This simple riser adjustment has been with me for some years now. The beaty is it can be modified with just one Allen wrench which is in you saddle bag already.
There is a fin line with your body weight on your hands or bottom. Then there is the age that catches everybody. Then the lower you are the less wind resistance.
I made a short video:
This has been a game changer to add to my dynamo hub. Very simple no complicated connections. I have been using it now for about 6 years. Anything that uses a USB can be plugged in.
Take a look at my book- Run Away to Africa
You can now purchase Run Away to Africa directly through my shop page using the link in this post.
Whether you’re interested in:
This book brings those elements together into one powerful story. I’ve shared two videos to mark this milestone:
These videos capture the moment this travel memoir became real.
Book Launch Videos:
Announcement book is published.
Announcement book is for sale.
Enjoy the book. Was a long time in editing and feel it is ready. This opens up the way for me to start books on my other adventures. I have an idea that I could venture into the motivational book market.
Was thinking of the tour I did with my dad. It has been 4 years and 8 months from his passing. I will advise to take trips like this with your loved ones.
There’s a lot of talk these days about meditation, mindfulness, and finding peace.
For some, that means sitting still in a quiet room.
For me, it’s something very different.
It’s getting on a bike and riding.
I’ve found that the longer the ride, the quieter my mind becomes.
Out on the road, away from the noise of work and daily life, something shifts. The constant pressure, the decisions, the stress—they start to fade. What replaces them isn’t emptiness, but clarity.
What started as just a ride has turned into something more. Something I didn’t expect.
A form of meditation.
One of the biggest surprises has been discovering that my physical limits weren’t where I thought they were.
There have been moments on long rides where everything in me said to stop. Legs burning. Mind doubting. Comfort zone long gone.
But pushing through those moments changed something.
It showed me that most limits aren’t real—they’re just lines we draw for ourselves.
And once you step past them, even just a little, it opens the door to a different way of thinking:
I can do more.
I can handle more.
I’m capable of more than I thought.
There’s something powerful about being alone with your thoughts for hours at a time.
No distractions. No noise. Just you and the road.
That time has helped me work through things I didn’t even realize were weighing on me. It’s where problems get sorted out, ideas come together, and perspective returns.
It’s also where a quiet kind of confidence starts to build.
Not loud. Not showy.
Just steady.
Life has a way of piling things on—work stress, daily challenges, responsibilities.
But I’ve noticed something.
No matter how heavy things feel, when I go for a ride, it changes.
Somewhere along the road, things begin to make sense again. Problems don’t always disappear, but they shrink. They become manageable.
You realize what matters—and what doesn’t.
There’s also something about being out in the world—seeing the landscape, the open space, the movement—that takes your focus off yourself.
And strangely, that’s where you find something deeper.
When you stop thinking so much about yourself, you start seeing things more clearly.
You gain perspective.
I wouldn’t have called it meditation at first.
But that’s exactly what it is.
Not sitting still—but moving forward.
Not silence—but rhythm.
Not escape—but clarity.
It’s where I find peace.
It’s where I reset.
It’s where I remember what I’m capable of.
You don’t have to follow someone else’s version of meditation.
Sometimes, it’s not about sitting still at all.
Sometimes, it’s about getting out, pushing yourself, and giving your mind the space it needs to breathe.
For me, that space is found on two wheels.
If this resonates with you, I’ve created designs inspired by this exact mindset—pushing limits, hard work, and finding freedom in the process.
👉 Check out my gear on TikTok
👉 Follow the journey at Longdaysafaris.com
I was riding my bicycle through the African savannah as the sun hit the horizon when a thought hit me that made the road ahead feel a lot longer — my small headlamp wasn’t strong enough to spot elephants in time if they were standing on the road. Earlier that day I had already passed two elephant skulls and several piles of dung. Now the night was closing in fast.
Long-distance cycling in Africa always comes with a sense of adventure and the unexpected. While riding my bicycle from Mague to Estima in Mozambique, I experienced one of those nights that perfectly captures what bicycle touring across Africa can be like.
The road stretched out in front of me — a good tar road cutting through the wide African savannah. But I was starting to worry about where I would camp for the night.
This region had once been part of the Mozambican civil war, and I knew landmines had been planted in areas not far from the road. Camping randomly along the roadside didn’t feel like a good idea.
The sun slowly dipped below the horizon and soon disappeared completely. One by one the stars came out, leaving me riding through the savannah with only a small head headlamp lighting the way.
From past experience cycling in Africa, I knew that light wouldn’t give me enough time to identify elephants on the road ahead. At night, elephants often blend into the darkness. With a spotlight they simply look like part of the night itself.
That meant there was a real possibility of riding straight into a herd before realizing what was happening — something no cyclist wants to experience.
Around 8 p.m., I finally came across a small tribal village and decided to stop and ask if I could camp there for the night.
As I stopped, I promptly fell off my bicycle when my cleat refused to disengage — not the most impressive entrance into the village.
An older man saw the whole thing. We tried to communicate, but neither of us understood the other. He called over a younger man who, fortunately for me, had spent time working in Zimbabwe and spoke some English.
I explained that I was cycling across Mozambique and asked if I could camp in the village.
The answer was respectful but not simple.
They told me they didn’t have permission to allow it. I would need to speak to the night watch — the man responsible for keeping elephants out of the farmland at night.
We found the night watch, and after listening to my story he explained that he also didn’t have the authority to allow it. Only the village elder could make that decision.
So we walked to the elder’s house.
He wasn’t there at the time and was visiting somewhere else in the village, so we waited outside. About fifteen minutes later he returned.
When he arrived, my translator bowed down, making sure his head stayed lower than the elder’s chin — a sign of respect still practiced in the village. Seeing that in today’s modern world was fascinating, and I wasn’t quite sure if I should be doing the same.
The elder listened carefully to my story about cycling across Africa and looking for a safe place to camp.
Then he smiled and immediately offered a place right beside his house.
I thanked him and set up my tent near his home. The elder then asked through the translator if I needed food. I told him I had brought some with me, so I cooked a simple meal of instant noodles.
Later that evening I sat under the trees near his house where several elders of the village were gathered talking quietly in the dark. I didn’t understand their language, but it was still a special moment to sit there and share the night air with them.
Eventually I excused myself and crawled into my tent. Not knowing how safe my bicycle would be, I pulled it inside the tent with me — which made for a tight fit in a two-man tent.
Just before sunrise the roosters began crowing and the village slowly came alive with the sounds of morning.
I packed my gear back onto the bicycle and waited for my translator, who had said he would come by in the morning.
Soon the elder stepped out of his house. I asked the translator to thank him again for his hospitality. Once again, the young man bowed respectfully as he spoke.
Then I climbed onto my bicycle and rode out of the village as the sun rose like a glowing ball on the horizon.
In the daylight I could finally see the village clearly — round mud houses with thatched roofs, dusty ground with chickens wandering everywhere, and the African savannah stretching beyond it.
And just like that, my Mozambique cycling adventure continued down the road toward Estima.
When I was living in the Sabi Sands Game Reserve, I shared a campsite with a friend named Harry. It was a simple setup — a main house and a small cottage sitting in a clearing in the African bushveld (savanna). Nights out there were usually quiet, except for the sounds of wildlife moving through the bush.
One night, though, a large bull elephant decided to pay Harry a visit. The elephant stood right in front of his house, calmly tearing apart a bush like he owned the place.
Harry wasn’t too impressed.
First, he went outside and tried to chase the elephant away. The elephant barely acknowledged him. Next, Harry came back out with a firecracker, hoping the noise would scare the big guy off.
That didn’t work either.
Between Harry’s front door and the elephant was a Toyota Land Cruiser pickup with a heavy-duty bull bar on the front. So Harry climbed into the pickup, slammed the door, honked the horn, and made as much noise as he could to try and scare the elephant away.
The elephant simply walked out into the clearing where the road comes in.
Harry drove the pickup up behind him and kept honking. It was quite a sight to watch — I was lying in my bed looking out the window at the whole thing. Honestly, if that elephant had decided to sit down, he probably would have sat right on the hood of the pickup.
The elephant slowly headed down the road and then moved into a patch of bush that sits between the entrance and exit road into the clearing. Harry circled around the bush a few times with the pickup, but he still couldn’t get the elephant to move on.
Eventually, Harry gave up and went off to bed.
The elephant, however, just stood quietly in the dark, waiting until the lights in the house went off. Then he snapped a small tree, the sound echoing through the bush. Harry rushed out again with a spotlight, but when you shine a spotlight on an elephant at night they look grey and blend right into the darkness. He couldn’t see a thing.
Luckily, my eyes had already adjusted to the dark and there was a half moon out, so I could see what was going on.
The elephant stood still for a while, and when the night sounds started filling the air again, he quietly walked through the bush to the opposite side of the house. There he waited again. Then suddenly — crack — he ripped off another branch, the sound carrying through the bushveld.
Out came Harry again with the spotlight. Still nothing. After a moment he went back inside.
The elephant stayed quiet for about ten minutes and then slowly walked around behind my cottage. At this point he was standing about five feet from my pillow. I was lying in bed watching him through the window.
Now he was in the shadow of my cottage, hidden from the main house. The big bull stood there dangling his trunk, twisting the end of it like someone turning their wrist. It was amazing how such a huge animal could be so quiet.
He slowly shifted his weight from leg to leg, waiting for the sounds of the night to build again. The cicadas were ringing loudly through the air. I could tell he was getting ready to move on.
Then he started to swagger off past my cottage. I could see the folds in his skin and his tail swaying with each step. As he passed the big jackalberry tree in front of my place, he ripped off a large branch and kept walking.
He crossed the dry sandy riverbed and disappeared into the night.
Not long after, Harry came out again with his spotlight.
That elephant bull definitely had a sense of humor — he was just teasing Harry. The bull knew him well. He had been visiting that campsite for years. And when the lemon tree is full, he comes in and strips the leaves and lemons off in one wrap of his trunk.
Long day safaris 