Most Excellent Sir! Looking forward to the next entertaining instalment. :thumleft:
A spoon of cement with your Namakwaland ... all done and dusted!
- Thread starter JustBendIt
- Start date
JustBendIt
Grey Hound
Part 3
Kakamas soon becomes a mere blip on the radar as the 3 musketeers head for Kenhardt.
The road is wide and the pace is quick.
At about 5 pm we roll into Kenhardt and pull up outside the hotel. We are shown to our room, a lekker air-conditioned little flat in the back yard.
Cold ones follow at the bar
I am starting to relax and drop my guard. Kneelo and Travolta have been broken and now accept me as their master. I have been telling them “Follow me and you will find beer.”
The Kenhardt Hotel Bar Wall is the original biker forum
Travolta cannot believe this primitive Biker Vleisbroek and wastes no time in defiling the swinging saloon doors
He is on a roll and soon picks up some pussy
We talk kak for a while quaffing cold beers and then move on to dinner – a lekker bord boerekos washed down with some Tassies.
I start winding the guys up and telling them about Verneukpan. I have been there twice before.
The first time it took us 2 days to get through - the mud was so bad. We were forced to camp on the pan in the mud amongst the miggies. Fortunately there was copious amounts of Red Heart and Green Gunston which kept the little buggers at bay. These pics are from then.
On my second visit to the pan 2 Dakars went in and only 1 came out. My mate Hedley burnt the clutch on his bike and we had to leave it there and go back in a bakkie to fetch it.
Kneelo starts to hyperventilate and a vein begins to throb on his forehead, threatening to burst. I am very glad that rocks are not allowed in the bar.
I don’t think Travolta understands cos he just grins and nods.
Maybe tomorrow will be 3rd time lucky …
To be continued ...
Kakamas soon becomes a mere blip on the radar as the 3 musketeers head for Kenhardt.
The road is wide and the pace is quick.
At about 5 pm we roll into Kenhardt and pull up outside the hotel. We are shown to our room, a lekker air-conditioned little flat in the back yard.
Cold ones follow at the bar
I am starting to relax and drop my guard. Kneelo and Travolta have been broken and now accept me as their master. I have been telling them “Follow me and you will find beer.”
The Kenhardt Hotel Bar Wall is the original biker forum
Travolta cannot believe this primitive Biker Vleisbroek and wastes no time in defiling the swinging saloon doors
He is on a roll and soon picks up some pussy
We talk kak for a while quaffing cold beers and then move on to dinner – a lekker bord boerekos washed down with some Tassies.
I start winding the guys up and telling them about Verneukpan. I have been there twice before.
The first time it took us 2 days to get through - the mud was so bad. We were forced to camp on the pan in the mud amongst the miggies. Fortunately there was copious amounts of Red Heart and Green Gunston which kept the little buggers at bay. These pics are from then.
On my second visit to the pan 2 Dakars went in and only 1 came out. My mate Hedley burnt the clutch on his bike and we had to leave it there and go back in a bakkie to fetch it.
Kneelo starts to hyperventilate and a vein begins to throb on his forehead, threatening to burst. I am very glad that rocks are not allowed in the bar.
I don’t think Travolta understands cos he just grins and nods.
Maybe tomorrow will be 3rd time lucky …
To be continued ...
JustBendIt
Grey Hound
Part 4
Kenhardt is bid a fond farewell and we’re off to “The Pan”. We are told it rained hard 2 weeks ago so I am expecting mud. Kneelo will battle to find a suitable rock here. Travolta can dance all he likes but his ekFoon will not connect to Vleisbroek and the Ottomans will have no clue where to find him.
We ride on but not for long. I am skieting along in front at about 140 and suddenly see there is a huge sandy washout in front of me. I gear down, open up and quickly put my head between my legs to kiss my arse goodbye. I almost make it but get the front wheel crossed up in the sand and go down gently.
Travolta is next. He only has front brakes. He is going way too fast. He is fucked – and he knows it. I am standing next to my fallen bike as he hits the washout. He reminds me of a rodeo cowboy as he holds on for dear life to the bucking and weaving bike only to lose the battle and get thrown over the bars as the bike somersaults and then lands on him – eina! I am paralysed with shock for a moment before I walk the 3 steps towards him – he nearly hit my sleeping KTM – how rude! The inconsiderate Turkish Vleisbroeking ekFooning Vark – what was he thinking ?
Kneelo consoles him and checks all is OK while I pull myself together – whew! – that was close! I start looking for a rock.
Kneelo saw the carnage from his tortoise position and managed to stop before the washout, but not before he hit an “invisible” rock, which put a tiny ding in his front wheel.
I chooned him “Don’t worry – it will polish out” as he held his head in his hands trying to calculate whether it would be more financially viable to claim from insurance, pay the excess and lose his no-claims bonus from Outscrewance or just kak en betaal himself – I told you I thought he was a skelm, and a laarney one at that. I really thought “Jirre vok my – he did a good job - that is like a proper Cape Flats smiley”
But seriously, Erman aka Travolta came off lightly. He was shaken up and quite dazed for a few minutes. We helped him shake the sand out of his helmet, his ears, nose, mouth, undies and boots and repack all his kit. This could have been serious but fortunately he walked away with only a bruised ego. He marked the position on his GPS as “I FLY”.
Verneukpan was just around the corner.
We emerge from the bush and see the pan for the first time. Travolta pulls out another fancy camera that has a mal 180-degree function – we strike a pose
The Pan is the driest I have ever seen it. We play in the sticky mud, throwing up rooster tails of the stuff.
Kneelo decides to go for the Healing Mud Pack Therapy from the Verneukpan Spa.
We take the obligatory pic in front of Campbell’s Track
and then switch on that fancy 180 deg view again
We gaze longingly at the flat track beyond the gate imagining all kinds of possibilities
Minutes later we are at Louis’ house on the hill aka Verneukpan Lodge.It took less than an hour to get here from the first gate, including photo stops and rondfokkery on the pan – that’s how dry it was. His wife tells me “Louis is’ie hier’ie - hy is besig op die plaas te boer met stof en klippe”. She points to the afdakkie and nods her head.
I have seen it before but it still gives me gooseflesh. Here lies Johan Jacobs’ coffin on wheels. He was killed on the first practice run of his land speed record attempt on Tuesday 27 June 2006. Read more about it here https://www.speedrecordsa.co.za/speedrecordtragedy.htm
RIP fellow speed freak – you died doing what you loved.
We wave goodbye, saddle up and head for the hills.
Stay tuned for part 5 …
Kenhardt is bid a fond farewell and we’re off to “The Pan”. We are told it rained hard 2 weeks ago so I am expecting mud. Kneelo will battle to find a suitable rock here. Travolta can dance all he likes but his ekFoon will not connect to Vleisbroek and the Ottomans will have no clue where to find him.
We ride on but not for long. I am skieting along in front at about 140 and suddenly see there is a huge sandy washout in front of me. I gear down, open up and quickly put my head between my legs to kiss my arse goodbye. I almost make it but get the front wheel crossed up in the sand and go down gently.
Travolta is next. He only has front brakes. He is going way too fast. He is fucked – and he knows it. I am standing next to my fallen bike as he hits the washout. He reminds me of a rodeo cowboy as he holds on for dear life to the bucking and weaving bike only to lose the battle and get thrown over the bars as the bike somersaults and then lands on him – eina! I am paralysed with shock for a moment before I walk the 3 steps towards him – he nearly hit my sleeping KTM – how rude! The inconsiderate Turkish Vleisbroeking ekFooning Vark – what was he thinking ?
Kneelo consoles him and checks all is OK while I pull myself together – whew! – that was close! I start looking for a rock.
Kneelo saw the carnage from his tortoise position and managed to stop before the washout, but not before he hit an “invisible” rock, which put a tiny ding in his front wheel.
I chooned him “Don’t worry – it will polish out” as he held his head in his hands trying to calculate whether it would be more financially viable to claim from insurance, pay the excess and lose his no-claims bonus from Outscrewance or just kak en betaal himself – I told you I thought he was a skelm, and a laarney one at that. I really thought “Jirre vok my – he did a good job - that is like a proper Cape Flats smiley”
But seriously, Erman aka Travolta came off lightly. He was shaken up and quite dazed for a few minutes. We helped him shake the sand out of his helmet, his ears, nose, mouth, undies and boots and repack all his kit. This could have been serious but fortunately he walked away with only a bruised ego. He marked the position on his GPS as “I FLY”.
Verneukpan was just around the corner.
We emerge from the bush and see the pan for the first time. Travolta pulls out another fancy camera that has a mal 180-degree function – we strike a pose
The Pan is the driest I have ever seen it. We play in the sticky mud, throwing up rooster tails of the stuff.
Kneelo decides to go for the Healing Mud Pack Therapy from the Verneukpan Spa.
We take the obligatory pic in front of Campbell’s Track
and then switch on that fancy 180 deg view again
We gaze longingly at the flat track beyond the gate imagining all kinds of possibilities
Minutes later we are at Louis’ house on the hill aka Verneukpan Lodge.It took less than an hour to get here from the first gate, including photo stops and rondfokkery on the pan – that’s how dry it was. His wife tells me “Louis is’ie hier’ie - hy is besig op die plaas te boer met stof en klippe”. She points to the afdakkie and nods her head.
I have seen it before but it still gives me gooseflesh. Here lies Johan Jacobs’ coffin on wheels. He was killed on the first practice run of his land speed record attempt on Tuesday 27 June 2006. Read more about it here https://www.speedrecordsa.co.za/speedrecordtragedy.htm
RIP fellow speed freak – you died doing what you loved.
We wave goodbye, saddle up and head for the hills.
Stay tuned for part 5 …
Laban
Race Dog
Nice Boet, nice :thumleft:
Sprocketbek
Race Dog
Lovely RR, Justin. I'm enjoying every little bit.
BTW, that car is the one & only Goggomobil.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goggomobil
BTW, that car is the one & only Goggomobil.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goggomobil
Harry the Buffalo
Race Dog
Well written Bud................Enjoy reeding your RR :thumleft:
JustBendIt
Grey Hound
Part 5
Our tummies are rumbling and we need some lunch – I suggest the WindPomp in Brandvlei so we head there and cross this river on our way.
and then pull over a few km later to wait for Travolta
Louis’ wife warned us about locust swarms between Verneukpan and Brandvlei. None of us really gave it a second thought – until we hit the first one …
It is one of the freakiest things I have ever experienced on a bike – all you could see was a black haze in front of you and then you hit it. My bike and I cut a swathe through the swarm while hundreds of horrible locusts met their end on my visor, chest, screen, legs, headlight, forks, pegs – in fact every little frontal area was covered in yellow and green locust juice. I’m sure some of these kamikaze pilots had body armour on and pinpoint guidance systems because it hurt like hell when they hit me on my nipples – even through my Acerbis ballistic jacket. I felt naar and had a little dry kots in my helmet – I can only imagine what a plague of biblical proportions must look like. The best way through was to duck down and go like hell. Unfortunately there are no pics of this cos Travolta didn’t want to stop and take some – how inconsiderate of him! Did he expect me to stop? 'tsek!
I am still picking dead locusts off my bike 2 weeks later – yuck!
Lunch at the WindPomp was great – we all had lekker dik cheesy greasy pizzas but drank Coke Lite and Sprite Zero cos we are finally tuned athletes and refuse to put kak in our bodies. Dessert was provided by our good friend Peter Stuyvesant, also known as Pieter Stuif-in-die-sand in this neck of the woods.
Kneelo wound up his phone and it soon beeped with incoming messages. One of them was from his china Gadaffi who offered to split the bill for the Central African revolution in exchange for a small 16 room holiday house in the jungle, complete with helipad and gun turrets all round. Travolta logged on to Vleisbroek – there was a post on his wall from the Ottomans that read “we are at DEFCON 4 and standing by – just say the word”
We met a regte boerseun en sy vrou from Mafikeng at the WindPomp – they were on their way home after a 3 week round trip of SA on a brand new 990R. I have never seen so many panniers, tank bags, extra fuel tanks, toilet roll holders and allerhandse kak on a bike – and they were 2 up! – this thing must have had a combined GVM of 500 kg – I told them to steer clear of any weighbridges cos they might get fined for overloading. Sounds like they were having a great time – always lekker to check ‘n oke and his goose on “their” boney.
It was now about 2 pm on Thursday afternoon 24 March – our overnight stop would be Middelpos. We had got lazy by now and left our tyres at 2.5 bar front and back no matter tar or dirt. We took a leisurely ride out of town and were back on the dirt in no time, carving our way through the terrain towards Calvinia. Crossed-Up had very kindly loaded a few gigs of maps on my GPS and it told us to turn left off the R63 about 16 clicks before Calvinia. This turned out to be an awesome technical track – 60 km long with sand, rocks, steep climbs and even steeper descents – just magic.
Just before the road to Middelpos. Travolta’s bike now only has a centre stand left which makes the dismounts very funny, especially with MX boots and a high load on the back.
We arrive at the Middelpos hotel and are welcomed by Ouma, deep in her 90’s. Kneelo takes a fancy but she politely rebukes him and tells him she is betrothed and due to wed as soon as her man comes back from the war.
Koos, Ouma’s neef and the owner of all things in the dorp of Middelpos, is world famous for breeding pedigree Boerbuls and they are some big ones here
Travolta spots one of the breeding bitches complete with the saggiest tits I have ever seen (no offence to the ladies on this forum) and gets all misty-eyed. He tells me she reminds him of his on/off ex in Istanbul who he misses terribly, except the dog has less hair and doesn’t drool as much. He hopes her parents will let her out of her cage for a bit so he can send her a message on Vleisbroek later. He tells me she is very “special” – I bet she is.
That night Ouma washed all our gear and pressed and ironed it in the morning. She insisted we look spickelish when we arrived at the Bash.
Tomorrow we hook up with the Dogs at the Bash …
Our tummies are rumbling and we need some lunch – I suggest the WindPomp in Brandvlei so we head there and cross this river on our way.
and then pull over a few km later to wait for Travolta
Louis’ wife warned us about locust swarms between Verneukpan and Brandvlei. None of us really gave it a second thought – until we hit the first one …
It is one of the freakiest things I have ever experienced on a bike – all you could see was a black haze in front of you and then you hit it. My bike and I cut a swathe through the swarm while hundreds of horrible locusts met their end on my visor, chest, screen, legs, headlight, forks, pegs – in fact every little frontal area was covered in yellow and green locust juice. I’m sure some of these kamikaze pilots had body armour on and pinpoint guidance systems because it hurt like hell when they hit me on my nipples – even through my Acerbis ballistic jacket. I felt naar and had a little dry kots in my helmet – I can only imagine what a plague of biblical proportions must look like. The best way through was to duck down and go like hell. Unfortunately there are no pics of this cos Travolta didn’t want to stop and take some – how inconsiderate of him! Did he expect me to stop? 'tsek!
I am still picking dead locusts off my bike 2 weeks later – yuck!
Lunch at the WindPomp was great – we all had lekker dik cheesy greasy pizzas but drank Coke Lite and Sprite Zero cos we are finally tuned athletes and refuse to put kak in our bodies. Dessert was provided by our good friend Peter Stuyvesant, also known as Pieter Stuif-in-die-sand in this neck of the woods.
Kneelo wound up his phone and it soon beeped with incoming messages. One of them was from his china Gadaffi who offered to split the bill for the Central African revolution in exchange for a small 16 room holiday house in the jungle, complete with helipad and gun turrets all round. Travolta logged on to Vleisbroek – there was a post on his wall from the Ottomans that read “we are at DEFCON 4 and standing by – just say the word”
We met a regte boerseun en sy vrou from Mafikeng at the WindPomp – they were on their way home after a 3 week round trip of SA on a brand new 990R. I have never seen so many panniers, tank bags, extra fuel tanks, toilet roll holders and allerhandse kak on a bike – and they were 2 up! – this thing must have had a combined GVM of 500 kg – I told them to steer clear of any weighbridges cos they might get fined for overloading. Sounds like they were having a great time – always lekker to check ‘n oke and his goose on “their” boney.
It was now about 2 pm on Thursday afternoon 24 March – our overnight stop would be Middelpos. We had got lazy by now and left our tyres at 2.5 bar front and back no matter tar or dirt. We took a leisurely ride out of town and were back on the dirt in no time, carving our way through the terrain towards Calvinia. Crossed-Up had very kindly loaded a few gigs of maps on my GPS and it told us to turn left off the R63 about 16 clicks before Calvinia. This turned out to be an awesome technical track – 60 km long with sand, rocks, steep climbs and even steeper descents – just magic.
Just before the road to Middelpos. Travolta’s bike now only has a centre stand left which makes the dismounts very funny, especially with MX boots and a high load on the back.
We arrive at the Middelpos hotel and are welcomed by Ouma, deep in her 90’s. Kneelo takes a fancy but she politely rebukes him and tells him she is betrothed and due to wed as soon as her man comes back from the war.
Koos, Ouma’s neef and the owner of all things in the dorp of Middelpos, is world famous for breeding pedigree Boerbuls and they are some big ones here
Travolta spots one of the breeding bitches complete with the saggiest tits I have ever seen (no offence to the ladies on this forum) and gets all misty-eyed. He tells me she reminds him of his on/off ex in Istanbul who he misses terribly, except the dog has less hair and doesn’t drool as much. He hopes her parents will let her out of her cage for a bit so he can send her a message on Vleisbroek later. He tells me she is very “special” – I bet she is.
That night Ouma washed all our gear and pressed and ironed it in the morning. She insisted we look spickelish when we arrived at the Bash.
Tomorrow we hook up with the Dogs at the Bash …
Awesome report :thumleft:
Thanks for posting
Thanks for posting
JustBendIt
Grey Hound
We hosed them off at Louis' house - I was kak bang that all the mud in the radiators might cause overheating problems later on.
LeonDude
Bachelor Dog
- Joined
- Sep 26, 2007
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- 10,628
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- Gauteng - Centurion
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Very nice RR :thumleft: .
Hope you are now going to do a few more in the future!
Hope you are now going to do a few more in the future!
Andy660
Grey Hound
Hey Justin , Awesome RR,
POWERFLOW STYLE !!
https://www.flickr.com/photos/fine-cars/2386916748/in/set-72157607133770560/
POWERFLOW STYLE !!
https://www.flickr.com/photos/fine-cars/2386916748/in/set-72157607133770560/
JustBendIt
Grey Hound
Part 6
There is no rush to leave Middelpos – we only have a short ride of a few hours to the bash at Stonehenge from here.
I try and sleep late but Ouma is frisky and wants to spoon. Travolta has unpacked his laptop and plakked it back together with duct tape. He is in Vleisbroek and Twatter heaven, tapping away at the keyboard like Liberace tickling the ivory keys. He makes contact with the Ottoman High Command and formally requests them to stand down – he is now OK. Kneelo dons his bi-focals and sms’s Gaddafi to tell him the deal is on and to confirm what carat of gold leaf is required on Muammar’s toilet seats – little does the Colonel know that Kneelo has some surplus golden loos left over from Saddam’s spot in Baghdad stored in the bunker under his Houtbaai paleis – he is getting schnaaied here “Kneelo style”
Wile waiting for brekkie we kill time and fiddle with the bikes on the stoep. I pick dead kamikaze locusts from everywhere and have another little dry kots in the back of my throat.
I take off the seat to check a few things and see my ally rear subframe is cracked right through – that’s what 10kg of fuel will do bouncing up and down on corrugated roads – its OK I know an oke who knows an oke who used to weld submarines together - under water nogal - this will be a piece of piss for him to fix.
I help Travolta with his Dkr – it is now abbreviated because it is half the bike it used to be. We do a MP Conversion (Mitchells Plein) and use a few hundred cable ties and 4 rolls of brown tape to secure everything.
Ouma makes us a hearty breakfast of maltabella, toast with appelkoos konfyt, free-range eggs and some boerie. We wash this down with 5l of Ricoffy and all beetle off to send our regards to Mugabe again.
We pack up, settle up and fill up – ready to hit the road at a very civilised 10 am.
I am going to take the boys on a small detour into Matjieskloof to look for boesman paintings I have heard about. We find the kloof and look around but see nothing - I skeem the boesman have packed up the gallery and moved somewhere like St. George’s Mall where there is more foot traffic.
Up ahead we see some abandoned corbelled houses up the road and use them as an excuse to stop for a pee.
Travolta misses his camel in Istanbul and we quickly make a plan to put a smile on his dial again.
We get back on the R354 and are now making a beeline for the Bash. The Karoo shows us some of its awesome roads, from fast but loose marbled stuff to slow and technical paths too.
Gannaga Pass lies ahead. We stop at the top and marvel at what lies beneath. It really is breathtaking.
I lead the boys down and stop for another pic.
The Pass is very steep and has some super tight hairpin turns. I kak Travolta out for riding so slow – he retorts with something about no back brake and deep tissue bruising – “whatever!” – I tell him to take a spoon of cement and HTFU.
We all make it safely through the sandy washouts at the bottom of Gannaga Pass – by now we are all rally gods and our skills almost rival those of Jacko, the god of riding and driving all things offroad.
Kneelo rode the recce run for this bash and shows us exactly where to turn, his faultless navigation pulled from his own mental memory bank – no GPS for this oke. I think “wow” – this oke is gifted just like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. A few turns later I see the orange marker stickers with arrows pointing the way.
We slowly ride 3 abreast through the back gate at Stonehenge and stop in front of the circus tent, expecting to be welcomed by ululating Wild Dogs and uber-hot Tankwa chicks throwing their panties at us – nobody even looks up from their beers. There are no chicks here – WTF?
The horses are tied up and unsaddled. The 3 cowboys soon join their mates under the shade of the tent and down some cold beers.
We talk kak for a while and tell tall stories of lands conquered, virgins enlightened and bars quaffed dry.
I go outside and spot this.
Pissed-On Pete’s embarrassing bike of blingness in all its new black and orange glory. I quickly MMS my moodley half cousin Raj in Lenasia a pic cos I know he will smaak this. Raj sprays his SooBaRoo in the same colours the next day.
More Dogs arrive and the party gets underway. The bar is buzzing.
Fires are lit in preparation for the traditional Souf Efrican meat sacrificing ceremony
I order the Tankwa Veggie Special
and do the cooking for the Reccie Riders Crew in exchange for all I can drink.
The food is fantastic – big up to the local veggie farmers. Below is one of the farmers, Mof, checking out the latest crop
apparently he grows mean cabbages that taste just like sheep.
After dinner Butterbean retires to the lounge to discuss Nietzsche and Freud with the Greyhounds.
He soon realises he is way out of his depth and skilfully changes the topic of conversation to the hydroponic cultivation of turbo cabbage. Edgy leans forward in his seat and takes mental notes. I think the Bean’s “lighting business” is a cover up for something more green growing underground in Bree St. I am surrounded by skelms, the very people my mother warned me about – it is kief.
Jacko, Stoetie and Fouriekop take over the decks and are soon mixing De La Rey, Die Antwoord and David Kramer with some weird rhythmic underlay that sounds like an ossewa descending Die Hel. This plays on deep into the Tankwa night. Travolta and I pass out in each other’s arms. Kneelo has brought back the Group Areas Act and is camping with the laarney’s in their own fenced off security estate, far away from the “mense”.
On Saturday morning we get up early to see the Dogs off on their ride. We are going home today – this is the last stage of our Rally Tour.
For some weird unknown reason Travolta is absolutely gaga about Eish Pees. He tells me they are rarer than rocking horse shit in Turkey. There are a klomp Eish Pees here – Travolta has a semi. He takes pics of this famous one and its owner.
He cannot believe Leftless is, well, left less and still rides like he does. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I had never seen him in action – he is blerrie good and his lack of left does not slow him down one bit.
We watch from the hill as Leftless leads the Dogs out.
Soon it is our turn to say goodbye and we ride out of Stonehenge together. I am sad – our rally tour is nearly over.
We skim over the surface of the R355 – probably the kakkest and most dangerous gravel road in the country – dangerous because it is so boring it lulls you into riding / driving too fast for your own good. I see plenty of skid marks along the road – evidence of dozy drivers catching a nasty wake up call.
I ride ahead to get these last 2 shots of Kneelo and Travolta throwing up some dust.
Ceres is a chip and a put away. We pull in, fill up, and are off like a Jewish foreskin. This is not a lekker place to be on a Saturday morning – more crazy than a downtown market in Mumbai. People jaywalking, cars hooting, music blaring and tempers fraying – welcome back to “civilisation”
Kneelo leads the way out of town and we stop for a lunch at the top of Bain’s Kloof. Travolta buys us lunch. We all talk about our feelings and end off with a group hug.
At the bottom of Bain’s we skiet through Wellington and are soon on the N1. Kneelo and I peel off on to the M5 and Travolta rides straight to his possie in Greenpoint. Kneelo and I turn on to the N2 and then the M3 – he soon turns off in the direction of Hout Bay and waves goodbye. I am all alone – it feels really kak and I nearly cry in my helmet. 10 minutes later I am home and my bokkie and my laaitie are waiting for me on the tweespoor driveway. I forget all about Kneelo, Travolta and the Rally Tour. I am home.
THE END
There is no rush to leave Middelpos – we only have a short ride of a few hours to the bash at Stonehenge from here.
I try and sleep late but Ouma is frisky and wants to spoon. Travolta has unpacked his laptop and plakked it back together with duct tape. He is in Vleisbroek and Twatter heaven, tapping away at the keyboard like Liberace tickling the ivory keys. He makes contact with the Ottoman High Command and formally requests them to stand down – he is now OK. Kneelo dons his bi-focals and sms’s Gaddafi to tell him the deal is on and to confirm what carat of gold leaf is required on Muammar’s toilet seats – little does the Colonel know that Kneelo has some surplus golden loos left over from Saddam’s spot in Baghdad stored in the bunker under his Houtbaai paleis – he is getting schnaaied here “Kneelo style”
Wile waiting for brekkie we kill time and fiddle with the bikes on the stoep. I pick dead kamikaze locusts from everywhere and have another little dry kots in the back of my throat.
I take off the seat to check a few things and see my ally rear subframe is cracked right through – that’s what 10kg of fuel will do bouncing up and down on corrugated roads – its OK I know an oke who knows an oke who used to weld submarines together - under water nogal - this will be a piece of piss for him to fix.
I help Travolta with his Dkr – it is now abbreviated because it is half the bike it used to be. We do a MP Conversion (Mitchells Plein) and use a few hundred cable ties and 4 rolls of brown tape to secure everything.
Ouma makes us a hearty breakfast of maltabella, toast with appelkoos konfyt, free-range eggs and some boerie. We wash this down with 5l of Ricoffy and all beetle off to send our regards to Mugabe again.
We pack up, settle up and fill up – ready to hit the road at a very civilised 10 am.
I am going to take the boys on a small detour into Matjieskloof to look for boesman paintings I have heard about. We find the kloof and look around but see nothing - I skeem the boesman have packed up the gallery and moved somewhere like St. George’s Mall where there is more foot traffic.
Up ahead we see some abandoned corbelled houses up the road and use them as an excuse to stop for a pee.
Travolta misses his camel in Istanbul and we quickly make a plan to put a smile on his dial again.
We get back on the R354 and are now making a beeline for the Bash. The Karoo shows us some of its awesome roads, from fast but loose marbled stuff to slow and technical paths too.
Gannaga Pass lies ahead. We stop at the top and marvel at what lies beneath. It really is breathtaking.
I lead the boys down and stop for another pic.
The Pass is very steep and has some super tight hairpin turns. I kak Travolta out for riding so slow – he retorts with something about no back brake and deep tissue bruising – “whatever!” – I tell him to take a spoon of cement and HTFU.
We all make it safely through the sandy washouts at the bottom of Gannaga Pass – by now we are all rally gods and our skills almost rival those of Jacko, the god of riding and driving all things offroad.
Kneelo rode the recce run for this bash and shows us exactly where to turn, his faultless navigation pulled from his own mental memory bank – no GPS for this oke. I think “wow” – this oke is gifted just like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. A few turns later I see the orange marker stickers with arrows pointing the way.
We slowly ride 3 abreast through the back gate at Stonehenge and stop in front of the circus tent, expecting to be welcomed by ululating Wild Dogs and uber-hot Tankwa chicks throwing their panties at us – nobody even looks up from their beers. There are no chicks here – WTF?
The horses are tied up and unsaddled. The 3 cowboys soon join their mates under the shade of the tent and down some cold beers.
We talk kak for a while and tell tall stories of lands conquered, virgins enlightened and bars quaffed dry.
I go outside and spot this.
Pissed-On Pete’s embarrassing bike of blingness in all its new black and orange glory. I quickly MMS my moodley half cousin Raj in Lenasia a pic cos I know he will smaak this. Raj sprays his SooBaRoo in the same colours the next day.
More Dogs arrive and the party gets underway. The bar is buzzing.
Fires are lit in preparation for the traditional Souf Efrican meat sacrificing ceremony
I order the Tankwa Veggie Special
and do the cooking for the Reccie Riders Crew in exchange for all I can drink.
The food is fantastic – big up to the local veggie farmers. Below is one of the farmers, Mof, checking out the latest crop
apparently he grows mean cabbages that taste just like sheep.
After dinner Butterbean retires to the lounge to discuss Nietzsche and Freud with the Greyhounds.
He soon realises he is way out of his depth and skilfully changes the topic of conversation to the hydroponic cultivation of turbo cabbage. Edgy leans forward in his seat and takes mental notes. I think the Bean’s “lighting business” is a cover up for something more green growing underground in Bree St. I am surrounded by skelms, the very people my mother warned me about – it is kief.
Jacko, Stoetie and Fouriekop take over the decks and are soon mixing De La Rey, Die Antwoord and David Kramer with some weird rhythmic underlay that sounds like an ossewa descending Die Hel. This plays on deep into the Tankwa night. Travolta and I pass out in each other’s arms. Kneelo has brought back the Group Areas Act and is camping with the laarney’s in their own fenced off security estate, far away from the “mense”.
On Saturday morning we get up early to see the Dogs off on their ride. We are going home today – this is the last stage of our Rally Tour.
For some weird unknown reason Travolta is absolutely gaga about Eish Pees. He tells me they are rarer than rocking horse shit in Turkey. There are a klomp Eish Pees here – Travolta has a semi. He takes pics of this famous one and its owner.
He cannot believe Leftless is, well, left less and still rides like he does. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I had never seen him in action – he is blerrie good and his lack of left does not slow him down one bit.
We watch from the hill as Leftless leads the Dogs out.
Soon it is our turn to say goodbye and we ride out of Stonehenge together. I am sad – our rally tour is nearly over.
We skim over the surface of the R355 – probably the kakkest and most dangerous gravel road in the country – dangerous because it is so boring it lulls you into riding / driving too fast for your own good. I see plenty of skid marks along the road – evidence of dozy drivers catching a nasty wake up call.
I ride ahead to get these last 2 shots of Kneelo and Travolta throwing up some dust.
Ceres is a chip and a put away. We pull in, fill up, and are off like a Jewish foreskin. This is not a lekker place to be on a Saturday morning – more crazy than a downtown market in Mumbai. People jaywalking, cars hooting, music blaring and tempers fraying – welcome back to “civilisation”
Kneelo leads the way out of town and we stop for a lunch at the top of Bain’s Kloof. Travolta buys us lunch. We all talk about our feelings and end off with a group hug.
At the bottom of Bain’s we skiet through Wellington and are soon on the N1. Kneelo and I peel off on to the M5 and Travolta rides straight to his possie in Greenpoint. Kneelo and I turn on to the N2 and then the M3 – he soon turns off in the direction of Hout Bay and waves goodbye. I am all alone – it feels really kak and I nearly cry in my helmet. 10 minutes later I am home and my bokkie and my laaitie are waiting for me on the tweespoor driveway. I forget all about Kneelo, Travolta and the Rally Tour. I am home.
THE END
