hondsekierie
Race Dog
So it all started with an itch that grew worse by the day and eventually ended in me doing this awesome little trip which took me through Lesotho, E/Cape down to CPT and back through the Karoo.
As I’m no poet I’ll try and keep it as factual as possible – I’ll also do it in installments as this is all new to me and therefore still challenging in the time department
It’s strange when you get that caveman feeling, wanting to get away from all and everything. Well, I had the ingredients, myself and the bike. The latter proved to be quite challenging as the HP2 is well known for it’s limited packing space – this was however solved with the Bacbone luggage setup (2 x silo panniers + expandable top bag) as well as a tank bag – I’ll do Africa with that setup, no problem.
Anyways, after much delay, I started my journey towards Lesotho on Thursday the 09th of April, planning to enter through Ficksburg border post early on Good Friday.
Late afternoon stopover in Clarens for a nice Natal curry when I bumped into Lourens and his wife, a riding buddy who did Lesotho with me last year.
After a couple of Zama’s and with a slight drizzle that just got worse I decided to move on. For some unknown reason I got mixed up between Ficksburg and Fouriesburg - only after pitching my tent and settling down did I realize that I needed to enter through Ficksburg.
Having decided before this trip that nothing will faze me, I accepted my stupid mistake like a man. I would just leave a bit earlier the next morning.
Somewhere between the two FBurg’s – Good Friday that later turned out to be Eventful Friday.
After crossing the border post I met up with this chap who was on his way home from Pietermaritzburg – we rode together for a while until he split off to his village.
Cruising along a stretch of tar I came over a little blind height when I was suddenly confronted with a tight corner dropping off to the left – under normal conditions it would have been a piece of piss, but today the road was soaking wet.
After the rear started slipping everything just went into slow motion - I must have looked like a ballerina on an ice rink for the next thirty meters. Just when I thought this is it, I’ve made it, I went down.
With all body parts still intact I went to my bike to check the damage – oil was pissing out of the one pod. Was this going to be the end of my trip?? Nah, just a couple of holes that could be fixed with the two magic tubes of epoxy called Steel Bond.
I soon realized that I’ll have to move the bike to safety as all the vehicles coming down the road was slipping and sliding all over the place. The one taxi missed me and my bike with less than a meter.
Amazing part of Lesotho is how quick people can appear from everywhere. Needless to say I had a crowd in no time. This must have been the event they were looking for.
It later turned out the road got soaked by an over filled water tanker that passed me a couple of seconds before I got the ‘spills’.
Strange how one goes into survival mode when on a solo trip. Cleaning all the surfaces and fixing the holes I had to fish all the metal pieces out – what a mission, but well worth the time I spent doing this exercise.
The little klipgooiers from Lesotho can in fact be very nice. This little pikanien set off to buy me six cans of Slipstream mono grade oil in a nearby village while his ouma tried to convince me I should get myself a normal horse.
I had a great three hours next to the road with these people. Even though few of them could speak any English we had major discussions – amazing how language can be overcome.
During the crash I also ripped my tent to pieces and was now oil soaked and useless. The idea was to camp in the open that night, but not that open….
I was now just riding in a general southerly direction when I suddenly saw the sign for Malealea Lodge and decided to give it a go – what a revelation – it’s a huge camping spot and was filled to capacity by bleeding heart Poms.
With no tent or lodging I managed to organize myself a little storeroom next to the entertainment hall. This was lodging at it’s best.
I’m not a group person, never been, and therefore avoided the overland groups as much as possible – they’re all the same – fuckin nosey Id say. After several beers a group of English teachers started chatting to me when this one oke asked me what it felt like to be a white man in the apartheid years. I did not argue the point and just told him – GREAT – now fuckoff and leave me alone.
The next day was just unbelievable riding through some of the most awesome scenery, at one stage it almost looked like the Rocky Mountains with pine trees and all.
After filling up in Mohales Hoek (yes, 7L underseat tank did the job) I left for the Tele Bridge borderpost, crisscrossing through the little back roads.
After leaving Lesotho I met JustBiking and Travel Gravel on my way up to Lundeans, the first adventure bikers I encountered. Very nice meeting you.
It was midday and had no idea where I would end up that night……..
To be continued
As I’m no poet I’ll try and keep it as factual as possible – I’ll also do it in installments as this is all new to me and therefore still challenging in the time department
It’s strange when you get that caveman feeling, wanting to get away from all and everything. Well, I had the ingredients, myself and the bike. The latter proved to be quite challenging as the HP2 is well known for it’s limited packing space – this was however solved with the Bacbone luggage setup (2 x silo panniers + expandable top bag) as well as a tank bag – I’ll do Africa with that setup, no problem.
Anyways, after much delay, I started my journey towards Lesotho on Thursday the 09th of April, planning to enter through Ficksburg border post early on Good Friday.
Late afternoon stopover in Clarens for a nice Natal curry when I bumped into Lourens and his wife, a riding buddy who did Lesotho with me last year.
After a couple of Zama’s and with a slight drizzle that just got worse I decided to move on. For some unknown reason I got mixed up between Ficksburg and Fouriesburg - only after pitching my tent and settling down did I realize that I needed to enter through Ficksburg.
Having decided before this trip that nothing will faze me, I accepted my stupid mistake like a man. I would just leave a bit earlier the next morning.
Somewhere between the two FBurg’s – Good Friday that later turned out to be Eventful Friday.
After crossing the border post I met up with this chap who was on his way home from Pietermaritzburg – we rode together for a while until he split off to his village.
Cruising along a stretch of tar I came over a little blind height when I was suddenly confronted with a tight corner dropping off to the left – under normal conditions it would have been a piece of piss, but today the road was soaking wet.
After the rear started slipping everything just went into slow motion - I must have looked like a ballerina on an ice rink for the next thirty meters. Just when I thought this is it, I’ve made it, I went down.
With all body parts still intact I went to my bike to check the damage – oil was pissing out of the one pod. Was this going to be the end of my trip?? Nah, just a couple of holes that could be fixed with the two magic tubes of epoxy called Steel Bond.
I soon realized that I’ll have to move the bike to safety as all the vehicles coming down the road was slipping and sliding all over the place. The one taxi missed me and my bike with less than a meter.
Amazing part of Lesotho is how quick people can appear from everywhere. Needless to say I had a crowd in no time. This must have been the event they were looking for.
It later turned out the road got soaked by an over filled water tanker that passed me a couple of seconds before I got the ‘spills’.
Strange how one goes into survival mode when on a solo trip. Cleaning all the surfaces and fixing the holes I had to fish all the metal pieces out – what a mission, but well worth the time I spent doing this exercise.
The little klipgooiers from Lesotho can in fact be very nice. This little pikanien set off to buy me six cans of Slipstream mono grade oil in a nearby village while his ouma tried to convince me I should get myself a normal horse.
I had a great three hours next to the road with these people. Even though few of them could speak any English we had major discussions – amazing how language can be overcome.
During the crash I also ripped my tent to pieces and was now oil soaked and useless. The idea was to camp in the open that night, but not that open….
I was now just riding in a general southerly direction when I suddenly saw the sign for Malealea Lodge and decided to give it a go – what a revelation – it’s a huge camping spot and was filled to capacity by bleeding heart Poms.
With no tent or lodging I managed to organize myself a little storeroom next to the entertainment hall. This was lodging at it’s best.
I’m not a group person, never been, and therefore avoided the overland groups as much as possible – they’re all the same – fuckin nosey Id say. After several beers a group of English teachers started chatting to me when this one oke asked me what it felt like to be a white man in the apartheid years. I did not argue the point and just told him – GREAT – now fuckoff and leave me alone.
The next day was just unbelievable riding through some of the most awesome scenery, at one stage it almost looked like the Rocky Mountains with pine trees and all.
After filling up in Mohales Hoek (yes, 7L underseat tank did the job) I left for the Tele Bridge borderpost, crisscrossing through the little back roads.
After leaving Lesotho I met JustBiking and Travel Gravel on my way up to Lundeans, the first adventure bikers I encountered. Very nice meeting you.
It was midday and had no idea where I would end up that night……..
To be continued
