The day started well, with a visit to the very amiable Guinean consul, who filled all the necessary paperwork for our border crossing and had us on our way in short order.
Similarly, the ride out from Bissau along tarmac that wound its way through stands of fruit trees was one of the most pleasurable of the journey so far.
Upon reaching Bambadinca in north eastern Guinea Bissau, we turned right and headed down towards the international border via Kitiara. The road wound its way along a river system that clearly supports a great deal of life in the region.
A brief roadside stop turned into something of a treat, as we observed a village hut being built using all natural materials. The chap doing the construction was happy to illustrate his technique, and it is amazing that these structures are completely dry and waterproof once completed.
We have now entered the region where we should start to see some mega-fauna. Signage illustrates their corridors and we had our eyes open (in vain) hoping for a glimpse of something.
Several hours later saw us round a bend in the river and be presented with the gorgeous vista of water cascading down rocks, and the squeals of excited children splashing in deep rock pools. The water tumbled and bubbled its way over a series of small waterfalls before dropping under a bridge and into a broad lake.
We used the opportunity to rest both bikes and riders, washing in the cool clear water and refilling all drinking bottles. Water is a precious commodity here, and it's important never to miss an opportunity to stock up.
A passerby indicated that there was a lodge nearby, so Ty loaded the chap on the side of his bike to help with directions and we set off in search of a snack and a place to put our feet up for a while.
From this point onward though, our day spiralled out of control very quickly.
The road out to the international border deteriorated into little more than a narrow track that wound its way through denser and denser jungle until branches whipped the bikes viciously, eventually snatching the side pannier of my bike and wrenching me off. No damage to speak of, as the Hepco Becker pannier latches gave way (as designed) and were simple to reattach once the bike was upright again. More damaging was the ribald teasing and the cost of a round of margaritas owed to the team.
The international border was nothing more than a hut that looked like any other village dwelling, and we dismounted and discussed our forward travel plans with the commandant. We were very dismayed to hear that the border had been closed two years ago due to ebola and border violence. To reroute would involve a 400+km detour back up to Bambadinca and around.
After some discussion, the Guinea Bissau commandant stated that he would allow us to proceed into Guinea, but that we would be unable to return if we ran into trouble. An interesting dilemma. 430km reroute back and around our destination, or 100km forward with a higher degree of uncertainty. We took option B, and headed into no man's land between the two countries.
The track very quickly deteriorated into a deeply rutted mess that severely challenged both bike and rider. Gary tumbled hard down a deep ditch, smashing his windscreen and side mirror with his head. He speared off the track and into the jungle leaving only the tail of his bike and the tail of his trousers hanging out. Fortunately, apart from a bit of ketchup on his forehead and leg, there was no significant damage. Quick repairs and on the track again.
Twice more Gary tumbled as the track required riding on narrow ridges between deep ruts. There is a high degree of technical difficulty (and risk) in this type of riding, because a slight wobble means a steep drop off and a heavy fall. There is no option to put your feet down for balance as deep ruts on either side of the ridge await. Each fall fatigues the rider, with corresponding aches, pains and loss of confidence. As a result, one fall often begets another, and another.
On reaching the Guinea border, we were intercepted by two military guys manning the border post. They were surprised to see four white guys arrive at this location, but this changed to astonishment when we indicated that we were tourists. Apart from UN and military personnel, no one had crossed this border in years.
Approximately 30km of rough track led us down to a furnicular river crossing, the cable drawn by a geriatric old diesel engine mounted to one side of the barge. A slippery rocky slope to enter the barge and a slippery muddy embankment to exit meant fun for all.
We were passed from one military checkpoint to another, with each commandant carefully scrutinising all of our paperwork, and one insisting that we completely unload the panniers for inspection. Fortunately our hiding spots for currency survived the inspection, and the weapons don't even raise an eyebrow in this country. In fact, the military were initially suspicious, but were eventually very accomodating once they accepted that we really were tourists.
Anyone who has followed our blog for the past years will know that we spend a lot of time on pre-trip risk management. Many scenarios are considered before each trip, each with detailed contingency plans. As a result, we have dealt in the past with accidents, mechanical problems, severe weather conditions, and other challenges quickly and efficiently.
Occasionally however a perfect storm occurs. This was the case last night, as we traversed a quarantine area known for civil unrest; along very difficult terrain; at night; whilst already fatigued. I guess our risk tolerance is reasonably high, but coming across soldiers in the middle of the jungle in near absolute darkness is very frightening, and you realise just how far from the safety of family and loved ones that you have taken yourself. All four of us had to dig very deep to ride through this and did not arrive in Boke until 1am, after 14 hours of continuous travel.
