Solo Karoo Blitz

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Rokie

Race Dog
Joined
Oct 31, 2008
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Location
West Coast
Bike
BMW F650GS / Dakar
“ Sorry mate, can’t make it anymore. That UK dude who left me his bike two years ago, is visiting . . .”

This was more or less the message I got from a buddy who was planning to ride with me that weekend (1 – 2 May 2010). The (very kind) oke who left his V-Strom with my bud (while on a world tour) decided that my Karoo riding weekend would be a good time to come and check out his long lost Suzi.

So my mate had to cancel his part in the Karoo ride. What he didn’t cancel (and I wish he had) was the Safari Half Marathon that he and is wife had entered us into against my will!! I decided I would still do both though. We never really had a clear plan for the ride – all we knew was that we would leave Wellington late Saturday morning and we would aim to be back in Somerset West by Sunday afternoon. We also had this email from another would-be ride mate that there was this pass between Touws River and Montagu – sounded cool. I checked out some of the Wilddog ride reports, to see if there was anything on the stretch between Ceres and Touws. The Matroosberg reports soon convinced me that I wasn’t quite up for such a heavy ride and that it was surrounded by too much tar. I was keen for some long dusty stretches with a few easy curves now and then.

I was invited to Newlands on Friday night (before the ride) and whatched the Stormers DEMOLISH the Crusaders – woohoo! I got back home at 11h30 after a sobering coffee at my sister’s house. By the time I’d done a few pieces of admin and packed and loaded the bike, it was 02h00. Not cool!!! – since I had to be in Wellington by 06h30 for the 07h00 race start, which meant leaving home at 05h30, which meant getting up at 05h00 . . . !

At 05h40 I headed out to Wellington. Not a bad little ride in the dark. Those dips between Somerset West and Stellenbosch really cool down, but luckily I was well dressed for the occasion.

So, after the (nasty-ass-piece-a-work) Safari run I dragged my stinky tired body into the saddle and set my sights on Ceres. The weather was nice and warm, but the South Easter really plucked me about a bit on that flat stretch before the Hermon turnoff. After that I cruised into some lovely curvy stuff through the mountains and into the fruit valley. I filled up with fuel – for body and bike – and decided to head off towards the Koue Bokkeveld where a friend has a fruit farm. Not only that, but I’ve travelled with him once or twice (by car) to their other farm in the “Ceres Karoo” where they take the sheep for the winter. I seemed to remember something about a road to Touws.

Prince Alfred Hamlet is always a treat and sets the scene for a good trip. It has that small town feeling and a very interesting mix of Saturday shoppers swarming the streets. After that comes Gydo Pass (bike pudding) with its spectacular views and rather unspectacular road surface. At the top, where I would have turned left to my friend’s fruit farm in the Witzenberg Valley, I started to look out for a road to the right – and sure enough – the Touws River turnoff showed up sooner than I expected. I was a bit disappointed to see that it was nicely tarred. I then seem to remember something on the forum about some road up there somewhere that was no longer gravel. I felt just a touch gatvol as I realised this must have been the one they were talking about. I was quite sure I remembered a gravel road from the years gone by.

But alas! To my delight I soon scored my first photo opportunity – my favourite road sign.



The first bit of gravel travel put an instant smile on my dial – as is always the case! Lovely wide open spaces flanked by mountains on either side. It felt like I was having my share of some “forbidden fruit” – like these wild figs on the side of the road:



Unfortunately both the return of the tar and the turnoff to Touws came too quickly to my liking. Or was it fortunately? Because it made me decide to keep going straight onto more gravel, thinking, “surely there will be another turnoff to Touws a bit further along.”

This was the start of adventure cruising heaven. The wide open spaces just grew wider and wider and the road seemed to draw me in like one of those blurry things you stare at and then it becomes a 3D picture. I just cruised and cruised through the plains of pure ‘plaaspad’ pleasure! So much so that I had long forgotten that I had a destination and just absorbed the journey for what it was. It was only when I reached this sign that I realised I no longer had any hopes of another turnoff to Touws:



By now the ‘wide open’ had become very wide and very open. Everything started to feel a million miles away. This is what these kinds of rides are meant for – whether weekend or weeks-on-end, whether solo or ‘saamry’ – this is it! No worries, no woes. No crowds, no crime. No boss, no buildings (almost).



Nothing but biking bliss. Even the last reminder of civilisation (North-South power lines) disappeared as the road swerved towards more of the empty spaces that had so quickly become my travelling companion.



Then the road turned away from the sun a bit and I headed through some mountains . . .



Looking at a map afterwards, I realised that there were a couple of opportunities to turn right and get to Touws River a bit quicker. I remember one potential turn off in particular. I could see the road heading straight for the mountains, but I thought it was just an access road to a distant farm.

Soon enough I reached a tarred T-junction and I had to choose between Sutherland and Matjiesfontein. Maybe one day I’ll visit Sutherland, hopefully by gravel. The tar took me across the N1 into the legendary time warp that is Matjiesfontein.




There were a few locals at the Laird’s Arms (the pub on the side of the Lord Milner Hotel) where I was given free background info on the hotel, the town and its residents by the super impressive, kind and professional bar tender called Ben Herder (Afrikaans for shepherd) – a true gentleman. Another local gentleman gave me some directions about the stretch between Touws River and Montagu. He mentioned that pass I’d read about in that email saying, “You can’t get lost. Wherever you go, you’ll end up in Montagu.” The Rome of the Little Karoo?

I cruised onward to Touws River (on the N1) and aimed for the nearest shop. After another fuel stop (again: body and bike) I headed out of town before sitting down to devour what was sold to me as an “Incredible Burger Pie.” There happened to be a fork in the road within less than 10 km from town and I determined that my mind would be made up about which one to take by the time the pie was history.



tbc . . .
 
A boer stopped with his bakkie and asked if I was OK. I asked which way to Rome, I mean Montagu and he said the Bloutoring road (left) would be too much of a detour. But before taking the road to the right, I realised that I needed matches for my evening fire (I had some meat that needed cooking – more about that later). So I took the left in pursuit of some lonesome figures I spotted in the distance earlier (while I was still munching the burger pie) – hoping that at least one would be a smoker. They had disappeared from the main road, but I spotted the two of them half way down a side track leading to what looked like farm buildings. As I turned off the main road I noticed the corpse of a Black Label court lying next to the gate.

I stopped next to the couple and offered to buy a lighter or matches if they had any to spare and as the guy started digging in is pockets I was confident I’d get sorted. He was thin and way too wrinkled for his age. The girl wore a pink mini-skirt over a worn out tracksuit. He proceeded to tell me that he was thinking of going to town during the week to buy a packet of yeast and a packet of sugar, but that I would have to give him “a ten Rand or a five Rand” to make that possible. I enquired about the corpse at the gate but he assured me that he was not involved, so I exchanged ‘a ten Rand’ for his half full box of matches. She thanked me and he thanked me “vir die redding” (roughly translated “for the salvation”). As I drove away and looked around she was admitting guilt to the murder of the court by deviating rather profusely from the straight line she was trying to walk. How incomprehensible it seemed to me – the nature of a life that sees “a ten Rand” for yeast or sugar as any form of ‘salvation’ whatsoever.

I doubled back to the fork, hoping that the Nougaspoort road would still include the pass that I came for in the first place. About 30km further and between some mountains I spotted a short stretch of ‘road’ that seemed to have been scraped by a road works dozer into a small dry river bed. Could this be my overnight spot? I rode the 20 metres or so into the river bed that consisted mostly of nice hard clay. Mostly. I did a bit of a three point turn to see if there was another way around some trees in the river bed. I figured I’d rather be behind the trees to be out of sight from any passing traffic (passing traffic? fat chance!). As I pulled away my front wheel very unexpectedly ploughed into some soft sand, causing me and the bike to go down with a solid thud.

Despite removing all my luggage I couldn’t for the life of me get the bike lifted. I was used to an old DR 600 of 140 kg, so this 200 kg Dakar just seemed like a monster to me. I just didn’t seem to have the strength to pick it up, no matter how hard I tried. (I had dropped the bike twice on previous rides, but on both occasions there was someone to help pick it up.) I even tried to pull it up with the tie-down I used for my luggage (a bit of a silly idea), but to no avail. I decided to pitch my tent first (before it got dark) and that I would try to get the bike up later.

A favourite old saying of some heavy drinkers I used to know was, “Daar waar ek val, daar slaap ek” (where I fall is where I sleep) . . .



I did a quick walkabout and quite easily found some fire wood in amongst the very lush (not as in tropical lush, but certainly by Karoo standards) veld. Luckily someone had cut down a couple of thin branches close by. They had thoroughly dried and were easy enough to break. One or two of them were long enough for me to consider using them as levers with which to lift the bike, but I couldn’t figure out a way of doing it. Once the fire was going I walked over to the bike again and tried to figure out a new way. For some reason I thought that trying exactly what I had tried before would be a good idea (not sure what the logic was). I grabbed the handle next to the back end of the seat and tried again to pick it up (earlier on, I must have tried this about five times). Somehow this time the bike popped up like Stuart Dickenson’s arm against the Stormers!

Man, was I relieved. I didn’t quite relish the prospect of waiting for the next car to pass, since I was certainly not going to trap the 33km back to Touws. The 21,1 in Wellington was already way too much leg work for one weekend. How did I suddenly get the bike up? I’m still not sure. Maybe the adrenalin rush just after the fall made me a bit wobbly for a while or maybe it was all just in the technique. One thing is for sure, now that I know it is entirely possible, I’ll make sure I practice picking up the bike a couple of times on the lawn at home.

The fire was going nicely and the last bit of light was disappearing over the horizon. It was time for that all rewarding braai. Earlier, when I stopped for meat in Touws, I realised that without a grid (conscious decision when packing on Friday night) I would have to buy either something I could chuck straight onto the fire (like some local surfers did when I camped on a remote beach in Nicaragua once) or get something that was smoked and all I would have to do is warm it up. I found these cheese grillers wrapped in bacon and shoved onto solid kebab sticks. My only challenge would be to hold them close enough to the fire that the bacon would cook, without burning my hand. Since the kebab sticks weren’t all that long, I had to make a plan. I found a thin(-ish) flat rock and planted it right next to the fire. It acted as a kind of shield for my hand and I could rest the bottom end of the stick on it. I can really recommend both the method and the bacon cheese grillers!!



After that kind of day and that kind of evening I slept like an absolute log. Apart from the occasional waking moments because of a sore hip from lying on the one side for too long, I spent a good 10 hours passed out in the dead quiet of the Great Karoo.

I can’t say exactly what time I awoke since my phone died during the night. I guess it was around seven or so, because it was barely turning from night tot day. I really wished I could take a few more pics. Even though my phone’s camera is not exactly a pro model, the light was just awesome and the whole scene had changed dramatically. There was a thin blanket of soft clouds hanging very low over the entire airspace, enclosing the earth for as far as I could see – from distant mountains to distant mountains, with just a thin layer of inhabitable space in between. It felt like I was the only one wrapped up in a tight and cosy wilderness cocoon, neatly packaged just for me.

tbc . . .
 
I rolled up my home and strapped it to the back of my saddle before carefully navigating the Dakar out or the soft sand and back onto the long and dusty road. It was cool, but not freezing – the blanket of clouds having preserved some of the previous day’s heat. Again, the cruising bliss beset me and I was back in the sweet zone in no time at all. The road was great, with the occasional animal grid gate and somewhat more frequent dip (drif) through a dry river-bed.

I then hit a T-junction showing Ladismith left and Montagu right. I remember from a peep at a map that there were two ways to get to Montagu from Touws River. I remembered a T and that the right side involved some tar but the left, only gravel travel. So I took the left, believing that all roads lead to . . . Montagu . . .

After almost 10 km I could not see any indication that the road was going to curve towards Montagu. In fact, I could see it carry on over some hills in the distance. I also remembered that, from the map I looked at before the weekend, the distance between Touws and Montagu should be less than 100 km in total – of which I had covered more than 40 already! This road was going in the wrong direction for way too long. So, I turned around and went back to the T and up the road I came along, because I remembered seeing some farm houses. I headed for a little pondokkie and some weird looking locals said the Ladysmith road could work, but that the pass I was looking for was the other way.

I took the right turn and after a few k’s I stopped next to an old Karoo couple sitting next to the road. Again, I wished my camera was working. They were very obviously dressed for church. The old man got up and started talking to me in a very excited tone. I could not really hear him very well, since I kept my helmet on (and earplugs in). The bit I understood was about how dangerous bikes were and that he once came off one and still bares the scars. He went on so much that I was quite convinced he was either a little loony or had not quite recovered from the night before. The old lady was as charming as anything – dressed to the T and a face that spoke of many tough Karoo winters.

After that it was not long before I saw the sign for the Ouberg Pass. Aah. Finally. This is what was in that email the week before the trip. It was the one waypoint I had for the weekend (apart from the road race in Wellington). Where was that camera!!! Ouberg is a lovely little pass with great views and a long and steady climb. I also knew the trip was getting shorter and shorter, so I made sure I thoroughly enjoyed all the bends and the ups and downs.

Again, there were the dips and the animal gates and although the scenery had changed quite a lot, the feeling was still the same. I wanted it to go on forever. I didn’t want it to stop, but it did. I reached a T junction just outside Montagu and took a right. As I took the turn, something felt weird and I was worried about my steering. Apparently the steering head bearing is the Achilles heel of the Dakar. But a quick look in the obvious place revealed the real problem was with my front wheel. My first flat. I thought it worth the gamble to keep riding into town (it was only about 2 km). I cruised to the nearest fuel stop and upon enquiry got diverted around the corner to the Dunlop service station.

I parked the bike and walked across the road to the Wimpy. This is where small town hospitality came to my rescue in a big way. I met Juliana, the manager at the Wimpy. She had a colleague who knew someone who worked at the Dunlop shop from whom they got the owner’s number. She dialled the number and soon enough I could state my case to Piet who offered to “see what I can do for you.” In reckless abandon I decided to forsake my tight ride budget and to support Juliana and her crew. I ordered “whatever breakfast special” they had (it was only R30) and a cup of coffee. I’ve always been a fan of Wimpy coffee. It is certainly not a connoisseur’s choice, but it brings out some inert feeling of comfort and re-assurance – probably built into my psyche as a kid on family holidays . . .

The timing was perfect! I had hardly finished my breakfast special when a bakkie arrived across the road and parked next to my bike. Nicky and Elroy sorted me out quick quick. Something had pierced the front tube without damaging the tyre at all. I guess I should (and could easily) have been equipped to deal with it myself, but such a short ride at such short notice . . . and only R40 to fix the flat. OOPS!! Plus a R200 call out fee. I guess it is fair. I think I had the same thing in Bredasdorp once. I also had an after hours flat and also paid a pretty heavy call-out fee. And the service really was very good. Nonetheless, by now my tight trip budget had been totally obliterated! But at least I had a very good breakfast, got my phone charged (also thanks to Juliana at the Wimpy!) and was spared any effort of fixing a flat.

On my way out of Montagu I went through the ‘hole in the wall’, which made for quite a cool little video clip, and cruised to Robertson. After a quick fuel stop (bike only) I tried to remember some of the roads from that quick map check I did on the Friday. Since I couldn’t remember much and since I had lost quite a bit of time with the flat, I stuck to the main road to Villiersdorp (except for a little gravel detour to the left, about 5 or 10 km before Villiers).

In Villiers I did my usual trick of enquiring with a local. I found out which of the (at least) 2 routes to Bot River was the gravel one and was advised not tot take the Hermanus turnoff, but to cross the bridge first.



It was a magnificent day to be chilling at the dam, so I took a snack break on the bridge. The Bot River road is to the left, immediately after the bridge. I knew this was likely to be the last bit of dirt road for the trip and I was not disappointed. Van Der Stel Pass is not really something to write home about, but a decent stretch of gravel.



The scenery was great and the fun continued after the pass.





By the time I reached Bot River I was dying for a drink, but Bot River was “bot toe” (shut tight). I decided to cruise along to Kleinmond where I bought a chocolate and a coke, which I saved for a stop at Koeël Bay. What a fabulous place to have a ‘coke and a smile’.



I also did a quick sprint up to the entrance of Steenbras Dam in Gordon’s Bay. Another piece of heaven on a day like that and although it’s not gravel it made for a very appropriate Grand Finale for a lovely little sanity blitz!

Summary of kilometres:
Somerset West – Wellington 60
Wellington – Ceres 80
Ceres – Matjiesfontein 170
Matjiesfontein – Touws River 50
(Touws – where I camped 33)
Touws River – Montagu 100
Montagu – Robertson 30
Roberston – Villiersdorp 85
Villiersdorp – Bot River 35
Bot River – Somerset West 80

Total 690
 
Great write-up Rokie! Love the Karoo, glad you had a full adventure of a weekend!
 
Lekker Rokie, nice report and adventure. But eish man... you must learn how to pick up your bike properly.
 
thanks for the comments!!  :thumleft:
. . . sometimes I prefer not having a map - just for the sake of exploring the unknown.  although on short rides like this one (where time really is a factor) one can miss out on a lot if you're not sure where you're going.
 
the only way
lekka report r
i just finished a long ride and allready miss the freedom
see you on da dirt
 
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