“A journey of giraffes!” someone shouted, pointing to a dozen of the creatures cantering the shoreline of a shimmering white salt plain. Then came cries of “troop of baboons!” and “sounder of warthogs!” Spend your days cycling amid a plethora of plains in a Sahara of sand in the parched outback of Namibia, and you learn a whole new lexicon – from the Latin name for the bizarre, two-leafed indigenous Welwitschia mirabilis plant to textbook terms for packs o’ critters.
A dazzle of zebras. A crash of rhinos. I think the heat was getting to us.
Our slim and trim “manic mechanic,” Tjipe (“Chippy”), who kept our full-suspension mountain bikes in working order, pulled off the bumpy dirt road ahead and flagged us off-piste into the shade of a dry riverbed where – voila! – a lavish lunch had been laid out, complete with icy beers and chilly wines to wash down 30 dusty miles…. Details
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