Pauls Story

As Martin has already written, it came to a stage where he simply could not go on due to the unreliability of his bike. This left me with the difficult decision as to whether to return with him or to carry on alone.

In fact, when it came to it, it really wasn't that hard as we had discussed that same prospect a few days earlier and I had told Martin that as long as my bike was going, I would continue, so when we reached that position in Rwanda, both of us knew what was going to happen.

We said goodbye to each other and I was off. In my mind this was now about completing the trip and fulfilling the commitment I had made to myself and also to everyone who had sponsored us. I set myself a goal of reaching Singida that night, a distance of around 500 miles including the border crossing from Rwanda into Tanzania.

The riding was fantastic and the scenery superb. Riding alone was much quicker than in a pair and I made great progress. The roads were, in the main, smooth with a good surface although I was caught out by one massive crater! Approaching it, it just looked like sand on the road, so I maintained my speed until I realised it was a huge crater, about 9' wide and 1.5' deep. I hit it at about 60mph, and was rocketed out of my seat, my feet losing grip on the footrests as the bike and I went airborne.

I landed safely and kept going, surveying the bike as I rode to make sure everything was all right - it appeared that it was. I had around 180 miles to my destination and decided I would rest with 100 to go. When I reached this point and stopped the bike to get off, I immediately saw that my topbox which had been on the back was missing. I felt absolutely sick. In it, amongst the tools, clothes, etc, was my carnet, for which I had left a deposit of £5.000. No carnet upon my return to the UK meant forfeiture of my deposit, a sum I could not afford to lose.

Gutted, I turned back, retracing my steps in an effort to find the top box although I felt my chances were slim to say the least. By now it was getting dark and the headlamp on the bike had gone (spare headlamp also in top box!) so I stopped for the night in Nzega.

The next morning I woke early and began retracing my steps the 80 or so miles to the "crater" where I guessed was where it either fell off or was dislodged. I reached the crater and as I slowed, was waved at by a Samuel L Jackson lookalike. He asked me if I was looking for the top box!!! Incredible!!!! I said I was and did he know where it was? He did, and began to reel off the contents saying various people in the village had all taken something but he would help me to get it all back. We went to his house while he put out the word, and very soon my battered top box arrived together with most of my belongings, including the precious carnet.

Pens, Bombay mix (ask Martin), one shoe, my "Frankie Fraser's" and some SD cards were missing, and despite assurances that they could be retrieved, I simply could not wait any longer. Having fallen short of the previous days destination, I had some miles to catch up and made a mental destination of Arusha, which included a gruelling 150miles of unmade road from Singidia.

I made reasonable time, reaching Singidia and starting on the unmade road which was much, much worse than I had anticipated. The road was bumpy, uneven, with large grooves worn by the lorries which had filled with sand and which continually snatched the handlebars out of my hands as the bike slipped and slid from under me.

I rode this road for around 4 hours, speed never reaching more than around 30mph. I hardly saw a soul and did have the occasional concern that if anything went wrong I would be on my own!

At around 6pm, just as it was getting dark, the heavens opened and I was caught in a torrential downpour. In less than 5 minutes I was soaked to the skin and could feel the water running down my legs and pooling in my boots.

I had stopped momentarily to adjust my jacket and as I let the clutch out to pull away, the bike completely slipped from under me. The water has turned the "road" into a skating rink. The bike slid from under me so quickly that the handlebars caught my right leg, trapping my knee and pulling me from the bike. As I fell, I felt something snap in my leg which was accompanied by an intense, searing pain as my leg buckled under me. I knew I was in trouble. For a moment or two I just lay there, unable to move because of the intense pain in my leg. The bike was lying alongside me, the engine still revving, but I was helpless. I lay in the road, which, by now had taken the consistency of an oozing muddy custard, about an inch thick, which was creeping into my clothes.

As I lay there, a bus full of passengers drove slowly past, all looking out of the window but doing nothing. I watched as the bus slowly continued past me, still laying there.

I rolled onto my back to try and ease the pain and saw 6 pairs of eyes looking down at me! Two of them helped me to my feet whilst the others lifted the bike. I got them to help me back onto the bike, and tried to ride away, but again the bike fell from under me and as I instinctively put out my right leg to steady myself, the searing pain was back and before I knew it I was on my back in the road again.

Knowing I could do no more that night, I asked the guys for shelter. None of us spoke each others language, but they helped me into a JCB digger where I rested as best I could. I resigned myself to sleeping there the night and worrying about it all in the morning. I drank the water they offered me - not worrying that it wasn't from a sealed bottle nor that there were no mosquito nets. I slept on and off through the night, guarded by one of the Tanzanians who joined me in the cab with a torch and a set of bow and arrows with which he explained he would look after both me and my bike.