Beneath the Quiver Trees
Some places leave you with photographs; others leave you with lessons
Namibia had already captured my imagination with its endless horizons, dramatic light and vast open spaces. But it was a night spent camping beneath ancient quiver trees that revealed something far more important.
That night, camping under our mosquito nets, I lay awake in the desert silence – that rare, enveloping kind of silence that feels almost sacred. No engines. No voices. No birds. Just the faint whisper of wind through the ancient quiver trees.
Silence like that is a teacher. It reminds you of the noise you carry. It invites you to feel the things you've tucked away.
And that's when it became clear – this is what I came for.
Not just the adventure. Not just the kilometres. Not even the wildlife or landscapes or photos. I came for this feeling – the spaciousness that allows grief to soften, resilience to deepen, curiosity to reignite, and joy to return to its full size.
Excerpt from : The Accidental Motorcyclist, 2026
The road ahead would be filled with incredible landscapes and wonderful people, but whenever I'm asked what Namibia felt like, I think first of that night beneath the quiver trees and the silence that reminded me why I had come.
Every great overland expedition runs on fuel. The motorcycles needed petrol. Richard needed coffee. I needed yoga.
