The plaguing stomach issues finally got the best of me. After a frustrating night of nausea, inability to eat, and frequent runs to the bathroom – despite being on two different stomach medicines – I decided to skip the next two days of riding and advance to Windhoek. In this capital city, there was the promise of excellent hospital facilities and lots of supporting logistics. I was terribly sorry to miss Kari´s final two riding days but knew that we would unite for some final fun in Windhoek.
Fellow rider and friend, Christina, offered to accompany me and I was very pleased to have her come along for what turned out to be an adventurous day. After stopping at a delicious German bakery in Ghodabas, we caught a minivan shuttle for the 200km trip. Flat brushland gave way to rolling hills that reminded me of southern California desert. The scenic drive was interrupted by the quick serve of the car and a kurthump as we ran over a warthog that had darted into the road. We went back to drag the body of the road (the driver was afraid to do it and had two ladies do it instead) and salvage the meat, but no takers.
The driver dropped us off at Windhoek Medi-Clinic, a modern hospital, nicer than any I had seen in Italy. When I checked into casualty, I was so caked in mud that an orderly followed me around with dustpan and broom to sweep up after me! Fortunately, all tests were negative and when I checked out, I was ravenous for the first time in days. Christina and I spent the rest of the day exploring the restaurants and cafes of Windhoek. The city is beautiful and reminded us of any small European town. The Germanic influence (from recent colonial days) was evident in the architecture, food, and tourism. Every local tried to speak to us in German before trying their English. All except a local couple who offered us a ride because we were in the part of town where only prostitutes ventured at that hour! Our nickname became the Windhookers!