It was not the great inconvenience of losing more than an hour worth of light the worst thing that the unfortunate episode that I had just gone through left me, but the horrible bitter taste that remained inside me.
One of the most exceptional days of my entire life was coming to an end. These kinds of days are magnificent because they offer everything one imagines but, even more importantly, everything that one could have never ever imagined.
After periods of such intensity, day after day handling such high levels of adrenaline, the arrival of easier stretches is not only welcome but becomes a necessity.
I arrived at Olloba with the intention of resting but the bicycle was shattered, and so was I. After a few hours of lying on my back, now on a mattress without mice, I could barely feel my muscles.
It took me two hard weeks through the jungle to make the 550 km to the last village in northeastern Gabon and there, in Mekambo, the easiest part was over.
No matter how hard one tries to prepare for unforeseen events, it is never possible to prevent everything. It had been almost 10,000 km since I had left Cape Town and since then I had been carrying 10 kg extra in spare parts.
I was already only 160 km away from the border with Gabon. I was still in the equatorial savannah, suffering more and more the scorching heat, the sticky tropical humidity and without any place to take shelter.
Once again, three weeks have passed since having stopped, but finally, the wait is over and the bureaucracy too (at least for the time being). These last two months of long stops went slow but the truth is that they have been necessary.
Deep in the heart of Congo, Christianity comes in many strange forms and practices — the result of a bizarre blend between this religion implanted by the West and the traditional beliefs held by the local people.
My stay in Brazzaville would be the last before leaving for a long time, a world with a minimum level of comfort. That's why I had to reluctantly spend three necessary weeks in the capital as a base.
If you have come this far after reading all the stories of Angola, you already know it and it will not be any mystery: Angola has reached my highest personal award, that of having won my heart.
Rest periods on a trip of many years are necessary, but more rest than necessary may also end up being counterproductive. Getting back on the saddle after living 3 weeks in Luanda, among friends, events and hang outs, required a great effort.
My first contact with Angola had occurred five years ago, in 2010, when my boss at the office I worked for in Chengdu, China, put me in charge of a project for an office building in Luanda for a Chinese developer there.
A few kilometers after leaving the bush I once again met again with the Atlantic Ocean in Benguela. I began a new stage in this country that I had already fallen in love with.
After crossing 350 km of bush for a week, I finally arrived in Lubango very tired. But instead of staying in the largest city in the south of the country I decided to continue 15 km uphill to Humpata, a small village located on a plateau at 1920 m high.
I had been cycling for almost two months of pure adrenaline, pedaling along the remotest roads of Namibia. I had been enjoying the beautiful solitude of a sublime scenery while dodging potentially dangerous encounters with wild beasts on a daily basis and coping with the scarcity of resources.
