We’ve made it! At five o’clock on 30th December 2007, we pulled up at our final destination, the Cape of Good Hope. Located within Cape Town’s fabulous Cape Point Nature Reserve, it is the most south westerly tip of the continent we’ve spent three months traversing. What a fantastic way to round off what has been a most amazing trip! We were greeted with loud shouts and much hand-waving by friends of ours who had come well-equipped with celebratory bottles of champagne (of both the alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties). Surprised tourists milled around, wondering what was going on, until someone explained. A few wanted their photo taken with us, which made us feel like mini-celebrities, as did the paparazzi of cameras which clicked away as we parked our bikes up next to the sign marking our final end point. As we stood there, sipping the bubbly and smiling broadly at everyone, it slowly started to sink in. It was finished. seo analysis of website No more worries about road conditions, bike failures or punctures. No more wondering where we’d be sleeping that night, or when the next shower would be. It was over! We had done what we’d set out to achieve. That little tip at the end of Africa to which we’d departed every day was right here, where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet. What a wonderful feeling.
The eagle-eyed among you will have noticed that we were a bit lax with updates from Namibia and Botswana, but that we’ve now rectified this situation with 3 new posts about our travels. You may also notice that we appear to have made rapid progress from Zambia. You would be right. Indeed, we have made it through to Egoli, the City of Gold, otherwise known to the rest of the world as Johannesburg, just in time to see Glyn’s dad on his birthday and wish him a good one. There’s another post yet to be written about the leg which brought us here, but for now we would just like everyone to know that we’ve made it to here and will probably now take a few days out before doing any more in the way of online communications. However, for those interested in contacting us, we will keep an eye on the site and emails, especially since we’re waiting on messages from shipping companies regarding taking the bikes back to the UK. We do also now have an SA cellphone, and are contactable by that means if you email us for the number. Will revise and revamp this post soon. Until then, happy reading!
Our flight over the Okavango delta was in the morning, so it was later than normal when we finally set off on our bikes. We were headed for Ghanzi, a town in the middle of the Kalahari. It would appear that someone tried to nick some kit off our bikes, but was thwarted, thank goodness, because we had to stop not long after Maun and adjust the fuel bottles that are on the back of one of Glyn’s panniers. One had come loose, which they can’t do of their own accord, and was dangling dangerously close to the ground. Bottle adjusted, Glyn rode off, with my gloves perched neatly on the back of his bike. To be fair, I should have left them on mine, but I was incredibly irritated that I couldn’t get his attention and get him to stop – even when I was jumping around in the middle of the road, waving my arms like a mad thing. I quickly had to jump on my own and ride after him, watching for flying glove objects as I went. Gloves returned, we carried on, being careful to dodge not only the usual culprits (goats, cattle and donkeys) but also being even more wary than normal of anything which might puncture the tyres.
We were about 20 miles away from Ghanzi, passing a tiny place which was not on the map but which the road sign said went by the name of ‘Kuke’. Someone had forgotten to heard their cattle, and they were milling about in the road. I’m not sure why, but Glyn took exception to this state of affairs, more so than normal, and pulled a great big whopping zap sign at the locals who were standing around chatting. He said afterwards that he was just really fed up with their attitude, which I think is a fair point, since cattle are such a precious commodity and a sign of wealth as well. I’d just registered this act of irritation, and was braking to avoid the same herd myself, when my bike made an awful clunking noise. Then, when I came to accelerate away, there was no response. Glyn by now was tootling off into the distance. I tried again, but to no avail. I got off my bike, to have a look, dreading that it was the clutch seized up again – the same as it had done on that muddy road from Moyale.
I was pretty soon surrounded by onlookers who I was very concerned would want my scalp for the way Glyn had just insulted them. However, I soon realised that they had probably not understood Glyn’s insult, as they were far more interested in why I had stopped and offering their assistance, primarily in the form of crowding round to see what was going on. Glyn arrived shortly afterwards, asking what was wrong, and when I said I had no power he got off and had a look himself. Five minutes later, we had figured out the cause of my problem – the nut and washer which hold the sprocket connecting the chain to the drive shaft had rattled loose and eventually fallen off completely. Now, probably due to the force of my braking, the sprocket had become dislodged, and was totally disconnected from the power of the engine.
An awful dread flooded through me as I wondered if we were going to be stuck here, in the middle of the Kalahari, with another major problem on our hands. However, thanks to Glyn’s ingenuity, and despite my failure to find said nut and washer, we managed to fix the problem. While I took the local kids down the road with me to search for the nut, promising 20 pula to anyone who could find it for us, Glyn scratched his head and came up with an ingenious solution. Using nothing more than a jubilee clip, he reconnected the sprocket to the drive shaft sufficiently firmly for us to make it all the way to Kang, our stop for the night.
After checking out the camping facilities at the Kang Ultra Stop, we decided to opt for one of their little wooden cabins rather than camping in the dust bowl that was their camp site. In the evening we had a wonderful time chatting to a group of three chaps who were on their way to Namibia for a week. They were very keen to hear all about our trip, having stopped us earlier at the petrol pump to ask us if we were really from the UK. We swapped stories, and they shared their delicious portuguese BBQ meat with us, so we didn’t have to resort to the old faithful of tinned tuna and tomatoe which had been our plan.
That night, ‘berg pony’ really kicked in. We had been planning on one more night’s stop, but were both equally anxious to get ‘home’ to Johannesburg where we both have family and could obtain those scarce luxuries such as a hot showers, a stationary bed and internet access which we’d begun craving over the last few days. Also, we could collect a few spare parts for the bikes, including the nut and washer which we reckoned they’d have in stock, and do a full service on them both. After dinner, we perused the maps and decided that we would try, if we didn’t see any reason to stop, to get through to Jo’burg the next day.