Two flats and one new tire later....

Well, as you can see from the deluge of e-mails you're getting, I finally got access. In fact, we're in a B and B outside Capetown which has wireless access and so I'm writing from the "comfort" of my room. I use quotation marks because I'm wrapped up in a feather comforter. These are all letters I've written but couldn't send, so that accounts for the flood at this time. Anyway, here goes:

This was going to be titled Political Science 101 based on the enlightening history lesson we received from our Servas hosts in Windhoek, but that will have to come later.
Other alternative titles to this letter were: "Ed and Natasha were right," "Carol gets up close and personal with the Namib desert," "Namib 2, Chico 0," however, I decided not to leave the punch line till later, but just cut to the chase.
First of all, you might remember that Ed and Tash were amazed that we were taking Chico to all the places on our list. We said that it was holding up admirably, and that this is what we had, so we just had to deal with it.
We left the port city of Swakopmund on the Namibian coast and headed south to the huge dunes. This meant over 200 miles of gravel road across the Namibian desert. I had talked with Chico and told him what was ahead. He checked his oil pressure, made sure he had enough water, and got himself geared up to go. We gave him a belly full of gas and off we went. At first things went very well. Chico said it wasn't nearly as bad as the bad road we faced getting into Botswana, and he was up to the task.

The first 50 miles we passed one car, met one other going the opposite direction, two road graders, one impala who obviously turned left when he should have turned right, and one truck fixing a tire. The latter proved prophetic for us when after 100 miles Chico came up lame with a flat tire. No big, we gave him the spare and off we went again. Then things went from bad to worse. We had just stopped at the sign which noted we were at the Tropic of Capricorn, when I noticed the tire was low. Carol said: "Jim, I can hear air coming out." Chico had come up lame again on the same leg, front right just 30 miles after the original problem. Now he had no spare and only three good legs.
I gave Carol the option of staying with the car or going with the tires and getting them fixed. She chose to stay with the car. There was a dot on the map which showed a gas pump on it just 30 miles further down the road. Going back in the direction we had come meant retracing our steps. But all the traffic came in the opposite direction and absolutely nothing headed in the direction we needed to go. We waited for about 40 minutes making jokes about sleeping in the desert, how long could we survive on the remaining beef jerky we had, and why didn't we buy more water when we had the chance.

Finally, dust in the distance was moving in the right direction, and we knew that at least we had something headed our way. Whether it was help or not, we didn't know, but it was encouraging just to know that something was moving towards us, as opposed to getting smaller in the distance.
It turned out to be two Brits from Manchester, and with a little rearranging of luggage both tires went into the "boot," with me in the back seat. They weren't in much better shape. They didn't buy more water, and were worried about where the next petrol pump was. I told them I had been reassured that there was gas at "Solitaire," so they felt better about that, so much so, that they even turned on the AC. They hadn't been using it to save gas. She had been told to ration her water, and when she found out that she was only a half an hour away from a beer, she drank her water with enthusiasm.
We pulled into the station, and there were the men fixing tires. I was not the first in line, and had to wait my turn. Finally, they got to me, and said that they could fix the one, but the other had to be replaced. Luckily they had the right size, and at $50 for a new tire, I decided to bite the bullet and get Chico back to full operational condition. This was one of Ed's and Tash's concerns, that the tires were so small and we were going to drive under some pretty rugged conditions. They proved to be very good forecasters, unfortunately.
Now I had two good tires, but I still had to get back to where Carol was hopefully waiting. The Brits and I made jokes about the situation. We knew Chico would be there because he was jacked up and missing a tire. Carol was another situation. What was I going to do if I showed up and the car was there, but no Carol?

Luckily, just as I was wheeling my tires out to the gas station area where I might catch someone going my direction, a car with two Germans stopped and needed help with their cell phones. They had borrowed them from friends living in Namibia, but didn't have the access codes necessary to make them work. Hey, I've got my Blackberry! I need help, you need help, it was made for a win-win situation. They would have helped me anyway, but it was good to be of some assistance instead of just being the receiver of people's good nature. We got in touch with the friends with the help of my Blackberry, (Thanks, mom) and I gave them my Namibian phone card which still had time left on it, so that when they reached Swakopmund, they could phone their friends, who by this point would have found the access codes they didn't have when we first made contact. So with still more rearranging of luggage, with the two spare tires and me in the back seat, off we went.

Forty minutes after leaving the station, after the three of us ragging on Bush the whole way, there was Chico right where I had left him. Now the only concern was whether Carol was still there. Happily, she was with a considerably relieved look on her face as we pulled to a stop in front of her. The whole process took just over two hours and cost us $50. We looked on the bright side. It could have happened when we were much further away from the station. The station might have been closed or not been able to repair the tires, and all the other things which could have gone wrong.
There are always glitches in travel, and thankfully, Carol is not one to panic nor rant, rave or blame me when things go wrong. Things always work out in the end, and this is just another example of that.

Till then, we remain, safe, in one piece, and with nerves calmed by a hot shower and a good meal. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Jim and Carol.