Onward . . . Vergelee . . . two bakkies driving at an uncomfortable speed for us to pass . . . side by side . . .delay us a little . . . Andre passes . . . white dust billows behind them . . . I discover a visored helmet, without goggles, does not keep the dust out my eyes . . . I hold my breath and commit to pass . . through . . . the road smooths and hardens and I roll on the throttle . . . I hold it at just under 140kmh which seems to be my top end with this load and gearing I have fitted . . . every flying kilometre is an attempt to win back my confidence . . . I cant remember ‘sukkeling’ so much in thick sand . . ever !
Ja boet ! . . . not so easy on that quad ne !
. . . and that fuel consumption . . . hmmmm
Yellow flowers every where . . . Andre says they start off in all colours, but after one day in this sun they all decide to become yellow :imaposer:
Drunken donkey cars . . . cattle . . . horses . . . donkeys . . . lonely farm houses in vast spaces . . . the sky is filled with puffy white clouds . . .
More thick sand . . . and more . . . after nearly becoming a bunker buster bomb for the uncountable time I stop . . . hours of riding on edge finally break me . . .Andre chats to me . . . I will ride his quad and he my bike . . . he jumps on and roars off . . . I am more tentative, never having ridden a real quad before . . . it veers all over the road like a raging bull trying to dismount its rider . .
I watch Andre enter a sand trap . . . I pray he doesn’t fall off but at the same time will find fault with the steering . . .
The rear kicks left, right . . . Andre’s legs fly next to his ears . . . next one same again . . . we stop . . . I ask Andre how it is handling . . he says “Feels normal” . . .I explode in disbelief ! . . . For the first time in my life I cant understand why anyone invented the two wheeled fall over machine . . . I want a 4x4 that doesn’t fall over . . .
We ride to Bray . . . my spirit shattered . . . my confidence is hiding under a turd at the bottom of a sceptic tank of a medium sized refugee camp somewhere in Somalia . . .
Bray is larger than any towns we have seen since Sannieshof.
I am still on the quad, Andre slithers through oceans of soft sand to stop under a solitary tree outside a small shop . . . a couple of locals are drinking beer and playing crap music very loud . . . we make a u-turn and head up a track to Tapama Lodge . . . a collection of thatched face brick buildings emerge behind the entrance pillars . . . a small swimming pool and a lekker braai area appear . . . a group of people are having drinks in the shade of some trees while their children noisily swim in the pool . . . a young German shepherd is bolting around the garden, full of energy . . . I feel kak . . .
Andre checks out the venue . . . I call Dewald and whine like a baby . . . I have no idea how this situation can be turned around . . . that I can ever swing my leg over my bike and face those awful sand monsters . . . we have toasted’s and a coke . . .
I lay on a wooden bench in despair . . . Andre tries to resurrect me . . . like Lazarus from the dead . . . I am pathetic :'( :'( :'(
As a last option Andre gets up and asks the owner, Gert I think, if there is a workshop where we could get bearings from . . . I am flabbergasted when he says Erens has a shop about 2km away and he may be able to help . . . We call him and he meets us at his garage and workshop . . .
The plan is we (mostly Andre
) will remove my triple clamps and steering head bearings . . . call Erens, who will return and look for replacements . . . I check the tyre pressure on Eren’s Dakar and it is low . . . very low . . .
Now with a glimmer of hope my spirits rise . . . but guardedly . . . I still don’t know if I will be able to ride these worsening roads . . . and then in the Kalahari desert nogall !!!
When opened the bearings are worn and covered in a dark gritty paste . . . lots of jokes and litres of sweat later . . . no replacements are available . . . we clean the bearings . . . Andre shows me how to pack them properly with grease . . . we re-assemble the steering head but keep it loose. Collateral damage is my hooter and right indicator light . . . I reduce my tyre pressures to around 1 bar and we head back to Talapa Lodge to top up with water. We land up having a beer and get invited to a closed function for one of the owners family who is turning 60. But I want to ride . . . I must try find what I have lost . . .
Getting ready to remove the forks . . . at least we had some shade . . .
and hundreds of dung beetles drowned in a few discarded tyres filled with water . . . rain water ?
This may be a Cyphonistes vallatus of the sub family Dynastinae(Rhino Beetles) of the family Scarabaeidae . . .
Andre as happy as a . . . i dont know . . . he is always happy !
I can like to ride nowhere with that bike now . . .
Erens se Garage en Dakar . . . in die middel van nerens . . . :laughing4:
After some local advice on where we can safely sleep we head out of Bray . . . the sun is setting and I am a little apprehensive . . .
In the dusky last light I can feel a difference and a smile starts to implant itself on my dusty face :biggrin:
We have no idea how far we can ride at night and just ride . . . stopping every 60 to 100km to refuel the quad . . . as we have done all day . . .
I sukkel to see and land up switching my headlight off . . . using Andre’s much more powerful quad light . . .
Proud owner of a MagLite :biggrin:
We ride at 60 – 90 kmh . . . the deep sand traps become my liberators and each one I power through restores my confidence and my self esteem is reforming like the broken vase I secretly glued from my mother when young . . .
When i stop . . . white butterflies ? settle on my mud guard . . .
The moon rises at our back’s . . . the evening smells are awesome ! . . . I try taking some pics . . . wanting to capture these moments for ever . . . every experience . . .every smell . . . every emotion . . .
The entire day we had dodged tortoises . . . big ones, small ones . . . black shiny millipedes crossing white sand roads . . . lizards with their heads held high . . . VW look alike dung beetles zooming across our track . . . and a few snakes . . . now at night rabbits dart in front of our light . . . birds settle on the warm sand and are startled into flight by our sudden appearance . . . I recognise doves, plovers and nightjars . . .
The road is fairly good, with some stoney stretches and water filled hollows . . .
Tired . . . but always cool :thumleft:
After 40km we reach the T-junction at Terra Firma, pass in darkness and head towards Vorstershoop . . . the locals warned of Kudu on this road but we don’t see any . . . perhaps the noise of the quad and my bike has warned them ahead of our arrival . . . some sharp bends on this road force me to concentrate . . . but my bike is handling like a dream and I want to ride forever :biggrin:
When riding through thick sand I now feel the rear moving left and right and the bars in my hands are constantly counter steering . . . keeping my balance . . . my deductions are that earlier when my rear moved left say, and my steering hooked it turned my front wheel right and caused my to loose balance . . .
My wrists are in pain from the battering but my spirit soars into the vast moonlit sky . . .
I reduce the compression damping in the front and this softens the ride over corrugations . . . I am very aware of my soft tyre pressures and try avoid rocks and sharp bumps . . . but even so a knock feels like it has hit through to my rim and an agonising period follows where I wait to see if I have a puncture . . .
Another fuel stop . . . lots of jokes . . . we reach Vorstershoop and start looking for a spot to sleep . . . not too close to the power lines or road . . . the elevated areas feel warmer now . . . nothing . . . through a ghostly collection of lights in town and then south . . . 5km further Andre sees a gate . . . it is open and we head away from the road and set up camp next to some weathered trees . . . the coffee is lekker ! and I am asleep before 23h30 . . .
Enough for one day . . .
Andre snores for the A team >
with a wonderful variation and repertoire . . . my favourite being the ‘let me inflate my punctured mattrass’ . . a deep . . . deep inhale, with slight intonation . . . followed by a loud whisltling exhale
