July 2017 | 61
There are no fences around game areas in Botswana . Cows slowly disappear from the roadside until suddenly they are replaced by their larger , prehistoric and tusked counterparts , the elephants . There are very few , if any , experiences that I can compare to the feeling of vulnerability and exhilaration of cycling through a game reserve . Two hundred and fifty kilometres of uninhabited land , ruled by lions , elephants and buffalo , through which one would normally pass with the protection of a large Land Rover , or for the few brave cattle herders , a large calibre ri�e . One such herder that we came across told us , grinning from ear to ear , �There are loads of lion ! Yes , I just saw them on the road down there !”
We reached a camp in the middle of the reserve by early afternoon and spent the day observing the comings and goings of tourists who , descending from their airconditioned bus , would be chaperoned along protected walkways so as not to risk running into any game , fed to the eyeballs with steak and desert , then rammed back on the bus to go and experience the great outdoors . While feeling a little smug about the freedom of bike touring , it dawned on us that being behind a glass window probably is the more advisable way of viewing twenty-foot-tall bull elephants .
Our suspicions were confirmed the next day . We�d been told different advice by �ust about everyone on this trip , from ‘ make yourself big and shout at it ’ to ‘ treat it with respect and back off� to �run for your life , you will die anyway so you might as well try and call your loved ones ’. We chose the ‘ look straight , clench and pretend nothing is out of the ordinary� . This , it turns out , is a pretty good policy , but in this particular case something about our appearance , it may have been my wife-beater burn lines , didn ’ t sit too well with him . Just as we were passing , less than ten metres away , he suddenly turned his huge frame towards us , �apping his ears and trumpeting . � looked back at the footage we have of this moment , and it was only a few seconds , but it honestly felt like an eternity . He pulled himself to his full height , threatening us and , sizing us up at the same time , kicked up dust and turned on the spot , disappearing like a ghost back into the bush .
We completed our hundred and fifty-kilometre day of riding through the park �ust as it was getting dark . The bush is not somewhere you want to be at nightfall – it is the hunting hour and we would be sitting ducks . Luckily , a lodge gave us free accommodation , and we had a few rums to celebrate , swam in a bizarre phallic shaped pool and generally congratulated ourselves for passing through the park un-scathed . We woke up late , messed about with the bikes and laughed at the swimming pool a bit more , and it was not until long past midday that we were ready to leave and meander the next few kilometres until we found a place to camp . As we were leaving , a land rover came hurtling down the dusty road towards us . It pulled to a halt and the landlady stepped out , looking concerned .
“ You haven ’ t left yet ?!” she exclaimed . “ You do realise that it is one hundred kilometres until the next inhabited area , and it is all game land ?”
Shit .
We had to cover that distance in four hours , or we would be left out in the open with no protection , and almost certainly be bush meat by the morning . The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat ; we got straight on the bikes , and , via the shop where we bought cold beans for lunch , hit the road . �t was brutal� we took one five-minute break to down tinned fruit and beans , but aside from that , we pushed ourselves to the limit non-stop . About two hours into the �ourney � heard a shout from Theo behind me�
“ Lion !!!!!!”
Johnno was twenty metres back and didn ’ t understand our calls for him to catch up with us , or he did but resented , quite understandably , being told to hurry up when already at breaking point . Thus , we passed the lion , with Johnno isolated and utterly unaware of its presence , with our hearts in our mouths and lives �ashing before our sweat-soaked eyes .
So , we passed our Masters in African bike touring , or purgatory , without a scratch . We sauntered into Kazungula with spirits as high as they have been all trip , drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted . It was at this moment that we spotted Mike . We cycled up to him with high spirits , keen to share with him our achievement and warn him of the challenges that lay ahead of him . It was as if the world was toying with us , allowing us the sense of achievement that comes with passing through the trials of a game reserve , but putting it quite brutally into perspective with Mike ’ s truly monumental journey , through the thirty-five countries that have brought him from New York to Botswana . We may never experience the nomadic independent existence that Mike has created for himself , but reaching Zambia via Botswana ’ s Jurassic park is enough of an achievement for me .
The Road To Hwange
Theo Bromfield
As I sit in the back of a Land Rover Defender whistling through Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe , there is no better time to reminisce on what has happened over the past week . We�ve seen three countries , fought off baboons , interacted with white rhinos and visited one of the Seven Wonders of the World .
The �iver �ambe�i is a force of nature and whilst crossing it on a rickety old iron ferry crammed to triple capacity , you get a terrifying feeling that the whole thing is going to spilt in half . In the middle of the river , you are at a point where the boundaries of four countries meet , namely Botswana , Zimbabwe , Namibia and Zambia and we were incredibly excited to enter the latter .
Our first night in �ambia brought us to a small farm five kilometres from Kazangula . With the sun setting quickly , Wadi spotted a small wooden hut off the side of the road and went to introduce himself . Mutema , the nonchalant local headman , welcomed us into his home and allowed us to pitch our tents for the night . After a tour of his farm , we grabbed some dinner and joined him and his son , �nambao , around the fire .
It ’ s amazing how sometimes the most relevant and interesting conversations come out of blue and our evening in Kazangula was exactly that . After discussing our story with Mutema and Inambao we learnt some incredible insights into the effects of poaching at a local level and how it was directly impacting their community . With such a low employment rate , the young are prime