West to Swakopmund

S 22° 34’ 08” – E 14° 31’ 55”

I rode back to BMW at 7.30am for Hedley to double-check that the software which had been installed was functioning properly. I was taking no chances, as after Windhoek, it was into the Boondocks, and I could not afford a mishap of any kind after this stop… After confirming that all was well, I went back to Backpackers United to load the bike. I had already packed all the bags, so it was just a matter of carrying all my kit out onto the driveway and attaching the panniers and various other bags to the bike.

Estee was already preparing breakfast, and sneaked me an extra fried egg and more bacon as a goodbye (and possibly good riddance!) gesture… Many of the residents came out to say goodbye to me which was touching, as I had spent a lot of the time “taking the mickey” out of most of them!! I shook hands with the guys and hugged the girls and after what seemed like ten minutes of greetings, I was finally able to swing into the saddle and wave a final farewell to all… Some of them even walked out onto the pavement to watch me ride away… I felt like I was part of a large family of travelers, and was heartened by the fact that even though they were all strangers to me, we had been able to connect on a level which asked little of the other person, yet fostered a kind of kinship which was hard to explain…

My route to lass=MsoNormal>

And then I ran into a sand storm… I had seen it from a long way off, and as I thundered towards it I wondered what I should do… I could get close to it and then pull over and shelter behind the bike and wait for it to pass, or take my chances and try to ride through it… It all depended on how fast the storm was moving… I had been told that these storms can strip the paint from a car, so I was understandably concerned for both the safety of myself and the “Big Fella”… This trip was about testing my mettle, pushing myself beyond the comfort zone, taking chances… I decided to take the storm on…

The sand thrown up by the winds was white, as the storm was traveling south towards the dunes of the Namib on my left… From a distance it looked like a cloud traveling over the landscape… I was about a kilometer from the storm, the wind tugging at me and seeming to come from every direction at once. I closed the top vent of my helmet as well as the one in front of my mouth, and made sure my visor was tightly closed… I eased off the throttle as I entered the “cloud”, bringing the bike down to about 80km/h… Visibility was down to just a few metres, and I hoped there wasn’t a truck or car parked in the storm ahead of me…

It took about five minutes to get through to the other side of this wind-blown sand storm, and in that time, I must have said “Oh my God” about ten times… I didn’t bother looking ahead of me (except for the occasional glance to see if there was a vehicle ahead) instead I kept focused on the verge of the road, trying to make sure I didn’t ride off the road… I tucked my chin into my chest, as I could feel the sand coming up into my helmet as it bounced off my chest and was deflected upwards. I was gasping for air, as despite the wind, there was no let-up from the heat… It was like driving in a windswept furnace…

As luck would have it, I did not encounter any vehicles until I rode through the far side of the storm… A dozen cars and trucks were parked on the side of the road a few hundred metres from the edge of the storm, waiting for it to pass, I presume… I slowed down as I neared them and saw many of the drivers shaking their heads in wonder at the sight of the “apparition” which had appeared from behind the curtain of flying sand… I raised my fist in a form of victory salute… We had made it through!! I was on such a high after this that I forgot to stop and take a photo of the storm behind me… I just opened the taps and slapped the sand off the tank bag and my jacket and pants…

Container trucks and flatbeds thundered towards me, bringing goods form the harbour of Walvis Bay into the interior, and their passing made the going even tougher. As these behemoths go past, initially a wall of air hits you, making the bike wobble, and then the vortex behind the truck sucks you towards the trailer, sometimes dragging you onto the opposite side of the road! As soon as I saw one coming towards me, I would drive as close to the left hand shoulder as possible and then open the throttle to “bash” through the turbulence, and then hang on as I was sucked towards the centre of the road again…. By the time I saw a sign showing Swakopmund was a mere 30 kilometres away, in my mind, it might as well have been 300 kilometres to go!!

My arms and shoulders ached, so I pulled over just past the Desert Camel Farm to take a breather. Sand had got inside my jacket, and my sweat-soaked t-shirt felt like sandpaper as I pulled it over my head to give it a shake… I looked around me and realized that I was standing close to the area where we used to spend our school holidays in the late 70’s, when my father was building the Rossing Uranium Mine. We used to fly up in the company Beechcraft, and stay in the Motel just outside Swakopmund on the B2.

The motel where we stayed as kids, with “Black Mountain” in the background and The Namib Desert beyond…

I remember spending my days looking for snakes and lizards, and walking to what we called “Black Mountain” (see photo), across the dry river bed of the Swakop River which was a few hundred metres from our bungalow. My mother and sister were bored out of their minds most of the time, but I was in my element, filling bags and bottles with all manner of creepy crawlies… Boys…..!!!!

My father would arrange some time off work to take us to Etosha and Cape Cross, or to Walvis Bay to see the ships coming into the harbour to offload their cargo. I remember being allowed into the bar and having my first beer with my father and his team of hardened construction workers… I stood shaking my head at the memories of it all. Wondering at the co-incidence that had me stopping here, in this place, far from home, yet so familiar to me…

I also took this opportunity to try out the tripod for the camera and use the timer to get a few photos of myself instead of all the ones I have of the bike only. At first the wind threatened to blow the whole contraption over, and I had to find a spot where the bike blocked the worst of the wind before attempting to take any photos. Cars and trucks hooted at me as they passed, their drivers probably having a good laugh at my antics!! My first few efforts were a bust, but I eventually got the hang of it and managed to get both the bike and I in the same frame…

First successful attempt with the tripod and timer, on the road to Swakopmund….

I packed the camera gear away and drove the last 30 kilometres at the sedate pace of 80km/h, leaning into the wind, and then plugging through a light mist that indicated the sea and my destination were close by…

At a road block just outside town, I was waved through without the usual license producing and motored into town. The Garmin Girl was telling me where to go… I rode down to the beachfront and cruised past the Aquarium and the entrance to the Orange Adventure Tours, where we had hired quads and roared around the dunes for a few hours during our Namibian trip in 2006. I remembered how Robyn had rolled her quad down the lower slopes of a dune, scaring the wits out of us, but luckily receiving no major injuries in the process. She stood next to her bike, shaken, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, covered from head to foot in the fine orange sand… I was proud of the fact that despite not riding as hard as she was prior to the accident, she continued riding behind the guide and finished the trip with the rest of us… She earned my respect that day… I don’t think I ever told her that…

I rode around the town for about half an hour, seeing all the places we had been together, wishing they were with me again… I remember that Vanessa had not wanted to go on the trip to Namibia… She wanted me to take the girls on my own instead… I had pleaded with her, hoping that we would get a chance to “re-connect” as a family… And for three weeks we had…

I eventually approached the Municipal Bungalows from the opposite direction to which the GPS had tried to send me. So began a running argument with this device, as many of the streets in Swakopmund have been changed to one way’s, and the GPS kept telling me to turn where I no longer could…(not without head-butting oncoming traffic, that is!!)

This was by no means the first or last time I had to mutter a few choice words to the Garmin Girl, who spoke in confident tones into my right ear… She often got her left and right mixed up!! Silly girl… If the Americans were still using her to direct their Smart Bombs, I could see why they hadn’t managed to get Osama as yet!! I could just picture the scene:

Squadron Leader to Garmin Girl: “Which cave is it for Heaven’s sake?”

Garmin Girl to Squadron Leader: “The one on the left…or is it the right… Uh… Sorry, turn around and try again…”

I’d drop one on Garmin headquarters…!!

Outskirts of Swakopmund, after a hard day’s ride….

I checked into the “Municipal Bungalows” and settled into Cottage No: 18. I took all my gear off the bike, as I intended to stay here for a few days and ride the area as lightly loaded as possible. This was the most Westerly point of my ride and I was relieved to be here after the day spent battling the wind, the sand, and the heat… I took a walk behind the bungalows and crested a dune to see the Atlantic spread out before me… It was one of those “heart-swelling” moments…you know the ones…when you feel a pin-prick behind your eyes… I was so proud to have made it here…proud of the bike… I wanted to run back to my bungalow and throw my arms around the “Big Fella”… He was all I had just then…

I boiled some water on the stove and added a few packets of “Cup-o-Soup”, mixing chicken and beef together, just to confuse the taste buds… They never noticed…

Loneliness settled over me like a cloud… I think it was as a result of the nerve-wracking day I had spent in the saddle, and then the “high” of having made it through to Swakopmund, closely followed by the yearning to have shared it with someone…anyone…

From where I later lay on my not-so-comfortable bed, I could hear the waves rolling onto the shore a short distance away, and eventually fell asleep listening to the rhythm of the ocean…

No 18, Swakopmund Municipal Bungalows… Large and spacious…not!!

© 2008 TBMH