It’s unbelievable that it’s been over a week since the ride ended. We had horrendous weather for our final few days of the ride, as we cycled along the western coast in South Africa, through Lambert’s Bay and Elan’s Bay. But, those last few days were complete fun. Huddled under tarps eating dinner, cycling with friends on the final stretches, and gathering at night, rain-soaked and chilled, in tiny bars along the coast that would be otherwise empty if not for our group converging there to celebrate our final nights together.

The last few riding days were also fabulously gorgeous. We came out of the desert and into wineries on the Western Cape, and then made our way to the coast. My first view of the ocean, at Lambert’s Bay, was obscured by fog and rain, but I could smell the sea as I approached and then feel the intensity of the waves as I cycled past, and it was refreshing and invigorating to be by the ocean. I rode the stretch from Lambert’s Bay to Elan’s Bay, along a dirt road that revealed a largely undeveloped coast line. It was a quiet and gorgeous stretch of coast that gave me a few brief minutes to savor the moment and ready myself for what I knew would be a whirlwind couple of days into Cape Town.

On the final riding day, I was going to set out with Cat, Annalise, and Caroline in a girl-pack. We had 60km to cover before meeting up with the rest of the group at our lunch spot, where we would gather for our final convoy, a 30km ride into Cape Town. As I mounted the bike, I realized I had a flat tire. What a way to start the final day! Arrrrgg! With help from Jethro’s brother, who had joined us for the final day, I got my tube replaced and got on the road. The morning ride with the ladies was so much fun—a little surreal at times, especially when Table Mountain appeared in the distance.

The gathering spot for lunch was a spectacular setting—and felt, in many ways, like the finish. We celebrated on the beach, uncorked champagne, and rose our bikes over our heads for those essential I-just-crossed-a-continent-by-bike pictures. The sun shone on us for the first time in days and finally gave us a chance to dry out, warm up, and simply enjoy.

As I wrote previously, the scene down on Cape Town’s Waterfront was jubilant. We cycled under a giant “finish” flag and into the crowds of loved ones anxiously waiting there for our arrival. I quickly found Eythan, and for the first time that day, I let the emotions get to me. It was truly a moment of excitement and exhilaration—but I’m not sure, even then, that I was fully wrapping my head around the fact that we were at the end of the ride.

The several hours following our arrival were filled with a frenzy of activity—first the arrival ceremony, then the retrieval of our bags from the trucks, the check in to the hotel, the dash to the mall to buy some clothes, and the banquet. And, then, POOF! It was over.

I joined many other riders the next day in the court yard of the hotel, with Eythan’s help, to disassemble my bike and jam it into a large cardboard box that I plan to take with me on the plane ride home. My bike, in dire need of a thorough cleaning and a serious mechanical overhaul, looked kind of sad as it was taken apart, screw by screw, and pedal by pedal. Eythan and I then left the hotel to check-in to a nearby guest house where we stayed for the next few days.

So…Cape Town! It is a magical city and leaves no question why South African’s take such great pride in it. There is so much to do here. Eythan and I have covered a lot of ground over the past week or more…we took a boat to Robben Island, where we toured the prison where Nelson Mandela and many others were incarcerated; we climbed Table Mountain; we walked the streets of the City Bowl, Green Market Square, and Bo-Kaap neighborhood. Along with many other TDA riders, we also caught a viewing of “Where Are We Go?,” a documentary made in 2008 about the Tour d’Afrique, which brought back floods of images from our own ride, but also a very hard to describe feeling of disbelief that I had actually just done it, myself. Yes, it already has started to feel a little like a dream.

Then we headed off to Franschhoek, in South Africa’s wine country, where we enjoyed a couple of days of incredibly beautiful scenery, a hike in the mountains, time with my friends, Erin, Ruben, and Cat, and amazing meals. From there, we headed eastward to the Garden Route where we traveled through the beautiful towns and beaches at Knysna, Wilderness, and Plettenburg Bay; ran through the Knysna forests; visited a bird habitat and monkey sanctuary, amazing educational and preservation facilities; and then embarked on the two-day hike on the Harkerville Coast Trail which took us to rocky and rugged sections of coast where we saw no other people for two days. We spotted a school of dolphins breaching the surface of the water as they swam.

We have another few days here in South Africa. Our plan is to explore Tsitsikamma National Park today, and then head west to go diving with the Great White Sharks in Gansbaai. Then we have one more full day when we’ll drive to Cape Point and explore the towns and beaches along the route. I depart Cape Town on May 28th and will land in Boston the next day. Arriving in Boston, although I don’t live there, will feel like my homecoming, because that is where I will see my mom, my Aunt Margie, Loren, Brad, my nieces, Maya and Claire, and my dog, Jackson. I just heard from my dad via email yesterday, that we will cross paths, coincidentally, at Heathrow Airport on May 29, as he leaves for a golf vacation in Scotland, so I am very much looking forward to that serendipitous reunion.

I’ll write more soon…

http://www.busboysandpoets.com/about_5th.php

I’m planning to show some slides/pictures for those who are interested. Hope to see you there!!

We cycled 60km yesterday morning to the most gorgeous beach in the world, outside of Cape Town, with a view of the city and Table Mountain. There we met the whole group, were greeted by media, took lots of pictures, and feasted on a fabulous lunch. Our final 30km were ridden together, in a convoy, into the city. And what a fabulously beautiful city Cape Town is!! The sun greeted us for the first time in days, the rain clouds went away, and we had a glorious finale at the Waterfront in Cape Town. Truly epic, unbelievable, surreal.

Eythan was there to greet me at the finish, which was awesome. We had a banquet last night. All of the men arrived with clean-shaven faces and the women had brushed hair. We were practically unrecognizable. In the 1 hour we had between the arrival ceremony and the banquet, we all ran to the mall. I bought a shirt, jeans, shoes, and a hair brush for the occasion–all within minutes.

Anyhow, I’m writing only a quick blog entry because, quite frankly, I’m truly at a loss for words. I’m exhausted, probably more mentally than physically, and I need some time to process all that I have seen and experienced over these past few days…and weeks…and months.

I will blog more, and promise to post some photos very soon, so if you are interested, please stay tuned. I will write more as I make sense of this all and come down from what feels like total euphoria and relief mixed with a little sadness. Honestly, I’m at a total loss of words, not really sure how I feel at the moment, other than pretty tired and emotional. I’m excited to have the next week and a half to relax and enjoy Cape Town with E before heading home.

I’ll write more soon.

For some reason, I think I expected the terrain and the scenery to change the minute we crossed into South Africa. Being in a first world country, I expected towns and strip malls and fast food joints. Instead, we are still in the desert, climbing and descending some pretty big hills, and surrounded by very little development—only a few tiny townships with an occasional herd of goats and lots of prickly scrub growing on the hills that stretch as far as they eye can see. Yesterday we encountered some tough headwinds; today was a bit easier with more downhill than uphill and a glorious final 10km descent into Garies, the small town where we are camping tonight.

Erin pulled off an exciting stage win today, setting out from camp with a pack of fast riders who helped to pull her up some hills, skipping lunch and any rest stops, and hammering her way up and down the hills to arrive in camp first of the women. She hasn’t been racing seriously; In fact, the women’s race is hardly a contest. One young German woman, Gisi, has dominated the entire race, including winning every Mando Day, and has a huge margin over the rest of the pack. Most people have lost interest in the race altogether, so I’m not sure how much a victory in this years’ TDA really means. But, in any event, it was fun to watch Erin slyly set out of camp to claim her first stage win.

I’m beginning to reflect upon this incredible journey and I become quickly overwhelmed when I let the memory track take me back to Cairo—or even to the months leading up to my departure. There is so much to digest, so many memories to recall, such intense emotion just beneath the surface. I find myself welling up with tears when I see the Cape Town mileage signs.

I learned about the TDA in 2006 and spent the next four years dreaming about and figuring out a way to get here. The deal-breakers were each overcome: I saved sufficient money; I got approved for a sabbatical from work; and, I found a sub-letter for my apartment. It helped that my dermatologist was supportive and validated the lengths to which I planned to protect myself from the sun. A couple of months before the start of the trip, I went to the travel clinic in Washington, D.C. to get the required immunizations. Seven shots later that resulted in a fierce fever which left me in bed for three days sealed the deal. I knew then that there was no turning back. I was going to Africa.

I spent four sleepless nights in Cairo before we departed. The nervous anticipation made me a complete insomniac which Dan, a fellow rider and my extremely patient roommate for those nights, reminded me of a few nights ago. I remember surveying his gear and wondering whether I had brought the “right” things, whether I had enough stuff. I have vivid memories of those first four days of introductions to fellow riders, orientation to the TDA, and packing and repacking, over and over again, to fit all of my belongings into the requisite three bags weighing less than 100kg.

While we established routines on the TDA, nothing about this experience has been routine. It has been a dynamic journey that has required adaptation and flexibility every step of the way. We have cycled through 10 distinct countries, multiple time zones, and from the northern into the southern hemisphere. We have exchanged currency ten times from the Egyptian pound, to the Sudanese pound, to the Ethiopian birr, to the Kenyan schilling, to the Tanzanian schilling, to the Malawian kwacha, to the Zambian kwacha, to the Botswana pula, to the Namibian dollar, and now to the South African rand. We have heard countless languages, including some heard in many countries around the world, such as Arabic, and other languages particular to small tribes in remote places in eastern Africa. We have used at least seven different electrical adapters to charge our electronics; we have adjusted to cycling on the opposite side of the road; we have been exposed to extreme heat, record-breaking amounts of rain, and most recently, the cold temperatures of the South African desert in fall. We have set our tents up nearly 120 times in desert camps, forest camps, lava camps, donkey-shit camps, and a dead camel camp; camps on hilltops, in valleys, and in dry river beds; camps in a zoo, school yards, and church grounds, hotel rooftops, and soccer fields; camps along the banks of the Nile, the Red Sea, Lake Malawi, the Orange River.

The TDA is a huge physical feat. To stay healthy and be physically strong, day after day, for four months straight is an enormous challenge. There were days that ended when I felt I had been hit by a truck–when I climbed off the bike and couldn’t stand up straight, or bend my knees without pain, or clench a fist because my fingers were too swollen. I suffered three bouts of illness, two of which rank as the sickest I’ve been in my life. I fell off my bike countless times, each one on unpaved and rocky terrain, from which I got bruised and swollen, but thankfully nothing broken. Despite all of this, I’d say I was relatively healthy, lucky, and pretty strong.

As difficult a physical challenge the TDA represents, without a doubt, it is a bigger mental challenge than it is a physical one. This was reinforced for me each and every time I cycled a day more than nine hours long, or fell off my bike and had to remount, or set out for a day of riding in the pouring rain.

p.s. I ran out of time to finish this blog entry!! More to come…

Everyone is on a complete high and we’ve started to celebrate already. Maybe it’s a wee bit premature, as we have another entire country to cycle through, but with less than one week to go, the mood of the group is jubilant, anxious, and excited. Last night, we had an unplanned and impromptu party at the lodge bar, which was pure joy and fun. I’m sure each one of us has very mixed feelings about the ride coming to an end, but now it’s beginning to feel time to celebrate.

Namibia is incredible. We’ve cycled for more than one week through the deserts and mountains of Namibia, each day waking up to a chilly and crisp morning. By mid-morning it gets hot, but then turns cool again as the sun sets. We’re getting into winter here, so the days are short. It’s fleece jacket weather and I’ve even had to put on a winter hat a few nights this past week.

I last posted from Sossusvlei where I visited the sand dunes for sunrise. A group of us woke up and set out in jeeps at 4:30AM for the one hour drive to the national park. We approached a giant dune and began a hike up its’ ridge which rose from ground level some 300+ meters. As we hiked this thin little ridge line, the sun rose up from the horizon, coloring the dunes and all of its contours amazing tinges of brown, red, orange, and yellow. We plopped down in the sand and sat there, on the ridge, as the sun came up. It was so peaceful and quiet. To get down, we each bombed down the side of the dune―running and skipping and leaping―breaking the silence of the dunes with giddy laughter as we tumbled down the steep slopes. The sand sea stretched as far as we could see in every direction and barely a sign of life was visible. At the bottom of the dune, we walked through Dead Vlei which I can only describe as a bunch of eery-looking petrified trees that look like they have been there for millions of years.

Next to the campground at Sossusvlei is a fancy traveler’s lodge where an out-of-this-world buffet is served each night. As you can imagine, this was a huge draw for all of the riders who don’t miss any opportunity to stuff our faces. The grill at the buffet offered fillets of nine different game meats―and, yes, I tried a bunch of them: ostrich, kudu, oryx, springbok, warthog, zebra. This was not the place for vegetarians. We cycled out of town the next day, and I saw each and every animal I ate the night before galloping and grazing off the desert scrub. I felt a little icky about the feast I had so enjoyed.

The cycling across Namibia has been absolutely stunning. The landscapes at every turn take my breath away. Truly, this is a gorgeous country. The riding has been difficult, as we’ve traveled unpaved roads since leaving Windhoek. The road is deeply corrugated, which means there are long stretches where it is so bumpy that my brain literally feels shaken and my fingers go numb. This is where a bike with suspension would help immensely. Those without suspension take the beating with our butts and legs and arms. But, honestly, I can’t complain. The scenery makes the rough roads worth traveling.

The day before yesterday we had our shortest ride of the week―110km–to the Fish River Canyon, Africa’s largest canyon and second in the world to the Grand Canyon. The Canyon itself was actually 10km from our campground, which meant that we had extra cycling to do if we wanted to see it. You can’t count on hitch-hiking around here, because there are practically no vehicles on these roads. So, off we set from the camp, a group of about seven riders with cold cokes and snacks strapped to our backs. The Canyon was certainly worth the extra effort―hard to capture in words and also in pictures, but so, too, is almost everything else I have seen on this journey! The Canyon measures 160km in length and up to 27km in width and drops down 550 meters to its base. It was a gorgeous site. There were no visitor centers or tourist buses. It seemed as if no one knows about the Fish River Canyon or if they do, perhaps it is too difficult to access for most travelers. We enjoyed the views, took some pictures, and rode back to camp.

Tomorrow we will leave Felix Unite and cross the border into South Africa. I don’t know much about what the next six days have in store, in terms of route, or distances we’ll cover, or sites we will see along the way. For now, I’m concentrating on enjoying these last few days, soaking in this experience as best I can, and enjoying the company of this rag-tag group of riders who have become family―a big, dysfunctional; and grubby family―but I suppose there isn’t anything else I could have expected or hoped for.

Our journey from Windhoek has taken us southwest to the small town of Solitaire, an aptly named settlement of a few buildings, where we spent last night. The ride yesterday, just as spectacular as today, took us up and over Spreetshoogle Pass in the Naukluft Mountains. Before the pass, the ride was scenic―beautiful desert landscapes with scrubby bushes and dry grasses lining the roads and mountains in the distance. But, once we crested the Pass, we had our first view of a giant expanse of mountainous desert, and quite honestly, it took my breath away. We had climbed for 15 or so kilometers to get up to the Pass and then, in an instant, you turn a corner and climb the final few meters, and suddenly it feels like you are on top of the world.

It had rained intermittently all morning. As I began the steep descent down the rocky and sandy roads, the gray clouds swirled and darkened and bolts of lightening fired all around me. One one-thousand, two-one thousand, I counted the seconds between the lightening from the sounds of the thunder and knew the storm was quickly approaching. So I continued my descent to get off the peak before the worst of the rains came. The roads were so steep that our TDA trucks had to travel an alternate route. I even had to walk my bike, for short sections, because the gradient was so steep, it was scary to go down on the bike. It was a white knuckle and wet ride to the bottom, but it was so much fun!

There are no villages along this road and no development, with the exception of an occasional traveler’s lodge. These lands are to arid and too dry for cultivation―though, with our arrival, we have ushered in rains to the likes that this region hasn’t seen in decades (literally)! On the ride today, I spotted six giraffes and a bunch of springbok, gazelle-like animals (also similar to the gemsbok I ate at Joe’s restaurant a few nights ago!) but didn’t see the roaming ostriches that other riders spotted.

Today was also memorable for being the Naked Mile. The name says it all, really. It’s a TDA tradition. When I arrived at the lunch stop, three guys were disrobing, jumping on their bikes, and heading down the road. Others followed. I didn’t feel particularly inspired to participate, given that the lunch spot was dominated with men while I was there. But, I did laugh hysterically when the the most unsuspecting and unassuming Norweigan woman, Hilde, stripped down and joined the nude caravan. Later, I learned that three female friends took their own turn on the Naked Mile, only to be derailed with a flat tire!! Yes, they changed the flat while totally naked on the side of the desert road (and there are pictures to prove it).

Now we are in Sossusvlei, Namibia’s most famous attraction, for its magnificent sand dunes, part of the 32,000 square kilometers sand desert that covers much of western Namibia. I plan to watch the sun rise over the dunes tomorrow morning, which means we’ll be leaving the camp site at 4:30AM. The dunes are part of the oldest and driest ecosystem on earth (which makes all of this rain we’ve experienced even more baffling). It should be an exciting morning in the dunes and one of the great highlights of southern Africa. For now, I’m going to grab dinner and head to bed as early as possible to be ready for our 4AM wake-up.

Last week was the big week. We cycled five consecutive centuries (100+ miles per day) with the longest day being the middle day when we covered the longest distance of the tour in one day―207 km or 129 miles. The roads were completely flat and straight which made this section not only a huge physical challenge but a mental one as well. I had heard about this killer week at the start of the tour and I was determined to pedal every mile. I did it, but I was challenged like never before.

After the first two big mileage days, with legs already feeling the strain, the third day started off in the most inhospitable way. Through the night we had horrendous rains, thunder, and lightening which subsided in the early hours of the morning. But, two minutes before my alarm sounded, at 4:58AM the skies opened up again with the loudest crashes of thunder and bolts of lightening striking all around. Over the roar of the storm, I shouted to my friend, Cat, camped close to me. “Cat, are you awake? What should we do?” She responded that she was going to sit tight and see if the rains passed. With no luck, a few minutes later, we continued to shout back and forth to one another, and other riders chimed in from their tents. A new sectional rider who had just joined the group a few days earlier was looking for guidance. “Haven’t you guys dealt with this kind of weather before?” she shouted. Annalise, my friend camped on the other side of me, responded from her tent, “We have, but it never gets easier.” With that, I laughed to myself and at myself at this most ridiculous scene. I reluctantly stepped out of my tent, got soaked the minute I did, packed up my dripping wet tent and my saturated duffel bags, loaded the trucks, ate breakfast in the most horrendous storm, and set out on the roads for the longest ride of my life.

The day didn’t get any easier from there. We dealt with intermittent storms throughout the day, cold spells, hot spells, hail, headwinds, and just as I approached the Namibian border with only one kilometer left to go, the lightening cracked ferociously all around me. I took my time at the immigration office hoping that the lightening would pass and when it didn’t, I got back on the bike, and rode the final kilometer through puddles up to my ankles in the heart of the storm.

Camp was completely flooded and the tents already set up were swimming. I was lucky to get a room at the campsite which was a stand-alone prison-like room covered with a canopy. Anything was better than setting up my wet tent in another storm, until I realized that the canopy roof leaked and the room was infested with bugs. But as I lay there in bed with my head on a damp pillow being sprayed with fresh rain, I was grateful for being even partially sheltered from the storm.

These are the conditions that completely test us. As if the riding isn’t hard enough, we dealt with rains almost every day in Botswana which were so frequent we didn’t have an opportunity to dry out our tents and our clothes for days at a time. I have to say, I’m happy with the attitude I adopted which is different from how I reacted earlier in the trip. I remember the rains in Kenya stressing me out, causing endless worry about the riding conditions and when and how I would dry out my belongings. Now, with a giggle and a shrug, I realize that there is no sense in worrying about what I can not control, that there are worse things than stinky clothes and a moldy tent, and this is all part of the experience. The sun will come out again, and indeed, after several days of rain, it did.

I felt better on the fourth day of the five day stretch than I would have expected, and was distracted by interesting conversation with a Canadian sectional rider who lives in Addis and works for Canada’s government aid agency. But, I bonked in the afternoon, with about 40km left to ride. I had nothing left to give. When I finally arrived at camp, more than a few people commented that they had never seen me so wrecked. In my memory of the past few months, I don’t remember feeling quite that bad. With less than twelve hours to recover before we started the fifth and final day of the stretch, I knew it was going to kick my butt.

TDA staff decided to start the fifth day off with a team time trial. We were grouped in teams of 4 or 5 or 6 riders and basically sprinted the first 20km of the 160+ km ride. Groups had to cross the finish line (at the 20km mark) together as a team. This was meant to be good fun, and if we hadn’t cycled over 400 miles the previous four days, perhaps it would have been. I was the only woman on my team and the only one who had cycled from Cairo (my teammates all happened to be sectional riders). I pushed as hard as I could so not as to slow the guys down too much, but I knew that at the end of the 20km time trial, I would be cooked.

With my nose pressed into the wind, I did what I could to keep my legs moving through the rest of the day. Headwinds made a bad situation worse. I can not really describe how shitty I felt without sounding like a whiny complainer. My leg muscles felt like they were ripped to shreds, my crotch burned, my back hurt and my shoulders collapsed. I rolled into camp after another nine plus hour day on the bike, shed a few quick tears, and lay on my bed (I got a room for the rest day!) until I regained my composure. The big consolation was knowing that I had just completed the longest stretch of the tour and that I had a rest day in Windhoek, the capitol of Namibia, to recover.

Somehow I got a second wind that evening, and joined about 30 other riders and TDA staff for a fabulous dinner at a very well-known Windhoek restaurant called Joe’s, to send off two sectional riders who had been with us since Addis. Joe’s is a place that specializes in game meats, and I ate an animal I had never heard of called a gemsbok, an antelope-like animal that tastes delicious and is pictured on the Namibian currency!

The ride into Windhoek finally took us up and over hills, breaking up the monotony from the straight, flat, and excruciatingly boring roads of Botswana. And our ride today out of Windhoek got even more beautiful. We could see mountains in the distance, as we rolled up and down hills along the gravely dirt road.

Striking is the number of Caucasian people here in Windhoek. It has a large and vibrant community of people with German roots, as this was not so long ago a colony of Germany and an important German post in WWII. Many of the roads have German names and restaurants serve German fare. There is also a very strong South African influence here with many South African chain restaurants and stores around. So, Windhoek feels very different than places we’ve been. White people generally travel one or two people to a vehicle (as opposed to the packed cars, trucks, and vans we have seen everywhere else we’ve been) and homes are secured with barbed wire and security systems once you get into the city center. In Windhoek we found our first real bike shop―equipped with all of the gear and clothing that riders needed to replace things lost and broken―and a modern mall with every type of store one could want. In anticipation of our arrival in Cape Town and meeting friends and loved ones, a few of the women on tour got their hair cut and dyed and bought new outfits for our final banquet. As lovely as they looked after their primping, I have to say that I am happy to reject the beauty regime for as long as I can but also have to admit that their prettiness made me feel really scrubby. I have worn the same four riding jerseys every day for four months and when I’m not on the bike, I rotate between two different t-shirts. While minimalist is the way to go on this tour, I look forward to brushing my hair and putting on new and fresh clothes once I get to South Africa.

I guess that’s all of the bitching and moaning I can do for one night! Thanks to those who are still reading and indulged my need to vent a little about the past week. In just a few days time, we’ll be playing in the beautiful sand dunes and will hopefully get there in time to see the sun rise (no rest for the weary!). I’ll write more when I can and will post when I get to internet.

Some friends have asked what I have planned once I get to Cape Town on May 15th. First and foremost, we have a huge celebration at the waterfront. We ride, en convoy, into Cape Town, where we will be greeted by hundreds, if not thousands, of friends, family, and other curious and supportive folks. Apparently, there is a lot of pomp and circumstance (and alcohol!) surrounding our arrival―the Tour d’Afrique is well-known in South Africa and, I think, our second largest contingent of riders is from there. We will have a banquet that night with an awards ceremony and slide-show.

Eythan is meeting me in Cape Town on the 15th and will be amongst the family and friends there greeting us. We’ll spend nearly two weeks together in South Africa, mostly staying in and around the Cape Town area, with a jaunt to wine country and possibly a ride (by car!!!) through the Garden Route along the coast. I plan to fly to Boston on May 28th, the day after my 35th birthday (holy crap!!!) where I will spend a few days with my sister and her family. My mom will be there, too. Over the next week or so, I will make my way to Rhode Island and Connecticut to see friends and family, including my dad who, by then, will be back in the country. Eventually I will make my way back to Washington, D.C. where I am scheduled to begin working again on June 14th.

I’ll write more about my feelings about the tour coming to an end and returning to the States in my next blog entry. At the moment, it’s just too overwhelming to attempt to articulate how I feel. For now, I’ll just say that I will certainly be ready to get off the bike, to spend time with Eythan in South Africa, and then to be back home with my loved ones. As the cliché goes, all good things must come to an end, and in just two weeks time, my Tour d’Afrique will be history. Amazing. For once in my life, I am speechless.

Sending lots of love to friends and family at home and a big dog-kiss for Jackson!! I will write again soon. xoxo

I have mixed feelings about our last bush camp―one on hand, I rejoice, because this will be the final night of having absolutely no facilities, digging our own holes to poop in, and taking wet wipe baths to clean ourselves at the end of the ride. Gone are the days of rationing wet wipes, wearing cycling clothes multiple times before washing, and laying under the trucks for shade in the afternoons. On the other hand, bush camps have become a way of life here on tour―a temporary home that we erect in one day and take down the next, sometimes close enough to villages so we can interact with locals and at other times, so remote that we have only the stars keeping us company. There is something wonderful about going to bed at sunset and waking before the sun rises. And, in a bush camp, this is generally what we do. The rest of the camps, I assume, will be established camp grounds with facilities, or hotel properties that allow our group to set up tents on their premises. The end of bush camps seems like a significant marker of having reached parts of Africa with much more established infrastructure and more amenities than we have found elsewhere.

On the rest day, yesterday, I took a day trip to the Okavenga Delta in Botswana, an enormous wet land area which is home to incredible wildlife and birds. With a group of ten other riders, we took two small planes from the airport in Maun to the Delta. From the air, we could spot giraffes, zebras, gazelles, etc and had an amazing vantage point to soak in the vastness and the wetness of the Delta. The planes landed on a dirt landing strip, which had turned to mud from the night time and early morning storms, which made landing feel a bit like slip-and-slide. In any event, we landed safely and were greeted by men from a local village who would be our guides for the day. The men used long poles (think of the gondolas in Venice) to push dug-out canoes through the marshy wetlands of the Delta. We traveled through the tall sea grasses and observed tons of wildlife, both on the water, and on the small, dry, islands from the canoes and also from a three-hour walking safari we took on one of the islands. If I had known a hike was planned on this much needed rest day, you can be assured I would not have signed up! But, it turned out to be an interesting adventure during which we spotted gazelles, coudus, baboons, African monarch butterflies, and even a black mamba snake.

The flight back to Maun was a bit bumpy, as the pilot warned it might be. This was my first-ever flight in a tiny airplane and I have to admit to being a bit nervous. Also, the hike with the locals in the Delta struck me as a potentially dangerous one―as we were totally unprepared (wearing flip-flops and shorts!)–navigating our way through marshy wetlands which are home to deadly snakes and other predators. As we approached our landing in the plane, I remember thinking that I’m done with the scary stuff (the bungee jump still replays in my head!) and I just want to make my way safely to Cape Town.

We are so close now. In two days time, we cross out of Botswana and into Namibia, our last country before South Africa. Three weeks from today, we will roll into Cape Town in our final convoy. I promised myself not to wish away time, and not to get ahead of myself by thinking too much about the end before it comes, but it is difficult not to imagine the moment we will arrive in Cape Town and the feelings that will accompany it.

We are one day into a very long mileage week, ticking off the final miles in Botswana. This week consists of five riding days before our next rest day in Windhoek, averaging more than 100 miles per day. The day after tomorrow (Monday, Stage 79) is a Mando Day (aka as a killer day)–207km from Ghanzi, Botswana to Buitenpas, Namibia―our longest mileage day of the tour. At the pace I’m riding now, I don’t expect this will be the longest day of the tour for me in terms of hours on the bike since the terrain is flat and I can move along at a decent clip. But covering more than 125 miles in a day is no easy feat, even after three plus months of cycling. In fact, it’s damn hard! The legs are tired and crampy and this long day falls in the middle of an otherwise incredibly huge week.

So the rain is still falling and, for some reason, my tent seems to be failing me for the first time. I have puddles forming on the inside of my tent. Ugh!!! Everything else seems to be in good working order―my bike, my body, and my camera―the three most essential things. I hope to post this tomorrow (April 25) from Ghanzi and will update again in a few days from Namibia. Until then, happy spring! I am thinking a lot of loved ones at home and was glad to get the assurance from my niece, Maya, on her birthday, that she and her sister, Claire, have not forgotten about me. I hope the same is true about Jackson.

One more thing…We saw our first road signs for South Africa today. Nevermind we still have another entire country to cross before we get there, but the sign was the most concrete reminder that we are inching closer every day! Very exciting!!!!!

Botswana has been B-O-R-I-N-G so far, on one long, straight, and flat road all day, with nothing much to look at. It is a grassy plain–sometimes a little marshy, sometimes very dry. I saw one elephant, so far, and hope to encounter others–because other than that–there has been nothing on the road of interest. No people, no villages, no coke stops!! Actually, the one memorable thing I did see (in addition to the elephant) was a scene of total carnage–a post-accident scene of a truck that barrelled into a herd (a flock? a school? a possee?) of cows and killed three of them. It was tragic and bloody and really bad.

Tomorrow is our rest day in Maun and I’m going on a little excursion–a plane ride to the Okavango Delta and a boat ride while there to see the wildlife. I’m completely exhausted so I hope this isn’t a bad idea. Part of me would like to simply curl up under a tree and sleep.

Next week is a toughy–HUGE miles on extremely boring stretches of road. We have our longest day of the tour–207km, which is over 120 miles. I’ve had so much time to think, reflect, ponder EVERYTHING, that now I just cycle through (pun intended!) the same thoughts over and over again. Maybe I’m going a wee bit crazy.

Anyhow, I’ll write more soon when I have more time. Tonight we are having a bday party for our eldest rider who turns 69 today!!! Isn’t that nuts!?!? He is hosting an open bar at the campsite. Sweet!

Meanwhile, love and hugs to everyone back home. Thanks for the well wishes and concern while I was sick. I’m back on track now and will write more from Botswana, or Namibia, as soon as I can. Ciao!!

The border itself was uneventful―it just had the typical crowd of aggressive young men looking to exchange money and scam us out of our dough. As part of the Botswana disease prevention program, to prevent Food and Mouth Disease, all visitors are asked to dip their feet (and bike wheels!) into a muddy puddle. Seriously, I have no idea what was in the puddle or what the puddle is supposed to do, but of course, we obliged. Just as we get accustomed to one currency and the exchange rate, we have to adjust to another! We went from $1 US exchanging for 4600 Zambian kwachas to $1 US exchanging for 6 point something Botswana pulas. Now, it’s tricky enough to calculate the conversion of the US dollar to the local currency, but then try to change kwachas into pulas! After three plus months of bike riding, I think my math skills are a little rusty and I’m confident the money exchangers got the better end of the deal.

In any event, once arriving in our first camp in Botswana, I knew I was in trouble. I completely sweated through my shirt and felt awful. The nurses tested my urine, took my temperature, and loaded me into the truck for a visit to the local hospital. The local hospital experience was interesting. We sat and waited in an open-air waiting room (as I continued to sweat profusely and disgustingly) while the children of the nurses checked me out up and down. The nurse administered a pin-prick malaria test, which gave a negative reading, but she and the TDA nurse agreed that my symptoms were consistent with malaria and I should start the appropriate course of treatment. (Subsequently, the lab work has now come back confirming that I am negative for malaria.) There was no check of my identification, no inquiry about insurance, and no payment made! The TDA staff told the nurse we would swing by in the morning on our way out of town to pay the bill (I’m still not sure why―I had my local pulas with me) and off we went back to camp. The next day, the TDA ride leader, Sharita, paid the tab, as promised, which came to 30 pulas, or approximately five US dollars!

In any event, I rode the truck yesterday which was a bummer to miss our first full day in Botswana, but it was a long (159km) and hot one which took us to the middle of nowhere bush camp. Once we arrived to the side-of-the-road-no-shade-no-privacy-this-looks-like-hell-camp, German-born but now South African rider, Katja, suggested we bolt out of there. My stomach was still in knots and I knew having facilities was critical. I shouldn’t tell you we hitched a ride, because folks seem to get up in arms about hitch-hiking in Africa (I know it’s just because you care!), but we hitched. With only one car passing every 10 minutes or so, I thought it could be a while before we got a lift, but we had a very lucky day! We got picked up by a lovely man who wouldn’t accept money, transported us in the air-conditioned cabin of his truck, stopped for snacks along the way, and dropped us off at the door of the lodge where the rest of the group would meet us today. Seriously, this was a dream come true. I booked into a lovely stand-alone cabin, which cost more than I would have normally spent (about one hundred bucks per night), but I needed a quiet retreat AND private bathroom where I could recover.

The group arrived, as expected, this afternoon, and the quiet retreat is now buzzing with cyclists. Thankfully, I am starting to feel better. The body aches and cold sweats have subsided, but the ‘rhea hasn’t, which is now going on one week. I’m on metronidizol, the same antibiotic I give my dog, Jackson, when he has the runs, but it doesn’t seem to be working for me. I’ll get this cleared up, and hope to be back on the saddle tomorrow. Too bad it will be a very long day (187km). I’ll see what I can do. If things go well and I can ride tomorrow, this bout of the African blues will have knocked me out for only two riding days, which is more than I’ve missed up until now, but thankfully, it won’t knock me out for entire week.

We are on the section of the tour called the Elephant Highway. The road is long, straight, and flat―literally, you can see at least ten kilometers of road in front of you―so it will get a bit tedious over this next week. But, if I’m lucky as riders have been today and yesterday, I will have some encounters with wild elephants on the side of the road. We’ve been told to keep our distance, because these giant animals have charged riders in the past, and if one is obstructing the road, it should get the right-of-way. Fine by me. I’m not about to go head-to-head with one of these big guys.

I’ll try to write again in a few days from Maun, where we’ll have our next rest day, and where I hope to be able to share more impressions of Botswana. Right now, it’s so new and I’ve been totally out of it, so that’s really all I’ve got to say!