cloudgazer
Grey Hound
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2007
- Messages
- 5,135
- Reaction score
- 5
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
DAY1 – Approx 450kms
I left a rainy Cape Town at about the same time most people were going to work.
The rain didn’t bother me as I knew it wouldn’t last long. In fact, if the weather reports could be trusted I’d have near perfect weather the entire trip.
The only other rain I was expecting would be at Snow Valley once I was there.
I barreled up the N1, over Du Toits Kloof pass, and up to the Hex River Valley. I stayed on the highway till just after Touwsrivier where I finally turned off onto a dirt road. My mission for the day was Seweweekspoort. A road I’d never ridden, but seen plenty pictures of. It was stunningly beautiful and everything I expected it to be.
I stopped for lunch in the middle of the poort. The silence was deafening and brilliant.
From there I rejoined the tar on Route 62 just before Calitzdorp – and ambled into Oudtshoorn feeling pretty chilled indeed.
It was an uneventful day – which is perfect when you’re travelling solo.
At the campsite I made friends with a couple who had a fridge, and they kindly kept my beers chilled. I also noticed the guy was chopping wood for kindling. Great idea, I thought, and asked if I could borrow is axe.
Big mistake – I almost lost my thumb. I handed the axe back sheepishly, and thought fuck the kindling, I’ll just use half a packet of fire lighters instead.
DAY 2 – Approx 390kms
On most of my trips I have a very precise route planned and know where I’ll be spending the night. Not this time. I had plotted various possible routes for each day, and had absolutely no clue where I’d spend the night.
It’s one of the reasons I tried to keep each day’s ride fairly short – so I could spend some time each afternoon looking for a place to sleep.
I also know of the GPS says you’re gonna arrive at your destination at 3;30, you can easily tack on 2 hours or so.
My only goal for the days was to get to stay as close to Addo Elephant park as possible. The first few campsites I rode past did not look too inviting so I kept going. I rode past a backpacker’s establishment, whose logo I kinda recognized. It was called the Orange Elephant, and it turns out that its owned by a chap called John (A fellow Wild Dog known as CastingFromTurd). What an amazing spot, they grow all their own veg and make their own foods, everything is organic. He let me camp on the lawn for a mere R70. Later on people offered me a bed in their chalet, but I’d already setup camp – and besides I love sleeping in my tent. Its one of the reasons I do what I do.
The bar is run by a Canadian chap called Randy and his wife.
It was Randy’s birthday and there were a few other people at the bar, already buying him shots. I joined in the celebrations. One thing I really treasure about travelling solo is all the interesting people you meet. People you wouldn’t if you were travelling in a group. Being by yourself forces you to be more social, and people tend to open up to solo travellers, whereas they tend to stay away from a group of scruffy looking bikers.
If you go past the Orange Elephant, pop in and have the Kudu steak – you wont be sorry!
DAY 3 –
My original plan had been to ride the Zuurberg pass through Addo, but John advised me against it. Recent rains had made the pass treacherous.
He looked at my route and suggested I go via a town called Alicedale, some beautiful roads to ride there.
However my maps were just screenprints from Base Camp, and so did not really have all the roads visible, but his explanation of the roads I should take seemed simple enough.
Yeah right!
Getting to Alicedale was easy enough – finding my first waypoint from there was a different matter entirely.
At first the roads were great, I followed a river for a while, then some train tracks.
Without the GPS or maps to guide me I was guesstimating my position the whole time. I took one or two definite wrong turns.
I was supposed to keep heading north through a poort to the main drag, but I started getting nervous when I could see the road hadn’t been used much. The surrounding bush was very overgrown. I came across one water-crossing, and then another, but it was the 3rd crossing that made me shit myself.
It was far deeper than I expected, water came pouring into my boots, and I almost lost balance when hitting a submerged rock or something. I got through okay, but my heart was in my mouth. If I’d dropped the bike in the water I would have been well and truly shafted. I didn’t even bother checking to see if I had a cell signal here. I doubted it. When I came across yet another water crossing, I decided I was being stupid following this road. Even though I knew the main road could not be too far away.
Best I turn back and cross the water I already new rather than face some unknown obstacles. So I did the 3 water crossings again, and made my way back to the last junction and took another road.
After a seriously long detour I finally made my way back to a main road and my first waypoint for the day: Riebeek East.
From there I had plotted another meandering route up to Fort Beaufort . The roads and scenery were fantastic, however the were an endless succession of gates to be opened and closed. What a friggin mission!
Come up to a gate, stop the bike, get off, open the gate, get back on the bike, or push it through, close the gate, hop back on the bike and continue. It is so bloody tiring its ridiculous. And it’s a serious time waster.
I know I shouldn’t concern myself with time and schedules when riding off road, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. I also hadn’t eaten all day, and my strength was sapped. But I pushed on.
Hindsight is an amazing thing
Fort Beaufort was a bit of a shithole (not nearly the worst place I’d see on this trip though), and I couldn’t find anywhere to eat. I filled up and pushed on to Fort Hare and then Hogsback.
OMG, Hogsback is stunning. It was probably about 4-ish when I went up the pass. The light was fantastic, and I felt like I had the road to myself.
Nice ride.
Hogsback is kinda like hippie heaven, all the old LSD freaks and Shroom-babies end up here at some point. Then again, maybe I’m just a little cynical – the place really does seem rather magical. All very Tolkien-esque.
I searched around for a decent campsite, but they were all a bit ho-hum, so I opted to check in at a backpackers place called ‘Away with the Fairies’.
Man, I love the random encounters while travelling. There were some Aussie girls, a Dutch couple I think, a few locals, and some guys down from JHB for the flower festival. It all makes for some interesting bar talk.
Looking back it was kind of the perfect adventure riding day.
I went to sleep with a sense of satisfaction.
DAY 4: Approx 360kms.
Probably the most frightening ride of my life!
It all started so well. The morning was perfect. I didn’t have to break camp, all I had to do was pack my kit onto the bike and I was off.
It’s about 60kms of a nice dirt road from Hogsback down to Cathcart. From there it was tar up to Queenstown. I wasn’t expecting such a large town. The place seemed to be buzzing. And while I certainly wouldn’t want to live there, it seemed like paradise compared to the places up the road. The weather up until now hadn’t been bad, a little cold and grey maybe. Now it changed.
The wind. Oh My God. The Wind!
I’ve never experienced anything like it - and coming from Cape Town that’s saying something. This wind came in from the north, hit me sideways, and it was relentless. Riding at a 45 degree angle into the wind and getting buffeted around like a toy.
Then it happened; the wind pushed me clear across the road into the oncoming lane, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. I suddenly found myself on the wrong side of the road and no matter how much I leaned and pulled I could not get back into my lane. I had to drop my speed to below 40km/h before I could do it. I don’t know who to thank, so I’m just gonna thank fuck there was no oncoming traffic at the time. That would have been me.
A few kilometers later, my heart still thumping in my ears, a goat steps onto the road. @#$%! Stupid dumb animal.
And it just went on… riding this awful road through this shitty shitty windswept landscape. Plastic bags fluttering like crazy on the barbed wire fences. Holding on for dear life. It was hell. My spirits plummeted.
Lady Frere was the first dusty dirty town along the road. What a shithole!
I didn’t stop.
Cala was the next town. An even worse shithole!
It was like some dusty border town in an Oliver Stone film, but with no colour, a bleak horrid place. But I just had to stop. I needed to get out of the wind for a few minutes. I stood outside a furnisher shop while I had a smoke to calm my nerves. It felt like I was watching a sand storm across the road. I chatted to the owner of the store while I had some snacks. And we both watched the wind from the shelter of his shop front.
The road up to Elliot was no better. Windy. And Shitty. And more shredded bags dancing on barbed-wire fences.
I refueled in Elliot and pushed on.
When planning the trip the one thing I debated was helmet choice. I usually ride with a peaked Dual Sport helmet, but it tends to get uncomfortable after a couple of hours. My full face helmet is lighter, but very snug, not great if you’re working up a sweat, but it’s quiet and comfortable; perfect for long distance. Today I was so glad I didn’t have a peaked helmet, there’s a chance the wind could have caught it and twisted my head off my shoulders.
When I reached Barkly East, I refueled again, bought some snacks, and called my wife for the last time, since this was apparently the last place I’d have cell signal for the weekend. I saw a few groups of riders pulling into town, the first I’d seen since Tuesday.
The last 55kms were slow going. Although the wind had abated a bit it was still blustery. The weather was also closing in. Scattered drops of rain fell, promising to pour. But the storm held back for a few more hours.
But now I had another issue. I was sure my rear shock was leaking oil. The bike wasn’t handling quite right and it appeared to make an awful lot of noise each time I hit a bump or rut or something.
Its funny after the day I’d had, my shattered nerves and all, I thought the road was quite treacherous. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but it was slow going. It easily took me an hour to travel those last 55 kms to the Reedsdell farm and the Wild Dog bash.
I’ve never been to a bike rally or bash before. I’m not really one for large crowds of people, certainly not a group of drunk bikers. But I was seriously impressed with the venue and setup. They had built a bar in one of the farm buildings, along with rows of tables, and some couches to chill on. There was a stall selling all sorts of biking accessories.
I suppose one of the mean reasons I attended the bash was to meet the people in person whom I interact with daily on the internet. So many people I know in cyberspace, but never met in person. This was the perfect opportunity to do so. It was great to finally put names and faces to the avatars I know so well.
We were supplied with massive braai packs – ridiculously large in fact. I can’t imagine anyone been able to finish it. After dinner and a few drinks I was ready to crash.
No sooner had I crawled into my tent when the rain came down. And come down it did! Unfortunately I hadn’t secured my flysheet properly and water started seeping in. I had to fix it.
In the few minutes I was outside I got completely soaked. It was like I’d taken a shower. I dried myself off, but alas I hadn’t done a good enough job of securing my tent against the storm, and so had to venture out again about 15 minutes later, getting soak again.
But after that I was sorted. I stayed snug and dry the entire night, and slept like a baby to the soothing sounds of the rain pelting my tent.
I left a rainy Cape Town at about the same time most people were going to work.
The rain didn’t bother me as I knew it wouldn’t last long. In fact, if the weather reports could be trusted I’d have near perfect weather the entire trip.
The only other rain I was expecting would be at Snow Valley once I was there.
I barreled up the N1, over Du Toits Kloof pass, and up to the Hex River Valley. I stayed on the highway till just after Touwsrivier where I finally turned off onto a dirt road. My mission for the day was Seweweekspoort. A road I’d never ridden, but seen plenty pictures of. It was stunningly beautiful and everything I expected it to be.
I stopped for lunch in the middle of the poort. The silence was deafening and brilliant.
From there I rejoined the tar on Route 62 just before Calitzdorp – and ambled into Oudtshoorn feeling pretty chilled indeed.
It was an uneventful day – which is perfect when you’re travelling solo.
At the campsite I made friends with a couple who had a fridge, and they kindly kept my beers chilled. I also noticed the guy was chopping wood for kindling. Great idea, I thought, and asked if I could borrow is axe.
Big mistake – I almost lost my thumb. I handed the axe back sheepishly, and thought fuck the kindling, I’ll just use half a packet of fire lighters instead.
DAY 2 – Approx 390kms
On most of my trips I have a very precise route planned and know where I’ll be spending the night. Not this time. I had plotted various possible routes for each day, and had absolutely no clue where I’d spend the night.
It’s one of the reasons I tried to keep each day’s ride fairly short – so I could spend some time each afternoon looking for a place to sleep.
I also know of the GPS says you’re gonna arrive at your destination at 3;30, you can easily tack on 2 hours or so.
My only goal for the days was to get to stay as close to Addo Elephant park as possible. The first few campsites I rode past did not look too inviting so I kept going. I rode past a backpacker’s establishment, whose logo I kinda recognized. It was called the Orange Elephant, and it turns out that its owned by a chap called John (A fellow Wild Dog known as CastingFromTurd). What an amazing spot, they grow all their own veg and make their own foods, everything is organic. He let me camp on the lawn for a mere R70. Later on people offered me a bed in their chalet, but I’d already setup camp – and besides I love sleeping in my tent. Its one of the reasons I do what I do.
The bar is run by a Canadian chap called Randy and his wife.
It was Randy’s birthday and there were a few other people at the bar, already buying him shots. I joined in the celebrations. One thing I really treasure about travelling solo is all the interesting people you meet. People you wouldn’t if you were travelling in a group. Being by yourself forces you to be more social, and people tend to open up to solo travellers, whereas they tend to stay away from a group of scruffy looking bikers.
If you go past the Orange Elephant, pop in and have the Kudu steak – you wont be sorry!
DAY 3 –
My original plan had been to ride the Zuurberg pass through Addo, but John advised me against it. Recent rains had made the pass treacherous.
He looked at my route and suggested I go via a town called Alicedale, some beautiful roads to ride there.
However my maps were just screenprints from Base Camp, and so did not really have all the roads visible, but his explanation of the roads I should take seemed simple enough.
Yeah right!
Getting to Alicedale was easy enough – finding my first waypoint from there was a different matter entirely.
At first the roads were great, I followed a river for a while, then some train tracks.
Without the GPS or maps to guide me I was guesstimating my position the whole time. I took one or two definite wrong turns.
I was supposed to keep heading north through a poort to the main drag, but I started getting nervous when I could see the road hadn’t been used much. The surrounding bush was very overgrown. I came across one water-crossing, and then another, but it was the 3rd crossing that made me shit myself.
It was far deeper than I expected, water came pouring into my boots, and I almost lost balance when hitting a submerged rock or something. I got through okay, but my heart was in my mouth. If I’d dropped the bike in the water I would have been well and truly shafted. I didn’t even bother checking to see if I had a cell signal here. I doubted it. When I came across yet another water crossing, I decided I was being stupid following this road. Even though I knew the main road could not be too far away.
Best I turn back and cross the water I already new rather than face some unknown obstacles. So I did the 3 water crossings again, and made my way back to the last junction and took another road.
After a seriously long detour I finally made my way back to a main road and my first waypoint for the day: Riebeek East.
From there I had plotted another meandering route up to Fort Beaufort . The roads and scenery were fantastic, however the were an endless succession of gates to be opened and closed. What a friggin mission!
Come up to a gate, stop the bike, get off, open the gate, get back on the bike, or push it through, close the gate, hop back on the bike and continue. It is so bloody tiring its ridiculous. And it’s a serious time waster.
I know I shouldn’t concern myself with time and schedules when riding off road, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. I also hadn’t eaten all day, and my strength was sapped. But I pushed on.
Hindsight is an amazing thing
Fort Beaufort was a bit of a shithole (not nearly the worst place I’d see on this trip though), and I couldn’t find anywhere to eat. I filled up and pushed on to Fort Hare and then Hogsback.
OMG, Hogsback is stunning. It was probably about 4-ish when I went up the pass. The light was fantastic, and I felt like I had the road to myself.
Nice ride.
Hogsback is kinda like hippie heaven, all the old LSD freaks and Shroom-babies end up here at some point. Then again, maybe I’m just a little cynical – the place really does seem rather magical. All very Tolkien-esque.
I searched around for a decent campsite, but they were all a bit ho-hum, so I opted to check in at a backpackers place called ‘Away with the Fairies’.
Man, I love the random encounters while travelling. There were some Aussie girls, a Dutch couple I think, a few locals, and some guys down from JHB for the flower festival. It all makes for some interesting bar talk.
Looking back it was kind of the perfect adventure riding day.
I went to sleep with a sense of satisfaction.
DAY 4: Approx 360kms.
Probably the most frightening ride of my life!
It all started so well. The morning was perfect. I didn’t have to break camp, all I had to do was pack my kit onto the bike and I was off.
It’s about 60kms of a nice dirt road from Hogsback down to Cathcart. From there it was tar up to Queenstown. I wasn’t expecting such a large town. The place seemed to be buzzing. And while I certainly wouldn’t want to live there, it seemed like paradise compared to the places up the road. The weather up until now hadn’t been bad, a little cold and grey maybe. Now it changed.
The wind. Oh My God. The Wind!
I’ve never experienced anything like it - and coming from Cape Town that’s saying something. This wind came in from the north, hit me sideways, and it was relentless. Riding at a 45 degree angle into the wind and getting buffeted around like a toy.
Then it happened; the wind pushed me clear across the road into the oncoming lane, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. I suddenly found myself on the wrong side of the road and no matter how much I leaned and pulled I could not get back into my lane. I had to drop my speed to below 40km/h before I could do it. I don’t know who to thank, so I’m just gonna thank fuck there was no oncoming traffic at the time. That would have been me.
A few kilometers later, my heart still thumping in my ears, a goat steps onto the road. @#$%! Stupid dumb animal.
And it just went on… riding this awful road through this shitty shitty windswept landscape. Plastic bags fluttering like crazy on the barbed wire fences. Holding on for dear life. It was hell. My spirits plummeted.
Lady Frere was the first dusty dirty town along the road. What a shithole!
I didn’t stop.
Cala was the next town. An even worse shithole!
It was like some dusty border town in an Oliver Stone film, but with no colour, a bleak horrid place. But I just had to stop. I needed to get out of the wind for a few minutes. I stood outside a furnisher shop while I had a smoke to calm my nerves. It felt like I was watching a sand storm across the road. I chatted to the owner of the store while I had some snacks. And we both watched the wind from the shelter of his shop front.
The road up to Elliot was no better. Windy. And Shitty. And more shredded bags dancing on barbed-wire fences.
I refueled in Elliot and pushed on.
When planning the trip the one thing I debated was helmet choice. I usually ride with a peaked Dual Sport helmet, but it tends to get uncomfortable after a couple of hours. My full face helmet is lighter, but very snug, not great if you’re working up a sweat, but it’s quiet and comfortable; perfect for long distance. Today I was so glad I didn’t have a peaked helmet, there’s a chance the wind could have caught it and twisted my head off my shoulders.
When I reached Barkly East, I refueled again, bought some snacks, and called my wife for the last time, since this was apparently the last place I’d have cell signal for the weekend. I saw a few groups of riders pulling into town, the first I’d seen since Tuesday.
The last 55kms were slow going. Although the wind had abated a bit it was still blustery. The weather was also closing in. Scattered drops of rain fell, promising to pour. But the storm held back for a few more hours.
But now I had another issue. I was sure my rear shock was leaking oil. The bike wasn’t handling quite right and it appeared to make an awful lot of noise each time I hit a bump or rut or something.
Its funny after the day I’d had, my shattered nerves and all, I thought the road was quite treacherous. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but it was slow going. It easily took me an hour to travel those last 55 kms to the Reedsdell farm and the Wild Dog bash.
I’ve never been to a bike rally or bash before. I’m not really one for large crowds of people, certainly not a group of drunk bikers. But I was seriously impressed with the venue and setup. They had built a bar in one of the farm buildings, along with rows of tables, and some couches to chill on. There was a stall selling all sorts of biking accessories.
I suppose one of the mean reasons I attended the bash was to meet the people in person whom I interact with daily on the internet. So many people I know in cyberspace, but never met in person. This was the perfect opportunity to do so. It was great to finally put names and faces to the avatars I know so well.
We were supplied with massive braai packs – ridiculously large in fact. I can’t imagine anyone been able to finish it. After dinner and a few drinks I was ready to crash.
No sooner had I crawled into my tent when the rain came down. And come down it did! Unfortunately I hadn’t secured my flysheet properly and water started seeping in. I had to fix it.
In the few minutes I was outside I got completely soaked. It was like I’d taken a shower. I dried myself off, but alas I hadn’t done a good enough job of securing my tent against the storm, and so had to venture out again about 15 minutes later, getting soak again.
But after that I was sorted. I stayed snug and dry the entire night, and slept like a baby to the soothing sounds of the rain pelting my tent.
