Zambia

Zambia had the distinction of being entirely pleasant and, by the end, exceeding dull. I've finally lost my patients for roads so straight and flat. There wasn't even any wind to push me one way or another. I peddled in a tepid sea of still air, clouds blooming on the horizon in every direction.

Before the smooth road passing friendly little villages got the better of me I visited Victoria Falls, one of the largest waterfalls in the world. Recent rain had them flowing at full volume. The roar was intense and the spray coming up from below rained down in an endless shower, turning the walking paths into streams. The falls were so wide and the resulting mist so thick that I never saw to the far end of them. From every view rainbows cast about dancing in the froth. It was magnificent. I also visited the Kundalila falls. I suspect no one but the locals have ever heard of them, but they were spectacular in their own right.

The road north was dotted with tiny villages selling tomatoes, potatoes and on one day only, watermelons. I filled my water at the town wells and took my turn pumping for anyone else there. Many people spoke some English. The children would call out “How are you!” as I passed. “Fine!” was the response they were looking for and invariably was their reply whenever I turned the question back at them. I did a lot of racing in Zambia. Because the road was well paved and with a wide shoulder many people had bicycles. Any young man I caught up with would match my pace. It was never spoken but there was no way they were going to let me bike away from them. I would try to though. On their rusty single speeds with soft tires and sometimes carrying passengers on the rear rack, their wife and baby perhaps, they would keep up with me. I was never able to pull away from anyone. After 20 minutes, more or less depending on where they were going, they would pull off without a word and I, breathless with burning thighs, would relax my pace until the next challenger appeared.

I followed the highway for more than 1000 kilometers. On both sides of the road the grass was beaten back by men with a sort of bent machete, like a large grapefruit knife or a sharpened golf club. That is a corridor of grass, 8 meters wide, 1000 kilometers long, being mowed with sharpen golf clubs. As surely as I thought it strange for them to be doing that they thought it strange for me to be biking so far. I suppose neither of us were wrong. 

Victoria Falls. 

  

 A flower for you. 

Kundalila falls. 

I found this insect in my nightmare. 

Bringing coal home for cooking. 

 The road to Kundalila falls

I had to find a place to camp when it was dark one night. Turns out I was in a graveyard. 

Botswana

I spent nine pleasant days crossing Botswana. The people were exceedingly friendly, always waving. As I continued north wild animals became a main topic of conversation. Everyone warned me about elephants and lions ahead and asked if I was not scared. I told them I wasn't, but after a hundred people cautioned me about lions I couldn't help but be anxious.

I entered the area with the animals in north east Botswana. It was a remote 300 kilometer stretch with a small village halfway through. The “big five” lived there, in the bush just off of the road. At rest areas signs precluded the government from liability. Leave your vehicle at your own risk they said. I tried to stay moving and kept a close eye on the tall grass. Fixing a flat tire becomes pretty exciting in a place like this. The first night a Park Ranger strongly suggested I stay at a camp ground. In fact he drove me there so I would arrive before dark. The second day I found a lookout tower to sleep in. As night descended 15 elephants arrived to wander beneath me and make strange noises in the dark. I was thankful to be up in the tower as I would have been terrified to be down there hanging between trees among the thrashing elephants. On the third night I hung my hammock in the forest. Despite the night I just had in the tower I decided I wanted to sleep among the wild things. Elephant trails were everywhere. Earlier that day a shepherd pointed out a lion's print in the sand, a truck driver showed me photos of lions next to the road, the road I was on. I pushed my bike into the forest shortly before dusk, and hung my hammock as high off the ground as I could. I laid in it wide eyed, ears straining to identify anything in the darkness below.

By the time I left Botswana I had seen a couple dozen elephants, a zebra, a roadkill hyena, impala, baboons, small snakes and warthogs. I took a ferry to the safety of Zambia. Everyone had nice things to say about Zambia.

 This is my mascot. I found him on the side of the road in Argentina.

 Camping in the lookout tower.

 Hammockeers will recognize this as a high hang.

This was the closest to a welcome sign that I could find. 

Leaving South Africa

I spent another 10 days crossing South Africa from Lesotho to Botswana. On my last night in South Africa I was in my hammock near a game reserve. As the sky grew dark I heard in the distance low guttural animal noises. The reserves here have tall wire fences that remind me of the Jurassic Park movies. I hoped whatever was making the sound was on the other side of that fence. I slept lightly. In the morning I heard it again, deep and distant, calling forth in the pale morning light as the last of the stars blinked out. Through the night I had conjured up images of mammoth buffalo snorting or some sort of trophy bred impala that croons at the stars. I packed my things and started down the road to discover what was ahead. I had an answer when soon I came across a group of tired looking cows. I was laughing at myself for turning a distant cow moo into a fearsome African beast when I reached the nature reserve. Movement on an adjacent hill caught my eye. An animal hopped low among the rocks. I thought it a goat but then it bellowed. It was the sonorous cry I had been hearing. It stepped into view, a dark baboon. Looking at me it called out again and I stopped. In the next few minutes about 30 baboons crossed the road, mostly adults, babies clung to their mother's backs, a few adolescents prodded each other and tumbled on the road. When it seemed no more would be coming I continued. They had moved onto the hill and into the trees. From above the whole group stared, watching me pedal slowly past.