Sarah Clewlow

When I look back on Zambia in years to come I am sure it will be with a smile and I am sure at some point I will be able to laugh about the experience.

But at the time it felt super stressful and uncomfortable on my body and a complete head f$$k for my mind.

You have to be pretty lucky to keep going on this trip, if you are sick the tour keeps moving, if you are suffering in the heat the tour keeps moving, if you have mechanical issues you guessed it the tour keeps moving, and you just have to move with it regardless. Or alternatively sign yourself off the trip.

Up until Zambia my luck had been good. Only a couple of bad hours on the bike feeling hot or tired.

I don’t want to curse myself putting pen to paper too much. But I think I am the only person who started in Cairo who has not seen the medic and for the 6500km I have now covered, I have only had two punctures. So every day I have been grateful that the cycling gods were very much with me.

But when the wheels came off they really did!!

As we headed out of camp the day we were crossing the border to Zambia. I could feel my gears slipping and not being able to pedal.

Thankfully so close to camp I turned around and went back. I had two options, ride in the truck or take the staff bike. I quickly transferred my bike computer and tools and heading off. Not knowing if my bike could be fixed or not.

The bike would have benefited from some oil on the chain and I nearly fell off when I hit the brakes for the first time as they were the opposite way to in the U.K.. but it was an ok day and I was hopeful it would be a temporary measure. How wrong could I be. My bike could not be repaired as the rear wheel was toast.

For the next 1000km I pretty much switched bikes every day to try and keep moving. In the early days most were too big and I couldn’t really reach the brakes.

Which for anyone who rides regularly will know an ill fitting bike can lead to saddle issues, my legs were smashed and I would wake in the night with shoulder and neck pain. My mind was also on its limits as constant negative chat burdened me for over eight hours a day.

I was miserable and was questioning if it was fun or not anymore and even considered flying down to Victoria Falls early where I knew I had a solution and could buy a new wheel.

The thing which got me out of the funk was the incredible response from my fellow riders and the staff to try and keep me moving.

Offers from people to share riding the shit bikes so I wasn’t so exhausted. Also the day I rolled into camp exhausted, despondent and utterly upset they all rallied round to help fix everything else that broke the same day (sleeping mat, rain jacket and tent!) oh and then two days later I hit my head putting out my laundry and cut my head open. It was one thing after another.

However the overwhelming support and kindness of others gave me the motivation to keep moving on to see if I could get to Vic Falls.

When I arrived the relief was huge. I have felt since that regardless of what else happens as we head in to Cape Town, that was my struggle and also my victory.

A definite what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger kind of moment.

In a sick way it is moments like these I wanted on the trip to test my mind and levels of resilience and how I reacted.

Vic Falls was a welcome relief with adequate downtime to recover and enjoy the sites. The microlight flight was exhilarating, if not frightening in equal measure.

A close second was the civilised afternoon tea in the Victoria Falls Hotel, Zimbabwe a fine way to celebrate getting this far.

What lies ahead who knows, only three countries left to find out….. Botswana here I come.