When we arrived, said Yellow Hotel was hosting a raucous party around the swimming pool that was so loud at times, that we thought they were having a brawl. We were relieved when suddenly the sound stopped. Unbeknown to the rest of us, Lady Dakar had gone around and politely told them that we were all exhausted after our long day’s travel, and please would they mind keeping the noise down. So polite are the Angolans that they actually called the evening done and quietly left. It’s hard to imagine the same considerate response anywhere else.
The hotel put on a simple breakfast, and the leftovers were quickly hoovered up by Rich the Caveman and Keegan the Titan, our ravenous OLT honey badgers. When the police arrived, we were momentarily taken aback by the sight of them in full battle dress, blue and black camouflage work suits, Kevlar jackets, riot helmets and visors, armed with automatic sub-machine guns and canisters of tear gas clipped to their vests, astride brand new motorbikes, similarly decked out with the most impressive equipment.
So, with this magnificent entourage, we set off in great State…to find yet another Tyre shop. We wee waaa’d our through Luena, a town that has everything, and the Tyre shop not only had all the latest modern equipment but, according to Laurie, The Best Tyre Mechanic On The Planet, a man named Paulo.
With two new tyres fitted, complete with new tubes, inners, spares, and the Tyre pressure adjusted to not-5-bar, we now headed to find fuel in the form of diesel and icecream. Troy was also leading a posse to find chocolate. We found all of these at the same place, a ShopRite/Puma centre. An icecream dipped in Cadbury’s chocolate has never tasted so good! While most of us were focused on that, Support insisted on loading up with non-essentials like water, vegetables, fruit… and shampoo!
It was with mixed feelings that we waved goodbye to our motorcycle cavalcade escort and set off on the dirt road… aka the impressively named EN280 to Cuemba, a mere 249km West. As we hit the outskirts of town, perhaps 3km from ShopRite, we passed a broken-down Tank wreck and just after that, we hit a hidden culvert covered in sand, causing Christopher to plummet 300 millimeters onto a broken concrete pipe before rebounding violently, lifting the rear wheels half a meter off the ground.
The sudden jolt sent passengers flying. Caveman landed in the bicycle spokes, shredding what was left of the skin on his shins, while Jaime and Adam tumbled onto the floor. The Watermeyer brothers, seated in the back, were violently double-bounced, with Laurie W uncharacteristically screaming for us to stop, obviously in serious pain. Although he insisted he was fine after a few minutes, his pale and contorted face told a different story. Adam suggested now would be the time to turn around and seek medical attention, but Laurie, ever the resilient adventurer and tough as nails, dismissed the idea, saying that nothing was broken and the bruises would heal.
Naison, who was driving Christopher at the time, was visibly shaken and felt terribly guilty about the incident, but the culvert, barely visible beneath the sand even once we knew it was there, was a clear hazard for any unsuspecting traveller.
With the cars now driving slower than we could cycle, we opted to switch to bikes earlier than planned. Our original intention was to cycle only the final leg to Cuemba Falls, but the deteriorating road conditions made it more practical to tackle them now. The ride was challenging, with soft sand and a series of 30 to 40-meter undulations making it impossible to coast. However, it was great to be out of the vehicles and able to anticipate the terrain on a bike – much better than being a passenger in an unwieldy rollercoaster.
Summer comes early to Eastern Angola and we were riding in the heat of the day, and man was it hot! Eventually the combination of soft sand and heat and what seemed like an improving road brought us to the decision to uplift and get to Cuemba Falls quickly….Haha.
The road ahead was a relentless trap, narrowing and roughening with each passing kilometre. On either side, mine clearance markers or impenetrable bush warned us against straying from the path. It was a stark reminder that this was no place for casual exploration. Our lunch stop, with vehicles occupying the entire width of the road, underscored the isolation. When a local motorcyclist refused to leave the road to pass, the message was clear: if the locals feared the verges, so should we.
Progress on these roads is agonisingly slow. As the sun began its descent, we stumbled upon Cachipoque, a tiny railway station village. The station master and the local police chief extended a generous offer for us to camp in the open space surrounding the station. The station was charmingly rustic. Word of an incoming train that evening prompted the girls to dramatically grab their suitcases and march to the platform. There, they perched solemnly on their luggage, the picture of dejection, waiting for the train. What the local people thought, we will never know, but they did seem to get that it was a joke (we think) and laughed along with us.
Surrounded by an inquisitive village, we built a tight laager camp and Jono took one of the balls donated by Zi Sculptures and initiated a game of impromptu soccer with the village children. We were again struck by the politeness of the Angolans as every so often one of the kids would pick up the ball they had all been scrambling around, and bring it back to Jono who would then kick it high skyward and restart the fun.
Meanwhile, another group of children gathered with much curiosity around our shower. Our water tank, integrated into the trailer’s chassis, feeds water through gas geysers into a showerhead. As each of us took turns to enter the cubicle, the children watched in amazement as water seemingly materialized out of thin air.
Ant was also entertaining a crowd of his own, as he cooked up a storm on the makeshift kitchen mounted on the back of Christopher’s trailer. His culinary performance, complete with the customary Antonio’s flair, was a major hit with the kids.
As dusk approached, the distant whistle of an approaching train electrified the village. We joined the crowd rushing to the siding to witness its arrival. The train disembarked a few passengers before loading many more, then vanished into the sunset. It was a surreal moment of efficiency in a place where a scheduled passenger service seemed unimaginable. The subsequent passage of a second train that night fuelled our envy of Angola’s essential infrastructure, a service sorely lacking in our own country, particularly for those living in rural communities.
Day 20 – Cachipoque to…the Side of the Railway Tracks
Cachipoque is only 85km from Luena and incidentally is 872km from Benguela (the sea!). We know this because the distance from Benguela along the railway line is marked every 100m along its entire length.
As we departed Cachipoque, the entire village turned out to see us off. Among the well-wishers was a honey vendor, whose sweet-talking charm led to the purchase of five litres of honey each by Troy and Gary, and two litres by Alistair (but only because he was told there was no more room in the truck, otherwise he surely would have also taken a 5l chigubu). Our interpreter, Gus, received a sweet warning from the vendor: “You’ll have a lovely ride today, but there is a lot of sand.”… and true to her word, we hit deep sand within the first hundred meters after crossing the railway line followed by a string of children excitedly escorting us out of their village… no sirens this time.
Within a kilometre, we were red-faced and puffing in the heavy going sand and progress was slow. Our first hour yielded a mere five kilometers, with no relief in sight. The fittest among us, Adam, Keegan, and Nick (who powers on despite a suspected broken wing), forged ahead, pausing at the hilltops to wait for the rest of the group.
At one point the road split into two. Jaime and Mark, trailing far enough behind the front pack not to see which fork they took, chose the road to the right, and unbeknown to them, Gus and Caveman followed suit. Riding through the dense forest, almost down a gully with sheer sides, it became more and more unlikely that this was the right road. In the meantime, Adam, Nick and Keegan were beginning to wonder where the rest of the crew were.
Jaime and Mark stopped to seek directions, but the fact that neither of them speak Portuguese meant they missed out on some important information. They did grasp the essential message though: stay on the track and avoid the bush! Back in the convoy, Linda and the support vehicles realised that some members had taken an unfollowable turn, triggering a wave of mother-hen concern. To be fair, Jaime has been led astray before during a tour. The last time it happened, they were in the Luanda North Game Management area in Zambia, en route to Uganda’s impenetrable forest. That adventure with Adam, Laurie, and Fi, who took a famous “Selby Shortcut,” turned into a harrowing 25km journey through dense bush teeming with lions, elephants, and all manner of other dangerous creatures. Linda’s heart pounded for the entire hour it took to find them.
This time, there were no ferocious animals, but the threat of landmines loomed. Knowing Linda would be worried, Mark immediately tried to phone Support as soon as they had signal, to say they were safe and knew their way back to the road. Thanks to GPS navigation systems! Whilst getting directions, Gus and Caveman pulled up next to them. Thank goodness because of course, Gus does speak Portuguese, and after a quick chat discovered that the other 3 had already passed by. But he also discovered that Cuemba Falls was still at least 2 days away. Gus smiles often, this time the smile was huge as he threw his head back and laughed at the irony.
Not long after this, the lost 4 caught up to Adam, Keegan and Nick, who were waiting at the top of the hill. They had met a few youngsters and were trying to communicate in their best sign language and smiles. Luckily Gus arrived in time to answer the questions put forward by the Angolans including what on earth we were doing there, to which Gus answered “Tourism”. Turns out that The Old Legs were the first tourists they had ever seen.
We rode on until we found the next town on the railway line. We had been riding for over 3 hours yet our lying Garmins insisted we had only done 19km! As we passed through the town with its neat railway station identical in design to the one at Cachipoque, we came across the inevitable roadblock and police station. As is our custom we asked about the condition of the road ahead, and the dreaded reply came back: “It’s much the same all the way to Cuemba.” The officer on duty saw Caveman’s flesh wounds and tried to insist that he visit their local clinic opposite the police station, but Caveman no want Muti, Caveman fine! And so he politely declined treatment.
As we left the village, again, we took a wrong turn and rode 3 km before turning around and riding 3 km back, sheepishly hoping none of the villagers had noticed as we took the left fork, and road out, this time Cuemba-bound. The sand got deeper and deeper and at a certain point we were all pushing our bikes when we spotted a pathway running right alongside the railway line, perfect for cycling and we followed this until it eventually turned off, presumably towards a village or town off our route.
As midday approached, the decision was made to halt, await the trucks, and load up in an effort to reach Cuemba more quickly…Haha. Are you getting bored of hearing this yet? Our leader has told us that the closer we get to Cuemba, the better the roads will become. So far the opposite has been true, and when he said it again, there may have been one or two doubtful looks exchanged, and indeed, within 500m of our uplift the first car got stuck.
Until now, our strategy has been to rely on sand tracks and sand carpets. However, we now tried the added brainwave of pushing the truck to our repertoire, which proved to be a real winner. Day 20 became the Cross-Training day, and as we could no longer ride, we took deep delight in scrumming down and pushing the vehicles (mainly Christopher) out of the deep sand, countless times.
Eventually the sun sank low enough in the sky that it shone directly under the canopy and into our eyes, and the unwritten law of the tour is that when the sun reaches this point it is mandatory to pay respect by cracking open the first beer. And what a good rule this is, because up to that moment, not only was the day getting long, but so were faces. All of a sudden the chit-chat fired back up, the banter bubbled back to the surface, smiles reappeared and the crew looked forward to the next sandpit where we could practice our newly found scrumming technique by starting them off with the Haka! Savea and his All Black scrum team have lost their jobs to a resurgent old legs bomb squad.
As I am certain you have now guessed, by this stage, the sun was low in the sky, and inconceivably, Cuemba was still 120km away! How was this possible! Our railway line marker had teamed up with Garmin and we ended the day at the 800km peg, only 72km gained in a whole day!
We chose this spot not only because of the rapidly sinking sun, but also but also because we had discovered a stunning mine-free clearing with a view of the railway line and the expansive valley overlooking the breathtaking grandeur of Angola. It was simply too perfect to pass up.
Our camp setup skills are now super-slick and our little OLT village popped up in plenty of time to enjoy the sunset and wave cheerily at the Unimog drivers we’d encountered earlier, heading towards Luemba with their tomato cargo. They were now returning. It appears a small convoy of these brave trucks regularly ventures down this treacherous road to trade with the local villages along the way. Knowing what we know about trucks on this road, we think they are Epic.
The majority of us opted to pitch our stretchers between the road and the railway track where the ground was both grassy and relatively flat. And, after a delectable meal prepared by Ant and Naison, we all snuggled into our sleeping bags for the night, well-fed, happy, and as ever, humbled by the vast and breathtakingly beautiful continent that is Africa.
Until next time,
Have Fun, Do Good, Do Epic!
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