- Joined
- Dec 15, 2008
- Messages
- 6,687
- Reaction score
- 743
- Location
- Port Elizabeth
- Bike
- BMW R1200GS Adventure
Stats:
Departed: 05h55
Return: 17h57
Total time: 12hrs, 2 min.
Distance Covered: 618kms
Fuel Used: 27.61 L
Consumption: 22.38 km/l
The plan was to go to Hogsback, take leisurely cruise down to Seymour and back to PE via Grahamstown and the N2. Well, that was the plan but, as with most things in life, the plan seldom gets followed.
I left from a still dark and chilly PE at 05h55, wanting to cover as much tar as possible before first light. The N2 to Grahamstown is one I have travelled more times than I wish to remember and was quite comfortable doing it in the dark. Passing Salem outside Grahamstown just before sunrise, I couldn’t help noticing Salem Farm Stall just opening for the day. Not having heated grips on the bike, reflexes overrode the mind and I found myself making a quick U-turn for a much needed coffee break to warm up.
Here I met Keith and Douglas, and while Douglas got the kettle going, Keith explained a little about the area and their operation. The farm stall is actually part of a rehabilitation centre, with much of their produce home made at the centre. They have around 23 “patients” from all over the country booked in at any given time, the minimum requirement being a 3 month stay. Keith, who signed up for a 6 month stay is looking forward to returning home next month.
Just passing Grahamstown on the N2, with the sun just starting to peek over the hills.
Turning off the N2 onto the R67, you enter “Frontier Country”
About 8kms later I turned off toward Commitees Drift, here to realize that my planning obviously lacked a little forethought. Riding this early and in an easterly direction, I was riding into the rising sun, making visibility difficult. Although the road was in generally good condition, occasional corrugations made travelling fast tricky.
The area had also had good rains the previous evening, which added the fun factor.
The air was crisp and the newly washed aloes stood out brightly in the early morning sunshine.
And then the twisties started.
What appears as a relatively straight road on the map actually took me by surprise as there are numerous low-level crossings, the road winding in an out of the hills, providing some spectacular scenery.
Crossing the Great Fish River, one of the few rivers that still has water.
The construction of this steel, one-way bridge fascinated me, considering that nothing was welded but rather riveted together. I scouted around for a construction date but found none. Maybe some locals will be able to tell me later on.
The Great Fish River.
Even the decorative work on the ends of the bridge are a work of art on their own, considering that it’s made of 12mm thick, 150mm wide steel. Try bending that into this shape!
These two brought to mind the story of “Billy Goat Gruff”. Having crossed the bridge ahead of me the stopped and looked back, almost as if to say “Let’s see you pass here!!” It took a few blips of the throttle through the vd Linde pipe to get them to move. I was not prepared to be kicked this early in the day.
A newly white-washed house, neat and bright in the morning sun,
it’s occupants long gone on their morning errands.
The twisties were inviting me to open up, but on more than one occasion this invitation was quickly withdrawn by animals of every kind, some stray, some tended.
Breakfast Vlei Hotel
At one point the owner appears to have been a little enthusiastic, or a little delusional about the size of his establishment. I could not help noticing the room numbers, from 36 – 39.
Another stray speed inhibiter
Double Drift Game Reserve Reception.
The road through the reserve.
Despite the good rains the previous evening, it is obvious that the area had not seen rain in many months, and it will take quite a bit more before the effects will be seen in the surroundings.
Close-up of the road surface and corrugations mentioned earlier.
Alice.
Scenes like this remind me of the song I remember as a kid – “Little boxes, little boxes, and they’re all made out of ticky-tacky, and they all look just the same.”
Evidence of human habitation becomes quickly evident as one approaches these settlements.
The Metropolis of Alice.
On the R63, closer to Tyumeriver Dam, this tree stands out as a beacon in the area.
20kms to breakfast.
Is someone home?
Tyumeriver Dam
This builder appears to have been slightly inebriated on the job.
Approaching Hogsback pass
The moon still visible in the sky
Once again the twisties inviting ...
And once again the invitation withdrawn.
Another picturesque tree.
Entering Hogsback
Nina’s for breakfast
The garden around Nina’s
Breakfast
Hogsback “City Centre”
Covered path to “Eco Shrine”, Hogsback.
Foot bridge on one of the many hiking trails around Hogsback.
A view back down the mountain.
And so onward to Seymour.
Spectacular scenery
The road to Seymour can be clearly seen. Seymour is on the very left edge of the photo.
Some rocky, slippery patches on Mitchell’s Pass.
And then the road improves considerably as one reaches the foot of the pass.
I could not help noticing the neglect of some of the rural areas, areas that one can only assume where once flourishing, productive farms.
Arguably, the lack of water has taken its toll, and this is only one of the many low-level bridges crossing nothing but a hollow in the ground.
Still, nothing is maintained and much in the area has little value beside a photo opportunity.
Even road signs are little more than opportunities for some creative photography. I paid little attention to the original purpose of these particular signs, something that was to bite me in the backside a little later in the day.
One of the few crossings with water.
Seymour
Seymour shopping.
Derelict buildings abound in Seymour. This is on Seymour’s main street. Ironically, the well maintained building right next to this one, on the left edge of this photo, is the Dept of Social Development.
And directly across the street, what obviously at one time used to be a rather stately home, now appears to be uninhabited and falling apart.
Even the local church is derelict.
Local RDP Housing in Seymour
And the locals of Seymour, a friendly bunch.
Another fascinating tree. No leaves, only huge pink flowers.
For a minute I thought I’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in Baviaanskloof. Smitskraal?
The road to Smitskraal.
A green field in the middle of an otherwise barren area.
Most of these places are just areas which have no houses to identify them by. You pass through them on the way without even knowing you have done so.
Here some unfortunate animal appears to have got caught in the fence. The remains have obviously been here for many months, untouched by anything except wind and rain, of which there has also been preciously little.
It was here that I got to realize how precarious the situation was that I had inadvertently placed myself in. If I had a bad fall here, there was no help, no cell signal, no backup. I had taken a route that deviated from my original plan, a map of which I had left with my son back home. If I went down here, help was possibly days away. The full impact of this was driven home some 20 minutes later.
Another sign that’s warning I failed to heed, being more interested in the photographic content than the safety warning it was intended to be.
Belting along, I was now beginning to chase the sun, realizing that I had possibly bitten off a little more than I could chew for the day.
A quick photo stop and the luxury of cell phone reception. A phone call home and I was on my way again, feeling a little more relaxed, now that I had made contact back home and the apparent improvement in the condition of the road.
The road to Riebeeck East, with a wake up call.
It was shortly after this that I had a near off. As i mentioned earlier, I on more than one occasion opted to ignore old road signs. After all, they were there to make great photographs, nothing else, right? WRONG!!
Rounding one of the sharp left corners (yes, there had been a sign) at around 80km/h, I was suddenly faced with what can only be described as a large donga on the inside of the turn. Doing some quick “steer left to turn right” manoeuvring, I managed to miss the end of the donga by what felt to be millimetres, only to be instantly faced with a rock, shaped like a rugby ball and a little larger than a brick, smack in the middle of the remaining road. Three options, 1, Stay on course and hit it dead on and possibly loose the front tyre, 2, Go left and end up in the donga and go down hard, or 3, Go right and head for the thorn tree overhanging the road. Trusting my clothing to provide the necessary protection, I opted for 3, but was a fraction late in the execution, clipping the edge of the rock with the front wheel. Because of the shape of the rock, it spun up and struck me on the left ankle, my foot being flicked off the footpeg in the process.
I initially thought I had broken my ankle, but, although it was incredibly painful, I could still move it enough to change gear. To be honest, I was at this stage too afraid to take my shoe off to assess the damage, choosing to push on rather than wasting time on something I could do little about anyway.
Turnoff to Riebeeck East. One can only assume that this sign once upon a time directed travellers somewhere. Grahamstown? Alicedale?
From Riebeeck East, I took a direct route to Alicedale via Bushman Sands Game Reserve, a decision I was soon to regret. Within a few hundred metres I came to the first gate, this one bearing the evidence of another passing dog, our very own Wolweseun.
One thing I learned on this trip. If there is one gate, there WILL be another. I eventually lost count of how many gates there are, each one more agony than the one before. My left ankle was now badly swollen and stiff, to the point that changing gear became a problem. With every gate, the agony got worse - dismounting, opening the gate, remounting, putting the bike in gear, restarting the bike because I had forgotten the sidestand out, moving through the gate, dismounting, closing the gate, remounting, putting the bike in gear, restarting the bike ... I think you get the drift. Each time I mounted or dismounted my ankle took my full weight and having to lift the bike upright was becoming more like a severe gym routine with every stop. Leaving the gates open though was not an option. I had reached a point of no return, going back as bad as pushing forward. On that stretch I stalled the bike more times than I care to remember
Looking back the way I had come.
Bushman Sands Game Reserve.
The road through the game reserve. Going was slow as I didn’t want to meet something like a Land Rover head on around one of these corners at high speed.
A view of the valley below.
Farmhouse. Just beyond this house, you can see the road running off into the distance. At this point my GPS led me astray, repeatedly recalculating because of the switchbacks to the far side of the house.
The sun was getting low here and I was now seriously pushing for time, not wanting to get caught out here after dark. The road from here was atrocious to say the least. On some stretches not even 2 bikes would be able to pass each other, with ruts, washouts and dongas that could cause some serious damage. Photo stops came to an end, at least until I reached the tar.
As mentioned earlier, my GPS had led me astray and I eventually rejoined the N10 and tar on the far side of the Olifantskop Pass. At least I was familiar with this road, it too, like the one to Grahamstown, being travelled more often than I care to remember.
Sunset while approaching Sundays River just before 17h30 and time for a short break, the last for the day.
I arrived back home at 17h57, after 12 hours and 618kms, tired and sore. The bike ran faultlessly, with thankfully, not even a puncture. This is more than I can say for myself, who, 3 days later, is still hobbling around with a painful, bandaged ankle.
The route:
Departed: 05h55
Return: 17h57
Total time: 12hrs, 2 min.
Distance Covered: 618kms
Fuel Used: 27.61 L
Consumption: 22.38 km/l
The plan was to go to Hogsback, take leisurely cruise down to Seymour and back to PE via Grahamstown and the N2. Well, that was the plan but, as with most things in life, the plan seldom gets followed.
I left from a still dark and chilly PE at 05h55, wanting to cover as much tar as possible before first light. The N2 to Grahamstown is one I have travelled more times than I wish to remember and was quite comfortable doing it in the dark. Passing Salem outside Grahamstown just before sunrise, I couldn’t help noticing Salem Farm Stall just opening for the day. Not having heated grips on the bike, reflexes overrode the mind and I found myself making a quick U-turn for a much needed coffee break to warm up.
Here I met Keith and Douglas, and while Douglas got the kettle going, Keith explained a little about the area and their operation. The farm stall is actually part of a rehabilitation centre, with much of their produce home made at the centre. They have around 23 “patients” from all over the country booked in at any given time, the minimum requirement being a 3 month stay. Keith, who signed up for a 6 month stay is looking forward to returning home next month.
Just passing Grahamstown on the N2, with the sun just starting to peek over the hills.
Turning off the N2 onto the R67, you enter “Frontier Country”
About 8kms later I turned off toward Commitees Drift, here to realize that my planning obviously lacked a little forethought. Riding this early and in an easterly direction, I was riding into the rising sun, making visibility difficult. Although the road was in generally good condition, occasional corrugations made travelling fast tricky.
The area had also had good rains the previous evening, which added the fun factor.
The air was crisp and the newly washed aloes stood out brightly in the early morning sunshine.
And then the twisties started.
What appears as a relatively straight road on the map actually took me by surprise as there are numerous low-level crossings, the road winding in an out of the hills, providing some spectacular scenery.
Crossing the Great Fish River, one of the few rivers that still has water.
The construction of this steel, one-way bridge fascinated me, considering that nothing was welded but rather riveted together. I scouted around for a construction date but found none. Maybe some locals will be able to tell me later on.
The Great Fish River.
Even the decorative work on the ends of the bridge are a work of art on their own, considering that it’s made of 12mm thick, 150mm wide steel. Try bending that into this shape!
These two brought to mind the story of “Billy Goat Gruff”. Having crossed the bridge ahead of me the stopped and looked back, almost as if to say “Let’s see you pass here!!” It took a few blips of the throttle through the vd Linde pipe to get them to move. I was not prepared to be kicked this early in the day.
A newly white-washed house, neat and bright in the morning sun,
it’s occupants long gone on their morning errands.
The twisties were inviting me to open up, but on more than one occasion this invitation was quickly withdrawn by animals of every kind, some stray, some tended.
Breakfast Vlei Hotel
At one point the owner appears to have been a little enthusiastic, or a little delusional about the size of his establishment. I could not help noticing the room numbers, from 36 – 39.
Another stray speed inhibiter
Double Drift Game Reserve Reception.
The road through the reserve.
Despite the good rains the previous evening, it is obvious that the area had not seen rain in many months, and it will take quite a bit more before the effects will be seen in the surroundings.
Close-up of the road surface and corrugations mentioned earlier.
Alice.
Scenes like this remind me of the song I remember as a kid – “Little boxes, little boxes, and they’re all made out of ticky-tacky, and they all look just the same.”
Evidence of human habitation becomes quickly evident as one approaches these settlements.
The Metropolis of Alice.
On the R63, closer to Tyumeriver Dam, this tree stands out as a beacon in the area.
20kms to breakfast.
Is someone home?
Tyumeriver Dam
This builder appears to have been slightly inebriated on the job.
Approaching Hogsback pass
The moon still visible in the sky
Once again the twisties inviting ...
And once again the invitation withdrawn.
Another picturesque tree.
Entering Hogsback
Nina’s for breakfast
The garden around Nina’s
Breakfast
Hogsback “City Centre”
Covered path to “Eco Shrine”, Hogsback.
Foot bridge on one of the many hiking trails around Hogsback.
A view back down the mountain.
And so onward to Seymour.
Spectacular scenery
The road to Seymour can be clearly seen. Seymour is on the very left edge of the photo.
Some rocky, slippery patches on Mitchell’s Pass.
And then the road improves considerably as one reaches the foot of the pass.
I could not help noticing the neglect of some of the rural areas, areas that one can only assume where once flourishing, productive farms.
Arguably, the lack of water has taken its toll, and this is only one of the many low-level bridges crossing nothing but a hollow in the ground.
Still, nothing is maintained and much in the area has little value beside a photo opportunity.
Even road signs are little more than opportunities for some creative photography. I paid little attention to the original purpose of these particular signs, something that was to bite me in the backside a little later in the day.
One of the few crossings with water.
Seymour
Seymour shopping.
Derelict buildings abound in Seymour. This is on Seymour’s main street. Ironically, the well maintained building right next to this one, on the left edge of this photo, is the Dept of Social Development.
And directly across the street, what obviously at one time used to be a rather stately home, now appears to be uninhabited and falling apart.
Even the local church is derelict.
Local RDP Housing in Seymour
And the locals of Seymour, a friendly bunch.
Another fascinating tree. No leaves, only huge pink flowers.
For a minute I thought I’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in Baviaanskloof. Smitskraal?
The road to Smitskraal.
A green field in the middle of an otherwise barren area.
Most of these places are just areas which have no houses to identify them by. You pass through them on the way without even knowing you have done so.
Here some unfortunate animal appears to have got caught in the fence. The remains have obviously been here for many months, untouched by anything except wind and rain, of which there has also been preciously little.
It was here that I got to realize how precarious the situation was that I had inadvertently placed myself in. If I had a bad fall here, there was no help, no cell signal, no backup. I had taken a route that deviated from my original plan, a map of which I had left with my son back home. If I went down here, help was possibly days away. The full impact of this was driven home some 20 minutes later.
Another sign that’s warning I failed to heed, being more interested in the photographic content than the safety warning it was intended to be.
Belting along, I was now beginning to chase the sun, realizing that I had possibly bitten off a little more than I could chew for the day.
A quick photo stop and the luxury of cell phone reception. A phone call home and I was on my way again, feeling a little more relaxed, now that I had made contact back home and the apparent improvement in the condition of the road.
The road to Riebeeck East, with a wake up call.
It was shortly after this that I had a near off. As i mentioned earlier, I on more than one occasion opted to ignore old road signs. After all, they were there to make great photographs, nothing else, right? WRONG!!
Rounding one of the sharp left corners (yes, there had been a sign) at around 80km/h, I was suddenly faced with what can only be described as a large donga on the inside of the turn. Doing some quick “steer left to turn right” manoeuvring, I managed to miss the end of the donga by what felt to be millimetres, only to be instantly faced with a rock, shaped like a rugby ball and a little larger than a brick, smack in the middle of the remaining road. Three options, 1, Stay on course and hit it dead on and possibly loose the front tyre, 2, Go left and end up in the donga and go down hard, or 3, Go right and head for the thorn tree overhanging the road. Trusting my clothing to provide the necessary protection, I opted for 3, but was a fraction late in the execution, clipping the edge of the rock with the front wheel. Because of the shape of the rock, it spun up and struck me on the left ankle, my foot being flicked off the footpeg in the process.
I initially thought I had broken my ankle, but, although it was incredibly painful, I could still move it enough to change gear. To be honest, I was at this stage too afraid to take my shoe off to assess the damage, choosing to push on rather than wasting time on something I could do little about anyway.
Turnoff to Riebeeck East. One can only assume that this sign once upon a time directed travellers somewhere. Grahamstown? Alicedale?
From Riebeeck East, I took a direct route to Alicedale via Bushman Sands Game Reserve, a decision I was soon to regret. Within a few hundred metres I came to the first gate, this one bearing the evidence of another passing dog, our very own Wolweseun.
One thing I learned on this trip. If there is one gate, there WILL be another. I eventually lost count of how many gates there are, each one more agony than the one before. My left ankle was now badly swollen and stiff, to the point that changing gear became a problem. With every gate, the agony got worse - dismounting, opening the gate, remounting, putting the bike in gear, restarting the bike because I had forgotten the sidestand out, moving through the gate, dismounting, closing the gate, remounting, putting the bike in gear, restarting the bike ... I think you get the drift. Each time I mounted or dismounted my ankle took my full weight and having to lift the bike upright was becoming more like a severe gym routine with every stop. Leaving the gates open though was not an option. I had reached a point of no return, going back as bad as pushing forward. On that stretch I stalled the bike more times than I care to remember
Looking back the way I had come.
Bushman Sands Game Reserve.
The road through the game reserve. Going was slow as I didn’t want to meet something like a Land Rover head on around one of these corners at high speed.
A view of the valley below.
Farmhouse. Just beyond this house, you can see the road running off into the distance. At this point my GPS led me astray, repeatedly recalculating because of the switchbacks to the far side of the house.
The sun was getting low here and I was now seriously pushing for time, not wanting to get caught out here after dark. The road from here was atrocious to say the least. On some stretches not even 2 bikes would be able to pass each other, with ruts, washouts and dongas that could cause some serious damage. Photo stops came to an end, at least until I reached the tar.
As mentioned earlier, my GPS had led me astray and I eventually rejoined the N10 and tar on the far side of the Olifantskop Pass. At least I was familiar with this road, it too, like the one to Grahamstown, being travelled more often than I care to remember.
Sunset while approaching Sundays River just before 17h30 and time for a short break, the last for the day.
I arrived back home at 17h57, after 12 hours and 618kms, tired and sore. The bike ran faultlessly, with thankfully, not even a puncture. This is more than I can say for myself, who, 3 days later, is still hobbling around with a painful, bandaged ankle.
The route:
