Edmonton is home to one of the largest Indian populations in North America and most of them are Punjabi’s. Having dropped Bonnie at the BMW dealer shortly after 14h00 I am picked up by a taxi to get to my hotel, a nearby Best Western.

I briefly considered spoiling myself and staying at the Westin, which is in the center of town, but the hotel I have settled for is near to the dealer.  I have found the Best Westerns to be a good value deal. Great rooms that are reasonably priced.

The taxi driver is a Sikh. His accent is so thick and his English so abysmal that I battle to follow him. Normally I have an excellent ear for “Hindian Hingleesh”, but this is different. When we get to the hotel the entire front desk staff are Indian. We talk and I practice my “Hindian” on them and they are suitably impressed. Whenever I do this, I tell them that we learn Indian English at school in SA because of the large Indian population and they always swallow it hook, line and sinker!

Later on, I get a taxi back to the dealer and this driver is also Indian. Then this evening I figure a good curry must be available. So a third Indian driver takes me to the best Indian Restaurant in town, owned and run by his cousin (of course). Mention Ravi’s name and I am assured I will get a discount. In the restaurant they have never heard of him.

Bonnie is now back in my arms and the old tires will go along for the ride as spares, until I get home.

Before going any further I have received a comment from Steekoog, and I owe him an apology. His comment can be read on the last of my posts. The acronym is APAPOP and not APOPOP! Apologies Skipper!

The ride from Grand Prairie to Edmonton holds no real challenges. It is a good freeway most of the way. The speed limit is 110 and most Canadians are religious in their observance of it. I ride at about 125 km/h. Unlike the Canooks I do not have all day to dawdle around.

Along the way I pass the most amazing wooden bridge. I am in a hurry to get to Edmonton for Bonnie. I think about another wooden bridge, in fact three more wooden bridges in my life and realise that I need a photograph. There is only a rush in my mind. So I find a turn around and retrace my route. In order to get a decent photo, I cannot stop on the highway, so I duck off on a very poor dirt road which runs parallel to the bridge. This is why I ride Bonnie. We are easily up to this road and we get a great picture.

The wooden bridge in great shape

The Zambian Equivalent

So what are the other wooden bridges? About three years ago, Scope, his then Darling Dearest, my current and one and only Darling Dearest and I went on an extended bush trip through Namibia and Zambia. The aim of the trip was to get up to the Barotse Flood plains and the Liuwa Valley in Northwest Zambia. This is, like the trip I am on, also a big trip.

We entered Zambia at Kasane on the South Eastern corner of the Caprivi Strip. This Strip spans the top of Botswana and at its Eastern point, four African countries meet. Namibia, Zambia, Botswana and Zimbabwe. Once we had completed Zambian customs formalities, another story in itself as dealing with officials at African customs posts are not Scope’s strongest point, we set off on the main road.

The state of the sign at Kasane  says it all about the state of the state

This soon disintegrated and we were left making our way at an average speed of not much greater than 20 km/h. Both in similar vehicles, Toyota Land Cruisers. Scope always tells me he has the real deal, being the GX version. Mine is the VX version. This is a bit smarter inside with leather seats and an automatic gearbox. Scope is convinced that his is the superior bush vehicle. Time was shortly to tell.

Main Road Kasane to Sioma. In the US they will not believe this is a main road

On the way, in the middle of nowhere we are stopped by two individuals in thread bare Khakis, however one carries an AK 47. This means instant respect. The other hands me a letter. They are from the Shesheke City Council. We see no city but do not argue with an AK 47) and we have to pay a Carbon Tax in USD’s. We had already paid a Carbon Tax at the border so this is clearly a fleecing. Good thing I am leading our small convoy because, given Scope’s record in these situations, there could easily have been an armed conflict.

Eventually we get to our first nights camping destination at Sioma Falls. The next morning Scope takes me to one side. He tells me that I am driving too slowly and that we will never get to the ferry at Mongu and hence the Liuwa at this rate. He wants to go ahead and crack the whip. We are both towing heavy trailers and I cannot see anyway in which we can go faster.  I decide not to argue and to let him and his said then DD go ahead.

About 50 miles ahead we pass this old wooden bridge. I hope that Scope, in his hurry, has not tried to go over it, as the road, not instantly apparent, bypasses the bridge and goes through the river. Fortunately he has not but this does not change the waiting disaster. Less than two kms on, a very forlorn Scope is standing next to his vehicle. The trailer is lying nose down on the road. The tow bar has been pulled clean out of the chassis. This is the end of the Liuwa trip, as we now have to return to Namibia to have his vehicle repaired. Another story for another time.

However today’s bridge reminds me of the bridge in Zambia and I chuckle to myself.

Then the two other wooden bridges of significance, both have to do with Môreson.

When my parents acquired Môreson in 1986, my sister Susan and her then DD, John lived there for a while during the period in which they were getting LQF up and running. One evening on the way from work, John driving my parents Mercedes 230E missed the wooden bridge over the Franschhoek River and ended up in the river itself. In those days no one could criticize John to my parents, who were desperately covering up for the obvious deficiencies in their marriage. Had this been me, all hell would have broken loose. But then I probably would not have been in a rush to get home after whipping the hotel staff into late night shape. John always believed in the personal touch in dealing with these tricky situations. No wonder he was so tired that he fell asleep on the first 100 meters of rough corrugated dirt road. I wonder if this was nearly a Mary Jo moment?

This same bridge was washed away in the floods of 1994, shortly after we had moved to Môreson. At that time I owned a Porsche Turbo. We constructed a temporary road through the adjacent forest and neighbours property, for which one needed a 4 x 4. Unfortunately this meant the end of the Porsche, as I could not bring myself to do this to that magnificent vehicle.

At the same time, the main bridge over the Berg River on the R45 road, this is adjacent to where Bridge House School is now, was also a wooden bridge and it too was washed away. This meant that our children and all other Franschhoek children who went to school in Stellenbosch had to route to school via Paarl and back that way every day. In many ways this lead to the decision by Susan and myself to look into starting our own school in the Franschhoek area. In turn this lead to Bridge House School, about which I talked earlier on.

On this line of thought and thinking about Scope, who should have been on this trip with me, my thinking moved to his putting and the fact that he, D and Rontgen all use long putters. I think that this has something to do with their manhood and something lacking in that department. Everyone knows that in life it is the short strokes that are important. “Drive for show and put for Dough” the saying goes. Just ask the girls.

The short strokes are the gland finale in everything. The nail is not in the wood until its head cannot be seen. The last few shots are always the most important. In golf putting is the ultimate skill. It requires nerve and absolute control over the shaft and the head – of the putter. The putter has to become an extension of your arms and body. These woesses have putters that they dig in under their chins and then swing like a pendulum. This is not caressing the ball into the hole; this is like putting with your tongue and not with your assegai! No wonder their women are out of control.

This also applied to the best aircraft ever made, the Boeing 727. What made its performance so exceptional was its speed brake and wing. I was discussing this with Dianne, the US Airways captain and biker pilot chick. Imagine and aircraft approaching the airfield, on the glide slope heading for the runway. Flat out. Most other aircraft at this point would have to be in what is known as landing configuration. This means flaps down, gear down and power up. Speed at about 180 knots max. Not the 727. Clean and going like a Boeing. 350 knots. Power off. Speed brake out. Start running the flaps at their extension speed limit. Gear down and then power up and in the slot (Ready to land) all within 4 miles. Men these are the attributes you need to be a great lover. At the point you are going flat out, full power, you need to be able to slow down, change the tempo and get her into landing mode slowly and then just slide it on! NO 727 PILOT EVER NEEDED A LONG PUTTER!

So I have chuckled to myself and am actually thankful that I have such good mates. It will be good to see them all again.

I have now had the cousin’s best curry, which was very good and I will definitely be supercharged in the morning. The scenery en route shows Canada’s great plains at their very best. Miles and miles of cultivated lands, but more importantly Alberta is situated on a sea of energy resources. Oil, oil shale and natural gas everywhere. Construction of new roads and infrastructure to support this economic boom are driving this economy to a record performance and drawing in new inhabitants every day. Almost everyone has a South African doctor or dentist here and they love them, almost as much as they hate the local doctors.

South Africa must be the only country in the world that is exporting its world-class doctors and importing Cuban doctors to replace them. What am I missing? What do the imbeciles running South Africa not get?

The evening Highveld thunder storms have arrived and the lightening is flashing everywhere a la Johannesburg or the Free State. I am going to bed early tonight and want to get going early tomorrow. The mornings are cool and magnificent. I am hoping to make Regina in Saskatchewan tomorrow evening. From there I will drop down into North Dakota on Friday. This brings me back into the USA and I am expecting to be in Michigan on Sunday or Monday morning.

Tiarra jumps out to meet me at service station

She poses when she hears about Miss Molly. Take me with you please she pleads.
I would also like a wine named after me.

Bonnie is tucked up for the evening and also much cleaner.

Good Night, from Edmonton Alberta and good luck

Copyright 2012