About 40 miles out from the Namibian coast we entered a fog layer and I watched the air temperature gauge on my F800 display drop from 98 degrees F to a luxurious 55 degrees. Cold ocean currents off the Skeleton Coast grace the desert with a cold fog bank that can stretch 50 miles beyond the waters edge. After the scorching temperatures of the interior, our bodies felt immediate relief in the cool fog bank. Its no small wonder that the Germans chose to make a colony here in 1892. Some of the population still speaks German and the towns many dirt streets are lined with intricate colonial style structures.

One of our first new acquaintances in Swakopmund was an Austrian named Marco, who descended out of the sky under a paraglider in full business attire. Touching down on the sand dune next to us he politely offered us a beer, which he apparently stows in his harness for ballast and libations. This is Africa and its just another day in the office for legends like Marco.

We’d be back for flying with Marco, but our immediate plans called for blasting up the beach on the bikes and tuning our sand riding skills for the road ahead.

However, I ran into problems when I found I could no longer accelerate. With some muscle and will power we got the bike back on pavement, where I rode it 10km into Swakopmund, maxing out at 10 miles per hour. I figured it was an electronic “limp mode” problem, called emergency operation mode. I refused to believe I’d blown my clutch because of the low miles and limited stress on the clutch. That night in our campsite, I burned the midnight oil until 2am trying to diagnose the problem.

With a heavy heart and no success in resolving the problem myself, I limped the bike over to a local Yamaha shop. Jan, the shop owner and storied adventure rider, immediately stopped his current projects and took up my case.

It took him about 3 minutes to tell me that my clutch was blown. I still doubted it, as I’d pushed BMW clutches very very hard for extended periods in sand in the past with no issues. My old 1150gs with over 120,000 miles on it has burned up deserts and beaches around the globe without missing a beat. However, there was no denying the facts when the mechanic pulled the clutch cover and showed me the seared plates. I asked the mechanic, “how could this happen, its practically a new bike!” “The clutch lever was not adjusted properly”, he pointed out. That was the most likely cause. I never checked the play in the clutch lever because I had never done any clutch work or replaced any levers. The clutch lever was either adjusted wrong when I bought it as a used bike from the dealership a year ago or it had come out of adjustment on its own. Regardless, I should have checked the play in the clutch lever when servicing my own bike! It was an expensive lesson, although one I’ll never forget. I now check my clutch lever play every day.

If you’re going to fry your clutch, you want to do it near a good shop and in a cool place to make the most of it. In this way, we were fortunate.

Going back to the big coastal sand dunes on Katelyn’s bike, we found Marco, met his friends and got in some really wicked dune flying. Marco and his buddies fed us German LeibKuchen cake and mentored us on paragliding techniques that I’d never been exposed to back home.

Marco, a perpetual prankster, pulls out a broom to sweep the dune, insisting on his leave no trace policy.

We soared for hours among white mountains of sand that stretched along the coast. Tracing our bare toes along the sandy ridges, we’d race down wind, find some lift and then soar back up to the tallest dune. As winds picked up during the heat of the day, Katelyn’s small and speedy 16m wing was the weapon of choice and then later in the day, my full size Geo 26m wing came into play for miles of soothing sunset flights.

Jan and his crew at Dunworx Yamaha provided top notch service and accommodated us in every way they could. So the overland gods locked us into Swakopmund for over a week with a blown clutch, but we scored new friends, became better pilots and, thanks to Jan, had a new route laid out ahead of us. Jan had something of a treasure map on his wall, including hand drawn off road tracks connecting Messum Crater with the small town of Uis.

Few things stir the imagination like a committing desert track that might or might not work out. So, with a new clutch, some food, a full tank and extra water rations we rolled north.