Thank goodness we didn't have to ride back out through the sand!
John and Rob cautioned us at the morning briefing that we had a very long day ahead, one that would hold the most challenging border crossing of the trip, and where we might encounter problems finding fuel. Oh, and a million or so km of riding through pretty much wall-to-wall-bugger-all.
Alrighty then! Let's go!
First on the agenda was a 60-km trip through the Chobe National Park. The speed limit there is 80 (cool!) and we absolutely must stay together. Rob would lead, and we should be hyper attentive to wildlife, and to his signals. Charging elephants, hungry cats, snakes, even hippos were entirely to be expected. Okaaaaaaay.....
The first few elephants ignored us as we rode respectfully by. But about 25 km into the park, Rob came to a stop as a large bull lumbered briskly across the road, ears flapping in warning. From his position at the front of the bikes, Rob could see the tell-tale signs of musk, tears streaming down the elephant's face.
The real fun was yet to come, however. Out of the bush came charging a younger bull, trumpeting, menacing, running, and generally letting us know he was pissed off at the world. He started for us, then turned to follow the herd. Changing his mind, he turned back toward the bikes. This dance continued for what felt like 10 minutes, though it was surely not that long in real life. Finally, he ran for the large herd on the other side of the road.
If you look closely, you can see Susan climbing the baobab tree, or trying to.
Upon existing the park, we came soon to the border, where a huge baobab tree bade us farewell. The Little Prince came immediately to mind, and it saddened me that no one in our group had read this classic.
Since there were no services between the border and Divava, the Chobe lodge had packed us a picnic lunch, which we enjoyed in a pullout by the side of the road.
By now, I was riding pillion with David, as my bike totally died shortly after we fueled up at the border tax station. I remember heading and feeling a loud pop or bang about 10 km down the road, and 50 or so km after that, the bike simply quit. I went to roll on the throttle, and there was nothing there. Thank goodness for Ayres -- John was right behind, and having worked on BMWs for 20 years or more, he knew what to investigate. When even he couldn't get it running, we loaded it onto the trailer and I climbed on with David. Both of us were surprised by how well we ride two-up together.
Another 100 km or so later, we all pulled of the road for a stretch, and were immediately swarmed by eager children. Some of the riders had come prepared for this possibility, with packages of pencils, candy, hats and other trinkets to distribute. Others had been collecting hotel amenities to hand out.
Looking past the crowd, we saw yet another of the traditional villages we've seen across Namibia. A tall grass fence surrounds a community of houses, each perhaps 3 meters wide and either round or square. Walls consist of sticks and mud, roofed in thatch. Areas for living, farming and animals are separated by stick fences, all of it quite organized and tidy.
Finally, we arrived at the Divava Lodge, yet another oasis of luxury in the bush. Our room, filled with the scent of rattan, feels like the restful place it was so clearly meant to be.
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