When the sun goes down in the Namib in the evening, it becomes quiet. Only the muffled whirring of a bicycle chain and a slight sound of breathing, interrupted by a regular cough, reaches my ear. Like a signal, an appointment that says: "I'm here". A glance back only leads to the black around me becoming even blacker for a few seconds when the glare of a bicycle lamp hits my pupils. Or when it is suspiciously quiet and no one is riding on my rear wheel. Instead, small lights flicker in the distance, like stars in the sky, illuminated on this night by a full moon that occasionally breaks through the cloud cover.
As I look ahead into the dark night, my eyes linger on the red lights flickering in the darkness in front of me like a string of pearls and only approaching very slowly. Romy and I have been sitting in the saddle on our mountain bikes for more than ten hours at this point, determined to reach our destination at the "Platz am Meer". A destination that has been on my bucket list for more than ten years, one of the things I've always wanted to experience.
On 5 December, the time had come: the infamous Desert Dash race in Namibia. 401 kilometres through the desert, 24 hours to reach the finish line. From the capital Windhoek, 1650 metres above sea level, in a wild chase to the Atlantic Ocean in Swakopmund. You could be forgiven for thinking that you would only ever roll down the mountain to the sea. But far from it. Almost 4000 metres in altitude await you on the route with names such as US Pass, Kupferberg Pass, Blutkuppe or simply the short ramps that lead up from the countless dried-up river courses.
A race that starts in southern Windhoek in a huge underground car park of the local shopping centre and initially leads through barren vegetation, later through the sandy desert to the sea, designed like a film script of the kind in which the heroes follow the dream of seeing the sea one day and have to overcome obstacles along the way. Our route to the start line of the Dash was no ordinary one.
"Mountain biker seeks woman with suffering"
We - that's Romy Stotz (51) from Moritzburg near Dresden and me, Markus Weinberg (42) from Dresden. We've never met before, let alone cycled together. I put out a call on social media for this special event: "Mountain biker seeks woman: with passion and passion - spontaneous, adventurous and open-minded." Even the call was short notice. Who has sporty form and spontaneous time just three weeks before a 401 km race, and then you have to pay for the flight yourself? A lot had to go right.
Five applicants sought contact, but Romy stood out with her cover letter. "My name is Romy, we are almost neighbours and my greatest passion is cycling. I love being outdoors in all weathers, during the day and at night, and I'm absolutely capable of suffering while still smiling." What I didn't realise at the time was that Romy wasn't a mountain biker at all. However, she had been active in triathlon for 16 years, won long distances and fulfilled her dream of Hawaii twice. But after these lines at the latest, I was convinced: "I want to fill my life with moments, experiences and adventures like these. To be brave and just do it. Yes!!! That's what I want." A match.
The reference to the necessary strength of suffering should also play a role in the course.
I myself am this Cycled 7000 km through Europe in summer and had plenty of time to think about what I could do with my stamina when I got home during the 47 days and 150 kilometres a day. Above all: how do I not lose it again straight away or prevent winter fat?
By fulfilling my dreams! First, I rode the new Saxon "RockHead" gravel route over 327 km in one go in October and immediately afterwards asked the Namibian Dash organiser Leander for a starting place. But one thing had to be different this time. I wanted to share this dream. After weeks alone on my bike through Europe, it was time for something new.
The day before the race, on 4 December, Romy Stotz and I landed in Windhoek under the assumptions that we didn't know each other, neither of us had ever ridden 400 km on an MTB, I had at least never ridden with a woman in a race and we didn't yet have any bikes. We were to receive these from Timmo Großmann. Another stroke of luck. Timmo is Namibian, comes from a family of German descent, the third generation of which lives locally in Windhoek, and runs a bike shop. The best thing is that the whole family have been cycling fans of the Desert Dash from the very first event and are looking after us on site.
Most fail due to heat, wind and weather
Romy borrowed a Scott Spark from Timmo and I borrowed his private MTB. He built it up and brought it back to his African home after six years in Dresden, including training as a bike mechanic. His bike shop is located just 100 metres from the starting line of the Desert Dash. "I would definitely recommend race fullys for your first participation," emphasises Timmo and describes the bumpy sandy tracks, where your arms have just as much to do as your legs. Some participants don't fail due to fitness, but rather due to the conditions of heat, wind and weather or the route, where hands, arms, shoulders and head give up more easily than the legs.
We are excited and stand at the start line almost 24 hours after landing in Windhoek with around 200 like-minded people in the solo category over the full distance. Ahead of us was the current European MTB marathon champion Andreas Seewald, who would later drop out of the race due to a defect after a promising start. Romy and I, on the other hand, are riding the race together, even though we are classified solo. Fortunately, the first 32 kilometres are a leisurely ride out of town on the newly asphalted section. Time for Romy and I to find each other, look for a group that matches our pace and coordinate our communication.
At the Kupferberg Pass, the cards are shuffled and I'm amazed that shortly after the gravel starts, almost everyone rides solo and every group falls apart. I think to myself: "Great, now 370 kilometres from the front in the wind." I had imagined it would be different, and I start to get a bit scared. My eyes fall on Romy. We mustn't overdo it, we have to find our own pace very early on - we really want to finish and enjoy the race at the same time.
We were told that quite a few other cyclists had already ridden themselves to death by the halfway point, as this is where most of the almost 4,000 metres of elevation gain lurk. There is a water point every 40 kilometres at the latest, which we head for every time for a snack and to fill the bottle that is on the bike in addition to the water backpack. An experience in itself, thanks to the festive atmosphere and the cheering applause from the catering teams. After the US pass at around 80 kilometres, there are the toothy climbs known as the "12 Apostles" before the first checkpoint. I tend to stay on the gas and ride too fast into the waves, creating an energy-sapping concertina effect.
Romy has no choice but to listen to herself and find her pace. I myself lose a screw on my mounted trailers. As I look around, Romy falls into the sand of the Kuiseb River at the first checkpoint after 98 kilometres. We are a bit exhausted. We take the time to drink, eat, repair and take a deep breath. The good atmosphere at the checkpoint helps, from where the teams of 4, and after the halfway point the teams of 2, swap riders and send them out on the route. The special thing about it: after checkpoint 4, all team riders have to ride the last 50 kilometres to the finish together.
When we get back on the bike, it is already getting dusk. The sun sets fiery red on the horizon in the hilly landscape dotted with sharp mountain peaks. The sky is on fire, the bike lights come on and an outer and inner calm returns, interrupted only by the pick-up trucks of the team vehicles, which often pass us a little too quickly on this section, kicking up dust. Romy and I begin to find each other. Developing a pace that you think you can keep up forever. We drive ourselves into a kind of trance.
Romy's incipient cough becomes my signal that she is still there. I can hardly identify her otherwise in the darkness. The water dots pass by. Half time - without any major problems. We rest for a few minutes on the seat cushions, meet our own support vehicle and have a hearty meal. Right on time at midnight, we start the second half of the night and the race behind the half-dash riders and have to climb what feels like a 15-kilometre-long, slightly ascending hill with the first difficult sandy sections. We get through surprisingly well.
Damn, wrong gearstick battery plugged in...
We overtake rider after rider until suddenly Romy's gears fail. Wrong battery plugged into the gears. Shit. I curse under my breath and after a little oxygen in my head, my mind switches back on. I give her my battery and ride the next 25 kilometres single-speed to Checkpoint 3, a place called Blutkuppe, where the rocks appear reddish during the day. We only see black, but we find a charger at the checkpoint and take 20 minutes. To recharge our physical and mechanical batteries.
The sandy sections in the dark, which the organisers have provided with a kind of footbridge at two points to make them passable, are challenging. Every now and then, however, it gets everyone off their bikes. Even us. As the sun rises, the temperature drops from a pleasant 20 degrees to 12 as we tackle a 15-kilometre section along a pipeline. Time and again, we catch up with individual riders, including solo starters who we had last seen 200 kilometres earlier. A good sign.
We roll steadily, even though I'm struggling with fatigue and my eyes are constantly closing. I'm afraid of falling off my bike. Fortunately, the last big checkpoint comes in a kind of desert oasis: Goanikontes and half a litre of cola. We are at the checkpoint hours before the cut-off, only our supply team has fallen asleep and we have to wake them up first. We're quickly back in the saddle, and there are now lots of teams of four around us. The previously somewhat desolate lunar landscape turns spectacular.
Our mood is in anticipation of our destination when it happens! Romy's handlebars are knocked off at a slightly larger wave on the path, which is like a kind of corrugated iron or washboard. Shock. I think that's it - so close to the finish line. All she says is: "No harm done." While the blood runs from her arm and leg. Without looking at each other, she swings back onto her bike and we roll the last 20 kilometres to Swakopmund on the Atlantic. The last few metres are overwhelming. Tears of joy well up.
We have never completed such a distance before, let alone together. After 21:20:36 hours, we cross the finish line at the "Platz am Meer" shopping centre. Tired, exhausted, bruised - but happy.
Namibia - what you need to know
Germany has a chequered relationship with Namibia. From 1884 to 1915, the country was a German colony in which the Germans committed genocide against the Herero and Nama. Today, around 1 per cent of the population, around 30,000 inhabitants, still have a German background, which means that Germany still shapes the country today. German names can be found in cities, streets, towns and shops. Many farms are owned by families of German descent and are therefore an important economic factor in the country. Two thirds of the country consists of desert: the Namib on the coast and the Kalahari in the east. The second least populated country is still home to a diverse animal world. The Big Five: lion, leopard, elephant, rhino and buffalo. And Namibia's Little Five: palmato gecko, white lady (wheel spider), Namaqua desert chameleon, sidewinder snake, desert lizard.
Record participant
Monika Großmann has taken part in all 21 editions of the race in various categories: 5x solo, 8x in the 2-person team, in the Half Dash, etc. She was born in Namibia and grew up on a farm after her parents - originally from Breslau and Thuringia - emigrated to Namibia after the war. She met her husband Kai from Dresden in the Black Forest in the early 1990s and he followed her to Namibia, where their twins Timmo and Steffie were born in 1999. They share a passion for mountain biking and have been at the start of the Desert Dash as a family since the first edition in 2005.
Mountain biking in Namibia
Unlike in South Africa, there are only a few built routes and bike parks, but thousands of kilometres of gravel roads through the country, as only a few main roads are asphalted. Road networks away from the public roads often lead across farmland inland and must be coordinated locally to determine whether it is possible to pass through.
- Trail networks are mainly found in the Khomas Highlands around the capital Windhoek, at an altitude of 1650 metres: The IJG Trails on Farm Windhoek offer over 100 kilometres of trails in the Auas Mountains in the immediate vicinity south of the capital. Info: ijgtrails.com
- The Towerbows Trails, 15 kilometres west of the capital, offer a network of 31 km of trail loops. Ideal for day trips out of the city. Info: towerbos.com
- Trail networks can also be found in Swakopmund on the Atlantic or near Omaruru on the Loskop. Overview: trailforks.com
Some farms in the country also offer their trail networks for biking, including overnight stays in lodges. e.g:
Donkerhuk Farm, donkerhuk.com
Farm Godeis: godeis.com
Farm Nauams: nauams.com
Guided tours in Namibia: mountainbikenamibia.com
The next Desert Dash 2026
With over 1000 participants, the race was fully booked this year. There are solo starting places over the full distance, but also teams of 2 and 4, who divide the 401-kilometre route into 24 hours. Date for 2026: 11 December. Info: desertdashnamibia.com
