Morning broke clear and cool, I got moving fairly promptly. I have given up on breakfast and lunch on the trip, it saves time and I actually never felt like I was running out of energy. On the longer days I’d stop for some peanuts and a bite of nougat (another protip-it doesn’t melt like chocolate) but that was not the norm. 0900 I left to find the man who I was to return the keys to and pay for the night. Couldn’t find him but got pointed to someone else who promised they’d give the keys and money to the correct person. I headed out of Khawa with a grin so big my head was in danger of falling off. It was just the right temp; the sand was soft but smooth and going was good. Right up to the point where I stopped to take my favourite pic of the trip. Returning to the bike I saw my back wheel totally flat and, worse, the bead was loose on the rim. I’d checked my tubliss pressure the night before, but it was defiantly flat. I rode down the dune and into its shade, broke out the groundsheet and tools and got to it. The Tubliss wasn’t holding air, so no hope of a quick fix. Wheel out, tyre off, tubliss off, and a new tube to be fitted. I found the hole in the tube and it wasn’t anything that could have happened on the road. I think when I refitted the system at home, I must have inadvertently pinched the tube. Working on the groundsheet to not get grit in bearings or in the tyre, I got everything back together, using glycerol as lubrication. My little MTB shock absorber pump did the tubliss and I dumped a CO2 bomb into the back. It was holding pressure, so I left it as is. In hindsight I think I should have deflated it more for the sand, but on the light bike it’s less of a big deal.
Onwards, following a few waypoints I had plotted on the major course changes in Xpat’s tracks which I didn’t really bother to follow anyway. The riding was sublime. Every second dune the terrain changes, from sand to grass to bush to hard pans, with all sorts of buck running as you crest each dune.
The grass was probably the most difficult. I was running a bit faster than I probably would, trying to make sure I didn’t miss the boarder after the flat, but in the knee-high grass you can’t see any of the holes dug by the cunning creatures who must feed on fallen motorcyclists. They dig their traps in the hope of catching out an unsuspecting or inattentive rider. The only way to buy yourself some reaction time is to stand up, elevating your perspective enough to see 5m ahead. It’s not enough to avoid the holes, but it’s just enough to lean back and blip the throttle to ping over the hole rather than fall into it. To assist in this, I retied my groundsheet, with my rain suit pants rolled into it behind the bag, rather than on top of it, so I could get my arse over the bag.
The bush was also tricky, as they were strategically placed where a rider would most likely crest the dune. So, doing so to vigorously would lead to an intimate meeting with the various types of thorns on offer. (aside- After thorough examination, with a very large data set, I can say with good confidence that any bush in Botswana taller than a size 9 Gaerne boot will without fail contain thorns of some sort) The bushes also often had the large holes dug to entrap riders just next to them, so while your attention was on just missing the sea urchins pretending to be plants, you’d miss the holes and fall prey to the mysterious hole diggers.
The riding while very stimulating and enjoyable, was hard work. I stopped at the only tree I’d seen for 10 dunes and decided to have a break and a munch. As soon as I stopped, I saw my ground sheet was missing. Usually I’d see it rattle loose in a mirror, or id feel it shift on the bag, but with it behind the bag, I had no indication. Luckily my bike crutch was still there. I got down to check the back wheel, which was fine, and notices a bolt on the rear fender coming loose. Just as I got my shifter out, I looked at the lower part of the rim. It had a good six or seven ticks trying various routes to ascend the wheel. Then I looked at my boots. They also had an inordinate number of the tiny devils crawling over them. Using the shifter, I killed any on my that I could find, and then noticed the ground. Everywhere I looked there were ticks rushing as fast as their legs could carry them towards me. I took 3 steps sideways, and they all turned to follow. Then I looked at the new area- Surprise! More dam ticks. I suspect the vibrations of my moving was attracting them. Eventually I went and stood in the sun, where there seemed to be far less around. After some peanuts and nougat, I got back to the bike and moving leaving the shady tick patch behind.
As soon as I was rolling, I started feeling phantom itches. All over myself. Paranoia was usually overruled, and I kept riding, except for my neck. I swear something bit me. But every time I stopped there was nothing there. I unzipped the jacked, opened the neck brace and pulled my buff out of the way, and whatever it was must have moved. That evening I had 3 bites on my chest. No ticks found, I am still hoping it was a sand flea or something else, antihistamine cream sorted it out, but I am still keeping an eye out for tick bite fever.
I backtracked a few km, looking for the groundsheet. I was hopeful that it was near, as the crutch hadn’t fallen off. I wasn’t too bothered by it or my pants, but I hate to litter and spoil such an untouched piece of nature. Eventually I had to give up, as my fuel was dwindling,
The rest of the ride was just as much fun, but by about 1400 when I hit Bokspits I was properly tired. My arms and legs were fading, and my concentration was going I fell over twice more in the dunes, when the back side was steeper than anticipated, and the ground was further than my leg was long.
I filled up (and had almost exactly 4L left in the tank, the same amount that I’d carried extra. The Husky was using more fuel than Xpat’s KTM on the first day in Bots, and I am still not sure why. Possibly the cable for the map switch is damaged and it’s running in the performance map all the time, or the skinnier 110 back wheel is spinning more in the soft stuff. Either way I was up to 7.6L/100 in the bush, from about 4.6-5L/100 on the gravel roads.
I almost passed the Botswanan boarder without stopping, and after getting through went to explain where the other half of my number plate was to the South African boarder officials. They were happy once I produced the registration document, and I set my sights for Molopo Lodge as mentioned by Xpat. Just before the lodge I stop to switch on my phones data and check in with the folks. I google the lodge and at over R1000/night for a spot to sleep I wasn’t keen to stay there. After a bit more map reading, I decided to push on via nice gravel highways to Augrabies, where I had arranged a room at the place I’d stayed before.
I went via Noenieput and had just over 300 km to do. It was 1430 ish, and I could run at 100km/h easily. The only problem was that every bump made the knots in my forearms feel like I’d poked a bruise. The riding was good, but after Botswana, nothing compares. Fences each side of the road and the odd other car just wasn’t the same. But the time was well spent, I could dwall and let my mind wonder, thinking about all kinds of things, from friends and family, the future, the past and what I want. I’m the sort of person who thinks, probably too much, and can outthink my own feelings. Often when I have a big choice to make, I go for a long ride so I can quieten the voices in my head and actually feel what I want, rather than what I think I want. Gravel road meditation is a thing.
Augrabies was busy after a three-day MTB event, and I pulled into my lodging just as the sun set. A shower and few moments to relax were heaven after riding for 9 hours, with 8 of them moving. I snagged a place at the hotel next door for dinner and had a brilliant meal for not very much money. I am seriously impressed with the value of the places I visited. Makes living in a city questionable…