Chapter 16
No truck.
The moment I realise that it’s time to go soon, all that good work - the last two weeks of starting to feel better, to feel a little bit like me again - disappears.
I’m right back in the gun again.
I can’t think straight again.
I can’t walk straight again.
I’ve got no excuse to stay any longer in Windhoek. There’s nothing left here to wait for, nothing to do.
I’ve been here much, much too long already.
As much as I don’t want to, it’s time to go.
I’m not feeling that bad as I ride out of the hostel. I’m scared but not terrified. And it’s weird...
I should be terrified; odds on that something will fuck up today. Shrike won’t start, wheels wont spin. What are the chances that the Shrike will even get out of Windhoek without crapping out? let alone the next town down, which is a half day's ride away.
Not good.
Nothing left to do but have a crack.
I’m over it.
If the Shrike craps out, if the slightest thing goes wrong, I’m ready to light a funeral pyre, throw the Shrike on top of it, do a little dance around it as everything burns to the ground, and call it a day.
Fuck all of this.
No noticeable change.
If there is any squeaking coming from that seal, I can’t hear it. Probably because of the thump of the engine and the wind roar in my helmet.
Not a whole lot going on out here in middle-of-nowhere Namibia... Pretty empty. Pretty bland.
It’s weird. But the blandness isn’t freaking me out. It’s uneventful out there, and it’s uneventful in here.
No idea why. But it’s nice.
I pass the Tropic of Capricorn. The tropics of Capricorn and Cancer are the lowest and highest points on the globe where the sun can still pass directly overhead. Bet you didn’t know that.
The last time I passed the Tropic of Capricorn on the ground I was at home.
It makes me feel like I’m close.
I take some shit photos.
Before I know it I’m in Mariental, today's stop.
When did that happen??
The clicks just flew by...
I’ll take that.
I check in at a pretty swish guesthouse by the highway. Only $N200. Twentyish bucks. Not bad.
There’s bugger all to do here. Town’s like this are just flat out depressing. I spend the hours trying to get out of my own head, watching TV, and reading Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which if you haven’t read, you should.
Drop this book and start reading that instead. It's much better.
Anyway. The Shrike’s fine. Actually, riding really well. Surprisingly well.
Superbly, in fact.
I don’t think it’s ever felt better.
I don’t know whether it’s the new sprocket or what, but the bike feels even better at high speeds, when the math say's it shouldn’t.
Everything feels planted, even up over eighty. Usually - around eighty - it starts doing some bone rattling, like it’s going to shake itself all to pieces.
I’m baffled by the change in performance, but I’ll take the free win.
I take an early dinner of a pizza, so glutinous that I can only eat half of it and I feel like I’m going to blow it up again all over the table. The toppings are an inch thick!
The tight-arse in me says “finish the fucking pizza, and just don’t eat anything for the next few days”. I’m worried about making a scene...
I eat another slice.
Then go hibernate.
Today, Keetmanshoop.
It’s gotta be my favourite name for a town this side of Nouadhibou.
I don’t know why, but I keep saying “Keeeeeet-maaaaaan-shooooop” over and over again in my helmet in a deep voice.
Maybe I am losing it...
I skip yet another one of Namibia’s “must see's” - Sossusvlei - which I can spell, but not say... Apparently it's spectacular. I don’t care. Not one bit. I’m heading south. In a fucking beeline.
Straight highway. Gunbarrel straight. Boring-as-fucking-bat-shit straight.
Nothing but time and distance and nothing to fucking do but look at the road, all the way off to the vanishing point.
Enough to drive anyone nuts.
There’s a loud, very loud whirring coming from the rear tyre. Like it’s flat or underdone, or just dying.
I can’t tell.
The only pressure gauge I have are my thumbs. They tell me that everything’s ok. Dunno what the noise is, then.
Maybe the bearing’s in the wheel have gone to hell? Maybe it’s just the noise that these tyre’s make on this sort of tarmac?
Impossible to tell.
These tarmac miles is doing an absolute number on the knobbly tyres. It's being chewed off at a rate that I can notice.
Just gotta chalk it up and get on with it; I’ve got no spare.
KEEEET-MAAAAAN-SHOOOOOP….
Today's a short ride, but I’m taking a million stops on the way. Taking it easy. Staying fresh. Staying on top of it.
By the time I get into Keeeeeetmaaaaaaanshooooooop I must’ve taken my helmet off and put it back on maybe twenty times. It’s scrubbed my ears off and worn holes in the tail of my eyebrows, to the point where I don't bother to take it off to fill petrol and check tyre pressures.
Pressures are fine. Go figure.
Keeeeeetmaaaaaaanshooooooop seems alright. Colonial-ish. Biggish.
At the first accommodation option, I rip my ears off only to get told that they’re fully booked. Rip the eyebrows off to put the lid back on.
Same story for the second one.
By the third one I feel like someone’s given me papercuts and then lifted me by the earlobes.
Fuck this.
This joint’s gotta stick; I’ll be fucked if I’m putting that helmet on again.
No one's home...
Fuck.
I’m yelling. Loud.
Someone rocks up. They look a little shat off at the disturbance.
Despite this, they’ve got a room for me, with a double bed, two single beds, a serious shower, a flippin bath, and a full kitchen, all for me, all in the same room, all immaculate and all brand spanking new, all for $N290. Thirty bucks. That’s three times what I’m in the market for, but it’s too good to pass this up, and I’ll be fucked if I’m putting that helmet on again...
Sold.
I stay for two nights.
A rest I didn’t really need. But took it anyway. Best to pace myself. What’s the rush?
I've spent hardly any time out of bed.
Not proud of that.
Time to move on again.
It’s tempting to make today a monster ride.
The border is only three hundred clicks away, not the four hungee that I thought it was.
I can do that... Tempting...
Nup.
Don't even think about it.
Cut it in half. Baby steps.
Two days of small rides. That’s easy. And the only village on the ride is smack bang in the middle. Perfect.