The only reason that I ended up in Africa was the weather. The bike, a wildly inappropriate Royal Enfield Bullet, obviously wasn’t bought for serious overlanding. In fact, it wasn’t bought for much else other than to look and sound good (a job which it handles with aplomb). But sitting on the shores of southern Spain, winter was coming and I had to escape. So, Africa....

I’ve been everywhere. By all the rules, we shouldn’t have made it this far, but the bike just refuses to die. I’ve ridden the gun barrel straight roads of the western Sahara, two up with a hitchhiker for two thousand miles to Dakar, where I was robbed blind. I’ve ridden shotgun on one of the longest trains in the world—a Saharan iron ore behemoth—twelve hours into the heart of the desert in the middle of a dark night. I’ve smashed through outback Guinea in the middle of bloody nowhere, getting lost to find places that were jaw-droppingly stunning. I’ve been arrested by riot police in bullet-holed Liberia, after being cooped up a brothel for three nights while I was sick (a brothel wasn’t my first choice of accommodations, but the only option).

Immediately after the riot cops released me (with the only bribe I’ve ever paid), someone reversed over my bike. I’ve been sick countless times. I’ve cultivated an iron gut and can shovel anything into my face these days, sitting side-by-side with the locals, and live to tell the tale. The food is delicious here.

I’ve saved a drowning man’s life in Ghana. I’ve slept in the trees. I’ve walked through the market quarter of Lagos without an armoured guard. I’ve been confronted by a gorilla while taking a piss in Gabon. I’ve crossed eighteen borders, when only a year ago I’d never crossed a border in my life. I’ve ridden through the toughest areas of Africa—I didn’t think I’d be allowed to come here.

All this while riding the bike of my dreams. I smile every time I look at it, even after a year, you couldn’t slap the grin off my face. I can’t believe that a year ago I had my feet under a desk. I’m not the same man.

It’s an adventure that started small, in the shallow end, ’till now; finally, I’m doing things and going places that I would have never thought possible in my wildest nightmares, and both of us—the bike and I—are handling it with no sweat. It’s been utterly unexpected, and “epic” seems to sell it short.

It’s Africa. It’s adventure. It’s the achievable dream. It doesn’t matter what you ride, or what floats your boat, you just need to make a start. It doesn’t matter how small, just start. You never know where you might end up.

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