Eight days of glorious dirt through Tanzania, from Arusha to Mbeya, are now behind us. Some asked why on earth we would take this gamble of a route over the all paved highway, taking a near identical distance. Ask yourself. Would you rather a) spend 1,000 kms cycling inches away from semi's and passenger buses clocking 150+km/hr on a road designed to fit precisely one truck and one bus in width, or b) spend 1000 kms on single track dirt roads past tiny villages, though jungle forests and over mountain passes to Mbeya. Hrmmmm. The choice is clear.
Did I not mention that it was a gamble? The rainy season is here, and we're headed off the pavement? Confusing locals left and right, we stuck with the plan and headed off into the jungle. Day 2, kilometer 60; the turn off. Resembling not much more than a driveway, this was certainly not the road any of us would have guessed to be the one taking us another 800km's to the border. Strategically placing our lunch truck at the juncture, ensured no riders wound up in Zanzibar or who knows where, and the adventure began.
The fact that our tour and all it's support vehicles made it through without any major hick-ups isn't to say that all was smooth sailing. Bicycles and buses alike, all had their share of luck, and by luck I mean ditch time. Passenger buses, much to our surprise, providing service to this route, shaving minutes off the ride in sheer speed and carelessness, all ended up adding hours back on as they dug their axles out of the ditch they landed themselves in. Do I feel safer as a cyclist than a bus rider? Sure do!
Sure our medic/lunch truck and land cruiser had their share of axle high mud. Less from pushing 100kms/hr on the dirt and more from navigating off the off-road around our half swamped camp sites. No need to digress into the smell of tents and sleeping bags after 8 days of camping on flood lands, but I'm sure you can well imagine.
Now how did the bicycles end up in the ditch? It's a single lane road with two way traffic for starters, but I'll get to that in a minute. First and foremost the road is made up of dirt, sand, rock, mud, clay, gravel, stones etc, in no particular order and with no particular warning. Fun. Mountain biking on a cyclo cross bike. Fun. You're hammering down a nice descent of smooth dirt and gravel, you can see it's a more technical uphill ahead, you crank it, you get a good speed going, you're cruising, loving life, and then BAM. Sandy river bed at the bottom. Didn't see that one coming. A moment of hilarity as you see all of the tire tracks of those ahead of you zig zagging their way through the all-of-a-sudden deep soft sand, which, sooner or later, takes the best of riders down. Fun.
The second scenario of ditch hitting is another kind of hilarity, as it is even more self inflicted than the first. The story starts in a similar fashion, cruising, nice dirt, good speed, loving life, narrow narrow road and grass growing well well above your head. Growing well above the height of a land cruiser, the road twists and turns, making the approach of an oncoming vehicle near invisible. Luckily, you can hear them. Mathias and I, bombing a great little section like this one, laughing and carrying on, when in an instant, with out either of us evening having the time to utter a word, we're both plunging full-tilt-boogie into our respective ditches allowing the purring of the cruiser headed our way to pass without a hick-up. It cruises past and we both laugh and congratulate each other on our innate ability, with not a single word or warning, to know exactly how and when it's simply time to, Hit The Ditch!
Brushing ourselves off we eventually make it over the mountain pass and into Mbeya, after a mere 12 hours of riding sweep together. Again, Fun.
Now, it's my week off from the tour, as each staff does. Here I sit on the shores of lake Malawi, a thatched cabin, and a dug out canoe all to myself, with a wide open view in front of me with Mozambique in the distance. I meet up with the tour in Lilongwe on the weekend, but for now, it's time for a gin and tonic as the waves lap gently by and I debate whether to nap, read or paddle. Rough. Life.
Did I not mention that it was a gamble? The rainy season is here, and we're headed off the pavement? Confusing locals left and right, we stuck with the plan and headed off into the jungle. Day 2, kilometer 60; the turn off. Resembling not much more than a driveway, this was certainly not the road any of us would have guessed to be the one taking us another 800km's to the border. Strategically placing our lunch truck at the juncture, ensured no riders wound up in Zanzibar or who knows where, and the adventure began.
The fact that our tour and all it's support vehicles made it through without any major hick-ups isn't to say that all was smooth sailing. Bicycles and buses alike, all had their share of luck, and by luck I mean ditch time. Passenger buses, much to our surprise, providing service to this route, shaving minutes off the ride in sheer speed and carelessness, all ended up adding hours back on as they dug their axles out of the ditch they landed themselves in. Do I feel safer as a cyclist than a bus rider? Sure do!
Sure our medic/lunch truck and land cruiser had their share of axle high mud. Less from pushing 100kms/hr on the dirt and more from navigating off the off-road around our half swamped camp sites. No need to digress into the smell of tents and sleeping bags after 8 days of camping on flood lands, but I'm sure you can well imagine.
Now how did the bicycles end up in the ditch? It's a single lane road with two way traffic for starters, but I'll get to that in a minute. First and foremost the road is made up of dirt, sand, rock, mud, clay, gravel, stones etc, in no particular order and with no particular warning. Fun. Mountain biking on a cyclo cross bike. Fun. You're hammering down a nice descent of smooth dirt and gravel, you can see it's a more technical uphill ahead, you crank it, you get a good speed going, you're cruising, loving life, and then BAM. Sandy river bed at the bottom. Didn't see that one coming. A moment of hilarity as you see all of the tire tracks of those ahead of you zig zagging their way through the all-of-a-sudden deep soft sand, which, sooner or later, takes the best of riders down. Fun.
The second scenario of ditch hitting is another kind of hilarity, as it is even more self inflicted than the first. The story starts in a similar fashion, cruising, nice dirt, good speed, loving life, narrow narrow road and grass growing well well above your head. Growing well above the height of a land cruiser, the road twists and turns, making the approach of an oncoming vehicle near invisible. Luckily, you can hear them. Mathias and I, bombing a great little section like this one, laughing and carrying on, when in an instant, with out either of us evening having the time to utter a word, we're both plunging full-tilt-boogie into our respective ditches allowing the purring of the cruiser headed our way to pass without a hick-up. It cruises past and we both laugh and congratulate each other on our innate ability, with not a single word or warning, to know exactly how and when it's simply time to, Hit The Ditch!
Brushing ourselves off we eventually make it over the mountain pass and into Mbeya, after a mere 12 hours of riding sweep together. Again, Fun.
Now, it's my week off from the tour, as each staff does. Here I sit on the shores of lake Malawi, a thatched cabin, and a dug out canoe all to myself, with a wide open view in front of me with Mozambique in the distance. I meet up with the tour in Lilongwe on the weekend, but for now, it's time for a gin and tonic as the waves lap gently by and I debate whether to nap, read or paddle. Rough. Life.
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