Broken glass atop a concrete wall.

We slept well and got up before the restaurant opened at six. At least that’s what we were told the night before, and would have left without eating if we knew we would not get served until 7:30. It is 150 km to the next big town and after a flat tire for each of us we knew we wouldn’t make it. I also worried about Julie’s front hub which has loosened up again. We found newly-built quarters in this friendly little town, that is due to get electricity in three months. I borrowed a hacksaw to make a thin cone spanner wrench from a simple flat steel tool and tightened the loose hub. We ate a delicious and traditional vegetarian dinner, using our fingers; and were joined by Jone, an energetic young English teacher here.

Julie fixes a flat.

Eating matapa with Jone.

Sandra, Isaiah & Amelia

There are noticeably fewer villages and people after crossing the Save River; a different dialect is spoken here, too. After greeting people with variations of the Zulu “dishile” or “gi’chile” since KwaZulu Natal; good morning is now “mavata”or “mamuka”. We are both tired after a sleepless night and are pleased to find better accommodations here for $13. We have a bucket bath and a toilet in our room that we can flush with the bucket.

Philipe & a home-made soccer ball.

Baobab trunk as wide as a California Redwood.

A guard post protects the suspension bridge over the Save River “to keep our enemies from blowing it up” explained Agosto, the customs official stationed here. Hostilities ended 18 years ago. Who are the enemies? We arrived at 2 pm and found that it is 110 km to the next town with lodging. Though we didn’t see any sign for lodging here, Agosto directed us to a nearby bar/restaurant that has rustic rondavels in back for only $7 per night. A vegetarian pumpkin and greens stew with rice ($1.50 for both of us) is the only meal available. We enjoy a beer while watching Netherlands vs Slovakia (2-1) on a small TV in a room with wood-plank bench stadium seating. We went to bed at Brazil vs Chile half-time (2-0) and woke up at 11:30 when someone opened our window from the outside. After yelling at them and securing the window I never got a good sleep, as people in the two nearby bars were loud into the wee hours of the morning.

"Ola, Ola, Ola" say the boys in our rondavel's doorway.

Rafters in our rondavel.

Sunrise at Inhassoro

We saw the full moon rise from an old resort on the beach nicer than where we stayed in Vilanculos, and no more expensive. But we don’t regret our detour there because of the people we met. Anna is a young British doctor on her way to work in KwaZulu Natal after taking a tropical disease course in Malawi. Martin Bowler is working to remove landmines from Mozambique (and warned us to be careful when wandering off the highway to pee, especially near bridges); and a South African family with two adorable daughters who spent their vacation volunteering at a mission in northern Mozambique. We watched Germany vs England (4-1) but were too tired to stay up for Argentina vs Mexico.

Girls hauling water

Strong whiskey for 35 cents.

Full moon rising over the Indian Ocean at Vilanculos.

We almost skipped coming here, only 53k, since we could have put in an average 95k day and made it to Inhassoro, the last seaside resort town before we head inland. We’ll still go there tomorrow and discover if we really needed to visit both. We are staying in a nice backpackers lodge, The Zombie Cucumber, with WiFi and a vegetarian curry special tonight. It is named after Kalashnikovs and Zombie Cucumbers, a book about the Mozambique revolution (yesterday was Mozambique’s 35^th Independence Day).

Boys driving toy trucks.

A dhow sailboat in Vilanculos harbor.

Martin Bowler clears land mines.

Blue dhow in the deep blue sea.

Baobab tree.

My chain has finally stopped skipping. I put new chains on in Inhambane two days ago, and after pedaling over 250 km mine is starting to wear in. New chains on old gear clusters normally skip a bit at first; but I’d become resigned to accept that certain gear combinations would always skip with this chain, perhaps I really do need a narrower chain for my 8-speed cluster. Pedaling with a new chain is like riding a new bike (even if it’s a cheap chinese chain). Sections of the road under construction did not slow us down on a 126 kilometer day. We were prepared to ride in the dark to make it to the tourist town of Vilanculos, but this last small town before sunset has a restaurant with quartos. It is owned by a Portuguese woman who grew up here in colonial times (before 1975). Palm trees that dominated the landscape since entering Mozambique suddenly disappeared, and we now see Baobab trees.

Moniche is selling the dry, tart malamba fruit by the roadside.

The bikes & 25 people crammed into a small boat, listing, across Inhambane bay to Maxixe.

We are back in the tropics! We last crossed the Tropic of Capricorn December 6^th in northern Argentina; and we’ll cycle through most of Africa before crossing the Tropic of Cancer in southern Egypt. That is, if we go through Egypt. Though we’re still telling folks that we’re cycling from Cape Town to Cairo, we are considering changing our route since we cannot go through Sudan. One of my priorities has been to cycle a continuous route; but besides the problems of getting visas for Sudan and Libya, there’s a 200k dangerous stretch in northern Kenya (where other cyclists have gotten lifts) and the lack of a road along Lake Nasser in Egypt. So maybe we will fly from east Africa to west Africa so Julie can visit the village of Buah, Liberia where she was a Peace Corps volunteer thirty years ago; and I can still cycle across all the lines of latitude going north through Africa.

23 1/2 degrees S Latitude.

Sunset over Inhambane Bay.

Joussao re-greases Julie's front wheel hub.

Things Fall Apart is a novel by Nigerian author Chenua Achebe, and things are falling apart on us; first our bikes, then our marriage. I did a poor job re-greasing Julie’s front wheel hub. We were rushed to change to a cheaper room and I don’t have the thin wrench needed to tighten the cups and cones. We didn’t know if the wheel would make it 85 km to the next big town. After 8k I tried readjusting the hub, and removed the front brake to allow the wheel to wobble. After 16k I got a flat tire and had Julie go on ahead without me. Creases in the too-big inner tube put a hole in it. After I patched it, air still leaked through another hole in the crease. So I decided to put on one of the new tubes and discover it’s valve is not long enough to go through my rim. I might be able to get it to work, but not here on the side of the road with Julie way up ahead. So I put another patch on the other tube, meanwhile the zipper on the tool bag broke. What am I doing here in rural Mozambique with worn out equipment that might not make it the longer distances between towns coming up?

Back on my bike I’m flying with a tailwind to catch up to Julie, the tire seems to be holding air, and for a couple of hours life is good. At km 64 Julie is still pedaling, but her hub sounds terrible. I take it apart again and find that the hub dust cap, which I did not put on properly, is bulging with bearings that are out of place. Julie is angry that her wheel might be ruined, wondering why she didn’t check my work and discover the problem earlier. I finally get it right, and tighten the cup and cone pretty good with a needle-nosed pliers (on my leatherman) instead of the proper tool. Her wheel is rolling well. Back on the road Julie says she needs to stop, so I do and she almost runs into me (because her front brake was removed).  She yells at me and I yell back at her “You told me to stop!”; both of us irritable.   We stay in a seaside cabin, eat out watching Brazil beat Ivory Coast (3-1), and get things back together.

Dancers with shields & spears.

After a relaxing morning spent at La Goa it took an hour to go the seven kilometers back up to the main road, looking much less sinister than in the dark. We enjoyed seeing village life away from the busy highway. A visit to an overlook found a marimbeiros playing timbilas while men danced holding spears and shields. Our bikes are filthy and Julie’s front wheel bearings sound terrible. We met friendly folks here at Jolly Rogers, many who’d seen us in the muddy traffic jam yesterday, and Michael and Heinrich helped me clean and grease Julie’s bearings. We hope her bike will make it the 85k tomorrow to a bigger town with a bike shop.

The "Marimbeiros of Zavala" playing timbilas.

Spider the size of my spread hand.

Trucks stuck in the mud tie up traffic for hours, just like trucks stuck in Midwest blizzards do.

While walking our bikes by a moonlit lagoon through villages with no electricity we wonder how far it is to Funky Coconuts and what it will be like. This morning we pushed the bikes through ankle deep mud in the rain, getting splattered by passing cars, buses, and trucks; and really need a shower (and a beer) tonight. We turned off the highway at sunset, hoping to get down to that beach lodge by dark. The sign never said how far it was. Each inquiry of passing villagers was answered “just a little further”, or “only two, maybe three kilometers”. We had gone seven km after an hour-and-a-half when we met Nils and found out it was still 3 or 4 km more. Nils invited us to stay at his unfinished eco-friendly lodge ”, La Goa, that is due to open in a couple months.   In the morning light we could appreciate the beauty of this place on a hill overlooking the lagoon, with airy structures built using local materials, and cozy gathering spots nestled under spreading cashew trees.

Motorists are stranded while we push on.

Road construction was set back by trucks driving on the uncompacted lane (behind Julie).

Chicken coop next to "La Goa".

Kerry, Khetsiwe, & Nils at "La Goa" eco-lodge.

They do community development with neighboring villages.

"La Goa" is built with local materials.

The road we trod in the dark last night.