Two old ladies and the open road

Some of you may know Amelia’s history, but for the purposes of this Report, all I’ll say is that she’s no youngster – nine years old with plenty of mileage. In fact, her odometer stood at 79,948 on Sunday 12 August when we left Jozi for Cape Town via Bloemfontein. I normally avoid highways when I’m on the bike, but this ride was not a pleasure ride and I didn’t have time to turn off when I found interesting places or to take photographs. I spent my last trip on the bike visiting small towns and taking photographs of churches and the bike at the “Welcome to…” sign at the entrance to the towns.

With a fair amount of luggage packed, the two of us set off on Sunday at 08:30. Weather was clear but fairly chilly, typical Highveld winter conditions. I looked and felt like the Michelin Man with all the layers I had on – thermal long johns, X-Kulcha jeans, thermal socks and snowboarding pants, rounded off with three layers of thermal tops, waterproof winter jacket, balaclava and finally winter gloves. The wind started fairly early into the ride and I spent most of it crouched low so that my neck didn’t get tired from the buffeting winds. Even with all the layers the chilly wind had a way of working itself into annoying places, chilling me somewhat. By the time we got to Bloemfontein, the wind had really picked up speed and I had quite a time keeping my little bike up straight. We’d made good time, riding 406km in four hours with howling winds from all sides.

We both had a good rest, with me visiting my mom and brother and Amelia waiting patiently in the Bloemfontein cold for our next leg the following morning. The original plan was to overnight in Beaufort West but I saw that a cold front with 80% rain was predicted for Cape Town for Tuesday. That made me decide to do the 1,014km in one stretch.

We left at 07:45, both with full tummies and a song inside us. We took the R706 to Jagersfontein and then R704 to Trompsburg to avoid the road works on the N1. Even with the world lacking in colour other than brown, these roads were made for bikes. One or two potholes of no great size and one could see for miles, especially in the wind still conditions. Not a blade of grass or leaf stirred and the sun was sparkling with the promise of summer around the corner. It was one of those perfect biking days where you had a good bike under you with a cheerfully humming engine, perfect weather, beautiful countryside to enjoy and the promise of more to come. I wanted those few kilometres to last forever, it was that perfect!

But like all good things it had to come to an end and we turned onto the highway for the proper ride to Cape Town. I was in total wonderment once again at our beautiful countryside. Rolling Free State hills, sheep grazing, clear blue skies, a good road, outstanding bike – why are we so scared to explore our own country? Always heading off overseas to “broaden our horizons” but finding our own country a bore? That thought cemented itself the further into the ride we got.

Just before Springfontein I picked up a chap in a purple CLS convertible and I stayed behind him all the way to Colesberg where he turned off to Port Elizabeth. We maintained our speed and he made sure to slow down where we had to – I appreciated that because I could give my concentration a bit of a rest. He gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up when I passed him – I wonder if he knew I was a woman?

I noticed little flowers along the way just after Colesberg which became more prolific as we travelled further south. Banks of orange and yellow daisies; the tiniest purple flowers carpeting the sides of the road; meter tall bushes with yellow star-shaped flowers. Our country is full of wonderment, if we only care to look properly. Even with the single goal of getting to Cape Town before nightfall, I could still look and appreciate what I saw.

Around Three Sisters the wind picked up and never lessened in intensity the rest of the way. From then on I spent all my time lying down hugging Amelia. Closer to Beaufort West the white capped mountains loomed larger and the air took on a chill. The further south we went the more the air smelled of snow.

We were blessed with the absence of traffic all the way from Colesberg – a few trucks which made way for us when they could but otherwise a car or two whose drivers looked at us with envy as we passed them. Most people have the yearning to experience the open road on a bike and when they see somebody obviously on a road trip, that yearning becomes more pronounced.

Touws River gave us our first taste of the Cape’s twisties, not hectic corners, but just enough to whet the appetite for more. We went through the De Doorns valley with kids pointing and joyfully shouting at this lone biker on their road. I was starting to get tired and when we got to Du Toit’s Kloof I was extremely careful with the bends, not wanting to make a mistake so close to journey’s end. The tunnel is a piece of engineering wonder, but I will not travel through there again on a bike – it was oppressive and my breathing became laboured in that stale air. Next time I will take the alternate route and enjoy the scenery.

I timed my arrival in Cape Town perfectly – afternoon rush hour! Fortunately I had enough energy left to lane split in a strange town and once again I proved that being courteous and splitting at the proper speed, people WILL make way for you. I had only two incidents but my experience in Jozi traffic prepared me for it – experience is a wonderful thing!

I arrived in Muizenberg exactly nine hours after starting my trip, tired but happy that we arrived safe and sound.

I reflected once again on how great life can actually be – wonderful friends who care for you, great roads to enjoy, loving family awaiting your safe return and a body that can actually function and that can feel the pain of a long journey on a bike.

So get out there and enjoy life people, it’s fleeting and you get only one chance!

Today the promised cold front hit early and I was pleased that I made the decision to ride through – arriving in Cape Town in this wind and rain would have been most unpleasant.

Fuel consumption was 4L/100km (26.3km/L), not Econorun figures but nevertheless excellent considering my speed and the hectic winds we encountered.

Of EXQUISITE and DEAR things

This day is made for the monumentally suicidal. The updated weather forecast says “Mostly cloudy” which is overstated optimism. The mountain is shrouded in the kind of mist that is determined to last for ever, to become a legend spoken of in awe by people not yet born.

So I’m restless and grab a girly magazine – I don’t like these magazines, they’re too shallow and assume I think the same as the rest of the female population – but it’s lying on the counter, bought for a 20 word caption under a picture mentioning my niece. I find these types of magazines dictate a uniform which doesn’t suit me and tell me that if I want to be eternally happy, I should a) find the perfect man (you cannot possibly live without one of them and we’ll tell you how to catch one), or b) I need to realise, accept and yes! embrace! that I’m either gay (which is still frowned upon but which we won’t admit to) or abnormal (which should make me sublimely unhappy).

While I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, I page through the first few advertisements for perfumes which will make me irresistible to the opposite sex (or the same sex – see above). On page 27 is an article by Nataniël, our local conscience and waker-upper of long forgotten mores. He’s unflinchingly gay, sexually and emotionally, and I love him. I read his article where he asks how we are soothed and he goes on to tell of his gift Encyclopedia  of the Exquisite given him by his friend Diane which makes him think of what is exquisite in his life. He has fallen in love with a coat made for one of his stage shows by Floris Louw and wants to be buried in it. He loves the new CD by 3rd World Spectator called The Theory of Everything. Not major things like sweeping landscapes and the usual dew-drop-on-a-petal kind of exquisite, but the smaller and therefore possessed of greater impact, things to marvel at.

I look out the window where the mountain should be and reflect on what those exquisite things in MY life are. I’m overwhelmed by the task and realise I should distinguish between What is exquisite and What is dear. It is the perfect day to brood and become poetic about life. It is no easy task and I decide to brood over a raw chicken, stare at it for awhile until I decide how it is to be prepared to show it how immensely grateful we are for its demise.

I shall get back to you about both the chicken and the poetry in my life.

I have neglected my blog for too long. I realise nobody really reads it, but if one person can find inspiration from one of my stories, I'm content.

I promise to do better!