Into the Thirstland

(625kms)

S 24° 65’ 25” – E 18° 01’ 20”

Strong winds buffeted us as we slept under the stars once again, at one stage blowing the duvet right off me!! I retrieved it and mindful of the scorpions I had been warned about gave the duvet a thorough shaking before covering myself again with it… I nevertheless slept like a log and woke up at my usual 5.00am, determined to get an early start… My plans were once again thwarted by Marli’s folks insisting that I do not leave on an empty stomach, and the pans began their rattling in the kitchen… We all sat down to a great breakfast of bacon and eggs, mountains of toast and various jams, and the usual few cups of coffee thrown in for good measure!! At about 9.00am, after a quick family photo shoot, we left the farm, not before I removed a huge King Cricket that had taken up residence on my handlebars during the night….

Stoffel and Marli’s parents bid me farewell…

There was good cloud cover over the entire area and I was grateful that the riding this morning would be in cooler weather. It was decided that Stoffel and Marli would accompany me to the N10 tar road, a distance of about 10km, with most of my kit loaded into their pick-up. “Decided” is actually an incorrect term… They insisted!! This proved a very good idea, as I had a few hairy moments negotiating some thick sand on the way… On another occasion, I almost voided my bowels when a pair of Black-Bellied Korhaans flew up from the verge of the road and one went over the handlebars, it wings brushing my helmet on the way!

The bike handled very well on the sand and I wasn’t as nervous as I had been on the way to the farm from Kakamas. I stood up on the pegs for a most of the ride to the N10, and my confidence, which had been severely tested on New Years Day, returned in chunks…

Up, up and away…. Lutzputs to the N10, at a crisp 80km/h….

Getting ready for the short trip to the Namibian Border…

Stoffel couldn’t quite believe that I was actually going to Tanzania…!!

Once at the junction of the gravel road that leads to their farm, and the N10 leading to Namibia, we quickly loaded my kit onto the bike, took many a photo, and I then bid Stoffel and Marli farewell, gave the bike its head and shot away towards Nakop Border Post. The drive there was over in a flash, going through countryside littered with broken hills and barren valleys.

The Big Fella takes a bead on Namibia….

Border Officials have a sense of humour after all!!!

Formalities on the South African side of the border were concluded in a very short space of time, and then I was off to Ariamsvlei, about 20kms inside Namibia, where their official entry point is located. A N$100.00 Road Tax is required to enter the country…no more crying about the E50.00 we have to pay in Swaziland!

Before I reached the border post, I had decided that I would be as friendly to the officials as possible to avoid any hassles, and my plan worked perfectly… The officials at both border posts spent more time asking questions about the bike and my intended route, than they spent doing their official duties. One by one, they left their posts inside the building to come and take a look at the bike and the mental case riding it…

On the Namibian side, the woman who attended to the Road Tax advised me that one of her colleagues was from the Caprivi, and she duly went to look for him and dragged him out to tell me about the conditions of the roads there, and where the petrol depots were to be found! He was joined by another official who advised me not to drive after 5.00pm, as that was “when the cows come home from the bush…”. He also mentioned that the elephants in the area “were not to be trusted…”!!! I tried to keep a straight face as I digested this wise council, but once I had my helmet on, I shut the visor and laughed out loud…

Before starting the engine, I noted that I had now travelled exactly 4 250 kilometres since leaving Johannesburg on the 15^th of December. A sense of achievement passed through me and I felt a big grin spread over my face… It didn’t occur to me then that I had only covered about a quarter of my intended journey… but it felt great anyway!! I was in Namibia, one of my favourite destinations, and I looked forward to the long ride to Mariental, many kilometres to the north-west of where I now sat… Bring it on, Baby!!!

Formalities (if that is what they could be called) over, I punched the co-ordinates for Keetmanshoop into the GPS, and headed west along the B3 highway to Karasburg, 125km away. I used the GPS purely to let me know how far it was to my next refuelling stop or destination. It was also useful knowing how much longer I would be on the road and what time I was due to arrive there, at the average speeds I was riding… Throughout my journey, these were the most valuable bits of information I worked with… I used the SupaMoto Bluetooth device on my helmet whilst riding through South Africa and Namibia, which allowed me to use my cell phone without stopping the bike, and also to listen to the “advices” of the Garmin Girl… It was however a bit un-nerving when I received a message such as the following one…

My route through Namibia…

“Turn…Left…in…Six…Hundred…and…Seventy…Eight…Kilometres…” and then didn’t hear another word from her for six or seven hours…!! I thought she might have gone to sleep on me…!! I think the inventors should have made her more “user-friendly”… I would have appreciated the occasional “How are you doing, Ronno?” or even “Don’t you think you’re going a little too fast, Buster!!” or “Must we ride in this rain?”… Ah well, maybe the 2010 model will be more interactive!!

Having crossed into Namibia, the first half hour was ridden under light cloud cover, but after that, the sun came out with a vengeance! By the time I passed through Karasburg and turned north-west for Grunau, I was sweating up a storm, and had to open my visor a notch to get some cool air flowing over my face. I rode with it in this position for the rest of the day… I arrived at Grunau with only 20km of range left in my tank, as I had made an ever so slight miscalculation of the distance between the border and this, my first planned fuel stop!! (Note to self: Don’t make this mistake again, as it is no fun riding 80km with a tightly clenched sphincter!!)

After refuelling, I decided to have a bite to eat, and took a seat in the little restaurant attached to the service station… I ordered, and ate, the most unappetizing pie and gravy that I have tasted in a long while… The service was as poor as the meal tasted, but whilst waiting for the surly waitress to honour me with her presence, I read a few quotes which had been stapled to the “menu”… some of which I copied down, as I felt they applied to me in some small way…

“I do not have to be a man of success, to be a man of value…” and “If I am not for myself, then who is for me… If I am for myself alone, then what am I?”

There was also a hand-written copy of the famous Irish Prayer which I found most apt:

“May the road rise up to meet you…

May the wind be always at your back…

May the sun shine warm on your face…

May the rain fall soft upon your field…

And until we meet again…

May God hold you in the palm of His hand”

The stop here was made worthwhile by the fact that I was able to buy some Namibian flag stickers for the panniers, which I did not expect to find in a sun-blasted hamlet like Grunau! This dry, dusty and very hot little town is the gateway to the Fish River Canyon for tourists driving from the South African provinces to the east of Namibia. The filling station was busy, with many Gauteng registered cars and SUVs queuing to get fuel… I couldn’t resist warning some of them about the pie and gravy on offer in the little restaurant. I like to think I may have saved some lives today…

The 155 kms to Keetmanshoop passed without fanfare, except for the little incident when I fell asleep while motoring at about 140km/h… This area was devoid of any signs of life; there were no birds to be seen, (except for the occasional road kill which indicated that they do actually exist here!!), no sheep, no people, and very little traffic… I think a combination of the heat and the loss of fluid from all the perspiration, caused me to nod off for a few seconds… But I woke with a start when I heard a change in the sound the tyres made on the tar… I had entered a rougher section of the road, which made the noise from the tyres a little louder… I just managed to pull the bike back from the edge of the tar before the bike and I left the road… Not good, but an excellent way to get your mind back on track!!!!

At Keetmanshoop, I took a much longer stop than I had planned, to avoid a recurrence of the above incident. I drank a litre of water and filled both of my water bottles with a further two litres which I promised myself I would stop and drink on the way to Mariental… For good measure, I bought a roll of glucose tablets which were labelled “Stay Awake!!”… They were packed full of Vitamins B1, B2, B6 and C… A warning on the back said “Keep out of reach of the completely unadventurous…” …I kid you not!!! I took two and waited for the “kick”… It never came, but I didn’t fall asleep on the bike again…ever!! Good stuff, those tablets…

Notice the lush landscape in the background….

Whereas the road leading to Keetmanshoop went through very barren landscape, the road north from here seemed a lot more hospitable to man and beast. And speaking of beasts, just outside Keetmanshoop, I experienced the first road-block of my trip. At the turn-off to the Kokerboom Forest, a permanently manned police checkpoint was stopping every vehicle and requesting driver’s licences. Quite a delay when you have to first get the bike into neutral, then take off your gloves, then unzip your jacket to get at your wallet. I handed him my expired driver’s licence which he was quite satisfied with…. I had included this in my wallet to test the vigilance of the local constabulary, and, yes, they were found wanting….

The road surface along this next stretch was not as smooth as that which I had travelled on up to Keetmanshoop. Many of the potholes had been repaired and had resulted in a very uneven road surface. Nevertheless, we roared north past Tses, a glorified taxi rank in the middle of nowhere, manned by six donkey-carts and their sunburnt drivers, all waiting for their next batch of passengers to alight from the buses that plied the B1 Highway to Windhoek. Little dirt tracks lead off the road in various directions, to heaven knows where, as not a single building of any description could be seen from the road….and this area is as flat as the proverbial pancake… Another of life’s mysteries remains unsolved…for now…

About 45km further on, I passed Asab, consisting of a filling station and a general store…nothing else… A short distance past this, I remembered the promise I had made to myself, and pulled over at one of the many “picnic” spots, took off gloves, helmet, jacket and t-shirt, and drank a litre of water… “Good Boy!” you’ll be thinking…! Yes, quite…!

Mandatory “liquid-intake” break… and a T-shirt drying break too….

I wondered if “Kortbroek” van Schalkwyk had ever travelled along these Namibian highways, as we could certainly do with a few of these little concrete picnic spots, as apposed to the unsheltered benches and broken concrete slabs that are supposed to pass for tables, along our main roads. I encountered these shelters every 10 kms or so, along most roads… even the gravel roads that pass through the Namib… Take note “Kortbroek”!!!

While I was taking in the scenery, I noticed a puff of smoke on the horizon south of me, and a short while later a train came rolling into view. The railway line was just across the road and parallel to my position. The driver hung out of the window and blew his whistle as he passed by… I waited another few minutes and then decided to try and catch him further up the highway… I kitted up quickly, having to pack away the remnants of my lunch…half a packet of ginger biscuits and the rest of my water!

Once I had advised the “Big Fella” of my intentions, he responded enthusiastically, and we took off down the road, our quarry far away and out of sight. It took about ten minutes of hard riding before I saw the smoke from the train’s exhaust on the horizon, and a few minutes later, we sidled up alongside the diesel engine and its twelve fully-laden coaches… We were no more than thirty metres apart. The driver once again hooted at us, I hooted back… He hooted twice, I followed suit…then three times each, then four…until we tired of this and started making up tunes. He had clearly had a lot of practice, as I failed to match him from the outset… There was only one thing left to do, and that was to show him who was faster…! Left hand pretending to be whipping a horse, I started pulling away from him. The huge grin on his face showed that he appreciated the humour, and we finally waved each other goodbye… I smiled to myself for a long way down the road after that…

The train we later toyed with….passing us as we took a break on the road to Mariental.

I was enjoying myself, despite the fact that I had nobody to share the experience with… Adrenaline coursing through me as I thundered along… I passed the crossroads to Gibeon and Gochas and then with 50km to go I noticed that the digital temperature gauge had ticked up a notch higher than it had ever been… I also noticed patches of melting tar on the road and it came to mind that it might get very hot out here… I eased off the throttle and at a more sedate pace of 120km/h, we cruised into Mariental, a little after 6.00pm…

I had been advised to stay at the River Chalets by a tannie in Grunau, who took more than a passing interest in “die ou met die groot byke”…. But that’s another story… The owner of the River Chalets must have had a bad day, as she looked less than pleased to see me, (she had been packing up for the day as I arrived) and she was downright annoyed when shortly after I had signed in, a group of “Overlanders” arrived in their Land-Cruisers, 4 x 4 trailers in tow.

Giving them the same welcome that I had received, namely, “We are not serving any food here, not even breakfast!!”… She furthermore advised them that the pool was out of bounds and for the family’s use only… One of the guys in the party, “Voortrekker” written all over his bearded face, drew himself up to his full height, which was considerably more than when he was slouching, and said (in Afrikaans) “Listen here Madam, we have travelled all day through the desert from Botswana, and we ARE going to use this pool, and if you do not like it, call the police..!”

That shut the Crow up, quick-style… I barely had time to stop my hands from breaking into spontaneous applause… She hurriedly closed the door to the reception, which also seemed to double as the front door to the main house, and if there were curtains to draw, I’m pretty sure she would have attended to those as well!! We all trooped off the main veranda at the entrance, Voortrekker muttering, “Ek is nie lus vir haar kak nie…!” I could see that he was exhausted from the ride they had made and was not in the mood for anybody’s nonsense… I resolved to have as little to do with them as possible… I thought this to be the safest option!!

The “Overlanders”, three couples in all, must have decided to get their swim in early, in case the “Pool Police” arrived, and within minutes all six of them were splashing around like a herd of hippo. I sneaked in the pool unnoticed, or so I thought… I was standing in the deep end, only my head above the surface of the cool water when a voice boomed out from across the pool… “Waar is jy op pad met daai fiets?” There was no point in pretending I wasn’t there, and I swam over to have a chat with them and explain my plans… They were suitably impressed and wished me luck for the remainder of the trip… I had a quick swim and a sip of the Klipdrift bottle which was thrust at me with an invitation of “Kom Boet, laat ons drink voor die Polisie opdaag”, followed by huge guffaws of laughter from the rest of the herd, especially the women…

I had visions of spending and uncomfortable night in the Mariental police cells with this lot, and made a swift exit of the pool and fled to the relative safety of my room. “Relative” because they were in the three rooms adjoining mine…

After their swim, they proceeded to unroll what seemed like hundreds of metres of electrical cables from their trucks and slotted them into the plugs in each of their rooms. I could have sworn the lights in the main house dimmed once they had done this. Clearly their fridges and deep freezers would not be defrosting on this particular stop!! The remainder of the night was punctuated by clinking glasses and peals of laughter from my neighbours, who finally went to sleep at about 2.00am….

Entrance to the “hospitable” River Chalets, Mariental.

Surprisingly, they were up at 5.00am, and disappeared back into the desert before the curtains in the main house had been opened, leaving three empty Klipdrift bottles on the top step of one of the rooms… A farewell greeting perhaps?

I thought it best to get going as early as possible myself, and made my way to reception to check out. The Mariental Dragon was at her desk in the entrance hall, clucking to herself about the “onbeskofte Transvaalers”. I made no comment, paid in cash to avoid waiting for a credit-card payment to go through, and hurriedly exited…stage left….

It had been an education….

A word the Overlanders used often during the course of that night…

© 2008 TBMH