I wrote 2Up and Overloaded while on three different continents, throughout South America, back home in Chicago, and then finished the book in Tanzania. My mind and my body were constantly separated by thousands of miles.

The cover's concept art to the final image was a journey of its own. From finding reliable internet, staying in one place long enough to edit the multiple pictures I spliced together, to making sure my computer didn't melt in the relentless African heat. Once everything was almost completed, we found a temporary home in Arusha, Tanzania to piece together all of the final touches.

I had a lot of help with the editing of my book from my father, who was a high school honors English teacher (a class that I would have failed miserably), then to a professional editor (and one that I wasn't related to), and finally Marisa looked it over one last time before I nervously pressed publish on Amazon.

It has been a fun project, and I hope it can shed some light on our travels, bring a smile to your face, make you laugh out loud at times, and let you get to know who Marisa and I are on a more personal level than social media and our short blogs allow.

There are over 92 thousand words that will hopefully inspire you. Over 200 pages that detail our hardships, our successes, the mostly good times, as well as some insight into some of the bad.
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I hope you are able to relive our experiences and be part of our journey. We have met many of you who are reading this post, and far more have made positive comments of encouragement on our blogs, Facebook and Instagram. We can't thank you enough for being an emotional support vehicle in some of the tougher times.

Take a look at the trailer below I made for 2Up and Overloaded! 

“Africa is surprisingly expensive," we'd heard time and time again from fellow travelers. But so far during our Africa trip, we had been able to find cheap food, accommodation, and camping. We even rented a 4x4 car in Namibia for a decent price and went on a “self-drive" safari in Etosha National Park for only $6 a person to enter. While some people were spending thousands of dollars on safaris in Africa, we'd spent a fraction of that, and I'd begun to think that everyone had been wrong.

And then we got to Tanzania.

The visa for Americans to enter this country is $100 a person. Alright, that a bit steep, but it's more-or-less the norm for Eastern African countries. But then there are the park fees. If you want to enter one of Tanzania's famous safari parks such as Serengeti National Park or Ngorongoro Crater, then you'll have to pay $80 a person for a 24 hour period, you'll be charged for your vehicle or your guide, you'll most likely have to camp and will have to pay for that... the list of fees goes on and on.

In the end, most people pay about $400 to $500 a person just to enter a Tanzanian National Park per day! Whoa! And I'm not even going to talk about the thousands of dollars it costs to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

After having been so excited to come to Tanzania, once we got here and the reality of the costs hit us, I was worried this country was going to be a bust. Besides the fact that motorcycles aren't allowed in the parks, I had hoped we could at least join a game drive or tour or something... but alas, these things were all out of our budget.

But it turns out that there is something that Tanzania can offer the adventure motorcyclist that is free, if you're willing to do it: tough but scenic roads. And what I mean by tough roads is that Tanzania is an off-roader's heaven of difficulty, beauty, and unique cultural experiences.

We entered Tanzania from the south, and as we left Lake Malawi in the distance, the scenery surrounded us with green mountains rippling off into blues and purples as far as the eye could see. Swahili could be heard everywhere, the people smiled and welcomed us from every store and stall by saying “Karibu", and we happily settled in to a cheap hotel called Warsame Guesthouse (I'm talking $7 a night) in Mbeya (by the way, we're not paid by any of hotels and accommodations I've put in this blog. I simply linked the places because I liked them.) The internet there worked, the family who owned it was friendly, and as the summer rains drummed on the roof, we decided to relax and get some computer work done. We ended up staying for two weeks.

I noticed that compared to Zambia and Malawi, there seemed to be more industry going on in Tanzania. There were cobblers (I fixed my boot zippers!), mechanics, bakeries, and book stores. Little 250cc motorcycles zoomed around and they were loaded with everything you could think of: furniture, goats, baskets full of chickens, and of course, grandma, mama, and her baby all piled on the back.

Feeling refreshed from Mbeya, we headed north through the center of Tanzania along the main highway. Since all the parks along the way didn't allow motorcycles, and were too expensive to visit anyway, we reluctantly passed them by. We went straight to the tourist town of Arusha because we had some repairs to make on the bike and had heard of a few knowledgable motorcycle enthusiasts living there.

But along the way we had a surprise. Meeting other motorcycle travelers in Africa has been a rare occurrence. But as we were stopped at one of Tanzania's many speed traps, we pulled over to find ourselves next to an Italian couple traveling on a KTM 1290 Super Adventure! Two-up, just like us, also with Mosko Moto soft luggage, and on practically the same bike (ours is the 1190), we just couldn't believe it!

After talking our way out of a speeding ticket, we all stopped at a roadside restaurant to have some lunch together. Gianmaria Colangeli and his girlfriend Lucia were headed through Africa in the same direction as us, but because he had to get back to Italy in the spring to run his hotel and motorcycle tour business (Macedonia Adventures), they would be going much faster.

Still, though we had to momentarily split ways as they headed to Zanzibar, we all planned on meeting again sometime soon. And after a week or so, this great reunion in Arusha turned into one of the best adventures we've had in Africa!

First we met up with an adventure motorcycle friend in Arusha named Simon who owns a beautiful lodge there called The Outpost. In Arusha we got some repairs done, an oil change, and Simon gave us great advice on roads to take. Then when Gianmaria and Lucia arrived, we headed off into the wilds of northern Tanzania.

​These two days of riding down rough roads turned out to be exactly what I was looking for out of Tanzania. No, we didn't see lions (actually, that's probably a good thing considering they like to chase motorcycles), but we did see giraffes, zebra, ostriches, and a very big strange bird called the kori bustard, which is considered to be the heaviest living animal capable of flight.

We all fell many times: they slipped out from a muddy section once or twice, we slid down a hill when Tim accidentally had the bike in neutral, just to name a few. But overall, these guys were champs at getting across all these washouts, sand traps, river crossings, and steep mud hills. I couldn't be more proud of Tim.

But the coolest part was the Maasai people who we met. These indigenous pastoralists of northern Tanzania are tall, lean, and majestically beautiful in their red and purple checkered clothing which they drape over their shoulders. The women have bald heads and wear beaded bands on their arms along with shiny metal earrings which stretch out their earlobes. The men also have elongated earlobes and sometimes “tattoo" their faces with burn marks.

We could never speak each other's languages, but whenever we came to an impassable section of road, we'd ride through the tall grasses until we found a Maasai camp with cattle everywhere and warriors holding sticks and sometimes spears. They could figure out easily enough that we needed to get across the ravine that had formed from the recent rains, and they'd show us where they usually get their livestock across.

Unfortunately, Gianmaria and Lucia had to keep on their schedule and head into Kenya that day. But Tim and I decided to do some more exploring of Tanzania's wonders. So we said our goodbyes and hopefully we'll all meet again one day, maybe in Italy.

After that we decided to tackle another one of Simon's road suggestions and do a particularly hard mountain pass up the West Usambaras Mountain Range to a hotel called Mambo View Point. After the difficultly of the first road Simon told us to do, I don't really know what we were thinking, especially now that we didn't have a pair of Italian superheroes to help us. And the first road didn't have cliff edges to deal with, which definitely upped the level of danger. One fall could mean the end of the trip!

In all honesty, I would not recommend this road to anyone unless they are on an unloaded dirt bike, and definitely not with a passenger. This was some seriously tricky stuff, especially due to the recent onslaught of rain, but once again, Tim was an absolute master! We arrived at the top of the pass at a whopping 6,000 ft above sea level (2,000 meters), stayed a lovely night at Mambo View Point, and felt quite accomplished with ourselves and happy to be alive.

And for our final escapade in Tanzania, we decided to take a break from the dirt and instead head to the beach. We'd earned it I think.

Tanzania is famous not just for the Lion King and the Serengeti, but also for its amazing coastline. Because we had skipped the island of Zanzibar, we thought we'd still try to get a glimpse of some beautiful turquoise waters by dipping into the sea near Tanga, at another place that Simon owns, Fish Eagle Point. Simply stunning. The water was like salty bath water, and just as clear. And because it was the off-season, it was our own private tropical paradise.

But unlike the mountains, the coast of Tanzania was hot. Sweltering is an understatement. So after a sticky night camping on the beach, we decided to cool off back in the mountains, and are now on our way west to Rwanda and Uganda (where we may actually see some lions while riding on the bike, ahhh!).

So stay tuned, and keep your eyes out for Tim's new book covering from when we left our home in Chicago and headed south through Central America. It's called Two-Up and Overloaded, and it's sure to be full of laughs and adventures. It will probably be launching within the next week!

One last crazy tidbit: here in Tanzania they use something called Swahili time. Since sunrise and sunset are always the same time throughout the year, they've set their clocks so that the day starts at 6:00am, meaning that's 12:00 midnight. So to tell time in Swahili you have to take away 6 hours and switch am with pm. What??!!!!!

I still find this hard to believe that it's a real thing, but it is. Enjoy this random fact for the day...

“You will never want to leave Malawi," is what people told us. “The lake is perfectly placid and warm, and swimming in it is divine." Hearing things like this got me excited to visit this small African nation bordering the most biodiverse lake in the world: Lake Malawi. But then we also heard the many warnings: “Watch out for the Bilharzia parasite," and “Beware of crocodiles."

Moreover, it was going to be $75 per person just for the visa to enter Malawi, and because we happened to be visiting in the midst of the rainy season, the weather would be at its worst. In the end, we worried the high price to see this small country would not be worth it for us.

We entered Zambia from Botswana through one of the most difficult border crossings we’ve ever experienced. We were traveling with our motorcycle friend, Emiliano, and crossing borders with another traveler usually makes things easier. With three people, two of them can try to figure out the procedures and stand in separate lines, and one can watch the bikes (me).
 
But for some reason, nothing seemed to be easy when it came to the convoluted process that was getting a visa and vehicle entry permit into Zambia. The heat, the lack of signage, the expense of it ($50 USD for a Zambia/Zimbabwe visa, $20 USD for road tax, more money for carbon taxes, insurance, paying fixers, all in Zambian Kwacha), and most of all, the chaos of the place, made it a horrible experience.

​We have nothing against Windhoek, the capital city of Namibia, but when you’re stuck there for weeks on end because your motorcycle is broken, all you can think about is leaving.
 
We had unfortunately snapped our monoshock (rear suspension) when we’d first entered Namibia. We waited for two weeks for our new shock to arrive from Austria, and when it did, we packed up the bike, got on the road, and headed to Botswana when we realized something horrible: the monoshock was not the only thing that needed replacing. The shock’s spring was also damaged, and we would have to turn back.
 
That meant it would be another week and a half of waiting in Windhoek and paying for repairs and living expenses before we could continue with our African travels.
 
This was very depressing for us, and it certainly wasn’t a great beginning to the holiday season.

With Black Friday and Cyber Monday upon us once again, it is time to start pondering what to get our two-wheeled riding loved ones for Christmas, Hanukkah, whatever gift-giving traditions that the church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster may have, and even for the atheist in your life that likes receiving gifts on a cold December day.

Here is a brief list for those motorcycle enthusiasts in your life. These are some of our favorite items which have served us well on our round-the-world trip.  We are not sponsored by any of the products below, and bought each item ourselves with our hard-earned money. These are simply our fair, honest opinions after putting them through hell over the last two years.

Most people who visit Africa usually go on a safari. And there's nothing else on the planet like it: driving through the flat grasslands of thorny acacia trees, telling your fellow travelers to hush when you think you see something, and then whipping out your camera and holding your breath as a several-ton elephant lumbers out of the trees. It's the stuff of legends.

But there is a high price to be paid.

We were on our way to Namibia's famous red dunes at Sossusvlei when we took a nasty spill and broke our motorcycle's monoshock (rear suspension), which if you're unfamiliar with bike mechanics, is something that you can't just fix on the side of the road. So we had to tow our bike up to Namibia's capital city of Windhoek (which was quite an adventure in itself) and are still waiting for a new monoshock to be flown in from Austria.

While we're waiting, we decided to rent a car here in Namibia to explore this beautiful country. ​And what a trip it's been!

It turns out that going by 4x4 is the way to see Namibia since most of the country's sights prohibit motorcycles to enter. This is due to a number of reasons (such as lions could chase you, a valid reason I suppose), so in order to see things, we would have had to either join a tour group or rent a car anyway. Even the place we were headed to when we had our accident, Sossusvlei, doesn't allow motorcycles in, it turns out. Maybe this broken monoshock was a blessing in disguise.

We started in the capital city of Windhoek (said like VIND-hook, it's a German word since Namibia used to be a German colony), and our first destination was to conquer those wretched sand dunes that we had wanted to see when we first broke down: Sossusvlei.

The name means “Dead-End Marsh", and if you look at an aerial image of Sossusvlei, you can see why. All along Namibia's Atlantic coast is an expanse of red sand dunes, and that is the Namib Desert. But then there is an area cutting into it where an ancient river once tried to push its way through the sand. That's Sossusvlei, and sometimes when it does rain, water still flows through that corridor, only to peter out at the end in a marshy pan of soaked sand. When it's not raining (most of the time as you can imagine), this area is a perfect peninsula of hard land sticking into the sea of sand, so you can drive into it and get up-close to the impressive dunes.

And when I say impressive dunes, I mean some of the largest sand dunes on earth. Not only is the Namib desert the world's oldest desert, and the red rusty color of the sand makes for incredible pictures, but because of the cross-winds keeping the dunes stable, the sand takes on gorgeous shapes as it piles up to towering heights. Big Daddy is the name of the largest dune of Sossusvlei, and at 325 meters high (that's 1,066 feet!), climbing up this dune takes many strenuous hours.

That was not something that really appealed to us, but we did climb a much smaller, yet still big sand dune with a much more boring name: Dune 40.

The key is to get to the dunes early, right at sunrise when the sand is fiery red in the slanted sunlight but icy cool to the touch (by 10:00 AM it's scorching, so hot you can't climb the dune without wearing boots). While we climbed, one side of Dune 40 looked glittering and velvety smooth in the sun, while the other side was still obscured in shadow. After only about a half hour of trudging, we reached the top, and at the crest of it there was this perfect sweeping line where the bright desert sun met the darkness of night. It was stunning, and well worth the effort of getting up there.

A Sea of Sand is the perfect description for the Namib desert, and you would think there'd be nothing else out here, but amazingly, we saw quite a bit of life amidst the dunes. Little lizards, beetles, and all types of birds had made their way to Sossusvlei, but what was most surprising was to see giant Oryx antelope hanging out. They're gorgeous: with two huge straight horns coming out of their skulls in a massive V, ridged to mark their age like the rings of a tree, and black and white paint on their faces like they're going out for the Day of the Dead. What they ate out there, I have no idea, but the Oryx (Gemsbok in Afrikaans) are particularly adapted to life in the desert, and in fact, they prefer it.

After all the dust and dryness of Sossusvlei, we headed to the Atlantic coast to freshen up with some cool ocean breezes.

We had rented a car from a local taxi company in Windhoek instead of a name brand rental agency because it was a good deal, but we definitely got what we paid for. The air conditioning was broken and would only blow on our feet, so we had to constantly keep the windows open so that we didn't roast alive in there.

Blown out tires were strewn across the side of the road like it was a rubber graveyard. We passed several people with flats who were cranking their jacks and turning their lug wrenches. And we should have taken warning, because on one of those long desolate stretches, suddenly we could feel the car bottom out, and knew we had a flat.

But this is normal for Namibia, and simply a part of life out here. Everyone gets flats, that's just the way the roads are. All vehicles come with full spares, many with two, and most car rentals insure you up to two flats because they know it's bound to happen. Since we'd gone cheap, we told our rental/cab company that we'd pay for all damages, and ended up dishing out a bit of money for this flat. But in the end we were lucky to only have one. We met a guy who had rented a 4x4 and was on his fifth new tire.

At Walvis Bay, and all along the Namibian coast, the sand dunes meet the sea in a cloud of mist. You might think that sand and sea go together to make a perfect beach scene, and normally they do. But these massive Sahara-like sand dunes emptying into a frigid, almost antarctic Atlantic waters make for a very bizarre, foreboding scene. 

But then amidst all the desolation of the Skeleton Coast, suddenly we came to the Cape Cross Seal Reserve, and found ourselves immersed in a loud cacophony of wriggling creatures all chatting and arguing with each other, like a Venice Beach for seals.

Visiting this Brown Fur Seal colony was perhaps one of my favorite things I've done on my travels. It was just so jarring and fascinating. The intoxicating odor of them all (and I mean that in the worst way possible, because they stank like fish rotting in a decaying corpse), and their strange noises, like Wookies and children and grunting bears all together, it made me feel like I had walked into that bar in the original Star Wars and was suddenly surrounded by alien species.

Though it looked like some were trying to take a nap or quietly nurse their young, others were loudly complaining as they slopped their way around, pushing whoever was in their way, or completely walking over each other with flippers in faces. And still others were arguing, growling at each other and snapping like dogs.

The wooden walkways at Cape Cross didn't go into the seal colony as much as the seal colony had taken over the walkways. You could see that there had once been an attempt at building a roofed picnic area there, but the seals now completely owned that space and there was no taking it back. I was definitely in their world now, and was very thankful for the wooden bars that barely separated us, because some of those seals were absolutely huge with a mouth full of bloody fangs. Fish carcasses and strewn-apart entrails were everywhere, and you could see that sometimes the blood on their mouths was not just from having dinner, but from attacking each other.

After the seal colony, it took a few hours to get the putrid smell out of our noses as we headed inland, back to where the sun beat down on the rocks, and dust filled our car and clothes. That evening, as we camped in a town that hadn't seen rain in eight years (Uis), I realized that my hair smelled like it was burnt. Straw-like and crispy dry to the touch, both of us had hair that now appeared streaked in grey, though it was just dust and sand. Even a good shower didn't fix it.

Our final adventure in Namibia with our rental car was going to be Etosha National Park, a safari paradise of lions, elephants, rhinos, and giraffes. That will all be for my next blog post, part two of our rental car excursion, but on our way there, we had another Namibian surprise in store for us: the Himba.

The Himba people are an indigenous group of semi-nomadic Namibians who call the northern reaches their home. But what makes these people so iconic is the way the women cover their bodies with red ochre butter, and use this ochre mud to make long dreads in their hair. Decorated from head to toe in beads and hides, these bare-breasted women are a beautiful sight to behold.

Unfortunately, their traditional way of life is disappearing. For the past eight years Namibia has been in a severe drought, which has forced many of the Himba to give up grazing their traditional lands. Now you can see them oftentimes camped along the side of the road, as they use money from tourists and the bartering of goods to support themselves. So as we made our way from Uis to Etosha, we saw a tiny village of mud huts along the road and a little market of trinkets set up, and decided to stop and pay for a tour.

This was both fascinating and awkward. Our tour guide was a man from the village who spoke English (along with five other languages), and he took us around, showing us how the village was organized with a sacred fire in the central space, and how women dressed with cow or goat hide skirts and headdresses. We also got to see how the women used incense to “bathe", as they actually never take a bath, and simply reapply the ochre butter mixture on their skin every day, and then waft themselves with smoke.

The children were adorable, but I felt uneasy about being presented with women as if they were a circus attraction, and the fact that they rarely smiled or looked happy about us being there made it worse. Plus, paying to take pictures of half-naked women just seemed like something I never thought I would find myself doing.

They weren't all half-naked though. Some women dressed in what they called “Victorian" garb, which was their interpretation of the dresses European settlers had encouraged them to wear in the 1800's. But with very bright colors and really cool hats that were built to be supportive for carrying things on their heads, you could tell that they had taken the designs and made it their own.

We were just about done with our tour and feeling satisfied with our glimpse into this new and different culture when the guide asked us to do him a favor, (and no, it wasn't for dirt on Joe Biden). We had told him where we were headed and he said, “There's a woman here with a month-old baby, and she wants to go to the Himba village outside Etosha Park. Could you bring her there?"

We were shocked. Yes, we were going there, but that was three-and-a-half hours away, and this woman couldn't speak English, and she was covered in red mud and we were in a rental car, and she didn't have a shirt on... but hey, why not?

And so this became the authentic Himba experience that I was looking for. Despite having little to no English, this woman was full of smiles and her baby was adorable (with a very very long name that I could not remember), and she smelled like a mixture of incense and body odor. But truth be told, she probably smelled better than me at that moment. And with some blankets put over the seats so that she didn't get red everywhere, we had an enjoyable time listening to the Namibian CD that was left in the car by the taxi company, and waving to the other Himba people that we passed. I just felt bad that our air-conditioning didn't work and the car was super dusty, but she was probably very used to heat and dust.

When we arrived at Etosha, we dropped her off with her bags of ground corn flour and basket-weaving materials, and waved goodbye to our new friend.

In the end, as much as we love traveling on our motorcycle, going to Sossusvlei, the Cape Cross Seal Reserve, and transporting a Himba woman to another village all would not have been possible on our bike. So I was becoming very thankful for our rental car, and the best was still to come: our self-drive safari in Etosha National Park!

So stay tuned until next time!

Bonus news!

Tim is almost finished with his second book: Two-Up and Overloaded. It will cover our first year of travel from Chicago to Panama.

​If you haven't done so already, take a look at his first book Maiden Voyage to get to know the who, what, and why that inspired us to be on the trip we are currently on.

Once again we've broken down in the middle of nowhere, this time it was out in the scorching Kalahari desert after a nasty fall into the sand... But let me start at the beginning, and it was a good beginning: the Drakensberg, meaning Dragon Mountains in Afrikaans.

Back in South Africa, these jagged peaks definitely earned their name. Like towering stone monoliths ruling over the landscape from their lofty thrones, they say that it was the scenery of South Africa that inspired J. R. R. Tolkein to create Middle Earth in his fantasy books The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. And I certainly agree that there seemed to be magic there, like I could just picture a dragon hiding behind the crags, protecting his hoard of gold and treasure.

The wall of jagged mountains in the distance loomed closer and closer as we rode from South Africa toward Qachas Nek Pass into Lesotho. As our bike climbed in elevation, swerving back and forth along switchbacks, we realized that it was going to be a long time before we'd dip back down in altitude. Because now we were entering Lesotho: the Kingdom in the Sky, a tiny country completely surrounded by South Africa, and a mysterious land of mountains that feels lofty and untouched by the rest of the world.

And despite almost dying on the first day and afterwards Tim coming down with Spotted Fever, Lesotho deeply impressed us, and has become one of our favorite countries.