Looking at maps

I've always had a thing for maps, great big crinkled used maps that have imbibed the essence of a journey - dreamed or realised.  When I was growing up there was one map that dominated my entire world view - it hung in my dad's study and on it, traced in black felt tipped pen, was a line that began in Durban, hugged the coast to Cape Town and then plunged into the Atlantic Ocean and headed north.  Via St Helena, the black line curved past the bulge of Africa and around to Europe, touching down in Denmark, before winding south again, crossing the Atlantic, bouncing off Brazil and returning to Cape Town.  That line was my parent's line, traced by my grandfather, it marked the route that my parent's sailed in the early 70's, on a 25 foot wooden sailing boat.  That boat was my first home and that black line on a map inspired a wanderlust that has only intensified over the years.

Journeys through South Africa were a big feature of my childhood.  Days spent in the back of a VW Combi, towing a trailer with enough provisions to feed a family of four for three weeks.  We would navigate through towns whose size was inversely proportional to the number of letters in its name.  My dad would remove the first row of seats and throw in a mattress for my brother and I to entertain ourselves on, and to sleep.  It was hot, and it was dusty, with long dirt roads and no air conditioning. One year we fitted a 12v fan that buzzed away ineffectively, slowly shifting the hot dusty air around inside the cabin.  That was the year the engine seized in Mtubatuba, possible the fan was a bit too much for the old Combi.

In 1994 as the sun was rising on the rainbow nation, I was finishing my studies in international relations at Rhodes University.  Neil Papenfus and I dreamed of embracing the freedom that we could sense just around the corner, we were nearly finished with Uni, and we wanted to capitalise on the good will that Africa was showing South Africa following Nelson Mandela's election.  We wanted to take our South African passports and head north to ride motorbikes across Africa.  We sat for hours, planned our route, researched the bikes we would take (Yamaha XT 600), and schemed about how we would support ourselves on a trip like this.

But life got in the way.  I pursued an opportunity for further study in the US, and Neil went East, we never did ride those bikes.

I've travelled a lot in life, for pleasure and for work.  The work travel has predominantly been to places don't warrant a Lonely Planet guide - there is no Rough Guide to Somalia and the Afex Riverside camp in Juba never won any awards on Trip Advisor, but the whiskey we drank on the banks of the Nile tasted better than in any 5 star hotel in New York.

Riding a motorcycle brings a whole different dimension to travelling, especially in Africa.  You aren't cocooned in a metal box, you can't turn off the elements by closing the window and cranking up the AC.  You have to think carefully about what you take along, space is limited.  The smells are all there with you and the dust gets up your nose.  Bikes don't stay upright on their own, you have to concentrate or the rough roads in Africa will own you.  If you ride a bike in Africa you have to be fully invested in the journey.

Riding a bike is an invitation for people to talk to you, in every village and town someone will come and have a look at the bike, ask about your journey, offer to buy you a drink.  Riding down the Tanzanian/Kenyan border last year we met a crazy Italian who just wanted to sit and shoot the breeze, tell us about his bikes, hear about our journey, he bought us lunch for the privilege.

And so we come to African Horizons, for me the idea started in the middle of last year.  After 4,5 years of working in Somalia the place had chewed me up and spat me out. I felt I needed a good proper break, and what better way to be shaken than to ride a motorcycle over Africa's corrugated roads.  After our 5-day test run from Nairobi to Diani the idea began to turn into reality.  Our motley crew has come together nicely, and we all seem to have a similar attitude to this trip - we will go where the wind blows us.  We have a few waypoints along the way that we want to see - and these will guide us as we go.  Fish River Canyon, Sossusvlei, Spitzkoppe, Okavango Delta and the Munyamadzi corridor between Zambia's South and North Luangwa Parks, and for me Zanzibar to join my family in celebrating my dad's 70th birthday.  One of the most exciting - and unexpected - development is that my dad has decided to join us for the first part of the journey.  He's bought his bike, and is planning the mods that need to be done to make his machine desert compatible.

Just over 3 weeks to go before the wheels roll.  Let's do this thing!