ADVENTURE BEFORE DEMENTIA
(sign on back of caravan travelling the Australian outback)

The race : ROC Rogaine (MTB leg)
Date : 31 October 2010
Place : Kaapschehoop
Team : Bloed en OMO
Connie “Ouma ” van der Merwe
Abel “Oupa ” van der Merwe

Bloed en OMO (snr) ended their winter hibernation this past weekend at the MTB leg of the Rand Orienteering Club’s annual Rogaine. Something I’d been planning to do for several years now since having done it some four years ago.

What a spectacular venue. Pine forest and rolling hills broken by deep, indigenous forest filled canyons. We arrived under clouds, sweated when the sun broke through and eventually shivered as the clouds dropped to the ground and sprayed us with an icy mist.

This event re-affirmed two lessons – aside from the obvious observation that it is a privilege to have enthusiastic people organising events for us in their own special place.

Lesson one is : trust your map and look for the fine detail. This was an excellent opportunity for adventure racers to hone there navigational skills.

For me it was a particular thrill to impress Ouma with some precision navigation.

Why then, might one ask, if this was so, did Bloed en OMO feature so dismally in the race ratings? Because our plan was to have an outing.

For the first four hours the wilderness belonged only to ourselves and several baboons. Not one other competitor crossed our path as we opted for paths less well travelled.

And, my rucksack was bulging with snacks and picnic essentials. Bar one, that is. Which I was reminded of by the following conversation:

Ouma : Now for some of that chilled chardonnay
Oupa : There is no chilled chardonnay
Ouma: Then I’ll settle for some warm chardonnay

So I decided to re-tell her the story of the time I and some friends were invited on a camel ride into the Negev desert some thirty years ago.

Let me tell you there is nothing romantic about riding a camel. Firstly, it is the only beast with independent suspension on all four legs so that each forward movement consists of four jolts. Secondly, they are singularly aggressive, requiring constant bullying (my camel was regularly hit on the jowls by one of the drivers) and they grunt throughout. Not the sort of the thing for sensitive people. I will not, ever again, even if paid, partake in a camel safari.

Not far into the journey Koos dismounted and walked on account of bleeding buttocks. I at first believed they would take us the edge of the settlement and back and the novelty would be over. But this was not the plan. Then I hoped the experience would end at dusk. In the end our journey took us well into the night to some “special braai spot” – which is nonsense as there is no special spot as it is all just desert anyway.

Once I had resigned myself to this never ending journey I occupied my thoughts with
the fact that we were near a disputed border and our hosts were not particularly good at making friends. So I decided that when the first shot was fired I would drop to the ground and duck and dive so fast that even Lawrence of Arabia would not find me. But, there were two blatant flaws to my strategy. Firstly. I could not recognise even one of the constellations above me so would never be able to navigate home. Secondly I wore a white shirt which was as luminescent in the bright starlight as a washing detergent advert so I would probably be the target of the first shot.

At the “braai spot”, our host off loaded a cool box. Which is the point of this long story.

Gavin: “ A cold coke is just what I need”
Sabra (Sabrina?): “ No cokes”
Ben: “ Beers only. Even better”
Sabrina: A withering glance.

It turns out there was only lukewarm water.

While a fire was made for the roosterkoeke a mongrel that had followed us from the settlement put its front paw into a tupperware bowl filled with humus.

Unperturbed , Sabrina grabbed it by the elbow with one hand and with the thumb and forefinger of other squeezed the humus back into the bowl.

While the roosterkoek baked in the ashes I reflected on the fact that, judging by the mound of old ash, many fires had been made on this same spot before and that they had probably been put out with the same universal method used by South African men.

Did I eat? Yes, heartily. Being in a state of prolonged combat readiness makes one very hungry.

At this point in the story Ouma had quietly rolled off the log she was sitting and was gently snoring on the forest floor.

The second lesson?

Never, ever, take your eye of the road when replacing a water bottle on a bike rattling downhill. The next thing I knew I was in ditch, out the other side and then back again, scattering stones, pine cones and other debris. It took several more traverses to come to a shaking stop. Then I heard this voice murmur “windgat”.

Now, it could not have been an utterance of one of the baboons as the commotion had the mothers and children fleeing for the distant cliffs while the young bloods were giggling so much they were struggling to maintain a grip. Even the brandwag could not raise a bôgom.

So, mustering all the extensive vocabulary at my command I replied “ja skat’.

Thanks to Ian Brait and the Rand Orienteering Club for a well organised and stimulating event.