Sand, shovels and adrenaline.
The next part I spun around again. This time I ended up with both wheels buried deep in the sand and no matter what I did there was no movement. Time for a break, maybe a quick nap? When I had my breath back, and my arms were trembling a bit less, I started to dig a path for every wheel. A smooth way up. I hoped it would be enough to get movement in my poor disabled Pam and It was.
We got moving again. In this way we went through an other four or five bad pieces. All about 200 to 300 meter long. In between were reasonably good, but still difficult to drive, stretches. I fell down twice. Not bad. Not hard. Just the front wheel hooking into the sidewall, sending me flying.
Picking up the 250 kg bike in the soft sand was a torture, and soon I rode without gloves and in the bad pieces, without helmet and my jacket wide open. I just needed to cool down enough to stay alive and the helmet limited my breathing to much.
Suddenly I saw a house, and I saw a group of people looking at me, and the path became wider, and the dirt was solid again.
Did I make it? I had no chance to look at my GPS during the ride. Even during the easy stretches I had to concentrate on the road every second of the way, so the end came as a very pleasant surprise.
After a talk and a drink and the usual checkpoint-forms, it was time to go for the next 30 km stretch to Fort Ganal (or a name like it) Just then they decided to tell me that the next 30 km were much, much, much worse then the part I had done so far. The part I had driven was also used by small trucks and big 4X4s. The next stretch, only tractors could come through. Hmmm, now they tell me.