Christian Kuun
Race Dog
Love, hate and jealousy! A bit like seeing that sexy, wild ex girlfriend, the one you could never introduce to you folks, the nutcase you feistely tried to shake off, being kissed by another man. There is no binding relationship and you know you arent the only one but seeing someone else messing with “your” turf pisses you off. I hate you Tankwa and I will be back.......
So I crack an invite to hunt springbok between Middelpos and Sutherland on a mate’s inlaws farm and reckon I will take the bike. I mean heck, hunting and riding, what more can a man want. Bees, my buddy, will take all the clobber, rifles, dop and chop in the bakkie and I can come lightly packed. They would go via Vredendal and, after riding all the fun roads, I would meet them at Middelpos at 14:00.
The icy air, the dusty roads and vast emptiness of the Tankwa have always ignited that special flame in me. I sat watching various weather forcasts for ages hoping to get some snow along the road. Snow, check. Max temp of 5 deg, check. No rain worth mentioning, apparently a check too. So I leave Stellies on my noble, shining steed and shoot to Ceres. God bless heated grips because now the crisp morning air is piercing through my snot covered winter gloves. I head over the Gydo Pass and admire beau blanc mountains after which I turn right at Op Die Berg. Coming to a fork in the road, where I stop to warm up with a quick swig out of my hip-flask, I take the direction of the absolutely stunning Katbakkies pass and meander my way to the top in light shower. And there she was, that bitch ex girlfriend....
The odd mud spot and front wheel twitch up until now were not worth mentioning but I could see the fun picking up so I stop at the Tankwa Padstal and ask about the roads and the rain they had. “Nei meneeg, dagem nie te eg nie” says one of the staff. A chap in a Fortuner tells me he is also heading that direction and I’m relieved that someone will at least find me if I donner off. The cruising to the Tankwa turnoff was fast and comfy, as was the first bit of the Tankwa road. It started deteriorating rapidly though and by the time I was at the dams turnoff, it was pure snot. Obviously the Tankwa had exceptional rain during the week. The further I went, the more intense it got. The paddling was in full swing. Grey mud, white mud, red mud, no matter the colour, it was deep and it was slippery. Without sufficient revs the mud would chug the bike into a labour and a stall so revs had to be maintained. Mud clogged onto the wheels and between the swingarm. Every so often I had to thump the throttle in order to toss out the mud with centrifugal force but this of course brought some excitement of its own. I wrestled my 200kg Dakkie with every bit of strenth I had, being tossed like a rag doll from side to side, being spun in involuntary doughnuts and I was sweating like a pig in the 6 degree cold. As far as I went, I could see a fresh bike spoor and knew I was not the only idiot to take on this road after rains. I was moeg, I was sore and I hated every minute of it, yet I was cursing this other biker that was messing with “my” muddy fun.
I was pretty sure the mud would ease up on the Ganaga pass because mountains are rock, no? I first had to stop for another nerve settling swig though. Seems some people thought it wise to dump six inches of clay as topping. The pass was soggy, sloshy and very slow going. At the top I saw the bugger who had been adulterating my very sloppy relationship with mother earth. He had stopped and was cramping. I decided to pickle along and hoped it would be drier at the top but that hope was very short lived. A few farmworkers stopped working and turned to watch the spectacle. They pissed themselves laughing at the acrobatics being performed during the near impossible task of trying to stay upright. I quietly croaked a “julle moere” in my helmet, smiled and waved and rodeo’ed on. Four and a half hours after leaving the Tankwa Padstal I exhaustedly plodded into Middlepos with a serious case of kranken, kicked out the sidestand and fell onto the road where I was handed 2 icy recovery Amstels. 20min later the adulterator and Fortuner man came slipping and sliding in. The road to the farm was rock hard and dry and the only other obstacle was a river crossing with mossy rocks. We hit the destination without a single off! Stiff as hell, sore a hell and truly rewarded!
Those of you who have done that road in the wet will know what I am talking about!
JUST FYI, WE OBVIOUSLY LET THIS ONE GO. POOR LITTLE PENHORING.
After the very successful trip on day 1, I managed to bliksem down in the river for my first and only off, on exiting the farm. I jumped up, looked around and was firmly relieved that nobody would revel in my misfortune. However, my cold, wet feet were going to remind me all the way home. I was going to do the gravel Onder Karoo R356 home but I took one squizz at the first muddy patch and reckoned nooit bru- fastest, easiest route home, thank you. A quick Matjiesfontein dop to ease the lingering stiffness and spasms from the first day’s riding and some low-flying (if you can call it that on a 650 Dakar) all the way home. It was a lot warmer this side of the mountain. A magnificent Cape winters day in fact. “Pop, glug-glug-glug”, Sauvignon Blanc to the rescue.......
Oh, and on my next fork seal change, I will be putting on some boots. Then I reckon I will show that Curtis fellow how to do The Roof :biggrin:
So I crack an invite to hunt springbok between Middelpos and Sutherland on a mate’s inlaws farm and reckon I will take the bike. I mean heck, hunting and riding, what more can a man want. Bees, my buddy, will take all the clobber, rifles, dop and chop in the bakkie and I can come lightly packed. They would go via Vredendal and, after riding all the fun roads, I would meet them at Middelpos at 14:00.
The icy air, the dusty roads and vast emptiness of the Tankwa have always ignited that special flame in me. I sat watching various weather forcasts for ages hoping to get some snow along the road. Snow, check. Max temp of 5 deg, check. No rain worth mentioning, apparently a check too. So I leave Stellies on my noble, shining steed and shoot to Ceres. God bless heated grips because now the crisp morning air is piercing through my snot covered winter gloves. I head over the Gydo Pass and admire beau blanc mountains after which I turn right at Op Die Berg. Coming to a fork in the road, where I stop to warm up with a quick swig out of my hip-flask, I take the direction of the absolutely stunning Katbakkies pass and meander my way to the top in light shower. And there she was, that bitch ex girlfriend....
The odd mud spot and front wheel twitch up until now were not worth mentioning but I could see the fun picking up so I stop at the Tankwa Padstal and ask about the roads and the rain they had. “Nei meneeg, dagem nie te eg nie” says one of the staff. A chap in a Fortuner tells me he is also heading that direction and I’m relieved that someone will at least find me if I donner off. The cruising to the Tankwa turnoff was fast and comfy, as was the first bit of the Tankwa road. It started deteriorating rapidly though and by the time I was at the dams turnoff, it was pure snot. Obviously the Tankwa had exceptional rain during the week. The further I went, the more intense it got. The paddling was in full swing. Grey mud, white mud, red mud, no matter the colour, it was deep and it was slippery. Without sufficient revs the mud would chug the bike into a labour and a stall so revs had to be maintained. Mud clogged onto the wheels and between the swingarm. Every so often I had to thump the throttle in order to toss out the mud with centrifugal force but this of course brought some excitement of its own. I wrestled my 200kg Dakkie with every bit of strenth I had, being tossed like a rag doll from side to side, being spun in involuntary doughnuts and I was sweating like a pig in the 6 degree cold. As far as I went, I could see a fresh bike spoor and knew I was not the only idiot to take on this road after rains. I was moeg, I was sore and I hated every minute of it, yet I was cursing this other biker that was messing with “my” muddy fun.
I was pretty sure the mud would ease up on the Ganaga pass because mountains are rock, no? I first had to stop for another nerve settling swig though. Seems some people thought it wise to dump six inches of clay as topping. The pass was soggy, sloshy and very slow going. At the top I saw the bugger who had been adulterating my very sloppy relationship with mother earth. He had stopped and was cramping. I decided to pickle along and hoped it would be drier at the top but that hope was very short lived. A few farmworkers stopped working and turned to watch the spectacle. They pissed themselves laughing at the acrobatics being performed during the near impossible task of trying to stay upright. I quietly croaked a “julle moere” in my helmet, smiled and waved and rodeo’ed on. Four and a half hours after leaving the Tankwa Padstal I exhaustedly plodded into Middlepos with a serious case of kranken, kicked out the sidestand and fell onto the road where I was handed 2 icy recovery Amstels. 20min later the adulterator and Fortuner man came slipping and sliding in. The road to the farm was rock hard and dry and the only other obstacle was a river crossing with mossy rocks. We hit the destination without a single off! Stiff as hell, sore a hell and truly rewarded!
Those of you who have done that road in the wet will know what I am talking about!
JUST FYI, WE OBVIOUSLY LET THIS ONE GO. POOR LITTLE PENHORING.
After the very successful trip on day 1, I managed to bliksem down in the river for my first and only off, on exiting the farm. I jumped up, looked around and was firmly relieved that nobody would revel in my misfortune. However, my cold, wet feet were going to remind me all the way home. I was going to do the gravel Onder Karoo R356 home but I took one squizz at the first muddy patch and reckoned nooit bru- fastest, easiest route home, thank you. A quick Matjiesfontein dop to ease the lingering stiffness and spasms from the first day’s riding and some low-flying (if you can call it that on a 650 Dakar) all the way home. It was a lot warmer this side of the mountain. A magnificent Cape winters day in fact. “Pop, glug-glug-glug”, Sauvignon Blanc to the rescue.......
Oh, and on my next fork seal change, I will be putting on some boots. Then I reckon I will show that Curtis fellow how to do The Roof :biggrin:
