Day 13
Verneuk pan to Postmasburg

Our original plan was to spend a night camping in the ghost town of Putsonderwater, but because we are a day behind schedule we decide to head straight through Putsonderwater with only a stop for coffee and make up the days riding to Postmasburg.
When we get up in the morning the wind has died down, and we are faced with a pleasant day.

We quickly pack up camp and then take the bikes out to the bell for some more photos, then head out of the camp.

Here we’re faced with a problem, as we haven’t paid for our camping yet and we don’t want to waste the time riding to the reception. We leave some money in the tyre, and when we get to the tar road CG tries to call the reception but gets no answer, so she leaves a message on the voice – mail.
The road out of the pan is a pleasure to ride without the wind, and we quickly find ourselves on the main dirtroad. I’d decided to change our route, so firstly we head back to Kenhardt and then turn to Putsonderwater. CG has been dreading this road because the last time she was on her way to Putsonderwater the roads were in a very bad condition. (That was during the Boegoeberg bash two years back).

The road from Kenhardt to Putsonderwater is in excellent condition though, and in no time at all we are making a cup of coffee in the ghost town, on the patio of one of the unused houses. It’s my first time in a ghost town, and seeing the empty buildings is as spooky as the words ‘ghost town’ implies.





This guy was eating lunch. We were wondering if hed simply stuck his neck into the big can of food he was sitting on.

Topping up the oil again


But after coffee we head out for Postmasburg.

I’d done a lot of research on our route, and the sleepy little village of Postmasburg seemed like a great location. There were a few B&B’s, a campsite and hotel, and not much else. On the way there things look a bit odd though. The road is not a simple dirt road, but is well maintained, and I see a lot of mining vehicles in the area. On approaching the town there is a massive new extention of grand (although fake) Tuscan houses going up.
We take a quick pic of the bikes at a town marker and head up the first tarred road we can find. Coming over a little rise I see a sight that no biker wants to see – ahead of me, lying horizontal in the road, is a dirt bike. I drop a gear and race to the bike, where the owner is rolling around next to the road in obvious pain. His friend is standing over him, obviously very concerned. It turns out to be a wheellie gone wrong, and after making sure that the guy is just bruised and not dying I feed him some painpills and we take our leave.
Now our own trouble starts. We quickly find out that both the hotel and motel is filled with no spare place. We try the municipal camp site, but it’s a bug infested piece of land right next to a swamp, where the ablutions are long past their sell – by date and almost non – existant. Every B&B in town and in the surrounding area is booked full.
It turns out that three new iron mines had recently opened up around the town, and every spare bed in town is being taken up by a contractor of some sorts. It’s now late, almost dark, and we’d gone a long way that day. After speaking to some of the inhabitants of the municipal campsite we decide to bed down there for the night. If we can camp in the wilderness in Namibia, we should be able to hold out for one night in this campsite, we tell ourselves.
Leaving me to pitch the tent and sort out camp, CG heads off to buy supplies for a braai. I chat to some of the other camping denizens, who turn out to be extremely friendly Namakwalanders. Lekker people, and after I convince little Martin to sit on my bike while I take photies of him I start to relax a little. There’s few things that gets me like the excitement of the little ones when they get given a chance to sit on the big bike!

After a while though, I notice that CG is taking longer than usual to get back. After almost an hour I’m starting to get really concerned, and I’m just considering giving her a call when she comes into the campsite – by pushing her bike.
I hurry over and push the bike the final few meters to our possy. It turns out the bike had started with its trouble again, and had finally died just up the road. I try for a while to revive the bike, but soon realize I’m wasting my time.
We consider our position. We are on the homeward stretch of our trip, with only two days riding to go, and all the time we’re heading home. CG calls her backup company again, and after a few discussions and a bit of negotiating we arrange to have the bike traillered to Vryburg. Sadly, our riding together has now come to an end, as we realize that the next two days will be all about getting the sick bike back home.
Although our situation that night is a bit bleak, we still enjoy the company of the Namakwalanders, and we have good food to eat, so we enjoy our last night camping.