What its like to cycle down Lake Malawi.

So whats it like to cycle 80 odd kilometers in a day down Lake Malawi? Well, to start with, its brutal, but its awesome.

Barnett joined us in Llongwe and we took the bus up north to Mzuzu; talking shop and catching up on the stories of home and abroad. We arrived at our hostel later and slept well, not realizing the treat that the next day held in store for us.

We woke up early and after the first climb of the day we were greeted by the 50km downhill stretch that led to Nkatah Bay and descended one vertical kilometer. I wore my helmet that day. We cheered loudly as we finally caught a glimpse of the majestic lake Malawi and rolled into Nkatah Bay to meet Nugs and Jules who were already there and waiting. After a few days of chilling, eating and preping in Mayokah Village (a return for me after five year), we finally hit the road for the long awaited adventure by bicycle to Salima - about 500km south on the lake.

So what is it like to cycle Lake Malawi?

Cycle days start early. The sun rises at about 6am, and if you are lucky you are up before this to get a swim in the lake or a few quiet moments on the beach watching the sky turn crimson and listening to birds calling as the big red sun rises over Lake Malawi. In Malawi you live for the days, and a sunrise is always a great start.

Then its strike the tents pack the bags and trailer, strap the bikes and its breakfast time. Oats and banana on the fire. Or peanut butter and bread. Some mornings we had yellow coloured, strawberry flavoured baby porridge. Other mornings we caught a snack, a roll or a donut on the road.

The morning session on the bikes is fun, fast and exciting. With fresh legs you can ride hard and cover big distances before the midday heat rolls in. The four of us would be joking, laughing and chatting as we rode on the side of the road with cars and trucks whizzing by every now and again.

The trucks have a pretty good system when it comes to cyclists on the road. They adhere to the "Get Out The Way Or Die" system. Its nice because they pretty much leave it up to you to decide whether you live or not. They'll hoot (sometimes) as they approach from behind, then you can move out of the way or get ridden over. As they pass you have to hold on tight and lock your gaze as their slipstream tries to suck you off the bike and into the road. Other vehicles follow a similar system. So its nice because at least there is consistency.

This part of the trip took us more rural than ever before. It pretty much doesn't get more rural actually. We cycled mostly next to the lake and through long stretches of farms, rubber plantations, over hills, across rivers and on sandy dirt roads which took us far from areas accustomed to seeing 'Mzungus'.

We would cycle through villages where people would stare at this spectacular sight of four white guys on bikes. A lunch break or coke stop could turn into a village event of questions and crowds. Often interesting, but occasionally annoying, it was understandable considering, as we were told in one village, that we were the first white people they had seen there in over two months. This got me thinking: How would i react if i suddenly saw a blue man walk into my local bar. I imagine i would also stare and probably ask a lot of questions.

For the children it was a little bit different. Instead of interest, it was pure excitement and pandemonium. The days were fulled with kids running out of their homes, screaming 'azungu' often in unison, sometimes in chorus and chasing after the bikes. They would ask for money, push the trailer from behind up the steep hills, reach out for high fives or just run next to us screaming and laughing. Once we had an entire school run outside to see us. Literally hundreds of kids posed for photos and repeated English words which we shouted to them.

By midday the sun was hot and were getting tired. Our legs began to lose steam and our bodies began to ache. Each peddle could be an effort and each kilometer could feel like a saga. Suddenly the screaming kids are not as cute and the gear that wont change is becoming more irritating.

That was usually a sign that it was time to stop and rest, drink some water or an ice cold coke from a glass bottle (if there was a shop and if they had a fridge), or devour a pack of cheap chocolate biscuits or a few more donuts or bananas.

We were going about 80km a day. Sometimes 100. Thats like riding the Argus Cycle Tour everyday of the week, but carrying your clothes and kitchen on the bikes with you. So after lunch with 40 degree heat, we could still be staring at another 50km of road ahead of us. As i said, it can be pretty brutal.

But its all part of the fun, and we were a good supportive team. We would share the trailer load, stop if someone was falling too far behind and help push each other on with biscuits, suncream and cyclist banter. (ie: "Are you okay, do you want to break" is roughly translated to "do you need a wet-wipe and you mommy, you soft %$#@). Its actually pretty good be be riding your bike in the sun with the only concern on your mind being when exactly you are gonna stop for your next meal or snack.

By mid afternoon the sun was cooling and our destination was almost insight. Team spirits would be high as we ascended the final hill and smashed a last coke or a 'kuche kuche' to celebrate the hard days work. Gritty, sweaty, aching and burned, we would arrive at a campsite - a great negotiation tool to get a good sympathy discount. Almost every night was somewhere new, different and just as incredible.

One night we camped at Mkuzi Beach - a lodge owned by two of the warmest, most accommodating and genuine couples i have ever met. As fellow South Africans they seemed just as excited about the prospect of watching the rugby with other rugby fans (more the other guys than myself admittedly). We drank Carlesbergs, chatted, braai'd and were treated to soft, moist chocolate cake - a real gift after two months backpacking. Then we fell asleep on soft grass, listening to the light waves crash about 15 meters away.

Another night we stayed somewhere just as beautiful and close to the water, but not nearly as welcoming as Mkuzi. Luckily with three lawyers, two of them Jewish, we managed to negotiate a night of camping at this high-end lodge for less than a loaf of bread back home.

On one evening we arrived in Nkotahkota just before dark and slept on the grass in front of a rundown hotel. Another night we landed up on a rural and isolated beach on the lakeside, and camped in the garden of a motherly Malawian woman named Gloria. The place clearly used to be a lodge, but had been closed for some time as her water system and electricity were broken. We stayed there for two days; drinking, washing and cooking from lake water, and not seeing another person besides Gloria and a few villagers for the whole time.

Once at a campsite we should shower or swim (depending on the facilities and individual hygiene standards), set up camp and get dinner on the go. Beans, rice, soya, onions, chicken stock, hot sauce, tomatoes - all, some or a combination of those things. After cycling for eight hours the emphasis at dinner time is on quantity rather than quality. We would eat, chat, and do some planning for the day ahead. Then it was bedtime. After a full day on the saddle and a big meal, it is pure bliss to be alseep before 8:30 to get up early and do the whole thing again. As i said, in Malawi, you live for the days.

So whats it like to cycle 80km a day down lake Malawi? Its tough, its tiring, its fun and beautiful. Its a great time with incredible friends. Its rough on the mid section, its great prep for becoming a swim wear model. Its great for trying loads of different types of snacks. Its perfect time for listening to new music and old favourites. Its good for cooking delicious meals. Its not good for blog keeping. It makes for a lot of good laughs. It makes for unforgettable memories. Its a red letter day on the calender of life. Its brutal, but its frikken awesome.