By the time I got to Senegal, I was getting worried about my rear tyre. I had tried to find a replacement in Gambia but had drawn a blank, and at my first stop in Senegal, the sizeable city of Ziguinchor, I had equally little success. I took a ride out to Cap Skirring on the coast, the tourist hub of the Casamance region while I weighed up my thoughts (Cap Skirring was fine, though just a bit like any other touristy coastal town), and by the time I headed back inland had conceded that the only place I was able to find a suitable replacement was back in Dakar. This meant a 1000km detour to collect it, but I figured that this was quicker and easier than any other way so just bit the bullet and hit the road.
West Africa has a higher percentage of crappy French cars than the Weavers School 6th form car park circa 1999, and just as back then the likelihood of me meeting a premature demise in an accident involving one is way higher than it should be. Numerous times on the drive back to Dakar I was literally driven off the road, as a clapped out and overloaded Peugeot heading in the opposite direction attempted an overtaking manoeuvre, realised it didn't have enough juice to get past quickly and then rather than dropping back just carried on headlong towards me. By the end of a 12 hour day of riding my patience had definitely worn thin, but what could I do.
The mechanic in Dakar was great, and I got the new tyre fitted (plus picked up a couple of extras) then headed right back the way I came. Unsurprisingly the driving was no better, but with a new rear tyre there was one less thing to worry about, and after a day or so of driving I crossed the border into Guinea.
West Africa has a higher percentage of crappy French cars than the Weavers School 6th form car park circa 1999, and just as back then the likelihood of me meeting a premature demise in an accident involving one is way higher than it should be. Numerous times on the drive back to Dakar I was literally driven off the road, as a clapped out and overloaded Peugeot heading in the opposite direction attempted an overtaking manoeuvre, realised it didn't have enough juice to get past quickly and then rather than dropping back just carried on headlong towards me. By the end of a 12 hour day of riding my patience had definitely worn thin, but what could I do.
The mechanic in Dakar was great, and I got the new tyre fitted (plus picked up a couple of extras) then headed right back the way I came. Unsurprisingly the driving was no better, but with a new rear tyre there was one less thing to worry about, and after a day or so of driving I crossed the border into Guinea.
