Tri Cycling Africa

HomeBack to the homepage. JourneyThe filmmakers cycled a tandem recumbent tricycle over the dusty landscapes of West Africa. Over two months they crossed five countries from Bamako, the capital of Mali, up to the legendary city of Timbuktu on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, south through Burkina Faso, Ghana, then Togo and Benin. This is the motivation behind the journey. TrailerDownload an extended trailer for the documentary series. Media KitDownload an electronic press kit (includes full synopsis, crew bios, episode breakdowns, director's statement and more), brochure and white paper. PhotosSome images from the trip. BlogsOutside the making of the documentary, this is a series of emails sent home during the trip. They are completely honest accounts from the filmmakers of the highs and lows of travelling in a foreign place. ContactThe series is currently seeking distribution. Click here to contact the producer. CreditsThis project would not have been possible without...

JEFF McLEAN'S BLOG | MARTY POUWELSE'S BLOG

11/11/2002 - Cape Coast, GHANA

I believe we were last in the town of the curfew, Tamale.

After buying a very groovy African shirt the day before, we left at sun rise, only minutes after making a route change. Our hosts at the hotel told us that our planned road was bad, contrary to what Jeff had heard elsewhere. Nevertheless, we left on our new route with no idea where we were going to spend the night. The sun didn't take long to make it's presence known, and soon we were sweating like smelly sprinklers. We sometimes share a perverse chuckle sniffing each other's odour-stained clothes. If that sounds filthy, then know this: compared to the dirty squat toilets of hotels past, our sweat-encrusted shirts smell like mountain daisies sprayed with french purfume.

At 70kms we were pretty stuffed so we stopped for half an hour and had a snack of oranges, bananas and plenty of water. Jeff was keen to hit 100kms at some stage before we left Africa, and figured today was as good a day as any. I didn't think today was a particularly good day, and at that point would've been happy to nod off under a tree for several days. Jeff was more than happy to stop for me if necessary, and after a good rest I decided to continue, and I felt surprisingly good. Maybe my body knew what was ahead and prepared itself appropriately, as it always seems to do. The day's exhaustion seems to hit me most when my body knows it can: when I open the hotel room door and dump all my luggage. Just like getting sick on your holidays.

At 1pm we hit 100kms. After a celebratory "woohoo!!" we continued onto the next town, hoping there'd be a hotel so we wouldn't have to ride any longer. We sat and had and much-appreciated cold drink which went down better than a top class hooker. We noticed a rain shaft to the east which looked quite heavy and a good sign for a possible storm. A few minutes later we got a couple of teeny drops of rain so a local bloke we'd been chatting with organised a couple of kids to show us to the local guesthouse. As if we hadn't cycled enough this day, the guesthouse seemed to be ages away. We went off the main road and onto a hideous dirt 'road' with large sharp stones, turning cycling into being thrown around violently. Not sure how the camera or the trike survived, but survive they did, as they have done marvelously through the insane conditions we've put them through. I just wish I was half as hardy.

It seemed another wonderful coincidence, but we only just made it to the guesthouse when the rain hit, and it hit hard. A gale delivered a vast amount of rain almost horizontally. I was loving every minute of it, of course, trying to film it while keeping the camera dry, which ended up being impossible. Jeff enquired about the price for a room. US$15. Doesn't sound much when it's first mentioned, but that equates to about 150,000 cedis, roughly four times what we'd normally spend on a hotel. I had a thought about the prices here. Before arriving here, I thought there was no need to be so financially cautious because everything is so insanely cheap, but then I realised that that extra money is ten good meals for us in Ghana, and it put it into perspective nicely.

The guesthouse was a palace, and if the owner was able to control the rain then it was the best possible marketing ploy. We didn't really have much choice but to accept the room, as we couldn't go elsewhere, unless we waited. We threw financial caution to the wind, and allowed ourself the luxury of the ridiculously clean and hygenic room, arguing that we rarely afford ourselves such decadence. I felt particularly crap again, despite the surrounds and the wonderful storm which was picking up, and Jeff agreed that I probably had some form of sunstroke. I had burning skin, another thudding headache, and felt nauseous at the thought of food.

It turns out this guesthouse is not actually a hotel. The owner hires out his only two spare rooms, but our meals were eaten in the dining room of their very modern, large, but otherwise standard home. The owner is actually saving to develop a resort complex.

The next morning we were off again, for about five minutes. We got to a toll booth for the bridge over the Black Volta river on the edge of town and while I was shooting, Jeff decided to get some breakfast. The lovely policeman at the booth arranged it for us and told us it would be ten minutes. Well, why we haven't learnt our lesson yet is beyond me. It makes so much sense on paper. Maybe we were just too hungry to think about it. The chef was standing next to the policeman when the request was made and Jeff thought she'd cook them there. But off she went for 45 minutes while we waited with our usual staring crowd. After asking several times during that time, at the 45 minute mark (how long can it take to fry a few eggs?) the policeman took us down the embankment into the village of muddy alleyways and mud huts with their rooves of straw in search of the cook. After realising we'd be out of sight of the trike and our luggage I went back up to grab the bag with our valuables. I climbed back down and wandered around looking for Jeff and the policeman. Apparently when I was walking back, Jeff had shouted that they were returning to the road, but I hadn't heard. As I walked slowly through the village, I saw the odd person watching me. I asked a couple of people whether they'd seen my friend and all I got were vague looks. "You see white man?" They shook their heads. I got several looks of disdain, and one woman even shook her arm towards the exit, suggesting I should leave immediately. I felt distinctly as if I wasn't allowed there.

I finally met up with the policeman who took me back to the road where Jeff was waiting. We were told our meal was being brought to us. Ten minutes later and we still hadn't seen any food, so Jeff and I walked back down into the village in search of it, as we were pretty annoyed by now. I was getting anxious after the first fifteen minutes because of the more time we would be spending cycling in the hot sun. After almost an hour, I was pretty pissed off and ready to leave without it, but I couldn't help but think that they'd probably have no idea why we'd gone, apparently having no concept of urgency or deadlines.

In the village we found our chef and an assistant carrying our breakfast in baskets. Yay, finally it's ready. About bloody time. Ok, back to the road. Back on the mediun strip and we were just about to get stuck into it when the policeman says "you move just down there - not far". @&*%! Why can't we just eat! We've waited a completely unreasonable amount of time for this utterly meagre meal - let us eat it and go! He led us down the other embankment, a short way up the street to a table. FINALLY, we were able to eat! It was actually a fairly hefty omelette of four eggs each, inside half a large loaf of fresh bread. We also got a thermos each. Mine had coffee and Jeff's had something like a strange cross between Milo and tea. I had a taste myself and was unable to tell. After twenty minutes of eating and just being thankful to finally have some food, we thanked the policeman and the chef as if nothing had been a problem. No point arguing when it comes to time - they don't seem to understand. We'd stopped for ten minutes and left an hour and a half later. So much for getting up early and avoiding the sun.

We rode 40kms today and Jeff decided he wanted to take a truck the rest of the way. I was surprised to find it was he that was exhausted and not me, though I was still tired and certainly thankful for the ride. We ended up on the roof with the trike on top of many tonnes of onions. The smell was surprisingly non-existent, and the view was wonderful. The wind rushed past, even at our limp speed of around 50 or 60 km/h. One of the guys with the truck was on the roof with us, and told us that they stopped for us because the driver had said that we were their brothers and that it says in the bible that they should help their brothers. These are Muslims, so maybe the bible reference was a loose one, but I got the idea. I was a bit dissappointed that they felt compelled to help people just because the bible or religion tells them to. Perhaps this altruistic behaviour is taught in religious studies so there's no need to teach it anywhere else. Consequently, altruism get's attributed to religion. Whatever the motive, it was an awesome ride. We passed under several low hanging tree branches and power lines reminding us to keep our eyes open. We travelled for 30kms and were dropped off in Kintampo. The truck dudes were wonderful, fully loading and unloading the trike and all our gear, giving us a very groovy ride, and then not wanting a cent for it. Jeff had to force money into the guy's hand before he would accept it.

After settling in our hotel room, I felt surprisingly good, and we both went in search of lunch. Jeff is vegitarian, and because of the omnipotence of meat in West African food, trying to communicate vegitarianism is difficult at the best of times - except when your waiter barely understands english, but nods in agreeance anyway, and it's almost impossible. Often requesting a vegitarian dish, and being assured that it will contain no meat, will result in a great chunky steak in the middle of the plate. We can't help but laugh and shake our heads.

The next day was a rest day for us, so we went to the nearby Kintampo waterfalls. There were actually two falls here, and with a bit of crowd around the entrance to 'falls 1' we proceeded to the second falls. A two minute walk and we were there. They were beautiful. Several metres high and about 15 metres wide, and perfectly nestled in luscious green growth and overhanging banyans. With the camera out shooting like a madman, I was like a pig, deep sea diving in it's own excrement. No people to hassle me, and photographing one of my favourite subjects. I'd even brought my SLR along in anticipation of it being half this beautiful. I spent ages here trying to get everything in, and was really happy with the footage on later viewing. When I was finally done, we were off to 'falls 1'. If I thought the other falls were beautiful, these were spectacular. There were plenty of locals swimming and bathing and generally playing around and obviously having a great time. I set up the tripod with the intention of getting the falls rather than the people, and heard one group shouting. Apparently, they were shouting at me as they did not appreciate being photographed. I stopped and moved back and waited for the dust to settle. Jeff said he wanted to swim, and there was no way I was going to let him without being able to film him. So, I carefully followed him with the camera, not veering it too much, to try and demonstrate that I was filming Jeff and no-one else.

Once he was in, I didn't get too much grief until the original group came out and passed me with a comment. They obviously weren't happy. I was in two minds about what right they had to tell me to stop filming. There was a natural rock slide which Jeff slid down, and he must have hit a hard bump as it hurt me just to watch him. He writhed in pain for a minute afterwards, and told me later that he lost feeling in his leg for several seconds and panicked at the potential of the problem. Feeling soon returned, though, and he was back up to do it again, rubbing his bum all the while. I returned to our bags and got chatting with a reasonable-sounding fellow who suggested I should've visited the tourist bureau to get a permit to photograph, contrary to the advice of the guide book. How did he know I didn't have a permit? Anyway, apparently permits are no longer needed, though the book does say that most Ghanians are sensitive to being photographed. Perhaps they felt vulnerable in this environment. I tried to explain that I did not wish to offend anyone and our conversation eventually became more social and enjoyable. The experience had left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth and when Jeff was ready I was happy to leave.

We cycled 35kms the next day then hailed a truck to the next city of Kumasi, the second largest in Ghana after the capital, Accra. Unfortunately, we had to ride up front while the trike enjoyed the view from the empty tray at the rear. At least there was only five of us this time. Every 20 or 30kms or so there is a police checkpoint. Some just wave the truck on, and some ask questions and check papers. Same goes for when we're riding on the trike. I think some police use their authority to stop us and ask their own questions about the trike. Some will ask for our passports just to give them time to have a gawk at the trike and ask us about our trip. With our passports half out of our bags, but their curiosity sated, they tell us not to worry and move on. The most common questions from police and the general public are "where are you from?", "where are you from? Germany?" "where are you going?", "where have you been with this bicycle?", "Mali? Really! Woah!", mixed with lots of looking trying to figure the contraption out. We thanked our truck friends and attacked the streets of Kumasi.

The initial impression wasn't good. On our way in on the trike it looked like a dog's breakfast of old and new, and the hills are many and steep, making cycling the worst form of transport. I think I would've preffered a Malian bush-taxi, which is a big statement. We got many unhelpful directions, and while desperately battling the traffic over the ridiculous hills one woman hanging out of a taxi shook her head and told us "you do not do that in this country". Do what? Cycle? Cycle on a red tandem recumbant tricycle? Get lost in a strange city? She had me a little confused, and her tone had me little annoyed, particularly in my tired state. A boy finally came through with clear directions to our hotel, and Jeff, who was getting rather frustrated by this stage, showed his appreciation by enthusiastically shaking his whole arm. The streets were still ridiculously hilly but the look of this place was starting to ooze a little charm. There are lots of diagonal streets and multi-levelled terrace building's giving it a vague semblance of suburban Paris.

After eating and net-surfing, it'd gotten dark and we were in a wide and crowded street which had been closed off for a concert. There was a live band playing and the place was crowded with high-spirited africans dancing everywhere, and enjoying, as I was, this amazingly vibey and catchy music. We bought a soft drink and watched and listened. A couple of young kids were dancing next to us having a great time, smiling and laughing. It was an incredible atmosphere and I really enjoyed it. Ghanians, or perhaps Africans, certainly know how to have a good time.

Several lightning flashes from a distant storm which was getting noticeable closer beckoned us back to our hotel, where we had a decent view from the balcony. The storm was a beauty with constant lightning from several different storms.

The next day was a lazy one. This is probably the city that most resembles home so far. There are modern petrol stations where you can buy ice-creams, which I was unable to resist, and the roads are good.

The following day was spent trying to arrange a bus to get us to Cape Coast. After checking several companies that couldn't help us, we found a possibility. The obligatory confusion reigned while Jeff tried to ask several questions about the buses. Does it have a rack on the roof for the trike? When does the last one leave? Does it have a snack bar and masseuse on board? The bloke confirmed that there was a bus leaving today, so we returned to our hotel to pack and collect the trike, and rode back to the bus station.

After the guy's initial shock, and a wait of about an hour, they set about getting the trike on the roof. Up it went, then several large sacks of what we thought were flour, then other people's luggage and even a bar fridge. It looked as though there was little chance of the trike surviving a bus ride on a shitty road for three and half hours underneath all this gear. The driver was friendly and our spirits were high, however, and soon we were on our way.

During the ride, the landscape changed substantially, and we were soon surrounded by lush tropical vegetation. Palm trees abounded and I spent the entire time with my head stuck out the window trying to take it all in. Every few minutes we'd pass another village. Everyone was out on the street, and the driver tooted his horn like a five year-old who'd just got it for Christmas. The sun set was utterly spectacular and one of the best I've seen, and the camera did it no justice whatsoever. Once we arrived at Cape Coast, the driver was even good enough to take us directly to our hotel. A much-appreciated move, as neither of us relished the thought of riding in this hectic place of narrow streets at night.

Today, I finally got to see the ocean. It was only a brief glimpse, but I savoured it all the same. I believe we'll visit the apparently good beaches later. Cape Coast is also rather hilly, and there is a castle and a fort here. Built in 1652, Cape Coast Castle was the centre of the Britons' ("we are all Britons!") operations in W Africa until they moved the capital to Accra in 1876. Hopefully, we'll get to see the castle tomorrow.

Today we plan to visit Kakum National Park, about 35kms up the road. The highlight of the park is a 350m rope and canopy walkway, with viewing stations linked by narrow suspension bridges 30m above the forest floor. It's unique in Africa and one of only four in the world.

As a side-note, John Gardner was the lovely bloke who fed us and put us up for a night in Navrongo in northern Ghana. I have taken the liberty of including (with his permission) a section of his newsletter describing our visit with him and his account of our trike.

Cheers!

Love,
Marty.

Excerpt of Newsletter #33 by John Gardner

Recumbent Tandem Visit

Last Friday I was walking in the local market when I saw two white males going the other way. I muttered a hello to them and then as I went past one asked if I was John Gardner. I said yes and he said what a coincidence! They were cyclists from Australia who had met daughter Kate in Mali and she had told them I was in Navrongo, Ghana and to look me up if they went through. They were staying in the only hotel in Navrongo but, as they were staying for two nights, I suggested they come for a meal the following evening so that we could chat and they could stay the night.

Their names were Jeff McLean and Marty Pouwelse. Jeff is a keen cyclist and has done some Audax rides in Australia. He also talked about many other long rides he had done in Oz. His main claim to fame however, seemed to be riding across countries and he talked about his trips through many Asian countries and the middle east. Normally he rides a solo recumbent and sometimes an upright. On this occasion he had persuaded a friend, Marty who is not an experienced cyclist, along on the recumbent tandem. They were making a video and it might get broadcast when they return. They gave me a brief interview on video so I might get to appear on Oz television!

Details on their machine. It was a Greenspeed which had been loaned to them for their journey. It had 63 speeds, 3 rings, 7 cogs and a 3 speed hub. The front handlebars were below the seat and there were two hydraulic disc brakes operated by the front man. These were the only brakes, none for the stoker. The left hand brake operated the left hand front wheel brake and the right did the same on the right hand side. So, if one brake only was used, I guess there would be a tendency to swerve.

The machine had three wheels, two at the front and one at the rear. Also on the handlebars were two horns, the louder of which was operated from a bottle that could be inflated with a hand pump and seemed quite loud (would be useful in the Birmingham rush hour!). The front pedals were SPD but the rear were ordinary pedals as this was what Marty preferred. The front man operated the two derailleur gears and the back man the hub gear. I did not ask how long the chains were but they were long. Marty is a keen photographer and I think that was why he was there because he took a lot of footage. He sat on the seat with his feet under his bum for some shots while Jeff pedalled on the front. They also had two special booms fitted to the machine, one in front of the front rider and one to the side of the second rider. This enabled shots to be taken as the machine went along the road without either of them having to hold the camera.

The wheels were obviously quite small with tyre pressures of about 90 psi. They had a dynamo fitted with lights which have capacitors in them so that they do not go out immediately you stop. I asked about night riding and they did not intend doing much apart from early starts which they favoured because of the relatively low temperatures.

Behind the tandem was a trailer, they also had two panniers on the rear of the tandem. A total load of about 40 kg.

They had landed in the capital of Mali, Bamako where they met Kate. From here they cycled south to Burkina Faso and then continued south to Ghana. From the capital, Accra, they were heading east through Togo and to Benin where they were intending to fly out to Australia. They were not cycling all the way, sometimes they were getting lifts on buses (trotros). They did about 60 to 80 km a day and intended cycling a total of around 1000km in about 2 months. (I have just had an e-mail from an Audax friend back home, Ian Hunt, who recently did a 1000km Audax ride in about 80 hours!

During the evening I gave them two of the foods I eat when I do long rides, crumble and cake; both went down well. The next morning I had a ride on the tandem and they departed. I rode the first 15 km with them and experienced the looks of amazement they got from everyone!

Jeff told me he had published a book about his ride through Asia and also has a web site displaying his cycling activities. I don´t have details of either but will be e-mailing him so may get these in his reply.

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