THE LONG ROAD NOWHERE

“Trauma can occur when we experience things that happen too much, too fast, too soon or too little for too long for our nervous systems to handle” – Tim Morrison.

This trip was meant for two. But as usual this type of trip ended up as a cup of fuck-that-was-hard tea for one. I’m going to be honest, adventuring alone is uncomplicated but adventures shared is a welcome comfort. While booking this trip I had a few friends in mind to ask to come along but flippant commitments and work schedules threw proper spanners into the logistical side of things. Seems I’m in a season where for once, I would like some company.

From start to finish this trip was sticky. I booked four nights in the Tankwa Karoo National Park, paid, sent the proof of payment and patiently waited for the booking confirmation letter that never came. After a frustrating few days of phone calls and emails trying to solidify plans and SANParks misplacing my payment I gave up. Relinquished control. I soothed my disappointment by acknowledging the unease in my gut surrounding embarking on this trip solo. Home was where I was meant to be. Three days into relinquishing control and easing into home life, the Tankwa Karoo National Park confirmation letter makes an appearance in my inbox along with the park office saying they found my payment, in the same breath asking if I made it there safely as I haven’t checked in. Great.

I inform them that I live five hours and nine minutes away, that is Google Maps ambitious attempt at an estimate to get to no-mans land, and driving nearly four hundred kilometers just to be told I can’t be there didn’t make sense to me. They apologize and extend the courtesy of changing my dates to a more convenient time. Looks like I’m going to have to go be hardcore after all. The unease in my gut rises. The window period for this trip is closing. I check the calendar. Namaqualand in May. Transkei in June/July. Work is pretty full on until October. Hopefully a trip overseas in December.

Let’s recap quick. I put the trip to a friend but different geographical locations make it impossible. I book anyway. SANParks misplaces my payment. I sigh with relief because I don’t really feel like being a solo flying, self relying badass at the moment. SANParks finds my payment. The trip is back on. Flip. I phone another friend to join, they confirm. I take the plunge, move the trip a few days on. Just as I settle into the comfort of not having to go at it alone, a freelance job whisks my wingman away. Back to a party of one. The final, hopeful yet failed attempt to get friends to join the night before departure leaves me pensive. I’m clearly meant to go alone or not at all. Generally I heed these types of warnings, but my stubbornness has been especially stubborn of late. I don’t sleep much that night. My heart keeps reminding me of the purpose of these trips, of the dream of becoming a full time creative adventurer as she gently hugs my mind to still its fears.

4am alarm sounds. I snooze until seven. At least I wake with that familiar excitement that going on a trip brings, it feels like a good sign. I look over to where all the gear stands ready for departure. Having been single for quite some time has made me pretty self-sufficient, it can be tiresome too though, relying on myself for everything has breached my armor of late. It’s a new and foreign feeling this desire to share my life. Uncomfortable even. Giving in to such a desire means life as I know it will change. Change is easy when you are proficient and comfortable with skills for the change at hand. Change is hard and scary when you’re so good at being single that you don’t know how to be together. My mind is hard at work trying to make sense of this unfamiliar unease now attached to solo trips into the unknown.

Willingly obliging my slow characteristic approach to the unfolding of an adventure ahead, I get practical to get my mind off things. Finding relief in systematic morning routines and packing the car. Brewing the first morning coffee is part of every morning ritual, no matter where I find myself. I start there. The simplest of actions and familiar sounds can be soothing for the nervous system when in a state of discomfort. The gas stove ignites, the click to ignite the flame. The soft consistent sound of the flame coming to life. A soothing white noise and memories from growing up camping and early morning breakfast under the trees in the Kruger National Park comes drifting in. My dad standing by the gas cooker making eggs, bacon, grilled tomatoes and toast. Mom on tea and coffee and getting us dressed. My brother and I still making jokes in the tent. I almost tear up at the thought of times shared, deeply grateful for the knowing of what togetherness feels like. Somewhere hidden in the recesses of my heart I was hoping for a life of togetherness, I somehow managed the complete opposite. The little percolator gurgles aggressively for a moment and then settles down. I warm the milk. Pour it all together. Top it off with a spoon of honey and sit down for a moment to savor the wholesome memories that sounds and smells can bring. The morning sun spills into the room, warming my skin. Every minute is a gift.

The Tankwa Karoo National Park has been on the radar for a while now. The last time I visited the Karoo I just broke up with my partner of three years, booked a house with a fire place on a lonely piece of Sutherland. I had every intention of letting the stars lead the way and bring hope but I made friends with a cat and cried myself to sleep instead. My mom phoned the next day and asked me why I’m all the way out there on my own when in fact my heart needs support. I didn’t have an answer to that question. In hindsight I have always dealt with grief and sorrow in this way, in solitary isolation. (Trauma treasure map clue number one – people aren’t safe to share vulnerable things with). The purpose for returning this time around was part adventure, part healing. Apart from wanting to be a full time creative adventurer I am in a season of validating deep rooted trauma and the road to healing is slow and long and hard. Movement, be it running or geographical, breathes new life into old processes, so adventuring makes sense.

I hit the road at nine.  I take in the scenery around me.  The farm jeep track and the lane of trees that frame it.  I feel lucky to call this place home. I ease into the knowing that this feeling and this place will still be here when I get back. Just as I get comfortable with comfort, life switches things up.  I often experience the settling into comfort as a pre-empt into discomfort. (Trauma treasure map clue number two – comfort is a trap). Naturally I have come to suspect comfort of all sorts of things. I make it to Muizenberg by nine forty five. I pull up to the gas station fishing for my debit card.  Nowhere.  A visual of where I left it at home flashes into view.  My plans and life’s plans are having a squabble. Back I go.  Now my mind jumps into overdrive and I am asking questions wondering if I should expect deep and meaningful answers.  Is the trip just not going according to plan because it’s not going according to plan or are these signs that I should adhere to and not go? Wisdom and a wired curiosity butt heads.  Back home. Ten thirty.  Might as well be a rebel, push some time limits and brew another cup of coffee knowing it will kick me in the shin later.

I make it back to Muizenberg debit card in hand by eleven thirty.  Fill up.  Head out. If I was going anywhere else I wouldn’t have been on edge so much, but it’s the Tankwa and a place I haven’t been to before. The rule of thumb is to give myself double the time to get to a place than what Google Maps suggests it takes.  But by now, all rules have been thrown out the window and blown away by the wind.  Global Positioning Systems know nothing about the conditions of some of the roads here in South Africa.  Have you seen the 200km stretch of dirt road between Ceres and Calvinia?  It eats tyres for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then some for dessert. 

As the open road unfolds, so does the mind. It’s time to ease into acceptance. Nothing has gone according to plan. The amount of responsibility this trip demands of me feels high. I wonder why the pressure on myself to follow through.  What do I have to prove? (Trauma treasure map clue number three – love is performance based). I admit I desire support, on this journey and in life. I’ve done enough solo trips to know what to expect, spent enough time on my own to know I’m good company, willingly choosing remote places and challenging routes only accessible by four by four but right now, right here I am experiencing a powerful change of heart. A deeply worn reluctance clearly visible. How do I go about no longer wanting to adventure alone if it is all I have known for the past eight years. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a thing called a boyfriend if it fell into my lap! I feel the nervous rush of needing to get to an unknown destination before it gets too late and my peaceful slow going nature playing tug of war.  I’ve never been one to speed off to the destination. Finding a spot to make a cup of coffee next to the road are made on a whim, there is no time for whims today my performance based alter ego shouts out loud and clear. 

I thought getting to the Namaqua National Park in the Northern Cape was the longest stretch of nothing but getting to Tankwa competes for the win. I packed what food was in the house and fridge which was a sum total of one packet of rice cakes, a jar of peanut butter, a small bowl of left over salad and three sweet potatoes.  Enough coffee and tea for the masses.  Was I manifesting company?  I found my way to Ceres.  By now properly rattled and the unease hasn’t left.  The hours on the map aren’t exactly dwindling and once I leave Ceres, the road turns to gravel, the going gets slower and the journey gets longer.  I’m fighting day light hours.  Fighting myself too. I fill up again.  Fill up two jerry cans too. I had every intention of stocking up on supplies but was blinded by the fading light on the horizon.  I still wanted to let loved ones know where I was and that I’ll soon be dropping out of signal.  That thought was scarcely cold and poof no more signal.  I telepathically let everyone know I’m ok.  I let myself know too.  The longest dirt road stretched out in front of me.  Flood damage and corrugated iron as I call it.  It was three thirty.  At nine that evening I was still four by fouring myself silly up a mountain to get to where I needed to be…you do the math.

Hours went by at forty kilometres per hour. I didn’t want to change a tyre on this stretch of road with night time approaching, so the going was slow.  Although signal has long gone, the GPS seemed to soldier on, until it didn’t and the little animated vehicle kept on loop da looping itself loopy by doing unnecessary u-turns.  I felt lost.  How does one feel lost on a single dirt road through the Karoo? I don’t think I felt lost as much as I felt disconnected.  The disconnect made me feel lost.  Interesting that the person moering into the wilderness to be by herself, finds herself desiring deep connection where she went to be without it.  Paradox of note.  Truth be told I like peering into the abyss that is the self.  At the most unlikely times when that feeling cloaked in loneliness arrives and overwhelms I push in.  I book a trip to no-mans land to call a meeting with myself.  Part of the drive behind these adventures are familiarizing myself with the deep and lonely places I carry within me, maybe then they wont feel so scary to face or share.

There is a stigma attached to the feeling of loneliness. It makes everyone so uncomfortable. When you experience it and speak it yet few make the effort to enquire about the reasons behind it. Some research shows that childhood trauma can cause chronic loneliness in adults, it’s a thing. This is not the feeling you feel when you find yourself alone and bored with your own company. It actually reflects a lack of meaningful connection to others. Not because I don’t have the skills to build connection (I’ve learnt how to mimic these a long time ago) it comes down to not being able to trust connection and therefore not allowing it in.

Ok, back to this friendless road.  The last standing Afrika Burn sign read “this is not the turn off to Afrika Burn drive further”.  Further was a lot further.  And then when I got further, I had to drive further still. I pass the Afrika Burn padstal.  Festive.  Fifteen minutes later that all familiar feeling of I might be going the wrong way crept up on me.  My ego: you are on the only road there is, this feeling is invalid.  I feel the need to turn around and ask for directions.  The only sign of life was a tol bos crossing the road.  I suddenly feel like the only person left on the planet.  For once I humor the gps’s animated car and make a u-turn.  The padstal previously festive was as quiet as if there never was anyone. Gates closed.  One lonely car with a shredded back tyre.  I pull up.  Ask about the Tankwa National Park. One straight road, one big sign you can’t miss it. My ego jokingly pokes, I told you so.  Grateful for a moment of direction and connection, I soldier on. With renewed confidence a giddiness arises about getting there despite the time set-back.  Little did I know that high hopes and harsh reality was already at war.

I fear the conventional although deeply longing for consistent love and connection. Consistency feels conventional. I’m not sure the conventional and happy partnerships co-exist. I constantly fight a tiresome battle against the mundane. A battle I’m not sure can be won.  For the mundane, consistent love and connection to live in harmony it will take next level consciousness, awareness and critical self observation. Radical self responsibility can pave the way for phenomenal relating and relationships but how committed are any of us to that way of relating.  Before we know it we are Netflix and chilling, ten kilograms overweight and we’ve lost interest in our partner and ourselves. Dreams have died and we have settled.  I won’t stand for it. Sadly instead I’ve stayed away from it. All of it.

It’s been dark for a while. If the Tankwa National Park sign doesn’t come soon, well then what. I honestly didn’t have an answer. I was wired and tired at the same time. At last among the dust and low veld shrub gates appeared. The Tankwa National Park. I turn off, a narrow rectangular sign reads reception 75km. I wanted to cry but also laugh because I found the place in the dark but I haven’t yet found the place and its dark. You know!? Desiring support but having to be the support. Needing a hand to hold but you have to hold your own hand. I can go on. I err on the side of a glass half full and manage a half skew smile and a deflated yay. This day has been longer than it needed to be and it’s not even done yet. I’m done but can’t be because I’m the only one steering this ship. In it now. I see car lights in the distance, my eyes seem to be playing tricks because it’s on the same side of the road. I slow right down and wait for it to approach and pass but it’s not coming any closer. I approach inch by inch. I move over to slowly pass and see another Jimny roof top tent up, park lights on, facing in the opposite direction. Turns out this couple drove and drove and drove to find the park and gave up right about where I found them. Making a dusty salad and opened a bottle of wine, music going. I was invited to camp in the road, I said thanks and declined, determined to reach this gorilla in the mist. I wasn’t sure what lay ahead or what I was to find but I’ve come so far, I wasn’t willing to accept defeat now.

Undulating hills, a road that got progressively worse as the night went on. The only saving grace was the lonely man made reception building silhouetted against a star studded night sky. There was no one to meet me. No lights on to greet me. A quiet, eerie and solitary welcome at the Tankwa National Park deep in the no-mans-land Karoo. One set of keys and a paper pinned to the information board, the surname of the couple I just passed and mine. There was a brief moment I contemplated to return to the couple and tell them I found the land of milk and honey, it wasn’t far just a few hundred undulating hills away. I opened the directions to my camp site and decided the couple could fend for themselves out there. I still had a ways to go. They’re on their own I say under my breath, reality was they were two and together, I was on my own.

Shoeweeeeeeee… I give out a big sigh as I finally settle into my setup at the Steenkampshoek campsite. I’m proud of myself I mouth loudly. I don’t bother pitching a tent but make myself comfortable in the back of the Jimny. I exchange the jerry cans, water and gear for a mattress and sleeping bag. I briefly take in my surroundings, the 100meters around the car visible by headlamp, a quick look up at the stars, a faint mountain ridgeline silhouette visible from a belated moon rise. I can’t believe I made it. I’m here. The Tankwa Karoo National Park. Today was tough, long and tested my mental endurance. The desire to feel safe and have company is more exposed than usual after a long day of going against the grain. The night will be a suffer fest if I don’t get my nervous system to relax. The child in me admits that she doesn’t like the dark so much, I try to comfort her but my eyes give me away. Neither do I. I settle in for the night, thinking I’m tired enough for a good nights sleep and dancing in dream land. But there’s a first time for everything right?

My heart is racing. My breathing shallow. My lungs constrict. My mind a battle field, erratic, loud. Panic. I am panicking. I’ve stepped off the edge of the abyss and I am falling. Clutching and clawing at air. The darkness is closing in. The space around me is disappearing. I am alone. So alone that it has sent me into a full blown panic attack. Out here in the Tankwa Karoo, at a campsite I chose furthest away from anything and anyone, needing a four by four to reach, with no signal and no connection I walked straight into the lair of aloneness. Now listen up, you’re talking to someone who has been willingly, by choice, adventuring through life solo for eight years. Curiously and bravely venturing out into the unknown with gusto and joy. I am really good at doing things alone, self-sufficient, independent and capable. If I had a choice in going alone or bringing company, I would choose going at it alone, it simplifies things. So imagine my surprise when panic struck, when usually in panic stricken situations I am calm, collected and think more clearly than the crystal clear waters of Cape Town on a really good viz day. The train of thoughts I could capture were the following fears – dying without having had a witness to my life, the fear of never really being known; what if I just don’t have it in me to let people in due to previous disappointing experiences and now not trusting anyone; what if no one comes along to climb these walls I have built or sit patiently and wait for a door to open to see the magic that happens behind this fortress I have cultivated; what if I never know the depth of love, care, consideration, presence and interest I show others for myself; what if I’m just, plainly put…not worth it. My mind shot my nervous system into over drive and I was overheating and ready for shut down. I was frozen with fear, in time, in place. The reality, the truth, the now, too much. I must have passed out somewhere in the night from pure exhaustion because I woke with light streaming into the windows of my car.

I wake feeling like I partied for three days straight. My nervous system a derailed freight train. I adjust to my new surroundings under a slightly clouded sky. The mountain behind me dressed in whimsical billowing mist slow dancing its way into the valley below.  The quiet is deafening. Visibility is good for a troubled mind. I did contemplate packing up and heading home but the day light restored my lung capacity, forgetting about the night. I unpack the vehicle, drink some water and continue to rig a favorable setup. I’m excited for a cup of coffee out here in this wilderness space. I feel ready to explore (or avoid, no longer sure which is which and if they are related).

I notice my habitual mannerisms when in unfamiliar territory. A way to bring equilibrium to my wired nervous system. I make time for ceremonial rituals to remind myself to come back to the present. I make coffee. I take a long time to make coffee. It’s a timely practice that slows things down and invites one to focus on only what is in front of you. It’s one of the best regulatory processes outside I have discovered. I find pride in completing hard things on my own, yet as I was standing, mesmerized by the gurgle of the first morning coffee, I felt deeply tired, not just from the night before. Far away from anything familiar I found a part of myself I have avoided for far too long. The part of me tired of doing it all alone, that desires deeply connected relationships with people. People, the one thing on this planet I can’t get myself to trust. Well isn’t this quite the frustrating dilemma to find oneself in?

I get comfortable in the back of the Jimny. Nesting. Anywhere and everywhere while traveling, no matter how small the space. An exciting opportunity and at times challenge to make home wherever I find myself. I settle in with writing pad, bird book, binoculars, art supplies and camera, coffee just within reach as I go about documenting how this journey has unfolded. Pausing to take in the view. The Cederberg and Roggeveld mountains, the Karoo escarpment all visible. Each mountain a personality, a living being, pushing and pulling the weather man in all directions. Here where I am sitting the air is dry, the sun bright, dappled blue sky, a slight bite in the breeze. In the distance, big billowing clouds, a concentrated down pour across the distinct vegetation, eie aan die Karoo.

When booking this trip, I made sure I chose the most remote site in the park. Four by fouring up the mountain late at night in the direction of a campsite I have never been to, there was no sign post, ablution block or cairn. I matched the moonlit mountain silhouette with the one in the digital photograph in hand and decided it must be it. There are no facilities. What you take in, you take out. The only thing left to do after a nervous system shutdown was to interact with my surroundings. Easy, I hear a lot of you say. Easy in places where you know you’re not far from civilization, where you’re cell phone sheds a few bars of signal but still keeps you connected and signs of life keeps your mind at ease and your nervous system calm. Here there are none. I was surprised by my own bewilderment. How did I get stepping into isolation so wrong after getting it so right. I was solidly without any sign of human existence. It freaked me out. I don’t recall ever feeling like this in the Cederberg, the Richtersveld, Namibia or rural Northern Mocambique. Have I finally turned a corner? Is this the one too many solo missions that broke the camels back? I make a second cup of coffee. Nestle back into my nest and do some more writing. Take some photographs and scan the landscape. Still no one and nothing. Not that I was expecting anyone to arrive but it’s the first time I’ll admit that I should have chosen comfort and company over discomfort and isolation. It’s not like I didn’t try. But can an old dog learn new tricks?

I remember that I never did a proper shop and look over at my food supply – three sweet potatoes, a hand full of left over salad, rice cakes, peanut butter, honey. I cook the sweet potatoes and ration them and the salad for lunch and dinner, with peanut butter rice cakes and some honey for dessert. Just slowly getting stuck into simply living. Rich I am I think. Three days with these supplies, easy. I refill the Jimnys tank with petrol from some of the 40L total jerry can capacity. With a forty five liter tank, 180km from the nearest gas station and no signal is a long way to walk if you run out. From 20L jerry can to five liter to tank, made myself work twice because I forgot the funnel at home and its easier to decant from the five liter due to it’s bendy nozzle. I would have liked an extra brain on this adventure I think to myself. Sweet potatoes and salad go down well, a few rice cakes and copious amounts of tea. I hang out the solar shower, clouds won’t gift me too much heat, but having water flow over ones skin is always a welcome reset. I venture into the unknown with flask of tea and camera in hand, giving the sun some time to warm the shower. Now quite proud of my arrival and perseverance.

I wander aimlessly and everywhere. Slowly and effortlessly. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s wandering in wilderness spaces. The sadness of a life halfway done yet not shared somehow keeps my heart hostage. The realization that we might go through life and never truly be seen, heard or known is now a lump in my throat. My heart ruptures. No safer place than the wilderness, here among the veld, the mountains and animals. Would I have the courage to break in company? The catch twenty two creeps in, the desire for connection but failing to trust it. I don’t have the solutions, the causes or the answers.

Another flask of tea, some more writing.

I write until dusk, last light falls, and darkness arrives once more. The fear of the dark feels dense, it wasn’t always this way. I have spent a good amount of my life tracing the thread but have not yet discovered the why. Growing up I ate when I was hungry, slept when I was tired. Could do both anywhere. For a little while there meeting my own needs was my strongest attribute, but something caused a shift. So much so that I would deny myself nourishment and sleep, stinting my growth on so many levels. What happened? Blank. I listen to the night sounds. Silence. I feel the panic rise again. I try focus on my breathing, on this immediate moment where I am warm and safe and alive. But my mind keeps on skipping to all the moments still to come and I can’t see, I can’t see if danger lurks in the night and there is a whole night ahead of me. Six hours of if to be precise.

My mind takes over and my lungs constrict. The unknown all of a sudden suffocating instead of freeing. Treasure trauma map clue number four – I do not feel safe in the world. My mind has taken me to a place within myself I am not familiar with. My body follows suit and I feel paralyzed. Here we go again. Not the most fun merry-go-round I have ever been on to be honest. It was a very long night, willing and wishing the sun to rise so I could feel at ease. Drifting in and out of sleep. My body spent due to fear, but my nervous system too wired to let my body sleep. I felt like I was being tortured. My last thoughts before morning was would anyone come find me if I didn’t make it out of here. I was so overcome with grief that I didn’t recognize these shallow breaths transitioning into deep heaving sorrowful sounds as my own.

I drove home feeling like I just uncovered an ancient archeological site within.

We all have a place called nowhere inside of us. It’s the part of ourselves we hide from the world, the parts we fear can never be seen, loved and accepted. The long road to nowhere is really the journey we take to know ourselves. It’s a rather courageous thing to come face to face with yourself and still choose to stay.

Here’s to staying.

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