cloudgazer
Grey Hound
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2007
- Messages
- 5,135
- Reaction score
- 6
- Bike
- BMW F650GS / Dakar
DAY 1: 302kms (+3.5kms on foot)
[flash=480,385]https://www.youtube.com/v/fcS02FOHPIM[/flash]
Riding out of the train station into Lagos came as a bit of a shock.
How the hell did I end up in Nigeria?
Did a miss the border? Or a few stops? I know the train was a few hours late, but surely not so late to deposit me in this filthy city?
No… wait… This aint Lagos, I recognize a few of the tired-looking grubby buildings…. This is downtown Johannesburg, looking a lot worse for wear than I remember.
The train was more than 2 hours late pulling into JHB, and I rode straight into grid-lock traffic… with a threat of rain hanging overheard. Not the best way to start my trip.
And it gets worse.
The highways in JHB are all under construction, the place is a nightmare. And I can’t understand why they comb those grooves into the tar. My bike was snaking all over the place. My heart was in my mouth, and I was constantly on the verge of shitting my pants.
It was far worse than any sand I’ve ridden. Those highways were by far the worst surface my bike has ever been on.
Once out of the city the highways got much better, although the T63 I had on the rear always felt a bit ‘floaty’. I hoped that the feeling would go away once I’d had a chance to wear down the tyre a bit.
From JHB I headed east towards Witbank and Belfast before turning north towards Dullstroom and my destination: Lydenburg.
Because of the late train, the rain, and all the easter weekend traffic my progress was slower than expected.
It was after 6 and darkness had already descended before I got to Dullstroom. For some reason I had no cellphone signal so could not contact my cousin (with whom I was staying) to tell her I was going to be late.
Just before Lydenburg I decided to take a shortcut to the farm, one that would cut more than 35kms from the trip.
I turned onto the dirt road full of confidence and bravado knowing I only had 18kms to go. It was the kind of farm road I love twisty and rocky, where your bike just bounces along the line you set for it.
However about 10kms in it all went to hell. I hit the snotty clay and went down like a sack of bricks. I was amazed that none of my indicators broke and that my panniers were still in one piece. No worries.
I picked up my bike and carried on. A minute later I was down again. The entire road was now slippery clay, not just portions of it.
No worries.
I picked up my bike and carried on.
I went down for a third time. And this time when picking up my bike I must have pulled a muscle in my lower back.
Feeling a little shaken, and very sweaty in my riding and rain gear I continued on, at the muddy bottom of a small valley I went down for a fourth and final time.
I had no more strength to pick up the bike again, and when I tried my back hurt like hell.
I wasn’t about to panic though, this was all part of the adventure. I decided to chill out a bit and relax. I had a couple of snack bars, walked up and down the hill trying to get a cell signal without success. Not that it would have helped since I knew my cousin did not have a signal on her farm. So there really was no one for me to call.
After an hour or so of sitting in the wet dark I tried to lift my bike again, but had to concede defeat. There was no way I could pick her up. The pain in my back was excruciating
I was pretty content to setup my tent on that cold and muddy farm road, and wait for morning. Indeed, climbing into my tent and forgetting about my woes was very appealing – but that would only delay my problem.
I doubted even after a night of rest I’d be able to pick up my bike. So I was left with two choices.
1. Start hiking now
2. Wait for morning and start hiking then.
Neither was particularly appealing as I’d have to leave my bike and most of my possessions.
I had a liter and a half of water, and figured it was possibly a 15km hike to my cousin’s farm. There was also less chance of someone stumbling across my bike in the middle of the night.
So I grabbed my dry bag and tent, and started slogging uphill through the mud into the dark wet night.
I was soaked with sweat inside my riding gear, but I didn’t dare take it off cause it was too cold and still drizzling a bit.
I ended up hiking 3.5kms (as we would later find out) before I saw the light shining in a farm laborers cottage. I knocked on the door, and was greeted by a small family huddled around a stove fire.
I begged for a lift to my cousin’s farm, which I told them was no more than 10kms away. They finally agreed to give me a lift in the seriously most dilapidated Uno I’ve ever seen. And by the way the guy drove drunkenly through darkness I’m surprised it was going at all.
Thank goodness I’d misjudged the distance and my cousins farm was only 5kms away. I doubt that little car would have made the entire trip.
By the time I got to the farm it was already after 10pm and my cousin was fast asleep. I woke her and told her of my predicament. To my horror there were none of her friends around (they were arriving the next day) so there were no big strong guys to help me with my bike.
But my cuz, she’s a plucky little thing, she insisted we go get the bike. So we hopped in her Pajero and made our way back along the muddy roads to where I left my baby.
She helped my pick it up, and we loaded all my kit into her car. She followed patiently behind as I gingerly and carefully made my way back to her farm.
There I had a very well deserved hot shower, and afterwards was fed a home-made pizza and glass of red wine. We chatted for a bit and finally crawled wearily into bed around one thirty.
… And that was just day one of my 10 day adventure across SA.
.... To Be Continued...
[flash=480,385]https://www.youtube.com/v/fcS02FOHPIM[/flash]
Riding out of the train station into Lagos came as a bit of a shock.
How the hell did I end up in Nigeria?
Did a miss the border? Or a few stops? I know the train was a few hours late, but surely not so late to deposit me in this filthy city?
No… wait… This aint Lagos, I recognize a few of the tired-looking grubby buildings…. This is downtown Johannesburg, looking a lot worse for wear than I remember.
The train was more than 2 hours late pulling into JHB, and I rode straight into grid-lock traffic… with a threat of rain hanging overheard. Not the best way to start my trip.
And it gets worse.
The highways in JHB are all under construction, the place is a nightmare. And I can’t understand why they comb those grooves into the tar. My bike was snaking all over the place. My heart was in my mouth, and I was constantly on the verge of shitting my pants.
It was far worse than any sand I’ve ridden. Those highways were by far the worst surface my bike has ever been on.
Once out of the city the highways got much better, although the T63 I had on the rear always felt a bit ‘floaty’. I hoped that the feeling would go away once I’d had a chance to wear down the tyre a bit.
From JHB I headed east towards Witbank and Belfast before turning north towards Dullstroom and my destination: Lydenburg.
Because of the late train, the rain, and all the easter weekend traffic my progress was slower than expected.
It was after 6 and darkness had already descended before I got to Dullstroom. For some reason I had no cellphone signal so could not contact my cousin (with whom I was staying) to tell her I was going to be late.
Just before Lydenburg I decided to take a shortcut to the farm, one that would cut more than 35kms from the trip.
I turned onto the dirt road full of confidence and bravado knowing I only had 18kms to go. It was the kind of farm road I love twisty and rocky, where your bike just bounces along the line you set for it.
However about 10kms in it all went to hell. I hit the snotty clay and went down like a sack of bricks. I was amazed that none of my indicators broke and that my panniers were still in one piece. No worries.
I picked up my bike and carried on. A minute later I was down again. The entire road was now slippery clay, not just portions of it.
No worries.
I picked up my bike and carried on.
I went down for a third time. And this time when picking up my bike I must have pulled a muscle in my lower back.
Feeling a little shaken, and very sweaty in my riding and rain gear I continued on, at the muddy bottom of a small valley I went down for a fourth and final time.
I had no more strength to pick up the bike again, and when I tried my back hurt like hell.
I wasn’t about to panic though, this was all part of the adventure. I decided to chill out a bit and relax. I had a couple of snack bars, walked up and down the hill trying to get a cell signal without success. Not that it would have helped since I knew my cousin did not have a signal on her farm. So there really was no one for me to call.
After an hour or so of sitting in the wet dark I tried to lift my bike again, but had to concede defeat. There was no way I could pick her up. The pain in my back was excruciating
I was pretty content to setup my tent on that cold and muddy farm road, and wait for morning. Indeed, climbing into my tent and forgetting about my woes was very appealing – but that would only delay my problem.
I doubted even after a night of rest I’d be able to pick up my bike. So I was left with two choices.
1. Start hiking now
2. Wait for morning and start hiking then.
Neither was particularly appealing as I’d have to leave my bike and most of my possessions.
I had a liter and a half of water, and figured it was possibly a 15km hike to my cousin’s farm. There was also less chance of someone stumbling across my bike in the middle of the night.
So I grabbed my dry bag and tent, and started slogging uphill through the mud into the dark wet night.
I was soaked with sweat inside my riding gear, but I didn’t dare take it off cause it was too cold and still drizzling a bit.
I ended up hiking 3.5kms (as we would later find out) before I saw the light shining in a farm laborers cottage. I knocked on the door, and was greeted by a small family huddled around a stove fire.
I begged for a lift to my cousin’s farm, which I told them was no more than 10kms away. They finally agreed to give me a lift in the seriously most dilapidated Uno I’ve ever seen. And by the way the guy drove drunkenly through darkness I’m surprised it was going at all.
Thank goodness I’d misjudged the distance and my cousins farm was only 5kms away. I doubt that little car would have made the entire trip.
By the time I got to the farm it was already after 10pm and my cousin was fast asleep. I woke her and told her of my predicament. To my horror there were none of her friends around (they were arriving the next day) so there were no big strong guys to help me with my bike.
But my cuz, she’s a plucky little thing, she insisted we go get the bike. So we hopped in her Pajero and made our way back along the muddy roads to where I left my baby.
She helped my pick it up, and we loaded all my kit into her car. She followed patiently behind as I gingerly and carefully made my way back to her farm.
There I had a very well deserved hot shower, and afterwards was fed a home-made pizza and glass of red wine. We chatted for a bit and finally crawled wearily into bed around one thirty.
… And that was just day one of my 10 day adventure across SA.
.... To Be Continued...
eepwall:
