Day 8
Chomping at the bit.The riding pack was eager to set off after the rest and service day. Everyone was clearly well-rested and worrying that the adventure would end all too soon.
@Rickus and I, followed Gerrit and
@Kamanya at the front off the convoy. Needless to say, the four of us set off with some vigour down the tweespoor farm track. Through the roost and dust that
@Kamanya was kicking up less than 10m ahead of me, I saw a rather sizeable flat rock spin into the spoor. I thought nothing of it…. till I rode over it. The front wheel passed over the rock and kicked the one end up, into the bottom of the Rumbux bash plate. The other end wedged itself into the rocky Karoo landscape. For a fraction of a second that piece of ysterklip, the length of two loaves of bread, and about as wide as the bash plate, turned itself into a Catapult, sending me and my stead into the air. Both wheels off the ground. I stuck the landing like an East German Gymnast, and just kept the throttle pinned till we stopped at the farm gate, some 5 minutes later. No oil light. At a quick glance, no oil in the Pan of the bash plate either….hey, hey… Party on!
I checked my warning lights again… just in case… no problem. Then I noticed the ambient air temperature indicator… It was turning out to be another balmy day… in the high 30’s before 10am…
Our first fuel stop was in Merweville. What a quaint little town! Team 7 took an Ice cream and chocolate break on the stoep of the winkel. Amazing how those cheap orange or granadilla flavoured stokkiesroomyse just brightens up your day. Probably all the chemicals that they use to make the stuff... Drugs! ...or due to some fond childhood memory, whatever it is, it works a charm, every time. Especially in the intense heat.
Barbarians rise, and fallAfter passing by Merweville’s lovely church building to appreciate the arcitecture, we hit the road to Rammelkop pass. If you like winding your way up a narrowish partly gravel, partly tarred pass…. then this is really worth it. Don’t miss this pass if you’re in the area.
The convoy came to a stop, almost at the top. There we stood around, enjoyed the view, and chatted.
In the distance I could hear the unmistakable engine sound off a GS1200 and a KTM990 approaching. Nice. I looked forward to seeing bikers from the “real world” for a change… Half a minute later the GS made the turn behind us and came racing through the stationary convoy with no regard for the roost he’s causing, or the safety of anyone stumbling across the road. To make sure that we all were taking notice of his immense riding prowess, he deliberately power whipped his bike from side to side pelting all of us with stones as he passed. I waved, as a decent rider would do, but to no avail. This guy was clearly more interested in displaying his manly riding skills, than greeting fellow travellers. Hot on his heals the 990 cut through our roadside recreation at much the same speed and tune. Only… this guy rode with a t-shirt, no jacket or ballistic. Judging by his sun burnt arms, it wasn’t the first day he rode in this fashion. Some other riders from the same group straddling lighter bikes, followed but all left me standing with a wimpish waving hand in the air, they were paying no attention. Wow. Poepolle.
A short while later the convoy was on the road again. At the top of Rammelkop pass, there was a sharp left-hand turn on loose gravel, immediately followed by a drainage hump diagonally across the road. As we cruised over it, my teammate and I immediately noticed the story that was written in the gravel beneath us. We read it like a Boesman reads the Kalahari sand. It looked like the marks one would find in the dust of a Bullring after a fight, but it was in fact, telling a very different story: that of the spoor of an overpowered adventure bike power-slide, snaking, and then sticking its backheels into the ground. Flipping. Pegs, tearing gashes in the gravel. A rider coming down to earth, some meters ahead. Rapid scurrying about and then, spinning off again. It read like a tragic-comedy. I could actually hear
@Rikus lauging in his helmet.
This was undoubtably, the poepolle. Looks like the GS or the 990. Big heavy bike.
I know how the rider must have felt. During a trip in the Baviaans, I also passed a 4x4 like a windgat poepol, met mother earth 1 minute later, jumped up and raced ahead because I knew that the 4x4 is on its way and would crack up laughing if he saw me.
Maar nou ja, …justice.
Into the TankwaWe had another fuel stop in Sutherland, facilitating my appointment with another can of Satan’s Piss aka Monster energy drink. The addiction was well and truly taking hold.
Then a long stretch through the Tankwa all the way too Tankwa Padstall. It was my first visit. Lovely ginger beer. Nice little pool. Horrible merry go round in the kids play area! 5 of us got on,
@Dipstick met #sybliksemselangbene spun us round, and 2 of us eventually got off feeling like returning our previously enjoyed ginger beer back to the Tankwa turf.
As the sun charged towards the horizon, we turned our bikes north for the short dash to our overnight stop at Die Mond. When we dismounted, I noticed that my bash plate was wet… on the top… between the plate and the engine… hmmmm… probably that mud I rode through at the gate… although… that mud was lighter in colour… ag… you're imagining things… relax… For some reason, I blocked it out of my mind, and immediately turned my attention to the beautiful place I found myself in. What a surprise! A cool green oasis. I couldn’t believe that there was this much water in the Tankwa, let alone a lekker big dam! Such a body of water is a blessing when its 40 degrees Celsius at 7 in the afternoon.
Everyone had a lovely evening, swimming, braaiing and relaxing. Tomorrow is going to be a big one. One of the biggest of the trip.
That night I thought about the hell we went through on day 2 and 3. I was very disappointed with my riding during those 2 days. Can’t wait for tomorrow. I fell asleep with a huge smile.
Little did I know what panic would befall me tomorrow when we do the Pre-ride inspection.