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Tjannel Tjainas

(19 July 2020)

As much as it doesn’t give us much to write about, at least we still get to do short routes around the block.

The well-known Brits channels is a day’s comfortable riding on tolerable dirt roads, with mediocre views, and lackluster skies.

There are a few smaller channels, but the most popular route we haven’t done in a few years and we decided to go freshen up our old tracks.

It runs next to a train track for a short spurt, with no fence or security cameras. The train tracks are notorious for devouring little naughty children… our days were numbered.

The national news can be wholly depressing these days. It’s much nicer reading the local graffiti – vulgar, educational and artistic!

Chikita has this magical superpower, unknown to the gods. She can lose a camera in 308 different ways. I sometimes wonder about the use of such impenetrable powers…

After a short rouse through the bushes, we found it.

The smell of putu-pap cooking in a black pot on an open fire; the cheerful bickering of ladies doing laundry in the nearby stream; and colourful blankets catching a breather after a cold night’s cuddle. Africa!

We always look forward to the one and only water-crossing on this trip, but time after time we are disappointed by its weak flow. Almost like remembering things from when you were a toddler… they always seemed significantly more monstrous?!?

En route, you might get chased by the world’s smallest Miniature Pinscher; sized up by an Ankole cow; admired by a kudu-kalfie; or scolded by a puddle-duck.

Just as your stomach starts to rumble, you might find a picturesque picnic spot. While you are out there, take a quick yawn on the lawn.


A good spot, with great friends, nerve wrecking MotoGP racing, delectable pizza, and silly Pugs.

How often we forget

That breath can be sweet

Flowers bloom in winter

Grass grows again with first rain

How often we forget

Yesterday was a treat

Tomorrow a blur

And Now is all we can contain

How often we forget

That earth has a beat

With age it grows fainter

Sitting inside a grey windowpane

How often we forget



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