I hate Tuesdays. Those who know me will have heard this phrase many times before. I don’t know why this superstition arose in me, but every time I have a really horrible day, it happens to be Tuesday.

This can especially be said for this particular Tuesday. Challenging myself across the worst roads and hardest tracks for 2 days, the prospect of reaching the Angola/Zambia border seemed within grasp. My hope in the morning, despite pain and exhaustion was not to be overpowered I only had another 65km to go. I had covered 250km of trail that was at times no wider than a hiking trail. I had battled through deep sand, mud and puddles; crossed rivers and avoided fallen trees. I had dropped the bike ten times in the terrain and ten times I had picked her up and continued on, frustration growing with each time. The end was, however, finally near. I was going to cross into Zambia and all my battles would be over, is what I thought.

5km into my day’s journey (I was averaging 20km/h, so it was slow going to say the least), I ended up in some of the deepest sand of my life. To get Donkey out I needed high revs and to slowly release the clutch to get the maximum torque out of the rear wheel. I got out of the sand as I had done many times before, but this time I felt something was wrong. The bike wouldn’t pull away. My first thought was that I was stuck in neutral, but as I pushed with my legs and got the bike rolling, it pulled, ever so slightly. I managed a steady roll and was able to gear up into second. There was very slight pull and only at low revs. More revs did not mean more power, as it normally does. I begged Donkey not to give up and to get me through this. But to no avail. The next section of mud was not far off and as I tried to tug through it, the clutch gave out completely. I could not get into any gear.

Now I can fix or patch up most things on a motorbike in the bush, but there are two parts that I cannot. The engine and the clutch. This was the end of the road for me. I was able, with the help of some locals, who by some miracle, were able to at least speak French, to push Donkey 2km to a town called Caianda. Now what you ought to know about Caianda, is that it is 150km of thick bush and terrible roads from any form of civilization. In fact, the only thing that puts this village on the map is that the magistrate for the region resides there. He came out to greet us in flip flops and a worn-out Nike T-shirt. His office and home were a single room brick hut with thatched roof and a communal toilet. This should give you an idea about how far away I was from anybody who would be able to help me.

My only option was to pack my essentials and grab a lift out of there. 60km of bumpy road on the back of a little 150cc Chinese moto (locally called mosquitoes because of their whining engines and annoying presence). My back was in agony by the time we reached the border. Crossing over into Zambia, it became apparent that this was not going to be the end of my struggles. My transport was not able to continue further, as his bike wasn’t legal in Zambia. I had to get another, Zambian, mosquito and go another 100km to Mwinilunga, the nearest town with an ATM. By this time, my whole body was in excruciating pain. I have no real-life experience of getting kicked in the rear by a mule, but after this ride, I have a pretty good idea. Every bump and pothole in the road, which my driver elected to attack with no less than full speed, sent a shock of pain up my spine. My legs were long dead from the cramped seating position and my hands stiff from gripping the handles with the fear of death in me.

I arrived in Mwinilunga in the evening, exhausted, demoralized and broken. I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, my entire body hurt and Donkey, and almost all my worldly possessions were 150km away in another country. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and cry. But that won’t do, will it? So, first thing first, draw cash, then organize a SIM card so that I may be able to contact people to try and get my things and Donkey back. Lo and behold, it being the curse of Tuesdays, the network was down. All hopes shattered, I elected for one final challenge before I collapse, to find food. I ate and was overcome with exhaustion. I booked into a crummy guesthouse and was asleep before my body hit the bed.

The next morning saw still no connectivity; however, we were able to resolve the issue quickly. I was able to contact everyone I knew who might know somebody, who knows somebody, who might be able to help me. Surely enough the mechanic in Lusaka, who I had contacted for parts when I reach there, knew a person in the region, who knew a person in Mwinilunga who would be able to help me; Bodwin. Bodwin drove me around town asking people who would be able to assist me in getting Donkey out of the Jungle. Anyone with a car, refused. Nobody was willing to enter into that rain forest. Finally, we found Greenton, who would drive me back to Caianda with his motorcycle and tow me out of the bush.

It took us the best part of the day on Wednesday, just to reach Caianda. We arrived after dark and slept in a hut in the village. The next morning, we got on the way as soon as daylight permitted. It was going to be an insanely long day with him towing Donkey all the way, through the terrible terrain, to Mwinilunga. On the evening of Thursday, we finally got Donkey to the town. We were absolutely exhausted. I had a second degree burn on my calf and a bruised rib from 2 falls during the rescue operation.

We managed to replace the clutch on Donkey and get her up and running today though. Tomorrow I can finally continue my journey towards Lusaka. What a challenging few days it has been.