By Riaan Manser
In a global first, nearly highly, Riaan Manser rode a bicycle correct round the continent of Africa. It took him years, months and fifteen days. He rode 36 500 kilometres via 34 various international locations. In round Africa on my Bicycle, Manser tells the tale of this epic trip. it's a tale of blood, sweat, toil and tears. it's a tale of triumph and occassional catastrophe. Of nights out below the celebrities, of searing warmth and rain, of unending miles of Africa and of urgent on and not surrendering regardless of the odds. more often than not but it is the tale of 1 man's braveness and resolution to flee the mundane and spot the continent he loves and feels rather a lot part of. it's a tale of the human heat he encounters, and sometimes human wrath and hostility as he crosses stricken international locations and borders.
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Additional resources for Around Africa On My Bicycle
Ian is lurking somewhere nearby. He got me into this and is getting a huge kick from it. At my tender age I don’t have any idea what it means, but I can feel the buzz. Michele Savage is here. And Connie Ridgeway and Colleen Bisharat. All of the yearned-for fifteen-year-old women—so far above my lowly prepubescent but ardent station—are gyrating to Fats Domino right in front of the gear. I push past them to my drums. Pete is plugging in, and his amp is squawking. The hubbub of voices in the room immediately hushes, and all eyes are on us.
I did get the genes for stringed instruments and mallets (guitars and drums), which I find naturally easy to play, but my fingers just don’t do keyboards. No matter how many hours, years, or decades I spend composing on the keyboard, my hands just can’t find their cunning. I can find the notes that my head dictates and check them against one another to build harmony, but I can’t play them in rhythm. I can play the rhythm of the notes I want but can’t find the pitches fast enough. I can play my music with good rhythm and wrong notes or with correct pitches and no rhythm.
No matter how many hours, years, or decades I spend composing on the keyboard, my hands just can’t find their cunning. I can find the notes that my head dictates and check them against one another to build harmony, but I can’t play them in rhythm. I can play the rhythm of the notes I want but can’t find the pitches fast enough. I can play my music with good rhythm and wrong notes or with correct pitches and no rhythm. At least back home in London, my dad’s Beocord open reel recorder allowed me to record two parallel tracks of guitar.