Heat
radiates off the blackened tar road as the 40/104 c/f days begin to
melt into a timeless collage of pushing the pedals. I am constantly
giggly, smiling and singing to 1960's classic tunes as my faded green
tavu visor attempts to block out the sun's continuous heat.
Something has crossed over in me, not even the daily temperatures can
interrupt my giddiness of heading for Capetown. The city and southern most point of Africa is only 750/466 km/m
away.
A country
wide barbed wire fence guards much of Namibia. Wild camping
opportunities are minimal. Creative solutions keep me laughing as my
international hobboist with bicycle status is elevated to a hole new
level. I tuck inside a drain pipe under the road to escape the strong head
winds and spend the night, humorously pondering where on earth this
all went so wrong?
As the
morning luminescent light clears the hills on the western edge of the
Kalahari desert, I am back in the saddle. I peer down the road over
the handlebars. My eyes strain through the glare of the shimmering
sun beams. A cyclist, the 7th I have seen in all of Africa
is heading towards me. He must of started in Capetown I reason
to myself as I grin giddy delight at someone to talk to. I do my best
to not frighten him as I bounce to a hyper halt, hit the breaks and
bellow out a huge overly enthusiastic
“Hello,
how are you?”
His shiny
new ortlieb panniers, clean Thorn Sherpa Bicycle, neatly combed hair
and grin of a realized dream in the embryo stage are spread across
his smiling pale fresh face as he responds
“I was
wondering when I would meet my first cyclist, where did you come
from?”
I raise my
bright pink arm and brush the dirty sweat from my stinging sunburned
smiling lips. I shift my swollen calloused feet as I straddle my
faded green magic bicycle and answer
“I started
in Cairo then south through the Sahara of Sudan, west around Lake
Victoria through Uganda, Rwanda then through Tanzania, down Lake Malawi across Zambia, Botswana
into Namibia”
“What
about Ethiopia? How was that?” John, an ex-triathlete now on his
first bicycle tour asks
Good Ol'e
infamously demonized on blogs Ethiopia, I think to myself as
I lean forward and adjust my oversized gear cables that were sent out
to me by SJS (Ship Jack Shit) Cycles. Send, only after a lengthy 6
phone call ordeal to the British based bike shop who are in need of
their own managerial adjustments.
“Ethiopia,
really isn't as bad as all the blogs make it out to be... you will
get hit by a few rocks maybe a stick but the Omo Valley is well worth
the stone warfare and the occasional really bizarre person you will
meet”. I answer and bust out laughing at how ridiculous that must
sound to anyone who is on their way there.
“What
about Northern Kenya? How was that?”
“Oh
they shoot trucks there, so I pushed my bicycle through the sand for
a week on the Western side of Lake Turkana into Kenya.” I continue
laughing at how utterly not supportive I must sound about the thing I
truly love about bicycle touring from Cairo to Capetown. That despite
the horrific media reports, there is usually a safe fun way if you
are up for an adventure.
“I
hear Sudan is wonderful, how was that?” John peers through his
unscratched sunglasses, he looks at me, now also laughing at my poor
descriptions of a truly beautiful continent. Countries rich with the
birthplace of humanity, loads of nice people, stunning landscapes,
welcoming schools for free camping and the photography.
“Sudan?,
Oh, I got stuck in a sandstorm, destroyed my MH skyledge 2.1 tent
poles, so I slept out in the desert without a tent under the full
moon thinking about scorpions for a week...I love Sudan, Nubian
hospitality is amazing, one of the best places I have ever bicycle
toured” I chuckle in a self deprecating, sardonic tone.
“What
are your plans, when you get to Capetown?” Jon grins as he cools
off in the afternoon heat and unzips the top of his new clean cycling
jersey.
“I
think I want to visit the mental hospital. I hear they have purple
straight jackets, I look great in purple... actually, I will not be
able to drink beer in a straight jacket, so I think I will just take
a break from the road, rework my journal into a draft of a book while
my stories are fresh in my head, have a good ride, take care”
I thank John for the laugh and wave goodbye. I watch him pedal away as he heads
off towards a thousands stories of his own and the beautiful although
wonderfully challenging continent that lies ahead.
7 comments:
Ah you battle-hardened vets! Good to have you back and know you are safe. Not long now!
Your writing is as good as ever.What a spirit you have!!!
Awesome. Past Springbok. Now the kilometers will just fade away. New mind set rolling in. Waddle in the accomplishment. If you happen to have to stop over up in Joburg, just send me a mail.
I am so excited. SA is beautiful, the landscapes are not like anything I have seen before. Beautiful, for lack of a better word.
Thanks. I have a lot of fun with it. I named my LP Proscaz because writting until I laugh can keep my cycle touring just about anywhere.
Thanks so much. I have been looking for a quit place to write for a month. Most likely heading back into S. Namibia, I found a remote affordable place by the desert. I would love to meet you. If I end up in Joburg I will def. let you know.
You seem to have forgotten to mention how good looking, charming and witty 'John' was Lorretta. I have it on good authority, 'John' appreciated your advice / scaremongery and would like to aplogogise for holding you up for hours. John can't half talk when he gets going!!!
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