Sunday 1st February 2010
A pain in my wrist, more intense than that inflicted by a Zulu spear on Pretorius’ left hand at the Battle of Blood River, wakes me . . . I walk a little . . . the pre dawn sky large and spectacular . . . a bird in the valley south of ‘our’ dune flies off the ground . . . ‘klak, klak, klak’s’ and lands again . . . it is a lonely and sad sound . . . I sit on the sand . . . in the first rays of the morning sun . . . praying and meditating . . . grateful to be here . . . consciously acknowledging that this was our goal . . . when in Askham the petrol attendant asked where we were going . . . we said to ride through the desert . . he asked ‘and ?’ . . . and we began laughing . . . that was all . . . so simple . . . so profound . . .
Gottcha !
What will I do with my life . . . what work will I find . . . none of these questions have answers . . . all I experience is the happiness of this moment . . . and an awareness that I love this planet and I love to ride.
Andre strolls towards me . . . the coffee is wonderful . . . the oats fantastic . . we dilly dally a while . . . absorbing it all . . .
A large spider runs and hides under the quad . . . obviously waiting to ambush the rider :biggrin:
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The wind picks up and pushes us around . . the tent billows uncomfortably . . .
The fresh air . . . the squeaky clean sand . . . and our physical exertions have turned us into philosophical clowns :biggrin: “This is lekker . . . out of the wind.” Andre quips as he sits down to eat his oats, taking shelter from a rising wind . . . “If I fart you wont see me . . . ill be covered in a cloud of dust” . . . this seems like the funniest thing I have heard in a long while . . .
I sing three songs in a row . . . unheard of and abusive to Andre’s ears I am sure :-[
After Andre made a number two in the morning . . . as he stood up a dung beetle zoom plopped onto his you know what :imaposer:
I like this one . . .
Guess what is happening here :biggrin:
Looking North . . .
Looking South . . .
Looking Down . . .
Scrumptious meals ;D
Still looking North . . . with more footprints now ;D
A TW200 makes its way towards us . . . we meet Coolie van Wyk . . . owner of the farm we slept next to . . he heard us late last night and followed our tracks this morning . . . this road leads to a municipal reserve and is not open at night . . . He says there are only two types of people out at that time . . . those that are lost or those that are up to no good . . . delightedly we are neither :biggrin:
Coolie owns 3,000 hectares . . . low carrying capacity . . . 2,8 ‘grootvee enhede’ per hectare . . . gemsbok, springbok, impala, goats and cattle . . . an hour later and Coolie speaks on his radio . . . he must report back to his wife . . . ahh human nature is what it is . . . even here in the Kalahari ;D
Coolie van Wyk
Coolie's practicle sand tamer . . .
We are happy to be on the road again . . . a fond goodbye to ‘our’ dune and Eastwards . . the start of our homeward leg . . . when I look at the distance to ride home . . . I need a change of underwear :-[
The camera battery is flat . . . I use my cell camera . . . but it is a schlep . . . I will take more pics on the next trip . . . I feel confident I will return :thumleft:
Andre's shirt sleeves are too short and he is getting sunburn . . . so he makes a plan :biggrin:
Pan 88 . . . hot . . . corrugated red sand roads . . . difficult because I need speed to surf the mounds of sand but naked corrugations bite my tyres and suspension where they break free of the sand . . . did I mention they hurt my wrists and arms ? :
The best lines are close to the edge of the road, but leave little room for error or an emergency manouver . . . pans with water . . long bright red dunes stretching against a back drop of azure blue skies . . .
My spirits are high . . . I blast over the rough stretches and feel invincible . . . ahhh I am so fickle :
at pan 88 I sign Andre to stop and head for the crest of the next rise . . . I snap two pics of him . . . one in the depression and one as he passes . . . he is too fast and I am left with a digital dust cloud ;D
Pan 88 . . . named after you Dewald :thumleft:
A little settlement before Twee Rivieren . . a water tank with green shade cloth stands proud at the base of a dune . . meerkats scamper from dustbins across the road in front of me . . . 2, 3 . . . 6 in total . . .
We pull up at the border post/park entrance . . . victorius :biggrin: but not arrogant to say we have conquered the Kalahari . . . no one does . . . it is patient and enduring . . . and we are mere mortals . . .
SMS to tell Dewald and family where we are . . . there is a sense of pride in me . . . I wee in Botswana and SA at the same time
a brief chat to the border police and Doobie the Park Manager . . . and then we leave . . . 60km of tar to Andriesvale . . . I look forward to a rest, but Andre finds a double track next to the road and we spend the next 21km (I measured it :mwink: ) flying over a beautifull track . . . through small flat pans . . .around trees . . . through some trees for Andre
. . .until our track and energy is exhausted . . .
Looking South from Twee Rivieren . . . Botswana on left of fence . . . SA on right . . .
On the tar we ride together . . . sometimes I pretend to put my knee down in a corner . . . sometimes Andre rests his head on his handlebars . . . the scenery is spectacular . . . dunes . . . red and white . . . a curving road more suited to my ZX 10 . . . and then Andriesvale and back to the Limpopo River Lodge . . . this time we stop next to the tap, close to the petrol pump, under a tree on a small irrigated patch of grass . . . boots off . . .heaven !!!
Back at Molopo River Lodge . . .
Andre picks up a hose pipe and hoses me down . . . the water burns me and I jump around . . . we shower and rest . . . eat . . .and lull on the grass . . .
Some laughter attracts our ears . . . a Bushman is causing some merriment to his fellow workers . . . if I listen carefully he is speaking Afrikaans with a San accent . . . threatening to click and cluck with every word . . . his pitch is high . . . the content profane . . . it sounds like he has a speech impediment . . . he is swearing at some women who have asked him for cool drink money . . . he says he doesn’t even have money to phone call his family . . . and then launches into a diatribe on Hottentots that has Andre, me and all his mates physically crying with laughter . . . I cannot remember laughing so much . . . ever ! . . . and then our comedian finds some money to buy more beer :imaposer:
Reluctantly we head into the heat and the white glare of indifferent sand roads . . . we try the Molopo River road . . . I read it was good for 20 or 30km . . . and this proves true . . . white, barren, sparsely vegetated land to our South . . . a dune line runs parallel to us in Botswana to the North . . . separated by the border fence . . .
A newly constructed tar road stands proud but inappropriately on the Botswana side . . . there is a lot of activity across the border . . . dams, small settlements, road gangs . . . the gabions used to halt the dunes advancing onto the road are packed with large, dark, flat boulders . . . contrasting with the reddish dune sand . . . beautiful . . .
We refuel for the umtienth time . . . 60 odd kilometres . . . Andre is worried . . . his fuel consumption has not improved . . . the road deteriorates . . . corrugations and loose gravel . . . unexpectedly a linking road to the Van Zylsrus – Askham road appears on our right . . . there is a gate, but a cheerful Botswana work crew confirm this is our road . . . it is a great road . . .eight gates in total . . . a water pipe running parallel for a long way . . . it leaks in places creating pools of clear water in the road . . . a 2m spray of water makes Andre stop to shower but the water is too hot . . .
At every gate Andre skids to a halt, jumps off the quad like a spring hare and closes the gate behind me . . . I am grateful, my legs have shrunk and longer clear the saddle when I remount . . . Andre laughs at my grunt each time I climb on my bike . . . I feel like a Russian dancer but without the vodka . . .
We hit the tee to Van Zylsrus . . . I look back for a sign ‘Kalahari Guest House’ . . . so I can remember where to turn next time from the opposite direction . . .
The scale on my road map is bad and an unexpected 71km later we approach Van Zyl’s . . .
The road improved . . . I manage 138kmh in places . . . Andre passes a farmer in a white bakkie . . . he wags a finger at me when I pass . . . I think he must have been hit by stones from the quad . . . but when we stop at the garage, he pulls up behind us and says “Ek sien julle ry te lekker !” . . . and we chat for a while . . . . oh well just my paranoia I guess ;D
We head for the hotel . . . and let ourselves in . . . beautiful artistic mosaics and décor . . . a steak and some beers later we are feeling great, albeit a bit tired . . .
The hotel . . .
Some history of the hotel framed on the bar walls . . . farmers day on Mondays . . . a booze bill paid with a sheep . . . I love it ! . . .the cigarette smoke . . . I hate it :xxbah:
We get ready for another night ride . . Andre drains the tank and flushes the fuel filter . . . he sprays carb cleaner into the carb . . . “This is gonna be a bit loud” . . . Baam, Baam, Baam ! clouds of black smoke eject from the screaming exhaust . . . I am relieved when he cuts the engine.
Dustbins line the dusty street . . . and litter lies strewn all over the ground . . . a battered Toyota passess . . . rusted and knocking . . . loud music pours from open windows . . . I am impatient to leave . . . Andre finds a loose pipe from the air box . . . he unpacks all his kit to remove the seat and replaces it . . . I feel like screaming but know it is just my tiredness catching up with me.
Almost ready to ride . . . :biggrin:
20h00 and we leave . . . head back to Aansluit . . . I feel uncomfortable riding at speed next to the river at night . . . after some awesome roads . . . wet with recent rain . . . I stop to tell Andre I want to ride slower and don’t mind if he pulls ahead . . . but he is happy to ride at my slower pace . . .
It is very dark . . . we get cold and stop to put warmer clothing on . . . a truck passes and stops 100m away . . . then starts reversing . . . Andre walks towards it and soon makes friends with the driver . . . he is a biker . . . leaves his name and number . . . next visit he will show some trails we can ride . . .
With faith in rural humanity recharged, we leave . . .
A cat like shadow jumps in front of me and then darts back into the bush . . .
The road becomes magic. . . damp . . full of traction . . . scattered pools . . . we move away from the river bush . . .and our taps are open :biggrin:
We stop at a T-junction . . . it looks different to what I expect . . . tired, we make coffee and are very funny . . . we decide to open a coffee shop right here . . . a SUV speeds past but doesn’t stop . . . disappointed we decide on a more aggressive marketing strategy . . . Andre will run in front of the next vehicle . . . coffee in hand . . . but he doesn’t
Coffee in a dixi ? . . . not as good as coffee in a fire bucket . . . but Andre seems happy enough ;D
Turn left looking for turn off to Severn . . . but it doesn’t appear . . . about turn . . . we are flying now . . . we should never have left the river valley and don’t know exactly where we are, but the road is soooo good I don’t care . . . two shadowy figures stand at an intersection . . . we stop . . .the lights of Black Rock in the distance . . .we ask directions and turn around once more . . . I am disorientated and cannot visualise where we are on the map . . . we ride . . . the road is awesome . . . later, much later a sign to Severn . . . happiness :ricky:
Now a winding river road . . .we ride close . . .about 30 to 60cm apart . . . my mind quietens . . . there is a harmony . . . a oneness as we curve in and out the river bed . . .now standing, sometimes sitting . . .this is priceless . . . indescribable . . .
You know what is happening here ne :biggrin:
Lights . . .Severn police station . . .my internal compass has shifted 30degrees . . . and after annoying vicious guard dogs I head off on the wrong road . . . lots of birds settled on road . . .we hit a couple . . . I apologise to them . . . we stop to refuel . . . Andre politely asks to look at the map and points out where we should be . . .
One liner :xxbah: . . . promise i am smiling :biggrin:
