Bike Stuff

To some, the Sertao is a poor man’s BMW GS. It’s not even a twin for god’s sake. It lacks the towering Tonka toy road presence of its big brothers. And it’s assembled in China. “That’s not a real BMW”. But for those who know, this bike kicks sand in the face of its beefy brethren. Off the shelf its hardy (no silly cylinders poking out), its handy off road (its thinish, tallish, has a 21 inch front wheel & fuel at the back), its frugal & will do 350KM on 14 ltrs (being a single means its sips fuel which means less weight) & it’s all day comfortable. Yes, it lacks top end speed but why do you need to do more than 80mph when you’ve got wildlife & wild people on the road. Yes, the only nod to modern equipment is ABS & heated grips but so what?  Simple is better. This is a bike that was discontinued (in Europe anyway) & brought back. There’s a reason for that.

This is the cape buffalo of biking in africa. Of the big “five”, I’d guess the buffalo is the least revered. It’s just a cow with funny horns isn’t it? It doesn’t roar, run, attack or kill anything. Boring really. The Sertao is under the radar “boring”, it just gets on with its business quietly munching miles. And in a country where extremes stand out, boring is good.

Boring normally means predictable which this Sertao hasn’t been. Ignore the oil & puncture interludes. The electrical problem should not have happened on a 3 year old bike. As the buffalo is overlooked by poachers & selfie stick waving tourists, has the Chinese assembled G650 Sertao been overlooked for development by BMW?  

Are you saying I've got a fat ass?

If the Sertao is the Cape Buffalo of bikes, the R12 Advenure is the Hippopotamus. Always attracts lots of attention. Looks the business. Podgy but revered. And like the hippo, the R12 can run -  fast. The hippo loves water, the R12 loves tarmac. Both can move on the rough stuff – but not for too long. Apparently, if you come across a hippo on land you should never walk between it & water. Same applies to the big R12. If you come across one in the sand, don’t block its access to tarmac,. It could kill you.

Great bike but the final word is cost. The R12 would have cost me three times the amount of the Sertao.

Sadly, the Cape Buffalo Sertao is no longer in production so I will have to find a new best friend. F800 ?

Tomorrow's choice?

Observations

12K KM in 6 weeks may sound a lot. It’s not really. Africa is huge so there are big distances between stops. Really, I took my time. After an initial surge of enthusiasm, I soon settled into morning only travelling to avoid the heat. This also means you’ve got the rest of the day to decide whether to stay on. My last week was a bit rushed with a series of 500K days but on good roads so it just meant hours in the saddle.

In short, this is an area of the world with endless possibilities & places to explore. I only scratched the surface (I completely bypassed Namibia for example). Compared to northern (& I guess central) Africa, it’s an easy place to access. It’s a stable, well connected area covering hugely diverse landscapes. The people are friendly, helpful, open & genuinely interested in what you’re up to. Yes, the big hitter tourist brigade has hiked pricing for the average traveller but there are always ways around this.

Of all the countries, Botswana had the biggest impact. Here the wildlife remains wild. There are few fences. It is lightly populated (the Kalahari is after all a desert). Politics has had a lighter touch here. People seem to trust their politicians & the social divides are less evident (although I’m sure still exist). The wealth created from mining (notably diamonds) feels better distributed in infrastructure. Yes, the tourist machine is in full swing around the Okavango & Chobe but people tend to fly in, bus around & fly out.

All countries I visited had challenges – most notably Zimbabwe where people had just given up on government. A new currency was due to be launched to replace use of the dollar. With hyper inflation, expectations were low. In both the old Rhodesian countries & South Africa, the transition from a colonial system to something new was definitely work in progress. This has produced an underlying uneasiness – particularly (but not exclusively) in the white community. Typically, a white person lives in a fortified complex with layers of security a bank would be happy with. I was asked not to walk outside the perimeter of my patio as the lasers will trigger alarms & an armed response. Personally, I never had a concern about security. Mind you, I probably didn’t exude wealth with my dodgy grey/ginger beard, dirt encrusted gear & untidy bike. But for the average person (black or white) security is a big issue.

The colonial past has left deep scars. The middle class is growing but remains small. Social divisions are deeply entrenched. Most striking is the very rich & the very poor (there are plenty of black & white people begging in the cities). Taking a stroll down the coast in Cape Town, the road was lined with multi-million rand palaces with older, white guys driving growling Ferraris or Maseratis or riding a Harley Davidson (with the obligatory leather waistcoat). Younger white guys ride by at speed in packs on carbon fibre bicycles. Well dressed white women holding tiny dogs observe from white tiled balconies with glimpses of white leather & glass behind them. Meanwhile, the only black guys I saw (with one or two exceptions) were security guards or gardeners.  

In the midst of this social divide is the hugely rich natural world. To the richer, it’s a £300/night money making opportunity. To the poorer its food or easy money via poaching. Either way, Africa’s wildlife is being squeezed. To see South Africa's wild animals you have to visit a fenced reserve.

By contrast, I was bombarded with daily updates on the American presidential circus. There are differences & similarities. Western voters across the world seem disillusioned by politics & politicians - hence protest voting. Africans voters are disillusioned too. Worse though - they feel disempowered & distrustful (Mugabe/Zuma). Politics is similarly failing. In the US, it feels like a “lesser of two evils” choice – but at least there is a choice.

I met no one else travelling alone by bike (perhaps unsurprisingly). The majority were travelling by Safari bus. These are modified trucks with wider windows & wider tyres. Africa’s answer to going on a cruise. The group is cocooned for the majority of the time (or imprisoned depending on your view of your fellow passengers) & only released at pre-arranged venues where normality on the ground is suspended. I witnessed the arrival/departure of the Safari buses frequently. Exclusively white, European people step off, understandably uneasy they tend to politely dodge the market sellers & head for the nearest brand (e.g. Coke, Wimpey, McD). Ok but for me Africa is all about getting your hands dirty (a metaphor although my hands have been dirty throughout). In my view, it has to be experienced firsthand. And that does mean dirt, pollution, noise, bugs, chaos, hassle etc. It also means openness, friendliness & a willingness to help. The former is the dominant first impression & perhaps only impression from a Safari bus. The latter is a powerful & positive argument that despite its problems Africa will come out of this period of change stronger & more sustainable than before.  

My only complaint is beer – its lager or lager here. That said, even I will have to admit an ice cold one hits the spot in the heat. For clarity, though, this nod towards lager drinking is only a “stays on tour” compliment. Lager drinkers are of course destined to always remain at the very bottom of the UK ale drinking hierarchy.  

Return to Cape Town

The last leg of my journey felt like a “bringing her home” leg. There were recommendations to deviate but I stayed more of less on the direct route. The weather remained unsettled. For the first time I had my inner jacket & heated grips on (a nod towards the imminent British winter I was coming back to).

I arrived to a glorious afternoon in Cape Town so immediately headed up Table Mountain. The tourist machine is in overtime here but for good reason. The setting is stunning. You can walk up but 99% of the tourists take the slicker than slick cable car. Me included. Before you know you’re on the table top. I headed off on the round the top walk. From the busyness of the cable terminal, people thinned out as I walked. The cloud was rolling in at speed. After a time, I realised I was alone in dense cloud. I could see my feet. The rest was guesswork. I turned around conscious my preparedness boiled down to shorts & a t-shirt.  

The following morning I returned the bike. I had done just under 10K on it (excluding the 2.5K I did on the big bike). The Sertao & me had established a bond. I was sorry to see it go. Yes it had its wobbles but who doesn’t. In fact, I decided we were growing like each other (in a “like owner, like dog” way). The Sertao is an acquired taste, no looker with its big beak, a bit temperamental & unpredictable. Could be a description of me.   

After dropping the bike off (“David, you’ve been gone so long, we’ve forgotten you still had the bike”), I headed off into town. Last time in Cape Town it was blowing a gale. This time it was picture perfect. I mooched around glad (for once) not to be on a motorbike saddle, drank beer (theme...) & admired some of the best modern sculptures I have seen in the National Museum.   

The Butcher Boys

Knysna, the Garden Route

The Garden Route is a stretch of coastline between Port Elizabeth & Cape Town. Much lauded, its a playground between mountain forest & a picturesque coastline. Take a deep breath. You can smell the money. 

With only two days left before I give the bike back, it dawned on me I had 1000K to do to get to Cape Town. That's about 6 hours on the bike each day. Its possible but the downside is you end up with the posture of a baboon. And they know it. As I was riding by, baboons seemed to jump out from the verge, gesticulate &  jump back. They recognised one of their own.

The route is a coastal highway with mountains on one side & beach on the other. The road crosses many bridges that span river ravines.

I arrived in Knysna a bit jaded. The view over the bay from my overnight soon woke me up.  

As did the Fork Tailed Drongo that could be fed by hand (I was told).

I took a walk around the harbor. Whether its the motorbike or the miles, I felt roughish. Nothing a few beers can't sort I thought. How true. 

The Wild Coast

The Drakensburg range has many mountain roads. The region is largely agricultural with massive cattle ranches. This is a world away from the urban South Africa I had just left. White farmers manage vast acres of land. It looks organised & efficent. Fencing, no litter, no discarded vehicles, no animals on the road. I explored. Late morning, I realised I was lost & had done 300K. 

I needed to get to the "wild coast" for my overnight. That was 400K away from my starting point in the morning. I was still 400K after my mountain meandering. So, head down I got back on stanav & set off.

I was heading for Port St Johns. The problem was that I was on mountain roads. Hairpins, trucks, roadworks etc. meant progress was slow. I was about half way by mid afternoon. As I got closer to the coast the weather changed. The entire coastline was blanketed in sea fog. Not just fog but dense, dry ice fog. You could only see a car's length ahead. It felt like the fog was a wall out of which anything could emerge. I had about 150K to do (100M) but thought I had time before dark. Four hours later I arrived way after dark at 8PM. The road to Port St Johns took me up & down mountain passes. Zero visibility in the fog did not help me spot the wandering people, cattle, donkeys, dogs, stop/start taxis, trucks with no lights. My nerves were in tatters when I rode around a corner saw a dark shape, another & another in the road. I passed within touching distance between a group donkeys meandering across the road.

   

 

I arrived in darkness so it was not until morning that I could see the setting. Pounding sea & lush, quiet coastline. I was greeted by the owners dog.

And found a frog in my tank bag.

Winterton in the Drakensberg Range

Winterton in the Drakenberg Range

I exchanged the bikes in Pretoria. The starship was a pleasure but just a bit too OTT for downtown anywhere. It concerned me that I was in the same category as a Range Rover nob. God forbid. Back on the little bike it felt small -  like I should be pedaling.

Morning didn’t start well. Bike wouldn’t start (there’s a theme emerging here). Jeff got me started with jump leads. Well, the bike had been standing for a week so give it a break. I decide to rack some battery reviving KMs up. 250K later I stopped. Bike wouldn’t start. Local Afrikaner – “I have worked in Stockport” provided jump leads & I bit the biking bullet & turned back.

500K round trip for a new battery. Jason sorted me out. He was off to Namibia with a bunch of Russians at the weekend. Forecast was 40C+.

I re-traced my steps. Battery charged, I was back up & running. I headed for the Mountains – the Drakesenberg. The Golden Gate NP provided a spectacular backdrop. The road carves through Orange & red cliff faces. Hairpins surprised me as I looked in all directions but the right one.  

I am now in Winterton under a tree full of Lesser Masked Weavers – its dusk & they’re rousting. It’s a racket. 10K from my overnight stop the bike stopped. Blown fuse. Grrr..

Centurion (Pretoria)

Back in South Africa, I needed to swap the bikes over. No surprise. They did not find anything to explain the electrical tomfoolery. They thought maybe my satnav which I wired onto the battery.Unlikely I thought as it has its own fuse but did not want to challenge as I'd dropped the starship enterprise when filling up in Mozambique leaving a scratch here & there. 

Back with my little thumper, I thought what to do. Geoff (who runs the guest house) suggested a local "Lion Park". 

Effectively a series of enclosures, the Lion Park was more open zoo than anything else. But the habitat & setting was as it would be where the animals roam freely (Kruger is just the other side of the mountains).

A giraffe led the way determined not to be hurried by a tourist bus.

It was in the early thirties. The lions were lazing (I have never seen them otherwise). "The males sleep 22 hours & make love around 50 times a day" said our guide. 

Nice life.

Graskop, the Lowveld

Part of my busy daily beach routine was walking. The pretext is bird & whale watching but the not so hidden agenda is beer. On one such beer, bird amble, I met Sharon & Dale who took me under their wing. "We are runners". Not wrong. Their forte is 100K double marathons. I felt a bit lame talking about my occasional 10Ks. After breakfast with them, I set off back for South Africa & the Lowerveld. For once, I was fully equipped with "padkos" (Afrikaans for pack lunch).

The lowveld covers the Drakensberg escarpment. A mountainous area right next to Kruger. No motorbikes allowed in the Kruger so I kept to the roads. These roads had been described to me as the best biking roads in South Africa. The GS loved them. High speed sweeping bends on good tarmac punctuated with occasional potholes to keep you occupied. No more farting around on the soft stuff, the big 1200 showed what its real purpose in life is. High speed, long distance.

This is my last few days on the big bike. I've learnt to like it. Its big, fat & a handful at times. Its the chieftain tank of motorcycling. Policemen & little boys look on in awe & ask "why?". Its a tricky question to answer. 

Inhambane

Mozambique is different again. Cross the border & the whole vibe changes. South African people are mainly black with a minority of white people. Mozambicans are mainly black with a minority of brown people – that is Indians. White people (so far) are scarce. Socially, it also “feels” less divided. In South Africa the difference between the rich (all colours) & the poor is a cliff edge. Here outwardly it feels like the divides are less dramatic. I passed town after town on the road up the coast. All had street markets with colourful clothes, fruits, trades & people just getting on with their lives. Mothers carrying their babies in blankets on their backs whilst also balancing precarious loads on their heads. The men watch & talk.

I was heading for Imhambane, a town situated on a peninsula surrounded by fine beaches & bays. Given I was on the starship enterprise heading into dunes I was hoping (praying more like) that tarmac paved the way. This is a heavyweight of a bike with road tyres so sand is not its forte. 99% of the way (c. 500K) I was ok. Last section was sand – deep in places. The experience was very similar to a bucking bronco ride with the added fun that this quarter tonne bronco falls over. Sweating, steaming & swearing, I arrived. I kicked the side stand down, the bike sank & leaned over like the Titanic. I caught it but decided there are then that I would be walking for the next few days.

Imhambane & the surrounding area is a favourite with divers. I was staying on the Barra peninsula which has a dive school. Given I’d  long since done any diving & decided I was better off to snorkel. The prize is to see whale sharks which are apparently common in the area. I tagged along with a group of German dentistry students from Hamburg. To launch the inflatable you have to get it over the waves. The wind had picked up & the waves were crashing onto the shore. We struggled. The inflatable holds c.20. I was holding on to try & steady the boat with the other guys as the frauleins threw themselves on board. After much wrestling the boat was listing enable to cope with mountains of German flesh & water on board. We decided to try again the following day.

Day 2 was calmer. Bouncing along at the back of the inflatable everyone was happily scanning the horizon looking for large dark things in the water. In the far distance, a brief spout of water & a shape looked promising. In the open sea we proceeded to circle & wait. After two hours, I was rough. The German group had offered sea sickness gum which I was chewing vigorously. We spotted a school of dolphins who were just checking us out, circulated & left. I got in & snorkeled but was too sick to go far. By the end of the trip, I was green, slowly walked in zig zags up the beach & went for a lie down. The whale sharks will have to get by without me.  

Maputo, Mozambique

As I was temporarily bike less I checked into a local guest house in Centurion - on the outskirts of Pretoria. It had similar security arrangements to a military base. Intercoms, security gates, cameras & two rottweilers. "Expecting trouble ?" I asked Geoff the amicable owner."Yes, there are people who have nothing here & will steal anything".Security is one problem. Water is another. There has been no rain so far this year & they are being rationed. "The dam is empty, it has never been this bad David".

Back at the bike place & I've been upgraded from standard to business class. I am now on the bike equivalent of the star ship enterprise - a R1200GS LC Adventure. Gadgets galore. This is the bike the man who has everything would buy (& he'd probably be bald & portly). The rental guys maybe feeling guilty - or grateful that they hadn't had to recover me from darkest Zimbabwe.

Arrived in Mozambique &  felt somewhat over dressed. Like arriving at a barn dance in a dinner suit. On a $20K+ bike, inconspicuous I wasn't. Mozambique is Portuguese speaking. The absence of the familiarities of the British colonial countries makes this country feel more alien. More like the French speaking African countries. I arrived at Maputo at dusk. The place was a rich mix of traffic chaos, street markets, shouting, dust, smoke...& darkness. Perhaps unwisely, I'd gone cheap & booked a hotel out of town in the suburbs for £20. With no street lights, no Portuguese, a GPS that would gives up after main roads & more wayward African directions (but now in Portuguese), finding the "hotel" was a challenge. That said, the star ship is now parked relatively safely & I'm having a curry  & a beer. Tomorrow the beach - hopefully.

Louis Trichardt

There are many benefits of travelling by motorbike. The freedom, the riding, the connectiveness with your surroundings, the sense you can go anyway - although perhaps not sand in my case. There are downsides. They breakdown. Most roadside mechanics know about cars & trucks but avoid motorbikes - too fiddly & not enough of them (in Africa anyway) to bother to get know them. Bikes also do not have a spare wheel. Or a jack.

I was heading for the South African border (Beitbridge) on my way to the rental guys in Pretoria. I figured if the electrical problem occurs again in Mozambique I'm less likely to be able to sort. Anyway Pretoria was broadly in the right direction (albeit the route is a bit motorway dull).

The Beitbridge crossing from Zimbabwe was going well. Lots of paperwork & kiosks but nothing new. What was new was my back tyre. It was flat. I am in no mans land between the two countries, in stifling heat with a flat tyre. I pumped it up. By the time I had entered South Africa it was completely flat again. I trundled into a truck stop & parked. 

What transpired was 3 hours of oily, dirty, sweaty monkeying with me at one point in a taxi with my back wheel driving off to a nearby town. Meanwhile, the bike & all my belongings were with various "people".

This fella was the culprit. It was getting towards dusk as I headed off for Louis Trichardt about 100K south (this was where Herman the game hunter came from). I road onto the hills. It was pleasantly cooler. I had booked a place calling itself a Country Hotel. I walked into a posh reception. "Good evening sir...Good evening I have a booking". I looked at myself in the mirror. Best description of my appearance would be a welsh coal miner having just been winched to the surface.Some white around the eyes but everything else smudgy black. 

Next morning, I was in a contemplative mood. You know perhaps cars aren't all that bad. Arrived in Pretoria & shared my stories with the rental guys. I will have another bike tomorrow for a week whilst they sort mine. The benefits of renting I thought as I got a lift into Pretoria.

Note, oil patches...

The Road to Bulawayo

For every good biking day there are other less good days. Today was less good. Setting off from Victoria Falls & the motorbike fairies were not happy. Started up ok. Bike drove out of the gate & then died.I was hoping for an early start as I had a biggish journey to Bulawayo & wanted to spend the afternoon in the Rhodes Matopas NP (that's where Cecil Rhodes - the founder of Rhodesia is buried).

After the now familiar unloading & reloading I replaced the blown fuse & set off. Zimbabwe & its people are different again. The country is more farmed & in places industrial. But it feels run down. The roads & towns have a dilapidated feel - as if nothing has been spent. And under Mugabe that probably true. The people are friendly, outwardly conservative & very happy to talk. Good job. I'd done about 200K & was mid-way through my journey. For no apparent reason, the engine died. I free wheeled off the road where a couple of wagons were pulled up & as is common a group of blokes squatted, talking under a tree. It was near midday & in the late 30s.

Thinking that I'd need more fuses I had earlier stopped & bought some spares. As it came to one dollar I bought 5. I replaced the fuse & tried to re-start. The fuse immediately blew. I tried again. Same. And again. And again. Last fuse. It blew. I looked around me. Two guys feet on dash in a massive transporter or a group of "locals" listening to music. I choose the former. George & Lance were waiting for an vehicle to escort their oversized trailer. They were picking up a Caterpillar digger from Johannesburg. We walked to the three building crossroads, had a couple of cokes, talked & then found some new fuses. 

I tried again & the bike started. They said, if I break down they would take the bike to Pretoria where the rental guys were ready to sort. Given I was running again, I thanked them, exchanged numbers & set off with all digits crossed.

The night before, I had booked a place in Bulawayo for $20. My expectations weren't high but I was happy as I'd arrived. John & Bryony were teachers trying to make ends meet by doing lots of jobs including managing a fine couple of holiday cottages. John & me went & got some beers. I got online to warn the rental guys I may not make it to their place (in Pretoria).

Later on, Lance in the transporter rang the place. "Had I made it?" & to let me know they will look out for me on the road. Great people.

Zimbabwe

Thought I'd make an early start & get ahead of the baking sun. I had another border to cross & Zimbabwe is one country that has a bureaucratically ingrained dislike of Brits.The potential for border drudgery was high.

Breakfast over. All packed. I hit the start button. Nothing. I had an hour or so without roads so the last thing I needed was bike problems. Off the bike. Unpack. Check battery, change fuse, fiddle. It starts. I leave it running &then re-pack. Right, now off. Nope. Will not start.

An hour of packing, re-packing & fiddling & I was off. I had not isolated the problem but just randomly managed to start it which was not very reassuring. 

I decided to head back to Livingstione to cross the border at Victoria Falls & see them from the Zim side. Its definitely the better side to see the breadth of the falls (although you can can only sit above the falls & look over on the Zam side..).

Lake Kariba

Singazongwe is a couple of hundred miles north of Livingstone. It is a small fishing village on the banks of Lake Kariba. The lake is actually a reservoir formed when the Zambesi was dammed in the 50s. Its huge – c.5000 km². The lake straddles the border between Zim & Zam. On the Zim side, I’m told the lake is something of Riviera with posh houseboats for rent. Not here on the Zam side.  Leaving the main road, there was 60K of rapidly deteriorating road to be crossed. Poverty & potholes took over. Simple block houses were replaced by even simpler woven huts. Cars by bicycles. Roads by tracks. When I finally arrived I was on a stony, sand footpath. The satnav was lost. African directions were true to form – “ How far?” to the elderly man on an ancient bicycle “No time, you have a machine – just keep going until you reach the lake”. The land is parched. The air is red hot & the road has seemingly become a footpath.

After the obligatory guesswork, more random directions & misleading signs I arrived. I am the only one staying. I’m in a two bed thatched lodge on the beach (£30/night). No shop, no fuel, no WiFi. “We only have beer & water to drink”. That’ll do & immediately downed a couple of Mosi's (the local brew).

Later a boat arrives from the nearby island (which you can also stay on). Mario is a builder originally from Cape Town now living in Lusaka with his miniature dashhound called Trix. After eating (“what’s on the menu?” I asked the stern looking lady in the kitchen “we have steak...anything else?” She just looks at me. “Ok I’ll have the steak”), I sit down with Mario & his guys. With his dog on my lap, he talks about my route (“no, you should go this way”), politics (all the decisions in the world are made by just eight people – read “Captains & Kings”), war (“it will never stop, big countries are making too much money out of selling arms...that’s why they assassinated Kennedy”), his love of Maseratis (he's Italian) & of Peter Sellers (“the man is a legend – there will never be another like him”).