I CAN just about smell Johannesburg, around 300 clicks to go. We have been up since 5am, and our plan was to drive from Kasane, on the banks of the charming Chobe River in northern Botswana, to Johannesburg, 1200km away. We are breaking my first rule of African travel, don’t drive at night. Why? Drunk drivers, animals on the road and people running out of driving talent. All three can kill you.
I am behind the wheel of the big 130. I love this old girl; she is fitted with every Front Runner accessory ever made and she has been our chef, shower and cold-beer provider on this trip.
The truck approaching from the front has its high beams on. I try to look away, but they still blind me. I realise that it is in my lane and about to crash into us. I don’t want to die here. I pull hard left on the steering wheel; there is no time to look out for pedestrians, donkeys or, God forbid, a young
