So it was a question of which motorcycle. In May we took a few days off from our duties and trained from Spezia to Munich. Riding through the fog- and pollution-choked early-morning city in a taxi, we passed a BMW showroom, where Joe spotted a white BMW motorcycle glowing like a pearl in the mist. “That’s the one we want!” he shouted. The taxi screeched to a stop. We had never seen a white BMW before: all the others are black. We went in and for $850 I bought with traveler’s checks the beautiful R50 (500 cc) machine plus windscreen, spare tire, and baggage rack.
We said, “We are going to ride this machine across Africa. Can we get some sort of sponsorship?”
Salesman: “Boys, there is nowhere in the world this machine hasn’t been; maybe not to the top of Mount Everest.”
We rode the machine over the Alps to Italy. Brenner Pass. The feeling was incredible: swooning around Alpine corners, with engine sound as smooth as silk, you soon develop a supreme confidence: brilliantly cambered hairpin turns at 40 mph, 80 on the straights. The cool Alpine air is deflected by the windscreen, but gulped down with ecstasy. Postcard valleys below, glaciers above. Alto Adige. Then down to Italy and vines and olive oil. Goodbye starchy dirndls and hello warm brown bosoms!
In Bologna a local artist painted in black letters the words “The White Nile” on both sides of our snow-white gas tank, because that is the route we have decided to follow across Africa.