The ride of my life

Words and pictures: Ian McNaught Davis

A year ago, I quit my desk job to travel and work on a photography portfolio. It’s been the weirdest, hardest and most rewarding year of my life. I’ve cycled 4 000 kilometres across South Africa, hitchhiked through Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia, wandered around in Turkey and ended up in former Soviet states that I didn’t know existed.

I wanted to photograph the idiosyncrasies of daily life. And daily life, it turns out, is fascinating. It’s hilarious, heartbreaking, mundane and inspirational. And when you’re somewhere for the first time – in various stages of being lost – everything feels sharper.

And that’s why, a year later, I'm still absorbed in exploring and photographing the human condition. Here are some facts, figures and epiphanies I’ve had in the story so far. 

Best spontaneous decision: Buying a bicycle from a stranger in the street. During an extended lunchbreak I met a guy who had just arrived in Cape Town after cycling the length of Africa. I ended up buying the bike from him on the spot (he was literally standing next to an ATM) and I resigned two weeks later.

Second-best spontaneous decision: Walking the Wild Coast. After reaching Grahamstown, I took a three-week detour walking from Cintsa to Port Edward, walking along footprint-less beaches and camping behind the dunes.

Worst spontaneous decision: Treating myself to chicken àla salmonella in Pearston during a 130-kilometre cycle through the Karoo. Gross.

Number of punctures: One. I ride on German-made Schwalbe tyres that had already done 14 000 kilometres when I bought them. They’re stereotypically German: tough, efficient and they don’t get my jokes.

Least manliest moment: Crying in a garage in Klerksdorp after being told that my bike’s broken rim couldn’t be replaced and that I would have to sell my bike. Luckily, nobody saw me so it doesn’t count. (And someone found a replacement rim.) 

Most manliest moment: Swimming naked across ferry-less rivers in the Wild Coast with my backpack in a drybag and a knife in my teeth to cut the cable ties that kept the bag closed when I reached the other side. Sadly, nobody saw me so it doesn’t count. 

 

Favourite place: Mlambomkulu waterfall on the Wild Coast. Here, a river hurls itself off a 93-metre cliff into the Indian Ocean. If it were anywhere else in the country, there would be queues, souvenir shops and baboons that have figured out how to open car doors. Instead, it’s deserted. There wasn’t even a path to the cliff. I sat there for hours and ended up camping there. 

Least favourite place: Swartberg Pass. It’s beautiful but it’s bloody miserable when you’re riding up the mountain against the wind while it’s raining and you’re hauling 50 kilograms. This is a humble-brag. I hope you’re impressed by it. 

Biggest morale booster: Roadside refreshments from strangers. From biltong to banana bread, I got plenty of treats from people who didn’t know me – often when fun levels were at their lowest. I also got offered knives, drugs and money, just in case you’re wondering if I’m a mamma’s boy.

Loneliest point: Listening to an entire unsolicited sales pitch phonecall from Nedbank, just to hear a friendly voice. Sad, but… nah. That’s just sad.

Incidents of crime: One. A miniature horse stole my sandal while I was camping in a caravan park in Ladybrand. I reported this, but all I got was an explanation on the difference between miniature horses and ponies. I forget what that was.

Best use of technology: WhatsApp. While walking up the Wild Coast, I sent a picture of a septic tick bite on my upper thigh to a doctor and I got a prescription sent back to me. 

Best use of Mother Nature to evoke sympathy when knocking on doors to ask for accommodation: Rain.

Most flattering accusation: Being suspected of being a Russian spy. I was in Armenia during protests against electricity prices. I passed myself off as a distinguished member of the foreign press so I could photograph the action. While stuck between frothing protesters and battle-hungry policemen, I was told that I had to leave because someone important thought I was a Russian spy. (DISCLAIMER: I’m not a Russian spy.)

 

Best excuse to drink in the former Soviet states: It’s morning. Here, people are excessively hospitable, and will think nothing of inviting you into their house to drain a bottle of vodka before ten in the morning. The Caucuses are a good place to learn to say no if you want to get stuff done.

Best party: A ten-year-old’s birthday party outside Burgersdorp. The kids got hold of a seemingly unlimited supply of fireworks, and started firing rockets and Roman candles at each other for hours. It was like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan but with more cake.

Best country to see a monk sucker-punch someone in the face: Georgia. The Orthodox Church was protesting against barcoded ID cards and Monster Energy Drink, which they believe contains traces of Satanism. One debate was getting particularly heated, and a monk decided to deliver some righteous Old Testament wrath to a guy’s face via his fist. A posse of priests attempted to back him up but their robes weren’t conducive to running so they just kind of waddled angrily, their beards flailing and flapping with rage. 

View the rest of Ian’s portfolio at www.ianmcnaughtdavis.com