On Saturday night I don’t actually go to bed early at all, come to think of it. I ask Scottish Leader whether he would mind sharing a celebratory bottle of red wine with me, and after downing his double brandy and coke, he happily complies. Keith also has a small glass, but heads off to bed early.
Gary and I eventually finish the bottle, chatting late into the night with [member=6013]Gerrit[member=17721]Oasis[/member][/member] Gerrit always keeps an eye on me and makes sure I get to my tent safe and sound, and this weekend is no exception.
Sunday
I stay in bed as late as I possibly can, trying to avoid light and sound with ear buds and a slightly uncomfortable sleeping mask, but the hot sun bakes me out of my tent the moment it brazenly sticks its head over the mountains. It is a beautiful blue-sky day, and I start to sort out my packing before heading to the restaurant for a cup of coffee and breakfast.
Breakfast is a lazy affair, as we are in no hurry to leave. We’ll make way our home by the simplest and most direct route, so there’s no need to rush. During breakfast, Keith asks Gary why he was coasting down the hills for the last part home. It turns out that Gary’s bike also went onto reserve on the way home yesterday, and he did this to preserve fuel.
Keith is the only one who didn’t have to go onto reserve. The reason is simple: he had calculated that his range was just about enough to do the 280 km circuit (plus the 65 km from Oppi-Berg), if he was careful with his fuel usage. For this reason, every time we came to a stop on our route, he immediately switched off his bike’s engine… and here I thought his bike had an idling problem.
I have no complaints about Blue. He brought me the entire almost 350 kms, of which about 70 km was on reserve, and this after I asked Keith to turn up the idling a bit, as Blue choked every time we came to a halt, and some spillage here and there after falls, and the high speed chase down the R355 to reach Tankwa, and then back to Oasis. By all accounts I should get about 20km to a litre, or 400km to a tank, but I only got that range once, at ruffian speeds during our June trip. Truthfully I don’t know the bike’s full range at my normal speeds, because I’ve never run out of fuel on a trip before.
After breakfast I finish packing up and then go pay my dues, chatting to Gerrit while I wait for Keith to sort out fuel and stuff. Indignantly I tell him about Scottish Leader’s heartless remark that it’s an adventure ride, I should walk when my bike runs out of fuel. “When a girl needs a lift and she’ll sit behind you and press her ****s against you, you don’t say no!”
Scottish Leader’s face, red from yesterday’s sun, turns incandescent. Gerrit’s face slackens. “… Ek sê niks…” he mutters while Gary shakes his head and barks a quick laugh.
Gary isn't joining us for the ride home. He has an extra day available, and plans to ride to Klawer and stay at Nama Bike Cape for the night. I ask him to give Wayne my regards. We say our good byes and head our separate ways.
When we reach the tar road, we stop and Keith re-inflates our tyres, and when we reach Oppi-berg we top up our fuel tanks.
Keith wants to walk through the AgriMark, but it is closed, and we carry on towards Ceres at a leisurely pace. My nerves tighten as always when I approach Gydo Pass, but there is little traffic and I can relax slightly as we swing through the curves.
We travel through Ceres without stopping, then turn left towards Worcester, and I become aware of an irritating rattle in my ear. Keith passes me by and flags me down to tell me that he saw something come loose on my helmet. It turns out to be a broken clip on the side of the helmet, causing the minuscule peak to flap in the wind. I remove the peak, and we continue, turning right into Bainskloof and stopping at Calabash for refreshments.
It is sweltering. We order chilli poppers which turn out to be quite good, and a beer and a glass of water to cool down. The place is quite busy, and foreign accents float about. Service is slow.
After the pitstop we meander through the beautiful Bainskloof. There isn’t much traffic about, but there are many cars parked at the side of the road, sometimes in the road, with people picnicking and swimming down below it seems. Just over the pass, Keith passes me to turn off the road for a last stop. We climb a little ridge to the left, and stand gazing down over the valley and Wellington. Keith points out and names the various mountains in view.
A couple suddenly joins us - they must have seen the bikes from the road, and on a whim turned to see what we are looking at. They are also local tourists, from Stellenbosch. We turn our bikes around and after again adjusting Blue's front wheel, which is slightly skew again, we head up the rough little road and swing down towards and through Wellington.
On the R44, just past the Oude Windmeul, I turn off onto the Hoogstede Road, my last bit of gravel for this trip. Keith and I say our good byes, and I turn towards the Klipfontein Road, follow it for a bit, then turn left onto the Eenzaamheid Road.
The Eenzaamheid Road crosses the Animal Zone road that starts from the R44 just before it passes under the N1 bridge towards Stellenbosh, and goes all the way to past Sandringham Farm to Joostenberg Vlakte. On a whim, I turn away from Stellenbosch towards Joostenberg Vlakte to go say hi to [member=5609]Dux[/member] . As usual, the helmet visor is up.
Suddenly a sharp dart hits my eyebrow and the stinging pain makes my eyes tear up. Barely able so see where I’m going, I quickly rub at the spot, hoping to disloge the stinger if it was a bee that flew into my face, and flip down the visor. I am a little dismayed at the thought of ending up with a swollen eye, á la Xpat. Ah well.
At Donald’s place, the kids show me some veld mice they’d found and were managing to keep alive.
Donald regales me with stories of his Old Postal rides while I sip coffee. My helmet comes crashing down from it’s precarious perch and the other clip holding the visor on, breaks off. My brand new helmet is now completely visor less, destroyed after only two trips. Maybe I should stick to cheaper brands.
Because I love riding with my visor up, I also usually have goggles with me, and thankfully I find a pair in my rucksack. I’ll be able to ride home with more than safety glasses covering my eyes.
Without the peak and visor, the helmet looks very Darth Vader.
When I pass through Stellenbosch, I glance towards Casa del 2StrokeDan, but it’s probably a bit late for an unannounced visit. I quietly braap home over the last hills and dales into the setting sun, my head filled with dreams of rides past and plans of rides to come.
ot:
