27th August 2010
After a rushed, stressed week I finally managed to jam all my gear higgledy, piggeldy into the biking bags. I left Durban feeling totally disorganized, without a proper route plan and no idea as to where I’d be spending my first night on the road. My odometer read 11,868kms.
The moment I hit the tar I knew I’d made the right decision. Initially I had idly thought about riding to Cape Town to see the famous spring flowers but a phone call from my sister-in-law inviting me to her 50th birthday bash in Cape Town cemented this idea.
The day was sunny and clear and warm along the coast. At Port Shepstone I stopped for petrol and to have air put into my tires. After wondering why the pump attendant was taking so long and not successfully putting air into the back tire I hopped off my bike and had a look. She was gamely trying to put air into the tube lock “valve” !
From Port Shepstone I headed inland and the temperature seemed to drop with every kilometer gained. The scenery along this route is lovely. Initially one follows the Mzulkulwana Valley (Oribi Gorge) passing villages tucked in amongst the rolling hills. Along the way I caught glimpses of the old narrow gauge railway tracks which run between port Shepstone and Harding. The train transported sugar cane. This brought back stories from my youth because my brother used to go to a boarding school in Harding – to get there from Port Shepstone he was welcomed by the train driver and sat up front in the locomotive with the driver. If the proliferation of weeds growing over the tracks is anything to go by, it is no longer in use. By the time I got to Harding I was shivering with cold despite my new winter touring jacket.
Thankfully the temperature picked up again the further away I rode from Harding. Through Kokstad I went and on to Matatiele where I left behind a plethora of B & B’s – Matatiele must survive on them. Exiting Matatiele was a surprise, as there in front of me, looking splendid in the afternoon sun, were the Drakensburg Mountains!
The town of Mount Fletcher made me feel like I should just keep going although I was feeling tired by this stage after many unaccustomed hours in the saddle. My rear end was somewhat painfully reshaping itself from office chair shape to motorcycle saddle shape. The road ahead continued winding it’s way through now rocky, dry hills with evidence of sugar cane and grass fires everywhere, some still raging.
Eventually just when I was beginning to regret not overnighting in Matatiele, Maclear came into view and what a sweet little town. A most helpful man at the local tourist office insisted I take a brochure with phone numbers of local B & B’s. I tried a few and was rather surprised at their tariffs which seemed quite high considering that what was on offer is fairly basic. I settled on Tortinos (or something like that)and rode on towards Ugie for another 6kms before reaching the turnoff to a delightfully rustic farmhouse. While on the road a taxi came up behind me and started hooting so I pulled over to allow him to pass but he didn’t. I turned off and he also turned off, still hooting. He was fully loaded with passengers and when I stopped , he did too. I couldn’t believe it – I had dropped my notebook, he had picked it up and was desperately trying to return it to me. There are some wonderful people in this world of ours!
I drank what seemed like a few gallons of tea, fully hydrating myself and then sank into a comfy armchair armed with hospitality map and GPS. This is the life.
28th August 2010
Next morning all thoughts of an early getaway were banished on seeing the frost covered landscape – including my bike. At 7.30 am the temperature was minus 2 degrees C. The owner of the farmhouse prepared a large breakfast for me, enough to last the day and I put the last piece of bacon in my pocket for padkos. By 9.30am it was delightfully warm and I set off with a hand-drawn map that the owner had done for me. I had neglected to bring a map with me and the Garmin gps in my pocket was of little use as it was impossible to stop all the time, take off my helmet and gloves, look for my glasses and then finally examine the gps. It needs to be mounted so for my next trip I’ll attend to this.
On I tootled past Ugie, Elliot and Cala with the Maluti mountains on the right and farmlands on the left. On past Lady Frere and into Queenstown - the first poorly signposted town. At the petrol station I met the first biker and he complained about the wind he had experienced on his ride from Tjarkastad. After a few wrong turns I found my way out of Queenstown and headed for Fort Beaufort.
Although the day was sunny and clear, the wind was pumping and I was riding at an alarming angle. As soon as I rode into a forested area the wind disappeared and the going was easy but for most of the day I took quite a pummeling.
I had hoped to try an alternative route to Fort Beaufort which involved lots of dirt and 2 passes. The biker I had met in Queenstown warned me against doing this as he said that there were a lot of washaways and it was very isolated. I decided to give it a shot anyway . I turned off onto a narrow dirt road in very poor condition and bumped and bounced my way along, going past villages and homesteads but nothing remotely pass-like. Eventually I had to admit defeat and retrace my route back to the main road.
Just before I arrived in Fort Beaufort , hungry and thirsty, I came across a delightful farmstall where I had tea and cake in the flower filled garden. I enquired as to where I could find accommodation for the night and the lady managing the stall suggested that I come and stay at her place on a farm nearby.
She lives in a small cottage with her children (who were spending the weekend with their Dad in Port Elizabeth) and six dogs that at one stage or another she had rescued. Her back yard was open veld with kudu and all sorts of game that she saw regularly when she took her dogs for a walk.
We got on like a house on fire. She treated me to a delicious meal which we washed down with wine and whisky and we had a marvelous evening lounging on her comfy couches, dogs all over the place. Her life style intrigued me, it is so different to mine. She rarely bothers with locking her doors and she enjoys the isolation. She has carved a niche for herself in the small local community and keeps herself busy with a variety of jobs. In that one evening we forged what I think will be a long term friendship.
29th August 2010
The ride to Grahamstown was scenically beautiful with the road winding through hills and valleys but I froze all the way there and shivered and shook on to Port Elizabeth, despite adding another layer of clothing at the fuel stop in Grahamstown. From Port Elizabeth I headed for Hankey but was horrified when my bike started spluttering on the freeway. I immediately swung the fuel lever onto reserve and the engine caught and I continued but now very worried as this happened at 160km instead of 180kms. I knew that I only had 20kms more fuel in the tank and needed a petrol station. 10Kms later and still no sign of one, so out with the gps, click on POI ‘’fuel” and hey presto, fuel at Thornhill 6kms ahead. So with gps guiding me I found my way to the little station, which was closed. A passer-by told me to bang on the door of the building which I did but disappointingly the proprietor told me that the fuel was finished. I was stuck but the proprietor kindly offered to go across to the hotel opposite and try and find some for me. As luck would have it he found a man with a stash of petrol which he used for his generator in the frequent power outages. He was more than generous with it, almost filling my tank and refusing to take a penny for it. A big thank you to my savior in Thornhill.
While I was waiting for the man with the petrol I decided I needed a snack. The day before I had searched for the bacon I had stashed with no luck. I was getting a bit worried in case it went off and started to smell so I searched properly. I found it, it was absolutely fine, so I ate it with relish!
With a feeling of great relief I continued riding to the Patensie turnoff. The road to Patensie via Hankey is very scenic so I ambled along enjoying the ride, especially now that it was a bit warmer so I felt a lot more comfortable. Once again I stopped at a farm stall for tea and a sandwich and really enjoyed the break, sitting in rustic surrounds, playing with my gps and generally absorbing the ambience.
With the lengthening of the afternoon shadows I decided to start looking for accommodation. I saw a road sign indicating a campsite so I followed a narrow track into the bush. It wound it’s way into the mountains and got steadily rougher. After about 10km with no campsite in view I decided to give it a miss. I ended up at the delightful De Mist Cottage perfectly positioned for my start into the Baviaanskloof Wilderness.
30th August 2010
Once again the day dawned clear and sunny, I watched the domestic helper feed a bottle of milk to the baby duiker, she showed me the 10 new tortoises, each the size of a matchbox, whose mother was roaming around their garden and informed me that their other tortoise had 16 babies. The ducks were happily quacking in their mini ornamental pool – they looked like ornaments themselves and just to remind me that this was indeed ordinary life here, the farmer working within earshot started to loudly berate his workers. Time to move on.
The scenery was spectacular and in my haste to pull over onto the shoulder, stop, haul the camera out, twist and shoot I lost my balance and the bike went crashing over. I felt so stupid. To drop the bike on a perfectly flat section and this before even starting the rough stuff. I tried to pick it up but it wouldn’t budge so it was either unpack everything, pick the bike up and then repack everything which would have delayed me by about an hour so I decided to wait for a passing car instead. I refreshed my lipstick and settled in for the wait. Luckily I didn’t have to wait for more than about 15mins to wave down a farm truck trundling along. Five minutes later I was on my way thinking that this was a very good lesson for me to remember not to lose concentration.
Shortly after leaving the cottage the road turned to dirt as it meandered into the Baviaanskloof Wilderness Reserve. The weather was wonderfully warm so I was able to remove all excess warm gear at the gate. I was comfortable, happy and in my element. No words can really do justice to this wonderful reserve. The going was challenging in sections and I really battled to maintain concentration as the scenery is so spectacular. The road itself is a marvel of engineering. I was thankful not to be doing this route in a 4 X 4 as the road is narrow in sections with vertiginous drop-offs . Scaredy cat that I am I hugged the side furthest from the edge and tried not to glance over the side. I wound my way up hairpin bends until finally I was on top. It was quite windy on the long flat section that followed but as I wound down the other side the wind dropped and I entered a quiet wonderland with the road snaking between imposing mountains on either side.
A little about the road, or more accurately, the track. For the most part it is gravel, some sections have loose stones on the surface, some sections have concrete patches as well as concrete strips in the worst parts. These strips are quite difficult for a bike as they are fairly narrow and one has to be careful not to fall off the strips. There are lots of corrugations, a few washaways, very little sand and depending on time of the year, lots of river crossings, some with boulder beds. I considered myself fortunate as the area is experiencing a drought and I only had 13 river crossings, the deepest being the height of my boots.
While riding through a treed section alongside the river I was rewarded with a herd of buck (Kudu) leaping across the track in front of me. Later on a troop of baboons (hairy men of the mountains) ambled across my path and tortoises seemed to be all over the place. I took a photo of one entering a pond and cooling off in the shallows. This was when I had stopped for a break and splash some cooling water over myself. I spotted buck frequently as well as vervet monkeys and an assortment of birds.
This was one ride I didn’t want to end but even after I exited the official reserve the ride continued to be fascinating. I pulled in for petrol at a miniscule dorpie called Klein Poort even though there was no evidence of a ‘’poort”. Klein, yes – it consisted of a trading store, post office and bottle store all under one roof and on the other side of the large, sandy square a petrol pump and a diesel pump. The man who ran it all complained that he was 44 years old and still living with his mother at home. He said that tourism supplied most of their income. He had a flock of sheep and a big notice on the trading store warning people not to touch the Anatolian Sheep Dog. I asked him why and he said that they have a tendency to transfer their attention to humans and then aren’t very good with the sheep. More about that later.
After a not so cold Coke I went on my merry way looking out for a place shown on the map as Studkis as I knew that my destination for the day was just after Studkis. I never did see it – maybe I was concentrating too hard on the road or, if Klein Poort was anything to go by, I could have missed it in the blink of an eye. I was then happily surprised to come across my turnoff to Makkedaat Cave sooner than I had anticipated. The incredibly gracious and hospitable hostess sold me a tasty Kudu Pie with a crunchy sweet and sour green salad. What a taste sensation! I bought a
from a farm 2.5 kms away where the farmer pointed out a large dog and told me that it was an Anatolian Sheep Dog and not to touch it. He said that it frequently wandered over from the farm where Makkedaat Cave was situated and it was best to ignore this dog.
Maakedaat Cave is actually a most unusual cave cottage set far away from farmhouses or other signs of ‘civilisation’ so you are all alone in the glorious wilderness. The hot water of the outdoor bush and geranium covered, stone shower washed all the dust and fatigue away until I felt clean and relaxed. I sat outside until long after the sun had gone down, sipping my ice cold
. I watched the first stars come out and listened to the night sounds. Eventually I retired to my cosy cave where I read by solar light until my eyes felt heavy and I knew that it was time for a cup of ginger tea and bed. My bed was a mattress on a stone ledge, the sides made comfortable by a numerous soft cushions. On the mattress lay my toasty down filled sleeping bag.
31st August 2010
In the morning when I went to the farmhouse to settle the bill I noticed a medium sized dog with dreadful injuries. It looked as though it had been caught in a snare which had cut deeply through skin and muscle in at least 2 places. I asked what had happened and was told that this dog had wandered too close to the sheep and the Anatolian Sheep Dog attacked it because it was simply doing its job of protecting it’s flock. Apparently it will try to kill any animal it sees in the vicinity of the sheep including buck. It would appear that there are positives but also quite a lot of negatives to consider when getting this breed to look after your sheep.
The mountainous vistas stayed with me all day. I passed citrus groves, herds of Angora goats, flocks of merino sheep, cows, donkeys, horses and ostrich. The donkey drawn cart is alive and well in this part of the country and I clocked a donkey cart being pulled by 2 donkeys doing 25kms/hr! The little town of De Rust has a quaint, arty feel to it with brightly painted facades and colourful pots of flowers decorating many of the main streets cottages and shops. I rode up the stunning Meyringspoort Pass which I did really slowly so that I could savour the scenery. I stopped often to take pics and to simply gaze at the mountains surrounding me. All too soon I reached Prince Albert, clearly a prime tourist destination as there seem to be more B & B’s, little coffee shops, restaurants and art galleries than anything else.
Five kilometers outside Prince Albert and close to the Swartberg Pass I found accommodation for the night at Bushmans Valley. I was offered a room, a cottage, a caravan without standing headroom or a somewhat unusual hut ,which the receptionist told me is called a Boesmans Hut but quite fitting for my trip. I took myself on a walk and was very quickly tucked in amongst the mountains. It was easy to imagine the San people living in this area. The reception area sold all things San – books, paintings, bone and clay necklaces and an assortment of odd looking artifacts.
My boots and socks, wet from river crossings dried nicely in the hot afternoon sun. I even washed some clothing. The moment the sun dropped below the mountains the chill sets in and as has now become my habit on this trip I basked in the hot water of the shower. Then I cosied up in my hut, had a cup of tea and a bite to eat and finally hauled out my little netpad. As I type this a suspiciously large ‘mouse’ is running around looking for something to eat I imagine. I’m going to hang my food up from a hook in the beam of the thatched roof. A small bat is flitting about my head, maybe curious?
I dream Bushman-like dreams. A finely woven grass cowl shaped net is hanging from a rock face. I climb into it and immediately become weightless and float in a foetal position. The cowl closes around me and becomes a womb. My life plays through my mind, wrongs are righted, hurts are soothed away, bad decisions are changed into good decisions, all the negatives are turned into positives and I awake feeling light and refreshed, ready for my rebirth into the world. The cowl opens and I step out.
1st September 2010
The next morning the wind was cold and blustery so I took my time getting ready and felt the temperature slowly creep up . By 8.45 I was ready to roll and headed for the gravel Swartberg Pass. It was difficult to ride straight as my head was swiveling from side to side in awe. This part of the world has spectacular scenery and I don’t think that I ever really realized that. With this realization comes a new thought. I don’t think that I want to go through Namibia and Botswana just yet. I am going to explore many more areas of the Cape instead, it would be a shame to go further afield and miss all this beauty on my own doorstep.
All too soon I come across the Gamkaskloof (The Hell) turnoff with its attendant dire warnings as to the dangerous conditions of the dirt road. As far as condition goes it is similar to the Baviaanskloof road with possibly a tad more sandy drifts over the road. In total I did 4 river crossings. This fertile valley is isolated and peaceful. Apart from the caretakers and Cape Conservation, no-one lives here anymore. It’s very isolation contributed to the mass exodus of its inhabitants. The history of the area and the people who lived here is fascinating and is told in picture form in the offices of Cape Conservation. I unloaded my bike and went on a joyride, visiting the original homes and one of the families graveyards.
My accommodation here was a roomy caravan with a rustic stone ablution block close by. An outdoor table and chairs added to my comfort as did the marinated Kudu steak and salad which I had ordered on my arrival and was prepared by Mrs. Joubert, the owner of the land and caretaker who ran the camping area, restaurant and office . (She was an original inhabitant and a Mostert before her marriage). This delicious meal was delivered to me by friendly nearby campers on whose fire I braaied the meat later. Talk about home comforts!
2nd September 2010
The day dawned cold and there were a few suspicious looking clouds hanging around. I put on as much clothing as I could in anticipation of a freezing ride. On with the thermal underwear, layered with cordura riding pants, overlaid with rain pants and on top another long sleeved shirt, my triple layered touring jacket and then finally another rain jacket over the lot. Once the boots, gloves, scarf , Leatt Brace and crash helmet were on, I looked ridiculous and I could hardly move …… but I was warm.
After paying my bill and saying my goodbyes to the delightful and hospitable Mrs. Joubert I left, wishing I could stay a few days longer. As I wound my way back up the pass out of the Gamkaskloof those suspicious looking clouds opened up – not too much though, and it rained. I had to remove my goggles in order to see but ended up having a great ride out and then down the other side of the Swartberg Pass. I took the dirt road to Calitzdorp , passing picture postcard scenes of mountain, farmstead, tortured rock and calming isolation.
Seweweekspoort Pass had been recommended so I took the turnoff and meandered my way through yet more stunning scenery, this time with the massive rocky ramparts towering above me on both sides of the road. Crystal streams flowed and little bridges crossed them – luckily no river crossings were necessary because the water levels were so low. I continued on through the Karoo taking dirt roads all the way to Montagu. I saw 3 cars the whole day and I was in the saddle from 8.15am to 5.00pm – I was so saddle sore at the end of the day. The Karoo is such a special place, it has a wildness about it that is found nowhere else that I have been to. The biggest scare of the trip happened on this section. I passed a substantial looking, 2 metre long, bright green snake way too close for comfort. It was crossing the road and its head was raised above the ground. As I whipped past I lifted my legs to handle bar height hoping that I had missed it. Apart from that nothing scary happened on the whole trip. Of course there were no petrol stations in the area I rode through and my longest stop of the day was when I had to unpack the fuel container in order to refuel.
I had plenty of time to think about anything and everything and a funny thought popped into my head. I mulled it around and now firmly believe that we all have an internal compass. The needle is still swinging around a little crazily but I think that if I work on “connecting” with it, my navigational skills will improve. Before you think I got lost on this trip, let me tell you that I NEVER did, not even once. I’m rather proud of that considering my gps remained in my pocket for most of the time with flat batteries, I had forgotten my map book at home and when I asked for directions they were mostly given in Afrikaans and my Afrikaans is dismal. However, our signposting is excellent and that had a lot to do with it too.
Eventually I reached Montagu, then followed a 15km ride out to a farm B&B, my brothers friends, where I was treated to a wonderful evening of good company and fine food.
3rd September 2010
The following day, sadly my last day on the road was warm and sunny. My brother, Paul, travelled from Cape Town and met me in Worcester. He came in his latest toy, a dinkie car (a 25 year old Suzuki 4x4 which he had recently restored) as he had decided to take me on an interesting route into Cape Town – with a bit of dirt thrown in.
We had been told that Bainskloof Pass was closed but we decided to go and try our luck anyway. Luckily, although they were still working on the pass, they let us go through. We looped around and entered Blouberg from the Melkbos Strand side and were welcomed in by a glorious multicoloured display of flowers all along the roadside.
I was thrilled to see Table Mountain, sad that my trip was over, warm and fuzzy at the thought of seeing my family at the birthday bash the following day and relieved that I had completed this trip with no mishap or problems. My planned excursion into Namibia and Botswana is on hold as I have a whole lot more exploring to do in this fabulous country of ours. I plan to continue in the Cape, and explore the remote coastal areas of the Northern Cape. People I met along the way have told me about interesting places which I won’t be missing on my next trip.
For pics check out my website
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ugo
You go girl, you had me green with jealousy. Pity my wife can't handle the dirt roads on the bike, but we're thinking of doing your route with the 4x4. We'll do another route with the bike, where we can stick to the tarmac
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