Water

Elmina, Ghana. 8036 miles

Every day or two, we have to remove the map from its transparent pocket in front of me on the petrol tank. We look for our intended destination and try to refold the map so that the day's route is visible.
Some days, we need to refold the map mid-way through the journey.
Each time we refold, there is a small sense of achievement at having covered the few inches in front of us.
Every few weeks, we changed the map for a new country. It was always exciting to fold the old worn country and pack it away while taking out a new fresh country ready to be moulded as we would require.
Towns, rivers and even map symbols that we'd become familiar with would disappear and we would have to learn again how to decipher the new colours and markings.
Rarely however, would we take stock of how far we'd travelled in Africa overall.

That full distance was clearly brought home to us last week when we rolled over a hill and the grand expanse of the Atlantic Ocean opened out in front of us once more.
The maps are good but when the view in front of you lets you know that you have driven across a section of a continent, it really comes home.
We last saw the Atlantic Ocean in Mauritania. We were heading south and it was then to our right as we rode down the coastline. Four countries later and as we still ride south it appeared directly in front of us.

Tropical Africa is entering its rainy season. As I mentioned, we escaped a heavy shower in Kumasi. On the ride to the coast we were not so lucky.
We had decided to find a remote part of Kakum National Park. The directions from the locals were progressively confusing; they couldn't understand our request and we couldn't understand their replies.
We found ourselves 10 miles from tarmac on an increasingly narrow dirt track which cut its way through dense vegetation. The route became more steep and rock-strewn while water gulleys cut deep ravines across the road.
At the top of one particularly rough hill, our baggage broke loose. While adjusting it, some locals arrived. We chatted and one woman gave us clear directions for our destination. Not surprisingly, we were on the wrong track.
As we started to retrace our steps, a pregnant cloud darkened the sky accompanied by rolls of thunder. The heavens opened. Within minutes we were soaked through with warm water. The track which had been dirt, turned to mud and the water gulleys filled and overfilled with fast running rivulets. We considered waiting for the rains to pass but the puddles we'd passed on the way were turning into flood lakes. We carried on. The bike squirmed about in the slop so I tried to follow the rivulets where the gravel had been washed. We waded through floods preceded by a bow wave that our pinasse couldn't create on the sand-banked Niger last month.
Finally we made it back to dry tarmac and got off the bike to wring out our clothes.
We arrived in Cape Coast that night and too much water was replaced with no water in the guesthouse.
We needed have worried though, we discovered later that our sleeping bags had soaked up plenty!