1: The Journey Begins
As I write this we’re passing over Ayres rock on the way to Singapore, somewhat dishevelled but
The last week or so has been pretty manic.
Firstly the Angolan visas were refused, then the Angolan consulate didn't answer the phone for about a week,
then the motto for the trip became “fu<k Angola"
Plan B is to head towards Pretoria in search of a visa for the DRC,
then North-ish towards Victoria falls, from there either north again into the DRC or west through Botswana and
then try for a transit visa for a cannonball run through Angola and then resume plan A. But who
Right now we just want to get our bikes back. Which leads me
to the next hurdle. Customs in Cape Town apparently wont work in the afternoons, and since we land at
lunch time it’s not looking good for us to pick the bikes up on Friday. So it might be a few days in CT
before we get underway. I can think of worse places to kill time
Incidentally, my apologies if my prose is not totally up to scratch
today, but I’m feeling a little inebriated, mostly due to the unwise attempt to drink as fast as my
brother. Fortunately the stewardesses are onto him now, after ordering drinks from both sides of the aisle
for the last few passes, we’ve now been told.
“i’ m sorry sir, but i can only give you another drink if you have
finished the last one”
“Sir, you can not order drinks from both sides of the
Some things change, some stay the
An enormous thanks to all the people who called and sms’d and
emailed their well wishes over the last few days, it’s a little overwhelming and there just isn't time or enough
battery in my notebook to thank everyone, but you know who you are, and you know what it means to us.
The person sitting in front of me just reclined his seat...
That’s me out, will write more later. Bye.
Uploading this thanks to free wifi in Singapore
We had some dramas getting access to the web site from cape town and
Singapore too, i suspect my ISP thought someone was trying to hack the site so denied all access from this
part of the world.
Customs clearance into Capetown was
“how long will you be in South
“um... About a week, or maybe
“do you have an onward
“um... Yes, from Beijing”
“Beijing?!... What are you doing in South
And it went on. In exasperation the lady at customs just told
us to get out of there and we were through :)
Cape Town is difficult to describe, we both like it, but it’s a bit
tricky to work out why. We rolled into town on Friday afternoon after the disappointing news that the
bikes would have to wait until Monday as customs couldn't see us Friday
So we found some accommodation on the main drag in the seediest
part of town, where people try to sell you drugs from street corners at 7am in the morning... It’s great!
Cheap too at $22ea per night for a twin share room in a really cool
So the last couple of days have been spent just exploring the town,
including watching a film crew create an ad for Russian biscuits
“hey buddy what are you
“it’s a fu
“an ad for what?”
Today we took the cable car up to Table Mountain for a pretty
stunning view of the city. See
Oh and we also saw a gay pride march on main st where one of the
journo’s asked Paul and I to pose for a picture with the Rainbow Gay flag in the background, we tried to explain
that we weren't gay...
“we’re not gay, we’re
“it doesn't matter!”
Tonight the hostel is putting on a free Vego African style dinner
(that i can already smell from the courtyard, making me hungry!) which should be great, then tomorrow morning
we’re heading off at 8am to meet Natascha at the shipping company to collect the bikes. Which reminds me
that we even managed to buy a cheapo drill to buzz the crates apart, the ‘hardware store’ staff thought we were
a little strange after we refused the box it came in, the warranty card, the instruction manual, and then asked
if they’d be interested in buying it back in 3 days!
Enough for now, the trip starts in earnest tomorrow, we’re going to
head down to Cape Horn for a dip in the ocean, and then to Pretoria for a shot at the DRC
While milling around a hostel
waiting for me to return from applying for the DRC visa Paul put this
Well, we’ve lobbed in Pretoria, day 10 I think. I feel as though our
journey has really begun in earnest. Over the past couple of days we’ve travelled over a thousand k’s to
bring our total to over 2000 all up. That’s about 5% already, sheet we’ll be home before we know
Despite the road having been
pretty easy so far, it seems that so much has happened early on, as we acclimatize to Africa and its sometime
obscure ways. I suppose it’s better to get the issues sorted early, whilst we’re still in civilization,
rather than in the middle of the Congo where parts and skilled labour will be difficult to source. It’s
strange to think that collectively we did over 20,000 k’s on home soil without a hitch, nothing. Now we’re
here, a few days on the road and my bike doesn’t want to play anymore. The donkey has officially dug in its
heels. Not to worry, we’ll coax the princess back to life, and she’ll PLAY, whether she likes it or
Africa is a funny place, not
dissimilar to Australia in many ways. The landscape so much so, that sometimes we need to pinch ourselves to
remember. This is Africa, not Australia. Quite surreal at times. To add to that, much to our horror and
bemusement, they have eucalyptus here! “BULLSHIT!” we both exclaimed, aren’t they supposed to be native to
We’ve pretty much decided to
pull the pin on South Africa, and cannon ball the hell out of here, but some things we’ve learned about
Africa, well South Africa at least...
· It’s not as dangerous as the White Folk
make it out to be, we were told last night that if we set a foot outside of the hostel that we’d be stabbed
in the eye with a screwdriver. No such luck.
· There’s not much happening here in the
way of good food. It’s as though their cuisine has absolutely no identity, culturally bare. Stuck somewhere
between Dutch, American and some half baked African. This has been challenging for ‘foodies’ like
· The lengths to which they go to secure
their premises borders on neurotic. There is razor wire everywhere, ridiculous amounts of it, often securing
a vacant block or abandoned field. Bizarre. It’s almost as though it’s a symbol of status amongst the
migrants, you’re not a real South African unless your entire yard, roof and footpath are covered in razor
wire. Slight exaggeration, but you get the picture…
· They drive fast on the highways; getting
passed by cars is not something we’re used to. Mule was even passed on the left, in the emergency lane the
· Rich ‘white folk’ although proclaiming
happiness, are itching to unload when it comes to making political comment about the country’s status… Quite
funny, there’s always the mandatory political statement in every conversation, followed by the obligatory
corker that usually goes something like “Our country’s being run by prisoners or criminals
· People we meet, in general think we’re
either lying or crazy. The conversation usually goes something like this. “Where are you guys headed?” to
which we reply, “Russia” (we’re almost sick of giving people the whole spiel, “Russia” is simpler.) The
local’s reaction is gold, and we’re steadily trying to capture this on
· Hostel accommodation is cheap, although
sometimes very, very sticky…
· Children are the same all over the world.
They smile, they’re fascinated in such a pure way. Their innocence is beautiful and it’s a pity that they’re
eventually tainted by their environment. This happens the world over though, it’s not unique to
Quote for the
“Here we had Mandella, and he was a
pretty good President for a black man”
This brings me to the end, Mule
should return soon with baarts (parts) to repair aforementioned precious motorcycle, tomorrow morning our
Visa’s for the dreaded DRC should be ready for collection and we’re off again. Set the compass for north and
twist the throttle. Sounds simple doesn’t it?
Cheers, miss you
Me again… both the DRC visa
application, and the parts run went surprisingly well, in fact so well that we had the visas the next day and
Pauls' bike finally decided to play ball and has been running sweet since then, oh except that he fell off it
in sand and bent it a little but that’s sorted too now, oh and did I mention he lost a shoe? Well, he
lost a shoe, frikkin hilarious. I wont add much else in the way of prose, except that I’d like to
thank a few people already.
They’re a funny lot the South
Africans, and they are also incredibly kind, from the people who continually stop us in the street to ask
where we’re from and headed and then offer all their contact details just in case we need some help, to the
guys who have seen us looking lost and offered to lead us to our destination, to the invitations to dinner
with peoples friends, it’s quite humbling.
So to Steve who I met on the street
in Cape Town, Alan who led us around Capetown and then came back again later that night with contact numbers
for repairers, Du Toit who fed us and showed us through his game reserve, Craig and the gang from Yamaha in
Lydenberg for the coffee and directions, Ed the Kruger guru (even though we didn’t see a lion J), and to the
Police outside Hazyview who were more than happy to take a bribe instead of fining us – THANK
Where have we been / going…
(I’m sure some of the spelling is not right)
Cape Town x
Now headed to the Okapango delta in
Botswana, then into the caprivi strip in Namibia, from there into Zambia to see Vic falls, and then north to
cross the DRC in a north west direction for some serious adventure, I cant
I need to wrap this up now, but
will endeavor to add something less dry next time,
Take care all, and stay tuned for
the web site version 2.
Sunday 21st March 2010
Now writing from Francis town in Botswana, just finished trawling the
city for some local food, but wound up settling for a pizza with the locals, meeting a guy who called himself
Gordon Brown, and who by the end of dinner had renamed Paul and I to ‘Shepherd’ and ‘Peace’ respectively. One
of the funniest dinners I have ever had the pleasure of being involved in.
(Paul just broke something in the
We’re in a lodge that has
free wifi, and since we have officially said goodbye to RSA it seems fitting to nut out some of the last 15 days.
Some of this might be repeated so please bear with me, I’m weary.
We arrived in South Africa
about as green as they come, and have left there as new men, fearless travelers, ‘overlanders’ no less, now
baptized into a select group of travelers, either too poor, too stupid, too adventurous, or a little of all three
to consider flying into a destination and then flying home again a feasible option.
“we’ll look after you
guys, after all you’re F-n overlanders!” - Ed the Kruger park guru.
Day one started at 8.30am
with a call from the shipping guy telling me that the customs guys ‘might’ not be able to meet us on Friday. So we
ended up spending the weekend in Capetown staying at the equivalent of a room upstairs from Red Square back
With high aspirations (and
unpleasant hangovers) we headed to the shipping company on Monday morning, chafing at the bit to get to our bikes
again. We were disappointed to be asked for more money soon after, then frustrated to be sitting on the roadside at
lunchtime still waiting for the customs guy to finish his box of crispy crèmes, and then ultimately bemused at the
additional fees when we got to the warehouse. The shipping manager seems to be particularly amused by my use of a
phrase I borrowed from my friend Bryster…
“it seems like everyone
wants to stick a finger in today, I’ve never been fisted this hard before in my life!” Pretty soon the whole office
was laughing about it J
But finally reunited with
the big katooms we were happy, well, sort of happy. Bike 38 had a broken bolt stuck in the selector shaft and hence
no gear change lever.
So it was with great
mirth, less money, some trepidation, and only 7 gears between us (I had 6…) that we rode out of the warehouse and
onto the footpath…
‘where are we going now?”
“I’ve got no idea”
“we really need to get that bolt out before we leave Capetown huh”
“so back to the city then”
“which way was that?
An hour later we stopped for fuel, filled to the brim
only to find that bike 38 had a fuel leak, which started out small, but got bigger and so we ended up dropping 15lt
on the side of the road for fear of a fire.
2 days later we left the coolest little backpackers ever, having met some of the
nicest people in the world, and it finally felt like our big adventure had begun in earnest.
As we rolled out of the
city, slums on either side as far as we could see…
Chug chug chug…
Bike 38 had stopped. Guru
PM quickly diagnosed a blocked fuel line, and we had it apart and going again in 15 minutes. Half an hour later it
happened again, and then again, and then again. Oh did I mention the fuel leak was persisting
We made it to Cape Arghlus
that evening, the southern most part of RSA, and I fulfilled a long standing promise I’d made to myself by
stripping down to my underwear and going in for a dip no matter how cold or rainy it was, and it was plenty of
From Cape Arghlus we made
our way to Riversdale via the last hand drawn punt in the world (described as quaint by the locals, but we found it
a little wrong actually), then took the Swartzberg pass (3 more blocked fuel lines on bike 38), and finally in
driving rain we arrived with boots full of water but laughing hysterically. We booked a decent sized room, left our
boots by the air con compressor to dry and hit the sack.
The ride to Beaufordt West
was uneventful freeway drawl, but we managed about 600km that day, and stayed in an old hotel that had that feel of
slow decay about it, not unlike some of country Australia. From there we headed to Blemfontein and found another
really cool backpackers which was a converted pumping station from the Boer War.
We were headed to Pretoria
to apply for the DRC visa so we cannon balled up the N2 landing in Pretoria in the afternoon, and got a room that
resembled a small garden shed to stay in that night.
The following morning Paul
worked on the fuel leak while I applied for the DRC visa.
Both processes were much
more successful than anticipated, so we left Pretoria the following day, with a 15 day transit visa for the DRC and
2 fully functional motorcycles. Zen.
We headed out east to
Lydenburg to meet up with a guy we had met a few days earlier - Du Toit, whose first
“hi guys, how would you
like to join with me and the neighbours for a braii (bbq) and some beers?”
We wound up having the
greatest time getting to know him and some of his friends that evening, then early the next morning we headed into
his reserve for a look at some animals, and got our first glimpse of a giraffe amongst others, very
We were starting to find
our travel feet by now, and both bikes were running sweet so a small diversion to Kruger Wildlife park seemed worth
the time it took. We’d only just parked the bikes at the hostel in Hazyview when a guy came bounding down the path
to greet us…
“fuckin aye man!!! Are
those yours?? Those are some cool bikes!”
That was Ed, he wound up
being a park ranger for Kruger and we spent that night chatting to him and his lovely wife Francis about our route,
and the next day Ed took us for a fantastic tour of the Park.
We left Hazyview with a
renewed interest in taking the path less travelled through the DRC, and one bribed traffic official later we
stopped in Hoedspruit for the night. The following morning we took off early planning to make some good kms, but
around lunch time thunderbolts starting hitting the ground just to our east. When the rain hit we pulled off the
road and sheltered under a bridge for about 30 mins hoping it would pass, - it only got stronger. Rain was coming
almost horizontally, then hail, and then the whole highway stopped as all manner of car and truck pulled over as
visibility reduced to nothing.
After an hour of this,
with daylight running out we donned the goretex inners and headed off into the driving rain. 20 mins later we were
saturated again, and rolled into Mokopane with wet boots once again. This time we forked out for a better room than
usual, put all the clothes into the one room with a heater, turned it up to max, cooked some dinner and
That was last night. Today
we headed off quite early and made the Bots’ border at 11am. Gee what a debacle that was. Clearly we had no idea
what we were doing as we got all the way out of RSA and into Botswana before someone kindly pointed out that you
need to get your passport stamped BEFORE you leave the country.
Stuck in no mans land,
fabulous. With a rather illegal detour down a one way road back to RSA we somehow found an official to help us out
and were then into Botswana!!!
So today we rode about
400km and have stopped in Francis town for the night.
South Africa… how do I
summarise our experience here? We both enjoyed South Africa, we also found it strange to be in a culture with such
an obvious division in wealth between races, but it’s really hard to make intelligent comment about it without
sounding judgmental or being hypocritical. Whatever the situation though, all the people we met from RSA, without
exception have been absolutely lovely, and kind beyond expectation. So whatever past legacies may be left behind, I
think it’s a country with a great potential for the future, and one whose accent I will certainly never tire of
taking the piss out of, as they do mine.
Insofar as the riding
goes, it’s been pretty straightforward up to now, with only some sand and enormous pothole's to negotiate, and now
that the fuel problems have been sorted on no 38 (poorly formed surface on an after market tank and some
contaminated fuel) they have run really sweet. So bah to the nay sayers!
Keeping up the web log is
a bit of a challenge as we’re both pretty tired at the end of each day, but I should thank Hamish for his help
getting this to print back home, and also thank all of those who offered to help out too – you know who you are,
thank you very much.
Next time we’re going to
put together some ‘things’ lists - such as: The things we have posted home already. The things we have given away
or thrown away. The things we have lost (did I mention a shoe?!). The things we wish we had brought with us. The
things we are con considering sending home but can’t quite decide on just yet. The things that have worked as
planned. The things that have not worked as planned. The things we don’t think are going to still be working by the
time we get to Russia. The things people say when we tell them we are on our way to Russia…
Take care all, I’m going
to bed. xo
Choose an image to begin
Text Message received from the
Today we rode 560 KM from the Botswana / Namibia border,
north to the Caprivi strip, and then east across the strip. From here we headed south to the boarder again, across
the Chobe National Park, and then into Zimbabwe.
The last 70 km of the ride today will be in the dark.
When we arrive at Victoria Falls this evening, we will be staying at Shoestrings Backpackers.
We crossed 3 boarders today, had near misses with
elephants, and bribed a local cop with a sticker of the Australian flag! This got us out of a speeding
Morning all, Donkey here…
Mule is still in repose, as usual and I’m doing my best
not to rouse him from slumber, particularly given he is suffering from a suspected bout of food poisoning or
potential lack of toughness. Probably the latter methinks. Perhaps my motorcycle has handed over the reins of
extra special precious princess. Seriously though, he did look pretty green before bed last night, let’s hope
it’s not malaria.
Well the last few days have been a bit of a blur, we’ve
belted along at a great pace and after three big 500 plus kilometer days, we’re in Zimbabwe near the famous
Victoria Falls. As I write this, sitting at the bar of the hostel, I can clearly hear the falls and I reckon
we’re still 10 k’s away. We’ve been told that there’s so much water at the moment that if you visit from the
Zambian side, you’ll need a rain coat and umbrella as there is so much spray. Hence our approach from
As I said, the last few days are a bit of a blur, so
I’ll focus on the highlights. We rolled into a town called Maun on Sunday night, situated at the base of
the Ocavango Delta, found some really cool hostel accommodation and settled in with beer in hand. Some of these
hostels, although in remote and obscure locations are absolute gems. We booked a guided tour for the following
morning, which for the most part turned out to be a bit shit. In any case it was nice to give the locals some
support. It consisted mainly of a one hour boat ride into the Delta followed by a canoe ride into the lagoon
area where we went for a walk through the Veld (bush) and we saw absolutely Fuck All. That was disappointing,
but as I said, this part of the trip was run by the local villagers, so it was good to make a contribution
their cause. Our canoe ‘pusher’, Sox (not his real name) took us for a look into his village. It was
amazing to see the way the locals live and it gave us a snap shot into what it’s like in the thousands of
communities that dot the banks of the Delta. Such a simple existence, in fact a polar opposite of our societies
in which capitalism and gain are the major priorities. These people seem happy, satisfied with their place in
the world. Sox was a really cool guy, 26 years old, couple of kids, pushing canoes for a living to support his
family and the greater village. He asked if we could teach him some English, and by the end of the day he was
saying “fuck” and “shit” with such fervor that he could have passed as an Aussie. Aside from his dark skin and
African features, that is. Stay posted for some pictures.
The following day, we chartered a light plane along
with a lovely Belgian couple we’d met the day prior, Peter and Edith. These guys were really cool, laid back
and loving life and travel. This little plane ride was possibly the highlight so far, and gave us a real
understanding of the scale and magnitude of the Ocavango Delta. Firstly, it’s enormous. Fucking Huge! The
locals from the day before were somehow vilified as we all began to understand how little a 2 hour walk could
demonstrate. The only way you can get a true appreciation for the landscape of this place is by air, by foot
it’s a virtual impossibility. Secondly, I have never seen so much water in my life, I did not even imagine that
such a body could exist. All of this water comes from Angola (it must rain there, A LOT) and finds its way to
the Delta where it splits into several rivers then finally spills its way over the landscape, never actually
finding its way back to sea. Truly amazing from the air…
With the flight finished, we headed back to the hostel
to try to source a pair of rear tyres in or around Lusaka, Zambia, where we anticipate we’ll be on the canvass.
Things were looking grim, as the few people we tried chuckled on the other end of the phone and suggested we
head back towards Pretoria. Ba Bao! Finally an internet search revealed a moto-cross club in Lusaka, through
which we contracted the services of a friendly chap called Max. He was on the job within minutes, confident
that he could find us something suitable. So we hit the road, headed for a Hostel named Ngelp, somewhere near
the border of Botswana and Namibia and also the famous Caprivi Strip. After several hours, many Police road
blocks, a Foot and Mouth quarantine station, 4 kilometers of sand, 1 fall and a decent river crossing, we
arrived. The hostel was blindingly expensive so we decided that then was as good a time as any to introduce the
camping gear to foreign soil. Also, rather unusually, they informed us that their kitchen closed for dinner
service at 5pm. Odd. “You have beer though, right?” We exclaimed. Phew! Mule then checked his phone to find a
message from Max, confirming that he’d found a pair of tyres for us, at $250 USD a piece, expensive but
By some miracle, we had some rice and chili sardines
left over from a meal that Mule prepared a couple of nights prior. Suffice to say, that with only these two
ingredients and some pepper stock cubes to mask the stench, we agreed that it was the second worst thing we’d
ever eaten. We can’t remember the first… anyways, we labored through it, chugged some beers and hit the
hay. Another day done.
The next morning we packed up camp, reminiscing over
the wonderful meal we’d shared and made plans for the day ahead. We ordered a bacon and egg roll and made
coffee, whilst forging a tentative plan for our journey over the Caprivi Strip, into Zimbabwe and finally,
Victoria Falls. As Mule mused about his wobbly tummy I played with the GPS, then paused to notice that he’d
made a hasty exit. Upon his return, the graphic recital of comprehensive colonic cleansing that he’d just
undergone made me happy. For those of you who don’t know (you are in the minority) it is usually I who suffers
from extreme and unpredictable bouts of bathroom based spray painting. “He he he” I continued to
So off we set, on a road that was made up mainly of
pot-holes (sleggatt!, in Africans) and signposts warning us of Elephants. It’s quite daunting riding a big
heavy motorcycle at speed though a country where Elephant’s are prolific. Not dissimilar to riding on
Australian roads where Roo’s are the primary concern. The Roo’s are a problem as they’re unpredictable, but not
likely to cause a casualty. The Elephants however, are big and for the most part slow moving. BUT, if you hit
one, weighing in at 5 tones, you’ll almost certainly die. It’s hard to imagine how big this stately animal is,
until you’re running at one at 130kph hard on the brakes trying not to think about “what if…?”
So, yesterday morning we set off from Namibia, crossed
back into Botswana briefly and then into Zimbabwe to do the last 70 k’s of a 550 k day, in the pitch darkness.
And I mean DARK. No street lights, no white lines down the centre of the road, just huge piles of Elephant shit
everywhere. Oh, and did I mention that the grass on the verge of the road was about a foot higher that both
bike and rider. You’d literally only know if there was something out there until it jumped onto the road.
Harrowing to say the least, and after what was already a difficult day (I forgot to mention 3 countries and six
border crossing, messed up carnets and bemused officials) this consumed all that was left of our cognitive
mental capacity. Spent, we rolled into Victoria Falls, the sound of gushing water nearby, and a GPS that had
absolutely no idea where we were. In fact we were (GPS included) so lost that we nearly crossed into Zambia. We
toyed with the idea for a bit, but agreed that 4 countries in one day might be a stretch. So we headed back
into town to seek advice. “Excuse me; I was wondering if you could give me some directions? We are looking for
‘Shoestrings’ backpackers lodge” says Mule to taxi driver who’s looking at us as though we’ve just been shot
from space. “Yeah, take your first left, then the first left, then the first left again” Hmmm, this could be
the biggest bump steer ever. He was close thought, close enough to get us there. “You’re from where?” he
continued, trying to envisage what land mass there was between Australia and South Africa that could possibly
facilitate such a journey. This happens very frequently…
Long story short, we found the hostel, cheaper than the
previous night’s camping and settled in. We made friends with the bar and some local brew when once again, Mule
made comment on aforementioned wobbly belly and made his second hasty exit. This time I didn’t chuckle, he
actually looked pretty sick, not cup of concrete sick, actually SICK. He’s still sleeping now, so we’ll see how
he is when he wakes. Bungee jumping off the bridge at Vic Falls may not yet be reality. We’ll
In summary, so far our journey has been amazing, this
country is beautiful as are its people. The roadside bribe is king and mosquito's are scary. There’s more to it
than that, unfortunately I’ve nearly worn the skin off my index fingers so I’ll bid you farewell. Oh, and did I
mention that the bikes are finally kicking goals, that’s a big relief.
Oh, almost forgot, to anyone whom I might have offended
in my last post, I apologise sincerely, ‘twas not my intent. I’m well aware that racism occurs in every corner
of the globe, and indeed as Australians we are often guilty of it. I believe in treating others as we’d like to
be treated ourselves, it’s a good goal to strive for.
Ciao for now, hugs and kisses (in a non gay way, no
Donkey, Eeee Orrr!!!
Drenched to the boots in a 10 minute storm, then 2 hours in the dark to Lusaka.
No street lights, No lines on the road. No reflectors on posts, trucks everywhere. Cars driving on the verge on
the wrong side of the road. There are people all over the road like on New Years Eve back home.
Animals, insects, police road blocks, everyone high-beaming me because of my bright headlight. Pot
holes big enough to ride into and never be seen again. 44 gallon drums in the middle of the road, full of
bricks, for no apparent reason, and painted BLACK!!!
'This is frikken suicide! We have got to get off this road!!!"
Finally arrived at the Eureka Campsite in Lusaka.
Capital of Malaria. So glad to be off the bike now.
A shitty hamburger for dinner...
Rolled into Ndola this afternoon with 2 days to kill thinking "what the hell are we going to do here for that
We then saw a guy on a sports bike who waved as we rode past, but neither of us stopped...
4 hours later we were at a local bar drinking beers and watching the super bikes on TV like old mates, closely
followed by a late night run to a motel organised and incredibly generously paid for by Roberto.
Roberto is a friend of aforementioned guy on motor bike, Sanji, who had later come back to say "Hi!" and then
led us off to meet a fellow Aussie named Wade, from Harvey Bay. Many jokes later, masterfully told by Arthur,
we went to another bar. Drank more, laughed until our cheeks and sides hurt, ate pizza, rode around town in the
back of Wades pick up, and with the bikes safely parked in the front bar of the hotel we were staying at. We
are now bunking down.
Quote for the day...
'Dont you guys have booze busses here?'
'Nah... Fuck that, if we did we'd all move to the Congo!'
Wade from Zambia born Harvey Bay.
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