Spoke 10: Heart of Light - pedalling into Africa
Jake Hudson muses on natural wonders and our human superpower of adaption in the Rift Valley
A spoke is a little metal rod connecting the centre of a wheel to its outer edge. There are 32 such spokes in the rims of my Brother Mehteh.
A Spoke is a guest writer on 10,000km Arriba. One day I will publish a collection of Spokes: 32 voices, 32 stories.
Jake, subject of many of my written pieces so far, is the 10th Spoke to be featured.
As four fresh-faced cyclists, Jake, Jamie, George, and Benny stood waiting for Kenyan visas in a loud and chaotic arrivals hall in Nairobi Airport, I couldn't help but feel two things. One, no Brit could possibly feel comfortable with the state of that unorderly queue, and two, I truly had no idea what to expect on this crazy adventure down the Eastern side of the vast and mysterious continent of Africa.
I cannot say that I felt fully prepared. One beer-fuelled tour zigzagging across the Balkans, and one equally beer-fuelled trip down the coast of Ireland had left me with an insatiable thirst for more two-wheeled adventures. But Africa, with its simply awesome and untarnished landscapes would give even the most well-rehearsed tourer that conflicting combination of both excitement and dread at the pit of their stomach. That being said, I did feel a little more prepared than George. He had yet to figure out how to change gears on his brand-new bicycle after a 10-year hiatus from any form of pedalling whatsoever. It's all relative I suppose...
Up the first climb of the trip and away from the sprawling urban metropolis, we were almost instantly rewarded with a view which took our breath away (although our very poor early-trip fitness levels definitely contributed). Teetering over the edge of a sketchy cliff, we peered out over the Great Rift Valley, with it's imperious purple mountains sinking into luscious green savannahs as far as the eye can see. We had arrived. Maybe the unknown isn't so bad after all.
This first view looking out over the continent began the process of replacing my mind's wild, exciting, but often intimidating expectations of Africa with an overwhelming sense of serenity and unparalleled beauty. A broken wheel on the following descent did its best to break the spell, but after hitch-hiking my way to the nearest bike shop in the passenger seat of a huge Kenyan freight truck, I felt the gluttonous desire to experience more.
As the days, weeks, and months past hauling our cargo-filled bikes across endless savannas, luscious rainforests, and deserts of baked orange clay, my steadily developing routine - a nine-to-five like no other - provided me with that comforting feeling of familiarity. The lurking sense of anxiety I had previously felt was washing away like the layers of dust on my skin after a precious bath in a Tanzanian river. This is not to say that the journey didn't give rise to a few hairy moments: A thin sheet of tent canvas once separated me from a grazing hippopotamus searching for a late-night, plant-based snack, and one tranquil morning piss descended into chaos after my bleary eyes spotted a muscular, adult-male baboon charging straight at me. Diving headfirst into my tent, boxers around my ankles seemed like the sensible thing to do.
Looking back, I was totally unfazed; it's remarkable to think how easy it was to laugh moments like this off. As demonstrated by the COVID-19 lockdowns, when an unimaginable new reality is forced upon us, our capacity as humans to adapt and normalise what is in front of us is truly incredible. This superpower, which we all have, is absolutely perfect for taking the plunge from the safe bubble of normal life to a trans-continental expedition.
One of the many lessons this trip has taught me is that the resistance to trying new things is augmented by the biases, stereotypes, and insecurities that we plant in our own minds. This couldn't be more relevant to a misunderstood place like Africa. The fear of exploring the unknown wonders of the region is unfortunately derived from racist undertones, or at the very best ignorance. Preconceived concerns over our safety on this trip were discarded as soon as we pedalled into the wilderness. Instead, we were greeted with nothing but pure kindness, warmth, hospitality, and generosity from people who materially have much less than ourselves. Only once did we experience an exception to this rule, at least initially. When you are woken up in the dead of night by three men armed with AK-47 assault rifles, you can only fear for the worst. However, when their only concern was whether we'd feel more secure camping closer to the village, our general perception of safety quickly reverted back to the sleepy, quiet African villages built on mutual aid and support. That being said, we would have felt much safer that night if we hadn't been woken up at gun point...
Cycling 7000km from Kenya to South Africa, with six magical countries in between has given me memories, stories and images which will stay with me for the rest of my life. As Jamie and I sat at the end of an old wooden pier at our final destination of Durban, I stared back up at the endless, rugged, and newly-conquered coastline to the north. I couldn't help thinking that I had one more big trip left in the legs, with the fears and anxieties of a new unknown to overcome...
After Ireland, the Balkans and the above mentioned Nairobi to Durban epic, Jake’s desire to see the world by bike was not yet satisfied.
He started to remedy this with a 3-week lap of Sri Lanka, sampling some of the finest street food this world has to offer, but deep down, he was already thinking on a transcontinental scale.
Jake and I started talking about the South American route in 2020 and after failing to convince anyone else to come with us, bought our flights ready for an April 2023 departure. The rest, as they say, is history.
Jake now lives and works with his girlfriend Nicole in Brazil. He still thinks about bike travel, but for now, basking in the warm glow of several caipirinhas on the beach in Florianópolis, he’s more than happy to lay the bike to rest.
If you enjoyed this piece, please consider subscribing to 10,000km Arriba. You will find a new Spoke in your inbox every two weeks. You’ll also get regular updates from me as I retell the Patagonia-Colombia journey over the next few months.
Not too many updates, not too little, but just enough to make you want to sell everything you own and hit the road.
Guest writers you may have missed
A call for writers
If you’d like to guest write on 10,000km Arriba, you’d be most welcome.
You can write about any bike experience, whether a short or long trip, a chronic cycling addiction, or simply a moment on two wheels that you deeply cherish.
Let me know in the comments.