Gus is a bad influence and Waku Kungo was far too comfortable a stop for the night to qualify as epic. It boasts a 20m swimming pool, lazy loungers and a bar, and it didn’t take very long for Gus to observe that the second cheapest liquid in Angola after diesel is beer, and for the princely sum of $1, you (and two of your friends) can enjoy a beer each by the pool.
Needless to say Gus has acquired a lot of friends on tour and the more dollars they spend the louder the party gets. By the time supper was ready, promptly at 7 pm, Jono was ready for bed, followed closely by several other of Gus’s friends.
We emerged bleary-eyed from slumber on Day 26 into a world shrouded in thick fog that left us all feeling like we’d been put through a cosmic spin cycle. Maybe some of the fog was self-inflicted, but even the teetotallers among us could attest to the density of the morning mist, which reduced visibility to about 50m. The frosty fog brought with it a damp chill, leaving anyone who had slept outside or had left their clothes out, soaked and shivering.
Jungle Oats and ProDairy Life Milk infused with Panado got us started, and we decided to uplift rather than play chicken with the tuk-tuk drivers in the dense mist. Quite apart from that, our target town of Gabela was about 100km from Quibala which was still about 75km away, and “the best riding would be after Quibala”, according to Alastair Whataliar.
Alastair promised us “two hills and a whole lot of downhill”, but let’s just say that two hills were a bit of an understatement. Jaime lost count after hill number 10, and those “hills” he described were more like mountains! As a computer boff, it beggars belief that he can’t count past two, and much as he may deny it, we don’t believe it for a second.
We pulled off to get the bikes ready at Quibala where we saw our first kopjes since leaving Zimbabwe. Although these are also granite outcrops, for some reason the weathering here is different, more angular, with tops that look almost obelisk-esque. Many hills feature huge double-horned caps, making for a dramatic landscape. At one point we passed a granite rock towering 200m above us, with a vertical cliff running for several kilometers alongside us, and farmland spread out below.
We had barely even started the ride when Adam and Jaime ditched the pack for a roadside culinary adventure. They’d stumbled upon the holy grail of Angolan/Zambian street food: rats on a stick, aka African sausage. Adam had made a solemn vow to himself to try this delicacy if the opportunity ever arose. He got as far as negotiating a price for the “rat on a stick”, and even paying for it, but when the time came, none of us saw him actually eat it.
This detour set Jaime and Adam well behind the pack, but their spirits were high. They turned the situation into a playful photo op, dancing, prancing, and even spitting water at the camera crew. Troy was in stitches as Adam missed the media team, and instead unleashed the full-force of spray on Jaime. Jaime, however, not only hit her target but even managed to catch poor Jess in the crossfire. Jaime has since taken to sleeping with one eye open, waiting for Troy’s revenge…for some reason Troy doesn’t buy the excuse that a camera is best cleaned with spit and water.
Dave was back in the saddle today and by the time Jaime and Adam caught up with him, they thought that their climbing for the day must be complete, having counted way more than two hills! Dave probably wished he had not been fit for the saddle after all because it was at this point that we encountered the brutal hill now known as Brutus Angolensis: 4 km of a towering, unending, twisting and turning, steep-sided colossus that teased us all the way up, with false summits cunningly concealing the next 8 – 10 percent of Up. Even the big trucks could only inch their way along.
Gus had been at the front of the pack up to this point, but had stopped as his bum was so sore, he was starting to get pins and needles, and he needed a rest. Nick and Keegan soon caught up, Keegan sharing the same pain. Alastair says the hill was easy and that he and Rich were enjoying the ride, but we know better, Whataliar!
The climb was a gruelling ordeal, made even worse by the shattered expectation that support would be waiting with ice-cold cokes and sweet tea at the top. Instead, we were faced with an additional five-kilometer ride until we found the promised breakfast stop.
On our way there, we noticed a fire in the distance, and as we drew closer, we passed dozens of young girls and boys, wielding pangas and badzas running towards the bushfire that was now burning its way threateningly toward their fields. We were certain they were running to form some kind of firebreak, however, as we got to the breakfast spot and stopped, so too did they. It turns out that they were waiting for the fire to chase all the little creatures like mice and locusts across the road, where they would catch them for dinner.
After all that excitement (and definitely more than two hills, Whataliar), we needed some serious fuel, and as always, the support team did not fail us – they put on a delicious breakfast spread, complete with eggs and gentleman’s relish, because, let’s be real, eggs are the best after a long cycle!
At that moment a man ran past brandishing a flaming grass torch, lighting the grass at intervals every 10 or 15 meters along the roadside, to backburn and save his village, creating a dramatic, fiery avenue. The media team couldn’t resist capturing this spectacle, of course, and forced us to ride through the flames as we pressed on toward our destination.
Brutus Angolensis set the tone for more steep ascents and although there were no more 4km uphill stretches, there were many more steep “updulations” which seemed to increase in frequency as we approached Gabela.
Over one of these hills lay what looked like an ancient city, it felt as though we had been whisked back in time to early Mesopotamia. The buildings were all made of mud, which had been carefully shaped into bricks. The houses nestled inside the hills and the town sprawled out as far as the eye could see. It felt like we were in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco, and not in sub-Saharan African bushveld. While we’d encountered mud-brick architecture elsewhere in Angola, the dramatic mountain setting transformed this familiar sight into something truly mystical and extraordinary.
We were lucky to have seen this because now a mist descended, and coffee shade trees, reaching heights of 50 to 80 meters, towered over old coffee plantations, their grandeur accentuated by the presence of colossal palm trees lining the riverbanks. The fog got so thick we could barely see…but then we realised we just needed to take off our glasses, and the situation lightened considerably.
We had decided to break our journey in Gabela, but the reality of our ride in didn’t match the satellite image. Instead of a charming Portuguese town, we encountered heavy fog and traffic and after regrouping in the city square, we debated bypassing Gabela and uplifting for the 70-kilometer journey to Sumbe and the sea. Luckily our ride into town had caught the attention of a local cyclist, Everesto, and he came to find us and persuaded us that Gabela was far more beautiful than Sumbe and that he knew of a place where we could find good accommodation. Also, we really, really, really wanted to ride through the Kumbira Forest, especially Gus, who lobbied hard for us to stay in the hope of a clearer day tomorrow. Most of us agreed that savouring the journey was more important than reaching the beach and, true to his word, Everesto guided us through the town’s narrow streets to a surprising oasis: a water park hotel, our home for the night.
The Police Commandant arrived shortly after us for the customary photo session (we’re basically celebrities now) and soon after her, the Chief Administrator of the town (aka the Mayor) came to meet us and gave us a brief history of the town. He has even offered to take us to the Fort at the top of the hill tomorrow! And to top it all off, he presented us with some delicious local coffee.
Once again, we feel honoured and we are so grateful for the incredible hospitality we’ve received in Angola.
So, from out of the fog in Angola to wherever you are in the world, keep pedalling and
Have Fun. Do Good. Do Epic
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