Alright, buckle up, buttercups, because September 2014 was when Mr. and Mrs. Knobby decided to swap their sensible garden gnomes for a pair of BMW F800GS motorcycles and tackle the wilds of Africa. Yes, Africa. Think less "safari in a climate-controlled Jeep" and more "dust storms that taste like existential dread."

Our itinerary looked like a fever dream scribbled on a napkin after too many lukewarm gin and tonics: BOI-SEA-LHR-JNB-VFA… I mean, really? We spent more time in airplanes than a flight attendant with wanderlust. But hey, Victoria Falls was spectacular! We stayed at the Kingdom Hotel, which, ironically, was less "kingdom" and more "slightly damp castle with a pool that smelled faintly of chlorine and hippos."

Then came the bus ride to Kasane. Let me tell you, "bus" in Africa is a loose term. It involved a vehicle that had seen better days (probably during the Stone Age), a driver who treated the speed limit as a suggestion, and a soundtrack that sounded like a herd of angry goats arguing over a kazoo.

Our trusty F800GSs, affectionately named “Dusty” and “Doofus” (guess who named which?), finally made their debut in Kasane. We roared (or, more accurately, politely puttered) through the Chobe National Park, dodging elephants that seemed to have a personal vendetta against side mirrors. Nata Lodge was a welcome oasis, mostly because they had cold beer and a shower where the water pressure wasn't dictated by the whims of a particularly strong ant.

Maun was… interesting. We spent a day there, mostly trying to figure out if the local market was selling actual food or just brightly colored rocks. Ghanzi was hotter than a jalapeno's armpit, and Tautona Lodge was where we learned that "rustic charm" is code for "bring your own mosquito net and a healthy dose of skepticism."

Then, Namibia. Oh, Namibia. Windhoek was surprisingly modern, but we were itching for the desert. Swakopmund was a delightful coastal town, where the fog rolled in like a grumpy ghost. The Beach Hotel was a treat, though Mrs. Knobby nearly had a heart attack when a seal tried to steal her breakfast pastry.

Namib Naukluft Park was where Dusty and Doofus truly earned their stripes. We rode through landscapes that looked like they belonged on Mars, dodging oryx and trying not to get lost in the endless dunes. The lodge was… remote. Let’s just say we bonded with the generator on a deeply personal level.

The ride to Mariental was a dusty blur, and Kalihari Anib Lodge was a welcome relief. Keetmanshoop and Quivertree Forest Camp were like stepping into a postcard, albeit a postcard where the trees looked like they were auditioning for a Tim Burton film. Fish River Canyon was breathtaking, though “breathtaking” also described the sheer drop-offs we were riding along.

Finally, South Africa! Springbok, Citrusdal, and then… Cape Town! Hiking Table Mountain was a feat, mostly because we were still recovering from the sheer amount of dust we'd ingested. The City Lodge V&A Hotel was a slice of civilization after weeks of roughing it, and we savored every moment.

Then came the 33-hour-and-15-minute flight home. 33 hours and 15 minutes! That’s longer than a bad reality TV marathon. By the time we landed in Boise, we were convinced we could speak fluent airplane-seat-cushion.

So, what did we learn? Africa is vast, beautiful, and sometimes smells vaguely of elephant dung. The BMW F800GS is a beast of burden that can handle anything you throw at it (or, in our case, anything Africa threw at it). And most importantly, Mr. and Mrs. Knobby are officially experts at surviving long bus rides, questionable food, and the existential dread of a desert dust storm.

Until next time, folks, keep your helmets on and your sense of humor close at hand!