Return to the Kingdom…

(404kms)  

S 25º 47’ 46” – E 31º 23’ 99”

I had set my alarm for 5.00am, as I wanted to make a few notes for my journal and have a reasonably early start to this my last day in Mozambique. I leapt out of bed like a shot from a gun when the alarm went off… I had not heard an alarm for a number of months and the noise sent my mind reeling… For a second I couldn’t think why I had set the alarm… Did I have a meeting? Was I late? I sat back down on the edge of the bed, opening the door to my cottage with the toes of my left foot… The basset shot through the doorway and did her best to leap onto the bed next to me, a heroic effort that ended in dismal failure!! She bounced off the edge, not coming remotely close to getting enough height in her jump, and crashed to the floor in a heap… I consoled the vertically challenged dog by ticking her tummy while she lay there looking very sorry for herself… (Bassets tend to look that way all the time!!)

I sat typing on my laptop for an hour and then watched as the camp started to come alive… Birds began their early morning twittering, while the workers from the sawmill began arriving at the office which Ockert used. He walked across to them from his house and then started issuing his instructions to them. That done, he turned and walked towards me with a few bottles of water in each hand, handing these to me and wishing me a safe journey… I asked if he would show me around his mill and the smile that lit up his face told me that he was more than happy to do so… We strolled through the factory together, he pointing out the various machinery and kilns that he had built, and me taking a few photos and asking the usual questions; how many cubes do you cut a day, how long does it take to dry the hardwoods he was using etc, etc… After my little tour, we exchanged business cards and he went back into the mill while I walked back to my cottage, the Basset still in close attendance…

I loaded my kit onto the bike and checked the distance I would have to ride, calculating as I usually did, exactly where I would need to refuel, and how often and where I would stop for a break… I started the bike to let it idle while I donned my jacket and back-pack, helmet and gloves. The growl from the engine startled the dog and sent her running towards the main house… When she realised she was not in any danger, she came back to sit near the bike, while I checked the cottage again to make sure I had packed everything away…

I got onto the bike, and rode slowly towards the gate, hooting farewell as I passed the main house and the little office. I exited the main gate and parked near the large Leadwood sign which indicated the entrance to the property. I noticed the Basset had followed me the 300 odd metres from my cottage and was looking forlornly at me through the bars of the main gate. (As I mentioned before, Bassets tend to look that way all the time!!) I waved at her, and then roared off down the EN1, bound for Maputo…

I started the ride quickly, changing smoothly through the gears and getting up to the 140km/m mark in what felt like mere seconds, the bike settling nicely under me… After so many thousands of kilometres, I had become acutely aware of the little changes in the handling when I wasn’t riding with as much focus as I needed to… It was far easier to get into a comfortable riding rhythm if the first few minutes were ridden on a good surface with as few sharp corners as possible… Often if the day started in this way, I rode with confidence for the rest of the day, regardless of the conditions that I might find further down the road…

The entrance to The Honey Pot, 18kms south of Xai-Xai on the EN1….

I passed through Chipenhe and crossed into the “Distrito de Bilene”, the District of Bilene, and had to slow down after the flashing lights of an oncoming car warned of a speed trap ahead… Waving at the traffic officers as I passed and getting only a scowl in return, I rode on through Chimondzo and Incaia, then on to Macia and the turnoff to Bilene and the coast 33 km away…

I had been travelling due west from Xai-Xai, and the road now dipped south towards Manhica. I stopped in the village of Mimbiri to adjust my Tank Bag which was the only piece of equipment that had given me hassles on the entire trip… The sticky pad, which is attached to the tank had melted in the heat riding through the Northern Cape and Namibia, and the bottom part of the tank bag had not been attached to the bike at all for the previous four or five weeks… It sat quite snugly on the tank, only moving about a bit when I rode in strong winds…

I crossed the Incoluane River and then began looking for a spot to stop and drink some of the water that Ockert had given me, and to chew on a few snack bars… I settled on the bridge over the Cuenga River, 45 kms north of Manica, parked the bike as close to the railing as possible, took off my backpack and jacket, and then sat in the shade of some large trees that grew on the river’s banks… In a short space of time I was surrounded by a group of the usual curious onlookers… It did not take long before the English speakers amongst them started the usual round of questions, all of which I answered with as much patience as I could muster, having already repeated the story of my travels too many times too mention… They eventually wandered off, leaving me to eat in peace…

Rest break on the bridge over the Cuenga River…

Corobrik’s outreach program begins bearing fruit in Mozambique…

A short distance away was one of the many brick-making kilns I had passed in the last hour, and I walked across the road and down an embankment to get a closer look at their handiwork… The kilns had just been emptied, and the bricks were still warm to the touch. These bricks were made from the clay which they had dug from the nearby riverbed and were of a far better quality than those I had seen in Malawi…

Back on the road again, I passed through Palmeira and arrived in Manhica a few minutes later, riding through the flood plains which mark this area as a place to avoid when flood warnings are issued… A short distance from the village of Malauna, I stopped at the “Ultra City” snack bar… I ordered a Prego roll from the surprisingly large and diverse menu and drank two cold-drinks while I waited for my steak roll to arrive. It was extremely hot and the drinks hardly made any impression in reducing my body temperature…

I moved indoors and a pineapple farmer who had been asking me questions interpreted by the young guy working behind the counter, stood up to shake my hand and congratulate me on my exploits thus far. He then asked if I had space on the bike to accept a gift from him… Without further ado, he trotted off to his Nissan patrol, opened the back door to reveal a mountain of pineapples, selected one and passed it to me… He then helped me secure it to my Top-Box with a few bungi cords, and retired back into the little bar to finish his whisky on the rocks… I bought a bandana with the 2-M beer logo to commemorate all those that I had drank over the last few days and got back on the bike for the last 75km ride into Maputo…

The Ultra City roadside shop, where I was given a large pineapple by a farmer impressed by my exploits…

A short distance past the village of Marracuene, smoke from a large veld fire obscured the road completely and I had to slow down to a crawl, hoping that I would not meet a speeding bus or truck coming the other way… The flood plains north of Maputo were burning on a front that was kilometres long, and it took about three minutes to get to the far side of the smoke… I rode as close to the edge of the road as I could for safety’s sake, as the smoke seemed to have no bearing on the speed that other vehicles were doing… At times I battled to breathe, and had to open my visor to get some air, which in turn caused my eyes to water in protest… Not a pleasant few minutes to be sure, and with my heart pounding in my chest, I opened the throttle to get clean air flowing through my helmet again…

I rode into the outskirts of a hazy, crazy, Maputo… The traffic was a nightmare… Large trucks, buses and taxis, zig-zagged between bicycles and potholes with carefree abandon. The sand that had been washed onto the road by recent rains didn’t help either… With dust in my eyes, and pebbles bouncing off my chest and helmet, I tried unsuccessfully to get past some of them. I eventually settled behind a clapped out Datsun 1200, and together we inched our way through the bewildering crowds of pedestrians and other obstacles, toward the fly-over which signalled the entrance to the city itself…

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly fit another thing on my bike, along came a Pineapple…

I turned west onto the EN4 at the first set of traffic lights I had seen in weeks, and made my way to Matola, passing through the first toll gate I had encountered since the one in Tsitsikamma in the Eastern Cape many weeks ago… I refuelled and had a quick snack while a large group of curious onlookers gathered around the bike and jabbered away, pointing at all the “flag stickers” adorning my Top-Box… Leaving them behind me, I turned left onto the N2 to Boane, which in turn wound towards Namaacha and the Swaziland border. I marvelled at some of the large houses built in and around the town of Boane, and wondered what the attraction to this area was…

The last few kilometres to the border climbed steadily into the foothills of the mountain range which separates the two countries, and I slowed to enjoy the scenery. Every few kilometres, I came across neat piles of slate or slasto being sold next to the road. The few villages I passed seemed to be deserted, absent of the children which I was so used to seeing wandering close to the road or just sitting watching the traffic go by…

Just before Namaacha, I stopped near one such village to take a few last photos of the bike and I in Mozambique… I remembered then that I would not be allowed through the border with the pineapple strapped to my bike, and looked around for somebody to give it to… A young girl was standing in the shade of a mango tree near what I assumed was her hut, and I called her over… She walked slowly towards me, eyeing the pineapple I held out to her. She clapped her hands together in appreciation, smiled shyly at me and then went racing back to the hut…

The Swaziland border lay behind the range of mountains in the background…

I had passed through Namaacha about eight years before with Guy More whilst on our way to visit a timber concession and sawmill which he had set up near Mandlakaze, north of Xai-Xai. The little town had grown since then, and a large hotel was in the process of being built on the main road that passed through it… I rolled into the parking lot of the border post and within minutes had exited Mozambique and entered the Kingdom of Swaziland…

Before going through the formalities of entering Swaziland, I used the remaining airtime on my M-cell sim card to call my sister Charmaine, to let her know where I was and that all was well… I then set about the process of haggling with the money changers to rid myself of the Meticais which still inhabited my wallet… No easy task this, as the guys here were much less inclined to accept my rate offers than those in other countries had been… I eventually gave up the battle and settled for much less than I was happy with, but did manage to buy a full can of coke for R2.00 from the guy I sold my money to!! A small conciliation for the fleecing he had subjected me to!!

Last stop before the border into Swaziland, where I got rid of my trophy pineapple, rather than give it to the Customs Officers …

I re-entered Swaziland having exited its Southern border post on the 20^th of December, the longest period I had ever been out of the country since 1987…

I had my passport stamped, and paid the E50.00 for road tax and re-entered Swaziland for the second time on my journey… I noticed thunder clouds building on the mountains ahead of me and wandered if I would make it to Ngonini without having to don my rain gear for the umpteenth time… I passed through the Vetinarary Control Post just before the turnoff to Mlume, and was then stopped at a Police Roadblock… I had become so used to them by now that I once again managed to avoid having to show my license by coming across as the friendliest tourist you were ever likely to meet… After the usual banter about the weather, the state of the roads and the price of the bike, I was waved on with best wishes for the remainder of my ride… I kept a beady eye on the rain which was falling to the west of my current position and bore down on the throttle in an attempt to outrun or skirt any nasty weather that might be coming my way…

I made good time along the MR5, passing Mlume and the sugar cane fields that blanket this entire area, and tore along at high speed towards Madlangempisi and Mliba. I passed the turnoff to Manzini and was then on the MR6 to Msahweni, drops of rain beginning to gather on my visor… I rode on through light drizzle, the clouds that had been threatening beginning to dump their contents on my person…again…!! It was a little after 4.00 pm, and I decided I still had enough daylight in hand to look for a place to shelter from the rain, which I hoped would soon pass over…

Luckily the new road had been furnished with fully covered bus-stops every few kilometres and I eventually chose one just before it began raining in earnest… At first I left the bike out in the rain, but as it began raining harder, I decided to put the bike under the shelter as well, and rode it up the pavement and under the roof. A bus stopped there a few minutes later and the passengers who alighted from it looked on in amazement as I sat there nonchalantly chewing on the last of my snack bars…

This bus shelter served as place for both of us to avoid the rain…

An elderly Swazi sat down next to me and began asking questions about the bike and commenting on all the stickers that I had attached to my Top-box… His eyes grew larger with the telling of my story, and he eventually shook his head and said,

“You have come so far on this machine… God must have watched over you…”

I could only nod in agreement, and pointed at the gold cross that hung from my neck on the outside of my shirt. He looked into my eyes and said,

“I saw it when I came off the bus and knew that God travelled with you…”

I felt the prick behind my eyes which heralded the arrival of an emotional tear or two, and looked away, out over the road and the village nestled under some large trees, away to the north-west of where I now sat, towards Nelspruit and the home that I had loved and that was being vacated at that very moment… I walked out from under the shelter, pretending to be judging the strength of the rain, not wanting to let the old man see the tears streaming down my face and into my beard… It’s strange how the simplest of statements can have the most profound effect on one…

Half an hour later it was still raining and I decided to get my rain suit out and get back on the road. The road surface was slick with water, and the oil it had lifted from its surface… I had a “scary moment” as I sped round a gentle left-hander, feeling the back tyre (over 12 000kms young!!) begin to drift out from under me… In what felt like slow motion, I pulled gently on the handlebars to counteract the slide and came into the straight after the bend like a seasoned pro… Not quite believing that I was still upright on the bike!! I slowed down after that…..I didn’t think I would be able to do that twice…(not in one day, but ever!!)

Rain and mist shroud the mountains as I arrive at the junction leading to Pigg’s Peak and the South African Border…

I arrived at the MR1 junction which led right to Matsamo Border Post and left toward Pigg’s Peak. Rain and mist covered the mountains along the South African border directly in front of me… I sat there for a while thinking about the countless trips I had made down this road over the last dozen years, to my home in Nelspruit…and my family… The “Big Fella” purred quietly under me as I sat there, letting snap shots of Vanessa, Roxanne and Robyn flash through my mind…

I turned left and rode slowly towards the turnoff to Ngonini, stopping at the security gate to advise the guard that I was visiting the Barnard’s… I rode carefully along the gravel road which leads towards the pack house where bananas were being offloaded from a trailer. I could not remember which turnoff to take to Louis’s house and asked a passing security guard where they lived… He indicated the road on my left which went through a steep dip and continued alongside a grove of banana trees on a narrow road made slippery by the rain…

After going only a short distance I realised that this was NOT the road I needed to be on and looked for a place to turn around. I was riding between two large puddles of water intending to try and turn around just beyond them, when my back tyre slipped off the edge of the puddle on my right which was considerably deeper that I had imagined it to be… I tried to hold the bike up but my left leg slipped on the muddy surface and down we went!!! I fell into the puddle on my left, the earphones of my I-pod ripping out of my helmet and disappearing under the water… I could not believe that I had just dropped the bike, and stood up quickly to switch the engine off as the bike was still in gear and the back wheel was throwing up a plume of spray as it spun in the water….

The guys who were offloading the bananas came galloping up to help me lift the bike and turn it around… I looked at the bike, covered in mud, frustration and disappointment coursing through me… I had ridden almost 17 000km and had not fallen, and this on roads which were a damn sight worse than the one I was on… I had been very proud of this fact… I wanted to find and strangle the security guard who had directed me down this road… I was certain I would have felt much better watching him dance at the end of my arms…

I rode back down through the dip and back onto the main gravel road and turned left toward the offices of the farm, remembering when I saw them, exactly where the Barnard’s lived… Charlotte and Guy were waiting in the garden as I rode up and they gave me a warm welcome… I was glad to see her again, as she had sent me more messages of support than any other person while I had been away, and I was glad to be able to thank her in person…

After washing all the mud off the bike, we carried my kit into the house and after a hot shower, I settled down on the veranda with Charlotte, Sarah and Guy, sharing stories of my trip with them… Louis arrived a little later and helped me fix my right hand mirror which had somehow come loose when I fell… We ate out on the veranda, and later that night I fell into bed, happy to be back among the friends who I had said goodbye to ten long weeks ago…

It was to be the beginning of an extended homecoming….