Following Annabelle’s African Bicycle Adventure – And Rethinking Belt Drives

Over the past few months I have been following a cyclist on TikTok called Annabelle 🙂. She and her boyfriend, who are from the USA, have ridden their bicycles all the way from Europe down the eastern side of Africa. They have now reached South Africa and are closing in on Cape Town.

It has been fascinating to follow their journey. Like many long-distance cyclists in Africa, they have faced far more than just long days in the saddle. Visa bureaucracy has caused some significant delays along the way, and in several countries they had to arrange for spare parts and visas to be sent ahead. Even something as simple as collecting a package became an adventure in itself.

Now they are riding through South Africa during winter. Although many people think of Africa as always being warm, this time of year can be surprisingly cold. In the mountains they could even encounter snow. Fortunately, by staying closer to the west coast they seem to have avoided the worst of the winter weather so far.

One recent problem really caught my attention. Annabelle’s bicycle is fitted with a belt drive instead of the traditional chain, and unfortunately the belt has broken.

That immediately made me stop and think.

For years I have read how reliable belt drive systems are supposed to be. Many cyclists praise them as the ultimate low-maintenance solution. They don’t need lubrication, they aren’t affected by muddy conditions in the same way as a chain, and without oily lubricant they don’t attract dust and grit. I’ve even read reports from riders who have covered tens of thousands of miles without replacing a belt.

I have often thought about converting to a belt drive with an internal gear system. On paper it sounds ideal for African travel. No oily chain to clean, less wear from sand and dust, and far less routine maintenance.

But watching Annabelle’s experience has reminded me that every system has its weaknesses.

If a chain breaks almost anywhere in Africa, there is a reasonable chance that you can repair it or find a replacement. A broken belt is a very different story. In South Africa you can probably find one in the larger cities, but once you head into remote regions the chances become much slimmer. Reliability is wonderful—until the one time something does fail.

It also reminded me of my own first bicycle tour through Africa.

Before leaving I had my bicycle serviced, thinking everything would be perfect. Instead, the shop fitted a new chain onto a badly worn front chainring. The worn teeth caused the chain to catch constantly. In Harare in Zimbabwe, I had to find a bicycle shop to help sort it out.

Even then, it wasn’t an instant fix. For around 500 kilometers after leaving Harare the new chain and chainring had to gradually wear together before everything finally settled down. It was simply a matter of letting the chain and chainring “marry” each other.

Little mechanical problems like that can take the shine off an otherwise incredible journey.

Watching Annabelle’s travels has reminded me that bicycle touring is never just about the riding. It’s about adapting to the unexpected, solving problems, and continuing despite the setbacks. Those are often the stories we remember most.

I’m still attracted to the idea of a belt drive and internal gear system, but now I’m asking myself whether the reduced maintenance is worth the potential difficulty of finding replacement parts in remote areas.

I’d love to hear from readers who have experience with belt drive touring bikes.

  • Have you toured long distances with a belt drive?
  • Have you ever had one fail?
  • Would you choose a belt drive over a traditional chain for an extended African expedition?

Please leave a comment below and share your experiences.

I’ll also include a link to Annabelle’s TikTok account so you can follow the final stages of their remarkable journey to Cape Town.

Untold Stories from Malawi

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been working on my next book, Run Away to Malawi. I’m about halfway through the manuscript, and one thing has surprised me.

As I revisit my journals and photographs, I’ve realized just how many stories never made it onto my blog. There are dozens of moments from the journey that were never fully told. Some photographs appeared in the sidebar of Longdaysafaris.com with little or no explanation, but every one of them has a story behind it.

One memory that found its way into the book was a conversation with a cyclist I met along the road in Malawi.

His bicycle wasn’t loaded with camping gear like mine. Instead, it was piled high with supplies. He explained that he owned three small shops in different villages. Rather than sitting behind a counter, he spent his days riding from village to village delivering stock. He employed people to run the shops while he managed the business from the saddle of his bicycle.

His main products were simple essentials: sugar, flour, and coffee. Items that every family needed.

Another detail I had forgotten was what happened when you bought a bottle of soda. You couldn’t simply walk away with it. The bottle had value. You drank your soda at the shop and returned the empty bottle so it could be sent back for a deposit.

Digital Camera

That also explained something I noticed throughout my journey.

The children who ran out to greet me weren’t just waving. Many would ask if I had any empty bottles. To them, those bottles were useful. They carried drinking water to the fields, stored drinking water at home, and found countless ways to reuse them.

Very little went to waste.

In many of the rural villages, there was almost no litter. Things were repaired, reused, repurposed, or eventually burned. Nothing was thrown away simply because it was old.

These are the kinds of stories that don’t always fit into a daily travel blog, but together they paint a richer picture of life in Malawi.

I’m looking forward to sharing many more of these moments in Run Away to Malawi. I think you’ll discover that the journey was about far more than cycling from one place to another—it was about the people, their ingenuity, and the lessons they unknowingly taught me along the way.

Digital Camera

Elephant Teasing Harry

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.

KJKJ$