Schalk
Pack Dog
Around sunset we look for some place to camp. We have heard that the BDF would wake you up several times at night, as they patrol the road continuously, so wanted to prevent that. We passed through a big sand wash and backtracked. At a grassy spot we turned out of the road and went through the bush until we reached the sand bed, which was around a bend from the patrol road.
It was an idyllic spot. Every-one was tired riding all day, with no food.
Avontier had about a bottle of Klipdrift poured into a plastic bottle. This we consumed with water and a little bit of PowerAde we still had. After this we were out of options. We prepared a fine dinner with bully beef, mashed potatoes and eat sum more cookies. It was at this time Konyn brought out the Portuguese Lady. A little skeptic she passes around the campfire, until she finds home with Avontier. Konyn had some melon flavored rehydration powder, which we mixed with the Portuguese lady. The “Makatansap” (Wild melon Juice) took us late into the night and retired happily to our tents. Every time we would hear the BDF patrols we’d keep quiet until they passed, knowing they were wondering where we disappeared to. In the morning a foot patrol came around the sand bed following our voices, surprised to find us there. A lot of complaints could be heard regarding some Portuguese Lady visiting the camp the night before! Throughout our trip we received great treatment and friendliness from the Botswana officials.
Day 3
We continued our ride along the Shashe. There were water pumps around the bases where we could refill our water and get a wash.
The 990’s were starting to run low on fuel, but had the bowser as backup. Around midday we reached the hydro electric project in the Shashe driven by the Chinese. It is a massive dam, but looked to have failed earlier. From here the Shashe turns N-West towards Francistown. We kept north to reach Matsiloje where we could find Petrol.
I reached Matsiloje on reserve, and the 2 fat sisters had to beg and borrow from the fuel bowser.
Here we had to hang around, eating “droe wors” (Dried sausage?) which we brought from the farm and local “vetkoek” (is there an English name for this?) while waiting for the “Tavern” to open at 14h00.
Sadly our euphoria had to end for now and we took a 60km tar road to Francistown.
Stocking up on, Brandy (South African Brandy that is) Powerade, and some tin food we reached our overnight point at Kingfisher Lodge just North of Francistown. We bought ice, Meat and made “Pap” and retired happily to our luxurious house for the night.
The heavens opened up and it rain heavily during the night.
I changed my rear brake pads the next morning, luckily had some spares.
The 10km on black cotton soil to the tar road was quite a challenge. Fuel Bowser first we attacked the 250Km tar road west to Lethlakane. Here we would fill up and still try and reach Kubu that night. Along the road it looked like we were riding somewhere in Holland on dykes. Everything was just flooded after the heavy rains in April. I though it might be little wet where we going, and was smiling at the idea of a challenge. Little did I know……; what to come.
Filled up at Lethlakane and turned North toward Mmatshuma.
Quickly the road became a “2 spoor”, sandy and narrow.
Euclid and Konyn had some crashes, nothing serious. Euclid however cleared some Mopani brush when leaving the trail.
Water was everywhere. Next to the trail it was saturated and was not ride-able.
The road had huge spots of water that came above the foot pecks. The worst is the Jeep tracks (old and new) underwater which in an instant would through you into the water head first.
After turning around helping Euclid picking up the fat sister I went down twice in the same hole. My boots were sloshing and all my gear totally wet.
Everybody started getting rid of clothes, as the temperature riding the mud and sand raised quickly.
Only one recent 4x4 tracks and water everywhere. I hoped it would get better later, But we were not even to the pans.
The group stringed out as everyone was fighting their own trails through the mud. The fat sisters had to be treated differently, and the fuel bowser was in his element. This proofed to become a crisis later that day.
After a few kms we reach the first pan. I follow some tracks into the pan and realize that there is no end to the water. It is like driving on a bar of soap. Feet on the surface and 1st gear. When the bike goes an inch you go down.
About 500m into the pan I stop to look back.
Everybody is still standing on the edge of the pan, huddled together.
I wait a bit, but no takers.
Turn around and start my slow journey back again. On the pan I see some riders has tried but turned around.
Krazy Kubu has had a wipeout and his right hand little finger was bend 90 degrees. He pulls on it in agony and tries and keeps it straight, which he manages slightly.
About this time we see a vehicle coming thru the pan on the horizon. It is a local 4x4 Hilux pulling a 2x4 Hilux.
They stop ad greet friendly”. How far is Kubu, can we do it, should we try it?” They laugh, no way to reach Kubu. ”Where do you come from?” Just from the nearest cattle post, the reply. The passenger informs us that he is the representative for Kubu and that we should pay with him to camp at Kubu. But, he say, we won't reach and the only way back would be past the village of Mmatshuma, where we come from. So, he won’t charge us. Nobody has been to Kubu in weeks.
They greet and leave. Let’s try and follow their tracks I say, if they can go through, we should too. We can camp at the cattle post, and maybe exit somewhere else.
It took some convincing, but everybody agreed that we should push the comfort zone and so we started our journey of madness.
It was an idyllic spot. Every-one was tired riding all day, with no food.
Avontier had about a bottle of Klipdrift poured into a plastic bottle. This we consumed with water and a little bit of PowerAde we still had. After this we were out of options. We prepared a fine dinner with bully beef, mashed potatoes and eat sum more cookies. It was at this time Konyn brought out the Portuguese Lady. A little skeptic she passes around the campfire, until she finds home with Avontier. Konyn had some melon flavored rehydration powder, which we mixed with the Portuguese lady. The “Makatansap” (Wild melon Juice) took us late into the night and retired happily to our tents. Every time we would hear the BDF patrols we’d keep quiet until they passed, knowing they were wondering where we disappeared to. In the morning a foot patrol came around the sand bed following our voices, surprised to find us there. A lot of complaints could be heard regarding some Portuguese Lady visiting the camp the night before! Throughout our trip we received great treatment and friendliness from the Botswana officials.
Day 3
We continued our ride along the Shashe. There were water pumps around the bases where we could refill our water and get a wash.
The 990’s were starting to run low on fuel, but had the bowser as backup. Around midday we reached the hydro electric project in the Shashe driven by the Chinese. It is a massive dam, but looked to have failed earlier. From here the Shashe turns N-West towards Francistown. We kept north to reach Matsiloje where we could find Petrol.
I reached Matsiloje on reserve, and the 2 fat sisters had to beg and borrow from the fuel bowser.
Here we had to hang around, eating “droe wors” (Dried sausage?) which we brought from the farm and local “vetkoek” (is there an English name for this?) while waiting for the “Tavern” to open at 14h00.
Sadly our euphoria had to end for now and we took a 60km tar road to Francistown.
Stocking up on, Brandy (South African Brandy that is) Powerade, and some tin food we reached our overnight point at Kingfisher Lodge just North of Francistown. We bought ice, Meat and made “Pap” and retired happily to our luxurious house for the night.
The heavens opened up and it rain heavily during the night.
I changed my rear brake pads the next morning, luckily had some spares.
The 10km on black cotton soil to the tar road was quite a challenge. Fuel Bowser first we attacked the 250Km tar road west to Lethlakane. Here we would fill up and still try and reach Kubu that night. Along the road it looked like we were riding somewhere in Holland on dykes. Everything was just flooded after the heavy rains in April. I though it might be little wet where we going, and was smiling at the idea of a challenge. Little did I know……; what to come.
Filled up at Lethlakane and turned North toward Mmatshuma.
Quickly the road became a “2 spoor”, sandy and narrow.
Euclid and Konyn had some crashes, nothing serious. Euclid however cleared some Mopani brush when leaving the trail.
Water was everywhere. Next to the trail it was saturated and was not ride-able.
The road had huge spots of water that came above the foot pecks. The worst is the Jeep tracks (old and new) underwater which in an instant would through you into the water head first.
After turning around helping Euclid picking up the fat sister I went down twice in the same hole. My boots were sloshing and all my gear totally wet.
Everybody started getting rid of clothes, as the temperature riding the mud and sand raised quickly.
Only one recent 4x4 tracks and water everywhere. I hoped it would get better later, But we were not even to the pans.
The group stringed out as everyone was fighting their own trails through the mud. The fat sisters had to be treated differently, and the fuel bowser was in his element. This proofed to become a crisis later that day.
After a few kms we reach the first pan. I follow some tracks into the pan and realize that there is no end to the water. It is like driving on a bar of soap. Feet on the surface and 1st gear. When the bike goes an inch you go down.
About 500m into the pan I stop to look back.
Everybody is still standing on the edge of the pan, huddled together.
I wait a bit, but no takers.
Turn around and start my slow journey back again. On the pan I see some riders has tried but turned around.
Krazy Kubu has had a wipeout and his right hand little finger was bend 90 degrees. He pulls on it in agony and tries and keeps it straight, which he manages slightly.
About this time we see a vehicle coming thru the pan on the horizon. It is a local 4x4 Hilux pulling a 2x4 Hilux.
They stop ad greet friendly”. How far is Kubu, can we do it, should we try it?” They laugh, no way to reach Kubu. ”Where do you come from?” Just from the nearest cattle post, the reply. The passenger informs us that he is the representative for Kubu and that we should pay with him to camp at Kubu. But, he say, we won't reach and the only way back would be past the village of Mmatshuma, where we come from. So, he won’t charge us. Nobody has been to Kubu in weeks.
They greet and leave. Let’s try and follow their tracks I say, if they can go through, we should too. We can camp at the cattle post, and maybe exit somewhere else.
It took some convincing, but everybody agreed that we should push the comfort zone and so we started our journey of madness.
