RenedianCanadian
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Here is the cut and paste copy from www.renedian.com that gives my version of the Saturday ride at Baviaanskloof. Enjoy! The Cederberg was awesome, too!
*****************
Adventuring with Adventurers
When I first arrived in Jo?burg, Elroy got me to sign up on the www.thinkbike.co.za website, and also the Adventure Riders website for South Africa www.wilddogtours.co.za . They have been planning a year end party at a place called Baviaanskloof (Baboon Gorge) and I decided to go after some helpful prodding from a few of the Adv Rider guys.
After riding motorcycles around the world with all my worldly possessions on it as well, it was treat to leave the big tool roll and all the extra stuff at Henks apple farm and ride unencumbered. The side cases contained only tent and sleeping things and a few food items.
A handful of unemployed and over-employed folks were able to get away Thursday, and take two days of dirt riding to get to the camp site, and 10 km after meeting at Montague, we came to a bridge out section. This is a part where if i were traveling alone, I would turn around and find another route across, but with lots of help, taking the river crossing was great fun. I managed to find the only stone big enough to high-center myself, leaving the bike teetering in the middle of the river while 3 of us worked to move it. With the number of river and stream crossings to go in the next 3 days, this was last time by boots were dry for the duration of the trip. Two full days of spectacular scenery were to follow, and we got to the campsite in mid afternoon on Friday, meeting the dozen or so folks that were already there.
It was interesting to watch people meet for the first time. Relationships had been formed on the web forum, but putting faces to names was always nothing like you expected. It was nice to be able to talk about my travels to folks that were genuinely interested in what I was doing, people that understood what great fun it must be to be able to ride dirt roads and mountain passes all day, and to meet other like minded nuts. I went to a few rallies in Jo?burg with Elroys moto group, and in my yellow Aerostich jacket I stuck out like a neon clown in a sea of black leather and Jack Daniels.
But here! It was like coming home. Walking around in wet stinky boots, dirty like everyone else, comfortable knowing that these are the riders that prefer the experience
of riding to the experience of buying riding gear and talking about all the excuses about why they cannot ride more often. I found myself in a group that made their priorities in the same irresponsible way that I did, moving beer and riding motorcycles dangerously near the top.
The rest of the Cape Towners and Jo?bergers trickled in, coming to about 50 people for the Friday night braai. The group that I came in with were a bit knackered from our previous evenings festivities, but held on firmly as the night progressed.
Saturday morning came quickly, with Gravelboy, giggling to himself around all the snoring tents spouting off about the virtues of early mornings and berating all about missing the best part of the day, which was in his opinion, about 5:20am. The mountain of beer cans and empty brandy bottles around the fire suggested that most of the camp would be sleeping in a bit longer. Around our little tent neighborhood, however, a group of seven slowly got ready and with little fanfare to the others, we snuck off by 7am. Nardus, Mr and Mrs Michnus, MetalJockey, MrJack, GravelBoy and I were off. Announcing that a ride was leaving would have delayed us by hours, as folks would need to finish their coffee, or find their boots, wash visors, etc....so we left.
The caretaker of the campground told us of the 4x4 trail that continued south over the mountains for 80km and popped out at a little pub. The trail was unimaginatively named Number 5. Or so I thought. It would later prove that the name of the trail refers to the number of times I would say ?I?m gonna die?.
The first kilometer should have clued me into the upcoming terrain. Steep rocky uphills with tight switchbacks had me crawling in first gear, slowly picking my line. The first kilometer also should have clued me into my riding group, who blew by me like I was standing still, which I nearly was. How can they be going so fast on this stuff? I started to blame it on their lighter bikes, but they were almost all bigger 950s or 1200s. So I switched to thinking about tires, but my tires looked absolutely new compared to their clapped out dual sport rubber. Must be this skill and coordination thing people are always talking about.
20 km into it we stopped for a little break. It had taken us an hour and half to get here, and it would be 5 hours before reaching the end of the 80km. I had gotten jammed up half way up a steep, rocky, narrow climb, mountain on one side, a healthy drop down to the creek on the other. The track was barely wide enough for the 4x4s, so they all followed in the same track leaving us motos little choice to pick a good line, since there wasn?t one. The rocks were fist sized and looked really sharp from where I was sitting waiting for my turn to bounce my way up. I got halfway up this 100m section when the rear spit out of a healthy rock and the back of the bike jumped. I wasn?t ready for it and the bike flopped in the middle of the trail.
?This sucks and we have 60km more of this to go!? I bitched to the others. None of us knew if the trail got better or worse, and then there was the return trip. The only thing shittier than steep rocky uphills is steep rocky downhills.
?Ag, man. Quit talking shit and get back on your bike.? And so we continued on, the leader stopping to open gates, and waiting for the last person - normally me - to come puttering along so he could close it.
It was obvious that this tract was on private land and made for the 4x4s. It went up and down small hills with rocky sides when a perfectly good tract around the bloody thing would have worked just as well. The downhills made me nervous because the wires that allow me to switch off my ABS had broken off the previous day, so I was stuck with my ABS kicking in on every little scree section letting the rear wheel roll when all I wanted was to lock up the rear wheel and slow down my runaway freight-train of a motorcycle. To top things off, the trail was normally crowded with this tree Handlebarus grabbus, that yanked at your hands as you got close in an attempt to peel you cleanly from the motorcycle.
We stumbled onto a wilderness lodge and promptly cleaned them out of their beer. Drinking while riding is not something that I have a lot of experience doing, and will not often do, but this one was well deserved. As GravelBoy and I nursed our one beer, the other lads fired them back.
We talked about the first leg, and the upcoming part. I was relieved that there was a way out to the highway and we could take another route back to the campsite instead of simply turning around. The new route would pass us the other half of the Baviaans gorge that I hadn?t seen yet.
Earlier that day there was a herd of something that crossed the trail in front of me, and the group though that I was the only one to get a good look at them.
?Man, I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes to be looking out for game?, I replied.
I was questioned on my riding style. These guys were comfortable getting onto the pegs and standing there for the duration of the ride - uphill and down. I explained to them that after sitting on my bike for 2000 hours or so now, I am more comfortable riding that way. They kindly resisted the obvious smartass comment that I probably sit when I piss too.
But for me pissing, like motorcycling, is sometimes more safely done sitting down.
The dust road from the bush lodge to Kareedouw was in good shape and we made good time there just in time for lunch and -surprise! - more beer.
GravelBoy and I snuck out before the others to get a head start on them and got to the gorge to start crawling back to the campsite. The geography is difficult to explain, but the photo at the top of this page can help. The signs near the entrance to this area say that sedans and pulling trailers is not advised on this road. I am surprised that the wording is not stronger, like ?Small cars and trucks pulling trailers will meet a certain death on this road, and no rescues will be attempted. Have a nice day.?
The road is a one lane affair, climbing steeply up the side on cliffs, following the geography of the hills. The climbs last 500m to a kilometer, then down the other side. The lack of maintenance to the road adds to the appeal, as rain running down the track has carved wandering grooves that must be negotiated. Safety rails or guard rails are unheard of, but there is a kind sign that suggests an upcoming 90 degree turn that if you miss, it will be your last missed turn.
I crawled up and down in first and second gear, driving Gravelboy nuts, as he was more comfortable in second gear, but kept braking for me. After at least a dozen rocky ups and downs, we topped out in the valley.
One of the truly great things about riding in South Africa is that the geography changes quickly. My knuckles had just returned to a normal color from white when the terrain changed from dry to wet. We were warned that there were more water crossings, and were given hints on how to make them successfully. The first was deceiving, as entering it, it looked maybe 80m long, but upon reaching the corner that was visible from the start, it turns and continues for another 80 or 100m. The water came up halfway up the bike or so, not high enough to get into the airbox, but high enough to fill my boots. Again.
There was another long river stretch, and a dozen or so short stream crossings, each one seemingly taken quicker than the last. We were like horses heading to the barn, and were anxious to get back, get some food. We had been out for 10 hours or so, and spent the evening retelling stories about the ride and listening to others as well. I made sure to tell my stories well away from the others that were on the ride with me, so they couldn?t call me a liar when I spoke of flying down these cliffside routes in 4th gear. Doing wheelies.
The lamb on the spit never tasted so good - as hunger and fatigue is the best seasoning for any food.
The organization of these events often goes unnoticed, but Bojangles deserves a special mention as she constantly clucked about, cleaning, preparing, smiling, and making sure that having a bad time this weekend was impossible.
I blasted home, and talked to Henk about how great the weekend was. He almost was able to make it but work got in the way. He suggested that we plan a weekend for the Adv Riders to his farm in the Karoo. I thought that would be a great trip - any chance to get back there. We will try to organize something for December to get some of the group back together.
*****************
Adventuring with Adventurers
When I first arrived in Jo?burg, Elroy got me to sign up on the www.thinkbike.co.za website, and also the Adventure Riders website for South Africa www.wilddogtours.co.za . They have been planning a year end party at a place called Baviaanskloof (Baboon Gorge) and I decided to go after some helpful prodding from a few of the Adv Rider guys.
After riding motorcycles around the world with all my worldly possessions on it as well, it was treat to leave the big tool roll and all the extra stuff at Henks apple farm and ride unencumbered. The side cases contained only tent and sleeping things and a few food items.
A handful of unemployed and over-employed folks were able to get away Thursday, and take two days of dirt riding to get to the camp site, and 10 km after meeting at Montague, we came to a bridge out section. This is a part where if i were traveling alone, I would turn around and find another route across, but with lots of help, taking the river crossing was great fun. I managed to find the only stone big enough to high-center myself, leaving the bike teetering in the middle of the river while 3 of us worked to move it. With the number of river and stream crossings to go in the next 3 days, this was last time by boots were dry for the duration of the trip. Two full days of spectacular scenery were to follow, and we got to the campsite in mid afternoon on Friday, meeting the dozen or so folks that were already there.
It was interesting to watch people meet for the first time. Relationships had been formed on the web forum, but putting faces to names was always nothing like you expected. It was nice to be able to talk about my travels to folks that were genuinely interested in what I was doing, people that understood what great fun it must be to be able to ride dirt roads and mountain passes all day, and to meet other like minded nuts. I went to a few rallies in Jo?burg with Elroys moto group, and in my yellow Aerostich jacket I stuck out like a neon clown in a sea of black leather and Jack Daniels.
But here! It was like coming home. Walking around in wet stinky boots, dirty like everyone else, comfortable knowing that these are the riders that prefer the experience
of riding to the experience of buying riding gear and talking about all the excuses about why they cannot ride more often. I found myself in a group that made their priorities in the same irresponsible way that I did, moving beer and riding motorcycles dangerously near the top.
The rest of the Cape Towners and Jo?bergers trickled in, coming to about 50 people for the Friday night braai. The group that I came in with were a bit knackered from our previous evenings festivities, but held on firmly as the night progressed.
Saturday morning came quickly, with Gravelboy, giggling to himself around all the snoring tents spouting off about the virtues of early mornings and berating all about missing the best part of the day, which was in his opinion, about 5:20am. The mountain of beer cans and empty brandy bottles around the fire suggested that most of the camp would be sleeping in a bit longer. Around our little tent neighborhood, however, a group of seven slowly got ready and with little fanfare to the others, we snuck off by 7am. Nardus, Mr and Mrs Michnus, MetalJockey, MrJack, GravelBoy and I were off. Announcing that a ride was leaving would have delayed us by hours, as folks would need to finish their coffee, or find their boots, wash visors, etc....so we left.
The caretaker of the campground told us of the 4x4 trail that continued south over the mountains for 80km and popped out at a little pub. The trail was unimaginatively named Number 5. Or so I thought. It would later prove that the name of the trail refers to the number of times I would say ?I?m gonna die?.
The first kilometer should have clued me into the upcoming terrain. Steep rocky uphills with tight switchbacks had me crawling in first gear, slowly picking my line. The first kilometer also should have clued me into my riding group, who blew by me like I was standing still, which I nearly was. How can they be going so fast on this stuff? I started to blame it on their lighter bikes, but they were almost all bigger 950s or 1200s. So I switched to thinking about tires, but my tires looked absolutely new compared to their clapped out dual sport rubber. Must be this skill and coordination thing people are always talking about.
20 km into it we stopped for a little break. It had taken us an hour and half to get here, and it would be 5 hours before reaching the end of the 80km. I had gotten jammed up half way up a steep, rocky, narrow climb, mountain on one side, a healthy drop down to the creek on the other. The track was barely wide enough for the 4x4s, so they all followed in the same track leaving us motos little choice to pick a good line, since there wasn?t one. The rocks were fist sized and looked really sharp from where I was sitting waiting for my turn to bounce my way up. I got halfway up this 100m section when the rear spit out of a healthy rock and the back of the bike jumped. I wasn?t ready for it and the bike flopped in the middle of the trail.
?This sucks and we have 60km more of this to go!? I bitched to the others. None of us knew if the trail got better or worse, and then there was the return trip. The only thing shittier than steep rocky uphills is steep rocky downhills.
?Ag, man. Quit talking shit and get back on your bike.? And so we continued on, the leader stopping to open gates, and waiting for the last person - normally me - to come puttering along so he could close it.
It was obvious that this tract was on private land and made for the 4x4s. It went up and down small hills with rocky sides when a perfectly good tract around the bloody thing would have worked just as well. The downhills made me nervous because the wires that allow me to switch off my ABS had broken off the previous day, so I was stuck with my ABS kicking in on every little scree section letting the rear wheel roll when all I wanted was to lock up the rear wheel and slow down my runaway freight-train of a motorcycle. To top things off, the trail was normally crowded with this tree Handlebarus grabbus, that yanked at your hands as you got close in an attempt to peel you cleanly from the motorcycle.
We stumbled onto a wilderness lodge and promptly cleaned them out of their beer. Drinking while riding is not something that I have a lot of experience doing, and will not often do, but this one was well deserved. As GravelBoy and I nursed our one beer, the other lads fired them back.
We talked about the first leg, and the upcoming part. I was relieved that there was a way out to the highway and we could take another route back to the campsite instead of simply turning around. The new route would pass us the other half of the Baviaans gorge that I hadn?t seen yet.
Earlier that day there was a herd of something that crossed the trail in front of me, and the group though that I was the only one to get a good look at them.
?Man, I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes to be looking out for game?, I replied.
I was questioned on my riding style. These guys were comfortable getting onto the pegs and standing there for the duration of the ride - uphill and down. I explained to them that after sitting on my bike for 2000 hours or so now, I am more comfortable riding that way. They kindly resisted the obvious smartass comment that I probably sit when I piss too.
But for me pissing, like motorcycling, is sometimes more safely done sitting down.
The dust road from the bush lodge to Kareedouw was in good shape and we made good time there just in time for lunch and -surprise! - more beer.
GravelBoy and I snuck out before the others to get a head start on them and got to the gorge to start crawling back to the campsite. The geography is difficult to explain, but the photo at the top of this page can help. The signs near the entrance to this area say that sedans and pulling trailers is not advised on this road. I am surprised that the wording is not stronger, like ?Small cars and trucks pulling trailers will meet a certain death on this road, and no rescues will be attempted. Have a nice day.?
The road is a one lane affair, climbing steeply up the side on cliffs, following the geography of the hills. The climbs last 500m to a kilometer, then down the other side. The lack of maintenance to the road adds to the appeal, as rain running down the track has carved wandering grooves that must be negotiated. Safety rails or guard rails are unheard of, but there is a kind sign that suggests an upcoming 90 degree turn that if you miss, it will be your last missed turn.
I crawled up and down in first and second gear, driving Gravelboy nuts, as he was more comfortable in second gear, but kept braking for me. After at least a dozen rocky ups and downs, we topped out in the valley.
One of the truly great things about riding in South Africa is that the geography changes quickly. My knuckles had just returned to a normal color from white when the terrain changed from dry to wet. We were warned that there were more water crossings, and were given hints on how to make them successfully. The first was deceiving, as entering it, it looked maybe 80m long, but upon reaching the corner that was visible from the start, it turns and continues for another 80 or 100m. The water came up halfway up the bike or so, not high enough to get into the airbox, but high enough to fill my boots. Again.
There was another long river stretch, and a dozen or so short stream crossings, each one seemingly taken quicker than the last. We were like horses heading to the barn, and were anxious to get back, get some food. We had been out for 10 hours or so, and spent the evening retelling stories about the ride and listening to others as well. I made sure to tell my stories well away from the others that were on the ride with me, so they couldn?t call me a liar when I spoke of flying down these cliffside routes in 4th gear. Doing wheelies.
The lamb on the spit never tasted so good - as hunger and fatigue is the best seasoning for any food.
The organization of these events often goes unnoticed, but Bojangles deserves a special mention as she constantly clucked about, cleaning, preparing, smiling, and making sure that having a bad time this weekend was impossible.
I blasted home, and talked to Henk about how great the weekend was. He almost was able to make it but work got in the way. He suggested that we plan a weekend for the Adv Riders to his farm in the Karoo. I thought that would be a great trip - any chance to get back there. We will try to organize something for December to get some of the group back together.
