Back in the saddle

I jumped the gun a bit in my last blog entry by saying it was time to get back in the saddle for another adventure. I was willing, but my bike has had other ideas. Far from being ready to ride, she’s taken several days to get back to adventure-ready status.

Evidently her main problem – a seized engine - has been fixed. But a whole host of other minor problems ranging from a sticking choke cable, leaking coolant and a stripped oil drain plug (that last one was my fault), kept me in Johannesburg for five days. But, thanks to the advice and help from Andre - the master mechanic - and his extensive range of tools (including the magnificent crane shown below) – my bike is back in order, and I’ve been on the road since Thursday.


Many of you will already know that I’ve managed to wangle another three months off work to go adventure riding again. I’m spending the first two weeks of that in Africa - finishing off the bits that I didn’t get to see on the last trip (mainly Namibia). For the remaining two and a half months I’ll be retracing Che Guevara’s route around Latin America. More on that in future blogs - for now: Africa.

One big difference from the London to Cape Town adventure (and indeed all of my previous bike trips) is this time I’m going solo. It’s an invigorating experience riding alone as you get a sense of freedom and independence quite different from group riding. But I’ll miss my teammates and so will you, as the quality of this blog will deteriorate from an amusing trip account filled with interesting characters, to an egotistical monologue. For that I apologise in advance.

The Phoenix Rises
I’m slightly superstitious when it comes to my bikes, so like a good ship I always give them a name. Previously my bike was “The Odyssey” on account of the epic trips we’ve taken together. But due to the extensive repairs she’s undergone, it seems fitting to give her a new name. So, having risen out of the ashes of the Odyssey’s burnt out engine, she’s now christened “The Phoenix” - may she voyage far and wide.

Despite her difficult birth, the Phoenix has already carried me 2200km in just four days. That’s one tenth of the distance from London to Cape Town and about twice the distance from Land’s End to John O’Groats (as the crow flies).


My first butt-numbing day was spent riding 890km on good roads from Johannesburg to Augrabies Falls, near the Namibian border. It was a nice re-introduction to the world of adventure touring, but not particularly interesting for you readers. The following day was better. It began at dawn with a visit to Augrabies Falls, which locally means “the place of big noises”. The Orange River, which flows over the falls had swelled from heavy rains earlier that week, so the falls were noisier than normal and an impressive sight (and sound) to behold.



Back on the road, I soon reached the ominously named town of Pofadder, where I filled up with petrol and kept a lookout for snakes. Fully gassed up, I turned off the main highway and headed for the Namibian border. To my surprise, the smooth tar road quickly gave way to a dirt track. Glancing at my map, it soon became clear that I’d be on this stuff for well over 100 miles. And, after 18 months away from dirt biking, I don’t mind telling you I was more than a little apprehensive about off-road riding, particularly with a fully laden bike.


It took me several miles of wild fishtailing before the memories started to come back. "Stand up, keep loose, and use the throttle to get you out of trouble", I kept repeating to myself. Drenched with sweat from the stifling heat (40 degrees plus) and the high octane drama, I eventually reached the frontier. And, with the formalities quickly taken care of, I spent the rest of the day relearning my dirt-biking skills. It was a tough day, but after about 500km I was rewarded with the spectacular vista of Fish River Canyon. I arrived just before sunset, and with the place deserted I was able to ride my bike right up to the edge of the Canyon.



The following day proved even more eventful. With my riding confidence starting to swell, I came across a big “Road Closed” sign early in the day. Seeing no sign of immediate trouble, I belligerently ignored the warning and rode on. A few miles later I came across the obstacle that had closed the road - a dried up river bed, which consisted of 50m of deep choppy sand with no obvious route through. Bugger. With back-tracking out of the question, I had two options - either gun the throttle and attempt to bounce my way across the uneven surface, or inch my way gradually across using my feet as paddles. I opted for the more foolhardy approach, gunned the throttle and bounced about 10m before the front wheel dug in and I came to an abrupt stop in the soft sand. My top heavy bike comically toppled over to complete the maneuver. With my riding confidence restored to a more fitting level, I heaved the bike back upright and humbly paddled the rest of the way across.

200km later I was getting worried about fuel. Namibia is a sparsely populated country and the major towns on maps are often nothing more than a collection of shanties. Having ridden through one well-signposted ghosttown I made my way to Bethanie, which was clearly marked as a town with a fuel pump on my map. Just on the outskirts I switched to reserve, and was relieved to pull into a petrol station just a few minutes later. That relief was short-lived though, as I was quickly informed that the whole town was out of gas. A knowledgeable gentleman informed me that the next town definitely had some petrol, ‘just’ 85km up the road. I tried explaining that with barely two litres of fuel left in my tank that it was very unlikely I’d be able to make it. I asked when the next petrol delivery was expected - “two days” was the uncertain reply I got from the petrol attendant. The knowledgeable gent then encouragingly said “if you go slow, you will make it” – by which I’m sure he meant, “if you ride at about 50mph, keep the revs at 4000rpm and tuck yourself into the most aerodynamic shape possible, there’s a chance you will get there”. And so, with little other option, that’s exactly what I did.

After a commendable 75km, my fuel starved bike finally conked out just 10km short of town - at least now I know the range of my tank, 435 km (272 miles). Having seen less than a hundred cars during my first two days in Namibia, I began preparing to trudge the final stretch into town. But, as luck would have it, a shiny new Land Cruiser came over the hill and I blagged a lift in the back of the air conditioned beast. Within an hour I was back at my bike, refueled and ready for another long stint.


A day later and I am sitting on the Skeleton Coast in a town called Swakopmund. It’s been a fun few days, but not quite what I expected. When I googled Namibia in preparation for my trip, most of the images that popped up were of stunning vistas of sand dunes and canyons. Namibia has many of these, and it has been a pleasure riding my bike through them. But the vast majority of Namibia, which is about four times the size of the UK, is made up of baron wilderness. Beautiful in its own way. There are very few countries where you can park your bike in the middle of an intercity highway and take a photo. But in Namibia you can stop and eat your lunch in the middle of the road without any fear of seeing another vehicle let alone being runover.


Those sorts of insights you can’t really get by reading Wikipedia or a guidebook, and that’s why it’s such a privilege to travel through these places. You get a sense of the country beyond the standard promotional guff. Needless to say, it's great to be back in the saddle.

PS. Despite what I’ve said it would be amiss of me not to show you some of the spectacles that Namibia has treated me to over the past few days. Below is a shot of some of the stunning landscapes I passed through yesterday evening, and below that is a shot of my bike next to some of the enormous sand dunes on the Skeleton Coast (I got my bike stuck getting that photo). But probably one of the greatest sights, which I can’t show you, is the night sky. Truly spectacular, and like nothing we get back home. I recommend a visit for that alone.