Old Legs Tour Angola 2024 – Day Eight

The Zimbabwe side of the border was a breeze, despite some new TEP regulations or formalities. However, the same could not be said for the Zambian efficiencies. The customs officials were not to blame; that honour must be bestowed upon the bureaucratic cretin who designed their process. As a result, the bikes left the border three hours before the cars were able to proceed.

While the support team stoically managed their frustrations, the riders oohed and aahed their way along the Zambezi and into Livingstone Town. Alistair, ever the forager, with the nose of a bloodhound, picked up the scent of self-serve ice cream miles from The Hungry Lion and unerringly led the way.

Imagine his disappointment when the rest of the gang, still smarting from Captain Shortcut’s suspect navigation a few days earlier, opted to keep pedalling.  But he is a trooper, and although he didn’t say much, he fell into line, and we pedalled determinedly up a 3 km rise into the market district of Livingstone. Fate may have intervened as Adam’s bike caught a mechanical, in the form of a twisted chain, and he stopped to fix it and buy a Zambian flag at the same time.

This allowed Ali and Laurie time to catch up and point out that : a) we had gone 3 km uphill in the wrong direction; b) from the turnoff we missed, it was downhill, and c) We could have had two ice creams in the time it took us to go the wrong way.  And so it was that within 20 km of entering Zambia, we had already been led astray on yet another “shortcut”.

If Alastair was somewhat vindicated and felt a little better, Anthony was just peeved. “So you are telling me I went up that hill for nothing?!” Captain Shortcut opted for a strong silent approach and led from the rear.

The ride from Livingstone to Kazungula is mostly gorgeous, except for some nasty, long hills…. And…. Who stole winter? It was roasting. Our water was running very low, and we were properly hungry, having had no breakfast. Shearwater had provided generous packed breakfasts, but they were stuck at the border with the trucks.

Keegan was especially hungry and blamed sheer starvation and lack of hydration for what happened next. He had been defending his position as Titan of the Tour, out in front of the pack, demolishing the hills like they were speed humps. In the meantime, Anthony, now reaching the limit of his endurance, was beginning to flag. Nick and Adam came up behind him, giving him a brotherly push on either shoulder blade, and, using teamwork they quickly closed the gap on Keegan.

Now hot on Keegan’s wheels, Ant received a final, energetic push. Keegan watched in utter disbelief as Anthony flew past him, his speed and effortless power a shock to the system. A stunned “How is that possible?” escaped Keegan’s lips. This unforgettable moment will undoubtedly be embellished in countless retellings across the country.

Ant “King of the Mountain” sailed into our long-awaited breakfast stop in triumph. The final leg of the day’s ride was a 20 km stretch from the breakfast (more like lunch) stop, through to Kazungula.

Mark (Jono) Johnson, fresh off the New Zealand tour, was inspired by Anthony’s example.  With a casual “I’ve got my New Zealand legs on,” he sprinted off.  Nick and Adam, usually very uncompetitive and calm in these circumstances (NOT), fell for his ruse, of course, and the ensuing 20km chase was a spectacle to behold. For the first time since leaving Harare, they clocked speeds of over 40 km per hour and heart rates way up over 160 and higher. But Jono had timed his moment to perfection, and all the brothers could do was hold on in his draft, refusing to let go, but unable to pass him.

When the designated garage stop finally appeared through the red mist that covered their eyes, there was a collective but secretive prayer of thanks that the race was over. Jono is currently the proud owner of the yellow jersey, and it is well deserved.  Old Legs in epic olympian action…but not for long.

Our 20km sprint to Kazungula disintegrated into an unsurprisingly geriatric farce.  First, Dave crumpled like a dying wildebeest, his legs seized by the dreaded cramp. Next, Keegan launched himself from his bike like a startled pookie, howling in agony. Ant’s banshee wail echoed through the bush as he clawed for Laurie’s miracle cramp block. Mark, ever the drama queen, clutched his hamstring like a wounded impala, demanding a royal massage. And as if scripted, Adam, the resident hyena, succumbed to the same fate just as he was congratulating himself on avoiding his comrades’ misfortune.

The rest of us, displaying an epic amount of maturity, had resisted Jono’s siren song and pedalled quietly to the summit, our smug grins a testament to our superior wisdom.

Ngonye Falls, our ultimate destination, was still a daunting 320km away. The haunting memories from our Skeleton Coast Tour of this brutal 180km stretch between Kazungula and Katima Mulimo resurfaced – back then it was easily the worst road the Old Legs had ever endured. Back then, riding this stretch was possible at 20 km per hour, but driving was only possible at 10 km per hour due to the most ridiculously potholed area that makes the piece of road between Nchope and Buffalo Camp in Mozambique seem like the newly built parliament four-lane boulevard. And, as the time was already past 2 pm, we feared the worst and hoped for the best. Some local knowledge had advised that the road had been much improved…And, thankfully, it had. But understand, that “much improved” from the worst road in Africa is a relative term.

Uplifts have now become a four-letter word, closely associated with other four-letter words like “shortcut” and “cramp”.

By the time we landed at the beautiful and alluringly named Whispering Sands Camp at Ngonye Falls, it was pitch black, and we were ravenous. Ed and Janette, our hosts, had drummed up a chicken pie, accompanied by creamed spinach, cinnamon butternut mash, garlic-dressed green beans, and a Greek salad in proportions that even Laurie Watermeyer (who had three helpings) could not dent. In the history of the Old Legs Tour, this is the first time that our appetites have been defeated by the catering! With that, we all rolled into bed…. Exhausted.

Adam “Shortcut” Selby’s route planning was starting to look like a miscalculation.  Exhausted as he was, sleep eluded him (for at least a minute) as he fretted over the looming deadline: the tour’s end on August 20th. With every passing kilometer, the pressure to cover ground was intensifying…

Stay tuned as the drama unfolds on Day 9, to follow shortly!

Until then, Have Fun.  Do Good.  Do Epic.

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