I put it to Glynis and, bless her, she accepted. (Rather bitter, I am sure, as my mother must have been when left behind on our Lorenco Marques and Beira trips, but she never once expressed it. I am indebted to her for that and for - dare I say it? - allowing me to go.)

And then the thought: why not take Gareth with me? He had just turned seventeen and had his learner's licence; the Welsh school term only started in September - he would effectively miss a year of school, but what's a year when you are young?

I put it to him and he accepted. No wild excitement, but that is not his way. Just, Yes, he wanted to come. No, losing a year of school didn't matter...

Was I trying to rewrite history, do with my son what my father did with me? If so, it wasn't a conscious decision. It wasn't planned. The trip just happened on me, and what better than sharing such a dream with your child?

We had five months to prepare. The pundits recommend a year. That, as well as preparing for emigration, made it a busy time.

Most important: the bikes. Both Gareth and I had 200cc trail bikes, two-stroke things of great speed and acceleration, but not suited to the long haul. I also had two 1970 BMW 50/5's and considered long and hard as to whether to do the trip in them. It was an enticing challenge, but, in the end, we rejected the idea as impractical and, in retrospect, it was the right decision. They are road bikes, old, formidably heavy and, although reliable, not made for laden rough-road travel.

We opted for Yamaha XT 500's, 1981 models which we bought cheaply and which are renowned for their robustness and simplicity of design. In fact, they were, in spirit, the black Phillips bicycles my father, brother and I rode to Mozambique, heavy, slow, unkillable. They have points and coil ignition, easy to repair along the side of the road, easy to find spares for. The engine has about 5 moving parts, the gearbox said to be so over-engineered it could be used to drive a tractor...