Dozens of buckets on a bicycle.

A sore knee woke me up at two am, forty hours after getting hit.  I try to move the knee into a more comfortable position. I’ve numbered dozens of different positions, but in a language that I’m not very familiar with and some of the positions have alternates marked with Roman numerals.  I wish I could remember which position would relieve the pain!  As I gradually wake up I realize that there are not dozens of positions for my knee to be in, just a couple.  So I got out of bed and walked off the pain.  It feels stiff in the morning but seems to improve with pedaling.  Many people notice the road rash on my knee and say “pole sana” (a condolence) when I describe the incicdent.  They know how dangerous piki-pikis can be.  Last night our waitress was overworked since her colleague is in the hospital with a leg broken by a piki-piki.  Moshe is near Kilimanjaro, but we can only see it’s lower slopes.  The summit is hidden in clouds.

Rest stop at Lake Duluti.

The only UPS package car I've seen in Africa did not move for the week we were in Arusha.

This clock is no joke. Dawn & dusk is 12 o'clock; noon is 6.

I got hit for the first time this trip by a piki-piki (motorcycle).  He knocked-off my right-side Bikebin, spilling the contents on the busy highway.  After picking myself up, I gathered up the gear and moved to the side of the road to clean and dress my wounds.  There’s a road rash on my right knee and some skin off my right thumb, too.  A spoke nipple broke off the front wheel and two chain links and one sprocket tooth bent on the large front sprocket.  I removed the damaged chain links and pedaled back to Arusha where bike mechanic Juma bent the tooth back into alignment, replaced the spoke nipple and trued the wheel.  I put an epoxy patch on the plastic Bikebin and wires to hold on the broken hinges.

The hit-and-run piki-piki driver may have assumed I was on a motorcycle, as many people do, speeding downhill; and he did not expect me to slow going uphill when he slammed into me.  We spent two more nights in Arusha enabling us to visit Alex at One Heart Source for a third time.

If I was going to suggest an easy country for a three week bike tour in a beautiful and exotic part of the world that wouldn’t require a lot of training, that included amenities like comfortable accommodations found less than 100km apart, cool temps for biking, safe roads, a bicycle culture, beautiful beaches, lake swims, interesting topography, great views, and friendly people, I would suggest Malawi. Our travel here was among the most stress free of the trip.

We spent only 18 days in the country, entering the day after David’s birthday and exiting on mine. Lake Malawi extends vertically down most of the country and we were able to ride near the shore most of the time. Especially wonderful were the beach front lodgings, some in the higher end range where we might stop just for a break and for a taste of real coffee, some at the other end of the range with a thatched roof , cement floor and outhouse, then some in the mid range with amenities for tourists. I loved the peacefulness and the many beautiful sunrises and moonrises in those lodgings. Much more densely populated than Mozambique many more people walked along the road and many, many people rode bicycles. Approaching larger towns I needed to be vigilant, not for large trucks, speeding bus traffic, or inattentive drivers (as was my focus in other parts of the world when approaching large towns), but I needed to be aware of what the many cyclists were doing. I have found that in countries where cycling is not a hobby, but a mode of transportation, the roads feel much safer. Drivers expect bicycles to be on them; they understand the space they need and they generally respect their right to be there. In Malawi, also, there was little traffic, which made the roads very safe to travel.

Like in Mozambique, where I didn’t see many large trucks hauling goods from one place to the other, it suggested to me there was little industry other than farming. In abundance, however, were the signs of NGO’s (charitable non-governmental organizations). Joint projects between the government and various aid organizations were everywhere–to grow cassava, maize, beans, vegetables, coffee, tea, to process fruit juice, charcoal, sugar, to irrigate and improve the land for crops and on and on. We saw several orphanages along the road, most likely for children whose parents died of AIDS. We saw many missions and their schools, both of the Christian faith and newer buildings of the Islamic faith. I had questions about all the charitable money spent. Malawi, like Mozambique is one of the poorest countries in Africa. We met farmers whose cash income was just $30 per month. It seemed to me with all this evidence of aid money being spent we should have seen a little more prosperity.

Charitable giving also became evident in the enthusiasm we were greeted by village children. Children whooped and hollered “Muzungu!!” for “white person” in joyful glee at the sight of us and came running from all directions. While I do feel their joy was often genuine and without guile, we also began hearing the phrase “Give me money! Or “Give me pen!” more and more often; and more and more often, after a wave of the hand, we were given the gesture of an upturned palm. I began to feel that the children were used to muzungus giving them things. Then I remembered in the past people talking about visiting villages in the third world. Before they left home they put together boxes of school supplies or other useful kinds of things to hand out to children rather than giving them candy or money. Indeed we met cyclists who carried balloons, or even frizbees to give to children. Come to think of it, I’ve also contributed to the project of two world cyclists who handed out bikes to children in two different orphanages in areas they traveled. What better thing to do than to bring joy to children who have so little (especially compared to the closets of toys children have in the world I’m from), children who appreciate even the smallest of gifts? The downside is the demanding expectant child whose first words to us when she/he reached the side of the road was “Give Me!” I don’t have an answer to what is the right thing to do.

Alex Mathews with Saidi, a Tanzanian volunteer.

Alex Mathews (21), a senior at UCLA and my second cousin, is spending her second summer volunteering with One Heart Source in a village near Arusha. Alex’s grandfather (my Uncle Stan Mathews) connected us when he realized we’d be in Tanzania at the same time. We stopped in to visit and were impressed with her dedication and commitment to helping others, a passion we felt in all the people we met in the organization, all younger than 26.

College students volunteer for 4-week or 8-week sessions.

Kristin Danielson Bender, who I grew up with in Amery, serves on the board of JBFC in northwestern Tanzania; which we were not able to visit. Both charities were started by college students. Many young travellers we’ve met, both in Africa and South America, spend some time volunteering while exploring the world.

Watching the changing light & clouds on Mt. Meru(4565m) from the rooftop bar at Arusha Backpackers.

We found a modern bike shop in Arusha, the trekking and safari center of Tanzania, located at the foot of Mt. Meru (4565m) which blocks our view of Kilimanjaro (5895m). I got another new chain since my gears are still slipping; then found out the problem is that some of the teeth on my rear sprockets are worn almost to sharp points (after 30,000 km). Luckily they have a new 8-speed cassette here. I also replaced my knobby tires with smoother 26 x 1.75 tires that have no name brand or country of origin. The 26 x 2.125 knobby tires (with only 1500k and 1000k on them) were good for unpaved roads but unnecessary on pavement. Julie had her bike tuned-up and front hub tightened again. While looking for a new memory card for the old camera I’ve been using for 3½ months since my second new camera was stolen in South Africa; I walked into Benson Electronics and saw new Olympus cameras! Shops in South Africa do not carry the shockproof/waterproof model I want, but here they do. I bought the newer version Olympus Stylus Tough-6010, with 12 megapixels. I’d been using a 5 megapixel Olympus Stylus 500 (my first digital camera). The bad news is that when I downloaded my last thousand photos onto a flash drive (instead of just replacing the memory card) it automatically erased the memory card and the photos are not on the flash drive. I hope there is some way to retrieve them.

Old 8-speed cluster (left) & new.

Escarpment of Africa's Great Rift Valley overlooking Lake Manyara.

We might have made the 140 km to Arusha if not for the headwinds and two flat tires. Maasai herdsmen stop by to watch me change the flats; We’re as odd a sight to them as they are to us.  Neither of us slept well in a guest house behind a noisy bar, and we waited an hour and a half for breakfast in the morning; though the staff was friendly. Lamakh didn’t know what a tip was, even though I used the Swahili word, bakshishi, to describe it. Tipping here is uncommon outside of tourist areas.

Marabou Storks in trees over the road through Mto Wa Mbu.

Yellow, Red, & Green Bananas

A side trip to Ngorongoro Conservation Area on 80k of smooth, newly-paved highway is a delight. A tailwind takes us 36k across the savanna to Mto Wa Mbu (river with mosquitos) in an hour-and-a-half. Then we climbed the 250m escarpment of Africa’s Great Rift Valley overlooking Lake Manyara, passing by several expensive Safari Lodge Resorts. We don’t know if this side trip will be within our budget, but find that Karatu has many non-tourist guest houses like we’re used to. We chose the new Eden Executive guest house, frequented mainly by safari guide drivers. After checking-in, I continued cycling 15k more to Ngorongoro park gate and turned back. Bicycles are not allowed in Tanzania’s parks. “That would be suicide with all those dangerous animals”, a tour guide told us; though the Maasai live in this park and walk along the same roads that I cannot bike on.

The next day we hired Peter to drive us in his old Land Rover through the park to Oldupai Gorge ($120 for 6 hours). The park entrance fee is $50 per person, but we declined to pay the $200 crater services fee (allowing us to drive down into Ngorongoro crater). From viewpoints we gaze across the 23k wide caldera and can see specks moving 500m down below that are wildebeest, buffalo, elephant, and black rhino. It also has the highest concentration of large predators anywhere (lions, leopards, and cheetahs), so we hated to pass it by. As an alternative we continued on bumpy roads (worse than the A104) around the rim of the caldera and down onto the Serengeti plain to see the first footprints of early man at the originally misnamed Olduvai Gorge.

Peter is an independent owner/operater guide.

Ngorongoro crater seen from the rim of the caldera.

First footprints of man walking upright 3.7 million years ago.

Skull of early man (2 million BC)

Maasai beaded neck rings.

Oldupai Gorge.

Last night Julie and I toasted the return of paved roads a day too soon. It is under construction for 66 more kilometers; which was pretty good for cycling, except for the last 10k. Most of the road was smooth, wide and traffic free; then we slogged through deep, sandy stretches; pushing our bikes and eating dust clouds from passing vehicles. My new chain broke just 2k from pavement. I removed the bad link and added four more, so I can use a few more gears now. The terrain has changed to a savanna, with long vistas and more tall Maasai, with stretched earlobes and beaded adornments. It’s been ten days since cycling on a smooth highway and when Julie said that she needed to stop since something was rubbing; I stopped and she ran into me full speed. Julie fell, scraping her elbow, and broke a buckle and hook off my right side Bikebin. I was able to repair it with some spare parts sent to me before this trip by the company president (and inventor of Bikebins). They are holding up remarkably well.

Eating dust.

Baby Baobab

Heku Hantha (92) is Vincent's mother.

The national highway A104 is paved at Babati, 75 km sooner than our map indicates. We had nine flat tires in seven days of cycling on 538 km of terrible, no good, very bad, unpaved road. Politicians have promised it will be paved after the election in October, but don’t expect it to be finished for five years. Julie and I each took a spill on soft sand and have a bruise to show for it. My chain has been jamming while climbing in low gear and I wanted to wait until we were back on pavement before replacing it with the chain I’ve been carrying since Blantyre, Malawi. I replaced it here, but with eight links short (108 vs 116) due to poor quality. The end link bent when I pushed the rivet into it with my chain tool. I could have made the chain just two links shorter; but then I noticed that half a link was missing eight links from the end, so I removed eight. I hope I have no more problems with this Mikango brand chain (made in India).

Vincent Gullo Loya with his mother & sister, our hosts in Bukulu.

Betty, Vincent, Julie & Faraja in the living/dining room.

Departing Bukulu