19 June 2019: So, I left you as I arrived in Dar-Es-Salaam. That was nearly 2 weeks ago now, so I thought I’d skip ahead bring things up-to-date and then go backwards.
I arrived back in Dar on Weds 19th and took a taxi, from the port, to collect the bike. It started first prod! I then went to check in to the AirBnb place I’d booked; it wasn’t ready, even though I was late! So I went to see Paul at the bookshop (I met Paul through Amanda as he rides a bike; he and his wife Sarah run a bookshop in Slipway Mall) and then headed to Polaris (Polaris bought out KTM and they have a dealership and workshop in Dar; I was put in touch with them through Paul) where I had stashed all my gear. There will be more on this when I back track.
While there I decided to tighten up the steering head bearings to try to eliminate the low-speed wobble that had developed after I changed the springs and shocks (it didn’t work). This done, I sorted and packed my stuff and then went to DHL to send the “not needed on voyage” stuff back home. Then to shop for next day’s breakfast and back to flat.
The flat was now ready, but although there was a kitchen, there was not one item of equipment to go with it – not so much as a cup! Since various other things were missing that were listed, I called the owner and, to give her her due, she pitched up 30 mins later with a helper and some bits and pieces. By this time, I had decided it was too late to go out and eat, so dinner was cheese and ham sandwiches, washed down with a beer. Breakfast next morning was the same, minus the beer, but plus an egg. A coffee was next on the list at Slipway Mall, where I got a recommendation from Paul about where to stay up the road.
20 June 2019: Having returned to Polaris to pack and load up, I eventually headed out of Dar about 1300, into what seemed like rush hour traffic. Luckily, I didn’t have too far to go.
Eddie Nurein, my new found friend from Zanzibar, had arranged for me to stay behind a bar owned by a friend in Bagamoyo, only about 75km from Dar. This turned out to be one of the best sites I’ve used so far.
Phil, the owner had organised his nephew, Enoch to meet me. Enoch a young 20-yr old studying sound engineering, later took me on his bike into town to have dinner. We had a great chat about life, the world and the challenges facing young people everywhere. It was a bit like being at home, so I shared some fatherly advice with him, which just reinforced what his own parents had been saying.
Next morning he was there at 7am ready to make me some coffee, before I set off.
21 June 2019: Since none of the local shops were open, I left Kito Bar without breakfast, deciding to stop somewhere en-route instead. After an hour or so, I was feeling a bit peckish, so I pulled over in a little village. There was a roadside place with some tables so I reckoned I could get something.
Well, after a chat, with a lady who was cooking, I bought 3 eggs at the shop next door; a lad went across the road to buy some bread; and then the cook gave me a tomato and cooked me an omelette.
The price? Well, I could have given her cash, but since I couldn’t take the remains of the loaf with me, I offered her that. Looking quite pleased, she accepted, the deal, and off I went.
My stop for the night was to be Maweni Farm Lodge. This was at a height of some 4,500ft (about 1,400m) and I was currently at about 500ft, so some climbing was in prospect.
Now the thing about my bike is that it’s sensitive to fuel mixtures. Those who have been reading earlier instalments will recall the carburettor problems I had. Well, all that seemed to be fixed and the bike was running well. However, each time I checked the plugs, it seemed to be running lean – i.e. too much air or not enough petrol – which can cause the engine to run hot, and in extreme cases burn a hole in a piston – not good.
Height affects the mixture because at higher altitudes, less air comes in through the same hole than at lower ones. I read that moving from sea level to, say, 1,500m one should make a small adjustment to the carburettor. On my trip I have been moving from nearly 3,000m in the morning to 100m in the afternoon, and then a day or so later back up to 2,000m.
Yesterday and today, it was running lean so I adjusted it a bit. I’m trying to get it running a bit rich, which is good for the engine, if not the plugs, and then I can turn it down a bit. Tomorrow, I’ll be going around Mt Kilimanjaro, so going higher than I am now at 1,500m. I’ll be interested to see what effect that has on the plugs.
Anyway back to today (actually yesterday now). So I get myself to Maweni Farm; up a winding mountain road, over some stone bridges built by the Germans about 100 years ago and past some spectacular views. The last 3km is up a rutted gravel road; not too bad all-in-all.
I park the bike and wander towards what I think is the door, where I’m met by Lars, the owner. When I ask if I can camp, he says, “Of course, but I have to warn you we have a bit of a situation here at the moment.” “Oh,” I reply cautiously, thinking maybe he’s just killed his wife or something, “what kind of situation?”
It turned out that he was having trouble with the local “authorities” who were either trying to close him down or evict him; he was in fact waiting for them to come at 6pm with a court order. “So,” he says, “you can stay, but you might have to move if they come and evict me.”
I decide to chance it – it’s late and I don’t fancy riding back down the access road – and anyway, we agree that the more guests there are, the less likely the authorities are to kick us all off at night. I am rewarded by not having to camp and the offer of a room for the price of a campsite.
So, this is Africa! It’s not just in Zimbabwe that property rights can be violated for spurious reasons, underpinned by local green eyes. It is a familiar story; there is peaceful and mutually beneficial co-existence for many years and then someone new moves into the area or takes up a position of authority. Suddenly, all sorts of things, seemingly, have been wrong for years. Previously friendly and helpful officials turn into mini-hitlers, demanding restitution (of what is never clear) and threatening closure, eviction or something even more drastic. So why is Africa under-developed?
In preparation for the “visit” Lars hides all his IT equipment. He’s most worried about his laptop, so I offer to put it in my bag and say it’s mine. Time passes slowly for him, and he’s clearly very nervous, having spent considerable effort in renovating the place and getting it on the map – literally, as he has actually mapped large sections of the region as a forestry man.
We have a beer and later a Dutch couple returns from their hike, so we all sit round waiting for 6 o’clock. It comes. And goes. Nothing! The tension eases palpably and Lars opens a bottle of wine.
The rest of the evening passes off peacefully and convivially in front of a log fire – it’s chilly and I’m extremely happy not to be camping.
22 June 2019: Departure next day is delayed as I spend, yet more hours, trying to sort out my blog; I knew it was a bad idea.
The run down the mountain is quicker than the ascent and I hit the main road to Arusha. This is quite good, although there are the usual slow trucks and kamikaze buses. The scenery is quite dramatic, with high, rugged, verdant mountains on one side and vast, endless plains on the other.
After Sani, the road deteriorates somewhat, and the scenery becomes more dry scrub. The strong side-winds I was warned about don’t materialise, even though they are frequently signposted; must be my lucky day! 🙂
More or less 4 hours after setting out, as promised, I reached Himo, or thought I did. I pulled into a fuel station and got chatting to a policeman who tried hard to find Judy’s Cafe nearby. Nobody had heard of it. Then when I told him it was in Himo, he says, “This isn’t Himo! It’s Himo Junction,” explaining the absence of Judy’s place.
So, I head to Himo and where Judy’s Cafe is supposed to be, I find a busy town centre with buses, taxis, motorbikes hustle and bustle. Not the place for a quiet night I think, so I head on up the hill to Plan B, Marango Hotel.
This is an old colonial place with a sprawling hotel and some camping spots. DB&B in the hotel is $140, camping is $10; I decide to camp.
I’m the only one there and the grounds-woman comes around to light the donkey (hot water maker) for me. A set dinner is $20, but for half that I have a 3-course meal, including a massive cheeseburger off the menu.
After dinner, sitting by a big log fire, I discover I’ve left all my documents behind. As I send off an email to Lars, I get one from him. He agrees to organise someone to bring them to me tomorrow, so I am saved a return trip of nearly 500km to retrieve them.
I retire, somewhat relieved.
Belfast-2-Belfast-By-Bike 