The Road Goes on Forever

Monkey Bay was a real treat and a little holiday within our chaotic adventure, well for most of us that is...Ant from the Pistons was rudely awoken in the wee hours of the morning by the Malawian Ant Army (oh so much irony here!) And his retreat came at a cost when he took cover in their van as the mosquito air brigade bombarded him causing some serious irritation. For the rest of us our little bungalows were magic!

What lay ahead of us and our stallions was basically the entire length of the Mozambique interior. After an early start we made good progress hugging Lake Malawi’s shoreline onto the neighbouring border post. But what has been custom on this trip is you can’t afford to become complaisant. Disaster strikes! A few kilometres from the Mozam border Fish’s scooter grinds to a halt. What became a local spectacle, saw six vintage Put Foot crews help us out. With Franci’s belly up on a VW kombi, our revised destination was Tete where we would regroup and re-strategise.

Rolling into Mozambique’s New York (Tete) we were stopped by the hundreds of 2M’s signs littering a local restaurant (2M is possibly the greatest beer ever crafted). Our half chicken and two quarts didn’t touch sides. Again our “Always make a plan” attitude saved the day as we were taken in for the night by a South African chap. The revised plan was a simple one. Jared would ride ahead early in the morning while James and Fish would follow suit with the Pistons.

With 980km to go to Vilanculos, there was no expectation that we could reach the dreamy town in one single days ride. Nonetheless, at 5am, I crossed the magnificent Tete bridge and headed Southwards. Stopping every 90 minutes for a 5min break and refuel, the morning flew past. The road meandered through small villages and hills as I was chanted on to Chomoi. 450km done, and still no sign of the Pistons. I decided to push on, stopping only to refuel. By sundown I had concern that these lads had passed me somehow. With no working phone there was no choice but to keep chugging on and get as close to Vilanculos as possible. There was something really enjoyable about travelling an entire day alone. The drive through the Mozam interior took me through a blazing inferno, pushed me off the road by an 18-wheeler, and gave me refreshments at a fuel station in exchange for a few stories. Nearing closer to Vilanculos, the back started to take its toll, my eyes started to become weary, and the road started to deteriorate drastically. I found myself weaving through sandpits and craters. The road had broken off my spotlight, so navigation became tougher. Then like magic, the Vilanculos turnoff sign appeared. After 20 hours in the saddle, and almost 1000km, Roxy rolled into Baobab Beach and was greeted with an ice cold Laurentina! 10min in my wake and the rest of the crew rolled into camp. The journey from Tete to Vilanculos had been a real marathon. High fives ensued and the realization had hit that we were merely 200km from the finish line in Inhambane. Today, Roxy the Big Boy Scooter had done a stirling job! The night wasn’t quite over yet. If you have ever visited Baobab Beach you will know first hand, that the Tipo Tinto flows like water and the party never ends!

Day 18 was a short parade into Inhambane Again; this wouldn’t be the Put Foot Rally without one last ounce of drama. You see, our beautiful finish line location floods during high tide, and with the SillyBuggers tardiness, there was no way we weren’t going to cross the Put Foot Rally finish line without getting wet!  As we started, we finished off last at the finish line beneath a beautiful African sunset.

62 crews, over 7000km, 7 countries, two wheels, and many more friends made along the way; the chaps had made it. In retrospect, there possibly couldn’t have been a better way to travel Africa. We had faced many challenges, ridden very slowly, and laughed plenty, but being in the open air for  every kilometre meant that we didn’t miss a single bit of our beautiful Southern African adventure . We were treated like rock-stars when rolling through villages and received helping hands whenever needed.

It was a pleasure to ride with the wit of Fish and the confidence of James. And it was possibly the most memorable travel experience we have had thanks to our Big Boy scooters and the ‘gees’ of all the crews around of us. The Put Foot Rally will make you think differently about any other travel adventure you seek. 

"The road goes on forever, and the party never ends!"

A big thank you to our sponsors for Put Foot Rally 2012. Big Boy Scooters for our noble steeds. Greenstone Autobody for our Orange make-over, and to everyone who donated to the Rally cause. With close to R600 000 raised for the Put Foot Foundation!

Signing off.

The Silly Buggers

Keeping it Silly

You Can Leave Your Tie On

Our trip so far has been one full of entertainment and challenges, but at the same time relatively pain free (besides the sore bums and Fish’s ego). You see, the difference between travelling Africa in a V12 5 litre Double Cab with 12 jerry cans and a 15 ft canoe strapped to the roof, is that the simpler you travel, the more cred you receive. There have been countless times where we have been waved through roadblocks, given immunity at “tolls” (by toll I mean admission to bribe establishments), or simply only stopped for inquisitive questioning. Three lads straddling scooters with nothing more than a can of baked beans, a leatherman, and a pot of hair gel (in Fish’s case) are completely harmless to the local law, which made us extremely approachable along our route. In fact, the most common reply to any official en route was “hahaha silly Mzungus!”

Rising with the sun with sore heads in Lilongwe we were absolutely in no rush at all. With only 100km to Senga Bay the Buggers took the opportunity to service the ladies. We have by now become very familiar with our machines and within 1 hour fresh clean filters, oil, and plugs were ready to see us to the lake of stars for checkpoint 5!

Gloves on, jackets off, and capes on! We made our way out of Lilongwe’s bustling market super-hero style. The 100km still took us most of the afternoon as we cleared the interior’s rolling hills and spotted the giant lake for the first time. Senga Bay is one of Africa’s timeless destinations. Once there, it is extremely difficult to pick yourself up and move on. Our arrival at sunset meant that Iron-Mayday, Super-Fish, and Spider-Jared could remove masks and enjoy a sun-downer on the freshwater beach. Little did we know that calmness was about to erupt into a fire-blazing, lumo, full moon party!



Pic by Tyson Jopson



The atmosphere was electric as dusk settled into a bright full-moon. A lumo paint fight even left the scooters glowing bright as we partied the night away indulging in punch, stage diving, punch, night-swimming, punch, fire-work setting, and some more punch! Needless to say there were a few casualties. James managed to roll into a fire, he also managed to kick Jared in the head in a failed jump/duck manoeuvre, while Fish’s stage diving technique proved to be an interesting one. In a struggle to get naked for his trademarked dive his tie got the better of him resulting in a classic “no shoes, no pants, but got a tie” jump into the crowd. He too still looked like a Taiwanese glow-in-the-dark figurine most of the next day.

The Bucket Cam was a hit!

As we woke on the shores of the lake the following day a tough decision was to be made. Could we actually leave this place? Completely burnt out from the last few days (and with over 1700 km to go till we reach the finish line) a group decision was made to head down the lake and relax in Monkey Bay. We bent a couple of other teams’ rubber arms and headed out southwards along the lake’s scenic roads. Malawi is known for its busy, craft-full, and friendly markets, and with a box full of props and previous party dress wear, we sent Fish in hoping to bag some cool Malawi memorabilia. Extremely chuffed with himself he returned with three bracelets boasting how he had won the bargain. Still we haven’t seen these bracelets again!

With the warm Malawian air it was a pleasure to ride in a t-shirt with visors open. After a painless 200km we were greeted into Monkey Bay where our little backpackers had its own private lagoon. Sipping on a couple of Greens, Mac from the Pistons whipped up a Potjie as we chilled out beachside under the bright night sky.

The point of the rally were every kilometre takes us closer to South Africa was upon us. Incredible adventures had passed by us, and surely some more to come. 1550km to Inhambane. The Put Foot Rally 2012 finish line.

Enjoying a beer in Monkey Bay



 Keeping it Silly

No Interpol, No Go!

With renewed spirits, we rolled into the Zim border post ready to cross the Kariba Dam wall and make our way towards Lusaka. Customs and immigration: check! Last counter at the post was the Rolex-wearing officials under a tree, behind the white border post buildings. It was pretty evident we had our work cut out to sustain our bribe free trip. “No Interpol No Go” – in other words, we needed police clearance to get out of the country (odd how we got into the country). After rummaging through our bags like fools it was clear we couldn’t get away with this one. “Go back to South Africa, and bring me Interpol” said the CSI stoolman. Trying not to laugh at his preposterous remark, the tension thickened, our eyes met, and proceeding a 20min death stare, we were on our way. Whoever said you have to bribe your way through Africa probably couldn’t hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle.

Nonetheless we were back in Zambia. Motoring at 70 km/h. Back in the game. Fish had livened up after his post morning binge hangover and James was catching some Zzz’s in the Pistons’ van and causing havoc with their navigation system. We reached Lusaka to grab a chocolate milkshake and as usual had impeccable timing. Peak hour traffic in any African capitol is a nightmare, nevermind Lusaka. But hang on. Hold that horse. We’re on scooters! What took the other teams 3 hours to navigate through the bustling city took us 20 min! Now nightfall, we cruised eastwards to our next oasis, the Luanga Bridge river camp. We covered the last 350km by spotlight and reached the camp at our usual 12am curfew, only to find the only campsite for 200km was fully booked! No sweat, we pitched our tents outside the entrance and hung our riding jackets on the “Welcome to the Bridge Camp” sign. It’s remarkable how many cheap nights we have endured on this adventure. 17 hours of riding and 650 km covered, we slowly dwindled into a coma around our excuse for a campfire sipping on OBS.

Bright and early the chaps made their way along the bone chattering road which wound alongside the Luanga river. Our intentions were to make Malawi today and rest somewhere in Lilongwe. The scooters felt good, the weather was beautiful, our petrol situation: dire. We rolled through two towns on fumes and spluttered to a halt some 70 km short of Chipata. Our track record didn’t seem too bad: 2 fuel run-outs in 5000km straddling scooters which only had a range of 340km. After sending a policeman on a fuel scavenger hunt he too returned empty handed. Odd how so many bikes are able to get around in this area with minimum fuel – but they manage somehow. An hour or so later Team Slowvelders came to the rescue. These legends filled both our tanks and we putted our way through Chipata. From there it was a hop over the border and we rolled onto our next landmark of Put Foot Rally 2012, Lilongwe.

The buggers always seem to come up with bright ideas. With one phone between the three of us, we thought it was a good idea to split and find a backpackers that James and Jared had been to 5 years earlier. The result: Fish, Jared, the Pistons and Team Epic winning found a lekker spot with an amazing pub and wasted no time to put back a couple of Greens (Carlsberg Lagers). The realization hit home some time later that there was no James. A quick search around the town and we found him drifting around showing off his LED’s to the streetkids. We promise we didn’t forget you James (only a little). The little pub was soon overtaken as we dished out some much awaited fines and highlights thus far. A couple of classics:

·         Toni (pistons) – After a temper tantrum stopping the van and refusing to drive unless Fish got out the car (somewhere in the middle of Zim).

·         James – Riding through a roadblock

·         Fish – Breaking the whole length of the zip on our tent in Livingstone (many a cold night ensued)

·         Matt (Epic Winning) – First to take his Poncho off in the 2012 Zim Poncho Showdown (he lasted 4 hours before succumbing to the urge of wanting to get naked)

·         Jared – Making the Pistons drive 100km at 4am to fetch us after a rear wheel puncture outside Livingstone)

·         Mike (Pistons) – removing every bolt from Molly to try take off a rear wheel (including brake lines and the seat?), still he failed.

·         Mac (Pistons) – Driving 100km from JHB with the handbrake up (apparently when there’s smoke coming from the rear of the car you need to push on harder).

Lilongwe’s madness and antics continued long into the night. We had only 110 km to push onto Senga Bay on the Lake where we would party like animals under the full moon! Could this be our first real opportunity in Put Foot history that the Buggers make a checkpoint in daylight – don’t hold your breathe.

  

Keeping it Silly

Pillage and Plunder! The Pirates of Kariba Dam

Perhaps more annoying than having to wake up at 5am after hitting the sac at 4.30am is having to plee with your scooter to start so that you don’t miss the much awaited ferry you have been dreaming of for the past few days! A quick spray of some standard AXE deodorant in the air intake and Roxy rumbled to life (for future reference this was the standard procedure to starting her every morning). At least the deo wasn’t going to waste!

Our schedule was already a tough one. We had 270km to ride (with a border crossing) to catch the Sea Lion in Mlibizi by 11am. Our well tested formula was ETA = km x 2. That is 270km would take us just more than 5 hours to complete. We rolled through the border at 8am (260km to ride in 3hrs). This surely was an impossible feet. Slightly anxious all the other crews who were catching the Kariba ferry pushed on ahead. That morning, riding through the Zimbabwe escarpment, was possibly the best stretch of road we were fortunate to ride. We took on valleys, mountain passes, cruised around hairpins, and through chicanes, all with Kariba Dam approaching on the horizon. Perhaps one of the most beautiful sites we saw! At 12pm, with only one pee/refuel break, the two scooters boarded the Sea Lion last. Or were we? As we left the docking area we heard the cries of Team Risk Africa running along the shoreline. In the 30 years of operation the Sea Lion has never felt remorse and fetched late comers, however it was her first roundabout turn and we picked up the lads to add to our Pirate party on deck. Now three or four G&T’s down, we left the shores for Kariba Town (in memory of our counter-parts in the Inaugural rally, Pirates of Kariba Dam!)

With soft cushions under our bums, cold beverages in our hands, and 15 odd Put Foot teams on board, the 24 hour Ferry trip was destined for greatness. We ate like kings (i.e capenta), watched both the sunset and sunrise, drank the ferry dry, and for the first time on the rally were able to plainly relax.

Panic on deck. “Is no one concerned?” were the cries on board. The Silly Buggers were last seen wearing life vests and heading to the captains chambers! Our attempt at pillaging the Sea Lion failed miserably as Fish tried to steer us into an island. Apparently his ferry manoeuvrability is as good as his scooter control (perhaps the thought of the odd “seekoi” ahead got him nervous).

Around lunchtime we docked in Kariba Town and disembarked first off deck. This gave us a great opportunity to sit up perched and water spray all other teams leaving the ferry. Fish found a lucky lass to ride shotgun on Frances and James picked up a few bewilded kids as we explored the sites in and around the beautiful town. We found an awesome little local pub up in the hills whose hospitality was nothing short of incredible.  A couple of km’s later, at dusk, we were at checkpoint 4! Ay Kariba Kariba!!!

Kitted in our Mexicano ponchos and moustaches (Fish has an issue with facial hair) we partied the night away knowing that we had made it to Kariba, a mammoth 4800km from our JHB startline! Our ferry captain and host, Rob, joined us for the night and in true Zimbo style would not let us buy a beverage. I’m sure we will be seeing Rob and his Sea Lion in the near future!

Border control didn't let us take our friends

The following morning we rose with the resident hippos and elephants and contemplated the next stage of our tour. Three days, three countries and 1050 km to Lake Malawi. With renewed vigour in our scooters, and refreshed spirits, we made our way back north towards Zambia. Thank you Zimbabwe for your hospitality, your roads, your wildlife, and your beer!

James' stache growth thanks to the tequila

God Save The Buggers

Livingstone is one of those places on our beautiful continent that offers so much to each and every visitor. A place to have a quiet beer on the Zambezi River, stroll along the amazing sites of Victoria Falls, brave the wicked waters on a white water rafting trip, walk alongside elephants and lions, or check out the wetlands in a micro-light!

For the three buggers, it was zero sleep and full-tilt chaos!

Our late arrival into the town at 08:00 am meant we only had the day to attend to our wounded machines before having to leave the next morning to board the Kariba Dam ferry (AKA Sea Lion). Such is the nature of the Put Foot Rally, there’s no time to be left stranded. So James and Jared quickly located a bush mechanic named Luca (a rusta free-spirited chap) who we should have guessed abides by African time. Nonetheless he assured us he could get new parts for Molly, strip the engine, and have her ready by the morning.

(Picture By Tyson Jopson)

That afternoon the entire Put Foot Rally family witnessed and was apart of something very special. A 1km convoy lead all Put Footers to a nearby school where we all were fortunate enough to give children brand new school shoes, and paint and repair classrooms. Words really couldn’t explain the emotion experienced. Watch this video and see for yourself what the Put Foot Rally is really about.

That night the Livingstone Waterfront came alive. The theme for the checkpoint party: The Queen’s Jubilee Bash! Jared and James geared up in full Queen’s Guard uniform and we escorted our Queen (Fish) to one helluva party! Drinking Mosi and jamming the night away, even Bob Skinstad, who joined the rally for a couple of days, demonstrated his version of the “worm”!  

Our rusta mechanic then stumbled into the arena shortly before midnight and gave us our misfortune. Molly required at least another couple of days of repair to get her back on the road. A tough decision, but the right one, we decided we would continue with the rally onwards to Zimbabwe and attempt to catch the ferry for some much needed R & R.

 Keeping it Silly

Taxi, Please!

Our first bit of entertainment came just short of Katima Mulilo when James and Jared skipped a roadblock and left Fish stranded with two traffic cops on the side of the road. The situation was neutralised with James’s magical gift of conversation diversion. It went something like this: Policeman “I will fine you for not stopping at this roadblock”, James: “Lovely roads these, how far to Zambia? Would you like to win our scooter? Any fuel up ahead? You guys look super smart in uniform!”… and we were off on our way.

After clearing Katima it was a short dash to the border post where the realization was dawning that we would make Livingstone tonight! Excitement grew even more when we bumped into the Epic Winning team just before the Zambian gates were about to close for the night. Their promise of beer and a braai put us quickly back on the bikes riding due east. With the sun setting, we only had 200km to Livingstone…

Then the wheels came off (quite literally in one instance). Molly decided enough was enough, and coughed and spluttered to a grinding halt. A bent engine valve meant she wasn’t going anywhere soon! Now being in this situation a few days earlier we knew the task at hand. Flag down a truck and get to Livingstone anyway possible! Our saving grace was not an 18 wheeler this time, but a standard Zambian taxi!

After price negotiations we convinced the bemused driver to load the 110kg scooter on his back seat and get Molly to Livingstone. However there were conditions: the driver needed to drive 50km in the complete opposite direction to re-fuel and ask his “boss” permission to take us to Livingstone. No problem! So Jared hopped in the taxi (with no phone) while Fish and James stayed roadside with the other scooters. What transpired was something unbelievably funny (but not at the time).

Jared found himself sitting in a 2x2m living-room while our driver woke up his mother (“boss”) to ask permission to drive us to Livingstone. After pleeing our case and receiving an ear-full, she agreed under the conditions that his brother join us (and that we use his car). So we unloaded the taxi, put Molly in the new taxi, re-fuelled (from an oil drum) and hit the road at 200 dB with the original taxi driver spooning Molly in the back seat. The whole expedition took 4hrs, to which James and Fish had started a roadside fire and were making contingency plans resulting from my certain abduction and death in a beknown Zambian village. Nevertheless, with ringing ears we made it back to the scooter crime scene and quickly threw Fish in the taxi to ride up ahead (we later learnt that Fish was a reborn Christian again after his taxi ride).

The task was simple, James and Jared would ride the two scooters, and there would still be time for a nightcap. 130 km to Livingstone…

The pot-holed stricken road was starting to take its toll on the remaining scooters. Both Roxy and Frances had lost their spotlights, and the road began to deteriorate. Jared hit a crater which bent and cracked the rear rim and once again left us stranded on the road side. Time: 01:00 am, 90 km to Livingstone…Another road side inferno was lit up and camp erected. We would wait out the night and figure out our next move at sunrise.

At dawn we heard the screaming Pistons of Fury bellowing down the highway to our rescue. Still cramping from sleeping on our haunches around our fire (which had died a long time earlier) we rose with excitement and loaded Roxy into the van (Fish’s attempt at taking off Molly’s rear tyre in Livingstone to bring to us had failed dismally). But it didn’t matter! Finally, after 5 days of solid riding, 2 Fish falls, and with 1 scooter, we rolled into Livingstone!

What lay ahead was a race against time to get all three scooters back on the road, and of course to party like rock stars at the Livingstone Checkpoint party! 

Keeping it Silly

“If You Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough”

At this point in the rally it would be fair to give you a rundown of the state of our 3 Big Boy Scooters to which we have become remarkably attached to (and not just because of the fact that we are spending 15 hours a day on them). Molly has become the troublemaker, riding at her own pace, giving us a few headaches, but remarkably fuel efficient. Frances (Fish’s) is just a loose gal. She has a tendency to lose her nuts and at this point in the rally has severe steering play. Roxy has acquired a keen taste for fuel and is the thirstiest of the lot!

So we powered on through the Caprivi Strip, and what a ride it was. Elephants, kudu’s, hippos, and the odd goat cheered us on as we approached Popa Falls. Confidence was high, and the road seemed good (even by moonlight). Then Fish hit a speed wobble. Leading us into a petrol station he accelerated through a corner and quickly found himself face first in the dirt. Without any consultation to Fish we ran to check up on Frances. With a bruised ego Fish dusted himself off and gave a salute to the 50 odd hysterical Rundu’ians. A Go Pro moment for sure! Back on track, within the hour and on a pitch black Caprivi road, more drama incurred when a herd of cattle mozied on across the road. James veered left, Jared right, and fish thought he would have another go at extreme tar surfing (this time at 70km/h). Frances had a few scratches, Fish a few bruises, but the biggest casualty was our map book which now has massive holes in Angola, Mozambique, and Zambia! With a few words of encouragement we got Fish back on that horse and made the last 100km. However the night wasn’t over just yet. The last 2km to our destination involved thick sand, tricky manoeuvres, and the three of us pushing our bikes all the way to camp. But what a camp it proved to be.

The damage to Fish, and his luggage after extreme tar surfing 5000

While reflecting on our journey on scooters so far Fish had regained his humour coining the catch phrase “if you gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough”. The night ended sipping on moer-koffee while listening to the hippos on the Okavango River banks. 550 km to Livingstone…

Jared found something new to ride

Keeping it Silly