TG drives the VW Amarok in Africa

Bumping along at, ahem, enthusiastic speeds, coolly cocooned within the Amarok's air-conditioned cabin, I wonder if its temp gauge might be exaggerating. I lower the driver's window, and am punched hard in the side of the head by a slug of brutal, dry heat, a fan-oven blast that sucks the moisture from my eyeballs and leaves me wheezing. I rapidly raise the window and conclude the Amarok is not exaggerating. Breaking down now would definitely equal lightly browned, charbroiled death.