Namibia Run Part II

15.09.07

Seven Day Madness - PART 2

Patrick van Sleight

Pictures: Carlie Norval

After almost 1900 km in four days, bikes and riders were still in one piece. But tyre punctures cost them a day in the desert. Was that a sign of the trip about to go wrong?

Day five: Sossusvlei – Swakopmund

It was back to the usual early rise and eating dust as we rode into the rising sun. Sossusvlei is one of those places where you can just forget time and end up staying indefinitely. Perhaps, we actually needed the break. Was it the universe again that manipulated the course of events so we were forced to get the rest that we thought we didn’t have the time to take? Either way; it was much needed. I felt refreshed and energetic.

However, Quinton was not smiling as brightly as usual. Red Dragon was on the back of the Triton. He has already complained about how much he missed out on the fun we had in the soft sand at the vlei. And now he has to make the journey to the coast as camera assistant for Carlie in the bakkie.

For some reason Philippe preferred riding at the back, letting me loose at the front. Why? It’s a different vibe, he responded. I think I knew what he meant. Riding at the front felt like a responsibility to set the pace and make decisions about which roads to take. I much prefer being at the back myself. It leaves you with that extra bit of capacity to back off and take in the surroundings. You don’t have to worry about navigation your way; you have a dust trail to follow.

Solitaire is another one of those mystical names; a place that I have heard of at various points in my life and always conjured up impressions of a really lonely settlement that could not be found on a map; in fact, people have forgotten where it was. The reality is not quite so melodramatic, but it is still extreme. It is not even a town. More like a farm stall that provides fuel and refreshment for the droves of backpackers and tourists in overlanders and luxury coaches on their way to and from Sossusvlei. We joined them in refreshing ourselves, flirted with the young European girls, and set off into the dust again.

After a long while of hypnotically staring into the oncoming horison, the road sloped down into a narrow valley. We were entering Gaub Pass, a road sign warned us. It is quite a steep descent down into a dry riverbed, and a good place for photos, Carlie decided. As he positioned himself for a shot, he froze; there were cat footprints in the sand. Big ones. They were leopard, informed Quinton us, who does a bit of hunting. Suddenly the quiet surroundings looked less peaceful.

Then a convoy of camouflaged Mercedes cars came rushing through the cliff. I thought I recognised what might be the upcoming AMG C63 stationwagon, but mostly they seem to be next generation E-class samples.

I got stuck in the deep sand of the riverbed, forgetting my lessons about throttle and weight transfer. It took me a while find the courage, but eventually I got out by being incredibly ruthless with the throttle. My pride a bit dented, we got up the other side, and onto a long straight that took us pass the Tropic of Capricon.

The world has become increasingly drier, hotter and harsher. Dry sculls and bones scattered next to the road made it difficult to romanticise about the scenery. It was midday, scorching, with only the motion of the bike providing welcome cooling through the vents of the jacket. We were now descending into a black, rocky moonscape with hardly any vegetation. I would see afterwards on a map that it is the Kuiseb Canyon, with the road suitably called the Kuiseb Pass. I know that the Kuiseb river reaches the see at Walvisbay, but not quite, as the mouth is almost permanently cut off by red dune sand.

The Frenchman took the lead and guided us off-road onto a two-track path to a view-point over the canyon. I went into a panic; we could not afford another puncture. Philippe, what are you doing! Look how sharp these rocks are! But it turned out to be a worthy risk. Not only was the view incredible, but hardly fifty meters below us, an oryx was basking in the sun on the steep slopes. Our noise disturbed it, and it reluctantly traversed the treacherous climb down to the quiet riverbed. As if on queue, the riverbed became alive with an assortment of wildlife that emerged from the trees and bush; steenbok, baboon and more oryx. They didn’t like our presence, and preferred facing the heat just to get some distance between us and them.

It is quite a wide canyon, so it took a long time to work our way through the moonscape. Eventually we were on the coastal plain with one of those long, straight roads that lead us to the sea. The landscape has now become incredibly featureless; no mountains, hills, trees or even dry scrub. Just a flat nothingness in every direction that evoked a horrifying sense of desolation. The land is rock hard and seem oily because of the dark hues.

A sign informed us we entered the Swakopmund district, and as we passed through a gate, suddenly there was tar on the road. But as soon as it appeared, about a kilometer later it changed to gravel again. Very weird.

Philippe and I ran dry barely a 100 meters from each other, and the jerry cans came to good use again. Blue Passion’s exhaust broke and my speedometer cable disappeared, but by now we were not getting excited by these things anymore. These were routine happenings.

The hazy skyline of Walvisbay was a welcoming sight. I have been looking forward to seeing Dune 7 again. Twenty years ago I only saw it from a distance, and its impressive height and profile was edged deeply into my memory forever. Then I vowed to be back. So we turned off for a closer inspection of the famous dune. There were no people around, which probably emphasized its immense scale. Then I knew I had to go home with some red dune sand in a bottle. If the trip had to end here, I would be happy.

We spent the afternoon riding in the dunes, before booking into a century old German hotel in Swakopmund. The town was full of bikes, as it was the Fish Eagle rally. But we had our time filled with getting Quinton’s bike fixed (it was the battery), and having new Michelin tyres fitted to our bikes. Punctures would not be a problem again for the rest of the trip.

Day six: Swakopmund - Windhoek

The next morning it took a bit of time finding the dirtroad to Windhoek, and realise how weird the new tyres felt on the tar in town with the huge knobblies; it felt like the back was wavering around on a loose swingarm nut. Quinton was back on his Red Dragon, and grinning madly again. According to a roadsign this is the beginning of the Trans-Kalahari highway, which runs right through Botswana and would eventually take us to Gauteng.

But for the stretch to Windhoek, we would give the tar a miss. It would be the usual good old dirty stuff.

Soon we were back into that desolate moon landscape as we left the coast. The soft morning light did little to make the surroundings look friendlier. The purpose of the curious patches of tar became only partially clear on this stretch of road; signs informed us that they are “dustfree sections.” So why would you want a dustfree section? To overtake, stupid!

Makes sense; the previous day we had to overtake quite a lot of big overlanders, and it was an exercise in faith. The dust trail they kick up is so long and thick, you might as well close your eyes as you pass them from behind because you can’t see a thing anyway. You close your eyes for the dust, and perhaps – if you are so inclined – to pray that nothing lurks in the dirt cloud in front of you because you will only know about it when you hit it. I overtook on the left mostly; knowing cars are unlikely to come from the front that way.

The countryside softened up almost imperceptically, and before I knew it we were surrounded by huge granite bolders and domes like you find in Namaqualand and Northern Province. And the plant life has become more abundant and greener.

About a 180km later, at the bottom of Boshua Pass, we stopped to refill. The pass took us of the coastal plain and onto the inland plateau, known as the Khomas Hochland (German for highland). It turned out to be the steepest pass so far, with a slow puttering in second gear to the top. The surface is covered with – you will never guess it – pavement bricks, making it look like a Sandton driveway. On loose gravel it would have been very difficult to make the climb. There is no downhill at the other end of it.

About 20km out of Windhoek we pass the famous “ghosthouse” that I have heard about. It is a very popular party spot. The town (I can’t really think of it as a city) has the strange phenomena of security access points at all roads in and out of the city. We reached the centre of the town at high noon on a Saturday afternoon.

Philippe and Quinton’s exhausts broke off again. Mine held because it was fixed with good old South African steel at that workshop in Maltahohe. So we were worried about finding a workshop in town that was still open on a Saturday. In the end we used lots of wire and bungee cords.

We have done only 350km for the day, leaving lots of time to relax. We spent the afternoon in the famous “Joe’s Beerhouse”, and I spent the evening visiting old friends, while the other guys made new friends.

Day seven: Windhoek – Kang

We left Windhoek early the Sunday morning, with the sun in our eyes again. Blue Passion and Red Dragon’s exhausts held in place more by faith than the wires and cords. We passed Hosea Kutako airport, which is 50km away from town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Why would a major airport be so far out in the sticks?

Being back on tar felt quite boring after the intense concentration and dramatic scenery of the dirt roads. It was our first time back on a stretch of tar since day two. But if I thought with it would become a more relaxed ride, I was about to be disappointed.

Warthogs. The fat little beasts were swarming everywhere next to the road, mile after mile. You had to start worrying about them venturing into your path and hitting them. And they looked sturdy and heavy, small as they were. So they were bound to cause serious damage.

The back-end of the bike still felt a bit loose, made worse by the huge knobblies on the Michelins now, but the loose sensation has been there before - to a small degree. I started to feel it three days ago already. Driving behind me, Carlie said he could see the rear swaying around slightly. I thought the tyre was under-inflated initially, and then thought the axle was out of line, but the wayward sensation stayed, after attending to these. I wasn’t really worried however, and throttled on merrily. Later, after the trip, Jonway’s workshop would find that some of the spokes were bent.

At some point Blue Passion’s lights disappeared from my mirrors, and I stopped, waiting for them to catch up. After about ten minutes I turned around, and felt the paranoia rising in my gut. But it was just the bloody exhaust again; on Philippe’s bike. The concoction of rope and wire didn’t hold, and had to be retied.

We reached the sun-drenched town of Gobabis around lunchtime. At this time of the day you cannot use your eyes without the protection of sunglasses. The surroundings have a sharp, harsh and deep-edged feel to it. We hastily followed the signs for Botswana out of town, and in no time were back on the Trans-Kalahari highway again.

The scenery was now typical bushveld and savannah, and I expected to see the long neck of a giraffe peeking over the treetops anytime. Then it struck me how flat the horison was. No; it wasn’t flat, more like the gentle curvature of the earth that you see when you are few meters up in the air. We were obviously on a gentle but high rise, and the view was far and wide. There were no mountains; just a flat endlessness. The sense of space was overwhelming. There were really still places like these left on the planet? Wait till the golf estate developers hear about it!

Just a kilometer before the border we stopped at a filling station called East Gate. Philippe stays close to East Gate shopping mall in Kensington, so there were the inevitable references to how far he has to come for shopping. They house three huge Kudus in a camp surrounding the filing station, and it was my first time so close to the big creatures. They are actually quite gracious and tranquil, and kept me transfixed for a while.

The border crossing at Buitepos was the usual queues and forms, but went without hiccup. On the other side of the crossing, I immediately notice the lack of fencing on either side of the road. We have been warned about this, and true to form, a roadsign with a picture of a cow says as much. Still, it was not enough to really prepare us for how bad it was.

We did not have to wait long to see the first herd of cattle grazing dangerously close to the shoulder of the road. Then there were donkeys, sheep, goat; just about every farm animal you can think of. I heard of wild stuff like elephants, but wasn’t sure if it was an experience to look forward to.

We arrived at a T-junction in the middle of nowhere, with a bigger collection of advertising billboards than I have seen at any intersection in Sandton. It is called New Junction on the map, but there is not a dwelling in sight. A woman’s figurehead peering over a dune betrays some sort of action out somewhere between the trees however. My imagination did not need encouragement. Google Earth would later confirm there are no buildings for miles around. So what was she doing in the sticks?

To continue to South Africa we had to turn right, to the west. We have been facing east till then. But just as we were about to head off, the traffic police arrived. They were very pleasant, casually reprimanding Carlie about his parking habits (he pulled of onto the side curb at the stop street), and attempting to take a spin (unsuccessfully) on Blue Passion.

As we left, the cops started an impromptu roadblock, causing queues of cars to pile up in every direction. I sniggered in my helmet. They have too much time on their hands, lucky sods.

By now the sun was getting low and we began to worry about reaching Kang at night. It was about 180km away. As the sun sank lower, more wildlife activity was evident on the roadside. Small antelope of various sizes and colours began appearing, and I couldn’t help but notice the odd red blotch of roadkill.

The last 50km to Kang was in complete darkness, and as terrifying as the way to Upington in that thunderstorm the first night. All sorts of animals were making their home in the middle of the road. It was clear that their right of way was not disputable. Carlie took the lead in the Triton, as he had a better spread of light, while we stood up on the bikes behind, peering over the roof. We couldn’t go faster then maybe 40 to 50 km/h; dark bodies suddenly appeared out the dark, and you had to be ready to brake and swerve. It was tense, slow and exhausting stuff. We reached Kang at eight in the evening, and not a moment too soon.

We have done 730km that day.

Day eight: Kang – Johannesburg

It was with some trepidation (at least on my part) that we restarted the animal invested road before sunrise that morning, without breakfast. We where a day behind schedule, and in a bit of a hurry. It was Monday morning; we were still on the road exactly a week later. Carlie said he spotted the reflection of a Hyena next to the road. The locals told us about lion spottings as well. Excitable stuff when there is a fence between us; terrifying without.

We met a couple on Harleys at the guesthouse in Kang; they came from Walvisbay as well, back on their way to Gauteng. We left before them, but hardly an hour later they overtook us. My grandiose hopes of outrunning a Harley on a Chinese bike sank like the Titanic.

We ran into a group of Spanish riders on BMW Dakars rented from MotoBerlin. We were horrified to learn that they were going all the way to Malawi – on tar! And they were impressed that we got so far on Chinese bikes; we were in fact, on our last leg home.

The scenery has gradually become more green and lush. As we approached Jwaneng, I thought I saw what was the first mountain since Windhoek. But as we got closer, it turned out to be one very huge minedump. Just on the outskirts of the town, our fourlegged friends (donkeys this time) blockaded the road, and let us through reluctantly after some protestation from our side.

In Jwaneng we stopped for brunch, refilled the bikes, and hurried on. Philippe’s exhaust blew off again, but we didn’t bother retying the ropes and wires this time. We were sniffing the South African air, and were perhaps becoming impatient. So Blue Passion was to make do with a free-flowing raucous that deafened even me riding behind it. So I kept back, wondering why the hell I never wear earplugs. Riding behind Philippe was too loud for me, so I had to fall back.

We hit our last border crossing at Skilpadshek, and riding into the good old RS of A was a mildly disappointing sight. The animals looked the same, as did the trees and even people. There was nothing different to indicate we were now on home soil. I have clearly spent too much time on the bike.

We became aware of dark clouds gathering ominously above us. It was a disturbingly familiar sight, and Mother Nature’s sense of humor did not seem so funny. Philippe made a few calls to Johannesburg and learned that, while we were away, the place has been tortured by hurricanes, typhoons, and every other conceivable weather storm. And yes, they were gearing up for another big one just as we roll into town.

We stopped at the Jonway agent in Zeerust to put Blue Passion’s exhaust back, and had a look at the dark clouds in the direction of Gauteng. It was time to get wet again. How fitting, we were about to end the last day like we did the first one; soaked!

Did we make it?

Well, you are reading this, aren’t you?

Quick Stats:

Total mileage: 4029km
Average fuel consumption: 4.56L/100km 

Box 1

Riders' observations at the end of the journey

Philippe:
We knew we would have problems with the bikes, but we have proved that just by adding better exhaust welding and tyre tubes to your brand new Sam Bashan, you can make a trip like this, still for under R15 000. So you don’t need to be rich – the money thing is no longer an excuse!

Quinton:
We proved that you do not need a GS to have an adventure; it is within the reach of anybody!

Patrick:
This is what motorcycling has always been about for me; finding the time to explore unknown roads and towns; which is why I always preferred sports tourers to superbikes. With this trip; I have opened up to the adventure part of touring, as we could never see these incredible places on a road bike. Next bike is sure to be a dual-purpose.

Box 2

Where we ate and slept

Naba Lodge
Upington
054 338 0444
We arrived soaking wet and late at night, and for a while it seemed they weren’t going to open for us. We expected that. Turned out they were just not used getting guests so late.

Bird’s Mansions
Keetmanshoop
+264 63 221711
A safari/oasis feel in the middle of the small town. And an exotic receptionist.

Sossusvlei Lodge
Sesriem Farm
021 930 4564
Being pampered to death is not always a bad thing. Not after surviving a bone-jar ride for 500km through the desert.

A la Mer, Hotel Pension
Swakopmund
Lebertina Amathila Ave
+264 64 404045
Affordable accommodation on the beachfront in a century old mansion.

Roof of Africa
Windhoek
124-126 Nelson Mandela Avenue
+264 61 254708
This is about as fancy as it can get for hot, sweaty, dusty adventurers.

Joe's Beerhouse
Windhoek
160 Nelson Mandela Avenue
+264 61 23 2457
Just down the road from Roof of Africa. The most cosmopolitan hangout in Windhoek with the most beautiful people.

Box 3
What went wrong

Day one:
Exhaust loose – Red Bike
Headlight Bulb failed – Yellow Bike
Crash; Bent handlebars, cables, levers, handgaurd – Yellow Bike
Numberplates broke off – Red and Yellow Bike

Day two:
Rear Tyre puncture – Yellow Bike
Crash; Mudguard, clutch ever, headlight mountings - Red bike
Rear brake lock-up – Red Bike
Crash; handguard – Yellow Bike
Loosening exhaust header – Red and Blue Bikes
Numberplate broke off – Blue Bike

Day three:
Exhaust break off – Yellow Bike
License disk fall off – Blue Bike
Rear Tyre puncture – Yellow Bike

Day four:
Flat battery – Red Bike
Rear puncture – Yellow and Blue Bikes

Day five:
Speedo cable broke – Yellow Bike
Exhaust broke – Blue Bike

Day six:
Exhausts broke – Blue and Red bikes
Day seven – Exhaust broke – Blue Bike

Day seven:
Exhaust Broke – Blue bike

Day eight:
Exhaust broke – Blue Bike

Observation: exhausts breaking from the mounting points and punctures cost us the most time. Having these sorted (better welding and decent tyres) before a trip will go a long – and still cheap - way. Perhaps throw in a new battery too. Oh, and the nuts and bolts did have locktite on them already!

Box 4

Thank you to the following workshops

Kuruman Motormark
120 Market Street
Riaan and Kerneels
053 712 2097
How often do you get to crash a bike in a strange town, roll it into the local dealer just down the road, have lunch next door, pick it up and ride on?

Swakopmund Fitment Centre
Moses Garoeb Street
+264 64 403066
The beautiful Elsabe runs a tight ship. In no time we had new Michelins and fixed exhausts.

Dune Worx
Swakopmund (also the local Yamaha agent)
+ 264 64 401081
For supplying the Michelins and sorting Quinton with a new battery. And directing us to the best wet spots in town!

Quad Country
Zeerust
018 642 2030
Thank you Ben, for refitting the exhaust for the millionth time!

If you missed it, read part one here.