Lesotho and related adventures during December 2013

[platpatat]

Day 10 (of 15) – Bloemfontein to Ladybrand
24 Dec 2013

On the morning of Christmas eve the hopes ran high to fix Andrew's motorcycle and head back to Lesotho.  With permission from the guest house we left our luggage there after checking out and headed for a motorcycle shop on the far side of town which helped Andrew the previous day to tension his neck bearings.  We had hoped that they would be able to repair the bike so that we can continue to Lesotho.  When we arrived there the shop was abandoned with a sign stating that it would be closed for festive season holidays until the new year.  A sign on a wall close by advertised a mechanical engineering works in the street behind the closed motorcycle shop and I suggested that we go and ask them if we could fix the bike ourselves in their workshop.  We met two mechanical engineers at their shop who were very friendly and helpful but the shop did not belong to them and they would shortly have been on their way so we could not work there.  George quickly took me inside and showed me the nice machines that they had and, being a toolmaker himself, explained how to use the machines to cut gears and make keyways on shafts.  They gave us a piece of steel rod which would be useful to us for knocking Andrew's old neck bearings out  before installing the new ones.

Even though we knew that BMW's only mechanic was away on holiday, we took a chance and headed there to beg to use their workshop and repair the bike ourselves.  They had ordered the new voltage regulator and it had arrived just as they said it would – what a relief it was!  As the previous day the sales manager, Chris, was extremely friendly and helpful.  He allowed us access to their workshop and tools.  In idle chat I found out that because it was Christmas eve they would be closing early – at 13h00.  We had to pull a hare out of the hat if we were to have Andrew's motorcycle fixed in time as the bike only made it into the workshop by 10h15.

George and Andrew got right to work by supporting the bike and ripping out the front end while I went to find coffee and refreshments for all of us.  George and Andrew made an excellent team and they worked together in perfect synchronisation without a moment wasted on strategy or planning.  I helped to hold the handle bars and knock the old bearings out before starting work on the electrical charging system.  Two wires on the old voltage regulator got so hot that it melted the insulation on the wires and fused two of the plastic connectors together.  I was able to separate the connectors with mechanical force but the one connector was beyond salvation and I proceeded to replace it with female spade connectors which would mate perfectly with the plastic connector on the brand new voltage regulator.  A couple more improvised connections and insulations followed before the new battery was fitted.  As I started to fit the new battery George and Andrew completed the last work on the neck bearings – now they were waiting for me!  Together they worked like one mind with four hands while making it look like the the closing night's performance of a long running stage play.  I promise you that if that BMW mechanic was not on holiday his jaw would have dropped – what a team we were!  A couple of twists of screwdriver later we were ready to start the engine before my multimeter put my mind at ease that the charging system was working as designed once again.  All that remained was to put the cover panels back, return the tools and clean up the workshop.  Andrew rolled his motorcycle out of the workshop 10 minutes before closing time – just in time for a quick photograph with the ever helpful Chris and the guy from the spares department who sourced the new voltage regulator for us.  We had most excellent and beyond-the-call-of-duty service from Bloemfontein BMW Motorrad!  Our sincerest gratitude and thanks to Chris and the rest of the Bloem BMW team!

Andrew's bike was as good as new and my stomach was starting to gnaw its way towards my organs.  We promptly went to Spur to have another of our most hated of foods by this time – hamburgers.  George vowed to break the habit and tested a salad instead.  Now Andrew's bike was carrying 10kg of redundant mass in the large car battery on his pillion seat and as we waited for our food to arrive I was eyeing the parking area outside for a car with a Cape Town licence plate with which we could send the dead weight home.  I went outside to ask the driver of a double cab bakkie from Bellville but he declined to assist us, so did another driver whom I approached.  At least I tried...  I went back inside and our food arrived.  Chewing on my burger I eyed George's salad with envy.

With Andrew's bike now fixed we headed back to the guest house to collect our luggage before starting the 150 odd kilometres to Ladybrand.  Ladybrand was a good destination because it was the closest South African town to the border with Lesotho at Maseru bridge.  From here we would be in a good position to start the next day's journey into Lesotho wherever that might take us.  About 10 km before Ladybrand we stopped to put on rain gear as a thunderstorm broke out.  The roads in the town of Ladybrand bore testimony to poor local government with so many potholes that it proved impossible to find an undamaged path wide enough to put a motorcycle wheel through at a walking pace.  It hurts my heart to see once proud settlements waste away in such vile incompetence, mismanagement and corruption.  This is a widespread phenomenon which manifests in many different ways and this cancer is sadly visible in so many small towns.  I silently fear that it will consume our beautiful country.

After putting my bum through a memorable pothole bumping punishment we reached Little Rock resort in Ladybrand in the rain.  Little Rock resort is a wonderful camp site with many chalets, a large swimming pool and many farm animals.  We rented a chalet for the night which had a room with a double bed (which George occupied) with four single beds in the attic.  The chalet also had a living room, kitchen and bathroom.  An unoccupied neighbouring chalet had a large roofed patio where we parked our bikes out of the rain.

We were thankful to at last be back at adventuring and thankful to be under a roof with the storm overhead.  Looking out of the front door of our chalet we saw an unoccupied tent outside and later heard a large crash as the water which collected on top crushed the supporting structure with its weight.  The poor campers showed up some time later just to leave their tents untouched before searching for accommodation elsewhere.

Andrew's original plan was to ride with George and I through Lesotho on his way to Swaziland, Mozambique, to Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, then to Botswana and Namibia before heading back to Cape Town.  With his bike breaking down he had lost more time than he could afford and he was ready to push on towards his next destination (Swaziland).  In preparation for the ride to Lesotho I had learned about the 192m high Maletsunyane waterfall close to Semonkong (in Lesotho) and I really had my heart set on seeing this at some point during our travels.  Somehow George convinced Andrew to join us the next day on a journey to the waterfall.

It was not clear where we would find food so I cooked up a packet of beef flavoured dried food for 4 people.  To ensure that we get enough protein I added about a cupful of sliced biltong.  The meal was salty beyond disgust probably due to all the biltong which I added to the meal and resembled a chunky thick seawater soup.  Good intentions and creativity did not seem to be the best ingredients for supper.  At least we had something in our stomachs before going to bed.  Andrew and I looked through some of the nice photographs which we had taken on our trip thus far before going to sleep.

 

[platpatat]

Day 11 (of 15) – Ladybrand to Maletsunyane Falls and back
25 Dec 2013

(Ladybrand to Maletsunyane Falls - Part 1/2 ...because only 10 pictures are allowed per post)

Merry Christmas!  At 7h00 we woke up to find four huge potbelly pigs wandering around close to our chalet.  The sight reminded my stomach of bacon and a growl followed in acknowledgement.  Lucky for the pigs I proceeded to have some Pro-Nutro breakfast cereal before heading for the ablutions (which was equipped with showers unlike the bathroom within our chalet).  Little Rock resort was truly an amazing place.  It had mature, high trees which were loved by birds of all kinds.  As one stepped outside one was immediately struck by the volume and variety of bird calls in the air.  It was truly an unforgettable experience closing one's eyes and slowly turning around to be immersed within the omnidirectional sound.  By 08h15 we left the gate of Little Rock resort and headed for the Maseru bridge border post.  A waterfall awaits!

The road through Maseru towards Roma was familiar all the way to the turn off where the A3 and A5 national roads meet as we had travelled the very same section after Andrew's bike broke down on our way to Bloemfontein.  Fuel is about 20% cheaper in Lesotho than in South Africa and we stopped at the same fuel station where we fuelled up on the way to Bloemfontein.  After the unfamiliarity of everything when we first rode to Maseru I now felt like a local.  All the way along the road we saw people dressed up fancily and many in very bright colours for Christmas day – here it was an occasion beyond what we were used to!  A good tar road took us close to Roma (where the University of Lesotho is located) before bad potholes started to litter the surface.

On the far side of Roma the tar road turned into a technical gravel pass and from reading about this road before our trip I expected the road to be like this all the way to the waterfall.  Surprised then we put our front wheels back on tar shortly after the pass.  This road was tarred in sections with slightly less than half gravel all the way to Semonkong.  The sections that were tarred were beautifully smooth and wide enough to accommodate wide yellow lined safety lanes on both sides.  The sections that were gravel were muddy and covered with deep ruts, large rocks or slippery smaller stones.  The worst parts of this road were sections that were neither tar nor gravel but rather in the late preparation stages before tarring.  Small loose, sharp stones (the same kind that one would usually find held together with tar) was strewn across the road in some places up to 15cm deep which made for a slippery ride which felt like something between sand and mud.  This surface covered steep uphills, downhills and sharp corners without discrimination.  Here and there traffic had moved or compacted the stones in two narrow tracks.

The landscape was a sight to behold indeed!  The mountains had the green of spring in them and recently ploughed farmlands complemented with the deep brown tones of fertile earth.  Strewn across the sky were small patches of cloud which cast dark shadows in spots on a mostly vivid green landscape accentuating the gradients of the mountains as the wind blew them across.  We stopped a small distance after passing a settlement named Ramabanta for a photograph and to snack on an energy bar before heading off again.

While on a section of the very loose and slippery stones we were passed by some very impatient locals driving bakkies only for us to overtake them again a short distance later when the stones were replaced by deep ruts, rocks and mud.  We travelled onwards and met a couple on a 300cc KTM who came from the front and stopped for a brief chat before giving George some directions to the waterfall.  Shortly after leaving them we crossed the final peak before the beautiful valleys of Semonkong opened up before us as if someone was drawing a curtain.  The striking Maletsunyane river wound its way at the bottom of the mountain in perfect synchronous with the bends of the pass.  The pass and the river met at Semonkong bridge where we stopped to look at the weather, the GPS and the map before pointing fingers in various directions and eventually setting off to the waterfall.  By this time it was about lunch time and I had suggested that we go to Semonkong Lodge for lunch.  George was concerned that it might rain (there were some dark purple grey clouds building on the horizon) and deprive us the opportunity to ride back on the same day.  The impatient bakkie drivers whom we overtook earlier had gone passed us while we were conferring on the bridge and now they were once again slowing us down on the way to the waterfall.  Two other bakkies were also on the extremely narrow technical gravel road which created a crawling convoy.  Coming over a ridge I passed all four at once but George and Andrew were left behind.  This reminded me of the biker saying “If he who rides in front rides too fast, he rides alone.”.  So I progressed at a crawling pace a great distance in front of the bakkies.

As we came around another corner the top of an amazing waterfall became distinguisable to the left.  Nothing more than the absence of a road sign and the absence of a low rock wall on the left hand side of the road announced the turn off for the approach (onto grass) to the viewpoint onto the waterfall.  I turned onto the grass and started down a steep valley, off-road, towards the waterfall.  Andrew started to follow me but George refused to go further thinking quite rightly that I was mad to go there.  Needless to say I did not get much further before the rocks, slippery surface and sinking soft ground became too much of a challenge to navigate and I parked my bike and hiked the remainder of the distance down.  By then Andrew had turned his bike around and was heading back to George before also parking his bike and hiking down to join me.  A couple of quick photographs later I hiked back up, turned my bike around and went to greet George.  He pointed out another set of tracks in the grass which navigated much flatter ground and stated that he was inclined to explore that.  Shortly before Andrew's return we started on George's track before arriving at a spectacular viewpoint a couple of hundred meters away.

 

[platpatat]

Day 11 (of 15) – Ladybrand to Maletsunyane Falls and back
25 Dec 2013

(Maletsunyane Falls to Ladybrand - Part 2/2 ...because only 10 pictures are allowed per post)

Because of delays related to mechanical problems we had so nearly missed coming to this waterfall, but seeing this majestically high white veil disappear inside a bowl in the mountain suddenly made it more than worth the effort for all of us.  This was an astoundingly beautiful sight.  As my first year mathematics professor would have described it, the Maletsunyane waterfall was a discontinuity in the geography.  Of course that all waterfalls were, but somehow this waterfall seemed more so than any other I had encountered.  From the viewpoint one looked out over the Maletsunyane river from above.  All seemed well and then unexpectedly the river simply ran out of support...  ...and the water fell 192m before it continued again within the basin below.  Now to put that into perspective it is about the length of 2 rugby fields or the equivalent height of a 60 storey building.  By height it is not far shy of the Carlton Centre in Johannesburg – the highest building in Africa.  We spent much time appreciating and photographing this discrepancy.  A ledge lower down the mountain would provide a different viewpoint and George and later Andrew started down the steep slope while I remained on top with the motorcycles.  I moved my bike right up to the the precipice for a nice picture and photographed the others far below with the waterfall behind from above.  The hike back up was very steep and exhausting for George.  After George and Andrew arrived back at the top I took my turn to go down to the ledge for some photographs.  On the way back up I noticed and photographed some interesting flowers and caterpillars.  The steep slope also exhausted me.

By the time we left the waterfall (at exactly 13h00) the sky had cleared up and we decided to find Semonkong Lodge for lunch.  This time we would cross the river at Semonkong Bridge and continue through the town to cross the river again immediately before the lodge.  As expected the lodge had a restaurant and while George and I opted to try the special of the day (which was a turkey wrap) Andrew went for his favourite – another burger!  One of the walls inside pranced a Guinness world record certificate awarding the lodge with the title of operating the highest commercial abseil at 204m down the side of the waterfall!  Well, I was not about to try that – I'd stick to safer stuff like adventure biking!  Hahaha!  After lunch I did agree that Andrew got the better meal – a turkey wrap for Christmas lunch only broke the edge of hunger.  But time was getting short if we were to be back on home soil before sunset.  Before leaving the lodge at 14h30 I let some air out of George's tyres to make him more comfortable navigating those sections of deep unstable stones on the return journey.

The ride back was uneventful and equally spectacular to the trip there.  Knowing the condition of the road ahead made it more of a joy.  We filled up with fuel a stone's throw from the Maseru bridge border crossing and George and I waited a long time for Andrew who was getting better acquainted with a local tribal chief whom he met at the garage.  From the border crossing we headed back to Ladybrand and Little Rock resort where we seeked refuge for the night.  As a storm broke out the resort was abuzz with activity and resembled Muizenberg beach on new year's day.  It seemed that Little Rock resort was the popular local hangout where people came from far and wide with their families to spend Christmas day in the pool, on the lush gardens and among the farm animals as day visitors.  First to our disappointment we were told that there was no accommodation available for the night and then pleasantly surprised as we were offered a chalet currently being renovated at a reduced rate.  This happened to be the same chalet where we parked our bikes on the patio under the roof the previous night during the storm and the only sign that we could find of renovation was that the TV had no signal.  Falling darkness and the storm scattered the masses and proved sufficient encouragement for the day visitors to start heading homeward.

Sure of accommodation we headed back to town to find a meal before going to bed.  The evening of Christmas day was not the best time to be looking for a meal in a small town.  Riding through the streets looking for an open restaurant yielded no success and the best that we could find was a Chinese supermarket with a small take away section.  George and I ordered food from the menu on the wall before being corrected by the serving lady who pointed at a handwritten sheet of paper behind her.  The only food listed there were russians and chips or hamburgers and although coffee was on the menu the serving lady refused to serve it to George.  By elimination George and I opted to go for russians and chips while the obviously questionable kitchen cleanliness lent Andrew to avoid the take-aways and instead settle for potato crisps and chocolate bars for supper.  My hands felt dirty after a long day on the bike and I requested a fork to eat with.  Short of forks I was handed a soft plastic coffee spoon (really?!) to eat my hot chips with which made for a comic scene enjoyed by George and Andrew.  Unexpectedly the serving lady exploded in an unshielded and almighty sneeze which covered the larger part of the kitchen in debris before wiping her nose on her forearms.  George pointed to my spoon and noted that my dirty hands were not the primary concern under these circumstances which put my mind right at ease.  I did not let go of my spoon and after finishing my chips I resigned myself to the fact that a russian was never going to be had with a soft plastic spoon.  So I yielded and ate it by hand anyway.  Although it was very tasty it was slightly spoilt by the characteristic flavour of sweaty, old, left hand motorcycle glove.  I had to return to the serving lady to ask for a serviette after which she questioningly stated that she was sure she had given me one with my meal.  What an experience it was!  Stories like this were not made in the comfort of one's home.

With full stomachs and minds full of health concerns three very tired bikers headed back to their chalet before settling in for the night.

P.S.:
Preparation before the trip took me to a website which claimed that the Maletsunyane waterfall was the highest waterfall in Africa, or sub-saharan Africa or some such thing.  Only after returning from this trip did I read that the Tugela Falls (at the Amphiteatre in the Drakensberg and less than 200km away) was the second highest waterfall in the world and the highest in Africa at 948m, with the longest drop spanning 411m (which is more than double the entire drop of the Maletsunyane falls)!  Nevertheless, the experience of viewing Maletsunyane falls was unforgettable and the surrounding geography framed it beyond perfection.  From photographs of Tugela Falls I would say that Maletsunyane is the greater spectacle.

 

[platpatat]

...

 

[cheesy]

Awesome photographs and a well written report, however, spoilt only by untidy workmanship in BFX. ??? Eating chips with a spoon ? there is such a thing as clean dirt and besides it puts the immune system back into action. Eat with your fingers it tastes better.

 

[DRAZIL]

a beaut of a trip and awesome photos :thumleft:

 

[Goshawk]

It just gets better and better, I don't want it to end  :biggrin:

 

[Veemax]

Who would have guessed that such eloquence, humour, subtlety, and good ENGELS , could be forthcoming from such a small town as Uniondale  :lol8: , let me know when you feel the need for a hamburger  :spitcoffee:

 

[badseed]

Made me get the maps out for our next trip. Amazing trip and photos guys. Sometimes we get a bit jaded and a report like this is just the kick I need to get out and enjoy my bike and this incredible country we live in.

 

[platpatat]

Day 12 (of 15) – Ladybrand to Sani pass backpackers
26 Dec 2013

(Part 1 of 2 - Ladybrand to Golden Gate national park)

After the dream faded to reality I was delighted to have some Pro-Nutro breakfast cereal.  George also had some before we packed the bikes and put the gates of Little Rock resort at Ladybrand behind us.  One needed a good breakfast before braving the generous collection of potholes to the main road.  The world seemed... evacuated.  Although not particularly early there were very few people to be seen the day after Christmas.  After collecting more passport stamps we entered the desolate city centre of Maseru as the A1 national road started its way to Butha-Buthe.

The outskirts of the city presented many artisan workshops before the urban landscape made way for the rural.  A friend back home, Edward, told me of his 1970's bike trip to Lesotho from which he had pleasant memories of staying over in a town called Teyateyaneng.  As we passed through Teyateyaneng it was clear that the 50 odd traditional huts remembered from his trip had made way for a much larger growing town where tradition was rapidly forgotten as unplastered and unpainted rectangular concrete brick houses with corrugated iron roofing left no trace of the once beautiful and proud thatched rondawels.  Riding on the edge of the Maloti mountains spacious open plains conducive to commercial farming spread out to the west.  This was a completely different landscape to what we had become accustomed with the diversity being a pleasure to behold.  Onwards towards Maputsoe we passed large stoneworks where sandstone bricks, tiles and monuments were carved from the hills leaving open sores with overly neat rectangular steps in the earth.  On the way out of Maputsoe we were stopped by a traffic officer, who, for the first time on our trip, wanted to check our driver's licences.  We passed through Leribe where I found the road sign indicating the tar road to Katse very inviting, but we passed by without much more than a longing glance over the shoulder.  Generally the road was in excellent condition.  The tar surface was uninterrupted and the road was clearly marked with lines and road signs.  I found this ironic as this road was almost deprived of sharp corners and other hazards in contrast to the tight mountain passes with sharp drop offs and wandering animals which we had navigated before.  The single exception was a short stretch of road between Leribe and Butha-Buthe where the road surface was missing for short distances in one direction forcing one to wait for uncomming traffic to pass before using that space.  Butha-Buthe followed where we turned off to Caledonspoort and all too early we arrived at the Caledonspoort border crossing where George and my passports were decorated for the final time on this journey.

Lunchtime had caught up with us and our stomachs protested our passing by Fouriesburg on the way to Clarens.  With all the desolation we had encountered on the road earlier the day I was half expecting a challenge to rival that of the night before in sourcing lunch.  We passed some empty restaurants in town which bore “Closed” signs on the doors.  Therefore I stopped at the first open coffee shop in Clarens for lunch.  The expression through George's visor told me that he needed more than a coffee shop would be able to provide and we turned the bikes back to the road and continued to an open pizza restaurant.  Having lost the forced air that comes with travelling at speed it became clear that a pressing heat, which we would have to endure for lunch, was suffered by all in this quaint little town.  The pizzas were excellent, the refreshments not cold enough and the service very slow.  Nonetheless our quick stop in Clarens was punctuated with a stop to refuel before we continued in the direction of the Golden Gate national park.

The road wound its way next to the Caledon river with the Maloti mountains behind to the south and emerald green plains with mountains towering behind to the opposite side of the road.  Weeping willows of which the lower leaves were cleared to about the height of a sheep's head thronged around the banks of the narrow river.  Shortly before we entered the park George and I stopped to put on rain clothes while the first drops of a thunderstorm tested the dry earth.  We briefly stopped on a bridge after entering the gates to the park to take some photographs.  The deepest of greens covered the mountains which pranced massive bare rock faces in layers of rich earthy colour.  The storm was still building overhead and thus deprived us of the required light to create spectacular photographs worthy of the scenery.  Various paths veered off the main road and allowed the inquisitive to explore views deeper into the park than the main road allows.  We did not have the time to explore these on the day and the rain slightly pressed the urgency to make progress.  The road was beautiful with long sweeping corners which followed comfortably on each other.  As we reached the centre of the park the storm bucketed down with all fury which made it a challenge to see further than 20m ahead.  Slowly we pressed on until the rain thinned and visibility improved.  All too soon with feet drenched inside wet boots we left the far gate of the park and continued on the road to Harrismith.  As we reached the turn off onto the R74 to Bergville we stopped on the side of the road to say goodbyes and take a farewell picture as Andrew parted company with George and I.  Andrew would continue on to Harrismith and start to head to Swaziland while George and I were heading to Champagne Castle where I hoped to see the birds of prey show (after my previous disappointment in 2010 when the show was cancelled due to strong winds) the following day.

 

[platpatat]

Day 12 (of 15) – Ladybrand to Sani pass backpackers
26 Dec 2013

(Part 2 of 2 - Sterkfontein dam to Sani pass backpackers)

The R74 were by all estimates as bad as roads got before forgotten lines disappeared from following editions of maps.  The views next to the 20km long Sterkfontein dam with the majestic Drakensberg behind were spectacular, but failed to justify the torture which this seriously potholed and dilapidated tar road inflicted onto our bikes.  Shortly before reaching Little Switzerland the road surface improved to near perfection.  At Little Switzerland we stopped for some photographs at a viewpoint which looked out over never ending plains.  In some directions the views were spectacular as direct sunlight won its battle with the dark storm clouds overhead in the far distance.

Our next stop was at Winterton where I went into a supermarket for provisions while George waited at the motorcycles.  From there we headed towards Champagne Castle where we stopped at the gate to the birds of prey show only to be disappointed as the sign read “...every day except Fridays” and the following day would be a Friday.  This was now the second time that I came here hoping to see this show and was disappointed.  With the storm overhead it was deep twilight and we were searching for accommodation.  A campsite which had no chalets available made for a roofed base from which we explored other options for accommodation by phone.  It turned out that there was a backpackers a short distance away but unfortunately they were filled to capacity and the most affordable alternative option was confirmed to cost more than R700/person.  Although we had our tents with us, it was raining with no indication of clearing up.  If we were to pitch our tents everything would be sopping wet by the time it was standing.  Turning around on the wet grass at the campsite George accidentally dropped his bike.  We were both disgusted with the place and keen to move on.  A quick look at the map showed the familiar Sani pass backpackers was further along on the way home and a quick telephone call secured our beds for the night.  Now the only thing standing in our way was 260 km of tar through an almighty thunderstorm.

We were glad to put Champagne Castle behind us and headed to Escourt in the storm to refuel.  From Escourt the N3 took us to Howick.  On this road we had to contend with the storm in the darkness and with many 18 wheeler trucks which created a thick white veil of spray obscuring visibility as we passed.  A toll gate slowed us down and lightened our wallets close to Mooi River and closer to Howick our visors became so dirty that we were just about riding by touch.  We took the exit to Howick and found a garage where we could clean our visors, eat a pie and have a cup of coffee/hot chocolate before continuing for Underberg.  Still riding in a storm this road presented a challenge of a different kind.  My headlight had shifted and was pointing way up into the sky thus leaving most of the road in front of me in darkness.  I was riding in front and was surprised by many a sharper than expected corner.  This made for slow progress as we travelled at around 80km/h for most of the way.  What felt like an eternity later we arrived at Underberg and stopped at the fuel station for a moment before heading through Himeville to Sani pass backpackers.  Blessedly we arrived there safely after 21h30 and we were very thankful to have a dry bed, a hot shower and a cup of coffee/tea with rusks (which we bought from the supermarket at Winterton) for supper.

Exhausted as we were, a young Swiss lady who travelled South Africa by herself introduced herself and drew us into conversation.  We respected her sense for adventure and we shared many travel stories and photographs.  One could almost see the longing in her eyes to get to the places she still hoped to see shattered against the effort of getting there.  It was clear that her dilemma was to find transport between destinations.  As we said goodbyes and headed towards bed we were all surprised that she, George and I were sharing the same 4 bedroom dorm!  (...and that with a fourth stranger already asleep.)  Having arrived at the backpackers last George and I had to sleep on the top bunk beds as the bottom beds were already taken.  But after lying down this was quickly forgotten.  In the exhaustion which resulted from the 680km journey on this day the dream came as a bull hitting a matador.

 

[platpatat]

Day 13 (of 15) – Sani pass backpackers to Barkly East
27 Dec 2013

With 4 people in a tiny room the stretch of the dream was limited by the earliest riser.  Accordingly then, it was around 07h00 when George and I rose shortly after our roommate (who was sleeping when we arrived the previous night) got up for a shower.  The friendly Swiss lady who slept on the bed below George tried hard to cling to the dream by refusing acknowledgement of the sounds and bumps which were inseparable from getting off the top of a bunk bed.  Breakfast was partly rusks and tea/coffee and partly breakfast cereal before we started to pack the bikes for the journey ahead.  Shortly before we left the young Swiss lady arose and enquired about roads which might take her to other places worth a visit.

The storm that had seen us from Golden Gate to Sani pass the previous day left widely separated white balls of fluff in a blue windless sky.  Our first stop was at Underberg for fuel from where we headed out on the R617 to Kokstad.  We had been on this road about a week before when we rode from Matatiele to Sani pass while following a very impatient Andrew after dusk at 160km/h.  Then the scenery was hidden behind the dark veil of night and the only memory was that of glorious wide sweeping corners which begged for more throttle.  Now this majestic strip of tar was surrounded by foothills all the way to the mountain northward with the entire landscape seemingly covered with the substance that lent green highlighter pens their value.  Here and there were full dams that reflected the blue sky back at the beholder.

From Kokstad the R56 took us to Matatiele and the more rural Mount Fletcher beyond.  On the way to Mount Fletcher George and I suddenly slowed down from about 130km/h to about 40km/h as we saw a huge bull brace itself and jump over the cattle fence on the right hand side of the road.  This was a big surprise.  I had never seen such a sight before, nor expected this to be possible.  As the bull landed on our side of the fence its left rear leg got caught in the wire and it looked over its shoulder at the fence as it kicked its leg free.  It was just about at this moment that we passed by it and sped off again.  No fence was going to keep this bull from crossing the road.  Truly an entertaining and unexpected sight it was.

Somehow the green of the mountains increased intensity if that were possible.  About 10km beyond Mount Fletcher we stopped at the entrance to a gravel road which later joins with the R396 to Rhodes and Barkly East beyond.  A good friend of us back home, René, had told us that Rhodes was a beautiful town with spectacular roads worth seeing.  George was reluctant to take this gravel road because he was unhappy with how his engine was running.  Since we left Katse dam he was complaining that his motorcycle was losing power.  I never rode his bike and did not take him too seriously as my bike was also running noticeably weaker than normal.  This I attributed to low octane fuel and oxygen deprivation in the high altitudes.  George was honestly concerned, but the gravel road looked very enticing and in good condition.  He asked me how far we had to ride and I told him that it was less than 40 kms (as my GPS told me that we had to turn off to the right in less than that).  So onto the gravel we went.  The road wound its way through valleys surrounded by the most intensely green mountains high enough to touch the heavens.  The mountains bared high faces of rock at the top.  Twice I stopped for some photographs while George continued ahead.  As George realised that I had fallen behind he turned around to see if everything was in order.  I could see the concern for his motorcycle on George's face, but thought that in short order this road would be behind us and we would be back on tar.  Little did I know...

We continued and George was riding as fast as his bike and the road allowed for.  As we approached the turnoff which we had to take to get us to Rhodes (which we both expected to be onto a tar road) George carried much speed and passed by.  I struggled to catch him and wave him down before we turned around and took the turnoff to Rhodes.  It was a gravel road and we simply had to deal with it.  By now it became clear to me that George's concerns that his bike might not get him to where we were heading were well founded and I lost interest in taking photographs.  I urged him strongly to pull over so that we could at least ensure that the engine was not overheating, but he would have none of it.  George's motorcycle losing power was concerning me a great deal but Rhodes seemed the closest town to try and sort out the issues or get help and we pressed on.  The scenery was spectacular beyond description and farmlands with flowering lavender at the foot of the mountains made for a memorable contrast against the emerald velvet draped over it.  I would really enjoy going back there one day if the opportunity presented itself.

The road conditions worsened severely as the gradient increased.  Deep ruts, loose stones and mud increased our concern.  A road sign told us that willing or not over Naude's Nek we would go.  Some distance up the pass a BMW 1200GSA was visible and parked across the width of the narrow road.  There were four people of which two were pushing the bike to the side of the road.  As we approached it became clear that there were two couples on 1200s and the bike across the road went down some 20m after exiting uphill from a long stretch of deep mud.  For George the challenge was not to stop.  His engine nearly died every time he had to pull away or accelerate and against the gradient of this pass it might mean turning back.  We did not stop and continued with a shouted greeting in passing while it seemed like time was dragging its feet all the way to the crest of the pass.  In passing they asked if we had fallen yet to which we shoutingly replied in the negative.  The surprise was clear on their faces.  Downhill was less stressful in the knowledge that gravity would step in if the engine failed.  The intense green hues faded to olive, greys and browns as we descended a gradient which rivaled the climb down to the rain-shadowed arid plains on the opposite side of the mountain.  An uncomfortable and pressing heat hung over Rhodes and I stopped in the shade of huge trees as I approached a police officer who was walking along the road.  With Xhosa being his mother tongue, communication in English proved a challenge.  However he assured me that the tar road started at the last house out of town on the way to Barkly East.  Tar at last!  George only rode about 300m further before he parked off in front of a fuel pump with a general store and coffee shop all-in-one right behind it.

We ordered toasted sandwiches and fruit juice for lunch and I was denied use of a bathroom by the elderly manageress.  What an unfriendly, unhelpful and exhaustingly hot place this was.  George removed the panels from his bike and we checked the engine coolant. I removed the spark plugs and we checked for spark.  Everything we considered was checked and found to work faultlessly, yet the problem did not go away.  As we were putting the panels back onto the bike the two couples on the 1200s who we passed earlier now sped past us out of town.  They, too had had enough of this place, albeit for different reasons.  We had our, by now cold sandwiches, if sandwiches can be believed to cool down to an ambient temperature which was approaching 40 degrees celsius.  George wanted to put fuel in, but my GPS told me that Barkly East was within a comfortable 60 km reach and I was not about to hand over another cent to anyone who would deny a biker access to a toilet.  I regret not leaving my deposit next to the fuel pump.

As we left Rhodes it became clear that the policeman's assurance that the tar road starts at the last house on the way out of town was an illusion.  We were forced to make peace with the fact that Barkly East lay on the far end of this 60km stretch of gravel.  Pleasantly this gravel road was in a good condition and left our minds free to worry about nothing save the failing engine separating George's knees.

With Barkly East yet out of sight we went downhill around a sharp bend where George's motorcycle coughed, it choked, it stuttered and then it died.  Threaten it with fire as one would the starter turned the engine over but the engine failed to take.  George was furious with his bike for letting him down and he got out the tow rope.  For the final time George asked me how far it was to the tar road and after checking my GPS I replied that it was 6km away.  In frustration he asked if I was sure and said that he no longer believes me because every time I told him where the tar road started and we arrived there it turned out to have moved further on.  “If the tar road isn't there, I'm going to take you and your GPS and throw you into the sea!”, he vowed.  Footpeg-to-footpeg I towed him the last 6km into Barkly East where we stopped at the local fuel station.  Lucky for me we had reached the tar road ...and the sea was far, far away ...just in case the condition of his vow was forgotten or did not constrain George.

A couple came wandering down the street and I started a conversation with them as George was stalking around in frustration while talking on the phone while trying to arrange for roadside assistance and calling his family to come and fetch him and his bike by trailer.  It turned out that the couple was on a motorcycle tour of their own with the lady on an BMW 800GSA and the guy on a BMW 1200GSA and they gave us the telephone number of the guest house where they were staying.  As daylight was fading we called the number and arranged for accommodation before heading there, still under tow, to find a bed for the night.  Shortly after arriving I left again to buy burgers and chips for supper and fuel (which I carried in a 6L fuel bladder) in case it might be useful for fixing George's bike.

After a quick bite we stripped George's bike and inspected the fuel injector with a torch.  One could see the injector squirt a steady stream of fuel into the barrel but save for the starter turning the engine over there was no sign of life.  It simply did not make sense; all the necessary ingredients for a regrettable disaster at an oil refinery were there.  There was spark, fuel and air – why would it not take?  Saving the battery we gave up and went inside for the night where George convinced me to continue my journey homeward alone in the morning.  He said that I do not have to worry about him as he is comfortable in the guest house and that his family is on their way with a car and a trailer to fetch him.  They were due to arrive the next evening after covering the 1200 odd kilometres which separated us from home.

At some point the day turned into a tiresome stretch of worry in which time seemed diluted and the camera was forgotten.  Therefore the photographs were few.  I have but two photographs which show the spectacular landscape which surrounded us shortly after leaving the R56 tar road between Mount Fletcher and Maclear.

 

[platpatat]

Day 14 (of 15) – Barkly East to... well... Barkly East
28 Dec 2013

After a generous helping of Pro-Nutro and packing the bike I said my farewells and parted company with George to head back to my family in Uniondale.  It was at about 10h00 when I first pointed my front wheel towards Aliwal North.

A glorious ribbon of asphalt draped across mountains separated by large open plains took me down towards the great Karoo in steps.  The mostly banked corners were to be enjoyed and my speed was limited only by my courage to lean the machine down.  I had a long way to travel on this day and wanting to make time count I pushed on at about 150km/h.  Closer to Aliwal North the pressing dry Karoo heat became undeniable.  With about 30km to go my left leg unexpectedly became first very hot and then suddenly very cold before the bike's overheating light came on.  I immediately pulled off onto the side of the road and switched the bike off.  A quick inspection revealed that my left leg was covered in water.  The radiator cap must have opened and pushed so much water into the overflow reservoir that it squirted out over my leg.

So I thought that perhaps I was pushing the engine a bit hard and waited for about 10 minutes for it to cool down before continuing on to Aliwal North at 100km/h.  About 10km later the engine overheating light turned on once again before I pulled off and waited another 10 minutes for it to cool down.  This process repeated itself until I reached Aliwal North at about noon and stopped under the roof of a fuel station.  It was very hot and I was thankful for the shade.  I waited an hour for the bike to cool down so that I would be able to get engine coolant on my skin without burning.  Then I opened the radiator cap only to find that it was filled to the brim as it should be.  By this time I postulated that for some or other reason the engine coolant was not circulating so I removed the thermostat and put it in my pocket.  The thermostat was located below the radiator and subsequently I lost all my coolant.  A watering can provided enough tap water to fill the void and shortly I continued out of Aliwal North towards Burgersdorp.

About 10km outside Aliwal North my overheating light lit up again!  Without the thermostat I now figured that the waterpump had given up the ghost.  The waterpump shafts on these F650 engines was driven from a plastic gear which mated with another identical plastic gear on the engine and the teeth of these gears, being plastic, wore out over time and eventually broke off.  I knew this as I had to replace the waterpump on my previous BMW F650GS four times and had subsequently helped out many friends in need with the same problem.  Yet again (as with my previous BMW F650GS), I experienced the frustration of the junk and rubbish which was BMW and I hated myself for buying another one.  Now I was literally stuck in the middle of nowhere because some idiot engineer in Europe decided that it was a good idea to shave 50g off of a tiny gear by making it from plastic!  People like these should be left out in the dessert as a warning to their kind, I reasoned.  Rage and fury did not quite capture my mood.

My options were limited as I gave up on the 540km which separated me from my family in Uniondale.  My only hope was to get back to George in Barkly East and catch a ride on the trailer when his family would come to his rescue.  After waiting for the bike to cool down I turned around and headed back towards Aliwal North where I stopped at the garage again to check on the water and fill my waterbladder backpack for just in case.  Another quick inspection of the cooling system made me notice the excess tab of a hose clamp and made me think that perhaps a hose clamp was broken.  I continued to Midas to find them closed on this Saturday and continued to a pub opposite the road for some help and advice from locals.  One of the guys at the bar went to scratch around at the back and returned with two suitable hose clamps.  I was very tankful, but scratching away the mud on the pipe revealed my hoseclamps to be perfectly intact.  I thanked them for their kind efforts and friendly attitude and gave George a call to let him know that I'm on my way back to him. 

After ringing for a while his phone went to voice mail so I left a message that I would be on my way.  The cellphone reception between Aliwal North and Barkly East was at best sporadic.  I rode back to Barkly East 10km at a time, turning the engine off on the scarce downhill (as Barkly East is at a significantly higher elevation than Aliwal North) and waiting for the engine to cool down for 10 minutes in-between.  An hour journey was stretched to over four hours before I arrived at the same place where I left from.  Despair.

George never listened to my voice message and as I walked into his room at the guest house he looked up at me with a face painted in disbelief.  I was the last person on earth he had expected to see right then.  As I took the thermostat out of my jacket pocket I started to tell my story and beg for some trailer space to take my bike back to Cape Town when his family would arrive.

The rescue party arrived with some friends at about 21h30 at night which resulted from gross misdirection from their Garmin GPS.  It was truly a welcome sight to see them all.  We had arranged for food and accommodation for all of them at the guest house where we were staying.  Everyone except George were dead tired and we promptly went to sleep.

The day was a struggle which I would not want to relive and 10 minute stops for the engine to cool down was occupied with crawling under a bush next to the road to avoid the sun.  Consequently no photographs were taken and my words will have to suffice in carrying the experience across.

 

[platpatat]

Days 15 & 16 (of 15) – Barkly East to Cape Town
29 & 30 Dec 2013

Officially I had to be back at work on Monday 30 December.  The great distance which separated Barkly East from Cape Town however would have the last say on this matter.  And so this 15 day journey turned into a 16 day journey.

The motorcycle journey was at an end.  The fun was over and with it the adventure and the part of the story which was worth telling.  I continue this tale solely for the sake of closure, to use Oprah Winfrey language.

At crack-of-dawn George was up and stripping his bike to fit the spare fuel filter/pressure regulator unit which his wife had brought along on the rescue mission.  For the first time since his bike's breakdown the engine would fire up again!  Life!  The joy was premature and it was clear that on acceleration the engine was fuel starved.  The bike would idle and it would tolerate gentle acceleration, but anything beyond that would smother it to death.

We loaded both bikes onto the trailer and drove by car via Aliwal North, Burgersdorp and Middelburg to the excruciatingly hot and mosquito infested Graaff-Reinet where we were hosts to this pest for the night.  The next morning we continued on to Uniondale where we stopped over at my family for coffee and cake.  From there the R62 took us to Cape Town.

This was the end of our journey.

Thanks for the opportunity of sharing our experience through this report.  I hope to write some more regarding repairs and maintenance after our trip.  I don't know if Andrew would be inclined to continue this report by writing about the remainder of his trip after we parted company?  We'll see...