In all walks of life and since the beginning of time, an official name or title has always been subject to being renamed. Sometimes the renaming is because of irony, jealously, sarcasm, humour, honour, respect, or endearment. But very often, the rename, or nickname reveals a truth the original name didn't.
So there it stands; “Robertson Enduro” and the date. A simple and sparse title; neat and tidy. The only apparent hint at what to expect is in the interpretation of the word ‘enduro’ . To the uninitiated, enduro in the context of motorcycles, means knobbly tires, scramblers and riding around on farmlands? Sound like fun!
Well, the nickname for this last enduro could well be called; “The Hot One”.
Just the process of kitting up made me break into a light sweat. And this was at 9am in the morning in the pits, at Bennie’s se Lapa, near Robertson A bright sun shone overhead, and not a single leaf , nor blade of grass stirred on this, the most glorious of days. Bustling around in the start lane was the biggest enduro field in the last 5 years – 99 riders, of which an impressive 10% were women. At the sharp end of the field, were some ace riders who would be Top 10 finishers in any enduro, anywhere in the world. Riding talent was spread throughout ; a goodly number of Roof Silver and Bronze Class riders, couple of 50 year old plus riders capable of lapping Zone 7 MX circuit in under 2min 30sec (to lap at this speed, you have to clear each and every jump), and a 62 year old riding in the social class.
Most definitely the two route loop, and 3hr vs 2 hr social format made this enduro more rider friendly; but don’t be fooled, the three hour full enduro loop was a challenge!
Due to dry conditions, the was big dust for the first 6 kilometers or so, on the east (flatter) side of the farm. Riding in dust is tricky, because your visibility is severely limited. By the grace of God, I crossed across a concrete irrigation channel, with barely one row of side knobblies gripping the bridge crossing – I was completely unsighted in the thick dust.
After crossing the gravel road onto the western side of the farm, the land opened up, and one could enjoy a cool breeze at speed. But not for long, as the track dipped into “Dry Gulch Canyon” , a serpentine dry river bed cut into stubby, short red sandstone cliffs. Here you got your first taste of the heat; it was stiflingly hot in the canyon, but luckily the flowing nature of the single track meant you could hook up in 2nd gear and get some breeze on the body.
Suddenly you were faced with a short steep climb to the left, and out you pop on the flatlands. Shortly thereafter was the first split; 3hr route to the left, 2hr route to the right. Looking up, I could see riders dotted all the way up the side of the mountain. On any ride, this is your first clue to the degree of difficulty; these guys haven’t stopped to admire the view. There is another reason why they are not moving. And you dear rider, will be finding out shortly.
In among the waist high bossies, was the narrowest of single tracks, a crude ghost path fashioned with little regard to following a contour, or skirting around loose rocks and boulders. Instead, the path exhibited a brutish simplicity; basically straight up the mountain, up and over a number of rocky ledges/steps.
A top rider would waltz up here in 2nd gear, with a couple of changes down to 1st, and would arrive at the top, maybe a little breathless? For the likes of me, this path became a “take-it-20-meters-at-a-time” assault to the top. This is the wrong way to ride technical sections, as stop-start-drop-your-bike combined with very hot conditions, is energy sapping. I hung off the handlebars, thanked God for the Happy Button, and like a greedy piglet on a teat, sucked heavily on my Camel Back juice.
Two thirds of the way up, whilst trying to catch my breath, I wondered what my bike would say, should it be able to talk?
My Austrian tractor was sucking in great gulps of hot mountain air through a freshly oiled foam filter, its water pump circulating coolant through the engine, its fan blowing the radiator cool, bearings and piston whirring around in new synthetic oil, and seemed to be saying to me; “bring it on!”
It is a marvel to ride a modern enduro bike in testing conditions; it is confidence inspiring to be on a purpose-built piece of machinery, which works exactly how it was designed, and does not falter. Unlike the rider.
There was no time once at the top to start patting yourself on your back for a job well done, because what goes up, must go down. There was some tricky off-camber to negotiate, but in all, the down ride was very manageable, and lulled one into a false sense of superiority. Ha ha ha, not for long!
There they were, two orange stickers in the tree, indicating a sharp right turn into the uphill river bed. Eish!
River = water, right? Not so, this river bed sported not one drop of water, and just a smidgen of shade here and there. It was shiny white glary rocks, dry air, midday sun, and the kloof type terrain trapping all the heat in.
The riverbed could not have been longer than 3 kilometers, at best, but it proved to be my nemesis. I literally felt I was boiling in all that safety gear. I felt my heart rate fluttering, and would have to stop every 30 meters or so, and take deep breathes to try stabilize my breathing. The riding itself was hard, there was a step-up that required precise clutch and throttle skills, but there was nothing technically impossible. Just the heat.
Eventually I stopped, and with two other riders, took off gear, and took refuge under the shade of a sparse bossie. Walking around trying to find shade off the bike, I must have looked like those Everest Mountain climbers, as my movements were all in slow motion. You could have knocked me over with a feather; I felt so wilted and ‘pap’ .
After an age, I submitted to the task at hand, and continued up the river bed, and hooray! .out onto the trail. Here, the track was some 2 meters wide, steep, and festooned with loose rocks. But, like a horse who knows the stables are close by, I gunned it, as by my calculations, it couldn't be more than 5 kays to the pits. En route I passed a good few bikes lying on their sides and their riders hiding under bossies. I knew the feeling!
After the downhill, the route dropped into another river bed. Just on the other side on the river bed, was an overflowing big green water storage tank. Hah!! up and over and there I was, a flipping great outdoor shower beckoned! Off with the outer safety kit, and under that delicious, cool, life-giving, sweet water.
In-between the gurgling, splashing and sloshing water, 2 stroke engines barked in the distance, and smoky dust hung in a pall. After many delicious moments in water, I reluctantly kitted up, dropped back into the downhill river bed, and onwards to the pits.
There is a 3 hour rule. If you arrive at the pits decontrol within 3 hours, you are obliged to do another lap, or get a DNF, or wait on the trail until the 3 hours are up. I joined a long queue of bikes less than a kilometre from the pits, all waiting for the 3 hour time to come up.
It was here I witnessed a crash which resulted in the ambulance being called. The organisers can’t be blamed … this accident happened on a firm tweespoor farm road between a dam wall and an orchard. There was a puddle from some leaking irrigation pipe, and successive riders must have hollowed out this puddle, thus making the puddle into a rut. (I am talking about a puddle less than 3 meters long and 300mm wide).
If you hit the puddle at speed, and not straight on, you were guaranteed to superman over the handlebars …
Yes, enduro biking is a contact sport, and accidents do happen. But outside of this one and some other scratches and bruises, it was a successful and magnificently well-organised day, a thoroughly enjoyable “Hot One” Robertson enduro. When’s the next one?!!
So there it stands; “Robertson Enduro” and the date. A simple and sparse title; neat and tidy. The only apparent hint at what to expect is in the interpretation of the word ‘enduro’ . To the uninitiated, enduro in the context of motorcycles, means knobbly tires, scramblers and riding around on farmlands? Sound like fun!
Well, the nickname for this last enduro could well be called; “The Hot One”.
Just the process of kitting up made me break into a light sweat. And this was at 9am in the morning in the pits, at Bennie’s se Lapa, near Robertson A bright sun shone overhead, and not a single leaf , nor blade of grass stirred on this, the most glorious of days. Bustling around in the start lane was the biggest enduro field in the last 5 years – 99 riders, of which an impressive 10% were women. At the sharp end of the field, were some ace riders who would be Top 10 finishers in any enduro, anywhere in the world. Riding talent was spread throughout ; a goodly number of Roof Silver and Bronze Class riders, couple of 50 year old plus riders capable of lapping Zone 7 MX circuit in under 2min 30sec (to lap at this speed, you have to clear each and every jump), and a 62 year old riding in the social class.
Most definitely the two route loop, and 3hr vs 2 hr social format made this enduro more rider friendly; but don’t be fooled, the three hour full enduro loop was a challenge!
Due to dry conditions, the was big dust for the first 6 kilometers or so, on the east (flatter) side of the farm. Riding in dust is tricky, because your visibility is severely limited. By the grace of God, I crossed across a concrete irrigation channel, with barely one row of side knobblies gripping the bridge crossing – I was completely unsighted in the thick dust.
After crossing the gravel road onto the western side of the farm, the land opened up, and one could enjoy a cool breeze at speed. But not for long, as the track dipped into “Dry Gulch Canyon” , a serpentine dry river bed cut into stubby, short red sandstone cliffs. Here you got your first taste of the heat; it was stiflingly hot in the canyon, but luckily the flowing nature of the single track meant you could hook up in 2nd gear and get some breeze on the body.
Suddenly you were faced with a short steep climb to the left, and out you pop on the flatlands. Shortly thereafter was the first split; 3hr route to the left, 2hr route to the right. Looking up, I could see riders dotted all the way up the side of the mountain. On any ride, this is your first clue to the degree of difficulty; these guys haven’t stopped to admire the view. There is another reason why they are not moving. And you dear rider, will be finding out shortly.
In among the waist high bossies, was the narrowest of single tracks, a crude ghost path fashioned with little regard to following a contour, or skirting around loose rocks and boulders. Instead, the path exhibited a brutish simplicity; basically straight up the mountain, up and over a number of rocky ledges/steps.
A top rider would waltz up here in 2nd gear, with a couple of changes down to 1st, and would arrive at the top, maybe a little breathless? For the likes of me, this path became a “take-it-20-meters-at-a-time” assault to the top. This is the wrong way to ride technical sections, as stop-start-drop-your-bike combined with very hot conditions, is energy sapping. I hung off the handlebars, thanked God for the Happy Button, and like a greedy piglet on a teat, sucked heavily on my Camel Back juice.
Two thirds of the way up, whilst trying to catch my breath, I wondered what my bike would say, should it be able to talk?
My Austrian tractor was sucking in great gulps of hot mountain air through a freshly oiled foam filter, its water pump circulating coolant through the engine, its fan blowing the radiator cool, bearings and piston whirring around in new synthetic oil, and seemed to be saying to me; “bring it on!”
It is a marvel to ride a modern enduro bike in testing conditions; it is confidence inspiring to be on a purpose-built piece of machinery, which works exactly how it was designed, and does not falter. Unlike the rider.
There was no time once at the top to start patting yourself on your back for a job well done, because what goes up, must go down. There was some tricky off-camber to negotiate, but in all, the down ride was very manageable, and lulled one into a false sense of superiority. Ha ha ha, not for long!
There they were, two orange stickers in the tree, indicating a sharp right turn into the uphill river bed. Eish!
River = water, right? Not so, this river bed sported not one drop of water, and just a smidgen of shade here and there. It was shiny white glary rocks, dry air, midday sun, and the kloof type terrain trapping all the heat in.
The riverbed could not have been longer than 3 kilometers, at best, but it proved to be my nemesis. I literally felt I was boiling in all that safety gear. I felt my heart rate fluttering, and would have to stop every 30 meters or so, and take deep breathes to try stabilize my breathing. The riding itself was hard, there was a step-up that required precise clutch and throttle skills, but there was nothing technically impossible. Just the heat.
Eventually I stopped, and with two other riders, took off gear, and took refuge under the shade of a sparse bossie. Walking around trying to find shade off the bike, I must have looked like those Everest Mountain climbers, as my movements were all in slow motion. You could have knocked me over with a feather; I felt so wilted and ‘pap’ .
After an age, I submitted to the task at hand, and continued up the river bed, and hooray! .out onto the trail. Here, the track was some 2 meters wide, steep, and festooned with loose rocks. But, like a horse who knows the stables are close by, I gunned it, as by my calculations, it couldn't be more than 5 kays to the pits. En route I passed a good few bikes lying on their sides and their riders hiding under bossies. I knew the feeling!
After the downhill, the route dropped into another river bed. Just on the other side on the river bed, was an overflowing big green water storage tank. Hah!! up and over and there I was, a flipping great outdoor shower beckoned! Off with the outer safety kit, and under that delicious, cool, life-giving, sweet water.
In-between the gurgling, splashing and sloshing water, 2 stroke engines barked in the distance, and smoky dust hung in a pall. After many delicious moments in water, I reluctantly kitted up, dropped back into the downhill river bed, and onwards to the pits.
There is a 3 hour rule. If you arrive at the pits decontrol within 3 hours, you are obliged to do another lap, or get a DNF, or wait on the trail until the 3 hours are up. I joined a long queue of bikes less than a kilometre from the pits, all waiting for the 3 hour time to come up.
It was here I witnessed a crash which resulted in the ambulance being called. The organisers can’t be blamed … this accident happened on a firm tweespoor farm road between a dam wall and an orchard. There was a puddle from some leaking irrigation pipe, and successive riders must have hollowed out this puddle, thus making the puddle into a rut. (I am talking about a puddle less than 3 meters long and 300mm wide).
If you hit the puddle at speed, and not straight on, you were guaranteed to superman over the handlebars …
Yes, enduro biking is a contact sport, and accidents do happen. But outside of this one and some other scratches and bruises, it was a successful and magnificently well-organised day, a thoroughly enjoyable “Hot One” Robertson enduro. When’s the next one?!!
