Two-wheeled
lush.
www.sam-manicom.com
Setting
off for Africa, one of the things that worried me the most was how
I was going to find enough fuel. I had the Sahara to contend with,
I had war zones to ride through and I had areas where wars had only
just finished. And besides those worries, there was the simple fact
that there was a long way between towns; it’s a large continent.
To
compound these concerns, I’d only been riding a bike for 3 months
and I’d only had the bike I was on, an R80GS, for a couple of
weeks. I’d already gained some confidence from the two guys
in the pub who had advised me that the R80GS was bullet proof, and
idiot proof! They seemed to think it was the right combination for
me, but tough as it might be, I had no idea how much fuel my overloaded
bike would drink in the heat and on the rough roads. The final twist
in my confusion was that the speedo on the bike was faulty, not that
I knew it to begin with, and the bike seemed to be giving me amazing
fuel returns. That, if I’d not discovered it in time, would
have given me hugely dangerous confidence.
When
faced with this lot, what do you do? Research, as best you can, of
course. And then use common sense. The research bit was to read as
much about desert travel as I could find. This taught me that if I
was grinding along in low gear through thick sand and mud, I was going
to use up dramatic quantities of fuel in just the places I didn’t
want to. But I also found Michelin maps, and if they lived up to their
reputation, then the towns they had marked as having petrol stations,
would have them. That would help with the planning. However, there
were still some very large gaps and that was where common sense had
to kick in.
I
bought a nylon nine and a half gallon petrol tank, and the bike instantly
changed from being a sleek and shiny brand new set of wheels, to a
colour-mismatched beast that looked totally top heavy. I bought the
nylon tank because the salesman assured me that it wouldn’t
break if I dropped the bike on rocks – methinks he’d heard
of my lack of riding style! Nine and a half gallons would give me
an average range of about 470 miles. Not enough I worried. So, I strapped
on an extra 2 gallons in a pristine, dent free, bright green tank.
To balance out the weight of that, I strapped my 2-gallon water supply
to the other side of the bike. I put both just forward of my panniers
so I was keeping as much weight between the wheels and low down. I’d
heard somewhere from someone, that this was something one should do
– keep that centre of gravity low. I worried about hitting my
heels on the tanks but could see no alternative. I had to have fuel,
and I had to have water. But now the bike was looking outrageous with
its mishmash of purple bike, cream tank, apple green fuel can and
stainless steel water tank. When the luggage went on, the bike instantly
turned into something that looked more like a mobile Christmas tree
than an overlanders bike!
I
dreaded dropping my technicoloured monster – would I be strong
enough to pick it up again? And what on earth would it be like to
ride through sand? Common sense couldn’t find a solution, so
it was a case of go, suck it and see. Anyway, I reasoned, the bike
stood out so vibrantly, if I dropped it someone would notice and I
was sure that they scoot over to give me a hand. I have faith in human
nature you see.
At
this time it had never occurred to me that in many Third World countries
the fuel is far lower octane than at home, and therefore the bike
would be sucking it up at a rate that would have beaten the enthusiasm
of any wino. It is cheaper than meths though!
The
fuel in Egypt sucked, literally and the first time I heard that nasty
dit-dit-dit noise that a pinking bike engine makes, I thought I’d
already trashed the thing! 78-octane petrol will do this to a bike,
and as I meandered my way down the banks of the River Nile, it was
the first time that I wondered why it wasn’t possible to buy
a diesel engine bike. Surly there wouldn’t be the same problems,
and surly such a bike would make sense. In fact, I pondered –
the back of a bike being a great place for pondering – for my
trip I really didn’t need any of the advantages of a petrol
engine. I didn’t need or want to go quickly. For sure I didn’t
have to worry about icy starts. What I did need was consistent miles
for my gallons, and a solid gentle cruising speed. I certainly wasn’t
planning any attempts at the Paris Dakar! I pondered some more as
I weaved between the Egyptian trucks that never use more than one
headlight at night - for fear of wearing out their batteries you know.
These beaten up decidedly battered one-eyed monsters of the road vie
for the crown of king of the road with the equally battered local
buses. Nope, I didn’t need speed, just enough agility to evade
the trucks, buses, potholes, goats, sheep, dogs, more potholes, raggedy
edged asphalt, and kids who seemed to think that it was wonderfully
funny if they managed to get a rock to bounce off your crash helmet!
I
hit the real sand in Sudan, and here I would have been in trouble,
but I wasn’t and that is another story. Ethiopia had been at
war for 20 years and I was sure this was going to mean that petrol
would be a problem, and it was. The towns that were supposed to have
fuel in their several petrol stations, didn’t. I rode into one
town and none of the seven petrol stations could help, but two of
them had diesel! I’d only seen trucks on the road until this
time, and that explained things. After all, particularly in Third
World countries, truck transport is the lifeblood in the veins. At
the ninth town across the border I was down to my last eggcup of fuel
and was getting really worried. To compound the problem I was in the
country with a forgery in my passport and that meant I had no right
to buy fuel, because I couldn’t apply for a permit. Things could
only get better, so with fingers crossed on the throttle, I joined
the two-mile long queue at the one station that did have petrol.
I
was in luck, with the amazingly kind help of a local lad who acted
as fixer for me, and an assumption on the part of the officials that
if I was there then I had the right to be there and therefore I had
the right to a permit. Well, they never asked to see my papers did
they.
This
was the worst though and from that moment on, my top-heavy tank gave
me enough range to be able to make it between stations, but frequently
only because once the tank got to the half-empty stage, I topped it
off at the first chance. In Nairobi I bartered my extra tank for some
local carvings, and set off to revel in the difference riding with
2 gallons less weight made to the bike. I continued my 200,000-mile
journey around the world with this technique working well, but the
bike still drinking like an old lush. It would have been very nice
to get the grey cells that were focused on where the next fill up
was coming from, onto the stunning lands I was riding through.
I
never stopped dreaming of owning a diesel trail bike. When I was struggling
with the weight of fuel I was carrying, I knew that could be carrying
less. When I’d dropped the bike, again, I cursed when I’d
done so with a full tank. And no, there wasn’t always someone
around to help me. So, the fact that I’d not been able to deal
with riding a Christmas tree around the world, and I’d painted
the whole thing white, hadn’t made any difference to the discovery
rate. When I couldn’t find petrol, I knew that I’d have
been able to find diesel. I just had to be somewhere the trucks went,
and I found them in places no sane First World truckie would even
remotely consider going. I still dream of owning a diesel trail bike
now – what a fantastic way to tour the world!
Notes:
Sam Manicom adventured for 8 years and 200,000 miles around the
world through 55 countries. He published his well-received first book
‘Into Africa’ in 2005, and his new adventure
motorcycle book ‘Under Asian Skies’ was
launched on the 3rd November 2007.
www.sam-manicom.com
‘Adventure travel books where every
day is an adventure.’
Sam Manicom © Copyright DieselBike.net.
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