"You have reached your destination"

by Tom Beak (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Tanzania

“You have reached your destination”. No matter how long the ride or how difficult the terrain, the end of each day was signalled by my Sat-Nav with this familiar phrase; a phrase that I had begun to parrot, as if in playful conversation with my trusty sidekick. The Sat-Nav’s select phrases had become familiar signposts. The assistant I had reluctantly invited along for the ride was fast becoming a worthy travel companion. My reluctance to embrace technology had given way to reliance, no more so than today as a string of bad luck left us with the daunting task of reaching Uganda by the next morning. “Let’s Ride” said my co-pilot. 60KMs later, I was politely asked to take the next left. The instruction seemed to be suggesting that we leave the tarmac, but who was I to question. This was my companion’s area of expertise and I duly left the main road. The tarmac gave way to a dusty mud road, which soon turned to thick sand. As the bike struggled to grip on the sand and with my full attention on plotting a slow but steady route ahead, it dawned on me that the concrete shops and churches that had aligned the main road had given way to mud huts and makeshift shelters. The excited smiles and friendly waves I had grown accustomed to had turned to genuine looks of shock. I began to fear that I had been wrong to place such faith in my companion. It was clear that I was not usual traffic. “Battery Empty – Sat-Nav going to sleep”. The novelty of the personified Sat-Nav had officially worn off. This was no time to sleep. This was time for my companion to play a pivotal role. It had been 18KMs since I left the main road. Sat-Nav’s last words had been to continue for a further 33KMs. It was still morning and I knew that if I kept the sun on my left for the time being then I would be heading North (at least, I think that’s right). I kept one eye on the odometer and counted each KM out loud as the numbers slowly climbed. I continued in this vein for some time, desperately trying to navigate between thick sand and bike-killing potholes. A lorry appeared ahead. Traffic had to be a good sign. I decided not to compete and came to a stop at the side of the road, grateful for a brief rest and to see the first vehicle I had seen for some time. The lorry sped by. I waved. Darkness. The cloud of dust and sand that followed the lorry had enveloped my bike, making it difficult for me to see anything further than a few metres away and difficult for anything to see…headlights. My thoughts were cut short. It was instantly clear that I had not been seen. Darkness. I was thrown down a ditch at the side of the road. My bike followed. I lay on my back, one leg trapped underneath the bike, and allowed a few choice words to fall out of my mouth. I had asked for an adventure. I wanted a challenge. I had visions of finding myself off the beaten track, of getting lost in a world a million miles from my desk in London. But this was “be careful what you wish for” territory. The cloud had long-since settled when three unsuspecting teenagers appeared. Their expressions suggested that their walk home from school through the rural beauty of the Tanzanian countryside was rarely spoilt by a “Mzungu” legs akimbo on the side of the road. Without hesitation, the boys ran over and helped me up. We bonded over football, shared boiled eggs I had been dreading, laughed at my misfortune and reassured me that the main road was not far. It was not the first time that my adventures had relied on the kindness of strangers, nor would it be the last. 17 hours, 800KMs and two border crossings later, I arrived on the outskirts of the Bwindi National Park. A warm, welcoming Ugandan accent greeted me; “you have reached your destination”. The robotic tones of my Sat-Nav were officially forgotten.