The untold stories

It has been brought to our attention that this blog is perhaps presenting a fairly rose-tinted view of our last eight months. Therefore, in the interest of unbiased reporting and to show what lies behind the smiles and the sunsets, we have compiled a series of photos which should illustrate the somewhat less glamorous side of cycling from China to Africa.

Back to basics: bread, water and bikes have been our staples.

Not usually a fussy drinker, but the homemade Tajikistan brew was not to our liking.

The floor is often preferable to the bed.

With a limited wardrobe, all fashion sense was discarded early on.

The reason communism failed: an ex-soviet en suite bathroom.

Uzbekistan was hot! Taking a post-lunch nap under a bus shelter.

There is simply no greater (nor more widely available) refreshment.

Bike rebuild in Istanbul.

Language barriers occasionally require a more hands-on approach.

You know that storage room behind a hotel reception…. our first night in Egypt.

Finding a pesky thorn.

Another unsatisfactory breakfast.

Fire up the bedroom stove, again.

Beans for lunch and beans for dinner. Hope you like beans if you’re heading to Sudan.

Who would have ever thought that camping in a thorn field would result in multiple punctures?

Low key birthday celebrations this year.

‘Hotel’ rooms: there have been some heart-sinking moments.

Pursuit of cash in Africa has been a challenge: queuing for another empty ATM.

A familiar sight on rest/laundry day.

The washing Wife.

Don’t drop the soap… loo and shower combo.

The simple life: our luggage for the year.


Good places and good people

The ride from Nairobi in southern Kenya, to Arusha in northern Tanzania was a cracker. The roads were quiet, the scenery spectacular and the people of the Maasai tribe who populate the region made for a very unique and colourful sight along the way. Even the border crossing was a breeze (and actually quite enjoyable), as we had our first taste of the laid back and friendly Tanzanian style. Africa was delivering a splendid end to 2014.

A passing Maasai.

Getting rid of the final Kenyan Shillings.

Not the grandest entrance, but certainly one of the easiest for us.

Mount Meru obscured by afternoon clouds.

Once into Arusha (the first major town in Tanzania), we fell into the flawless hospitality of Claire and Niall, who were kind enough to host us for a few days under the impressive shadow of Mount Meru.  What’s more, we were also able to share New Year with some of their friends, which was a situation far preferable to our Plan B: seeing in 2015 from a roadside camping spot. The group were interested to hear of our journey to Tanzania and in a collective act of generosity, decided that a New Years Eve poker game was in order, with the winning pot to be donated to Bicycles for Humanity (B4H).

B4H is a voluntary, not-for-profit organisation providing second-hand bicycles to developing countries, from donations made around the world. There will be more on B4H as we make our way down Africa, but for now, if you wish to find out more about this organisation or follow the lead set by Tanzania’s finest, then feel free to click on the donate tab at this website:


Kathmandu can

For a reason that will forever remain uncertain (but yet fiercely contested), we managed to lose our tent poles somewhere in northern Ethiopia. Since then, we have been without our trusty and ever-dependable Kathmandu tent; a situation which was going to make our onward journey down Africa somewhat trickier.

However, thanks to the thoroughly good folks at Kathmandu in Australia, a replacement set was couriered to us in Nairobi as part of a very well-timed Christmas gift, and so we once again have a shelter.

Thank you Kathmandu, for a level of customer service that we didn’t know even existed.

Check them out:

Corporate good.


Kenyan Driving Lessons

Our entry into Kenya was through the post-apocalyptic border town of Moyale, which provided nothing more than a list of compelling reasons to depart as swiftly as possible. Since beginning this trip we had debated the feasibility of the notorious northern Kenya stretch, as it presented perhaps the most pressing security concerns of anywhere we were planning to ride. We had taken advice from several sources as we neared the border, and after much deliberation we decided not to play our part in that unappealing game of Kidnap & Ransom, and instead, take a bus from Moyale to Isiolo. Given the information we received and the considerable military presence we observed en route, there is either a very tangible threat in this region, or a very paranoid Kenyan State. In the end it was an easy decision.

First stop in Moyale: our ticket out.

Upon reflection however, it may have indeed been preferable to take our chances with the bandits and negotiate our own ransom, given the moderately terrifying experience delivered by our Kenyan bus driver. At the beginning of the journey our biggest concern was whether our bikes would survive the bumpy ride in one piece. Upon arrival in Isiolo though, we were simply pleased to be stepping off at our intended destination. If you ever find yourself needing to make this journey, there is almost certainly a more desirable alternative than the lunatic drivers that operate this route.

Don’t even think about it….

Once back on the bikes and making our way up the foothills of the beautiful Mount Kenya, it was easy to see why this place was the former jewel of British colonisation efforts in Africa. It also felt as though we had finally left behind Northern Africa and crossed a frontier into a very different part of the continent; with conveniences and language no longer such a challenge, and where we were relieved to be generating far less attention as we rolled through each village.

Pre-accident foothills of Mount Kenya.

The fresh fruit is plentiful and delicious.

We finally crossed it.

However, things didn’t improve much on the road. Within the first forty Kenyan kilometres, a particularly impatient and incompetent driver decided that my panniers would look better on the roadside, and my front wheel would work better shaped like a pretzel. After knocking half the peloton onto the verge, he fled the scene immediately (like the gracious gentleman he surely was), leaving behind a shaken rider, an unrideable bike, and equipment in need of some considerable duct tape attention. This was a low point.

In the aftermath of the incident however, as irritated as we were by the clown behind the wheel (of the black Probox, registration KBR115M), we were equally overwhelmed by the kindness of Kenyan locals who represented the antithesis of the moronic driver. Most notably, was the outrageously efficient Victor Mbuthia, who took it upon himself to collect the fractured wheel rim from us and return it as-good-as-new within a couple of hours – and this, in a town where the technical section of the bike shop stocked only baskets and bells. What’s more, Victor then took us on a cycle tour of the Mount Kenya Game Ranch to showcase the region’s highlights; Africa’s second highest peak and its abundant wildlife. Should you ever visit this region, Victor runs bicycle safaris around Mount Kenya, and if our experience with him is anything to go by, they’ll be a well-oiled and worthwhile outing.

Mount Kenya Game Ranch.

Cheeky…black & white Colobus.

We made our way from Mount Kenya to the chaotic sprawl of Nairobi – a city in that would test even the most hardened urban cyclist – where we were fortunate enough to spend Christmas with our friends Jon & Jude, who provided a much needed recuperation for our bodies and bikes; which seemed to be broken in equal measure.

A Christmas Day detour to Tsavo National Park with our hosts.