23rd July to 8th August 2023

We head for the hills. A jagged outline fills the horizon through the hazy morning air. In front of us the landscape is ruffled up like an unmade bed. This is going to be a tough day.

The Trans-Uganda route that we are following steers us off the tarmac and onto a narrow, dirt singletrack that quickly points to the sky forcing us out of the saddle and using our full weight on the pedals to haul our heavy bikes up the steep gradients until we are forced to dismount and push. There is a brief respite at the top with a section of descent. A double edged sword as we know we’ll have to regain the altitude we’d just lost with interest. Repeat until fade

Eventually we arrive at our destination, an eco lodge high up in the Rwenzori mountains where we can enjoy one of the hardest earned bottles of beer while admiring one of the most wonderful views of the trip so far.

Surrounding us is dense forest and the next day we are led out into the trees by Chris, a local guide. As we pick our way along the mountainside Chris stops suddenly and points up at a branch “There! Do you see it?”. We squint and peer and try to follow where he’s looking but only see bark and leaves. “It’s a three horned chameleon!”. Eventually the tiny camouflaged creature comes into focus, but how Chris had spotted it can only be put down to black magic. We see plenty more before returning to the camp, but without Chris our chameleon count would have been precisely zero. 

We now have a lot of potential energy to cash in, so enjoy a solid hour and a half of bumping back down the mountain to the main road before our first ever crossing of the equator which takes us into Queen Elizabeth National Park. We’d been told we would be able to camp next to one of the safari lodges on the edge of the park, and they are very obliging but issue a warning. The nearby river is home to a herd of hippos that like to graze around the camp at night. “Don’t worry, they won’t trample your tent but if you go to the loo then take a torch. The light will dazzle them and scare them away.” We don’t sleep much with the eerie sound of the hippos grumbling nearby. 

We often bang on about how the beauty of travelling by bike is that it’s slow enough to allow you to see more and that you’re fully exposed to the natural surroundings. This stretch of the journey is a great case in point.

The public road across Queen Elizabeth NP is so poor that we couldn’t hurry even if we wanted to, but when we aren’t trying to find the elusive ‘good’ line between the rocks and sand, we’re busy scanning the savannah on either side for wildlife. Some distant elephant sightings are followed by warthogs hanging out with antelope and a flash of black and white as some colobus monkeys dash across in front of us.

Stopping on a bridge for a banana break, we both gasp as a baby elephant emerges just upstream to be joined by its mother for a drink. They soon disappear out of view again, but that moment is something very special.

Herds of buffalo watched us suspiciously before Kirsty spots a huge fish eagle just off the road. On closer inspection it was perched over a marshy lake full of yawning hippos with all manner of other animals around it. At another bridge a troop of baboons line the roadside with a few whoops as we go past.

We ended the day in the Ishasha sector, famous for its tree climbing lions which is where bikes have their limitations. Being slow and exposed means they didn’t allow us to venture into the bush here. Perhaps a relief for our parents.

Whether we would have seen as much from the seat of a 4×4 is hard to say, but this was a day in the saddle that will be very hard to beat.

A couple of short days from Ishasha takes us back into the hills and high up to the edge of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, home to some of Uganda’s most famous residents.  

One of the things any visitor to this country needs to decide is whether to visit the mountain gorillas. The trek is reassuringly expensive, but when our good friend Will, who’s been almost everywhere, said it was one of the best travel experiences he’s had, we knew we had to dust off the credit card.

The day starts with some traditional dance and a briefing before we are assigned our groups. There are about a dozen habituated family groups in the forest. Ours were called Mubare and were the first group to be habituated back in the early 90s.

The length of the trek depends on how far into the forest the gorillas happen to be. Trackers go out early in the morning to follow them from where they nested the night before, and communicate the location to the guides. We’ve only been walking about 30 mins when we are told we are getting close. Then a few more steps and suddenly we see a black shape sitting in the bushes. 

It’s quite something to see these magnificent animals in the wild and so close up, so that first encounter fills us with emotion. The group consists of a huge silverback, as big as a sofa, who is joined by three wives and three juvenile males. They are very relaxed and apparently just see people as part of their group now. The silverback lounges in the undergrowth while munching on enormous handfuls of leaves. We’d been warned in the briefing not to get any closer than 10m but the gorillas have other ideas. The youngest two are wrestling together and barrel towards us, narrowly missing our legs. Then all but the silverback climb up into the treetops to pick fruit. All too soon our hour with the gorillas is up and we make our way back through the forest with a few gigabytes of photos and memories that will stay with us for the rest of our lives. 

The mountain gorilla programme is a genuine conservation success story. In 1981 it was estimated that just 254 individuals existed in the wild. Their habitat was being cut down, poachers were killing them, and war and unrest in the region was having a huge impact. Thanks to the work of the conservationist Dianne Fossey, the issue was highlighted to the world and measures were put in place to try and protect them. The habituation and tourism programme plays an important role in this by using the fees from visitors to help fund the conservation effort with rangers protecting their habitat and education for the surrounding villages. Some of the money also pays for schools and healthcare which helps to keep the locals supportive.There are now over 1000 mountain gorillas living in Uganda, DRC and Rwanda. It might have been expensive (a third of our total budget for the trip), but we decide it was money well spent. 

We leave the eco-lodge the next day and skirt round the edge of the vast forest then dive back into it. The roads are very steep and very high, topping out at a breathtaking 2500m. A tour group on e-bikes pass us with sympathetic/smug looks and later we meet a pair of Poles who have ridden up from Rwanda. Other cycle tourists have been few and far between so it’s nice to share stories with some fellow two-wheeled travellers.

After two days we reach the gate at the edge of the park and the tree line ends abruptly to return to intensive farmland again. A stark reminder of what would have happened if the forest had not been protected: There would have been nothing left.

Dropping down to Lake Bunyonyi we follow the shoreline, looking down to the many islands. This is a birders’ paradise and the name means ‘Lake of Many Small Birds’. Finally we get to see some of Uganda’s national bird, the great crested crane, up close. The original punks of the bird world. I’ve become a novice twitcher during the trip and have enjoyed spotting at least seven types of kingfisher!

The dust on the roads is now getting a lot worse as we reach peak dry season. Everything we own has an orange tinge and we have to try and cover our mouths when cars drive by. Not easy when you’re hauling up another 2000m high pass. It marks the end of this mountainous section though so it’s with some relief that we drop down onto a flat smooth road for an easy spin to Mbarara.

Feeling refreshed, the next day we head out to Lake Mburo national park. This is the only park that you’re allowed to cycle in, provided you hire an armed ranger. We had arranged to meet Aaron and his AK47 at the entrance and he arrives in the back of a pickup at the same time as us. His bike is in a poor state of repair so I give it a quick service before we set off. We enter the park and are immediately surrounded by different animals.

Herds of zebras, impala and small groups of waterbuck line the road. Warthogs scamper around with their tails in the air. Buffalo amble between the trees and are one of the reasons we need Aaron’s gun, rogue hippos and leopards being the other.

The main event though comes as we join an acacia lined sand track. We spot them from a distance above the tree tops and Aaron motions for us to leave the track. Soon we are right alongside a tower of giraffes so we dismount and walk with them for a while. Evolution works in wondrous ways, and these graceful yet ridiculous animals are an extraordinary sight. 

Before leaving the park we are lucky to see some elusive Eland antelope, the largest antelope breed and notoriously shy. As well as offering protection, Aaron was more than worth his fee with his knowledge of the park and its inhabitants.

Leaving the animals behind, we pass through Lyontonde and on an innocuous descent I hear a loud bang and the bike judders to a halt. I’d just been thinking how impressive our bargain bikes had been, having carried us 1800km on some of the continent’s roughest roads, but hitting a large rock at speed is just too much for the poor Peugeot and it has killed my rear rim. Trying to stay calm I grab the damaged wheel, leave Kirsty with the remains of my bike and hop on a bodaboda back to Lyontonde to a bike shop I’d seen earlier. On arrival I inspect the ramshackle machines they have on display and find one that looks half reasonable. After some negotiation they agree to sell me the rear wheel and between us we swap the parts I need from the old wheel to the new. 

I hop on another bodaboda and find Kirsty surrounded by children from the nearby school and discussing English football teams (not her specialist subject). We give a bike maintenance and English lesson to the crowd and soon we’re off again. The whole episode has taken about an hour and a half and demonstrates that riding an old 26″ wheel with rim brakes was the perfect choice. Anything with modern components would have meant a long bus trip to Kampala and back, taking days. Luckily we’d brought the right bikes.

Riding first to Masaka we then spin on to catch the ferry out to the Sesse Islands in the vast expanse of Lake Victoria, sharing the boat with a lively bunch of Gomba Lions FC supporters.

We’re at the stage where we’re trying to savour all the little things that have made this journey unique: The hundreds of shouts of ‘mzungo!’ from the children, refueling on rolex and fresh fruit, catching sight of another incredible bird, surviving yet another poorly timed overtaking manoeuvre, the smiles and calls of ‘safe journey’, being woken by the combined sound of the call to prayer and loud music from an early morning party.

After a night on Bugala island we take a 3.5hr ferry to Entebbe then find someone to take us across the bay in a small boat to begin our final ride up to Kampala. The traffic gets heavier and we encounter the most dangerous thing of the trip so far, a swarm of tuktuks.

While trying to keep a 360 degree view around us and expecting the unexpected, we eventually arrive at our end point, The Red Chilli Hideaway, safe and sound. Our lap of Uganda is complete.

We have become quite attached to our trusty Peugeot bikes. Both of them were found on Facebook marketplace and rescued before they were thrown on the scrap heap. With a few upgrades from Evesham Adventure Playground and some other bike recycling projects they were tour ready. They have put up with a lot of abuse but kept coming back for more during our 2000km journey.

But our time with them has come to an end. We ride through the back streets of Kampala to reach the offices of Platform for Labour Action where we meet with Lydia and her team. One of their projects is to help eradicate child labour through training and education. Two graduates of their scheme are Shafiq and Abdul who now work as a hairdresser and mechanic. Currently their trip to work is a 2.5hr walk leaving them exhausted before they even start with their jobs.

Lydia hands over our bikes to them and the smiles say it all. Our small contribution will have a huge impact on the boys and help them progress their careers as well as allow them to support their families.

We’ll be sorry to see the bikes go after everything we’ve done together but they have a whole new adventure ahead of them now and they are much more valuable here than with us.

An emotional day.

As we take off from Entebbe airport we look back down at the red dirt below us and the glistening expanse of Lake Victoria. This country has given us so many memorable experiences through the wonderful people, the incredible wildlife and the rugged landscape in a journey that has been unlike any other for us. As we rise higher the African continent opens out below before we suddenly disappear into the clouds. We will be back here one day, I’m sure of that.

Platform for Labour Action is supported from the UK by @actionon_poverty. If you’d like to help them make huge impacts on amazing people like Shafiq and Abdul then any contributions will be much appreciated and very well used. Please consider making a donation here: https://aptuk.org.uk/donate/

12th July – 22nd July 2023

“Where are you going?”

“Lira”

“That’s a long way!”

“Then after that Masindi, Fort Portal, Kasese, Kabale, Mbarara, Masaka and back to Kampala”

“Eh! On this bicycle?”

“Yes, all on this bicycle”

Then looking at Kirsty who is sat on her bike with her bike helmet on having just cycled into the same village on her bike:

“And what about her?”

“Yes, I’m riding with him”

“EH?!” 

Throughout most of Uganda women don’t ride bikes. A few small regions are an exception to this, but it is a rarity thanks to an acceptance that it just isn’t appropriate in their culture. When Kirsty arrives on a fully laden bike having ridden from the previous town heads turn and we have the conversation explaining that she is more than capable of riding round their country. she’s told that “You must be very strong!”. And she is, but so are Ugandan women who are able to carry huge loads on their head while carrying small children on their backs. Given a chance they’d be more than capable of riding with us. It’s just a shame they don’t have that chance. We have to consider ourselves very lucky to have the time and resources to be able to travel this way and to be able to see much more of Uganda than the average Ugandan man let alone a Ugandan woman. 

When you start your ride at the top of Uganda’s longest continuous climb it means you have Uganda’s longest continuous descent to look forward to. After a guided trek to see the magnificent Sipi falls up close and a lengthy bike maintenance session cleaning off the mud, replacing a broken spoke and tweaking worn brake pads we speed back down to the bottom of the mountain. 

Our pace remains high as we head towards the flatlands north of Lake Kyoga on smooth gravel roads. There is the threat of rain in the huge grey clouds overhead and when lightning flashes on the horizon we brace ourselves for another mud bath but thankfully the bad weather stays in the distance. We’re now in the Tebe region (“Yogga” is the greeting and “Yogga noy” the response) and the children seem to be more of the ‘stop-and-stare’ type than the shouting and chasing we had seen further south. Some of them almost look scared when the strange western people cycle past them.

Moving further north we arrive at Nyero and stop to take a look at the famous cave paintings. The guides seem very happy to see us and when we sign into the guest book we can see why as they haven’t had any visitors for the last 3 days. The age of the paintings seems to vary depending on who you speak to but they are undoubtedly very old and very impressive and we feel privileged to be able to walk through the site without the crowds of tourists that they really deserve.

One of the legacies of the British colonisation of Uganda was an extensive rail system and we’ve crossed the tracks several times already. But although the signs warning of trains seem to be remarkably well maintained, there haven’t been any train services for years. Apparently there are plans to modernise the lines and get them up and running again, which can only be a good thing, but for now the abandoned railway system is a handy network of paths for anyone on foot, hooves or two wheels.

We follow a section shortly after Nyero and for a while it’s a lovely route with tall grass on either side taking us over a huge area of marshland. We then emerge onto a loose, gravel causeway that stretches out to a rusting iron bridge. Dismounting we tentatively manoeuvre the bikes around the exposed sleepers and lift them over sections that have rusted through to give a view of the water below. A small crowd follows us to see whether we make it. Back on solid ground we continue along the causeway on the other side for a few more kilometres until we reach the next bridge, only there isn’t another bridge. The twisted rails disappear into a 20 metre gap that is filled with lake and swamp. We’d been warned about this in an earlier conversation and the advice was to ‘wade across but keep left!’. I give it a go and apart from nearly losing my sandals in the mud, the warm water doesn’t go beyond my waist so I declare it a goer. Kirsty isn’t quite so keen but with the prospect of recrossing the rusty bridge and a lengthy retrace as the alternative she agrees to follow me. Panniers and bags go across on one journey then the well timed arrival of a local man helps us bring the bikes across above our heads. We ride some more before finding another downed bridge. This time we hope to keep our feet dry when some local fishermen offer to ferry us across. Their simple wooden boat is barely afloat and can only take one of us at a time after bailing out as quickly as it refills. So much for keeping our feet dry. The pilot keeps things simple without the complication of paddles or oars by simply sliding a flip flop onto each hand to power us across. 

By now the sun is low to the horizon and the air is full of the sound of frogs starting up their evening chorus. We thank our helpers as they disappear out onto the lake for some night fishing. The whole episode has left us well short of our target town for the day, so we head to the nearest village and in the last light of the day we manage to find the police outpost where we’re allowed to camp.

I can only think that there is no word for noise in any of the Ugandan languages, and there is definitely no such thing as a noise pollution regulation. Playing loud music is perfectly acceptable in any town and at any time of day. In fact if you own a speaker, then the standard procedure is to point it out of your door and turn it up to 11. It doesn’t matter if the shop across the street has also got their speaker pointed towards you and also at full volume. We get used to the bizarre sound of badly dubbed kung fu movies being broadcast from the only house with a TV in the village. It’s no surprise then that when we’re camping at another police station our conversation with the officer in charge is drowned out by loud music from their neighbours. “That’s the local college having a party” Officer Adeko explains “Do you want to go and look?”. He leads me down to the college where we join a large group of students busy dancing their socks off in almost total darkness. There’s enough power for the sound system but not the lights. 

We go back in the morning and meet the principal and a few of the teachers. The Ocamonyang Technical College has been set up to provide vocational skills to underprivileged young adults from the surrounding villages and teaches skills such as welding, brick laying, carpentry and sewing. It’s a simple facility but the pupils benefit from being able to go back to support their families with better paid jobs as a result. Seeing the passion and belief of the staff despite having to part-fund the project themselves along with the small level of fees that the pupils pay leaves us feeling emotional and determined to see whether we can help support them when we get back home.

We’re waved off by the entire college and make the short ride into the town of Lira where we have an appointment with Ruth from Platform for Labour Action (PLA). This is an organisation that is supported by Action on Poverty (APT) in the UK who we have been raising money for during our trip. Ruth is another example of someone who has total belief in what she and PLA want to achieve despite considerable hurdles and dwindling funding. She takes us down to the local market where we meet some of the market traders, almost all of whom are women. PLA have been working with the women to help them learn new skills and to be better represented on the market council. Despite 90% of the stall holders being women almost all of the council used to be made up of men. PLA’s project has had a dramatic effect with many more women gaining the confidence to put themselves forward and be elected as council members, and a multitude of training sessions allowing them to diversify their businesses and even manage their home finances more effectively. Simple steps towards much happier lives. If you’d like to help APT and PLA with more projects like this then our fundraising page can be found here: https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda.

We leave Lira on a Sunday which has become our favourite day of the week as everyone is dressed in their Sunday best with smart suits and beautiful, colourful dresses. Songs and music spill out of each of the many churches we pass and at one al-fresco service we stop to watch the congregation dancing and waving as if it’s the headline set at Glastonbury. 

We’re now passing through the Lango tribe so our greeting is “Apoyo!” to be replied with “Behr!”. Whether it’s because they are happy that it’s a Sunday or if this is a more friendly tribe is hard to know but we find ourselves amongst smiles all along the road and have many fun conversations while buying bananas and pork skewers. It’s noticeable that there are women riding bikes here and we even see a man sitting on the back of a bike being ridden by his wife. It’s a beautiful road surrounded by woodland interspersed with immaculate groups of thatched bandas and there are brightly coloured birds of all shapes and sizes flying alongside us. There are nearly 1100 types of bird in Uganda compared to just 625 in the UK and every day we spot a whole collection of new species that we’ve never even heard of before.

Between Lira and Masindi, the next big town on our route, the villages are small and there aren’t many accommodation options. Luckily we’d been tipped off about a catholic school that is helpful to cyclists so pull over as the light starts to fade and ask a group of pupils if there is somewhere we can stay. One of them leads us to the home of Father Stan who doesn’t seem at all surprised to see us. Grinning he tells us that “It’s no problem, many cyclists have stayed here!” and shows us a small shelter in the grounds of the school tucked away next to the huge church. We decide to forego the tent and string up the mosquito net instead and settle down underneath it with a clear view of the stars. We regret this decision almost immediately as we’re buzzed by the mossies all night trying to get a nibble through the thin netting. 

Before Masindi we have to cross the Nile again but it is now about 500m wide. What appears to be a large pontoon with a diesel engine strapped onto the side pulls up to the jetty an hour later than the timetable suggested and is quickly filled with trucks, cars, mopeds, foot passengers and us, while somehow staying afloat.  We chunter across the enormous river and watch sea eagles and fisherman competing for the same bounty in the water. On either side of this crossing Chinese contractors have been busy building a smart new, multi-lane highway with the best road surface we have so far encountered in Uganda allowing larger volumes of traffic to speed along to the river. Whether an upgrade to the ferry service has been factored into the plan is unclear.

On the other side the landscape starts to fold into more undulations and we start to see herds of ankole cattle with their unbelievably large horns. After winching up a steep hill, Masindi is a welcome sight and we savour a pit stop at a comfortable hotel and refuel at a cosy cafe round the corner. 

We’re now on the west side of the country and will turn south to follow the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). We realise that we haven’t seen any mzungos since Sipi but we’re now entering some of the most popular tourist regions in the country so spot a few more white faces in the back of large safari trucks. We’re out of the flat lands and have to work for our kilometres again with some steep climbs on dusty tracks taking us down to Hoima then a roller coaster of even steeper and rockier roads eventually bring us out onto the main highway. 

We should be glad to have some respite from the challenging local roads but the highway reveals a slightly different side to the country. The traffic is relatively busy (compared to the few boda bodas we would see on the local roads) and when we stop the people seem less welcoming and instead demand money. There are safari trucks speeding past all the time without stopping so maybe this has created a bit of resentment for the rich westerners? We have a day and a half of this to get through so put our heads down and turn the pedals as best we can. 

Eventually we find a turning back on to the dirt roads and instantly our shoulders drop and we can relax again. We freewheel down over a stream and into a huge forest where monkeys watch us curiously from the tree tops and clouds of butterflies fill the air. Passing through a tea plantation we end the day at the village of Kyarusozi. We head to the police station and are invited to stay in one of the little tin houses by D.I. Caiphas. Along with one of the other officers they quickly build a fire and then ask if we like chicken. When the answer is yes Caiphas disappears into one of the houses and there’s a brief scuffle and some clucking before he emerges holding a lifeless cockerel. Later, while chewing on the freshly cooked bird we chat about our completely different lives. Life in the police force offers some job security but a lot of disruption to home life. They can be posted to anywhere in the country and often have to leave their families in their home town. Caiphas sees his wife and children every month or two. There’s also the challenge of having to police a region where they don’t speak the language. Caiphas dreams of something different and even has a degree in logistics but with 100’s of applicants for any decent job he’s not been able to put his skills to good use. His ambition is to try working abroad where he believes there are more opportunities but making that happen is anything but easy. He has a steely determination in his eye though so we’re sure that one day he’ll make it. We sit for a while in silence staring into the glowing embers of the fire while again guiltily thinking about the ease with which can travel with our British passports.

We’d spent the previous three nights in hotels and even found ourselves relaxing in a pool in one, but our night in Kyarusozi was one that will we remember most.   

Riding through more tea plantations we drop down into Fort Portal where we meet up with Ailsa, a friend of my brother. She is here to work on a project trying to find a way to reduce the rate of deforestation. It seems an almost impossible task as just about all the cooking is done on charcoal stoves and with an ever increasing population the demand for wood gets greater every year. “It won’t be easy but if we don’t try then the consequences are pretty dire” she tells us. “There are already more landslides when the heavy rains come which is getting worse each year thanks to climate change.”

Ailsa is also a keen cyclist so joins us for the ride out of Fort Portal and provides an encyclopaedic knowledge of the flora and fauna that we zoom past. As we begin a climb up towards another patch of woodland she stops and points. “Cranes!” she calls in a hushed voice. On the other side of the small valley are a pair of grey crested cranes, the national bird of Uganda and something we had wanted to spot since we arrived.  Their distinctive mohican feathers stand proudly on their heads as they strut around the field foraging for bugs. We stop to watch them for a few minutes before continuing up the climb.

Eventually Ailsa has to turn back to head home so with a fond farewell we go our separate ways and end the day camping above a crater lake to watch the sun setting over our next challenge which now loom large in the west: The Rwenzori Mountains.

6th to 11th July 2023

“Mzungu! How are you?”

It’s the 100th time we’ve been asked this question that day and this time the voice comes from a small boy of around 4 years old. He’s naked from the waist down, the dark skin of his toes contrasting with the brick red dust of the road. Behind him a chicken clucks contentedly as it pecks away on a discarded maize husk. The only item of clothing the boy wears is a well-worn red jumper that bears the distinctive logo of two interlocking G’s and the word Gucci. It’s unlikely the luxury fashion house will be using this image on its next ad campaign. 

“I’m good thanks, and how are you?” I ask

“I am fine” the boy replies with a broad grin before adding “bye bye!” and waving.

We’d begun our ride in Entebbe and despite being our first time on this continent there was a strange sense of familiarity as we took our first few pedal strokes. The lack of any rules of the road, ‘boda boda’ motor bikes everywhere, the roadside stalls constructed from reclaimed wood and bent corrugated iron, shops overflowing with brightly coloured plastic household goods. And the noise. Constantly beeping horns, shouting, loud music. The chaos of the place all reminded us of countries like India, Myanmar, Cambodia and China. 

What was new to us though was our place in all of this. We were now Mzungus, a term used across East Africa to refer to “foreigners with white skin” but its literal translation means “Someone who roams around” or “wanderer”. Either way, it felt like an appropriate label. 

We weren’t quite ready to take on the full bedlam of Kampala, so skirted round the shores of Lake Victoria and found a fisherman to take us across Murchison Bay. Clicking down through the gears of our 40 year old Peugeots we rode up the bumpy dirt track from the lake and headed east and that’s when the shouting started. “A MZUNGU! A MZUNGU!” followed by “How Are You?”. As soon as we got near a village we’d be spotted by a child and they’d make the call. Straight away more children would run to take a look at the mzungus and join in the chanting. “Bye Bye Mzungu! Bye Bye!” We’d have to get used to this for the next five weeks. 

For the first few days we’re just settling into life on the dirt roads. It’s a daunting prospect to look at the map and see how much is ahead of us and we finish each day feeling battered by the hills, rocks and ruts, covered in dust and sweat. We keep our energy levels up with fresh bananas bought just a few meters from where they’d been picked. A third of the size of the bananas we can buy in the UK, but at least three times as tasty. We thought we’d bought a mango but it turned out to be a huge avocado. Larger villages and towns have restaurants where the typical dish is made up of rice, matooke (mashed plantain), cassava and either bean, goat, beef, fish or chicken stew. Simple calories. 

The staple for our breakfast though is the legendary Ugandan Rolex: Take a chapati and cook it on a charcoal stove, then cook an omelette, add tomatoes and onions and roll the whole lot together (the name comes from ‘rolled eggs’). I opt for two chapatis to help get me through to lunchtime. 

Our route winds through small villages surrounded by forests of banana trees and thick woodland. Tyres fight for grip on some of the steep kickers and we have to constantly hunt for the best line. Occasionally we veer off onto a stretch of singletrack to get deeper into the countryside then come bouncing out again and into a village or small town. We share the road with all manner of livestock: goats, pigs, cows, chickens all roaming freely. People use the boda bodas and bikes to move just about anything bulky, but the majority of people were walking if they wanted to get somewhere. If they need to carry something heavy like a jerry can then it goes on their head with remarkable balancing skills. Only a handful of cars or trucks pass us each day. 

The big, yellow jerry cans become a very familiar sight. These are used to store and carry water that can be pumped up from boreholes installed at intervals along the road. If you’re lucky the pump is right outside your house, less lucky are the ones that have to walk a kilometre or more to get to one. We’ve supported the charity Wateraid for many years and here we can see the effect of their work first hand, but also how much more there is to do. Each borehole is dated and it’s shocking how recently they’ve been installed. In one village we’re told that they only got theirs 8 years ago and before that they had to trek to the swamp, another one is only one year old. They’re a lifeline for us too as we’re drinking a lot of water each day. There’s almost always a gang of children gathered round each pump who are happy to operate it for us while we hold our bottles under the spout. To be sure that it’s clean we then have to give it a shake with the UV filter if it’s clear or squeeze it through our micron filter if there are any bits in it. A luxury that the villagers don’t have.  

After a night camping by a waterfall then another near the point where the River Nile spills out of Lake Victoria, we find ourselves in amongst a huge sugar cane plantation. For the first time since we’d landed there’s no one around but after a few kilometres we find out why. The road is taped off and a large crowd has gathered. Suddenly we hear an engine screaming and a rally car zooms past in a cloud of dust. The crowd go wild, jumping, singing, waving their arms. This is clearly the most exciting thing to have ever happened here. We watch the rest of the cars race through, almost within touching distance and each time the crowd erupts with cheering before jumping back to safety. 

Given the density of the population and the fact that we would almost certainly get surrounded by inquisitive onlookers if we tried, wild camping isn’t really an option. But a few parts of the trip would land us in amongst villages where there was no accommodation on offer. The first time this happens we get chatting to a man called Emojong Francis while filling our water bottles from the nearby borehole. We ask him if he thinks it would be OK to camp by the church. He isn’t sure so makes a call to the local councillor who soon arrives on the back of a boda boda. He initially offers his back yard but then decides we might be safer with more protection. A quick phone call later and we’re being escorted to the nearest police outpost. Moses, the policeman looks bemused but tries to remain professional and sits us down for an interview. “Where are you from?” “Where are you going?” “Why are you travelling by bicycle?” “Do you have any bombs in your bags?”. Satisfied with our responses he takes our passports for safe keeping and lets us pitch beside the station. We’re shown the latrines, water pump and a stone building without a roof that serves as a ‘bucket and jug’ shower. Moses lives behind the station in a small tin house with his wife Marion and their two sons. They grow their own vegetables, fruit and coffee and have a few chickens to help supplement Moses’ meagre wage. This is a typical life for a Ugandan policeman.

In the morning we’re given a lesson in Soga, the language for the tribe in this area and after paying a small fee we’re allowed to retrieve our passports before waving goodbye and continuing on.  This wouldn’t be the first visit to a police station during the trip.

We get a great response with our newly learnt Soga greetings of “Alotia” and “Neyaz Iza” for thank you for about half a day before we move tribe and everyone starts calling out the Swahili greeting of “Jambo” instead. There are around 40 different languages spoken in Uganda and they’re all completely different. By the time we’ve got the hang of the basics for one we’ve moved tribes and have to stop and ask someone what the words for hello and thank you are for that region.

Everyone seems surprised to see the mzungus on bikes in their villages and wants to talk to us. In one I get invited to play ludo with a group of men. I still don’t know if I won or lost. In another town a group of men beckon me over and I find that they’re all sat round a bucket of unidentifiable liquid. Each of them has a long bamboo straw dipped in so they can share the drink. Kirsty warns me “That doesn’t look good” but I want to see what it’s all about so take a seat and get given my own bamboo straw. It’s bantu, a type of home brew millet beer and doesn’t taste great so I take a couple of sucks on the straw before offering my apologies and leaving them to it. This was a mistake.

Early that morning I begin feeling ill and the whole next day is a real struggle with a complete lack of appetite and not much power in the legs. We push on regardless, and eventually the bulk of Mount Elgon fills the horizon and we roll down into Mbale. This is one of the biggest towns we’ve been to so far and is well timed as we check into a hotel and find somewhere serving pizza. Just what I needed to recover from my bantu hangover. 

The majority of Uganda has two dry seasons and two rainy seasons each year and so we timed our trip to make sure we were riding during the second dry season. In the foothills of Mount Elgon, which straddles the border with Kenya, the weather is a bit more unpredictable. We can see the dark clouds gathering up ahead as we winch higher and higher up the densely forested slopes and when the rumble of thunder grows louder and the first rain drops start falling we know it’s time to find shelter. In the next village we park up under a canopy in front of some shops and are quickly joined by half a dozen giggling children. The heavens well and truly open and before long the dusty road has turned into a river. It goes on for an hour without easing up and a few brave souls venture out using brollies, bags or banana leaves to keep the worst of it off. But almost everyone else just sits undercover watching the water pour off the roofs. 

Eventually it stops and when we see the boda bodas come out again we think it must be OK to get back on the road. This is a mistake.

The hard packed dirt road has now been turned to a thick orange mud which is just about rideable in places but further along it gathers up on our wheels and jams the entire bike up. We drag our now useless machines past trucks and cars that are completely stuck until we get to the next village. Everyone seems in good spirits about it and simply say “Welcome to Uganda!” with a shrug of the shoulders. This is the reality of the rainy season for most people so they have to accept it. When it rains, it rains hard and all they can do is sit and wait until the rain stops and the road dries.  

We’re given sticks by someone and for the next half hour use them to try and remove the caked on clay that seems to have attached itself to all of the moving parts. With the sun now shining the road is drying up fast and before too long we have bikes that are just about working and a road that is just about possible to ride on. 

The delay means that our intended destination for the day is going to be hard to reach before sunset. We are aiming for Sipi falls that happen to sit at the top of the longest road climb in Uganda. Being so close to the equator means that the sun goes down very quickly so when the light starts to fade and we still have 10km to go we know we have to find another way up the mountain. Luckily a truck laden with 5000 litres of kombucha pulls up in front of us and the driver agrees to let us sling our bikes and kit on the back. We climb up on top of the bottles and have a fantastic view of the sunset over the plains below. People point and wave as we trundle past before the inevitable shouts:

“Mzungu! How are you?!”

We are using our trip to help raise funds for the amazing charity Action on Poverty who support projects that help some of the poorest communities in Africa including several in Uganda. If you’d like to make a donation to this very worthy cause then it would be very much apreciated by some very deserving people. Here’s our fundrasing link:

https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda

Thank you!

We released our brakes and rolled down the hill. My riding buddies whooped as we accelerated and leant into the turns. There were a few nervous screams but on we raced past cottages and trees, with gravity on our side providing the free speed. The wind felt exhilarating on our faces, pulling at our hair and pressing our clothes tight to our chests. Tyres hummed on rough tarmac while we resisted the urge to squeeze the brakes.

Eventually the road leveled off and a couple of people punched the air, shouting “YES!”. Someone asked “Can we do that again?”, “that’s better than a roller coaster!”. 

It was a hill I’d ridden many times before, about half a kilometer in length and no more than 5% at its steepest. I’d never given it much of a thought before, just a stretch of road on the route towards Worcester that is quite pretty but nothing to get excited about. Given the reaction from my riding buddies on that day, they clearly thought otherwise. To them this was the greatest stretch of road they’d ever ridden. 

Admittedly I was riding with a group of 10 year olds during a Bikeability lesson but it got me thinking how easy it is to forget just how much fun cycling actually is. Bikes can be hard work, they can be scary, they can leave you cold, wet and hungry and sometimes they can be really, really annoying when something breaks leaving you stranded on a roadside miles from anywhere. But given half a chance, almost every time you swing your leg over one they will make you smile. Especially if you can engage your 10 year old appreciation for simple pleasures. 

Last year I needed to be reminded how much we enjoy cycle touring too. The pandemic put a dampener on a lot of things and changed all of our routines to the point where it was hard to remember what we used to like to do. Our Bog LEJOG journey was the first long trip by bike (and boat) since we visited Cuba in 2018 and it felt really good to be back on the road. That sense of elation from cresting a hill to be rewarded with a view that takes your breath away. Discovering new places and meeting new people. The freedown of knowing we have everything we need on our bikes to continue indefinitely. It stirred familiar feelings and felt exciting so since then we’ve been pondering what to do next. 

The solution came via an email in February from a brilliant local charity that we support called Action on Poverty (APT). They provide training and resources to help vulnerable communities to develop sustainable livelihoods in several countries across Africa. The email was asking us to help them plan a fundraising bike ride in Uganda next year which of course we were happy to oblige. Now Africa is a continent that we’ve never turned our pedals on so the more we looked into the options for route the more it sounded like a great place to visit. This had to be our next adventure. 

Fast forward to the end of June and we now have arms full of jabs, a Ugandan Visa and a map with a wiggly line on it. We also have two matching 1980s Peugeot mountain bikes. Mine cost £10 and I felt a bit ripped off whereas Kirsty’s was free and seemed like a bargain. We’ll be using them to ride 2000ish km around the country testing out the planned Action on Poverty route then adding a whole lot more on the fabled Trans Uganda trail. Basic bikes should be easier to find parts for if needs be and we hope to show that you don’t need the latest and greatest kit to enjoy a big adventure. We’ll see if that holds true!

As we get closer to departure there have been those jolts of adrenaline that come from knowing we’re about to leave our comfort zone for the first time in years. A friend found it amusing that a seasoned cycle tourist who had ridden round the world would be nervous about a relatively short trip like this. But it’s one thing riding out of your front door and slowly heading to foreign countries and quite another to jump on a plane and get dumped in Entebbe hours later. How will we cope with the heat? How rough will the roads be? Will we get eaten by lions? 

The only way to find out is to release the brakes and roll down the hill. 

We don’t plan to write a blog while we’re away but will be using Instagram for short updates so feel free to follow us on @shesnotpedallingontheback or on Facebook @shesnotpedallingontheback. We’ll expand these into a proper blog post when we’re back in August. 

Although our ride is a recce of the APT route this isn’t intended as a sponsored ride. But if you’d like to support them then they would very much appreciate a donation to help fund their fantastic work. Here’s a link to a Just Giving page for that very purpose. 

https://www.justgiving.com/page/kirsty-marcus-uganda