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Post by addict on Oct 24, 2016 16:45:55 GMT 2
Just for background, I posted this on the trip I did from Jozi to CT last year in October; some of the explaining is for the benefit of the mostly non-South African reader.... Grab a beer because there's lots of words... As promised (mostly to myself) I would be undertaking another Enfield adventure through South Africa. Over the past few months I’ve been prepping my bike (mostly remotely as we currently have a long distance relationship), but I finally saw (created/imagined) a gap in my schedule where I could spend at least one week doing nothing but rolling her wheels over tarmac (and dirt) yet unseen by either of us! the pics are not in order but I think you'll get the idea... www.dropbox.com/sh/qilh8xuugos9cxb/AAAb0A1hoEy6kEJS0c2S-W1La?dl=0I made up some saddle bags from canvas satchels bought online (in England), welded up a carrier (with photos and measurements of the bike as a guide) and planned a birthday to coincide with my desperate need for a swanky tank bag. That’s pretty much it; oh, a 13600mAh USB power pack was bought to charge the GPS/phone things. All this was done with the bike sitting a few thousand sea miles away (I live on a small island in the Indian Ocean) so thumbs were held, bags packed and planes boarded. I was to arrive around lunch time on the Friday, complete the final prep, pack and depart at sparrows on the Saturday morning. The general route was to start in Johannesburg and end up in Cape town over 7 days riding; the most direct route is around 1 600Ks but as an Enfielder, the most direct route should never apply… The following is kind of a diary of the time from arrival in Johannesburg on Friday… Friday October 10 2015: "Shore leave and rushing…"
The plane was delayed (as always) so I arrived an hour later than planned, why is this important? Its 1230 (PM) and I leave for a 3 000km (Give or take) journey on a bike I haven’t seen in months and haven’t finished prepping yet. Oh, I also decided to take along a tent (and the bits that go with it) so I’ll need to get those, and work out how to pack them too! In short, Friday was a blur and ended at around 1am Saturday morning with the final bits tied down (this would obviously change) and my alarm set for 0430 for a 0530 departure… Easy! Saturday: “I’ve got a peaceful, uneasy feeling…”Crickets in my room? Crickets? I need to change that alarm! Coffee, shower, teeth, nerves… Thump… Thump thump thump thump, grin… I think you know the feeling… My main goal for the day was to get out of the city and put on some gentle miles and just feel things out. Tonight was the only booked accommodation of the trip in the small town of Ladybrand in the eastern part of the Free State Province, about 485 Km; my days would shorten over the trip, but I needed to cover some ground first. The first 100ks on the highway was boring and laborious; these bikes aren’t made for that, they want structure and curves and scenery and small eateries with weird people (like largemouth bass). That said, the Enfield was rumbling happily along in its own unique tenor and before I knew it my exit was up and I was soon on a regional farm road off the freeway. The grin was instant and my spirits began to soar! Arriving at the farming town of Frankfort (not Germany) I had two choices: the large spot that proudly displayed the sign “Bikers Welcome” (Pronounced “Baahkas Welkum” in these parts) and the quaint Koffie Huis (Coffee House) on the corner; not being a Baahka, I decided the quaint spot suited me better (besides, I could park my bike right next to me on the stoep (veranda)! It was only around 7am so they were still opening up but coffee was quick to come and a good old fashioned bacon and egg brekkie followed shortly (with promises to eat healthily from here on…) I knew that from here, my route would take me through flattish farmlands but eventually into the foothills of the Maloti Mountains with twists and rises to look forward to. Leaving Frankfort I continued south east at a comfortable 85kmh, mostly riding one handed on the straight roads, even filming out of my clutch hand from time to time. It was on one of these straight, quiet stretches that I had an extra-terrestrial experience… Three Power Rangers (the real ones) screamed past me; they actually stripped some paint off the right side of my bike. I saw them briefly in the next town, Bethlehem (not that one), replenishing their uranium pods and again not far out of town, having a nice chat to two uniformed men (maybe their mates?) From here, I could already see the mountains rising to the south of where I was; it was HOT out, around 34 degrees C, but worse was the building wind. I was already leaning into the cross wind and the dust haze was growing in my path. 150 ks later I was fighting a strong, gusty wind in the hills, making riding tricky at best. The mountains posed a problem in that as I would lean into a corner, judging the current wind angle, that angle would change as I came through the bend, on more than one occasion I was nearly caught in the lean as the wind shifted to my high side. I was told the next day that wind speeds were around 45Kmh, gusting into the 60s! My day ended in the small town of Ladybrand in a quaint guesthouse with a stiff neck but excitement peaking for tomorrow. |
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Post by addict on Oct 24, 2016 16:47:48 GMT 2
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..."
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”
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.
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Post by addict on Oct 24, 2016 16:50:01 GMT 2
Wednesday: “Easy Rider”
We awoke to lazy, wet weather, so took it easy and had a leisurely breakfast and discussed the day’s route which would end in the small town of Oudtshoorn on the other side of the coastal mountain range. Our route was leisurely today, mainly on the N2 coastal main road through the towns of Knysna, Wilderness and eventually turning off at George to traverse the Outeniqua pass. This is a relatively new pass (1950s) and is impeccably maintained and constantly upgraded, carrying the bulk of traffic from this part of the coast to the inland areas of the Little Karoo. The original Montagu Pass can still be ridden but the GS is more suited to that terrain; there are still places where one can see the grooves cut by ox-wagons carrying timber and wares from Knysna to the hinterland.
Overall the day was chilled, with easy riding and lots of stops for coffee and sightseeing, getting us to Oudtshoorn just in time for lunch. We decided to eat and then look at possibly pushing on; the pub (read beer hall) we chose was great and inviting and didn’t serve alcoholic free beer, oh well, “When in Rome”.
It was actually great to just kick back, sip a few cold ones and catch up. We eventually agreed on a small hotel in town for the night but were in no rush to check in. A lazy afternoon and some minor maintenance (oil check, chain lube, bolts etc.) In truth, my bike was running flawlessly, so far requiring no oil and no other repairs.
Thursday: “Get your kicks, on Route… uh 62”
The R62 is an insanely beautiful drive heading from Oudtshoorn to Cape Town; in recent years, borrowing from the fame of Route 66, it has flourished as “Route 62” and is the most used alternate route to Cape Town from the east. The route starts in the Klein (Little) Karoo and heads into brandy and eventually wine country. The ride is stunning, through arid regions, mountains and wine country with all manner of interesting stops along the way. Realistically, one should take two or even three days to explore the small towns en-route (62).
We had to stop in at Ronnie’s Sex Shop, which has become something of an icon of the route; not a real sex shop but a strange and wonderful bar with newer attached restaurant which attracts droves of travellers. Once again, the Enfield was ogled and questions fired from all directions, breaking barriers!
Our port of call for the night was a small wine town called Montagu, nestled between the mountains and vineyards. After lunch, we headed for a little afternoon “cruise” in the vineyards; probably trespassing, but not doing any harm, we rode through the maze of vines for a memorable afternoon. We stayed in an old, Colonial style hotel (no more camping) that night and had a Karoo feast at one of the local eateries.
Friday: “Heading South…”
Today we were heading south, as far south as one can go on the African continent without getting your feet wet. Cape Agulhas.
Our day started lazy (Rick is a bad influence on me), enjoying the hotel breakfast and rolling out after 8am; our route would take us through the last of the mountains to the Overberg (“Over the Mountain”) region which is a relatively flat area with gentle curving roads. This is farming country known as the “Breadbasket of the Cape”. Both interested in maritime history, we stopped in Bredarsdorp to visit the Maritime Museum which showcases the rich maritime history of the area; a large focus on the numerous shipwrecks on this “Cape of Storms”.
Our historical curiosity sated, we continued south to the whitewashed, seaside town of Arniston but could find nowhere for lunch so took the dirt road through to Struisbaai to the west. The road through the farming communities was great, receiving wide smiles and waves all the way.
The small harbour front restaurant, “Pelican’s” provided us with our best meal of the trip; nothing beats a fresh seafood platter on the waterfront!
Sadly, we had burnt serious daylight with our extended lunch stop and earlier detours so we had to forego the extra 100km round trip to Cape Agulhas, we still needed to make some ground before finding a bed for the night. Tomorrow, being our last day on the road, I needed to be closer to Cape Town so I could organize, my still unconfirmed, bike storage.
We pushed through to a great little town called Stanford and stayed in a stunning river front guest house a little ways out of town. Rick treated us to real “fine dining” meal at a nearby boutique wine farm, splendid!
Saturday: “Route with a view and that’s how you do that…”
I managed to rouse the old man early with the promise of an epic breakfast stop at one of the small coastal towns along the False Bay route into Cape Town (CT). The route really is stunning; having chosen the Clarens Drive way, we hugged the coast all the way to within shooting distance of CT. Smooth, twisty roads all the way around the bay that fooled so many sailors in the past. The morning was crisp and clear and we made it to Gordons Bay ski boat club just in time for opening.
The last stretch of 100ks or so, I’d rather forget! Of the 3 500-odd Km travelled, this stands as the only ride I didn’t enjoy. Leaving the coast, we entered the town of Strand and onto the main freeway (N2) into Cape Town; after so many peaceful, easy miles my system was in shock! Three and Four lanes of crazed, lunatic traffic heading for somewhere too important; for the first time since starting up back in Johannesburg, I felt invisible and vulnerable on the road again. It sounds dramatic to me now but I still shiver thinking about it; this certainly isn’t what my bike was destined for!
We ended our epic journey at the harbour town of Hout Bay. I had made contact with my mate in the northern parts of CT’s suburbs who would gladly house my soon to be orphaned bike. The ride there was better as I headed out on the quieter northern freeway, high fiving Rick in the traffic before turning off. Rick met up with his daughters, who both now live in Cape Town.
The Bokke were playing the quarter final match of the Rugby World Cup and Squattie (my mate) took me to his local Round Table for an unforgettable (although I don’t remember a lot of it) evening; we won the rugby and moved on to the semis to end a perfect, never to be forgotten journey!
The Bike:
Firstly, I have listed all the faults with the bike below:
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That done, the positives…
My little green bike, the true hero of this story; not a single anxious moment. The bike was flawless throughout, requiring no attention at all. I checked the oil every morning (none added) and did a quick routine walk around started up and rolled out. The only casualty the bike suffered was a burnt out pilot light and the chromed plastic swing arm nut cover which fell off. I started with a sheepskin cover but abandoned it after day one, it seemed to compress in the area I was sitting and became painfully uncomfortable; the stock seat held me in good stead for the remainder of the ride.
My home made saddle bags worked better than expected and never gave me a moment’s trouble; they are mounted to the rack I built via some webbing straps and buckles, I had washed them in a wax treatment beforehand and had liners made (from an old Hobie Cat sail) which kept everything dry.
I mentioned that I ditched the GPS; I think the more info you have to worry about, the more you actually worry: “average speed, time since last fueling, fastest speed, stopped time, moving average, blah di frikken blah”. My map book was perfect for the trip and it’s now full of notations and highlights which adds that special character, it also never ran out of battery power. I re-employed the GPS right at the end and only to find my way to my friend’s address.
I say it again, while my bike is nowhere near the travelling giant the GS is, and trust me, that is one seriously impressive bit of kit, the character and simplicity of the Enfield is what stirs the adventurous spirit in me.
If you own an Enfield (you probably do if this rambling interests you), take it away for a weekend or a week or more, keep it simple, keep it chilled and explore and take photos!
My bike is about ready to move to its next foster parents…
Footnote: I recently had to relocate my bike from its current foster family to a new one; after 5 months of standing with zero attention and a low battery, I kicked it over a few times and she fired right up; a few minutes idling to boost the battery and off I rode!
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