Dag 60: Koualack na Mouit

(English Translation Below)

Dag 60: Koualack na Mouit
 
Veertig grade Celcius op 'n motorfiets is wárm. Ons maak ons valhelms se venstertjies toe want die wind skroei ons gesigte. Ons baadjies, wat perfek was vir die drukkende ewenaarsweer omdat dit lug deurlaat, laat nou ook hierdie vuurwind deur. Dis skaars elfuur die oggend. Die motorfietse lê skuins teen die wind. As 'n vragmotor verbykom wat die wind vir 'n oomblik afkeer, skuif mens skielik links en regs oor die pad todat die fiets weer sy ewewig teen die wind vind.
 
Ons moet kophou. Hierdie is nog net die begin van ons woestynpad. Ons moet die wind en die hitte en die afstande en die niksheid tussenin nie onderskat nie. Ons roetine dalk só aanpas dat ons teen dagbreek kan ry en soveel afstand as moontlik inkry voor dit te warm word en die wind te veel begin optel.
 
Ons ry 'n dorp binne. Wat 'n ervaring! Die woestynsand lê in dik stroke aan weerskante en soms sommer bo-oor die pad. Die pad reg deur die middedorp se gedruis van donkiekarre en motorfietsies en mense, is ook die pad waarlangs die hooftoevoer van vragmotors na die binneland loop. Dis 'n gedruk en stoot in die versengende wit warmte. 'n Motorfietsie ry in De Witt se kantsak vas, steier effens, maar val darem nie om nie.
 
By 'n petrolstasie buite die dorp stop ons vir koeldrank. 'n Soldaat kom van oorkant die pad aangestap. Verstom om te hoor van ons reis en wil alles uitvind oor die motorfietse. Hoe vinnig kan hulle ry? Hoeveel dae ry ons al? Roep sy makker nader, vertaal alles wat ons vertel aan hom in Frans oor. Bon voyage, wens hulle ons toe.
 
Later, ná 'n bietjie diksand-slinger op 'n klein enkelspoor-agterpaadjie kom ons by ons slaapplek aan. Dis 'n ou Franse villa wat in 'n gastehuis omskep is. Ons deel die plek met 'n kameraspan en 'n glanspersoon wat van alle kante afgeneem word. Die kameras moet mooi mik om nie per ongeluk die twee wit ouens met die wilde grys baarde in die agtergrond in te kry nie.
 
Dan nuus vanaf GPS4Africa: Hulle sal vir ons 'n nuwe Cardo-interkomeenheid laat aflewer sodra ons in Spanje ingaan. Ongelukkig is daar nie winkels in Noord-Afrika wat dit verkoop nie, en om dit per courier te stuur gaan weke vat om deur doane te gaan. Ons het ook intussen besluit om ons reis tot in Rotterdam te verleng omdat die verskeping van die motorfietse ordegroottes goedkoper van daar af is as vanaf Spanje. So ten minste sal ons in Europa weer met mekaar kan praat terwyl ons ry.
 
Die einde is in sig, maar die Sahara lê nog voor.
 
 
Day 60: Koualack to Mouit
 
Forty degrees Celsius on a motorcycle is hot. We close the visors on our helmets because the wind scorches our faces. Our mesh jackets, perfect for the humid equatorial weather, now lets this fiery wind through. It's barely eleven in the morning. The motorcycles skew against the wind. When a truck passes and blocks the wind for a moment, the bikes drift left and right across the road until they regain their balance against the wind.
 
We have to keep our wits together. This is just the beginning of our desert path. We mustn't underestimate the wind, the heat, the distances, and the emptiness in-between. Perhaps adjust our routine so that we can ride at dawn and cover as much distance as possible before it gets too hot and the wind picks up too much.
 
We enter a village. What an experience! The desert sand thick on both sides of the road. Sometimes completely over it. The road through the middle of the town's hustle and bustle of donkey carts, motorcycles and people is also the road along which the main supply of trucks to the interior runs. It's a crowded pushing and shoving in the scorching white heat. A small motorcycle hits De Witt's pannier bag, wobbles slightly, but thankfully doesn't fall.
 
At a gas station outside town, we stop for a cold drink. A soldier comes walking from across the road. Amazed to hear about our journey. Wants to know everything about the motorcycles. How fast can they go? How many days have we been riding? He calls his buddy over, translates everything we tell him into French. Bon voyage, they wish us.
 
Later, after a bit of deep sand wiggling on a small single-track back road, we arrive at our accommodation for the night. It's an old French villa converted into a guesthouse. We share the place with a camera crew and a celebrity being photographed from all angles. The cameras have to aim carefully not to accidentally capture the two white guys with the wild grey beards in the background.
 
Then news from GPS4Africa: They will have a new Cardo intercom unit delivered as soon as we enter Spain. Unfortunately, there are no stores in North Africa that sell it, and sending it by courier will take weeks to clear customs. In the meantime, we have also decided to extend our journey to Rotterdam because shipping the motorcycles from there is significantly cheaper than from Spain. At least in Europe we'll be able to talk to each other again while riding.
 
The end is in sight, but the Sahara still lies ahead.

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