DO IT NOW Magazine article 06-06-12

DINdigital:

Words & Photos by Ricolette Von Wielligh

Facing our giants in Eden PART 1

dreamed of embarking My husband and I had always ugh untamed central on a wildlife adventure thro months of planning and Africa on our bicycles. After y became a reality, but preparation our dream finall ided to go without a GPS due to budget restraints we dec rica map loaded onto our and only a digital Tracks 4 Af d probably a bit crazy, notebook. We were excited an . but the heart of Africa called

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For three-and-a-half months home was wherever we put up our tent along the 5000km of tracks. The bicycles were heavy loaded, weighing between 30-40kg each.

Our daily menu included oats (without milk), locally bought vetkoek topped with peanut butter and honey (no butter), peanuts, rice, eggs, onions, tomatoes, green vegetable leaves of some kind and anything else we could buy along the way. Water was sourced from either boreholes or wells in local villages. The most punctures we had on a single day was nine. The furthest distance we cycled in one day was 155km.

Setting off from Leonardville, on the south eastern side of Namibia, we cycled to Windhoek and then continued to Okahandja, Kalkveld, Otavi, Grootfontein and all the way to Rundu. From here we turned eastwards towards the Caprivi Strip of Namibia, and on our 17th day we cycled through the Bwabwata National Park. It was just the most perfect day; the air was fresh after a recent rainfall and the wind blew from behind for the first time in many days. Life on a bicycle was ‘hakuna matata’ until an elephant bull walked out of the bushes just ahead of us and stood next to the road. My heart started to beat like a run-away train and any sign of bravery instantly evaporated. Adding to our dilemma was a car that hooted right next to the elephant as it flew past. The elephant got such a fright that it charged after the car, however the offending vehicle sped away, leaving only dust and us in its wake. With its trunk tasting the air, the agitated elephant stood its ground in the middle of the road. It looked huge. The wind was blowing from behind us and carried our scent straight towards the elephant.

As time ticked on we stood dead still, hardly daring to

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breathe. Still agitated, the elephant crossed over into the bushes to our right, his back clearly visible to us. We contemplated going forward, but realised that he was watching us. So with a quick change in plans, we turned around to move backwards. And then he charged!

Hendrik shouted, “Trap-p-p-p-p!” but I struggled to clip my right foot onto the peddle and ended up peddling with my heel instead. I looked down at my speedometer, which indicated a speed of 24km/h, but I knew that an elephant can reach speeds of 40km/h ... After what seem an eternity, the bull finally gave up the chase and stopped beside the road. My legs felt like jelly.

We waited for quite some time, but the bull wouldn’t move off and were not sure how we would ever get past it. A passing tourist in a van stopped to ask if we needed to be escorted past the elephant. “Yes sir,” answered a grateful Hendrik, “but you can’t drive off if it charges and please don't hoot.” The driver promised he wouldn't and agreed to drive in-between us and the elephant. If things turned messy our plan was to jump onto the step below the sliding door of the van and cling to the open windows as the van speed off foolproof! So as the van slowly pulled away Hendrik and I started to peddle. Just then the elephant swaggered up to the driver’s window with its ears stretched out wide. I watched him through the windows and hoped that the exhaust fumes would conceal our scent. After what seemed like hours, we passed the elephant and parted ways for good this time. I never looked back as I waved goodbye to our saviour and kept peddling, whilst scrutinising every bush ahead for signs of more elephant.

A few days later I wasn't feeling well; I was exhausted, felt emotional and my legs were cramping. Hendrik was confused because conditions were perfect for cycling, the wind still behind us and the road ahead flat and straight. Reaching a corner garage in Katima Mulilo, I sat down and proceeded to cry for almost an hour.

Hendrik gave me a double dose of Rehydrate and tried to console me, but nothing seemed to help. It turned out that I wasn't just being a girl, there was a more serious problem at hand. A few days prior I had been stung on my left leg by what we presumed was a wasp. However, the doctor in Katima Mulilo diagnosed it as a violin spider bite and prescribed antibiotics and lots of rest. Instead of healing, the wound became septic and seemed to get worse by the day. After two weeks of rest, we slowly made our way to Kasane, in Botswana, and then to Livingstone, in Zambia, but my body wasn’t fit for cycling yet. The doctor in Livingstone prescribed steroids to calm down my immune system, which had prohibited the antibiotics from doing its work, and promised me that I would be back in action in less than a week. His timing was spot on.

We passed many cyclists on the Zambian roads, some carrying three passengers at a time, while others carried piles of wood, bags of charcoal, furniture, bundles of chickens hanging upside down and even squealing pigs. We took a short cut from the Zambezi Valley towards Lusaka, via Leopard Hill Road, and didn’t encounter any cyclists; and for good reason too.

On the Tracks 4 Africa map Leopard Hill is indicated as heavy 4x4, not recommended. A local had also warned us that field bikers only dared ride Leopard Hill in the opposite direction, from Lusaka towards the Zambezi Valley. But they were not over optimistic mountain bikers ready for a challenge! 

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In the saddle at 06:00, we started peddling up Leopard Hill Road. More hills followed and by 09:00 we had only cycled 28km. I got a puncture so we unloaded the bicycle to fix it, the temperature rising with every minute.

Back on the road again we met two women and asked them for water, but they didn’t understand English. So we continued cycling, convinced we would find water at a nearby village. Little did we know how few people lived along that road. The road became so steep at times that it took both of us to push just one of the heavy laden bikes up the uphills. The heat was unbearable and we rested in every splash of shade available. We drank sparingly from our decreasing supply of now hot drinking water and dehydration was becoming a real danger. At times our progress was too slow for the speedometers to take a reading. We stopped in a kloof to fix another puncture and it felt as if we were inside an oven. Hearing the warning calls of baboons echoing from the cliffs, I followed the calls in the hope of finding life-giving water. I did, but it was dirty, stagnant water covered in algae and swirling patterns of dirt, with small fish feeding on a dead frog that floated upside down on the surface. We filtered the water as best we could, but my eyes kept wandering back to the dead frog, my stomach churning, but my overriding thirst proving stronger.

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By 16:00 we had covered 34km. We met two young women, who could barely speak English, and asked them for water. The one pointed ahead and said, “Let’s go,” but she was in no hurry. Whenever we waited for them to catch up, she would point forward and repeat, “Let’s go.” The gruelling day, punishing heat and little food and water had taken its toll on us and we started hallucinating about fresh, cold water. Finally at 17:30 we reached an oasis - a well of crystal clear water that tasted like heaven in a bottle. We continued cycling until long after dark and after 14 hours on Leopard Hill we had only progressed 55km. We decided to rename the road Leopard Hill Hell.

Keep a look out in the weekly DO IT NOW Newsletter for the next part of my article about some of our best and worst cycling experiences over the last 3000km of our trip. •

more articles in the CURRENT issue of DO IT NOW Magazine: ❱❱ Cycling the Alps by Will Ross ❱❱ Paddling the Chobe also by Ricolette von Wielligh

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