TWO AFRICAS 50 yards away from our bikes, a young male elephant stamped the

ground. Dust billowed around his mammoth body as he tossed his

trunk into the air. With our scent in his nostrils, he thrust his ears

Story and photos by Nathan Ward

forward and raised his head to show us the white spears of his tusks. We were bliss-fully unaware that he was dripping with musth hormones, becoming dangerous and unpredictable. We just sat on our saddles as the truck-sized animal moved toward us. We felt as calm as though we were in our living rooms watching Animal Planet.

“Let’s go! Ride! Ride!” our Botswanan guide Mosa frantically whispered. Reality sank in and we tore after Mosa, who was already sprinting up the trail with his .458 rifle bouncing heavily against his back. When the guide with the gun leaves, it’s prudent to follow.

After half a mile, he stopped and dressed us down.“These animals can be very dan-gerous! When I tell you to ride, ride!”

“What happens if we come across a lion?” someone asked.

Mosa looked serious. “Hopefully that will not happen.”

Just one day before, far from raging ele-

phants, we’d experienced a totally different side of Africa while riding pristine single-track in the Mount Anderson Conservation Reserve, high in the Drakensburg Mountains of South Africa. The contrast between the highlands of South Africa and the lowland game reserves of Botswana was radical and abrupt, part of a two-country odyssey designed by Cycle Mashatu to show cyclists different and magical aspects of southern Africa.

I wanted to get the most out of my expe-rience and do it in a safe and fun way, so I joined a commercial tour for one of the few times in my life. Mountain biking in Africa can be tough and serious business, so this was an ideal way to see southern Africa.

Even in modern times, Africa stirs imag-es of big animals, chaos, and exploration of the unknown. There are few places on the continent where everything comes together like it does in southern Africa – wealth, poverty, beauty, apartheid, devel- opment, tribes, Boers, colonization, and

today, mountain-bike touring.

South African singletrackWe met our guide, Warren Orazio, at

the airport in Johannesburg, where our group convened from Hong Kong and the United Kingdom. I flew in from Tanzania, where my wife and I had been working in a rural town. Bursting with energy, Warren hustled us into the van. We drove four hours north of Johannesburg to the Mount Anderson Conservation Reserve.

Rising to an elevation of 7,500 feet, the Mount Anderson Reserve covers 20,000 acres and protects the watershed of eight major rivers, including three that run directly into the famed Kruger National Park. As with most regions in Africa, development threatens the remaining natu-ral places so conservation areas are of utmost importance.

The reserve lies at the heart of the area known as Mpumalanga, which in the local Siswati language means “Land of the Rising Sun.” Here, the mountains spring from the lowlands in a flourish of high rolling grasslands, red-rock cliff bands and lush river valleys.

Mount Anderson has felt the footsteps of many civilizations as tribes ebbed and flowed through the area, including the Caucasians who settled the area less than 200 years ago. One wave of settlers sought gold and Mount Anderson became famous as the place where miners found South Africa’s largest gold nugget ever, a 5.5-pound monster.

Today the only full-time residents on the reserve are manager Trent Sinclair and his family. Trent is a keen mountain biker. During the past few years, he has worked to improve a series of game trails into fan-tastic singletrack trails similar to those in the American West.

The first morning, Trent greeted us by stating, “There are a few cheeky hills to get started, but we’ll ride straight from here.” He led us to a fun trail that climbed into the hills on wagon roads and singletrack, hugging cliffs and weaving through flow-ery grasslands. The riding was better than I had anticipated, and there wasn’t another human in sight.

There was an abundance of animals roaming the wide reserve. Although the wildlife is generally shy, we saw bles-bok, oribi, black wildebeest, gray rhebok, eland, zebras, and baboons on the first day alone. The highlight was observing a herd of about 100 blesbok on a ridge high above our heads, sprinting into the blue horizon.

We pedaled back to the lodge, an oasis in the highlands, where staff plied us with incredible food and cool drinks. On the patio with red wine in hand, we soaked in the stillness of the valley. Gurney’s sugar-birds buzzed red flowers and the chatter

of weavers competed with frog songs as a pink sunset stretched across the sky. The scene was far from my preconceived notions of South Africa.

Amid the serenity that night, a leopard killed a zebra 100 yards from the cottage. None of us heard a thing, but we discovered

the freshly gnawed carcass the next day when heading out to ride the Bushman’s Track, a long ribbon of singletrack that links zebra trails and gold-mining roads.

The Bushman’s Track led us through beautiful terrain. The route featured wide views and was challenging enough to keep us on our toes. We twisted through rock gardens, descended stone staircases, and bounced over rippled rock that looked exactly like the sandy sea floor it had been a few million years ago.

Before Mount Anderson became a water catchment reserve and mountain-bike play-ground, it witnessed the coming and going of entire civilizations. We found traces of indigenous tribes, remains of Boer settlers, remnants of the gold-mining rush, signs of the British wars, and most importantly, a new ethic that the reserve exemplifies — taking the used land and working to revi-talize and preserve wilderness in the face of an ever-increasing human onslaught.

Although Mount Anderson offers tran-quility and excellent mountain biking, it’s indeed a vacation experience. The rest of Africa could have been a million miles away. We were all looking forward to see-ing more, and after a few days of single-track and fine food, we pedaled away from

Sticking together. Riding in a group is a good strategy whenever there are potentially dangerous animals around.

Water crossing. The group discovers there’s more to South Africa than arid landscapes.

Small by comparison. It’s not just the big critters you have to beware of in Africa.

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the reserve on a high mountain road to the town of Pilgrim’s Rest.

Rain and mist greeted us in the high-lands, creating a soft, otherworldly scene as we traversed ridgelines through blonde fields of grass and flowers. Along the way, we spooked a huge herd of blesbok. The sound of hammering hooves filled the air like drums as they sprinted away.

Sunlight split the clouds, spilling glowing light on the valleys below as we

descended into forests, forded streams, and finally reached the lowveld along the Happy River.

Named by the highland settlers, the Happy River got its name because it was

the river that the men would follow back into the highlands after exploring the low-lands below. The lowlands were home to dangerous tribes, and the path to this deadly area was called the Sad River.

Unlike them, we were happy dropping into the lowlands. After a few hours of fine riding, we reached the town of Pilgrim’s Rest. This historic town has become a regular destination on the tourist circuit — the Disneyland version of a mining

town. We skipped the tourist stalls and headed straight for the pub at the Royal Hotel, where in true African fashion, they were out of beer and wine. Luckily, in South Africa, there is always another pub

just down the street.

Bold bicycling in BotswanaAs John Cleese famously said, “And now

for something completely different.” We left Trent and the highlands behind

during a six-hour drive to Botswana and the Mashatu Game Reserve, just across the South Africa border. Mashatu is known as the “Land of Giants,” named for the majes-tic Mashatu tree and the giant animals that roam the land. At 75,000 acres, Mashatu is one of the largest private game reserves in southern Africa. It’s also part of the larger Northern Tuli Game Reserve that borders Botswana, South Africa, and Zimbabwe.

Because it’s a private reserve, mountain bikers can ride along the same paths that elephants and lions use. Some would find this a bit silly — but not everyone. Under the hot lowland sun, we met our guide, Mosa, who didn’t bring much gear but did carry an immense rifle. I remember think-ing, “That’s a good sign!” When a group has to ride with guns, there is probably action on the horizon.

We encountered elephants immediate-ly, including the young male in musth mayhem. After Mosa lectured us on the importance of staying close, I realized we’d entered a whole new part of Africa — one with beasts that could make a person’s day go very wrong. In this land of lions, chee-tahs, leopards, and elephants, our line of riders stretched out quickly. As for me, I stayed as close as possible to the man with the gun.

We raced twilight to reach our camp, and just when it looked like we’d barely make it, one rider got a flat. Mosa and Warren tried five times to patch the tube, but the patches wouldn’t stick to the seal-ant oozing from the puncture. Darkness fell, and the guides radioed the camp truck to come get us.

It became dark rather quickly, and the radio didn’t work so well. Before long, we were all huddled in the African bush in the dark. To pass the time, someone started making really funny jokes that went some-thing like this: “Hey, do you hear a lion?” Nervous laughter. “I bet he eats you first.”

The truck finally rescued us. A jump-ing hare bounded away in the headlights. Later, while we sat around a campfire sip-ping cold drinks, a spotted hyena circled the camp at the edge of the fire light. An impala bounded into camp and quivered next to my chair. The cook jumped up and

exclaimed, “Something is chasing it!” We all peered into the blackness surrounding us.

The fleeing impala decided it would hide in my open tent. Once inside, the impala freaked out and jumped full force against the walls of the tent, which stretched cartoon-like while I helplessly watched the entire fiasco. This was the Africa I’d come to see, and if the price was panicked impala urine on my pillow and a crushed bag of camera gear, well, that was fine.

Serenaded all night by leopard calls and cicadas as loud as alarm clocks, I woke to an explosion of birdsong: meves starling, grayback chamoptera, red-crested korhaan, southern black tit, namaqua doves, and more. Our group straggled out of bed. Two riders told us how they’d hid on the floor of their tent, peering out a gap in the zipper as a fearless hyena demolished our trash can during the night.

Once on our bikes, we followed the guides on game trails into the bush. Our Botswana guides came from a tribe of broad-shouldered, chiseled, attractive peo-ple who speak softly and smile quickly. We followed Mosa as he led us casually through the reserve. During the first morn-ing, the animals seemed to have disap-peared. In reality, they had just holed up near a trickling river. Before long, we rode toward giraffes, warthogs, wildebeest, kudu, and eland. It felt fantastic, our silent bikes allowing us to move stealthily in the areas where the safari vehicles couldn’t go.

We rode on as the temperature sky-rocketed. I began sweating desperately as I slalomed my bike around huge piles of elephant poop. Sweat bees descended mad-deningly upon us as one woman spilled over the handlebars after running directly into a pile of elephant poop as big as a

backetball. Imagine the scene: tumbling over the handlebars into a giant ball of dung while a tornado of bees spins around you. It’s more fun than it sounds.

We started riding from shade tree to shade tree until we finally reached camp, where we relaxed under a giant Mashatu

tree. In heat like this, there is little one can do but sit still in the shade until the cool of evening returns. During our days riding in Botswana, we came to mimic the behavior of wild animals — waking early to eat and ride before lazing away the rest of the after-noon, waiting for darkness.

Nuts & Bolts: South Africa

When to go: You can do this trip any month of the year. Some months are dry and hot, others are wet and cooler. It just depends on what you want.

Who to go with:There are few professional cycling tour companies in this part of the world. I checked them all and chose cycle Mashatu, based out of South Africa. They were good and their guide, Warren Orazio, was the best guide I’ve worked with in Africa. Visit www.cyclemashatu.com.

What to bring: There aren’t many spe-cial items besides your normal adventure cycling kit. Do bring binoculars and an African bird book. The bird watching in Africa is fantastic. It’s nice to bring cycling jerseys from your hometown to trade or give to local guides as tips.

Should I bring my own bike? We all rented bikes from cycle Mashatu, and they were adequate. As with every cycling tour, it’s always nicer to have your own bike if you can afford it and don’t mind the hassle of flying across the world with a bike.

Safety: Safety is a concern everywhere in Africa. However, the danger can be mitigated by going with a professional local tour operator. The locals know where and when to go, as well as areas to avoid. They can take care of all the security details so you don’t have to worry about it. For a first-time visit to Africa, this is a good option.

Online resources:– www.mountanderson.com - Description of the Mount Anderson Reserve.– www.mashatu.com - Website of the Mashatu Game Reserve.

Repairs and protection. Unlike a pump, a hunting rifle may not be part of every mountain biker’s kit but in South Africa it goes with the territory.

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The next morning, a baboon sprinted into our camp, grabbed a full loaf of bread off the table, tucked it under his arm like a football, and sprinted back into the bush. The cooks yelled and Warren said, “That one has got long fingers” — South African speak for “thief.”

We rode out under a thick layer of low clouds — salvation from the sun — on trails where fresh elephant tracks pressed into the Botswana dust like fingerprints. We tried to avoid the long acacia tree thorns that could pierce a tire like an ice pick. Skittish animals ran at the sight of us. A giant eland rumbled away through the trees, and a black ostrich was high-lighted against the sky. The same woman

who wrecked over the elephant dung got her front wheel stuck in a muddy elephant track and wrecked again. Elephants were apparently her weakness.

The radio crackled. Gomes, our driver, told us a leopard and lions had been spot-ted nearby. He drove up and we jumped in the safari vehicle to search for the big

cats. I had been nervous about what would happen if we came across a lion while we were on mountain bikes. Sure, the guide had a huge rifle, but what are the chances

he could really do something if the cat was truly hunting? Luckily we had the safari vehicle nearby so we could approach the dangerous animals from safety. We drove slowly under a big leafy tree. Just above us slept a beautiful leopard, almost completely camouflaged in the foliage. She opened one big green eye and went promptly back to sleep.

Turning the Landcruiser into the tall grass, we searched for the lions. Suddenly they were right in front of us, silent and capable. Even in a vehicle, the adrenaline kicked in and I knew very clearly my natural place in the food chain. A huge male lion stared back at us, unconcerned. The grass parted and a big female walked out, barking as two cubs rolled out after her. She nuzzled the cubs and flopped onto her back. The cubs latched on to nurse, and the mother promptly fell asleep. Meanwhile, the big male never took his eyes off us. Standing no more than 10 feet away, he looked immense. I decided that if any cyclist was unlucky enough to meet a hungry lion while on a ride, it would most likely result in a quick end to his cycling career.

We returned to our bikes as the heat of the day burned off the clouds. A furnace blast of air swirled around us as we made our way to the Limpopo River, which marks the border between Botswana and South Africa. There we camped in the open on the banks of the river. It was the perfect place to watch wildlife as hundreds of baboons walked through the riverbed. Giraffe came to drink in the pools and a kaleidoscope of African birds swirled in the sky.

That night, Warren and Mosa told us we’d each have to keep watch for two hours. Because we weren’t sleeping in tents, someone needed to be awake to warn the others if any big animals wandered into camp. My cycling mates had flown in straight from the urban jungles of London and Hong Kong. Just days later, they were

already holding night watch in the African wild.

It’s an exciting experience, walking around in the dark with nothing but a large handheld spotlight, shining it toward any sound in the forest. You never know if that sound is a mouse in the leaves or beasts sneaking in to snack on snoozing campers. During my shift, it was almost completely silent and the stars were impossibly bright — an unforgettable night. Our Botswana guides snored the night away in bliss, but the rest of us slept on eggshells.

The next bleary-eyed day was our last. We pedaled 25 miles near the Limpopo River, seeing evidence of animals every-where but no movement. They must have been hiding from the sun. Upon reaching our camp, I stepped fully dressed into the bush shower to cool down. That night, we drove the safari vehicle through rows of

big red rocks divided by towering leafless baobab trees.

We climbed to the highest point and opened a bottle of wine. The red sun radi-ated into the western horizon while hun-dreds of feet below us the animals came back to life, moving into the cooling eve-ning along worn trails. Darkness dropped and lions roared far in the distance. It all looked and felt rather primordial, just like I always imagined Africa would be.

Nathan Ward is a regular contributor and has covered many exotic locales around the globe for Adventure Cyclist. After a prolonged stay in Asia and Africa, he’s now back in the good old, US of A and riding his bike on more familiar terrain. Look for a story about Fruita, Colorado by Nathan in a future issue. More can be learned about his writing and photography at nathan ward.com.

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