The Ride to Grootfontein

(645kms)

S 19° 33’ 61” – E 18° 06’ 54”

It had drizzled a little during the night, but by morning the skies were clearer than they had ever been on any previous morning during my stay here. I woke at 6.00am, loaded all the kit onto the bike, made a mug of coffee and sat drinking it on the step of my bungalow, waiting for reception to open at 7.30am, so that I could get my key deposit of N$150.00 back.

This done, I motored into an almost deserted Swakopmund, and down to Mile 4, where I had agreed to meet Sherry so that she could take photos of me and the bike. She had not seen us in “fully-loaded” battle-dress, and wanted a photographic record of such…!! Errol had gone for a walk on the beach and the rest of the family was sound asleep. I had to manoeuvre the bike to an area where there would not be houses in the background. Satisfied, Sherry snapped away. Photos taken, she bid me goodbye with a packet of dried mango and wishes for a safe journey. I had enjoyed the short time I had managed to spend with them. The Cromhout’s are a great couple, Errol tough as teak, uncompromising in his beliefs, and Sherry, a softly spoken, kind hearted woman, who epitomises the term “mother” for me…   

The day before, I had planned a rather daring (for me!!) route through to Otjiwarongo… Using the three different maps at my disposal, and rather than having to backtrack to Karibib and then head north from there, (hate going backwards…!!) I planned a route which involved heading 75km up the coast to Hentiesbaai on the “Salt Road” (doesn’t count as backtracking, the previous trip was an excursion!! It’s not the same!!), then taking the C35 northeast to the tin mining town of Uis, 115km across the desert on a dirt road, then keeping on the C35, head north to the western outpost of Khorixas along a further 118km of dirt. From there it would be tar road again to Outjo and on to Otjiwarongo and eventually Grootfontein. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Just the bike and I, through a seldom travelled part of the world, past the Brandberg Mountain, with its famous “White Lady” bushman painting, over the dry Ugab river plains…. Would’ve made for a great story…

Funny how fate works…. After saying goodbye to Sherry, I stopped to refuel, and fill my auxiliary tank, as the supply of fuel at Uis was rumoured to be a hit and miss affair… It was 305km to Khorixas… This could then take me close to the extreme end of my range… I decided to fill the spare jerry can I had carried 5 000km without using yet….While filling up, a big bearded fellow of Afrikaaner extraction, came over from his “loaded for the mother of all fishing trips” 4 x 4, and asked where I was heading… I explained my route, and a doubtful look came over his face…

“Boet,” he said, “I’ve just come from Henties’, and it’s raining there and further east of there. The road is like a skating rink, ek se!! I nearly “lost it” a couple of times on the way here!”…. and the clincher for me was his next line…

“As jy met die ding val, hoe de f*k gaan jy hom opgetel kry!”…

Backtracking seemed a reasonable option, after all….. I could be in a tent in the middle of the desert somewhere tonight….nursing a few broken bones…

Bitterly disappointed, I made my way back to the B2, and struck out for Arandis and Usakos 145km away…got there in 65 minutes flat!! Disappointment has that effect on me, you see…. I also had time to stop and take a few pics’ of the Spitzkoppe Mountains to the north of the B2, which were playing peek-a-boo in the cloud cover. I stopped at the Namib Wuste Farmstall for two pies and a cup of coffee. I sat watching a Peacock harassing a pair of his hens, before a Shetland pony galloped over and in turn, harassed him the hell away!!

The Namib Wuste Farmstall, on the outskirts of Usakos…

I left Usakos, thundered over the Kransbergrivier Bridge and 4km further along, my GPS confided that I had just completed 6 000km of my journey thus far… The numbers were beginning to add up!! I rolled on through Karibib, through a roadblock, and then took the big loop back over the highway, which had me riding directly north to Omaruru, through the Erongo Mountains. Clouds scudded across the skies above me, driven northwards by a strong wind which thankfully was directly behind me, allowing me to make good time without taxing the “Big Fella” too much…

I stopped just before Omaruru, got the tripod out and began messing about with the camera. It once again took a few attempts to get the bike, a road sign confirming my position and myself, in a single photograph, but I eventually managed it. Stefan Walrond told me in Windhoek, that he calls these, “Proof of Life” photographs, and I know that I will look back on them one day and know that he was right… They prove that we did what we had told others we wanted to do… things we promised ourselves we would do, and then made good on those promises…

I stood under the sign to Omaruru, replaying in my mind, some of the photos I had taken, and had to pinch myself to make sure that I was here, actually doing this… Not dreaming about it, not wishing I could do it, but here… and now… living it!! Out on the edge, no backup, just the bike and I…. Finding a determination that I thought I had lost, along with many of the other dreams that I have harboured for so long….. “I will dream no longer”, I told myself…. From now on, I will do…. I will look for the good things in life, and make a point of appreciating them…

Making good with the tripod again… The clouds in the background and I were heading for a rendezvous near Otavi…

Just before the town, I crossed the Omaruru River and it was in full spate…!! Only kidding…dry as the proverbial bone….! I refuelled across the road from a group of wood-chip and firewood hawkers, who came over to enquire if I needed any firewood…. I asked for four bags, and one of them was gullible enough to run back across the road to begin lugging them over. These bags were of the 50kg variety at least, and where he thought I was going to put one, let alone four, is beyond comprehension. His mates realized I was joking, and shouted across for him to put the bag he had hoisted onto his shoulder, down. They teased him mercilessly after that, and he retired to a nearby bus stop to sulk…

I set off from Omaruru, after driving slowly through the town, remembering the day we had spent here last year, visiting the Chocolate factory, and eating at the Gecko Lodge, while watching replays of the previous evenings World Cup action. (Portugal had made it to the semi-finals!! Once again, they did it without a GPS!!) You got to love the Porra’s…!!

The road to Otjiwarongo, 135km away, is lined on both sides by Hunting Lodges, Safari Camps and Game Reserves. Right through to the little town of Kalkfield and beyond, up to Otjiwarongo itself….game fences all the way…. A sign outside Omaruru warned of warthogs, and there were many to be seen… there were in fact lots of them along the road…come to think of it, the place was crawling with them!! Every few hundred metres, I passed individuals, or little family groups grazing on the verge of the road, outside the protection of their reserves….

On only one occasion did they take fright and run across the road in front of me… (ABS had it covered)…. Most of them did not even acknowledge my passing or lift their heads in greeting, just kept their heads down and arses up, munching on whatever Warthogs in this area munch on…..

The place was crawling with them…!

I also saw many a Steenbokkie on this stretch, and remembered what Marli’s father had said about them…. “….’n Steenbok is a blerry stupid ding!” he had said, “Hy hardloop verniet voor jou in…ek het baie van hulle doodgery!!” Bearing this dire warning in mind, whenever I saw one, I throttled back, waiting for it’s stupidity to kick in…thankfully the Namibian variety seemed to be a bit more intelligent than those from the Lutzputs area…

I crossed the Kahn river (yes, it was also dry….) and rumbled into an almost deserted Otjiwarongo. I remembered then that it was Saturday afternoon, and most self respecting Namibians would be at home, contemplating their next mind-numbing week ahead… I stopped at the Hakahana Service Station to gulp down the contents of my one water bottle, as despite the cloud cover, I was sweating profusely. I sent a few sms updates and then left town quietly, least I disturb its slumbering residents. The shop and filling station closed as I left… (2.00pm)

Otavi was about 120km away, and the road to it free of any traffic to speak of… I couldn’t resist the urge to give the “Big Fella” his head, and he leapt away to cruise at between 170 and 180km/h, taking the few forgiving corners in his stride…. Cloud covered the tops of the Groot Waterberge to the east of us, as we thundered along. About 40km short of Otavi, I noticed the clouds building into a dark mass ahead of us, and shortly thereafter, the first few drops of rain appeared on my visor…. I slowed down to consider my options… Look for shelter, or make a run for Otavi…. Shelter in these parts being rather low to the ground, I chose the latter option and piled on the revs again….

We almost made it… Luckily it did not rain hard enough to get me off the bike and into my rain suit, and I cut my way through strong drizzle to the shelter of the Total garage in Otavi’s main road, (or was that only road….) While waiting for the rain to stop, I replenished my tank, and made friends with the midget pump attendant, Joseph by name, who could not stop asking questions about the “why” I was doing such a long trip on my own… He could not see over the tank, and I had to fill the bike myself. I thought of asking him if I could take his photo with, or on the bike, but decided against it in the end… As I write this, I regret that I did not do so, as I know he was dying to sit on the bike, but was too shy to ask… I remembered Joseph from our stop here in 2006, when we had ridden up to the Namutoni Gate in Etosha… Maybe I’ll see Joseph again one day, and WILL hoist him onto the “Big Fella” this time…

A bright welcome, despite the “Grey Day” in Otavi….

I was faced with two options to get to Grootfontein from Otavi. The obvious route lay 90km to the east of my present position, but the cloud build-up in that direction made me head further north to Tsumeb, in an attempt to skirt the rain which was obviously falling along the B8 highway to the east of us… It meant an additional 35km, but after the distance I had already ridden today, that did not faze me at all…

The B1 to Tsumeb runs through scenery which reminded me of the Bushveld in the Lowveld of Mpumalanga, with thickly wooded bush, interspersed with small open areas, where dry waterholes waited for the coming rains. Small hills, covered in the greenery of trees and scrub, guarded the entrance to Tsumeb. Thousands of white butterflies flew amongst the trees and over the road. My visor quickly became coated with the remains of many of them, and I had to pull over, take my helmet off and get the “wet-wipes” out of my tank bag to clean the visor… My knees were covered in the white powder from the wings of those who were unlucky enough to have made contact with them… The radiator cover below my headlight was also clogged with these butterflies…

Swallows, Swifts and Shrikes flew low over the road, snatching them in mid-flight, while other birds hopped along the road surface, pecking at those butterflies which had been knocked to the ground by passing vehicles. An amazing sight…. I sat watching it all for about ten minutes, before realising that having travelled eastwards by a few degrees today, I was in fact “losing” a bit of the light I had become used to whilst on the coast. I climbed aboard again and set off for the turnoff just short of Tsumeb itself, which would take me south-east to Grootfontein via the C42.

This road-sign brought back memories of 1982/3 when I was in the forced employ of “Constand Viljoen & Sons”….

I stopped to take a picture of the sign, and stood for a while remembering the friends who had been killed in action up here 25 years ago… In my mind I saw again the places we patrolled with the horse regiment stationed at Oshivelo… Remembered the hair-raising low-level flights through the bush, the staccato rattle of automatic weapons fired at us, and the thunder of the 20mm cannons mounted in the Alouettes who returned fire, trying to protect the lumbering Puma helicopters transporting us…while we hung on to our gear in preparation for the landing and mad scramble to secure the immediate area… I stood with tears filling my eyes at the memories…frustrated by the sheer waste of it all…

I remembered again the visit to the National Museum in Windhoek, with Vanessa and the girls in 2006… We had entered a room where the Bush War and its participants on both sides were honoured. My family were ahead of me, and looking over their shoulders, I saw the uniforms, the weapons and the photographs… I was plunged back in time, back to those days of ’82 and ’83… I fled from the building, trying desperately to control the many emotions that enveloped me…pride, sadness, grief… My family did not realize I was gone until they had moved on into the next room and its exhibits of life in the Kaokoveld… The Bush War scarred many of us, and I know that I will carry the memories of that time forever, and will always be moved by reminders of mere boys in uniform, fighting for a cause few of us understood and many never believed in…

The light was fading as I made the run through beautiful countryside, the entrances to Game Lodges every few kilometres indicating that this was prime wildlife habitat. I encountered a inquisitive Giraffe, who stopped chewing while I passed and swivelled its head to follow me… Plenty of warthog, still giving me the cold shoulder, grazed contentedly right up to the edge of the tarmac, causing me to opt for the centre of the road, all the way to Grootfontein…

It was drizzling again as I reached the outskirts of this town where I had spent many days during my national service. I passed the sign to the Grootfontein Meteorite, the largest example of its kind on earth, and wondered if there would be time to see it again. I hardy understood its significance when I last visited it, and I wanted to see it again, with a wiser and more enquiring head on my shoulders! The road leading to it was slick with mud, and unless the rain stopped falling in this area, I didn’t think I’d be visiting the meteorite on this trip!!

Grootfontein was used as a staging post to send troops northwards towards the camps which guarded the Angolan border. I had cadged many lifts with either ammunition convoys or armoured car divisions which went into the Caprivi, on the road to Rundu. I’d be heading there tomorrow…a different kind of memory lane…

Another wet welcome… This time it’s Grootfontein…

I checked into the Olea Caravan Park, in the main street, and was given the key to chalet No: 4. I rode my bike through puddles of water to get to the front door. I was also advised that there was indeed a restaurant, but it only served “steak, chips and salad” and it was closed for the night… I was too tired and emotionally drained by this stage to think of a comeback line to that one… It had been a long and interesting day…

After a cold shower (they had not turned the geysers on, assuming there would be no guests that day!!) I fired up my little gas cooker to make coffee and later, while updating my journal and downloading the day’s photographs, I sipped at a steaming mug of instant soup…

I thought about Allan Karl of World-Rider fame, who would be joining me tomorrow for the ride into the Caprivi… I wondered how the dynamics of my trip would change, having someone to ride with… I had planned to make this journey on my own after all… I was also a little intimidated I think, knowing that here was a man that had been on the road since July 2005, and had probably seen it all, done it all… And there was I, a rookie in all aspects of the word, on his first long bike tour… I hoped that it would work out…

The entrance to my digs in Grootfontein…

Lime green was the colour of choice when refurbishing took place….

© 2008 TBMH