If there was a loyalty program for safaris, I’d have million-miler status. I can recite the safety speech verbatim (keep all body parts inside the Land Cruiser if you want to keep all body parts), tell the difference between male and female giraffes (ladies have furrier ossicones, or horns), and set up a stunning sundowner (pink tonic water is the secret to picture-perfect gin and tonics). I’ve flown in helicopters over elephant herds in Botswana, navigated hippo-infested waters by wooden canoe in Zambia, and watched kudu graze from the comfort of my private plunge pool at a five-star camp near Kruger National Park. But if you ask me about my favorite way to see the Big Five, you may be surprised. It involves padded shorts, PBJs paired with Fanta, and climbing into ice baths as cold as the African sun is hot.
Are cycling safaris safe?
Natural Selection
“How risky is this?” I asked the first time I went on a cycling safari. Kyle MacIntyre, our Natural Selection safari guide who was raised in rural Botswana, handed me a helmet and smiled. “Cycling is a very natural and pure form of being in the bush,” he said, simultaneously dodging the question and assuring me. I took comfort in the rifle—capable of taking down a bull elephant, but never needed—mounted to his mountain bike. “You can hear all the alarm calls from the birds, the snapping of twigs, and because most animals won’t be by the busy roads, you have a better chance of seeing them by bike.” MacIntyre wasn’t wrong. In the four days we spent cycling and camping together in the Kalahari Desert, I noticed the wildlife either eyed our two-wheeled endeavors with curiosity or indifference. They definitely didn’t see us as food.
Why book a cycling safari?
Ross Couper/Singita
My first cycling safari was so riveting, I now prefer game rides to game drives. On a game ride, you can’t kick back the way you can on a drive. All five senses have to be firing at once. It’s equal parts exhilarating and exhausting. And in the case of my most recent cycling safari this past October—the inaugural Wagora Bike Ride at Singita Explore—I made lifelong friends and pedaled for a purpose. Instead of just seeing the Big Five, we were saving them.
“Ready to ride?” asked Braya Masunga, operations manager at Singita Explore. Masunga, who greeted my cousin, Rosie, and me with welcome drinks and cool towels, won’t tell you, but Singita Explore is the luxurious tented camp where Leonardo DiCaprio stays when he’s in Tanzania. You won’t find any paparazzi in these parts—just the continent’s coolest anti-poaching unit. In fact, the five-day cycling safari we were about to embark on is named after Kitaboka Wagora, an anti-poaching scout who was murdered by a poacher in 2008. Proceeds from the Wagora Bike Ride are donated to the Grumeti Fund, a non-profit that employs nearly 100 anti-poaching scouts tasked with protecting wildlife in this 350,000-acre section of the Serengeti.
What does a typical day on a cycling safari look like?
Katie Jackson
Like game drives, game rides start early. Fortunately, rising and shining in the bush is easy. Singita Explore’s cooks have coffee brewing over the open fire and a carb-heavy spread waiting for us. With the help of a headlamp, the on-site bicycle mechanic, a Kenyan named Godfrey, makes sure our tires are adequately aired and ready for the day’s 20 miles. The goal is to be cycling no later than sunrise. This is when it’s coolest, and the animals are most active.
Sporting matching cycling jerseys, our peloton is a motley crew. I’m an avid roadie who learned how to ride from my friend, the 17-time Tour de France legend, George Hincapie. Meanwhile, Rosie barely feels comfortable on a beach cruiser. Skyler Nuelle—the Grumeti Fund’s head of partnerships and impact analysis—recently mountain biked up Mount Kilimanjaro in a four-day stage race, and Vicky Mkessa, programs coordinator for the Grumeti Fund, has never been on a bike before. We’re escorted by a couple of safari guides who can track and tell us about the animals we’ll see, and at least five armed anti-poaching scouts, most of whom don’t speak English. We may not speak the same languages, but there’s something about riding in a group—taking turns breaking the wind for each other—that bonds us in ways bumping around in a vehicle never would.
In Botswana, we cycled on “elephant highways”—well-trodden paths made by Africa’s biggest five. But here in Tanzania, we’re riding on a mix of dirt roads and single-track paths winding through the Grumeti Game Reserve, grasslands home to lions, leopards, cheetahs, elephants, hyenas, zebras, giraffes, wildebeests, buffalo, and the rare eastern black rhino. We see everything except leopards and cheetahs as we ride. My favorite sighting is a pair of lions we watch through binoculars at one of our rest stops. Most cycling safaris feature refreshment tables—covered with orange slices, PB&Js, and soda—approximately every eight miles. If you need to use the bathroom, you find a tree.
I love working out and seeing wildlife at the same time. It makes me feel less guilty about indulging in the Instagram-worthy brunch waiting for us when we ride back into camp. But before diving into the buffet, we dunk ourselves in ice baths. After refueling, it’s time for a nap and massage, followed by afternoon tea and a game drive. We return around dark and discuss the next morning’s ride and route over a multicourse dinner fit for Mr. DiCaprio. Full bellies, sore legs, and happy hearts, we’re all looking forward to tomorrow’s 5 a.m. wake-up call. There’s something about being on a bike that brings you back to childhood, and we can’t wait to feel like kids again (especially if it means we get to watch “The Lion King” in real life).
