The Bike That Seduced Me Into Bikepacking

Catalina and her partner Jose Pacheco are currently bikepacking through some beautiful and remote sections of the High Andes in Bolivia. They are capturing their experience on their blog monteadentro.cc. The bikepacking bug has got them constantly seeking new destinations and routes. Starting in Valdivia, Chile, they have travelled over 10,000 km since October 2023 over varied landscapes that are sometimes breathtaking in more ways than one. The blog is in Spanish, but their photography crosses any language barrier. Plus anyone can download the gpx files with key information in English. Their Instagram is also in Spanish, however they have begun including English translation on current posts.

Catalina rides one of our Soma Riff 27.5" wheel hardtail frames.
And we are very grateful she wanted to share the unusual way she came to own her bike.

This is my Soma Riff.  The only thing I love more is riding it.

Hello, I'm Catalina Melo from Colombia. Since I was a child, I have been passionate about sports; anything involving a ball, equipment, or simply being outdoors was my happy place. Soccer was my favorite sport for many years and I competed in local and national tournaments until I was 30. However, a number of injuries forced me to stop playing. 

But living without sports was impossible, so I started road cycling. I've enjoyed biking since I was young and used it as a means of transportation in a busy city like Bogotá, so the shift came naturally. Yet, I felt something was missing; the thrill wasn't the same.

A few years later, during a short mountain biking trip, my partner [Jose] experienced a life-threatening robbery. After this unfortunate incident, he made the decision to “take revenge“ by assembling his "ultimate mountain bike". That's how the SOMA Riff came into our home. However, he only used it a few times before embarking on his first extended bikepacking trip -- using another bike.

The SOMA remained in my room, and I was tasked with caring for it. Later, he admitted that he had also left it to lure me. Every night before bed, I would look at it and thought it was the most beautiful bike ever. Not only was it in my favorite color, but the color also had a connection to music history. And me having graduated from a music program, it was just a question of time and fate before this bike would become mine.

"Every night before bed, I would look at it and thought
it was the most beautiful bike ever."

One day, I decided to try riding it on a short trail, and I realized that mountain biking was what I had been missing: tackling technical descents, steep rocky climbs, singletracks, and remote and solitary routes feels like scoring a goal, making a perfect play, or winning a match. 

Desierto del Diablo (the Devil's Desert), an out of this world landscape
in Puna de Atacama, Argentina

This bike has witnessed my evolution as a cyclist and has motivated me to embark on adventurous bikepacking trips in Colombia and other parts of South America. I can without a doubt, confirm that the Riff frame offers everything I could wish for: 

1. Steel is Real

There's nowhere this bike can't go—rocks, sand, rivers. Nothing is as reliable as steel. This bike is perfect for bikepacking as it can carry loads without risking damage. Additionally, the  frame allows for easy rear rack attachment.

2. Tire Clearance

In Colombia, I regularly ride with 2.4-inch tires with a shock fork for short trips and day rides. However my bikepacking setup are 2.8" tires and a rigid fork; this is what I am using for exploring South America. Upon returning to Colombia, I plan to ride 29er skinny tires, for long distance journeys. 

3. The Head Tube

The bike's design is not fussy; its 44mm universal head tube fits both the 1-1/8" steerer of my rigid fork and tapered steerers of suspension forks.

4. Sliding Dropouts

Besides allowing wider tires, the sliding dropouts lets you adjust the rear wheel's position; you can convert the drivetrain to single-speed in case of derailleur failure. This could be a lifesaver until a proper repair is possible, especially while riding in remote areas.

5. Geometry

  

The SOMA Riff excels in downhill performance, while maintaining its capability on technical or steep climbs, embodying the essence of an authentic hardtail; its head tube angle is a happy medium between a relaxed and reactive feeling. Additionally, the frame triangle offers ample space for installing a frame bag, crucial for long bikepacking adventures.

last but not least…

6. The Perfect Color

Pelham Blue, the iconic color used by Cadillac and Gibson during the 1960’s. 

The Riff's versatility has enabled me to have several bikes with a single frame—from a mountain bike for enduring long days in Colombia's steep mountains to a bikepacking cruiser for adventures across South America's most remote routes.

Follow our cycling projects on Monteadentro's website and Instagram account. 

¡Buenas rodadas amigos!

Catalina Melo 

Riding in the dryest desert of the world: Atacama

Peinado Volcano in Ruta de los Seis Miles

Cycling through the Patagonia Beer Trail

Catalina and her partner Jose in the Bariloche Valley

[ The Riff in Pelham Blue Catalina adores is no longer available. Current colors are Aquamint and Pearl White. The Riff is now Boost compatible, too. ]

Cape to Kapp: Facing The Pandemic in the Middle of a Solo Tour

About 147 weeks ago, Teresie Hommersand began her solo bike tour from Capetown, South Africa. Her destination is Kapp, Norway (thus Cape to Kapp). Of course with all these types of endeavors, the journey is more important than any destination. Wish her well and learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.  The last time we posted one of her travel stories she was just leaving Africa by crossing the Suez Canal. Thru 2019 and this year she has gone thru Turkey, Greece, and is in Europe now. This is her account of touring thru Austria and Germany in the midst of nation-mandated security measures to slow the spread of Covid-19.

Unforseen Challenge

Amongst the many challenges I thought I might face cycling solo from South Africa to Norway on my Soma Saga, a pandemic was never one of them. None of us saw this coming, but now it's affecting our lives in various ways and to various degrees.

Teresie's Soma Saga in front of a blocked off bicycle bridge in Austria.

Uncertainty

I was in Austria when the first regulations intended to prevent the spread of COVID-19 came into force. The plan was to stay a little bit longer in the country, but with all the uncertainty and the possibility that I would not be allowed to cross the border to Germany next, I sped up to avoid getting stuck. As I approached Salzburg, the border city, I got news that the next day the German chancellor was going to give an update on the situation in Germany and possibly implement even stricter rules. I then decided it was best to cross the next day. But how?

Strategy and Butterflies

All the borders were already being checked by the police, and only goods and commuters were allowed to cross. You were only allowed to travel, if you had a darn good reason. Does what I do fall into that category? I looked into other options. Finding places I could cross that was still not controlled. I found a walking path through a neighborhood. Friends told me about small bicycle bridges across the river that borders Austria and Germany in this area. Others said I could cycle through the forest at night. I just had to make sure I didn't stray into the military area nearby. In the end I decided to cross at a police checkpoint, after I learned that it was illegal and you could risk high fines, if you tried to cross the border in any other way. I had butterflies in my stomach. It would be one thing to be told I couldn't cross, but it would be another thing to be told me I had to get on a plane and fly back home. After all my two and a half year tour across continents was to avoid flying because of climate change.

Border Crossing

I arrived at the border. 'Hi!'. They were nice. 'What you're doing is certainly unusual and a bit tricky to categorize'. 'Is there any ways that you can get on a train?'. 'I'd rather not'. After about 10 minutes of the police trying to understand my situation and them thinking long and hard about if it qualifies as a transit or not, they said it was ok. 

'You can continue'. 

Woo-hooo!!!!!!! What a relief. So happy. 

I had the biggest smile as I took my first pedal strokes in Germany. Not long after I came past the mentioned bicycle bridges I considered cycling across to avoid the police check point. They were completely blocked and the Austrian army was even patroling this normally sleepy riverbank in their army vehicles. So surreal, and so glad I crossed the border in a legal fashion.

Shut-Down

However, now the real challenge began. With everything closed, I had limited access to water, food was ok, but finding a place to charge my phone was problematic. I've spent a lot of time in churches lately, charging my phone, as this is the only place that's open. Because of the charging situation I've also reduced the usage of my phone to pure navigation and absolute minimal communication with others. Pretty much all toilets are closed which is not a problem in itself if it wasn't for that this part of the world hardly has any wild nature, only wide open farmland or people.

It has been more of a challenge to find places to set up camp for the night.

Unlucky

I was hit hard by a cold spell and the illegal camping was made worse because of minus degrees and frost. Wild camping is not allowed in Germany so I had to pack up first thing in the morning so no-one would see me - before my sleeping bag and tent had a chance to dry. You can also forget about breakfast. It's too cold to stand around and eat. Before the coronavirus I used to stay with people, camp in their gardens and have the most amazing time together. Now at night I've been hiding out in bird lookout towers, behind tool sheds, at closed campsites and next to unfinished buildings. The enjoyment is to a large extent gone.

Sadness

I'm cycling through a new country but I'm not learning anything about it. I'm not engaging with people, only observing limited life in public. I didn't have a proper, meaningful conversation or connection with a fellow human being for a whole week. It makes me really sad. I've long ago realized that I could never cycle from South Africa to Norway without truly connecting with people along the way. I might be physically strong, but if I'm not happy, if my heart is not in the right place, I could not manage this.

The importance of people

I've learned this through countless, beautiful and most precious experiences along the 20,000 kilometers I've cycled to date spread out over two and a half years. But now, for the first time, I'm also learning it through not having this anymore. Because of social distancing. I am genuinely and deeply mourning the loss of these beautiful meetings with fellow human beings. When it boils down to it, they are what has kept me going this whole time.

In Slovenia, she rarely had to camp outside as locals invited
her into their homes.

Safe haven and the way forward

Right now I'm so thankful for finally having reached a good friend and to be staying under her loving and caring roof. Going forward, I'm preparing myself for rougher days. For longer periods of only cycling with a few select 'safe havens' (friends) along the way up to Denmark.

I know other people have it way worse than me during these times, but this is how I'm currently experiencing cycling from South Africa to Norway on my Soma Saga. 

Decompressing and Reflection After Months of Letting the Road Lead the Journey

Bill Heimann is a veteran tourer and retired bike shop owner. Every time he goes out he sends back a few paragraphs via e-mails to his friends and family whenever he reaches a new town and has some rest time. No public Instagram. No Facebook journal either (even though he participates on Facebook cycling groups.).
This most recent tour was to pedal from Athens, Greece to Norkapp, Norway with no clearly defined route. That is how he likes to do things. This was a particularly tough and significant adventure: learning how to ride big mountain hills agains, failing to finish a climb with 15% grades and having to go back down and find an alternate route, and turning 75 along the way.

This is his final entry of the tour written from the comforts of home after returning to Ashland, Oregon.

This morning I got up and made coffee.  Standing in the center of the front window of the humble abode enjoying the steaming cup, I viewed a doe, a fawn and a buck, an unusual site to see such a family.  But the viewing from my favorite morning place was also unusual for me.  It has been over 3 months since I last stood in this place.  A very good 3 ½ month journey has ended and another chapter has begun.

All my journeys have chosen their own paths and their own times.  I seem to have little say in the matter.  When I found myself in the very small Greek village with a broken bike I had no desire to return to the island of Evia, but the trip had its own idea of where I was to go.  After the repair and a stop in a cell phone store to talk with island born young man, I spent another, almost 2 weeks on the island.

My original trip plan was to try to find a way to cycle to Norkapp in Norway but the road would not have that plan.  Brussels and the Tour de France became the destination.  A wonderful hostess in Brussels, a friend in Prague, a meeting with a family from Tanzania at the Tour, all combined to show me the end of this journey.

As I sit here at my home computer talking with you, flashes of this journey come into my vision. The first days with John visiting an old touring friend in Phoenix, cycling to Bisbee, AZ through the Sonora desert and camping on Lake Pleasant for a farewell to John and the US. 
The first days of cycling, out of Athens in heavy traffic and up the steep hills to find a campground that had burned down in their version of the fires of our west, comes to my eyes.  The long, yet short ride to Thessaloniki that I thought would mark the end of Greece but again the road had other ideas.  A night with a wine producer added another day to my stay in the country before the final crossing into North Macedonia and the bringing of a new country to my tires.   
The meeting of a missionary family in the Skopje, the capital, a food tour and enjoying the old bazaar, where my hotel was located added 3 days to my stay in Macedonia.  Then Serbia, a country I had heard a lot of negative about, most of which turned out to be untrue.  The wonderful mountains with their great climbs, the friendly people and good food left me with a whole new picture of what is Serbia.

An unplanned short stay in Croatia, because I followed the river the wrong way did not give me enough time to really appreciate what I was finding to be amazing people.  Leaving the town of Mitrovica, I followed the Ibar NW instead of NE, forcing me to turn north into Hungary much earlier than planned, producing another example of the road leading the journey.

Budapest, Hungary brought the beginning of the end.  Now I was headed to Brussels and the Tour. 
Next, Munich instead of Passau due to a train mix up.  I wonderful mix up as I met a Spaniard living in Munich, Mixx.  How more appropriate could that have been.  We spent 2 great days together enjoying Munich and its beer gardens.  It is always great when what appears to be a problem shows itself to be a wonderful opportunity. 

Then to Karlsruhe, Germany, the home of a long ago friend I could not find, and back to cycling.  Up the Rhine River to the Saar and then along the Mosselle River and into Luxemburg, trying to be in Brussels by the 5th of July.  Good riding along the rivers with paved bikeways, no climbs or motor vehicles. Soon the bikeways became a little boring, just pedaling along though the little changing scenery – not really why I tour but great for making time.  One hundred kilometer plus days are easy.  I finally pedaled off the rivers into Luxemburg, back into the mountains and their ever changing views. 
My hostess in Brussels and I had been talking using What’s App and she suggested that I find my way to Wiltx, Luxemburg and pick up a ravel (pronounced havel) a rails to trails facility and follow it to Bastogne. Then another ravel to Libramont-Chevigny, Belgium to catch a train to Brussels as my time had run out.  No matter how tight my schedule is, I try not to miss the opportunities of meeting the locals and learning about their lives. So, extra delays always appear on my agenda. 

Marilyn is a great hostess.  She met me at the Brussels train station and we cycled to her narrow 5 story, 100 year old downtown home.  From then on we toured Brussels, watched the Wimbledon finals, ate good meals, worked on her 8 bikes, her son’s commuter and enjoyed each other’s company. 

The Tour de France was exciting and fun.  We walked around the Fan Zone buying once in a life time items, seeing the riders, talking with the sponsors and soaking up the atmosphere on Friday.  Then on Saturday during the Grand Depart I stood on the starting line.  While seeing the wonderful backs of all the taller folks in front of me I watched the start on the big screen in the Royal Plaz.  Sunday brought the Team Time Trial, with a great viewing place within touchable distance of the teams as they flashed by.  It also gave me the opportunity to meet a wonderful family from Tanzania there for the race.  The son is studying architecture in China, the daughter is studying in a Brussels high school and the mother and father work and live in Tanzania.   It was fun sharing with them how the race worked and learning about their very unusual lives.

Oh, you are talking to an international bike mechanic.  I went to visit a friend in Prague, leaving Marilyn with some instructions on getting parts for her son’s bike.  While in Prague she texted me asking what had to be done with the parts.  After a couple of texts back and forth we got the problem solved.  Think about that process, an American bike mechanic in Prague working on a bike in Brussels.

The trip to Prague was very nice.  To meet an old traveling friend, share a wonderful city with a food tour and learn about the culture while staying with a local, how much more can I say?

The road brought me to all I have seen and experienced on this journey.  Over many years letting it decide and direct my travels has always been my way.  I say that like I have a choice, I do not.  I hope the road continues to guide me the rest of my life and maybe beyond. 

Cape To Kapp: Sudan Was Flat Out Hot

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.

Unknown challenge ahead

On the 11th of April, I crossed the border to Sudan from Ethiopia on my Soma Saga! So ready for Sudan. So excited!! I had been told it was going to be hot. Very hot. But as I was getting my visa stamped, I had no idea that for the next nine days I would struggle on the bicycle seat in a heat unlike anything I've experienced before. I'm not exaggerating.

Sudanese cycling conditions

Sudan is extremely flat, the roads are long and straight (and at times boring) so I thought I'd easily do 100km in a day on my way to Khartoum. Most likely more. My mistake was to keep on pushing to reach this target, even though the elements were telling me not to. As soon as the sun is up here, it gets hot. Between 11am and 12pm to around 4pm, I'd say it's unbearable on certain days this time of the year.
Most people take it easy during these times.
I was cycling on a bike packed full of stuff.

After about 15 minutes of leaving the filled water bottles on my frame, the water is as hot as tea water. 

Constantly drinking, hardly peeing

Semi desert landscapes. Some shrubbery, the occasional tree. Lots of sand. Vast open landscapes. Blue sky. The regular animal carcass next to the road. On this stretch, I frequently flagged down vehicles to refill my water bottles. It's far between the taps and I didn't want to cycle with an additional 10 litres of water, making my bike super heavy. Pretty much all cars and trucks stop! It's easy. I even had one of the dangerously fast busses hit the brakes and give me cool water. Cool is key. After about 15 minutes of leaving the filled water bottles on my frame, the water is as hot as tea water. I'm not kidding. You are constantly drinking, hardly peeing and do certainly not feel refreshed after a sip. I'd be scared to cycle this stretch in this heat if it wasn't for the possibility of getting water from passing traffic. Very scared.

No escaping the sun

Have you ever had to fix a puncture next to the road at midday, in the scorching sun, with no shade, at 47 degrees celsius? (That's 117 degress F)  The heat influences everything. How you feel, what you think and how you deal with the situations you are in. I fixed this puncture, but upon my second one later this day, I just crawled under a tree that provided a tiny bit of shade (far from enough!!) and laid there. I was even so close to the next village. Less than one kilometre away. I could see houses, but I just could not get myself over there. The heat was too much. I had to wait it out. This is the first time on the trip I've actually laid down next to the road. The warm wind made it even worse. Hotter than a hairdryer! The less limbs you expose to it the less uncomfortable. How do you do that?

Fluctuating emotions

On this stretch, I teared up at least once a day. Once out of hopelessness (the road surface was so bad. It would not end). Several times out of gratitude (as when a truck driver handed me a sesame seed snack in the middle of nowhere in the desert!). A few times as I was feeling sorry for myself.

Celebration!

I had days I was only able to do 34km and 41km. It got a little better once I hit the Nile. One day, to my extreme surprise I did 100km! And finally, I reached Khartoum! My goal. The "desert oasis", where The Blue and White Nile meet. My host had suggested that we meet at Ozone. When I got there, I discovered that it was a full on café with cakes and ice cream!!! How fitting! A cyclist in Sudan's wet dream. I freaking made it!

Cape to Kapp: Rough roads and Lion Tracks in Tanzania

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She 
remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her fifth journal entry for us)

The route I end up taking across the continent on my Soma Saga is a result of the rough plan I made before I started cycling and information I gott along the way, often from random people I meet. Tanzania was meant to be one of two countries in Africa were I would just cycle through. There were no places that I wanted to explore that I had not been before. The plan was to take the shortest route to Nairobi. That would have been along one of the country's most heavily trafficked roads. There are no lack of fatal accidents here. Friends of mine have come across cyclists on this stretch that have been unlucky. I got word of another route, a route a bit further west. Apparently, the traffic was significantly less here and the scenery was stunning. BUT most of this stretch was not paved. After having done the first kilometer on this dirt road one late afternoon, I seriously wondered what in the world I had embarked on. Was it too late to turn around? That night, there was heavy thunder and lightning.

Adjustments and New Challenges

The following day can be summarised in the following words; gravel, sand, rocks, washboard, and bump after bump. My bike and panniers have never been shaken or rattled as much and on a couple of occasions, involuntary words and sounds escaped my mouth in pure frustration and anger. Yes, it is possible to get angry at a road. There was nothing to do but adjust my mindset! No way I was gonna be able to do 100km in a day. Maximum 50. After accepting that the next 400km were going to take me twice as much time and require double the amount of work (at least), I felt better. Besides, that evening I got other things to think about when my random host for the night told me that up ahead was a stretch with lions. How much fun! What is a bumpy road in light of this? That night, I was served ugali (East Africa's "potato" - a stiff maize flour dough) and buffalo meat! The buffalo was killed with a spear, I was told! A few days later when I camped in the compound of a park ranger that was part of an anti-poaching squad, I learned that that buffalo was most likely illegally hunted. Everyone, regardless of nationality, must have a permit to kill game in Tanzania. It is very interesting given that traditionally, many ethnic groups in Tanzania have made a living by hunting game, and some still depend on doing it today to make things go around. That evening I was also served a cup of cow milk-- as fresh as it gets-- straight from the cow. It warmed my hands when I wrapped them around the plastic cup.

 Breakfast! Chapati and chai. This lady gave me some extra maandazi (similiar to a donut, just not as sweet) for the road.

Lion Country

Over the next couple of days of cycling I tried to find out more about the 'lion situation'. I received so much conflicting information! Some looked appalled when I told them I considered cycling through this area alone while others said hakuna matata! No problem! 

When there is so much uncertainty, how can one make the right choice? Should I get an escort? Or just cycle? Jump on a bus even though I really want to cycle the whole day...? At one stage I cried with the thought of encountering a lion. It's a terrible feeling, being afraid to die. To be eaten by a lion.

When I reached where lion territory presumably started I was still not sure what to do. The plan was to make some final inquires in the last village that bordered this area. I cycled past a few houses. Thought this can't be the village, so I continued. Soon, it was just me and the red coloured dirt road again. Trees on both sides and silence. No people. And there... in the middle of the road I suddenly discovered lion tracks. As if a button had been pushed, my heart started racing. The adrenaline pumped through my body like there was no day tomorrow. All my senses were heightened, alert and ready. I got off the bike. I've been told to NEVER run from a lion. You must look her or him in the eyes, make yourself big (have I not mentioned that I'm quite small?), make loud sounds. Make the lion believe that you are bigger and stronger - even though fear is seaping out of your every pore. I could see that the tracks were not super fresh, but it doesn't matter. You are still terrified. TERRIFIED. I had my back against the bike, scanned the terrain. Every bush, every stump. Every rock. 360 degrees, non-stop, searching for a lion. I had my pepperspray hanging around my neck. My knife easily accessible. The DIY flamethrower in my hands - a tip from another cyclist. Lions are afraid of fire.

Who knows how long I stood like this. I didn't see a living creature. No cars or motorcycles that  I could cycle along with. I could not stand like this forever. 

What should I do? Cycle back to the houses I had passed? Keep on going to the next village?

 I ended up turning around. It was three kilometers of backtracking vs 13km to the next civilization. I felt a huge sense of relief when I spotted the houses again. I felt even better when I found a guy who was willing to come with me through 'the lion stretch'. He escorted me with his machete on his hip, a torch and umbrella on the back of his bike and complained that I cycled too fast. No lions. Only monkeys. Who knows, maybe it would have been fine without an escort? Perhaps I could have saved that expense? At the end of the day, it was actually really nice with some company.  

My escort thru lion country.

Welcome to Tanzania! Crossing the border.

Rhythm

Tanzania turned out very differently than planned. It was here I felt that I really got into the rhythm of bicycle touring, no doubt due to the route I ended up taking. The typical African dirt road. The colours. Thunder. Afternoon showers. The warmth and hospitality I was met with after a day's cycle. The best chai (tea). Chapati. Beans. All the rattling. The dust. The lions. The strive on the rough road. The tears. Perhaps all the hardships made the times were everything was flowing freely, the road was smooth (kind of) and fun to ride, the meetings with people were sincere and rewarding even better?

Nothing beats surfing on top of wet sand in the middle of the road, avoiding the streams of water on both sides right after a rain shower. The air and smells are so fresh! The sky so blue. Yellow butterflies fly infront of my wheel like dolphins swim and jump infront of moving boats. I'm smiling. Am happy. Free. Have a sence of achievement. Soon enough the heat will return and the tsetse flies will start biting again... so just enjoy;-)

Cape To Kapp: Peculiarities

Teresie Hommersand grew up near Stavanger, a city known as the oil capital of Norway. She remembers eating supper every evening off plates with the logo of the national oil and gas company on them. Somehow she became the "green sheep" of the family. She has lived in Uganda, Oregon, and Australia. Learn more about her 13,700 km ride going from South Africa to Norway and her charity crowdfunding campaign on her Facebook page and Instagram.
(This is her fourth journal entry for us)

When traveling in a country different to one's own, certain things one come across might seem peculiar - to say the least. When cycling, because you meet people you most likely otherwise would not meet and travel on roads you otherwise would not find yourself on, one is likely to discover more things that make one scratch one's head, laugh out loud or get chills down the spine...

For instance, the other day a conversation topic turned to names. What do people call their kids in Malawi? I don't find strange names like Gift, Precious, Memory, Admire and the likes, but what I learned is that there's a new trend in what to name kids - namely after new technologies. 

Now, you have kids running around called Machine, Internet,  or Headset! My absolute favorite is Missed Call!! Although Call Me Back comes pretty close too!

Another thing that may to many seem weird or incomprehensible is the level of superstition that exists in some of these countries. I was reminded of it one late evening, sitting on a cement porch, 40km short of the border between Zambia and Malawi.

That afternoon I 'pulled in' at a Maize depot, asking if I could pitch my tent for the night. It was a first for the guys working there, but they said "Yes. Of course!" The security guard that was going to be there that night showed me where to erect my tent and invited me to join him for dinner. 

"No. Thank you." I said.  

He insisted, saying I should save my pasta and can of baked beans for the next day. Even though I really wanted my delicious carbs and protein (mmmm), there was something about this man that made me feel like I could not say no. So, when the sun had set and everything was covered by the dark, I found myself eating nshima and eggs (with a bit of a crunch) on his cement porch in the flickering candlelight. We talked about everything and anything. He told me I had just missed one of the biggest traditional celebrations in the country– a festival where people from all over– the president included– come to see... The Masked Men's Dance. 

"When they put on their masks," my host told me, "they take on a different persona. They become animals."

But this is not the only time these men wear masks he continued. They are part of a group, a group that recruits members in the rural villages. Boys between the age of 12 and 15. They are being taken away for months at a time, schooled in the rules of the group at a remote graveyard. Why? Because the kids that do not graduate end up six feet under. Here they are  introduced to black magic. Seeing men being cut 'bleed' honey and buzzing bees. Putting fellow aspiring graduates in a bag. Tying it and beating it with a stick until it's red. Opening the bag and seeing their friend jump out without a bruise. Certainly no blood. 

There are rules for which roads people are allowed to use. If they find someone on one of the roads that people are not suppose to be travelling on, they will take them  and make them part of the group - that is if you know you're not suppose to be travelling on this road. But what about if you don't know? Like me? When I'm cycling? My host said that these people are both good and bad. Good in the sense that they won't do anything to you, if you are not aware of being on the 'wrong' road. They will even help you along.

It's a secret group. No one is suppose to know who its members are. They do not address each other by name or refer to each other in a way that means that they know who the others are. And here I am sitting alone with this guy, whose telling me all this, only able to see the white in his eyes and his teeth in the weak light from the candle. Then he leans in,  looks me in the eyes  and says "I am one of them". I suspected it all along. There was something about him. 

'You're not suppose to tell meeee!' I jokingly exclaimed. 

Then he laughed and took it back, leaving a bit of uncertainty with regards to the truth... The next day, as I got back on my Soma Saga, he wished me a safe trip... Needless to say, I never saw him again, or any masked men...