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I've been threatening for a while now - actually, more like a year. Where are your TR's, people want to know. First it was lack of internet access, then it was restricted internet access, then it was lack of home access, and then not knowing how to resize pics (can't do a TR witout pics, you know)!

Now, I'm all out of excuses - I have unrestricted internet access, and I can do it at home. I can do it anywhere, really. My primeval pleasure knows no bounds. I have registered on Flickr. All is ready. Okay ... get on with it, OWN ... You're being all circumlocutory again!

Yes ... sigghhhhh ... I have several TR's - some just started, some too pedantically described to be easily digestible on these forums, some still just a handwritten summary that needs fleshing out. So, where to begin ...

Okay, I'm going to flex my muscles with a short trip to Kruger that my daughter and I took back in February 2008. 15th to 17th Feb, to be precise. That should give me some basic skills and pic-uploading abilities.

Enough talking already ... get writing!

Well, it had better be easy to upload pics to the forum, because I'm going ahead regardless! The time is now, and nuttin' is gonna stop me. I'll just have to learn extra quickly ...

MM suggested all those months ago to just get writing. Each episode will then just follow sequentially in its natural order.

I'm preparing text on Word, so will post as soon as I have something worthwhile. Soon, sooner, soonest ...

Actually, sitting here at my computer, the sun has just gone behind a weird-looking cloud formation: to me, it looks like some film version of a new Disney film with the Mad Hatter and Dumbo smooching. Okay, I can't help it if my imagination is preparing itself for the rigours of TR writing!

No ... I'm waiting for Flickr to upload a pic for me so that I can introduce you to the beginning. But, it is slooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww; even this forum at the moment is taking me 20 minutes to post one thing!

Give me an hour, friends ... I'll definitely have something by then

Thanks CC! Maybe it's just my cellphone modem that's so slow. It just took 20 minutes to upload one picture!

Now, please tell me what I do next? Must I drag the pic across to the forum page; and then how do I resize it? Sorry for the quick tutorial reuqired, but as soon as I can do that, I can start with this TR!! The text is in place ... I just need to get a pic on.

Okay, time to let the cat out of the bag:

Let's introduce you to the main human protagonists of this tale (who do not, incidentally have tails, but remnants of them, known as coccyges; all because we don't swing around in trees like spider monkeys anymore )



For those of you may be unsure, my daughter is the one on the left (or, on the right, if you were looking from behind her) and my daughter's father is on the other side (right or left, depending on where you are looking from). This pic was taken a few months earlier on the rim of the Blyde River Canyon. Notice the easy expression on our faces, and the garb that blends in perfectly with the canyon's colour-scheme.

Yep, thought I'd shock you all with a pic as few people ever match an image they've created in their minds over time with the actual person's looks!

CC, glad you like the start: will be easier to put events to the people you have seen.

billyf, I was supposed to get to the Canyon when the sun was lower in the sky, hence more orange around. But, it was not to be ...

Siobain, I wouldn't call that revealing "All"!

Okay, let's set our heroes to the story:

At 11 p.m. on Thursday 14th February 2008, my preset alarm pealed wildly: “Gzzzkkkk Gzzzkkkk Gzzzkkkk”, it declared. I stretched out tightly knitted muscles - which had been twisted and contorted into foetal positions during my few hours of sleep - and groaned audibly. I had not had enough sleep by any stretch of the imagination … and by any stretch of a muscle fibre.

I had spent the late afternoon and early evening (until about eight) packing and checking I had all the relevant items. Inevitably, I always leave at least one thing at home; just hope it isn't an important item this time. Every time I come to packing, I remind myself that I am supposed to have done that list of essential, and other, items to take with on a trip. However, every time, memory has had to suffice.

This is what took so long before I could go to sleep – many of the items were still together from a recent trip, and a quick cup and grasp of the hands usually deposited several of these into the bag at once. But then, there were always those items that simply vaporised from their designated position on this earth! It had undeniably been at so and so location, but now some unseen force had spitefully relocated it. Nothing to do but search … and search … and search. I promised that I would get a GPS, and then type in each object's description and exact latitude and longitude so that I could find it again in my house!

At eightish, I had slipped into bed, a mixture of exhausted bliss and uncontainable excitement cuddling my senses. An hour earlier – after a brief healthy dinner of pizza and diet cool drink – I had put my daughter to bed. Only 11 years of age then, she needed every minute of deep sleep to keep that blemish-free skin blemish-free, her supple muscles and smooth, al-dente facial skin (firm, but yielding, to the touch) in perfect condition. I had tucked her in and, not ten-minutes later when I popped my head around the door, she was lost in a peaceful state of somnolence.

The pizza – perhaps it was the over-processed white dough, or the spicy chilli-mince, or the spicy chillies themselves – also contrived to create me some distress and prevent me achieving some degree of deep sleep. My eye-movements had never achieved much rapid flickering, a sign that would have ensured I was in alpha-phase sleep.

Rather, my hiatus-hernia decided to play the part of sleep-depriver, with the result that I woke up with severe heartburn. A few tablets sorted that out, but then the chillies conspired to keep my system ultra hyped-up. My heart was pounding, my temples were throbbing, my brain was uncontrollably reincarnating long-forgotten images from the earlier days of my life journey – if I hadn't known better, I would have thought I was suffering from puppy love!

To make matters worse, a neighbour chose a Thursday night to celebrate with loud music. After persuading him that he was somewhat inconsiderate in imposing his rapturous heavy-rhymed, incomprehensibly-lyricked “music” on my senseless senses, I tried again – this time a little more desperately – to find some numbered cloud (I think it's somewhere between 8 and 10) and cabbage out.

So now, I'd woken up, bleary-eyed, lacking sleep, but excited to get to Kruger:

By the time the alarm screamed at me, I perhaps had had an hour of rest. I stretched audibly – once to the left, and then again to the right (having learned this technique from watching overworked tabby cats after a day's rest), and then rolled out of bed. Unfortunately, I misjudged the edge of the bed and literally rolled out onto the floor. The thud was a blessing in disguise, and suddenly I had more energy than I dared to have at that hour of the morning …

I tippie-toed around the bathroom and lounge – so as not awaken my daughter's beauty sleep a minute before I should - then silently began to move my valuables into my car. I had packed most of it the night before, but prefer to take the expensive and important stuff only at the last minute. Three trips up and down the stairs, and I was ready to hop into the shower; actually, more like flop.

Showers are nothing short of miracle revivers, especially this time because, just as I had stepped under a tepid stream of steaming bliss, the hot water spurted out and, in my haste to avoid getting a premature suntan, I ripped the hot-water tap too far clockwise. A gush of ice-cold stimulation struck every sense at once, and I was instantaneously revived! For the next hour I was hyper.

I prepared some hard-boiled eggs, cheese zarms (that's suth-effrican for sandwiches; at least when I was a kid), the obligatory chocolate bars, and a Play energy drink with some still water in 2 litre bottles.

Into Aimee's room, where I shook her gently, while breathing some encouraging words to wake her. She took no notice of me. I set up a gentle rhythm on her shoulder, which made the rest of her body oscillate like a see-saw. Still no response. “Aimee!” I said, a little louder. “Mmmm?” she mumbled, but nothing else stirred. The proverbial little devil on my shoulder insisted on a bucket of ice water to help her become upright, but I continued to be gentle. Finally I pressed a crooked finger into the undulation of her shoulder and … presto! She did the cat stretch and then promptly fell back again on the bed. But, the 100w globes prevented her from re-entering Morpheus's arms, and soon she was staggering to her feet like a rag doll, flopping all over the place in an attempt to stay vertical.

“Kruger!” I declared firmly, and her eyes shot open. A deliciously sweet smile graced her lips and soon she was under the same shower, but first after trying to find her way blindly through the coursing steam that now pervaded the area. That told me that, despite it being February, it was still a chilly night.

It was 12.10 after we had finished a quick drink of coffee (Aimee had tea) and a few ProVita's and cream cheese (I put some chillies on just to keep me awake), and soon I was rolling the car silently out of the garage. Didn't want to wake anyone, and after activating the motorised gate with its remote, I gunned the car's engine and sneaked smoothly through the gate.

Billy, this was one of the very first trips where I thought I'd better record as many details per journal as I could. Previosuly, most of what I remember can only be documented off videos or pics.
In this case, I noted times and incidents, and also put in some funny things we'd said, or things I'd felt at the time. It took a lot of time to do this, but now it allows me to do a thorough trip report; and, once one sees the written text, almost always the full "movie" around the situation springs back to mind.

While I had had a restless rest the night before leaving, my daughter - whom I thought had slept soundly the whole time (and whom I had not dared awaken a minute before necessary to preserve her beauty sleep, had actually sneaked into my room and taken a picture of me whilst I slept! I only found this out when I looked at all my pics the first night in Kruger!

Here is the pic of me in my vulnerable state:


(Notice the unmatching pillow cases: I had shoved them on in a hurry just so I could get some sleep/rest.)

Of course, she wasn't going to get away with THAT, so, that first night in Kruger, I reciprocated. They say that, if you can see a person in their aesthetically most vulnerable state, and still love them without a moment's thought to the contrary, then that is TRUE LOVE!

Turned right onto a deathly quiet road – and dark, since the street lights were out for some reason – and then stopped at the garage before the highway. Petrol full, oil and water checked … ready to start our holiday. I noted the time as I sidled out of the garage and turned onto the N1: 12.30 exactly. That left 5 hours till gate open at Kruger … a comfortable drive if there were no hitches. I guzzled some Play and settled down to a cruising speed of 120 km/h on the freeway.

My daughter had cranked the seat back and promptly gone back to sleep. It made me remember how easily children drift off into sleep – when my parents took us away, it was the constant whirling-past of the telephone poles in the day, and the gentle purr of the car at night, that ensured I was out in a flash. I was feeling fresh and soon turned onto the N12 to Witbank.

I was amused at how the recent name change to the Highveld colliers town had not been fully completed – as is the case with so many other town-name changes throughout South Africa. It is either a lack of planning, or money, or both that has prevented the powers-that-be from doing a good job of this. I pity an overseas visitor driving him- or herself along our national roads, trying to establish exactly where they are! First, the board comfortably told me to follow the curve to the right onto the N12, saying “Witbank” in that direction. The next board solemnly declared “eMalahleni”. Luckily I knew the way to Kruger, and also knew that the latter appellation was the new name of the former. The next few boards stated “Witbank”, and it was only when we were around 50 or so kilometres from the town that “eMalahleni” became more prevalent!

By this time I was feeling a little drowsy – what with the generalised lack of sleep, exacerbated by chillies and a hiatus-hernia – and decided to open my window to get some cold air on my face. But my daughter was instantly too cold and I hurriedly wound it up again.

I decided to change pace a little and turned off into Witbank/eMalahleni itself – perhaps the change would initiate a spirited revival in my droopy eyes? After a quick sausage roll and diet Coke at a garage, I headed up the deserted streets of the not-so-little town. Then I followed the signs towards Middelburg (yes, TP; it's still called that, as far as I know). The back roads were dark, but in good condition, despite many trucks using it.

It was a seemingly long time before I saw the signs back onto the N4 East. I had saved the forty-something rand toll-fee by taking the back roads, but had probably gained another 20 minutes onto the trip time. I turned the radio to Lotus as it had a vibey programme on and the beat got my left foot tapping – if I had indulged the right foot, the car would have surged along in time to a pop diva.

As we approached Belfast, the expected mist set in. Every time I have travelled this way in the early hours of the morning – be it summer or winter, spring or autumn – it has been misty in the vicinity of Belfast! At first it was like encroaching will-o'-the-wisps, but soon it was a sheet of ghostly whiteness. I dimmed my lights and slowed to the pace of the bush – I suppose as a type of sneak preview?!

I cannot understand how other drivers whirl past in such a thick fog – more than about 60-70 km/h, you cannot see anything. Yet there were trucks and others that shot past at top speed – what a risk … for what little gain! Not me … I'm obstinate that way: safety always comes first, and if I ever doubted it, I simply have to look across at the angelic face of my daughter, and my protective instinct will allow no other way!

It was draining on the senses snail-pacing through the mist, and it seemed to go on eternally. Past Machadodorp, the earthbound cloud was still as thick, and showed no signs yet of abating. My eyes were seriously beginning to droop at this stage and, once or twice, I felt the first jolt of mini-sleep setting in. If you have never experienced a mini-sleep, it is an awfully scary thing: you are suddenly jolted into a realisation that sleep has overtaken you! Although it usually lasts only a few seconds, what is scary is that you don't know how long you've been asleep! And, in that time, the car has moved an indeterminate amount of metres, with you not in control of it! You could have veered off the road (and that has happened to many people too), or you could have struck something – in short, you could have been killed and you wouldn't have even known about it!!

What is worse is that, at that stage of exhaustion, it is virtually impossible to keep your eyes open any more. This seems a failing of Darwin's Theory of Evolution! Surely the mind and body would, at all costs, seek to preserve the animal?! Yet, here, the mind puts the body into a state of sleep, even though it must consciously be aware that it and the body could be killed in the process. Where is the self-preservation that has been the backbone of survival of life on this earth?

Annoyed with Darwin, I fought to keep awake until I could safely pull off the road. I had slowed down even more – any slower, and I'd be going backwards! - and put on my hazards. All the while, my daughter slept, oblivious that her safety was in the hands of a sleepy driver! Luckily, a cross-bridge presented itself after a few minutes, and I pulled right off the road under it. My daughter popped open an enquiring eye, and I told her I was going to have a short nap as I was tired. I might have told her that we were going to have the usual cereal for breakfast, because it had the same effect: “Oh,” was her initial and final comment, and we both fell into a deep sleep, after I had first made sure that all locks were secured on the doors and windows.

I slept soundly for 20 minutes, and was awakened by the roar of a heavy truck as it spurted past in a light rain that had begun while we were asleep. The roar had been both from the spray that spurted from the trucks wheels, as well as its ample hooter. It's amazing how a power nap of a few minutes can get the concentration back to a suitable level of safety! I felt like a newborn …

As we descended from the Highveld over the escarpment into the Lowveld, the clouds began to lift, and so the mist disappeared. However, it was now pelting with rain, which I thrilled to – nothing like the power and wetness of water precipitating from the skies in droves! Still slow progress, but rain was far superior to mist, in my estimation; hence, the slow progress had become a pleasure, rather than a drag.

Tell you about the strange sighting next ...

To continue my tale ...

There's a split in the N4 soon after Machadodorp - you can either go through Waterval Boven and Waterval Onder, and then through the tunnel, and a narrow pass; or you can take the split to the left (still N4) and have a faster, more-open ride, with fewer hold-ups. I almost always choose the latter at night because of the trucks that sometimes bank up, one behind the other, and which may crawl at indefinable speeds on the main route through the tunnel!

Today was no exception, and I slipped off to the left. The first part is very open, and, on a clear day, you can comfortably travel at 120 km/h. The mist was still very thick, though, so I continued slowly, hugging the left-most lane where the road split into a double carriageway.

Soon, I entered a sinuous part, where the highway wound first this way and that; 80 km/h was recommended in many places. My daughter had since altered her sleeping position, and now demonstrated her own sinuous posture: her head was twisted at almost 180 degrees to her forward facing body; her one leg folded under the other at the ankle; and the top leg draped over the other's knee to droop in a suspended, swinging position! I thought that, if I had to swerve for anything, she would either dislocate the top knee, or induce a whiplash to the neck area. But I didn't have the heart to wake her.

And then, as I rounded the next curve ...

And then as I rounded the next curve, a ghostly, surreal figure emerged from the mist! I don't believe in ghosts, but, for a split second, I thought I might have come across a phantom hitchhiker, known to be prevalent world-wide, but also having visited South Africa on occasion.

Despite travelling at around 60 km/h at that time, I braked hard and swerved left to avoid colliding with him. Some ghost! Strange how our brains function sometimes, but for a jiffy I was tempted to test the theory of the phantom hitchhiker - if the car passed through him, then its full acceleration would undoubtedly have been used for the first time!

I stopped about 50m past him and looked back in disbelief. At first, I couldn't believe what I was seeing - I thought I was in the middle of one of my mini-sleeps, and that I had better wake up immediately to avoid a collision. I even pinched my right forearm, but it was painful: this was REAL.

I glanced over at my daughter and was most relieved to find that, remarkably, the sudden braking and swerving hadn't woken her up! She looked as peaceful as if she was lying on a cool moss blanket below a gently spraying waterfall.

I was relieved because she was not seeing the apparition behind me. He was walking - much more accurately staggering and waddling - in our general direction. Right down the middle of the road, on the unbroken central line. I grimaced, not in pain, but in total confoundment. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing!

For, though the mist was swirling around him - which caused his chocolate-brown body and white eyes to alternately appear and disappear in fleeting episodes - it was the fact that his brownness was unbroken that caused me the greatest consternation. For, he had not a single piece of garb on his whole being ... he was, to state it crudely, NAKED!!!

Naked from the tip of his clean-shaven crown to the end of his little toes. At four o'clock in the morning. Walking down the centre of a road in mist. Seemingly in the middle of the bundus. How he survived this long, I couldn't say, as at least two cars had passed by me on this detour. None of them were there, so maybe he just appeared on the scene to entertain me?

I was in a bit of a quandary. There was no way I was going to allow a streaking stranger to approach my car - and he was moving (albeit very slowly) towards me - but, at the same time, I instinctively wanted to prevent both him and an approaching vehicle from massive injuries, or death. After all, this drunk or drugged madman could have a family somewhere, and a family could be approaching through the clouds oblivious to his presence. But, how to get him out of the road without me getting out of the car?

No, too risky to approach him in any way: there could be others around, or he could be violent, despite his seemingly incapacitated demeanor. Not worth the risk. What to do?

I could see no other choice but to move on and hope that no-one was hurt. And then he suddenly lost his balance, did a sort of a stuttering sideways run (something like Charlie Chaplin did in The Great Dictator after he was hit over the head), and ploughed into long grass on the verge. He lay prone for a few seconds, then sat himself up with a mixture of bemusement and confusion on his face. Then he promptly keeled over again, and I hoped he would stay off the road in that position till morning. He looked unhurt, so I hurriedly pressed the accelerator and was swallowed up by the engulfing swirls of white.

Aimee was still fast asleep, and I never did tell her what had transpired that strange, misty morning. I promised to find a police station and report the starkers man if I could - probably more to relieve my conscience of some guilt at having not done any samaritan thing to help him.