IRISH
Race Dog
- Joined
- May 22, 2009
- Messages
- 853
- Reaction score
- 1
- Location
- WARKWORTH, NEW ZEALAND
- Bike
- Honda TransAlp XL700V
A group of aggressive and belligerent locals was enticing us to approach, wielding their fighting sticks and shouting,’Bulala! Bulala!’ ( Kill!) They had blocked the road to the Bawa Falls, some elevated in the back of a Toyota bakkie and some closing the gap between the bakkie and the edge of the road. I had contemplated bringing my firearm before the ride but there are always issues. Where do you carry it? What do you do with it when you are not riding. Was the perceived threat really life-threatening? The hassles always seem to out-weigh the function.
It started two months back when my brother in Jo’burg called my wife to say he was flying down to East London for a surprise visit for my birthday. We were going to do a ride together. I was not supposed to know but he did not know that my DRZ 400 which he usually rides had been sold and I was in the process of selling my ageing Africa Twin. So my wife let the cat out of the bag which meant borrowing a bike for my boet. I approached Gerald Berlyn who has a collection and he agreed to lend me the Wild-Child ( KTM 690 Enduro--- A scrambler on steroids ) Gerald is one of Carnivore’s riding buddies but I do not know if he is on the forum. I have vivid visions of Carnivore standing over a fire at Dwesa drying out his long-johns while strumming a guitar and singing Dylan but that is another trip.
Memories of Carnivore on the Dwesa ride.
If I may use an analogy from mammary glands, more than a hand-full is too much and this bike was more than a hand-full for me so my boet rode it.
I invited my other ageing riding mates, all in their sixties now, me turning 55 and the youngster, my brother at 49. It also happened to be Mr P’s birthday on the Saturday so to add a little fun to the trip I had t-shirts made in yellow with the logo,
OLD DOGS DO IT ON DIRT on front and a bike tyre track running diagonally. So we all looked like bunch of silly old buggers wearing the same t-shirts.
Honda Wing in East London pulled out all the stops to get a new demo Transalp 700 up from PE for me, added R 10k worth of extras and sold it to me for R85K. Excellent service! Thanks Piero and Clint! The Transalp had never been on gravel, hence the virgin in the title. The participants were Kally- KLE 500, Mr P-KLE 500, Barry( non dog ) TTR 250, Chris on Wild-Child and Irish ( Me ) on the virgin Transalp 700.
Riding The Virgin.
We had planned to go to Kei Mouth and cross the river by ferry and then head inland through Cat’s Pass and then on to Cob Inn for a sleep-over, This plan had to change on the Saturday because spring low tide was just after 09:00 and the ferry can’t operate at low tide. So our trusted navigator, Kally devised a plan to go to the Kei Bridge and then follow the old gravel Kei Cuttings to Bawa Falls which is where the potential trouble reared its head.
Climbing the old Kei Pass, Much more fun than the new one.
On top of the world, On top of Kei Pass.
We’re old school adventure bikers ( all BBC ) so we rely on maps, the position of the sun and any other hi-tech devices like keeping the sea on your left going and on your right returning. Otherwise Kally just asks the locals. He asked at least 4 who live within 3 kays of Bawa Falls and they did not have a clue. But some did and we were directed to a neat enclosure with newly painted rondavels and a locked gate with a sign saying, ‘HOOT!’ Stephen the guide ran out a few minutes later less than half clothed. I’m not sure if we interrupted some bedroom activities but he turned out to be a lovely chap with a sunny disposition and a wonderful sense of humour. He ran everywhere and he had a body honed to perfection with no subcutaneous tissue under a skin pulled taught over good muscle structure. Oh to be that young and fit again.
When he saw our greying hair and balding pallets he came up with the chirp of the trip.‘ There are 3 things that happen when you get old. The first thing is that you lose your memory…..Ah shit I can’t remember the other two.’
Bawa falls in the background. In the foreground- Myself, Mr P, Chris, Barry, and Kally.
Bawa falls
A Taxi washed off a causeway up river a few years ago and All 8 occupants ended up in the pool below the falls, Legend has it that their spirits can still be seen running across the pool when the shadows are long.
Steven the guide telling us about the spirits.
Moments later Kally had a senior moment and Stephen’s philosophy came true. After visiting and snapping the Bawa Falls we all mounted our bikes and headed out to the road to Butterworth. At the intersection we waited for Barry and Kally but Kally did not appear. It was then that we turned back, only to have our passage blocked by the agro locals. We lined up our bikes and just looked at them impassively through impersonal visors and their aggression dissipated. Mr P went off first, running the gauntlet of sticks and insults and the 3 of us followed. Mr P arrived at the camp to see Kally’s bike and jacket on the ground but no Kally. Our emotions were up with the agro locals and we thought the worst. The fight or flight instincts kicked in. What if Kally has fallen prey to a classic robbery set-up? Where is Stephen? Next thing we see the 2 of them exiting the bush. Kally thought that he had lost his keys at the observation point but in fact he had put them in one of the many pockets that his new riding pants sport. Stephen had helpfully gone with him to search. By the time we went back past the belligerent locals they had mostly dissipated.
We got lost a bit and tried our old school navigation by using the sun to find north but it is a month away from the summer solstice and it was 12 noon so there was virtually no shadow at all.
I was leading up the tortuous Cat’s Pass when I saw a pair of heavily laden mountain bikes next to the road. I stopped and called out and a bearded Canadian sat up from under a tree where he was reading. He and his wife/partner had cycled down from Kenya to Cape Town and were now on their way to Malawi. People who do this sort of thing always strike me as being one sandwich short of a picnic but you just have admire their adventurous spirit. We asked him where he was sleeping that night and he said he did not know but that the roads here were not kind to cyclists. He was carrying 30 kgs and the lady 20kgs.
Cat’s Pass, which goes on for kilometers, A more beautiful and interesting ride you will be hard pressed to find.
The Canadian cyclist on his way to Malawi.
All our bikes have saddles shaped to sit in the bike and not on top but those of you who know the KTM 690 will know that the Austrians did not intend for anyone to actually sit on that seat. So I fixed my Air-Hawk cushion to the Wild-Child so Chris would be able to walk into his office on Monday. My boet is tall and thin and half mean-looking and dressed all in black, wearing Triumph road boots he sat on that kick-ass KTM scrambler looking like a cowboy on a horse and he would not have looked out of place as a baddie in a John Wayne spaghetti western. The only incongruous part was the custom- sprayed Triumph helmet with the union jack emblazoned on each side. This on an orange beast with a wild heart.
Chris on the Wild Child
Every ride report seems to have a pic of a fall or a water crossing - No one fell so here is a water crossing.
We arrived at Cob Inn and found out where we were staying but I was impatient and in moving off and not waiting for my boet to go first, I put my foot into the graded gutter and almost dropped the Transalp. I just held it from the ground and had to be helped but the screen got scratched. No more a virgin!!!! The first scratch always hurts the most.
Our accommodation was 5-star and after cooling down we took a stroll to the river and then around to the hotel. We watched the last 3 minutes of the Boks being humiliated by Snotland and I was glad that we had missed the game. Even the Scottish supporter said that the game was k@k.
Just arrived at the cottage.
Setting out for a walk along the Qhotha River.
The Qhotha River.
Barry’s TTR 250 greeted us the next morning with a flat back tyre so we got packed up and ready to go and then Mr P applied tyre-weld to the Yamaha’s rear and off we went.
Mr. P doing his thing to Barry’s bike with Barry and Kally giving invaluable advice.
The previous day we had headed to Kentani for fuel but they were out of un-leaded. I have had the cat removed from my TA and the other bikes can take just about any fuel but a highly-strung KTM with a catalytic converter is another story, especially a borrowed one. We had decided not to put LPR fuel in it but we were running out of range, or so we thought for the KTM. My boet managed to get some proper rocket fuel for the Wild-Child at the hotel and armed with this thought, he started to ride the bike as it was supposed to be ridden, recalling his scrambler days in his twenties. When we got to the pont he was still clean while I looked like a coal-miner. It turned out that the guys at Wild Coast KTM had set the bike on its most economical setting and it returned 22 k/l! Not bad for a KTM.
A trip to Kei Mouth is never complete without a visit to the Bush-Pig. For those of you who have not been there, it is an old railways house with a lean-to bar built onto the back of it which would look quite at home at the edge of the jungle in Indonesia. It is ‘decorated’ with an eclectic profusion of flotsam and jetsam and various sculls, hawser rope and other interesting bits and bobs. They are not as interesting as Neil, the proprietor who is part rogue, part philosopher and extremely entertaining. If you are sensitive or politically correct then don’t go there. He does not mince his words.
At the Bush Pig at last, - :
The Transkei dust makes one thirsty
Inside the Bush Pig.
My self-hiding behind a pole with, Kally, & Mr., P - All looking rather serious, (Note our bottles are empty, who is going to buy the next round?)
Neil the proprietor chatting to Barry who is a musician, about the various bands that will be playing over the Christmas season.
Thanks to the old ballies, Gerald Berlyn, Honda Wing EL and Wild Coast KTM for a special birthday trip. Kally will add photos for me and we will ask Jmol to post for us.
Thanks for reading.
It started two months back when my brother in Jo’burg called my wife to say he was flying down to East London for a surprise visit for my birthday. We were going to do a ride together. I was not supposed to know but he did not know that my DRZ 400 which he usually rides had been sold and I was in the process of selling my ageing Africa Twin. So my wife let the cat out of the bag which meant borrowing a bike for my boet. I approached Gerald Berlyn who has a collection and he agreed to lend me the Wild-Child ( KTM 690 Enduro--- A scrambler on steroids ) Gerald is one of Carnivore’s riding buddies but I do not know if he is on the forum. I have vivid visions of Carnivore standing over a fire at Dwesa drying out his long-johns while strumming a guitar and singing Dylan but that is another trip.
Memories of Carnivore on the Dwesa ride.
If I may use an analogy from mammary glands, more than a hand-full is too much and this bike was more than a hand-full for me so my boet rode it.
I invited my other ageing riding mates, all in their sixties now, me turning 55 and the youngster, my brother at 49. It also happened to be Mr P’s birthday on the Saturday so to add a little fun to the trip I had t-shirts made in yellow with the logo,
OLD DOGS DO IT ON DIRT on front and a bike tyre track running diagonally. So we all looked like bunch of silly old buggers wearing the same t-shirts.
Honda Wing in East London pulled out all the stops to get a new demo Transalp 700 up from PE for me, added R 10k worth of extras and sold it to me for R85K. Excellent service! Thanks Piero and Clint! The Transalp had never been on gravel, hence the virgin in the title. The participants were Kally- KLE 500, Mr P-KLE 500, Barry( non dog ) TTR 250, Chris on Wild-Child and Irish ( Me ) on the virgin Transalp 700.
Riding The Virgin.
We had planned to go to Kei Mouth and cross the river by ferry and then head inland through Cat’s Pass and then on to Cob Inn for a sleep-over, This plan had to change on the Saturday because spring low tide was just after 09:00 and the ferry can’t operate at low tide. So our trusted navigator, Kally devised a plan to go to the Kei Bridge and then follow the old gravel Kei Cuttings to Bawa Falls which is where the potential trouble reared its head.
Climbing the old Kei Pass, Much more fun than the new one.
On top of the world, On top of Kei Pass.
We’re old school adventure bikers ( all BBC ) so we rely on maps, the position of the sun and any other hi-tech devices like keeping the sea on your left going and on your right returning. Otherwise Kally just asks the locals. He asked at least 4 who live within 3 kays of Bawa Falls and they did not have a clue. But some did and we were directed to a neat enclosure with newly painted rondavels and a locked gate with a sign saying, ‘HOOT!’ Stephen the guide ran out a few minutes later less than half clothed. I’m not sure if we interrupted some bedroom activities but he turned out to be a lovely chap with a sunny disposition and a wonderful sense of humour. He ran everywhere and he had a body honed to perfection with no subcutaneous tissue under a skin pulled taught over good muscle structure. Oh to be that young and fit again.
When he saw our greying hair and balding pallets he came up with the chirp of the trip.‘ There are 3 things that happen when you get old. The first thing is that you lose your memory…..Ah shit I can’t remember the other two.’
Bawa falls in the background. In the foreground- Myself, Mr P, Chris, Barry, and Kally.
Bawa falls
A Taxi washed off a causeway up river a few years ago and All 8 occupants ended up in the pool below the falls, Legend has it that their spirits can still be seen running across the pool when the shadows are long.
Steven the guide telling us about the spirits.
Moments later Kally had a senior moment and Stephen’s philosophy came true. After visiting and snapping the Bawa Falls we all mounted our bikes and headed out to the road to Butterworth. At the intersection we waited for Barry and Kally but Kally did not appear. It was then that we turned back, only to have our passage blocked by the agro locals. We lined up our bikes and just looked at them impassively through impersonal visors and their aggression dissipated. Mr P went off first, running the gauntlet of sticks and insults and the 3 of us followed. Mr P arrived at the camp to see Kally’s bike and jacket on the ground but no Kally. Our emotions were up with the agro locals and we thought the worst. The fight or flight instincts kicked in. What if Kally has fallen prey to a classic robbery set-up? Where is Stephen? Next thing we see the 2 of them exiting the bush. Kally thought that he had lost his keys at the observation point but in fact he had put them in one of the many pockets that his new riding pants sport. Stephen had helpfully gone with him to search. By the time we went back past the belligerent locals they had mostly dissipated.
We got lost a bit and tried our old school navigation by using the sun to find north but it is a month away from the summer solstice and it was 12 noon so there was virtually no shadow at all.
I was leading up the tortuous Cat’s Pass when I saw a pair of heavily laden mountain bikes next to the road. I stopped and called out and a bearded Canadian sat up from under a tree where he was reading. He and his wife/partner had cycled down from Kenya to Cape Town and were now on their way to Malawi. People who do this sort of thing always strike me as being one sandwich short of a picnic but you just have admire their adventurous spirit. We asked him where he was sleeping that night and he said he did not know but that the roads here were not kind to cyclists. He was carrying 30 kgs and the lady 20kgs.
Cat’s Pass, which goes on for kilometers, A more beautiful and interesting ride you will be hard pressed to find.
The Canadian cyclist on his way to Malawi.
All our bikes have saddles shaped to sit in the bike and not on top but those of you who know the KTM 690 will know that the Austrians did not intend for anyone to actually sit on that seat. So I fixed my Air-Hawk cushion to the Wild-Child so Chris would be able to walk into his office on Monday. My boet is tall and thin and half mean-looking and dressed all in black, wearing Triumph road boots he sat on that kick-ass KTM scrambler looking like a cowboy on a horse and he would not have looked out of place as a baddie in a John Wayne spaghetti western. The only incongruous part was the custom- sprayed Triumph helmet with the union jack emblazoned on each side. This on an orange beast with a wild heart.
Chris on the Wild Child
Every ride report seems to have a pic of a fall or a water crossing - No one fell so here is a water crossing.
We arrived at Cob Inn and found out where we were staying but I was impatient and in moving off and not waiting for my boet to go first, I put my foot into the graded gutter and almost dropped the Transalp. I just held it from the ground and had to be helped but the screen got scratched. No more a virgin!!!! The first scratch always hurts the most.
Our accommodation was 5-star and after cooling down we took a stroll to the river and then around to the hotel. We watched the last 3 minutes of the Boks being humiliated by Snotland and I was glad that we had missed the game. Even the Scottish supporter said that the game was k@k.
Just arrived at the cottage.
Setting out for a walk along the Qhotha River.
The Qhotha River.
Barry’s TTR 250 greeted us the next morning with a flat back tyre so we got packed up and ready to go and then Mr P applied tyre-weld to the Yamaha’s rear and off we went.
Mr. P doing his thing to Barry’s bike with Barry and Kally giving invaluable advice.
The previous day we had headed to Kentani for fuel but they were out of un-leaded. I have had the cat removed from my TA and the other bikes can take just about any fuel but a highly-strung KTM with a catalytic converter is another story, especially a borrowed one. We had decided not to put LPR fuel in it but we were running out of range, or so we thought for the KTM. My boet managed to get some proper rocket fuel for the Wild-Child at the hotel and armed with this thought, he started to ride the bike as it was supposed to be ridden, recalling his scrambler days in his twenties. When we got to the pont he was still clean while I looked like a coal-miner. It turned out that the guys at Wild Coast KTM had set the bike on its most economical setting and it returned 22 k/l! Not bad for a KTM.
A trip to Kei Mouth is never complete without a visit to the Bush-Pig. For those of you who have not been there, it is an old railways house with a lean-to bar built onto the back of it which would look quite at home at the edge of the jungle in Indonesia. It is ‘decorated’ with an eclectic profusion of flotsam and jetsam and various sculls, hawser rope and other interesting bits and bobs. They are not as interesting as Neil, the proprietor who is part rogue, part philosopher and extremely entertaining. If you are sensitive or politically correct then don’t go there. He does not mince his words.
At the Bush Pig at last, - :
The Transkei dust makes one thirsty Inside the Bush Pig.
My self-hiding behind a pole with, Kally, & Mr., P - All looking rather serious, (Note our bottles are empty, who is going to buy the next round?)
Neil the proprietor chatting to Barry who is a musician, about the various bands that will be playing over the Christmas season.
Thanks to the old ballies, Gerald Berlyn, Honda Wing EL and Wild Coast KTM for a special birthday trip. Kally will add photos for me and we will ask Jmol to post for us.
Thanks for reading.
