Part 2
Part 1 left off with the intrepid group of travellers heading north from South Africa towards Namibia.
Cape Town to McDougall’s Bay, SA
The overland truckers riding the Beast and motor bikes split up outside Cape Town. Unbeknownst to the truckers, and before the bikes are off the pavement, the youngest rider loses control, flips off his bike, slides, then rolls off the road. His bike is mangled but fortunately, he seems little more than seriously shaken. He spends the night in hospital for observation and is released with nasty road rash, a stiff neck and back. A very fortunate young man indeed but sadly for him, “Skid” will travel the rest of the journey lounging on the Beast.
McDougall’s Bay, SA – first night of camping
That night, lying in my flapping tent, I fear I might freeze and although there are many bodies surrounding me in other tents, I feel very alone. As I disappear into the depths of my sleeping bag and slowly get lulled to sleep by the pounding surf, I wonder what I have gotten myself into.
Namibia
Wedged between the Kalahari Desert and South Atlantic, Namibia is an unpolished gem. Independent from South Africa since 1990, Namibia, its name derived from the Namib Desert, one of the oldest and driest deserts in the world, is known for the pristine quality of its landscape. As we drive kilometre after kilometre of seemingly lifeless and barren terrain, I learn this land is far from lifeless.
Strike Two for the bikers:
It will take hours for help to arrive. Those with medical training stabilize him and remain to wait with mom and daughter. As we pull away, it is shocking and sad to see this broken man, with dreams of a family adventure literally shattered, lying on a backboard beside a furrowed dirt road in this unforgiving country, his broken bike in pieces not far from him.
We later learn when a covered pickup truck finally arrives, two Sisters (both nurses) and a driver load him in, and with his wife by his side they make the agonizingly bumpy ride to the nearest clinic for the night. He is flown to Johannesburg where he remains for several days before being transported back to Canada to, thankfully, fully recuperate. But not before insisting that his wife and daughter stay on to complete the journey.
Africa is a cruel country; it takes your heart and grinds it into powdered stone – and no one minds.
—Elspeth Huxley, the Flame Trees of Thika (1959)
Ai-Ais Hot Springs, Namibia
Our camp is surrounded by rocky mountainsides and near the bed of the dammed-up Fish River. Relaxing in the warm soothing waters of the hot springs is a welcome treat and after the discouraging events of the last couple of days, I notice the mood amongst the group begin to improve.
At the start of a hike with two of my travel mates, a couple we encounter on the trail point to what appear to be “Cat” tracks. We size them up, then decide to throw caution to the wind and carry on, albeit somewhat nervously. As we walk, I keep my eye on the hills beside the trail. Suddenly I spot amongst the rocks a curious animal face looking down at us. A moment of panic ensues but on closer inspection with binoculars, we concur this animal is much too small to be of danger. I later discover the sweet-faced creature was a Hyrax or Rock Dassie, which reminds me of a large groundhog.
It is in Ai-Ais that I am invited to experience my first motorcycle ride of the trip. Instructions I receive as we prepare to take off: “The secret to two-up is to ride as one. Hang on!” We kick up the dust along windy gravel roads and stop to watch in amazement as a family of Klipspringers cross the road in front of us then clamber up the rocky slope that flanks the road. Klipspringer, meaning “rock jumper” in Afrikaans are small antelope uniquely adapted to this type of rocky, steep terrain. We return from our short jaunt, and I feel exhilarated by the experience.
As I lie in my tent that night waiting for sleep to come in this unusual place of hot springs, I feel warmer than I’ve felt in days. The symphony of snoring that emanates from the tent city around me amuses me but only briefly, as I gradually join in the song.
Enroute to Aus, Namibia
Fish River Canyon is the second largest canyon in the world next to the Grand, and the largest in Africa. At a spectacular 160 km long, 27 km wide and almost 550 metres deep, the hike along the ledge of the canyon is awe-inspiring.
We continue, making a slow but steady climb to over 4,000 feet. Km after km of never-ending neutral shades, with subtle changes to the muted landscape as we round each new bend, finally brings us to our next rugged campsite, “Klein Aus Vista Lodge”, also appropriately referred to by one as, “Some Effing Cold Travel Lodge”, where we spend two nights.
I stay by the fire with a few of the others for as long as possible tonight. It is going to be another chilly one and I am not looking forward to my tent.
As I finally crawl into my sleeping bag, I recall what our Cape Town wine tour guide said with a smirk on her face, “It is springtime and you will be at higher altitudes, no doubt it will be cold at night!” I curse her under my frozen breath wishing I’d brought a toque, gloves, and a warmer sleeping bag. Not surprisingly, I waken to news of frost on the bike screens, and steam rises from my head as I leave the ablution (shower) building before sunrise that morning.
Another clear day unfolds, and we are off on a day trip. First to the diamond mining ghost town of Kolmanskop, then to the picturesque coastal desert mining town of Luderitz for lunch from the Atlantic.
To be continued…
