Rocky's Ride Detailed Travel Log Day 21: 23/08/24 Canyon road house - Wild Camping 100.1km I started the day a bit late, indulging in the bountiful buffet at Canyon Roadhouse, where flavours danced on my palate. Jerome, the French cyclist, joined me for the first hour of riding before taking the turnoff to Hobas—the gateway to the Fish River Canyon. Hobas, equipped with a well-appointed campsite and essential facilities, serves as the starting point for the renowned Fish River Canyon Hiking Trail which ends at Ais Ais resort. The Fish River Canyon is Africa's largest canyon, stretching over 160 kilometres, with widths up to 27 kilometres and depths plunging nearly 550 metres. It’s a breathtaking spectacle of rugged cliffs and winding riverbeds, shaped over millions of years by erosion and tectonic shifts. This dramatic landscape is a must-see, a place where nature’s beauty captivates and inspires. As I bid Jerome farewell on the D324 toward Ai Ais, the canyon’s contours emerged in the distance, its rugged terrain calling to me. Rocky and I hit a significant milestone—1000 kilometres into the trip! I gave Rocky a well-deserved pat on the head, and we pressed on. The gravel beneath us felt like pure magic, with a solid tailwind propelling me forward. Another wildlife encounter nearly had Rocky leaping out of the basket at top speed but and I managed to catch him just in time before he made another Superman attempt in pursuit of some ostriches. Jack Russells really do think they’re bigger than they are, a trait that makes them such an incredible breed. Today's ride really was spectacular, everything aligned—wind, gravel, and terrain. I was overwhelmed with raw gratitude and emotion. Buzzing with energy, I turned up the music on my phone, feeling the rhythm pulse through me. Tears welled in my eyes as I beat my chest and pumped my legs in time with the melody. I felt stripped bare, completely exposed to the raw power of nature, the overwhelming gratitude for being alive washing over me. Even now, as I reminisce, I get goosebumps recalling that moment—a paradox of stillness and rapid motion. Chemicals surged through my body: dopamine and serotonin flooding every nerve. All the hardships I had faced culminated in those two hours of intense emotion, surrounded by some of the most awe-inspiring terrain—a moment that truly defies description. At the D316 junction to Ai Ais, my water levels were precariously low, and I contemplated heading towards Ai Ais Resort instead of continuing for the day when a bakkie with two burly Afrikaans Namibians screeched to a halt as I flagged them down for water. They generously offered me their precious supplies. I asked if they didn’t need any, to which they replied in thick Afrikaans accents, “Don’t worry, we have brandy!” I noticed their drinks in the cupholders as they sped away just as quickly as they had stopped. At least my water bottles were full, allowing me to continue safely. “Sho!” I exclaimed to Rocky after the turnoff. What lay ahead was some of the most intimidating desert I had ever seen. A long descent followed by a lengthy uphill climb surrounded by a sea of sand stretched to the horizon. What appeared visually threatening turned out to be some of the best riding and terrain I had experienced on the trip. However, I did run out of water while climbing out of the valley. With virtually no traffic, I was lucky when a local farmer happened by. I waved my water bottle to flag him down. Theo stopped and explained he was a local farmer. I jokingly inquired if he farmed sand, given that there was nothing but sand around. He kindly took all my bottles and drove the 20 kilometres round trip to fetch water from his borehole. He was very proud of its quality, claiming I wouldn’t find a finer tasting reservoir in Namibia. Once again, I was blown away by Namibian hospitality. Theo mentioned that in addition to game hunting and cattle farming, they also mine for jasper, a type of chalcedony that comes in various colours and patterns. Its beauty and durability make it popular in jewellery and decorative items. The short district road between the D316 and C13 toward Ausenker was incredible—a final gift from the desert before I reached the Orange River. To my right lay a long valley that pitched upward into a sandy plain, with a mountain range skirting the horizon. I nearly pressed on to Ausenker but hit the wall at 100 kilometres, conveniently next to a wild camping spot marked on iOverlander. The road direction had also shifted, leaving me with a solid headwind. I spent an hour on the side of the road waiting for someone to pass. Luckily, I was blessed with a family convoy of two cars spanning three generations. The Van Niekers were an amazing family from South Africa who provided me with much-needed water for my last night of wild camping on this trip. My final night of wild camping on Rocky's Ride took me to a salt spring—a stark reminder that while water may be present in the desert, it isn’t always life-giving. The reeds marked its presence, but a thick salt crust covered the ground, and as I ventured deeper, I noticed signs of water, albeit unfit for consumption. This brought to mind The Sheltering Desert and how Henno Martin and Hermann Korn faced similar challenges, finding springs that offered hope for survival but were too salty to drink. For them, survival in these harsh conditions meant not just finding water, but finding water they could safely use. Like me, they encountered these deceptive springs—indicators of life in a desolate landscape that ultimately proved unusable. As I camped under the desert sky, I was reminded that, despite my modern gear and planning, my struggles here pale in comparison to the daily fight for survival Henno and Henk endured, navigating a landscape where even water, the most vital resource, was often undrinkable.