-------------------------------------
Introduction: How I Got This Story...
-------------------------------------

My friend, Todd, recently married a fine young lass from Australia.
No big deal to you, but get this--Todd's new wife, Kerri, has a
younger brother named Erik; the young man is quite the Rush fan.

So what?  Another huge Rush fan--What's new?  Well, this Aussie
went to unique extremes to meet one of his influences, a man named
Neil Peart.  Actually, Erik didn't just meet the old codger, he got
to know him.  He unfortunately has limited access to the net so his 
engaging story has only been told to a few hometown friends.  I
contacted Erik through by buddy Todd, and arranged for Erik to type
his story & mail it so he could share it with us (Rush boot tapes
are a great bargaining tool).  I give you his story, unedited for
your reading enjoyment...

(Oh, Erik tends to use some slang terms from his homeland of
Australia.  I asked his sister, Kerri, to translate some of them
and I put their meanings in [brackets].  Weird talkin' people, I
tell ya.)

Erik's letter begins--
------------------------------------------------------------------

Greetings,

        I hope things are well for you up in the States, say "hi" to
Kerri & Todd.  This is the tale I promised you.  These stories and
events are quite accurate, and many of the words I use will be from
fresh notes I jotted in my daily journal.  Of course, some entries
were enhanced by potent hallucinogenic concoctions (and will be 
noted as such when applicable), but are original nonetheless.

         Take care of yourself, and I hope you enjoy my story.

                                        Kind regards,

                                        Erik Gamberson

Prologue--
----------

This saga begins with my appreciation for the great music of Rush,
for without it my trek would not have occurred.  The trek that would
ultimately change my life and my outlook on life.  Rush's music had 
always given me that "go for it!" attitude, and their music was a
prime motivator in my decision to drop a small fortune on this trip.

The first time I'd heard about Neil's biking habits was back when I 
read about it in Modern Drummer magazine.  Then I saw the picture,
the one of Neil in front of that "mud temple" in the Counterparts
tourbook.  I was amazed and driven by curiosity.  Just where the 
hell was he?  I soon learned through a friend in school that Neil
took long bike trips through Africa, experiencing the landscape and
the people.  Apparently Neil not only loved the idea of biking in
breathtaking arenas, but he appreciated the ability to go unnoticed
(most of the time) and meet people as a regular person.  He was not
the big rock star to Kibu of Togo, simply a friend.

Coincidentally, I loved the fine sport of bicycling and I was just
starting to dabble in mountain style after years of road riding.
Mountain biking is so drastically different from road biking be-
cause on a trail you not only control the bike, you try to control 
the terrain.  One slippery root or a missed hop over that downed 
log and you're history.  The bicycles used on African tours are
a cross between road bikes and mountain bikes.  Appropriately named
"hybrids", these bicycles have rugged frames like mountain bikes,
but the tires & handlebars are like those found on road bikes.

I needed more info. about these bike trips to Africa.  Let me add
that this did not start out as a trip to meet Neil, it simply grew
into such a trip.  I asked my schoolmate, Leif, to dig up some more
information and he found the exact agency that catered to Neil--
Bicycle Africa.  Now all I needed to do was set up my reservation
and get ready for 10 days of adventure & intrigue.  My hometown
of Canberra would seem like such a simple place upon my return from
the wilderness of Africa.

After contacting Robert at Bicycle Africa & dumping a lot of money
into supplies for the trip (tent, bike gear, bike case for air
transport, etc.), I booked my flight to Seattle, WA. to rendezvous
with my trek group & guides.  From there we would journey as a team
to what many believe is the most beautiful country on Earth.

"Tanzania: Surf to Summit".  That was what lie ahead.  We were to
start off on the spice island of Zanzibar, make a brief flight over
to Madagascar and complete our trek with a climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro;
Africa's highest point at almost 5,900 meters.  The trip would start
on the 28th day of July, 1994, span 10 days and include almost 500
demanding kilometers of bicycling. 


DAY 1:  Off To Africa
---------------------

I arrived in Seattle bushed from the flight and caught a shuttle
to the first checkpoint of the trek.  The possibility of Neil being
in my group was definitely on my mind, but if he weren't in the
group I was still prepared to enjoy the trek immensely.  As some of
my skating friends might say, I was "stoked".  The checkpoint house
belonged to one of our guides, Frankie, who lived a few kilometers
from the airport.  Introductions were offered, refreshing beverages
served, engaging conversation had begun.  All of the obligatory ice
breaking was done and we were on our way.  No Neil to be found.

Two guides (Frankie & Magnus) and nine others including myself made
up the group.  Six of us were first timers in the program.  Bicycle
Africa sets up multiple tours throughout the year so you can keep
coming back for more after you're addicted to the people and the 
scenery.  We boarded our flight and when I was to awake we would
be in Africa.  Hardly able to sleep, the excitement was building
inside me as the miles flew by.


DAY 2:  Monkeys in Madagascar
-----------------------------

The Zanzibar Airport was about as big as my backyard down under in
Canberra.  You could sense the excitement through our group as we
unpacked our gear and got ready.  We grouped together next to a big
old American Army helicopter, like the type you see in a Vietnam 
movie--big enough to fit all of us along with our bikes for the 
jaunt over to the huge island of Madagascar.

A guy named Robert, a pommie [an English person], had an interesting
paint job applied to his rig [bike] for the trip.  To fit in with
the jungle, he had his bike painted like a zebra, stripes & all.
One of the guides cautioned him, "There'll be plenty of Tigers
out there looking for a juicy meal.  Zebra is one of their fav's."
Robert seemed to get a bit nervous, and now that I think of it, I 
don't believe he washed a speck of mud off of his bike during the
whole damn trip!

Before we boarded, our guide Frankie had to introduce us to a late-
comer, "People, I'd like you to meet Neil, he'll be riding with us."
I had to contain myself when I actually saw him standing there with 
his rig.  His head was shaved almost completely bald, and with the 
sunglasses I could hardly tell it was him.  Neil smiled to the group
and you could see he was excited to start the trek.

After the quick flight we touched down in the middle of a clearing
smack dab in the middle of one of the most unique & exotic islands
in the world.  Madagascar is home to many species that are exclusive
to the island, one of which we were soon to encounter.

20 km into our first jungle trail our ride was interrupted by a 
group of Madagascar howling monkeys.   White in color & about one
meter tall, the little buggers appeared out of nowhere.  They jumped
like circus trapeze artists from tree to tree, some 30 meters above
the jungle floor, all the while howling like a bunch of banshees.
If you sit there & listen for awhile you start to get the willies
as if your being attacked by ghosts.  I was in awe.  The natives 
believe that when someone dies a violent death, their soul becomes
one of these monkeys, howling like a lost soul for all eternity.

I glanced over to see how Neil was reacting.  He held his hands up
to his mouth and bellowed a loud, echoing howl back at the tree 
dwellers.  The rest of us joined in, and I had to hold back from
busting out in laughter at watching Neil stand there howling like
a complete fool.

We finished up our first leg and arrived at a dock to rendezvous 
with the helicopter.  As we waited & recuperated I looked for the
opportunity to approach Neil.  I didn't want him to feel uncomfort-
able and I wasn't sure if I should let on that I was a fan.  Nobody
else seemed to notice who the hell he was. I decided to wait awhile.

Upon arriving back in Tanzania we booked a few rooms in a rundown
hotel and called it a night.  


DAY 3:  Treacherous Terrain
---------------------------

My first glimpse of Neil's biking ability (or, as in this case,
INability) came when we approached a log bridge over a river about
1/2 way through our 2nd leg.  Guide Frankie stopped us at the foot
of the log & told us to be careful carrying our bikes across the 
river.  The drop was at least 5 meters and the log itself was only
twice as wide as my foot.  "Some of us are going to ride over so
hold up a minute," Frankie informed.  He placed his bike on the log,
got on & proceeded to carefully balance his way over the river to 
the far bank.  The available path for the bike tire to ride upon
was only a few centimeters wide!

When I saw Neil place his bike on the log I was very tempted to rush
over & grab the man. "NO, what the hell do you think you're doing?
You're going to get yourself KILLED!" I wanted to yell.  But there
he was getting on the bike, then slowly rolling over the log.  Neil
wasn't 3/4 of the way across when suddenly he froze with hesitation.
The bike wobbled and I knew something was terribly wrong.
Neil overcompensated, his front tire slipped, and there he went;
bike, gear & the greatest drummer on the planet.  

He hit the water just before the bike fell on top of him, making 
a big splash as everyone in the group screamed in horror.  Being
a pretty good swimmer from back home, I didn't think twice about 
diving in after my hero.  How ironic it would be if I was a hero to
my hero.  Frankie & Magnus, the other guide, dove in right behind me
but I got to Neil first.  He was conscious but had a big welt on
his forehead from the impact of the bike crashing down.  I dragged 
him over to the far riverbank (which was more like a wall of mud
and roots), and Magnus & Frankie helped us up to higher ground.

We poured some water on Neil's face & checked the damage.
He was groggy so we had to wait a bit.  At this point, both myself
and the guides were sticking close to Neil while Frankie was 
explaining to Neil what happened after he fell.  When Frank came to
the part of me diving in & grabbing Neil, Neil looked up at me,
smiled & said, "Hey, thanks man.  I owe you one."

I told him it was no problem & we talked a bit as we introduced
ourselves to each other.  I didn't act like I knew who he was
because he was being so cool.  I thought if he knew I was a fan he
might shut me out.  We finished up our ride and Frankie assigned me
to be Neil's "buddy" for the rest of the trek, "To keep an eye on
the klutz," Frankie joked.  As I rode next to Neil, both of us 
pedaling away through the trail, I still couldn't believe it was 
happening.  I'd turn & look over at Neil riding hard and wouldn't 
you know it but he had that "look" on his face--that determined,
almost pissed off look like when he beats on his drums in concert.
His head down, scowling away like mad.  The bike and trail were his
new drumkit.


DAY 4:  Flying Under Water
--------------------------

The evening was spent getting good sleep under the stars, then our
group cycled to the coast village of Tanga.  We planned to spend our
time there scuba diving through the colorful fish that occupy the 
local waters.  I had snorkeled in the reefs back home, but I had 
never used scuba gear.  After some detailed training and a few
pointers in the shallows, we headed out to deeper waters for more
exploration.

We weren't down but a few minutes when I noticed a huge, black 
creature off in the distance.  The hulking figure was making big, 
swooping somersaults in the water, but it was too far away for a 
rookie like me to tell what it was.  I swam up to Neil and pointed
over to the mysterious sea monster.  We floated over to investigate.

Once we got closer we could see the incredible animal--it was an
enormous giant manta ray.  With a wingspan of around ten meters,
and its mouth gaping wide open, it appeared to be gathering food
while performing the backwards somersaults.  Like a jet fighter 
looping up in a dogfight, the huge manta ray eventually leveled 
itself out and headed straight towards us!

As it came closer I noticed 3 or 4 sucker fish were attached to the
back & underside of the manta ray.  I floated in amazement as Neil 
swam to meet the ray and watched in disbelief as he grabbed onto
two of the sucker fish, holding on for the ride of his life.  The 
giant, underwater hang glider effortlessly pulled Neil along as I 
swam vigorously to keep up.  Neil could see me right above and
motioned for me to grab on to the enormous manta.

I was reluctant to approach the gentle giant at first, but I soon
realized that this was the chance of a lifetime.  Neil let go of the
sucker fish handles.  The manta ray immediately slowed down and
coasted, as if it was anxiously waiting for the next diver to jump
on for a ride.  That was me.

I dove down to the immense creature, and like a huge, black magic
carpet flying through the blue ocean water the manta ray soared with
me.  I could feel the water rushing by with every graceful thrust of
its huge pectoral fins.  I cannot put into words the feeling of such
close contact with such a large, beautiful animal, except to say
that for a brief moment I realized the power & freedom of the giant
manta ray.  

After the dive we continued on with more cycling, averaging at least
50 km per day.  Our next stop would be a group of huts and friendly
people known as Zabil.


DAY 5:  Saved By The Sticks
---------------------------

Up to this point, Neil and I were starting to get to know each other
(although he made no mention of his occupation).  After 3 straight 
hours of hard riding the 2 of us were off the trail to fill our
waterbottles at a well-known billabong [waterhole].  I stepped away
by myself to use mother nature's dunny [toilet], and after doing so
headed back to the group at the trail.  

I was zipping up and just making my way back when I met a native 
tribesman standing in front of me.  He was wearing an orange cloth
outfit and had a necklace of big, colorful beads around his neck. 
But what really stood out at me was the sharp spear he was pointing
towards my gut!  I froze in my tracks, the formidable, carved stone
tip of the spear lingering mere inches from my vitals. What the hell
was I supposed to do?

I tried to yack my way out of it, "Aw, c'mon mate, be a good sport."
Not a word from the imposing native.  I could see someone quietly 
approaching from the distant brush.  It was Neil!  Neil put his
finger up to his mouth telling me to be quiet.  He reached down
and picked up two sticks, I nervously looked down at the spear,
and when I looked up again Neil was right behind the African!  The
African, sensing someone behind him, turned around.  Just as he did,
Neil reached up and pounded out a powerful drumroll right on the 
native's forehead!  It all happened so blazingly fast; Neil per-
formed a series of quick thumps and the native fell to the ground!

I stood there with my jaw open and Neil bent down to make sure the
man was ok.  "Oh my God, thanks Neil!" I told him, and we picked up
the man and started walking back to the trail.  As funny as it may
sound, I was saved by one of Neil's drumrolls.  You might say that 
drumsticks are a deadly weapon in this man's hands!  As soon as the
injured man regained his senses (and we were sure he was ok), we set
off to finish up the leg.  I thanked Neil again & he looked over,
"Don't mention it, I owed you one."


DAY 6:  More Riding, More Relaxation
------------------------------------

Tarangire was the village of the day, and the people held out their
hands in warm hospitality.  We had just finished up 65 km of paved
riding and Neil & I set up our mosquito tents on a resident's house.
The village had been plagued by a group of night-hunting tigers so
sleeping up high was a precautionary method.  

I really started to get to know Neil as a person and, although he
was a bit pompous, he was really down to Earth and insightful.  I
could tell this guy did a lot of thinking.  Thinking about the world
and the people on it.  We talked philosophy (my college major),
religion, weather (he seemed to like this topic), and everything in
between.  Sports even came up.  He explained the sport of ice hockey
to me while I described Footy [Australian rules football].  The sub-
ject of music never came up. I was deliberately hiding the fact that
I was a Rush fan, but Neil, too, was keeping his secret to himself.

Off in the distance we could hear the faint sound of drumbeats puls-
ing through the jungle air.  I remembered reading awhile back in a 
magazine or newspaper article that this very occurence is what in-
spired the song "Mystic Rhythms".  Neil laid there jotting down the
day's notes in his journal and I thought, "There lie the phrases and
ideas for some future Rush songs, and here I am watching them being
conceived."  I slept well that night, African stars above my bed,
pulsing drumbeats for my lullaby.


DAY 7:  Kazumir's Magic Tea
---------------------------

Despite the pleasure of meeting the people of Africa and hanging
out with Neil I still yearned for home.  What I wouldn't do for a 
nice piece of toast smothered with vegemite.  I could smell my mum's
lamingtons [an Aussie dessert cake] all the way in the jungle.

Neil told me he had to introduce me to someone in the next village,
"Someone you must meet," he said.   By this time 2 people had 
dropped out of our group from exhaustion.  The heat was getting to
all of us and we needed a break.  A stopover was necessary before 
attempting the daunting Kilimanjaro climb.

We pulled into Rongea and Neil told me to stay close.  After docking
our bikes and coordinating a time to meet back, our group split off
into pairs for the rest of the day & night.  Neil walked me over to
a small hut and asked the lady inside for a man named "Kazumir".  
The elderly lady hugged Neil like an old friend, and with a tooth-
less smile pointed into the jungle.

We jockeyed for a few hundred meters through the thick brush and 
came upon a small grass hut.  White smoke was pouring out of the 
tiny opening to the hut and Neil shouted out, "KAZUMIR!"

Out came a very old & wrinkled man (so skinny it was amazing he was
still alive) with long, straight grey hair running down to his 
waist.  I could now smell that the man was burning hashish or mari-
juana in his tent, and his eyes were bloodshot red--almost entirely
red.  He smiled widely as soon as he saw it was Neil.  Neil told him
he had brought a friend & introduced me to the strange man.  "Erik,
this is Kazumir.  He's Brazillian and he came over to Africa to 
become a witch doctor.  Legend has it that he's over 100 years old,"
Neil explained.  He didn't look a day over 95.

We exchanged greetings & Kazumir motioned for us to enter his smoke
den, which I did reluctantly.  Now let me tell you this Kazumir
character was quite strange indeed.  His voice was terribly raspy,
and when he sat down on the dirt floor he pulled each of his legs,
grabbing them by the foot one at a time, and placed them behind his
head!  His flexibility allowed him to sit there comfortably with his
feet crossed behind his neck while he pulled out 3 wooden carved
cups from a box.  I glanced over at Neil and he smiled at me & said,
"I hope you're ready to experience Africa."

Kazumir next pulled from the box a glass bottle corked at the top,
and from it he poured into the cups a strange liquid substance.
I knew this was nothing like I'd find in a pub back home.  After
Kazumir handed each of us a cup, I nervously drank the mixture with 
Neil & the witch doctor.  Instantly my head started spinning and I
had to close my eyes to regain control.  After a few minutes of deep
relaxation I opened my eyes to a brilliant, new world.  Everything
was bright, vivid, and colorful.  My focus was gone and all the 
sharp edges of normal sight had blended into one beautiful, flowing
landscape of color and sound.

Neil & I stumbled out of the small hut into the fresh jungle and 
started walking deeper into the jungle, our senses enhanced.  I 
followed him as the green colors from the underbrush jumped out at
us.  As dangerous as it sounds, we could've come face to face with
a hungry tiger and still found it amusing in some way.  

We came to the foot of a calm waterfall that was flowing over a 
series of large rocks which formed a natural stairway to the top of
the waterfall.  I followed Neil up the timid waterfall, carefully
using the slippery rocks as steps to the summit.

At the top (some 30 meters up, I believe) was a ridge overlooking
a small lake rumored to be bottomless.  The water was bluish-green
and crystal clear.  It appeared as though colorful tropical fish
were swimming down below, but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating.
"Are you ready to seize the day?  Let go of your inhibitions!" Neil
prodded.  I knew what he was thinking--he was ready to jump off the
edge into the water, some 30 blasted meters below!

What happened next is quite hazy, but I remember Neil saying some-
thing like, "Watch, it's easy..." and then he simply did a swan dive
and hit the water.  He seemed to be under water for an eternity but
eventually came up yelling triumphantly. I stepped back a few paces,
got a running start & dove in feet first.  The fall seemed to be
neverending.  When I finally hit the water I was disappointed the
fall had to end, but glad to be in the safe, cool water.  My shouts
of joy echoed through the jungle, and undoubtedly gave ol' Kazumir
a nice chuckle.  My deepest regret from that trip was not getting
the recipe for Kazumir's magic tea.  Maybe next time.

We explored the area until sundown & headed back to the village in
a relaxed mood.  The effects only lasted a few hours, but consider-
ing the spectacle I was about to see on Kilamanjaro during day 9,
I would've bet that I was still hallucinating.  You'll see what I'm
talking about soon enough.


DAY 8:  African Daybreak
------------------------

The sun was rising over the Moshi horizon.  We were only a day's 
ride from the base of Kilimanjaro, which would take the final two
days to climb.  A pinkish, purplish hue filled the sky, and was
reflected on the small stream next to our trail.  Like a mirror,
the stream filled with the colors of the morning sky.

Neil really had a knack for was telling stories.  He'd go into these
long, detailed tales, legendary to native Africa, and pull the whole
group in with interest.  We were riding like hell, but Neil's old
stories did help the miles flow by, as did the awesome beauty of 
Tanzania.  I also recall Neil telling some great jokes to our group,
which helped lighten everyone up during tense times. 

Every so often, during our quick rest breaks, Neil would pull me 
aside off the trail & show me some type of spectacle of African
nature.  He told me that he'd taken these African treks numerous 
times and discovered all these natural wonders with another veteran
rider in our group, Remy the Frenchman.  Flocks of flamingoes, 
fields of wild flowers, great herds of gazelles & zebras, or 
long-necked giraffes feeding off trees in the distance--All of 
these sights became daily occurrences.  

DAY 9:  Dala Ungabaya
---------------------

We stopped into the small village of Tobajonda for a quick meal &
some friendly yacking among the villagers.  One great thing I dis-
covered over here is that Africa has some great people.  Sometimes
even a language barrier is no deterrent for these people to offer
a kind gesture.  Africans also know how to have a rage [party] in
style, with plenty of good food, music & dance.

Starting early at the foot of Kilimanjaro we began our climb as the
sun rose with us.  Once we arrived at the base camp, about 1/2 way
to the summit, we would rest for the night and then resume our climb
the next day by foot.  After 4 hours of riding, with brief rests in
between, we arrived at the base camp with the late afternoon & eve
left to ourselves.

Neil pulled me aside & told me he had one more sight left to share,
but that I must not reveal to the group what I was about to witness.
I gave him my word, Neil told Frankie & Magnus we'd be back & we 
were off.  We circled our way around the mountain where the terrain
became more rugged.  Eventually we approached a small waterfall that
sent a small river cascading down one of the huge mountain's ridges.
"Follow me over here," Neil said with confidence.  Once again Neil
the larrikin [sneaky, tricky person] was giving no advance warnings
to the upcoming spectacle.

Neil shimmied sideways like a snake into the flowing waterfall.
He used the rock ledge provided at the base of the falling water
(caused by melting ice caps) to stand upon, and then he stepped 
forward into the water & disappeared.  A hidden cave!  "C'mon
Erik!" I could hear Neil yelling from inside the obscured passage-
way.  I followed Neil's lead, stepped forward & there we were, the
two of us soaking wet inside a dark, almost unending tunnel.  The 
only light we had was being directed in from the outside through the
waterfall, and Neil suggested we stick close for safety.

Neil grabbed an extinguished wooden torch from the ground & lit it 
with a camping lighter.  We walked deeper into the cave for a few
hundred meters when suddenly, off in the distance, we could hear
what sounded like tribal drumbeats & singing.  The rhythmic sounds
grew stronger as we progressed & eventually we walked through an
opening that lead into a huge open space.  Now the drums & chanting
were very loud, and we stepped onto a ledge overlooking the large
room.  

Down below was a group of about 300 African tribesmen, pounding on
drums, dancing & chanting in unison.  They'd walk in a circle, take
a few steps, & then all of a sudden jump high in the air all at
once, repeatedly with the beat.  The drum beats were so loud & chest
pounding it was almost hypnotizing.  Neil handed me the torch, care-
fully stepped forward to the edge of the ledge & motioned for me to
step back.  

Suddenly, one of the natives below noticed Neil.  The African 
pointed up at Neil & started yelling in his native tongue, his eyes
as wide as a croc's grin.  The others heard their friend's shouts,
& after all of them noticed Neil standing above, each & every one
fell dead silent, dropped to their knees & bowed their heads in 
homage towards Neil.

I was trying to figure out what the hell was happening when I 
finally noticed the large stone statue around which the men were
dancing:  it was a statue of Neil himself!  "Oh lord," I thought
to myself, "these people are worshipping Neil!"  I was in disbelief.

Neil held his arms outstretched at his sides & slowly raised his
hands to the air.  All 300 men, following Neil's gesture, stood back
up on their feet & faced Neil at attention.  They were completely 
silent, awaiting Neil's next command.

Neil asked me to stand back & wait up on the ledge as he made his
way down to the temple floor.  Once down by the people, one of the
tribesmen (apparently the leader or chief) approached Neil.  They 
exchanged words and Neil stepped up to a platform with a set of 4
large drums, whose shells appeared to be made from tree trunks. Neil
picked up a set of mallets & started to pound out an intense pattern
on the primitive drumset.  The men stepped back & fell to their 
knees for the duration of Neil's 10 minute tirade on the bellowing
drums.  When he finished his performance, Neil was approached by the
chief and given an enormous gold medallion.  Accepting the gift with
a nod, Neil scaled back up the wall to the ledge where I stood wait-
ing in utter amazement.  "Just follow me & let's get outta here!"
he said.  "I'll explain everything back at camp."

I looked back down one last time at the stone idol of Neil.  All 300
men were still crouched down on their knees, heads bowed in silent
reverence.

Once back at base camp I had to find out what was going on.  I also
had to make sure the sights I just experienced were real and not an
aftereffect of Kazumir's tea.  Neil explained to me that a few years 
ago on his first trip up the mountain, he had discovered this 
isolated clan of cave dwellers.  Apparently, when the natives first
viewed Neil with his white skin & strange clothing they immediately
looked to him as a god.  When he tried to communicate with the 
people by playing drums, hoping to show he came in peace, they 
viewed his incredible playing as further proof he was a special 
entity.  By this time it was too late.  The damage was done.
If Neil would have tried to prove that white men were common he 
could've potentially done even more damage to this primitive,
pristinely ancient culture.

Neil also said he realized that any further attempts to prove him-
self a mere mortal would possibly be viewed as a bad omen or an act
of hostility, so he simply had to go along with the act.  Now when-
ever he returns he just plays a quick solo & he's rewarded with 
large offerings of gold.  He couldn't change their minds so he 
figured by donating the gold back to aiding the preservation of 
the Serengeti, at least some good was happening from all this mess.

It was his only choice and he sincerely felt embarassed by the whole
situation.  They erected the stone idol to Neil claiming him their
"Dala Ungabaya"--their "god of drums".  I'll never forget that 
statue of Neil.


DAY 10:  The Summit (well, almost the summit...)
------------------------------------------------

The hike & climb to the top was easier than expected thanks to good
weather.  We didn't make it to the highest peak on the great moun-
tain; that endeavor is left for only the most experienced climbers.
To make it to the highest peak is to make it to the awe inspiring
"Roof of Africa".

For a group of amateur climbers, we scaled as high as possible, and
we could see far into the neighboring country of Kenya, as well as
being able to view the Indian Ocean some 300 km away.  It was a 
great way to finish off a spectacular trek.  I almost went broke
due to the expenses of this great trip, but considering the fact 
that the experiences were priceless I suppose I got a bargain...

Some people view Neil as a musical master, others look to him like
a hero, while still others literally worship him as a god.  I came
away from this Africa trek with a new friend.  Neil & I still keep
in touch every so often by writing letters.  The subject of Rush has
never come up.  To this day we've not talked about music in much 
detail.  We really don't have to.


Epilogue:
---------

Thanks for giving me the chance to tell my story.  By telling it,
I am able to relive the experience in a way.  Needless to say, that
trek literally changed my life.  And Neil really is a normal person
afterall.  Cheers! 

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THE END
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Copyright c1998, CSW & Erik Gamberson, All Rights Reserved.  
Any reproduction, public display or other use of this story, or 
the stories therein, without the express permission of the copyright
holder is prohibited.

For more information about Bicycle Africa, check out:
http://www.ibike.org/bikeafrica/