23 Jan. 2009 — It’s nearly 3 a.m. and the stars over Matchovane, Mozambique shine like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The moon drowses low over the horizon, an orange sliver of a smile that makes me do the same. Above the hum of night insects and the occasional squawk of the farm ducks and turkeys nearby, the grumble of a tractor grows until it materializes on the sand road next to our house.
Fifteen World Racers, fifteen packs and fifteen daypacks take over the large tractor bed, visible by the bright LED light of headlamps. Before long we are on our way through the bush over the sandy terrain, bound for Maputo, then the South African border, and eventually Nelspruit.
As the tractor bounces through the bush I sit on the back with my legs dangling over the edge, my flip-flops tucked safely under my legs to prevent their loss. I watch as Matchovane melts away into the darkness behind us. Before long our surroundings begin taking over: large bushes and small trees (some of them rather spiky) appear in the darkness, overshadowing our road. Their branches intrude on our open airspace, causing all aboard to duck down to avoid getting struck. A chorus of “oohh! oww! ouch!” from my squadmates arises behind me and I can’t help but chuckle! Next to me, Lindsay starts singing a popular country song: “She thinks my tractor’s sexy…” I grin right back into the darkness at the moon, treasuring one of those moments that I just can’t capture on film.
Moments like these make me wish the World Race would never end.
