Distant Tracks

Running on no sleep and armed with a few cryptic directions from our Masai guide, we headed in the general direction of Kenya. The track was stunning! It skirted the lake shore, teeming with flamingos and other exotic critters.

The few Masai we encountered, moving their cattle along the road, were certainly confused by our presence, but always gave us a very friendly wave as we rode by.

The road changed constantly from rock to dirt, to mud, then to dry lake bed with a few small water crossings in between.

We now understood why the route had not been visible on google earth or our GPS devices. In many places, there really wasn’t a road in the traditional sense of the word. With the seasons, the path probably changed constantly . We used the most recent tracks as a guide, but our riding options across the open terrain were infinite. Just pick a line and race across the landscape! The views were spectacular with Lake Natron to our right and the giant Rift Valley walls to our left.

For the first few hours the riding was technical, but fast, and we had high hopes now that this “ghost road” would work out in our favor.

However, as daylight began to wane, the road became more technical, until finally, we lost our track altogether. The road disappeared, swallowed by the lake and mud from recent rains erasing any sign of traffic that had passed this way before us. The road became nothing but a muddy inlet that seemed to have no end.

We spent some time searching for a way forward, but darkness caught up with us. We decided this spot was going to be home for the night. The search for our road North would have to continue in the morning.

Wondering if this was the end of the route for us and hoping we wouldn’t have to backtrack hundreds of miles to the typical border post at Namanga, we went to sleep listening to a symphony of baboons, whose screeches echoed eerily off the valley walls.

We’d heard rumors of the unique beauty of Lake Natron, but no casual conversation would prepare us for what the morning sun revealed beyond our camp. It’s a fantasy land. Rugged, gorgeous and isolated would describe both the geography and the tribes it nurtures. Enormous volcanoes dominate the horizons and sloping down from the cloudy summits are ancient lava flows marked with hot springs that bubble into the alkaline lake.

Only 10 feet at it’s deepest point, the 25 mile long alkaline lake’s caustic environment discourages predators from threatening it’s primary residents, the Flamingo. Lake Natron hosts the only breeding ground in East Africa for 2.5 million Lesser Flamingos and they’re not hard to find…

Flamingos always seem to turn up in the strangest of places. Aside from classy American lawn decor, I’ve seen Flamingos on half frozen lakes at over 10,000’ in Peru and on the shores of the Pacific. Here in Tanzania they were happily scooping for algae in a lake caustic to most animals and enjoying air temperatures of 104 deg F.

Although the lake itself doesn’t support much animal life beyond the flamingo, the surrounding terrain and natural springs draw in antelope, giraffe, baboons, zebra, wildebeest and many more. Even the occasional lion wanders in to hunt antelope and keep the local Masai villagers on their toes.

This is Masai country! It’s their territory and one doesn’t just wander around in it as an outsider where people still carry swords and spears. We paid a community fee to the nearby village leadership for permission to camp. Also required by the village, was a local guide to explore the area. Like us, most adventure bikers steer clear of areas with regulations that might infringe on their freedom to explore, fees and required guides being a significant infringement. The reality of it is that in Tanzania you’re not going anywhere without a fee and if the locals want you to have a guide, sometimes you don’t have a choice. In this case, we were assigned a guide from the local village and he was awesome. He was an infinite source of information on the local area and most importantly a link to the local population. He was our “in” for Natron.

During our 24 hour stay at Lake Natron, we put some serious miles in on foot. The obvious first step was to explore the lakeshore near our camp. Wading through the weird salt pools and alkaline mud, our guide, Lukus, showed us the best spot to see the flamingo flocks and pointed out their nests.

Later that afternoon, realizing the futility of closed toed shoes, we hung our boots up to dry in camp and switched to sandals for some local canyoneering. Again, it was Lukus that the made it possible, showing us where to cross the river, which rock faces to traverse and which cavern to swim into without being washed over a waterfall.

Wading, swimming and scrambling behind Lucas we pushed upriver to a cavern that was curtained by a waterfall. Passing beneath the falling fresh water fall, we swam into the deep pool of swiftly flowing salt water that supposedly originates from Ngorongoro crater. This was as far as we could push as we didn’t have any ropes on hand and the daylight was fading. We will be back for this one. Hopefully before Laura Croft’s next tomb raider crew tries to shoot their next film here.

The day with Lukus, wandering among the flamingos of Natron, visiting with the Masai and swimming among hidden waterfalls was an awesome change of pace from our usual motorbike bound adventures. However, throughout our day, I couldn’t help but become enamored with one massive volcano peering down on us from it’s lofty heights.

What if??? Katelyn and I talked it over with our guide and he seemed keen to facilitate the endeavor! Ol Donya Lengai is still revered as a god by some local Masai and understandably so (“Ol Donya Lengai” translates to mountain of the god in Masai language). The active volcano had blown it’s top just 9 years ago, spilling fire, ash and lava onto the savannah below. It still bellows forth a nearly constant rumble from it’s new crater and leaks steam and gases from it’s summit. We worked it out with the local village leadership, greased the wheels a bit and ultimately secured permission to climb.

We’d stayed up late sorting kit and prepping a paraglider while battling a mean swarm of mosquitos that had moved in on us for dinner…their dinner. As we bedded down for a few hours sleep, strong weather moved in and slammed our tent with gusts of wind and rain. Conditions for a climb and fly were looking grim as my watch alarm buzzed at 11:30 PM. Starbucks instant coffee brightened the night and the three of us enjoyed a cup before setting off at midnight.

It was our guide that insisted on the early start. He wanted us to catch the sunrise on the summit and avoid scrambling down lava flows in the searing midday temps. This made sense, especially since I was packing a glider in the unlikely case the weather improved. Ascending under headlamp, the hike transitioned into a scramble as we squeezed through rocky gullies cut in the lava flows. This was an engaging and interesting mountain to climb! While not really technical, it was airy hands-on scrambling near the summit with real consequences in certain spots if you slipped. I’d compare it to the Longs Peak Key Hole Route in Colorado.

We found ourselves ascending too quickly and at risk of summiting long before the sun was up. So we snuggled into our puffy jackets and hunkered down in a ravine for a few hours sleep. As dawn approached, we were back at it ascending the last bit to the summit. Nearing the top, I couldn’t help but notice that the steam emitting from numerous cracks and fissures around us was drifting strait up. This hinted that the wind had subsided and my pulse quickened as I sensed a summit flight was quickly becoming a reality. Under the mornings first rays of light, we popped over the crater rim at just over 10,000’ in perfect conditions.

I’ve seen some big gaping craters before to include Orizaba and Cotopaxi. However, this one really tops it off! It may not be adorned in ancient glaciers and rise to lofty heights above 18,000’, but Oldonya Lengai boasts the deepest meanest crater I’ve ever seen!

A catwalk of a rim surrounds a massive hole that drops away several hundred feet below to a crater floor pockmarked by steam vents and active lava flows. A constant rumbling and popping noise emits from the crater discouraging us mortal visitors from loitering too long on the “Mountain of God”. Our guide was looking half frozen and a little nervous as he patiently waited for me as I ran around the summit looking for the best launch option.

He wasn’t the only nervous one. Regardless of how many times you do it, flying bits of sail cloth off of mountains never gets boring. The unworldly reward of flying comes at the price of fear management. With airy exposure on two sides matched with steam jets belching up from the underworld, this launch took a good deal of focus. Our guide, who’d never witnessed freeflight before, was wide eyed and looked on in apparent horror as I coaxed the wing off the volcanic rock, pulled it overhead and stepped into the void.

I accelerated away from the rim and down the mountain, flying between two lava pinnacles, until I gained enough speed to level out with maximum glide. Katelyn’s 16m mini wing carried me effortlessly in smooth air 5,000′ over the savannah floor. Taking advantage of the smooth conditions, I swung back towards the volcano to contour it’s steep terrain and explore it’s rugged beauty from the sky. There’s something special about sailing alone through crisp morning air high above Africa. Its this sort of adventure medium that fires up all our nerve endings, ignites your spirit and opens your mind to the incredible world around us.

As the suns rays chased the mist and morning shadows off the mountain, the first bit of turbulence began to nudge at my canopy. Heeding the sign, I leaned off to one side of my harness and steered away from the mountain aiming for open airspace.

Meanwhile, Katelyn and Lukus were coming down the hard way. With vision no longer limited to headlight beam, Katelyn got to see what she’d climbed up during the night.

A couple hours later we all linked up at the base of the mountain, where I’d been dutifully holding down a piece of shade for several hours. Katelyn reminded me that I only climbed half the mountain 😊. Having been roaming around all night on a volcano, we probably could have used a rest day, however, the anticipation of the route ahead and whether we’d actually be able to pull off the “smuggler’s route” to Kenya was luring us forward. Time to put the last remaining bits of our tire tread to work!

 

On the runout section of steep switchbacks we stopped so I could repack our extra fuel bladder. The F800 Adventure comes with a 24 liter tank, but the standard F650GS runs a 17 liter tank and requires a little extra for long stretches without fuel. We were using a 10 liter fuel bladder that I’d picked up in Vladivostok 9 years ago. It was a bit dated and if I didn’t pack it just right, it would sprinkle my backside with benzene as I bumped over the dirt track. As I repacked my bike, a local guide in a battered Land Cruiser pulled up alongside us and asked where we were going. While passing a wave at his two tourists locked in the back, I responded that we were heading for Lake Natron. The guide looked at us, pointed at our bikes and then just laughed as he pulled away. This made us wonder if there was something we didn’t know about the road ahead. We reasoned that we had plenty of fuel, water and food to turn around at any point, so we rolled out to see what was out there!

The route was good solid dirt track 100km into some remote villages, but after that, we found ourselves beyond any tourism zone and therefore beyond the reach of road maintenance. I understood why the guy laughed at us after we came up on our first crux.

However, what he didn’t know was that sometimes these big adventure bikes negotiate road washout and wadis with greater ease than 4x4s.  We’d find that “good enough line”, get high over the pegs and put that long travel suspension to work!

The lack of grater maintenance meant that the track was void of the bone jarring and bike ripping washboard. The cruxes were there, but between the tough sections was smooth, fast, perfect dirt track.

For once, in the history of adventure, the shortcut was actually turning out to save us time and effort. We were busting this route out in great time. Aside from some technical riding sections, the only other thing slowing us down was the wildlife, which we love!

As a general rule, we always give right away for animals that weigh 10 times more than us.
We also began spotting our first few Masai tribesmen. Standing tall on ridge lines and rocky outcrops, adorned in red tunics and armed with staves and short swords, they watched from a distance as we rode by.

As we drew closer to Lake Natron, both the climate and the geography morphed into the extreme. Soaring volcanoes cast afternoon shadows over green savannah and roaming herds of wildebeest and zebra.

Despite the green plains and lofty volcanoes, the heat was crushing, especially as our track drifted over recent lava flows and ash fields that bisected the savannah.

It was with great relief as we finally pulled up after a long day’s ride to an oasis of a campground.

 

Departing the muggy port town of Bagamoya, we rode away from the coast and into the dry interior. After a full days ride, we transitioned from the hot savannah and onto the flanks of Kilimanjaro where we proceeded among cool cloud cloaked forests. The evening clouds parted just long enough for the enormity of the mountain to peer down at us from its lofty 19,300’ iced over summit. This was an astonishingly beautiful mountain! It was the first snow that we’d seen since departing Colorado. As mountain folk, it warmed our hearts.

Shifting layers of cool fog and rain shrouded the summit from view for the next 4 days as we traversed the mountains flanks. We were disappointed to not see more of the summit, but we were also very thankful for the cooler climate, which was a relief from the sweat soaked, red faced days that constitute the norm of African adventure riding.

The town of Moshi is the logistics center for climbing Kilimanjaro. Do we climb Kilimanjaro? We debated over this for a while. However, the weather and the costs were enough to cause us to postpone this adventure. Kilimanjaro is a major cash industry for Tanzania with about 25,000 hikers coming through annually, each paying roughly 2,000USD for the experience. We heard mixed experiences from different groups coming off the mountain. A good experience would be largely based on the guide company one chooses (guides are required by law). For us, coming back with our own kit, acclimating on Kili, then going for Mount Kenya’s Batian summit would be an epic trip of its own! In our current state, having great adventure motorcycles on hand, we chose to continue exploring by bike. We could get back to Africa for a climb, but getting back with bikes is another story. Kili would wait for us, although the glaciers I’m afraid will be gone soon.

In Moshi, we refitted at the The Garage, an AirBnB that caters to motorbikers, where we caught wind of an exciting adventure idea. While pouring over maps with the owner (a dedicated biker himself), it was mentioned that we might be able to push a route into Kenya from Lake Natron. The concept route was far into the backcountry, legally challenging and not shown on any map, digital map base or even google satellite imagery. We were instantly interested!

The first step was to try and sort out the legal issue of crossing into Kenya where there was no border post. Armed with a good attitude, patience and loads of optimism, we arrived at a border post near Moshi to try and get permissions. It took a massive amount of effort to communicate that we wanted to cross into Kenya where there was no road listed and no border post and why we wanted to do it. Fortunately, both the Kenyan border agents and the Tanzanian agents worked out of the same building, so we all sort of got together on this. The Kenyan’s not only understood our plan, but were keen to help us make it happen. The Tanzanian side however, wasn’t playing along and the big boss said no. This is the best part…there was a shift change at lunch. Returning from the bosses office after lunch, we told the Kenyans what our problem was. The Kenyan official just walked over to the Tanzanian side, talked to the new guy on shift, grabbed their stamp and stamped us out. Done! We were in Tanzania with exits stamps for Tanzania and entrance stamps for Kenya.

Back in Tanzania and with the border post beyond our rearview mirror, we breathed the collective sigh of relief, knowing we were mostly legally authorized for some serious adventuring. With that said, we were still a long way from Lake Natron with loads of good riding to be done as we circled around Kilimanjaro. The tarmac circles over half of the mountain and it’s a peg dragger. Ups, downs and good ol’ twisties, the smooth asphalt roller coasters through alpine forest and mountain villages.

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On the northwest side of the mountain, the road transitions to dirt and it does not disappoint. Hard packed clay like surface whisks you over the mountain ridges and moss covered rock bridges pop you over creeks of glacier runoff.

Off the dirt track lies good bush camping for days!

We had a full herd of Cape Buffalo move into camp just after sundown, but no bugs, and I’ll take Cape Buffalo over mosquitos any day!

Exultant from the last two days of good riding and a big adventure ahead, we pulled into Longido to fuel and food up. On a whim, I inquired on the route ahead with a local. It was here that we found that our bureaucracy troubles were not entirely solved. Apparently, we needed a government permit to enter the Natron area, which was recently deemed a conservation area. Of course, the fee must be paid in Arusha, 60 miles in the opposite direction. So off we went, racing to Arusha in hopes of scoring the permit before the office closed for a long weekend. In Arusha, we navigated the jungle of busses and trucks, ultimately arriving at the government building where permits are issued. We were not late, it just wasn’t open at all that day. To say we were disappointed would be an understatement. We’d come so far with the border paperwork and then to get hung up on this new “fee” was a big blow. But this is Africa, all is not as it seems. One persons says this, the rules say that and then a mile down the road it’s a completely different story. So, mulling over a hot brew at our campsite in Arusha, we decide to stick to our plan and push to Natron without the permit. We knew there would be a gate house near Lake Natron and there we would try to sort things out with all the charm we could muster. The question remained on how to get there? There was the main dirt road skirting Ngorongoro and then there was an obscure unmaintained dirt track running directly from Arusha to Lake Natron. It was a gamble, but we decided on the smaller dirt track, it looked like fun, at least what sections we could make out from google satellite imagery. All we needed was the rain to hold out for a bit.

The challenge of importing a vehicle into this tiny semi- autonomous nation precludes it from the obvious list of African motorcycle destinations. However, we still felt a need to be there. It’s Zanzibar after all! While few of us can point it out on the map, we’ve all heard of it. Just the way the name rolls off your tongue is enough to conjure an alluring tropical fantasy, scented with cloves and steeped in exotic old world culture.

In our own fashion we muscled our way through the city of Dar es Salam, found secure parking near the harbor, packed our riding kit and jumped a ferry out to the Zanzibar. The plan was to rent a bike in Zanzibar on arrival and zip around among spice plantations and pristine palmed lined beaches. The weather figures otherwise.

Go ahead, google Zanzibar and check out the pictures! How about those incredible beaches! We didn’t see any of those. A grey veil of monsoonal rain covered the island, churned up the waters and drenched the palm lined beaches. We nixed the bike rental, booked into the Princess Salme Hotel and resigned ourselves to a leisurely exploration of the most interesting metropolis in Africa, Stone Town.

Aside from its dark history as one of the largest slave markets in the world, Zanzibar was also the starting point for European expeditions attempting to unravel the secrets of the Nile. Along these winding alleyways and open markets, some of the most hardcore explorers of all time, such as Burton, Speke, Stanley and Livingston, outfitted their expeditions, gathered information and signed on team members that were unlikely to ever return alive. Their stories of triumph, tragedy, adventure and extreme courage are a testament to the power of the human spirit. I’d like to think that if school kids read this stuff, they’d find “Grand theft Auto” a complete bore in comparison.

The Nile, it’s history, geography and people are what brings us to dedicate our trip to Eastern Africa. However, armed with doxy and the fuel injected motor, Katelyn and I are anticipating an easier go, then say Stanley’s expedition with his 85% mortality rate crossing the continent.

Despite childhood aspirations, we are not African explorers, but in the spirit of their endeavors, we are exploring off the grid and contributing fresh tracks to the map wherever we can.

Seeking to outfit for the road ahead, we wandered markets, alleys and clove scented shops. We stocked up on locally grown dates. A bag of these would provide instant energy on the road ahead and keep for weeks. Per our Modus Operandi, we celebrated street food Saturday with octopus curry matched with flat bread.

In Zanzibar, we witnessed an impressive mix of culture. A woman in a full burka may walk down the street and pass another gal in a mini skirt. The minerates sing out the evening prayer next to the bell tower of a Christian church. There seems to be an enormous tolerance for contrasting customs. Folks were just doing their own thing in their own way.

In the late 1400s, the Portuguese arrived in Zanzibar to find a well-established Arab and Swahili trading settlement controlled by an Omani Sultan. With cannons blazing the Portuguese moved in, but within thirty years their colony was wiped out by the Sultanate’s warriors. Over the following centuries, European entities asserted various degrees of control over the archipelago, but the Sultans maintained direct rule over the islands, it’s people and it’s lucrative markets. By the mid 19th century, the Arab slave trade was in full swing and devastating Eastern Africa and beyond. Arab and African slavers marauded with enormous expeditions, sometimes reaching as far the Congo. The Swahili-Arab Tipu Tip, the most notorious of them all, ventured far into the interior, buying Ivory and slaves from indigenous chiefs. The slaves carried the ivory to the coast and those that survived the journey were sold in the Zanzibar slave market. The ivory fed the western demand for such oddities as billiard balls (no joke) and the slaves were sold to local plantations or shipped to the Arab peninsula and beyond. In it’s heyday, as many as 50,000 human beings were auctioned off in the Zanzibar slave market. Around the turn of the century, the depopulation of both people and elephants combined with Great Britain’s war on slavery would ultimately end the slave trade of Eastern Africa.

 

Second only to the Welwitschia on Chris’s scale of coolest plants ever is the mighty Baobab Tree.

I’d seen a few in Australia and a scattering across southern Africa, but it wasn’t until Tanzania that we found an actual forest of these spectacular trees. Appropriately named, the valley of Baobab, here you can find thousands of them. You can eat its fruit, enjoy its shade or, if you’re like me, stare dumbfounded at it for hours. In times of extreme drought, they can also be tapped for water as some species hold hundreds of liters. Long-lived would be an understatement. Wiki claims that some Baobab individuals may exceed a lifespan of thousands of years. Also of note, there’s a full bar inside a Baobab tree in South Africa (hats off to the Afrikaners). Unfortunately, our one photo does not do this species justice. Its hard to make photography a priority when the perfect road is luring you on at full throttle with smooth twisties and gorgeous vistas beyond every corner.

Our helmet cams did catch a few critters here and there!

We did ride through some lion country and we were advised to ride at full speed down the middle of the road to avoid tempting large cats. The locals explained that the lions were getting “a bit cheeky” with motorists. We didn’t have any issues, but rather enjoyed all the springbok, giraffes, baboons and occasional warthog. We did have one run in with a cat in camp, which we survived.

In the old slave port of Bagamoyo the road transitioned into cobblestone, winding its way through the remnants of a town still emerging from the 18th century.

The narrow alleyways opened onto palm lined beaches of the Indian ocean, offering a panorama of sailing Dhows slipping over the horizon. Somewhere over that horizon was the spice island of Zanzibar!

The sweltering border town faded behind us as the road climbed into the cool coffee growing region of Tanzania. We were off to investigate an obscure hot spring icon on our National Geographic map. We’d inquired on it over the last few days and neither locals nor overlanders had any knowledge of it. This only increased our curiosity. It was in fact only 40 miles off our route. However, 40 miles started to add up as the light failed and the heavy rain set in. The hot springs would have to wait til morning. We settled for a hotel in Mbeya. This was the greatest hotel experience we’d ever had. For $16 we enjoyed secure parking, a clean room, hot shower and free breakfast. Best of all was the gregarious Swahili speaking staff. The arrival of two sopping wet American bikers managing barely 3 words of Swahili generated continuouss boutes of laughter from the hotel clerks. Katelyn gets credit for pulling off enough Swahili to sort out our room and breakfast.

In the morning, we battled through a few miles of heavy truck traffic until breaking out of Mbeya. We found our dirt track, supposedly leading to the hot spring. This was our first dirt track since the run up to Livingstonia in Malawi and it felt good to work the suspension and weave around the waterholes. The track ended at an outpost manned by guards. We sorted out that we were on tribal lands and needed permission from the Chief to continue. As it worked out, we located the chief a few miles away and he personally guided us to the hot springs.

We would never have found it without him.

From the top of a cliff and just beyond a deep cavern flittering with bats, we found boiling water bubbling out of a 50m long crack and cascaded towards the river below. Not exactly a place to soak your travel weary bones, but a sight worth seeing none the less.

Having sorted out the whole “mystery hot spring”, we trekked back to our bikes, mounted up in our sweat soaked riding suits and rode hard for Zanzibar!

It seems fitting that our first day beyond the Malawi border ended on the beaches of lake Malawi. After a long warm ride we rolled up to the beach and reveled in the cool wind drifting off the waves. Following a quick hippo croc check, we succumbed to the crystal waters and dived in. Stretching for 360 miles, across three countries, this lake is home to crocs, hippos and more fish species then any other lake in the world(wiki).

One would do well by exploring the remote shores and coves with a small catamaran (Tchanzi!). The second best way to see the lake is by motorcycle of course! For 5 days we traveled along the shore, absorbing some serious thunderstorms along the way. Some of these storms could generate ocean grade waves along the shore. I scored a busted windsurf board and gave it my best go on some that Malawian surf.

Aside from some seriously biblical rain storms, lake life was good. The fish out of the lake were unusually delicious as well as the local produce. We were always at risk around our camp of being clocked by a savory mango falling from the branches above, which were perfect for an afternoon snack.

These were not the delicious fish, these are cat fish from a mudhole under a nearby bridge. Katelyn was not buying, even after I generously offered to purchase them all for her, while pointing out the that she could just sling them on her windshield.

We had just packed up and were about to set out from camp in Chitumbe, when the clouds parted to reveal a massive plateau rising from the lake shore. I could feel the paraglider quivering in its bag as perfect flying conditions developed overhead. It was necessary to commit another day to Chitumbe. The sun dried the rough tracks leading up the plateau, offering us full access by motorbike to any number of virgin paraglider launches.

The paragliding mission was a success and the following day we headed out for a morning ride to Tanzania. The sealed roads in Malawi are for the most part in superb condition. They twist and roll through the mountainous countryside.

There is probably only one radar gun in all of Malawi and we found it! Katelyn’s ticket came in at half price. Apparently, there’s a beauty to price formula for fines around here.

 

We were warned! They said the Zambian road from Katima to Livingstone was in bad shape, but we figured, if it was paved, it couldn’t be that bad.  After three hours of stuffy immigration processing on the Zambian Border, we were free to ride and raring to put in big miles.  As the crow flies, Livingstone, our next destination was pretty close.  Crows don’t know about potholes and neither did we until we got deep into the roughest “paved road” experience we’ve had yet. It was a spider web of asphalt linking water filled holes across a memory of road.  Complaints aside,  it kept things interesting and offered an opportunity to hone your weaving skills. 

At a rate of 25 miles per hour, however, we were only half way to Livingstone as the sun sank behind the roadside jungle.  No lodge, no problem! We’ve got kit and grub on board for a few nights. So, under the cover of darkness, we zipped off the pavement and into the jungle for a rainy night concealed behind some trees and tall grass.

The following day, we celebrated our arrival in Livingstone with a cappuccino on par with any Parisian café.  Livingstone, it would seem, was cultured!  We might be labeled as nerds, as our biggest interest in visiting Livingstone was The Livingstone Museum. So, we put the mighty Victoria Falls on the backburner and headed off to get our history on and spend a rainy Christmas Eve at the musem.  The natural history part of the museum was borderline comical, but the section dedicated to David Livingstone was the real thing.  Original artifacts, such as his traveling cloak, cap, musket and journal entries brought his spectacular story to life.

We had planned on pushing out towards Lusaka for Christmas, but after inspecting our kit, we found that our paragliders were at risk of water damage from the monsoonal rains we had been experiencing. So, we treated ourselves to a room indoors and started drying out our kit.

The overland powers that be smiled upon us and on Christmas morning the clouds parted for a brilliant sunny day. The gliders dried and we got to see Victoria Falls.

 

 

 

We had initially not planned on taking the time to see this popular tourist attraction.  We gravitate more towards backcountry routes and destinations or at least try to. But this just fell into our laps and it was after all, right there!  We got our first glimpse upon emerging from the jungle footpath onto a precipitous rocky outcrop.  We were completely stunned.  

Standing there in the torrential downpour created by the falls updraft, we witnessed the largest curtain of falling water on earth as it cascaded from view into a 300’ deep crack in the earth’s surface.  Its weird and its wonderful.  This was a good reminder that major tourist attractions can be just as inspiring as the deep backcountry.  The best part of it all was that we had it all to ourselves!  Well, there were a few locals. Like this guy…

 

The rising sun, and some instant “Starbucks Coffee Vias” wrestled us out of our sleeping bags. We certainly wouldn’t complain if we could wake up to a view like this every morning. We lingered a bit, soaking up the ambiance of our best campsite yet. It was now time to turn this trip east and cross the continent to the Indian Ocean. If that doesn’t warrant a second cup of coffee, I don’t know what does.

To the north, the enormous rock faces of Brandberg Mountain towered above us. I couldn’t help wondering if I was seeing proper big wall climbing options up there. We were super keen to get up into those hills, but our water supply was dwindling and I was still recovering from some questionable street food decisions made a few days back. I was in no shape for a demanding climb and fly. The next best thing to an adventure is planning one. I determined to return one day to explore deeper into this area with a motorbike and a glider. The potential for some seriously deep adventure in Namibia would only be limited by your water capacity, fuel range and audacity.

A few hundred kilometers later we found pavement and raced north. The rains were finally hitting Namibia and the animals were on the move. I stopped counting at the 83rd warthog that shook his tusks at us from the side of the road. It was a full on safari just driving down the national highway. Most notable was witnessing a truck driver standing on the hood of his truck and peeling the largest eagle I’ve ever seen from his windshield. The eagle’s wingspan was covering the entire windshield of the 18wheeler. I regret that we didn’t take any pictures. We were putting in hard miles and trying to make it to Otjiworongo before dark.

Long after dark, our headlights lit up the first few buildings in Otjiworongo. Our home for the night would prove to the be the worst and most expensive room of the trip thus far. I think we paid extra for the spiders. Okay, a few spiders are no big deal, but we do have our limits. After brushing about 15 spiders off the bed cover, we pulled back the covers to find the sheets squirming with arachnids. We were prepared to erect the tent in the hotel room with its built in bug net, but the hotel staff agreed to give us another room minus the “extra roommates”.

Trending in a north easterly direction, the natural path to Zambia lay on the Caprivi Strip. This is a unique pan handle feature on the North Eastern corner of Namibia. This is where the rain really started for us.

We would endure heavy rains almost every day for the following month. Despite some discomfort with our wet, moldy riding kit, the cool rain was refreshing after weeks of desert heat. The tropics also offered a refreshing change in geography and fauna.