Our final stage on dirt into our final rest day of the Tour. An almost terrifying milestone but one that has come at a timely moment. Riding up and down through the rollercoaster-like hills of Namibia, away from Fish River Canyon, it was a hot and sweaty morning. The climbs were taxing and occasionally a moment of lapsed concentration would result in my bike veering and then abruptly slowing as it met loose sand.
At one point, spinning as fast as I could to keep up with Jethro, I hit a patch of deep and hard corrugation at 40kmph. Jumping into my technical offroad descent pose (elbows and knees wide, off the saddle, weight back on the bike) I managed to hold onto whatever notion of control I had entering the section. My bottles didn't survive though and with a quick crack/crack they both ejected from their cages and hit the ground. One bottle survived intact but the other exploded, the lid separating from the body and expelling the red energy 'juice' all over the ground.
I stopped, grabbed the bottles and made a composed effort to regain my speed as I climbed the hill. It was a long day though (175km) and I'd had a thirsty start, drinking a fair quantity of my 2 litre Camelbak within the first 15 km out of camp. With 55km until lunch and about a 1.5 litres left, my mind was beginning to panic. Luckily, about 20km out of lunch, just as I was about to run out of water, the green machine (another support vehicle) was driving back in the other direction. I gave it the thumbs down and Tour Director Paul pulled over, seemingly shocked that I'd have to flag it down so early in the day. They were carrying water and filled up my sand-covered mess of an empty water bottle. Saved.
On the way into lunch was a beautiful downhill - long, straight and smooth. Curious to see the speed at which rider and bike was reaching on this descent, I looked down at my sideways mounted cycle computer (my stem mount which makes it the right way round was cut off somewhere in Northern Kenya). Trying to work out the speed, I finally figured out it read 71kmph and quickly looked up, certain that I shouldn't be riding at that sort of speed without my eyes firmly on the road.
After lunch there was slow, painful uphill where the flies that always amaze me with their aerial agility tagged onto my draft and proceed to fly around my face for at least an hour. A couple of times I went to swat them and ended up knocking the visor off my helmet and then had to stop to put it back on. The uphill continued for a good 40 kilometres before changing into a speedy descent with a tailwind where my speed was a good 40kmph average. Soon after this, we hit the pavement and the refresh stop at a T-junction.
We turned right at T-junction and the wind continued to blow in the same direction. This was a strong sidewind - so much so that after twenty minutes, the muscles on the right side of my spine hurt from having to counteract the extra force. As we climbed uphill for ten kilometres, the road kept going in the same direction but soon after the slow, gradual descent began, the road also began to turn into the wind. As we neared the turn and petrol station at 166km it was a full on headwind and speeds rarely went above 25kmph.
The petrol station was a beautiful relief - an ATM, a Wimpy restaurant at which to spend any newly withdrawn money (serving excellent milkshakes and passable vegetarian burgers) and a small shop where I bought some goodies for the rest day ahead (a loaf of bread and some Marmite, amongst other items).
The last 7 kilometres into camp were hard work, a tough rollercoaster of hills into the wind, weighed down by the assortment of shopping strapped to my back. Camp arrived and it was heaven. Looking over the river to the other bank we could see South Africa, the bar and restaurant look down the river and falling asleep was easy with the relaxing whoosh of the wind. Lastly, and possibly the most influential asset of the campsite, was the availability of a washing machine to wash our clothes. Admittedly, with cycles that lasted an entire hour, it was a long four hour wait but the payoff was that the white parts of my jersey are now white again.
Milling around until dinner, we ate our main course and eventually came to dessert. Normally I prefer avoiding restaurant desserts in lieu of cheaper and better alternatives but we're effectively surrounded by nothing. The choice of dessert was limited to ice cream and to just chocolate and vanilla flavours at that. When the waitress came to deliver our ice cream bowls, she also delivered some bad news: they had run out of all other flavours of icecream. Out of the two flavours they initially offered us, it turned out that the only flavour they had left was rum and raisin. On hearing this, our table cracked up with laughter. (For some brief background information, of all the flavours we get PVM bars in, the most unpopular and worst tasting flavour is Rum & Raisin.) Regardless, ice cream is ice cream and we accepted their offering.
Feeling cheated from our false dessert (the portion size was also lacking in generousity), we asked the slightly intoxicated Tour Director Sharita if we could borrow the bucky (the support Land Cruiser). She replied that we could, the keys were on the seat if we could get it started - apparently she tried earlier and failed to start it. Taking this as a challenge, American Dan and I went and fiddled with the car and eventually, after 15 minutes, managed to get it to spring to life. We were almost dissuaded from borrowing it when Tour D'Afrique kingpin and owner Henry Gold looked like he was walking towards us - he switched direction though and walked away so we took this as a sign and left.
As we rolled down the rollercoaster road towards the gas station/Wimpy, Dan explained that he hasn't driven a car for nearly four years. Nervous and buzzing from the adrenalin, we rushed into Wimpy to order six milkshakes (one for myself, one for Sharita and one for each of the others sitting at our dinner table) and a veggie burger (Dan was hungry). The milkshakes came soon enough but the veggie burger took some time as they waited for the deep fryer to come back to life. Dan hadn't actually wanted or ordered fries but they were insistent on delivering some with his burger. Meanwhile, another five Africans who were clearly very hungry (and for some reason in a rush at 8:30pm on a Saturday night on the border with South Africa) started raising a fuss and argueing with the cashier. Another motorist came in at least five times to check if the fries he had ordered were ready. About twenty minutes later, when it became clear that the fries were still just a few minutes away, Dan requested his veggie burger unaccompanied by fries.
I took over from Dan and he sat in the passenger seat, lap full of burger (no fries) and five milkshakes (I had drunk mine in the restaurant). Driving the Land Cruiser was like driving a tank and it took a many-point turn to reverse out of our parking bay - much to the alarm of the drivers in the tiny cars to the side of and below us. As we rolled out on the main road, trying to turn the indicator on accidentally resulted in the windscreen wipers turning on (American style indicator stalks) and I had to check with Dan a few times to see if I was too close to the curb. The Land Cruiser was probably twice the size of the Yaris I normally drive back home.
When we returned to the campsite, it seemed initially like noone had noticed. When we arrived at the bar to distribute milkshakes, I stood waiting outside (no beverages bought outside the bar are to be consumed in the bar). As Dan told our dining associates that we had something for them, there was a big rush of riders that came out and the first thing I remember is Sharita angrily twisting my nipples and asking where the keys were. We explained that the keys were on the seat, exactly where they'd been left and she stormed off to the bucky. Simultaneously, mlikshakes were being snatched from all over the place and I think only two of the milkshakes made it to their intended recipients.
Paul came outside after the crowd had subsided, looking very serious with a stone cold face, a cigarette in his mouth and a beer in his right hand. He started talking to me and asked me, 'Sunil, what were you thinking to jeopardise your E.F.I. with just one week left to go?' . As I stuttered in response, he eventually broke into a smile and told me he was just giving me a hard time - making some hints towards revenge at the awards ceremony in Cape Town. I will be wearing my extra strong belt that day.
