It just had to be the window seat. I had to inconvenience the rich man and his wife to get to my seat. I say rich man, because within 2 minutes of our introduction he mentioned his holiday home in George. Looking down at me for his airy heights, I just thought : “What are you doing on the cheap-ass Kulula flight then?” We exchanged some more pleasantries, but I knew this was going to be a long and silent flight. When the cabin crew came past selling some beverages I knew my wallet was in the overhead locker. More inconvenience for Mr Rich. I just had to have coffee, so I asked the attended to hand me my jacket. As I got my coffee, Mr Rich saw my motorcycle jacket and asked me what that was all about. I told him I was going on a motorcycle tour. “Do you ride a GS?”. I sighed. Why is it that people always assume you have a big German brute ? From then on, we chatted, as I seem to have struck a nerve with him. The two hour flight was over in no time, and he turned out to be a nice guy after all. My friends were there to pick me up at George airport. The excitement grew. It was finally here!
With all my luggage rearranged, Johann’s bike packed, we waited for Kobus to arrive. Soon we heard the sound like a Gatling gun. The KLR was on its way. We greeted, got a quick brief from Johann and then we set off. Three very different bikes, each rumbling in a harmonious choir. Just out of George we turned right onto the Montagu pass. Johann played tour guide and told us tales about each place we stopped. First stop was a fork in the road where the inhabitants of the then George commandeered the famous builder Thomas Bain to build a better and wider road leading to George, rather than Blanco. Blanco was the main trading post at the time, but no-one even knows about it now. Moertjiesklip had another tale to it and when we stopped at Amanda’s grave the view just left me speechless. What made it worse was the fact that Johann was now a mere 9km from his home.
We headed further up, and soon reached the tarred road. A short tar section and we were on the Paardepoort road, heading North kicking up plumes of dust. I was home. It felt good. We headed to Dyselsdorp where we stopped briefly to have a look at their church on top of the little koppie. From there we rode the Ou muragie road to Wilgewandel for a well-deserved lunch and a few cold ones. For the first time in my life I headed up the Swartberg pass. What a scenic road! Kobus and I stopped regularly to take photos while Johann rode to ‘Die top’ and waited for us there.
We were close to the entrance of Die Hel, but Johann knew that the last 48km can take a while. We got to the inconspicuous turnoff and stopped at the sign that said : “Dangerous road”. This sounded ominous, and we proceeded with caution. By this time my bike’s screen had lost a retaining screw already, and I really took it easy. At one of the river crossings, I nearly lost the front of my bike, but luckily I got through unscathed. The road was a terrible state, and my bike took a pounding.
Careful watercrossing
Nothing can prepare you for the last part of this road. The final plunge into the valley has some breathtaking views and gravity defying switchbacks. You can read all you want, see all the photos you want, but until you see the valley with your own eyes, you are the poorer for it.
As Kobus and I approached the kiosk, Johann was already sipping on a cold beer. I was tired. Very tired. Manhandling the Strom took its toll. Johann was worried, so suggested that I sit and have a Coke first. We regrouped and set off to our overnight accommodation at Boplaas. Two more river crossings later, the three Japanese warriors parked in formation in front of Oom Hannes’ House.
The three Japs made it !
We unpacked, got out of our kit, and just relaxed, marveling at the beauty that is Gamkaskloof. That evening the camp fire crackled and the food was simple, but absolutely worth it.
