Quad biking in Swakop

Ok, a bit of backstory first. A few years ago I was on a friends property in the beautiful Kangaroo Valley with a bunch of friends. When a group of city boys turned up in their designer jeans, cluelessly asking if the families blue heeler dog was a dingo, the country girl in me came out. I jumped on the four wheeler motorbike, saddled one of the boys on the back and proceeded to show him what the country was all about. As we sped through the cow paddocks, dung splattering all over us, I got a bit cocky and decided to take on a jump up ahead. As I flew up the hill over it I was already airborne when I was suddenly struck with dread. There was a fence barely ten feet from the landing! After a hard turn the bike flipped and we were thrown off. I hit the fence and the bike came down on me. Needless to say I was rushed to hospital (an hour away) and spent the next 6 weeks recovering from the breaks and fractures. My companion thankfully landed on the other side of the fence, but really milked his torn groin injury!

Fast forward to the dunes of Swakopmund, the perfect place to confront my fear, as I'd never got back on a quad bike since. I was all bravado as we donned our helmets and chose a bike. The sensible side of me chose the slower automatic option and joined the medium-paced group. There were about six girls in with me and we were assigned to Steve, an instructor I'd had recommended to me at sandboarding that morning. He was soon coined "Sexy Steve" for his adventure-man swagger and cheeky grin flashed under Top Gun aviators. We set off, following single file towards the dunes that would be our playground for the next 2 hours.

But almost immediately the dread set in. My stomach was in knots, my fingers stiff and fused around the handlebars, and my breath panting shallow. The further we went the more the panic set in and I started to realize I wasn't going to be able to do it. The first 20 minutes were ok as it was pretty much straight ahead. But once we got into the dunes and had to start turning up and down them, the fear buried deep from my accident stuck it's hand out of the grave and grabbed me by the throat. I just couldn't turn the bike. No mater how hard I tried my body couldn't overcome the memory. Finally I admitted defeat, flagged down Sexy Steve and announced, in the middle of the desert, that I couldn't go any further.

He handled it like a pro and promptly ask if I wanted to ride on the back of his bike instead. Since it wouldn't involve me having to turn it myself I thought it would be fine. So he radioed the office to get someone to head out and pick up my bike and off we went. Turns out it was one of the best decisions I'd made all trip. Riding with Sexy Steve was a blast!

We sped through the enormous dunes as he did all sorts of amazing tricks. At one point I was dragging my hand through the sand behind the bike as he pulled it back on 2 wheels. Then he'd pull up both side wheels and we'd nearly be lying against the dune. He did wheelies and doughnuts, heading straight up and down the steepest dunes while I squealed with exhilarated fear from behind. I spent the whole time giggling like a schoolgirl with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. When we stopped for water we goofed off even more, taking photos and teasing, as our group looked on laughing.

The most incredible part of the day though was the Roaring Dunes. Deep in the sands of Swakopmund there is natural bowl formation. When we reached it everyone was directed to turn off their bikes and line them up on the rim of this deep pit. As it was very steep a few girls were petrified but bravely went with it. Then, one by one, Steve pushed the silent bikes over the rim with the girls sitting on top. As they slid down slowly the most incredible thing happened. The sound of the sand moving under the quad bikes made a deep, roaring sound which grew louder as each bike joined in. The sound echoed, intensifying almost deafeningly, as it reverberated around the bowl. It sounded like the deep baritone chant of monastery monks, and continued till we reached the bottom. We all looked around at each other in silent disbelief, wondering how we'd never heard of this before. But o course, this is Namibia, where every day and every corner is more amazing than the last.

It was sadly time to head back. Again Steve gave me an incredible ride, even acting as a personal tour guide the whole way. He pointed out Jackal footprints on the dunes, road signs randomly sticking out of the sand, and a horse graveyard housing the skeletons of over 3,000 sick horses, some of the bones still visible. He constantly checked I was ok, and as I held on tight, squealing as we bumped over the sandy moguls, his sweet cologne wafting back occasionally, I most certainly was!

When we got back I'd completely forgotten about the earlier terror and was instead on a high after my exhilarating quad bike adventure - albeit an unconventional one. I turned to my friend after recounting the fabulous adventure and finished "I'm so glad my bike broke down". She fell into hysterics, looked at me point blank and replied "so THAT'S your story!?" ... Oops!

All my love to my furry baby Bear

Xxx