Warning: this is a ride report of a simple trip to Malawi and back. No high adventure and gnarly roads, just us enjoying ourselves. 
Out of the blue I received a phone call from Francois (Faf). How/where he got my phone number I have no clue, because we have not really been in contact, almost ever. We were both born and grew up in Malawi and had missionaries for parents, but he is 6 years older than I am and in child years that is a lifetime.
"Would you be interested in joining me on a motorbike trip to Malawi?"
I had to swallow hard not to blurt out "Yes!" before he had spoken another word. It turned out his cousin Jan, a TV documentary maker, had this weird idea for a program (to be screened on "Issues of Faith" on SABC2) about a missionary kid (MK) or two returning (on motorbikes) to where they grew up and having discussions about the legacy of the missionaries. I could not imagine who would be interested in such a program, but if this would be instrumental in getting me to Malawi on my bike, I was not going to ask too many questions.
I was one of the few MKs Francois knew that rides a motorcycle (he happened to read a piece I wrote about one of my Iron Butt rides) and I was happy he asked me because it has been a dream of mine to ride to Malawi on my bike for years (stuff just always seem to get in the way) and I read a book he wrote about a bike trip of his to Malawi, interwoven with stories of his childhood, so I got a bit of the measure of the man and was sure we would get along.
The initial excitement soon wore off as Jan's plans did not seem to get anywhere. Francois and I then decided we would make our own plans and go to Malawi, no matter what happens on Jan's side. I started planning routes and we discussed whether or not we wanted to invite others. We agreed that we could, but that the main purpose of our ride would be a trip down memory lane to the places of our childhood and we would not compromise that in favour of keeping possible riding partners happy.
Due to various factors beyond our control, it took about two years from the time Faf contacted me the first time to us setting off on our adventure. Since Jan's plans did not materialize, it was just going to be Faf and me, but then Marius, a fellow Malawi MK, now from Windoek also committed to coming along. Then Jan got funding and he was on board too. I soon found this to be a slight complication because by now it was no longer Jan's trip that I will be joining, but, it was Faf and my trip that Jan was joining (or so I felt). To further complicate things, Jan was taking Faf's sister Helen along (who herself had been a missionary in Malawi and Mozambique) and, in order to give Jan opportunities to shoot the documentary he was after, she was informing people in Malawi that we were coming and arranging for us to meet certain people. This worried me greatly because I knew how things worked in Malawi - our nostalgic, quiet, bike trip "home" was threatened to be taken over by forces beyond our control and we may end up having to travel from one reception to another, listening to speeches instead of riding our bikes through the old and new places. At the same time I realized it would be great to meet some of the old Malawians still remembering our parents (if not us) and that we cannot do so by just showing up and saying hi and bye. It's just not the way it is done - it would be disrespectful and would not give them the opportunity to receive us properly as they would want to and their custom demands. Fortunately conversations with Faf, Helen and Jan allayed most of my fears and I was looking forward to a great trip, all but with a little worry at the back of my mind.
Faf "Luister, kan ek iets met julle deel?"
Marius
Die uwe
I few weeks before the trip I participated in a hockey tournament and hurt my shoulder after a clash with an opponent. It did not feel bad at the time and I finished the game, but then found I could not play any further games as it was too painful. While the shoulder was sore during certain movements, it did not impede my bike riding at all so I wasn't too concerned. I just had to make sure I don't drop the bike while on my own, because there would be no way I would be able to pick it up without some help.
Day 1.5 (Friday and Saturday)
Packing in Cape Town:
I left home on my Africa Twin Friday afternoon 18h30 and rode as far as Beaufort West (arriving around 11pm) where I stayed over in what looked like a 60's style hotel, the Oasis. It was old, but clean and affordable at R250 a night. I would not be surprised if I was the only customer that night, but I wouldn't really know - the alarm went off at 5am and I was on the road by 5h30 and I only saw the man at the front desk and the night watchman.
It was bloody cold this morning and I really missed the grip warmers on my FJR, but near Victoria West the sun had risen high enough so it wasn't a nuisance on the horizon any more (still can't figure out how that worked since I was riding north!) and it started to warm me up a bit. It was then I noticed that the right hand bar-end weight had vibrated loose. No problem, I just turned the screw as tight as I could with my gloved hand, but a few kilometers further the screw was on it's way out again. And this is where I was really stupid while thinking I'm smart. I figured out how long it takes the screw to unscrew how far and decided to just check it regularly within that time period. This just so I did not have to stop and get to my toolkit under the seat. I figured I'll stop in the next town, get something to eat and then tighten the screw properly. Of course, the next time I looked at the screw (well within the time interval and a very short period after I had glanced at it before) both the screw and the bar-end was gone. I turned around and scrutinized the roadside (both coming and going) while riding slowly for a few kilometers, hoping for a miracle, but then I gave up and rode on. I'll just have to buy a new one when I get back. Little did I know this would not be the last time I turned around riding slowly and hoping for a miracle.
The rest of the ride to Faf's house in Northcliff was uneventful, except for a stop-and-go or two, but so what is new on South African roads these days?
Faf and his lovely wife, Jackie , made me feel very welcome. While Faf packed his bike (a BMW R1200GS), Jackie hurried off to the shops for a few last minute emergency shopping on our behalf - some unmentionables for Faf, but more importantly two small camping chairs for both of us. It can be quite frustrating when you want to relax in camp late afternoon/early evening and you have no comfortable place to sit.
My daughter, Karlien, with boyfriend Johan came over for a quick visit and goodbye. I remembered that on my last ride, the bike seemed to have elevated oil consumption and, alarmingly, I had not checked the oil level all day (an old weakness of mine). Sure enough, no oil registered on the dip stick. Johan and Karlien took me to the nearest garage where I bought 4 cans (2 liters) of oil. Back at the bike I got the oil level back to what it should be by adding 1 liter of oil. The other two cans went into the pannier for emergencies.
Distance: 441+974 km
Out of the blue I received a phone call from Francois (Faf). How/where he got my phone number I have no clue, because we have not really been in contact, almost ever. We were both born and grew up in Malawi and had missionaries for parents, but he is 6 years older than I am and in child years that is a lifetime.
"Would you be interested in joining me on a motorbike trip to Malawi?"
I had to swallow hard not to blurt out "Yes!" before he had spoken another word. It turned out his cousin Jan, a TV documentary maker, had this weird idea for a program (to be screened on "Issues of Faith" on SABC2) about a missionary kid (MK) or two returning (on motorbikes) to where they grew up and having discussions about the legacy of the missionaries. I could not imagine who would be interested in such a program, but if this would be instrumental in getting me to Malawi on my bike, I was not going to ask too many questions.
I was one of the few MKs Francois knew that rides a motorcycle (he happened to read a piece I wrote about one of my Iron Butt rides) and I was happy he asked me because it has been a dream of mine to ride to Malawi on my bike for years (stuff just always seem to get in the way) and I read a book he wrote about a bike trip of his to Malawi, interwoven with stories of his childhood, so I got a bit of the measure of the man and was sure we would get along.
The initial excitement soon wore off as Jan's plans did not seem to get anywhere. Francois and I then decided we would make our own plans and go to Malawi, no matter what happens on Jan's side. I started planning routes and we discussed whether or not we wanted to invite others. We agreed that we could, but that the main purpose of our ride would be a trip down memory lane to the places of our childhood and we would not compromise that in favour of keeping possible riding partners happy.
Due to various factors beyond our control, it took about two years from the time Faf contacted me the first time to us setting off on our adventure. Since Jan's plans did not materialize, it was just going to be Faf and me, but then Marius, a fellow Malawi MK, now from Windoek also committed to coming along. Then Jan got funding and he was on board too. I soon found this to be a slight complication because by now it was no longer Jan's trip that I will be joining, but, it was Faf and my trip that Jan was joining (or so I felt). To further complicate things, Jan was taking Faf's sister Helen along (who herself had been a missionary in Malawi and Mozambique) and, in order to give Jan opportunities to shoot the documentary he was after, she was informing people in Malawi that we were coming and arranging for us to meet certain people. This worried me greatly because I knew how things worked in Malawi - our nostalgic, quiet, bike trip "home" was threatened to be taken over by forces beyond our control and we may end up having to travel from one reception to another, listening to speeches instead of riding our bikes through the old and new places. At the same time I realized it would be great to meet some of the old Malawians still remembering our parents (if not us) and that we cannot do so by just showing up and saying hi and bye. It's just not the way it is done - it would be disrespectful and would not give them the opportunity to receive us properly as they would want to and their custom demands. Fortunately conversations with Faf, Helen and Jan allayed most of my fears and I was looking forward to a great trip, all but with a little worry at the back of my mind.
Faf "Luister, kan ek iets met julle deel?"
Marius
Die uwe
I few weeks before the trip I participated in a hockey tournament and hurt my shoulder after a clash with an opponent. It did not feel bad at the time and I finished the game, but then found I could not play any further games as it was too painful. While the shoulder was sore during certain movements, it did not impede my bike riding at all so I wasn't too concerned. I just had to make sure I don't drop the bike while on my own, because there would be no way I would be able to pick it up without some help.
Day 1.5 (Friday and Saturday)
Packing in Cape Town:
I left home on my Africa Twin Friday afternoon 18h30 and rode as far as Beaufort West (arriving around 11pm) where I stayed over in what looked like a 60's style hotel, the Oasis. It was old, but clean and affordable at R250 a night. I would not be surprised if I was the only customer that night, but I wouldn't really know - the alarm went off at 5am and I was on the road by 5h30 and I only saw the man at the front desk and the night watchman.
It was bloody cold this morning and I really missed the grip warmers on my FJR, but near Victoria West the sun had risen high enough so it wasn't a nuisance on the horizon any more (still can't figure out how that worked since I was riding north!) and it started to warm me up a bit. It was then I noticed that the right hand bar-end weight had vibrated loose. No problem, I just turned the screw as tight as I could with my gloved hand, but a few kilometers further the screw was on it's way out again. And this is where I was really stupid while thinking I'm smart. I figured out how long it takes the screw to unscrew how far and decided to just check it regularly within that time period. This just so I did not have to stop and get to my toolkit under the seat. I figured I'll stop in the next town, get something to eat and then tighten the screw properly. Of course, the next time I looked at the screw (well within the time interval and a very short period after I had glanced at it before) both the screw and the bar-end was gone. I turned around and scrutinized the roadside (both coming and going) while riding slowly for a few kilometers, hoping for a miracle, but then I gave up and rode on. I'll just have to buy a new one when I get back. Little did I know this would not be the last time I turned around riding slowly and hoping for a miracle.
The rest of the ride to Faf's house in Northcliff was uneventful, except for a stop-and-go or two, but so what is new on South African roads these days?
Faf and his lovely wife, Jackie , made me feel very welcome. While Faf packed his bike (a BMW R1200GS), Jackie hurried off to the shops for a few last minute emergency shopping on our behalf - some unmentionables for Faf, but more importantly two small camping chairs for both of us. It can be quite frustrating when you want to relax in camp late afternoon/early evening and you have no comfortable place to sit.
My daughter, Karlien, with boyfriend Johan came over for a quick visit and goodbye. I remembered that on my last ride, the bike seemed to have elevated oil consumption and, alarmingly, I had not checked the oil level all day (an old weakness of mine). Sure enough, no oil registered on the dip stick. Johan and Karlien took me to the nearest garage where I bought 4 cans (2 liters) of oil. Back at the bike I got the oil level back to what it should be by adding 1 liter of oil. The other two cans went into the pannier for emergencies.
Distance: 441+974 km
