Text: Lynne Mackie. Article from the September 2013 issue of Ride Magazine.
There is plenty of two-wheeled African adventure on tap within our borders. But Lynne Mackie ventured a little further afield, and lived to tell the tale.
It seems that few have tackled Van Zyl’s Pass – Kaokoland, northern Namibia, by mountain bike. The first documented conquerors – three Zimbabweans – traversed the pass just a few days before we took on this challenge in early May. I’m sure there have been more, but they were either too awestruck to boast, or didn’t want to share this amazing spot. We felt like pioneers and, in some ways, we were.
Our adventure began in Windhoek where we met our guide, Phil van Wyk of Unbounded Namibia Safaris and Tours. This was a first for him too – a seasoned veteran of 4×4 trails, ours was his first cycle tour. A group of friends from different parts of South Africa (White River, Johannesburg, East London and Cape Town), with a shared passion for mountain biking, little did we know when we started loading up the vehicles just how critical Phil and his team would be to our journey. Without them we could never have done it. A couple from Namibia joined us, taking the company to 14 cyclists of widely differing ages and abilities.
From Windhoek we had a 1 000km drive to Epupa Falls in Kaokoland to the far northwest of Namibia. Arriving well after dark, we had to wait for morning to discover the beauty of this oasis on the Kunene River bordering Angola. The falls are breathtaking – a long series of sheer drops into clear pools below, baobab trees clinging to cliffs, interspersed with palms.
We soon discovered that Phil had given this journey plenty of thought. One of the surprises he brought along was Ian Redelinghuys, exceptional mountain biker and owner of DAS Bike Shop in Windhoek. Before we had even cycled a kilometre, Ian could be found tinkering with bike niggles. As the journey progressed, his mechanical skills became increasingly sought after, as did his instruction on surviving endless kilometres of soft sand.
Hot Stuff
The initial 70 km of the first day were more or less as expected – nice, wide, good-quality dirt road. The 7am start was cool and pleasant. By midday it was hovering between 35 and 40°C.
Lunch was enjoyed beneath a magnificent tree at Okangwati village. Food appeared miraculously on picnic tables spirited out of some corner of a 4×4 vehicle piled high with supplies – courtesy of the capable Pieter van Zyl (driver and cook) and George Cowley (driver and logistics) of the Unbounded team.
Back on the bikes we went, and soon the pleasant Epupa road became a distant memory as we continued along a rough, sandy jeep track. It was 30 km to the vast, dry Ombuku riverbed that would be our home that night, our tents already pitched and the campfire blazing. The going was slow for some as we tried to find our sand legs. A large group of Himba villagers gathered nearby, interested but unobtrusive.
And then we woke to the realities of day two: Van Zyl’s Pass – 50 km to the foot of the pass and a mere 15 km over the top. In the words of our expedition on blogger. Steve Keet: “The first 10 km were relatively uneventful and cool. After 10 km, it started to get sandy and hot. Then it turned rocky, stony, steep and hectic. And then it turned to staircase-sloped descents with loose rocks the size of baseball caps as the riding surface and, every now and then, a 1 m dropoff. Not for the faint-hearted.
“The next 20 were hot (37°C) and sandy… some relief!
“Then it was Van Zyl’s Pass: short, steep, loose-stoned ascents and long, loose-rocked, treacherous descents.”
In retrospect, it was a magnificent ride. Although we only climbed about 700 m (a lot less than the steady, almost imperceptible climb of the previous day), the going was slow. We took frequent detours to spectacular viewpoints over the never-ending Marienfluss Valley towards which we were headed, bordered by mountain ranges as far as the eye could see.
Watching our support vehicles tackle the pass, I was glad to be on a bike – you can only make it in a 4×4 with good clearance.
The last riders completed the final descent, so steep that even walking was perilous, as the evening light bathed them in a warm glow, the horizon painted pink by the desert dust hanging in the air.
We loaded up the bikes for the 65 km drive to Camp Syncro at Marienfluss, a lovely site back on the Kunene, shaded by tall fever trees and, apart from the community members who run it, deserted.
A rest day followed, giving us the opportunity to visit a Himba homestead where women, their hair and bodies traditionally adorned with red clay and butter fat, tended children. The Himba tribe keep cattle and goats, seeking out grazing and water for their herds on the vast dry and sandy plains, and combing the Hartman and Otjihipa mountains surrounding the plains for semi-precious stones that can be bartered or sold.
It is a huge vista, hard to take in, dramatic, harsh and desolate. What a privilege to share it with these quiet, hardy, isolated people. A swim beneath a small waterfall in the Kunene was followed by sundowners overlooking the river snaking through the desert landscape.
Red Drum
By now we were starting to understand the magnitude of what we had taken on. There was little sign of human life, and the road we took to Red Drum the next day in the heavily loaded 4x4s could be distinguished only by the last set of tyre tracks through the sand.
The Real Namibia website (www.realnamibia.com) explains: “For years, unsuspecting travellers followed the map and track to Red Drum, expecting to find fuel, a cold beer and some rest. What they found instead was a red drum, a disconnected telephone, a take-out menu, and nothing more. The drum was placed there so that explorers could orient themselves in the featureless landscape of Kaokoland. Everything else was put there for fun. Red Drum has been removed from newer maps for the safety of travellers who don’t know its significance, but its location is still known.”
We pulled on our helmets and rode the relatively short 30 km to Marble Camp at Onjuva on the (dry) Khumib River. The ride was up and down with lots of small stones and some rocky bits, with the remains of an abandoned marble mine close to the camp providing a stark white backdrop to the pink peloton passing by.
We saw springbok, ostrich and an occasional gemsbok. The desert, so uniform and unforgiving from a distance, changes constantly up close: first, vast areas where it appears as if a game of boules has been played with giant rocks, then scrub and scattered small thorn trees, some sparse grass, and even hectares of tiny pink flowers – but always those huge plains and not a drop of water.
Endure and Conquer
One of the beauties of this journey was that nothing, apart from large parts of the landscape, was set in stone. We could camp in a riverbed, at a community campsite or, if we were very lucky, have access to a bed in the occasional community-run lodge – basic, but clean and pleasant. Phil’s excellent knowledge of our route meant that last-minute changes were not a problem.
So it was that we set off at our usual 7am on the longest day of our trip, with a plan to cycle about 80 km to a potential camping spot. Depending on the time and general feeling, we might push on to Purros, overlooking the Hoarusib River. We had a surprising reprieve early on in the middle of nowhere, in the form of Orupembe Shop 1, which sold us ice-cold Coke, beers and basic foodstuffs.
We rode down the Khumib Valley, desolate, real desert, over a miserably stony pass as we crossed from the Marienfluss to the Purros Conservancy, defined by ranges of purple-brown mountains and dissected by the outwardly dry Hoarusib riverbed, a snaking green oasis sustained by subterranean water.
“And then it turned to staircase-sloped descents with loose rocks the size of baseball caps as the riding surface”
Steve’s blog reads: “The 118 km track was mostly through rocky areas and river courses. Bone-shattering, tooth-clattering, bum-battering, eyeball-wobbling. The pink peloton, stretched out over several kilometres, stood out against the stark, bare landscape, doing what it does best – riding in the midday sun; 38°C, wind from the front.”
If Van Zyl’s was technically challenging, this turned out to be an exercise in endurance: eight hours in the saddle and 11 hours from door to door.
It was our own fault for deciding when we got to the perfectly good spot selected for camp, that we could ‘easily’ make the 25 km to Purros by nightfall. Of course. It involved enough soft, sandy riverbed riding to make the going slow, but what a magnificent ride. We tackled the last 10 km together in the dusk, with two bicycle lamps to guide us. This is desert-elephant country, and a few of us had already been lucky enough to glimpse an elephant while we cycled – but this was not a time to see them again.
Simplicity
Another rest day awaited us, at the luxurious Okahirongo Elephant Lodge. Relative comfort allowed us to reflect.
It was refreshing not having any contact with the outside world for most of the trip. In that harsh environment, our priorities became water, chamois cream food, a working bicycle and the most shady spot in which to set out our stretchers for an afternoon nap (provided we came in early enough to do that).
As we started out the next day, Alastair turned around to retrieve something forgotten at the lodge. On his way back, there was fresh elephant spoor over our bicycle tracks. We hastily headed on for Khamamub Rock Camp in Sesfontein Conservancy, 93 km away.
Cycling across flat, featureless (except for a family of giraffe) desert for the first hour or so, it was difficult to see where the road was. The tortoises bringing up the rear merely had to follow the tracks of the hares at the front of the stretched-out peloton. Later, the road became more distinct, firmer, and made for easy riding.
By midday the temperature had settled at about 40°C and the headwind had started, gentle at first and then stronger.
Lunch was pasta, washed down with Rehidrat. Then it was sand, the worst yet, kilometre upon kilometre of it. We trudged through, dragging our bikes along. In the odd place where cycling was possible, the corrugations made us wish for sand.
The upside of the hot days was pleasantly balmy early mornings, which made exiting tents at 5.30am to prepare for the day’s ride relatively easy.
Starting with a climb to warm up the legs, followed by a spectacular, long downhill with views forever, the following day took us swiftly to Sesfontein – the first town we’d seen in a week.
A stop for coffee at Fort Sesfontein gave us the opportunity to explore this German-built monument, abandoned in 1914 and renovated into a lodge in 1994.
A relatively smooth 30 km later, we turned off onto a bumpy, rutted 5 km track to our campsite at Warmquelle Hot Springs, in time for lunch. Contrasting with yesterday’s dry camp, we washed off the morning’s grime in the warm, crystal-clear water of a deep pool emerging from an underground river.
Do it yourself
Unbounded Namibia Safaris and Tours (Phil van Wyk)
Website: www.unboundednamibia.com Email: info@unboundednamibia.com Tel: +264-813-48-2613 (cell) +264-63-25-0224 (w)
Unbounded will provide: a guide, crew to set up camp, three meals a day, all accommodation, park entry fees, two crew vehicles and a bike mechanic.
You will need: one 4×4 vehicle for two to four people and all fuel; your own bike, bike rack, cycling gear and spares; freezer; sleeping bag, mattress and chair; medical kit; snacks, drinks, hydration and energy supplements; your own drivers for your vehicles, who can assist at rest stops and act as sweepers.
Best months: April, May, August and September.
Das Bike Shop, Suiderhof, Windhoek, Namibie (Ian Redelinghuys, Damien Agnew and Ermin van Wyk)
Website: www.dasbikeshop.com Email: das@dasbikeshop.com Tel: +264-812-486510 (cell) +264-61-243832 (w)
Travel
After days in the desert, it is amazing to witness how much life surrounds water – birds, insects, bats and a cheeky spotted genet looking for scraps from the braai. We got to see a zebra spitting cobra, legendary in these parts.
Steve’s blog again: “The evenings are spent sitting in chairs around a fire to read the day’s blog, [drinking] ‘fines’ (a vicious flammable liquid sentenced by an all-powerful judge, Alastair, sometimes assisted by Henry), a briefing on the next day’s logistics by Phil, an excellent dinner, then hitting the tent beds.”
The Final Stretch
On the last day we rode 91 km to Palmwag. By midday the road was hard and rocky at times, with repeated fast downhills, followed by the kind of ascents that you can glide about halfway up if you’ve if you gathered enough speed. But, almost always, we ground to a sudden halt halfway up and had to work hard to reach the top.
A few too many of these and mere were some aches and pains, even a few cramps. The last 30 km proved too much some of the bikes. Robbie’s derailleur cable snapped and Henry’s derailleur disintegrated a few kilometres from the finish. Ubuntu prevailed as the team pulled together to fix bikes, goad and support the more fatigued among us up the last few nasty hills, and get Henry to the end on two wheels with a rider on either side, surrounded by mopani and shepherd’s bush, to a disinterested audience of kudu, giraffe and zebra.
Our last evening together was spent at Palmwag Lodge, drinking down our final fines, receiving locally made ‘trophies’ from Phil and his team, and wondering if we could ever come up with another cycling adventure to eclipse this one.
“Overwhelmingly, the highlights were open spaces, spectacular scenery, bright and intense night skies, superb arrangements, wonderful meals, fun and friendships, and the achievements of the team,” said Steve in his final blog.
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