YOUR ADVENTURE
Titus Drummond on a very small bike on the really quite big island of Madagascar.
‘There was a distant lorry so I panic parked the bike, leapt off and went charging into the road’
AFTER TWENTY-FOUR HOURS drinking Three Horses Beer, getting my camera stolen, sitting over twelve hours on a minibus, exploding in some of the scariest toilets on the planet – and explaining to the Madagascan hire shop that I intended to ride their Honda round the island – they withdrew their offer and told me to bugger off. Their excuse? It was the rainy season and most of the roads were impassable. I tried countering that these were exactly the conditions their little SL200 was designed for – but I found myself sitting on the pavement, their door slammed behind me. An hour later I was in a little bike shop and had selected a lovely Milango 150 Chinese trail-bike-looking-thing – just over £600 brand new. After a week of sitting on a toilet I decided to risk it and depart Mahajanga, bypass the capital, Antananarivo (Tana), and head southwest for my mystical Avenue of the Baobabs (a journey of probably some 600 miles). I obviously didn’t have a road map, I’d given zero thought to what the weather might offer and I knew I wouldn’t make Tana in a day. But, slightly annoyingly, I didn’t even get halfway. I was stopping every five minutes, mostly to rescue bloody chameleons from the road. I mean, what did they do before I arrived? The first chameleon I rescued was dithering about in the middle of the road. There was a distant lorry getting larger and larger so I panic-parked the bike, leapt off and went charging into the road. The thing was massive, about two feet long but as I went to snatch it up (geriatric English tourist savaged by local wildlife) it scarpered off to the safety of a tree. The two guys in the lorry gave me lots of encouraging hoots – but never slowed down. Later on I found a big brown snake, presumably venomous, a skinny little one that was leaping about like it was on a hotplate and, finally, and beautiful but dead rock python which had exploded at the point where a recently consumed rat had been. Yeuk. I also had to brake hard to avoid a twofoot long monitor type lizard who was going hell for leather to cross the road and then, for absolutely no reason at all – right in front of me – stopped dead. And later on I got swathed in butterflies. Having no map I had no idea about ‘big’ towns, petrol stations (or anything really) so I just filled up every time I saw a petrol station. I think I did 120 miles on one stretch, but this is a desolate part of the country and if you run out you might just be in the deepest do-do. I pulled over to check my bungee straps at one point and a man appeared with an axe to ask for money. He didn’t get any. A bit after lunchtime I came to a flooded road that had successfully stranded the majority of traffic. As I came closer to the mêlée all the excitable young bloods leaped forwards shouting and gesticulating to explain that the road was impassable (imagine Kenny Everett saying it) and I had to force my way through the crowds, to check it out. I assessed the situation. No problem. I started forward. I was quite happy until I discovered I couldn’t lift my feet to put them on the foot pegs because a number of the young men had decided to cross with me and wouldn’t let go of the bike – and were making it completely unstable. I stopped, turned round in the saddle and shouted at them to ‘let go and go away’. Surprisingly, they got the message and complied. It was only then that I realised there was a second point of flooding, much more powerful than the first, and I would need those guys if I was to get across this next stage. They were more than happy to swarm around me again and this time their efforts literally saved my ass. About four of them had to put their full weight against the side of the bike to combat the opposing force of the current. The bike was at such a steep angle my right foot couldn’t get even close to the ground (very disconcerting) but I kept a light throttle on and they kept me from falling – and they got me across. Of course, we then had to have a row about how much money I should give them. But we parted as friends. I celebrated my 57th birthday in the Imperial Hotel in Antsirabe. Bollocks, I didn’t want to be 57. I’m around 330 miles short of Morondava (and the Avenue of the Baobabs) and I’ve discovered that Madagascan fillet steak (zebu) is the best in the world. To celebrate I drank numerous Three Horses Beers, had a double steak and chips and watched the first three ever episodes of Captain Scarlet (on Youtube). Does it get any better?
I rode the 150 miles (it turned out) to Miandrivazo without too many dramas. My starboard aft indicator fell off (and now sits on top of the exhaust, dangling by its wires). My engine developed a strange and exceedingly intermittent misfire (which I think might have more to do with the quality of the petrol than the bike) and it only rained once. Mind you, it was the heaviest rain I have seen so far. It covered the road so I couldn’t see the potholes and I hit a few fairly hard. I rescued another chameleon and, a little while on, there was one disconcerting incident. I came to a deep gully across the road, really quite wide and deep. A bunch of guys were frantically waving for me to stop. I pulled up to risk-assess but it didn’t look that bad (for a Milango). There were a lot of other people around too, all sort of ambling about (which is quite unusual, bearing in mind we were in the middle of nowhere) and there were even some stalls set up on the other side (I guess the locals were taking advantage of the fact that everyone would be stopping before crossing this obstacle). Suddenly all the guys that had been waving for me to stop were right up in my face demanding ‘argent’ and ‘cadeau’. Probably for the best, I didn’t stop to think but just rode straight through them, through the gully in the road and out the other side. I’d seen real aggression in one of the guy’s eyes (he was an unusual looking guy with thick long hair – something you never see), I knew he was going to go for me, there and then. Scary. I stopped about a mile up the road and moved my knife to the front of the bike. Having a knife visibly to hand has certainly helped me in mainland Africa. AvenueI arrivedof thein MorondavaBaobabs) 300km(and the and about six hours later. The journey had been fairly uneventful (for riding a motorcycle across Madagascar). I saw a woman winnowing something, might have been rice or sago – I dunno – but she let me take some photos. I met all her family (most of whom ran away when they saw me). The smell from my boots was now visible to the naked eye. The worst thing that happened today was being attacked by a dog. I’d read that Madagascan dogs can be pretty aggressive but had yet to meet any and, bearing in mind my experiences in the former Eastern Block countries I’ve ridden through (and Turkey), I’ve had quite a bit of practise avoiding them. So it’s not a big deal – it’s just a shame. I saw this one lining me up and I could straight away see that he was going to get it all wrong. Which he did. He completely misjudged my speed and I flew past him without trouble. And then snarling and frothing at the mouth he chased me up the road. But his acceleration was no match for Milango the Merciless. thoughtwas The impassable.peoplethe roadin Thisthe throughhotelis what toldthe I Boulevardcameme theyto Madagascar for. Everything else, the lemurs, the fillet, the beer, all the other adventures were just bonuses. I came to ride the Avenue of the Baobabs. There was water, I assessed each crossing. At the largest flood I waited until an ox cart turned up – and I watched its progress. And then I went through about six times – so I could get a photo. And then I was there – the mighty baobabs stared down at me. I grinned and giggled but nothing changes. Angels don’t descend from The Heavens, there wasn’t any music and up the road there are still wars and murders and all the horrors of reality. A bit of an anti-climax maybe, a trigger to start planning my next adventure for sure. Then I swung the bike around and headed back towards Antsirabe, for more fillet steak and Captain Scarlet. When I arrive back one of the maids did my washing. She nearly collapsed when she smelled my socks. I’d nearly collapsed giving them to her.