T
terminator1
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Here's the article pre-editing. I haven't managed to find a copy of the mag yet... (where to find?)
If dual sport motorcycles and a jolly good adventure is your cup of tea, you would have been in your personal nirvana at the 2011 Red Cherry Adventures Rallye Raid at War Trail. The event is always an opportunity to seriously test your dual sport biking skills on routes one and two, or if you prefer the milder side of dirt biking, you would have relished the chance to ride the route three dirt roads through the magnificent scenery in the foothills of the Maluti mountains.
Of course, the Rallye Raid isn’t just about dirt-biking. This is a special escape from the maelstrom of daily life, where new friendships are birthed and old pals are reunited. These delightful interactions with other riders often take place around fire drums, at the bar, and whilst helping each other through muddy tracks and rocky climbs.
My riding buddies and I arrived late on Friday evening after riding the 700 odd kilometres from PE at a brisk pace. An hour after the sun had gone down, the temperature had already plunged below zero, and putting up the tents in the freezing dark was the first challenge of the weekend. After an excellent supper of roast lamb, the rider’s briefing for Saturday and a few “frothy cokes” at the bar I was off to bed. This was my fourth Rallye Raid and, even though I had an idea of what to expect, my mind couldn’t help drifting along precipitous rock ledges and through dark swollen rivers as I fell asleep.
Morning broke as the sun began to paint the tops of the surrounding hills, with the mercury frozen at a glass-shattering minus six degrees Celcius. “Eish” my buddy muttered, “This is bliksem cold” The bikes agreed, and three of them (including my KTM 950 Adventure) had to be jump started back to life.
It would soon warm up, however, and after a tasty breakfast we headed off to tackle route two.
I’m always slightly uneasy when we turn off the tar onto the first trail of route two. When I spoke to Mike Glover (the organiser) earlier, I knew he was understating the severity of the challenges using euphemisms such as “Don’t worry, it’s not a bike breaker”, “Ag, it’s just a lovely ride in the mountains”, and “there’s a just a small twist in the tail” That’s Glover’s way, and his words should always be taken with a pinch of salt (Read: completely ignored)
Soon we were climbing higher into the hills on rutted jeep tracks, passing threatening ice spears on the rock faces and leaving slippery trails in the mud and ice mixture (perhaps a sheep’s equivalent of a slush puppy?) I was nursing my 220 kilogram KTM behemoth along the remote mountain contour paths, making sure I didn’t end up with my backside on the ground like a few riders in front of me.
After a few jarring rock climbs, my KTM’s front end gave up the ghost. Every rock and bump began to send clanking shockwaves through my arms and the front wheel began to wobble like a...wobbling front wheel . I assumed that something awful had happened to the transverse bearing lever (I made that up, but it sounds plausible). Anyway, there was no way I was going to miss the route two action, and I pressed on towards the lunch stop at the Rhodes hotel. What a delightful place! I had stayed there before after fetching my broken bike from the 2010 Rally Raid. It’s a somewhat otherworldly place, and a good example of an 1899 lodging house, where travellers and rogues made and lost gambling fortunes in the infamous hotel bar. I’m not sure if it was appropriate, but I quickly quaffed a few cold beers in their memory to fortify myself for the afternoon’s “twist in the tail”.
Thirty kilometres outside Rhodes, we turned off towards Moshesh’s Ford, crossed the steel bridge over the river and veered left onto the rough track which would take us down to the river crossings. My 990 clanked and wobbled down to the first, smaller crossing, where I promptly dropped it, pipes first, into the knee-deep water. Fortunately, a little bit of coaxing brought it back to life with a thunderous roar and great plumes of water and steam bellowing from the twin Bosun pipes. (note to self: I don’t want to do that again down in this valley.)
The queue at the main river crossing was ominous. Glover was shouting “Guys, several bikes have already drowned in the river. You’ll need to take it easy!” As I said – he’s the master of understatement. The river was almost waist deep, flowing strongly and the opposite bank was a 45 degree mud bath clearly modelled on the Erzberg rodeo section. With more bullying, pushing and the help of kind men with tow ropes, we were through and heading past the several drowned bikes up towards the infamous cave steps.
In 2010 we had ridden the caves in the opposite direction – down the steps toward the river. For many riders last year, it was somewhat intimidating to roll down the large rock ledges with the caves on the right and a sheer drop towards the river on the left.
Going up would be far worse. There were two challenges to overcome. The extreme muddy boulders of the first climb (which I aptly named “The wrecker’s ball”), were followed by the dry step-ups past the caves. If man and machine could get through these bizarre enduro sections relatively unscathed, it would be pretty much plain sailing back to base camp.
The wrecker’s ball was a steep thirty meter climb over colossal rocks, vertical ledges and cavernous holes, all generously lubricated with flowing mud streams. A bit like an adult slip and slide – just without the sunlight liquid soap. Getting to the top was an exercise involving an enormous amount of tyre shaving, clutch destroying riding skills, combined with dollops of sheer strength, will power and desperation. My bike suffered a ripped Hyde cover and a broken indicator, but made it to stage two, despite the front suspension maladies picked up before lunch.
The ledge climb seemed relatively straightforward after all that. It was simply a matter of momentum and good balance to power the big bikes up another thirty meters of step ups and lose stones. My KTM had a little lie down about half way up, which wasn’t a bad idea, as I was also a little pooped and needed a breather. After our rest, we roared to the top, through a deep smelly bog and onto the grassy slopes above.
We’d made it! To celebrate we lined up four bikes in the veld for a triumphant snapshot and they all promptly fell over like dominos. The resultant damage to my bike was pretty funny if you consider that I’d come through what seemed like the final day of the Roof of Africa with my bike relatively intact.
That’s where my story sadly ends. I wasn’t happy riding further with my damaged front suspension thingy and, after donating my entire front wheel to another rider, I sat day two out in the sunshine back at base camp.
I haven’t mentioned the live evening entertainment, scrumptious catering, bar counter burnouts, midnight indoor track racing or the piping hot showers. Perhaps that’s all for another tale.
Well done to Mike Glover, Chris Istead and their teams for yet another memorable Rallye Raid. I’ll be back for my fifth next year!
If dual sport motorcycles and a jolly good adventure is your cup of tea, you would have been in your personal nirvana at the 2011 Red Cherry Adventures Rallye Raid at War Trail. The event is always an opportunity to seriously test your dual sport biking skills on routes one and two, or if you prefer the milder side of dirt biking, you would have relished the chance to ride the route three dirt roads through the magnificent scenery in the foothills of the Maluti mountains.
Of course, the Rallye Raid isn’t just about dirt-biking. This is a special escape from the maelstrom of daily life, where new friendships are birthed and old pals are reunited. These delightful interactions with other riders often take place around fire drums, at the bar, and whilst helping each other through muddy tracks and rocky climbs.
My riding buddies and I arrived late on Friday evening after riding the 700 odd kilometres from PE at a brisk pace. An hour after the sun had gone down, the temperature had already plunged below zero, and putting up the tents in the freezing dark was the first challenge of the weekend. After an excellent supper of roast lamb, the rider’s briefing for Saturday and a few “frothy cokes” at the bar I was off to bed. This was my fourth Rallye Raid and, even though I had an idea of what to expect, my mind couldn’t help drifting along precipitous rock ledges and through dark swollen rivers as I fell asleep.
Morning broke as the sun began to paint the tops of the surrounding hills, with the mercury frozen at a glass-shattering minus six degrees Celcius. “Eish” my buddy muttered, “This is bliksem cold” The bikes agreed, and three of them (including my KTM 950 Adventure) had to be jump started back to life.
It would soon warm up, however, and after a tasty breakfast we headed off to tackle route two.
I’m always slightly uneasy when we turn off the tar onto the first trail of route two. When I spoke to Mike Glover (the organiser) earlier, I knew he was understating the severity of the challenges using euphemisms such as “Don’t worry, it’s not a bike breaker”, “Ag, it’s just a lovely ride in the mountains”, and “there’s a just a small twist in the tail” That’s Glover’s way, and his words should always be taken with a pinch of salt (Read: completely ignored)
Soon we were climbing higher into the hills on rutted jeep tracks, passing threatening ice spears on the rock faces and leaving slippery trails in the mud and ice mixture (perhaps a sheep’s equivalent of a slush puppy?) I was nursing my 220 kilogram KTM behemoth along the remote mountain contour paths, making sure I didn’t end up with my backside on the ground like a few riders in front of me.
After a few jarring rock climbs, my KTM’s front end gave up the ghost. Every rock and bump began to send clanking shockwaves through my arms and the front wheel began to wobble like a...wobbling front wheel . I assumed that something awful had happened to the transverse bearing lever (I made that up, but it sounds plausible). Anyway, there was no way I was going to miss the route two action, and I pressed on towards the lunch stop at the Rhodes hotel. What a delightful place! I had stayed there before after fetching my broken bike from the 2010 Rally Raid. It’s a somewhat otherworldly place, and a good example of an 1899 lodging house, where travellers and rogues made and lost gambling fortunes in the infamous hotel bar. I’m not sure if it was appropriate, but I quickly quaffed a few cold beers in their memory to fortify myself for the afternoon’s “twist in the tail”.
Thirty kilometres outside Rhodes, we turned off towards Moshesh’s Ford, crossed the steel bridge over the river and veered left onto the rough track which would take us down to the river crossings. My 990 clanked and wobbled down to the first, smaller crossing, where I promptly dropped it, pipes first, into the knee-deep water. Fortunately, a little bit of coaxing brought it back to life with a thunderous roar and great plumes of water and steam bellowing from the twin Bosun pipes. (note to self: I don’t want to do that again down in this valley.)
The queue at the main river crossing was ominous. Glover was shouting “Guys, several bikes have already drowned in the river. You’ll need to take it easy!” As I said – he’s the master of understatement. The river was almost waist deep, flowing strongly and the opposite bank was a 45 degree mud bath clearly modelled on the Erzberg rodeo section. With more bullying, pushing and the help of kind men with tow ropes, we were through and heading past the several drowned bikes up towards the infamous cave steps.
In 2010 we had ridden the caves in the opposite direction – down the steps toward the river. For many riders last year, it was somewhat intimidating to roll down the large rock ledges with the caves on the right and a sheer drop towards the river on the left.
Going up would be far worse. There were two challenges to overcome. The extreme muddy boulders of the first climb (which I aptly named “The wrecker’s ball”), were followed by the dry step-ups past the caves. If man and machine could get through these bizarre enduro sections relatively unscathed, it would be pretty much plain sailing back to base camp.
The wrecker’s ball was a steep thirty meter climb over colossal rocks, vertical ledges and cavernous holes, all generously lubricated with flowing mud streams. A bit like an adult slip and slide – just without the sunlight liquid soap. Getting to the top was an exercise involving an enormous amount of tyre shaving, clutch destroying riding skills, combined with dollops of sheer strength, will power and desperation. My bike suffered a ripped Hyde cover and a broken indicator, but made it to stage two, despite the front suspension maladies picked up before lunch.
The ledge climb seemed relatively straightforward after all that. It was simply a matter of momentum and good balance to power the big bikes up another thirty meters of step ups and lose stones. My KTM had a little lie down about half way up, which wasn’t a bad idea, as I was also a little pooped and needed a breather. After our rest, we roared to the top, through a deep smelly bog and onto the grassy slopes above.
We’d made it! To celebrate we lined up four bikes in the veld for a triumphant snapshot and they all promptly fell over like dominos. The resultant damage to my bike was pretty funny if you consider that I’d come through what seemed like the final day of the Roof of Africa with my bike relatively intact.
That’s where my story sadly ends. I wasn’t happy riding further with my damaged front suspension thingy and, after donating my entire front wheel to another rider, I sat day two out in the sunshine back at base camp.
I haven’t mentioned the live evening entertainment, scrumptious catering, bar counter burnouts, midnight indoor track racing or the piping hot showers. Perhaps that’s all for another tale.
Well done to Mike Glover, Chris Istead and their teams for yet another memorable Rallye Raid. I’ll be back for my fifth next year!
