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Tired legs found rest in Windhoek, Namibiaâ€™s capital city. Since our two days there, weâ€™ve tackled two lengthy riding days that begin the finishing stretch to Cape Town. Leaving Windhoek, a capital cuddled by mountains, the scenery seemed too perfect, as though it should reside in Disneyâ€™s Epcot Center. It is as if the city, mountains included, were picked from Germany and dropped in the middle of Namibiaâ€™s plains. The fact we are 310 kilometers out of Windhoek and havenâ€™t seen a hill since, only gives credence to this theory.
Namibiaâ€™s plains are just as vast and featureless as in Botswana. The significant change is the roadside grass. The ear high elephant grass has been replaced by a feathery knee high grass. Strong gusts make the grass shimmer in shades of gold in much the same way a retrieverâ€™s coat shines when he twists to dry. Numbers of roadside game and wildlife are diminishing and Shop Rite and Spar, BP and Total are taking their place.
The slender road to South Africa brings us frighteningly close to speeding traffic. The hum in the distance brightens into a roar as it barrels past. We cringe and clutch handlebars, holding a straight line until taillights are safely ahead. The drivers are no less reckless than in countries past, but the unbent road and lack of policemen beckons speed from even the most conservative of drivers.
Tonight we sleep in the abandoned Gibeon train yard. Ten riding and one rest day separates us from Cape Town.
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