“Sjeez, I just can’t believe my bike’s died like this,” exclaimed the “Stone”, sweat and exasperation dripping from his contorted face in equal measure.
We’d stopped for the mandatory roosterkoek brunch at the Buffeljagsrivier BP petrol station just outside Swellendam when disaster struck.
After filling the bikes with petrol, David “Sempei” Lowe and I had already ordered our roosterkoeke when we noticed the “Stone” still on the forecourt, arms outstretched to the heavens, head back and spouting a stream of expletives like a gusher from a Texas oil well. Rushing over to find out what was wrong, we found him wrestling the key back and forth in the ignition — apparently he’d had a similar problem with the contacts once before.
So it was off with the ignition cover and a lot of poking and prodding of wires ensued, but the ignition lights still failed to come on. Then we turned to the battery and discovered the nub of the problem – it was deader than the current world economy and could not even be jump- or push-started. Again, strikingly similar to the world economy. We even tried putting David’s battery into the “Stone’s” bike, starting the bike, removing David’s battery and putting the “Stone’s” old one back – but the bike cut out after just a few minutes. Clearly these sophisticated; electronically dependant machines need a healthy battery to function.
We were just starting to make plans for the “Stone” to get picked up and taken back to Cape Town (BMW road side assistance quoted a ludicrously expensive R4,500 so my good lady Annette was preparing to rescue him with our trailer) when Ivor Fisher stepped into our lives and effectively salvaged our trip. Ivor was on his way to the Buffalo Rally with his son on his Suzuki Hayabusa when he noticed us struggling and decided to lend a hand. Long story short, he arranged it so the “Stone” and David could ride to George (two-up on David’s GS 1200 Adventure) and collect a new battery from Donovan Schreiber and Lynn Hill of Lynn Schroeder BMW. And all this great service on a public holiday – hats off to all of you.
Needless to say our plans to ride the back roads behind Heidelberg to Gysemanshoek and then onto Groenfontein Farm via Vanwyksdorp, Rooiberg Pass and Calitzdorp were now in tatters. But at least we’d had a pleasant ride into Swellendam on some of the Overberg’s finest back tracks and the trip of the “Three Amigos” – the first in over a year can you believe — had been more or less salvaged.
With the “Stone” and David having joined the howling squadrons of bikers heading down the N2 to the “Buff” in Mossel Bay, I trundle off to Suurbrak on the tar and make for the R62 outside Barrydale. It was already 3.30 pm and there was just no way I could make it in time on the dirt trails we’d originally planned to use to get to our overnight destination.
But if you have to ride tar, the beautiful Tradouw’s Pass and the serene experience of the lesser-travelled R62 is the type of black-top that still brings a smile to my face. After wanging the KLR through the twisties of the beautiful Huisrivier Pass, I take up a comfortable position on a Calitzdorp restaurant’s stoep and savour an ice-cold Windhoek Light. While getting the latest news on the “Stone” and David’s progress — I learn they’ll only be back at Buffeljagsrivier at around 7 pm — a young man off the street surreptitiously flashes a small packet of dagga at me and enquires whether I want “to fly, my broe.” After thanking him profusely for trying to assist me in my on-going quest for flight and explaining to him that I’d rather remain with both feet on the ground, for now, he sneers disparagingly at me and skulks off; fading wraithlike into the passing parade.
The setting of Oupa Piet’s Huis on Groenfontein Farm is sublime. Up on a knoll, overlooking the thin green valley stretching into the east, the traditional double-gable house is perfectly positioned for the visitor to take in the sights and sounds of the mixed farming activities (tobacco, ostrich, cattle, fruit and lucerne) but still be removed from the hub-bub of it all. And with three bedrooms (two with double beds and one with two singles) it’s a good place for a small group of bikers like ours to spend the night.
Estimating that the boys would join me by latest 10 pm I set about preparing the braai fire which I plan to light about an hour before they arrive. Even if I want to start cooking without them, and trust me I’m tempted because I’m starving, I have nothing to braai as they have all our victuals in their baggage. Luckily, though, I do have a small stock of Salticrax, a can of Heinz chicken mayo and a healthy supply of scotch – so I should survive until they get here.
It’s getting on for midnight and I’m just about to dig into my last reserves of snacks when I hear the unmistakable beat of two boxer engines on the prowl. But as I get to the stoep expecting to see the “Stone” and David starting to head up the dirt track towards me, they glide past, oblivious, heading further east on the main Groenfontein Road. Clearly they’ve missed the farm’s signs and I start to feel like a shipwreck survivor, my braai fire signalling device clearly overlooked by the searching party.
Just as I’d completed a short eulogy for the lamb chops I’d seen disappearing over the distant rise, I saw headlights coming back from where the bikes’ taillights had recently disappeared. Miraculously, they’d turned around, and seeing them come back down the road I decide to flash the stoep light on and off — hoping that my attempts at Morse code will get their attention. Eventually, they stop opposite our cottage, but about 750 metres away on the other side of the valley. What follows is an African version of a French farce, I holler what I learn later are unintelligible directions and then I set off down the pitch dark farm track road hoping to intercept them before they head past our turn-off and wake up the neighbours at a fancy “retreat” further up the road. Of course, I did miss them and yes, they did wake up the guests at “The Retreat” who apparently weren’t terribly impressed when asked by two bleary-eyed bikers whether their brother, Nick, was staying there. But I did eventually catch up with them and we did eventually braai those much anticipated, well-thawed lamb chops and they were delicious – especially accompanied by generous drafts of red wine.
The next day dawned far too early for our liking. We’d eventually got into bed around 3.30 am and I was up around 7 am taking photographs in the early morning light. But after a shower, some strong coffee and a few breakfast snacks we were on the road by mid-morning, and were soon tackling the mind-blowingly beautiful Swartberg Pass. At last we were on the type of roads we’d been looking forward to on this trip and, despite our lack of sleep, we attacked them with gusto, as if on an enduro — albeit of our own making.
But it was the Tibetan-like alpine track into Die Hel, the enigmatically named Gamkaskloof, which really turned up the fire in our bellies. The last time I rode this track it was also with the “Stone” (over seven years ago when I still owned my faithful Yamaha XT250) and then, as now, it tempted us to test our skills, pushing ourselves to the edge of our limits through the tight bends, up the dizzying heights, over boulder-strewn river beds and through a couple of short water-crossings. The KLR was certainly up to the task and being a lot more nimble than the big Beemers I was quite a way in front. By the time we got to the top of the zig-zagging Elandspad that drops into Die Hel Valley, we were pretty exhausted and stood there panting and staring at the awesome spectacle for some time to get our breath back.
“Okay, so you guys order me a beer and I’ll go and get the keys for our cottage,” I suggested when we arrived at the restaurant down under. It seemed like a fair trade until I got to the raging torrent seven kilometres down the road. There before me was the one thing I’ve come to fear more than any sand, mud or river crossings — a concrete drift with about 20-35 cm of water rushing over it. It’s not the depth that’s the problem; it’s the possibility of slippery slime build-up on the concrete surface that poses the biggest challenge. And this particular drift was around 50-metres wide, challenging when you’re on your Pat Malone.
But there was nothing for it but to take the plunge as the keys were on the other side at Cape Nature’s information office. Steeling myself, I get up on the pegs and ease the KLR onto the drift in first gear and keep the revs steady at about 2500 rpm. All goes swimmingly until I hit the deeper patch through which the full force of the Gamka River is flowing and, seemingly due to the cold jacket of water around the cylinder head, the bike’s revs drop of their own accord. Yet, with a little judicious twisting of the throttle, I make it across and shake myself like a happy wet dog on the other side. Whew – what a rush!
Of course, I still had to get back. But somehow it was a little easier the second time around and the promise of a cold beer not too far down the road was good incentive to make it across without delay. When I eventually got back to the boys at the restaurant they said they’d been deeply concerned that I’d taken so long, so much so they’d nearly cancelled their second beer order and come looking for me. Hmmmmmmm.
Freek and Martha’s cottage — our digs for the night — is one of a number of original dwellings in the Kloof vacated by their original owners over the last 30 years which have now been bought and restored as tourist accommodation by Cape Nature. The early white settlers, known as ‘kloovers’, were a particularly tough breed of farmers. With no roads into the Kloof until the Elandspad Pass was completed in 1963, the only way for ‘kloovers’ to carry things into or out of the Kloof was by their own hand or, on some routes, by donkey. Thus, when Freek Marais, the previous owner of our overnight cottage, was finally able to buy the breast plough he’d been wanting from Calitzdorp for some time, he walked through and over the mountains to get there. After purchasing the plough, he apparently put it on his shoulders and carried it back into the Kloof the same day— an arduous round trip of around 100 km. Continuing the tale of this biltong-tough kloover’s shopping expedition, Sue van Waart, author of The Hell – valley of the lions, tells us that “…the following morning, at dawn, he (Marais) in-spanned the donkeys to do the back-breaking work that he previously had to do single-handedly.”
By four o’ clock, it already felt like it’d been a long day. The thermometer was reading 38° C and the only thing for it was to cool off in the little reservoir behind our cottage and then have a snooze before dinner. But with the thick silence that had settled over the kloof at dusk when my alarm sounded, it was very difficult to get up. But a sun downer and dinner were calling and with the “Bearded Gourmet” not being on this trip I started to prepare my take on Pasta Arabiatta — a spicy vegetable sauce served over gnocchi-shaped pasta.
Our plan for our final day’s route was to blitz it back up the trail to the Swartberg Pass; head into Prince Albert; then onto a new dirt track for me (it’s shown, yet not specifically recommended in Greg Beadle’s: Bike – Tar and Gravel adventures in South Africa) that eventually runs past the Floriskraal Dam en route to Laignsburg; then via the Witteberge dirt track to the N1 outside Touws River and finally via Worcester and Villiersdorp on tar back to Bot River.
Having enjoyed a fairly mellow ride out of Die Hel, except for whooping it up over the many made-to-be-ramped humps towards the end, we meet up with two sets of adventure bikers at the T-Junction with the Swartberg Pass. In chatting to Stefan (KTM 640) and Eon (Yamaha XT660 Tenere) from Stellenbosch, I discover that they’re also planning to do the back route to Floriskraal Dam. They tell us that they once found one of the many farm gates on this “twee-spoor” route locked, but managed to “get through anyway.”
Having ridden 12 km along this engaging farm track (you turn left at a green farm signboard about 24 km out of Prince Albert heading for the N1) their words rang in my ears as I faced a double gate with two outsized padlocks barring any further progress. There was absolutely no way we could discover to “get through anyway” – I tried some keys I had which fitted both locks yet refused to open them, while David tried in vain to pick them with a piece of barbed-wire. It turned out that the neighbouring farmer had gone away for the weekend and had locked the gates as a security measure, so using this route is a bit of a gamble.
By the time we get back to the tar road — I nearly fall over on a thick sand river crossing and David does — there’s still no sign of our prospective travelling partners, Eon and Stefan. Knowing they’re coming this way after their late breakfast in Prince Albert, I attempt some signwriting in the sand to warn them of the time-wasting detour ahead. I wonder if they deciphered my scrawl.
There was no option for us now but to face the N1’s boring blacktop and the raging headwind all the way into Laignsburg. But the prospect of a burger and a large mug of Wimpy Coffee keeps us motivated over the next 100 km. When we get into town I see the “Stone” shaking his head and when I ask him what’s wrong he tells me the GS isn’t pulling properly — his top end acceleration had gone. Deciding to check the air filter cartridge he discovers the bike’s handicap — at least half a cupful of sand was blocking the airflow.
Refuelled and revitalised after our Wimpy munchies we hit our last bit of Zen-dirt for the trip, the easy-riding Witteberge dirt track towards Touws River. Running parallel to the N1, it’s only around 15 km longer, yet infinitely more relaxing — just the tonic required to face the last enervating stretch of tar home.
Day 1: Bot River to Groenfontein Farm—Bot River to Buffeljagsrivier via Caledon, Rietpoel, Klipdale, Protem and Swellendam (144 km – 88 on dirt); from here to Calitzdorp on tar via Suurbrak, Tradouw’s Pass, Barrydale, Ladismith and Huisrivier Pass (146 km – tar) and from here to Groenfontein Farm on the Groenfontein Road (18 km – dirt). Total distance Day 1: 308 kilometres, 34% on dirt tracks. (This excludes the “Stone” and David’s round trip to George of 320 km.)
Day 2: Groenfontein Farm to Die Hel —via the balance of the Groenfontein Road, half the Swartberg Pass and the road into Die Hel (95 km – 87 on dirt). It took us some two-and-a-half hours riding time (excluding stops) to cover the full distance, with the Otto Du Plessis portion into Die Hel taking around an hour and a quarter to complete. Total distance Day 2: 95 kilometres, 92% on dirt tracks.
Day 3: Die Hel to Bot River — to Prince Albert via the remainder of the Swartberg Pass (61 km – dirt); to the farm turn-off to Floriskraal Dam (24 km – tar); to the dead-end locked gate turn-around point and back (24 km – dirt); to Laignsburg via the R407 and the N1 (104 km – tar); to the Witteberge turn-off (5 km –tar); the Witteberge dirt track (62 km – dirt); N1 to Touws River (28 km –tar) and back to Bot River via Worcester, Villiersdorp and Van der Stel Pass (150 km – 29 on dirt).
Total distance Day 3: 458 kilometres, 38% on dirt tracks.
Total distance travelled: Around 861 kilometres over 3 days — about 43% on dirt roads.
Experience required: Beginner to moderately experienced.
Best time of year to go: September to May
Route highlights: The Otto du Plessis dirt track into Die Hel, Die Hel Valley track and Gamka River crossing, the dead-end Floriskraal Dam dirt track and the Witteberge Road towards Touws River.
What it cost us: Accom. : R550 pp + petrol, food, drinks and snacks: R750 each. Total: R1, 300 ea.
Tyres and Tubeless rim conversions: After four months and some 3,500 km on all sorts of surfaces I’ve had no problems to-date, and the absolute minimum air loss. The Heidenaus continue to perform well over all surfaces; my only reservation is dealing with thick sand where a front knobbly would definitely perform better.
Accommodation: Groenfontein Farm (Oupa Piet se huis) – 044-213 3851 or www.groenfonteinfarm.co.za and Cape Nature reservations for accommodation options in Die Hel — 021-483 0190 or visit www.capenature.co.za