Friday, July 9
The Shirt is proudly hanging in Brightwater Shopping Mall, Joburg. It's a fantastic sight.
While I've been roadtripping it around South Africa these past three weeks, Bjorn and Marianne have been hard at work in Joburg continually spreading the word to the international press. Bjorn has even been featured on Costa Rican TV.
Catch all his latest news here
Truthfully, I'd be very happy to fly home today, but I am hoping to spend my last full day with Bjorn catching up on the past few weeks and reminiscing back over the adventure from Kenya to Kopfontein.
It turns out though that Bjorn is booked up with shirt commitments around the Gauteng area and, as I don't have transport, I can't meet him.
Later on friday he also has to pull out of our planned 'last night on the beers':
"Sorry mate. I'm with Nelson Mandela's photographer and Morgan Freeman. Catch you tomorrow lunchtime in the pub."
Blown out for Morgan Freeman! I suppose I can forgive him on this occasion :)
Instead, Blackburn and I spend my last evening in South Africa in the Nigerian gangster pub over the road from our guesthouse. This is where I first found Blackburn stumbling around all those weeks ago, before the World Cup had even begun.
It's Castle and Klipdrift, then time to pack my bags...
Thursday, May 20
Gaborone, Botswana - Joburg, South Africa
“Excuse me, which way is it to South Africa please?”
“Just cycle to the end of this road, turn right, go straight for about a kilometre, and turn left at the second set of lights. It’s straight all the way then for about two hours.”
And so Bjorn and I set off on our final day on the cycles together. We are in more of a rush than we would wish as we have promised to cross the border at noon for the benefit of press and TV coverage awaiting our arrival in South Africa.
“Did you really travel all the way here from Norway?” the hotel concierge asks.
“Only from Kenya,” I have to confess.
Despite today’s border crossing being the final of his long, epic journey Bjorn is not in the best frame of mind. Yesterday he received some very bad news from home. I would liken what he discovered to a severe mugging down a dark alleyway. And now, today, with 11 months under his belt he has just received the second bad message in 24 hours; this one like a kick in the balls.
I guess some women who struggle to come to terms with the sudden change in their lives after giving birth will relate to the anti-climax that Bjorn is feeling today. After 335 days away from home you sort of expect, hope, that the final journey will be more momentous, eventful…exciting.
For me it is all about finishing this last 30 kilometre stretch to the Botswana border without serious incident. For, although South Africa holds plenty of dangers, I just want to get through this and know I have succeeded in completing my six-week trek down through southern Africa.
Just to add a little bit of extra tension the local authorities are widening the main road from Gaborone to Kopfontein. This means that instead of 30 kilometres of easy, straight riding on immaculate asphalt we have 30,000 metres of articulated lorries, diversions and sand blown from the two new lanes that are beginning to take shape on the South Africa bound side of the road.
Bjorn wants to chat; I, being the one forever paranoid about consequences, wish to keep my attention 100 per cent focused on the job in hand. After all, most accidents either happen in the home or on the final leg of a journey to your destination.
It seems like every second passing lorry driver understands that we have been journeying towards South Africa for some considerable length of time: their allowances for overtaking (and not overtaking when there is oncoming traffic) are polite to the point of reminding one of learner drivers taking their final driving tests. A good percentage of them also wave, beep their horns, flash their lights and give us the thumbs up as they overtake or pass in the opposite direction. Many of the hundreds of workmen we pass at the sides of the dusty road are also bigging us up with friendly shouts of encouragement, waves and even claps.
And just like that I start to get goose bumps on my skin. It feels like all these people are extras in our private road trip movies, congratulating us at the very end. I start to smile; Bjorn begins to sing.
We feel alive. We feel a sense of accomplishment.
The border post looms up in the distance as advertising boards advocate the merits of mobile roaming with their companies in South Africa. Another board reads:
YOU HAVE A DESTINATION TO REACH - BE ALERT
Prior to passing through Botswanan customs it is time for those last travelogue photographs; those badly filmed handicam interviews that might one day help retell the tale of this adventure to voyeurs who would prefer to watch rather than participate.
As our first South African of the day congratulates us both in person for the completion our individual journeys we stand with our two bikes and pose for photos by the sign Welcome to the Republic of South Africa.
A firm shake of hands; a slightly emotional man hug. We have done it. We have reached South Africa.
Tina, the UNHCR PR and Media chief for South Africa, and her driver, Godfrey, greet us at South African customs. We are only a few minutes over our promised noon arrival.
We greatly appreciate Tina and Godfrey’s efforts for driving this far to pick us up. It has been a very long day for them. Bjorn and I are, though, both rather flabbergasted to discover that the UNHCR (who have been whittling us for several days to set an exact border crossing time and place for media purposes) have failed to bring a single television company or newspaper journalist to the border to document or film the completion of the journey. Sadly, I think the UNHCR just don’t get it. They don’t see what has been done. They do not appreciate quite how much media might take interest in this story in the coming weeks.
The road south immediately passes through the magnificent Madikwe Game Reserve. The roads are almost deserted. At the first place we stop to buy cold drinks the vibe reminds me of road trip movies through America’s Midwest. There is an immediate edginess to proceedings in South Africa. Aside from all the ‘armed response’ and ‘this premises is protected by armed weapons’ signs, the barbed wire fences, much of this undesirable negativity is intangible; something just feels menacing.
The predominantly black towns put one in mind of Canada and the USA; the white settlements are an eighteenth century Dutch pastiche, with their ageing United Dutch Reform Church spires and perfectly trimmed townhouse gardens.
The first town of any great size we pass is Rustenburg. England will play the United States here on June 12. It is out in the middle of nowhere in a place where altitude could make a difference to some players. It is around two kilometres above sea level here.
My other observation is that I wouldn’t wish to be driving these deserted roads in a car in the middle of the night on my way back from a World Cup match. The England v USA match will finish around 22:30. My advice for anybody driving home that night is: keep to the N4 all the way back to Joburg.
Home for the night is a posh suburb of Johannesburg. We are staying with Bjorn’s mate Kjetil Siem and his family. Kjetil is the President of the South African Premier League and has kindly offered to put the two of us for a few days.
After Tina and Godfrey drop us off we enjoy Norwegian chocolate, takeaway pizza, several glasses of very good South African Sauvignon Blanc and chat into the early hours with Kjetil and his lovely wife, Irene.