Upon crossing the Malawian border, the afternoon sun showers of Tanzania have changed to late evening and morning showers, making packing up in the morning a wet affair. Most agree it is better to begin drenched and dry throughout the day rather than the other way around. With the rains come cooling zephyrs. When the sun hides behind the patchy clouds, the air turns brisk and gives us respite from the muggy humidity. Though Malawi occupies very little space on Africa’s face, we have experienced a very diverse landscape compared to other countries. For example, our past rest day found us on the sandy shores of Lake Malawi and during the last few days, we’ve spent riding atop a mountain range. We’ve seen farmers sowing rice in the lowlands and heard chainsaws growling against timber in the mountains. Tomorrow we enter Lilongwe, capital of Malawi, and terminus of the Malawi Gin section. We bid farewell to Jurie and Herman and welcome five sectional riders. Only three more days until our next country.

As I am writing this there is a local man is wearing a ski mask the middle of camp and he is dancing. About three months ago I would have found this odd and totally nerve racking, yet now it seems strangely normal. His body, covered in banana leaves, floats and spins as he bounds in one meter increments towards the kitchen. I think for the riders on this tour the whole experience would still not be odd if it were only this one man bounding around camp, he may have been noticed, but he could have been totally missed, if it were not for the group of about of one hundred children hanging on this mans every move. The constant shouting and chanting from the children has made this clown man another small treat in today’s tour life. The rippling ups and downs of Malawi’s highlands, the miniature logging villages made entirely of scrap lumber and the mist covered vistas of today’s ride are the little oddities and sometimes missed events are what make a tour thru Africa mystically memorable. And yet over the past few months things like this, things totally out of the ordinary have become strangely familiar. And in much the same way that riding a bike for hours a day has become a norm I hope that small moments like a ski mask wearing, banana leaf covered man surrounded by a sea of children continues to be normal state of imbalance that we have the opportunity to live in on tour.

Chitimba beach is a small piece of paradise on Lake Malawi and was a perfect stop for our “halfway” party and a rest day to recover. Mentally and physically we are a lot closer to Cape Town than halfway but with the removal of Kenya we are just over halfway in terms of distance. During last three weeks we have seen many people with skin infections – some nasty, fortunately most innocuous. Hot, humid and rainy conditions delay healing and allow simple scratches to become infected pretty quickly. The antibiotic reserves and dressing kit have both taken a hit. With only six weeks left before we roll into Cape Town there is still much more distance to cover and some long tough days ahead. However, the end is in sight and many of us are planning our time for Cape Town. Some of us are asking the inevitable question, “What will life be like after TDA?” It seems that everyone has their list of thing to do or eat in Cape Town or wherever home is and the countdown has begun. To all our loved ones out there: “We are almost there. A little bruised and battered, a little bit thinner, in some ways stronger and all in all enriched.”

Today we cross into Malawi. From Mbeya, we started the day in the clouds and slowly slipped into tropical vegetation with gardens of tea trees flanking the way. At the border, I was posted to help cyclists enter Malawi. I waited amongst throngs of money changers, all hustling to exchange shillings to Kwatchas. “Come on man, help my business. I’ll give you a good rate,” they would say. Inevitably, the rate was bad and they would short you on several big bills. After the majority of the riders came to the border and crossed safely into Malawi, the last group trying to change currency fell victim to the money changing game. The new Kwatcha means new colors, new denominations, and new rates. The fast talk and slight of hand of the practiced money changers adds to the confusion. As the dust settles and the deal is done, they were a few Kwatchas short. Money changing aside, the transition between countries went smoothly and Malawi is a muggy change to Tanzania. As I say goodbye to Tanzania, I am looking forward to Lake Malawi and, more especially, the Malawian Carlsberg Brewing Company.

What’s been the most challenging part of TDA thus Far? Connor: Passing quickly through each place. You might like the people you meet or a place like Lake Malawi, and want to stay longer, but you have to keep moving Joya: The smelly clothes after you wash them and then you can’t dry them. Wouter: Doing your laundry (specifically your orange chamois) and cleaning your bike on rest days…especially after a party. Chris Willie: Staying healthy and riding hard day after day after day. Bernd: I’ve had more days with diarrhea than without. Diana: Too many men around; its hard to decide which one. Also passing by photo moments and not being able to take them. Deb Menzies: Being away from Jim and my family this long Ashleigh: The Shovel. The constipation brought on by my disdain for the shovel. (Writers Note: The shovel is what one uses to dig a hole to bury your poop. As I’ve said before, all conversation eventually reverts to pooping.)

Exemple d`une journee en Tanzanie, ou il peut pleuvoir a chaque instant ! Depart le matin sous un ciel couvert et une temperature moderee, c`est plutot agreable d`etre au frais, l`air est un peu humide mais jusque la tout va bien ! Quelques petites gouttes de pluie dans la matinee juste pour nous rappeler que ca peut toujours arrive mais nous atteignons le camion du “lunch” quasiment sec! Entre-temps le soleil c`est leve, depart pour la deuxieme moitie, qui s`annonce donc chaude et ensoleillee… Pour les plus rapides, arrivee au camp sous le soleil, le temps de secher un peu sa tente, son matelas, son sac de couchage, choisir un bon emplacement pour sa tente (pas dans un creux, ca a son importance!), etendre quelques habits encore humides… plouc, ploc, plic… des petites gouttes, puis des grosses, puis des tres grosses…LA PLUIE ! Vite, fermer sa tente, ramasser ses habits, creuser des tranchees autour de la tente pour ne pas etre innonde en quelques minutes… Pour les moins rapides, pedaler sous la pluie, arrivee au camp trempes, attendre un moment d`accalmie pour monter sa tente deja humide, croise les doigts pour que le soleil revienne, essayer de secher quelques affaires dans sa tente, un seul avantage : pouvoir reperer d`un seul coup d`oeil est les endroits inondables! Enfin, la pluie peut parfois durer toute l`après-midi et une bonne partie de la nuit, parfois seulement quelques periodes de 20-30 minutes… Imaginez 70 personnes avec leurs diners, cachees sous les grandes baches tendues depuis le camion, les pieds dans l`eau ! Plutot coquasse… Le lendemain matin, il ne reste plus qu`a ranger toutes nos affaires mouillees dans notre “red box” au petit matin en esperant un peu de soleil pour faire secher tout ca le soir en arrivant au camp… Je trouve ca plutot drole, il fait plutot bon, les paysages sont chouettes, et n`oublions pas que ca pourrait etre pire ! profitons…

Since our strenuous seven day stretch, road conditions have vastly improved and the weather has held off—until yesterday. Last night’s camp was easily the wettest on tour. During dinner, everyone huddled beneath a tarpaulin stretched from the truck. As we ate, we watched a river of rain flow along our feet and into several unlucky tents. Had they not been staked down, they would have certainly floated away. As patches of sunlight fall on camp, many emerge from tents to hang clothing. We await the approaching storm clouds and ready ourselves to retrieve our clothes at the first raindrop. Everyday the rainy season cycle repeats itself—pouring rain, searing sunlight, puddles evaporating into clouds, a stroke of thunder and another dousing of rain. Subtracting Kenya’s kilometers, today’s lunch marks the tour’s halfway point of 5,200km. Celebrations are planned for our next rest day, when TDA 2008 enters its fifth country—Malawi.

Wow! Now I know what it feels like to be a sectional rider. I have traversed Africa three times with the Tour D’Afrique, but it has always been from Cairo to Cape Town. I have never just jumped in at some point along the route. My greatest struggle is with the heat. I was camping just a few weeks back but it was in the snow, not in the humid sweltering heat of Tanzania. Not to mention that I haven’t ridden a bike in nearly five months. Everyone else is riding like a king and I’m employing every possible tactic just to prevent a saddle sore. Needless to say the body is gonna need some time to adjust to the new environment, lifestyle and daily routines. The road from Arusha to Iringa has historically posed numerous challenges, usually more so for the trucks than the riders. This year we have been lucky. The weather has cooperated. I remember crossing raging torrents, but this year they were dry river beds. I recall waking up after night full of rain only to find that the trucks had sunk up to the chassis in greasy mud. But this year the roads have been dry, none of the trucks have got stuck and cyclists only have to remove dust from their drive train each night instead of the cemented red muck. Ironically as I sit here typing in Iringa the rain is pelting off the tin roof like machine gun fire. But the dirt roads are behind us and rain on the tarmac as we continue south will only settle the dust and drop the temperature. Continuing south along the blacktop there are some incredible hill climbing stages as Tanzania draws to an end and we enter Malawi. So, how do you define the quintessential African experience; a safari through the Serengeti, summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro, rafting the Zambezi, or surfing the supertubes of J-Bay? For the less adventurous it may be teaching an English lesson in a rural schoolhouse, or chatting with the locals over a cup of chai in a remote village. In years past I have done all of these. But a few days ago I had an experience that supersedes anything I’ve seen before. Whenever I’m here I seek out traditional music. The faint rhythm of drums in the distance has led me on several detours well off the beaten path. The first day out of Dodoma I could here the tribal pounding of drums as we were establishing our bush camp. When things were set up, I approached the crowd of curious onlookers and said “ngoma si koapi?” (Where are the drums?). When the laughter subsided from the mzungu struggling with Swahili I was led by a group of children deep into the surrounding agricultural fields. After about 20 minutes we came across a group of laborers turning the soil. In the blistering heat men, women and children were using primitive hand made spades and hoes to prepare the ground for planting. On the side of the clearing there were two drummers pounding on animal skins stretched over old rusty oil cans. The workers would swing their tools in unison to the beat and the tempo was fast. When they saw me they put on a bit of a show, dancing a jig between strokes, cart wheeling, or throwing their shovel up into the air. They began to sing and everything intensified. I was amazed by their efficiency. In 15 minutes they had cleared a huge area, no machinery, no technology, not even an ox and plow. These people have knowledge of living off the land that the modern world has lost. I took my turn at both turning the soil and playing the drums which provided great entertainment for the locals, but neither were easy. Have these people been forgotten in time as the world evolved around them? Do these people envy the world of materialistic possessions? They are healthy. They are content. Perhaps the truth is that deep down inside I envy them for their simplicity. They work hard, but they are truly free. They maintain a subsistence lifestyle free from the pressures of image, greed and segregation that western world imposes.

After seven dry days through the rolling dirt roads of Tanzania, the heavens finally opened on Saturday night. For TDA mud lovers, the showers came too late. Tour riders emerged from silky-smooth black tarmac roads wet and not caked in deep red Tanzania mud. After a rest day and the resulting freshly cleaned clothes, many were thanking the hills and good tarmac for the extra rinse cycle. Yet, for the dirty few who have been looking for an excuse to get down and dirty for one last time, they have all but missed there opportunity. From here south the roads may not get any better, but they will not get any muddier than what we’ve just ridden through. And though the tarmac is an every day reality for riders, for a dirty few, I am sure they will still find a way to get their clean clothes messy and their back ends covered in mud.

What every sectional rider needs to know -Who are the people who snore and what does their tent looks like -Know the people who get up at 5am or earlier. -Bring a big tent for comfort’s sake and privacy…It’s your home. -The three person tent is key. Purge clothing to make it fit in your red box. -Know who the late night talkers are. -Know the people who like to pee directly behind of their tent. -Don’t ever trade Rum and Raisin PVM bars unless you are on the giving end. -Don’t worry about diarrhea…we all get it. -Plan on showering once a week. Embrace the dirt. Bring many wet wipes. -If your section includes off-road, bring a bike with front suspension. -Be prepared for nudity and saddle sore exams. -Don’t be scared about the barbarity of our conversations. Poop is the main topic of discussion -Anything you bring can be potentially broken, soaked or stolen. This tends to happen to digital cameras the most. -Approximately 110km for the day can mean 120km…mentally prepare yourself. -At dinner, eat firsts while you are standing in line for seconds. -Don’t use the dishwashing tubs to wash your clothes.