Mid-1970’s.

The summer fun-activities gradually diminished and “morphed” into chores. We were growing – consequently all their responsibilities now increased (my brothers’ that is). Riding began to take on a different dimension. It now became necessary transportation for schooling and work, and would remain so for some years to follow until I left to go to Europe for the continuation of my professional technical education and training.
During those years that now seemed to have passed so quickly, many other bikes/machines came in and out of my life.
Having become very mechanically and technically proficient, a lot of friendships were formed with other motorcycle owners who became very close to me because of my ability to offer and assist them with repair and maintenance work on their bikes.
An advantage I gained was more technical experience on a whole range of brands and models of machines of that era – BMW, Honda, Moto Morini, Moto Guzzi, Kawasaki, Yamaha, Suzuki, Ducati, Jawa, Tomos, Triumph, BSA, Matchless, Vespa, Laverda – I think I’ve got ‘em covered! (In the “Bikes in my Life” section of this journal you will find details on some of the bikes/models of machines that have had a great impact in shaping and forming my riding attitude and have left indelible memories and lasting impressions on me).
This guaranteed that I always had a bike at my disposal to “Test-ride” for as long as I chose.
Again, the greatest upside to all this for me was the fact that I gained and honed valuable riding experience on all sorts of different machines, of all sorts of sizes and types. Yup, from street models to dirt bikes and in conditions that are very dissimilar to those in this part of the world.
Keeping your eyes open for sand, oil, water etc on the roads, chickens, goats, dogs, cats and the like all loitering on the streets, potholes, no safe road shoulders, torrential rain during the monsoon season (typically mid April to the end of November) causing a lot of mud and of course the universal driver with no regard for motorcyclists – all commonplace.
Lane-splitting in the earlier years was safe enough on the more and better well taken care of roads in the commercial districts and downtown Accra – the capital city of Ghana - as well as on the major arteries leading to and from the city center. 40 M.P.H. in the middle lane was commonplace - nothing to write home about. Drivers of that era were very disciplined about obeying rules of the road and codes. Something that is seriously lacking on the streets of Accra today.

Those were our glory days.
Each weekend we (my biking friends and brothers) “owned” the streets of Accra. We would group together and roam the city streets.
Commercial business shut down at midday on Saturdays, and the town emptied as a result.
What a time we had. Riding through the whole city unhampered by vehicular traffic congestion for a full day and a half! It was motorcycling bliss!
Long distance touring was unheard of. We knew nothing of that. That was something one did only when traveling to another city, which was like a whopping 20 or 30 miles away. Any bike that was able to accomplish a journey like that without a fault or breakdown of some sort, commanded respect! Mechanical breakdowns in those days were commonplace due to the relatively un-sophisticated technology of the day and as such, considered part of daily life and motorcycling.
Charging around the city streets was the epitome of my riding. I was recognized citywide. Every weekend I was the king of the streets! In that realm, I ruled through the sole means of being recognized!

My very first long-distance ride that I recall was a 56-mile trip west of the capital to visit a close relative and some friends.
To cut a very long story short, this single afternoon round trip, marred by a punctured back tire (flat rear tire) ended up becoming a 1 ½ day event! 20 miles from our destination, unable to get the tire reliably repaired, no spare tube ( yeah, this was a time when tubeless motorcycle tires did not exist) or replacement available, no money in my pocket, I was practically helpless and not to mention – hopeless. 40 miles away from home this puny little teenage kid and friend were obviously incapable of pushing a 700cc – 600 lb. motorbike all the way back home! We found the local tire repair boy who offered to fix our puncture, on the promise that on our return trip from our destination, we would stop by to pay him – a true gentleman’s agreement, which in those days hinged on trust and consummated with a handshake. The plan was to borrow some money from my cousin, to whom we were headed to visit.
After repairs, which took about an hour or so, we saddled up and “hit the road” with broad smiles and a sigh of relief.
Barely 4 miles down the road as we approached another settlement, I felt a swag and sway in the bike’s handling which was an unmistakable sign of a loss of air pressure in the rear tire. Pulling over at the side of this narrow road I confirmed that we were losing air. Although not completely flat I had no choice but to detour in search of a place to air up the tire.
So after a little bit of running around and talking to several people willing to help, we found someone with a bicycle tire pump that had the same automotive valve fitting type (Schraeder). For the next hour, we took turns stroking the pump to air up the motorcycle tire.
With sufficient pressure now, we hopped aboard again and set our target for the last dozen or so miles to go to our destination.
It was now a math calculation between time and distance and rate of tire deflation. I wanted to avoid stopping again if I could help it. But high speed on a softening rear tire on a motorcycle is a sure recipe for disaster.
I rode slow!
Well, in Cape Coast, Ghana which is where we were now, my cousin was instrumental in getting us to a more qualified tire repair station where repairs were carried out for us. He paid for that, put money in my pocket and we were ready to turn around and make it back home to Accra. All our time had been spent on the road today.
So I pointed us back in the direction towards home in Accra. It was starting to get dark.
Coincidentally as we approached Mankesim ( the town we first got stranded at earlier in the day), guess what? Yup. Flat tire again!
It was now close to dark. The town was asleep already. No one in sight. Marketeers all gone home for the day. No one or service available anywhere! And here we were, stranded again at the same place with the same problem.
We spent the night in the parking lot of a Goil (Ghana Oil) gas station, huddled by the bike. It boasted the only “electric street light” of the town for miles around.
It was Harmattan season and late at night. It was cold – circa 21’C (70’F). Cold by tropical standards!

Ghana lies between 5 degrees and 12 degrees north and almost longitudinally bisected by the Greenwich Meridian (0 degrees east/west).
Each year beginning late in November and lasting through to about the middle of April the following year, the Northeast Trade Winds are prevalent, brought about by the lower pressure system created over the Gulf of Guinea causing the colder, low humidity higher pressure system from the north to blow across the Sahara desert and across the this West African region towards the Gulf.
This is pretty much the local winter season - Winter being my relative expression of “cold” season caused by these colder wind temperatures.
So naturally as the wind travels across the desert it picks up a lot of dust, particles of which are microscopically tiny/fine and depending on the concentration in the air, can affect visibility and obscure sunshine for days on end. During these times the days are hot and dry. At night and very early in the mornings, the temps. can drop by as much as 40 farenheight (22 celcius) degrees easily with humidity as low as 10 – 15% and sometimes lower.
The dust particles in the air, each easily at .5 microns in size and the resulting haze it creates looks a lot like a very heavy fog. This can dissipate the cloud cover and prevent rainfall which in turn retards and in severe cases, causes crop damage, making for almost non-existent local foodstuff availability.

Food storage and preservation is/should therefore be a priority in this region because for half the year agricultural foodstuffs are plentiful and then for the following half, non-existent.
It is this very cycle that made me choose the profession I am and have been in since I chose my professional direction – Industrial Refrigeration and Food Storage.

So why am I not in Ghana at the “top of my field”? That is a story for another setting.
I digress.
For now, let’s continue this story!

Every 20 minutes or so I would fire the engine up, warm it up and we’d use that as a source of heat.
My buddy close to one of the protruding cylinders of the Moto Guzzi V-engine and me by the other. We neither had jackets or even long-sleeved attire. Those days we never had and so obviously did not ride with jackets and protective gear, which could inevitably have helped to give us the much needed protection from the conditions of that night!
T-shirts, pants, sunglasses, sneakers and helmets were all the gear we donned. Helmets though, we were never without!
I don’t think I have to tell you what concern and stress I caused my parents and brothers. All my buddy and I did was jump on the bike to go for an afternoon ride and no one knew where we were for all that time! In retrospect I see how irresponsible I was. Back then, I was invincible.
Eventually, towards the end of the next day, we came across a low-loader driver who felt sorry enough for us, let us put the bike onto his truck and join him for the ride back to Accra. (A low-loader is a specialized flatbed transporter for heavy earth moving equipment.)

The following weekend (inner-tube replacement effected) found me back on the same road again. I needed to derive a sense of accomplishment. I had to prove to myself that it was possible to get the machine in such reliable condition to make a trip such as this without any issues. I had to break my “Mankesim Curse”. Breaking down and getting stranded at the same place twice on the same journey could not be just mere coincidence!
This custom-built, self-designed, one-of-a-kind machine demanded respect! I was both apprehensive and skeptical. Could machines of the day really be that reliable? I persevered.
And so it went!
This time I was sure to let someone know. I kept 2 of my brothers informed. Although they did not approve of it, they knew I was stubborn enough and determined to do what I set out to do.
I had to be victorious. I had to conquer this failure. I had to prove to myself that I could do it. I had to prove to myself that the machine could do it. I had to break my curse. My reputation in “my motorcycling circles” was at stake.
After all, if the top mechanic, Mr. Fix-it-all, could not have his personal machine in shape enough to make a 112 mile round trip without any mechanical hiccups, was he really “worth his salt”?
So you see, I had everything to lose! This was my whole world.
So, although apprehensive and with butterflies in my stomach, I set out again with my buddy. This time with money in my pocket – just in case and with a pullover (sweater/pullover/cardigan) for each of us – just in case and a bicycle pump – just in case!
And oh boy! What a glorious ride it turned out to be.
With determination and stubbornness, this was to be a make-or-break-ride. On this day I demanded reliability and performance from this machine. I was not happy that “she” had let me down on the previous ride. Today I wanted to reassert myself over this machine. After all, I “created” it. I was supposed to be in charge!
This was to be the day that I really got to know and bond with this machine.
My self-customized designed and self-built Moto Guzzi 700cc configuration performed flawlessly. She was a very heavy machine causing her to be very well planted and made for a sure-footed, confidence-inspiring ride.
The V-Twin delivered the smoothest, quietest and most relaxing ride of my life at that point. She munched the miles effortlessly. I was ecstatic. I had renewed confidence in the machine and a special sense of pride in her. She had transformed from the status of being just a bike to companion.
Once again, the smiles on my face and in my heart were that of the young 6 yr. old kiddo riding to school atop the Honda 50 with my dad.
Charging around city streets over weekend afternoons instantly held no more appeal for me!
My passion for out-of-town riding had been kindled. That feeling of being outside the city with zero congestion, wide open roads with little to almost no vehicular traffic, the smell of fresh vegetation and earth, blue sky, bright sunshine, a very smooth running machine ………………………. My curiosity had been stoked. Passing through village markets that swallowed up the road as it passed through the township, the smell of fresh farm produce, the acrid smell of smoke from firewood being burned as a fuel source for cooking, the fresh air of the countryside – all stimulating my senses for a completeness gained from the experience. Now I knew my baby could “get there and back”.
I had with me, what I felt were the necessary items to handle most minor foreseeable mechanical issues that might crop up – flat tires etc.
Now I was curious to find out what was around the next bend, over the next hill, where the road led and where it ended …………………
My passion had been stoked!