Wild biking to save rhino

THE Damaraland area in northwestern Namibia is one of the most remote and hostile places on Earth – and we had to cycle over 300 km across this barren outpost in seven days.

Rock-strewn dirt tracks, sandy ravines, cobbled rises and searing temperatures stood in our way. As did our fragile minds. Only in the name of charity and conservation could such a madcap crusade be regarded as sane. The goal was simple: to use the cycling event to raise funds and awareness regarding the plight of the endangered and desert-adapted black rhino, whose future remains in grave danger, due to an alarming increase in rhino poaching – in the past six months alone 156 rhino were massacred across southern Africa. Age-old fallacies that rhino horn can cure colds and increase sexual desire continue to persist in China and the Far East, with grave consequences for the future of these majestic animals. Something had to be done. And fast. To the fore came Rhino Africa, one of the continent’s leading tour operators specialising in travel to southern and East Africa. Aware of the threat to the future of this keystone species, Rhino Africa launched Challnge4aCause, a social responsibility project designed to put something back into Africa by protecting its vulnerable animals and local communities. Our designated charity for our inaugural challenge was the Namibian NGO Save the Rhino Trust, which seeks to prevent poaching and protect the rhino species in this part of the world. And what challenge could be more fitting (and foolish) than cycling across this timeless desert landscape where the world’s only truly free-roaming rhino population continues to live another day?The challenge was simple: 17 novice cyclists; 330 km of rock, sand and dust; seven days. Utter madness. After all the fundraising, fretting and some woefully inadequate training, we were finally on our way. A short flight from Cape Town to Windhoek and a seven-hour road transfer took 17 nervous souls to Palmwag Rhino Camp. Namibia is as remote as you get – with 1,8 million inhabitants it is the second least densely populated country in the world. And the Damaraland desert is in the northwest of the country, in the remote Kunene Region. It is so off the beaten track that it makes Timbuktu look like a tourist hotspot.One night’s rest was all we had before the adventure began. The first day was an acclimatisation ride, but it seemed more like the Iron Man event. We thought off road cycling meant following a dirt track at a leisurely pace, admiring the endless landscapes, entirely at peace with the world. But there was no time for epiphanies and desert cycling meant dodging boulders, hopping rocks, grinding through gravel and slaloming through soft sand. Not only did the terrain send us into a state of shock, but the weather was equally inhospitable. It may have been the middle of winter, but this counted for little in an ancient desert wrapped in the myths of time. The evenings and mornings were chilly, but it peaked at 40°C during the day, hardly ideal conditions for vigorous exercise! After a 50 km circular route, we collapsed back at camp, exhausted, dehydrated and rather worried about the next 6 days. And we hadn’t even covered any distance yet!Day 2 was hell. There can be no disguising it, not even for the most nostalgic among us. It started innocently enough with the gravel road before we hit the boulders. Before this trip, I thought that such terrain was impossible to cycle, bad for the body, bad for the bikes and reserved for lunatics only. Except now we were the lunatics, and the last 12 km into camp were sweated out in the midday heat, bouncing off endless cobbled stretches, a painstaking affair. My rear end and hands will never forgive me, as I inched my way into the Wêreldsend Camp. It really did feel like the end of the world – as we knew it.Another 04h30 wake-up call on Day 3, another helping of oats and we were on our way. The legs were heavy but the going was good and we had conquered 40 km by midday. And then we made the fatal mistake of thinking we could conquer this desert. It beat each one of us back down with a vast swathe of sand that made a mockery of our attempts to cycle. Cursing and cringing, we heaved our bikes through the soft underground, arriving at Overhanging Cliffs without a smile in sight. The last stretch had broken us – but after a bucket shower, a timely siesta and a few cold beers, we felt more at peace with life as the full moon rose over the distant mountains and illuminated our desert world. Day 4 was meant to be a rest day, but our guide Patrick’s interpretation of the word ‘rest’ involved a 30 km cycle, a river crossing and some serious sand. It did feel like a breeze after day 2, and we were starting to get the hang of this cycling malarkey.Day 5 saw us set off into the east wind, stuttering along through Desolation Valley, covering 40 km before setting our bikes down behind a rock and making our way to Save the Rhino Ugab Camp. Unfortunately our bikes were still there when we returned to continue our journey the next morning.On Day 6, the weather gods smiled upon us, the wind abated and we were able to fly across the desert. We passed the moonlike Doros Crater, near the famous Brandberg (Burnt Mountain) range, and came stuck in a few riverbeds for good measure. A herd of giraffe passed our way, a puff adder slithered across our path and a chameleon even posed for photos. Other animals we encountered in this desolate desert included gemsbok (oryx), springbok, zebra, jackal and even a sight of a hyena with a kill. Elephants meandered across our path on one occasion, but for love or money, we just couldn’t spot a desert rhino – maybe it was a good sign. We set up camp in the dry Guantagab riverbed, with bucket showers and al fresco toilets, and gathered ourselves for one last push. The day of reckoning had arrived and on Day 7, we packed up camp for the last time and set off. The end was in sight and finally the 17 sore souls reached Doro Nawas Camp after 330 km across the Damaraland desert with just our bikes to carry us there! It was the Promised Land, the Mecca of our trip, and a point I thought we would never reach without divine intervention. Battered, bruised, buggered and beat, but smiling inside and out, the 17 of us hopped gingerly off our trusty bikes and celebrated an achievement that will live long in the memory. Each of the challengers had to foot their own bill for the expedition and through additional fund raising, we reached our goal of raising N$300 000 for Save the Rhino Trust, enough to fund an anti-poaching unit for at least a year.