A Quick Detox to the Ilha de Moz

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My trip odometer stands at 2425 km. While I’ve enjoyed the island and could happily stay longer, it’s not that great on your own and I want to be back home by Christmas day. So the next morning, I bring in the laundry, pack the bag and have a quick shower before hitting the road again. I’m soaked in sweat before I even get the helmet on.

Come along for a cruise from the public garden to the police station on the way out.

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My initial plan was to head west from the Ilha and return through Malawi. But that means another set of border crossings, another TIP…  no thanks.

From my maps it looked like there might be a road from Caia to Tete, and the receptionist as James White’s confirmed that there is a “dust road” following the railway line to Tete. So that will be the way back, after retracing my tracks back to Caia.

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So long, Ilha !

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Back on the mainland, we play dodgems again.

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All around there's evidence of the heavy rain, from my ride in, litters the sides of the road.

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Guess I was lucky not to end up like this-

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or like that:

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The return leg proceeds much quicker than before and within two hours I recognise the outline of the koppie just outside Nampula.

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Despite my good pace I get overtaken by a goat!

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Just outside town I pass another church, connected to the main road by a wide boulevard.

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Here’s proof that fortresses were not unique to the Ilha. But this one is used to keep goats.

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The clouds have been building again steadily in the distance ahead…

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... and I get soaked once more

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After a late lunch at the Padaria e Pastelaria in Mocuba I hit the last stretch to Caia in the fading light.

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Just in time to see the turnoff to Cuacua Lodge. It boasts a campsite too, which is one better than James White. So I pull off, pay the fees and strip off my wet boots. My feet look like cabbage leaves as I trip around barefoot to set up the tent.

In the bathroom, a demonstration in camouflage.

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There’s a pub and restaurant near reception, so after cleaning up I sidle in for a beer and burger before turning in for the night.
 
Die foto's bring die storie wat jy vertel het mooi in prespektief. Dit bly lekker om so te ry en die mense en hulle dinge te beleef. Dis net jammer dat 'n mens nooit genoeg tyd het om alles te kan beleef wanneer mens so ry nie.  :(
Volgende, asb !  :thumleft:
 
Lanklaas myself so in 'n RR in geleef, dankie dat jy dit met ons deel. :thumleft:
 
Sub, baie dankie vir die moeite  :thumleft: Lees lekker.
 
Next morning, I can appreciate my surroundings in daylight.

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The camp attendant has a bicycle like most others around here. I can’t help comparing his tyres …

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…with mine.

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I’m packed by 7. It’s already steaming hot so close to the Zambesi and there’s a long way to go. There’s likely to be some difficulty with the first part and enjoy a quick breakfast before saddling up.

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Back for 2 km to the main road

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Across the Zambesi once more, to fill up at Caia.

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I take the road out north this time, which leads to Tete via Sena.

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The idea is to cross the old Dona Ana bridge, which used to be the longest in Africa in its day at 3.6 km, no less.

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Finding the on-ramp proves more tricky than expected: it’s straight ahead, OK?

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Looking back over the market after climbing the ramp.

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The floorboards are missing here and there, and most are loose. Keklonk, keklonk!

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There’s a ramp halfway across and I need some help to get the bike pushed up. There’s plenty of help, but it’s not free.

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To my surprise this bridge is only for trains and pedestrians. Later, I learn that it was originally a railway bridge in 1935, blown up during the civil war in 1986, repaired to carry road traffic in 1995 and converted back to a railway bridge in 2009 when the new bridge at Caia was opened to traffic!

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The span over the Zambezi proper feels as long as it looks and at the end, there are more stairs (and more helping hands). But I don’t need any help and certainly no more bartering- I get off and walk the bike down. After that the path turns underneath the bridge before rising alongside again, level with the tracks.

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After a few twists and turns, it crosses the tracks once more (this repeats many times further on) past a little station before stretching ahead along the river.

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A last glimpse at Dona Ana’s 40 spans.

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And we are off to Tete.

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Soon after, some roadworks appear.

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There’s a diversion through the dry riverbed, with the edges collapsing here and there.

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Try as I might, I just can’t find a good rhythm. Whereas I would call the initial part from Caia to Sena an 80-100 road, it now slows down to 60-80 km/h and even less than that in places. Once I push too hard and the rear nearly comes round on the rebound from a deep rut.

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Initially, there’s a fair amount of traffic along the road, starting with some motorbikes;  soon it’s just bicycles and pedestrians who all try to follow the smoothest line. The consequences are inevitable and soon I come round a corner on the right hand side of the road with a cyclist approaching from the opposite side. Initially, it looks like he’ll stay there, but as we get closer he aims for the left hand side and so do I.

As I brace for the impact he manages a desperate burst of speed and scoots past my bow with millimetres to spare. But it comes at a price and in my rear view mirrors I see feet flipping over handlebars as he disappears into the weeds alongside the road.

Fortunately it’s a soft landing, and as I walk up to the impact site he reappears with the front wheel in his hand. We pull the frame out of the undergrowth and the wheel gets slotted back and hand-tightened in position. When it’s obvious that nothing is the worse for wear, I get a move on as the crowds start gathering.

By eleven I have made good progress, and pull up in the shade of this baobab.

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It’s been rigged with pegs in order to reach the fruit higher up.

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The road criss-crosses the railway track. Here and there are some broken wagons  parked on the grass.

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Even along this remote track I stumble across piles of hardwood waiting for delivery.

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There are communal boreholes every now and then, and I use the opportunity to keep my bottles filled.

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After 180 km the dirt ends and intersects the tar road connecting Tete with Malawi about 50 km to the east.

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I turn west and within an hour the familiar suspension bridge across the Zambezi (again!) comes into view. The hovels on the northeastern side are just as I remember them from six years ago.

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But the city itself is showing definite signs of development near the river.

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After a brief circuit I find what I am looking for. I am quite religious about drinking and riding but I am about to depart Mozambique and its great beers, and having covered this “new” route along the river calls for a small celebration, so cheers!

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Another bridge over a tributary to the Zambezi, halfway to Changara.

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It’s just a jump to the left… on the approach to the border.

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Getting back into Zimbabwe at Nyamapanda is relatively painless and much cheaper than the entry at Beit Bridge. I need to jump through quite a few hoops before getting released, but only carbon tax and a TIP have to be paid for this time.

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But a border crossing plus the relatively slow progress over the gravel section has cost me time and by 9 PM it’s time to call a halt to proceedings. The constant stream of traffic with dodgy lights reflecting off my visor do not make for relaxed riding. My first attempt to find a quiet spot turns out to be on a minister’s farm where I ask if it’s OK to pitch the tent under a tree. It soon becomes obvious that this will require lots of approvals from farm workers, then police officers and by the time we have to go and ask the ZRP, I bail out and head back to the traffic.

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A few kilometres on, I have better luck and no neighbours. After dragging a big branch out of the way I’m able to ride the bike into the underbrush and pitch the tent out of sight from the farm road (probably leading to another minister’s homestead) and cook some supper at last.
 
I love this RR. Please dont stop.  :thumleft: :thumleft: :thumleft:
 
The next morning I’m up early. Not a bad view to wake up to, what?

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My rations are quite low, but I’m close to civilisation so breakfast is a very brief affair while everything gets folded and packed. My target for last night was actually a few hundred kilometres further, so there is a long way to go today and most of the pics will have to be from the saddle.

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Even a local on a bicycle fails to spot me and I rejoin the main road to the capital shortly afterwards. It looks like there used to be a proper gate at the entrance once upon a time, before the potholes grew big.

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Maybe someone knows this place- it’s 200m before The Ridge Guest House. The name is more promising than the establishment boasting this grand name. I pull in at the next garage to buy fuel, oil and some yoghurt for breakfast. The borehole water is free and the attendants are really friendly and ask about jobs in SA.

On the outskirts of Harare there’s a huge collection of soapstone carvings for sale. Pride of place goes to an almost life-size replica of a miner. I seem to recall seeing the same stuff the previous time I passed through here.

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The capital is comparable to a small town like Bethlehem in South Africa, and the traffic mostly comprises minibuses and pedestrians. The blue building to the right of the main road is the city’s tallest at 120 m and houses the Reserve Bank.

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After passing through the city the road bisects a large football stadium on the right and this memorial to the left, which turns out to be the Heroes Acre (actually, it’s 57 acres and there's still some space available for future heroes).

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I cruise in, but $10 to look at some struggle memorabilia is enough to make me do a U-turn at the entrance gallery. In Wikipedia I can see what I missed:

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Yeah, it’s big on guns.

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Once outside the city, the drizzle subsides as the landscape descends into some fertile flatlands with veggies for sale ….

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…before climbing up to Gweru at almost the same elevation as Harare. It is an area known for cattle ranching, smack in the middle of the country. The population is only about 150 000 souls, one-tenth that of the capital.

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Gweru is a spread out town that seems stuck in a time warp, with this old Military Museum along the main road,

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… with an old DC4 Viscount alongside that was probably last used by Ian Smith. There is also an airbase (Thornhill) on the eastern side of the town.

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From here, the landscape gets pretty dry. It’s a mining region, as I discover later- chromite, platinum, gold and even diamonds.

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Zvishavane is about 400 km from Harare (and only 90 km from Masvingo!) ; it’s time to fill up again.

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The main route from here leads to Bulawayo, but there’s a handy shortcut to West Nicholson:

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I initially miss the turnoff to the western exit and end up at the Shavani mine. At the gate I have a chat with the men there and get told that they produce asbestos here. When I mention asbestosis they claim that the type mined here is a “safe type”.

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There are actually 6 types of asbestos, but they are all carcinogenic and banned in most developed countries. Despite the health hazard, it is still produced for construction and insulation in Russia, China, Brazil, Kazakhstan and Zimbabwe (see the map from Wikipedia below). The railway lines from Gweru and Bulawayo converge here, leading on to the harbour at Maputo via Chiqualaquala.

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A few kilometres out of town I find the turnoff to West Nicholson. The shortcut is flat and fast.

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That was fun!

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I rejoin the main road from Bulawayo to Beit Bridge and crank up the pace.

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Somewhere between Harare and Gweru my Africa Twin has quietly flipped over from 99999.9 to 00000.0 km; I’ve got a new bike! I pull off in the shade shortly before the border post to cool my feet and reflect on some of those kilometres.

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The border crossing is the fastest ever- it’s Christmas Day and the place is deserted. Our conceited border officials remind me that “this is not Zimbabwe” when I push open a door blocked on the inside by a flower pot, letting the hot air outside into their air-conditioned dominion. The Zimbabwean side is actually a sweatshop by comparison, but manned by considerably more helpful officials than our spoilt bunch.

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At least I’m now past the halfway mark, and literally at the lowest point for the day:

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The last stretch down the N1 starts well enough, but by late afternoon the familiar clouds start building again and from Polokwane it rains most of the way back.

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By 9 pm I pull into our driveway, drenched but in one piece and richer for the experience. Happy Christmas!  :shade:
 
I really like the way you've picture documented your story/trip! Well done and thank you for sharing your journey.
 
Great RR. Been doing some research about the Ilha for some time now. Quite interesting history.  Have mixed feelings when seeing it through your eyes.  Would still want to experience it though.

Well done again. Awesome RR.
 

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