It’s been a while since this ride, nearly five months. Maybe I was waiting to see if Xpat was going to do a RR. Maybe my uncharacteristic shortage of decent photo’s or video from the latter part of the ride discouraged me to write a RR. Perhaps some experiences are so epic that they cannot be committed to paper without losing something in translation. Whatever the reason, this was a sleeper, woken up by JonW’s concerns over the demise of the RR on the forum.
Sometimes things develop so quickly that you’re left with a somewhat unnerving and uneasy feeling, finding yourself in radically unfamiliar circumstances far beyond your control and comfort zone.
This is how I felt, crammed into a tiny dilapidated herdsman’s hut on a hillside in the middle of nowhere with three strangers, whilst taking refuge from the mother of thunderstorms, peals of lightning splitting the heavens mere millimeters above my head, whilst hail and rain pelted down. How did I end up here?!
Rewind one week.
I call my wife, she can hear I’m excited about something even though I’m trying to contain it. It isn’t a good idea to be overly enthusiastic about bike stuff versus kids parties for example.
“Remember that guy I told you about, the guy who came from Poland or somewhere ex eastern block, who rides solo in Lesotho and sleeps out in the mountains?” (Her eyes start to roll) Uh huh?
“Well he’s just emailed me to see if Jon and I are keen to join him on a part of one of those rides in Lesotho, what do you think?”
She doesn’t like surprises, especially short notice bike related ones, however I get her blessing.
Xpat admits over email that his inventory of usual suspects is exhausted, or feigning injury / family commitments / bike problems.
He asks if I recall the RR by Ian the Tooth about the Drakensburg escarpment traverse between Sehlabathebe and Sani. I remember. I remember thinking these guys are not well in the head. As it turns out two of the “not so well on the head” guys have also been invited on the ride.
I try to convince Jon to join us. Somehow Xpat has mistaken us for rock hopping hardcore adventurers of his ilk. Jon is not keen, citing our recent failure to reach even Rhino Peak from Sani a few weeks before, and his then state of riding un-fitness and newness to his 520.
So it’s just myself and Martin, and two guys who will join us on day two for the actual traverse. The two guys go by the names of Stuart Joyner and Ian Macdonald. I only find out later that these two are the original human incarnation of riding gods.
Martin and I exchange ideas on routes and gear. The plan is to meet at Sani Top, and in case I decide to join him for some of his remaining itinerary, I opt to put my bike on the back of my Bakkie and drive up Sani. He will do the same from Afriski. From there we’d ride to Sehlabathebe via Matibeng Pass and stay over at Thamathu Lodge which is on the route. The other two will ride from Matatiele and Ramatseliso and catch up to us somewhere on the route.
“Failure is always an option, pack for sleeping out in the mountains” is not the most confidence inspiring mantra, but I take it to heart. Sleeping bag, tarpaulin, packets for kit, all stuffed into my Giant Loop Coyote.
I take another look at the original RR by Ian the tooth. Holy Crap what have I got myself into?
I go through my 525 carefully. I notice my Metzler 6 Day Extreme rear is looking a bit worse for wear. Should be ok for one last ride, right?
Friday morning early, I get up and hit the road to Himeville and then towards Sani. I go past the Sani Pass hotel and see the signs. My heart drops. Is this the day of the Sani Pass Marathon? Watering points appear at regular intervals and half way to the SA border post I start to see runners who are all on their way down now. Over 700 of them apparently. I wave at the leaders, the next bunch are like zombies, the back bunch are your typically jovial marathon back markers.
The runners enjoy right of way. They force me to take very bad lines and I am grateful for 4x4 but so sorry for my tyres.
It takes me an incredible two and a half hours just to get up the Pass, and I am running late for my rendezvous with Martin. There has been no comms with him for a while. Finally I get to the parking lot at the top of Sani, and get to meet Xpat in person who is wearing his polker face.
We offload my bike and I go inside to relieve my bladder. There was no privacy on the Pass today for a pee. I come back out and Martin mentions my sprocket ratio may not be suitable and my tyre is a bit worn. How bad can it be, Martin? Indeed... If only I had read the “economically adventurising a 500” thread better, I’d have known about sprocket ratios.
It’s now that I notice my 10l fuel container is missing off my Bakkie, presumably slidden off the back on the way up a steep section. Blast. This sort of thing rattles me, I plan extensively and when something happens with no contingency, I don’t like it and it tends to rattle me a bit.
Martin sweet-talks someone and we get permission to park our bakkies side by side in the only afdak available. Nice.
I kit up and we get under way. The weather is good and even though we leave an hour after planned, it should be ok. The first section is tar and Martin stops to make sure he doesn’t have a flat rear, but is just his brand new CO2 getting squirrelly on asphalt.
We pass the turn off to Sani Stone Lodge where hopefully we will exit tomorrow on our way back to Sani.
We hit the gravel and I realize that this Xpat guy who portrays himself as a “bumbling adventurer” is a seasoned experienced rider and I battle a bit to keep up on the gravel.
In what seems like no time at all we are up and over Matibeng Pass. Martin mentions more than once this is the easy part, that tomorrow is much tougher. Just a year ago Matibeng was the goal; now it is just a road. Funny how us humans can adjust to circumstances.
We pass a few happy villagers.
We stop at the Chinese shop to buy food for supper. Martin buys meat balls or bully beef, I will eat my instant pasta and tuna. I buy what I think is condensed milk and a loaf of bread. We commence with the usual fuel filling discourse and head for the shabeen for a cold one before completing the last 20km to Thamathu Village.
I easily find the lodge this time. Last time was in the dark. We are met by the caretaker who gives us each our own rondavel. No other guests that night, bonus.
The showers are hot and welcome after a long day that started at my home in KZN. I now share a remote location with a relative stranger, both of us foreigners in this foreign place. We cook our respective meals. Martin warns me he only eats once a day and proceeds to do a proper job of it. My condensed milk turns out to be dehydrated milk or something horrid. I only notice once I’ve taken a good suck on it expecting the sweet taste of condensed mik.
Our conversation turns to the traverse and specifically to the two gentleman who will be joining us, or rather, catching us.
Martin shows me a picture of Ian and Stuart with a group of locals and Ian the tooth who for some reason was the only one dressed in kit...
What I didn’t know was this is how the Matat Farmers dress for riding, it’s whatever farm cloths they have on at the time. Boy, looks can be deceiving.
We hit the sack, braced for an early start at 6am.
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