Beyond the clouds

'There is a jubilation at feeling like the only person in the world, cycling carefree down a cool road at dawn. It was good to be free. I felt lucky to have time to lie back on the earth watching clouds metamorphose in the sky, to watch ants enjoying my bread crumbs, to listen to the wind in the yellow grass and feel it fresh on my sweat'

(Al Humphries, excerpt from 'Moods of future joys')

I remember Dan once telling me about a day he'd spent on a bike in South America (I think it was Ecuador). He'd started at high altitude
and rolled downhill all day, passing through successive habitats and
vegetation as he got lower and lower. Ever since then I'd wanted to do something similar, today would be that day. Initially though I'd be continuing further along the edge of the Drakensberg escarpment through a town called Sabie. After this there was apparently a pretty hefty climb before the road finally veered southeast and headed downhill through eucalyptus plantations and orange groves, all the way to the city of Nelspruit in the Lowveld far below.
I was sad to have to leave my cosy igloo in Graskop. Nick and his family had been great people to stay with and I suppose I ought to admit it had been nice to spend a couple of nights in a place that reminded me a little of Europe, both in climate and appearance. Graskop was very like Switzerland/Scotland, except it had baboons. However, one of the reasons I'd come on this trip had been to experience new places and test myself and if it had all been as nice and easy as the last thirty-six hours then I guess I'd actually have been quite disappointed. Still it had been nice to be able to properly relax for a short time.

Early morning up in the mountains was magical and even better than the usual dawn. The air was crisp, cool and very still, I could easily hear the early morning birds singing, there was nobody about. In fact I don't believe I saw a soul for almost the first hour! The road gently wound along the edges of grassy mountainsides occasionally passing through stands of conifer trees and past cool bubbling streams, how amazing it would have been to pass one of these just one week ago. Riding through this landscape now it's hard to believe I'd covered the first thousand kilometres without seeing a single stretch of running water!

I started the day riding a couple of kilometres west of what you might call the true edge of the escarpment. As I travelled further south this geologic feature began to loose its starkness and as the day went on would progressively loose it's identity and eventually cease to exist altogether. For the moment, however, I was treated to frequent glimpses along wooded valleys out to the Lowveld in the east. To make these stunning views yet more stunning a cloud inversion had been laid on for me this morning. This is where you’re high enough to be above the clouds and look down on a white fluffy sea as if you’re flying in an aeroplane. If you've ever spent much time in the mountains you'll like as not have witnessed this phenomenon for yourself and will know what I mean, if you haven't... well you need to, you're really missing out.

It was still early and I was planning to have breakfast (pancakes of course) in Sabie, but first I had somewhere rather amazing to visit. The Mac Mac falls. It’s not just me that has to find a route down from this high ground and over the side of the escarpment, all the little streams and rivers I’m passing do too. So in addition to the amazing geology of the area there are some pretty fantastic water falls hereabouts as the water drops over the side and pours onto the Lowveld below.

The Mac Mac falls are one of the most famous of these. I'm not sure why this is. It’s true they're pretty high (65 metres) but they’re not the highest (there's another one at over 90 metres!). Perhaps they’re regarded as the most beautiful and if so I can see why. They’re pretty stunning. The falls begin flush to the surrounding terrain and I think it might be fairly easy to ride straight past them without ever realising they were there at all. The approach is down a small footpath signposted off the main road. Its a good thing I'd read about the falls before leaving England, I'm travelling without a guide book and I would otherwise definitely have missed the small brown sign saying 'Mac Mac'. I’m glad I didn't.

The approach from the road is along the edge of a deep gorge, this is so deep that there’s very little sound to betray the fall’s presence until the very last moment and when you do get there it seems strange that you could have made it so close before realising what you were about to see. It must have been pretty well fantastic before the days of sign posts and guidebooks, for unsuspecting visitors who would very likely have been traveling along the edge of the gorge without the prior warning I'd been party to. Whenever I see huge waterfalls I always find it quite mesmerising how peaceful the water appears above the falls, just meandering and drifting along minding it's own business seemingly completely unaware of the approaching menace even as it begins to curve down and cross the event horizon. Standing close to the top the water seemed strangely silent as it approached the edge initially seeming to fall without sound, like a fragile glass dropped from an outstretched hand, accelerating faster and faster until it finally reached the flat hard pool far below, violently shattering into a foaming white raging noise.

I was stood on the edge of a large cliff looking over the gorge with the falls at the Western end to my left. Further down, just in front of me, were hundreds of swifts screaming all around the void between the sides of the gorge, I couldn’t tell which species (unlike Europe, Africa is a bit greedy when it comes to numbers of swift species and seems not to be content to settle for just one sleek black bat-mobile style model) looking further to my right about three hundred metres away the edge of the clouds lapped the floor of the gorge like a calm sea in a sheltered inlet. This spot is one of the big attractions in this part of South Africa and I would guess is usually pretty busy, but it was only just gone seven o’clock and for now it was just me and the swifts. The joys of early morning bike rides eh!

Sabie was not much further beyond the falls, but was at the bottom of a pretty long and steep hill. By the time I was tucking into pancakes, bananas and coffee I’d chalked up a new max speed for the journey – 75.4km/hr – on a heavily leaden bike that had been a pretty exciting tuck! The powerful one may be steady, but he ain’t slow.

Sabie is a really nice place and has a great bike shop (Cycle Junkies – get a big thumbs up from me!) I’d noticed my rear tyre was becoming a bit worn (it had taken me all the way to Edinburgh and Land’s End on top of getting me here from the Atlantic) so I’d stopped in to see if they had any spare folding slick tyres, sadly I was out of luck, but they did give me loads of advice for the road ahead and helped me book a car for tomorrow (no, I’m not planning to cheat, I’ve got a day off and have a plan to probably double or triple the length of the ‘beasties’ list – all will be revealed). One thing they did warn me about though was a massive hill just outside Sabie. Earlier in this trip I might have been pretty disheartened to hear this, but now I relished the challenge. It’s a great feeling when people tell you their local hill is really tough and there’s no way I’ll make it up with my heavy bike… and then you promptly go out and nail the bugger! Well these guys were right, their hill was pretty steep and it was pretty long, but I made it up in one go, no pushing. Another local legend bites the dust!

Unfortunately Grendel’s mother had her revenge. By the time I’d reached the top of the hill I was baking and opted to take a bottle shower to cool off. This is basically involves holding a full water bottle upside down over your head and rubbing all the water into your hair till it runs down all over your clothes soaking you to the skin (Kind of obvious I suppose). Anyway this is really not possible with a pair of sunglasses plonked on your bonce so I left these perched on top of the water bags (please note these were my little brother’s Oakleys, lent to me for the trip – you can see where this is going right?). Heading off down the road I felt very cool and refreshed, but quickly noticed how bright things appeared after my shower. Bugger! Sunnies no longer on the back of the bike! Turn around! Hopefully they’ll be easy to find. Trouble was I’d taken my time in Sabie and it was well past ten o’clock by now and there were a few cars about. I decided to ride on the wrong side of the road, hoping to persuade any approaching vehicles to cross the road and potentially save the sunnies from certain death. I saw them, a black spec about two hundred metres away, right in the middle of the carriage way… with a huge lorry about fifty metres further on! I was undone! The final tragedy of it all was that, had I stayed on the correct side of the road all would probably have been OK. The lorry had been lined up to pass its massive tyres either side of the glasses, until the driver spotted me that was and moved across the road to avoid me. Thermonuclear protection perhaps, but no match for the tyres of a juggernaut. They were completely obliterated.

I still had a lot of descending fast descending to do before I reached Nelspruit, I’d be wearing deserts and goggles the rest of the day.

The rest of the day passed quickly. I stopped off at a lovely place called the artists café, hidden away in the trees next to the tracks of a mountain railway, a couple of hundred metres to the side of the road (since leaving Graskop I’d been crossing and re-crossing a mountain rail line used to transport timber from the mountains, further adding to the impression I was riding through Switzerland). I’d almost ridden straight past the café but am glad I didn’t. It was a really lovely spot and I met a group of ladies who invited me to dinner in Witriver (just north of Nelspruit) the following evening.

From the cafe it was downhill all the way to Nelspruit about fifty kilometres away. Dropping out of the high grassy conifer landscape the air slowly thickened as I passed, first through eucalyptus plantations, massive trees which smelt amazing, then through orange plantations followed by avocados and finally just as I entered Nelspruit I spotted one of the new stadiums being built for the world cup. A great descent, pretty steep in parts and by the time I was weaving my way through the urban traffic jams of the city I’d pushed the max speed up to 78.5km/hr (that had been through the eucalyptus and a very aromatic cocoon).

After a few relaxing days in the cool mountains I was back in the heat of Africa and tomorrow I was off to find Lions!

On the grassy knoll

I woke up early in the igloo. It was still dark outside so I lit a
candle and made coffee. I was still loving the early mornings and
opened the igloo door and listened to the frogs packing up their
instruments whilst the birds tuned up for their shift. I wrote some of
the blog while waiting for my coffee to cool, the light of the candle
was more than sufficient for this since the iPhone is back lit and
this allowed me to observe the slow increase in the daylight outside.
A pair of those chunky and noisy ibis like birds I'd seen on the climb
up from Mokopane were patrolling the (very English looking) lawn
outside my door, probing the soil for worms with their long curved
beaks. I really should find out what they are so you can see what they
look like.

I met Johann(from the old shoe) for breakfast (Boboti pancakes, Mmmm)
in 'Downtown' Graskop. He does a lot of exploring by motorbike so I
took the opportunity to mine him for information and tips on types of
motorbikes and how to build them. There are seeds of a plan
germinating in my mind. He's also planning a bike trip (pedal-powered)
down the length of Sweden. I sure hope he likes looking at trees! As
far as I'm aware most of Sweden is flat and covered in forest, a bit
like a cold kalahari.

After breakfast I went in search of the Mopane worm. I'd heard this is
something one should try around these parts. In fact I think I
probably first passed into the region they're eaten in as far back as
the Okavango, but had forgotten to look for the beasts. I eventually
found someone who was prepared to sell me some, most people I asked
were more than a little surprised at my request. I'd kind of expected
these worms would be the sort of thing tourists would all be after and
hence quite easy to track down, but it seems not. Perhaps they're
still a little obscure and people don't know about them yet, to be
honest I can't remember where it was I first heard about them. I don't
really know all that much about mopane worms. I think they're a type
of silk worm, so look like a big maggot about the length of an index
finger and thick as a thumb. The ones I got hold of were dried and
were a very dark colour with spots down their flanks and little black
shiny heads.

...and just in case any of you are still wondering... aye thats right
they's fae the eatin! Mmm! Crunchy, dry as a Jacobs cracker, tasting
of bark with a hint of bacon. Not unpleasant, but not exactly what I'd
call particularly tasty. I'm not sure you'd really want them as your
staple diet. Don't worry, I've brought a kilo of them back so you can
all try one! No need for anyone to miss out!

In the afternoon the owner of the igloo, Nick van der Merwe, Dave's
stunt double. Dr Harvenparpikkie kindly offered to show me the view
from Gods Window which I'd missed as a consequence of yesterday's
night ride. He knew loads about the local plants, among other things
pointing out Koral trees, which are quite thin spindly things often
growing with their branches intertwined among other trees and would
probably go unnoticed were it not for their vivid scarlet flowers
which stick out from the surrounding greenery.

The final part of the climb up to God's Window was through a cloud
forest (though it wasn't actually cloudy today) and this was a bit of
a highlight for me. Cloud forests are a bit like rainforests except
they generally exist at higher altitudes and instead of being watered
by self-produced rain (as rainforests are) they get a lot of their
water, rather unsuprisingly from clouds. There's a cloud forest
section of the Princess of Wales conservatory at Kew, which has always
been one of my favourites so to be able to walk through a real one was
a bit of a treat. The most striking thing about this vegetation are
the small plants growing on other plants. They're everywhere (this is
most certainly not a desert!) the high moisture content of the air
means many of these plants have evolved to hang their roots down from
whichever branch they happen to be growing on and amazingly are able
to collect enough liquid to maintain transpiration through this
technique.

There were of course numerous bird sounds and even daylight frog calls
(I think). The bird Nick really wanted to point out to me was the
Scarlet Winged Sparrow. Apparently these are quite rare, but unusually
common in this area and a bit of a source of local pride. Though
they're called sparrows they're actually more like blackbird/starling
size and certainly behave like mischevious starlings. At first glance,
hopping about on the ground they look pretty dull, a kind of black/
brown colour, but it's when they take to the air that their full glory
is displayed with vivid red flight-feathers suddenly flashing into
view. The other bird, which I didn't see, as it's migratory and I was
here at the wrong time of year, is the blue swallow. This bird really
is well known in this area and Nick told me he'd put up several
travellers who came with the expressed purpose just to see this wee
creature. I can't of course describe it first hand, but I'm
confidently informed that the blue swallow is blue and looks like a
swallow.

We had a braai in the evening (Dave, I'm not sure they do lasagne down
here, but if they do I'm sure Nicks is great!) and ate lots of marula
nuts (and of course lots of meat). It had been an excellent relaxed
day off and I was sad I couldn't stay longer, Graskop is a really nice
place. I do envy those travellers who just make a plan to head off
somewhere, but have no timetable so when they find a nice spot are
able to just hang about as long as they like until they feel the urge
to move on once more. I guess that's the only way to really get to
know somewhere properly and it takes a lot of time. It may come as a
bit of a surprise that I'm now almost beginning to feel a bit like I'm
moving too fast. I know I'm going to be travelling almost a month and
a bike is a great way to see many of the things one misses by driving,
but I am after all crossing a continent so there will inevitably be
things I have to miss and places I'll want to stay longer than I'm able.

One more night in the igloo then back on the road. Tomorrow I'll be
heading south to the city of Nelspruit in the hot lowveld. The hard
deck is set over a kilometer below my current position... so plenty of
downhill and plenty of speed!

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.