SGB
Race Dog
Dustdevil said:
Ouch that hurts man. :'( Us girls also need a bit of encouragement.... ;D I deleted the rest of what I wanted to say. Lets enjoy the report at hand. :thumleft:
Angola, Angola - a tale of “três cavaleiros”
- Thread starter Beserker
- Start date
Ouch that hurts man. :'( Us girls also need a bit of encouragement.... ;D I deleted the rest of what I wanted to say. Lets enjoy the report at hand. :thumleft:
SGB
Race Dog
Thanks for sharing that and building on the locals' positive experience of the "enemy". I think this attitude can go a long way towards ending the war. And it is opening up an amazing area for us to enjoy on our bikes. I can't wait for the rest of your story!Beserker said:
Joyride
Race Dog
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2007
- Messages
- 682
- Reaction score
- 5
- Location
- Cape Town, Western Province
- Bike
- KTM 950 SE
Miskien is ek uit die oude doos of sommer net 'n ou doos, maar dis die soort trip wat ek van hou. Klim op 'n thumper en rough it. Diktril!! :thumleft:
hondsekierie
Race Dog
Thanks vir al die moeite met die verslag Beserker :thumleft:
Kan sien hierdie trip is nie vir die 'sagte' manne.
Vraag: Hoe het julle beskikbaarheid van petrol bepaal in die verafgelee gebiede? Neem aan julle het nie die heeltyd met full stock gery nie? Is dit maar n kwessie van waar daar voertuie is moet daar petrol wees en dan begin vra of kon julle dit vooraf bepaal/ beplan?
Kan sien hierdie trip is nie vir die 'sagte' manne.
Vraag: Hoe het julle beskikbaarheid van petrol bepaal in die verafgelee gebiede? Neem aan julle het nie die heeltyd met full stock gery nie? Is dit maar n kwessie van waar daar voertuie is moet daar petrol wees en dan begin vra of kon julle dit vooraf bepaal/ beplan?
F
forex618
Guest
Was that an Apache chopper? Wonder what the story of that one was?
Beserker
Grey Hound
Hondsekierie said:
Ons het gery op hoop..waar ons petrol kon kry, het ons volgemaak.
Die kapasiteit was so 50l per bike, wat afhangende van die terrein, jou so tussen 600 - 850 km kon gee.
Van die dele was daar nie voertuie nie, nie winkels nie...maar ons geheime wapen was die DR..alles in die volgende hoofstuk, behalwe my pc waarop ek dit gedoen het, het die gees gegee,
en ek moes die laaste twee hoofstukke oorskryf..hoop om dit so middagete op te sit...Soos hulle se, "Staan by!"
KTM Jagermeister
Pack Dog
Die deel voel my gaan die interessantste wees ... Skryf blikemmer!
Fulltaps
Race Dog
Ek, ek kannie my f..kin werk doen nie !! Kom Beserker, tik met 5 vingers... :laughing4:
zetman
Race Dog
Lekr man eendag gan ek di trip nog doen mag ek vra wat mens moet budget vir so tipe trip en hoe lank het mens nodig om te doen
the_BOBNOB
Grey Hound
Beserker said:waarop ek dit gedoen het, het die gees gegee,
Soos hulle se, "Staan by!"
hoe laat eet jy middag ete ???
Beserker
Grey Hound
I have been struggling with this leg of the trip for some time now, for various reasons.
It does not lend itself to a “ we then went there and saw this, and then there and this happened” style, like the report done to date….for one, a lot of hard riding meant very few photographs, unfortunately.
Maybe worth to backtrack a bit to the planning phase..it is the area that took the most time in terms of my research, and I still managed to come up with zero, zilch, nada, nothing, zip.. it was as if my powers of Google deserted me.
Coming to Angola, each one of the team had a different aim, something to achieve, something specific apart from the trip as a whole.
For Danie, Langewand and Flamingo…and although the riding was not technically demanding, the topography was varied, the terrain was interesting and the riding superb.
For Pete, a keen historian with a pendant for historic battles, the area around Cuito Cuanevale was first prize…especially as it was his second bite at the cherry after a first, failed attempt about two years ago, on the self same DR650 he used on this trip.
For me, it was the unknown, a North South route from Cuito…it is unchartered, information obtained was mostly hearsay and dated, we were in for a real adventure of discovery.
The area itself, bordered by the Longa on the west, the Cuito to the East, defined as the Coutada Publica do Longa Mavinga, sees very little traffic, if at all (we saw none)
Looking at the map…we needed to get from Cuito to Nankova, sticking as close as possible to the blue North-South line . (The pink routes is what is used locally to connect Cuito to Menongue to Nankova – the known and used route)
The reason for the pink detour is primarily the area. Apart from the landmine problem, it was barely passable when we did it, I can imagine what the rainy season will do to it.
With no information available, it was decided that once we get to Cuito, we will see what we can find out, and make a call. At least a route via Mavinga has been investigated by SGB and crew https://wilddog.net.za/forum/index.php?topic=52625.0 , (Thank you SGB for your input) and if all else fails, will be an option.
Compounding the route issue from Cuito, on Google Earth, zooming in on Cuito, notice the “marble” effect surrounding the town..?
It is this:
An aerial view of minefields… a sobering thought.
We were also at the tail end of a l-o-o-ng offroad trip, we were filthy, a bit knackered from riding everyday, all day (apart from the day at Flamingo where we did the canyon tour).
Although the bikes were running without a hiccup, the ravages of nearly 2000 km of offroad was clearly visible, and one could not help but wonder how long before we need to do some servicing, an aspect that contributed to the mental stress at the onset of this, the most remote leg of the trip.
Well, there is no turning around, the border was 430 km away, as they say “On with it!!”
Day 10, 11 and 12 Cuito Cuanevale to Calai via Gung, Bio Longa, Vita Nova ad Arnada (Nankova) , Rito and Mavengue
At the start, I remember taking this photograph, thinking “This doesn’t look to bad, 430 km, a day, maybe a day and a half to civilisation, one night camping…yeeha!”
It was not to be, you see the clump of trees on the horizon, passing through them the track proper hit us, the most horrendous, deep, foliating sand.
Getting to a firmer section, I stopped after about 40 km.
A quick inspection confirmed my worst fear, the terrain is causing my fuel to drop at an alarming rate..55 liters will not be enough for this 430km stretch.
Waiting for Danie and Peter to catch up,
We had a quick pow wow, and decided that we should push on another 20 km. Often on this trip, to date, just as we thought we had enough, the route took a turn for the better.
As it turned out, it did not get better, and something to note…the track footprint was extremely wide, Land Cruisers don’t come here. The preferred mode of transport was the Kamaz 6x6 trucks, monster off road weapons.
I quickly discovered, skip the track, as soon as your speed allows for it, mount the “middelmannetjie” and stay on it. Falling of, and getting back on, resulted in a snaking across the road a couple of times. You would mount it with your front wheel, the back had a preference for the gutter, and once convinced to get up, the force would be so great that you would eject to the gutter on the other side, and everything would start over again.
Danie and Pete also had a power issue, there was just not enough to get them onto the “middelmannetjie” , and for the most part, they had to slug it out in the track gutter…
Another aspect of riding the gutter, the track saw very little use, probably just a few times per year, and was severely overgrown with thorn trees ripping at your forearms. The scars from these encounters are slowly healing even as I type…respect to Danie and Pete!
Viciously snaking side to side as we barreled down the road, some grim reminders to do our best and STICK TO THE ROAD!!
The going was hard, and engine temperatures was rocketing..
We were forced to stop every so often.
We tried to limit stopping, as stopping was a violent affair of sliding around when you went from floating at speed over the sand to sinking in again..often resulting in having to pick the bike up afterwards.
Pulling away was also a matter of standing still in first, kicking up sand, moving forward slowly in second, and eventually floating the bike once you hit third..consuming petrol like a whale does seawater in it’s hunt for plankton..in our case, the minuscule plankton gains being distance per liter of petrol.
Stopping also bought back memories from long ago, something that everybody that spent time in Northern Namibia during their National Service would remember…”muggies”. In their quest for moisture, they would swarm around you incessantly, and no orifice is safe from them, nose, ears and particularly eyes were favorite targets.
Sticking to the “middelmannetjie”, talk about target fixation…I did not notice our distance covered, and the original 20km further-on checkpoint decided on during our brief regrouping at the 40km mark was overshot…we were 80km into the route when I woke up to it, and a decision was academic..we would not be able to make it back to either Menongue or Cuito on our fuel, and none of us had any wish to cover the track back again anyway.
Being overly optimistic, we decided to push on to Biaxo Longa..surely the black market..?
Small but sucking you to a standstill cotton soil water crossings:
We arrived at Biaxo Longa late afternoon (the photograph a shot from the hip effort, the Chefe de Administration not being very keen on us taking photographs), the ravages of war still clearly visible.
The Commander of the Army from Cuito has somehow established contact with Biaxo Longa, and in no uncertain terms put it to them to extend some courtesy.
We were offered a bathroom, slightly chilly, but the water was clean and refreshing after a day that saw the temperature in the mid to high thirties, and being next to the wetlands, humidity was off the charts.
(Now, now ladies)
Also on offer, the school classroom where we spent the night.
But unfortunately no “Gasolina” (petrol) nor a shop for food…Nankova, some 132km to the south, is where the logistics supply line stopped. We were assured that we will get sorted there..if we make it, I thought, we were running dangerously low on fuel.
Distance for the day 165km, and it was not as if we were idle, we did some hard riding, all day.
Speaking to the locals we were told that since the war, the landmine cleaning people came and went, Unicef did a census regarding tribe, language being spoken and food cultivated, and at some stage a German mining engineer came past..since then, nothing from the outside. Some of the teenage children in the village has seen neither a bike, nor a white man, for that matter.
Next morning saw us packing up, and taking our leave after thanking the town..only to be stumped 2km down the road by a shot up bridge.
No amount of moving hardware round could bridge the final gap..
We ended up downriver where the river is slightly wider and more shallow, with a makeshift litter, added some local muscle, and went manual…check the general on the left giving orders..
Soon we were on our way, and by now I started seriously re-thinking my original estimate of how long it will take us to complete this final stretch.
We had to make Nankova, either by bike, or walking…not a pleasant thought.
Although there were plenty of Y-junctions, we soon realized they were there due to seasonal changes of the shona..they all join up ahead somewhere and we did not bother waiting for each other (and entertaining the “muggies”). If you miss the spoor of the guy in front of you, hang in there, you will intersect it again.
Some pics, you will notice mostly of water crossings, in line with our policy of avoiding stopping and starting as far as possible. We did stop at obstacles, like water crossings, where we took the precaution of walking.
Lekka by the beach…check the sand!
Some water crossings, especially the deep muddy ones were more tricky than others.
To aid grip for truck tires, loads of tree trunks were dumped into the crossing. These were waterlogged, under the surface and slippery as glass. Getting stuck was a common occurrence, getting over them tricky, it was not just a matter of getting the stuck wheel unstuck as in the process, the other wheel would get stuck. Endless amusement to whoever was on the embankment, especially if you made it to the other side already.
Our final crossing, about 50m long, walking it first.
On average about knee deep,
then a little island,
and then the final channel about 3m or so of thigh deep water.
Pete made it, then me..
(Danie censoring the water prowess of the Zaar by selective cropping)
And then huh – huh…Danie.
The bike stalled mid –stream, giving us all a huge fright.
I especially felt bad as there was a detour (40km give or take) available, but being the most hard up for petrol, I insisted on the crossing. Worst case scenarios played of in my head as I raced in to assist.
Fortunately, only the electrics, which dried out within ten minutes, giving us time to interact with the community on the far bank.
The Suzuki is frugal on petrol..me running out of fuel just before Nankova, and Danie about to, we did some re-distribution of wealth (we as Seffricans are used to it). With me and Danie receiving a transfusion, we made Nankova without incident
Amid great excitement among the locals we were summoned to the Administration
Building. A little perplexed (it did seem like a welcoming committee of sorts), we did as we were told, and reported to the big new administration block.
Being the seat of Municipality for the area, we were received by the Chefe de Secretiat, the Chefe de Administration, and being in the midst of a by-election, the chief of the Electoral committee, all aided by their 2IB’s, an interpreter and a few others with interest in the procedures….except the police, they were told by the beurocrats to f-off in a manner that I thought
Crammed into an office the size of a single garage, with no air-conditioning, the Chefe de Secretiat launched into a welcoming address, painfully slowly translated by the interpreter as the sweat started running down my back, only to be interrupted by a telephone ringing of the hook.
The Chefe de Secretiat immediately answered, putting us all on hold, when the second telephone started ringing, at which the Chefe passed the first call on to the Chefe de Administration, quite comically as the office was so full of people, the instruments were passed from hand to hand.
With both Chefe’s booming down the line, every now and again looking at us, we were informed by the interpreter that it is the provincial chefes of Mavinga and Cuito enquiring about our health and progress, and once again their welcome was translated to us.
We were told that they were honored to have us as visitors, how important tourism would be for the area etc. etc. …and we responded by saying how honored we are as visitors to be there, and how appreciative we were of the welcome.
Just as I thought I was about to pass out in this sauna of an office, the welcoming ceremony came to an end, and we rushed outside as fast as possible, gaping for air.
The two chefes:
Inquiring about petrol and some provisions, we were referred to Mr. Papa..for anybody planning to visit Nankova, make a note..Mr. Papa would be your go-to guy if your wallet is in need of some weighless.
Mr. Papa’s monopolistic empire encompasses everything that you would need, black market petrol, provisions and beer at a price that recognizes that there are no other options available.
Taking charge of everything himself..
He sold us some beers, tinned food and 45liters of petrol. We paid K$ 12 000.00 for the petrol, about 3 times the normal price of petrol in Angola.
No amount of haggling could bring the price down. We were to learn that the petrol comes from Rundu, via makoro, in drums, and then transported to Nankova by private means. Considering the roads, and the fact that petrol in Namibia is about double the price compared to Angola, not a bad price. Considering our dire fuel situation, positively cheap, in retrospect.
We were invited to stay the night, unfortunately Mr. Papas biggest success story is his shebeen/disco, and the number of inebriated patrons hanging around made up our minds..we filled up, bade the kind people of Nankova adieu , and took our leave.
It does not lend itself to a “ we then went there and saw this, and then there and this happened” style, like the report done to date….for one, a lot of hard riding meant very few photographs, unfortunately.
Maybe worth to backtrack a bit to the planning phase..it is the area that took the most time in terms of my research, and I still managed to come up with zero, zilch, nada, nothing, zip.. it was as if my powers of Google deserted me.
Coming to Angola, each one of the team had a different aim, something to achieve, something specific apart from the trip as a whole.
For Danie, Langewand and Flamingo…and although the riding was not technically demanding, the topography was varied, the terrain was interesting and the riding superb.
For Pete, a keen historian with a pendant for historic battles, the area around Cuito Cuanevale was first prize…especially as it was his second bite at the cherry after a first, failed attempt about two years ago, on the self same DR650 he used on this trip.
For me, it was the unknown, a North South route from Cuito…it is unchartered, information obtained was mostly hearsay and dated, we were in for a real adventure of discovery.
The area itself, bordered by the Longa on the west, the Cuito to the East, defined as the Coutada Publica do Longa Mavinga, sees very little traffic, if at all (we saw none)
Looking at the map…we needed to get from Cuito to Nankova, sticking as close as possible to the blue North-South line . (The pink routes is what is used locally to connect Cuito to Menongue to Nankova – the known and used route)
The reason for the pink detour is primarily the area. Apart from the landmine problem, it was barely passable when we did it, I can imagine what the rainy season will do to it.
With no information available, it was decided that once we get to Cuito, we will see what we can find out, and make a call. At least a route via Mavinga has been investigated by SGB and crew https://wilddog.net.za/forum/index.php?topic=52625.0 , (Thank you SGB for your input) and if all else fails, will be an option.
Compounding the route issue from Cuito, on Google Earth, zooming in on Cuito, notice the “marble” effect surrounding the town..?
It is this:
An aerial view of minefields… a sobering thought.
We were also at the tail end of a l-o-o-ng offroad trip, we were filthy, a bit knackered from riding everyday, all day (apart from the day at Flamingo where we did the canyon tour).
Although the bikes were running without a hiccup, the ravages of nearly 2000 km of offroad was clearly visible, and one could not help but wonder how long before we need to do some servicing, an aspect that contributed to the mental stress at the onset of this, the most remote leg of the trip.
Well, there is no turning around, the border was 430 km away, as they say “On with it!!”
Angola, Angola
A tale of “três cavaleiros”
Day 10, 11 and 12 Cuito Cuanevale to Calai via Gung, Bio Longa, Vita Nova ad Arnada (Nankova) , Rito and Mavengue
At the start, I remember taking this photograph, thinking “This doesn’t look to bad, 430 km, a day, maybe a day and a half to civilisation, one night camping…yeeha!”
It was not to be, you see the clump of trees on the horizon, passing through them the track proper hit us, the most horrendous, deep, foliating sand.
Getting to a firmer section, I stopped after about 40 km.
A quick inspection confirmed my worst fear, the terrain is causing my fuel to drop at an alarming rate..55 liters will not be enough for this 430km stretch.
Waiting for Danie and Peter to catch up,
We had a quick pow wow, and decided that we should push on another 20 km. Often on this trip, to date, just as we thought we had enough, the route took a turn for the better.
As it turned out, it did not get better, and something to note…the track footprint was extremely wide, Land Cruisers don’t come here. The preferred mode of transport was the Kamaz 6x6 trucks, monster off road weapons.
I quickly discovered, skip the track, as soon as your speed allows for it, mount the “middelmannetjie” and stay on it. Falling of, and getting back on, resulted in a snaking across the road a couple of times. You would mount it with your front wheel, the back had a preference for the gutter, and once convinced to get up, the force would be so great that you would eject to the gutter on the other side, and everything would start over again.
Danie and Pete also had a power issue, there was just not enough to get them onto the “middelmannetjie” , and for the most part, they had to slug it out in the track gutter…
Another aspect of riding the gutter, the track saw very little use, probably just a few times per year, and was severely overgrown with thorn trees ripping at your forearms. The scars from these encounters are slowly healing even as I type…respect to Danie and Pete!
Viciously snaking side to side as we barreled down the road, some grim reminders to do our best and STICK TO THE ROAD!!
The going was hard, and engine temperatures was rocketing..
We were forced to stop every so often.
We tried to limit stopping, as stopping was a violent affair of sliding around when you went from floating at speed over the sand to sinking in again..often resulting in having to pick the bike up afterwards.
Pulling away was also a matter of standing still in first, kicking up sand, moving forward slowly in second, and eventually floating the bike once you hit third..consuming petrol like a whale does seawater in it’s hunt for plankton..in our case, the minuscule plankton gains being distance per liter of petrol.
Stopping also bought back memories from long ago, something that everybody that spent time in Northern Namibia during their National Service would remember…”muggies”. In their quest for moisture, they would swarm around you incessantly, and no orifice is safe from them, nose, ears and particularly eyes were favorite targets.
Sticking to the “middelmannetjie”, talk about target fixation…I did not notice our distance covered, and the original 20km further-on checkpoint decided on during our brief regrouping at the 40km mark was overshot…we were 80km into the route when I woke up to it, and a decision was academic..we would not be able to make it back to either Menongue or Cuito on our fuel, and none of us had any wish to cover the track back again anyway.
Being overly optimistic, we decided to push on to Biaxo Longa..surely the black market..?
Small but sucking you to a standstill cotton soil water crossings:
We arrived at Biaxo Longa late afternoon (the photograph a shot from the hip effort, the Chefe de Administration not being very keen on us taking photographs), the ravages of war still clearly visible.
The Commander of the Army from Cuito has somehow established contact with Biaxo Longa, and in no uncertain terms put it to them to extend some courtesy.
We were offered a bathroom, slightly chilly, but the water was clean and refreshing after a day that saw the temperature in the mid to high thirties, and being next to the wetlands, humidity was off the charts.
(Now, now ladies)
Also on offer, the school classroom where we spent the night.
But unfortunately no “Gasolina” (petrol) nor a shop for food…Nankova, some 132km to the south, is where the logistics supply line stopped. We were assured that we will get sorted there..if we make it, I thought, we were running dangerously low on fuel.
Distance for the day 165km, and it was not as if we were idle, we did some hard riding, all day.
Speaking to the locals we were told that since the war, the landmine cleaning people came and went, Unicef did a census regarding tribe, language being spoken and food cultivated, and at some stage a German mining engineer came past..since then, nothing from the outside. Some of the teenage children in the village has seen neither a bike, nor a white man, for that matter.
Next morning saw us packing up, and taking our leave after thanking the town..only to be stumped 2km down the road by a shot up bridge.
No amount of moving hardware round could bridge the final gap..
We ended up downriver where the river is slightly wider and more shallow, with a makeshift litter, added some local muscle, and went manual…check the general on the left giving orders..
Soon we were on our way, and by now I started seriously re-thinking my original estimate of how long it will take us to complete this final stretch.
We had to make Nankova, either by bike, or walking…not a pleasant thought.
Although there were plenty of Y-junctions, we soon realized they were there due to seasonal changes of the shona..they all join up ahead somewhere and we did not bother waiting for each other (and entertaining the “muggies”). If you miss the spoor of the guy in front of you, hang in there, you will intersect it again.
Some pics, you will notice mostly of water crossings, in line with our policy of avoiding stopping and starting as far as possible. We did stop at obstacles, like water crossings, where we took the precaution of walking.
Lekka by the beach…check the sand!
Some water crossings, especially the deep muddy ones were more tricky than others.
To aid grip for truck tires, loads of tree trunks were dumped into the crossing. These were waterlogged, under the surface and slippery as glass. Getting stuck was a common occurrence, getting over them tricky, it was not just a matter of getting the stuck wheel unstuck as in the process, the other wheel would get stuck. Endless amusement to whoever was on the embankment, especially if you made it to the other side already.
Our final crossing, about 50m long, walking it first.
On average about knee deep,
then a little island,
and then the final channel about 3m or so of thigh deep water.
Pete made it, then me..
(Danie censoring the water prowess of the Zaar by selective cropping)
And then huh – huh…Danie.
The bike stalled mid –stream, giving us all a huge fright.
I especially felt bad as there was a detour (40km give or take) available, but being the most hard up for petrol, I insisted on the crossing. Worst case scenarios played of in my head as I raced in to assist.
Fortunately, only the electrics, which dried out within ten minutes, giving us time to interact with the community on the far bank.
The Suzuki is frugal on petrol..me running out of fuel just before Nankova, and Danie about to, we did some re-distribution of wealth (we as Seffricans are used to it). With me and Danie receiving a transfusion, we made Nankova without incident
Amid great excitement among the locals we were summoned to the Administration
Building. A little perplexed (it did seem like a welcoming committee of sorts), we did as we were told, and reported to the big new administration block.
Being the seat of Municipality for the area, we were received by the Chefe de Secretiat, the Chefe de Administration, and being in the midst of a by-election, the chief of the Electoral committee, all aided by their 2IB’s, an interpreter and a few others with interest in the procedures….except the police, they were told by the beurocrats to f-off in a manner that I thought
Crammed into an office the size of a single garage, with no air-conditioning, the Chefe de Secretiat launched into a welcoming address, painfully slowly translated by the interpreter as the sweat started running down my back, only to be interrupted by a telephone ringing of the hook.
The Chefe de Secretiat immediately answered, putting us all on hold, when the second telephone started ringing, at which the Chefe passed the first call on to the Chefe de Administration, quite comically as the office was so full of people, the instruments were passed from hand to hand.
With both Chefe’s booming down the line, every now and again looking at us, we were informed by the interpreter that it is the provincial chefes of Mavinga and Cuito enquiring about our health and progress, and once again their welcome was translated to us.
We were told that they were honored to have us as visitors, how important tourism would be for the area etc. etc. …and we responded by saying how honored we are as visitors to be there, and how appreciative we were of the welcome.
Just as I thought I was about to pass out in this sauna of an office, the welcoming ceremony came to an end, and we rushed outside as fast as possible, gaping for air.
The two chefes:
Inquiring about petrol and some provisions, we were referred to Mr. Papa..for anybody planning to visit Nankova, make a note..Mr. Papa would be your go-to guy if your wallet is in need of some weighless.
Mr. Papa’s monopolistic empire encompasses everything that you would need, black market petrol, provisions and beer at a price that recognizes that there are no other options available.
Taking charge of everything himself..
He sold us some beers, tinned food and 45liters of petrol. We paid K$ 12 000.00 for the petrol, about 3 times the normal price of petrol in Angola.
No amount of haggling could bring the price down. We were to learn that the petrol comes from Rundu, via makoro, in drums, and then transported to Nankova by private means. Considering the roads, and the fact that petrol in Namibia is about double the price compared to Angola, not a bad price. Considering our dire fuel situation, positively cheap, in retrospect.
We were invited to stay the night, unfortunately Mr. Papas biggest success story is his shebeen/disco, and the number of inebriated patrons hanging around made up our minds..we filled up, bade the kind people of Nankova adieu , and took our leave.
Beserker
Grey Hound
Regrouping outside Nankova
We decided to push on until we find a suitably remote spot, make camp and have supper.
About 12 km later, the spot:
The view across the Cuito floodplains, reminiscent of Northern Botswana and the Okavango, but with less mosquitoes.
That night we pitched tents for the second time on the trip, for no other reason that the tree that we choose to camp under had a cricket ball sized fruit, as hard and slightly heavier. Obviously in season, they kept falling around us throughout the night, striking our kit with a solid “thud” every now and again.
Our distance for the day..and keep in mind we rode all day, starting at dawn, 132km.
The next morning, about to be off, and in high spirits as we reckoned we will make Calais by nightfall, we encountered the first traffic of this stretch, a Land Cruiser coming from the South.
The driver confirmed that the road, which improved a lot over the 12 km from Nankova, will stay like this, provided we follow it via Licua, Lumeto, Benjengue and then backtracking to Calais, thus confirming what we were told by Mr. Papa.
Asked about going due south from Mavengue, a track that shows up on my Russian map, and that I could see on Google Earth, he rolled his eyes…”Ees very bad”
Ha!, have we heard this before? Even though a regular transport rider in this area, he could not compare it with the route north of Nankova as he has never ventured there before, he did reiterate though..”Ees very bad”
The difference were quite big, the detour would add approximately 100km to a 200km stretch, a huge consideration when taking into account that we have spent our last K$ at Mr. Papa..and the likelihood of finding more petrol en route was slim.
Some pics.
Being a regular supply route, bridges rather than water crossings.
Road improved quite a bit…some stretches could even be classified “very good.”
The meandering Cuito..for the first time on this stretch we could actually look around as opposed to concentrate 100% on the track.
We made good time, passing Mavengue at the 128 km mark just before lunch.
From the driver of the Land Cruiser, we were led to believe the turn off onto the due south shortcut to Calais is about 16 km before Mavengue, even though on my map it shows after. Mavengue came up and no turn off…not wanting to waste petrol by getting lost, I rode into Mavengue, and inquired.
Indeed, the turn off is about 16km after Mavengue, and I realized from the Land Cruiser drivers perspective, coming from the south..the turn off is before, lol.
It is just one example of things getting lost in translation, often we found that when inquiring about a distance to somewhere from a local, they would double up the distance, i.e. for them to go from where they are at Point A to Point B (15km away) would require a 30km journey…you have to get back, not?
So…16km came and went..at 24km we got to a turn off, and on my GPS it showed Calais, due south, as the crow flies, 67km.
A quick peek into my Acerbis..I might just make it provided the track is not to bad, I knew Danie to be in the same boat, but Pete should be fine.
Waited on them, and when they caught up, swung South.
No pictures, suffice to say it was everything the Northern section was, and then some!
You had to focus 100%, difficult as we were already fatigued to the point of exhaustion, the heat was nearly unbearable and having left the riverbank about 30km back, water was nearly depleted and rationed.
In this state we started ploughing through thorn trees and thick sand whoops with only one thought…keep that bearing south, and make for Calais.
With about 20km to go, Pete called a halt, and demanded the last tin of sardines…three precious little sardines which he wolfed down in minutes, and off we went.
It felt forever, and the remaining distance decreased to 15 km when I, riding in front, lost the track. Being ahead somewhat, I turned around, and promptly lost my own spoor. After about 800m I stopped, switched off my engine and listened for Danie and Pete.
A few minutes later I could hear them in the distance, first approaching, and then fading. As anybody would tell you, gauging direction in these circumstances is virtually impossible, but I could hear distinctly the two engines, and knowing Pete has a GPS that although useless without track information, should be able to guide them south, and thus to Calais.
Deciding f!ckit, I broke the rule of waiting for them as they definitely passed me in the distance, and once again swung around and headed due south bundu bashing. Fortunately I came across a track heading slightly south south east in the general direction of Calais, and took it.
I followed this till I intersected the main Calais – Cuanger road, and turned left to Calais, stopping at all the villages and asking them that should they see 2 bikers, to tell them that I am safe, and that once in Calais, will turn around and come look for them.
Entering Calais, one finds the Police station on the right, where I presented myself with my passport. I was still telling them about the fact that I’m not alone, and that I need to turn around to go look for my mates, when I heard a familiar roar, and running out of the station, saw Pete streaking down the main road, with Danie in hot pursuit.
As it turns out, they intersected my tracks, and followed it to the main road..all’s well that ends well.
The police, after a perfunctory check of our passports, realized our general condition, and escorted us to a hotel run by locals. Although decent and clean, we had no K$, only US$.
In the south of Angola, people have no issue with N$, and will gladly exchange it for K$...but US$ is something else. As it was dark by now, banks were closed, some food and a cold one depended on the proprietor of the hotel willing to exchange some US$.
Danie keeping a beady eye on the negotiations..nothing was going to get between him and a cold one, with something solid on the side..
Being escorted, and vouched for by the Chefe de Police allayed the owner of the hotel’s fears, and he exchanged 20US$..enough for a round, and some food afterwards.
The police also provide us with sleeping quarters, an unused tent, where Pete promptly hit the sack,
Me and Danie, sitting outside the tent in darkness, looking out over the Kavango to Rundu’s lights on the opposite bank, chatted for a while, discussing the trip…followed suit soon after.
Lying in my sleeping bag, I was well chaffed…made it!
Next up….
Homeward Bound….not!
We decided to push on until we find a suitably remote spot, make camp and have supper.
About 12 km later, the spot:
The view across the Cuito floodplains, reminiscent of Northern Botswana and the Okavango, but with less mosquitoes.
That night we pitched tents for the second time on the trip, for no other reason that the tree that we choose to camp under had a cricket ball sized fruit, as hard and slightly heavier. Obviously in season, they kept falling around us throughout the night, striking our kit with a solid “thud” every now and again.
Our distance for the day..and keep in mind we rode all day, starting at dawn, 132km.
The next morning, about to be off, and in high spirits as we reckoned we will make Calais by nightfall, we encountered the first traffic of this stretch, a Land Cruiser coming from the South.
The driver confirmed that the road, which improved a lot over the 12 km from Nankova, will stay like this, provided we follow it via Licua, Lumeto, Benjengue and then backtracking to Calais, thus confirming what we were told by Mr. Papa.
Asked about going due south from Mavengue, a track that shows up on my Russian map, and that I could see on Google Earth, he rolled his eyes…”Ees very bad”
Ha!, have we heard this before? Even though a regular transport rider in this area, he could not compare it with the route north of Nankova as he has never ventured there before, he did reiterate though..”Ees very bad”
The difference were quite big, the detour would add approximately 100km to a 200km stretch, a huge consideration when taking into account that we have spent our last K$ at Mr. Papa..and the likelihood of finding more petrol en route was slim.
Some pics.
Being a regular supply route, bridges rather than water crossings.
Road improved quite a bit…some stretches could even be classified “very good.”
The meandering Cuito..for the first time on this stretch we could actually look around as opposed to concentrate 100% on the track.
We made good time, passing Mavengue at the 128 km mark just before lunch.
From the driver of the Land Cruiser, we were led to believe the turn off onto the due south shortcut to Calais is about 16 km before Mavengue, even though on my map it shows after. Mavengue came up and no turn off…not wanting to waste petrol by getting lost, I rode into Mavengue, and inquired.
Indeed, the turn off is about 16km after Mavengue, and I realized from the Land Cruiser drivers perspective, coming from the south..the turn off is before, lol.
It is just one example of things getting lost in translation, often we found that when inquiring about a distance to somewhere from a local, they would double up the distance, i.e. for them to go from where they are at Point A to Point B (15km away) would require a 30km journey…you have to get back, not?
So…16km came and went..at 24km we got to a turn off, and on my GPS it showed Calais, due south, as the crow flies, 67km.
A quick peek into my Acerbis..I might just make it provided the track is not to bad, I knew Danie to be in the same boat, but Pete should be fine.
Waited on them, and when they caught up, swung South.
No pictures, suffice to say it was everything the Northern section was, and then some!
You had to focus 100%, difficult as we were already fatigued to the point of exhaustion, the heat was nearly unbearable and having left the riverbank about 30km back, water was nearly depleted and rationed.
In this state we started ploughing through thorn trees and thick sand whoops with only one thought…keep that bearing south, and make for Calais.
With about 20km to go, Pete called a halt, and demanded the last tin of sardines…three precious little sardines which he wolfed down in minutes, and off we went.
It felt forever, and the remaining distance decreased to 15 km when I, riding in front, lost the track. Being ahead somewhat, I turned around, and promptly lost my own spoor. After about 800m I stopped, switched off my engine and listened for Danie and Pete.
A few minutes later I could hear them in the distance, first approaching, and then fading. As anybody would tell you, gauging direction in these circumstances is virtually impossible, but I could hear distinctly the two engines, and knowing Pete has a GPS that although useless without track information, should be able to guide them south, and thus to Calais.
Deciding f!ckit, I broke the rule of waiting for them as they definitely passed me in the distance, and once again swung around and headed due south bundu bashing. Fortunately I came across a track heading slightly south south east in the general direction of Calais, and took it.
I followed this till I intersected the main Calais – Cuanger road, and turned left to Calais, stopping at all the villages and asking them that should they see 2 bikers, to tell them that I am safe, and that once in Calais, will turn around and come look for them.
Entering Calais, one finds the Police station on the right, where I presented myself with my passport. I was still telling them about the fact that I’m not alone, and that I need to turn around to go look for my mates, when I heard a familiar roar, and running out of the station, saw Pete streaking down the main road, with Danie in hot pursuit.
As it turns out, they intersected my tracks, and followed it to the main road..all’s well that ends well.
The police, after a perfunctory check of our passports, realized our general condition, and escorted us to a hotel run by locals. Although decent and clean, we had no K$, only US$.
In the south of Angola, people have no issue with N$, and will gladly exchange it for K$...but US$ is something else. As it was dark by now, banks were closed, some food and a cold one depended on the proprietor of the hotel willing to exchange some US$.
Danie keeping a beady eye on the negotiations..nothing was going to get between him and a cold one, with something solid on the side..
Being escorted, and vouched for by the Chefe de Police allayed the owner of the hotel’s fears, and he exchanged 20US$..enough for a round, and some food afterwards.
The police also provide us with sleeping quarters, an unused tent, where Pete promptly hit the sack,
Me and Danie, sitting outside the tent in darkness, looking out over the Kavango to Rundu’s lights on the opposite bank, chatted for a while, discussing the trip…followed suit soon after.
Lying in my sleeping bag, I was well chaffed…made it!
Next up….
Homeward Bound….not!
SGB
Race Dog
Wow, great! Respect.... :ricky:
the_BOBNOB
Grey Hound
man o man - to many photos of oom 2stroke in sy onderbroek uke_r:
eepwall:
uke_r:eepwall:
Dustdevil
Race Dog
Great respect for you guys forging a new route. I am sure many will follow in your footsteps in the future.
Fantastic story. Wish I was there, HPN and all.
Fantastic story. Wish I was there, HPN and all.
2 Stroke Dan
Race Dog
No Bob man, that is suppose to turn the girls on :imaposer:
