Prologue
The April Spit Braai at Cederberg Oasis was my birthday gift to myself. I had spent my actual birthday with the band, practising for a gig the next afternoon, and gently hyperventilating. Our previous gig at the same venue had not generated good vibes.
Tables may have emptied due to drinks so expensive even foreigners balked at the prices, but maybe, just maybe, it was because someone in the band had broken a string and not turned down his amp while tuning the new string... Ditto the tinkering violin, caught between a hard rock amp and an immovable monitor, confused into thinking it was out of tune.
Suddenly the gig was done, and I could wash the purple dye out of my hair and look to the future, a whole week away.
The face that would launch a thousand singles (a.k.a. "I suck at selfies"):
I had taken leave for Friday and planned a long route to Oasis. My very recent riding buddy had canceled due to being recalled to Pretoria, and I was relishing the prospect of riding alone. The week was busy and I started packing early. Then plans for Thurday evening were unexpectedly cancelled and I could finish packing and load the bike, turn in early and be away at the crack of dawn.
So, sensibly, I immediately shot myself in the foot, arranging to go try on some adventure clothing that may or may not fit this fluffy butt, because the owners were leaving to tour Eastern Cape and wouldn't be back for forever. (OK, 3 weeks, which is forever if you have your eye on a rad eggshell kit with matching gloves). We ended up visiting so long, I eventually got to bed by 00:00, and settled in for a night of insomnia, listening to the sun, moon and stars circumnavigating the Earth. The next morning I kept hitting snooze. So much for the nice long 6,5 hour route I had planned...
Friday 20 April 2018
I decided to try a new packing configuration for better weight distribution. It's called divide-and-conquer, or "overpacking". In my defence, although the Cederberg day time temperatures looked fine, the night time temperatures showed distinct bungee tendencies, and I shoved in extra socks, rain gear and thick jacket before I left. Also the two pannier bags, although evidently stuffed to bursting, probably only weighed about 5kg each.
I eventually left around 11:00. For a few bowel-threatening moments, the Gent wallowed like a hippo, then momentum aided its balance and it stabilised. I headed up the N1 and swung onto the alternative route over Du Toitskloof Pass.
It was perfect riding weather - sunny, clear and crisp with a bit of a breeze. As I headed over Du Toitskloof, hindered by very little traffic, a sickly sweet smell insinuated itself into my nostrils and tagged along for the ride. There were a few troops of baboons along the way, or maybe one big one. I hate baboons intensely - they are vicious, vicious animals, almost human in their casual cruelty.
Then I noticed in the oncoming lane an evenly-spaced footprint of bloody fur and gore. Some poor animal must have gotten stepped on by a truck or tractor, and stuck to the tread, to be laid to rest in pieces over about 5 km. I did not relish returning this way.
Down through the valley I rode, turning right onto the Rawsonville Road, then left at the first cross roads towards Slanghoek Valley. The road was quiet and the scenery was heart-lifting.
Then left again towards Ceres, swinging over Mitchells Pass. I stopped at the first fuel station for a refill, then onwards towards the R355 on my willing purple steed.
The April Spit Braai at Cederberg Oasis was my birthday gift to myself. I had spent my actual birthday with the band, practising for a gig the next afternoon, and gently hyperventilating. Our previous gig at the same venue had not generated good vibes.
Tables may have emptied due to drinks so expensive even foreigners balked at the prices, but maybe, just maybe, it was because someone in the band had broken a string and not turned down his amp while tuning the new string... Ditto the tinkering violin, caught between a hard rock amp and an immovable monitor, confused into thinking it was out of tune.
Suddenly the gig was done, and I could wash the purple dye out of my hair and look to the future, a whole week away.
The face that would launch a thousand singles (a.k.a. "I suck at selfies"):
I had taken leave for Friday and planned a long route to Oasis. My very recent riding buddy had canceled due to being recalled to Pretoria, and I was relishing the prospect of riding alone. The week was busy and I started packing early. Then plans for Thurday evening were unexpectedly cancelled and I could finish packing and load the bike, turn in early and be away at the crack of dawn.
So, sensibly, I immediately shot myself in the foot, arranging to go try on some adventure clothing that may or may not fit this fluffy butt, because the owners were leaving to tour Eastern Cape and wouldn't be back for forever. (OK, 3 weeks, which is forever if you have your eye on a rad eggshell kit with matching gloves). We ended up visiting so long, I eventually got to bed by 00:00, and settled in for a night of insomnia, listening to the sun, moon and stars circumnavigating the Earth. The next morning I kept hitting snooze. So much for the nice long 6,5 hour route I had planned...
Friday 20 April 2018
I decided to try a new packing configuration for better weight distribution. It's called divide-and-conquer, or "overpacking". In my defence, although the Cederberg day time temperatures looked fine, the night time temperatures showed distinct bungee tendencies, and I shoved in extra socks, rain gear and thick jacket before I left. Also the two pannier bags, although evidently stuffed to bursting, probably only weighed about 5kg each.
I eventually left around 11:00. For a few bowel-threatening moments, the Gent wallowed like a hippo, then momentum aided its balance and it stabilised. I headed up the N1 and swung onto the alternative route over Du Toitskloof Pass.
It was perfect riding weather - sunny, clear and crisp with a bit of a breeze. As I headed over Du Toitskloof, hindered by very little traffic, a sickly sweet smell insinuated itself into my nostrils and tagged along for the ride. There were a few troops of baboons along the way, or maybe one big one. I hate baboons intensely - they are vicious, vicious animals, almost human in their casual cruelty.
Then I noticed in the oncoming lane an evenly-spaced footprint of bloody fur and gore. Some poor animal must have gotten stepped on by a truck or tractor, and stuck to the tread, to be laid to rest in pieces over about 5 km. I did not relish returning this way.
Down through the valley I rode, turning right onto the Rawsonville Road, then left at the first cross roads towards Slanghoek Valley. The road was quiet and the scenery was heart-lifting.
Then left again towards Ceres, swinging over Mitchells Pass. I stopped at the first fuel station for a refill, then onwards towards the R355 on my willing purple steed.
