Kilimanjaro (not)

Standing at the tent looking out

Let's get one thing clear: I'm not going to hike the bloody thing.  Not again, at any rate, and certainly not now that my big brother has knocked it off with apparent ease (earlier this year).  Besides, there are plenty of other ways to spend cold nights in Tanzania.  (Stop snickering at the back.)

Hey - where's the subject matter gone?

For example, I'm getting used again to European cooking.  A Swiss couple with a neatly converted 4x4 Toyota Landcruiser share their provisions and anecdotes with generosity.  They used to run a 100-table family restaurant and also once rode the world on motorbikes... so you can imagine that the food and stories are of top quality.

Unfit bikers trying to walk up a mountain... wishing we could ride up.

Tonight we are feeling smug, but lazy.  We covered only a few hours today before setting up camp again - much fewer miles than we'd planned.  We had been rolling steadily along the packed mud back roads, edging along remote farming valleys and bisecting shady plantation forests... across dusty village thoroughfares and up dry, rutted tracks.  At last we emerge onto a sunlit highland plateau.  Here, above tiny Mambo village, on the undulating Usambaras mountain ridge, the white cloud wraps have been removed by the afternoon heat and we stare out at another superb view.  This is the kind of spot you simply do not ride past.

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Sleeping above the clouds again

Last night's hearty stew, 'asardo' beef cut, local avocado salad and farm house bread are still heavy in my belly.  It's barely 6am but for weeks we've risen with the cool of dawn.  Cloud is back in the valley, and like a bright white weed it wisps up the mountain hillsides until the warming sun singes it back.

I try, with a miserable lack of success, to do some internet banking - international bank firewalls unhelpful when you rely on the drip, drip, drip of low speed connections.  I give up, again, with mounting exasperation - but the setting is so peaceful I can't harbour any angst and start looking forward to the day of riding we've got lined up.

Facial expressions are international.

Daan & Mirjam are readying their gear and talking with a friendly Dutch couple. To increase security we always camp next to our bikes, but that means extricating them in the morning without crashing through the flowerbeds, other tents, the shower block or the reception lobby.  Usually we get out okay, and after a photo op for the owner, we're finally riding.

What follows is one of the best off-road days any of us has yet enjoyed in Africa.  We snake down through the villages, getting friendly waves and stares, of course.  Maybe it's in part because the locals know what lies ahead - a long, steep decent with a dozen very technical hairpin bends.

Views over Tanzania from on high

Another hidden valley, high in the hills

The movie probably shows it better than I can describe, but let's just say I'm grateful for every minute spent training at the Welsh school for motorcycling - the BMW Off-Road Skills Days.  I use all the techniques they taught, and a few more I invent on the hoof.  It's draining stuff and when we get closer to the bottom we pause for a rest.  Comparing notes, we reckon that was probably one of, if not the, hardest descents we've tackled yet.  And one thing's for sure, nobody should ever accuse us of owning big trail bikes without knowing a little bit about how to handle them!

Great... but how do we get down?

My relief at finishing the mountain descent without accident was short lived - Daan and Mirjam were soon leading me across soft sandy tracks.  It's enough to wipe the smile off any GS rider's face - with a small(er) front wheel, sharp fork angles and road-biased tyres I am always going to struggle to keep the big Bavarian upright.  It was nasty stuff, and after a little sit down for a rest (that is, both of us), we limped across the final stretch of the gnarly 'short cut' Daan had picked.  He was grinning, knowing full well how hard I have to work on that stuff.

The day then throws us some fast grit tracks, some horrible corrugations, nasty rock-laced pistes, thorn trees and even a very short stretch of lovely asphalt.  But despite all that, we are mostly having a ball - the scenery is fascinating and beautiful: much greener than I've been expecting, and full of interesting scenes the likes of which I compare to Ecuador - remote, simple, charming.  A late lunch stop allows us a few moments to people watch: Masai warriors wander pass and nod approvingly (at the Beemer, first, then the Hondas).

Daan haggles for his nightly tipple

Eventually, we hit the main trunk road and skim the final 50 miles north to our next campsite.  We're at the base of Kilimanjaro now, and it's a bit cooler on the foothills than it was down on the plain earlier today.  There is a wrap of cloud around the mountain - as usual - but maybe we'll catch a glimpse tomorrow?  We're going to try to cross into Kenya at one of the quieter border crossings.

Unfortunately, I sense that probably means Daan taking us across some more deep sand.  Oh well, guess I have to try to keep learning.

African trees are superb.  If you dig trees, I mean.