Into Namibia. Testing Times on Gravel.

While I was lugging my kit out to the bike, I met Etienne, a neurosurgeon from Windhoek. He too was packing up and getting ready for an early start. We introduced ourselves, and chatted for a while, before he asked where in Windhoek I would be staying… I mentioned that I wasn’t sure yet, and he immediately offered to put me up when I rolled through… I accepted his offer with alacrity, and at a little after 7.00am, we were off… While Etienne dropped off our keys, I set my sights on Vioolsdrif, and belted the Big Fella up the N7…

Now if I'd have known what lay ahead, I might well of gone straight on to Keetmanshoop, and saved myself a lot of aggravation...

I passed Steinkopf, dead to the world, (regardless of the time of

A great stretch of road, through Vyfmylpoort and into Vioolsdrif...

day, I would think!) and rode on through the Richtersveld, a barren, dry region, dotted with small koppies. A few kilometers short of the border, I entered the  Vyfmylpoort – a wonderful, winding stretch of road, passing through a range of mountains which seemed to spring up from the desert floor as if by magic. The border formalities were dispensed with in no time at all, and as I was leaving to cross the Orange River into Namibia, Etienne arrived and we confirmed that I would stay with him when I got to Windhoek… I left him sorting out his car registration, and promising to see him in a few days time, and then motored across the wide bridge over the Orange River, and into Noordoewer.

The Orange River, gateway to Namibia...

Welcome to Namibia, and advice you should heed...

I had to pay N$ 115.00 Road Tax on entering Namibia and was temporarily delayed by the Customs Officials, who could not find the make “BMW” on their computer… My suggestion that we list it as another make, did not go down too well… The official had been out to the bike, just to make sure that it was a BMW, and that I had not forgotten the make of motorcycle I had been riding for the past 3 years…

Just outside Noordoewer, welcome to the Thirstland...

Big numbers here...

No fear...!! Sign at the petrol station, Noordoewer...

I stopped to refuel at the little petrol station closest to the border. I had no idea how long I would be on the sand, nor where I would find fuel along the way, and although I was confident of being able to get to Aus with the fuel that I had, I decided that discretion might be the better part of valor in this case… I also adjusted the tyre pressures and checked to see that I had tied all my kit down properly. This was the final fuel stop for the cross border truckers, and with fuel being cheaper in Namibia, the filling station was a hive of activity, with more than a dozen trucks with their loads, waiting to refuel…

And so it began...

About 20 minutes and 30 kms later, I turned left off the B1 and onto the D316 to Ai-Ais  and the Fish River Canyon… Roads in Namibia are graded by letters…. “C”s are good gravel roads, “D”s are still in fair condition, but not as well maintained as “C”s…. The road surface was for the most part pretty good, and I was able to bomb along at about

I see nothing in front of me...

80km/h. The bike was handling well, with only the occasional

I see nothing coming up behind...

twitch when we lost traction in the areas where there were plenty of loose stones… Then the “drifts” started appearing…. These are little sections where dry river beds cross the road… and they carry thick sand… Most of them were only a few metres wide, and as I reached them, I opened the throttle wide and we literally flew through them without a pause… About 45 kms into the dirt, I came across a much bigger one… It was about 30 metres wide and with a scream into my helmet, I pinned the throttle right back and we hit the sand at about 100 km/h… How we got through to the other side, I will never know !! The Big Fella reared his head as I poured the power on and despite keeping the throttle wide open, the bike went haywire… My legs came off the footrests, but I held on grimly for the few seconds it took to get to the other side…

I stopped a few kilometers further on, my heart still beating wildly, and not for the first time today, asked myself,

“What in the name of Heaven and all things good, are you doing here, Borrageiro ?”

Sure, it was exciting, and definitely gets your heart beating and the adrenaline flowing, but keeping control of over 300 kgs of bike, over such long distances was taking its toll… You might wonder why I was riding so fast, and the answer is simple! On sand or gravel, speed is your friend… You need to maintain forward momentum to keep your front wheel up out of the sand and gravely bits, and if your bike starts to wobble, by opening the throttle and increasing the power, the bike magically straightens up under you, giving you back the control… That’s if you’re not leaning to far over… By then, extra power is irrelevant, and you’re about to get a face full of gravel anyway…  Which reminds me of a photo of a guy lying face down under his bike in the sand, that Jock told me about… The caption under the photo read as follows : “When wanking with a cheese grater doesn’t do it for you !!!”

Rocky stretch...

After 79 kms, I turned onto the C10 for about 20 kms and then turned left onto D298, cleverly disguised as the C37…

“I am not fooled, Namibian Road Authorities !! I saw the D sign tucked behind the C sign !! This is a shitty road… Take away the C tag !!”….

I rode through the Hunsplau Mountains, broken rocks thrusting themselves up from the earth…. The road climbed up and down,  over and around these rocky ridges, the road surface broken up in places…  I had encountered only two cars in the last 100 km, but now began seeing more and more traffic, the closer I got to the Fish River Canyon. A convoy of Land-rovers and Overland trucks, came barreling down the road towards me, driving about 500 metres apart to avoid each other’s dust… For a minute or so after they passed me, the road ahead was obliterated by the dust they threw up… With throttle open, I rode “blind” through these clouds of dust, for the next few kilometers… It was nerve wracking…!! I had no idea what I might encounter in the dust, and prayed hard that I would not meet another vehicle head on, or hit the ridge of sand between the tracks I was riding in… All I could do was open the throttle, hold my breath and hope… It would have made no difference even if I had closed my eyes as well !!

Memories of when we stayed here in 2006...

I passed Canon Lodge, where we had stayed in 2006, remembering again the few weeks my family and I had spent in Namibia… I had brought them here to show them that beauty could be found even in the most desolate and inhospitable of places, and I like to think that I succeeded, as both the girls and Vanessa had enjoyed our trip, despite the long stretches spent in the car…

I could see the road laid out before me for miles ahead in places, and at one point noticed a few black specks on it, about a kilometer away… I was cracking along at 90 km/h and starting telling them (whatever they were…!) to get the hell off the road, a long way before I actually reached them… The road here had a coating of sand about an inch thick on it, and I knew that if I slowed down, the “wobbles” would  begin… The “specks” turned out to be a small flock of four Ostriches, who saw or heard me coming and ran helter-skelter off the road, seconds before I reached them… As I passed the spot on which they had been standing, still bombing along, I saw a herd of seven Zebra, only metres from the road… Luckily they bolted through the shrub and away from the road… A cold shiver went through me at the thought of them running across the road… I would have “collected” one for sure…!!!

Finally, Canon Roadhouse and temporary sanity...

Lunch at the Canon Roadhouse...

Old truck parked in the restaurant.... I was too knackered to think of getting it's vintage...

I stopped at the Canon Roadhouse for lunch, and respite from the dust and the heat, although it was not as hot as the Northern Cape had been… The highest temperature I had measured today was 37 degrees… Hot, but bearable if you kept moving ! The Canon Roadhouse is a large, spacious restaurant built in what must have been an old workshop or trading store… It is about 40 metres wide by 80 metres long… It has to be this big, because it is filled with over twenty vintage cars and trucks, all displayed in the

I suppose I could have had it worse...

midst of the tables, set for guests… A small, but well-stocked Bar sits in the middle of it all… The restrooms are a sight to behold, (well the Men’s are anyway…) with number plates and stickers from all over the world plastered on the walls… There are also those large movie posters we used to covert as kids, and I spent more time in this room that I would usually do, remembering movies like, “The Outlaw, Josey Wales”, “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”,  “Raiders of the Lost Ark”, “Gone with the Wind” and “Casablanca”…

There was also this interesting painting, which I thought summed things up quite nicely…

No Kidding...!!!

Quiver Trees at Canon Roadhouse...

I rode on through the heat of the day, my GPS advising that I would reach Helmeiring at around 5.00pm… I had ridden over 180 km on gravel already, and still had over 250 kms to go !! I had another “nearly off” when passing a grader, who had cunningly left a foot high ridge of sand for over 5 kms on the C12, leading to Seeheim… I pulled over to the left hand side of the road to avoid the dust he was throwing up, and in the middle of this “white-out”, I hit the ridge… The Big Fella shook his head angrily, and nearly tossed me off… For the next 20 kms, graders worked the gravel, and I had to dodge both them and the oncoming cars, as well as negotiate the ridges made by the grader blades… I often met the graders coming down the centre of the road, and only had seconds to decide which side of them I was going to pass on ! Not a pleasant experience when you’re traveling at speed… It was white knuckle riding, for miles on end…

To make matters worse, the wind had got up to see where I was and what I was doing, and began testing me with

A stop for water on the dry and dusty road...

spiteful little gusts, when I least expected it… It was all becoming a little too much…!! I stopped to drink more water, with the Kleinkarrasberge on my right, and thought about my options… If I went on the Helmeiring, and from there to Swakopmund, I would have to travel another 800 km on dirt and gravel… In my present frame of mind, I needed that like a ride on a frozen lake, in the middle of a hurricane… I still had 70 kms of the C12 to get through before reaching the B4 tarred road to Aus and Luderitz… I decided to make up my mind when I got to the junction…

The road on the stretch to Seeheim went through a rockier area and in places, rocks stuck up through the surface… We began hitting them with regular monotony… I remembered that this was the place where we had had a puncture in 2006, and spent the better part of an hour, getting the wheel changed…

To make matters worse, my suspension was “bottoming out” each time we went through a small depression in the road, where rivulets had washed the surface down to bedrock… Despite me standing up to lessen the impact, the thump of the tyre hitting the underside of the wheel arch,  sent shock waves through my back and into my arms… (Just what my aching shoulders ordered !!) In some instances, even the centre stand dug into the gravel… My rear shock was taking a beating… The Big Fella began to sulk under these conditions (or perhaps it was the insidious waning of my confidence !! ) and I slowed down to about 60 km/h…but this then made it harder to control the bike, and the twitching of the rear end became more frequent… We were not amused…!!!

Well, there wasn't a heck of a lot to smile about...!!

With 20 kms to go before we tasted tar again, I saw a sign in the middle of the road up ahead… I stopped to read it… It was quite simple and easy to understand, as road-signs go… It said, “ROAD CLOSED”….

Just what I needed...!!!

Beee..….oooitiful !! The detour was down the D545 to place called “Nautedam”… Extremely aptly named, I thought, for it helped me decide on my next course of action on the spot…!!!

Not a damn....

“Nautedam was I going to ride any more gravel today…!! Or tomorrow, for that matter…!!”

I hopped off the bike, looking around in vain for someone to ask about the detour… The two Ostriches I questioned just shook their wing feathers and wandered further away from me, a worried look on their pointy  faces… I suppose I did look a little wild-eyed at having to deal with this unexpected little problem…

Dear Lord.... What next !!

I rode the last 22 kms as carefully as I could, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small herd of Springbuck, who skittered out of the low bush on my right… Just before stopping at the Nautedam to see what it was all about, I had to cross a narrow concrete causeway below a massive dam wall… As my luck would have it, the causeway was under water ! I rode slowly through it, but the moss that had grown under the water, had coated the concrete, making it as slippery as a barrel  full of eels… I found myself giggling hysterically into my helmet… What a day this was turning out to be…

I was amazed to see this huge dam, out in the middle of this bone dry land… It is built on the Lowen River, which flows into the Fish River about 30 kms away. The dam supplies all the water to Keetmanshoop, and the surrounding farms… Even more surprising was the vineyards I had passed just before the dam… Who the heck had considered planting Grapes here of all places…? There was also a Date Plantation, and this I could understand… But Grapes…. !! Here… !! Just goes to show how precious a commodity water can be…

There is a little camping spot overlooking the dam, and a small kiosk which supplies a very basic range of foodstuff. Tia, the girl who runs the place explained that many tourists come here to camp, on their way down to the Fish River Canyon…. I told her that I thought it was a long way to come to see a big crack in the ground, and she agreed… Just then a 4 x 4 with a roof tent arrived, and out they spilled… Two German couples, laughing and smiling as if they had just reached Coconut Beach in Mauritius…. You have to wonder sometimes…

I decided to have a bit of fun with Tia, (as I am apt to do when I need to cheer myself up…and relieve the apparent boredom I often find other folk dealing with…).

“How much is it to camp here ?”, I asked…

“N$50.00 per car!”, was her prompt reply…

“But I have a bike, surely it must be cheaper for a bike…?”

Her eyes glazed over at this unexpected complication…

“Let’s make it N$ 25.00 for the scooter…” she offered… I heard the Big Fella snort unhappily behind me, at being described as a “scooter”…

“Is it half price because I only have two tyres and a car has four ?” I asked…

She thought for a while and then said that she supposed we could look at it that way….

“Ah,” I said, “But that car has six tyres, four on the vehicle, and two on the roof ! Therefore, I should be charged one third of the N$ 50.00…!! I make that N$16.50….”

“O.K. then, you can camp here for N$16.50, but then you have to buy something from my shop !”… she said after giving my proposal due consideration…

“This ground is like concrete,” I said, “I will probably break a tent peg trying to get it knocked in… I will need further compensation for that eventuality… Let’s make it N$ 10.00…”

Her lower jaw dropped open at this remark, and she shook her head vehemently…

“No, no, no… You have crooked me enough already!!  Namwater (her employer) would fire me if I only got N$ 10.00 for a campsite…!!” she wailed…

“Ok, then, I am going to do you a huge favour…..” I told her, “I’m going to ride on to Keetmanshoop, if only to preserve your employment!!”

The click of annoyance from her tongue, was loud enough to scare the weavers out of the tree above us…  Then we both

Kiosk at Nautedam...

laughed, and all was forgiven… She then told me that the road to Seeheim had been closed, as the previous week, Namwater had decided to open the sluice gates on the dam, to preserve the integrity of the wall, and the resulting “flash flood” had washed the road away in a number of places… Mystery solved !! I left her then, shaking her head and wagging her finger in my general direction…

After another 12 kms, we reached the B4, and I stopped to shake the dust off my kit, which was a much lighter blue than it had been, before I took to the gravel… The Big Fella’s windshield was opaque, and his wheel rims were coated in a thick layer of fine white sand…

It would be tar, (Oh, glorious tar!), to Keetmanshoop, and then the B1 to Windhoek, as boring, as it was safe !! For me the enjoyment of riding, is the feeling of gliding along, as if on a rail, the smoothness with which I can go swooping through bends… not the feeling of slipping and sliding, and wondering when your luck and skill will desert you… I enjoy being able to look around me and take in my surroundings, experiencing where I am and describing it to myself in my head, memorizing it… Besides the fact that it was bleak, dusty, dry and the sky was an amazing blue, I can’t really remember much of the ride today… I was too busy focusing on the spot 30 metres in front of me, dodging stones, and trying to keep the bike in a wheel track made by other vehicles, about 8 inches wide, for hour after hour… To me, this is no fun, and too much of a mission…

I was on this journey to make it through to the end, and not to become acquainted with the Namibian Medical profession… If my main route forced me to travel on gravel and sand, then I would do so, but there was no need to deliberately seek it out here… I had traveled extensively throughout Namibia on many occasions in the past, and had been to many of those special places already… I would not need to visit them on this trip, to make it a “complete” one for me… It was more about seeing new places, than experiencing those that I had already seen, again…

It was too soon to be risking both myself,  and the bike…

After all, there were still over 100 000 kms waiting for me out there…

© GBWT 2010