Grootseun
Race Dog
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2006
- Messages
- 4,755
- Reaction score
- 577
- Location
- The bottom... and digging
- Bike
- BMW F800GSA
During a very successful Freestate bash, Ganjora and myself decided in a slightly inebriated state, that it would be a sterling idea to take the Old Mill Drift trail. He did the trail on a previous occasion on his KLR, and felt the burning need to retry this track, seeing that it went less than perfect the previous round. I though i will dedicate a report solely to this ride.
I had no idea what I let myself into, and I was slightly anxious, but also very keen on some adventure.
Monday morning (the day of my return to Johannesburg from the Meiringspoort Campsite) dawned, and I had serious doubts about this trail, I almost told my riding buddy that I am going straight home, and will not be joining him on his little detour – as he refers to it.
But the curious little voice in my head kept saying, “don’t be a pussy, cant back out now, you already committed, when will you get a chance to do this again?”
This, in my head, was being fought with…”a quick ride home, some easy dirt, in time for lunch braai with the family, you still have to wash all your gear…and your bike, spend time with the kids, I am sure they’ve been missing you plenty.”
With my decision made, we hit the road.
Soon the tar ran out, and we hit some easy dirt. The scenery spectacular, just to the right of us, the Caledon river that divides South Africa from The Mountain Kingdom. To the left, towering mountains – the ones we were going to cross.
We came to a gate and from here, the fun (pain) will begin in earnest.
We followed the trail, and hit the first ascent sections, it was very steep but it was made easy by some cement that was laid down by who knows the front wheel was off the ground often, and the corners were sharp.
The track leveled out, for a while as we skirted the contour of the mountain.
Then we hit the first of many difficult sections – this for me, sapped enough energy from me, to make the rest of the ride become increasingly challenging with every meter gained forward, and upwards
It was very rocky, with loose round rocks that has the bike jumping all over, and the rear wheel desperately looking for traction.
The most difficult part was just before the solid rock bank in the picture, there was quite a big step up, with more rocks to follow, I got thrown off line, and very almost dropped the bike, I walked it out, with the help of Ganjora (the frist of many sections where he had to give me a hand.)
Made it to some level ground and rested in the shade to catch our breath
.
The track kept winding steadily upwards, the difficult sections being just after the switchbacks where the gradient was quite intense.
We reached section where the track was severely washed out. A deep rut (more like a dry river bed in a V shape, with big rocks at the bottom of it was on the right hand side of the track, and a small flat section just before the abyss was our line, and going off line was not what you wanted.
With my line worked out, I attacked the section with fatigued arms. I went off line to the left, and a large rock blocked me getting the front wheel back on line, the rear just kept spinning, I tried to let the bike run back down, but another rock preventer this, I kept rocking the bike forward and back, all the time sapping my dwindling energy levels. Did I mention that between Ganjora and myself we did not bring a drop of water….(I know, we are not strong of mind in the forward planning department)
I tired myself to such a point, trying to get the front wheel out of the F@#$ng way of the rock, that I could only half lay on the seat while hanging on the handle bar, so that the bike (or me) did not fall over,(Ganjora has a picture of this) which it did in the end, but then we managed to get it facing the right line. I carefully rode it to less adverse conditions where I almost passed out from exhaustion.
Ganjora had to keep on coming back to give me a hand, as I had run out of energy, and keeping the bike upright was almost impossible.
Upwards and onwards we went, I fell over once more, as I Identified all the obstacles I should avoid, but my arms was not listening to the instructions my brain was firing off, and I managed to hit all the rocks I was trying to avoid.
The impact on my arms as the front recoiled off the second rock made them gave way, and I just hit the ground.
I lost my sunglasses in the process – my wife’s gonna have my balls for this, as it was a gift.
I wrestled the bike upwards, and pressed on. Made another couple of hundred meters and dropped the bike again, this time it was the rocks hidden under the grass that caught me off guard.
This is the view (an almost sheer drop down) just before I went down for the last time.
I decided to take a little while before I got going again. I walked back to look for my sunglasses. FFS
Ganjora (made it all the way to the top by now) came back looking for me, thinking I dove off the side of the mountain.
I psyched myself up when I got to the bike, and I took it really easy, as my skill level was nowhere to be seen, sweated out of every pore of my body.
Took a slow ride to the top where Ganjora’s bike was waiting for me, he was still walking back up from where he came looking for me.
The gate was unlocked, the view spectacular, and the sense of achievement was slowly getting the better of my fatigue.
Ganjora explained that the road down was substantially easier, as it is a regularly used 4x4 track.
We made our way down, and was faced with two more difficult sections with large stepdowns, and a difficult line to call off the top of a bike. Took it slow down there and then eventually made it to some gravel highway.
All the way up, Ganjora kept reminding that on the other side of the mountain lies Water, Ice cold beer and something to eat. We hightailed it to Clarence where we stopped at the first suitable place, plonked down at the table to replenish ourselves.
Our weapons of choice for this exercise :
Ganjora on his Suzuki DR650, longrange tank and plent of farkles – by far more suited for the trail than my Pig.
Me, on the BMW F650GS Dakar, big, heavy pig, with too much bloody luggage.
Thnx for an awesome ride Ganjora, always lending a hand, always encouraging.
I had no idea what I let myself into, and I was slightly anxious, but also very keen on some adventure.
Monday morning (the day of my return to Johannesburg from the Meiringspoort Campsite) dawned, and I had serious doubts about this trail, I almost told my riding buddy that I am going straight home, and will not be joining him on his little detour – as he refers to it.
But the curious little voice in my head kept saying, “don’t be a pussy, cant back out now, you already committed, when will you get a chance to do this again?”
This, in my head, was being fought with…”a quick ride home, some easy dirt, in time for lunch braai with the family, you still have to wash all your gear…and your bike, spend time with the kids, I am sure they’ve been missing you plenty.”
With my decision made, we hit the road.
Soon the tar ran out, and we hit some easy dirt. The scenery spectacular, just to the right of us, the Caledon river that divides South Africa from The Mountain Kingdom. To the left, towering mountains – the ones we were going to cross.
We came to a gate and from here, the fun (pain) will begin in earnest.
We followed the trail, and hit the first ascent sections, it was very steep but it was made easy by some cement that was laid down by who knows the front wheel was off the ground often, and the corners were sharp.
The track leveled out, for a while as we skirted the contour of the mountain.
Then we hit the first of many difficult sections – this for me, sapped enough energy from me, to make the rest of the ride become increasingly challenging with every meter gained forward, and upwards
It was very rocky, with loose round rocks that has the bike jumping all over, and the rear wheel desperately looking for traction.
The most difficult part was just before the solid rock bank in the picture, there was quite a big step up, with more rocks to follow, I got thrown off line, and very almost dropped the bike, I walked it out, with the help of Ganjora (the frist of many sections where he had to give me a hand.)
Made it to some level ground and rested in the shade to catch our breath
.
The track kept winding steadily upwards, the difficult sections being just after the switchbacks where the gradient was quite intense.
We reached section where the track was severely washed out. A deep rut (more like a dry river bed in a V shape, with big rocks at the bottom of it was on the right hand side of the track, and a small flat section just before the abyss was our line, and going off line was not what you wanted.
With my line worked out, I attacked the section with fatigued arms. I went off line to the left, and a large rock blocked me getting the front wheel back on line, the rear just kept spinning, I tried to let the bike run back down, but another rock preventer this, I kept rocking the bike forward and back, all the time sapping my dwindling energy levels. Did I mention that between Ganjora and myself we did not bring a drop of water….(I know, we are not strong of mind in the forward planning department)
I tired myself to such a point, trying to get the front wheel out of the F@#$ng way of the rock, that I could only half lay on the seat while hanging on the handle bar, so that the bike (or me) did not fall over,(Ganjora has a picture of this) which it did in the end, but then we managed to get it facing the right line. I carefully rode it to less adverse conditions where I almost passed out from exhaustion.
Ganjora had to keep on coming back to give me a hand, as I had run out of energy, and keeping the bike upright was almost impossible.
Upwards and onwards we went, I fell over once more, as I Identified all the obstacles I should avoid, but my arms was not listening to the instructions my brain was firing off, and I managed to hit all the rocks I was trying to avoid.
The impact on my arms as the front recoiled off the second rock made them gave way, and I just hit the ground.
I lost my sunglasses in the process – my wife’s gonna have my balls for this, as it was a gift.
I wrestled the bike upwards, and pressed on. Made another couple of hundred meters and dropped the bike again, this time it was the rocks hidden under the grass that caught me off guard.
This is the view (an almost sheer drop down) just before I went down for the last time.
I decided to take a little while before I got going again. I walked back to look for my sunglasses. FFS
Ganjora (made it all the way to the top by now) came back looking for me, thinking I dove off the side of the mountain.
I psyched myself up when I got to the bike, and I took it really easy, as my skill level was nowhere to be seen, sweated out of every pore of my body.
Took a slow ride to the top where Ganjora’s bike was waiting for me, he was still walking back up from where he came looking for me.
The gate was unlocked, the view spectacular, and the sense of achievement was slowly getting the better of my fatigue.
Ganjora explained that the road down was substantially easier, as it is a regularly used 4x4 track.
We made our way down, and was faced with two more difficult sections with large stepdowns, and a difficult line to call off the top of a bike. Took it slow down there and then eventually made it to some gravel highway.
All the way up, Ganjora kept reminding that on the other side of the mountain lies Water, Ice cold beer and something to eat. We hightailed it to Clarence where we stopped at the first suitable place, plonked down at the table to replenish ourselves.
Our weapons of choice for this exercise :
Ganjora on his Suzuki DR650, longrange tank and plent of farkles – by far more suited for the trail than my Pig.
Me, on the BMW F650GS Dakar, big, heavy pig, with too much bloody luggage.
Thnx for an awesome ride Ganjora, always lending a hand, always encouraging.
