We are always sad to leave the dirt after a few weeks of adventure.
There's something too easy about turning up the music and barrelling down a highway with cruise control on. It's not that it's not pleasurable, but it's almost as if one doesn't earn one's rewards.
Leaving the dirt was also a sign we were leaving the Cape.
There were other signs too.
The ant hills started to get smaller. Then the dirt changed colour to a lesser red until it finally settled into a sandy ochre.
We started to see cars that weren't trucks.
Small passenger cars that didn't scream "I'm tough!" began to appear, in small numbers at first, then we saw motorhomes and caravans that weren't covered in red.
Finally our phones beeped in unison. We had mobile service again. We were back.
Actually we were still a few thousand kilometres from being "back", but not without some sadness, we'd left the Cape.
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