A Reason to go back to Africa

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On safari, the lion might be king of the jungle, but the leopard is the hardest of Africa's big five to spot. Deep down, I feared I'd only ever get to see the African animals so vividly captured in my childhood picture books as a blur in the distance; a glimpse of a giraffe through the tree tops, or the bulk of an elephant's outline disappearing through the brush. There was little chance of seeing a Leopard.

Taming South Africa’s Sani Pass – before the road surfacers do.

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David Whitley makes his way from South Africa to Lesotho along one of the world’s great roads.

“Welcome to Haemorrhoid Hill,” says Elias as he prepares to shake and shudder us up yet another stretch of brutally dispersed rubble. “If you didn’t have them before, you will have afterwards.” Elias is driving us up the Sani Pass, one of the world’s highest, toughest and most spectacular roads. In just over 22km from the Sani Pass Hotel to Sani Top, the road ascends 1,307m. Almost 1,000m of this climb is in the last 8km stretch, a wild no-man’s land between the border posts of South Africa and Lesotho.

Safari with a difference in South Africa

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David Whitley goes giraffe and rhino-spotting from atop an elephant

In-descent Behaviour: Cycling down Table Mountain

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David Whitley bites off more than his beer and pie-addled body can chew as he attempts downhill mountain biking in Cape Town.

You could be forgiven for thinking that Table Mountain is something of a theme park. Thousands of people go exploring on Cape Town’s icon every day, many of them fat old gimmers kept alive by a McDonalds drip. When you’ve got cable cars and buses ferrying you around somewhere, there is a tendency to consider it well and truly tamed.But try exploring Table Mountain under your own steam, and it’s altogether different. There are countless walking trails around the mountain. Many of them are steep heat-traps. It’s easy enough to get lost, dehydrated and worse.

Meals on Wheels - a mountain-biking safari in Botswana

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As I lay in the dust under an acacia bush with the rear wheel whirring three inches from my left ear I wondered once again why mountain-biking in Africa should be presenting such a challenge. This was no iron-man conquest of the Dark Continent. We weren’t pedaling grim-faced into the forbidden quarters of what the colonial’s once knew - with carefully concealed respect - as MMBA: ‘miles and miles of bloody Africa.’ We were simply a group of thirty-somethings who were more interested getting to meet the locals than in breaking bones or records.