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We have covered a lot of miles on The World by Road and the terrain we have driven is as diverse as the countries we have passed through. Obviously, the road can get pretty bad from time to time and it always leads to the same question: Is this the worst road we have been down? There have been quite a few occasions where the answer to that question is an assertive “YES!” However, on a road trip like this, just when you think you have seen the worst of it, there is always something else lying in wait around the next corner.

The road that was waiting for us just on the other side of the Nigeria-Cameroon border on the way to Mamfe was a beast, and for the time being, it is without a doubt, the worst road we have been down on the expedition. We had been warned about this stretch of road, but the warning did little to prepare us for what we actually encountered. Mud pits, fallen trees, more mud pits, etc. Hopefully there will not be any roads in much worse shape than the road to Mamfe because if they are, they are for the most part impassable. In fact, I can hardly believe that we actually made it through some of the obstacles on the way to Mamfe. I guess that is a testament to the durability or our Toyotas and our driving skills!

Kilometer 26 of the worst road yet

This is the MAIN road from Southern Nigeria into Cameroon!

The current No. 1 was no problem for The Thundra

All this talk of bad roads led us to sit down and reflect upon all the rough stretches of road we have had to navigate during the course of the expedition. The end result of that reflection is a list of the worst roads on The World by Road. So without further adieu, here is The Top Ten Worst Roads On The World by Road. It is funny looking back and remembering what these roads were like at the time… when we went through Poipet on our way to the Ankor temples in Cambodia, that was the worst road any of us had ever been on. Now, that stretch or road barely makes the top ten. Obviously this list is subject to change before we are through with this whole thing, but for the time being…

The Top Ten Worst Roads On The World by Road

* Outside of UB, there are very few stretches of paved road in Mongolia. In fact, I would not even really consider most of what we drove in Mongolia to be a road. If you are going anywhere in Mongolia, most likely, it is off road and can get a little bumpy every now and then.

** The road surfaces in Nigeria are pretty good for the most part, however, the drivers there are so reckless and bad, that simply venturing out on the roads in Nigeria is a risk to your health. Nigeria may not have the worst roads in the world, but hands down, they have the worst drivers so we had to include them on the list.

Over a week ago now was the beginning of the action packed speed run through Niger, Nigeria, Cameroon and then further down the coast of the West coast of Africa.  The Thundra and Little Pepe are now safely resting in the courtyard of the Botanic Gardens Guesthouse here in Limbe, Cameroon.  The crew and the trucks well deserved break in this beautiful garden on the beach came just in time as all of our patience and sanity was truly running thin.

On Thursday, April 27th, we left Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso in the early evening.  We drove into the night and found a campsite off the highway around midnight. Over the radio I heard Steve Bouey ask, "How much longer do you want to drive?" Moments before that I was thinking, either we drive until midnight or until the temperature drops below 85 degrees. They both happened at about the same time.  Due to our money constraints these days, we camp the majority of the time to save money.  However, since the temperature is generally well above 100 degrees even after dark sleeping or for that matter, sitting, is not really an option.

We went to sleep shortly after arriving, but sleep we did not get. About an hour after the lights were turned out, a herd of donkeys, or group or gang, was prowling around the field we decided to stay in.  Donkeys generally seem like fairly benign animals, just towing carts around and doing their stubborn thing. The reality is much different.  These characters make the most ridiculous eeeeeehhh-haaaaaaaw noises you have ever heard, and they carry on all night long.  Not just the occasional I am a stubborn donkey eehh-haaw…these guys get after it.  Long drawn out wails that sound horrible, even painful.  We have never really been able to pinpoint what compels these noisemakers to get with it, but they do it in packs, they do it alone, they do it whenever they damn well please, they are donkeys (asses).  This donkey gang was charging each other, running back and forth, and at points even charging toward the tents.

The next morning came around and we were greeted by the usual group of the local curious children from the nearby village. At about 6:30 they were crouching around the tents.  They mean no harm, but the whispers and crackling of branches under their feet is enough to put a halt to any leisurely get out of bed slowly morning.  We were packed and on the road quickly and made it to the border before noon.  Burkina Faso into Niger was extremely easy, so we were able to make it to Naimey, the capital, by the early afternoon.  There we got some more money and gas to carry on to the Nigeria border. Again we carried on until it started to cool down and camped in a dry riverbed. Since we had made it back into the Sahara for the 3rd time since we have entered Africa, the cool desert nights made for some decent sleeping.

Again the next morning the local kids were there as our alarm clock, appropriately on Camels since we were in the Sahara.  After giving them a little food for breakfast we took a couple of photos and raced to the Nigerian border. No problems, contrary to our preconceived notions of Nigerian corruption, the border was one the most pleasant yet. We figured that we would be near Abuja, the capital by the evening…wishful thinking only goes so far in Africa. I grabbed a handful of Euros from Bouey and exchanged them on the black market only to find out that the exchange rate was nearly double what we expected, making gas and expenses much cheaper.  That was only until we made it to the other side of town to the gas MegaStation with 30 or so pumps.  The only thing it was lacking was gas to pump. After talking to a couple of locals in the line wrapping around the gas station and about a mile down the road we were told, "Gas is not coming until tomorrow, your only option is to buy gas on the black market."

At that moment it came clear to me why a crazy Nigerian man ran across the street toward our trucks with an old beat up one gallon plastic oil container full of gas.  He was the king of the gasoline black market.  Within two minutes of pulling over to the side of the road, at least 7 or 8 gas vendors were swarming us, along with an audience admiring the trucks and I suppose us as we were quite out of place in this small town in the middle of nowhere Nigeria. A police officer with a beret and bloodshot eyes from too much of whatever is part of his afternoon routine joined the gas festival.  At first we thought he was going to shut down this illegal marketplace, but he was much too stoned to do that and besides it was a chance for him to make a little money as well. Soon all of the gas vendors were in argument as to who found our gas guzzling trucks first. The argument was getting so heated at one point that we were about to just get in the trucks and leave before a fight broke out.  Moments later they calmed things down and decided to split the 10 gallon purchase between two of the vendors.  Our hope was to buy just enough of the double priced gas to get us to a real gas station in the next big town.

Abuja was a dream long gone at this point, but we were hoping to at least make it to the next town to get gas before dark.  After passing 6 or so small towns on the way to Gasau, well over 10 gas stations were dry, including Gasau.  What could be the problem, we thought.  We filled up with some more black market gas and pushed on hoping to get out of the city and setup camp.  I radioed to Bouey, "Does it look like there should be somewhere to camp soon?"

"There are no towns on the map between here and Zaria."

It was true, no towns between there and Zaria, but villages would make an appearance every 10 km or so. After driving for a couple of hours, the group decision was to just pull off the side of the road and sleep in the cars until light.  Nigerian drivers are out of their mind and from the number of wrecks on the sides of the highway, it is easy to see that driving at night is a horrible idea. Moments after we got somewhat situated next to the road a truck full of men pulled up.  Four to five men were sitting in the bed of the beaten up early 90s Toyota. They jumped out of the back of the truck with AK-47s in hand and approached us with a small flashlight. Looking back I wonder why I had no fear as we were in a country full of rebels and bandits, or so we had heard. "Hello?" said one of the men. We responded, "Hello??"  As they approached their silhouettes became more apparent, they were wearing berets and uniforms, they were the police.  In Nigeria, they speak English a little bit differently and instead are called the Crime Patrol.  It was hand painted crooked on the side of the pickup in a highly official manner with red paint and the last letters squeezed in as the artisan in charge of labeling the vehicles must not have been an ace in spacing and typography.

They invited us to sleep in front of the crime patrol station and assured us that we would be safe there as they would be patrolling back and forth all night long and keep an eye on us.  That morning I woke up at about 6 am and looked over at the station to see that the person in charge of car labels had also been commissioned to label the crime patrol station. The outward appearance of the station led me to believe this would not be the place to file a report if something bad was to happen.

The next morning we finally found a gas station that had gas at the pump at the nice low price of about $.60 per liter or $2.20 per gallon. To prevent any more hold ups with the black market gas we filled up every last jerry can full of fuel. While Mark and Bouey worked on filling and securing the cans to the truck, I went with another man to exchange some more Euros in order to pay for our 400 liters of gas.  As with anywhere in Nigeria, there is always someone who knows someone who can exchange money.  The other option is to go to the bank, but that is a little hard considering that I passed 4 banks on the way to change money in a back alley, all of which were closed and had been for some time.  Standardized systems are not exactly the Nigerians strong suit.

That evening we drove as far as we could before dark and ended up in a town called Gboko. At a gas station with a horribly unkept hotel in back we scrambled to figure out how we were going to find a decent place to stay that night. A young man named AOJ approached us and asked, "Is this hotel not pretty enough for you guys?"

We replied, "It is fine but we cannot find anyone to help us."

"I can show you some hotels in town that are much nicer with a place to park the trucks."

AOJ jumped in the truck with me and we made our way towards the hotel that he thought would suit us. I radioed back to the Thundra, "We have to take a detour as the road is under construction."

Immediately AOJ turned to me and said, "Can I talk to them on that thing!?"

"Of, Course."

AOJ then full of excitement yells into the microphone, "Steve, Steve!!!"

He was so over zealous that he did not realize pushing the button on the side of the mic is how the system works.  Since it was dark and there were no time for radio lessons, I had to reclaim the mic until we reached the hotel.  We went down one detour…it did not go through, down another…it did not go through.  About 30 minutes later we had finally reached the hotel.  I gave AOJ a few dollars for his trouble, which he did not even expect…he was doing it just because he was a good guy.  And most likely because he was a Christian, as he asked me upfront if I was.  The missionaries have a very strong presence down here.  He asked if he could come meet us in the morning before we left and inquired how it might be possible for him to join the crew.  We told him that we could talk more about it in the morning as we were exhausted from the already 14 hour day.

Bright and early, on time, AOJ was in the hotel lobby and although we wanted to sleep in, as usual Africa will not let us.  The front desk called to alert us to AOJ’s arrival.  We took showers and made our way out to get breakfast, AOJ had already left. After gassing up the cars we were on our way out too, but there he was, AOJ on the back of his friend’s moto waving and yelling. 

"Hey guys, hey guys!"

AOJ only speaks with full excitement.  "I thought I had missed you, but I wanted a photo."

His friend had an old film camera and snapped a couple of shots.

We made it into Calabar that afternoon and were setup for free at a hotel called the Zoo Garden.  We gave our usual pitch to the owner, but he did not seem to care as the hotel was under renovation. Mark and I went on and on about how we can benefit him by directing other overlanders to his hotel as they check out our website.  He interrupted and said sure we will accommodate you.  I think he was just sick of listening to us.  Calabar and the rest of Nigeria is notorious for power outages, so we went much of the stay without lights or fans, but that is nothing new here in the 100 degree, 100% humidity heat of Africa.  With relative ease other than power outages making photocopies hard to get, we had our Cameroon visas and were on our way in a matter of two days.  With only 500kms to go we were in sight of a tourist oasis for a little R&R from the rigors of Africa.  Limbe was a day’s drive away, or so we thought.

As we neared the Nigeria-Cameroon border the immigration police stopped us to check our documents.  "You have overstayed your visas," said the policeman.

"This is not possible, we have three month visas."

"At the border they have the ability to change the validity of your visa by putting a different date on the stamp."

This was news to us.  Not over the course of 50 countries have we encountered anything like this. A visa has the validity on it, not on the stamp.  The guards on the other side were so nice, but ultimately did not know what they were doing as they also used a Nigerian resident stamp to stamp our passports.  The guards let us through, but informed us that we may have troubles at the actual border.  With no choice but to push forward, we took our chances.

At the next stop we had our first real dose of Nigerian corruption.  The border guards led us to believe that they were the immigration checkpoint, when in fact they were not.  They again told us that we had overstayed our visas and would have to drive back to Calabar to fix the problem. After two hours of negotiations and many attempts from these guys to get $300 US dollars out of us, we got the best of them.  Mark started talking about corruption and then I went on to patriotism saying:

"You know how Nigeria has a bad reputation for rebels and corruption and crime. The men at the other border clearly made a mistake and as a Nigerian citizen who is educated and clearly more intelligent than the other guards, you have an opportunity to make up where your other citizens are lacking.  We write stories about all of the countries we visit and you have a choice right now, do you want to give Nigeria a good name or a bad name?"

Mark  through in some words about the golden rule and next thing you know the border guards let us through, escorted us to the actual immigration house and made sure that we would not have any more problems with this mistake. In fact, they even gave us lunch and cold filtered water to drink.  We gave the two corrupt border guards TWBR t-shirts, and although they do not deserve them, we will always know that those are their TWBR diplomas, as April 2nd, 2008 they graduated our school on how to fail at extorting money off the fine expedition crew of The World by Road.

Now, with 80kms to go before the first town in Cameroon, 2 hours left of daylight and an unpaved road notorious for being bad, the day had really just begun.  The Cameroon border process went quickly and easily with a notation from the last checkpoint, "The road is a little muddy right now, but you have strong cars so you should be fine." A little mud is no match for Thundra and Little Pepe…I will leave you with these photos, but 5 hours after crossing the border we traveled 80kms, dug out a cargo truck, pulled a sedan out of an excavation pit, and drove through a 4 foot deep pit of mud.  It took a team of young Cameroonian boys to help push the Tundra out of one fix, half of the excavation pits we drove in complete darkness and both skid plates on the trucks are ready to be replaced.

This week started on March 27th in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso and ended on April 4th in Limbe, Cameroon.  This blog could run on for thousands more words if I was to include all of the small tasks each day like finding gas, exchanging more money, finding a hotel room in complete darkness as the lights are out again, or just finding the right road due to lack of signs.  Each of these days started at sunrise and ended no earlier than midnight, usually with only one meal each day. Tourists that fly into Africa never really see what is going on behind the scenes, but as we drive each kilometer of land between each town passing villages and interacting with the locals, it is easy to see just how difficult one single day can be here in Africa.  The citizens of Northern Cameroon are essentially forgotten about by their government (recently evaluated as the most corrupt government in the world) with roads in such disrepair that it is impossible to travel them in the entire 3 months of the rainy season.  This means that supplies and food can go this long without arriving.  The only road out of this area that is maintained is a logging road, paid for by the logging company that is taking all of the local people’s valuable timber for profit.  They will never see a dime of the money that is made off of this.  Unfortunately there is not much any of us can do to fix these problems any time soon, but just remember when you are cruising down the highway or sitting at work saying, "Why do I have to work while they are on vacation?" Last week, just like every week, we live like the locals and it is not a vacation. Here in Africa, the challenge of the week can sometimes turn out to just be the week itself.

This is the best and only road from Southern Nigeria to Cameroon

80 kms of thick jungle and mud serving well over 30 villages of various sizes

Locals triple up on small motos for this journey, we helped these guys by throwing their 100lb bag of potatoes on the roof of the Tundra.  They helped us by pushing when we were stuck in the mud. These roads are a team effort for everyone involved.

Path A or B?

The logging road is much better, but it does not reach those beyond Mamfe.

3 days to get drive the 250kms from the border to the friendly town of Limbe. I have never been so happy to reach a destination.

PS…I love my job, even though I have not seen a paycheck in over a year:)

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere!” This was the friendly response we got from several people as we pulled into the remote and dusty town of Timbuktu. For us here at The World by Road, Timbuktu is an important stopover on our way around the world. I can now say that I have literally driven my car, complete with Colorado license plates, to Timbuktu and back. O.K., I still have a long way to go before I actually make it back, but you get the idea.

Getting to Timbuktu was no small feat. The last 200 kilometers of road leading up to the town now holds the far from fabulous distinction of being the worst road we have driven on during the course of the expedition. Conversation stopping corrugation, blowing dust, sand storms and car swallowing sand pits ensured that it would take nearly five hours drive this particular stretch of road. I think I can now somewhat relate to what the early traders felt like when they made their trek across the desert and finally arrived in the somewhat less inhospitable confines of Timbuktu… it was still well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit when we arrived at 5 in the afternoon. Fortunately for us, we were able to track down some cold beer to celebrate which was also nice considering we arrived on St. Patrick’s Day. (There is one for the “I Never” game… I have never downed a beer in celebration of St. Patrick’s Day in Timbuktu)

Mark investigates one of the “sand traps”

If the road does not get you, the dust devils will…

The scenery on the road to the middle of nowhere was quite nice

Having finally arrived in Timbuktu, the conversation switched from the possibilities of future boasting about the achievement, to how Timbuktu actually got so famous and became such a well recognized name. How is it that the name of an African town established by Tuareg desert nomads can be so easily recognized in America and the rest of the world by such a broad spectrum of society? The answer? We do not know.

Bouey and Mark get the lowdown on Timbuktu from a local Tuareg

Timbuktu is a dusty place, constantly on the verge of being swallowed by the surrounding desert and is a far cry today from is glamorous status as a trade center for hundreds of years. Timbuktu does hold a high degree of significance in the Muslim world, but that still does not explain why a fifth grader from Missouri would recognize the name. The image of Timbuktu being a mysterious and mythical place, synonymous with being at the end of the world or symbolizing the middle of nowhere still holds strong today throughout most of the world, and none us us really know why. Whatever the case may be, and for whatever reason, people know and will continue to recognize the name Timbuktu, and the fact that we actually drove there in our own cars might seem even more mythical to some than the place itself.

In front of one of the mosques made entirely of mud in Timbuktu

Bouey gets a close shave while Tuareg children cringe at the sight of the straightedge

The sun sets on a game of soccer in Timbuktu

What else would you expect when you are in the middle of the Sahara Desert? All of us knew that we would encounter lots of sand as we drove through the western part of the Sahara on our way across Mauritania, but I do not think any of us would realize just how much sand we would come into contact with… literally. Thanks to our friend Paul (AKA - Soloride) TWBR is now equipped with a GPS device. The GPS unit helped Paul navigate his way around the perimeter of the United States and we were confident that it would help us navigate our way through a 250 kilometer stretch of the Sahara Desert… all off-road. After a 24 hour cram session on how to use the GPS, we plotted our way points and headed off into the sand.

There is actually supposed to be a town here?

When we actually did stop at what the GPS unit told us was the turnoff for the “beach run,” I could not believe that I was actually about to drive off a nice sealed road and head out into blowing Sahara sand. The situation was even more logic defying given that we had talked to numerous people about the run through this part of the desert and getting stuck in the sand not once, but multiple times seemed a near absolute certainty. It did not take long for those words to prove true. In fact, it only took about twenty minutes.

Round one…

Round two…

The power of the Thundra actually made our lives a lot easier in the desert

Finding some firmer terrain is always a treat

Digging your car out of the sand is hard work in any conditions, but doing it in the mid-afternoon Sahara sun with temperatures well above 40 degrees (100 degrees F) makes the task even more challenging. Luckily, we had decided to purchase some eight foot sections of wood to use as “sand planks.” When you are driving off-road in the desert, sand planks are an absolute necessity and we soon found out the benefit of spending $25 for some makeshift planks in Nouadhibou. By the time the planks had helped us out of the sand twice over the span of about two hours, I realized that it was probably the best $25 I have ever spent in my life.

Hopefully the last of the digging… collecting Sahara sand for souvenirs

Thundra “Money Shot”

During the next three days, we probably ended up digging the trucks out of the sand at least seven times, and even though the sand planks make the job exponentially easier, I think that by the seventh time, all of us had enough experience getting unstuck to last a lifetime. Even though navigating our way through massive dunes and deceptively soft stretches of sand was a lot of work, it was well worth it. The Sahara Desert has to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Perfectly sculpted sand dunes stretch as far as the eye can see… real Laurence of Arabia type stuff. It is not too often that you can peer out over an endless stretch of sand and say that you actually drove your truck through it. We also managed to find some dunes to play on and although though the surfing has been fairly flat down most of the North African coast, we at least got to put the boogie boards to good use.

Not many people can claim they drove through terrain like this

Bouey catches some air off dune number 5783

While Shoppman demonstrates how easy it is to knock the wind out of your body

In the world of auto racing, the Dakar Rally is a big one. The race has gone on for nearly 30 years (2008 would have been the 30th anniversary event) and draws thrill seekers, adrenaline junkies, endurance drivers and gear heads from all over the world. The Dakar Rally used to originate in Paris, and more people might know of it via its former name… the Paris-Dakar Rally, but for the last few years, the starting gun has been fired off in Lisbon, Portugal. Unfortunately, this year the starting gun has been holstered and the only thunder you will hear from engines heading south from Lisbon are coming from the airport. Reluctantly, the organizers of the 2008 Dakar Rally canceled the event the week before it was slated to begin as a result of some unfortunate incidents that occurred along the race route. Some of the incidents were directly related to the race and others were not, but in any event, the organizers of the Dakar Rally were faced with a decision that no race director ever wants to make.

It truly is a shame that the Dakar Rally was canceled this year and hopefully things will improve so that the race can carry on once again in 2009. Without a doubt, a lot of people in the overland community saw the cancellation of the 2008 Rally as a door being closed, however, in true TWBR fashion, we have seen it as an opening. The Rally makes a few detours out into the Sahara to test the fortitude of its participants, but essentially, the race consists of who can drive from Lisbon, Portugal to Dakar, Senegal in the shortest amount of time possible. It just so happens that our route through Africa takes us approximately along the same route as the now canceled Dakar Rally.

We were not really planning on heading to Portugal, but once we heard that the Rally had been canceled, we came up with this crazy idea to be the unofficial winners of the unofficial 2008 Dakar Rally. Lisbon was a 600 mile detour and it turns out, only a few of us made it… Steve and Mark stayed behind in Spain to try and deal with FedEx and Spanish customs and Brook, Craig and I headed to Portugal in the Sequoia in part to take in a country that none of us had been to before, but also in part to kick off the 2008 The World by Road Dakar Rally (TWBRDR). On February 11, 2008 at 3:00 GMT the TWBRDR was off, but not before dealing with some problems of our own. Not five minutes before we returned to the truck from lunch to commence the rally, the Lisbon police found a boot (wheel clamp) big enough to put on Little Pepe. It turns out we had parked in a loading zone but because none of can read Portuguese and the sign did not have any little symbols of things being towed away, we did not think twice about our designated starting line. Oh well, 30 minutes and 50 Euros later we were on our way and as far as we know, there are no other participants in the 2008 TWBRDR, so we did not loose any time to other competitors. Next stop, checkpoint two and a rendezvous with the other crew members in Algeciras, Spain for the car ferry to Morocco. Hopefully they know the TWBRDR is on its way!