Baboons on the road

Luckily they always ran. Not sure what i'd have done if they decided to stand and fight. A dominant male Baboon has bigger canines than a Lion!

High mountain grassland

This is high on the escarpment, which drops away steeply to the lowveld, about a kilometer to the right of this shot. You can see the road to Graskop in the distance. I think you'll agree this is a nice change after three weeks of desert?

Hornbill

As requested Jon, here's looking at you. This is a Southern Yellow Billed Hornbill (back at the Rhinos). I see these all the time walking along by the side of the road.

Final resting place of an intrepid Dorey

The set for this christmas' Wallace and Gromit film?

Low level Afro-Montane

Feral cacti to the left?

The Drei Rondavel

My relatives the Voortrekkers

After my stupidity back at Mokopane someone had kindy installed a
colony of frogs who thought they were woodpeckers outside my hole in
Burgersfort. I was up early.

I love the early morning and not just in hot countries where it is a
refuge from the heat of the day. It was one of the things I really
used to love about rowing. The still cool air that carrying sound
unusually far, the flat water, the deserted streets and foxes doing
final checks making sure everything is set for the day ahead. Today of
course I would not be doing anything as relaxing as rowing. After a
two day prologue the polka dot jersey was being unpacked again for the
first time since the Bousua pass. Tonight my friends I would be
sleeping in Grasskop, high in the Drakensberg Mountains.

From what I'd been told I could expect a reasonable climb from
Burgersfort before dropping over into the next valley and travelling
north to a turn off to the east onto what South African calls 'The
Panorama Route'. Here the road climbs steeply up on to the cool
mountain escarpment before passing along the easterly edge of the
Blyde River Canyon (the third deepest in the world after the Grand and
the Fish River Canyons) before moving closer to the edge of the
escarpment proper and passing God's Window just before reaching
Graskop. God's window apparently affords stunning views to the east,
across the hot Lowveld and Kruger National Park and also theoretically
given perfect and almost unheard of atmospheric conditions the Indian
Ocean! Hmm, I've heard that one before.

I made slow progress out of Burgersfort due to seed collecting duties.
I'd seen plenty of new interesting plants with seeds yesterday but
sadly been forced to pass them by as a consequence of the time
pressure I'd been under. As I climbed higher the vegetation changed to
what is known as Afro-Montane. This was sometimes still quite arid,
but included more and more species of Aloe, some of which were really
quite massive and looked more like palms from a distance. There were
also quite a number of cacti, including the prickly pear which I'd
always thought was native to the Americas. Perhaps not, or maybe these
were feral cacti! my Mum's worst nightmare (she generally loves plants
but really hates cacti). Higher still there were tree ferns and beyond
these the landscape was dominated by grasses. Where there had been
recent water carpets of multi-coloured daisies sprang up, a little
like small tourism adverts touting the huge expanses of these plants
which i'm told you can find in the Fynbos of the Western Cape. If I
can get everything I collected this morning to grow into anything
resembling their parents my future home is gonna need a pretty
substantial conservatory!

Soon after cresting the first big climb I rolled past some old graves
of the Voortrekkers. The Voortrekkers is (as far as I'm aware) the
name given to the groups of Boers who migrated up from the tip of
Africa in wagon trains over a period of a few hundred years, some
penetrating as far north as Kenya. A similar process I guess to that
occuring at the same time across North America towards the Pacific.
These people were no longer agents of any imperial European power, but
were becoming as African as my Huguenot ancestors were English... which
was interesting, since as I walked around the grassy hillside reading
the names on the memorials to these old travellers, what did I find?
'Regina Elizabeth Dorey' Jacob de Villiers Dorey' 'Johanna Dorey' It
appeared I had Voortrekker relatives!

Perhaps this should not come as much of a surprise given the 'Doreys'
were Huguenots. The Huguenots were protestants who fled catholic
persecution in France (watch the film 'La Reine Margot' for a bit of
background on why) and ended up in protestant England and the
Netherlands, which I think is where, in turn the Boers came from
(Maria, I looked for 'Le Grand's, but couldn't find any, sorry). The
spelling these Doreys were using was also very interesting. They spelt
their names exactly the same way my family does. I'd always been told
Dorey is an anglicised version of Dore' (French for gold). If you look
in a telephone book there are a number of similar spellings such as
'Dory' 'Dorie' or 'Dorrie'. But the fact that here there were Boers,
which as far as I knew all came from the Netherlands, spelling their
names in the apparently anglicised fashion seemed to me to indicate
one of two things. Either my name was not actually anglicised, but had
already become Dorey before leaving France, or some of the English
Doreys had joined the Boers via the Netherlands or direct to Africa. A
genealogically intriguing morning.

I left the Voortrekkers on their grassy hillside and dropped down into
the quite hot valley below. This was obviously a very agricultural
region and I passed many fields with automatic sprinkler systems
irrigating the land. It was very much like rural France in the summer.
A nice suprise was that many of the sprinkler systems seemed not to
have been set up properly and many were spraying onto the road. I was
able to take quite a few a nice cool showers (actually I'd say more of
a soaking) by choosing the right side of the road and timing my
passage to resonate with these complimentary fountains.

In spite of my frequent mobile douchings traveling down the valley was
pretty hot work and I eventually pulled off at a nice little place
called the old shoe. This was in the grounds of a lovely old house
with plenty of tall shady trees. The girl at the counter was very nice
and in addition to cooking me up a cheeseburger and a bowl of ice cream
(as the fireman ordered) was able to tell me lots about the local
Doreys. She wasn't sure of their Intra-European history, but said
there were plenty still about living today and that many of them used
my surname as a first name. One of her friends was called 'Dorey
Burger'. Tasty stuff eh?

Whilst I was there I also met a great guy who stopped by on a
motorbike. He was called Johan Schwanepol and was From Centurion (just
north of Johannesburg). He was touring Mpumalanga for a few days and
was also staying in Graskop so we planned to met up later. Sadly I
eventually had to leave. it was time to put my growing confidence in
my fitness to the test. We were now heading up into the Drakensbergs
proper. The stop at the Old Shoe had fully fuelled my furnaces and I
was ready to see what this baby could do.

The climb was long and in parts quite steep but there were no stupid
Bosua gradients. This was civilized stuff. An hour and some stunning
views later the road leveled out and I was cruising along the top. I
felt like a fully fledged machine, which could now take on anything
Africa could throw at me. It was much cooler up here, but I was fair
boiling from the climb and stooped for some cool drinks. Thus turned
out to be a great decision, since I met a great chap called Nick. He's
from the UK too, but was out here on business working for Birdlife
International who work to help link together national ornithological
organisations. He told me Kruger is one of the world's bird
biodiversity hot-spots and that I should try to visit it if possible.
Duely noted. After half an hour I had to press on, hopefully I'll see
Nick back in the UK

The road continued following the edge of the high escarpment. As I
rode I thought to myself how easy it seems to make friends when
traveling. Perhaps it's just you're more likely to meet people with
similar interests when engaged in an activity you enjoy. And I was
certainly enjoying myself now. Again, I think a lot of this is due to
fitness catching up with my demands plus my new hobby of eating
everything I laid eyes on (small children beware!). Certainly (if you
include the gradients) the daily exertions weren't exactly getting
much easier. On top of this today would be the eighth day in a row on
the bike. I'd ridden over a week without a break. I was looking
forward to the rest day tomorrow, but to be honest didn't feel like I
actually really needed it.

I won't bore you with long descriptions of the amazing views I saw
that afternoon suffice to say they were amazing, particularly the Drei
Rondavel. I have pictures I will post. Promise.

...unfortunately the afternoon wasn't just about great views and cool
grassy mountaintops. Once more zero was reset and Africa decided the
best place to put a mountain range was on top of a mountain range.
After spending the day sightseeing and chatting to new people
expecting to cruise along a flat escarpment I was now climbing again.

As followers of the blog will now know this meant slower speeds and
yup, night riding. This time I wasn't worried though. I had a place to
stay and Graskop was known as a nice place (too high for stabbists I
guess). As the sun began setting behind even higher peaks to the west
I began passing conifer plantations (I think someone once told me this
area has the largest artificially planted forest in the world). It was
quite strange. The landscape started looking more and more like
Northern England or Scotland (also scarred by similar plantations).
The unusually early blotting out of the sun's direct rays by the
mountains even simulated the protracted dusk i'm used to at higher
latitudes. As the light progressively failed even the odd startled
duiker beside the road could easily be confused with a roe deer. The
occasional aloes and tree ferns or troops of Baboons (who had by now
moved up into the trees for the night and threw sticks and screamed at
me as I passed) were the only reminders I was actually still in Africa
not Alba.

I reached Graskop after seven and found the place I was staying. The
guy running the place was a great guy (more about Dr Havenparper's
Afrikaner double tomorrow) and showed me where i would be staying. It
was an old railway equipment store which had been kitted out like a
little house but even better than that was shaped like an igloo! How
cool it that?! An African mountain igloo!

It felt great lying back to sleep in my igloo in this high grassy
citadel up in the cool mountains (it even had an electric blanket!)
looking forward to a relaxing day off tomorrow.

The fitness of me and the misjudgement of Burgersfort

I made a late start from Mokopane, about half seven. I'm not sure why
I did this, I think for some reason I'd calculated the distance to the
next stop (Burgersfort) to be only about 140km. Even so, the day from
Palapye to the Limpopo had been a mere 100km and then I'd felt
compelled to set off early. Still, I did what I did and I regreted it
later.

Today was the first day I'd really be able to start saying I was
riding in hills and mountains the whole day. It started with a fairly
big climb up from Mokopane after which I'd follow the southern edge of
a chain of peaks before veering south down a long valley at the end of
which was Burgersfort.

The climb was pretty reasonable and any early morning chills I may
have started with were long gone bythe crest of the pass. Suprisingly,
given the size of Mokopane and the proximity I still was to it, there
were quite a lot of mammals about. Impala and Klipspringers were now
joined by Vervet Monkeys (the first non-baboon/human primates I'd
seen) and Rock Hyraxes. There were a few eagles I couldn't identify, a
few black kites and a fairly large and noisy bird with a curved beak
that looked a bit like an Ibis, but more heavy set.

It wad while climbing this hill that I first started to become aware
of a significant change in my fitness. Now I've never really been all
that unfit. I used to compete middle distance at school and cycled all
the time, at University I rowed and pretty much lived on the river and
since living in London I run regularly, cycle everywhere and do quite
a bit of mountain biking. Last year I rode up to Edinburgh and also
down to Land's End. So coming into this ride I reckoned I had a fair
baseline level of fitness, but now this was different. Of course some
of it was probably mental fitness too. I was now used to getting up
early, being on the road exercising all day. counting work outs in
multiples of hours rather than the short 20-40 minute runs I'd do back
home. In addition to my cardiovascular system the rest of my body was
also becoming used to what I was asking of it (or perhaps resigned to
the daily beating I dished out). I no longer had sore knees, an
additional pernicious issue in the dark days of Ghanzi, a further
strain on my mojo. Plus my bum and my saddle now seemed to be getting
on fairly well.

No, there was something else, it was my general level of aerobic
fitness. My bike is pretty heavy. Fully loaded in the mornings with
food and water it's around sixty kilos. I normally weigh around
seventy five, though the crash diet of the Kalahari probably shifted
me closer to seventy kilos or perhaps even lower. This means I'm
pulling close to twice my body weight up these hills and it should be
quite a struggle getting up the really steep ones, but I wasn't really
finding it that hard. Sure I went fairly slowly and stood up on the
pedals a lot, but I never felt like I couldn't make it. This was
nothing like I'd felt back in The Khomas Hochlands. I reckon I'd be a
bad bet in an arm wrestling contest, but if anyone fancies taking me
on at shin-kicking I'd advise they stick double rations of straw in
their socks. I felt strong and I felt like I'd be able to just keep on
going on and on, which is lucky, since for the forseable future that
is exactly what I had to do.

Concurrent with the change in my fitness was an equally dramatic shift
in my appetite. This is also historically one of my strengths, but now
a blazing furnace had been installed below my diaphragm, which
required almost constant stocking. My fireman had a busy job. On the
few occasions I ignored the hunger messages he sent, begging me for
more supplies and letting the fuel run too low this really affected me
quite badly. Endurance athletes call it bonking, not sure why, perhaps
it's something to do with the way your head starts bobbing about as
you weaken?

Breakfasts became key to feeding this fire and getting it started in
the mornings. A good bowl of porridge spread over the previous day's
embers could keep me burning for up to two hours. A proper lunch was
like a nice chunky log slow burning, biscuits were like medium sized
sticks or a shovelful of lumpwood charcoal and a can of coke was like
merely chucking a handful of dry pine needles on the fire, bright and
intense, but shortlived and prone to choking the fire. I'd found it
wise to try to leave this afterburner till late in the day. Switching
on the reheats too early was usually a bad plan.

So I crested the pass a hot sweaty mess. The road dipped down and
banked along to the left, hugging the slope
of the mountains. In the same way as yesterday the terrain once again
changed it's mind and reset 'zero'. There was no hard deck set for
this hop. I'd climbed quite significantly, but now descended even more
and this time I was also on the smoothest black stuff. This is what
tarmac becomes after a few years, once all the stones have been
pounded below the surface by years of lorries and hot sun, but before
any potholes have begun to appear. Matured for speed and a joy to
ride. Like a stooping peregrine I picked up speed and folded into the
tuck, carving across the mountainside the troposphere sreaming past my
cocoon of air I dropped towards the orange plantations in the valley
below. Twelve kilometers, fifteen minutes, two troops of baboons and
one wharthog later I reached the valley floor, cold and exhilerated!

The rest of the morning passed pleasantly. I was no longer afraid of
the stabbists. Perhaps they were more cunning than I'd given them
credit, but to be honest though I'd still have reservations about
pulling a wheelie through Hillbrow I reckoned there were unlikely to
be more of them out here than in most of the English countryside. I
even stopped at a cash point and withdrew money! ...no wounds.

I passed orange plantations most of the morning and just before midday
eventually gave in to the tempting bags of juicy oranges being sold by
the roadside. Thirty oranges... 10 rand! That's less than 85pence!
Cheaper than water.

Then the late start caught up with me. As the route veered right,
heading south to Burgersfort I spotted the first distance marker of
the day. Coverage from my Botswanan maps had run out past Mokopane and
switching to the South African maps (which would also guide me all the
way through Swazi and Mozambique) I'd discovered they didn't have
distance markers, this was a bit of an oversight, which I should have
spotted when selecting the maps back in Stanford's. As I approachd the
sign expecting something like seventy kilometers and a nice mid-
afternoon roll into Burgersfort I gradually became aware there were
three digits not two beside 'Burgersfort' and as It came properly into
range I read 123. Sh*t! This was really not good. I'd quite
significantly misjudged the distance and would likely be riding into
the dark again. Bad news. I'd only covered sixty kilometers all
morning and now instead of being halfway found myself with over double
that distance again to cover before the end of the day. Still if I
could manage 20km/hr average the rest of the day I should make it
about half an hour before the vampires took flight.

I had quite a job to do, but what a stunning stadium in which to do
battle. As the road banked right to face the long valley to
Burgersfort (the one that was 120 and not 70 km long!) I saw I still
had what looked like one hundred metres of descent before I hit the
bottom. It may not sound much but in open vegetation when you are
faced with terrain that far below, you can actually see for quite some
distance. By now most of the river courses I saw had water flowing in
them and as I made this final descent a fantastic view revealed itself
off to the right. A broad river meandered along its course with great
stands of trees on either side. There were quite a number of people
living in the area so sadly there were no Elephants at the water. That
would have made it just perfect. With a bit of imagination it looked
like it could be a long view from Jurassic Park or something out of an
Amarula advert. Great stuff!

Finally, reaching the valley floor I began the long haul up towards a
far off pass, which guessing from my map, was about half way along the
valley to my destination, so probably about fifty kilometers away. The
Landscape once again switched back to Tatooine and the wide vistas
stretched away up the long valley ahead and across to the ridges on
either side. There was a low serrated semi-ridge about a hundred and
fifty metres high, arching up from the valley floor in the manner of a
long serpent formation you might expect to see on a Skull Island set
from a King Kong film. This ran about a third of the way across from
the eastern side. It was quite stunning.

The fitness I talked about earlier really came into it's own this
afternoon and stocking the fire with fat cakes and oranges I was able
to maintain a good speed up the valley toward the pass. Considering
the gradient I made pretty good time over this section, maintaining
around 15km/hr. True this was not enough to get to Burgersfort in
daylight... but cresting the pass the gradient once again began to
head down, my average speed picking up to 30-35km/hr and the threat of
the pitch black slowly receding as I sped along, the promise of
daylight becoming ever stronger. The last hours were much like the
pleasant ride into Mokopane and I whizzed south past township after
township the sun slowly dropping to my right.

There was a worrying half hour as I found it a little difficult
finding somewhere to hole up for the night and to be fair it was
pretty much dark by the time I was sorted. However I'd made it. Whilst
noting down my stats in the evening I realised I'd covered over 380km
in the last two days, only just 20km shy of the dark days of Ghanzi.
But this time I felt great, there were no tears now, I was full of
energy and eager to escape the traps tomorrow.

The mountains begin.

Getting shot and other people shooting things.

ImadeIRa made the border before it opened. There was a small queue of
lorries there, waiting to cross. Sorry chaps, didn't you know bicycles
don't do traffic jams. I was first across the border.

As I rode over the small bridge into South Africa I scanned the road
ahead and the bushes to each side. I couldn't spot any felons. In fact
there were no shooters or stabists to be seen at all. I guessed they
simply hadn't spotted me yet. Pretty soon I was sure to be The victim
of a bandit feeding frenzy. All it would take was the first attack,
the first wound, once there was blood in the water they'd all close
in. I did hope I'd make it a bit further though. It would be nice for
my family to know I'd managed to make it perhaps one kilometer beyond
the border before perishing. I pressed on.

The day was overcast and quite windy. I'd originally planned on two
days to get from the border to today's destination, Mokopane, but
sitting below the Okavango Baobab I'd decided I could probably make it
in one and gain myself an extra rest day somewhere high in the
Drakensbergs. This did mean pushing myself once again, today would be
190km and this time there would be hills. I was guess I was banking on
the constant threat of imminent death to spur me on. Behind me I could
still see the small hills with the magic fountain just inside
Botswana, it was safe there. Why had I left?

For the first half of the day my route took me past private reserves,
many of which advertised themselves as hunting lodges. And I do mean
hunting lodges as in you can go there to pay money to shoot wild
things. In fact the place I'd stayed on the far bank of the Limpopo
had had a sign up in the reception listing the prices to shoot various
animals ranging from Impala to Zebra. No lions on that list, but
apparently if you're prepared to pay enough there are places you can
go which will let you shoot Lions and even Rhinos. I can't see why one
would want to do this, however the ethics of this kindoif behaviour
and it's consequences are actually quite complex and something I
thought a lot about whilst I was on this road. I think they are not as
clear cut and black and white as one may first imagine and, I believe,
worthy of further discussion. So if I get chance I'm hoping to put up
awhile post on the subject giving my opinion and seeing what every how
everyone else views the issue. Anyway as I rode on I saw quite a few
animals that like me were lucky and haddn't yet been shot. There were
plenty of herds of Impala, quite a few Klipspringers and also a number
of Steinbok.

I haddn't booked a place to stay yet in Mokopane, given I did actually
hope to make it there alive I thought this was something I should do.
I spotted a campsite with a shop that looked safe enough and stopped
in. The people there were really nice even letting me use their
address book and telephone. Perhaps trying to get me to let my guard
down so they could stab me. Well they missed their chance and I made
it out alive. So now I was riding down the road, I had a place to stay
and I wasn't dead. So far so good. I still expected to die quite soon,
but so far South Africa wasn't turning out to be quite so immediately
lethal as I'd expected.

I continued across the flat but now slightly undulating terrain. The
small hills over the border in Botswana had long since disappeared by
now. I started seeing cows and goats in the trees, this generally
means no wild animals and indeed there were no more antelopes that day.

I stopped at a little shop next to a petrol station near a town called
Barberton. The guy running it was a pretty rural Afrikkaner and we
conversed in stilted English. To be fair he seemed pretty distracted
by the radio playing in the background. The Springboks were playing
the All Blacks in the Tri-Nations. If they won this match they took
the tournament. This was important stuff and the Boks were ahead
approaching half-time. It was looking good for them. I wanted to find
out a bit more about South African sport so I decided to wait my turn
till half time and sat on the dirt beside a nearby wall, had a coffee
and ate an egg a toastie and some droewors listening to the Afrikkans
commentary.

At half-time we chatted a bit more. As you may be aware, South Africa
has had (has) it's racial problems. Apparently Rugby (and cricket)
tend to be followed more by the whites and football by the blacks. I
asked whether this was slowly beginning to change post-Apartheid.
Slowly was the response. There's hope that hosting the upcoming world
cup might spur this on a bit and the whole nation may become more
interested in football, finding a common ground. The national football
team is called Bafna Bafna, which I later found out means the boys.
Lets hope they (and we all) have a good one next year. About half an
hour after I'd returned to the road all the cars started hooting their
horns. The Boks had won the match and the Tri Nations, 'the boys'
would have to wait their turn. For today at least, South Africa was
all about rugby.

Sonja had warned me that before Mokopane I'd start running out of flat
terrain and begin to start reaching some proper hills. This began at
around 100km, just after lunch and this time there was no mistaking
these hills for mining waste, this was big stuff. I was passing just
to the north of the Waterberg mountains, which lay to my right. There
were one or two foothills north of me, but the main massive was all to
one side. These were huge escarpments and I don't this wasn't just
coming from someone who'd been stuck in a flat desert for two weeks.
The scenery was quite stunning. Big long horizons which would suddenly
stop to drop to the level of the surrounding terrain over which I was
riding. For a while this was the way things were. I would follow the
gently undulating road running along what what you fould think of as
the 'zero elevation' of the region. I was really starting to get into
these views. Little did I know the geography was going to get a whole
lot more interesting.

As I approached Mokopane the 'zero elevation' started to look like it
was changing its mind about where it wanted to be In relation to its
loftier neighbours and I'd been forced to make it up a fairly massive
hill. As I crested this, about forty km outside Mokopane Sonja sped
past in her little white car (all cars here are white, it's the law
across the whole of Africa) on her way to visit some friends. She
spotted me and rather boy racerishly skidded off the road and came to
a halt in a big cloud of dust on the verge. She was, once again, in a
one hundred percent generous mood and quickly furnished me with cool
water and a carton of fruit juice followed by a pint of freshly
squeezed orange juice. Now this morning's juice had tasted great...
but cool juice in the heat of the afternoon at the top of the biggest
hill for the last one and a half thousand kilometers tasted about as
good as things which taste amazing can taste, which is really pretty
good. Thanks Sonja, great timing! Were you following me all day
waiting for the best moment?

So all great, but I was a little concerned about time. The afternoon
was pushing on. It was now almost three thirty and I still had 40km to
conquer. My average (without stop or head winds) has tended to be
around 20km/hr. That put me in Mokopane at half five. The hill I'd
just climbed had been taken at about 9km/hr. In addition to the
slowing effect of gradient given I was approaching a fairly large town
and calculated I would probably need to avoid a number of murder
attempts during that time. I wasn't so much worried about outright
death, it was more the chances of a serious maiming that played upon
my mind. Particulary concerning would be the loss of one of my legs
since this would make hill climbs next to impossible and the loss of
both legs (or even just my feet) would probably end my journey there
and then (I know, I know, you never know till you've tried it. Perhaps
I was being overly pessimistic). Either way I hoped Getafix had helped
Sonja's squeeze her orange juice since, once more, I needed to get a
shift on...

...I needn't have worried.

A few kilometres further zero elevation evidently decided height isn't
everything and the landscape started to behave in a most extrordinary
way such as I've never encountered before. Now I do have an altimeter
attached to my bike so I am well aware that I'm quite a way above the
sea and therefore is strictly speaking plausible to drop quite a bit
and still be above sealevel (indeed there is no reason one can't be on
dry land below sealevel except I knew there were no such areas I
southern africa). What I did t expect was the long prolonged drop down
in altitude pretty much all the way from where I now was right to
Mokopane, the best part of 35km! My average speed was probably just
under 40km/hr and with very little effort. It was fantastic! What was
even better was that I had a great view of usually around the next ten
or so kilometers of the road pretty much all the time. It Was
sometimes dead straight as though a lost legion of Rome had passed
through needing something to do, sometimes snaking through a dip
between two hills before dropping off behind them. I felt like I was
on some kind of super-realistic google earth fly by.

This easy cruising distance also took me through my first South
African township. At first I was glad to be moving so fast and not
slowly plodding up a hill, since from what I'd been told this was the
favoured habitat of the worst of the stabbists. As I moved on though,
waving to people who whistled me or just waving or dinging my bell I
started realising everyone was smiling back at me and there was
absolutely no menace whatsoever. Infact a little further down the road
I became a little thirsty and rather than refilling my bottle from my
by now quite hot water bags I decided to risk it and stopped at a small
Township bar. There were about thirty men there sitting inside playing
and watching a game of pool. They seemed a little surprised to see me
walk in and ask for a coke, but all very friendly and keen to pass my
map around and ask me questions... 'so why don't you just get on a..'

I soon hopped back on the powerful one and sped back out onto the
road. Many people were starting to make their evening meals, most
domestic life seemed to be conducted outdoors, which seemed sensible
given most houses had hot corrugated tin roofs. I passed at least
three pretty well organised and supported football matches and was
pleased to get the attention of quite a proportion of the crowds as I
slid by. The combination of the landscape and the widely spaced out
shanty buildings populated with these friendly people was a like a
Utopic Mad Max Tatooine. By utopic I don't mean to imply that living
in a shanty town is likely to be a fantastic experience or a matter of
hoice for these people, merely that they all seemed so happy as I rode
past. It was a great ride.

I arrived in Mokopane in good time and easily found the place I was
staying. The family were lovely Afrikkaners and even better they
announced they were havin a Braai, excellent. I ended up staying up
later than I'd intended, chatting to the owner about recent Southern
African history sport and politics, he'd been a sniper in the Angolan
border war and we had some interesting conversation about the
psychology of a sniper. He was also a multiple 'Comrade', but more
about that another day, since as I continued through South Africa I
started to be quite regularly questioned about whether I was a
'Comrade' or not. All i'll say now is that hopefully one day I will be.

So I'd survived my first day in South Africa with all limbs intact.
Intact I'd really enjoyed the while experience. This is a great country.

Confusion

Sorry. Some of you seem a little confused as to how I managed to suddenly jump from the SA border to the Ocean. As you may have guessed I didn't. I'm just a bit behind writing up the blog, but thought I should let you all know when I made it rather than keep you hanging, but don't worry there were plenty more adventures (no more Leopards, but Lions, Crocs, Lots of Hippos and even a Wild Dog!). I make notes as I ride and then just try to tidy it up a bit and make it a bit more readable. It's just this takes time and have been quite busy buying bombs in Maputo, hence the tardiness. Plus need either GPRS or WiFi access of which there is only one place in Maputo which isn't open very early. thought you would rather have good stuff to read rather than just I went here and then I went here and it woz nice etc...

... patience dear friends or as a famous Norweigian was once heard to say,

"I have never been able to grasp the meaning of time. I don't believe it exists. I've felt this again and again, when alone and out in nature. On such occasions, time does not exist. Nor does the future exist"

(Thor Heyerdahl)

The Ocean!

Just a quick one cos internet dissapearing imminently

I made it.

13:15 ish today (same as GMT here)

Thanks you everyone for helping me do it. Has been fantastic. mOre posts to follow next few days.

Crossing the Limpopo

The Rainbow Nation

'Without forgivness there's no future'

(Desmond Tutu)

After returning from Sherwood Ranch to my camp by the Limpopo I packed
the bike for the next day and sat by the tent with a beer.

The river is quite narrow here, perhaps thirty metres across and forms
the border between Botswana and South Africa. My camp was on a high
bank about twenty metres from the water. And so there it was. The far
bank, cleary visible from where I sat, was South Africa. I was both
fascinated and afraid to cross.

I'd heard many stories. Some hearsay, some probably quite embelished
and some undoubtedly true. By all acounts South Africa is a complex,
beautiful, but troubled and divided place. The 'Rainbow Nation', the
second highest murder rate in the world, apartheid, reconciliation.
Random ultra-violence, car jackings, Tsotsi, security compounds, panic
rooms, cars equipped with flame-throwers, too scared to stop at
traffic lights. Home to many names familiar from my childhood. Steve
Biko, Desmond Tutu, FW D'Clerk, Walter Sisulu, Chief Buthelezi. In
many ways likely to be the most familiar, most westernised, country I
would visit, but still very different and varied. It is the biggest
country. Home to many more familiar place names and history than
anywhere else I'd yet been; Johannesburg, Pretoria, Durban, Cape Town.
Table Mountain, Robben Island, The Fynbos, The Drakensberg Mountains,
Kruger Park. The source of the Voortreckkers, The Boer War, The battle
of Isandlwana and Rorke's
Drift, The Zulu Nation, The ANC. The Springboks, World Cup 2010. And
of course Nelson Mandela.

I felt I knew more about this place than anywhere else, but was still
very apprehensive as I sat late that night looking across to the far
bank waiting for the next day.

To the Limpopo

I once again woke easily and this time had managed to properly sort
the bike out the night before. All I had to do was make some porridge
and coffee and get on the road. I finally managed to made it out
before six... just. The previous evening for the first time in weeks
I'd seen a weather forcast on the television and it looked like there
was a chance I might meet rain this morning, that would be a novelty!
It also appeared as though Limpopo and Mpumalanga (the provinces of SA
I'd be passing through) may be receiving rain just before I arrived. I
really hoped this would happen, it would be fantastic if I could ride
through as the spring flowers got going.

I was riding east towards the Limpopo river, down a broad valley
formed by the Tswapong hills to the north and the Mokoro Hills to the
south. The actual road remained pretty level, but it was nice to have
something in the distance to look at as the day went by. As predicted
by the weatherman there was a black cloud in the distance ahead, but
it never gave me any trouble. In fact it turned out to be a bit of a
blessing since it kept the sun off me most of the morning, it was half
eight before the road temperature passed twenty degrees and it only
just made it past thirty all day. In the cloud's shade my water
requirements were vastly reduced and I barely had to stop for bottle
refills.

I noticed that along with the increasing numbers of flowering plants I
was passing I was also seeing many plants with seeds. One of the
things I'd heard, about South Africa in particular, but I guess this
whole region, is the outstanding diversity and beauty of the region's
flora. I decided I needed to find a way to collect seeds to try and
grow once I got back home (in the garden/greenhouse of my home to
be!). Does anyone know how to grow aloes?

About seventy kilometers down the road I was joined by a new vehicle
on the road... a cyclist! In fact by the end of the day I'd ridden
with two cyclists. They were both local guys. David and then Ishmael.
They rode heroes, which are sturdy Sturmy Archer type bikes well
equiped with pumps and rear racks (only idiots like me have front and
rear racks!) they were on their way to tend cattle in the forests
further up the road. I rode about ten kilometers with David and about
seven with Ishmael. There was a bit of a language barrier and we
didn't really say much to each other, mostly just pointing at each
others bikes, looking pleased and impressed and playing slipstream
games. Though I've now got used to my own company on the road and
quite enjoy and value the time it gives me to think, it was fun having
someone else along for a change.

Riding with these guys reminded me of the charity I'm hoping to raise
money for (click on the just giving button on the right of the blog)
they're called 'Re-cycle' or 'Bicycle Aid for Africa'. They take
second hand bikes, mostly from London and New York and give them to
people in a number of countries across Africa (mostly Southern
Africa). There are a number of reasons I think this is a great idea.
Firstly, once you have a bike it is very cheap to run and maintain, no
need to buy petrol. So great for people with little money. You can
travel a lot further much more quickly and carrying a lot more than
you can walking. It keeps you fit and healthy and it keeps others fit
and happier since you are not going to run them over like you might
driving a car, you won't be polluting your local environment with
exhaust fumes or the wider planet with carbon dioxide. Win, win, win!
On my travels I've seen many people standing by the road hitching.
Outside the deepest bits of the desert it is an almost constant thing.
Some of these people seem to sit for hours in the hot sun, many only
travelling relatively short distances spending scarce resources to do
so. Giving them a bike would have a huge impact on their lives. If you
agree why not give Re-Cycle a few of your pennies. Through just-giving
I'm told there's some oind of tax break system which means that the
charity actually gets a little more money than you donate. So even if
you can just pop in 50p it all adds up.

Today was a relatively short day, only 100km and by half eleven I
arrived at Sherwood ranch, the last town in Botswana and effectively
my destination (the border at Martin's Drift where I was planning to
stay was only another 10km down the road). This was a lovely little
place with a proper frontier feel to it. There was a little petrol
station, a post office, nice little cafe selling icecream and cold
drinks and a nice tidy little general dealer selling hardwares. The
road was lined by big old fig trees providing welcome shade.

Back in Serowe I'd intended to post some some large bean pods I'd
picked up in the Okavango, but had ended up spending too long on the
internet and been forced to press on to Palapye before dark. I decided
to make amends for this and headed to the General Dealer to buy brown
paper to wrap up the precious pods. There I met a lovely lady called
Sonja, we got talking and she asked if I had plans for the evening
offering to take me on a drive late that afternoon to see the local
area and also to come to dinner with her and her sister. This sounded
great, I of course accepted and headed on to the border, dropped off
my kit on the banks of the Limpopo spending the afternoon blogging
before heading back to the ranch for five pm.

The landscape around here is generally quite flat with resonably large
hills reaching up every now and then out of the surrounding terrain, a
little like the Inselbergs of Namibia, but not so harsh and instead of
bare rock are covered with scruby vegetation. Sonja drove me around
some of the local villages. She had lived there all her life, was the
third generation of her family living at Sherwood Ranch (they were
originally Afrikkaners from Pretoria) and knew the area and the people
very well. She showed me a number of villages explaining some of the
customs. We saw one village which had just proudly built a nice new
Kgotla, the old one was still standing next to the new one. She
explained how some of the outdoor gatherings I'd seen in some villages
as I'd crossed Botswana assuming they were some kind of ceremony or
religious event were actually a sort of outdoor pub where they would
drink a beer usually made from the Marula nut (of Amarula fame). We
passed through a village called Safari. They had a sacred garden which
ran along a hillside and revered a number of old trees which grew
there. Sounded like my kind of place, perhaps they should send a
diplomatic mission to Paje? Discounting the Baobabs of the Okavango,
these trees were the biggest I'd seen the whole trip and reminded me
of the big old oaks back home at Blenheim. The garden itself had lots
of oranges trees and other plants I couldn't identify. There was
apparently a magic fountain on the hillside above, from which cool
fresh water flowed all year round. The hill was one of the highest in
the area and I couldn't see quite how there would be a spring at the
top and never actually saw it myself, but it was nice story all the
same.

Sonja and her family lived in a lovely old house, built about a
hundred years ago, surrounded by the shade of big trees (figs I think)
with big sweeping verandas. If you've ever seen 'Out of Africa' it was
a lot like Karen Blixen's house. Inside they had all sorts of very old
things much like the old house at Glenfinnan (sorry, that won't mean a
lot to many of you). We had lovely dinner of chicken, salads and fish
with Sonja's family. Then before I headed back to the Limpopo, Sonja
insisted on giving me a whole lot of great things. She really was a
very generous person. They have a lot of orange farms in the region
which are apparently known for their sweetness. I was given a whole
bottle of freshly squeezed juice for my last breakfast in Botswana.
Sonja gave me a pot of their local honey, which I bet tastes amazing
given all the local orange trees. She also gave me a large bag of
Marula nuts which are extremely tasty, though I've since learned
(unfortunately only after having eaten a large proportion of them) are
really quite hard to get hold of, even in Southern Africa let alone
London so these may well be the only ones I ever try. Finally she gave
me a whole load of small resealable plastic bags to collect seeds
with. So generous.

So if you're ever travelling between Botswana and South Africa through
the Martin's Drift border post make sure you stop off at Sherwood
Ranch and pop into the General Dealers, you won't regret it.

Dawn visitors

My first morning visitors back at the Rhinos

Serowe, the tombs of the Khamas and the stupidity of humans

It was a very relaxed start this morning. I'd been instructed I needed
to wait until eight for somebody to come and pick me up (so I don't
get eaten by a Rhino!). I've become pretty used to early starts by now
and woke naturally just before five. This was great, up to now I'd not
really had much time to just relax with nothing particular to do.

Though I'd not been visited by any maneating Rhinos in the night I was
far from alone. The previous evening a number of different species of
bird had taken an interest in my presence so I'd left a moderate sized
pile of oats outside my tent to see what I might tempt into turning up
in the morning. I was not disappointed. The nights were now not so
cold nearer the edge of the desert so I'd been able to just close the
tent's net screen, not the full opaque door. This meant I was able to
just roll over and see any early morning visitors without fear of
disturbing them. A bit like being in a hide I guess.

My first guests were a pair of yellowbilled hornbills. These are very
common along the roads and pretty much the only constant companions
I've had since Swakupmond (excluding the true Namib where there truely
was nothing). They usually leave it till I'm within about twenty
metres before flying away. So this was vy far the closest I'd been
able to get to them. They were literally about thirty centimetres from
me. I sat munching biscuits and dried fruit whilst other birds
including cape glossy starlings, crimson breasted shrikes, some sort
of partridge, fork tailed drongo and also tree squirrels took turns
with the oats. A lone impala even walked past at one point. They were
evidently used to this kind of treatment and stayed quite close even
when I got out of the tent and struck camp. It was a shame when I
heard the sound of the approaching vehicle three hours later, coming
to whisk me away.

John had told me that soon after the Rhinos the edge of the Kalahari
plateau is reached. You need to remember that although I'd been
crossing a hot flat environment I'd actually been riding at over a
thousand metres altitude since the climb out of Windhoek. John was not
wrong. Barely two kilometers later the road began to slope away and I
rolled eight kilometers downhill for the first time in two weeks. The
hill was not too steep, I only lost about two hundred metres altitude,
but it was enough for me to be able to just sit back and cruise along
enjoying the views which began opening out ahead of me.

The slow changes I'd begun to observe in the natural world over the
last few days now really began to accelerate as I descended. New and
greener species of trees, many more flowers and butterflies and lots
more birds. At the base of the hill I rolled through a village called
Paje. This was beautiful. The majority of houses were still thatched
mud huts, but they now tended to be square and with small gardens and
well tended little hedges. Dotted all around the village as though
Capability Brown had personally selected their locations were tall
leafy trees. It appeared there may have even been some rainfall within
the last few days as there was a thin hint of green grass covering the
red dusty soil.

The Khama Rhinos

'If I can bicycle I will bicycle'

Sir David Attenburgh

I'd had three fantastic nights. New experiences. Lots to think about.

The night spent with the Tswana was simply unique. Something I never
imagined I'd ever do. Really great.

Then there had been the two Johns, the Englishman and the Afrikkaner,
John and Johan. Staying with John had really made me think, I believe
I'd learnt a lot about myself staying with him. I'd come close to
curing my chronic wanderlust, but then right on the heels of this
experience I'd met Johan. As we'd sat on his veranda recounting our
tales of adventure I knew I'd always want to see more of the world.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't totally back to square one. I knew I
could settle down, buy a house, start growing some vegetables, but
that didn't mean I had to stay at home for the rest of my life, living
off past glories. Strange that I should meet someone like him at the
dusk of the same day of those dawn revelations. Almost like I was
being shown the different paths my life could take. Perhaps Rakops had
made me turn too far towards one of these and Johan had been there to
guide me back to chosing my own path. I half expected to meet the
third ghost later that day!

Meanwhile in the real world, outside my mind, the desert continued
slowly passing by, but not for much longer. The eastern shores of the
Kalahari were within reach and like a ship's look out at sea noticing
new seabirds or a stationary cloud on the horizon and knowing these
indicate nearby land, I too began to see changes showing the edge of
the desert was not far off. These were more subtle and gradual than
the ubrupt, almost unnatural way the Okavango had seemed to suddenly
bob to the surface five days before.

The first of my albatrosses were butterflies, not many at first.
Perhaps one or two an hour. Often small brown and orange ones,
occasional slightly larger white ones and sometimes I spotted a bigger
mostly black species with red tips to it's wings. Unlike the other two
which constantly fluttered their wings this one would sometimes glide
in front of me for a few seconds, wings out stretched. I'd first
started noticing them on the road to Lelhakane but as I continued on
these little insects bearing news of life to the east slowly began to
visit with ever increasing frequency. Butterflies mean flowers and
these also soon began to make themselves known, hot on the heels of
the winged messengers.

Today I hoped to reach the home of the Khama Rhinos. The Khamas are
the dominant and current ruling political dynasty of Botswana. Ruth
Khama was the wife of the first Khama. She was actually English, but
moved to live abroad after marriage. I don't know the exact details,
she ended up setting up a sanctuary for Rhinos along the road I would
be travelling today. Apparently there were initially only a handful of
animals, but they have since bred rather well and are now more
numerous. On the subject of the Botswanan political elite and wildlife
conservation, I should mention the reason I was given at one point for
the rich abundance of this country's animal life. Apparently following
independence it was not only Ruth Khama, but her husband, the
president, who was keen on the natural world and intent on saving the
large mammals from the scourge of poaching, which was rife at the
time. As a result the national parks were (and I believe still are)
under the juristiction of the military. This proved very effective as
on more than a few occassions poaching camps found themselves on the
wrong side of helicopter gunship exercises. Want to shot an
Elephant?... don't go to Botswana.

After another long hot day in the saddle, once again in the flat
mopane, though now with the wonderful distraction of slowly increasing
life all around, I arrived at the Rhinos. The place is effectively a
small game park and as such no cycling allowed (the Namib-Nankluft
park was the only park I'd be permitted to ride unescorted through).
Looking at the deep sandy tracks I was more than happy to hoist the
powerful one up into the back of a safari truck to head off to the
campsite. Sadly I'd not have time to go on a proper drive through the
park, but i'd hoped there was a chance I'd spot a Rhino on the way to
the camp. Sadly this didn't occur, but perhaps this was for the best
since halfway along our route we passed a memorial to a German who got
to close to a charging Rhino. If you believe Roald Dhal given half a
chance they will eat you whole!

Having been told it was necessary to take all these precautions for my
safety I was then left alone at the campsite, which I soon discovered
had no fence around it. Not to worry I'd been riding through the bush
for two and a half weeks and now had little belief that anything
really wanted to do me any harm. The campsite itself was really nice.
I put up the tent and made my bed bfore showering and tucking into a
cool beer I'd bought at the gate. I'd arranged to be picked up and
taken to their restaurant beside a waterholes of a sunset dinner and
was soon sat with a large steak watching a herd of bushbuck drinking a
few metres away. Nice spot. This was Finally beginning to turn into
something resembling a holiday

Food diary

So here's proof I am actually eating!

Wed 16th sept
Porridge
Coffee
Iceream pankake
Banana pankake
Coffee
Two sweets
Coke
Toasted bread with mushrooms and garlic
Apple
Grape fanta

Tues 15th sept
Coffee
Boboti pankake
Coffee
Two mopane worms
100g dairy milk
Ginger beer
Rolls x 6
Nougat 75g
Icecream
Iced tea
Yoghurt cereal bar
Coke
100g dairy milk
Marula nuts
Peanuts and raisins
Beer
Sausage
Steak
Mili pap
Toastie x 2
Beer
Nougat

Mon 14th sept
Coffee
Cooked breakfast
Bowl of cornflakes
Coffee
Orange
Biscuits
Hamburger
Ice cream
Coffee
Edahulu
Ice tea drink
Two ice pops
Fat cake
Burger and chips
Two large beers (750ml)
Ice tea drink

Sun 13th sept
Three eggs
two pork steaks
Four sausages
Coffee
Juice
Bread four slices
Rehydrated dryied fruit
Buttersctoch sweets
Ice lolly
Isotonic drink
Two oranges
Two fat cakes
Some crisps
Fat cake
Tropical fruit pop x 2
Coke
Strange drink 1litre (emaheu)
Two ice pops
Three droewors
Fruit juice
Five oranges
Four packets of fudge
Two fat cakes
Coffee

Sat 12th Sept
OJ
Porridge
Coffee
Chocolate milk
Smarties
Coffee
100g cadbury's caramel
Coffee
Egg
Chocolate milk
Cheese n tomato toastie
Half big simba
One small droewor
Two more
Pack of biscuits (4500 cal)
Coke
Droewor
Twist - fizzy pop grenadine
Three beers
Steak, sausage, maize porridge, carrot salad, salad
Coffee
One piece dried apple
Twist -fizzy pop mango

Fri 11th Sept
Double swet chic kettle porridge
Coffee
Two sweets from wimpey
Two fat cakes
Pine nut grape fanta.
Icecream
Nougat
Big coke
Beer
Biscuits packet
Juice carton x 2
Simba small
Chicken strips, fish fingers, salad, grated cheese, grated beetroot,
bread (4 slices) grated carrot
Savannah dry
Fruit juice
guava juice
100g dairy milk
Some marula nuts
Beet

Thurs 10th Sept
Biscuits (third of pack)
Full English
Mug of milo x 2
Hot chocolate
Coffee
Coke
Guava juice
Coke
Fat cakes x 6
Coke
100g dairy milk bar
500ml guava juice
Wimpey bacon double cheese burger with chips
Beer
100g dairy milk

Wed 9th Sept lehlhakane
Coffee
Two eggs
Four toast buttered
Small simba crisps
Five toffees
Biscuits (packet)
Biltong
100g nuts
Half packet biscuits
Pine nut
Coke
Two beers
Apple
Some sweets
Dried fruit (about 7 pieces)
T-Bone steak, chips +++ carrots, brocolli , cauliflour ketchup n Mayo
Icecream three boules
Two beers
Sweets

Tues 8th Sept rakops
Kettle chic porridge
Coffee
Bicuits (packet)
Doughnuts 6 w filling
Guava juice
Egg
Remains of simbas
Large sprite
Pine nu
Ponapple fanta
Coffee
Two n half starks
Chips
Salad
African mash look up name
Egg

Mon 7th Tswana village
2 thirds biscuit pack
Apple
Start simbas
African food in rakops
Pine nut
Grape fanta
Grape fanta
Three quarters loaf of bread w jam and marge
Coffee

Sun 6th maun
Chic porridge
Coffee
Two drinks at FMD
Chips 2 portions
7 doughnuts
Apple
Two toffees
Rice, sugar beans, quorn
Coffee
Sweets a few
Some biscuits
Egg

Sat 5th Sept maun
Chic porridge
Coffee +++
pack chocolate creams
100g dairy milk
Big can coke
Simbas
Egg
Pack custard creams
Beef schnitzel w mash and salad
Beers x 5

Fri 4th Sept maun
Oatmeal
Banana
Coffee
Full English breakfast
Piece of orange
Third packet of bacon crisps
Two tuna baps
Coke
Beers x 5
Cottage pie

Thurs 3rd Sept sehitwa
Coffee
Porridge sweet
Pine nut
Six toasties
Coke
Spaghetti bol
Beers x 6
Packet of nuts n raisins (250g)

Wed 2nd sept ghanzi
Biscuits (marie rose)
Dried fruit
Biltong
Nuts
Beer
Rice fish and biltong
Coffee

Tues 1st Sept buitepos
Sweet porridge
Coffee
Nuts biltong
Simba small
Marmelade samdwiches from wind
Grape fanta
Coke
Nuts

Mon 31st Aug wit
Cooked breakfast
Four slices toast
Coffee
Coke two
Two vases icecream
Nuts
Biltong

Sun 30th Aug wind
Yoghurt
Musli
Coffee
Eggs
Coke
Nuts
Beer x 4(5)
Steak mash and cabbage

Sat 29th aug wind
Musli
Fruit juice
Coffee
Apple
Eggs 2
Toast 4slices
Chocolate crumbly pastry
Coffee
Smarties big packet
Simba crisps
Coke
Big capers Pizza
Beer x 2

Fri 28th aug bosua pass
Nuts
Dried fruit
Biltong
Toasties
Plum tomatoes
100g dairy milk
Lollypop
Beer x 2
Nougat
Big pizza
Dried fruit
Nuts

Thurs 27th aug namib savannah
Burger
Salad w dressing
Pine nut
Fanta
Droewor

Wed 26th aug Sawkupmond
Coffee
Nuts
Dried fruit
Salt
Sugar
Biltong
Biscuits

Some more stats

As you can see I'm slowly beginning to catch up with myself on the
blog. I'd been planning to give the next dose of stats when I was back
blogging in real time, but it's looking more and more likely I'll be
sitting on a Mozambiquan beach when that happens so you can have the
stats up to Johan's now.

Once again I've written the data in short-hand so here's a quick key
to what it all means. ddist=daily distance tdist=total distance (since
leaving Windhoek Airport) rdtime=time out on the road this is using a
stopwatch from when I start in the morning till I stop that evening
roltime=this is recorded by my cycle computer which stops the clock
whenever the front wheel of the bike stops moving (and no I can't
wheelie with my kit on) comparing these two times gives an idea of how
lazy I've been av=average speed max=maximum speed asc=cumulative
ascent dsc=cumulative descent
All Distances are in km and ascent/descent in metres.
I've also added in max temp and worked out percentage rolling time
(%roll) so it's easier for you to spot the lazy days.

Enjoy the data!

Day - 5 Windhoek - witvlei; ddist 156 tdist 557 rdtime 8:18 roltime
6:56 %roll 83 rdav 18.8 rollav 22.5 max 50.8 asc 550 dsc 714 temp 38

Day 6 - witvlei - buitepos; ddist 174 tdist 731 rdtime 9:46 roltime
7:41 %roll 87 rdav 17.8 rollav 22.6 max 46.7 asc 256 dsc 416 temp 35

Day - 7 buitepos - ghanzi; ddist 211 tdist 943 rdtime 13:52 roltime
12:37 %roll 90 rdav15.2 rollav19.5 max 28.3 asc 87 dsc 92 temp 38

Day - 8 ghanzi - sehitwa; ddist 198 tdist 1141 rdtime 11:09 roltime
9:50 %roll 88 rdav 17.9 rollav 20.1 max 39.2 asc 82 dsc 103 temp 37

(forgot t record a lot of this day, am muppet)
Day - 9 sehitwa - maun; ddist 118 tdist 1259 asc 168 dsc 119

Day 10 - nil stats, was on a boat all day

Day - 11 just into maun and back; ddist 24 tdist 1283 rollav 21.4 max
38.7

Day - 12 maun - twana huts; ddist 133 tdist 1417 rdtime 10:02 roltime
7:39 %roll 76 rdav 13.2 rollav 17.2 max 32.5 asc 153 dsc 121 temp 40

Day - 13 Tswana huts - Rakops; ddist 102 tdist 1520 rdtime 5:22
roltime 4:38 %roll 86 rdav 19.0 rollav 22.2 max 33.4 asc 45 dsc 34
temp 36

Day - Rakops - Letlhakane; ddist 15o tdist 1683 rdtime 9:11 roltime
7:13 %roll 78 rdav 16.3 rollav 20.8 max 30.1 asc 143 dsc 64 temp 38

...and for those of you worried about my skinniness I'll post a food
diary later today.

Car for sale

This may seem like a great deal but the price of goats in this region
has gone up a lot recently and are now apparently about £80! So, no
wheels and probably no engine, not so cheap really.

The road to Letlhakane and Johan Steyn

Following my mini breakdown, moment of self-knowledge, catharsis call
it what you will the rest of the day passed relatively quickly.

John had told me that around 100km away near the end of the savannah
the road dipped through a grass pan then climbed a shallow hill before
turning to the right. If I spotted this he said I should pause at the
top and walk to the right, through the Mopane, for about fifty yards.
Hills are few and far between around these parts and I easily
recognised the spot. As John had recommended I walked through the
trees and quickly came upon a stunning view. Laid out about fifty
metres below me was a small salt pan with beautifully sloping hills
down to each side. By small I mean Kalahari small, it must have been
at least a mile across and probably three miles long. There are of
course much bigger pans, mostly to the north, such as the famous
Mackadikadi pans which are hundreds of kilometers across. The base was
pure white and quite dazzling in the now almost midday sun. I sat for
about ten minutes under a tree at the edge of the hills, eating an egg
and scanning the edge of the pan with my binoculars for any signs of
life, there was nothing. It was just me and a vast expanse of nothing.

I'd told John I hoped to reach Letlhakane that evening and he'd said
if I arrived early enough he had a friend there I should try to meet
for coffee. As I rolled into town I recieved a text from John. His
friend was in town and had even offered me a bed for the night. This
was great news.

John had spent the day out on the savannah putting up a fence at his
primary school and was a couple of hours back down the road heading my
way planning to stop by and introduce me as he passed. This gave me
time to seek a shady spot, write the blog and watch the town go by
(Letlhakane was the biggest place I'd seen for three days, full of
beeping taxis and skinny donkeys) and chat to locals who were, as
always interested in my bike and my maps. Since none of them were
Afrikkaners or Horsemen they all asked why I didn't get on a bus.

John arrived and I followed him to the house of Johan Steyn. Johan is
a very interesting guy. He is a cardiothoracic surgeon who trained
under Christian Barnard. He's also done a lot of mountainering and
lived in Europe to climb the Alps and also in New Zealand. He's canoed
the Orange river and now lives in Letlhakane occasionally running HIV
clinics but spending most of his time out along the Boteti or on the
pans filming for a wildlife documentary. The day I visited he'd just
returned from a long trip in the bush documenting the approaching
flood. He showed me some of his film and photography. If you managed
to see the fantastic 'Great Flood' episode of 'Natures Great Events'
series on the BBC earlier this year you'll know the kind of thing i'm
talking about... except his stuff was better.

He had film showing water flowing across the dry dusty river bed
(remember this year's flood is the biggest for twenty two years)
steadily moving forward one by one filling the thousands of footprints
of Zebra, Elephant, Impala and many others, left over the years as
these beasts had trudged up and down it's dry sandy course searching
for water. Then he showed me shots taken one and the two days later
with deep flowing pools and green shoots beginning to appear
everywhere and birds starting to arrive, following the water. Amazing.

But the most incredible things he showed me were the crocs. He knew
this river very well and had been filming around it for a number of
years. This meant he knew where certain creatures lived and was able
to anticipate their behaviour. There is one section where croccodiles
live out the dry years hidden away in caves dug into the river bank.
These caves can be quite deep and often contain water which keeps
these animals alive. I asked him what they did for food. Reptiles have
much lower calorific requirements than mammals or birds but they still
need to eat at some point. Well, he explained, these are not just any
crocs. Some are massive. One, which he showed later, was five metres
long. That's a big animal. This croc would lie still just like an old
log and was able to take down a fully grown zebra if it was careless
enough to pass too close as it walked up the river bed. It would do
this on land! No water! Terrifying!

There were other crocs in that area too. Now, unlike the shots you may
have seen of crocs on the Mara river near the Serengeti, these ones
could not be sure of an annual feast. They took what they could when
an opportunity presented itself. As a consequence they were always in
a life and death struggle competiting with one another and did not
live together in the sort of large groups seen on the Mara. The
biggest would try to kill any smaller crocs. Johan showed me a shot of
the mouth of a large cave lying at the bottom of a mud cliff with the
dry river bed in the foreground. Then he showed me the water slowly
appearing and moving across the frame. Within a few moments of the
leading edge of the water passing by the huge head of the five meter
behemoth he had told me about appeared from the cave. It was a very
pale colour I assume because it not been in water for a long time. You
could really see how, when motionless, a Zebra might easliy walk right
upto it. It slowly pulled it's massive body out of the cave and moved
down the shallow sandy curve of the river bed towards the water. I'm
not one to anthropomorhesise animals and if I were a croccodile would
surely be one of the last creatures one would attach emotions to, but
as that croc moved down the the water the curve of it's mouth, studded
with glistening teeth it looked very much like there was a broad
calculating, scheming smile across it. This was was probably the first
time it had seen water in years and I probably new happy days were
here again. It slid into the water, which had now become quite deep,
and gently wafted it's tail a couple of times and cruised out of shot.

Now I'd mentioned the competition between these crocs. The next shot
showed a similar scene but with mcuh deeper water and slightly smaller
caves the tops of which were just visible above the surface. The huge
croc was floating in the foreground facing the caves about a metre or
so from the bank. In the dry times these caves were where some of the
smaller crocs (but we are still talking animals measured in metres)
would seek refuge from the bigger creatures. And these caves were now
flooding and the big croc knew it. There was a ripple at the entrance
of one of the caves as one of the small crocs made a break for it. The
big croc whipped it's tail and shot forward (quite frightening how
fast they can move, particularly given some of my perhaps rather
foolhardy paddling sessions just a couple of days earlier in the
Okavango) there was a struggle and the water turned red. The smaller
croc would not be enjoying the fruits of this flood.

Johan lit a braai and got some meat out. His house keeper made some
chips and salad and we tucked into a great feast. Then we sat round
the table on the veranda to enjoy the cool night air, drinking shots
of coke on ice, Johan chain smoking camels (and he a cardiothoracic
surgeon) playing maps and discussing adventures.

I told him about my trip, the hardships of the desert, the oasis of
the Okavango. Then about my plans to take a canoe across Scotland next
spring. About the time Ian and I spent in the rainforests of Ghana
helping collect frogs at midnight and how we had looked back at one
point to see the phosphorescent glow of the leaf litter marking the
path we had just taken. Johan recounted tales of daring in the high
peaks of the Alps and then how it was to sleep out in the nothingness
of the pans at night, no tent, just the stars above. His adventures by
canoe down the orange river. I only wished I could head out with him
on a journey into the bush and see some of the things he'd only been
able to show me on film. Maybe next time I'm passing on my bike I'll
ring ahead.

Eventually even the coke would no longer keep my puppet strings taut
and I had to make my excuses. I had a long way to go tomorrow and
another early start.

John

The leather shop

John the missionary and the catharsis of Rakops

I went over to the skinny white man (no mirrors in sight) and said
'are you John?' incredibly the response was 'yes'!

It turns out John is a missionary who has been in Africa a long time
and in Rakops for the last eighteen years. In retrospect, had I known
of his pastoral status, I should really have said 'John, I presume?'

He asked if I'd found a place to stay yet and offered me a bed, shower
and dinner. I explained my situation at the Lodge and accepted without
hesitation, dashing back to the lodge to collect my kit. There was no
one about, I did consider searching for someone to ask for my money
back (about £5) but was pretty sure the answer would be a firm 'no'
and they'd more than likely demand money for the dinner I'd not yet
eaten. So instead I just grabbed everthing and sped off across the
darkening savannah. I wonder what they made of the crazy white man who
turned up out of the desert on a bike, paid for the night, did nothing
for hours except drink lots of water and then disappeared?

John had to lead a bible study group for an hour or so with some local
children, but meanwhile offered me the use of his Internet. This was
amazing, to be suddenly transported from sitting alone in the
unfriendly 'cocktail bar' weak from the combined effects of the sun
and wind, having to pursuade the staff to give me each glass of water.
I'd considered this afternoon the only time felt anything approaching
Conrad's so called 'Heart of Darkness' which if you've ever read it
(and if you haven't you really should, it's not very long) is nothing
about Africa being either dark or full of black skinned peoples, but
is instead about slavery and how it makes lives cheap and futile and
has a lot of people just sitting lying around, a bit like Rakops. So
anyway I'd gone from feeling like that to sitting with a nice coffee
happily typing away at the blog listening to the sounds of children
singing songs from down the corridor. I was a happy man.

John soon finished up and I was done blogging. We walked round to the
bakery he ran (in addition to the leather shop and a primary school -
busy man, certainly I'd bet the busiest in Rakops!). We made coffee
and ate apricot jam sandwiches all evening whilst sitting round John's
table discussing all sorts of things (including maps of course). It
was a great evening.

John was also English and had been at Cambridge studying medicine and
then Engineering before deciding many years ago to head south to
Africa to work as a missionary. He had travelled all over the
continent including times in a number of war zones such as the Angolan
border war. He was a missionary in the truest sense of the word. He
lived in a mud hut with just twenty eight pounds in a bank back in
England.

I mentioned the feelings of unease I'd had at the lodge, John agreed.
Apparently a large part of their income comes from people going there
to use the rooms for sex. Though it's not actually a brothel it is
pretty much used that way. I was glad I'd left. Whilst on the subject
we discussed the HIV situation in Botswana. In common with most of
Southern Africa prevalence of the infection is extremely high. Around
thirty percent! Hard to imagine eh! Thirty percent is a lot. If you
try to think of something thirty percent of the UK population do I'd
guess you're talking on the order of things like watching Coronation
Street or Eastenders or world cup finals, it's a lot. What was the
explanation for this? After all contary to what many many assume to be
the case it's not really a Pan-Sub-Saharan African phenomenon. West
Africa for example has much lower rates.

I mentioned I'd once attended a lecture given by a speaker from the
WHO. His hypothesis involved the Southern African mines. This whole
region is rich in valuable minerals such as gold, uranium, diamonds
and platinum. These employ large numbers of people, almost entirely
men, who travel from rural villages to the mines only returning home
once or twice a year. Large numbers of men living away from their
wives equals a thriving sex industry. Whether this was correct I don't
know. But there are plenty of regions of the world with large
unskilled male labour forces. Even using the example of West Africa,
Ghana was formerly known as the Gold Coast and has massive goldmines
and the Niger delta is swimming in Oil second only to the Middle East
in reserves.

John felt the reason was cultural and relatively recent and due to the
structure of society and poverty. Marriage (at least in Rakops) was
rare and where it did happen it didn't tend to count for much. If
there was money it was usually the men who had it and the women, who
had the children to support, that needed it. With few skills to fall
back on women have little option, but to use sex to make ends meet.
With the high levels of poverty this translates effectively to a
culture of normality towards infidelity and sleeping around.

He also mentioned what he saw as the seemingly ingrained lack of
motivation to see things through or finish off projects as part of a
wider pernicious problem. This explained many of the half built houses
I'd seen around the village.

This connection between poverty, the disempowerment of women and HIV
also seemed to make sense, but then the question comes back, why
should Southern Africa be any different form other parts of the world,
or even other regions of Africa? There's plenty of poverty elsewhere,
Africa may be worse in places, but Botswana itself is relatively
stable and well off compared with places such as DRC or Rwanda.

We talked for houn and not just about HIV and laziness, but I'm not
going to go on and on boring you with everything we discussed, suffice
it to say it was a very interesting evening. My early starts and long
days in the saddle soon caught up with me though and I was forced to
retire to bed with lots to think about.

I woke early, well before first light. I tried once again to get the
stove working and failed once again. John had warned me Botswanan
petrol is notoriously bad and infact said he usually filters it before
use. Perhaps that was the problem. Luckily he had a kettle and I found
I could rustle up a pretty decent porridge just using boiled water
(with plenty of sugar and cocoa) useful tip for the future.

I managed to be on the road just after six. It was already light, but
there was little sign of the sun just yet, merely a hint of a red
beginning to spill along the horizon. The air was cool. As I passed
the last huts and moved out onto the vast open savannah I was in a
strange mood. My time in Rakops had given me a lot to think about.

I've thought twice about putting this next part in the blog. It's
pretty personal, but as you will see central for my journey. If I was
back home I'd probably be to embarrassed to do it (most of my friends
believe, with good reason, that I'm some way along the autistic
spectrum as it is). Hope you don't mind. Fear thee not there will be
more classic tales of adventure to come futher down the road.

Mostly (perhaps selfishly) most of my thoughts kept becoming centred
about myself. I've long felt plagued with never finishing things off
properly. Sometimes to the extent I'll be afraid to attempt things I
know I could achieve for fear of failure (this trip was almost one of
those). In Rakops I'd observed the effects of this at a community
level. I'd seem that its often the little bits which make the
difference. From getting round to putting a roof on your house or just
getting up and onto the road early where a couple of hours can make
all the difference. Similarly there's no way I could just have just
sat around in Swakupmond contemplating my journey, planning to leave
most of it to the last minute and then make a rush job of it to
Maputo. That would be impossible. I had to cover a certain amount of
distance each day or I'd never get there. Here was a valuable (and I'm
sure to most, obvious) lesson for life.

My mind was on a roll. Churning out ideas and bringing up long buried
fears and questions. I guess back home it's easier to bottle things
up, or put them off for another day. This is the difference when
travelling, especially when it gets tough, these things begin to
surface and won't just go away so easily. You can experience a
cathartic cleansing. This was happening to me out on the savannahs of
Rakops.

I read quite a few books. Always did as a boy. Many of these are about
adventures and far off places. This is great, but does tend one toward
a feeling of almost unquenchable wanderlust. I'd been particularly
badly bitten by the Africa bug many years before ever setting foot
south of the Sahara and often wondered where this would lead me. Could
I ever get it sufficiently out of my system to be tuely content with a
life in Britain, to settle down and have a house, a family, grow
vegetables in the garden? Having spent time with John discussing the
things we had and the experiences I'd had over the last weeks I no
longer felt I could be happy to actually live out here and call it
home. I liked this.

Perhaps it had been something as simple and vain as merely needing to
prove to myself (and I guess my friends) that I could do these things
I could take on adventure, but in my heart I didn't really want to
live my life that way. I belonged In England, in fact probably in
Oxfordshire. It felt great to finally know this. It meant I could make
plans in a way I'd never felt before.

True it was great to have exotic friends from all over the world and
to travel and experience the world, but though I'd never really felt
any really fervent nationalistic identity like some of the Scots (and
one Englishman, you know who you are) I know, I did now know I was an
Englishman who loved his country. I was very lucky, unlike all the
people I'd met in these beautiful but barren lands, when I got back I
could look forward to the bellowing rut, autumn mists and Guy Fawlkes
night, not the heat of the coming rains. It felt great to finally know
and accept this. I would certainly travel again but I'd always love
England. (in case you're wondering Tom I did and I was).

Without realising it I'd passed my halfway point yesterday. I was now
at my centre of the continent. The furthest I would be get from the
oceans. I still had a long journey ahead, but this pilgrim of the road
was on his way home. I'd reached my Santiago de Compostela, I'd
reached my goal. It wasn't a white sandy beach in Mozambique. I'd
found it here in the middle of the desert and it hadn't really ever
been a place or location after all.

The hardships of the journey now seemed neccesary and I almost
welcomed them. I only felt grateful my journey of self discovery had
allowed me to include jewels such as the Okavango and the Namib, but
it was the Kalahari which had really counted in the end.

The fear I'd sometimes felt about traveling alone (fear I'd in fact
experienced almost entirely before actually setting out, travelling
can be tough, but not half as frightening as you may imagine) now
seemed a required part of things. Sure at times it would have been
great to have had someone to talk to during the dark days of Ghanzi,
but then I'd never have had the time alone just me and my mind. I'd
have been too easily distracted from the monotony. Certainly I woudn't
be where I was now and I was very glad I was here.

Fear not (or hope not) my friends, reading this knowing I've just
spent the evening with a man of god. I remain a far atheist agnostic I
don't even believe in the hippy version of Gaia, but that doesn't mean
you can't have a spirituality.

By now the sun was up. It had completed it's daily transformation from
thin red stain, to cool orange globe to glaring yellow/white ball. I
was heading due east straight towards the heat. I was ready.

The hot road to Rakops

'...like a submarine at the bottom of the ocean; it was there but it
emitted no signals, soundless, motionless'

(Ryzsard Kapuscinski, Describing the stupor of a village at noon)

As I'd expected and I suppose really quite wanted I made a late start
from the Tswana family. After feeling all pleased with myself at how
well the stove had performed the previous evening I now could not get
it to start up at all. All rather embarassing. I persevered for about
twenty minutes before having to accept defeat. Perhaps some grit had
got into the feeder tube from the fuel bottle. I did notice the fuel
itself was quite low and hoped that may be the issue and it was just a
matter of buying more petrol. So instead I tucked into some dry
biscuits an egg and some sweets, whilst Laila (this is the name of the
woman who had taken me in) and her family tucked into some hot
porridge. I didn't feel quite so clever now.

I was not unduely worried about starting out late since I only had
100k to cover all day. So I felt good despite not actually getting on
the road till nine o'clock, my latest start so far. I headed off
moving pretty much due south, still following the course of the Boteti
river. It lay just a few kilometers to the east through the mopane,
but with the lack of any real elevation and the density of the scrub I
never actually saw it again. With the late start I fully anticipated a
fierce showdown with the wind right from the start. Instead the
tailwind from yesterday returned and I was flying! With the pace I was
keeping and a bit of effort I reckoned I might even make Rakops in
under four hours!

I never did see signs for any of the 'exclusive' lodges I'd initially
planned to camp at. In fact it was a good hour before I even noticed
more Tswana huts. My split second decision to stop with Leila now
seemed more than just a good idea, if I had carried on it would have
been very dark before I passed the next Tswana huts and in all
likelihood would probably never have spotted them in the dark. I'd
have been forced to camp without a Boma in an area chock with Lions
and Hyenas, a quite different prospect to a lone Leopard. Leila's had
NOT been one of my mistakes and I'd almost not even done it. Perhaps
my third man had been silently running alongside me in the mopane
calling across to me. I felt a little uneasy at how easily I could
have made the wrong choice.

I was moving fast, but within a a couple of hours was starting to feel
strangely weak. I wasn't sure what was wrong. I didn't feel nauseated
or have a headache. I was still a little worried I could have picked
up malaria camping by the swamp at Sehitwa or even been bitten by a
tick back at the huts. Still I didn't have far to go now and wanted to
try and make the most of the tail wind I had, my pace was still great.
I pressed on.

I next time I passed a mobile mast I dialled the number I had for a
contact John in Rakops. I got through. It was the wrong number. Well
that was that. I'd be camping again... but now without a stove. From
what I'd managed to workout I expected Rakops to be quite a nice
place. Not anything like as big as Maun, but the map did indicate an
airfield and a petrol station.

As i got to within 30km of Rakops the vegetation opened out into wide
savannah with occassional clumps of acacia. The grass here was shorter
than back in the Namib. There were a number of quite big dust devils
in view.
Ground squirrels were common. Running off a safe distance as I
approached befor standing on their hindlegs of get a better view of me
as I passed.
A Baetelur eagle was circling of to my left much to the concern of a
pair of crowned plovers who flew up swarking their hearts out every
time it passed.

As i approached Rakops I passed what looked like a nice lodge out on
the grassland. I was still 10km away so pressed on, I didn't want this
distance added to tomorrow's total. At least it seemed I'd been right
to assume Rakops might be a nice spot.

I reached it about half an hour later. It was not nice. No please
don't think I only like a place if it has nice coffee houses,
restaurants and lodges all geared up for western tourists. I don't. I
wouldn't have come on this trip I that was what I was after. What I
mean is that one can tell if a place has people who take care of it.
Regardless if how much or little money they have. I guess it's a bit
like keeping your house clean and tidy. Rakops had broken wire fences,
many of the buildings were half built, there were very few plants (I
know this is a desert but many villages seem able to grow nice plants.
It was quite hard to discern where the centre was. There were quite a
few people about but few of them were doing anything, they were just
sitting or lying about.

I came to a sort of crossroads where there was a shop and place you
could buy food and beer. I ordered some food and chatted with the
girls in the eating place. They we nice enough but couldn't recommend
anywhere other than a lodge back out on the main road.

I ate up and headed back the way I'd come. Xere Lodge was the place
I'd been directed to. From a distance it had a nice thatched roof and
lots of small huts out the back. I thought it would be quite nice to
get one of those and relax for the afternoon. The place had a bit of a
strange atmosphere. Yes it was a little run down and it seemed no one
really ever cared about it. It was just a place to make money, but
there was something else about it I didn't like. Still, it was the
only place there as. So in I went. Rooms were the equivalent of about
£40! Even camping was a fiver, not so bad usually except you had to
pay everytime you wanted a shower and there were no really 'ablutions'
as they call them, you just used the staff quarters. On addition to
this they insisted that if I wanted food I had to order it now and say
when I would eat it. They seemed generally lazy apart from doing their
best to get money from me.

The day was still hot so I opted to put up the tent later and find the
'Cocktail Bar' proudly advertised on their sign. This turned out to be
a room with a low desk for a bar with a fridge and a few bottles of
spirits. I was the only one there and took a seat on the corner. I had
a couple of drinks but then when I wanted water they became very
grudging about giving it to me.

As I sat in the corner I realised I felt overwhelmingly drained of
energy. I couldn't work out why. I'd only done 100k. There would be
many longer days ahead. Perhaps I was still paying the price for the
Ghanzi days and would continue to get weaker. If so my plan to cycle
all the way was done for. I'd be on the bus within days. Had i pocked
up malaria in Sehitwa, did a tock bit me last night? Then I realised.
The problem with a tail wind is you get hot. This had happened to me
back on the Namib savannah. That time I'd been out for a long time and
also lost a lot of salt. This time it had o ly been for a short time
so my electrolytes were in fair shape but I'd simply got too hot. Not
heatstroke, I felt no nausea, but certainly my short sprint had been a
bad strategy.

I stayed there fr three hours and gradually felt better. About an hour
before dark I dragged myself out to go get some petrol to see if I
could get the stove going. The lodge was on a kind of bypass road
outside the urban sprawl itself and this time I took a different road
into Rakops. The place was the same heading this way as the other.
Except for one important thing.. there was a leather shop. I suddenyl
remembered, though id been given John's number which turned out to be
wrong id also be advised to ask for him at the leather shop. It
appeared I'd just missed closing and it was all shut up. I almost
carried on, but decided to take a quick look round the back.