Jurg se Kaya: tackling West Coast sand

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Zanie

Race Dog
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Location
Table View, Cape Town
Bike
Honda CRF-250 Rally
Prequel (Thu 17 Nov)

Lance finally talked me into tackling the BMW Club’s annual trek to the “land of sand”, i.e. Jurg se Kaya on the West Coast. Then he had the audacity to bail and leave me to tackle the first two days minus my usual shadow. He had a good reason though: attending his gran’s funeral (she died at the ripe old age of 95).

The trip started out auspiciously enough the day before I set off: I discovered a flat front just before leaving work. Lance came out to rescue me, because I had no tools. We could not find any offending item, but there was a small cut in the tube. We finally managed to leave my work at 8pm. As a side note: this was back in November last year. My current tally of flat tyres now stands at 10 in less than 2 years.

I dare you to clamp my wheel…

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I remember watching a documentary series about two guys going “adventure biking” around China. When one had a flat, he said his bike was “broken” and loaded it onto a truck! I found that incredibly funny.

Day 01 (Fri 18 Nov)

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(I only switched my Garmin on a while into the ride)

Distance (actual): 466 km
Distance (recorded): 407 km
Time (recorded): 09:46:03 (42 km/h)
Moving time (recorded): 06:54:00 (59 km/h)
FYI: Others averaged much higher speeds! I’m a plodder.

Lance was not along, therefore I unashamedly cannibalised others’ photos from Facebook for the first two days. A large group of about 24 bikes met at Swartland Engen; setting off shortly after 7am. The club hadn’t had a trip to Jurg se Kaya in a while, hence the high numbers this time around.

Group shot (I was the only rider on this trip that did not have a y chromosome):

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The guy with the 650 in the foreground of the picture below would be instrumental to my finishing this trip on my bike (rather than be relegated to the trailer and back-up vehicle). I called him MacGyver. Others called him Ritalin, due to the high amounts of energy exuded from his personage.

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We managed to largely avoid the N7 until just before Klawer, taking back and gravel routes. Lunch was had at Vanrhynsdorp.

Legends and myths abound regarding the stretch of sand before the Kaya and I was never quite sure the distance. It varied depending on the person questioned. It appeared to correlate with skill level. The faster guys would throw out a number that seemed rather assuring, while the less skilled gave a number that sounded insurmountable.

Yet there were some that did not even reach this stretch unscathed. There was one minor fall (scratches only) and one major off. On one corner with a steep drop-off embankment, I saw two guys on a recovery mission in the bushes, with the top of a bike just visible at road-level. When I reached the main body of the group, I informed the rider nearest to me that someone had gone off the road. I’m not sure what I expected – that the message would get to the front where the ride-leader was stationed via a broken telephone? Actually a real telephone helped. Ride-leader Geoff got a call to inform him of matters and I got a strafdop that night for my communication (or lack thereof) skills.

It turned out that MacGyver had gone off the road. The bike was unrideable, with a massive triangular smiley and bent forks. His bike was the first to be loaded on the back-up trailer (there were to be many more).

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The run-up to the last stretch of coastal road to the Kaya is usually also liberally sand-plastered, hence we all regrouped. We were bunched into groups of self-professed skill level (I firmly stationed myself with those men brave enough to admit to beginner status). We were allowed to set off first, with the advanced group chilling out to let us build a long lead time. Therefore if any of us fell, there would be fresh helpers at hand when the pros arrived (falling is a very tiring business). The road was very manageable, but talks with the old hands revealed that it was because the road was in an incredibly good (read: relatively sand-free) condition when compared to previous years.

Finally we were on the coastal sand. This type of sand is very different to the sand I experienced in Namibia. Namibia has vast, wide roads of fine-grained sand, where you could dance and snake to your heart’s delight and the sand would just magically be swept aside. This stuff seemed more solid and coarse, with your options of play limited to two very business-like tracks. It completely messed with my head. I have absolutely no pictures of the road on the way in, but here are some drawn from the third day of our trip on the way back home, just to give an idea of the sand:

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My odd riding style does not quite lend itself to this sort of terrain. I do not have “meerkat” skills and tend to ride even very rocky stuff sitting. My modus operandi was to shift all my weight back onto my pillion seat and hover-craft 2 inches above the seat when it got hairy.

The 650 has an incredibly long first gear and sand does not like first gear. But second gear required a level of speed with which I was deeply uncomfortable. Yet first-gear riding ended up with many low-speed tumbles, so I generally picked second gear and managed (mostly) to stay on board despite incredible manoeuvres and bounces, sometimes from one track to the next. Geoff, following behind, said he prayed for me. Willpower kept me on board that day, and the thought of hitting ground at that speed (I broke my foot years earlier from a 30 km/h off – it doesn’t take much). I wish someone had filmed me on this day, for it was the only day when my nerves and resolve held out and I’m sure Lance doesn’t believe I actually rode that route.

Yet one of my hardest falls in my biking career was on that stretch (there have been two others falls since I started riding that would classify as more than side-stand incidents). I was barely hanging on to my steed when I saw another rider that had stopped. A sand-newbie cannot change direction or thought-patterns quickly and I ended up having one of those all-the-air-knocked-out-of-your-lungs falls. I had some fun technicolour bruises to show for it later.

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But that was not the worst. A quick health scan of my bike showed up a fatal end-of-ride breakage: my clutch lever was snapped clean off, flush with the handlebar. Not a smidgen remained. I sadly waited for the back-up vehicle. My ride, for all intents and purposes, was over. Or was it?

The entire field of bikes consisted largely of 1200s. The only bike that resembled mine was the busted 650 on the trailer. MacGyver sacrificed the clutch lever from this bike, filing it down (someone actually had a file!) in order to fit my bike. My clutch switch had to be disconnected, so I was not able to start my bike in gear for the rest of the trip (had to find neutral first), but I was able to ride!

Cannibalised clutch lever on the left, standard brake lever on the right:
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The donor bike, minus clutch lever:
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I finally reached Jurg se Kaya, managing to miraculously make the last sandy corner (despite some wild bucking), where Lance tells me that even he took a tumble. The cat’s out of the bag. The stretch of coastal sand road is 7 km in length.

I was not the only one who took a damaging tumble on the sand stretch of doom. Froggy came off hard and hurt his wrist. His bike got a bit hurt, but nothing that cable-ties couldn’t fix. Nevertheless, the bike was loaded onto the trailer, because cable-ties couldn’t fix Froggy.  Good thing my bike was salvaged en route, as the trailer already had a sad 650 and only two bikes would fit comfortably. This would be a trip of “musical bikes” on the trailer, trying to make space for the next victim by fixing up bikes.

Froggy’s bike:
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Geoff assigned everybody their digs. Some decided to camp, while others (including myself) made use of the rooms. Geoff assigned me one of the “de luxe” apartments, i.e. less leaks and no bats. We were warned about the rustic nature of the facilities, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve shared a cement floor in shed with tractors and various other farming implements and am generally happy to go into complete grunge mode if there are no shower facilities - if the trip isn’t too long (generally 3 days) and my co-riders don’t mind the smell! The loo was a long-drop, but it complied with my only two requirements: clean and loads of white gold (loo paper) available! You don’t find this at most garages… Supper consisted of chicken, sweetcorn pie and pasta salad. Yum.

The Kaya (outside):
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The Kaya (inside):
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Kellan entertained us with videos taken on his GoPro on the ride. The speed at which he rode made my head spin. I felt a bit queasy just watching the video. Even more so when it showed a little duiker or some such small bokkie cross the track right in front of him. Both can be lucky they’re still alive!

Watch from about 2:15 to see the close shave and watch further if you want to feel queasy:
[flash=800,450]https://www.youtube.com/v/qXiT4UEfmEY&t=207s[/flash]
 
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