Mad dogs on the Savanna, B Group 7 April

 

The Hornbills were up with the sun as usual, as was I.  Even though there was a chill I knew the heat would be oppressive as the sun climbed the sky so I packed no coats and rode in a tee-shirt and shorts and open toed cleats.  I was nearly run down by a Jaguar just before I made my way through the Oxshott Forest but that was the only sign of a big cat, though there were plenty of wild dogs around.

When I got to the camp at Stoke d’Abernon there was no-one else there and for a moment I wondered if it was Tuesday, but when Ann turned up I knew two of us would not have made the same mistake.  The café had plenty of cakes but the coffee, famous throughout the land for being free, is sadly no longer so.

When it was time for us to leave the heat was rising.  Grant had not made it; Fixie Dave said Grant might have been eaten by a lion, but he turned up later and joined Tony's expedition and meanwhile Arwyn bravely stepped up to the plate and we set out, Paula and Alan, Fixie and me, Ann and Arwen, machetes in panniers, towards the distant Surrey Mountains that we could not yet see through the heat haze.

There’s always one more river to cross, but there were no crocodiles as we got safely across the Mole to Great Bookham Safari Park.  Normally teeming with life, the Park was quiet and green, the wildlife already sheltering from the sultry heat.  Through the village of Great Bookham itself, we saw the natives conducting their strange customs, queueing in their tribal masks.

As we approached Polesden Lacy, our first casualty.  Ann, desperate to be fit for the expedition, had overdone the David Lloyd weight training and did not feel her knees could face Chapel Lane Pass.  Like Titus Oates, she selflessly turned into the wilderness alone.  We hoped she would make it.

The old tarmac road over Ranmore Heights was shimmering in the midday heat as we toiled up the side of the mountain.  Fixie was so hot he had to stop for a few seconds to refresh himself but when we reached the top, Paula was waiting for us in her pith helmet, fit from all that rowing in the Zambezi. 

Steph's group on top of Ranmore; why on earth are they all wearing coats?

The Ranmore Plateau was noiseless, the animals having far more sense than us.  Only mad dogs and Englishmen…...and a Welshman.  And an Englishwoman.

White Down was almost empty of everything; hardly a vehicle, just a couple of lone, heat-deluded cyclists, thinking that their toil was nearly over as they reached the pillbox. 

Fixie Dave's camera, Paula the photographer.  The field where we found frolicking pheasants

The path into the Savanna was nearly empty, too; just a couple of pheasants, frolicking in the absence of predators, a couple of mountain bikers and a man so befuddled by the searing heat that he could not decide which side of the path to stand and let us pass.  The scenery is wonderful, the Ranmore Heights off to your left, the settlements to your right, but no sign of elephants, not even at the watering hole.

In the provincial town the Dorks and their King were wisely indoors, sheltering from the excessive climate and we made it to the Stepping Stones, where the untrusting locals would not let us in except to buy their food and we were forced to swelter in the car park eating our precious morsels of nutrition; the burgers took forever, and Arwyn (who is experienced in matters concerning burgers) said it was because they had to go out and kill the wildebeest.  They did not kill any chips for Steph, though.

The survivors of the leader's expedition team, at the Stepping Stones; note the tropical kit

Where's my chips?  Steph addresses the important issue

Stephanie's expedition turned up at the Stepping Stones, and stood in the car park jiggling around to try to keep cool.  Then Tony's; they had lost Christina, who took the risk of travelling alone to find her way home. 

Arwyn was the next to go, intent upon his own mad and lone adventure, though he had neither map nor compass.  So the four survivors in my expedition zig-zagged our way up to the Box Hill viewpoint, where you can look out across the plains to the South Downs Hills.  We saw no zebra.

The old colonial road down towards Headley was pockmarked with pot holes; it has worsened since the UK Government stopped its Aid Programme.  Walton is still on the Hill.  But what a scorching wind there was across the Epsom Plateau!  Pushing us back until our faces throbbed and glowed red in the heat.

Paula and Alan left us near the Banstead Station and Fixie and I could not risk heat stroke by lingering in Banstead (the other expeditions made the same decision) and we cycled our weary way home to cool ourselves down in ice baths and have the servants fan us while we sipped gins and tonic.

Oh, for an end to this heatwave!

Thanks to Steph, for leading Yasmine, Sue B, John A, Terry and Brenda, to Tony, for leading Clive, Tim G, Christina and Grant, and to Tim for taking Bob.