Another country, another change of scenery; this time from the flat savannah of South-Eastern Senegal to the mountains and rainforests of Guinea.
Almost immediately in fact, as right after the border there was a spectacular mountain with a dramatic sheer drop on one side (that I completely failed to take a photo of). Also noticeable was the amount of attention that the bike was now getting. Rather than just the odd comment or admiring passerby, it was now getting crowds of 10 or more people stood around admiring its battle scarred exterior. Not that I am jealous in any way, I don't even like getting the attention of strangers. If anything I am glad that it is the bike getting it and not me, a relief even. I'm happy about it and let's just leave it at that.
As it started to get dark I was keeping my eyes peeled for a suitable place to camp up for the night, and soon found a perfect spot - tucked away behind a cluster of trees and bushes in the middle of a large empty expanse of grass. As I lay in my tent, I couldn't help but notice the rather strange sound that the insects were making; far more crackly than the sounds I had heard thus far. Then, on poking my head out of the tent, I saw that it wasn't chattering insects at all, and the field was in fact on fire. Given that I was pitched up in the middle of tinder dry grass this was somewhat concerning, but after a certain amount of debating whether to move to another spot it thankfully became apparent that it was a controlled burn and was staying a couple of hundred yards away. I decided that I would stay awake for another hour or so just to make sure, then promptly fell asleep. Luckily I did not wake up burnt to a crisp.
The route the next day took me along the road to Labe, and early that morning I received a message from my Australian fellow West Africa travellers who were about a day ahead of me asking me to let them know what I thought of it. Given that thus far the road was pretty average it seemed a strange thing to ask, but it soon became apparent why.
The road to Labe was by far the worst of the trip so far. If you imagine an amateurishly ploughed field that has been shelled mercilessly by a heavy artillery brigade, then liberally sprinkled with rocks the size of footballs, you are halfway to understanding. The combination of potholes, troughs, rocks and low quality riding had me bouncing all over the shop - interesting when one side of the road is a steep drop down the mountainside. My poor bike took a real hammering - if my suspension doesn't collapse before the end of this trip it will be both a miracle and a testament to Japanese engineering. But however hard the going was for me, it wasn't slowing down the local taxis. Beaten up old Peugeot 504s hurtled down the track with 10 people on the inside and another 5 or 6 (plus luggage) on the roof. It was worrying enough to watch them lurch round corners with people on the roof clinging onto straps and netting as the suspension lunged heavily to one side, but if there was an accident those people would all be doing their best Superman impressions - and it is not like an ambulance would be showing up anytime soon.
While Guinea may not have much in the way of tourist infrastructure (and what they do have suffered badly after the Ebola outbreak), it does have natural beauty in spades. One of the top spots is a series of waterfalls near the town of Pita, somewhere that was apparently popular with party bigwigs back when Guinea was an African Socialist state (rumours are that Fidel Castro even visted). At the first waterfall I met a couple of German guys who had been cycling for 5 months from Europe. We decided that as we were all camping we may as well pitch up together, and after being stopped at an army checkpoint so that the soldier there could take a photo with the bike (standard) we found a great spot overlooking the surrounding mountains and valleys.
The German guys told me that they had been recommended a route along the back roads to another set of waterfalls, so we set off in convoy for what would prove to be the most difficult day of riding of the trip so far. The roads were steep, uneven and covered in loose dirt and gravel that made both climbing and descending tricky (especially stopping on a descent with an overloaded bike like mine). It also narrowed in parts to a couple of feet, surrounded on both sides by thick vegetation which I had to just batter my way through (thankfully the weight was an advantage here). On the map, the road crossed the river to complete a circuit back to Pita, but when we got there the crossing turned out to be an Indiana Jones style rickety bridge. While the bicycles could have got across it, there was no way the motorbike would, but a local guy told us that a bit further up it was possible to ford the river.
At the crossing point, the river was quite fast flowing, about half a metre deep at the start before getting shallower. As this was my first river crossing on a bike (not counting the time I accidentally drove a moped in and out of 2 feet of floodwater in Vietnam) I was somewhat apprehensive, but it seemed doable. Things started out reasonably well; the bike had no problem with the water and I was making steady progress, but as I got further away from the bank the current started to push me downstream. What I hadn't realised was that the riverbed, while relatively flat on my planned route, actually sloped away a bit further downstream; as I tried somewhat clumsily to get back on course, the wheels failed to get any traction on the slippery rocks and the back wheel started to come around before the bike slowly but inevitably tipped over into the water. At this point it could have been game over for me - water in the engine could have been the end for the bike, and for the trip, but luckily salvation arrived in the shape of four lads who had been hanging out on the bank. They got to the bike unbelievably quickly (I'm talking less than ten seconds) and helped me get it back upright and over to the other side. I held my breath while I pressed the ignition switch, wondering just what the damage might have been, but the engine fired into life as if nothing had happened. My bike is a beast!
While the crossing might have been slightly traumatic, the spot we found to camp on the other side more than made up for it. Marked on the map as a viewpoint, we pitched up on a cliff edge several hundred feet above the valley floor with an unbelievable view of two waterfalls. This was by far the best place I had stopped thus far on the trip - and all for free! The next morning we walked down to the river, and relaxed in the pools between the two falls, before going our separate ways.
Given how bad the roads had been I was expecting slow progress, but the next day there was a surprising amount of tarmac and I covered 400km. That's not to say that it was smooth riding - between the potholes, animals and broken down vehicles it was still Mariokart-esque, and I was literally almost taken out by a guy throwing a basnana skin ot of his window as I was overtaking. Given how little my guidebook said about Guinea ("Not many people go there so we haven't bothered to write this section") and the need to make up some ground after spending quite a while in Gambia, I decided to press on for the border. Lulled into a false sense of security by one day of relatively easy riding, the next day turned out to be absolutely appalling. Boneshaking isn't the half of it. I spent the day crawling along, being smashed left right and centre by potholes. My luggage system, thus far no problem, turned out not to be up to the job and I lost my tarpaulin, countless bottles of water and my camping gear twice (thankfully both times someone spotted and let me know). It took two days and a lot of swearing before I made it to the border where I was hoping that things would get better...
Almost immediately in fact, as right after the border there was a spectacular mountain with a dramatic sheer drop on one side (that I completely failed to take a photo of). Also noticeable was the amount of attention that the bike was now getting. Rather than just the odd comment or admiring passerby, it was now getting crowds of 10 or more people stood around admiring its battle scarred exterior. Not that I am jealous in any way, I don't even like getting the attention of strangers. If anything I am glad that it is the bike getting it and not me, a relief even. I'm happy about it and let's just leave it at that.
As it started to get dark I was keeping my eyes peeled for a suitable place to camp up for the night, and soon found a perfect spot - tucked away behind a cluster of trees and bushes in the middle of a large empty expanse of grass. As I lay in my tent, I couldn't help but notice the rather strange sound that the insects were making; far more crackly than the sounds I had heard thus far. Then, on poking my head out of the tent, I saw that it wasn't chattering insects at all, and the field was in fact on fire. Given that I was pitched up in the middle of tinder dry grass this was somewhat concerning, but after a certain amount of debating whether to move to another spot it thankfully became apparent that it was a controlled burn and was staying a couple of hundred yards away. I decided that I would stay awake for another hour or so just to make sure, then promptly fell asleep. Luckily I did not wake up burnt to a crisp.
The route the next day took me along the road to Labe, and early that morning I received a message from my Australian fellow West Africa travellers who were about a day ahead of me asking me to let them know what I thought of it. Given that thus far the road was pretty average it seemed a strange thing to ask, but it soon became apparent why.
The road to Labe was by far the worst of the trip so far. If you imagine an amateurishly ploughed field that has been shelled mercilessly by a heavy artillery brigade, then liberally sprinkled with rocks the size of footballs, you are halfway to understanding. The combination of potholes, troughs, rocks and low quality riding had me bouncing all over the shop - interesting when one side of the road is a steep drop down the mountainside. My poor bike took a real hammering - if my suspension doesn't collapse before the end of this trip it will be both a miracle and a testament to Japanese engineering. But however hard the going was for me, it wasn't slowing down the local taxis. Beaten up old Peugeot 504s hurtled down the track with 10 people on the inside and another 5 or 6 (plus luggage) on the roof. It was worrying enough to watch them lurch round corners with people on the roof clinging onto straps and netting as the suspension lunged heavily to one side, but if there was an accident those people would all be doing their best Superman impressions - and it is not like an ambulance would be showing up anytime soon.
While Guinea may not have much in the way of tourist infrastructure (and what they do have suffered badly after the Ebola outbreak), it does have natural beauty in spades. One of the top spots is a series of waterfalls near the town of Pita, somewhere that was apparently popular with party bigwigs back when Guinea was an African Socialist state (rumours are that Fidel Castro even visted). At the first waterfall I met a couple of German guys who had been cycling for 5 months from Europe. We decided that as we were all camping we may as well pitch up together, and after being stopped at an army checkpoint so that the soldier there could take a photo with the bike (standard) we found a great spot overlooking the surrounding mountains and valleys.
The German guys told me that they had been recommended a route along the back roads to another set of waterfalls, so we set off in convoy for what would prove to be the most difficult day of riding of the trip so far. The roads were steep, uneven and covered in loose dirt and gravel that made both climbing and descending tricky (especially stopping on a descent with an overloaded bike like mine). It also narrowed in parts to a couple of feet, surrounded on both sides by thick vegetation which I had to just batter my way through (thankfully the weight was an advantage here). On the map, the road crossed the river to complete a circuit back to Pita, but when we got there the crossing turned out to be an Indiana Jones style rickety bridge. While the bicycles could have got across it, there was no way the motorbike would, but a local guy told us that a bit further up it was possible to ford the river.
At the crossing point, the river was quite fast flowing, about half a metre deep at the start before getting shallower. As this was my first river crossing on a bike (not counting the time I accidentally drove a moped in and out of 2 feet of floodwater in Vietnam) I was somewhat apprehensive, but it seemed doable. Things started out reasonably well; the bike had no problem with the water and I was making steady progress, but as I got further away from the bank the current started to push me downstream. What I hadn't realised was that the riverbed, while relatively flat on my planned route, actually sloped away a bit further downstream; as I tried somewhat clumsily to get back on course, the wheels failed to get any traction on the slippery rocks and the back wheel started to come around before the bike slowly but inevitably tipped over into the water. At this point it could have been game over for me - water in the engine could have been the end for the bike, and for the trip, but luckily salvation arrived in the shape of four lads who had been hanging out on the bank. They got to the bike unbelievably quickly (I'm talking less than ten seconds) and helped me get it back upright and over to the other side. I held my breath while I pressed the ignition switch, wondering just what the damage might have been, but the engine fired into life as if nothing had happened. My bike is a beast!
While the crossing might have been slightly traumatic, the spot we found to camp on the other side more than made up for it. Marked on the map as a viewpoint, we pitched up on a cliff edge several hundred feet above the valley floor with an unbelievable view of two waterfalls. This was by far the best place I had stopped thus far on the trip - and all for free! The next morning we walked down to the river, and relaxed in the pools between the two falls, before going our separate ways.
Given how bad the roads had been I was expecting slow progress, but the next day there was a surprising amount of tarmac and I covered 400km. That's not to say that it was smooth riding - between the potholes, animals and broken down vehicles it was still Mariokart-esque, and I was literally almost taken out by a guy throwing a basnana skin ot of his window as I was overtaking. Given how little my guidebook said about Guinea ("Not many people go there so we haven't bothered to write this section") and the need to make up some ground after spending quite a while in Gambia, I decided to press on for the border. Lulled into a false sense of security by one day of relatively easy riding, the next day turned out to be absolutely appalling. Boneshaking isn't the half of it. I spent the day crawling along, being smashed left right and centre by potholes. My luggage system, thus far no problem, turned out not to be up to the job and I lost my tarpaulin, countless bottles of water and my camping gear twice (thankfully both times someone spotted and let me know). It took two days and a lot of swearing before I made it to the border where I was hoping that things would get better...
