Day 8: Purros to Khowarib (181 km)
Behold! Our bike line-of-defence against the lions held. Or, more likely, the snorers kept the local pride at bay with their own roars.
We live another day. And a glorious day it was.
We had not seen civilisation or shops for days now. The older bread was turned into yummy rusks, to compliment a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and leftover steak and onions.
We were handed our lunch ration pack (picture on the left below). This supplemented a veritable stash from previously uneaten goodies (picture on the right). You won’t go hungry on the Specialised trips.
The camp was abuzz with activity.
An efficient packing production line:
Make every space count:
Ian switching to a tyre with more tread:
The team managed a fix for Abel’s bike’s busted tank mounts. Yet he did not ride today, either because the bike still had gremlins or because we were going to face desert sand later in the day.
Abel did not feel like adding to his already-spectacular bruises. We were shown the damage today, and it was something to behold.
All the bikes queued for a fuel breakfast; obtained from the Specialised Team’s storage tanks.
Bertie’s bike was drained of fuel, to supplement the available fuel for those still riding.
Bertie still managing a smile, despite the circumstances:
The rest of us also had something to feel sad about: we were to skip the Purros Canyon section of today’s ride, due to the presence of a grumpy elephant called Jabu. “Jabu” means happiness, which is ironic, considering that this Jabu is not someone to be trifled with and gets highly pissed off if anyone shares his space too closely.
The day started with a bang: sand.
Mmm. Chocolate flake.
A huge dust-puff indicated where Gordon came up short – at the point where the hard surface turned soft again.
A huge dust puff – this time voluntary:
In the photo above, you can see a steep sand bank we needed to climb. Gordon powered his huge beast up the sand wall. Lance almost didn’t make it on the Rally.
We regrouped before setting off again across plains of nothingness.
Henk treated us to a wheelie, which was brave, considering the potential for ego damage. As Lance pointed out, “If he wiped out there, it would have been on camera, in action.” Oubones’s bike was getting sicker by the day (see inset in photo below). At this point in time, it was being fed intermittent tots of oil.
Eye candy (I’m referring to the desert landscape, not whomever random biker happens to be in front of me!):
In many respects, today was like yesterday: hot (38°C and above) and beautiful.
There were some rougher sections to add interest:
Oubones in a landscape:
Then there is the daily dose of ‘shady tree’. I still find these photos amusing: many bikes and people clumped together in the one shady spot.
The road shifted back and forth between gravel and sand, preparing us for the desert section ahead, all the while providing a stunning backdrop.
Wherever the road ventured into an area that may have shade, you had to keep an eye open for livestock…
…and sand…
…or both.
An eerie landscape:
“Are you getting this on camera?”
And then the landscape shifted to red desert.
Bikers look very small in such a place.
I’m not sure what occurred here. My diary notes are not forthcoming. Ian looks a bit despondent. Whatever it was, it was resolved.
The others didn’t seem too worried.
Let me never forget the terrors that sand used to induce in my being. The difference imparted through **** (Time In The Saddle) and a smaller bike amazes me.
I still don’t get things right. I don’t know why, but I tend to “waltz” in the sand. I’ve learnt to ignore whatever the back of my bike gets up to. It doesn’t affect my nerves anymore. Lance’s rejoinder: “How do you know it’s not wrecking my nerves?”
His other quip of the moment: “This is Zanie cruising at 60 km/h in the sand. I wonder how it feels to fall off at 60...” I don’t want to know. Both of us were out of action for 4-5 months thanks to lower-speed falls.
More desert shots:
We were soon back in “the land of the (sparse) tree”, which meant livestock. We spotted small groups of goats and sheep, which were followed by a dusty mass of sheep. Lion King stampede scene, eat your heart out.
Like an animal Tour de France, they came past in large pelotons. This was peloton B:
Each race has its stragglers:
Hennie R plus landscape:
Even the cattle took what shade they could get:
The road kept changing colour, between red and grey.
There were texture changes as well.
In the mountains:
Bike to the front and rear:
My head was constantly on a swivel, checking out the scenery:
I took most of today at a very chilled pace, to take it all in.
The two dots ahead were lonely cattle, heading who-knows-where.
Amazing:
A green patch, evidence of fickle rains.
We stopped at Sesfontein to refuel. This was the first substantial town and the first fuel station we saw in 5 days! Our last fuel stop was in Opuwo, on day 3 of the trip.
Lance snuck into a turn-off without me noticing. He should know better, considering my sense of direction. I get these directions through the headset: “Go left and backwards”. That would be interesting to behold. Bikes don’t come with reverse gear, dear.
The red sign below, sandwiched between two buildings, is hard to make out, but it is advertising “selling tyres”, with “we” added as an afterthought, just in case you’re not sure who is selling tyres. It’s like the universal “they”.
On our way again:
Gordon checking on us:
The sky was gathering itself for a storm tonight. These clouds were the first recruits.
We were back at Khowarib Lodge; a place we visited briefly on the third day of our trip. Lance stationed himself at the causeway that caught out Ian last time, but everyone took it carefully and no further drama was captured.
We would be in Khowarib campsite for the night. The lodge’s pool was at our disposal, thanks to Hardy’s arrangements. A couple of us were more interested in a nearby natural pool, complete with waterfall. Therefore, shortly after arrival at Khowarib, Hennie R, Brian, Pete, Duncan, Lance and I headed off again.
The road to the waterfall appeared to be of ordinary sand/dirt, but the yellowish colour and thick clouds of hanging dust after gave it away as fesh fesh.
Better to stick to the edges.
There are hidden holes, covered by fine dust. Pete hit one of them here:
The road wasn’t the only hurdle. The local dogs here mean business. Lance’s chirp on the headset, concerning the dogs: “Have they got you? Did you kick it in its head?"
I think it’s possessed…
For some or other reason, the fan on Duncan’s bike decided to go on strike. He eventually turned back due to mechanical sympathy and the desire to keep the KTM’s innards at medium-rare rather than well-done.
The sky was looking ominous:
The view from the parking spot:
It’s a bit of a slog walking down all these stairs while wearing 4kg of boots:
The pool has a wooden deck (to your right) and a waterfall (out of view, on the left):
The water was crystal clear.
There would be a full moon tonight. The guys pre-empted this and gave us two for the price of one.
A local young lady and her toddler son arrived just before we left. As usual, the personable Brian starts a conversation. He always likes to learn more about whomever he bumps into.
At one point, he asks where all the other locals are – why don’t they use the pool? From the lady: foreigners won’t swim there if the locals use it. Brian asks why. The response, given in unemotional language, contained the word “ugly”, while she pointed matter-of-factly to her skin. That is a sad indictment of society. This lady truly believed she was ugly. Brian took pains to tell her she was indeed beautiful.
I cannot imagine what would happen if the tables were turned. For example, if the foreign kite-surfers flocking to Cape Town’s beaches right now for the Red Bull King of the Air competition wanted the beach and ocean unsullied by locals for the 3-4 weeks they are in the area…
It was getting late, so we bid farewell to the pool.
Though we had to admire the view first, of course.
Lance and Hennie, looking timeless:
Brian setting off:
Rainbow on the left, sunset on the right:
Sinking into the fesh fesh:
Brian, Hennie and Pete disappeared into the distance. Lance stuck with his snail.
I’m glad I had my headlight fixed before the trip. A lone figure can be spotted in the distance below. I always wonder where such a person is heading, especially this time of night and in this seemingly middle-of-nowhere place.
A friendly fire eventually signalled our arrival at camp.
A couple of people were keen to ride the Khowarib Schlucht (gorge), a 4x4 trail. Hardy warned of the crazy fesh fesh that can be encountered on this route. I was intrigued, so I hopped on to the back of Hardy’s Cruiser, along with Lance, Hennie R, Pete, Brian and Gordon to have a look at this infamous track.
It seemed that the recent rains had an impact, because no soft stuff was to be found, though you could see the yellow-coloured earth that is its creator. In the photo of our night drive below, I included an insert of what the place can be like.
Hennie R, Brian and Henk will tackle the Schlucht tomorrow. The rest of us bowed out. Gordon was worried about his bike’s ground clearance. Lance and I wanted to survive for an upcoming dirt bike trip through the Transkei.
Back at camp, we had a supper of mince curry and rice. I am really partial to curry! You could see a storm on the horizon, with the odd flash of lightning. Lance and I did not feel like being woken up by rain or mozzies, so we pitched a tent, with flysheet. It felt horribly muggy and confined, given that we’re now used to the under-the-stars arrangement. We needn’t have bothered, because the storm remained far away, turning a different patch of Namibia green.
