Kalaharikreef
Puppy
Now I'm not one that truly believes in the fates, but what I do know is that I am some of a cluts (a bit sleepy if you may: a horrible affliction let me tell you) when it comes to a lot of things.
So it was with grate (that mistake was on purpose) trepidation (affliction, if I may) that I phoned Michiel and asked him to be my chaperone, tour guide and biking partner for a trip of The Lesotho, as I was sure that I would come off the bike in some silly terrible manner and injure my tjommie (that piece of material between the anus and the cojones). The least probable of all *injuries, I know, but in my world something that may become a strange, true reality.
*injuries - its the same part that cramps when you sneeze very hard.
As luck would have had it, or maybe Michiel's sense of adventure dictated, he agreed and as the sun was beating down fiercely in a white hot Kalahari morning I got on 'The Beest', luckily not falling of the other side in the process. 'Phew, job well done' thinking to myself and set of in the direction of Jagersfontein.
Now I do not know a lot but, something I do know is that Jagersfontein is small, and a one degree error in navigation may sent me all the way past Jagersfontein and onto the post-apocalyptic world of Lesotho on my own(think on terms of trying to hit the moon and being flung into the dark reaches of outer space).
So with that in mind I made sure that I had my dad’s AA (not Alcoholics Anonymous for all you dogs) Padkaart, that cost a full R1.99 in the **olden days, to accompany me as I was slungshot past the little Karoo towns of Griekwastad (with its hangboom: a place where crooks were unceremoniously hung by the neck till they died and then some bit), Douglas, the small siding of Belmont, the sleepy town of Luckhoff (so dozy that a friend of mine was able to rearrange the obligatory rocks that spelled the name of the town on the nearby kopje to Fuckhoff), quaint boutique town of Fauresmith (where the train stopped right in the middle of town so that passengers could alight) and onto Jagerfontein.
Now I know that I said that your navigation skills must be sharp to reach Jagersfontein but that still did not deter the Chinese from launching a rocket, packed chock-full with Chinamen and all their cheap wares, in the general direction of South Africa hoping they might hit a small Karoo town and set up shop. Anyone noticed how Bangladeshi's, Chinamen and the wares they sell seem to sprout in the most unfamiliar of places? The Karoo and Kalahari of all places for f**k sakes?
On a similar note has anyone noticed how government can't seem to paint lines on the road without ''n blik verf wat ommoer'?
That said, I attempted the small ride out of the town and onto the turn-off to Michiel's farm just as it started pouring down thick, fat clots of raindrops with Michiel's word still fresh in my memory 'You'll fall at least twice before you reach the farmhouse if it rains and the road has turned to shit'. Which I promptly did...
**olden days - a burger on Spur's wooden menus only cost R1.99, there was still a fear when the cheese-van and the Kasspir's rumbled into town, when 'Wilson Toffee's so hard was ek kon drie dae daaraan kou en 'n bietjie oorlos vir die vierde dag' en die meisies in Scope nog sterre gehad het waar hul tepels moes sit.
***photo's to follow.
So it was with grate (that mistake was on purpose) trepidation (affliction, if I may) that I phoned Michiel and asked him to be my chaperone, tour guide and biking partner for a trip of The Lesotho, as I was sure that I would come off the bike in some silly terrible manner and injure my tjommie (that piece of material between the anus and the cojones). The least probable of all *injuries, I know, but in my world something that may become a strange, true reality.
*injuries - its the same part that cramps when you sneeze very hard.
As luck would have had it, or maybe Michiel's sense of adventure dictated, he agreed and as the sun was beating down fiercely in a white hot Kalahari morning I got on 'The Beest', luckily not falling of the other side in the process. 'Phew, job well done' thinking to myself and set of in the direction of Jagersfontein.
Now I do not know a lot but, something I do know is that Jagersfontein is small, and a one degree error in navigation may sent me all the way past Jagersfontein and onto the post-apocalyptic world of Lesotho on my own(think on terms of trying to hit the moon and being flung into the dark reaches of outer space).
So with that in mind I made sure that I had my dad’s AA (not Alcoholics Anonymous for all you dogs) Padkaart, that cost a full R1.99 in the **olden days, to accompany me as I was slungshot past the little Karoo towns of Griekwastad (with its hangboom: a place where crooks were unceremoniously hung by the neck till they died and then some bit), Douglas, the small siding of Belmont, the sleepy town of Luckhoff (so dozy that a friend of mine was able to rearrange the obligatory rocks that spelled the name of the town on the nearby kopje to Fuckhoff), quaint boutique town of Fauresmith (where the train stopped right in the middle of town so that passengers could alight) and onto Jagerfontein.
Now I know that I said that your navigation skills must be sharp to reach Jagersfontein but that still did not deter the Chinese from launching a rocket, packed chock-full with Chinamen and all their cheap wares, in the general direction of South Africa hoping they might hit a small Karoo town and set up shop. Anyone noticed how Bangladeshi's, Chinamen and the wares they sell seem to sprout in the most unfamiliar of places? The Karoo and Kalahari of all places for f**k sakes?
On a similar note has anyone noticed how government can't seem to paint lines on the road without ''n blik verf wat ommoer'?
That said, I attempted the small ride out of the town and onto the turn-off to Michiel's farm just as it started pouring down thick, fat clots of raindrops with Michiel's word still fresh in my memory 'You'll fall at least twice before you reach the farmhouse if it rains and the road has turned to shit'. Which I promptly did...
**olden days - a burger on Spur's wooden menus only cost R1.99, there was still a fear when the cheese-van and the Kasspir's rumbled into town, when 'Wilson Toffee's so hard was ek kon drie dae daaraan kou en 'n bietjie oorlos vir die vierde dag' en die meisies in Scope nog sterre gehad het waar hul tepels moes sit.
***photo's to follow.