So, where to begin? I guess at the beginning would be best.
In 2011 I ventured to Botswana in search of work. With the ink on my instructors rating still wet, and barely 300hrs in my logbook, it would be a long-shot. But my mind was made up; I was going, regardless of my chances of employment. After 2 weeks of camping, and 2 weeks of housesitting, I ran out of money. And, with no job offer on the horizon, returned to South Africa where I took up a position as a Flight Instructor at the school where I had learnt to fly.
The memories from that trip never disappeared. The quiet simplicity of Maun was calling my name. And I answered.
The result is that I am fulfilling a goal and dream that I have had for a good few years; Flying in the Bush.
My Life in a Box
I planned for at least a month. Routes, accommodation, budgets. I got my car, a 1998 Golf Chico with over 210 000km, road-trip-ready, and kitted it out with a toolbox, tyre pump, puncture fix, tie wraps, duct tape, oil, tow rope, jumper leads, everything I thought I might need. I fixed the dent in my door, and sorted out the speakers (which hadn’t worked for the past 4 years, and took all of 10 minutes to sort out).
As you can see, I’m very much a DIY person, and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. Vehicle ready, it was time to get myself ready.
How was I to pack up 22 years of stuff? Methodically, said the OCD part of me. And so, box after box was filled, and stored in my cupboard. And when the cupboard became full, the boxes lined my room. Wow, I have accumulated a lot of stuff over the years!
The essentials were packed in different boxes, and into the car. Surprisingly, once everything was packed, there was ample room left over (I could’ve taken the kitchen sink if I wanted to!), though the suspension was groaning a little under the weight.
So, with my life in several boxes, I set off from home on the morning of 7 October.
And within 20 minutes of leaving, I was forced to experience one of the scariest things in my life; driving up Sir Lowry’s Pass in the pitch dark, with thick fog, and trucks all over. I almost wrote myself off within the first 30km of my new adventure, when the lights I thought were cats eyes on the road turned out to be the tail gate of a truck.
After some incredibly tense driving, the sky lightened and the fog thinned, and from there it was smooth sailing.
A visit at Cape Agulhas was had.
And brunch at the Blue Crane Farm Stall near Riversdale was most welcome (pull in there if you’re ever in the area!)
Eventually I reached Mossel Bay, and had coffee with friends in Nature’s Valley. My first time there, it is now on the ‘Bucket List of Roads to Ride on the Bike’.
Then it was a final push to PE where I would be staying for the night. Night was fast approaching and I was almost taken out by a buck not 20km from my accommodation. Yee-ha!
Day One done, and the Golf had performed well. Fuel consumption was amazing; 600km on just over half a tank! Sadly, this didn’t continue.
Day Two, and I took the back roads to Port Shepstone. This was the complete opposite to the previous day, which apart from a few scares, was quite relaxing. The back roads, while absolutely beautiful, were busy with plenty of busses and trucks, and being single lane each way, over-taking opportunities were slim. And at some several thousand feet above sea level, the Golf simply didn’t have the power to do more than 80km/h most of the way.
Here I went via the backroads of the Eastern Cape.
I should have had a bite to eat in Queenstown but thought there would be another place to stop. BIG mistake! I ended up doing a 7hr stretch, non-stop, and the first time I ate a ‘proper’ meal was in Port Shepstone; a rather lacking Steers burger and chips.
From there it felt amazing to be back on the N2, and I cruised to Ballito in the setting sun.
I spent two nights in Ballito, and then carried on to Centurion.
Having done JHB-Ballito before, I decided to take a different route this time; Greytown it was. And it was very grey indeed. More fog, and a fair amount of rain. My hopes of seeing rolling green hills were dashed by the weather. But, it was still a nice drive.
As I got to JHB, my Golf proved what a trusty little steed it was when I put my emergency braking to the test on the highway. Locked the wheels I did. That woke me up! (Road works, and lanes merging, and me misjudging the speed of the car ahead).
Two nights in Centurion, and then I set off for Limpopo Valley, Mashatu, to be precise. A short drive compared to previous days, a speedy border crossing at Pont Drift, and before I knew it, I was in Botswana!
Within 5km of crossing the border I saw wildebeest and zebra, and the grin on my face widened and I couldn’t stop laughing; I was finally here!
I spent the night at Mashatu Game Reserve, where I had my first real taste of the African Bush; luck was in my favour, and I had my first wild cheetah and lion sightings. I was on Cloud Nine!
The next morning I set off for Maun. With about 80km of dirt road, the Golf proved it could be a rally car. However, the speakers broke again, and now my car is quite literally held together with duct tape. Ah well.
Up until now I had kept a steady pace, not pushing it too much, but not taking it too slowly. Unfortunately, get-there-itis had set in, and I put foot to Maun once I hit the tar, determined to make it there before night-fall (despite having only set off from Mashatu around 10am).
The A1 was having upgrades done, so a lot of it was freshly-rolled tar, which made me very happy. But from Francistown, I got lost, and then was back on the pot-hole riddled roads. 100km from Maun, with the sun setting, the Golf had had enough; for the first time in over 3000km, it had used oil, and the little red oil warning light stared me in the face. I pulled over, opened up the bonnet, gave it some oil, and allowed it to rest a short while, using the opportunity to take photos.
But, night was approaching rapidly, and my hopes of reaching Maun before it got dark were a distant memory. Driving in the dark out here is a no-go. Not long after my unscheduled stop, I had my first wild dog sighting; it ran across the road in front of me. Quite cool. And as night set in, I had the stuffing scared out of me when I saw cows on the side of the road, their eyes glimmering from the car’s headlights, making them look like demons.
Around 8pm I rolled into Maun, a tired, sweaty, dust-covered wreck. Car overheating and only one speaker working, it was starting to complain again, and refused to idle. Road-trip food eaten and no water left, all I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep. And I still had to unpack the car, and would be sleeping on the couch. But it didn’t matter. I had arrived!
