The story of a ride from London to the UN Earth Summit in Jo'burg, S. Africa

Rather than the usual day-by-day account, here Ruth and Owy jot down a few impressions of the final week on the road, and of the journey as a whole.

BACK TO TRAVELOGUE INDEX

The Final Week of Cycling - by Ruth

Lots of things ran through my mind in the last week of cycling: …What would Jo'burg be like…I still haven't decided what I want to do with the rest of my life…How are we going to edit a water related film in ten days…this hill is very steep…oh look there's a place called Belfast…will I miss the cycling…I haven't phoned my parents in ages…
My body felt like it had had enough. I had a sore knee and my legs felt tired. We had not had a full rest day in almost two weeks and I thought the final 550km would drag. But looking back I enjoyed it. It was entertaining watching Toby and Owy trying to put up their tent one night we slept at a toll booth (8 months and they still didn't seem to have it perfected) and I was excited about getting to Jo'burg. The wind couldn't decide which direction it was blowing from, so some days were tough with a strong headwind and other days we glided along with the wind in our backs.

Getting to South Africa was a culture shock. We crossed the border from Mozambique and said goodbye to women carrying buckets of water on their heads and the people selling little pyramids of oranges at the side of the road. Huge sprinkler systems watered the orange plantations, lorries that looked like they would actually pass their MOT sped past on the smooth tarmac taking fresh fruit and vegetables, bread and meat to the well stocked supermarkets. Gone were the days when our selection was limited to soap, tinned fish and exercise books. In Nelspruit I pushed a button at a pedestrian crossing for the first time in as long as I could remember and I gazed in the window of a shop dedicated to selling lights and lampshades. For the past 6 months there had been little call for such a shop as outside the major cities, much of Africa is without electricity.

We stayed in Malelane, and I was excited by the prospect of a shower especially as it had running water that was hot. There was even a ledge to put my soap. In our first three days in South Africa I am sure we amassed more food packaging rubbish than our entire time in Mozambique, but then again we hadn't had the luxury of take away pizza, wine and chocolate. Throughout Africa we sat on the ground, often in the dirt and dust so when I was told to move off the windowsill of a shop where I was resting my tired legs I wasn't sure how to react.

Our approach to Johannesburg was initially along a freeway but we had to find an alternative route when we found that we weren't supposed to be there. The traffic policeman said we could continue on the route but if the police caught us we might be locked up, like 100 other pedestrians that had recently been imprisoned for walking on the freeway.

When we pedalled into Johannesburg's Sandton Square, our official finish line, on 5th August, we were only able to circle the fountain twice before being collared by security guards. 'You're not allowed to cycle here' they said. Several journalists met us, took photographs and congratulated us on having cycled 13 177km. Also there to meet us was Stuart and Jane from The Grace Hotel, where we were to spend some complimentary nights, and I was most looking forward to having a long soak in a bath - the first for many months.

The experience has been amazing, and although we have finished the cycling, we have lots of preparation to do for the Summit. Over the coming weeks we are editing a short film for inclusion in the Jozi Film Festival that is running alongside the Summit, we are acting as volunteers at the Waterdome (one of the Summit venues) and generally enjoying a break from our bikes.

The Final Week of Cycling - by Owy

"I am a citizen of the World, all countries are alike to me" - Lord Byron

Well it's about seven months ago that I decided to fly to Cairo and meet the other three. It seemed like a crazy thing to do at the time, the sort of thing that you think about for 10 seconds, say YES, and deal with consequences later. Now I find myself camped behind a tollbooth on the highway that goes into South Africa and everything appears to me to be normal. It's been a hard day, pushing a heavy bike against a very strong headwind with a feeling inside that I want to go very much faster than my legs will carry me. It is difficult to imagine what my life is going to be like in about a months time as I roll up my sleeping bag, pack the tent and start today's riding, a rather pleasant kind of daily grind. There are times that I catch myself wondering off in thought to a very distant homeland, the dry grasses of Chapman Hill, collecting pine cones in the forest, the rough seas of Bateman's Bay. Or more recent memories of student life, lush rainforests, sailing trips on the reef, and of the red earth of outback Cunnamulla. All these Australian landscapes have swept through my mind at one point or another whilst traversing Africa. Even the cold and grey floodlit streets of Edinburgh have made a home in memory. A pint or two at the local pub, walking through the Pentlands, views from Arthur's Seat and the distinctive smell of the chippy wash through in daydreams. But what of Africa, what memories will I take from here?

I could write at length regarding the memories of Africa but apparently there is a limit to the virtual webspace we own, or don't own, depending on how you look at it. But the dichotomy of where we have lived for the past six months and what may lie but 30km down the road (South Africa) is what weighs heavy on my mind this morning, not storage capacity. A grass hut, a man dressed in rags with a machete, a woman with a bucket on her head, images of Africa that blend into one another and are no longer new to the senses. I will be returning to the life that I had before, no doubt about that. But now I am stained, both body and mind, with the colours of Africa. The harsh landscapes, beautiful people, diseased insects, aromatic cuisine, the struggle to survive, the contentment with being alive, the silence, crowds of staring eyeballs, the progress, the delusions, the right way the wrong way, the African way, have all claimed a piece of my body or soul. It is what appears to me to be a continent of extremes, with Africa at both ends and me somewhere in the middle on a bicycle. I'd like to pretend that I know a little of each country, but like all countries there is an infinite depth to the culture, people, landscapes, and secrets. I left my tyre prints, took some photos and tried to understand the best I could, but it is hard to get under the skin of Africa. It is a continent with pride, landscapes as varied as people, untamed fauna and flora, cultures that run deep in the time, elements that you can experience with your senses five, but never know intimately.
In thirty kilometres it will still be Africa, but another kind of Africa.

"I am a citizen of Australia, not of the world, all countries are very different to me!"
- Owy McGrath

BACK TO TRAVELOGUE INDEX