Chapter 1
Making Decisions
Yes indeed, what was I doing here in the middle of
Africa alone on my 18- year- old R50 BMW 500cc
motorcycle?
America. Plans for this were well underway when my
father took a turn for the worse and in a short time
died, so all ideas of travelling were postponed while
my brother and sisters and I helped our mother face
her loss. By the time we had her settled, the summer
Africa. The word had always conjured up ideas of months were over and it was too late in the season to
adventure and mystery – steaming jungles, pygmies contemplate travelling in the northern hemisphere so
with their bows and arrows, huge, wasted desert lands my thoughts once again turned toward Africa.
with Arabs on their camels, many maybe wrong
impressions given by movies such as Africa Queen
with visions of retired colonels staring rheumy- eyed
into their whisky or gin and tonics muttering, “Ah yes,
when I was in the Congo…..”
Since 1963, when I first discovered the joys of
motorcycling, my itchy feet and throttle hand had
taken me all over the British Isles, a fair amount of
Europe and Scandinavia, and a short way into the USSR
for an FIM (Federation of International Motorcyclists)
rally in Moscow. After that there was a three-year tour
around Australia and it was in that vast continent that
I first experienced long distances in arid lands and
learnt to ride on unmade roads.
I returned to England from Australia in 1972 as my
father was ill and my siblings had written to say that
it could be serious. For a while he seemed to be on
the mend and I began to look around for another
adventure. Africa appealed. I made enquiries at the
AA (Automobile Association) about a journey through
that continent and their advice when I mentioned it
would be by motorcycle was “Don’t!” That was
somewhat discouraging so I turned my attention to