Africa, the brown, tufted arable fields,
interspersed with Coals mines and Maize fields felt cold and unwelcoming. We
passed several huge Coal fired powered stations, working at full capacity
generating electricity that sped towards the big cities of Northern South
Africa on athletic-looking steel pillons. Perhaps the saddest sight was a
lonely security guard protecting a now disused open-cast coal mine. Having dug
60 metres down and clawed all the coal from the earth, it was left for nature
to attempt to reclaim what was rightfully hers protected by a lone gunman. The
parasitic humans had moved on in search of more energy to feed their insatiable
demands. If the views weren’t unpleasant enough the cycling wasn’t much better,
double-trailer land trains came past us every couple of minutes meaning we rode
ever-vigilant in single-file. If this was the development that I came for, it
was a sobering view, I hoped that the land around Tete, where $4.5 billion of
coal reserves had been discovered might have a better fate.
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| Power station on full blast |
Although normally comfortable on a busy
road, I felt nervous on my final day cycling. The road remained busy with
uncompromising trucks and we carried the burden of 4 months without any
significant incidents. Thankfully, providence delivered us safely to the
friendly Turton family on the outskirts of Johannesburg. The final entrance was
low-key. If there were any banners we missed them as we cycled straight past
the main entrance and up the wrong driveway, eventually needing to be let in
the side gate. We took off our panniers, unpacked, showered and did our washing
before falling asleep in a hammock on their verandah. It took a while for it to
sink in, over an incredibly tasty braii, a few beers and some warming Turton
hospitality that evening I had one of a series of small waves of satisfaction –
Kampala to Johannesburg by bike – job done. However, a few days later I am
still waiting for that huge rush of elation for having achieved what we set out
to do. I’ve come to think that it probably won’t ever come; Johannesburg was
just another stop that happens to be a bit further than the rest. To be quite
honest, I don’t mind, I happy in the knowledge that the rewards we searched for
have been there all along, in every pedal strike of our journey.
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| Journeys End |
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