A while ago, Koedoeskloof announced that Albert Frost was doing a show there, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to try a solo trip.
Day 1
The monster Cape Storm flexed its muscle far and wide, and with a heavy heart I decided to rather take the car to Koedoeskloof. I sent Halfjob a PM to offer courier services for any warm items he might need at Koedoeskloof, such as electric blankets or concubines, but he told me to man up and grow a pair, tiny as they’ll be in this weather, and go on the motorbike. He’d let me know when he left and what route he’d be taking. He then promptly cancelled his trip, citing unavoidable business.
hje told me straight up that cold weather riding is harsh and I’d need thermal undies and heated grips at the least. I asked whether that’s what he used, but he snorted indignantly and said all he needed was a rain suit. What a coincidence! I’d severely bent my credit card at TracMac the previous weekend, on a rain suit and inner gloves among other items. The testosterone surged and I felt a prickle of hair on my chest.
Due to work deadlines I burnt the midnight oil on Thursday and got up late on Friday. I’d been packing in my head the whole week, but it still took me a few hours to gather and sort my stuff. Loading and strapping everything onto the bike, in contrast, took less than half an hour. Still, it was past 14:00 when I finally sweated and swore my bike out from under carport and wobbled out the front gate.
On the way I realised couldn’t feel my camera bag strap gently choking me as usual, and fervently prayed I’d left it locked up in the kitchen. I gingerly rode though almost-rush-hour traffic towards Stellenbosch Mediclinic to go greet my mom, who was in for observation. I felt fat and unwieldy with the side panniers on.
Walking towards the Mediclinic entrance, I looked back at the bike (admiringly, as one does), and noticed my camera bag sitting on one side pannier, where I’d put it. I went cold with shock then sagged with relief; this camera is irreplaceable. I quickly pulled the strap over my head, sang a few hallelujas, and headed inside to say good bye. Then I hit rush hour traffic. Since I was traveling by myself and leaving so late, it was going to have to be all tar. I wept inside for my offroad tires, but was chuffed that even with panniers the bike was still slender enough to filter through the rude Stellenbosch traffic.
I felt like a goose in a fois gras factory - thick woolen tights, leggings, thick socks, vest, long-sleeved T, short-sleeved T, extra thick buff, all the riding suit’s inners, and the rain suit top. I swung over Helshoogte and Franschhoek Pass, passed Theewaterskloof Dam which was showing an encouraging glint, and turned left towards Villiersdorp. I felt the bite in the air, as my helmet visor didn’t close properly and rattled annoyingly in my ears.
At the turnoff towards Robertson I stopped to photograph the snow on the mountains. It was beautiful! And cold.
At Robertson, I filled up and pulled on the rain suit pants, and folded my buff double over my head and nose, something I usually couldn’t tolerate, but it made the cold bearable. I WhatsApp’ed Halfjob to let the Veldties know I shouldn’t be later than 19:00. I’d irresponsibly forgotten to capture their number, and was in a hurry to get going again.
The sky was overcast and everything looked monochrome. I swung a hefty, sibilant leg over the Purple Gentleman, switched on the piddling headlight and, glowing like a streak of cat’s urine, oozed down the road and headed into the dusk. The two stop-and-go’s at Montagu didn’t help the situation, except of course I could creep to the front and roost the cars while the attendant was still moving the “STOP” barrier out the way.
The road at night was boring. From Montagu to Barrydale I didn’t see another vehicle - I was the only thing moving. I regretted not getting the Purple Gentleman his spotlights sooner, but it wasn’t all bad. The moon was waxing behind the cloud cover so that it wasn’t completely black. The landscape had a dark pewter hue. I looked that the intermittent kudu warning boards and tried not to imagine what the impact of a kudu would feel like… I then consoled myself that my vague headlight wouldn’t startle a moth, never mind a kudu.
When cars did approach from the front, they invariably had their brights on. Some would dim their brights, but many times they continued blindingly, and with no cat's eyes and faded white lines, I had no guide to keep me on the road. This was terrifying, and I expected to ride into a roadside bush at any moment, catapulting over the handlebars and startling any resting kudu.
I listened to music and, sporadically, the GPS instructions. When I neared the Laingsburg turnoff, I was instructed to turn left but ignored it, because I’d been to Koedoeskloof and it was just up the road before Ladismith, on the left hand side. Against ever more urgent beseechings to make a U-turn, I continued, very surprised when I reached Ladismith without seeing Koedoeskloof. My headlight surely wasn’t THAT bad? I asked around, and it turned out I should have turned left at the Laingsburg road. I should have believed the GPS. I apologised silently and made the oft-requested U-turn, but the GPS was now pissed off with me and cut off every second instruction.
About 6.6 km down the Laingsburg road, I dutifully followed the instruction to “ … - turn right” and unexpectedly found myself on a wide gravel road. I reasoned that, unlikely as it was, this could be the way, and continued. Suddenly the GPS came to its senses, realising that its existence was linked to mine, and sternly warned me to “… make a U-turn and proceed to the route.” I paddled in a wide circle and headed back to tar, relief steaming off me.
Not long after, I reached Koedoeskloof just as the phone died. I dragged my iridescent yellow Stay Puft self into the bar, greeted everyone, plugged in the phone to charge, and ordered a double-whatever. Nic (Sprocketbek) and Nellie were already there, and we kicked back and relaxed in front of the fire.
Karoo Rider popped in to collect a package I’d brought him and then lingered, kindly making a hefty contribution towards my alcohol dependency. Dinner was a magnificent chicken curry. Life looked cosier by the minute.
I think I heard this one before...
Karoo Rider in the foreground, with Sprocketbek and Nellie further back, and Debi behind the bar.
Always loved the decor
Veldblom offered me the use of the couch in front of the fire in the bar, and I accepted. But my newly-grown pair twitched in protest so I staggered outside to go pitch my tent, followed by the valiant Sprocketbek, urged on by the thoughtful Nellie. Since the tent can be pitched by a small child, never mind two swaying adults, it wasn’t long before I dragged into it all my bikely possessions, brushed my teeth, and crept under the down sleeping bag. The weather was quite mellow, which Veldbrand said was due to the warm berg wind, and I didn’t need the 2 extra blankets and raccoon babygro I’d packed against the cold.
During the night, harsh winds buffeted the tiny tent like I was being massaged by a tree root who’d seen pictures, but didn’t quite understand the concept. In the early morning the wind quietened down, and I listened to an amazing array of birdlife and the barking of a nearby troop of baboons. Then it rained. I lay snug in my tent and listened to the rushing sounds, drowsy and delighted. What a wonderful world!
Day 1
The monster Cape Storm flexed its muscle far and wide, and with a heavy heart I decided to rather take the car to Koedoeskloof. I sent Halfjob a PM to offer courier services for any warm items he might need at Koedoeskloof, such as electric blankets or concubines, but he told me to man up and grow a pair, tiny as they’ll be in this weather, and go on the motorbike. He’d let me know when he left and what route he’d be taking. He then promptly cancelled his trip, citing unavoidable business.
hje told me straight up that cold weather riding is harsh and I’d need thermal undies and heated grips at the least. I asked whether that’s what he used, but he snorted indignantly and said all he needed was a rain suit. What a coincidence! I’d severely bent my credit card at TracMac the previous weekend, on a rain suit and inner gloves among other items. The testosterone surged and I felt a prickle of hair on my chest.
Due to work deadlines I burnt the midnight oil on Thursday and got up late on Friday. I’d been packing in my head the whole week, but it still took me a few hours to gather and sort my stuff. Loading and strapping everything onto the bike, in contrast, took less than half an hour. Still, it was past 14:00 when I finally sweated and swore my bike out from under carport and wobbled out the front gate.
On the way I realised couldn’t feel my camera bag strap gently choking me as usual, and fervently prayed I’d left it locked up in the kitchen. I gingerly rode though almost-rush-hour traffic towards Stellenbosch Mediclinic to go greet my mom, who was in for observation. I felt fat and unwieldy with the side panniers on.
Walking towards the Mediclinic entrance, I looked back at the bike (admiringly, as one does), and noticed my camera bag sitting on one side pannier, where I’d put it. I went cold with shock then sagged with relief; this camera is irreplaceable. I quickly pulled the strap over my head, sang a few hallelujas, and headed inside to say good bye. Then I hit rush hour traffic. Since I was traveling by myself and leaving so late, it was going to have to be all tar. I wept inside for my offroad tires, but was chuffed that even with panniers the bike was still slender enough to filter through the rude Stellenbosch traffic.
I felt like a goose in a fois gras factory - thick woolen tights, leggings, thick socks, vest, long-sleeved T, short-sleeved T, extra thick buff, all the riding suit’s inners, and the rain suit top. I swung over Helshoogte and Franschhoek Pass, passed Theewaterskloof Dam which was showing an encouraging glint, and turned left towards Villiersdorp. I felt the bite in the air, as my helmet visor didn’t close properly and rattled annoyingly in my ears.
At the turnoff towards Robertson I stopped to photograph the snow on the mountains. It was beautiful! And cold.
At Robertson, I filled up and pulled on the rain suit pants, and folded my buff double over my head and nose, something I usually couldn’t tolerate, but it made the cold bearable. I WhatsApp’ed Halfjob to let the Veldties know I shouldn’t be later than 19:00. I’d irresponsibly forgotten to capture their number, and was in a hurry to get going again.
The sky was overcast and everything looked monochrome. I swung a hefty, sibilant leg over the Purple Gentleman, switched on the piddling headlight and, glowing like a streak of cat’s urine, oozed down the road and headed into the dusk. The two stop-and-go’s at Montagu didn’t help the situation, except of course I could creep to the front and roost the cars while the attendant was still moving the “STOP” barrier out the way.
The road at night was boring. From Montagu to Barrydale I didn’t see another vehicle - I was the only thing moving. I regretted not getting the Purple Gentleman his spotlights sooner, but it wasn’t all bad. The moon was waxing behind the cloud cover so that it wasn’t completely black. The landscape had a dark pewter hue. I looked that the intermittent kudu warning boards and tried not to imagine what the impact of a kudu would feel like… I then consoled myself that my vague headlight wouldn’t startle a moth, never mind a kudu.
When cars did approach from the front, they invariably had their brights on. Some would dim their brights, but many times they continued blindingly, and with no cat's eyes and faded white lines, I had no guide to keep me on the road. This was terrifying, and I expected to ride into a roadside bush at any moment, catapulting over the handlebars and startling any resting kudu.
I listened to music and, sporadically, the GPS instructions. When I neared the Laingsburg turnoff, I was instructed to turn left but ignored it, because I’d been to Koedoeskloof and it was just up the road before Ladismith, on the left hand side. Against ever more urgent beseechings to make a U-turn, I continued, very surprised when I reached Ladismith without seeing Koedoeskloof. My headlight surely wasn’t THAT bad? I asked around, and it turned out I should have turned left at the Laingsburg road. I should have believed the GPS. I apologised silently and made the oft-requested U-turn, but the GPS was now pissed off with me and cut off every second instruction.
About 6.6 km down the Laingsburg road, I dutifully followed the instruction to “ … - turn right” and unexpectedly found myself on a wide gravel road. I reasoned that, unlikely as it was, this could be the way, and continued. Suddenly the GPS came to its senses, realising that its existence was linked to mine, and sternly warned me to “… make a U-turn and proceed to the route.” I paddled in a wide circle and headed back to tar, relief steaming off me.
Not long after, I reached Koedoeskloof just as the phone died. I dragged my iridescent yellow Stay Puft self into the bar, greeted everyone, plugged in the phone to charge, and ordered a double-whatever. Nic (Sprocketbek) and Nellie were already there, and we kicked back and relaxed in front of the fire.
Karoo Rider popped in to collect a package I’d brought him and then lingered, kindly making a hefty contribution towards my alcohol dependency. Dinner was a magnificent chicken curry. Life looked cosier by the minute.
I think I heard this one before...
Karoo Rider in the foreground, with Sprocketbek and Nellie further back, and Debi behind the bar.
Always loved the decor
Veldblom offered me the use of the couch in front of the fire in the bar, and I accepted. But my newly-grown pair twitched in protest so I staggered outside to go pitch my tent, followed by the valiant Sprocketbek, urged on by the thoughtful Nellie. Since the tent can be pitched by a small child, never mind two swaying adults, it wasn’t long before I dragged into it all my bikely possessions, brushed my teeth, and crept under the down sleeping bag. The weather was quite mellow, which Veldbrand said was due to the warm berg wind, and I didn’t need the 2 extra blankets and raccoon babygro I’d packed against the cold.
During the night, harsh winds buffeted the tiny tent like I was being massaged by a tree root who’d seen pictures, but didn’t quite understand the concept. In the early morning the wind quietened down, and I listened to an amazing array of birdlife and the barking of a nearby troop of baboons. Then it rained. I lay snug in my tent and listened to the rushing sounds, drowsy and delighted. What a wonderful world!
