Angola is a big place. Twice the size of France, it was the best part of 2000km of driving to get from one end to the other, but the only visa I could get was a five day transit visa. With rumours of decent tarmac roads this would be achievable, so long as nothing went wrong...
Things started out well. The scenery in the north of the country was very beautiful; lush green hills, rivers winding through valleys, small sleepy villages and the like, and although the first couple of hours was along dirt road I was soon on the tarmac and making good progress. I wanted to get as far as I could so stops were minimal, in fact the only significant stop I made was to change a bit of money and eat something. This proved more interesting than I expected when I turned over a piece of what I thought was goat meat to find the rubbery skin and tiny trotter of some sort of bush rat. Still, it filled a hole.
By the afternoon I had coverd 600km or so and had reached Luanda, the capital. As tempting as it was to go and have a look at the place, the traffic there is notorious and rather than get bogged down I decided to press on and bypass the city and that was when it happened. I am still not quite sure of the cause, but at about 60mph something went wrong and my back wheel began to fishtail. With a top heavy bike this is bad news, and rather than being recoverable the bike promptly flipped over. Bike, luggage and rider were sent skidding down the road, winding up a good 30 metres further down the track, and to make matters worse the bike had landed on the same ankle that was only just starting to recover. This may sound bad (and belive me it was not a pleasant experience), but the incredible response of the local people almost made me glad that it had happened.
Instantly people came over to help me; I was literally picked up off the road and laid down on the pavement, while someone else moved my bike. People asked how I was, and set about finding me an ambulance. I was given some food that one of the people was carrying whilst another went off to buy me some water and some coke. I was even asked if I had any cash, and when I said that I hadn't (I had only changed a small amount) was given the equivalent of about $20. One of my guardian angels also phoned up a friend, who phoned up a friend, who phoned up a local biker group, who as luck would have it were just down the road.
These guys arrived in about 10 minutes, and just took control. One of the gang, Carlos, was a volunteer paramedic so he checked out my ankle while the others fixed up the more pressing problems with the bike. Carlos asked me if I had anywhere to stay, and when I said no (I was planning to see how far I would get) said that I could stay with him. I was put into a car and driven to his house while my bike was ridden back for me and for the next couple of days I was treated to the most unbelievably generous hospitality I have ever experienced.
I was fed and watered, and Carlos checked my ankle to make sure it wasn't broken. He also fixed up my bike, including fabricating parts in his workshop to shore up the cracks that we starting to appear in the headlight cowling. Rui took me down to the mechanic to get my tyre changed, and also sorted me out a sim card (neither of which he let me pay for), and the whole time Carlos' family (Fernanda, Andrea and Andre) made me feel like their home was my home, an extremely nice feeling when you have spent the last five months living solo in West Africa on a shoestring budget. Best of all, the biker group (Os Sobas) came around to see how I was and brought with them a Sobas patch to sew onto my jacket. I am still wearing it with pride!
After a few days my ankle had healed just about to ride, so with some fond farewells I hit the road again for Lubango - 900km away. This was going to be a monster driving day. The roads were good, but getting lost a couple of times and spending time changing money meant that I was still 100km away when it got dark. And then crunch. My chain went again. Fuck. It was now pitch dark, I was in the middle of nowhere, it was raining and there was a thunderstorm not far away. There wasn't really anywhere to work on the bike, and nowhere suitable to camp. This was not looking good. However, someone was smiling on me as when I checked the chain it had not snapped but just slipped off; possibly not adjusted properly after the tyre change. I got it back on, and was on the move, but now painfully slowly as night time driving on potholed roads in the rain is not fun. It took me two hours to cover the last 100km, but crawling into Lubango I had a friend waiting.
Carlos had phoned ahead to his friend Uiguer, so when I finally rolled into Lubango at about 10pm after 16 hours on the road I was met by the bright spotlights of another friendly biker. I was thoroughly shattered, but Uigher found me a place to stay and a late night burger, filled my tank up with fuel and fixed my inflatable saddle cushion. And insisted on paying for it all! Honestly, the generosity is so incredible that I have resolved to be a better person from here on in...
From Lubango it was a straight ride to the border, though forgetting my camera at the hotel and only remembering 120km in meant an overnight camp in a ditch before I got there. As a final act of kindness, I was met there by a friend of a friend of Marcio from Os Sobas who made sure that I didn't get any hassle by the authorities for overstaying my visa by a day. I sailed through without any problems, and into Namibia.
Things started out well. The scenery in the north of the country was very beautiful; lush green hills, rivers winding through valleys, small sleepy villages and the like, and although the first couple of hours was along dirt road I was soon on the tarmac and making good progress. I wanted to get as far as I could so stops were minimal, in fact the only significant stop I made was to change a bit of money and eat something. This proved more interesting than I expected when I turned over a piece of what I thought was goat meat to find the rubbery skin and tiny trotter of some sort of bush rat. Still, it filled a hole.
By the afternoon I had coverd 600km or so and had reached Luanda, the capital. As tempting as it was to go and have a look at the place, the traffic there is notorious and rather than get bogged down I decided to press on and bypass the city and that was when it happened. I am still not quite sure of the cause, but at about 60mph something went wrong and my back wheel began to fishtail. With a top heavy bike this is bad news, and rather than being recoverable the bike promptly flipped over. Bike, luggage and rider were sent skidding down the road, winding up a good 30 metres further down the track, and to make matters worse the bike had landed on the same ankle that was only just starting to recover. This may sound bad (and belive me it was not a pleasant experience), but the incredible response of the local people almost made me glad that it had happened.
Instantly people came over to help me; I was literally picked up off the road and laid down on the pavement, while someone else moved my bike. People asked how I was, and set about finding me an ambulance. I was given some food that one of the people was carrying whilst another went off to buy me some water and some coke. I was even asked if I had any cash, and when I said that I hadn't (I had only changed a small amount) was given the equivalent of about $20. One of my guardian angels also phoned up a friend, who phoned up a friend, who phoned up a local biker group, who as luck would have it were just down the road.
These guys arrived in about 10 minutes, and just took control. One of the gang, Carlos, was a volunteer paramedic so he checked out my ankle while the others fixed up the more pressing problems with the bike. Carlos asked me if I had anywhere to stay, and when I said no (I was planning to see how far I would get) said that I could stay with him. I was put into a car and driven to his house while my bike was ridden back for me and for the next couple of days I was treated to the most unbelievably generous hospitality I have ever experienced.
I was fed and watered, and Carlos checked my ankle to make sure it wasn't broken. He also fixed up my bike, including fabricating parts in his workshop to shore up the cracks that we starting to appear in the headlight cowling. Rui took me down to the mechanic to get my tyre changed, and also sorted me out a sim card (neither of which he let me pay for), and the whole time Carlos' family (Fernanda, Andrea and Andre) made me feel like their home was my home, an extremely nice feeling when you have spent the last five months living solo in West Africa on a shoestring budget. Best of all, the biker group (Os Sobas) came around to see how I was and brought with them a Sobas patch to sew onto my jacket. I am still wearing it with pride!
After a few days my ankle had healed just about to ride, so with some fond farewells I hit the road again for Lubango - 900km away. This was going to be a monster driving day. The roads were good, but getting lost a couple of times and spending time changing money meant that I was still 100km away when it got dark. And then crunch. My chain went again. Fuck. It was now pitch dark, I was in the middle of nowhere, it was raining and there was a thunderstorm not far away. There wasn't really anywhere to work on the bike, and nowhere suitable to camp. This was not looking good. However, someone was smiling on me as when I checked the chain it had not snapped but just slipped off; possibly not adjusted properly after the tyre change. I got it back on, and was on the move, but now painfully slowly as night time driving on potholed roads in the rain is not fun. It took me two hours to cover the last 100km, but crawling into Lubango I had a friend waiting.
Carlos had phoned ahead to his friend Uiguer, so when I finally rolled into Lubango at about 10pm after 16 hours on the road I was met by the bright spotlights of another friendly biker. I was thoroughly shattered, but Uigher found me a place to stay and a late night burger, filled my tank up with fuel and fixed my inflatable saddle cushion. And insisted on paying for it all! Honestly, the generosity is so incredible that I have resolved to be a better person from here on in...
From Lubango it was a straight ride to the border, though forgetting my camera at the hotel and only remembering 120km in meant an overnight camp in a ditch before I got there. As a final act of kindness, I was met there by a friend of a friend of Marcio from Os Sobas who made sure that I didn't get any hassle by the authorities for overstaying my visa by a day. I sailed through without any problems, and into Namibia.
