Finding Flattop

As I gain my breath a half dozen of my friends are asking me if I’m ok, the pain quickly sets in and I know something is wrong.  I can’t move my right arm at all and the right side of my chest is burning in pain.  I’m able to roll my head from side to side in the sand, so I think my neck is ok and someone takes my helmet off.  There is discussion about whether I’ll be able to get back on the bike again and ride back to the rental shop.  No way is that happening.  One of the guides then takes off to get help.

While we’re waiting, Rachel and Phil take the initiative to check me out.  Thank goodness there’s no bleeding.  They sit me up to see if that will reduce the pain and makeshift a sling out of my jacket not sure at this stage how I’m going leave the scene.  Word eventually makes it back that an ambulance is on its way while they’ve made me as comfortable as possible by digging the sand out from under me to make a custom fit bed.

A couple hours later, after what seems like an eternity, while my friends have been keeping me occupied with conversation a 4×4 shows up with EMT’s aboard.  They are from International SOS.  They are well trained, equipped, knowledgeable, and friendly. (more to come later on this outstanding company)

They check me out thoroughly, perform an EKG, start an IV, get me on the backboard, and load me in the back of the truck.  A truck was used because the ambulance wasn’t capable of driving across the dunes.  For I’m not sure how long they slowly drive me over the dunes while I grimace in pain with every inch of movement and take me to Cottage Medical Clinic, the nearest facility in Swakopmund.

Upon arrival the place appears closed.  I’m rolled into what they would consider an ER and the lights are out with only a nurse.  A doctor and radiologist have been called in and are on their way.  Michelle, the tour leader, arrives shortly thereafter.  At this stage I discover their priorities are quite different than I’m accustomed.  At this point I’m about crying in pain requesting some relief and the ambulance ride wants payment for service.  Will they take my travel insurance?  No way!  Thank goodness they take credit.  I have them dig through my pocket and charge my Capital One, which is quickly declined.  Ok, try the Amex, same thing.  Next up, the nurse wants to know how I’m going to a pay for x-rays and the clinic bill all while laying on the ambulance gurney in the ER.  No payment, no treatment.  Thank goodness Michelle is there, with her assistance I call the credit card company jump through a dizzying array of verbal hoops to approve the charges. (note I had cleared all my credit cards in advance for use in these countries and they had worked up to this point)

Finally after paying who knows what amount, as I was in agony and wanted treatment, the doctor shows up and sends me for x-rays upon which he gives me some morphine.  Ahhhhhh, it’s never felt so good to feel pain slide away.  I’m informed my shoulder and ribs are broken and will be admitted for the night.  The pain finally subsiding after hours of suffering, Michelle does her job and brings up the topic, what’s next.  The truck is scheduled to leave in the morning and I know there is no way I’ll be able to make it, and she makes arrangements to get my stuff off the truck.  I knew my trip had ended and I’m pushed to my room for the night well sedated for I don’t know what lay ahead.

8/24/09

Day 52 Afternoon

Since I was already covered in sand from a morning of screaming down enormous sand hills on a flimsy piece of particle board, why not have more fun in the sand.  Myself and 10 others from the truck head for an afternoon of quad biking (also known as an ATV or four wheeler) in the rolling sand dunes with Desert Explorers.

My ride of choice is a Honda 250 cc Quad full of power and oomph. We set out single file following a guide into the rolling Namibian desert hills; picture the Sahara only bigger dunes.  It starts out slow for everyone to get comfortable with their bike and quickly progresses to an all out pace. Some of these dunes are huge soaring from base to peak an easy 400 feet or more with flat valleys of sand in-between.  The desert in Nambia is home to the largest/highest dunes in the world some peaking as high as 900 ft.

The weather is brisk with a cloudless blue sky and with my sense of adventure I quickly start fishtailing the bike in the sand as the top inch is loose above a hard packed base.  This bike has some power and with only a minor increase on the throttle can make the rear of my bike swerve back and forth in the sand throwing up a dust cloud of sand as I quickly shift up to accelerate.  As we approach the first dunes I quickly discover if I’m not going top speed in the flat valleys there is not enough power to reach the peak due to the altitude increase combined with the loose sand bogging down the engine to a crawl.   So, quickly I pick up when I’m in the flat’s to floor it to top speed and once I hit the base of the dune start down shifting to keep moment in an arched bank as if riding a bike around a corner on a professional banked race track.  I’m having the time of my life and with a few more runs like this push it faster and faster.  I’ve just come off a dune I quickly accelerated shifting through five gears to reach speeds easily exceeding 70 or 80 mph, my jacket flapping in the wind, grains of sand pebble me as I leave a sand cloud in my wake.  Reaching the base of a large dune I downshift as fast as I can maintaining as much speed as possible and just before reaching the peak swerve the bike while excelerating creating a skid as if skidding a car on ice, throwing up a roster tail of sand.  Similarly as a car on ice I steer the bike into the skid while leaning my weight outward away from the skid to assist in control. Once the bike comes out of the skid I shift up accelerating down the dune reaching ever higher speeds racing toward the next dune to repeat the same thing.

Example of what I was doing

For an hour an fifty minutes I repeat this pattern over and over gradually building my confidence slowing loosing awareness of how dangerous it can be.  I feel invincible and boy is this fun.  I come off a dune following one of my truck mates as fast as I can.  I’m in the valley and straight ahead is a dune half the size of the dunes I’ve been repeating this stunt.  Hitting the base the bike barely decelerates and I only have to downshift twice. As I quickly peek due to the faster speed I skid the rear wheels to the left, steer into the skid, and lean hard to the right hanging off the bike with one hand. In the blink of an eye the bike flips over sideways to the left as I instinctively let go tucking and slam into the ground bouncing at least twice and rolling down the side of the dune a dozen or more times as the bike bounces and flips, three times I’m told, landing a few feet away from where I’ve come to rest.

Injured and waiting for help

Fortunately I’ve come to a stop laying flat on my back.  I’ve had the wind knocked out of me and I can’t get a breath.  My truck mates are quickly at my side asking if I’m ok as I gasp for air unable to initially respond I hear some of them commenting on how epic the wipe out was.  I wish someone had a video to show off the carnage.

Next to come, desert rescue and hospital treatment.

Pictures are now online for Uganda.  Videos will be coming later after I’ve completed the blog and pictures.

8/23-8/24/09

Day 51-52 Morning

It’s been just over three months since my accident and I’ve been procrastinating writing about the last of my trip. Procrastination no more! I’m determined to finish what was promised and to finally get loads of wonderful photography posted.

When I last posted I had been in Windhoek, Namibia eating a variety of game meats and had spent a night in Sptizkoppe falling asleep under the stars. From here we headed for Swakopmund with a stop at the Cape Cross Seal Colony.

Cape Cross Seal Colony

Cape Cross is along the Atlantic coast of Africa and his home to hundreds of thousands of seals. While I’d seen a few seals before, the sheer number here is staggering. As I exit the truck the smell of half a million seals feces is overpowering to the point one almost gags. It’s worse than walking through a barn full of chicken shit. I’m not sure what to call the sound a seal makes. Honking? Squeaking? Screeching? One almost needs earplugs as the overlapping sounds cascade up the shoreline from the thousands of seals covering every square inch of the sand and rocks combines with the frothy sea-foamed waves crashing onshore. They’re cute yet ugly. Some lay asleep, others are nursing their young, some poised in conversation with others as if chatting with a friend, some are preaching, others are fighting, and my favorite is watching some frolic in the waves crashing ashore. I’m glad the stop here is short, for my noses sake, and we’re back on the truck in a jiffy after a few picture perfect moments.

Swakopmund is a small touristy town along Namibia’s western coast. It’s squeezed between the Atlantic on one side and the rolling desert on the other. It’s clean, neat, and fairly cosmopolitan, yet it has a village feel. I set out early in the morning with a dozen others for sandboarding.

We arrive on the outskirts of town, it’s bright, sunny, desolate, and all I can see are rolling hills and mountains of sand as far as the eye can see. We’re given some basic instructions and a small piece of paneling like particle board. We don helmets, gloves, and elbow pads and march toward the dunes. As we begin to ascend toward the peak of these enormous dunes everyone falls into a single file line stepping in the footprints of the person ahead. Doing so makes it significantly less strenuous a climb as the sand packs hard and the ascent becomes more like a stair stepping event. If one veers off course from the footprint path the top couple inches of sand is soft and slides around engulfing ones shoes as if stepping into soft flakey snow making it significantly more difficult.

Sandboarding

We arrive at the peak legs sore from the hike and the task is simple, scary for some and exhilarating for me. Lay the board on the ground plop your belly on the board grab the front lip bending it up and go screaming down the sand dune as if tobogganing down a ski slope. Awesomeeeeee!!!!! Arriving at the bottom a lady with a radar gun tells me I clocked 73 MPH down the dune. Not quite enough for me to break the record of 76 mph for the day, set by one of my fellow truck mates. We repeat this cycle all morning hiking up a dune to go screaming down in seconds. I could do this for a few days of fun, however this afternoon I’ve booked a quad bike with the rest of the group.

The beginning of the Africa pics are now online, starting with Namibia.