The D707

Jenny takes care of us like a real mother. Before we leave she quickly bakes some eggs, afterwards she stuffs our bags with apples, dates and dried peaches. Then we say goodbye to Graham and Jenny, Sesriem, Sossusvlei and the beautiful dunes.
On our way to the south of Namibia we can choose our itinerary from a single tar road and dozens of small gravel roads. But, there is one road we definitely want to cycle: the D707. Whatever happens, how difficult things will be, feeling good or bad, we will anyhow ride that road. A magical desert road of 123 kilometres, in the most westerly part of the south, between the C27 and the C13.
Five months ago, in Pretoria, we met a Swiss family that just returned from their trip to Botswana and Namibia. Discussing the beauty of Africa, the landscapes and itineraries, they brought up the D707. The most beautiful road they ever saw, in their numerous travels around the world. In the northern part of Namibia we heard the same thing from other travellers spontaneously: the D707 in the Namib Desert, one has to have been there!
Right, let’s go to the remote D707.

After cycling out of Sesriem by the D826 we go to the right on the C19, which is a slightly bigger through road but just as unpaved as the rest of them. The road ascends a little, not for a short stretch, but the whole day. A soft blowing head wind cools our heated bodies somewhat. At the left-hand side are the Tsaris Mountains, at the right we see the dunes of the Namib Naukluft Park. The landscape is full of acacia trees, quiver trees and euphorbia’s. Many of the thorn trees groan and moan under the heavy weight of the sociable weaver nests. Some of the fascinating nests are meters wide and provide shelter for hundreds of birds.

After six hours of cycling we have only managed to cover fifty of the 380 kilometres to the tar in Aus. Tired, it suddenly seems a much better idea to forget about the D707 and ride to tar road at Maltahohe right away. Twenty kilometres of climbing, hobbling and plodding further on the extreme bad road, we knock on the door of the Hammerstein Farm. We’re exhausted. Father (90 years old) and son (65) receive us and supply the necessary water. They don’t allow us to pitch our tent, but instead the son takes us to an old communal building of the farmer’s association, with beds and a large kitchen. The farmer is going out of his way: we may not pay anything and on top of that he returns after an hour to bring meat for a barbecue and vegetables. The long day of hard work is rewarded even more when we spot a Giant Forest Elephant Shrew for the first time during our African stay: a large mouse with a small trunk like an elephant.
We ask the farmer about the route that we want to take: is the D707 cyclable and are there any farms we can get water? Unfortunately he doesn’t know exactly; on the first stretch on the C19, the D827 and the C27 there will be sufficient farms but the D707, it was a long time ago he drove there…

We take a gamble. After a good night’s rest we are always more positive about the difficult stretches awaiting us. The D707, it’s ours!
The first twenty kilometres on the C19 are terrible because of the stormy headwind; after the junction to the district road D827 we are flying with over thirty kilometres an hour to the south-west. The surface of the smaller road here is also better than that of the larger, through roads. This is proved again when, two hours later, we plod and walk with our bikes through the rough and deep sand of the big C27, next to black stained mountains, red dunes and light green fields. The Namibian government boasts of having the best-unpaved roads in the world… we doubt it.
Under the sand of the road many acacia thorns hide: when I have a flat front tyre, we count fifteen thorns that have bitten in my outer tyres.
Today it’s at least ten degrees warmer than yesterday. We do shopping in Betta, the only village (consisting of three small houses) we’ll encounter on this route. The one shop of the area has ridiculous prices but we have no choice. We tap fresh water and finally arrive at the crossing with the D707, tired and at the same time exited of what’s ahead of us.
We sleep in a dry riverbed, a few kilometres off Betta, after breaking a record by cycling 112 unpaved kilometres in a day.

The sky has become hazy because of the wind of last days; there is always sand in our ears, nose and eyes. The petrol we bought in Solitaire turns out to be of bad quality: our stove is clogged all the time and it vapours like an old paraffin lamp. To crown all, in the morning, at eight o’clock, it’s already 36 degrees in the shade. It’s going to be a hard day.
Between dark mountains we cycle over the vicious pebbles of the first kilometres of the D707. We pass two farms and a shepherd with his flock of sheep. On the mountains the quiver trees are silhouetted sharply against a pale blue sky. Helped by a little back wind we climb through valleys, our speed never faster than ten kilometres. The rugged road causes the stand of Peter’s mirror to break and one kilometre further a tear appears in the water bottle he purchased in Kenya two years ago.
Left of us there is the rough Tiras Mountains, to the right we have a stunning view of the yellow and red dunes of the Namib Naukluft. The landscape gets barer and drier; the scenery of the D707 is beautiful but at the same time difficult to enjoy. The heat is scorching, sweat flows from our bodies and before the morning ends we have finished more than three-quarters of our water supply. From now on we stop every, sporadic, passing car to ask for water. Fortunately everyone we see is helpful to these two cycling plodders in the searing Namib Desert…
Large stretches of soft sand and a lot of corrugated road follow the rocky path. We drag the bicycles through the sand and our bodies shake on the corrugated stretches like in the old days. Just as in Ethiopia and Tanzania, at the end of the afternoon our kidneys start hurting and both of us have a burning feeling when we have to pee. Who ever said cycling is healthy?
We walk and cycle on to the Namib Lodge that was mentioned on a signpost seventy kilometres ago. When we finally reach the distance, the lodge turns out to be twenty kilometres off the road, on a path with even deeper sand. They tricked us again. I realise I haven’t looked at the scenery for over an hour, although this was actually the reason for taking this route.
In the afternoon traffic is almost non-existing. At one moment our water is finished and within an hour it will be dark. We have been walking and cycling for over eight hours now and are getting worried. Praying to our guardian angels we look at the horizon, hoping to see a car or a truck full of cold water appear. And indeed, from a far distance a big square mass is coming in our direction; it must be a truck or bus. It turns out to be an overland truck filled with Dutch people. The Kenyan driver-guide stops the truck when he sees us waving vigorously. They give us as much water as we need: our rescuers!

The geckos bark us asleep. We dream that we are cycling on a tar road as smooth as a pool table, with a light tailwind. Waking up we know that this dream will not come true today: it’s another 110 kilometres to Aus. We look over the huge sandy plain with mountains and dunes on both sides and cycle again. On our way to heaven. Three anxious jackals and a herd of oryx accompany us. A frightened springbok runs in front of us, trying to reach the safety of the vast plains by bumping into the wired fences. After thirty kilometres of pushing, dragging and cycling, the surface of the road finally gets a little better. After one hundred kilometres on the D707 we see our first farm, not far from the road.
During one of our frequent breaks the hot wind suddenly picks up speed and tries to blow us of the road. The road becomes better and better and at one moment our speed is over twenty k’s an hour. We pass the road sign for the last ten kilometres of the D707; we’re almost there! My deepest wish is just to lie down or die. Peter doesn’t think that’s a good option. We continue.
At the foot of a short descend we hit the junction with the C13. There is no village or anything, despite the promise of a car driver.
At a water reservoir we quench our thirst and put our heads in the divine, cool water. A dozen kilometres further we knock at the door of a farm and are being welcomed by a young family from Rosh Pinah. They have been hunting for oryx, shot three yesterday. In the evening we indulge ourselves in the best oryx steaks we ever ate. We share our last bread and vegetables, swim in a water dam and sleep in a real bed. Life gets better by the minute.

It is Sunday the 11th of September, a memorable day in the U.S., a memorable day for us. After six hundred hard kilometres of rocks and sand, across mountains and valleys, in heat and wind, we reach the black surface of the B4.
We step of our bicycles in awe, kneel down and kiss the marvellous, heavenly tar…