Old Legs Tour Angola 2024 – Days 15 & 16

We thought we were being super smart by packing a Starlink. You know, the thing that’s supposed to provide internet in the middle of nowhere? Except that, it appears Starlink isn’t working in Angola at the moment.  Our meticulous planning had not foreseen this eventuality and we had completely failed to pack some back-up carrier pigeons.

Our media team fell about in hysterical disbelief. The youngsters among us were reduced to quivering masses of existential dread. No WiFi in the depths of rural Africa? In this day and age? What a notion.

Speaking of the young, Jessie Reid, who was shaken, but not stirred, joined us in Victoria Falls and is having the adventure of a lifetime.  Her friends back in the real world must be following her with a mix of jealousy, awe and admiration, and by now will have been suffering the anguish of the anticipation of whatever must be coming next.  Jessie is part of the media team and has been taking some amazing photographs of our adventure.  The record of our adventures would be two-dimensional and bland without Jess, Gary and Troy – their artistry has brought this Tour vibrantly alive.

Having spent the night at Jimbe border post , we were woken by the lively crowing of roosters (otherwise known as Laurie’s Friends Along The Way).  We were glad to have camped there, not only because it was a comfortable and safe environment, but also because it took from 3 pm to  8 pm for all our vehicle paperwork to be completed.  (At Jimbe you are only able to get temporary vehicle clearances, to get the proper documentation, you have to clear the cars again at Luau, which is a further 280 km away on the sandiest, most remote roads you have ever seen, but more about that later.)  Why it took 6 hours to Process the clearance of our vehicles, in the absence of any actual discernible Process, will remain one of the greatest mysteries of the Angola Christo Rei Tour.

We hopped on our bikes and were soon pedalling furiously through the dense forest when a deafening cheer erupted. Rounding the bend, we were greeted by an entire village – men, women, and children – cheering wildly.  It was so completely unexpected, it almost appeared as though they were all gathered together and waiting for us to pass by. Ridiculous notion in the middle of nowhere, of course. We were delighted to ride into such a happy little village and exchanged handshakes and smiles with the villagers.  It was an incredibly warm and welcoming experience, especially in such an unfamiliar place. We had no idea what to expect from Angola or its people. Now we know: Angolans are undoubtedly some of the friendliest people we’ve ever met.

Village after village, the people lined up to cheer us on, they had some kind of chant that they made, almost a whooping yodelling “woo wooo wooo” sound which we could still hear for a while after we passed.

In some places children would run to the top of little mounds on the sides of the road where they would excitedly wave, the women chanting and smiling, all wearing their beautifully bright and colourful Chitenge wraps, all with the biggest smiles you’d ever seen.  We all commented on how they almost seemed to be waiting for us.

It’s worth mentioning that this is an extremely remote area, no cell phone towers, no electricity wires or remains of old landlines, no sign of cars or lorries that had come through in any recent past, but there was the odd motorbike – we still don’t know where the fuel comes from because there is certainly no sign of a fuel station anywhere!

About 60km into the ride we were stopped by 2 men on one of said motorbikes, flashing us down.   Chief Caiando was on his way to the Caiando village, and chatted excitedly to us for about 15 minutes switching between speaking Portuguese to Gus and French to the rest of us who did high school French many years ago. He was delighted to see us but a bit upset that we had beaten him to Caiando– because it turns out that he was on his way there to greet us!

Now we understood why everyone seemed to be waiting for us… because, in fact, they were.

All of the villages along the way had been told of our arrival and they were all waiting to see us peddle past and cheer us on!  What an honour, although they must have wondered what made us think we were ever going to get through when so few have tried and even fewer have succeeded – other than the rare motorbike the only other travellers we saw were on foot.

The day was full of the most amazing spectacles. We passed the skeletal remains of a truck, a ghostly reminder of a time when vehicles still ventured into these Angolan wilds. In a parallel universe, way back in 1951, a young and inquisitive Alastair Watermeyer decided to introduce his newborn brother Laurie to the culinary delights of a wriggly earthworm. This groundbreaking moment marked the birth of a truly bizarre Watermeyer family tradition – placing all manner of wriggly creatures into each other’s mouths.

Coincidentally, at that exact same instant, a Portuguese engineer was putting the finishing touches on the first bridge between Maxive and Jimbe and he too, like Alastair, sat back and admired his handiwork.   The road, constructed between 1950 and 1952, was a marvel of engineering. Elevated above the flood plains and flanked by drainage canals, it was a testament to its time. However, decades of disuse had taken their toll, and the road was now quite a challenge, as we would soon find out.

 A little further on we saw the remains of a massive Portuguese Chopper which seemed to have been blown out of the sky by a missile, but according to villagers, we found out it came down during a routine training exercise and not as a result of any conflict.  Stripped down to its frame, the chopper was a haunting relic of Angola’s tumultuous past. While we were captivated by the wreckage, the children were far more interested in our bicycles, clearly unimpressed by the old helicopter.

The happy people in Angola are a stark contrast to the recent history of their country, they are a testament to the resilience and warmth of the African spirit.    Once again, we are humbled by this great continent, and so grateful to be right here, right now.

We called it a day at 3 pm after covering 65 km of sandy roads. Exhausted, we found a shady spot and decided to make camp. Given the warnings about venturing off-road due to the aftereffects of the war, we made the unconventional choice to camp literally right on the road. With no cars in sight, we felt safe, though we left a small space for a potential motorbike. Linda and Laurie S. couldn’t fathom our decision to camp in the middle of nowhere instead of a village, but their protests fell on deaf ears. The campsite was already taking shape.

Not long afterward, a motorbike, selling fish, did actually pass by, and they must have alerted the nearby village about our arrival, as slowly but surely a crowd gathered around us, watching us as if the circus had come to town.  It had, albeit a rather bedraggled and old one.  We assumed the novelty would wear off and the children would soon be led home for dinner, but as darkness fell, the crowd persisted.

Old Legs Tour Angola 2024 – Day 16

Somewhere in rural Angola to Somewhere Else even more remote in rural Angola – Mopane Flies and Mopane Flies and Mopane Flies

Riding on these roads is actually faster than driving and a hell of a lot more comfortable, even though the soft sand gives you no opportunity to freewheel or relax.  Stop focusing at your peril as many of us learned the hard way, as our front wheels veered wildly while our still-well-fed bodies continued on their original path.Alastair came a cropper yesterday and has either sprained or broken his thumb.  As a responsible adult, he opted to stay in the truck as he could not use his hand for the breaks.  Adam, less responsible, had been up in the night vomiting, but chose the bike instead of the car because of said discomfort, as did Rich who had also had stomach issues that night.  And so we set off on Day 16, a group of 10 riders…. at that stage.

Despite the sandy terrain, our fitness levels must be reaching new heights. We were flying along at speeds of 25 to 30 km/h in the less dense sections. This newfound speed inspired Nick to attempt practicing his Private Pilot’s Licence landings. Unfortunately, his graceful flight over the handlebars ended in a spectacular crash that probably registered on the Richter scale in Windhoek. When the dust cleared, a battered and bruised giant emerged, grimacing and clutching his potentially broken body part. True to Selby form, the Giant Nick waved off any medical attention with a nonchalant, “Nah, I’m fine,” and ploughed on.

In due course, we arrived at a checkpoint of some sort, where a policeman and an army officer came to greet us.  Any concern we may have had was quickly put aside as they asked us if they could take pictures with us and excitedly chatted to us about what we were up to, and, as we rode off they shouted, “Turn left at the village, the road ahead is impassable.”

We got to the village of Sacuunda and turned left as instructed. When we stopped to ask for directions, we realised that our detour would add over 60km to our journey. By now, you must know Shortcut Selby would not take this option and over the next 30km his decision was vindicated because the road was perfectly navigable for bikes and cars, and for once, the cars were able to keep up with the bicycles. The road became unbelievably even more remote and we saw barely a soul. Isolated homesteads perhaps every 15-20km apart, inhabited by maybe one single family all alone along the border between the DRC and Angola.

On many occasions, we found ourselves actually in the DRC, as the road, like the locals, has scant regard for the official man-made separation of borders. Caveman, constantly scouting for water, as is his wont, found an ancient concrete post, blackened with age from countless bushfires, which we presumed to be an official border marker demarcating DRC from Angola, and we took turns standing on top of it in no-man’s land where no man seems to live.

Ignoring the warnings to take a detour would prove to be a costly mistake. After 30 kilometres, the road’s condition rapidly worsened, and vehicles began to get stuck in the soft sand. Lady Dakar was in high demand.  Fortunately, Laurie W had stayed with the cars, and his exceptional ability to free stuck vehicles proved invaluable.

The cycling group, now reduced to eight after two dropouts, pushed on, burning through energy reserves like never before. They adopted a strategy of 10-kilometer breaks to regroup, but at the 60-kilometer mark, Adam’s hunger caught up with him, forcing him to stop in the heart of Mopane fly territory. If you think you’ve experienced a Mopane fly infestation, think again. The stretch between Sacuunda and Maxive is a veritable Mopane fly metropolis. The Old Legs Tour has yet to find a more densely populated area. They swarmed in such numbers that Caveman looked like a human version of the Venom symbiote in Spiderman, covered in a shimmering black coating of thousands of these tiny insects.

With Adam now out of the race, the remaining seven cyclists pushed on to the next 10-kilometer rest stop. It was incredibly tough. Caveman took three tumbles, with Jaime accidentally injuring his calf as she rode over him with her derailleur during one fall. Unfazed, Caveman continued. The Giant Nick matched Caveman’s fall count with two more of his own, while Jaime added two more to her tally, including one helmet-less wipeout that earned her a stern scolding.

At the 70-kilometer mark, we surrendered to the relentless sand, expecting the cars to catch up soon. But then the Mopane flies launched a full-scale attack. We couldn’t endure the torture any longer and pressed on, choosing the threat of quicksand over the invasion of our mouths, eyes, ears, and noses. At 72 kilometers, we dared to hope that we had out-ridden them, and that the cars were near, as we were out of food and water. Gus suggested conserving energy by waiting, but we couldn’t handle the relentless fly assault. With Gus’s agreement, we retreated towards the cars, opting for a 10-kilometer walk over being eaten alive.

Just as we were about to expire in despair, we saw the black car racing towards us.  Realising that we would be in Mopane-Fly-infested woodlands and out of water by this stage, the support crew had sent a recovery vehicle, the cyclists were delighted!  We hastily stowed our bikes, still being swarmed by the dratted flies, and took cover in our beloved Christopher, shouting at Naison  to “Go, go, go!”.

It was still early afternoon and although we had planned to set up camp by mid-afternoon, with the Mopane flies still patrolling furiously, we opted instead to just keep driving till sunset, they were intolerable! But the road seemed to have joined forces with flies and they conspired to stop us at every opportunity.

We dug and we dug and we jacked and we swerved and we toiled in the sand and the dust, amongst the flies and the ash from the countless bushfires. Laurie W was a one-man army, constantly battling the sand with shovel and jack. His face and body were caked in black grime, with sweat streaking down his cheeks and arms. He was the epitome of Epic.

We finally emerged onto an open plain, blissfully free from the torment of Mopane flies. Exhausted, we set up camp on the road, confident that no motorbike would be passing through anytime soon because no motorbike has been this way for a very long time!

And despite the day’s challenges, spirits were high. Laurie S. set a magical table with fairy lights under the stars, while Alastair’s campfire kept us entertained for hours. We shared stories, laughed about the day’s adventures, and marvelled at the hospitality and warmth of the people of Angola.

This is what the Old Legs Tour experience is all about – it is unique, challenging, unforgettable, and, we’ll say it again – an absolute privilege.

So from our camp in the middle of the road, far away in the middle of Somewhere, we wish you all a good night.

Until next time,

Have Fun, do Good, do Epic!

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