“Africa gets into your blood.”
I remember hearing Carroll Shelby say something very close to that years ago as he described stepping away from racing for nearly a decade to hunt in Africa while it was still truly wild. Sitting there listening to him, I could hear something in his voice that went beyond adventure. It was respect. Awe. Maybe even longing.
At the time, I understood the words. I am not sure I fully understood the feeling.
Years later, after my own time in the African bush, and after competing successfully in La Carrera Panamericana, I think I finally do. Some places never really leave you. Neither do certain races.
For me, one of those races has always been the East African Safari Classic Rally. I have watched the footage countless times over the years. Vintage rally cars charging across endless dirt roads. River crossings. Dust clouds hanging over the savannah. Drivers and navigators battling heat, exhaustion, terrain, weather, and mechanical attrition for days on end.
It is less a race than an expedition conducted at speed, and oddly enough, that is exactly what attracts me to it.
Most people eventually reach a point in life where they begin scaling things back. Racers rarely think that way. Even after the trophies are stored away and the helmets begin collecting dust, the instinct never completely disappears. Somewhere deep inside, the competitor is still present.
The desire never really dies. Years ago, I hunted on safari in Africa, and the experience never left me. The vast landscapes, untamed wilderness, and spirit of adventure fueled a lasting desire to someday return, not only for the memories, but for the challenge and excitement that Africa still represents.
At my age, the sensible side of life says competing in Africa is probably unrealistic. Shipping a car and spare parts halfway around the world is complicated enough. Building the right team, preparing properly, learning the terrain, and competing against experienced international rally drivers would be an enormous undertaking.
But racers have never been especially sensible people, especially us NASA racers, who are always driven for more, always seeking that next desire-driven obstacle.
Having survived and performed exceptionally well in La Carrera Panamericana, I understand what endurance racing truly demands. Speed matters, of course, but preparation matters more. Reliability matters more. Discipline matters more. The ability to stay mentally sharp after long days, little sleep, changing weather, and unexpected mechanical problems often determines who finishes and who quietly disappears along the roadside. That challenge still fascinates me.
Not because I need to prove I can still drive quickly. Those questions belong to younger men. What remains now is something deeper, the desire to take on one more enormous challenge simply because it still stirs the soul. Part of it may also be Africa itself.
There is something about the scale of the continent that stays with you forever. The sunsets. The silence. The sense that nature still plays by its own rules. Even years later, I can still remember the sounds of the bush at night and the feeling that just beyond the firelight was a world that had not changed much in a thousand years.
Maybe that is what Carroll Shelby was trying to describe all those years ago. Adventure and racing are not always separate things. Sometimes they come from the exact same place inside us, the part that still wants to explore what lies over the next horizon.
Whether I will ever actually compete in the East African Safari Classic Rally remains uncertain, but I know this much. Even after all these years, Africa still calls.
