GreenAnt
Puppy
The wife and kids decided to hop to Gauteng for a weekend sports event. I had work obligations. “Ag shame!” they all cried, “you’ll be all on your own with nothing to do”
Not……
I packed the panniers Friday afternoon with plans already in place. None of the riding mates could make it, but that wasn’t going to stop me. Against better advice, I was going it alone, Stellenbosch to Prince Albert via Swartberg pass. I could taste the dust already.
Only hurdle to get through was a mate’s Friday night farewell party. There’s a rule that says don’t drink and drive, but to party with him means you shouldn’t drive for three days thereafter.
Woke early Saturday with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Didn’t need it anyways, since family had already left and I didn’t feel talkative. Wonder why.
Cranked the bike into action and left via Helshoogte and Franschoek Pass to Villiersdorp. Temperatures en route were very weird; at 8 am Helshoogte pass was 30 degrees C and not much later Franschoek pass was cold and windy. Typical Cape biking- it can get hot and cold, sometimes only kilometres apart.
I stopped in Villiersdorp to take on fuel and get rid of waste water from last night’s party. Lots of it. A short while later I was travelling on the link road to the R60 outside Worcester, dodging locals fighting in the roadway. Fuelled by Dutch courage they were hammering each other, oblivious to the traffic having to swerve around their brawling.
Outside Robertson on an arrow-straight section of the R60 a kombi lay mashed into the road culvert. One dead, I heard later. Tends to adjust the throttle settings, seeing that. Apart from the accident it was an uneventful run through Montagu and onto Route 62, my favourite.
Open road, big skies and texture of light that you won’t find in Europe. The Happy Police with the speed cameras may try to stop our speed thrills, but they can’t do squat about acceleration thrills!
On these straight road sections I did some fuel consumption experimentation. We plan an Africa trip later this year, where fuel availability will always be an issue. Not really believing the fuel flow meter on the 1200GS, I kept riding at a steady 120km/h with a view to checking the flow meter against real consumption at the pumps. Two things are clear:
-Fuel flow meter was spot on at 5.5l/100 km.
-Above 130km/h those pineapples in front of your shins suck fuel, more than 6.5l/100 km
So when riding where fuel availability is in question, you’d better watch your speed. It also keeps spietkops and your guardian angel happy!
Stopped off at Ronnies Sex Shop outside Barrydale. I was devastated to find out they don’t sell sex, so had to settle for a coffee.
Ladysmith came and went, with the day heating up. I was carrying a water bladder on my back, which I had frozen the previous night, so was able to drink cold water all day, which really worked well.
In Calitzdorp I stopped for lunch at a restaurant in the main street and was served by a gorgeous waitress. Ja skattie, jy met die Ultimate Sandwich, jy’s baie oulik. A local biker with a slinky chick on the pillion was burning up and down the main street without helmets. Obviously this must be another country, because in RSA we have to wear helmets. Across the road inebriated locals were shouting at each other, but I couldn’t understand a word. There’s a theory that we are only allocated so many words per day, and when you get pissed you talk too much and use up your word allocation for the day. After that, no one can understand you, which must be the reason I couldn’t understand what they were shouting.
Outshoorn flashed by and then I was out of town heading towards Cango Caves and Swartberg Pass. Gravel at last, after 450km on the black top!
Getting to the gravel, I remembered to disable the ABS and set the suspension. The habit of ABS automatically re-engaging when re-starting the engine makes me think that ABS stands for Absolute Bull Shit when it comes to gravel. Especially when you stop multiple times along that picturesque gravel track to take photos and have to remember to disengage it each time you restart the engine. Surely those okes at BMW can think something better out….
The ride up the pass is sublime. This type of route is what makes SA one of the best biking destinations in the world. Multiple signs up the pass advise that the pass is closed, but I know better. Serious faced tourists in A-class hire cars pass me by on their way down, and when I get to the top of the pass I realise why. At the summit the foreigners are turning their cars around. When I question them they argue that the pass is closed because the signs say so. They obviously haven’t been in Africa long enough. Telling them the pass is open to Prince Albert means nothing to them; they know they are right.
Views from the pull-offs are stunning. Plenty of place to park, so why did the guy with the pink skin and panama hat in the hire car park me in??
I reached reach the top around 4pm, still sucking on my cold water bladder, which was very welcome.
Down the pass towards Prince Albert is an exhilarating ride standing on the pegs and putting into practice those balancing exercises from the off-road riding course. Yeah, OK, Swartberg pass isn’t exactly the pinnacle of extreme off-road riding but it works for me.
I digress. The best fly-swat you can get…
With a sense of disappointment I got back to the tar 5km outside of Prince Albert. If it wasn’t late in the day I might have ridden back up again, or maybe even taken the turn-off to Die Hel…..
Not……
I packed the panniers Friday afternoon with plans already in place. None of the riding mates could make it, but that wasn’t going to stop me. Against better advice, I was going it alone, Stellenbosch to Prince Albert via Swartberg pass. I could taste the dust already.
Only hurdle to get through was a mate’s Friday night farewell party. There’s a rule that says don’t drink and drive, but to party with him means you shouldn’t drive for three days thereafter.
Woke early Saturday with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Didn’t need it anyways, since family had already left and I didn’t feel talkative. Wonder why.
Cranked the bike into action and left via Helshoogte and Franschoek Pass to Villiersdorp. Temperatures en route were very weird; at 8 am Helshoogte pass was 30 degrees C and not much later Franschoek pass was cold and windy. Typical Cape biking- it can get hot and cold, sometimes only kilometres apart.
I stopped in Villiersdorp to take on fuel and get rid of waste water from last night’s party. Lots of it. A short while later I was travelling on the link road to the R60 outside Worcester, dodging locals fighting in the roadway. Fuelled by Dutch courage they were hammering each other, oblivious to the traffic having to swerve around their brawling.
Outside Robertson on an arrow-straight section of the R60 a kombi lay mashed into the road culvert. One dead, I heard later. Tends to adjust the throttle settings, seeing that. Apart from the accident it was an uneventful run through Montagu and onto Route 62, my favourite.
Open road, big skies and texture of light that you won’t find in Europe. The Happy Police with the speed cameras may try to stop our speed thrills, but they can’t do squat about acceleration thrills!
On these straight road sections I did some fuel consumption experimentation. We plan an Africa trip later this year, where fuel availability will always be an issue. Not really believing the fuel flow meter on the 1200GS, I kept riding at a steady 120km/h with a view to checking the flow meter against real consumption at the pumps. Two things are clear:
-Fuel flow meter was spot on at 5.5l/100 km.
-Above 130km/h those pineapples in front of your shins suck fuel, more than 6.5l/100 km
So when riding where fuel availability is in question, you’d better watch your speed. It also keeps spietkops and your guardian angel happy!
Stopped off at Ronnies Sex Shop outside Barrydale. I was devastated to find out they don’t sell sex, so had to settle for a coffee.
Ladysmith came and went, with the day heating up. I was carrying a water bladder on my back, which I had frozen the previous night, so was able to drink cold water all day, which really worked well.
In Calitzdorp I stopped for lunch at a restaurant in the main street and was served by a gorgeous waitress. Ja skattie, jy met die Ultimate Sandwich, jy’s baie oulik. A local biker with a slinky chick on the pillion was burning up and down the main street without helmets. Obviously this must be another country, because in RSA we have to wear helmets. Across the road inebriated locals were shouting at each other, but I couldn’t understand a word. There’s a theory that we are only allocated so many words per day, and when you get pissed you talk too much and use up your word allocation for the day. After that, no one can understand you, which must be the reason I couldn’t understand what they were shouting.
Outshoorn flashed by and then I was out of town heading towards Cango Caves and Swartberg Pass. Gravel at last, after 450km on the black top!
Getting to the gravel, I remembered to disable the ABS and set the suspension. The habit of ABS automatically re-engaging when re-starting the engine makes me think that ABS stands for Absolute Bull Shit when it comes to gravel. Especially when you stop multiple times along that picturesque gravel track to take photos and have to remember to disengage it each time you restart the engine. Surely those okes at BMW can think something better out….
The ride up the pass is sublime. This type of route is what makes SA one of the best biking destinations in the world. Multiple signs up the pass advise that the pass is closed, but I know better. Serious faced tourists in A-class hire cars pass me by on their way down, and when I get to the top of the pass I realise why. At the summit the foreigners are turning their cars around. When I question them they argue that the pass is closed because the signs say so. They obviously haven’t been in Africa long enough. Telling them the pass is open to Prince Albert means nothing to them; they know they are right.
Views from the pull-offs are stunning. Plenty of place to park, so why did the guy with the pink skin and panama hat in the hire car park me in??
I reached reach the top around 4pm, still sucking on my cold water bladder, which was very welcome.
Down the pass towards Prince Albert is an exhilarating ride standing on the pegs and putting into practice those balancing exercises from the off-road riding course. Yeah, OK, Swartberg pass isn’t exactly the pinnacle of extreme off-road riding but it works for me.
I digress. The best fly-swat you can get…
With a sense of disappointment I got back to the tar 5km outside of Prince Albert. If it wasn’t late in the day I might have ridden back up again, or maybe even taken the turn-off to Die Hel…..
