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Blog 60 by Mick: Preparation, or is it Procrastination?

We met our friendly detective, the ‘good cop’ half of the dynamic duo, a few minutes after sunrise, which was a few minutes before his shift started. We had concluded our negotiations with the hotel owners and collected the settlement cash late in the afternoon the previous day, which presented us with quite a predicament. 5 million shillings is equivalent to about USD2300, but in 10,000 shilling notes, the largest note in Tanzania. It was a huge wad of cash and we guessed quite a few people in town would know we had been in negotiation with the hotel owners. During the previous 5 days we had made a conscious habit of making ourselves very visible, riding through town, past the police station and past the old hotel especially, to remind anyone who knew of the robbery that we weren’t going anywhere. Everyone else who didn’t know about it – we told. We figured the more people who knew what had gone on, the better, and would ultimately work in our favour by either putting pressure on the thieves to return our stuff of the hotel owners to settle.

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One of our last tea breaks before leaving Tanzania.

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Titanic Café where we had a great breakfast of hot sweet tea and chapattis fresh off the fire.

Our issue now though was security, USD2300 is a small fortune in Tanzania and would make us a pretty attractive target. Our friendly cop suggested we keep it secure for the night and offered to lock it in the safe in his detective’s car. He and his partner had been very honest and open with us from the start and had given us no reason at all to question his trustworthiness, so we jumped at the chance. We had been very happy and relieved to have two guys like this in our corner, they gave us advice and helped guide the negotiations to the outcome we received. And while cops in Africa generally get a bad wrap for corruption, not once was there any talk of “presents” or “gifts” or other bribe code-words. So to anyone who ends up in a similar circumstance to us; don’t succumb to the negative stereotyping/gross generalisation BS and write-off the police, trust them and you might just end up pleasantly surprised.

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On the way to Zambia

Before we had been robbed, I had planned for us to take a relatively direct dirt road to the border and avoid the highways and the homicidal bus drivers. Other traffic, without doubt, is our biggest threat in Africa and that goes triple in Tanzania. The bus drivers make for a hair-raising ride, and the endless villages with 50kph limits and overzealous traffic police make swift progress impossible. So hitting some corrugated dirt roads through sparsely populated bush would have made for a pretty pleasant ride in comparison. But now we had way too much cash on us and had to come with a plan to change it into something useful.

Our original ‘Plan A’ of going to the border down the dirt road was pretty quickly eliminated. While we could have changed the money at the border, the thought of even legitimate money-changers knowing we had so much cash on us made us quite uneasy. Border towns are dodgy… way too dodgy to be flashing around cash of that magnitude. Nope, that option was out.

That left 2 cities as legitimate options; Arusha, the major tourist town to the north, or Dodoma, the administrative city and capital of the country (in name at least) to the east. Not wanting to go backwards, we chose Dodoma, which was a fortunate choice as we hadn’t told a soul we were going there. We had told the police on the night we were robbed we were heading for Mbeya on the border with Zambia, so we just continued to tell them that. The people in the hotel we were staying, including the negotiation team, we told we were heading back to Arusha to hunt for our stuff. It was the logical place for stolen electronics to be sold and was a credible story, especially after the fuss we had put up that we wanted our stuff back. Everyone else we told we were heading for Rwanda – Singida is at a bit of a crossroads and sees lots of trade from the port at Dar es Salaam heading up to the landlocked countries of Rwanda and Burundi, so it was believable.

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Another day – another bloody flat tyre

So, with the cops thinking we were going south, the hotel owners thinking we were heading north, everyone else thinking we were heading west – we legged it east. Maybe we were a little paranoid, but as our robbery had just proved, you’ve only got to cross paths with the wrong guy one time to ruin your day. We were in Dodoma mid-morning and swapped our gangsta-wad of ‘fatcashmoni’ for far more convenient and concealable US dollars that we quickly stashed in a few places in our luggage and immediately left town.

Onwards towards Zambia we rolled. We were looking to make up for lost time so we pounded the tar all day stopping only for a brief chapatti and tea break. Our progress was hampered though by the abundance of Tanzanian traffic cops armed with foreign aid supplied speed guns lining the route. Apart from maniacal bus drivers and badly rutted tar from the overloaded trucks coming from Dar, the traffic police are the major pain of travelling the main roads of Tanzania. It seems the buggers are under every tree, behind every rock and in every tuft of grass. It is extremely difficult to avoid getting a fine due to their overzealous enthusiasm for speed traps combined with a lack of enthusiasm for speed signs.

A couple hours south of Dodoma, when rolling into a very sparse and very empty little village of maybe 8 huts and with not a car, person or animal in sight, I copped a $US15 fine for doing 54 in a 50 zone. Four kilometres per hour over! I had been riding very carefully, slowing down for villages and making a conscious effort to ‘not speed’, so when the cop walked out onto the road with a speed gun in his right arm and left hand up in the air, well, lets just say I wasn’t a happy camper. I was confident I was not speeding and demanded to see the speed gun. These traffic cops had brand new wiz bang speed guns (donated by the English government I am told) that capture a full colour photo, and there I was doing 54kph. So I resorted to pleading… But there was no way around it; over the limit is over the limit in Tanzania, so we paid up…

To make matters worse, the next day we got caught again. Both of us this time.
After leaving a village we were on the look out for a 100kph sign that never came. Then we were overtaken by a new 200 series landcruiser as we diligently snoozed along at 50kph on the open highway. We figured we had to have missed the sign, so I sped up and sat in behind the ‘cruiser doing a 100kph. A few kilometers a cop came out from his camouflaged hide-out, or took off his speed gun sniping fatigues, or maybe uncloaked his new foreign aid sponsored star-trek invisibility suit and waved us down… after waving the 200 series ‘cruiser on!

We pulled over. All the cops have phones these days so if you just keep riding they call the next town and they get you there… only they are way more pissed off at that stage. The cop came up and asked why I hadn’t stopped immediately… “you waved me on”. “No, I waved you down” and then went on to say that I was speeding. I responded with a playground-esque reflex “No I wasn’t”. He hops on the figurative merry go-round when he repeats that I was speeding, that I was doing 102. What? 102! Only 102! After a few run-ins with Tanzanian cops I know the ins and outs of this ‘bizzniss’, so I just straight up demand to see the speed gun. He can’t show it too me and is visibly frustrated because of it, he knows I’ve got him. The reason he doesn’t have my speed in the gun is because he has an older type gun that only records one vehicles speed at a time, and that speed was Tanya’s. She is also speeding he says… 94kph, a little slower than me as she had been stuck behind and had just overtaken an overloaded mini van blowing copious amounts of black smoke as it struggled to not explode while it crawled up the slight rise in the road.

The cop informed us we were both getting speeding fines, we exploded. “You cant do that! You have to show us the speed, you have to show us the speed in the speed gun and you cant! You’ve only got one speed, you can only give us one ticket! Not two!” The cop, probably quite peeved by this stage quickly had his revenge. He knew he couldn’t do us both for speeding, but countered to Tanya “you overtook on a double white line, down there, around the mini van. You overtook when you could not, that is also a fine. 30000 shillings. So 60,000 shillings for two fines, for speeding and for overtaking”.

Tan looked over her shoulder at where she had overtaken the near stationary mini-van… and knew she was “done in”. It was indeed double white lines. After a while in Africa, and we had been riding on the continent 14 months at this stage, well… the local driving culture starts to rub off and you find yourself doing things you would never imagine doing at home….
• Is your destination at the other end of that one way street? Whatever man, just stick to one side of the road and ride down there – if you’re feeling nice, flash your headlights like a conscientious local because that makes traffic infringement a-ok.
• Traffic blocking the road and no chance for lane splitting? No problem, there is plenty of space on the footpath for a motorcycle. Just make sure to rev your motor so the pedestrians hear you coming.
• Round-about completely gridlocked to a standstill? Well, there is a reason god invented off-road motorcycles – so you can ride straight over the top of said roundabout. Go for it! Double points for popping the front wheel on the kerb and triple points for roosting stationary traffic with roundabout grass.

Yes – we have done all these things, and many many more, in our time here. Sorry Africa, we are bad tourists… So, crossing the double white lines to overtake (when safe to do so of course) had sort of become an instinctual action as we really didn’t see the lines anymore. We paid the fines, got our tickets and rode off really annoyed which set us up for the next downer experience of the day.

We both had a shared moment of introspection at lunch that made us realise that our trials and ordeals in Ethiopia had more than a superficial effect on us. We pulled up for a rest and some food in the same little town on the highway we had stopped on our very first night in Tanzania after we had entered from Malawi about 5 months earlier. We had fond memories of this little nondescript roadside town of ‘Chimala’, where we had enjoyed Tanzania’s calm hospitality and spicy milk tea for the first time.

We parked up our bikes and walked up to the tiny roadside shoppie we had a simple meal and wonderful ginger masala tea at months before, but were a little disappointed to find it closed. We wandered back towards our bikes and started to scout out a second option. At that time a young local fella walked up to us, rubbing his tummy and saying something in Swahili. We were both so conditioned to the constant harassment, aggression, begging and hostile demands in Ethiopia, that even though we had left that country over a month beforehand we both instinctively snapped at him to leave us alone, which he did.

It was only once our meal of chicken, beans and rice (Tanzanian staple) had arrived that we realised the young fella wasn’t actually begging or demanding anything, he was asking if we were hungry and directing us to a nearby restaurant which was his job. To say we felt sorry for the young guy and disappointed in ourselves is an understatement. We realised we had to make a mental shift and try and chill the hell out. We were not in Ethiopia anymore, people in this part of the world on the whole are incredibly nice and we needed to ratchet back our defenses a couple notches, be more patient and act more kindly. Ethiopia had beaten all the empathy out of us and we needed to take some proactive measures to restore it. Maybe we needed a watershed moment like this to really understand what Ethiopia had done to us before we could move on? When leaving the little restaurant, we went looking for the young guy to apologise but couldn’t find him, which was a shame. Hopefully he didn’t take it to heart and won’t judge future tourists on his interaction with us, which ironically is the exact courtesy we did not give him…

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Our first night back in Zambia

We arrived at the border with Zambia with enough time in the afternoon to cross before they closed. We were using the main border between the 2 countries, Tunduma, which is something we generally avoid, but in this instance we were pounding the main highway in a rush to get to Lusaka. The second we stopped the bikes, we got hounded by the “helpers” that hang around at major crossings like this one. Thankfully the Tanzanian side wasn’t too much of an issue, and after some searching for the correct offices and a few firm rebuttals to our ‘helpers’, we were through to Zambia.

Tan ‘hit the wall’ a bit on the other side. The constant attention of the helpers, compounding on top of the last couple months of on-and-off stress, meant she wasn’t keen on doing any more than sitting on the bikes with her headphones in. These little moments happen on occasion, I’ve had my fair share as well, so by default I had this border to deal with this time. One of the major benefits of being a 2 person team is we get to share these activities and effectively half the administration burden. At times like these, it is an immense luxury.

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A typical Zambian fella – friendly, smiling and keen for a chat.

Being late in the afternoon introduced a few complications. While immigration and customs were fine, the government cashier in the local bank was closed so I couldn’t pay the road tax. I figured wouldn’t be too much of an issue; last time we were in the country we were never asked for it. So I didn’t bother. Soon enough we were on our way.

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Meeting a fellow rider at the local servo. Now this fella is on the right bike for crossing the Congo.

After spending the night at a hotel not far over the border, we got up with the sun and hit the highway with vigour. The highways in northern Zambia are in pretty decent condition and don’t have a huge amount of traffic so maintaining 110kph is totally doable. We stopped for food and fuel and made great time, at one point I thought we were a decent chance of making it all the way to Lusaka which would have been about 1000kms for the day. That was until Tanya disappeared from my mirrors and I went back to find her with a flat rear tyre. She had quite a moment when her rear tube exploded… I had forgotten than in our constant battle to keep our tubes patched and holding air, I had put in a 100-120 18” tube in Tanya’s rear wheel, obviously undersize for her 140 wide tyre, but in eastern Africa you cant be too picky sometimes. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get.

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The blow out.

We had gotten a few flats through Ethiopia, even with slime in the tubes, and had a great deal of trouble getting patches to stick. They would stick, then come off 12-48 hours after pumping up the tyre, that is if they really stuck at all. So in frustration I had put in a new but undersized tube. But after my concussion and then the robbery I had totally forgotten about it… until it exploded under the stress of 6 or 8 hours at 110kph in 33 degree heat.

So another patched tube went in, and with that I pledged to replace our tubes in Lusaka and ditch the idea of slime in the tubes. It had worked short term, sealing thorns which would have definitely resulted in punctures (confirmed, when the tubes came out I found good sized thorns in the tube all sealed up with slime), but long term it is a pain in the arse. If the slime doesn’t seal the puncture, it makes tubes very difficult to patch, to the point they basically have to go in the bin and be replaced. Which is a pain in the arse in East Africa, so you end up with undersized tubes because that is all you can get. And they explode. Lesson learned.

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Another day, another tyre change.

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Quality road-side cuisine.

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Tan’s lunch.

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Some curious Zambians wanted to know what we were up to on these big bikes.

Tanya was part shaken, part triumphant as she told me how she was coming up to a bend in the highway at about 100kph when the rear tube let go. Luckily Tan’s instincts kicked in and she kept off the brakes and slowly washed off the speed. It was a close call but she pulled it off, and so I got to hear Tanya describing herself as a zen master moto-god for the next few hours. But forgetting about the under-sized tube was a stuff-up, and Africa is not the place to stuff-up in. So we resolved to try get some rest and get in a good headspace before tearing up the Congo.

So back by the side of the road, by the time tools were unpacked, tube replaced, everything repacked and us dressed again, we lost an hour or so. Bummer. And with the time lost, we fell 130kms short of Lusaka and pulled up in Kabwe, the last decent sized town before the capital. Even with the flat we still managed 880kms for the day – a big day, and our biggest of the trip (2nd is 850km – Grootfontein, Namibia to Mwandi, Zambia, and 3rd is 810kms – Stellenbosch, South Africa to Ai Ais, Namibia).

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A benefit of being behind schedule was we got to watch some of the rugby world cup.

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This might look like two blokes having a romantic meal but I assure you this was all in aid of Tanya’s birthday. Donna also arranged a spa massage type thing that Tan went a bit nuts for.

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Birthday dinner with a great group of people. Not something you expect living on the road.

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Tan’s birthday present.

The next day we rolled into Lusaka, and so started what turned into a 2 week stay. We had been in a great rush to get to Lusaka and then into DRC before the wet, but time flew oh so quickly, although in retrospect it was quite an easy thing to do when you consider the southern African hospitality we received on the farm of friends Doug and Donna.

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Oh…yeah…and then there way the Halloween party. We’d been told by our friends we had to experience a Zambian farm party. So that sounded like fun so went for it.

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It all started out good.

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And descended in to drunkenness

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Messy drunkenness.

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In amongst watching rugby and braaing, we applied for our Nigerian visas which turned into a bit of a battle, one which we ultimately prevailed, but it was a battle nonetheless. It looked all rosy to begin with, even though we were not Zambian residents, we met with the consul and explained our predicament. He seem reasonable enough and said “no worries”, took our money, then a week later when we went to pick up our visas, he denied us, oh and USD100 visa payments are non-refundable. We dug our heels in, and managed to sway him. One benefit of spending so long in Africa and getting to know the place and how the cultures work, we can keep our cool when necessary and can politely and simply not take no for an answer.

Whilst waiting for visas, we sorted a bunch of random issues, like we got our new InReach setup and a new service agreement sorted, fixed my intermittently malfunctioning Sena SMH10R (broken wire – diagnosing that took some serious hunting), and more bike maintenance. We also bought a replacement laptop. Thanks to Zambia’s rapidly deflating currency, goods imported when the kwacha was worth 6 to the USD were very cheap when the currency crashed to 12 to 1. So we got a Macbook Air for the equivalent of 850 bucks, it was too good an opportunity to pass up on. We just had to take the gamble that if our original Macbook Air was found we would have to return the money we had allocated for it (as per our settlement agreement) and end up with 2 laptops. As it turned out, we never got any of our stuff back in the end so it was a good decision.

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Christmas in October! Picking up all the gear we’d ordered from South Africa. Yes you can get a lot of this stuff in Zambia… but they order it from South Africa themselves. And you pay an absolute mint. We priced Pirelli Rallycross tyres for $US250. From South Africa Michelin Deserts were $US200.

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My big crash in Tanzania highlighted the fact my riding armour needed replacement – the elastic was gone and the elbow and shoulder guards were hanging loosely. So that went on the shopping list. Thankfully our mate Michnus contacted a friend he knows at Leatt and I’m guessing told them our tale of woe and they gave us a nice discount. It is seriously ridiculous how many people we have looking out for us.

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Going back to running goggles. Crashing with sunglasses on jammed the frame into my eyesocket, giving me a light black eye and maybe contributed to my concussion. That sucked, so we went to googles offraod. On road I still wear sunnies though I gotta admit.

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Michelin Deserts will do nicely on the Congo crossing…. Very nicely indeed.

One exciting job we had to take care of in Lusaka was pick up the massive swag of stuff we had purchased from South Africa. Way back when we were in Mozambique we were lucky enough to camp next to bunch of South African bikers who on top of being expert braaiers, were top blokes too. One of those fellas, Leon, went above and beyond for us by trucking a huge pile of bike gear to us in Lusaka. Leon saved us a fortune in import duties and transport costs and dealt with all the order stuff ups in Johannesburg. We look forward to repaying the favour when he comes to Australia by showing him some proper outback trails.

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New handle bars to replace my badly bent and mostly straightened ones.

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And a new helmet to replace the old one. My old helmet did its job in the big crash but we couldn’t rely on it to do so again. In the days after the accident we ordered a new onw from South Africa. I used my old helmet to get from Tanzania to Zambia where I could receive the new helmet figuring a buggered Shoei is better than anything I could find in rural Tanzania. When we put in the insurance claim for the hospital treatment Tan thought we might as well try to claim the cost of the written off helmet. And they granted it! Though it took a while to convince them there was no way to get a repair quote for a helmet that has been in a big crash.

Leon arranged for our gear to be delivered to another South African biker mate who lived in Lusaka named Etienne. As has been the theme of the trip it seems we made fast friends with Etienne who is simply one of the nicest fellas you are ever likely to meet.

While we were in Lusaka we also managed to catch up with a bunch of overlanders. There are not so many overland bikers getting around Africa these days so its always nice to touch base and exchange info with others when you can. We’d been talking to Pat, an Aussie on a KTM 690 and Mark, an American on a DR650 for over a year. And as fate would have it they were both in town at the same campsite at the same time. So between these guys, and the bikers they had in tow, and our new mates in Lusaka and our old mates from Lusaka it really turned into a 2-week eating and drinking socialising-fest. So much for resting and mentally preparing ourselves for Congo.

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The campsite in Lusaka where the bikers were staying.

Initially we had been planning to cross paths with Pat somewhere in the Democratic Republic of Congo as he was traveling northwest to southeast along our planned southeast-northwest route. But with my crash putting us behind schedule and then the robbery even further behind, the Congo rendezvous never happened. So it was in a campground in Lusaka that we first met in the flesh.

It was great to finally catch-up and I hope Pat won’t take this the wrong way but… well… having just crossed Congo solo… he looked like shit. At best, shit warmed up. Pat had been unwell since he finished that mammoth off-road leg across DR Congo and the rigors of the trail were all over his face and his skin and bone frame. Just the look of him gave us an insight into what lay ahead for us. Not for the first time we worried about the wet season which he confirmed had started.

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Pat the tough bugger who crossed DR Congo solo. We’ve nagged him into submission and he is finally sharing his epic ride through Africa on ADVRider, check it out. Both he and the bike took a beating. The damping on his custom rear shock failed part way through. He had no choice but to press on and endure a pogostick ride all the way to Lusaka where he could receive a replacement.

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Important thing to keep in mind for overlanders in Africa – Bloody customs duties. If you get a $2000 shock sent to you in a place like Zambia, customs will be looking for a cut of about $800. Sometimes you can avoid having to pay these customs duties if you have a Carnet de Passage and a whole lot of patience and a day free. This had worked for us once in Kenya. The Carnet de Passage angle also worked for Pat on this occasion and another biker from the same campground getting a replacement fuel pump (F800GS). It took Pat 6 hours and a lot of convincing but it worked.

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Oh and we also managed to fit in a bit of bike work. Valve clearances in progress here. Both bikes in spec… of course.

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I removed the swingarms…

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…to replace the bearings and fit new chain sliders. In the last blog post we mentioned that I replaced the swingarm bearings in Arusha – but I didn’t, I only fitted the linkage bearings there and never removed the swingarm. We have been writing these last posts from memory as we lost our diary entries with the stolen laptop.

The Biker Network

After a quick catch up with Pat we returned to the farm to work on the bikes again with plans to meet up once more. When we heard from Pat the next day he was still struggling with his health, and mentioned that even though he didn’t have a lot of the common symptoms, he was afraid he might have malaria again. Pat had not long ago recovered from cerebral malaria which is an unpleasant and bloody serious business to say the least. He was a bit worried about a relapse but was also aware that he felt nowhere near as bad as the last time.

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Fitting my new handlebars.

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Old vs new. Another good stack and the old and straightened bars were sure to bend again, potentially even snap.

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Well used spark plugs were replaced with new ones. Mixture looks good, I was happy to see both bikes running nicely.

We were worried to hear this and encouraged him to get a malaria test done asap. Personal self-test kits are easy to come by and cheap. But with Pat unwell and his bike in pieces he couldn’t get a ride to a pharmacy until the following morning. But knowing how serious cerebral malaria can be we knew he shouldn’t wait, so we resorted to the ever-reliable biker/friend network to help a fellow biker in a bind.

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Getting some route info and tracks from Pat. Pat still looking a bit rough.

With us being an hour and a half’s drive at night away we got our host at the farm Donna, to call her sister in Lusaka who lives just round the corner from the campground to run to a pharmacy and buy a malaria test kit and drop it to Pat in his tent. Within 10 minutes he had a test kit in his hands and a few minutes after that, a confirmed case of malaria. Now a lot of people will have you believe that malaria is not a big deal in Africa. Tough talking travellers often say things like “don’t worry about malaria, they know what they are doing with malaria in Africa.” “Just carry a treatment and take it if you get malaria, easy.”

While that can often be true, in some cases that is outright bullshit. Malaria is a killer, especially if you are on your own and especially if it is cerebral. The over-the-counter malaria treatments are effective but they rely on a strict time schedule, which is hard to follow if you are rocking a 40-degree temperature, passing in and out of consciousness and having seizures. And it is not always clear that you might have it. Our friend Donna told us of a friend who was born and raised in Zambia (so knew very well the symptoms and dangers of malaria) and was camping with friends down at Lake Kariba. One afternoon she was feeling unwell so went back to her tent to rest. Later that evening she was found to have passed away in her tent from cerebral malaria.

Knowing Pat’s last bout of malaria he had in West Africa was deadly serious we pushed him to go to a hospital. If this case was a relapse of that malaria strain, he needed someone with him. We figured we could go down to Lusaka and bring him back to the farm, but the way Pat described his last bout was not something we felt equipped to deal with. If he started having seizures again, he would be 1.5 hours from a hospital, which was way way too far. We spoke to his girlfriend in Oz and Pat once more and we all agreed that to go to hospital was the safest bet.

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Me with a post-malaria Pat and Etienne – braaing and sharing stories.

Our Zambian friends were able to recommend a well-regarded mission hospital in Lusaka that wouldn’t break the bank or make him sicker than when he first arrived. We then called on our new biker mate Etienne to ask a favour, to pick up Pat (a bloke he had never met before) and take him to the hospital. This is not the small favour that it sounds given Lusaka’s rush hour traffic problem. Etienne spent hours driving from one side of Lusaka to the other to care for a complete stranger. Once at the hospital Pat was put on a mass dose of intravenous quinine and he made a rapid recovery. Pat assumed this bout of malaria was not a relapse of the strain he caught in West Africa, but potentially a more mild strain he might have picked up in DRC. The next day he was discharged, picked up once more by Etienne and taken back to his campsite. In no time he was getting better and ready to roll once more.

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Tan with the fellas. Like us Etienne is planning his own RTW ride for the future. One’s thing’s for sure he’ll have a big reserve of good biker karma to draw on when his trip is underway.

This I think is a great example of the biker network in action and also a demonstration of how, even as transient foreigners, if you’re lucky, you can forge some fast and strong bonds with people while on a RTW trip. This is as aspect of the trip that we never anticipated. For us, when we left Australia, we figured we would know no one and it would be the two of us taking on the continent. Very quickly we found this to not be the case at all. In fact, we experienced the exact opposite, and made some fantastic friends and been on the receiving end of wonderful hospitality. It has made the trip so much richer and the time spent with unanticipated friends has eclipsed almost everything else we have done in Africa.

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When it rains, it pours. We hadn’t seen any other bikers in ages. Then all of a sudden they are all over the place. Here is Mark, the American on a DR650, who was travelling up the east coast of Africa having previously ridden down the west of Africa. He was riding with another American named Crawford and Murray, who lives on the Sunshine Coast in Oz but is originally from South Africa.

In an incredible twist of fate we got talking with Murray about riding in the north of Namibia. He mentioned he’d been in the South African army’s Bike Squad during the Bush War. We asked him if he knew our buddy Danie we’d stayed with in Stellenbosch, South Africa. Turns out they were Bike Squad mates and they were among the very few who’d gotten through the war without injury. The danger wasn’t the enemy so much as the riders themselves. Danie told us how when they were on reconnaissance on the bikes they were heard from miles away giving the enemy plenty of time to get elsewhere. Which left a squad full of young guys armed to the teeth on XR500’s in awesome terrain. Naturally, the inevitable happened. In Danie’s words “every patrol was an enduro.”

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Tan sent this picture of her with Murray to Danie. Danie I think was rather surprised and excited to see we had somehow run into an old bike squad buddy he hadn’t seen in decades. According to Danie, Murray was the ‘wheelie king’ back then. If we’d known at the time we would have made him put on a show for us.

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In case we ever thought we were tough on our bikes we have this photo to show us otherwise. This is how the Bike Squad rolled. Murray had this picture of Danie, which we also sent on to him. Danie didn’t have many pictures of that time in his life. His son was so taken with the photo of dad in his glory days he got the photo (sent via Facebook) printed and framed for the family members.

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You don’t expect to see zebra and giraffe at a campsite in a capital city… but there you have it.

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Tan and some giraffe on the way out of the campground

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Pat on his Rally Raid 690. A nice set up indeed.

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Looking every bit the hard core ADV biker gang…

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…congregating out front of the local shopping centre. After we dragged ourselves away from the coffee shop we went back to our trip prep while the four fellas went riding together in South Luangwa NP.

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Looking forward to getting a chance to ride with this bloke again. Our ride from the campground to the local shopping centre was a bit on the lame side. Finke 2019?

Once we parted ways with the other bikers it was just a matter of polishing off the remaining bits of trip prep. While I saw to the last of the bike maintenance Tanya sorted out our food for the DRC crossing.

While we were in Nairobi we met an English guy named Richard who’d crossed DRC four times, twice with a car and twice on a motorbike. This unassuming guy was all kinds of hardcore and full of advice on the Congo. He’d advised us to take our own food for the crossing and generously gifted us his leftover dehydrated hikers meals. According to Richard there wouldn’t be a lot of food to be purchased along the route we were taking, and based on his experience any food that was available would be likely to give us gnarly stomach bugs. He specifically advised us not to eat any meat beside chicken as any red meat we’d encounter would be ‘bush meat’ which is more often than not monkey. Clearly it wouldn’t be like the rest of Africa where food of some kind is generally easy to come across. So we took as much food as we could realistically carry, which would be not quite enough for the whole crossing. If we came across food to buy we’d do it. But otherwise we could get by with our haul.

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Here is what we took along with us. But we ended up culling some of the items in this photo before leaving. We decided to ditch the bag of powdered milk (good move), the artificial cheese with biltong flavour (mistake – craved it on some tough riding days), the tin of lentils (sound decision – but we would have happily devoured them if we had them) and the second tin of sweetened condensed milk (in Tanya’s opinion one of the worst decisions of the trip).

What we took: * denotes the stuff that we relied on the most ** denotes the stuff Tanya relied on the most.

Pasta and some instant pasta sauces
Instant soups
Strawberry protein powder Etienne gave us to take
*Huge amount of beef biltong
**Lollies
*Lots of nuts
Dried apricots
*Muesli bars
**Sweetened condensed milk
*Sardines
*Tuna
*Crackers
Coffee and tea
Granola
Chilli sauce (that we always carry)
*Rehydration sachets
Dehydratated trekking meals we’d been given by other travellers

In the end we had none of the “snacks” and a fair bit of the “meals” left over as we were generally too exhausted at the end of the day to eat or we were camping in poor villages, and lacking enough to go around we couldn’t bring ourselves to cook and eat nice food in front of people. In these instances we just had some crackers or nuts before bed. If we hadn’t had this food with us we would have been in a frightful state by the time we got to Kinshasa. But no more spoilers.

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Carrying out tent repairs in anticipation of rain.

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We just bought new mics for our Senas, which had both failed some weeks earlier. The Sena units themselves are good but the cords and attachments are far too fragile and unreliable. Having replaced 3 batteries, 2 microphones and 1 headphone cable at our own expense we decided we’d had enough of this shit and bought in the big guns… duct tape.

Before arriving, we had told ourselves we would only spend enough days in Zambia to get the Nigeria visa before heading for the Congo. We felt physically and mentally exhausted by the last couple of months of travel and we recognised this wasn’t a good frame of mind to be tackling the DR Congo crossing with. Knowledge of the impending start of the wet season was a weighing heavily on us. The wet season had the potential to turn a tough but doable ~2500km crossing (approx. 1500 of which is off-road) into a very difficult mud-fest. The choice felt like one between a dryer crossing with a fatigued and jaded mindset or a wetter and tougher crossing with a more rested and positive frame of mind. We thought the latter scenario had a better chance for success. So we decided to stop looking at our watches and compulsively checking the weather in Congo, and just focus on replenishing the batteries. We would leave when we were ready to duel with the DRC.

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Bikes ready to go. We had 900km of tar to cover before hitting the dirt at Kolwezi in the DRC. With plenty of life left in our current tyres and not wanting to burn the knobbies on tar, the choice to carry the tyres for a few days was obvious. As much as I don’t like carrying tyres, sometimes its gotta be done.

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Now all that was left for us was to gear up and say goodbye to our friends. It was even tougher than last time tearing ourselves away from Donna and Doug and the family. We’d had such a great time in Zambia and found ourselves in the company of so many great people that we couldn’t help but imagine ourselves living here and working in one of the countries copper mines once we run out of money or the copper price recovers… whichever comes first. We shall see.

It was about two weeks after we arrived that we felt like it was time to ride across the Democratic Republic of Congo. At this point it was early November, the clouds were brewing and the first storm of the season had already hit in Lusaka, which means the wet season would have well and truly started in the DRC.

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Back roads to the highway.

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It felt good to be riding but the bikes felt porky.

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In Kitwe near the Zambian-DRC border enjoying one last feast before the hard work begins. Before leaving for the border we decided to treat ourselves. We figured it would be our last decent food for a while… we were right.

Getting visas, dreaming about routes and telling people you’re going to the Congo is very different to actually hoping on the bike, pointing it north and riding to the Congo. It’s a pretty serious place and crossing it is a pretty serious ride, and everyone we told we were going there reminded us of these very facts, which did nothing to ease our trepidations. But the day came. We were out of excuses and up for the challenge. It was time to go.

The Congo was calling.

Blog 59 by Tan: The Curious Case of the Bowlegged Bandit

Talk about being kicked while you are down! To us it was immediately obvious; the robbery had all the hallmarks of an inside job and figured if we played things right we might be in with a chance of being reunited with at least some of our pilfered goods, with a bit of luck. Fortunately the almost ludicrously simple nature of what had unfolded allowed us to very quickly move on from the natural response of getting upset to strategising our response.

To our immense frustration, the hotel ticked every box we have for deciding on a place to stay the night. Firstly, it was one of the first hotels we came across on entering town, which meant very few people would have seen us arrive. It also had a tall, solid fence all around the property so it was impossible to see the bikes from the road, we could park the bikes right next to our room, there was a guard on duty (resplendent in fancy uniform complete with beret), the room was right next to reception, the door was solid, there were good burglar bars on the windows, and the place was pretty much empty at the time. Plus it was reasonably priced; in Tanzania very cheap and dodgy hotels can be had for USD2 and slightly less cheap and less dodgy hotels for USD4-5, so this one even at USD7 was distinctly ‘mid-range’. So we checked in, paid our money and went to the room to chill before getting hungry and heading out to dinner.

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This is a picture of the bike parked next to our hotel room which is the door you can see on the right.  

I went to get our room key so we could lock up and go to a little roadside food stall less than 200m away. I walked into reception, where I first met a pudgy man in blue boxer shorts and a white singlet sitting on a couch reading a newspaper. I said that I was looking for the receptionist and he got up and ran to track him down for me. It was a rather enthusiastic response that made me think that he might work at the hotel. I was just about to ask him if he did when the receptionist showed up and gave me the key. Before leaving I remember noticing that the guy with the newspaper was quite bowlegged. I watched him walking and wondered how physically difficult if was to have that condition.

Anyway we headed off for a cheap dinner and less than an hour later we were back in our now unlocked room devoid of a lot of our stuff. We were gutted to lose the laptop and hard drive especially but were relieved to see it was not the hard drive we used for backing up. Our new-ish point and shoot camera and my i-phone were gone as well. On top of that we were seriously disappointed to see both our custom molded earplugs were taken. For one thing, being custom molded they were bugger all use to anyone else and secondly they just so happened to be our most treasured bit of non-essential kit. We had them made before we left home and at AU$220 a set they were a significant investment.

The big saving grace however was that the thief didn’t trawl heavily through our stuff or he would have found a heck of a lot of USD stashed in a few sneaky spot through our luggage in readiness for our Congo crossing. Also he missed our good camera (USD1000 worth of Fuji X100S), the one we love like it was a person. Likewise we had to say a quiet thanks the thief didn’t get a hold of our various bank cards meaning we could avoid the inconvenience of canceling and trying to receive replacements. So it was bad, but not as bad as it could have been.

We walked outside and told the receptionist someone had opened the door to our room and had taken our stuff. The guard who’d been standing by the gate came and we told him what had happened. We got pretty much no reaction from either one. We asked if they wanted to call the hotel owner. We asked if they saw anything. But our questions were met with utter silence. That our room was unlocked (there was no sign of forced entry) and raided while we were away for maybe 45-50 minutes we found pretty suspicious. Very few people in town would have seen us arrive. The hotel was basically empty. There were only 2 people about, the receptionist and the guard. It was pretty obvious where to start.

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And here is the door to reception.  You can see its a pretty nice place indeed and actually at the upper end of the scale compared to where we usually stay.

We told them we were prepared to forget that it has happened and that we just want our stuff back. Both the circumstances and the reactions indicated they were involved, yet they seemed to have neglected to think about what they would do when the stuff was inevitably discovered missing. They were acting so guilty and dodgy that it was almost funny. We tried to keep things civilized and calm yet these guys were even silent when we asked if they had seen anyone leaving the hotel. Then we asked where the pudgy bowlegged guy who was sitting in receptions was. They pretended to have no idea who I was talking about – what guy? And that essentially confirmed it. I know I saw the man – he was the guy who got the receptionist so I could get the key! I mean sheesh… if I were going to go crazy and mentally conjure up a non-existent man lounging around in his underwear, he’d look a lot more like Brad Pitt than a middle aged Tanzanian bloke with the build of a professional full-time meat pie taster.

At this point two other guests, one of whom spoke English well, returned to the hotel and helped us. We got them to tell the guard and receptionist that all we wanted back was our stuff and that we don’t want trouble with Police. We offered that if we got our laptop, hard-drive and headphones back whomever had the rest could keep it and we’d leave town that night. Otherwise we would involve the cops and make a big hassle for everyone. The guys looked at each other and while they didn’t say anything, they actually seemed to be mulling the offer over. We asked about master keys. No response. We asked if they had even seen anyone leave the hotel. They looked at each other, yet still no response. That they couldn’t answer such simple questions had us rather politely suggesting to them that we believed they waited until we left the hotel, took a second room key, and opened the door and took our stuff. We asked them what they thought about that. Crickets.

The other guests lost their patience at this point and started asking the guys more forcefully and went at them in Swahili for a minute or two. Eventually they admitted there was another man there but they thought he was our tour guide and translator. The guard said he saw him enter our room immediately after we left the hotel. He even took a backpack full of things out of the room and walked out of the hotel and down the street. We were all like, “Man you’re a guard. You saw us leave and walk down the road, and then someone walk into our room after we left, take a backpack full of stuff and walk off in the opposite direction! You didn’t think there was anything suspicious about that!” We called bullshit on his tour guide/translator claim, the guard saw us show up on two motorcycles with no one else; hell, he waved us through the gate and initially showed us where to park the bikes. He knew we came with no tour guide, and certainly not with an overweight, bowlegged bloke in his boxer shorts and singlet on the back of our bikes. Bullshit of such monumental proportions would make Trump blush, orange spray-tan and all.

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Here I am the next day looking a bit miffed. You can see the place looked pretty secure. The good fence didn’t protect against thieves from inside.

We kept trying to get the staff to contact the hotel owner but they just would not respond. We told them that we were and exceeding bad choice of target to rob; unlike most foreigners in the country we had no jobs, our own transport and bulk time to sort this out. We have also been described as tenacious. We tried to reason and threatened Police involvement, we told them we would to stay in town as long as it takes – “We will stay for weeks! You understand? We will visit the Police everyday!” – but we got nowhere, so we went through with our threat and Mick went off to report the matter to the cops.

Not long after he left, another guest returned to the hotel and asks what all the fuss is about. Once the last hour worth of events was explained, it hits him to check his room, and he soon returns with a look near to fury on his face. His door has also been unlocked and his laptop is also missing.

Being after hours it took Mick some time to track down someone at the police station that could speak English. When they heard what happened they were very responsive and keen to address the issue. Mick filled out a report and eventually two cars full of police officers (about 12 in all) arrived at the hotel, all in civilian clothes with a few brandishing some serious weapons. It was an enthusiastic response to say the least. They started checking out the hotel and talking to the receptionist and the guard. Very early in the piece they said it appeared very much like an inside job. So with that they took away the guest register along with the receptionist and the guard to interview them. It was about 11pm when the police left. There was nothing to do but go to bed and wonder how things would play out the following day.

The next day David, the other fellow who was robbed, asked me to come and tell the hotel owner what I knew about the robberies. The owner seemed like a nice enough guy and the impression I got from him was that he didn’t seem directly involved. He seemed quite worried about the whole situation and asked what I suggested was the best way to resolve this. It seemed at the time he was asking how much money we wanted to resolve the issue but I couldn’t be sure.

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This was the restaurant we went for dinner at that fateful night. It became our local while killing time during the investigation. These are the type of places we typically ate at while in Tanzania.

I told him I was still holding out hope that we could retrieve our stolen items. How hard could it be to get the laptop back from likely known and seemingly unsophisticated robbers in a small town where everyone talks and knows everyone else’s business? It was only 12 hours since the robbery, it was highly likely the goods were still in town. I suggested he talk to his employees, and spread the message around town offering money for information and perhaps use any contacts in Arusha to keep an eye out for a used Macbook Air coming up for sale. Our focus was to be reunited with our goods and put the issue behind us. We weren’t after punishment or retribution. This was clearly a bad situation for everyone. He said he would speak to everyone he knows.

From there we moved to a nearby hotel as the current one didn’t feel secure, especially with the receptionist and guard now up in the big-house. The hotel we moved to shared a lot of similar features to the last one so it didn’t take us long to figure out it was also owned by the same man. We thought this was a good move nonetheless. We hoped it would be seen as a sign of good faith in the owner with the added bonus that, with all the police pressure they’d be guarding our room like Fort Knox.

Next up we went to the police station to where we spoke to a senior police officer. She informed us they were taking the crime very seriously, that the guard and receptionist were being kept in prison and that the police had closed the hotel for the duration of the investigation. We made additional statements and provided them a detailed list of the items that were stolen.

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The meat was always fresh and cooked slowly over charcoal making it soft and tasty….mind the bones.

We met the two detectives assigned to the case, who seemed competent and focused. The high value of the goods stolen from both rooms seemed to be a big deal to them. They explained how, before becoming detectives, they were members of the robbery squad, which seemed a pretty hardcore gig. The major robberies (proper large scale, high value thefts like heavy equipment and fuel tanker jackings) they investigated were often carried out by former military personnel who were well coordinated and heavily armed. They were often fired on in the course of their investigations and a number of their colleagues had been shot – it was serious business. They said serious criminals don’t start out as serious criminals, they start small. To them our robbery was the work of people that, even it they didn’t know it yet, were climbing the criminal ladder.

Additionally we learned the Tanzanian government took such thefts against foreigners quite seriously. Tourism is an integral part of the country’s economy and there is a big wide world of places competing for tourist dollars. Using a second key to rob a hotel room was simply too easy and tempting. Hotels could not be allowed to get away with such a fundamental breach of trust.

The positive police response combined with our resolution to stay in town, visit the cops once or twice daily and (tactfully) apply as much pressure as possible… well, it looked at least a little encouraging. However, even if we never saw our stuff again, we were determined to make life as difficult as possible for these fiends. We resolved to hang around and be a royal pain in the arse, and with so much at stake it was something we didn’t think we would struggle with.

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Good and cheap simple food with friendly and hard working ladies running the show.

Another thing working in our favour was that the other fellow who had is laptop stolen consulted for the government, which meant confidential government files were on his laptop. The robbery was swiftly escalated to a regional and then national level, and soon the little copshop in Singida was receiving phonecalls from bigwigs in the capital. Funny how that works…

We soon got more encouraging feedback when we were contacted by a detective seeking the IMEI number for our phone and laptop to send the cyber crime division in Dar Es Salaam so they could track our items. While we didn’t have them on us, we managed to source them from our records back home which we passed on to the cyber ninjas. (Note to all, keep a record of the IMEI codes of your electronics when you travel). We crossed our fingers on this one but weren’t convinced they’d succeed in tracking the phone as we were not running local sims at the time.

With nothing more to do we went and bought a new phone. A new I-phone was out of the question, but for a small sum I got a nice new Chinese smartphone that would do the job well enough.

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A typical roadside meal in Tanzania. Pretty good, eh?

We needed a phone sure, but we mainly just wanted another reason to drop into the police station again, like to give them our new contact number. We thought our best bet to maintain momentum and get somewhere with the investigation was to let everyone know we were still hanging around. However we were aware we didn’t want to annoy the police by constantly hovering over them or giving an impression of a lack confidence. So we spent a good part of our time coming up with credible excuses to justify our frequent visits. “Ok so lets go to the station and tell them we have our family in Australia getting the IMEI number and ask if they could pass the message on to cyber crimes in Dar for us as we have no new phone yet. Then tomorrow morning we can go into the station with the IMEI number and then in the afternoon we can give them our new phone number.” So that is how we managed it.

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The Copshop.

With nothing much to do but wait we decided that we had watched enough cop shows to carry out some of our own inquiries. I got talking to various people about the robbery and asked what they thought about it. Every time I told the story of what happened I’d be interrupted by people saying things like “oh, that’s an inside job, no question the staff are involved.” The owner of the nearby convenience store was convinced this was the case. I asked if he had heard of any similar trouble before with that hotel and he said no, he hadn’t, he thought the owner seemed like a nice man and he could not think he was involved. But he did tell me that he knew the hotel staff were family of the owner. Interesting…

But by far the most helpful information was from the English speaking guest who had helped us with translation the night of the robbery at the hotel. He travelled a lot and the week previous he had complained to the owner that he had a phone stolen from his locked room. He agreed to give a statement to the Police of this fact.

We met with our two detectives again in the Police Station who further encouraged us that we might well get our stuff back. Then they went and got the receptionist and brought him into the room with us to conduct an ‘interview’. They obviously had us there to intimidate him. It was a bloody awkward situation but intriguing to watch. It was all happy families for most of it. The receptionist came into the crowded office we said hello, he kind of nodded, and there was some joking amongst the Police in Swahili. They started asking him to tell us what happened that night and who was at the hotel. One of the detectives was even somewhat affectionate to him patting his shoulder when he spoke or touching his forearm when asking a question like they were friends. I told the detectives about the large, bowlegged bloke with the newspaper and how he was at the hotel when we left for dinner and not when we returned. The receptionist still claimed there was no such man.

Soon there was a forth cop in tiny room with us and they were starting to hammer him with questions and telling him to start talking. And then, all of a sudden he started. He started talking a lot and seemed close to spilling. They asked again about the man I saw that he denied was there. Then he says yes, someone was there but he thought the man was our tour guide. Whack! The affectionate copper clips him with a pretty full blooded open hand to the back of the head, yells at him and pushes him into the corner. He then grabs him again and after a decent back swing, belts him hard on the shoulder and winds up for a second go before backing out; the receptionist is cowering in the corner and trying to protect his head with his cuffed hands. The next instant, he gets in close and helps him up and is all affectionate again, and the 4 cops immediately revert to friendly banter and even the receptionist is smiling. This guy was seriously channeling Andy Sipowicz from NYPD Blue. Old School good-cop-bad-cop before our very eyes. We could see how effective it must be, it was intimidating just to watch.

It seems to have worked on the receptionist as all of a sudden he admitted that he knew the guy I was describing. But under further questioning he took it back and said he didn’t know the man. “NYPD Andy” blows up again and lifts his right hand up to ‘motivate’ him some more, but gave up in disgust. They decide to let the fella go for now, and escort him out of the office. I could hardly process what just happened…

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Plenty of down time to drink tea and read books.

So, the Investigation Continues…

Another day, another visit to the Copshop. This time they had news for us. The receptionist had told them about the missing newspaper reading guest that we think probably robbed us. We were informed his name was Peter and that he was a tour guide in Arusha and that he might have taken the stolen goods to Arusha to sell. The receptionist told the police where this Peter is said to hangout and we were told they would soon go to find him. Could we really have unmasked the Bowlegged Bandit?

We later returned to the police station as requested with muted hope, only to find they had failed to locate Bowlegged-Pete. But they were about to head out again and this time they wanted us to come along to help identify him. And that is how we found ourselves on a proper police ride-along. And if this experience wasn’t already sufficiently odd, they brought along the handcuffed receptionist too.

While riding through the centre of town looking for the Bowlegged Bandit the detectives were called to attend a nearby disturbance. Tanzania was in the grips of its federal election and campaigning was at its peak with just a week to go. It was shaping up to be a tough fought election pitting the current ruling party that had been in power since 1977 up against a far-right party headed by a rich and experienced businessman politician whose primary voting base was young, urban males, especially the disenfranchised ones. It was a common tactic on both sides to pay a rent-a-mob to create trouble at rallies of the opposing parties. These disturbances had a habit/goal of turning violent.

We pull up at a small gathering of the current ruling party to see a young man shouting and starting to make a nuisance of himself. Soon a truck full of police in riot gear show up. Our detective went and grabbed the guy and chucked him in the back of the truck before returning to the car. He then excused himself for needing to stop and arrest the protestor. I was like “oh that’s fine” *high pitched voice*. While this was happening it was just Mick and I in the back of the car and the receptionist in the passenger seat… you know, the guy that has been in the lockup and getting the odd clip around the chops because of us. To say it was uncomfortable for me was an understatement. I noticed the receptionist seemed pretty chilled up front.

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A sneaky photo I grabbed with my phone of us returning to the scene of the crime with the detectives and the receptionist.  The receptionist is in yellow.  

We continued our search for the Peter aka the Bow-legged Bandit. We go to a cheap hotel and the guard there says he knows Peter. I describe the man I saw to him – his height, hair, big beer belly and distinctive walk. The guy said yes that is Peter on all counts, but faltered a little on the walk. He said that perhaps he did walk a bit strangely. The last comment being a bit discouraging as it was a very distinctive gait and leg shape that he had. But the man confirmed that “yes, he is a tour guide and lives in Arusha.” He then gave us Peter’s phone number. According to the fellow Peter was still in town! We were closing in.

We were just around the corner from the original hotel so we dropped in with the detectives and the receptionist so they could inspect the hotel room themselves. The hotel was still closed for business and wouldn’t be opening until the police were satisfied the investigation was complete. As soon as the detectives saw how secure the hotel and especially our room was they got very annoyed at the receptionist laughing at how obvious it was he and the guard had carried out the theft.

They spoke with the cleaning lady that was there when we checked in (she showed us into reception) and she admitted that when we checked in there was no one else at the hotel. And that the guard and the receptionist knew we had come alone. This confirmed what we already knew, that the guard and receptionist were lying.

The receptionist pointed out the sign in Swahili that says the hotel is not responsible for stolen items and that they should be kept in the safe. This angered the detectives as they said disclaimers like this only apply if the hotel has fulfilled all its responsibilities, it can’t allow strangers to walk in and out. Just because they put a sign up doesn’t mean they have no responsibilities. Plus he told the receptionist we don’t read Swahili, “did he tell us of this when we checked in?”

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At the local

I reminded these detectives about the English speaking guest who helped us translate the night of the robbery, the man who had his phone stolen from his locked room the previous week. The police wanted to talk to him so I took out the name card the man had given me and noticed….”wow, this guy’s name is Peter too.” Then we noticed the phone number on the card was the same as the one of the assumed Bowlegged Bandit. The detectives, Mick and I were livid. We realised the receptionist had led us on a wild goose chase. He knew quite well that Peter was not the bowlegged person in question. The cops were not happy with having their time wasted; ‘NYPD Andy’ got some retaliation of the ‘open hand around the ear’ variety – a couple times actually – and while we turned to walk back to the car he tripped him over so he landed with a big thud on the tiles. I turned to Mick and told him we needed to end this.

With the ruse exposed, the receptionist stopped talking. We told the detectives that Peter was staying at our hotel and if the receptionist wanted to pretend that Peter was the hotel’s elusive newspaper-reading bowlegged man, he could say it to Peter’s face. A few minutes later we met with Peter who confirmed that he was out of the hotel working on the campaign until about 8:30pm and no he was not the newspaper reading man, however the receptionist wasn’t responding any further. With hours wasted, the receptionist playing games, the cops getting physical and us getting more frustrated, we informed the detectives we wanted to pursue a settlement with the owner. A mediation session was set up for the following day.

Negotiations – Day One

The police were of the mind that the owner of the hotel was negligent and needed to pay us a settlement if he could not arrange for the return of the stolen goods. They had what they said was sufficient proof that the owner had not fulfilled his legal responsibilities; in Tanzania all people staying at a hotel must have their details recorded. We were the only ones that were officially checked into the hotel however. In effect this meant hotel management had allowed unregistered people to be milling around at night which represented a security risk to their patrons.

The testimony that the hotel owner had just a week previously been informed by a guest of a break-in to a hotel room and theft of a mobile phone yet he didn’t change any locks or do anything to upgrade security showed negligence on his part. All guests were being placed in an unsafe situation due to his inaction.

The police had told the owner and his representatives to be there at 10am on the dot. We (quite surprisingly) were actually on time, however the owner and his family arrived right on Africa time; 1.5hrs later. Not to worry we thought. We had all the time in the world and wouldn’t allow ourselves to be flustered. We knew the entire key to getting a good resolution was to remain calm and reasonable. Fortunately from Caleb and our other missionary biker mate Jeff, we had come to learn that the Tanzanian culture was one of non-confrontation. With that in mind we thought if we could continue to be calm, friendly and non-confrontational yet determined, we could secure a satisfactory outcome.

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The police said they were there to facilitate the negotiation but it was up to us what we wanted to receive and if we would accept a settlement. Here was a sneaky pic I took with my phone of the room we did out mediation in. Our case file is on the table.

Negotiations started slowly as the issues were outlined. Everything was peaceful and polite at the beginning but then the owner’s brother arrived and his manner started to make things a bit adversarial and stressful. Their first negotiation tactic was the guilt trip. He said his brother, the owner, had a nervous condition that leads to panic attacks and that he has a medical certificate to prove this. The owner certainly did look nervous and it did make me feel bad for sure. But the way the brother was going about this made it seem like an intimidation tactic than anything else. We told him we were sorry for this and if he needs to take time away from the meeting at any point we understand. We also pointed out that it was not stressful until the brother had arrived.

The brother continued along with the guilt trip, asking why we blamed the owner when it was obvious he didn’t steal our stuff. No, he didn’t, but we think his staff, his family, either did or more probably knows who did, and he is responsible for his staff. When we mentioned that we knew he was family, there was a bit of a collective ‘gulp’ by the opposing team.

The brother got straight into trying to put the blame on us for leaving our valuables in the room. He said the sign at reception saying management is not responsible for stolen items, meaning they are not liable. We argued that, that only applies when they have fulfilled all their legal obligations as a hotel owner, and the fact that they had people staying in the hotel unregistered means they had failed in that duty of care.

We told the owner that we had an idea about how the robbery was carried out and so do the police. We would like to know what he thought may have occurred; he seemed a bit taken aback by the question. He said that he thought a man off the street must have entered. We said there was a guard on duty and a large fence around the property. He said that the guard cannot see everything, all the time. We said ok but how do you think the person entered the room? We had the key and you say there was no second key available. He said that Tanzania has many skillful lock pickers. We told him we thought it very unlikely that a skillful lock-picker just happened to walk off the street into the hotel, past the guard and pick our door and the door of the other guy who had his laptop stolen, David, an hour after we arrived.

The police said they didn’t believe the lock had been picked and we told him we thought rather someone had used a second set of keys or a master key on both rooms. We asked the owner if he thought it is possible that one of his staff could have stolen a master key or cut a second set of keys and either carried out the robbery or gave the keys to someone else to do it. He wouldn’t answer the question. He went back to saying it must have been a stranger. We gently asked again if he didn’t think it was possible one of his staff did it. Again no answer. When questioned on this matter a few different times by us and the Police, he was very evasive and non-committal about the existence of a master key, leading us to suspect he was protecting his family.

We told him the way we thought it had happened. We arrived at about 6pm to an empty hotel and checked in. We went to our room to wash and rest, and the receptionist phoned the bow-legged man to tell him some foreigners had checked in. An hour later when we get the key to lock our room and go out for dinner, we see the bow-legged man in reception. He has come to the hotel and is waiting for us to leave. We go for dinner and he robs our room and David’s room with a master/second key he has been given by the receptionist. The bow-legged man then later splits the spoils of the theft with the receptionist and the guard. We thought this scenario was much more plausible than “a master lock picker walked in off the street”.

While this was being debated a law trained policeman stepped in and told them we were right and that they were liable under ‘vicarious liability’, as they are responsible for hiring trustworthy people who know their jobs. Additionally the owner had also neglected to address the security issue raised a week previous when a person complained of having his phone stolen from his locked room. The owner had failed to change any locks in the hotel leaving their guests exposed to an unsafe situation. This is negligence and he is confident a judge would rule as such should the matter go to a trial.

This really changed the tone of the negotiation. There was no more talk about it being our fault or being out of their hands. They agreed they needed to take responsibility and that they were up for compensation. So now it was a matter of how much. We provided them the list of goods stolen and approximate values. It all came to about 7 million shillings, about $US3200. We told them we would not seek the cash that was taken as we had no way to prove that it was missing. All the other items stolen we could prove were in our possession prior to the robbery but not after. We also acknowledged that the phone that was stolen was old so we took the settlement price to 6 million.

A friend of the owner countered by offering 1 million shillings, about $US460. We told him this wasn’t even close to a fair offer of compensation. The friend then went on to protest and tell us that they didn’t have much money. The detective had informed us that the owner and his supporters would try to claim that they didn’t have money but not to be fooled by that. He said the owner himself owns three good hotels in Singida alone. He said they are wealthy and even if they weren’t they need to face up to their responsibilities.

The friend started to give attitude and told us “we are not rich, don’t look at my big stomach and think we are rich and eating all the time” and then he explained that he only had a big stomach because they eat a lot of carbohydrates. He went on “we are African, we don’t have money, we only eat one meal a day, we don’t eat three meals a day like you.” This was the only time we got assertive and angry with someone. Firstly these fellas were very well fed guys, and the notion that this fella had missed a meal in his life, let alone 2 a day was laughable. They were dripping in bling and well dressed and among the richest people in town but that was all irrelevant. Mick interrupted him firmly and said, “No, that is unfair you don’t know about us. Do not make assumptions about us and we will not make assumptions about you.” This was the first time they had seen us serious and not happy and it had an affect. Mutual respect was maintained and there were no more “you have more money than me” gaming.

We told them the last thing we want is to be here and all we ever wanted was to stay a night in a decent safe hotel and leave with all our belongings the next morning. This settlement is not what we want but it is what is right. Having a hotel makes you money but it comes with responsibilities too. And you didn’t fulfill them and we among others have paid the price for this. And we deserve to be compensated at least to replace what we have lost due to your negligence.

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Another pic of the negotiating table during yet another break in proceedings. Just some random people in the background.

They then took their offer up to 2 million which we communicated was still was far off reasonable for all the stuff we lost. We told them we can work with them and take the settlement fee down further as I had gone and replaced my expensive stolen I-phone with a cheap Chinese alternative phone. So given that we could accept 5 million. They then came up to 3 million. They tried negotiating more and I reminded them that this is not a marketplace where we are arguing the cost of vegetables. This is a meeting to discuss a settlement for a robbery that happened at their hotel a little after an hour after we arrived.

At this point an old man who had been eavesdropping spoke up and gave his 2 cents to the hotel owner and his supporters in Swahili. The detectives and the owner and his crew all laughed and nodded at the old guys tongue lashing. I later asked the detective what was said and he told me the old guy had basically told them to cut the shit. He said they thought they were so smart and that they could treat them (Mick and I) like we were stupid. “You think they are stupid, I can tell you they are not. And if you keep this up you’ll find out yourself. What if they talk to their embassy? What if this goes to court? Pay the money. You know you owe it.”

The owner and his family asked to be excused to discuss things. When they returned they agreed that they would come to the station tomorrow with the 5 million shillings. After 6 or so hours we had an agreement.

Negotiations – Day Two

The owner and his family were late again and the detective let them know it. They had also come with only 3 million shillings. They said it was all they could pay. The detectives cracked it at them and reminded them that they had agreed to 5 million and that now they were simply playing games. It really was a clear ploy to save money, hoping we would opt to save time and just take what they had at hand. Pretty understandable really. Yet we challenged this by telling them we can give them more time to secure the funds they had agreed to pay, which in itself was a clear ploy to get them to pay up rather than have to deal with us any longer.

We told them once again that we were much more interested in getting our goods back than the money. We never wanted any of this. As such we told them we would be willing to hold the 5 millions shillings they give in a bond for 3 months. We told them that we can wait to replace our laptop but only for a maximum of 3 months when we would need to use the money from the settlement. Should they find our stuff, even just one item still in working order between now and then we will return that good’s proportional value of the settlement to them. We would be happy to do this and have good friends in Arusha who could facilitate the transfer of money for the goods with the assistance of the police. We reasoned that this gives everyone more time to get the outcome they want. Our desired outcome is to be reunited with our belongings while they no doubt would like their money back. So the bold proposition gives us all a fair short-term resolution and longer-term opportunity.

They liked the sound of this and it went to show that we weren’t out to bleed them dry, just to retrieve our stuff or have a fair enough settlement to replace most of it. They again agreed to pay the full 5 million shillings and we agreed to meet again at 4pm tomorrow.

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Realising for all our travels in Tanzania we neglected to post a picture of the culinary institution that is “Chips Mayai – Chips with egg.” It is everywhere in TZ. And sometimes all that’s on offer. We got sick to death of it, but I look on it now with nostalgia.

The next day we received the full 5 million shillings. The owners friend who had initially given us the attitude in the negotiation gave me the money and apologised for the situation and difficulty. He said they were so sorry that this happened. I also apologised saying that it is a regrettable situation for everyone and that I hoped some items could be tracked down and that we can return this money to them. We agreed that it may be easier to find the items when we had left town and people were more willing to talk knowing they could assist and avoid punishment. We then signed a statement agreeing to the settlement and outlining the repayment agreement should an item be retrieved.

So in the end we walked away with a settlement payment of about $US2300, but not just that we had very positively incentivised the owner and his family and friends to track down the stolen items. We knew we might not see our stuff again but it felt good to know there still remained a chance.

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The settlement document.

For what was a pretty unpleasant thing to happen we had managed to achieve as good a resolution as I think we could reasonably hope for. We were happy with the way we had handled things, there were no tears, no raised voices, no voicing of anger, no nastiness and all dealings were polite, calm and collaborative. We were lucky but we were also aware of a number of cultural norms that helped shape our response to the situation.

Despite having a big wad of cash (seriously, the biggest note in Tanzania is 10000 shillings so 5 million is 500 notes and about 15cm thick!) and after what many Africans have gone on to describe as a major win, we didn’t feel great. In a way I felt bad for the owner who I couldn’t shake the feeling was a decent and gentle man. Yet I know that he was at least partly aware and ultimately responsible for these things happening under his roof. It was straight up just a regrettable situation.

The detective had told us that he thinks the settlement is actually a good opportunity for the owner. He was of the mind that the owner probably knew what his family members (the staff) were doing at the hotel. However he hadn’t had the strength to stand up to them about it. Now that he had such trouble result and a lot money paid in settlements he would be able to take back control of the hotel and get rid of the problem family members. We hoped that was the case.

It was worth staying in town for a week to sort matters out, however now if meant we really couldn’t reasonably expect to avoid the rainy season in the Congo. But this issue, like all the ones before it, seemed like just another challenge in need of overcoming.

Blog 58 by Tan: A Reunion, A Concussion and a Case of Collusion

Finding ourselves visiting with Caleb and Joanna was a fantastic and unexpected treat. As the diligent blog followers among you may recall, meeting this family was a pure matter of chance. And one that makes me realise my mum may have been wrong all those years back when she tried to teach me not to talk to strangers. Caleb is a mad biker and had read our ride report on ADVRider so recognised our rather distinctive bikes in the car park of a large shopping mall in Nairobi. While Mick was working on the bikes at our campground I found myself being treated to a meal by this lovely family. Caleb, his wife Joanna and his kids had recently made the move from the Omo Valley in Ethiopia to Arusha, Tanzania and were returning there when they stumbled across me in a car park.

We parted ways agreeing to drop in on Caleb’s parents on our way north. At that time we were (officially) still operating according to our old plan that we would ride to Europe via Ethiopia, Sudan and Egypt. For a number of reasons however we were thinking about throwing that idea out the window. Firstly, we were feeling that the 10 months we had originally planned for Africa was simply not near enough time. What we had seen convinced us that Africa would be a different place before we knew it and we wanted to see more of it and ride its best and toughest routes before they were all paved over. We had seen it everywhere. The legendary routes we’ve lusted after for years were on their way to becoming tarred highway or at least well graded and better serviced. Good news for the locals perhaps but not so much for selfish advriders like ourselves.

We thought the time was now for Africa so we went back to our original route map… laughed at it, then set about making a new one. To allow more time in Africa we placed our plans to ride Scandinavia on the chopping block. We reasoned a visit to the almost nearly perfect people and places of Scandinavia was an expensive option and one that could wait for another time. Likewise, any plans to explore Europe were cut down to simply visiting friends and carrying out some necessary bike work. Mick had already seen a lot of Europe and while I hadn’t, I figured it was somewhere that could wait for when we were older and better funded.

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Our Old MK2 Plan – before we learned we are no good with plans. this was sour first major change after borders closing on the West Coast due to Ebola and Boko Haram pushed us the East Coast

With more time in our back pocket we set about making a new plan for Africa. Egypt was starting to sound like too much of a pain for us to bother. Tourism had been down in the dumps for years and shipping from Europe to Egypt had essentially come to a halt. With less money coming in and the laws of supply and demand in action Overlanders were being taken to the cleaners trying to ship their bikes to Europe. Reports of the bribes and fees being paid were shocking and we could think of far better things to spend those kind of sums on.

To avoid the hassles of shipping from Egypt, Overlanders have increasingly been travelling to Israel and shipping their bikes to Turkey from there. It was more expensive but you avoided extortion by corrupt Egyptian authorities. Yet recent terrorist related BS had made that option increasingly difficult to execute. Reports, including first hand ones we received, had the Sinai Peninsular completely off limits to motorbikes at that time. Even bikes being transported on the back of trucks were not permitted on to the Sinai from the south. This was due to motorbikes being stolen and used by terrorists who strap explosives to the bike, ride across the desert and attack military camps. Some overlanding friends of ours shipped their cars out of Port Sudan to avoid Egypt all together. This was all sounding rather like something we were keen to avoid dealing with.

Then the idea came, with inspiration from Richard, an English overlander we met in Nairobi who had crossed DRC multiple times, and news that with the Ebola crisis in West Africa was largely over we could fulfill our original original plan of riding up the west coast of Africa to Europe. We were, of course, in Ethiopia when we finally decided decided this. For us travelling through the dodgy north and central African countries was not at all appealing – Chad, Central African Republic, South Sudan – Nope, Nope and Nope.

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Newer MK3 plan, which is actually just our MK1 plan with Scandinavia cut off – Don’t take it too seriously… I know we don’t.

What did sound doable and rather excellent was to cross the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The idea of tracing the rather legendary crossing of DRC from Lumbubashi to Kinshasa appealed to us to no end. So we resolved to do it.

In order to do the crossing and the remaining distance through the much less serviced central and west Africa, we needed a huge swag of parts and consumables. Our chains would need replacing after the Congo, plus we needed a bunch more spare bearings, sprockets, proper hardcore off road tyres. A huge amount of stuff really. And outside of South Africa and Namibia it is difficult, time consuming and ridiculously costly to source such things. We priced a set of tyres in Lusaka, Zambia and due to unavoidable import costs just reading the price was enough to bring tears to our eyes.

But then we recalled we had made a great South African biker mate while we were in Mozambique who might be able to help us in this department. Leon is a fantastic fellow biker, braai’er and adventure rider of note and he had previously offered us assistance when we needed it. He had the resources that could well be able to make supplies we bought in South Africa on the cheap appear in Zambia in a way that would avoid the usual transport costs and high import fees. We contacted him and being the legend that he is, he was only too happy to help. Knowing we could get everything we needed for the crossing of central and west Africa planning began in earnest.

The east-west crossing of DRC would be sufficiently challenging to satisfy the adventurous streak in most people. But not, Mick it seemed, who thought why merely do something difficult when we can do a couple really difficult things. Soon our simple east-west crossing of DRC morphed into a north-south then a east-west crossing. Plus we wanted to drop in on an Aussie geologist who worked and lived near Goma who had helped us out for latest on the ground info and securing the pain in the backside invitation letter required for the DRC visa. In addition to visiting the fella in question is that it would allow us to see Mt Nyiragongo, the world largest lava lake in the world, as well as see Congo’s famous mountain gorillas. The budget would take an absolute walloping but it seemed like money well spent. Lofty goals, great plans, full awesome… but as ever Africa was listening, laughing and preparing to heave a great big spanner or two in the works to remind us who was boss.

But back to our stay in Arusha. The time necessary to secure our DRC visa from the Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa presented a fantastic opportunity to spend time with Caleb, Joanna and their ridiculously fantastic kids, and do some bike maintenance. Once again we were treated to warmth and hospitality, great conversations and wonderful home cooked meals. One of the unexpected delights of the trip for us has been learning that you can indeed meet wonderful people and make life long friends even as a transient hobo on the back of a bike.

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Me doing a lazy U-bolt.

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On to some nice gravel road.

Caleb and his fellow bike mad friend, Nate regularly hit the trails around Arusha and we all resolved to go for a two-day ride out to Lake Natron. We packed a change of clothes, a toothbrush, tools and first aid kit and set off. We were expecting a fun bit of off-road and some great views of Lake Natron and the nearby Ol Doinyo Lengai volcano. The trails didn’t sound all too demanding and the distances we were looking at were minimal. It would be an extra treat to shed all our luggage for the ride. It was to be a fun outride with plenty of time to chill and socialize. We certainly didn’t anticipate anything like what actually unfolded.

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Caleb on his weapon of a KTM500EXC.

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Nate on his old beastly KTM400.

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Nate again. See how nice the road was.

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Me on my comparatively gutless DR.

Just hours into the ride it all went south. We’d been riding on some nice dirt roads that wound their way through the country-side. There wasn’t much in the way of erosion damage or dicey gravel. It was good. Then things got a bit dustier so we all started to spread out further for visibility’s sake. Mick was out in front, followed by me then Nate and Caleb behind. At a guess we were travelling at about 80-85km/hr. Which… well… was a bit fast at least for the later sections of track where conditions on the road had started to deteriorate. We began slowing down as the erosion damaged section of track showed deep trenches starting to appear on either side of the route. Just as I was noticing all this I found myself riding into a huge amount of dust that completely obscured my vision. I figured Mick must have just ridden through a big dust bowl and kicked up all the dust.

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It was suddenly odd manouriving the bike without all the luggage on it. Was a different bike altogether.

All you can do at this time is wait for the dust to settle and hope there is nothing hazardous in front of you because you sure aren’t going to see it. So I just braced myself just incase and carefully tried to brake in a controlled manner in the dust. Just at that moment I saw something light coloured less that a metre and just to the left of my front wheel. Instantly I know it was Mick’s jersey. He was down.

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Mick after his crash. Mick’s bike looked just as rough as he did.

I knew I hadn’t hit him but I had no idea where his bike was so was afraid of smashing into it and I could still scarcely see a thing. Logic should have told me that Mick’s bike would have most likely be behind him and me but at time I feared I could hit the bike at any moment. A bit more dust settled in time for me to make out a huge trench in front of me. I remember thinking about how far behind the other guys were and if they were about to ride into the same thing. I slammed on the breaks, stopping right before the trench and basically dove off the bike not even thinking to put the side stand down. All I could think about was dragging Mick off the road before he could get hit.

Luckily for us the guys were farther back than we thought so the dust had settled by the time Nate reached us. As for Mick… he seemed okay but had obviously had a huge crash. Mick was completely covered in bulldust and was moving rather gingerly. When I look back now he made a long and labored groan that should have told me that something was off with him. But in the moment it seemed like an appropriate noise to be making after impacting hard ground at speed. Immediately afterwards he was acting and moving in a way that seemed rather typical for a big stack.

Thankfully due to our protective equipment Mick was moving around without difficulty and seemed on his way to getting his head around what had happened. He asked how it happened and who was leading but just the once. We got him to sit down and take it easy for a bit. The dust in his eyes was irritating him so I retrieved the first aid kit from the bag that was fastened to the rear rack of the bike and retrieved the eye drops for him (really handy bit of kit – bring plenty). I was surprised to see that a lot of the contents of the first aid kit had burst and broken in the impact. Based on the where the first aid kit was located that could only mean that the bike had gone end over end in the crash. Mick’s bike was facing the opposite direction to his travel with seemed to support the theory.

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The handlebars were massively bent.

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And he lost a mirror. The old crack in the tank reopened, forks a bit twisted in the triple clamps, front fender damaged but other than that not all that much was wrong with the bike. They may be slow, and fat and a bit ugly but these bikes are tough.

Mick’s bike was clearly in a bad way and didn’t look rideable. Mick at this time seemed to be okay but still shaken up and a little confused if anything. We got the GPS to determine our exact location. During our last visit to Tanzania we had the good fortune of connecting (through ADVRider) with an American biker named Will who worked at a medical clinic at Karatu which we figured was not too far from us. We had invited Will on this very ride but he himself had only just returned from a bike trip and needed to prepare for work.

We wanted to work out if it would be closer for us to travel with Mick to Will’s hospital in Karatu or to one of the bigger hospitals in Arusha. I couldn’t recall at the time how to determine the distance by road to Karatu and then Arusha so asked Mick to do it. What seems so strange now was that he had no trouble whatsoever doing this. It is part of the reason why we didn’t immediately notice things weren’t alright with Mick’s head.

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And so is he. We managed to get Mick to sit for a bit.

But then I mentioned that Mick’s fuel tank was leaking. Mick seemed shocked at the news. I told him not to worry as it is just the old crack that had re-opened after the impact. “There is a crack in my tank!!!” Mick said in alarm. The crack in Mick’s tank that he had welded up twice was actually the bane of our existence at that time. We simply had to make it last to Europe as the import duties and freight of the tank to anywhere in Africa were prohibitive, it was an issue we had mulled over many times. The fact he seemed shocked at the existence of any crack made me instantly aware there was a problem. I walked up to Mick, looked him in the eyes and said slowly “Mick, do you not recall that you had a crack in your tank?” Again he expressed complete shock that his tank was cracked. Then I asked him “Mick, do you know where you are?” I saw desperate confusion in his eyes as he tried to think of the answer. I asked him what country he was in. He eventually replied “Ethiopia, no Kenya” which, while close, was not the country we were in. I asked him if he recognised the other guys. Initially he couldn’t identify either Caleb or Nate.

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Mick was trying to figure out what on Earth happened but was drawing a complete blank.

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Poor fella didn’t even remember leaving for the ride.

So getting to a hospital took on a sense of urgency as Mick had obviously taken a huge hit to the head in the fall. Marks on the helmet attested to this too. We gave our friend Will a call (who is very conveniently a trained paramedic) and described our location and Mick symptoms and asked what he thought we should do. Rather than go to Karatu, Will and his great foreign hospital, he advised us to get in a car and travel directly to the Arusha Lutheran medical centre as Mick needed to get to a CT machine ASAP and that was on the only hospital in the area with one. He told us the only other CT machine in the whole of Tanzania is located in Dar Es Salaam. Even as worried as I was at the time about Mick I couldn’t help but think we were so fortunate to be so close to only one of two CT machines in the country and to have a paramedic friend in the know just a phone call away.

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Where Mick smacked in. His bike was originally near where he was sitting before we moved if out of the way.

We were also lucky that we were a group of four and both Caleb and Nate were absolute legends dealing with the crash. Caleb having grown up in Africa is a cool head and problem solver of note so jumped on his bike and gunned it back home to Arusha where he would pick up his car and trailer and return for the stricken bikes. Nate, who had lived in Tanzania for many years and spoke Swahili, jumped on his bike to ride to the nearest town to arrange a car to take Mick and I to hospital. It didn’t take him long to track down a car and driver in a nearby village and negotiate a fee to transport us from the accident site to the required hospital. While they were gone I tried to take care of Mick who was becoming agitated as the fog of confusion started to ware off and leave only a blank memory. He could not recall even leaving for a ride, where we were going, who we were with and certainly not what happened. He thought we were staying at Jungle Junction, in Nairobi. It was about at this time the questions started.

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Some local guys came along. With fuel pouring from the crack in the tank and with nothing to collect it with we told the guys there were welcome to it if they could catch it. Then had a bottle and split the spoils with me.

Mick went on to ask the same series of 5 or 6 questions over and over and over again, never able to remember the answer for more than a second or two. It went on with nearly no break for the next 2 or 3 hours. The poor guy asked the same questions literally hundreds of times.

“Where were we going?”
“Who was leading?”
“What happened?”
“How fast was I going?”
“My helmet must be f*@ked, hey?”
“I wasn’t doing anything stupid, was I?”

And over and over and over again with less than a few seconds break between questions. The scariest thing about it was that while the order of the questions would change the way he asked the questions remained almost word for word over the next couple of hours. I was seriously worried and could only keep it together if I didn’t look at him. He looked so desperately confused it was hard to watch.

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The nasty trench I was glad to have seen before riding into.

Within a couple of hours we were at the emergency room of the hospital. Now it was just a matter of getting someone to see him. It took time and it was incredibly frustrating. For an emergency department of the best hospital in town it was an utter snooze fest. I was getting close to cracking it at someone when someone finally got to see him. The nurse seemed a bit annoyed at me answering for Michael but cooled it when I told her that she can ask him all she likes but right now he thinks he is in Australia so I don’t know how helpful he is going to be. Mick seemed to understand he was in hospital but thought that was in Perth where we used to live.

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Nate back from his mission to find a ride to a hospital. Lucky for us he speaks Swahili well so quickly sorted out a car to take us to hospital in Arusha. I think we paid about $80. Not that you care about such things as such times. As we headed for Arusha, Nate stayed to guard the bikes. These guys!

We got the CT scan done relatively quickly and the doctor assured us the scan was clear of fractures to the skull, and lesions and bleeding on the brain and that he was fine to return home to sleep. He assured us Mick’s short-term memory would start to come back after the swelling from the concussion went down.

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Mick at the hospital.

By the time we got back to Caleb and Joanna’s we were surprised to see that the guys weren’t back yet from picking up the bikes. Some fun easy ride this turned out to be! Mick was starting to retain a bit of information like where we were and that he had come from hospital. However he still had no idea who Nate was and every now and then he would ask what happened. It was all pretty stressful but we were so incredibly grateful to have so many friends around us.

Mick went to bed and slept soundly even with me poking him periodically to see if he was okay. And did he sleep! We guess he slept about 20 hours the day after the accident and for days and days after that all he could do was sleep. The general malaise that resulted from his concussion had him struggling to do even small tasks for at least a couple of weeks.

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Scans of Mick’s money maker. The doctor the following day was annoyed that the specialist never wrote up a report on the scans. We decided to ignore the idea that he may also have not looked at it in the first place. Joanna had told us that friend of theirs took their young daughter to that same hospital after an accident on a swing-set. The doctor gave her a bandage and said she was fine. They told him she needed x-rays but it seemed he didn’t want to do them as he was about to knock off work. Both the little girls arms were broken it turned out. But the doctor from the previous night seemed confident things were clear… soooo…

After some time to recover, the cause for the crash became slightly less elusive as Mick found himself recalling a couple of things from the crash. Mick recalls seeing a wash out across the road quite late and getting hard on the brakes to wash off speed before hitting it. The rear brake locked and bike got a bit sideways but nothing wild. Then he remembers being bucked off the bikes and just flying. There was a large square edged rock sticking out of the road probably 15cm that, when the locked up rear wheel combined with large amount of pre-load on the rear shock and no luggage, hit the rock, did not compress and sent him flying.

Despite a rather sensational concussion and resultant fatigue Mick walked away from the crash with only a slightly stiff neck. For a crash that the GPS told us occurred at 82km an hour (minus whatever speed got washed off since that reading) where he got thrown over bars and into a ditch, we thought that was a pretty fortunate outcome. Once again our safety gear was to thank for it and once again we were so glad to have gotten on the neck brace bandwagon. After my significant donkey crash in Namibia and now Mick’s crash in Tanzania we are huge advocates for neck braces and will never go back to riding without one. Anyone who hasn’t already thought about getting a neck brace, we highly encourage you to seriously consider it. It doesn’t take long to get used to wearing one, it doesn’t hold you back in anyway and in the event of a big impact you’ll be glad for it. It is a worthwhile investment.

So with Mick on the path to healing our first priority was to give our insurance mob a heads-up about the accident. In our case we knew early on that Mick would be fine and we didn’t need any support from the travel insurance company. The cost of the treatment was minimal at about $150 for the doctor’s consultations and CT scans. We didn’t have receipts for the $80 transport to the hospital and didn’t really mind. Yet we did send them an email and let them know what happened and that at some stage we would be making the claim for the medical costs.

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Mick’s helmet did its job but we couldn’t expect it to do so again. We didn’t think twice at dropping $800 on a new one despite being jobless bums.

We have since lodged the claim and are currently waiting to find out if they are also going to cover the cost of the written off helmet. It is looking positive that they may cover the cost of Mick’s replacement Shoei helmet as we argued that it was a piece of safety equipment (not sporting equipment) that was destroyed in the accident. Currently they are seeking a repair quote for the helmet, to which we are trying to explain that “repair” is not really possible; you don’t fix helmets after a big accident, you replace them. We have gotten on the Shoei helmet website and provided documentation detailing that a helmet is deemed in need of replacement in the event of a large impact. We argued that any impact that has you thinking you are on a different continent from your present location qualifies as a significant impact. The debate goes on. Dare I say it is looking positive.

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They say you either have a Shoei head or and Arai head and after trying both Mick is definitely a Shoei head. We couldn’t source one in Tanzania and reasoned that a compromised Shoei for the few days it would take to get to Lusaka was probably better protection than anything we could find in Arusha, that is if we could even get something to fit Mick’s giant melon.

Our advice is that even if the accident is small and under control it is best to tell your insurance because you don’t know how things might play out. What may initially seem like a small injury that will heal in time may turn out to be a bigger issue than suspected and you will have lessen your of a chance of a successful claim for an injury sustained in an accident that was never reported.

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Mick cooked is famous lasagna. Being dirty bikers not used to cooking for children we neglected to serve the lasange with anything else …and then of course there was the ¾ of a bottle of red wine that went into the bolognaise. Joanna assured as the kids nutritional balance wouldn’t suffer too much. At least we had the protein and dairy (mass cheese) portion covered.

Now, on top of the mass order of spare parts our biker mate Leon was transporting for us, we needed to add a new helmet for Michael and new handle bars to replace Mick’s he bent in the crash. Leon, being the total legend that he is, didn’t baulk at our request that was now essentially for him to deliver half a motorbike store to us in Zambia. The benefit of having such a huge order was that we were able to get a nice little discount to help soften the blow somewhat.

Mick’s Leatt body armour had been slowly degrading after him wearing it day-in-day-out on the trip. The crash highlighted that the elastic mesh of the armour was wearing to the point the pads were starting to move around, providing less than optimal protection. We figured the wisest move was to replace it now while we could. On hearing our woes, our good biker mate Michnus got on board and asked his mate Pauly in South Africa to give us a nice discount on a replacement set of armour. Its always great saving a bit of cash but another thing all together to find ourselves in a bit of a low moment and have so many people looking out for us. All the assistance and goodwill made it impossible to wallow in self-pity.

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The family cat Aslan took a strong liking to Mick. Cat was seriously cutting my grass.

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She was utterly shameless.

While we were throwing down cash like we were in a rap video we thought we should go ahead and each buy a set of goggles. We had opted against bringing goggles on the trip as it was just another thing to carry. However Mick was sporting a bit of a black eye from where his sunglasses jammed into the side of his eye and nose, and was of the belief that the whack to his face probably exacerbated his concussion. Safety first and all that and we chose to go back to running goggles offroad. Live it – Learn it, friends!

With the replacement gear and spare parts ordered it was all about getting Mick and the bikes back to form. It was slow going with Mick sleeping most of the day and managing just small bits of work before getting very tired and needing to go for a nap. He was generally struggling for energy and focus, it just goes to show there are concussions… and then there are concussions.

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And here are their puppies Sheba and Musso. It amuses me to no end recalling the late night chats continually interrupted by Sheba’s out of control flatulence. I thought I was too mature to laugh at farts….Sheba put that self-delusion to rest.

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While taking it easy in Arusha we had the chance to catch up with Mick’s old workmate Chris who now lives in Arusha. Mick and Chris (a geologist by trade) were both BHP graduates back in the day and hadn’t seen each other for about 9 years. That was until by freak chance we ran into him in a hotel in northern Namibia while he was doing fieldwork. Small world!

We don’t even know where to begin in thanking Caleb and Joanna and their kids for taking care of us and making us feel part of the family during our unplanned extended stay. They really are a family apart and despite the unpleasantness of the crash we knew we were fortunate to have had the opportunity to get to know them better. They kept us in good spirits when we were feeling down dealing with logistical pains, bureaucracy hassles getting out DRC visas and with a growing list of bike work.

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Then the repairs began. Here is Mick’s front fender being repaired with his bush mechanic tools of choice – epoxy and beer cans.

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My forkless bike. Lately both our forks have been leaking like sieves so Mick did a full fork rebuild – bushes, seals and fluid. If you look at my front fender you’ll see the previous beer can and epoxy repair. Apparently the brand of the beer can used serves to remind Mick when the repair was done. In my case you can see a Tusker can was used – showing that that repair was done in Kenya.

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All the bits to be replaced (minus the washers) – seals and bushes. Out with the old…..

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Cleaning the lowers

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Luckily we had all the parts we needed for the rebuild thanks to another biker buddy Jeff who was able to get his friends to bring them over from the States to us therefore postage and import duty free. The biker community is a tight one. Here is Mick putting the lowers back in with new seals

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Preparing the guts of the forks for re-install

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Putting the forks all back together. Just add oil and tighten…

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Another one of Mick’s bush mechanic fixes – Here we used nail polish to fill in some wear to the stantion then delicately sanded it back with a fine sandpaper (800 grit then 1200grit).

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We bought the motocross forks off ebay like this and Mick thinks the damage was from the previous owner running them with worn bushes. Mick figured the temporary measure might help stop the seals from leaking as quickly. When we get to Europe we hope to stumble upon a bunch of money to afford to get them rechromed.

As Mick was trying to get the bikes back up to scratch before going to Zambia he sorted problem after problem after problem, the majority of it just wear and tear. New tyres, cush and rear wheel bearings, swing arm bearings, rear suspension linkage bearings, fork seals and bushes, brake pads. Plus there was repair work after the crash, straighten the handle bars to a useable condition, repair the front fender and fix (again) the leaking fuel tank. All of this combined with Mick’s general malaise and lack of drive had him considering a petrol and match permanent fix to his bike. Not to mention a few flat tyres thrown in for good measure. In just one of our false starts we were all packed and dressed and ready to go and heard a “pssssssssssssssssss”. My bike got a flat tyre just sitting there on the grass. Hands were thrown up in the air and the bike was left sitting there until we could bring ourselves to look at it.

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Rebuild complete.

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Crack repair number 3. The first repair was rough and ready with what we had on hand (a tyre iron heated up on our petrol stove way back in Ethiopia). The second repair was a better effort with a soldering iron but didn’t withstand the bikes later 80km/hr end-over-end crash into a ditch, which is probably fair enough.

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For the latest repair Michael plastic welded in the same manner as repair number 2 (with a soldering iron) but added into the weld a piece of very fine stainless steel ~1.0mm rat wire mesh that had 3mm by 3mm squares. We lost the photos of the repair ‘in progress’ but these photos are of the repair in Morocco, 18000km and a tonne of tough riding later, hence all the dirt

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Mick – the bearing obsessive, in his natural state replacing wearing wheel bearing (the dodgy way – with a hammer… carefully of course and only on the outer race). For amusement I recommend showing Mick a picture of a collapsed bearing and beholding his icy look of disapproval. These rear wheel and cush drive bearings did about 25500kms from Namibia; while the wheel bearings still felt kind-of ok, the cush drive bearing was starting to get a bit of play so Mick replaced the lot as a set of 3

But eventually, the bikes were in one piece with all tyres stay inflated and we found ourselves ready to go. In our hot little hands we had our passports with the hard gotten 2-month multi entry visa for DRC. All the necessary bike bits were on their way to Zambia and then, suddenly, so were we. As ever it was a bitter sweet departure as it felt good to be wheels rolling but sad to be leaving the company of such lovely people. As soon as we left we found ourselves mentally planning a reunion in Australia.

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Saying our goodbyes to this wonderful family.

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Only to have my rear tyre blow and put off our departure because its all too hard.

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I suspect the cat orchestrated the flat tyre to give her more time with Mick.

For all the hassles and false starts it must be said the bikes were performing better than they have in a long time. After completing a few chores in Arusha, including stocking up US currency for our DRC crossing, we were finally wheels rolling… just a couple weeks later than initially planned. With the delay of the crash we had made the decision to drop our planned visit to Goma where we were to enter from Rwanda. We had heard from our mate Jamie in Goma that the rains, though light had started there in the north. We simply didn’t think we could spare the time after losing so much due to the crash or money after the post cash-spending spree. The volcano and the gorillas would have to wait for some other time. We resolved to keep abreast on the progress of the wet and do our best to manage the north-south route, although time wise this was looking also very unlikely. At the very least we knew we would manage the east west crossing with its slightly later wet season in the south of the country.

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Saying goodbye to one of the most special women I’ve ever met. Looking forward to cementing the friendship further in the years to come… For the sake of our friendship I can only hope she will one day overcome her jealously of my stylish wardrobe.

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Caleb, Nate and his son off for another outride. I’m sure they were shocked to see us actually gone at their return.

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And just before we left Mt Kilimanjaro decided to show her glaciers we’d so enjoyed seeing up close years ago.

The delay of the crash and recovery and repair time had pushed our arrival into the DR Congo further into the wet season. We knew our best bet for an ‘easy’ DRC crossing was to complete it before the worst of the wet seasons rains which would render the difficult track across the country a veritable quagmire. It was starting to feel like a race against time. So with that in mind we got busy pounding boring tar to make it to our destination. After a great first day on the road we checked into a nice looking hotel. Over a quick dinner in a nearby restaurant we were starting to feel like we were back in the game, in the upwards swing of the bad luck pendulum and well on our way to kicking all the goals in front of us.

Then we opened the unlocked door to our hotel room to find we’d been cleaned out. Laptop, hard drive, camera, phone, custom headphones, cash – $US3300 of value – all gone-sies. And in their place, the stank of a rat.

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