28 May 2023 – Day Two of the Old Legs Zanzibar Tour.
I have titled today’s blog the colony strikes back, wreaking havoc with my ride stats as recorded above in the process, but more of that later.
Distance – 100.2 kilometers
Time – 11 hours 29 minutes
Av heart rate – 114 bpm
Max heart rate – 182 bpm
Av temp – bloody hot.
Av Speed – 8 km but only because I forgot to switch my Garmin off in the border post.
The day got off to such a promising start. We started riding at 06.40, excited by a day of new scenery, and the promise of 1800 meters of descent vs 1200 meters of climb.
Well that didn’t quite work according to plan. Thanks to the laws of physics which suck, any time spent on joyous descents is fleeting, but time spent hurting and paining up hills seems forever. Bummer. Especially for me because I find joyous descents anything but joyous, and in my current condition, the uphill hurt like hell.
But the upside of going very slow, is you get to see more of the scenery. For some reason I’d pictured a wasteland between Mutoko and Nyamaropa but the bush was pristine with spectacular kopjes and sweeping vistas. As we dropped I saw my first baobab, then a mopani, then a hornbill. The people we met were friendly, especially the two swarmy CIO types who pulled over to ask their who, what, why, where questions, strutting their designer kit and fake bling designer watches.
And whilst on the subject of snakes, I broke my cardinal rule about never, ever, ever picking up another dead snake, because dead snakes play possum. I was riding with Adam and saw a snake not slithering on account of it squashed dead and stupidly stopped to pick it up. Even though seven foot short of being huge, I was careful to use a stick to pick him up. Brian identified it as an innocuous skaapsteeker but it looked venomous to me, so I played safe and draped it over Adam’s handlebars instead. I am learning, albeit slowly. Predictably, the serpent turned out to be not dead, but not for long.
And whilst on the subject of slowly, don’t you just love how this blog flows, I was overtaken by a young man running up a steep hill, with a large backpack on his back wearing his best interview clothes. I tried to catch him but couldn’t. He ran effortlessly, with long, loping strides. He made me look and feel old. When eventually I caught up to him, only because he’d stopped to answer a call on his cellphone, I found out he was rushing to Tete for a job interview. I gave him a cold coke and wished him well, the bastard.
And on the subject of bastards, we arrived at the Mozambique side of the border at 13.00, having spent an hour clearing the Zim side, most of which was spent hugging goodbye to Adam, who’d made a bad case of FOMO even worse by riding the first 2 days of Tour.
We were feeling bullish about the Mozambique immigration formalities. NB We have 10 SADAC passport holders in the group who don’t require visas and 2 Dutchmen, 2 Frenchmen, an Englishman and an Australian who do. Since the Chinese launched COVID, visas have become a snag and are no longer available over the counter, and can only be applied for either at the border or online.
To minimize delays at the border, we insisted the non- SADC passport holders jump through all Mozambique eVisa portal hoops, which in my case involved a whole weekend swearing like I had just hit my thumb with a hammer. But we jumped through the hoops and our efforts were rewarded with emailed approvals. All that was left to do collect them from the border in person.
Fast forward to the actual border, and the SADC passport holders whistled through like prunes would a child. Clearing the vehicles took slightly longer, like an hour, but understandable because of the volumes of paperwork involved. And all the while the non-SADC passport holders, all former colonial powers apart from Australia, stood patiently in the queue, laughing, enjoying, excited. After an hour, our laughter was slightly muted. We conferred with our smug Third World colleagues. It was now 2 o’clock and with 40 kilometers left to ride to our bush camp for the night, a disused quarry with zero people living close by, they would run out of day light if they didn’t get riding soon. So it was agreed that the Third Worlders would press onto our bush camp 40 kilometers into Mozambique while the First Worlders carried on waiting patiently.
Our third hour at the border was fun, despite the frustrations and the attentions of every tout in Mozambique. I brushed up on my Portuguese language skills which didn’t take long as they don’t extend much beyond, cerveja a.k.a. beer, pao a.k.a. bread and Christiano Ronaldo a.k.a. Christiano Ronaldo. I was also able to further hone my tout repelling skills. You either try and sell them Zimbabwe dollars, or offer to teach them how to play hick hack hock.
After 3 hours we were asked to fill out manual visa forms, despite our already approved e-visas. The manual form amused.
Question 11 – Have you before ever been to Mozambique? Yes or No.
Question 12 – Have you been to Mozambique? Yes or No.
Question 13 – Why did you leave Mozambique?
Question 21 – Profession – Professional cyclist.
Question 22 – Position held. Front of the peloton.
After 4 hours they asked us to fill in a form, stating the names of both parents. I told them mine were both late. The official told me no problem, they needed the info, I presume for reasons of national security.
We were at the border post for sunset and were asked to stand as the national flag came down, along with all the touts and travelers, which was pretty cool. I like national pride. I was slightly irked that most people were crossing the border with a hand written exercise book for documents, no passport required. I was hugely irked when a ZANU PF branded vehicle breezed into Mozambique without stopping, like they owned the place.
Very long story short, Pete Brodie was issued his visa at 20.30, a full eight hours after we arrived at the border post. I was considering withdrawing my support for Mozambique should they ever be admitted to the Eurovision Song Contest, but have retracted. Our longest day yet was all part of the adventure.
Please follow us on our Zanzibar adventure, but be warned, we ride slower than paint dries.
Until my next blog from Tete on the Zambezi River, have fun, do good and do epic if you can – Eric Chicken Legs de Jong
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)
29 May 2023 – Day Three of the Old Legs Zanzibar Tour.
Of missing tents, saving Guinea Fowl and the perils of Milk of Magnesia.
Distance – 98 kilometers
Time – 7 hours 29 minutes
Av heart rate – 130 bpm
Max heart rate – 159 bpm
Av temp – bloody hot.,
I can know how to lose kit on Tour, often losing it in my own kitbag. It is a wonder I do not arrive at our final destination stark bollock naked.
But I’ve never able to lose my whole tent, apart from the once on the Blue Cross. NB, We had granddaughter Jocelyn on board for that disaster. Before I digress, back to the Zanzibar Tour.
We arrived in our bush camp site, a disused quarry about 40 kilometers into Mozambique well after dark, courtesy of our longest day ever at the border post. The Third Worlders had kindly set up camp – including tents for all the First Worlders, apart from mine. There was a big glaring hole where the 16th tent should have been. Jenny was also glaring. The trucks and the trailer had been turned inside out more than once, but to no avail, our tent was officially missing.
I stoutly declared my innocence. Hand on heart, I pinky promised that I had packed the tent. But inside, my bottom sank. It was the Blue Cross without a tent but worse times 10.
To repair the damage, I selflessly offered to negotiate space for us in Pete Brodie’s tent. He and I have a sound DOD alliance going and he owes me. But Jenny had already deployed our stretchers under a tree.
I retreated to where my tent should’ve would’ve could’ve been, dragging my kit bags, feeling very sorry for myself. I was almost very sure I’d packed the tent.
It was nice sleeping under the stars. Until vicious heartburn kicked in. I reached for my Rennies, normally kept in the little pouch in the wall of the tent. Not surprisingly they weren’t there. Neither was my torch. I fumbled in the half light from my raging heart burn and found a bottle of Milk of Magnesia which, according to the small print on the label, offered soothing relief for heartburn. I took a swig, followed by another big swig, because my heart burn was bad.
It is very important to always read all of the small print. The next morning whilst blogging on my stretcher, I was struck by flatulence a.k.a. I had to sneak a fart, mostly because I didn’t have the privacy of a tent around me. That should read thankfully, because had I let rip, the consequences of the accidental follow through would have been catastrophic. I was stunned. What the hell had just happened down there? Lying there trying to look innocent and not stinky, I read the Milk of Magnesia label more carefully and was interested to note that it is also a powerfully efficient laxative.
Thankfully I was able to find my spare underwear, Jenny’s wet wipes and slunk off into the bush gingerly with the Boskak 2000.
Clem and Cedric and I were the last riders out of camp. They were the designated sweepers for the morning ride, sweeping for stragglers and strugglers a.k.a. moi. Which is French for me. My French is coming on in leaps and bounds.
Clem is such a free spirit and easily the most fun sweeper I’ve ever had. I hope they designate him sweeper permanently, but I doubt.
We had much fun on the road. We stopped at a roadside butcher displaying his wares a.k.a. a freshly dead cow hanging in a tree on the side of the road. The butcher was serving a customer with a cut of meat that had interesting pipes and tubes and bits of bone. There were surprisingly few flies. The butcher was an affable chap whose name was either Desire, or Bright, but definitely not Christiano Ronaldo. (NB Christiano Ronaldo features prominently in all of my Portuguese conversations.) He assured us the cow wasn’t road kill and had been hygienically dispatched with an axe. We didn’t buy any meat.
We also stopped to debate the climate with Alphonso, a charcoal salesman who spoke good English. Greta Thurnburg would have been proud of me.
Charcoal is huge buisness in this part of Mozambique with hundreds of sellers lining the roads. My chap Alphonso was a medium sized operator with 300 bags in stock, each weighing in at 30 kilograms, each selling for 100 Metical a.k.a USD 1.50. He told us he could harvest 3 bags per large tree, so his stock in hand had once been a hundred trees. I asked what he would do when the trees ran out in 5 or 10 year short years, and he had not a clue. Alas.
According to my watch, we have dropped down to just 143 meters above sea level. I live at almost 1500 meters but never noticed the downhills.
It was bloody hot all day, low to mid thirties, so we took time out to swim in the Mazoe River which was very cool. I was also able to squirrel away 2 kilos of river sand inside my ride shorts, allowing me to chafe my bottom all the way to Tete which was not so cool.
We also took time out to rescue a poor innocent Guinea Fowl from a clutches of poultry dealer. Our rescued bird, Ginette as named by Clem, cost us 200 Metical. Ginette celebrated her freedom by shitting all over my Zimbabwe flag which we used to wrap her in so that Cedric could carry her on his bike.
We could have freed 14 other unfortunate Guinea Fowl, hanging upside down and with legs and wings tied, but didn’t have enough cash, or enough room on Cedric’s bike.
Killing 2 birds with 1 stone pardon the pun, we gave Ginette to Hanny for a birthday present for her to release into the wild. Where we figured she would be promptly eaten by any number of things, so we decided to carry her all the way to Tete where we could give her to our hosts in lieu of flowers or wine.
On to ride itself. Scenery wise it was quite bland on account of the charcoal sellers and we had to contend with a million trucks, cars, and crazy motorcyclists. It is a bummer that we are sharing the roads less travelled with so many others and cannot wait until we can turnoff onto quieter roads. But it is all so wonderful foreign, with every experience a new one. We are having the best adventure of our lives.
In Tete we enjoyed riding across the mighty Zambezi River on the new multi-span bridge. NB The Zambezi River in these parts is fully deserving of the adjective mighty.
We are camping at an absolute oasis called Kukatana courtesy of hosts Brendan and Amanda McConnell, apart from Jenny and I because our tent is still missing. We had to tough it out in the 5 star comfort of one of guest rooms instead.
It is so nice to enjoy Zimbabwean hospitality so far from home, and to see Zimbabweans doing so well in their new homes. Brendan and Amanda hosted a delicious dinner for us and we met a large contingent of Zimbabweans living in Tete. They are Zimbabwe’s loss and Mozambique’s gain.
Until my next blog from Mwanza, Malawi- have fun, do good and do epic if you can – Eric Chicken Legs de Jong.
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)