Day 02 (21 Oct Fri)Statistics
Distance: 296 km
Elapsed time: 08:48:26 (34 km/h)
Moving time: 06:34:14 (45 km/h)
The morning spied a gaggle of admirers around the new Africa Twin in our midst:
After the appropriate amount of reverence was shown, we headed off into a mountain wonderland.
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Again, some sand to add spice to life:
This stretch reminded me of the roads in Namibia:
Complete with domestic critters, but at least these were not free-roaming:
Messelpad Pass:
I had my closest call of the trip on this pass; according to my heart-rate hammer mode guide. There was a very tight blind corner over a low-water bridge. I came in too fast (for me) and almost didn’t make it. Almost. It would have meant a nice drop-off into a dry river bed. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that was caught out.
Bits of the pass were quite sandy:
Somewhere along Messelpad Pass, there’s a turn-off towards some old ruins - what used to be a prison for convict labourers who built the road.
Note the sandy entrance (more on that later):
Quite a few of the riders decided to chill out with the grader shown in the above photo. From that point onwards, the short stretch of road to the prison ruins looked decidedly hairy.
Lance, of course, was up for the challenge. Meanwhile, I found a higher vantage point and surveyed my options. Should I? Shouldn’t I?
Lance soon bumped into a victim of the rocky road:
This road takes no prisoners…
Heading back from lending a helping hand, Lance watched others negotiating a rocky drop:
This would be “fun” on the way back up:
Our fearless ride-leader made it look easy:
While the rest of us mere mortals…
I had finally made up my mind.
Lance’s priceless reaction was caught for posterity’s sake on the GoPro footage: “Oh no! Zanie's coming. Uh. Why did you come?” Me: “Is it bad down there.” Lance: “Uh, no. It's... ya.” Me: “Should I maybe turn around here.” Lance: “No, just carry on. If you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.” I have Lance to thank for pushing me outside my comfort zone and tackling things I never thought possible.
The downhill was indeed hair-raising, but I had implicit faith in my bike. Hold on, look ahead and everything will be fine. It’s amazing the bumps and steps it can manage, even if accidentally taking the worst line. But meanwhile I was quailing at the idea of going back up…
I stalled once and “rode it out” until I found a flat patch to regain nerve and restart the bike. I am not yet at the restart-on-the-fly level of biker.
We spent a short amount of time exploring. Michael made sure we received our daily dose of exercise trying to hunt down an old well. For all intents and purposes it didn’t exist, for the simple reason that we didn’t find it.
This lonely bike looks like it has lost its way and reached a dead-end:
We could not put it off any longer. What comes down must go up! Wait… That’s not right is it?
The fast and furious guys were first to depart. The rest of us gathered at the start of the climb; eyeballing each other. From here, the view was perfect. You got to see the puffs of dust caused by the last desperate revs before things went south or a bike went down.
You also knew that everyone else would see the first stretch of your hillside attempt, be it fast or forgettable. “After you.” “Ladies first.” Bugger.
Going up is more difficult than going down, because you have to be a bit more ballsy with the throttle. This is the same reason why sand is so difficult when you’re new at it: bad survival instinct releases the throttle when in a jam (hint: this is not a good thing).
Me becoming unstuck (with the tell-tale dust puff):
I rolled backwards a bit to get out of the “highway” and wait for rescue. Getting started on a loose, steep surface would not be easy. In the picture below it looks like my bike wants to tip over, but that’s how heavily it leans on its side-stand. It sometimes takes a bit of Hulk action to get it upright again.
Moving the bike to a point with more purchase:
I had to prepare myself for this:
And then I flew:
Followed by my shadow:
Just when you start to feel cool, you are made to feel humble again. Sand! On an uphill! Who put that there?! The concept of a multitasking woman is a lie I tell you. Give me sand or give me a hill; not both.
It was not yet over. There was still some hill left…
…with off-camber sections.
I gathered my nerve and charged. The rocky step was ahead – the one that had looked so “fun” on the way down. Check the shadow of my front wheel. Can I pass a big bounce off as a wheelie? No? Darn. But I made it! Yay!!
The footage of Lance provided a case study of how things can go wrong; analysed frame-by-frame. The back wheel slipped on a large loose rock…
…he rolled off the throttle…
…and looked down.
You go where you look.
The sound when the bike hit the rocks was not pleasant. Yet Lance - like me - is not really bothered about resale value. We’ve gone past that point a while back. “For sale: Used bike. Pristine condition. Only been dropped 100 times…” He’s already had to replace every front fairing panel (there are 6) and the current ones have tonnes of character. But we have had some awesome trips!
Like this trip:
Meanwhile, I had also lost momentum and was contemplating the path ahead.
“Go that way.”
Anthony gave me a push-start, but I struggled on this particular section. Read: I was too gentle with the throttle and started looking at the nose of my bike rather than the path ahead.
The end is nigh!
Time for one last charge. I bounced over obstacles. Screen captures at strategic times give the impression that I wheelied my way to the finish.
The back-up vehicle had miraculously made it to the bottom; lifting some who did not want to ride or walk down. Yet there were those who were more than willing to walk back up. Why?
Because the people who had the most heart-stopping ride of all on this day were those in the back-up vehicle!
Remember the sandy entrance to the prison road? Lance decided to power-slide it (deliberately) and he ended up on the ground (not deliberately).
The rear brake lever needed a bit of elbow-grease to get it back to a workable position (unworkable option shown below).
I had heard Lance fall through our comms and he had laughed about it, so I thought he was fine and continued. It turned out he wasn’t so fine. The bike had landed solidly on his right foot. As he progressed along Wildeperdehoek Pass, the pain in his foot increased to such an extent that he felt he could no longer ride.
Most of the group had gone ahead. Another rider and I were confused as to which turn-off to take (as usually happens in group, someone had not waited at the turn), so we stopped and were eventually joined by Lance, his parents, one or two others and the back-up vehicle.
At that point, a couple of people started yelling at Ernie (Lance’s dad) to get off his bike. He did so pronto when he became aware of the reason for the yelling. KTMs are covered by orange accessories, but this splash of orange was unwelcome.
Hyron, our medic, became a “bike medic”, dousing the flames with sand. Some water was added to the mix by Ernie, after which the back brake area started smoking like a newly-doused braai fire. The brake disc had become incredibly hot, melting the brake-line holding the hydraulic fluid, which then caught alight.
A bike and a biker were loaded onto or into the back-up vehicle. Lance, looking a bit glaze-eyed from pain, was convinced his foot was broken, but he did not want to take off his boot so that the medic could check it. Lance figured the boot would hold everything nicely in place for the rest of the day until we were back at home base. Hence Ernie and Lynette got to continue their ride, but on their son’s bike.
The next bit of the ride was steeped in confusion. Thanks to the time taken to fix Lance’s bent back brake and load Ernie’s bike, the others had continued onwards to the next destination: Hondeklipbaai. Apparently everyone had waited about an hour or more at Soebatsfontein or thereabouts, but when we didn’t pitch Michael had decided to continue with the front-runners. We had the back-up vehicle and medic, so we should be fine.
The problem was that the back-up driver did not know the exact route. We went this way and that way, doubling back a couple of times. The locals at Soebatsfontein pointed us in the right direction after questioning. We knew the next destination had to be Hondeklipbaai, so if all else failed we could ride the most direct route. Ernie and another rider got frustrated and decided to head back to home base. Lynette, sitting pillion, was a bit cheesed off about it, because she missed out on Hondeklipbaai.
Honedklipbaai:
We were on our way again after having a bite to eat. Someone decided to show off; leaving at a smart clip, throwing dust and debris, and sliding the rear wheel. A cop-car promptly set off in a display of dust and sliding wheels almost to match. Of course he never caught the perpetrator, but the rider following one or two bikes back had some explaining to do.
The remainder of the route had some stunning scenery. Yet Lance, stuck in a deep blue funk, was not appreciative of it at all. He told me later that he was trying to think what on earth he would do over the next couple of months. He lives for kite-surfing and (more recently) dirt-biking, with some adventure riding on the side. He doesn’t have any “stationary” hobbies.
Beautiful flowers:
Stunning scenery from a random pass:
Back at the hotel, I was doubting the veracity of Lance’s claims to a broken foot for one simple reason: he could walk on it. His excuse was that he was walking on the outside edge that wasn’t sore. I remember my miniature fracture of a mid-foot bone (one of the tarsals). There was no way I could walk on that. The medic confirmed my suspicions: Lance would live to walk another day. His foot was not broken, but probably only badly sprained. Lance’s outlook on life improved instantly. I could not resist a little jibe on hoping that he would have a bit more respect for his girlfriend, who had ridden 400km with an actual broken foot.
Topic: Kamieskroon: Broken Bones and a Burning Bike (Read 3898 times)
