I want to join the Garden Route Dogs’ 31st December ride. I consider this a most fitting way to end the year, especially as I’ve been unable to ride for the past 6 months for one reason or another. The ride kicks off from Mossel Bay which isn’t that far from Plett, but too far to ride through on the morning. A lovely Dog and his family offer to put me up the night before.
One afternoon a few days into our holiday, my brother-in-law, who also trailered his DR650 down, suggest we go for a ride, and soon we’re roaring mutedly along the Harkerville plantation roads. I use the word “roads” loosely, as they aren’t in the best state; steep washed out hills with deep curvy ruts, sandy sections and big loose stones. It is beautiful.
I tremble inside but press on as BIL eventually turns onto a 2-spoor track. He asks whether I’m OK and I gamely nod my head. Ahead, the spoor drops downwards and out of view, seemingly over the edge of a cliff. I try to paddle the bike down the steep little spoor, feeling like a complete gravel n00b, but my nerves and skill run out and Snow unceremoniously hits the ground, belly up.
Eventually BIL realises I’m not following, and turns around to pick up the bike, clearly eager to carry on.
I wish him God’s speed and settle down to wait for his return.
When he comes back, he tells me he ended up at a fantastic lookout point, but 4x4s have spun out the track and he had some difficulty riding out again. I’m glad I didn’t follow. We carry on but I miss him at a turn-off, and I ride a harrowing, curved sandy and rocky section of about 1 km (OK, maybe it was only 10m) before I realise I’ll have to turn back and ride it again, as BIL is not up ahead.
I catch up with him and we decide to turn back home. He suggests I go in front so he can keep an eye on me in the event something goes wrong, and tells me which way to go. I take a wrong turn again, and when I turn around BIL catches up with me and zooms off into the distance. I take a calming breath: I’d come this way before without incident, I’ll be fine.
The late afternoon shadows make it hard to see ahead. I gingerly speed up another steep slope, trying to avoid the ruts and rocks, and lose my balance. Snow dives into the embankment and traps my left ankle under the luggage plate. It is mostly sand, and I manage to heave Snow’s behind somewhat and wiggle out my ankle. I take a few photo’s, waiting for BIL to realise something’s gone wrong.
A sudden thought strikes me: what if I was riding alone? I’d have had to pick up Snow myself. I look over at Snow; I will be riding alone sometimes, and I know I can lift him up.
Snow fell at an angle and isn’t lying completely level. I grab the hand guard, intending to pull Snow upright, but it slips out of the handle due to damage from the previous fall. Arrrrgh, now what?!! There isn’t any space on the other side to hunch down backwards and grab the handlebar and luggage rack to lift Snow up like I normally would.
I recall a bike-lifting video posted on WD. One of the ways demonstrated was to kneel beside the bike, but your chest against the seat, grab lower down the bike, and heave it up with your upper body. The demonstrator, though, had a pillion to stand on the wheel and act as counterweight, a luxury I don’t have. Still, I can’t think of anything else to try.
I kneel on the embankment, lean down and scrabble around for places to hold. I think I end up with the handlebar and the luggage rack, as I’m higher than Snow. I put my chest into the seat and start to heave with all my might. Snow lifts a little, then the handlebar turns and he rolls in a small curve. I groan and let go, but I know Snow is in gear and won’t roll anywhere. I lean down and try again. He lifts and again rolls slightly, but then gets a grip and stays put while I push.
Trembling and perspiring heavily, I manage to push Snow into the upright position. There’s no space to put down the side stand and I lean against him, trying not to push him over, until I can shakily swing my leg over the seat. I sit still for a moment catching my breath, wondering at my idiocy at not removing my hot gear.
Composed at last, I start Snow. The ignition turns over, but doesn’t catch. I remember what my BIL said earlier about not leaving the bike lying down because the carb will flood, and how to start the bike if it does. I turn off the fuel tap and try again. And again. And again. I start to have visions of a flat battery, and stop, but there is still no sign of BIL. I try again, twisting the throttle, and Snow springs to life. I breathe a fervent thanks.
I find my BIL casually lounging next to his bike at the stop sign where we turn onto the N2. He asks if I had trouble, and I tell him I’d fallen again. For a moment, he looks slightly guilty that he didn’t turn back but he quickly shakes it off, not one to dwell in the past. After all, I hadn’t suffered any damage. We ride home, a slight confidence settling in me.
Topic: Garden Route Ride 31/12/2018 - Dust, Heat, and a little Snow (Read 1517 times)