Sunday: In the zone…
My day started with an early thump, around 5am (I wanted to make miles before it got too hot to be comfortable); the guest house had packed me a pad kos (road food) breakfast which I would eat en-route.
Today would take me out of the (semi) mountainous areas into the central parts of the Great Karoo. The morning was beautiful, clear and crisp with no wind at all and too early on a Sunday for any real traffic; the road was clean and dry and I was soon picking bugs out my grin again! It was one of those days where everything is insong, like finding a steady beam breeze and favorable current on a sailing boat; I was in the zone! The Enfield just rumbled along under me, a part of the synergy of this glorious day.
My route today would continue south west on the R701, a smallish regional road that headed through small, interesting towns (Zastron, Smithfield, Bethulie); I did take a short(ish) loop to avoid 85km of gravel road on the R26 (need to shake that damned fear), only to join back up to the R701 an hour or so later.
The first part of the day was mostly flat farmland but still beautiful with clear skies and quiet roads. I decided to take another detour through the Gariep Dam Nature Reserve which turned out to be stunning, especially the older road back up to the main road, this wound through valleys and crossed the Orange River at an old pont over a steel bridge.
This road was completely deserted and I never saw another vehicle until I rejoined the 701. I had abandoned my GPS earlier that morning and had a small road atlas to guide me; this was much more convenient and felt a lot less distracting. My plan during the day was to overnight in Colesburg, but after lunch I decided to push on to Middelburg (not much going on in these places on a Sunday afternoon, anyway.) I camped in Middelburg, happy that I had made up miles to spare but enjoyed every minute of the day’s riding. My map, a couple cold beers and some fried chicken got me to bed that night.
Monday: "Back in time..."
[/i]Up early again, I decided to pack and get ahead of any traffic that might kill my buzz; by 530am I was rumbling out of the still sleeping town, heading through the Great Karoo, all alone, on my precious little green bike.
It amazed me how attached, even personally, one gets to a bike on this type of trip; by now the unease of the first day had left me. The bike became a part of everything around me, I was confident that she would thump over on the first kick and keep rumbling through the day, I could feel that she was settled, even relaxed, at around 85 and would happily slide up to a 100 or more if the need arose.
Everything felt “in-song” and I was totally relaxed and stress free. By now, my packing technique was fine-tuned and everything I needed was on or off the bike in a minute or two.
Today’s ride would take me through the heart of the Great Karoo (great in size and spirit) with the next stopover in a small town (Willowmore) which stands as the “gateway” to the mountainous, Western Cape region.
I noticed a sign posting for a little town I knew very little about; Nieu-Bethesda, I had constantly been drawn to it on the map for some reason, so at around 6:30am I swung off the comfortable black top onto a narrow, winding gravel road. This would be my first real experience travelling on dirt on the Enfield for any distance, so taking it easy, I headed for the hills, which soon became mountains and stony passes.
My confidence grew as I got a feel for the bike on the dirt; keeping my weight neutral and a bit forward at times, I anchored the twitchy front wheel and was having a blast, not quite “drifting” the corners, motocross style, but giving it a good run! I stopped a couple of times en-route to awe at the misty, early morning vistas and natural beauty around me…
The town of Nieu-Bethesda is truly a fairy tale town, forgotten by the rush of the modern world; first sighting comes from an elevated road overlooking steep crags with a river below, the town is nestled in the valley, no sprawl outwards, just a little town all together as it has been for the last 200 hundred or so years…
My early, Monday morning arrival found me thumping quietly alone through the dusty streets, other than a dog and some chickens (yup, one of those towns), the town was still wiping the sleep from its eyes. I had made a pact with myself that I would always “cruise” a town before stopping for food or fuel, sort of an announcement of my arrival. Actually the purpose was quite practical, it avoided bad decisions on eating and fuel stops; I was always amazed at how many cool places I found on the outskirts of these small towns on my way out.
I felt guilty “cruising” here, a fear of disturbing the peaceful town, so I stopped at a perfectly quaint, restaurant/store and leaving my keys in the bike and all my kit (it’s one of those towns), I decided to take a “stroll” (as one does). I love history and this town is just that, a living, breathing, working museum of life a hundred years ago; sure, they have shiny (dusty) SUVs and pickups but the spirit of the town still lives back then.
I ended up having breakfast where I parked my bike (bacon, eggs, fried tomato and whole grain bread; much healthier!) The town is famed for its fossil finds so I visited the fossil museum; the guide offered to take me to their active dig site on the river but I needed to push on. In hind sight, with more time on hand, I would have relished in kicking back here for a day or two, sitting on a porch, feet up, chilling.
I took a different road out following a feint line on my map in the general direction of Graaf Reinet, the next town; this (quickly) led me to an old, paved mountain pass, glorious! The road through the mountain was narrow with a rough, grayish asphalt but super fun through all the twisties. I was riding with my visor up (for cooling) when a tiny spec caught my eye, it entered my open face and settled out of the wind on the inside of my helmet; as I’m sure many of you will attest, a bee in your helmet is cause for alarm; but here, descending a narrow mountain pass, it could be a disaster! I’m not sure why, but my instinct told me to turn my head sideways, the changing pressure simply “popped” the unwelcome visitor out, right past my eyes! Because of the narrow road, I had to wait another 5Ks before I could stop the bike and be all dramatic about it.
The rest of the day was HOT, the hottest yet, as I travelled towards the Southern and Eastern parts of the Karoo, through the towns of Graaf Reinet and Aberdeen, finally ending in Willowmore, where I chose to overnight, looking forward to the mountains that waited tomorrow… One stretch of road was 120Km arrow straight, I could have napped if I chose to but I was having too much fun and decided not to miss out. I could wax lyrical about this area and the little oases along the way but I will spare you the travel blog…
Willowmore is a cool (read sweltering) little town at the entrance to the mountains of the South Western Cape; there is a mountain pass in almost every direction from here…
The Karoo has some of the clearest, most unpolluted (natural or otherwise) skies, anywhere in the world; I started turning off on the small unmarked roads and travelled a few Ks off the main road for breaks.
Tuesday: “Donkey paths and Angie’s G-Spot”
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Today I found Angie’s G-Spot! More about that later…
Coffee, shower, lunch packed, on the road at 0600; many of you may wonder why the early starts, why not chill and take it easy? I prefer chilling in the afternoon when it’s more acceptable to drink beer…
The morning was cool, even cold, as I rumbled through the mist and light rain heading south to the mountains; I crossed the provincial border into the Western Cape only to find a police check point a km down the road! Guilty of nothing [that they might know about], I stopped, smiling… The smiles were returned and the reason for the check forgotten. The next 20min were spent drinking coffee (theirs) discussing the bike, my route (past, current and future); the experience was profound, a good old natter with the Western Cape Traffic Po Po. Lots of route advice was offered and even marks made on my map where to turn off and routes to take, they even handed me a card with local emergency contacts!
It was properly cold this morning (for me anyway, I live near the Equator), and rolling into Uniondale, I did a quick “cruise” and stopped at a cool little coffee shop (the only one open). The staff were still busy opening up, but again, brewed up a pot of coffee for me and were keen to hear about my trip. I had started choosing spots where I could easily mount the sidewalk and park the bike close to where I would be sitting; for safety I told myself, but really I think it might have been separation anxiety.
After a healthy breakfast of rye toast (with eggs, bacon, fried tomato etc.), I showed my map to the owner and asked her, where to? I decided to do that more often, just listen and take whatever advice people had… Without blinking,
she pointed to Prince Alfred’s Pass, no judgment of the bike or my abilities or the building weather, just straight forward, honest, “this is the best way”. After scribbling the directions on the map, I thumped out of Uniondale… Originally I had looked at the reasonably easy (tarred) route through the Baviaans Kloof (Baboon’s Valley) but the lady said do the pass, so Prince Alfred’s it is…
The pass (and many others I would still ride) was built by Thomas Bain between 1860 and 1867 and remains the second oldest, unaltered, still in use pass in South Africa; it is the longest mountain pass in South Africa at 68km. It traverses the Langkloof Mountain range from Uniondale to the coastal town of Knysna.
Turning off the main (tarred) road through the village of Avontuur I met the start of the pass, a narrow sandy road that climbed around switchbacks up through the indigenous forests; taking it easy and enjoying the misty views I was in my element. The Enfield loves this sort of thing and as long as I relaxed the right wrist and just enjoyed the experience we would be fine. I had one or two little heart stoppers as a switch back turned in on itself and descended suddenly causing near over shoots of the corner; overshooting here would be bad!
Strangely, even in these remote mountains, I passed small well-kept houses along the way. For the first time on this trip, I had to consider my wet weather gear, but denial kept me blissfully dry(ish). The route descended down into a steep kloof (gorge) to crystal clear stream; I stopped on the low level (now concrete) bridge to take it all in.
Across the river, I passed a couple of dudes chatting in a parking on the side of the road, they waved, I stopped, turned in and dismounted. Now, by nature I’m not a jealous person but I got the feeling that it wasn’t me they were that interested in. Turns out I had found Angie’s G-Spot and she was beaming (in all the photos I saw of her).
Angie’s G-Spot is a bar/rest stop hidden in the deep gorge of the Keurboom’s Valley; an absolute gem on one of the most scenic passes in the country. I went in for a mid-morning Cola (I had to decline the beer offer, numerous times) and to look around. It’s one of those places that has gained its character through the characters that have passed through, a little of each rubbing off on the place. One of my favorite relics I saw was the ¾ Inch deep, “burn out” groove still in the wooden floor in the bar, complete with the rubber spray from the tyre, still stuck on the wall!
Heaps of questions later (mostly about the bike, not me), some first-hand route advice and I rumbled away with a friendly slap on the back. It still amazes how these bikes have the uncanny knack of drawing positive attention and breaking down barriers. I met so many people from all walks of life and all over the world all interested in the bike and the trip I was doing. Random people stopping me in traffic in small towns to chat; the petrol attendants giving me special attention, the Indians (from India) especially, would beam with pride at the bike, many having photos taken with me and the bike to send to family or friends back home.
I digress; I was to meet my travelling partner, Rick, for the rest of the trip later that day so had to push on to the coast through rolling hills and forestry areas. I slowly rolled out of the mountains towards the flat bottom of the country. I stopped en-route to eat some packed lunch I had made; such freedom to stop at a spot in a clearing in this beautiful place!
Rick is a dear friend, and in many ways, a mentor of mine (he originally assisted with the purchase of my bike); at less than a week’s notice he organized to have his bike (a 1200 GS) shipped from Durban to Port Elizabeth and to meet me on the road somewhere today. Having no mobile signal in the mountains, I wasn’t sure yet where we’d meet but knew we would. Leaving the mountains and turning onto the major N2 “Garden Route Road”, I fueled up in the holiday town of Plettenburg Bay (Plett). I turned my phone on and a message from Rick appeared; just a photo of a beer (non-alcoholic of course) and a view of the sea; he was in Jeffrey’s Bay. Looking at my map I told him I would meet him at Storms River Mouth in the Tsitsikamma National Park; about 150ks west for him and 50ks east for me.
A great lunch overlooking the Storms River mouth was followed by some even better riding; we headed west again and snuck onto a long closed mountain pass (Blaaukranz Pass, also a Thomas Bain masterpiece). The pass was closed some years ago after the new national road (N2) was built, along with an epic bridge over the Blaauukranz gorge, leaving the pass essentially defunct. This meant we had slow, winding but absolutely stunning scenery to ourselves, shared only with the many baboons, stopping often for photos and just generally goofing off; it was great to have a compadre to share the ride with. The pass is slowly being reclaimed by nature but still safe enough to ride for now; sadly this part of our history will eventually be permanently blocked off by the authorities when it becomes too unsafe to traverse; I’m happy we had the opportunity to experience it. Rick was ever patient with me as I toddled along at “tourist speeds” en route to our overnight at Plett where my tour director, AKA girlfriend, organized us a great guesthouse for the night.