Six Soaks and The Missing Spot
We were in no rush today, finally heading off toward Nylstroom at around 9 am. The sun was shining, so we decided to start the day properly with a leisurely breakfast—including a sneaky slice of carrot cake—at Sion guesthouse and coffee shop. But as we were chowing down, the dark clouds decided to crash the party.
The name Nylstroom btw, is a perfect example of taking things totally out of context to suit your agenda, and this is how it went down:
Back in the 1860’s, a bunch of Voortrekkers went looking for the holy land. Why? Don’t ask me. Anyway, when they reached a wide river flowing northwards, they immediately consulted the trusty maps at the back of their bibles and made the logical conclusion that this must be the Nile (Nyl in Afrikaans) river. To affirm their belief, they also found the ‘pyramid’, which was actually a natural hillock. For obvious reasons, they then called the place Nylstroom (Nile river/stream). Talk about misguided! Back to 2025.
The Human Washing Machine
Because it was so warm, we made a bold (and slightly soggy) choice: no rain gear. It seemed like a great idea until the first downpour hit just 15km into the ride. I lost count, but I reckon we got soaked and dried out at least six times before we reached our destination.
The real struggle with heavy rain on these backroads isn’t just the wet clothes; it’s the fact that the water hides potholes as big as your head. We had to take it slow to avoid disappearing into a watery crater.
Riding these rain-soaked backroads is like walking through a dark room filled with Lego bricks; you know you’re going to step on something painful eventually, you just don’t know when!
Looking for the “Oops” Spot
One of our missions today was to find the exact spot where we had an accident on our last trip to Limpopo so that I can scatter the ashes of my misery. I had a vivid memory of the area, but between the rain, the heavy weekday traffic, and the busy roads, identifying landmarks was like finding a needle in a haystack.
We stopped for a rather uninspiring lunch of pie, chips, and gravy at a place called Lillies and Limes country shop, but we still hadn’t spotted the crash site. According to the GPS, there’s only one S-bend left, so we might have missed it entirely! I’m thinking that I might have to reevaluate the vividness of my memory and resort to the GPS tracking data to see where there was a long delay.
The “Ultimate Survivor” Braai
The final stretch to Rustevinde guest farm was a nightmare of roadworks, trucks, and even more massive potholes. Once we arrived, the workout didn’t stop. Our chalet was a fair distance from where we parked Putin, and getting our gear inside involved four exhausting trips up steep stone stairs. I cracked open a stout the second I was done.
Despite my previous drama with smoky fires and Baobab peels, I decided to give the ultimate survivor thing one more go. I was thinking of going for Naked and Afraid, but there were people in the unit next to ours, so I’d be naked, and they’d be afraid, not the way it’s supposed to be. This time, it actually worked! We had a lekker feast of skilpadtjies (liver wrapped in caul fat), lamb chops, and salad.
Putin’s Little Problem
While unpacking, I noticed why Putin had been extra noisy and a bit sluggish today: he’d lost an exhaust manifold bolt. Tomorrow is a rest day, so I’ll be diving into my toolkit to find a replacement. With only 170km left until we’re home, I want to make sure we don’t have a “wha wha whaaaa” mechanical failure right at the finish line!
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