
South Africa has raced by! This is probably a good thing as I’ve had last-country blues, and didn’t want my journey to end.

There were some strange moments which added colour. One was cycling through the Namaqualand desert (where the famed wild flowers were just starting to bloom) when a guy on an incredibly loud dune buggy came roaring up and stopped on the other side of the road. In Namibia I was stopped and asked about my journey a lot so I’m quite well versed in this conversation, although I couldn’t hear him over the engine. But it turned out he just wanted a lighter. I found it rather strange to drive up to a cyclist in the desert and ask for a light. But I gave him one so perhaps it was an appropriate request. He was fairly indifferent to a Scottish cyclist being there in the middle of nowhere but said “ok, I love you, bye” and drove off with his cigarette.

There have been two particularly striking things about South Africa. One is the warnings. From Botswana onwards I kept hearing about how unsafe South Africa is, about car jackings and how I should (at least) have pepper spray. I bought some but, as a Brit with zero experience of actual self defence, I think it is most likely I would spray it in my own face. I’m glad there has been no call to use it so far. Some guy did try to grab my bike on the highway about 70km from Cape Town but missed. His friend said he was “just teasing” but he had seemed quite serious.

The other most noticeable aspect has been the hospitality. I started bumping into South Africans with increasing regularity from Botswana onwards and most of them invited me to stay with them before they knew my name. Almost all were a few thousand kilometres off route but I didn’t doubt the sincerity of their offers.

It is notable that South Africa is hilly and windy – these meant that a couple of times I fell short of my target destination. I asked at a farm if I could camp and found myself being housed, fed and entertained with horse riding. At a roadside cafe, I similarly asked to camp and ended up drinking wine with them and chatting through the sunset over dinner. The kindness has been incredible.

This kindness and hospitality influenced the last day quite considerably. I was offered an escort into Cape Town which, to be honest, I wasn’t keen on, particularly as I’m so used to planning autonomously and independently. It was a bit of a shock to have to coordinate plans with others. My friend suggested that it would make the last day feel special. She was right!

It was special and indeed quite surreal to be taken into a city with a 4 car convoy on the highway. I started to feel like a VIP when the police blocked junctions and sounded sirens to get me through the traffic lights. People were filming me in their cars, probably wondering if I were a famous cyclist in a blue kagoul. It was a lot of fun!

I arrived and had a very warm reception from local councillors and the alderman. Cake and champagne. My friend from Scotland arrived with bunting. And then so did a local couple I’d met in torrential rain in Malawi and then 3 months later we’d bumped into each other in the Namibian desert. I wished I didn’t look quite so windswept but I guess it wasn’t a fashion shoot and I should focus on celebrating and not worrying about my red face!

So I guess this marks the end of my trip. There is a lot to process and digest. My head is very much still in the present. It feels more like I’m taking a break from Biffa and cycling, rather than ending this chapter. Drinking a lot of wine may be delaying the processing! I have bought some dessert wine which scores 98 – unbelievably rare- so please form an orderly queue to drink it with me!

I will, at some point, update the kit list with reflections that might be useful to anyone planning a big cycling trip. I think Biffa did really well, needing only small tweaks except for the wheel hub breaking after 7000km. It was a cheap hub I had to put on last minute and I’ve heard of better hubs breaking far sooner or repeatedly. My general advice would be to trust your gut and tell bike mechanics what to do more! Although silly me stopped 75kms from Cape Town and asked a bike shop if they had the parts I needed. I knew exactly which ones were worn out. They didn’t have the right parts but thought they could fix my slipping gears. One hour later 1/3 of my gears didn’t work. An hour after that I had a significantly lighter wallet and a whole new drivetrain. I’m not very happy with the parts they put on and the bike shop weren’t happy with me when I said they looked cheap and nasty. Poor Biffa!

Incidentally, a mere 700km before having all my gears replaced, I’d enquired about a mechanic in a small mining town. A local guy ‘who knows about bikes’ came and had a look. He spent about 45 seconds or fewer looking at the bike and about 5 minutes or more telling me how gears worked. Apparently I just don’t know how to use a bicycle! It was very kind of him to come and so I just did my best to smile and make him leave before he could see how angry he was making me. He also explained to me that ‘modern bikes don’t have 3 chainrings’ which is absolute gubbins when referring to touring bikes. I was reminded of when I dated a Formula 1 engineer and he looked at my narrowboat engine. But he had the sense to recognise that he knew about his apples and not my oranges.
Tomorrow I will pack up Biffa and get her ready for the flight. I still haven’t decided what to do with her. She’s a very specialist piece of kit.

So for a few (dozen) headlines: I left Cairo on January 18th. I arrived in Cape Town on July 2nd. In that time I cycled about 8000km (and bussed a few). I had 1 bout of covid and a handful of PCR tests. I climbed the 2 highest mountains in Africa, Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya. I saw pyramids in Egypt and Sudan. I saw the world’s largest waterfall, Victoria Falls and danced in its mist. I danced in the desert. I relied upon countless strangers. I was fed by many. I swore at others. I hid in bushes to eat lunch alone. I cycled into a skip in Luxor. I fell in a hole in Malawi and again in Botswana. I saw seahorses in Zanzibar. Police bought me bread in Egypt and made me dinner in Sudan. Sudanese road workers gave me the dates in their pockets. Botswanan road workers ate all my noodles and made me a fire. Malawian children shouted ‘give me money. Give me money.’ Tanzanian children shouted ‘mzungu’. Zambian children chanted ‘how-are-you-how-are-you’. I got chased by an elephant. I slept in a convent. Missionaries gave me money and I paid it forward. I slept in a school and it was like being in a zoo, with kids throwing corn husks at me. Lions kept me awake. Wind kept me awake. I made lentils with unwelcome sand. A Swiss woman told me my Bouillion smelled like home. A Sudanese boy slept on a mat on the ground to keep me safe all night. I got asked if I was armed a lot in Botswana and Zimbabwe. Masaais threw stones at me and chased me with a machete. Ugandans laughed at me and told me it is not my country. Sudanese men proposed and asked about visas. I sang Celine Dion with a Malawian guy on a bike. I hiked huge red dunes. Czechs gave me Jaeger in the desert. I cycled through deserts carrying days worth of food. I saw an orange crescent moon in the Sahara (moo). It has been great.

The list goes on and on! People ask me why I decided to do this trip and I talk about how life got so very small during covid – we were only allowed out for an hour a day for most of a year. But this trip wasn’t just about making life big- it was more about wanting to feel alive, if that makes sense. I can’t say what’s next and I doubt anything will be quite so big for a while, but I hope it feels alive! And I hope you do things that make you feel alive too.
If you enjoyed this blog or even looking at the pictures, please consider donating to my fundraiser for the National Brain Appeal which has been supporting a family member for a long time. He’s a big fan! Here’s the link:

