Whyteleafe, Surrey UK to Cape Town

It's not really 'Africa', but a jewel in South Africa's crown must be Pringle Bay. A tiny seaside hamlet down a dead-end road just beyond Betty's Bay, where I had stopped for tea on the way to Cape Town.
I almost didn't take the turning, except the view seemed to indicate something worth seeing beyond.
A little village of houses (mostly holiday homes) and a shop or two squeezed between the mountains and the jagged Atlantic coastline. Just about every road leading away from the shops takes you to a seafront scene like this one. I took all these photos from the same spot.

Took a little ride round the town the other day, while it was dry. The next day the rain was pretty torrential but my sheepskin seat cover, I noticed, dried out very quickly. More of that later.

A few visitor photos:

Table Mountain from Signal Hill, with some local bike company.

How do these things happen? Is there a message in there somewhere?
The bike has run faultlessly the last 20,000 miles across the continent of Africa.
It must like it here. The petrol's cheaper I suppose. Or there's more sunshine than back in England.

Returning home after a journey like this one, more than a year, in strange places, is like moving house without moving out of one.

Entering through the front door is like moving in for the first time, except it's not empty, it's full of stuff.
Your stuff.
And you don't know what a lot of it is for, nor remember where any of it is.
So it feels like utter confusion. But it isn't, because everything is where you left it.

On Monday, I nipped down to Gatwick, hired a van, found the BA Cargo depot and collected H.M. The Bike. It had been put on a flight four days later than originally booked, for reasons I don't suppose I'll ever find out. But that was no problem, it gave me a bit more time to clear the decks and settle things down a bit before its arrival.

The collection was all pretty uneventful, although about two and a half hours in all.
And a little unreal - there's no customs office here. It's in Salford.
The clearance all done by computer, on the Gatwick agent's account with HMCR.

It's been a fairly dull and dismal time since returning from the great journey. It really beats me how the continent was ever called 'Darkest Africa'.
More on that in a minute.

After 'Darkest Africa' we have darkest winter. Only four weeks to the solstice then the days start to get longer again. That should be good.

I need to build up some enthusiasm to return to the garage in these dark and damp times. The Aprilia needs its fuel injectors cleaning, a job that needs good light which means good sunshine. Something a bit easier might be to give the Dominator a once over and take it for an MOT test. Maybe during the week, rain permitting.

Friends ask, "What was it like when you arrived home after so long, put the key in your front door for the first time and went inside?"

No, not that one. This one: "Who's Rustus McCrankpin?"
I'm glad you asked.

Here's the short snappy answer:
I've never much liked washing bikes, it's far more difficult than washing a car. You always rap your knuckles on something, an exhaust bracket, engine bolt, sharp edge of a petrol pipe clip.
The first you know is when you wonder, "What's that red stuff in the bucket of water?"
Occupational hazard.

But where's the engine?

This'll be a continuation, more or less, of yesterday's posting.
Firstly, I have it on good authority that the method of measuring the snow in that last piece is accurate.

We now have over a foot, as can clearly be seen here. No need to find something to lean the bike against:

Marinoni bicycle, from Canada-to-Mexico days, pressed back into service.

Suzuki GSXRs in the desert for the Solar Eclipse of 2006.

Not part of this Whyteleafe to Cape Town journey, but it does feature the Sahara and some motorbikes.
So as the weather here hasn't been at all conducive to straightening out my toolkit sufficiently to put anything but my bicycle back on the road, I'll offer a piece I wrote a while ago after watching this marvel of nature in the Sahara.
Be warned - there are no photos of the GSXRs.

"Welcome To My Sandpit"

Have been loading larger photos.
They now go back as far as Tanzania. Much better than the previous small ones.
(Links to different countries are down the right hand side)

We have photos of motorbikes, bicycles, trains, a ferry, an airplane, Nile sailing boats, papyrus canoes, ships in the Suez Canal, camels and elephants, a Transit van, but not many of the true Kings of the African Road, the buses.
I found a few amongst the back-ups.
So, some African buses in full flight, mainly in Tanzania:

A short while ago I was directed to this website:
Ithaca

Here's the text of it:

ITHACA [1910, 1911]
by C. P. Cavafy

It's high time to inject some new news into this blog.

This weekend Caroline departs Khartoum for pastures new - Juba - the capital of the new country of South Sudan.
There, she has a two-week project to set up new English classes for members of the new civil service of this new country.
She'll fly there, via Nairobi of all places, which is two countries away (new or old). It seems so many people are now travelling from Khartoum to Juba that no seats are available on direct flights for the foreseeable future.

The sun was two hours late this morning. It was supposed to rise at 4:52 but didn't show up until 7am, through a chink in the cloud.
Not a very good performance. Its wages should be docked. Or maybe the salary of those astronomers who organise all this stuff - the rising of the sun and the passage of the stars.
Or are the weather forecasters to blame? I don't know.

There are quite active discussions from time to time in forums on this website and others, about what really is an adventure in our modern age. Countries mentioned in this blog include Egypt, Libya and Syria.

"Let's have some words and pictures!" I've emailed to Caroline and Beau as they depart Nairobi, around Tuesday 5th, towards the Tanzanian border and Mt Kilimanjaro.

News from Caroline and Beau.

After spending a little while taking their bikes out of storage at Jungle Junction and fitting new tyres, Caroline and Beau met up with an Australian group of overland riders.
That led to them dropping the idea of riding off to Tanzania and instead teamed up with the Ozzies. They rented a minibus between them and headed out to the Masai Mara to see the annual migrations.
This isn't possible on two wheels, so four wheels have to be organised one way or another.

"Off on your travels again?
Where to this time?""Across the Ganges?
The Silk Road?
The Road To Mandalay?
The Gun Barrel Highway?
You've still never seen Grasmere, have you? Kilnshaw Chimney?
Nor Scafell Pike.
Around the world you go, and never seen the magnificence of your own doorstep!"

By hook or by crook, Caroline and Beau are back in Addis Ababa.

There were spots of bother with both bikes, although they completed the Isiolo to Moyale road in two and a half days. An incredible time by my reckoning - must be a record of some sort. No falling off either.

A short adventure on two feet.

At the Inn in Nether Wasdale four guests were setting off to scale Scafell Pike after breakfast, equipped with a day's provisions in rucksacks.So I asked the barman, "That mountain, can you just walk up it, or does it require real climbing, hands as well as feet?"
"No, you can just hike up, it's part of a hiking route."
But this is England's highest mountain, I thought. There must be a catch somewhere.