After a terrible day of punctures, running out of water and fighting the hottest headwind possible we made it to Touch of Africa near Pandametenga.
We sat there speaking to Franz, the owner, and he said that the weather was not right for that time of the year. The wind was a month late and should not be blowing from the southeast but rather the northeast. Marc and I sat drinking, watching the watering hole for any sign of game, while the scorching sun sank away to relieve us from the heat.
We met Alias, family of Franz’s that evening and he offered us a lift to Elephant Sands the following day if we needed it. We enjoyed the company and took down his number in case we needed assistance. That night I passed out dead to the world and woke up at sunrise.
Marc and I sat on the veranda of the cottage, coffee in hand, staring at the shimmering globe rising above the bushveld. The wind started blowing as the sun climbed above the horizon and for the first time on tour Marc and I agreed on the decision to not tempt fate like we did the day before. The 120 km ride to Elephant Sands was not going to happen unless the wind turned and we only had a day to get there to meet my parents.
We gave Alias a call and organized for a lift to Elephant Sands. Alias picked us up that evening and we made our way. It was sad knowing we were not pedaling the road I was adamant to ride, but even friends from home had warned us of it, not of wind but the danger of wild animals especially lion and elephant.
We reached Elephant Sands that evening and were greeted by Oom Ben. He ushered us straight into a plate of potjiekos and a cold beer. He was intrigued by the tour and wanted to hear of our travels.
We sat around the fire overlooking the waterhole, wetting our throats while elephants trumpeted and splashed a mere 50 metres from us. Oom Ben heard that we were to meet my folks the following day and brought me his satellite phone (there is absolutely no cell signal at Elephant Sands, which adds to its uniqueness) and told me to phone them and tell them not to stop at Nata but rather push the extra 52 kilometres. Sadly I could not get through but got hold of my brother to explain that we would wait here for the folks and gave directions.
The next morning I was nervous. Had the message got through properly? I was so anxious to see my parents that I was shaking at breakfast. Marc picked it up and laughed about it, asking whether the night before was to much for me or whether the waiting was too much.
My parents arrived just after ten o’clock and I walked over to see them in. My old man had rigged his Ranger out to the tee. Giggling inside about it, but very impressed I picked my mother up in a hug and squeezed her hello. My dad came up to me with a huge grin, holding up his shaking hand, to show me his excitement. I gave them both a hug together, with the thought of my anxious hand at breakfast. I suppose my mother is correct in saying that I’m my father’s child.
We sat down to a drink and the four of us chatted till late into the afternoon before going to set up camp for the night. Tomorrow we were off to see the Chobe, in a vehicle, without a worry of the wind!
