Motorcycling is a great hobby of mine. I ride all my life and I owned different [motorcycles] and I ended with big kawasaki ninja. This motorbike has matured 147 horse powers, some serious bark, it is that fast like a bullet and comfortable for a long trips. I travel a lot and my favorite destination lead through so called Chernobyl "dead zone" It is 130kms from my home. Why favourite? because one can ride there for hours and not meet any single car and not to see any single soul. People left and nature is blooming, there are beautiful places, woods, lakes. Roads haven't been built or repaired since 80th but in places where they haven't been ridden by trucks or army technics, they stay in the same condition as 20 years ago. Time do not ruin roads.

The road I'm traveling is as twisting and beautiful as you'll ever encounter in a lifelong search. In fact, I've traveled two days to place the tires of a streetbike upon this twisting pavement. But I'm in search of dirt, dirt leading away from the pavement while transporting me along the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. As I begin to focus on the road and enjoy the KLR on blacktop, I notice a visual break in the lush greenery to my left. Thinking it's probably nothing, I turn around and go back to take a look. To my surprise I see a dirt road leading up a hill marked "Road not maintained ... 4 miles ahead."

You can find here some stories, pictures and facts of my trip from The Netherlands to South Africa. This trip took me 1.5 year, I spent 50.000 km's on an old motor-cycle and used some luck.

This was the best thing I ever did and I like to share it with you.

This site isn't made for winning the "most fanciful home page price". The purpose of this site is only that you'll get an idea of how I experienced that beautiful continent. That very different continent. Unknown by a lot of people. With all her troubles and all her beauty. There is not a single day that I don't think of Africa and the African people.

Don't tell my boss, but I'm thinking of another trip. From here to Australia? Or maybe from North America to the most Southern point of South America?

And though I want to leave tomorrow, today, now, and though I've traveled enough in my life to know the process, I'm strangely nervous about this particular trip, one that will take me around the edges of the United States. Although I'll also be crossing over the borders to Canada and Mexico, it is the U.S. borders that, up front, seem the most exciting and the most disturbing, and the thought of a journey here is giving me more butterflies than the pre-trip jitters I've had before overseas travel.

Now I hate to say it, but the Alaskan Highway got real crowded. I mean all the traffic gets bunched up at the construction zones, then (bikes in front) we go like gangbusters when released on the far side. I may mention that, even though the rest of Canada is very conservative on the speed limit enforcement, on this run it is more or less do what you can. However, I don’t want to be the fastest on the road. I can terrorize myself on the way to work if I want. I’m here to be here, traveling and smiling and making video tapes in my head. I may take a picture for you guys, but the full motion stereo high definition stuff is in my head.

Here's a tip for ferrying motorcycles just in case the ferry ride is less than smooth. Use wheel chocks on the rear wheel to keep the [Honda] from rolling. On this ferry we backed up to the built-in "curb", so only one chock was needed in front of the wheel. Fit another wheel chock under the right side of the frame opposite the sidestand. You can see that one under Gordon's Goldwing in the picture. That one helps prevent the [motorcycle] from tipping sideways away from the sidestand in case the ferry bumps the landing a little hard. It was smooth sailing on all the ferries we rode.

24/1/04 We awoke to find an emu just outside our tent eating grass seeds, skittish but not too concerned by our presence at his breakfast. A short ride to Thredbo, one of the premier ski areas in winter and rapidly becoming a mountain bike mecca in summer. Using the same chairlifts to the top and a long track down, the armour clad cyclists punish their bikes. We undertook the more sedate, probably no less strenuous, option of walking the 13 km track to the top of Australia's highest mountain, Mt Kosciuszko, a mere hill in world terms at 2228m, and back to the chairlift.

"You need petrol?" he asks. We tell him we do. "There is no petrol in Mali now, the country is at war," he says. Our jaws drop. We make up a story to explain to him why we must get to Dakar. We tell him that with his help we will be the winners of the Paris-Dakar race.

After we build up his already inflated ego a bit more, he produces petrol in glass liter jars. Each one is inspected and OK'd before being poured ever-so-carefully into the tank, with never a drop spilled. The whole process takes close to an hour, which is very good in African terms...