Barely 20 kms away, I came upon Mr Washing-Line-And-Duct-Tape standing in the road again.

The pesky strut had escaped the strict confines of the washing line and the duct tape. A better solution was needed. He was very keen to knock up a nearby farmer to get access to a welding machine, because all these farms have welding machines. I said there's no farm nearby. He said we just passed one. I said I don't think it's a farm, it was completely devoid of any agricultural activity.
I insisted that Mr Convivial put his heaviest luggage on my bike, although I quailed at having to handle the extra weight. I could barely handle my own weight! But I wasn't keen on spending another hour next to the road while Mr Convivial DIY'ed more solutions. We transferred the luggage, and lightened the load somewhat by removing the tool bag to put on his bike.
Loaded!

Mr Convivial, as far as I am concerned, should now tie up and be ready to go. But no. Mr Convivial is kneeling by his bike again, using branches and duct tape to strengthen his struts, remarking that the people who bent the struts must've cracked it. I look at the strut pipes and suggest that although the cracks were the benders' fault, perhaps he should consider sturdier material when reconstructing his support structs.
He kindly shares the beer with me.

See this twig...

I joke on our shared WhatsApp group that I'm going to get home in the dark again. Everyone LOLs - It's barely 12:00.
A bunch of bikers zip past us single file and I wave them on. Mr Convivial hoped they would stop, as he would like a metal piece with which to strengthen his strut(s). I'm surprised - I thought he had things well in hand. His doleful look says "no". I step into the road like a copper and firmly put up my hand to stop the next biker. Turns out to be a lovely lady by name of Tjoppie, who promptly jumps off her 800GS, takes a selfie with me, and then gets on with the job of helping Mr Convivial. The two bikers and support vehicle behind her suggests that we've intercepted a serious tour. They had spent the night in Gamkaskloof, and were on their way to Tankwa Karoo.
Selfie with the awesome Tjoppie

They swarm around Mr Convivial's bike. One of the bikers up ahead turns back to see what the hold up is, and he has heavy-duty cable ties on him. They use Mr Convivial's metal Allen keys to strengthen his support struts with the cable ties. 10 minutes later they hop on their bikes, and disappear in a haze of dust. Mr FIFY's bike resembles a hedgehog with all the cable ties sticking out.
More helpful then me



Coming back for his crew

I can fully imagine Tjoppie serving as pit crew in a Formula 1 race

All done!

Annnnnd ... Rescue Squad is off


Hedgehog the bike


We finally get on our bikes. For me it's a bit shaky with the unaccustomed extra weight. I pull off, hoping Mr Hayfever would ride behind and check that I'm okay with his luggage ready to topple me, but he duly passes. It's a lovely gravel highway, and we can travel at speed, meaning Mr Eat-My-Dust doesn't quite pull away from me. I ride behind him, swerving from the one side of the gravel road to the other, trying to stay out of his dusty entrails. He notices me swerving like a laden swallow, but keeps to the middle of the road, because his tire is a little bald and he felt it shake a bit back there.
As we near Karoopoort, with the extra load keeping my back wheel steady as a rock as I cross the shaley "middelmannetjies", I bite down on the gravel between my teeth and the hooligan kicks in. I open up, and gradually overtake Mr Eat-My-Dust. The torquey DRZ400 can't top the souped-up Hooligan for speed. I pass in a blaze of glorious dust and keep my speed high, childishly determined that he won't pass me again before we reach tar. Mr Eat-My-Dust sensibly stops and waits for my dust to settle, and then continues.
When I reach the Ceres T-junction, I come to a wobbly stop, take photo's and wait for Mr Done-And-Dusted.


Then I get on the Hooligan, shakily push off and ride on towards Ceres.

Mr Done-And-Dusted stops on my heels, very thirsty as we hadn't stopped for a drink for 100kms (when I'm tired, I GOOI), and we buy him a bottle of cold water, and soft serves for us both. Delicious!
We hit the last stretch home. I eventually come to a wobbly halt in front of his house, and untie his bag as quickly as possible, then I'm off into the night, finally arriving home, in the dark, at 19:30.
I immediately WhatsApp Tom van Brits on Gough Island with photo's of my lower limb, which is looking quite poxy by this time even though it isn't really that painful. He offers some expert medical advice (aspirin, diclofenac, massage), which I follow religiously, and some expert riding advice (maybe motorbikes aren't for you) which I promptly ignore. After 3 weeks all the bruising was gone and the swelling was just slightly noticeable. Thanks Tom

All in all, it had been an awesome, awesome trip

Some more beauty shots


