Prolouge

Motorcycling through desert and jungle wasn’t dangerous in itself, but it was very unforgiving if you were careless or inattentive.

This is a patchwork of stories about a trip together with my wife Kersti that took us from Algiers on the Mediterranean Coast, through the Sahara, and then on to the rainforests of Central Africa and back to Europe, a total distance of 25,000 kilometers. After three years in the Peace Corps in India, I was ready for another challenge, and what would be a better way and place to look for it than on a motorcycle in the remote regions of Africa.

If you crossed the Sahara and continued down through the Congo Basin on a motorcycle in 1973, you were a member of a very exclusive club. On the first leg of the trip through the desert, Kersti and I lived the life of nomads stopping at the oases marked out on our map like Berber caravans had done through the centuries. Instead of riding on camels like they did, we rode a sturdy BMW R75/5.

I thought that the most difficult and hazardous part of the trip would be navigating the Sahara’s three and a half-thousand-kilometer wilderness of dunes and stone tracks, and that when we had reached the heart of the continent it would be easier. It turned out however, that south of the Sahara the going was even more difficult and we struggled on trails that were sometimes just footpaths hacked out of the jungle.

You hear a lot about the freedom of the road but the freedom of the road wasn’t free. There were no comforts and the only refuge we had was a small mountain tent. We travelled week after week, month after month with a minimum of food and water, but with undiminished curiosity and resilience. When we packed our gear every day and got up on the bike we didn’t know if we’d cover five kilometers or fifty. We were in constant motion, but it was the condition of the trails we were following that determined our progress. 

In the Sub-Sahara the dangers and problems were of a different nature than they were in the desert. As a routine safety precaution before we crossed the Ubangi River by dugout into Zaire, we left a description of our itineraries at the American consulate in Bangui. There they gave me some unambiguous advice. “Don’t travel in the Congos. It is too dangerous. If you do, you will be on your own and we won’t be able to help if you have health problems or go missing.”

If I had heeded all the warnings that I had gotten from well-meaning and knowledgeable people, or considered the route I was taking, or carefully looked at all the vaccination stamps in my WHO health documents, I would never have been a Peace Corps volunteer in India let alone have struck out to explore Africa on a motorcycle. It was an ambitious trip that required some optimism, some faith, and an intuitive feeling that most things would turn out all right.

Here are some stories, reflections, anecdotes and memories from my unique adventure.