MaxThePanda
Race Dog
Quite a claim. I know. I’ve never ridden Mongolia, the Russian Steppes or the high passes of Bolivia, but if any of it can possibly come close to the gob-smackingly insane scenery, rugged remoteness, ride-anywhere bloody impossibly fine terrain, or closeness to Big Nature of north-western Namibia, then strike me down with a big old bolt of lightning. Right now.
Allow me to make my case:
We’ve only been back a day. It’s too soon to be philosophical, poetic or just plain smart about the experience, so forgive me for wallowing in it, sticking my head under the water and coming up spurting a good old mouthful. It’s a bit of a daze.
Allow me to make my case:
We’ve only been back a day. It’s too soon to be philosophical, poetic or just plain smart about the experience, so forgive me for wallowing in it, sticking my head under the water and coming up spurting a good old mouthful. It’s a bit of a daze.