The one thing I love about these trips is that you learn new stuff all the time. Yesterday I learned that battery acid stains my pants white when rinsed with water, and black when rinsed with Angolan beer. This kind of stuff can come in handy some day.
So the new battery is fitted, the starter swings over and an angel choir breaks out in song. My inner thighs says a quiet thank you, they have'nt been looking forward to this mornings kicking session. To atone for my sinfull thoughts towards the bike, I wash the airfilter and coat it with some very expensive synthetic oil. Nothing like starting the day with the smell of petrol on your hands.
Fred's day starts with a trip around town looking for a pair of crutches. If he stops hobbling around on that foot, maybe the 'sprain' will be less painfull. Again there is a local that goes out of his way to take them around to the hospital and Fred returns with a very expensive pair of WWII steel crutches. Apparently the hospital was a less than pleasant experience and he tells us of several malaria cases being brought in while they were there and of one that was tied to a bed etc.
There's another thing I forgot to mention, the restaurant that we were at, had a guard standing around outside. When it became dark he appeared with an AK47 over his shoulder. So did the caretaker at the camp grounds. Also, when we were roaming the town, every so often we would find someone stationed on a corner with a chair and an assault rifle. Whether it was police or some civil guarding system I don't know. It appears they take safety and security seriously here. For us however it is strange to see, in our country it is only government forces that are allowed to possess fully automatic rifles. And AK47's are only ever seen in the hands of criminals. We felt very safe though.
After breakfast we reluctantly take our leave from Namibe, none more so than Nardus. Just like Monte Negro, he campaigns valiantly to stay another day.
Once again we have good tarrred road under our wheels and we watch the scenery change from yellow desert to scraggy brush to proper bushveld with Baobabs etc. In Namibe it was cold, but as the scenery changes so too does the temperature and we are forced to stop and get rid of some clothing.
Our plan for the day is to reach Lubango and sleep in the bush somewhere on the other side of it. As we start the bikes mine is dead. Dead.
The new battery is of as much use as a rock. Son of a beige! Now it could be the bike again. Maybe the alternator charges the batteries to a frazzle. This one only lasted a couple of hundred km's. It's very possible because over the past 12 mnths I fitted 3 new batteries to this piece of shit bike.
This time kicking is futile. It's hot. Hennie takes a meditative approach to the kicking.
Finally we decide to run-start seeing as there is a tarred surface. The compression is too much to run it in 1st or 2nd and the wheel just locks up. In 3rd the engine turns over too slowly to get the thing to run.
The trick is to get a good run (with your mates pushing), then hook it into second (with your mates still pushing), then drop the clutch in 2nd whilst still holding the decompression lever in (with your mates giving their all), let it turn over a couple of times like that (with your mates hating your guts but still pushing), and then drop the decompression lever whilst jumping on the pegs to get traction. Surprisingly tricky to get your left hand to follow the sequence.
That's the way to go if you want to piss your mates off. Have them push your bike around, in the sun, with you on the seat, and periodically fuck up the sequence between the in gear/out of gear, clutch and decomp, with the lovely expectation that this may be the situation for the rest of the trip.
We get the bike started though, but it is clearly not a happy chappie. It is not keen to start, not keen to idle and only seem to be OK when given a handfull.
At least we are going to Lubango. It's the second largest city in Angola. Mechanics and bike batteries ought to abound.
Next to the road we notice that the locals are wearing a different traditional dress than before. The woman are still going topless but generally have small breasts which are tied down with cloth or string. I really should do a little research beforehand, the experience is always enhanced by knowing the local customs and colour.
Between us and Lubango stands an escarpment rising 2km from the plains. Up it winds Leba pass. It's fantastic. Go see it.
We did not get good pictures as we were there in the heat if the day but here are some.
When we get to Lubango we head straight to Cristo Rei. I think it translates to 'Christ the Redeemer'. It is a copy of the statue on Corcovado Mountain in Rio De Janeiro. I'm told it's one of three, the other being in Lisbon. This one is also situated on a mountain overlooking the city.
It is however unique, it is the only one to be riddled with bullet holes. Using Jesus for target practice... only in Africa.
On top of the same hill there are still some remnants of the city's defences. We used to call this a Stalin Organ (like the musical instrument, not the penis).
Down below we can see the city sprawling and it is fascinating to hear it grumble. It's like a living animal.
I hate cities. To me they are just large containers for the desperate. Out in the rural areas one can be poor, but still live with integrity and self respect. I normally avoid cities like the plague when on a bike trip. Today I need what it offers though and so we descend.
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