Of all the adventures on Royal Enfields, Jack and Eric Atwell’s 11,000 km trek was not just impressive, but perhaps the most tiring. Reason? The South African Atwell brothers were riding Enfield bicycles. Starting off from Port Elizabeth in 1936, the brothers pedalled their way through torturous weather, rough roads, stinging insects, wild animals, mishaps and even malaria as they made their way to their ultimate goal - England.
‘A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’ Chinese proverb.
In the case of South African brothers, Jack and Eric Attwell, a journey of 11,000km across Africa and Europe began with the first rotation of the pedals on their Royal Enfield bicycles.
The brothers were both working as radio salesmen in and around Port Elizabeth, located on South Africa’s Eastern Cape. The threat of redundancy in January 1936 gave them the impetus to turn their dreams into reality. Despite having virtually no savings they set out to see the world.
‘As we couldn’t walk around the world and didn’t possess the money for a car or motorbike, pedal cycles were the answer,’ Eric later wrote in his book, The Road to London. Their cycles of choice were Royal Enfields.
Eric and Jack’s family were aghast, describing the plan as a ‘crazy and foolhardy scheme’.
Their eldest brother, Sonny, replied to Eric, saying, ‘I have just finished reading your letter and have decided that when you wrote it you must have been drunk. Fancy poor old Jack riding a bicycle.’
Poor ‘old’ Jack was only 30 and Eric had just turned 20. They were in the prime of their lives, ready for adventure. With their excitement levels bursting through the ceiling, nothing would deter them!
The duo posted their most valued possessions, mostly clothes and books, to their family then pinned a note to the door of their flat which simply stated, ‘Gone away’!
Once Port Elizabeth was behind them they paused for breath. Jack strummed a few notes on his guitar and they cheerfully sang, Side by Side, ‘… We’ll travel the road, sharing the load, side by side.’
Their lack of appreciation of what lay ahead, the practical skills and knowledge they would need to succeed was, however, soon apparent. Shortage of food and water plus exposure to the elements took its toll and they ended their first day at Addo, having ridden just 55km. They were ‘badly sunburned, stiff, saddle-sore, hungry, thirsty and more than a little disillusioned.
Better prepared after three days' rest, the pair rode into the Karoo, a vast region of scrubby desert with extremes of hot and cold temperatures. Their diet, simple due to their limited budget, consisted mostly of bread, cheese, syrup, porridge and dates. Fruit, including prickly pears that left thorns on lips, tongue and fingers, was at least free!
But south of Bloemfontein their lack of proper equipment became evident when, sleeping in the open beside the main road, they were awoken by heavy rain. Stretching a blanket between their bikes and a barbed wire fence provided shelter for only ten minutes before it was soaked and they were forced to pack up and ride in the rain. Further night time soakings were forestalled by the purchase of a small canvas tent in Johannesburg and daytime riding was improved by the addition of waterproof capes and pith helmets.
Eventually they reached the Limpopo River and the border with Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). Here they were turned back as entry was allowed only if they had return railway tickets, evidence of jobs in Rhodesia, or 100 rand apiece. As they had none of the first two and only 22 rand between them, their journey looked to be at an end. They returned to the nearest small town, Messina. Within 24 hours had both landed jobs.
With their savings bolstered by two month’s labour, Eric and Jack once more approached the border and were soon pedalling through Rhodesia. Their first night in the bush, however, was at the campfire of locals who warned them that lions roamed nearby.
‘Actually it was far too hot a night for a tent but that flimsy bit of canvas somehow seemed to offer a little protection from the unseen enemy, doubtless lurking just beyond the realm of light provided by the fire,’ Jack recalled. Apart from worrying about lions, the incessant howling of hyenas and the screeching of tree hyraxes kept them wide awake. ‘I would never have believed that in the heart of the bush I would long for earplugs!’
By the time they reached Bulawayo, the rainy season had started in earnest and further travel north on unsealed roads and tracks would be impossible for the immediate future. Jobs were needed once more. Jack worked as a mechanic in a car dealership and Eric as a costings clerk at a drug supplier.
Four months later, with their funds significantly boosted and the weathermen promising months of blue skies ahead, they set off once more, heading towards Portuguese Mozambique and Nyasaland (now Malawi). Apart from groups of migrant workers heading south on foot, they encountered hardly anyone.
Here their situation changed rapidly and they were able to sleep in village huts and eat meals prepared for them by locals. But deep into Mozambique, they entered the tsetse fly belt and their bare arms and knees provided perfect targets for the dangerous bloodsuckers.
Eric recalls, ‘At first we naïvely imagined that by riding fast enough we could dodge then but we soon discovered that tsetses had a turn of speed far superior to ours and while going uphill we were sitting ducks.’ They fashioned makeshift fly swishing implements but these almost caused a disaster. When flicking one biting tsetse off the small of his back, Eric lost control of his bike, hit a pothole, careered off the track and down a bank, flying head first over his handlebars. The result was a twisted frame and bent forks which were straightened days later when they found a garage.
Throughout Africa ex-patriots from a variety of nations greeted the cyclists and they were hosted by people from countries such as Italy, Greece, Switzerland, Germany, Britain and especially India, who provided them with tea, food, a bed, even gifts they could ill-afford to give and which the brothers only finally accepted to avoid giving offence.
‘We continued to enjoy the most wonderful hospitality from the Indians who never failed to make us welcome,’ Eric recalled. ‘Our slog up Africa was slow enough and we would have added weeks to the time if we had accepted all the hospitality pressed on us so warmly.’
In Nyasaland the pair travelled five days on food gifted by their last Indian hosts, which was a lifesaver as they never saw a single shop. These were tough days, especially the last day before reaching civilization.
‘We breakfasted on the last of our mealie meal. With this not very nourishing meal inside us we set off in the teeth of a howling wind to cover the 80 kilometres to Fort Hill. We finally reached our destination at 8pm’ Fort Hill had a shop and they were able to resupply at last!
Crossing into Tanganyika (now Tanzania), Eric began to suffer pounding headaches. He had contracted malaria and was laid out for days until his fever broke and the quinine and other drugs kicked in.
Half way between Port Elizabeth and Cairo, they reflected on their journey and Eric had nothing but praise for their Royal Enfields. ‘How had our bikes stood up to the hammering they had received day after day? Hammering is no exaggeration as in 4800 kilometres of southern Africa there had been no more than 650 kilometres of tar,’ he wrote.
Next came Kenya where the lads camped in a game reserve. In the morning, they peered through their tent door to see herds of zebra, wildebeest and giraffes grazing all around. The next village they came to had a store run by an Indian who offered them tea. When they disclosed where they had spent the night, their host revealed the spot was known locally as ‘the lion’s camp’!
Kenya brought heavy rain and hail which turned the ground to mud so thick ‘it piled up behind the guards and our wheels became seized fast.’ But what followed was worth it: a magnificent view down the Great Rift Valley. The freewheeling descent to Lake Nakuru and the sight of over a million flamingos on its waters was breathtaking but the arduous climb up the other side of the valley was so steep and prolonged that their 3-speed gears were of little use. It took them two days, including lots of pushing.
The brothers crossed into Uganda, heading ever northwards towards Sudan. Following a ‘smugglers trail’, which was a significant shortcut, they encountered a major obstacle. The Unyama river, which wends and weaves along the border, was in flood. Prods with a long stick showed it was 1.5m deep in places. They had to unpack their bikes and ferry everything over in stages, all the time shouting and clanging cooking pots in an attempt to ward off crocodiles!
Upon reaching Juba (now the capital of South Sudan), Eric and Jack secured passage on the Gedid, an old coal-fired paddle steamer heading 1600km up the White Nile to Khartoum. They were introduced to the ship’s captain at a party the night before departure. He was shocked to learn they would be travelling in third class along with hundreds of Africans in a barge towed by the ship.
Next came a sketchy train journey across the Sahara to Wadi Halfa followed by another river boat to Luxor, where Eric once more succumbed to malaria. Once fit enough to travel again, they cycled beside the Nile heading north to Cairo. Here dogs were a real menace, ‘Lean, hungry and ferocious, coming in all shapes and sizes, they harassed us in almost every village,’ Eric wrote. As funds were becoming perilously low, they often slept rough, although on one occasion the local police offered them a cell for the night.
After riding from Cairo to Alexandria along Egypt’s only tar sealed road, they took a freighter to Athens, travelling steerage in the bowels of the ship. Once they had explored that city's ancient wonders, the journey north through Greece was challenging with huge mountainous climbs into a headwind, pension beds infested with bedbugs, cobbled streets in villages which almost shook their bikes to pieces and, to cap it all, food poisoning.
Next came Yugoslavia where cobbled roads were replaced by rocky roads. However the locals were delightfully friendly and hospitable and considered it an honour to host the two weary travellers. It was now winter and freezing cold, for which the pair were poorly equipped. They survived thanks to gifts of long johns and gloves from an expatriate in Larisa and two overcoats from wealthy Americans. Finally a peasant, who offered them a bed for the night, produced gifts of well-darned socks and additional warm underwear. The kindness of strangers!
Hungary had concrete highways which smoothed their passage to Budapest then onwards towards Austria. But now frozen roads took their toll, although their wadding of warming clothes did help cushion the impact of repeated falls! Entering Austria required a triptych for their bicycles, which they didn't have. In lieu of this missing customs document, the travellers had to pay a substantial deposit. Although this was refundable when they left the country, it wiped out the rest of their savings and only donations from locals enabled them to eat and sleep as they pedalled across the country.
Crossing into Nazi Germany an SS officer challenged the Atwells. He thought he had caught spies – in pith helmets – until they produced their passports. Struggling to stay upright, they finally gave up their attempts to cycle on ice and caught a train to Belgium. From here they sailed to England.
Once they arrived in London they were in high demand as guests on BBC television and radio. Then the pair travelled to Redditch to visit the Royal Enfield factory and meet its MD, Major Smith. Finding work fast became a priority and with war looming large on the horizon the brothers settled down in England.
Reflecting on their epic year-long adventure, Eric said, ‘We agreed that the experience had helped knock the rough edges off us and that we had learned to be more tolerant of the views of others.’
One thing which stood out amongst all their memories was ‘the inherent generosity of the common people everywhere. Without their kindness, given so spontaneously and so unstintingly, our venture would have been quite impossible.’
There was no mention, however, of what became of their remarkably steadfast Royal Enfields. Despite carrying over 45kg of luggage apiece and surviving many crashes, these bicycles had soldiered on, suffering nothing more than broken spokes on the corrugated and gnarly tracks of Africa.
