Kaboef
Grey Hound
- Joined
- May 22, 2006
- Messages
- 7,302
- Reaction score
- 1,450
- Bike
- KTM 950 Adventure S
While you visit the in-laws for 2 weeks, there are a lot of things to keep a man busy. You can watch sport with your father-in-law, or play some tennis, sleep late, paint, read, be helpful around the house, or take the car for a scenic cruise.
None of which I did, of course.
Cabin fever. It happens to the best of us, I guess. Imagine spending 15 days at your in-laws in the Eastern Cape, the magnificent riding of the Transkei and Lesotho literally on your doorstep, and you don’t have a bike.
So when the missus granted me leave of absence for 4 days to go ride me boney and drink beer, I gracefully accepted. I knew she and little Kaboefie would be taken excellent care of by her mom and dad, and knowing the effect little babies have on grandparents I guessed they would only start realising I’m gone after about 3 days.
Before we left home, I had little time to prep the bike. I knew that I needed to get it done before we leave, so I drew up a list of very urgent things to do on the bike. I then tossed that list aside and started drinking beer and fixed the dining room chairs instead. Go with what feels good, I always say…
Little Kaboefie having a laugh at my woodworking skills.
Hitting the road out of Somerset West. We took the Blou Makou because, according to the Missus, the bakkie bounces too much. And apparently it smells like “’n dooie bakkie”… Go figure.
After departing from Somerset-West, and halfway sleepover in Beaufort West, we arrived via Somerset-East in Fort Beaufort. Thank goodness I’m not dyslexic, or this trip could have taken us waaaaaaayy longer.
Finally getting a chance to prep the bike. The Blou Makou doubling as support vehicle and bar.
I took a quick shakedown ride to Port Alfred to look at the famous bridge.
Everything seemed to be in order, except the state of wear of my rear Michelin Desert. I would have to go easy on the X’s ear.
We were treated to a bit of rain one early evening, and the colours in the sky were fantastic. No photoshop, no nothing. But I really need a tripod.
Meanwhile, Metaljockey and I were planning the trip. He’s been to Lesotho a couple of times, and I was very glad when he took it upon himself to work out a route. The day before the trip started, Michnus also decided to join. Good craic!
Little Kaboefie looking absolutely gutted about the fact that he has to stay at home again. Patience, young Skywalker.
Day 1:
So I left at sparrow’s fart on Sunday morning, needing to get to Stutterheim at 07:00 to meet Michnus and Metaljockey there. They were coming from East London.
MJ
Michnus
We pulled into the service station at exactly the same time. Right when we were about to depart, Michnus realised that his Dakar’s rear brake was fried. We were expecting a shitload of rain for the trip, and it quickly became obvious that only a front brake down a muddy descent won’t work so well. So Michnus rode back home to fetch his 1200, while Metaljockey and I pushed on, agreeing to meet him in Ugie.
We made good time, taking dirt (R352) to Tsomo and then via All Saints Neck to Ngcobo and then Ugie.
We pulled in at the nearest watering hole in Ugie and had some Milk of Amnesia while we waited for Michnus. The clouds were building up in the north and random thunder reminder us of the terrible weather that was predicted for the area that we were heading towards.
It wasn’t long before Michnus arrived, having obviously twisted the pig’s ear quite a fair bit.
We quickly had a bite to eat, and then we hit the dirt road running north from Ugie towards Bastervoetpad. A light drizzle started coming down. Now, right about here Metaljockey must have decided that he didn’t enjoy our company that much and that he would rather go home, because he promptly ran off the road on one blind corner and crashed his XChallenge.
Worse was that none of us had a hip flask with some slangbyt to calm the frayed nerves. I know, an amateurish mistake to make. Looking from the entry to the corner, you can see MJ’s attempt to shed some speed, but the slippery road and the rocks in the gully was not to be fooled so easily.
Being none the worse for wear except for a bruised knee, MJ took stock of the bike. The XC did not get off quite so lightly, with some heavy bruising, broken subframe and a hole in the clutch cover. Michnus rode out to within cellphone range to call MJ’s wife to bring the trailer, while I patched the hole in the engine. MJ then gave us his GPS and explained the route, after which he got on his wounded bike and reluctantly headed back to Ugie. Bummer of a way to end his trip.
Michnus and I decided to push on. Here I must extent my gratitude to Michnus. You could easily have gone to assist your brother-in-law in getting him and the bike home, but you decided to go on. Thanks, I appreciate that.
We headed onto Bastervoetpad through intermittent rain. It was muddy as hell, but spectacular.
The gods played marbles here a long time ago.
We continued to work our way north towards Lesotho, going up and down Lundeans neck while the fine rain misted up my Aria to the point where I had to guess where I’m riding. A-rai waar jy ry.
We hit the Telle Bridge border post at about 17:00. We were tired, behind schedule, dirty, wet, and hungry. But there were negatives as well: we still had to ride 150km through Lesotho in the rain at dusk to get to our overnight destination.
We zipped our rain suits up tight and headed down the A2 towards Mohale’s Hoek. Here we filled up and continued towards Mafeteng and Motsekuoa. Riding in the dark in an African country while you can’t see shit through your fogged-up visor isn’t fun. I started playing the “count-down” game, checking my tripmeter and GPS and wondering when the tar will run out and when we will be forced to battle our way through mud in the dark. The tar ran on smoothly under my front wheel while I blessed every kilometre that we drew closer to our destination. 30km’s from the finish, we took a turnoff from the A2, and 7km from the finish we left the tar and hit the mud. It was pitch dark, and we idled and slid our bikes through the mud in the direction of Malealea lodge. After one particularly hair-raising descent, we saw the lights in the distance and knew that this close to the end one of us would probably fall and break our necks. But the danger passed and we pulled into Malealea Lodge like conquering Spaniards. We promply shed our wet gear and headed to the dining room to see what we could get to eat. Ha! Curry lamb stew, rice, and pees! With pudding!
After washing it all down with a few beers and some Jack, we hit the sack. Roughly 700km’s for the day.
None of which I did, of course.
Cabin fever. It happens to the best of us, I guess. Imagine spending 15 days at your in-laws in the Eastern Cape, the magnificent riding of the Transkei and Lesotho literally on your doorstep, and you don’t have a bike.
So when the missus granted me leave of absence for 4 days to go ride me boney and drink beer, I gracefully accepted. I knew she and little Kaboefie would be taken excellent care of by her mom and dad, and knowing the effect little babies have on grandparents I guessed they would only start realising I’m gone after about 3 days.
Before we left home, I had little time to prep the bike. I knew that I needed to get it done before we leave, so I drew up a list of very urgent things to do on the bike. I then tossed that list aside and started drinking beer and fixed the dining room chairs instead. Go with what feels good, I always say…
Little Kaboefie having a laugh at my woodworking skills.
Hitting the road out of Somerset West. We took the Blou Makou because, according to the Missus, the bakkie bounces too much. And apparently it smells like “’n dooie bakkie”… Go figure.
After departing from Somerset-West, and halfway sleepover in Beaufort West, we arrived via Somerset-East in Fort Beaufort. Thank goodness I’m not dyslexic, or this trip could have taken us waaaaaaayy longer.
Finally getting a chance to prep the bike. The Blou Makou doubling as support vehicle and bar.
I took a quick shakedown ride to Port Alfred to look at the famous bridge.
Everything seemed to be in order, except the state of wear of my rear Michelin Desert. I would have to go easy on the X’s ear.
We were treated to a bit of rain one early evening, and the colours in the sky were fantastic. No photoshop, no nothing. But I really need a tripod.
Meanwhile, Metaljockey and I were planning the trip. He’s been to Lesotho a couple of times, and I was very glad when he took it upon himself to work out a route. The day before the trip started, Michnus also decided to join. Good craic!
Little Kaboefie looking absolutely gutted about the fact that he has to stay at home again. Patience, young Skywalker.
Day 1:
So I left at sparrow’s fart on Sunday morning, needing to get to Stutterheim at 07:00 to meet Michnus and Metaljockey there. They were coming from East London.
MJ
Michnus
We pulled into the service station at exactly the same time. Right when we were about to depart, Michnus realised that his Dakar’s rear brake was fried. We were expecting a shitload of rain for the trip, and it quickly became obvious that only a front brake down a muddy descent won’t work so well. So Michnus rode back home to fetch his 1200, while Metaljockey and I pushed on, agreeing to meet him in Ugie.
We made good time, taking dirt (R352) to Tsomo and then via All Saints Neck to Ngcobo and then Ugie.
We pulled in at the nearest watering hole in Ugie and had some Milk of Amnesia while we waited for Michnus. The clouds were building up in the north and random thunder reminder us of the terrible weather that was predicted for the area that we were heading towards.
It wasn’t long before Michnus arrived, having obviously twisted the pig’s ear quite a fair bit.
We quickly had a bite to eat, and then we hit the dirt road running north from Ugie towards Bastervoetpad. A light drizzle started coming down. Now, right about here Metaljockey must have decided that he didn’t enjoy our company that much and that he would rather go home, because he promptly ran off the road on one blind corner and crashed his XChallenge.
Worse was that none of us had a hip flask with some slangbyt to calm the frayed nerves. I know, an amateurish mistake to make. Looking from the entry to the corner, you can see MJ’s attempt to shed some speed, but the slippery road and the rocks in the gully was not to be fooled so easily.
Being none the worse for wear except for a bruised knee, MJ took stock of the bike. The XC did not get off quite so lightly, with some heavy bruising, broken subframe and a hole in the clutch cover. Michnus rode out to within cellphone range to call MJ’s wife to bring the trailer, while I patched the hole in the engine. MJ then gave us his GPS and explained the route, after which he got on his wounded bike and reluctantly headed back to Ugie. Bummer of a way to end his trip.
Michnus and I decided to push on. Here I must extent my gratitude to Michnus. You could easily have gone to assist your brother-in-law in getting him and the bike home, but you decided to go on. Thanks, I appreciate that.
We headed onto Bastervoetpad through intermittent rain. It was muddy as hell, but spectacular.
The gods played marbles here a long time ago.
We continued to work our way north towards Lesotho, going up and down Lundeans neck while the fine rain misted up my Aria to the point where I had to guess where I’m riding. A-rai waar jy ry.
We hit the Telle Bridge border post at about 17:00. We were tired, behind schedule, dirty, wet, and hungry. But there were negatives as well: we still had to ride 150km through Lesotho in the rain at dusk to get to our overnight destination.
We zipped our rain suits up tight and headed down the A2 towards Mohale’s Hoek. Here we filled up and continued towards Mafeteng and Motsekuoa. Riding in the dark in an African country while you can’t see shit through your fogged-up visor isn’t fun. I started playing the “count-down” game, checking my tripmeter and GPS and wondering when the tar will run out and when we will be forced to battle our way through mud in the dark. The tar ran on smoothly under my front wheel while I blessed every kilometre that we drew closer to our destination. 30km’s from the finish, we took a turnoff from the A2, and 7km from the finish we left the tar and hit the mud. It was pitch dark, and we idled and slid our bikes through the mud in the direction of Malealea lodge. After one particularly hair-raising descent, we saw the lights in the distance and knew that this close to the end one of us would probably fall and break our necks. But the danger passed and we pulled into Malealea Lodge like conquering Spaniards. We promply shed our wet gear and headed to the dining room to see what we could get to eat. Ha! Curry lamb stew, rice, and pees! With pudding!
After washing it all down with a few beers and some Jack, we hit the sack. Roughly 700km’s for the day.
