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South Africa
By John Altman
Its not an adventure....till something gets
f@#ked up!
Let the adventure begin:
The surf at world famous J-bay can have it's off days, especially
in the off season, and that's what I found there so after
2 days and 1 session at Cape st Francis, and seeing the swell
forecast was dismal, I decided to concentrate on the touring
portion of the program.
Back roads style since i have time to kill. So I traced a
probable route on the map which led generally NE towards the
sovereign nation of Leotho, and began the wander.
After only 3 passes past the entrance to Addo Ntl Elephant
park, I did manage to find the unmarked R335 route north.
As it started the mountains, a sign read STRICTLY 4x4. So
that's cool.
The road was an unused rock-fest which required 1st and 2nd
gear, and tested the Uber GS's dirtbike manner. Of course
at the top of the mountain was a single mud shack with a family,
and a bunch of Sheep, and a million dollar view of the valley
below with endless vistas, Gorgeous. After descending, it
flattened out, smooth gravel, along the valley floor for another
90 km and I enjoyed the sun and the scenery rolling along
in 4th gear at 50 mph. The ride could not have been more splendid,
and I had yet to see even 1 car or truck.
So let the adventure begin: About 50 km out of Sommerset
east, my presumed destination, the bike began to sputter,
and cut out.
Great… It seems I'd just noticed that there was NOBODY
around, when the thing started acting up. I figured my best
bet was to try to make foreword progress toward Sommerset,
so I nursed and limped it along praying that it wouldn't get
worse, It did worsen ,but an hour later I limped it into a
gas station at the edge of town. No mechanics there it was
time to get out the little tool kit Dirk had prepared and
start to poke around. Its time like thes that i really would
rather have an older Carbureted bike, as the fuel pump was
one of my suspects. On the old bikes gravity delivers the
fuel very reliably. An hour's investigation revealed a suspect
connection at the ignition switch, so I removed it to try
to find someone in town to check it out. But the bike was
going nowhere. By then a small crowd of curious onlookers
had gathered, and I got them involved because you never know
who can help.
When I asked the station attendant if the bike would be safe
there overnight, he shook his head then said he'd be right
back. He made a deal with the convenience store owner to put
it inside for the evening, right among the shelves of groceries!
If only I promised to remove it first thing in the am, deal.
So I walked the 1/2 hr into town and found a bed and breakfast
for the night.
Bright and early the next morning, and a 1/2 hr walk back
to roll the bike outside, and then another walk back to town
to find help. Not long I had the connection re-soldered, and
walked again to the gas station, HOPING I'd found the problem.
All plugged in and re-assembled, and I am almost afraid to
turn the key, and finally..........
nothing.
Still dead.
depression.
So now I am standing there trying to figure out my next move
(haul it 100 miles to nearest big city with bmw dealershp)
when another guy walks over and starts asking what's up. He
says he'd take me to the city, but his wife has the truck
for the day. So we continue to play with the wring harness
and suddenly I hear the fuel pump engage!!
Hey! that's the sound! But I still am not sure why it's now
working so he sent me to the auto-electrics guy in town, and
I rode the bike there. After another hour of chasing wires,
thinking it was fixed, and then having it die again, he did
find the broken terminal within an entirely different plug
than where we were working. Wired it, and its good to go.
He charged me $15.
So with the bike running, I strap on my helmet, and say thanx,
and rock foreword off the center stand, and WHAMMO! the front
end collapses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am standing astride a modified Chopper!!!!!!!!
Everyone is stunned as I replace the center stand, knowing
that this trip is at its end.
Turns out that the major bolt which holds the forks to the
Funky Tele-lever front end has torn out of its threads!
And it didn't take anyone long to realize what the consequences
of that happening at speed would have been. Once we recovered
from the shock, we looked at the parts, and it turns out that
the bolt had been barely turned into the treads, perhaps only
20% deep. Who knows how long its been that way, maybe years.
But that also meant that there were plenty of useable threads
to replace the part, and with some locktight
applied, it was re-assembled in 10 minutes! solidly.
Although I was a bit skittish getting back on it.
And I rolled out of town at about noon, heading north, like
nothing happened. But riding pretty slowly.
To be continued................
Lucky Juon
Hey all Yall. Last I wrote, I was recovering from the bike
troubles that I thought would end my trip short. That was
2,000 kms ago.
Immediately upon returning to the trip north, I ran across
two brothers traveling on an Aprillia Capenord, and an R 1150
GS, Yellow, identical to the one I am riding.. I followed
them along deserted 2 lane highways with awesome pillowy white
clouds, and scattered thunderheads on the horizon, hoping
that the road would weave between the rain. They lead the
way to a great little motel along the major travel route (N1)
from Capetown to Johannesburg. The palce was on the river
, and We arrived exactly as the storm hit.
After dinner by candlelight since the storm took out the
power, we were treated to a disco light style lightning storm
on 3 sides of us, but a full array of STARS! overhead.
I have never seen anything lke it. gorgeous. We split in
the morning and I headed towards Lesotho, an independedent
country within SA borders.
It is immediately apparent when you cross into Lesotho, that
you're in another country, as all semblance of order that
SA has, disappears. Lesotho makes Mexico seem Ritzy. So it
was back to the weaving around livestock, people, and Combis,
on a narrow road with no shoulders..
Near dark and I saw a sign for a National park which promised
lodging. After riding 45 minutes into the mtns off the only
paved road, I arrived at the park which indeed had nice cabins,
only it was completey deserted and locked up! Nobody around.
Which had me riding at night in that same sketchy road to
the nearest place I could find. My guidebook listed a Hostel,
and after finally giving up on finding it in the unlit "roads"
on the outskirts of "town" I finally convinced a
local boy to ride on the back of the bike and guide me to
the "hostel"
I guess "hostel" in Lesotho means Musty schack
with no electric or plumbing, and absolutely terrible beds..
This was by far the worst place I have ever stayed, and it
came with a complimentary late night visit by the local drunkard
announcing his prominence due to who his father is, or some
thing.
Morning did finally arrive and I was out of there with a
few photos.
The day's ride was the mountain highlands, climbing to 10,000
ft. The ride was awesome with barren rocky landscape, and
roving heards of sheep and cattle, and with them, the herd
boys, dressed in thier traditional blanket over loincloth
outfit. They would get unbelievably stoked about the motorcycle,
and come running towards the road motioning me to stop. They
spoke no English of course, but their enthusiasm for the bike,
the helmet, my gloves, everything, was clear., They would
tap on my head to check the helmet.. They were cool. And of
course I ran across Africas only SKI LIFT serving the one
bowl they apparently ski.
The ride down, at the Sani Pass was rumored to be difficult
4x4 terrrain, but it seemed easy enough for the first 60 km.
then it Dropped. fast and steep. with big grapefruit sized
rocks, making the GS feel enormous and providing that Oh Sh-t
feeling as the runaway train effect had me repeating: "Can't
crash this bike, Can't crash this bike". Then I heard
a rumbling behind me, and when I looked back there was a KTM
950 with 2 people on it catching Me!!
Now I am repeating "Can't get passed by a 2 up bike"
But then I heard no more rumbling, and when I stopped to look,
they were picking up the bike. I beeped to make sure everythings
OK, and they waved me off so back to the wresting match.
Earlier in the day, my zipper on my leather jacket broke,
and I was now wearing a cape, so at the bottom , I waited
for them, in order to ask which town may be able to get it
fixed. They said: "You must come with us to our house
in Pietermaritzburg, and we can organize to get it repaired
straight away in the morning"
So I did. What a place. Beautiful house with a Swimming pool,
and they insisted that their maid do my laundry, that I check
my email, and charge my camera, all before the fabulous Braai
(Cookout bbq) is served. And after visiting with the entire
family with their super nice kids, they showed me my private
room with the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on.
So from that "hostel" to this place, a lot can
happen in a day.
Now its back to the beach of Coffee Bay.
Enjoy the pics
Ujuon
Well, once again, the waves at J-bay were kak, so after a
dawn patrol walking the beach along world famous supertubes,
and watching perfect 3ft waves peel onto the rocks, I loaed
up the beg Yellow bike for a full days ride northwest, through
Baviaanskloof, a reomote wilderness area between the coast
and the Klien Karoo(Little Desert).
Following the unmarked roads leading gernerally NW, I climbed
into a beautiful little region of Citrus plantations, and
well kept farms. Complete with colorful flowers alongside
the road, and Tractors pulling wagons filled with well dressed
workers going to church. It is Sunday. And I must mention
the kids which come sprinting from thier houses to the edge
of the road jumping and waving and cheering the big yellow
motorbike!
Once the pavement ended, and I was into the national park
land, it became more clear why people were so puzzeled when
I mentioned my planned route. This is not the way to go if
one actuallly wants to get somewhere. Unless a oneway dirt
road snaking through narrow canyons is where you want to get.
A sign advised "road not suitable for Salon cars".
And at least the narrow canyons were shady. Soon however,
it started to climb up the first mtn pass. What that means
is Rain Ruts. Once again the conditions tested the offroad
agility of the Uber-GS with rocky-rutty 1st gear uphills.
An hour later I was again cruising fast (40 mph) in 3rd gear,
through pure wilderness, with no living creatures in sight,
except for the KUDU which leapt from the bushes not 30 yards
in front of me! ( a kudu is a giant deer like animal with
funky spirally horns).
Yikes.
All along there'd been stream crossings, ususlly breif and
easy, but now they were getting a bit more serious. With nobody
around to test it out, there was one sure way to see exactly
how deep and slick it's gonna be. If the Uber-bike has anything
on its side, it's momentum.
The spray made it up over the windshield, the cylinders were
1/2 submerged, it was all gurggly sounding, and I had to soakers
from the thighs down, but no real drama and I was on the other
side. Of course this scene repeated twice more, but I was
already soaked.
3 hrs later I climbed the last pass hoping it would be a
little cooler up high, but no such luck and I was wishing
there were more water crossings. After fueling up in Willowmore,
all I could do was soak my t-shirt with water, and ride through
to Oudtshoorn, the Ostrich capital of the world. Turns out
that it WAS hot, over 40 degess C which is some kind of 100
plus degrees, so I was certainly glad to see the place I found
to stay had a POOL!
All's good, hope you're all well too.
Juan of the blastfurnace
Hello again, It's Juon with more travel ramblings as they
appear in my head.
I( wrote last about the splendid ride through Baviaanskloof
and the highlights along the way. That ride took me to Oudtshoorn,
"Ostrich Capital of the world", where all things,
including meals, are Ostrich. And if you've not tried Ostrich
meat, you may be pleasntly surprised, I don't know why its
not more common in US. But Oudtshoorn is in what they call
the "Klien Karoo" meaning Little desert, as Opposed
to the Great Karoo which is endlessly expansive, arid and
beautiful. But of course whichever Karoo one visits, there
will be no waves. After Jeffreys Bay, I'd resigned to the
fact that when you visit during the summer, the coeans are
quiet, and waves may be scarce. That's just the way surfing
goes. So after a day of Ostrich education, including riding
them, and exploring the World Famous Cango Caves, I returned
to the pleasant B&B/ hostel called Karoo Soul for a splendid
sunset over the desert. So of course it caught my eye when
the owners of the place drove in and unpacked a surfboard
from their Land Rover. The Owner's name is Gavin Fish (perfect)and
I had to ask hime where he'd been. And I asked if the waves
wer flat as I had seen only days before. He confirmed that
the Ocean is quiet,But a sly grin crossed his face, and he
admitted to knowing a place that gets waves when others have
nothing. It's called Mossel Bay.
Mossel Bay is not a tiny little beach known to only a few
diehards, its a full sized city. I'd seen it on my map, and
made a few notes about including "industrial, and skip",
based on what i'd read and heard. But the detail I remebered
most from my research was the big tourism draw noted on my
map "Shark Diving Cages"
great.
But Gavin had that "I just got some" look in his
eyes, and he told me where to go , and a place to stay with
a longtime surfing buddy of his (Durr) who owns another Hostel
there.
On the road at 7am and over the Robinson Pass where it was
rain and fog, and an hour later I was pulling into Mossel
Bay wondering why none of the Robots were working.
In South Africa, Stop lights are called Robots!
In fact, no lights were working as one of S aFrica persistent
problems is Power cuts, un-announced and rather inconvenient.
I eventually found Durr's Hostel, and he pointed me to "the
Point" where he said I may not find much for waves. damn.
But with nothing elso to do, I rode to the Point. And it was
kinda small. glassy, but small. a few srfers in the water,
and a few hanging out watching, and waiting for it to improve.
I exchanged a few words, then sat on the wall watching the
small-clean waves roll through. And after an hour or so the
sets which had previously appeared barely rideable, were now
head high or better, and not too slow. and the guys who'd
been lingering were nowscurrying off to thier trucks and suiting
up. On guy, a Sun-bleached veteran looking guy who knew everyone
grabbed his longboard, andwas headed towards the lineup, wearing
cut off blue jeans for trunks. No wetsuit, not even a rash
guard. style! And as he passed me he said "there's a
7'6" in that truck over there, you're welcome to ride
it".
You don't have to offer that twice, and though I had a wetsuit
on the bike, I couldn't peel that onafter seeing hime wearing
just blujeans so I slipped into my usual Trunks and rash guard
and hoped the water would be warm enough. After negotiating
the rocks and managing to get into the water cleanly without
damaging his board, I tried to find my place in a lineup of
strangers at a strange wave, without stepping on any toes.
but having Old Joe's board helped, and they were friendly
and soon I was ripping down overhead rights, and even making
the faster sections. The water was warm, and the rain was
scattered, and just as I felt that I was figuring the place
out, the tide had shifted and the waves slowed to a crawl.
And now I haad to figure out how to get out of the water without
crunching the board, and so I made a dash for the small inlet
channel, made it, and was nearly cleanly out of the rocks
when I stepped on an URchin and imbedded a bunch of Urchin
spikes in my foot!
Crap. Later the locals said "Oh yead dude, I shoulda
told you about them", as they instructed me on the proper
extraction proceedure involving a hypodermic needle. Over
Coffee I found out the Mr. Blue jeans is named Joe, he surfs
here everyday, all day, is 48 yrs old, and grew up surfing
with Gavin (Karoo Soul) right there at that very spot. He
said he'd meet me there again at 7 am if I wanted to surf
again, and the next morning it was bigger, and abit more serious,
and completey different from the previous day, and I had to
learn it all new again. In the water Joe told me to "GO!"
on a 7 ft wave that was feathering to my right and to my eye
was sure to break and crush me, but he said I could make it,
so the next time I trusted his advise and dropped in on a
nice fast wall that made my trip.
He also told me about an underwater rock named "peanut
butter" named for the surfers who get Spread over it!
his board was just small enough that I could duck dive under
the bigger close-out sets, but the tide cahnges fast and on
one of those duck dives, I met "peanut Butter",
and now had a ding to fix on his board. damn.
But 10 waves and 2 hrs later I was late for meeting Dirk
back in the Klien Karoo, but we stopped off at the local surf
shop where I made some deals with the owner for ding repair
among other purchases, and I Was rolling north before 11am.
And I wrote all of this not just for a surf story, but also
a reflection on the nature of traveling and the lessons learned.
Only after accepting that I may not get a lot of surf on this
trip, did the stars line up in the most unexpected places,
and come together, resulting in great waves. And also the
patience of just sitting quitely at the beach, observing and
waiting, and then the generosity of the local stragers came
through. It seems that a trip has it's own rythym, and one
can only find it, and not change it. Perhaps it's not just
travel that works that way.
Juan
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