A tale of a Yamaha FS1
University of Cape Town, ready to return back to PE - see first picture
The year was 1974, and I had just discovered that the totally inconsiderate authorities had failed to understand that it was of critical importance to synchronize the University holidays with the school holidays so that maximum party time could be achieved. After a minutes thought on the subject it was decided that I would simply travel from Queenstown to Cape Town to spend the school holiday with my friend Martin Horne who was at the University Of Cape Town at the time, and so it was, as soon as the school holidays started I jumped aboard my Yamaha FS1 50 cc and set sail for Cape Town, a journey of approximately 1050 km. I had R37.00 in my pocket for food and petrol and all requirements for the trip, and as it turned out this was more than adequate as I returned home still having R16.00 in my wallet.
The first leg of the trip was to travel from Queenstown to Uitenhage; I had left late and arrived well after dark in the freezing mid-winter night air. After a good night’s sleep over with family I left early again the next morning and sped off on my adventure. Little did I know that this would be the experience of a life time and the call of the open road and the adventure of the ride would sink deep into my bones and that for the rest of my life I would yearn to be in the saddle on an adventure. Leaving Uitenhage I wound my way down small winding roads and as I neared the Bloukraans Pass and Natures Valley part of the journey, I experienced the feeling of absolute euphoria as I followed the narrow winding road down into the valley, the road was very busy with travelers going on holiday and heavily laden logging trucks heavy with freshly cut logs, I can still remember the smell of the logs freshly cut and the hot diesel engines as they slowly crawled on their way. At one point there was a big troop of Baboons swinging on the monkey ropes and a few sitting on the small stone wall which protected the edge of the road. The forest was dense and the cool forest air washed up the embankment onto the hot surface of the road where the tar was soft and melting from the driving hot sun concentrated in the confines of the narrow passage of the pass. There were birds to be seen and the forest was dense with fern trees and vines. At this time, my life changed and I was filled with an immense feeling of happiness and inner peace which I have only ever experienced when riding my bike. I have often wondered if non-bike riders ever have the chance during their lives to experience the wonder of the open road in a similar way and to get high on the magnificence of the ride, I do not think they do because I have not ever found anything else in my life which brings me close. At the bottom of the pass the river was flowing softly through under the bridge and I stopped to soak up the sounds of the gurgling water and the smells and sounds of the forest, it was wonderful beyond words. I was soon back in the saddle and winding my way back up the pass and on my way to Knysna. Reaching Knysna I remember sitting on the pavement in the main street with my trusty steed parked alongside, eating what was our staple diet at that time of my life, a half loaf of bread where I had ripped the soft inner bread out of the crust while still hot and wolfed it down with mouthfuls of ice cold fresh milk, when the center of the half loaf was all gone, a packet of salt and vinegar chips was emptied into the cavity and the crust and chips were eaten. Gourmet food beyond comparison with anything else, in the town and all around it was bustling with activity and sixties hippie like looking people were to be seen and it looked to me as though I had left Africa and had traveled to some exotic location in another country. As they passed they looked at me curiously and some muttered half helloes. Leaving Knysna the wonder of the road and the beauty of the surrounding area remained with me all through the day.
Reaching Wilderness I was winding my way down through the main street and at the end there was a bridge to cross over the Kaaaimansrivier, as I neared the middle of the bridge there was a mighty explosion, I thought my bike had exploded or at the very least I had burst a tire or perhaps people were shooting at me, it was so load I almost took evasive action and went off the side of the bridge but luckily did not. None of the other people driving along even seemed to notice and looking around I did not see any evidence of ANC planted suitcase bombs which were the big cause for terror at that time or evidence of roadwork’s and blasting, puzzled I slowly pulled over and parked my bike, getting off I noticed a trickle of clear liquid running out from the back of the engine. Removing a side cover I quickly discovered the cause, it was the bikes battery which had exploded, I found that the battery breather pipe had been pinched closed at a point where the pipe had a kink and it had obviously built up pressure. There was nothing which could be done and after wiping as much of the acid away as was possible I carefully repositioned the pieces of the battery back into the battery box and was soon on my way again. Fortunately the battery only powered the indicators and stop light etc. and the ignition and headlight were powered by a separate coil so the engine ran normally.
That night I decided to sleep on the side of the road where there was a bit of an embankment which I had managed to maneuver down, I had tied a bivey sheet to the sides of the bike, one attached to the carrier and the other to the handle bars. Luggage carefully positioned under the bike I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to sleep. The wind was blowing quite strongly and the great big pine trees were swaying and groaning in the wind, somewhere not too far away a wolf or dog howled and there were other unfamiliar sounds to be heard, to say the very least it was very scary and I lay there feeling alone and ever more scared as the minutes slowly ticked past and I became more and more aware that I was miles and miles from anywhere and all alone. In the far distance the night sounds were broken by the distant rumble of a twenty four wheeler as it thundered down the road, louder and louder it got until eventually it thundered past. The wind swept up by the passing truck was a huge gust which swept up my bivey sheet, throwing the luggage I had carefully positioned on the bivey to hold it down off like weightless twigs, the bivey lunged up into the air and I momentarily saw the winter moon shining down through the clear skies and then suddenly the bike came crashing down onto me. I got such a fright I shot out from under the bivey, still in my sleeping bag, like a coiled spring released from a jack in the box. Five seconds later the bivey was folded and packed away and I was on the bike heading for civilization at just under flat out. That night I slept in a not too clean but much less scary toilet at a petrol station, the ride had been very cold and I had arrived late, lying on the cement floor the cold had slowly crept up through the protection of the sleeping bag and I had eventually fallen asleep with my legs drawn up tight against my stomach to keep warm. The next morning when I eventually awoke the sun was streaming in through the windows and the entire staff of the petrol station had gathered in the toilet and were all staring at me while I lay there, they were bent over in a large circle standing over me clearly believing I was dead, one of them was about to pull the sleeping bag open to have a better view. When I suddenly sprang into life they surely believed I had risen from the dead and with a look of shock and horror and with huge eyes and a look of terror on their faces went fleeing for the door. Guessing I may have overstayed my welcome I slowly started to gather my possessions and get ready to leave, by now they had appointed a member of the team to return to the toilet to report on the status of the situation with the dead sleeper, he was to say the least very happy to see I was packing possessions and scurried off to report to the rest of the team that all was ok, eventually they even brought me a steaming hot cup of coffee to drive off the cold and sent me on my way with a cheery wave and some of them still looking like they were ready to run and take cover. During the following day I was riding through an area where there was a lot of logging activity and suffered a puncture in the back tire, managing to get to a garage it was quickly repaired with the patching and solution I carried and I was soon back on the road again. The rest of the journey to Cape Town was uneventful and I can remember the feeling of wonder when I had eventually climbed over the escarpment and saw the extent of Cape Town for the first time in my life, it was beyond belief.
The ride back was not as eventful as I was by now an experienced and seasoned traveler who knew it was not good to sleep in forests and such stuff, there was however one incident worth a mention, at that time South Africa was under the political spotlight for our then ruling parties policies and there were many sanctions being imposed upon South Africa, and one such sanction included the supply of fuel to South Africa. Due to the fuel shortage all travel was greatly discouraged and there was a speed limit of 80 km per hour on the open road in place. My Yamaha 50 cc could reach a magnificent top end of 110 km per hour on the clock, this was after changing the rear sprocket and some minor changes to the exhaust baffle and other little tweaks here and there, so I was in fact able to overtake the long row of law abiding drivers who carefully ground their way to wherever they were going to. Intent on demonstrating my total disregard for the speed limit and showing the restricted drivers the extreme capabilities of my bike I was speeding past all the cars who were backed up for kilometer after kilometer. Having just finished over taking a long row of cars and speeding ahead of them I suddenly saw what appeared to be a ball of black smoke directly in my path of travel, puzzled by the strange smoke and trying hard to imagine what it could be it suddenly got very close very fast and the next thing I was into it, a massive swarm of bees. They went into my jeans legs and were buzzing around my legs, they went into my shirt and crash helmet and buzzed in the ear cavities until I was deafened and they just seemed to be everywhere. I slid to a halt with the wheels locked up and the bike still sliding while the side stand was already out and I was in the process of dismounting, leaving the bike rocking in a cloud of dust I took off up the road with a small swarm of rather furious bees swarming around my head, first my helmet, jacket, shirt and then eventually my shoes and pants were flung off in a matter of seconds, still the crazed bees followed as I sped at full speed up the road. By now the long row of cars I had passed had caught up to me and were passing at exactly 80 km per hour as I sped up the road pursued by a small swarm of crazed bees, running by now just in my underpants. Small children stared from the back windows of passing cars with a look of amazement on their faces. Amazingly I was not stung once and eventually the bees lost interest in me and I was able to make my way down the hill recovering my possessions as I went.
The three week holiday finally over and safely back at home, it was soon time for school and as was the custom in those fine times, the first day was dedicated to oral and it was required to give the class an account of what you had done during the holidays. Feeling rather pleased with the extent of my adventure and with the wonderful memories still flashing through my mind, I was anxious to share the experience with the rest of my class and possibly the class teacher would be slightly impressed by my endeavors because up to that time I had not managed any notable achievement which might have even remotely impressed any of my teachers. Standing proudly before my class mates and talking directly to my teacher in a clear and slow manner I started to give them an account of my adventure. As soon as I got to the part where I mentioned that I was traveling on my 50 cc and that I had gone on my own the class erupted into a state of total disarray with the entire audience shouting comments and abuse, some accused me of lying and others backed them up saying it was not possible for a 50cc to travel any distance out of town, they quoted specifications and statistics and I was soon overwhelmed by the protests and outburst until I eventually grew silent and just stood there completely dumbstruck by the extent of their complete ignorance and lack of belief. As I slowly sat down I had one final statement to make to the class who had now become silent and were all glaring at me as though I had committed some heinous crime. Its true I tell you I said, and to prove it I will ride my bike to Rhodesia and back during the next school holiday and I will keep petrol slips as proof. Yah right they said, losing interest in this now old subject and eagerly turning to the next victim.
University of Cape Town, ready to return back to PE - see first picture
The year was 1974, and I had just discovered that the totally inconsiderate authorities had failed to understand that it was of critical importance to synchronize the University holidays with the school holidays so that maximum party time could be achieved. After a minutes thought on the subject it was decided that I would simply travel from Queenstown to Cape Town to spend the school holiday with my friend Martin Horne who was at the University Of Cape Town at the time, and so it was, as soon as the school holidays started I jumped aboard my Yamaha FS1 50 cc and set sail for Cape Town, a journey of approximately 1050 km. I had R37.00 in my pocket for food and petrol and all requirements for the trip, and as it turned out this was more than adequate as I returned home still having R16.00 in my wallet.
The first leg of the trip was to travel from Queenstown to Uitenhage; I had left late and arrived well after dark in the freezing mid-winter night air. After a good night’s sleep over with family I left early again the next morning and sped off on my adventure. Little did I know that this would be the experience of a life time and the call of the open road and the adventure of the ride would sink deep into my bones and that for the rest of my life I would yearn to be in the saddle on an adventure. Leaving Uitenhage I wound my way down small winding roads and as I neared the Bloukraans Pass and Natures Valley part of the journey, I experienced the feeling of absolute euphoria as I followed the narrow winding road down into the valley, the road was very busy with travelers going on holiday and heavily laden logging trucks heavy with freshly cut logs, I can still remember the smell of the logs freshly cut and the hot diesel engines as they slowly crawled on their way. At one point there was a big troop of Baboons swinging on the monkey ropes and a few sitting on the small stone wall which protected the edge of the road. The forest was dense and the cool forest air washed up the embankment onto the hot surface of the road where the tar was soft and melting from the driving hot sun concentrated in the confines of the narrow passage of the pass. There were birds to be seen and the forest was dense with fern trees and vines. At this time, my life changed and I was filled with an immense feeling of happiness and inner peace which I have only ever experienced when riding my bike. I have often wondered if non-bike riders ever have the chance during their lives to experience the wonder of the open road in a similar way and to get high on the magnificence of the ride, I do not think they do because I have not ever found anything else in my life which brings me close. At the bottom of the pass the river was flowing softly through under the bridge and I stopped to soak up the sounds of the gurgling water and the smells and sounds of the forest, it was wonderful beyond words. I was soon back in the saddle and winding my way back up the pass and on my way to Knysna. Reaching Knysna I remember sitting on the pavement in the main street with my trusty steed parked alongside, eating what was our staple diet at that time of my life, a half loaf of bread where I had ripped the soft inner bread out of the crust while still hot and wolfed it down with mouthfuls of ice cold fresh milk, when the center of the half loaf was all gone, a packet of salt and vinegar chips was emptied into the cavity and the crust and chips were eaten. Gourmet food beyond comparison with anything else, in the town and all around it was bustling with activity and sixties hippie like looking people were to be seen and it looked to me as though I had left Africa and had traveled to some exotic location in another country. As they passed they looked at me curiously and some muttered half helloes. Leaving Knysna the wonder of the road and the beauty of the surrounding area remained with me all through the day.
Reaching Wilderness I was winding my way down through the main street and at the end there was a bridge to cross over the Kaaaimansrivier, as I neared the middle of the bridge there was a mighty explosion, I thought my bike had exploded or at the very least I had burst a tire or perhaps people were shooting at me, it was so load I almost took evasive action and went off the side of the bridge but luckily did not. None of the other people driving along even seemed to notice and looking around I did not see any evidence of ANC planted suitcase bombs which were the big cause for terror at that time or evidence of roadwork’s and blasting, puzzled I slowly pulled over and parked my bike, getting off I noticed a trickle of clear liquid running out from the back of the engine. Removing a side cover I quickly discovered the cause, it was the bikes battery which had exploded, I found that the battery breather pipe had been pinched closed at a point where the pipe had a kink and it had obviously built up pressure. There was nothing which could be done and after wiping as much of the acid away as was possible I carefully repositioned the pieces of the battery back into the battery box and was soon on my way again. Fortunately the battery only powered the indicators and stop light etc. and the ignition and headlight were powered by a separate coil so the engine ran normally.
That night I decided to sleep on the side of the road where there was a bit of an embankment which I had managed to maneuver down, I had tied a bivey sheet to the sides of the bike, one attached to the carrier and the other to the handle bars. Luggage carefully positioned under the bike I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to sleep. The wind was blowing quite strongly and the great big pine trees were swaying and groaning in the wind, somewhere not too far away a wolf or dog howled and there were other unfamiliar sounds to be heard, to say the very least it was very scary and I lay there feeling alone and ever more scared as the minutes slowly ticked past and I became more and more aware that I was miles and miles from anywhere and all alone. In the far distance the night sounds were broken by the distant rumble of a twenty four wheeler as it thundered down the road, louder and louder it got until eventually it thundered past. The wind swept up by the passing truck was a huge gust which swept up my bivey sheet, throwing the luggage I had carefully positioned on the bivey to hold it down off like weightless twigs, the bivey lunged up into the air and I momentarily saw the winter moon shining down through the clear skies and then suddenly the bike came crashing down onto me. I got such a fright I shot out from under the bivey, still in my sleeping bag, like a coiled spring released from a jack in the box. Five seconds later the bivey was folded and packed away and I was on the bike heading for civilization at just under flat out. That night I slept in a not too clean but much less scary toilet at a petrol station, the ride had been very cold and I had arrived late, lying on the cement floor the cold had slowly crept up through the protection of the sleeping bag and I had eventually fallen asleep with my legs drawn up tight against my stomach to keep warm. The next morning when I eventually awoke the sun was streaming in through the windows and the entire staff of the petrol station had gathered in the toilet and were all staring at me while I lay there, they were bent over in a large circle standing over me clearly believing I was dead, one of them was about to pull the sleeping bag open to have a better view. When I suddenly sprang into life they surely believed I had risen from the dead and with a look of shock and horror and with huge eyes and a look of terror on their faces went fleeing for the door. Guessing I may have overstayed my welcome I slowly started to gather my possessions and get ready to leave, by now they had appointed a member of the team to return to the toilet to report on the status of the situation with the dead sleeper, he was to say the least very happy to see I was packing possessions and scurried off to report to the rest of the team that all was ok, eventually they even brought me a steaming hot cup of coffee to drive off the cold and sent me on my way with a cheery wave and some of them still looking like they were ready to run and take cover. During the following day I was riding through an area where there was a lot of logging activity and suffered a puncture in the back tire, managing to get to a garage it was quickly repaired with the patching and solution I carried and I was soon back on the road again. The rest of the journey to Cape Town was uneventful and I can remember the feeling of wonder when I had eventually climbed over the escarpment and saw the extent of Cape Town for the first time in my life, it was beyond belief.
The ride back was not as eventful as I was by now an experienced and seasoned traveler who knew it was not good to sleep in forests and such stuff, there was however one incident worth a mention, at that time South Africa was under the political spotlight for our then ruling parties policies and there were many sanctions being imposed upon South Africa, and one such sanction included the supply of fuel to South Africa. Due to the fuel shortage all travel was greatly discouraged and there was a speed limit of 80 km per hour on the open road in place. My Yamaha 50 cc could reach a magnificent top end of 110 km per hour on the clock, this was after changing the rear sprocket and some minor changes to the exhaust baffle and other little tweaks here and there, so I was in fact able to overtake the long row of law abiding drivers who carefully ground their way to wherever they were going to. Intent on demonstrating my total disregard for the speed limit and showing the restricted drivers the extreme capabilities of my bike I was speeding past all the cars who were backed up for kilometer after kilometer. Having just finished over taking a long row of cars and speeding ahead of them I suddenly saw what appeared to be a ball of black smoke directly in my path of travel, puzzled by the strange smoke and trying hard to imagine what it could be it suddenly got very close very fast and the next thing I was into it, a massive swarm of bees. They went into my jeans legs and were buzzing around my legs, they went into my shirt and crash helmet and buzzed in the ear cavities until I was deafened and they just seemed to be everywhere. I slid to a halt with the wheels locked up and the bike still sliding while the side stand was already out and I was in the process of dismounting, leaving the bike rocking in a cloud of dust I took off up the road with a small swarm of rather furious bees swarming around my head, first my helmet, jacket, shirt and then eventually my shoes and pants were flung off in a matter of seconds, still the crazed bees followed as I sped at full speed up the road. By now the long row of cars I had passed had caught up to me and were passing at exactly 80 km per hour as I sped up the road pursued by a small swarm of crazed bees, running by now just in my underpants. Small children stared from the back windows of passing cars with a look of amazement on their faces. Amazingly I was not stung once and eventually the bees lost interest in me and I was able to make my way down the hill recovering my possessions as I went.
The three week holiday finally over and safely back at home, it was soon time for school and as was the custom in those fine times, the first day was dedicated to oral and it was required to give the class an account of what you had done during the holidays. Feeling rather pleased with the extent of my adventure and with the wonderful memories still flashing through my mind, I was anxious to share the experience with the rest of my class and possibly the class teacher would be slightly impressed by my endeavors because up to that time I had not managed any notable achievement which might have even remotely impressed any of my teachers. Standing proudly before my class mates and talking directly to my teacher in a clear and slow manner I started to give them an account of my adventure. As soon as I got to the part where I mentioned that I was traveling on my 50 cc and that I had gone on my own the class erupted into a state of total disarray with the entire audience shouting comments and abuse, some accused me of lying and others backed them up saying it was not possible for a 50cc to travel any distance out of town, they quoted specifications and statistics and I was soon overwhelmed by the protests and outburst until I eventually grew silent and just stood there completely dumbstruck by the extent of their complete ignorance and lack of belief. As I slowly sat down I had one final statement to make to the class who had now become silent and were all glaring at me as though I had committed some heinous crime. Its true I tell you I said, and to prove it I will ride my bike to Rhodesia and back during the next school holiday and I will keep petrol slips as proof. Yah right they said, losing interest in this now old subject and eagerly turning to the next victim.
