Wabbit16
Race Dog
“What’s that? Katberg? Never heard of it…”
…
That was until quite recently… :mwink:
The small town of Port Alfred was getting me down over the festive season. There were too many cars, tourists and drunken students for my liking, and a getaway was just what I needed. Where I wanted to originally go was to the Drakensberg for a few days, but time constraints and the general lack of spending money over the festive season was the main issues. Not that it stopped me from taking a trip
Mountains have always fascinated me. It’s like some sort of perverted obsession with high altitude, cold misty mornings and gravel roads – although the latter we all should have in common! When I went up into the koppies near Elands last year, I was in heaven; I never knew we had such beautiful scenery in the Eastern Cape. Having the ability to ride up into the mountains and feeling like you are treading the highest place for hundreds of kilometers is nirvana. It is absolutely amazing.
Now that I have my introduction out of the way, I believe it’s safe to assume I can get on with the report proper :
Day 1:
The first day was the worst…a whole day of planning my route, prepping the bike and trying to fall asleep whilst constantly aware of all the excitement the next day might hold. It was to be the most restless night I had in a while, but nothing a little midnight snacking couldn’t fix
Day 2:
I awoke to a gorgeous day outside, even though I overslept a bit and the sun was already high in the sky. I strapped my tent to the bike, packed the remaining goods into my backpack, did one last pre-trip inspection and departed. From the farm to Grahamstown it is around 50 kilometers of gravel, with the occasional cattle herd and impala thrown in to make it interesting. The last 15 or so kilometers into Grahamstown is tarred, but with very loose stones laying the whole road full. Since this road is a ‘pass’ as so to speak, I took it easy around the bends.
In town I filled up with the Gulf’s finest petroleum distillate, and the KLR’s tank swallowed 18 liters of it. The petrol attendant was quite interested in my voyage, and especially my number plate, or what was left of it. I tipped the man for his efforts and made my way to Fort Beaufort. In retrospect the fuel in Grahamstown must have been a lekker blend because I managed 445 kilo’s before I hit reserve :ricky:. The road to the Fort was quite boring, and quiet. If I went past 10 cars on that 83 kilometer stretch, it would have been a lot. There was only one road sign on that road, and it was at the halfway mark, proclaiming that Fort Beaufort was a measly 40 kilometers ahead
My impression of this quaint little town was to be expected: there’s not much there, but the little that there is, is enough. They even had an internet café, which surprised me. They must make lekker mampoer here, with all the citrus orchards near the Montessori Agricultural School just before the town itself. After a Lunch Bar (Brunch Bar?) for brunch and a bottle of water to keep the dehydration at bay, I phoned my accommodation to get some directions to the Katberg Eco Estate. My host was none other than our own Fugly :biggrin:
Fugly acknowledged where I was and explained to me how to get to the estate. I set off in the direction of Seymour for a few clicks, and Déjà vu set in. I went over the Katrivier about seven times, as the river sways back and forth between the mountains either side of the road. The road to the estate was in excellent condition, and the tar roads looked brand new. Kudos to the local municipality :thumleft:. Arrived at the turnoff to the estate some 25 kilometers later, I met up with Fugly. The first thing he noticed was my chain – I ran out of chain lube at home, but Fugly had some in his toolkit, a kit we would be well acquainted with during the course of the day…
The dirt road to the estate was peculiar to say the least: it ran through a small village with a police station on the one side and a stop sign planted at a crossing. I don’t think the village even had a clinic, but maybe the station was dual purpose in that regard? Another few kays down the road and we arrived at the entrance to the estate. The security guard looked at my skeef, but I think anyone with a dirty bike with half a number plate and a tent strapped to the back would get that look from himot:.
At the house I unpacked most of my stuff and we kitted up to tackle the Katberg. Fugly lent me an extra summer jacket to save me from drowning in my own sweat, and we headed off into the mountains. This part is better explained with photos, so here goes:
Recce:
Some more action pics:
Some ‘oops’ moments:
Airborne!:
![url]](https://proxy.imagearchive.com/81b/81b5475c6eecfe0a12ff8f2693261fdc)
Some arty shots:
Scenery on the way up:
Hoezit:
The looooong way down:
Ouch:
More purdy peechas:
The roads were not too bad, but I had a few pucker moments here and there. The drawback of being a bit kortgat :biggrin:. Apparently there was a big fire here a while back, and as a result most of the fenceposts burnt down, along with any wire connecting it. A while after we reached the top and explored a few goat paths, Fugly noticed the rear end of his bike was a bit loose and wiggling around a bit more than usual. We rode to a flat section of gravel and then we saw it – a flat rear tyre! All the horror stories of the Heidenau’s and their rock-like sidewalls created images in my head…bad images.
By using the KLR as a 180-odd kilogram tyre lever, we wrestled Heidi off the rim and pulled the tube from out under it. Fugly suspected a very stealthy thorn tree or a strand of hakkiesdraad, because we found six holes in the tube, more or less in a row. The midday sun was starting to beat down and we got started on the holes. I to this day swear Fugly’s topbox is a bottomless pit, as he had enough tools in there to make a professional mechanic skaam :biggrin:. We patched all the holes whilst dodging little duststorms that would appear out of nowhere and disappear just as fast (at this point I had the feeling I was being watched, but that was just some high-altitude beef taking a peek).
After sanding the tube six times, waiting for the rubber cement to dry six times, patching the tube six times, testing the patches six times and pumping the tyre up only once we were ready to head home. The sun was not our friend up there in the mountains, and the BMW registered 33 degrees Celsius at one stage. We could hear the beers calling! :biggrin:
The road down wasn’t that bad, but I was more on my nerves going down than up. The corners especially caused me to freeze up, but I wrote that off to my bad experience with corners and fences on last year’s Bash :. I got lost on the way down at one stage, or so I thought – turns out I was so busy concentrating on my way up that I wasn’t taking in the scenery, and everything looked alien to me! We got home knackered and tired, and had some cold ones before we hit the pool .
My descent:
The rest of the night was uneventful, but we witnessed a spectacular moonrise over the mountains. I put up my tent behind the house and finally retired at around 11 o’ clock…
…or so I had hoped
Lying on the pillow in my one-roomed house, I was really too tired to not fall asleep, regardless of the levels of adrenaline in my veins. The day’s riding really took it out of me. Although I was physically in my moer, my mind was still awake, and what happened next was all a blur. I remember hearing some creature thud against the inside of my tent, and another one touched my foot. I more or less know the restrictions of the human body, my own included, but what these strange creatures caused me to do was beyond the operational limits of my body. In one movement I got up, made a dive through the half-open tent door, did a roll I remember from Judo and stood up facing the tent, my heart in my throat. What a sight. Rambo and Jackie Chan would be proud of my split-second feat. If I knew I was going to be facing two bullfrogs I would’ve used less effort…
LESSONS LEARNT: 1) Keep tent closed when unattended
2) Expect the unexpected
3) Frogs can be quite scary
4) Bring spare undies with…
Fluttery friend:
Day 3:
After the previous night’s ordeal, I felt a bit of a poephol thinking a froggy can be such a frightening creature. On the plus side, I’ve never heard Fugly laugh so hard before.
I bade farewell to Fugly and company, and took it easy back home. I took a few more photos and found a tortoise in the road between Fort Beaufort and Grahamstown.
Skillie:
I took the same road back (Southwell) to the farm and found the weirdest sight – an old Land Rover from the Free State with a surfboard on top, heading towards Port Alfred. The okes in the car looked quite happy (too happy ???) so I left it at that. The wafts emanating from the van was strangely sweet, but to each his own.
I got home after an awesome trip to end off an awesome year. Many thanks to Fugly for the hospitality and the good laughs :thumleft:. To all the dogs, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this report and that it will inspire all of you to get out there on your steeds and explore our beautiful country
‘till next time
Wabbit
…
That was until quite recently… :mwink:
The small town of Port Alfred was getting me down over the festive season. There were too many cars, tourists and drunken students for my liking, and a getaway was just what I needed. Where I wanted to originally go was to the Drakensberg for a few days, but time constraints and the general lack of spending money over the festive season was the main issues. Not that it stopped me from taking a trip
Mountains have always fascinated me. It’s like some sort of perverted obsession with high altitude, cold misty mornings and gravel roads – although the latter we all should have in common! When I went up into the koppies near Elands last year, I was in heaven; I never knew we had such beautiful scenery in the Eastern Cape. Having the ability to ride up into the mountains and feeling like you are treading the highest place for hundreds of kilometers is nirvana. It is absolutely amazing.
Now that I have my introduction out of the way, I believe it’s safe to assume I can get on with the report proper :
Day 1:
The first day was the worst…a whole day of planning my route, prepping the bike and trying to fall asleep whilst constantly aware of all the excitement the next day might hold. It was to be the most restless night I had in a while, but nothing a little midnight snacking couldn’t fix
Day 2:
I awoke to a gorgeous day outside, even though I overslept a bit and the sun was already high in the sky. I strapped my tent to the bike, packed the remaining goods into my backpack, did one last pre-trip inspection and departed. From the farm to Grahamstown it is around 50 kilometers of gravel, with the occasional cattle herd and impala thrown in to make it interesting. The last 15 or so kilometers into Grahamstown is tarred, but with very loose stones laying the whole road full. Since this road is a ‘pass’ as so to speak, I took it easy around the bends.
In town I filled up with the Gulf’s finest petroleum distillate, and the KLR’s tank swallowed 18 liters of it. The petrol attendant was quite interested in my voyage, and especially my number plate, or what was left of it. I tipped the man for his efforts and made my way to Fort Beaufort. In retrospect the fuel in Grahamstown must have been a lekker blend because I managed 445 kilo’s before I hit reserve :ricky:. The road to the Fort was quite boring, and quiet. If I went past 10 cars on that 83 kilometer stretch, it would have been a lot. There was only one road sign on that road, and it was at the halfway mark, proclaiming that Fort Beaufort was a measly 40 kilometers ahead
My impression of this quaint little town was to be expected: there’s not much there, but the little that there is, is enough. They even had an internet café, which surprised me
. They must make lekker mampoer here, with all the citrus orchards near the Montessori Agricultural School just before the town itself. After a Lunch Bar (Brunch Bar?) for brunch and a bottle of water to keep the dehydration at bay, I phoned my accommodation to get some directions to the Katberg Eco Estate. My host was none other than our own Fugly :biggrin:Fugly acknowledged where I was and explained to me how to get to the estate. I set off in the direction of Seymour for a few clicks, and Déjà vu set in. I went over the Katrivier about seven times, as the river sways back and forth between the mountains either side of the road. The road to the estate was in excellent condition, and the tar roads looked brand new. Kudos to the local municipality :thumleft:. Arrived at the turnoff to the estate some 25 kilometers later, I met up with Fugly. The first thing he noticed was my chain – I ran out of chain lube at home, but Fugly had some in his toolkit, a kit we would be well acquainted with during the course of the day…
The dirt road to the estate was peculiar to say the least: it ran through a small village with a police station on the one side and a stop sign planted at a crossing. I don’t think the village even had a clinic, but maybe the station was dual purpose in that regard? Another few kays down the road and we arrived at the entrance to the estate. The security guard looked at my skeef, but I think anyone with a dirty bike with half a number plate and a tent strapped to the back would get that look from him
ot:.At the house I unpacked most of my stuff and we kitted up to tackle the Katberg. Fugly lent me an extra summer jacket to save me from drowning in my own sweat, and we headed off into the mountains. This part is better explained with photos, so here goes:
Recce:
Some more action pics:
Some ‘oops’ moments:
Airborne!:
Some arty shots:
Scenery on the way up:
Hoezit:
The looooong way down:
Ouch:
More purdy peechas:
The roads were not too bad, but I had a few pucker moments here and there. The drawback of being a bit kortgat :biggrin:. Apparently there was a big fire here a while back, and as a result most of the fenceposts burnt down, along with any wire connecting it. A while after we reached the top and explored a few goat paths, Fugly noticed the rear end of his bike was a bit loose and wiggling around a bit more than usual. We rode to a flat section of gravel and then we saw it – a flat rear tyre! All the horror stories of the Heidenau’s and their rock-like sidewalls created images in my head…bad images.
By using the KLR as a 180-odd kilogram tyre lever, we wrestled Heidi off the rim and pulled the tube from out under it. Fugly suspected a very stealthy thorn tree or a strand of hakkiesdraad, because we found six holes in the tube, more or less in a row. The midday sun was starting to beat down and we got started on the holes. I to this day swear Fugly’s topbox is a bottomless pit, as he had enough tools in there to make a professional mechanic skaam :biggrin:. We patched all the holes whilst dodging little duststorms that would appear out of nowhere and disappear just as fast (at this point I had the feeling I was being watched, but that was just some high-altitude beef taking a peek).
After sanding the tube six times, waiting for the rubber cement to dry six times, patching the tube six times, testing the patches six times and pumping the tyre up only once we were ready to head home. The sun was not our friend up there in the mountains, and the BMW registered 33 degrees Celsius at one stage. We could hear the beers calling! :biggrin:
The road down wasn’t that bad, but I was more on my nerves going down than up. The corners especially caused me to freeze up, but I wrote that off to my bad experience with corners and fences on last year’s Bash :
. I got lost on the way down at one stage, or so I thought – turns out I was so busy concentrating on my way up that I wasn’t taking in the scenery, and everything looked alien to me! We got home knackered and tired, and had some cold ones before we hit the pool .My descent:
The rest of the night was uneventful, but we witnessed a spectacular moonrise over the mountains. I put up my tent behind the house and finally retired at around 11 o’ clock…
…or so I had hoped
Lying on the pillow in my one-roomed house, I was really too tired to not fall asleep, regardless of the levels of adrenaline in my veins. The day’s riding really took it out of me. Although I was physically in my moer, my mind was still awake, and what happened next was all a blur. I remember hearing some creature thud against the inside of my tent, and another one touched my foot. I more or less know the restrictions of the human body, my own included, but what these strange creatures caused me to do was beyond the operational limits of my body. In one movement I got up, made a dive through the half-open tent door, did a roll I remember from Judo and stood up facing the tent, my heart in my throat. What a sight. Rambo and Jackie Chan would be proud of my split-second feat. If I knew I was going to be facing two bullfrogs I would’ve used less effort…
LESSONS LEARNT: 1) Keep tent closed when unattended
2) Expect the unexpected
3) Frogs can be quite scary
4) Bring spare undies with…
Fluttery friend:
Day 3:
After the previous night’s ordeal, I felt a bit of a poephol thinking a froggy can be such a frightening creature. On the plus side, I’ve never heard Fugly laugh so hard before.
I bade farewell to Fugly and company, and took it easy back home. I took a few more photos and found a tortoise in the road between Fort Beaufort and Grahamstown.
Skillie:
I took the same road back (Southwell) to the farm and found the weirdest sight – an old Land Rover from the Free State with a surfboard on top, heading towards Port Alfred. The okes in the car looked quite happy (too happy ???) so I left it at that. The wafts emanating from the van was strangely sweet, but to each his own.
I got home after an awesome trip to end off an awesome year. Many thanks to Fugly for the hospitality and the good laughs :thumleft:. To all the dogs, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this report and that it will inspire all of you to get out there on your steeds and explore our beautiful country
‘till next time
Wabbit
