Moto training!

Sunday morning I woke up in a hot sweat. Well, hotter that the usual hot sweat anyway. I knew something was wrong as it was accompanied by a slight trembling of the legs and a mild nausea in the pit of my stomach. I did try to get out of bed, but it all seemed a bit much, so I laid back down and tried to figure it out. Was it that last goat kebab I had eaten... (it was a little too spicy I have to admit!), or was it the aftermath of the insanely fast tro-tro ride I had taken yesterday? Maybe it was simply the heat, rising and rising, although I was sure I had started to acclimatise and pleeeease do not want to start some kind of regression on that front!

Then it dawned on me, it must be because of the motorbike training! All this time I have been so excited about it, really looking forward to it and feeling kind of like "Yeah, check me out I'm going to ride a motorbike in Africa!" and dreaming of the day that I meet Ewan McGregor on a dusty African road and impress him with my finely tuned moto-riding skills! And here we are the day before and I'm a quivering wreck!! The whole week looming ahead like one off those big clouds of dust kicked up by the braver and far more experienced moto-riders here in Ghana.

By Monday morning I was digging deep to face the week ahead, feeling my knees buckle as we meet the row of shiny motorbikes neatly lined up outside the office waiting for us like little dragons waiting to be tamed. Dressed in my serious moto-riding gear of denim jacket, combat pants, walking boots and leather gloves I look like a very strange cross between Lara-croft Toomb-Raider and a UK rambler, somehow randomly lost in Africa. As we enter the office for obligatory paperwork, I notice some smaller bikes that look like cute little mopeds, most likely automatic, tucked away in a cupboard and I'm half inclined to beg for one of those instead. But no, I am going to do this; I didn't go through the three days of that crazy instructor in the UK to come out here and ride an automatic. No this is it, I will master the motorbike!

Lucky for me I am learning with a bunch of fabulous volunteers from the Upper West side of Ghana, so it's also a opportunity to catch up and get together, and they seem at least a little bit nervous like me too. Somehow though, when we are all together, there's a sense of confidence and not bravado but a sort of steely determination that if not alone then at least we can do this together. And so there we are, comparing thickness and potential sweat-production of denim jackets, hairstyles that work under the helmet, and laughing at each other once the helmets are on and we are looking seriously mad dressed like this in Ghana. Note: every other Ghanaian on a bike looks particularly smart, well dressed or trendy. All wear their most fashionable clothes, traditional dress, or work suits, and whizz around the streets looking damn fabulous. So, no need for learners badges then, it's quite obvious we are true foreigners here!

First we have the basics, such as how to turn it on, and off again. Ok good, got that. Then how to fill it with petrol. Ok great this is quite easy. And then here's the key (mine had a key-ring that was a strange voodoo-looking face which I chose to see as a good and protective omen rather than a sign of potential bad luck!). OK, thank you very much. And then, that's it. From there we are ushered off into the field - there you go, it's all yours - have a ride round that. Gulp.

After figuring out what to do with the engine, the gears, the brake, and reminding myself this is more like driving a car than riding a bicycle (soooo confusing!) I make a wobbly start and I am off round the field. Woo hoo, great I am moving!!!! Round I go, and again, ooh this is great, and round again, and again and again, and oh dear I have no idea how to slow down and stop, so I'm still going, round and round the field, and woo at least it looks like I know what I am doing...maybe I'll change up a gear, go a bit faster, there we are, 2nd gear, 15km per hour, now we are moving!! Wooo, going around the field the same way, trying to stay upright, negotiating the bumps and sand (as this is of course an African field and not like the flat lovely green ones we have to home) round and round and oh dear the instructor is waving at me but I've still no idea how to slow down and stop!!!!

Later we moved on to weaving in and out of stones in a line, and the figures of eight. The first time I did this was round two trees with loads of children standing around watching an generally getting in the way, and I mastered it fine. But for some reason, on the football pitch I had no sense of turning and my figures of 8 were massive! Everyone else was doing these neat little manoeuvres and there was me going round in HUGE circles like a right lunatic. Oh dear.

Shortly after, we were making good progress. Our instructor told Sarah how good she was doing, and so then she promptly crashed into Pegi. And after that we were allowed to do free-style around the pitch so James decided follow-my-leader would be fun (kind of figures seeing as he is a primary school teacher), until he fully fell off trying to do a clever move J. So I suppose it would be daft to assume that I would escape the day unscathed, and right at the end, as I practised my figure of eight over and over and over until I got it really nice and tight round the goal posts, ooh look at me, over and over, I eventually made myself dizzy and also fell off. Haha, surely they are never going to let us loose on the roads here!

But the next day they did! The instructors Baba, Dan and Ellie exclaimed that they thought we were great, and very confident, and so no more field practise was required. Hurrah! I said. Oh pants I thought.

And that was it, within an hour we were out on the roads of Bolgatanga town centre, all in a neat long row, buffered by instructors at the front, middle and back, and all frantically wondering how on earth we are supposed to know where to go or how to navigate the crazy sprawling mass of traffic in this bustling super-busy city centre! But away we go, whizzing along, a wobble here, a stall at the lights there, but on our way and moving pretty fast, hearts in mouths but and somehow actually starting to enjoy it!

We turned off onto a dirt road, and so begun a real African road trip. Long red roads beautiful scenery, the only hazards little goats or chickens dashing into the road unawares, lots of people waving and smiling, and a lot of course laughing too, as we, the 'nasaras' rode their villages and towns. I was loving it . And so I started to enjoy the scenery, feeling the breeze through my jacket, feeling the buzz at driving pretty fast along these windy roads (well, 40km ph felt fast to me!), and my day-dream off meeting Ewan McGregor and impressing him with my motorbike-riding skills. And that was when it happened...the fall. It was funny how it happened, we hit some sand, quite unexpectedly, and it was a bit like dominoes, where everyone wobbled a little bit, the next wobbling a little bit more and then me at the back, well I did my own crazy version of a wobble and fell right off. Thump. OUCH. Thanks to the helmet, my little outburst of upset was hidden behind my visor. I stood back up, dusted myself off, was tended to with first aid (antiseptic wipes from about 1982) and allowed my guts and determination to get me back on the bike and riding again before I developed a fully fledged fear of sand and falling off!

This day and the next three we covered about 400km of every type of road you can possibly imagine, and I loved it. We went down dusty roads and rocky roads, over makeshift bridges and through dried up riverbeds. We went up super-steep hills (me and Pegi going like old grannies at about 5km per hour in 1st gear as we had been told to do, and James whizzing past us like a pro we must have looked hilarious), and down super steep hills (weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!), we went zig-zag-ing through the structures of sleepy empty market towns, and winding through busy bustling ones chock full of people, animals, children and donkey-carts. We rode for hours on dusty roads, and on speedy highways, being buffeted by the winds and blasts of hot air from passing lorries.

Town riding was my favourite, it was absolutely bonkers. There is no sense to the traffic here, and I think that's why I like it, you kind of just have to make up your own rules. Traffic-light rules do apply, but everything else is a free for all, and somehow everyone respects each other enough and just goes with the flow enough to make it work. So we whizzed down dual carriageways, in and out of lorries and articulated trucks, around cows roaming the streets, and sellers trading in the middle of the road. And somehow, after all of that, we all made it to the end of the week in one fine piece!

About half way through the week we had a talk from the DVLA about the driving rules and regulations in Ghana. Number 1, wear a helmet, or you may not go home. Number 2, drive on the right, or we may say goodbye. Number 3, do not get mad at the guy who pushes in front of you at the traffic lights, just relax and let it go, let it go. Number 4, do not drive off the road into the ditch at the side, especially if you are riding up on of your steep hills, as you may die. Ok good, so feeling informed, enlightened, and not nervous at all after that then.

So by the end of the week we had our licences, and were riding with confidence though the mayhem of the crazy roads towns and villages. We had been to Bongo, Tongo and Navrongo, seen some lovely little communities, and drank some nice cold drinks in nice cool 'drinking spots' along the way. It was heaps of fun, and now I can't wait to have my own bike out in Zebilla so I can start to get out and about, and of course so I can continue my Ewan daydreaming too!

xxx