It was years later that I found myself sitting under unseasonal clouds on the Costa del Sol, stuck for a few days in Marbella as I waited for a tyre order to arrive. It was as if I'd suddenly come to from the stupor of starting my trip. It was no longer just that dream. It was my daily reality. I'd ridden far enough from London that the familiarity of the English-speaking world had started to fade and for the first time since I'd left home I felt myself to be somewhere truly foreign. The intensity that it took to make the trip happen had carried me blindly forward and as the adrenaline wore off my consciousness was catching up to me.

I hadn't planned to stay long in Marbella—night or two—but had left it late to confirm my order with the local KTM shop. I'd planned to collect some tyres from them and ship them to my future self somewhere in Morocco, thinking that'd be a good compromise between the likelihood of them to turn up and the wear rate of the current site. Arriving in the region on a Wednesday I found myself at the mercy of a local, traditional public holiday that fell on the Friday. With overnight delivery being as rare as a hardworking man in Southern Spain I was enjoying an enforced long, rainy weekend. I'd be heading across the straits to Morocco as soon as I could get my hands on my tyres.

I'd found the few days prior bit testing. This was probably not a good indicator of my ability to withstand tests given that it was about to get a lot testier once I crossed the Mediterranean. But since leaving London three wonderfully chaotic weeks before I felt I'd already reaped the rewards of my decision many times over.

Just getting to London had been an achievement (and more than a full time occupation for the months before I left). I'd spent hundreds of hours and many late nights painstakingly preparing my bike and gear, coming up with all kinds of useless little innovations that would advantage me in all kinds of imaginary situations. I sought certainty through the control, but the proportion of things I could control or even anticipate was tiny. Time and money were streamed into re-wiring, fabricating, replacing, updating, accessorising, scrolling, comparing, assessing, clicking, tracking, collecting, logging and slogging. It wasn't a waste but it was an over-investment.

The visas, vaccinations and shipping were the things that first gave me the sense that much of my experience was going to be determined by external factors. Getting appropriately vaccinated in a pre-Covid world didn't carry the same connotations as it would for me only a couple of years later. At the quirky "travel medicine" clinic in Sydney's Kings Cross that I visited a few times in the months leading up to departure I would wait amongst the quarrelling backpackers and itching addicts. When my turn came I'd gladly extend my arm to the doctor to be injected yet again in compliance with the immigration laws of a far-flung African state—or on his lazily given advice that it was better to be safe than sorry. Ten jabs and about $900 later my immune system was as well-prepared as my bike.

The next major logistical challenge was to coordinate a carefully choreographed dance with two major powers that had no qualms about stepping on my toes: the Nigeria Immigration Service and the global sea freight industry.

Nigeria has very rigid immigration controls. It's not alone in this but it's particularly harsh, especially for those of us blessed with top tier passports that sit comfortably within long-standing free trade agreements. Visas are typically just a cursory bit of paper or a flash on a screen that appear momentarily as you pass easily through the airport gates at your exciting, foreign destination. They are not something to be feared or lusted over. In the case of my application, the rules were clear and non-negotiable. I was to apply in my country of residence, pay a moderate fee of $221.93 and complete a small MBA's worth of documentation.

The turnaround was promised as 3 business days and I would then have 3 months from the date of approval in which to present at an entry point to the country. Once I entered, I was allowed a solitary month of tourist leisure time and then I was to exit. And the final point of difference between a visa like this and the ones most Westerners had become accustomed to: there was no guarantee that it would be issued. There was also no safe way around Nigeria if I wanted to make it all the way to Cape Town.

In and of itself, this didn't pose an insurmountable challenge. Where it became complicated was in that fine bit of print stating that I had to enter the country within three months of the date of issue of the visa. This meant that I would have to time the shipping of my bike so that it arrived in London with enough time for me to get to Nigeria within that window (and be ridden from London to Lagos). I didn't really want to ship the bike all the way to the UK if there was a chance the visa would be denied, but that was a risk I had to live with. I aimed for an arrival date in London on the first of October and started shopping for shipping.

Another luxury we take as a right is never having to know how things get to us. Try and post a motorbike to Europe and you'll quickly be exposed to the rats nest of interdependencies, regulations and unpredictability that are obscured from us as we enjoy the fruits of globally-sourced goods and materials which land effortlessly in our laps.

Many, many emails back and forth and with the potential costs climbing with every clarification I had a deadline of "early August" to have my bike and gear prepped, crated and ready to drop at the port.

Booked flights for 25/9
Agreed with Stewart I'd have everything ready first week of Aug
Told 24/07 it was too late to get to UK 25/09 "Mate, we’re 47 days on the water plus another 10-12 for each end so we need to go very soon"
Had already booked flights, but not visa
Bike was in pieces, crate wasn't built
Scramble with Eris
Dropped 31.07
18/08 visa application
Entry 1.10 for some reason? Check visa

Things to cover to close the gap:

Forgetting that I had a job, a company, etc
Buying the house and moving in
Feeling positive, off to airport
London with Karl & Amee, seeing friends and having fun, waiting for bike
Heading to Basildon with the Bali bus, not in London anymore
Fuel can in trouble
Graham (?) the concierge at Keeling House
Cool kids of London

Execution