Two Oceans Meet

(535 kms)

S 34°92’ 50” – E 20° 05’ 65”

I woke at 5.00am, thinking about Vanessa, who would be celebrating her 40^th birthday today… It was her first birthday without me for over 23 years… I wished I was there to share it with her… I had been in Reunion on my 40^th birthday, and now neither of us would be getting to share our 40^th’s… Funny how life turns out…

I went outside and washed the “Big Fella”, then started packing all my gear back into the panniers and other bags. Packing was becoming easier with each stopover, as I now knew exactly where everything was supposed to go, and had repacked all the bags to ensure maximum stability and comfort.

Sunrise from my patio… It was time to get back in the saddle…

After helping John “take out the trash”, literally, I loaded the last of my gear onto the bike and prepared to leave. It was just after 10.00am when I bid all an emotional farewell and rolled down the driveway. I first had to go back along the N2 to “Der Wildegans”, Volke’s farm and Guesthouse, to retrieve my wallet which I had left there during our visit the day before…This done, I finally turned west and made my way back through Plettenberg Bay and on to Knysna, collecting a R1500.00 speeding fine as I did so… Grrrrrr….!!

Passing the Lagoon brought back memories of a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt at windsurfing back in December 1983. After a good deal of Captain Morgan, I hopped on a friends windsurfer, and in a howling wind, shot across the lagoon, with no idea whatsoever of how to turn the darn thing around. In his inebriated state, my friend had assumed that everybody could windsurf, and neglected to give me any instructions… I sailed clear across the lagoon, a considerable distance, without falling off I must add, and crashed headlong into the reeds on the other side, which grew much taller then, than they are today. It took my friends about three hours to locate me on the other side, their only clue to my whereabouts, was the mast which stuck up above the reeds! That was my first and last attempt at windsurfing…

I rolled on through Sedgefield and the Wilderness, past Victoria Bay and up into George. Sped down the N2, passing Herold’s Bay, and crossing the Groot Brak River, then the Little Brak River, reminded of those years long ago, when my parents lived in the suburb of Tergniet, whilst my father worked on the Mossgas Project. I looked left across a small valley and saw the house they used to live in…remembering when we left Roxanne with them when she was just 6 months old, while Vanessa accompanied me on a business trip to Germany. It was the first of many visits we would make to Europe together…

I rode directly west, past Hartenbos and Mossel Bay, over the Gouritz River Bridge, where bungi- jumping was in full swing, and on to Albertina. There was no let up from the strong southerly wind blowing across the N2, making riding difficult. I was developing an acute dislike for the winds that had been buffeting me since I left Uvongo…

I kept going, the Langeberg Mountain range looming on my left, until I got to Riversdale, where I stopped for fuel, and had a quick bite to eat at the Wimpy. Whilst I was there, a father and son team arrived on a pair of very old BMW 750’s. They had been touring from Cape Town through the Winelands and were on their way back to Cape Town, following the N2, because, as the young man said, “My Pa is nou lekker moeg!” I left the “tired old man” and his disappointed son at the filling station, after a long technical conversation about horse-powers and torque, none of which made any sense to me…

Just off the main street in Bredasdorp, Western Cape…

Then it was on to Heidelberg, and ever westward to Swellendam. About 15kilometres past this picturesque town, I turned southwest onto the R319 and headed for Bredasdorp. The wind was now blowing at what felt like gale force, and I had to hang on for dear life, especially when cresting a rise in the road, as the wind coming off the tops of these hills was much stronger than in the valleys… I had to lean into the wind for most of the way to Bredasdorp, sometimes it felt as though the bike was on its side-stand such was the angle I had to ride at!! When I encountered right hand bends, all I did was loosen the death grip I had on the handlebars, and the wind took me around the bend with ease!! No steering required!!

I had not planned to stop in this town, but by the time I got there, my nerves were shot, and I pulled up across the road from the Merino Grill, took a few photos, and then crossed the road to order a cold-drink. There were two young “plaas-meisies” serving behind the bar, and they clearly had not had many customers that day, as they rushed forward to serve me with gusto. While one brought the Coke, the other fetched a glass with ice. When they saw me put my cigarettes down on the counter, they both rushed for an ashtray, nearly colliding with each other behind the bar counter… They then sat down behind the counter seemingly sizing me up… After an awkward pause, followed by another, (the second pause was so close to the first that you could hardly tell them apart…!) they finally began with the “20 questions” routine…

“Where was I from? Where was I going to? How long would it take? Why was I alone?” Etc, etc… Then finally, the kicker… The pretty blonde one plucked up the courage to ask, “Are you married?” ….Subtlety was clearly not her strong point…

Expect twenty questions and an invite to stay longer…

Before things became too personal, I asked about places to stay in Caledon, and they immediately set about drawing me a map of where to go and which B&B not to bother with (the one painted red, across from the Spar!!) They suggested that rather go on to Caledon, I should stay with them in Bredasdorp and go to watch the “stock car racing” which was taking place later that afternoon, behind the grain silos at the edge of town… That’s when I knew I had to get out of town quickly!! I was in the company of man-eaters…!!

Leaving the disappointed duo, I rode on to Struisbaai, and L’Agulhas, the southern most tip of the African Continent. The wind continued to batter me, and again I had to “lean” my way to my destination. Struisbaai was bustling with boats and fisherman. I passed through the town and near the far end of the main street turned left towards the little harbour, where I sat the bike while watching ski-boats being launched… One guy reversed his boat and trailer too far down the slipway, and had to be towed back out by a large tractor. When he opened the doors to his pick-up, water poured out of the interior!!! He glared around him, daring onlookers to laugh…none did!! The fact that he was a rather large individual, and was wearing a thunderous scowl, insured that none of us even looked in his direction… With my jaw muscles aching, I turned the bike around and headed for the entrance to L’Agulhas, where I stopped to take a photo, and then went on to the lighthouse at the far end of town, where I walked up to the little coffee shop and bought a sticker for the bike. I would have liked to climb the stairway to the top of the lighthouse to take in what must be an awesome view, but I was mindful of the time, as I wanted to get to Caledon before dark if possible…

The Lighthouse at Cape Agulhas…

A gravel road led westwards from the parking area in front of the lighthouse and I took the bike carefully along it for about a kilometer, to a circular parking area where many other vehicles were parked. This was as far south as most vehicles could go on the continent… I had a few photos taken by the owner of a BMW X5, whose entire family crowded around the bike and asked a hatful of questions… A wide sandy path led from the parking area to a stone beacon where the actual southern-most tip of the African Continent is… I had wanted to ride the bike right down to the beacon, but was turned back by a conservation official who clearly took his job far too seriously…

The beacon has a dividing line in the front of it, showing the Indian Ocean on the left and the Atlantic Ocean on the right. Cool bananas!! I took some time to reflect that barely a few months ago, Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman, had stood with their selfsame BMW bikes at this exact spot, having completed their epic journey, and aptly titled “The Long Way Down”, from John O’Groats in the far north of Scotland, to Cape Agulhas. I had bought their book describing their journey, and it was tucked somewhere in my panniers… I planned to read it during the course of my journey to draw as much inspiration from it as I could… As it turned out, I carried this book all over southern and eastern Africa without so much as opening the cover!!! Best laid plans again…

Another Portugueseexplorer makes it to the most Southern point in Africa…. Guy More would be so pleased….

Standing at the beacon put my own trip into a bit of perspective… In my mind’s eye, I pictured a map of Southern Africa, and saw where I’d been, and where I still had to go… I had made it this far and was not about to let the long road ahead of me get me down. In fact, I was very proud of the fact that I had arrived here without any serious incidents having put dents into my confidence… I had battled through heavy rain and high winds, and here I was…

I walked slowly back to the bike, greeting people with a huge smile as I went… A German tourist asked if I wanted a photo taken of myself next to the information board, which told of all the Portuguese explorers who had made landfall here hundreds of years ago… I thanked him and posed for the photo… We chatted for a while, and it turns out he had made a road trip through Northern Africa a few years previously and wanted to do it all over again on a bike… We exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch… You never know…!!

Once back at the bike, I jauntily hoisted myself into the saddle, and set off for Caledon. For the first time on my trip, my GPS showed “Driving North”, and I knew that the long haul up country had begun. It was a turning point for me. I had covered a little over 3000 kilometres since leaving Johannesburg on the 15^th of December, but now the tougher part of my journey was about to begin…..

The “Big Fella” gets another photo opportunity….

The entrance to L’Agulhas… I had reached the most Southerly point in my journey…

© 2008 TBMH

“Die Hoeck Huis”, Caledon… S 34° 13’ 90” – E 19°25’ 75”

The wind was no longer a factor, as it was blowing from directly behind me, and the bike waltzed its way back to Bredasdorp. (I avoided the Merino Grill and the man-eaters!!) With a steady roar, we left town on the R316. I stopped in Napier to refuel, bought a Fanta and chatted to the owner of a Harley, who was driving past and stopped when he saw my bike loaded to the gunwales…“Bliksen, maar jy’s gelaai!! …” were his first words…!

From Napier to Caledon, and through the hamlets of Fairfield and Oukraal, must be one of the best roads I have ridden on… Long sweeping bends were taken at full tilt, because the countryside is wide open, and the road ahead is in full view for most of the time, allowing you to make adjustments for bends etc. If I had had enough time, I would have ridden back to Napier and back to Caledon again, a distance of 55 kilometres… I did not have to touch the brakes on this stretch, using only the throttle to slow the bike down on one or two of the tighter corners…sheer riding pleasure!!

N.G. Church, Main Street, Napier

Caledon is a sleepy town, made more so by the fact that it was 7.00pm when I slowed for the first of the three stop streets that bisect it. Taking the girls from Bredasdorp’s advice, I avoided the B&B painted red and looked for others. The Mill Street Lodge was no longer operating, and another looked as if it was awaiting demolition…! I stopped at the Kelkiewijn Lodge, only to find that they were full, but the owner, Bertha, called a farmer friend of hers who owned the “De Hoeck Huis Hotel” in the main street. I had passed this on my way in, and was convinced that it was closed….permanently!

The farmer, Cobus by name, was duly summoned into town, and agreed to let me use one of the rooms. He explained that it was closed for future renovations…future being a very long way off, I thought to myself… He opened a nondescript door on the main street, which you would never have thought to be the front door of a hotel, and ushered me up a wooden staircase, down a narrow passage, to the door of number 7… I kept expecting a Candid Camera film crew to pop out of one the closed doors leading off the passage… I could not believe I was going to be spending the night in a “closed” hotel. Judging by the age of some of the decor, it would probably remain that way for many years to come… Prior to escorting me to my room, he had turned on the water and lights from a dingy room under the staircase. Once in the room, on impulse I flicked the switch that read “fan” and the ceiling fan duly spluttered to life, much to Cobus’s surprise! He seemed almost disappointed… He was a short time I realized that the rain was inside the room!! I leapt out of bed, turned on the lights and watched as water cascaded through three or four places in the ceiling. The geyser had burst!! I moved all my gear to a dry spot in the room and called my farmer friend… At first he thought I was kidding, but in a short space of time, he arrived, and together we searched the alley behind the hotel for the water mains… He then helped me move to another room, larger and spookier than the first!! By the time I had settled in, it was after 3.00am… I fell asleep again and woke at the usual 5.30am… Not a great start to the day…

I left Caledon, after taking a few photos of some of the buildings in town, including the restaurant I had eaten at the night before. The owner came out to chat, and wanted to know why I was embarking on such a long ride… I told him I was doing it because I could…! The frown on his face spoke volumes, and I could see that he was not completely satisfied with my answer, but I had a long way to go and did not want to get involved in too much idle conversation… I turned west onto the N2 and rode on past the Dassiefontein Padstal, before turning north onto the R43 to Villiersdorp. I stopped at the turnoff to take a photo of the signpost, and while I was doing this, two Blue Cranes flew over my head and landed beside a little dam next to the road. I watched them for a while, as they strutted about on the banks of the dam and the male made a few half-hearted attempts at a courtship dance… It was a beautiful scene…

Rolling through fields and valleys, Western Cape.

The road to Villiersdorp wound through hilly country, and finally crossed over the wall of the Theewaterskloof Dam, before undulating down through large apple orchards and ending in the town. I stopped at the local Spar to buy a cold-drink, before heading out of town towards the road which leads through the Franschhoek Pass. I rode straight towards what seemed to be a wall of mountains, and wondered where the pass began, until, rounding a corner, I saw a sign that warned that for the next 13 kilometres, the recommended speed was a mere 50 km/h… I knew then that I was in for a few twists and turns.

The Hottentots Holland Mountains are a ragged range, with deep kloofs and high rocky peaks. Fynbos grows thickly on the lower slopes, before fading away as the peaks rear their heads. There were many places to stop and take photos, but I kept going until I reached the top of the Pass. There were a number of cars parked there, and after dismounting and walking over to the edge of the parking area, I saw why so many people take the opportunity to stretch their legs and take a few photos here…

Views of Franschhoek in the valley below, and the steep pass running down to it…

The view was spectacular to say the least… Far below lay the town of Franschhoek, with the road leading down towards it draped like a snake over the slopes below me. Literally hundreds of bikers were riding up and down the pass, many of them I later heard, to commemorate the deaths of two fellow bikers, who just a few days before had misjudged one of the hairpin bends, and crashed over the edge into one of the many kloofs that line the route… A sobering thought as I contemplated the trip down into Franschhoek…

Two British girls who had arrived at the top of the pass shortly after I did, asked me to take a photo of them near the edge of the drop-off to the road below… They were driving through the Western Cape on a three month holiday, and were as amazed by the view as I was… In exchange for taking their photo, I asked if they would take a photo of me with the bike and the valley in the background… They then proceeded to snap away for the next few minutes, until I told them that I had to be going as I still had many a mile to cover before the end of the day… They just wanted to chat up a storm, and I might still have been there if I hadn’t called a halt to the “shoot”…

Some “Fynbos” on Franschhoek Pass…

Grizzled old guy on the top of the Franschhoek Pass….

(Photo by “Fynbos”…)

I went down the Pass into town very carefully, past vineyards neatly laid out, one of them containing about a dozen scarecrows, all dressed as Santa Claus… Franschhoek reminded me of Stellenbosch. It was packed to capacity with what seemed to be mostly German and French tourists. Their voices floated across the main road as I passed by… There were many outdoor restaurants, crowded with people, waiters scuttling on the pavements, plates laden with food… The smell of good food wafted through my open visor, causing my stomach to rumble in protest… My brain had earlier advised my stomach that we would not be stopping here for lunch…!!

From there, I rode on up the R45 to Paarl, passing the Pearl Valley Golf Estate, and then on to Wellington, where I stopped for another drink. I was making good time, and decided to press on again before stopping for lunch. I bought a few large plums from a roadside stall to tide my rumbling stomach over until later… I then took the R44, on past Soetendal, and Hermon, and then turned west again for Riebeek Kasteel, passing a sign which read, “This is Shiraz Country”… So that’s where the stuff comes from…!!

Vineyards rolled away to the horizon on either side of the road, and I slowed to take it all in. The verges of the road were neat and clean. Farm boundaries were geometrically laid out on either side of me. Beautiful country this… Who would ever want to leave it without seeing all these undiscovered jewels in our countryside…?

Twenty-five to one in Riebeek Kasteel….

After taking a few photos of the magnificent church among the houses and vineyards, I stopped to have lunch at the Travelers Rest Lodge in Riebeek Kasteel. The German owners had come to South Africa on honeymoon in 1988 and decided to stay here, in this little town…

They bought the hotel, and the rest as they say, is history… The original building dates back to 1880, I was proudly told, and sitting under a huge Kareeboom in the back garden, I could almost picture scenes from over a hundred years ago… Loved it….!!

The Travelers Rest, original building dating back to 1880…

At 2.00pm, I left this quaint town behind me and headed for Moorreesburg, passing Riebeek Wes on the way. I crossed the N7 and took the R311 to Vredenburg. The wind picked up and toyed with me all the way past Hopefield, and then through Vredenburg and on to Paternoster and Tietiesbaai… Once again I found myself hanging on for dear life as a howling Westerly wind tried it’s best to prevent me reaching the sea…

I finally reached Paternoster, refueled at the Paternoster Superette, where the only unleaded fuel in town was available. I rode up through the little town to a swanky looking restaurant, perched on a hill on the very outskirts of town, and bordering the fishing village. I parked the bike on the verge and sat looking down onto the beach below. I took a few photos of the bay and experienced tightness in my chest at the beauty of this scene… You had to be there to understand…

The bay stretched out to the right and left of where I sat, with white-washed cottages built in neat little rows, between the road and the beach. To the north, developers were doing their best to spoil this idyllic town… Larger houses were being built, bigger boats were being flaunted, quad bikes roared down the streets, but here close to the fisherman’s cottages, things seemed to move at a slower pace and hopefully forever would…

A group of children walked up the hill to look at the bike… They were accompanied by their dog who was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt…I kid you not! Check the photo below… The kids asked for money for the photo I had taken and I reminded them that it was not their photo I had taken, but the dog’s!! We haggled for a bit and then I compromised….I gave the dog a ginger biscuit… He seemed pleased with the deal…the kids were not…!!

This is South Africa, expect the unexpected. This was just one of those moments….

Everything about Paternoster is unusual…

Fisherman’s cottages at Paternoster…

I couldn’t resist taking a few photos of the road signs indicating this little bay where fishing boats either bobbed out at anchor, or were pulled up onto the beach for repairs… I would have liked to stay over and walk along the beach, but I had to get to Kakamas the next day, and couldn’t afford to spend the time… There WILL be a next time…

I searched diligently, but there were none to be seen….

Paternoster to Citrusdal S 32’ 35, 46” – E 19’ 00, 74”

Having already refueled, I took a few more photographs and sent a sms to the gang, before setting the GPS for Velddrif. I had to go back to Vredenburg, and then turned onto the R399. With the wind now behind me, I gave the Big Fella his head and we shot across the 20kms that separates these two towns, scattering flocks of crows which settled back onto the road as I passed them. On entering Velddrif, the road crossed a beautiful bridge over the salt works, and I stopped to watch hundreds of Lesser Flamingo, Black-winged Stilts and a host of other wader species which were feeding on the pans. Once through Velddrif, I again set the GPS, this time for Piketberg on the N7.  

The R399 was devoid of any traffic, and I rocketed down it, using the tail wind to good advantage. The 65kms passed in a flash, with me enjoying the bike again without have to fight to stay upright in the high winds I had experienced earlier. At 5.00pm, I stopped on the N7 where the short piece of road to Piketberg joins it. I wondered where to spend the night… Clanwilliam was gettable, but I was beginning to tire from my battles with the wind, and decided to stop at Citrusdal first to see what the lay of the land there was…

The highway carried light traffic, mostly refrigerated trucks, and I made very good time until I arrived at the foot of Piekenierskloof Pass, where I had to slow the bike to negotiate the tight turns on both the ascent and the descent into Citrusdal. The road up the pass had been widened and resurfaced, and tyres gripped the road nicely, giving me the confidence to take a few of the longer corners at higher speeds that I normally would have attempted…The surface of the road on the descent into the Cederberg Valley had not received the same attention, and was quite narrow in places… I slowed down and sat behind a large container bearing truck all the way down into the valley…

I took the turnoff into Citrusdal and cruised down the main street before I found a place to spend the night. I chose the Cederberg Lodge, in Voortrekker Street, the main road running through the town… It was Sunday evening, and the streets were deserted…

Parked outside my digs in Citrusdal…

Clouds roll over the Cederberg Mountains and head towards Citrusdal…

The owner’s very pregnant wife was from Witbank, so we had the Mpumalanga thing in common, and she therefore went out of her way to help me get settled. I later berated her husband for taking the pretty woman from our province, when there were more than enough to go around in his own province!! I asked for his import permit for her and when he could not produce one, threatened to take her back to Mpumalanga with me… We all had a good laugh, and the first round of drinks was on the house… Mission accomplished!! (Getting free drinks must always be considered as a “mission”!!)

Her entire family was visiting for the Christmas holidays, and her youngest sister’s room shared a balcony with mine. We sat smoking and drinking can after can of cold-drink until 1.00am. She was studying animal science at Onderstepoort in Pretoria, and couldn’t wait to get her studies over with and get a start in life. It was interesting listening to someone much younger than myself, who still had to start her working life and wasn’t sure what the future might hold for her. I felt that I was in a similar position, except for the little fact that I had been working for over twenty years, and wondered what my future held…

At times she seemed very vulnerable, and at others, super-confident… Women can be difficult to read and she was no exception to this rule…

The following morning, she came downstairs in her nightgown to say goodbye to me, which surprised me, as well as the rest of her family who had gathered to wave me off. Apparently she usually surfaced at about 10.00am each morning… Must have made an impression with my wise council!! Either that or she was embarrassed at having smoked half a pack of my cigarettes the previous night, and wanted to make up for it!!

© 2008 TBMH