Cycling East Africa

Me and the best touring bike, ever!

I have mentioned my 1984 Cycling East Africa a few times already on my blog and was thinking I ought to make a record of what I remember, before the memory gradually fades away.  I did keep a journal but I’m not sure where that is.  Likewise I have some photographs which I’ll locate and add when I can.   I’m not too sure how things will pan out, so for now this is probably going to be spread over a number of blog posts.  Here we go….

It was back in 1984 when I flew off to Nairobi, Kenya.  I was on my own, in my early twenties and hadn’t done anything like this before.  I didn’t have very much money and my bike and equipment were very much on a shoestring budget.  And yet I had that sense of adventure, full of wanderlust and hope for the future.

I recall my parents were dead against this trip through their worries for me as their only son.  Once we had all got over the fact I was going to do this and there was no longer any point in trying to talk me out of it, we knuckled down to wonder what it would be like.  What kind of places would I be staying at?  What would happen if I ran into problems?  How could they contact me?  This was 1984, long before the internet, mobile phones etc.  We agreed I would write often and only ever phone in an emergency, although we knew phone coverage might be thin.  Telegrams were also flagged as a possibility of getting messages back home.  In terms of communicating with me, I would always try to give an idea of where I was heading so I could pick up letters from the international Poste Restante service.

As February 1984 drew closer, I assembled my kit from my meagre earnings.  I bought my tent from a friend, so it was already well used and cheap.  I had a bulky sleeping mat, also cheap.  I invested in a new and quite good three season sleeping bag; the rationale was “at least I could get a good night’s sleep, even if everything else was going wrong.  I still have it to this day, although I have always regretted not paying that little bit extra for a cotton lining.  My bicycle was a real heap of junk, acquired second hand when I was a school boy, therefore this was also rather cheap.  I will mention more about the heap of junk as we go along but for now I can describe it as being okay, at least on paper.  It had pannier racks on the front and back, a water bottle cage, a pump, dynamo powered lights and a couple of spare tyres, just in case.

We drove to Heathrow in my parent’s car.  This was a three door Austin Allegro and must count as one of the worst cars of the decade.  It was a small car with a small boot.  To solve the problem of how best to transport us, my bike, pannier bags and all my gear to the airport, the solution was to unbolt the front passenger seat and leave this behind.  We left home at about 11:00pm and I remember Mum and I trying to snuggle up together and get a little sleep.  I don’t suppose we got much sleep, more a case of reminding ourselves of how churned up we all were.  Arriving at the airport in the middle of the night was quite a surreal experience.  It was relatively quiet, lots of cleaning going on and yet still the buzz you’d expect from, what seemed at the time, the World’s central airport.  Daybreak came.  Aircraft from all around the world came, including a KLM jet from Amsterdam and was being made ready for the first leg of my journey to Africa.  When it came for me to say farewell, I remember little of this now, probably for my own sanity as I don’t imagine it was easy.  I do remember going through passport control and feeling the need to be brave and not look back as I knew that would be so hard for my Mum and Dad.  I got out of sight as quickly as I could.  My journey had started!

The journey was long but enjoyable.  It was exciting to land at Schiphol airport in the Netherlands and take off for Cairo where I’d been a couple of years beforehand.  Landing there in the middle of the night was a curious thing to do and I remember the cabin doors were open, stairs were outside the aircraft and we just seemed to be there for ages and ages.  So I decided to get up, walk down the steps and out onto the runway area where we were parked.  Airport officials were faffing around with loading and unloading cargo and I basked in the heat of the Egyptian night – I could smell Egypt as if I had never left.  The warm dry breeze seemed a million miles away from the February Somerset I’d just left a few hours ago.  Eventually I was invited to stop wandering around, rejoin the aircraft and continue our night time journey.

Landing in Jomo Kenyatta airport was exciting and included much relief as my bicycle had also made the journey in one piece.  While it was still dark, I screwed on the pedals, pumped up the tyres, straightened the handlebars and fixed my pannier bags on.  I inched towards the exit and saw an encouraging glow on the horizon with the dawn starting to appear.  In trying to be sensible, I thought I should wait of the daylight to appear properly before I set off and in no time at all that had happened.  I was off!

The ride into downtown Nairobi was easy as it was early Sunday morning.  Few people were around and only a handful of cars.  As I got towards the city centre I spotted a few people jogging, some wandering around as if their Saturday night was still going on.  Stressed stalls were being set up and got ready for the day ahead.  I sat in a park and had a little food that I still had with me, prepared by Mum.  I had a drink: I remember filling up my water bottle from the kitchen sink at home and to think it was all those miles away in Africa where I was sipping it!  I got hustled by a few people, unsurprisingly spotting my clean, white and neatly pressed appearance.  I must have stuck out like a sore thumb.

While I planned to go to the YHA on Ralph Bunche Road, I had some time to kill.  With that I spotted the Anglican Cathedral and a Rover 2000 pulling in, driven by an ex-pat looking gentleman.  I sneaked in, sat at the back during the service and savoured the experience.  I don’t think I took part in any way, nor did I speak to anyone at the end but instead clocked it s a kind of refuge for the future.  Getting to the YHA and settling in was easy and felt good.  I could unpack a little, change and revel in the fact I was there.  There in Nairobi, with my bicycle, a map and more excitement than a five year old on Christmas Eve!