Addendum: South Africa – the week that never was (2 of 2)

Day 4: Monday 11 December (Afrikaans hospitality)
B&B cooked breakfast devoured I get on the road early, knocking off the 100kms or so to Willowmore in short order. WIllowmore is the western access town to the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve so I am expecting to get the camping supplies I need.

A flawed plan as it turns out. I succeed in getting fuel and find a small and primitive supermarket but it does not stock any screw in gas canisters. My choice is to carry wood and cook on an open fire or to eat cold. Space is severely limited so I head into the park armed with a bottle of water, a carton of mango juice, a box of rusks and two tins of pilchards in sweet chilli sauce! This represents lunch, dinner and breakfast in some yet to be determined combo.

Its about 105kms of gravel road to my campsite which is situated near the western entry gate. Along the way I ride through two nice but gentle passes, spot the odd relic of the past and stop to check out a passing wild tortoise. Seems he wants to check me out too.

I reach the campsite turn around midday. It is too early to stop but I am not sure if I have time to get all the way through the park tonight. Either way I need to pay for the camping I booked, so I ride the 2kms to the camp reception and chat to the caretaker. He recons its 4 hours through the park so I decide to chill out here for the rest of the day rather than push it (4 hours is fine, but 4 hours plus a puncture might be a challenge).

Across the campsite are a few younger guys on a camping trip. A couple of them wander by to say hi as I lay out my gourmet supplies on the grass and unpack my tent. 5 minutes later they return to say they noticed my “emergency rations” and invite me to eat with them that evening.

I laze for the afternoon, reading my kindle and taking a couple of short strolls. The extent of the excitement was bumping into a goat and climbing a small escarpment behind the campsite to get a view over the mountains (the campsite is in the middle of the trees in the photo).

The lads prove to be good hosts and fun company in a distinctly South African way. Incredibly polite they find me a chair, no one sits until I do, I must be served first, etc. They have just finished their ‘matric’ (A levels) and are on a two week road trip in an upmarket 4×4. Several are still proudly wearing their school badge. Gently I broach the subject of where the beer is, but this is a dry trip. When a delicious meat stew and rice is served I am asked to say grace. “Thanks for good food and good friends” was clearly somewhat less than they were expecting but sufficed to let us get stuck in. I had to supress a laugh when one realised they had given me one of the lower camping chairs and offered “I’ll take that one, I am more flexible that you”! Only when they turned to South African politics did any edge appear. The South African social context cannot I suspect be understood by someone who has not lived here, but you don’t need to poke the rainbow nation very hard to find the endemic racial and cultural disconnects; cross culture empathy appears in short supply. I finally say my goodnights and turn in at 10.45pm ready for as early as possible a start tomorrow.

Day 5: Tuesday 12 December (mountains, maintenance & ostrich carpaccio)
I am packed and away by 7am and arrive at the entrance gate around 7.40am. It is not open as expected and there’s a note stuck to the gate saying “opening at 8am”. I fully expect this to be an ‘African time’ notice so it’s no surprise when 8am comes and goes.

Around 8.25 I hear a vehicle approaching but the driver turns out to be a local farmer rather than the ranger I was expecting. On finding the gate shut he is not reticent in sharing his views, and sets about opening the exit gate in order to force a way through. My bike would fit through no problem and he tells me just to go. I point out that I need to buy a permit but he tells me not to bother; it’s clear that being caught without a permit would in his eyes be a welcome opportunity to educate to park wardens of the inevitable consequences of ‘their’ incompetence. I have no intention of entering without a permit, so the farmer tries to force his vehicle through a small gap to the front of the building. It is wedged into the building drainpipe which is just about to snap as the park warden finally turns up with the 3 other workers.

A verbal confrontation ensues, mostly in Afrikaans. The warden stands his ground and I hear the word “trespass” several times. I have no idea what the farmer is saying but I am pretty sure that even if I could translate I would not be writing the dialogue down. Prejudices duly re-enforced on both sides, they parted the best of enemies while I buy my permit from the ladies in the office in an unspoken but well understood agreement to pretend nothing amiss is happening.

Once into the gated core of the park the riding is rough and the track encased in trees and bush right up to (and over) the road. I really like this sort of rocky riding; my biggest concern was not the road but the very real prospect of meeting an angry Cape Buffalo round a blind corner. Last year’s elephant experience in Uganda remains a fresh memory! As it turns out I see nothing more than various types of deer.

Between the dense bush are some water crossings are several high mountain passes with bad tracks and big exposures. I don’t have a great head for heights but ironically the challenges of the road conditions themselves force me to concentrate on the road and not the big drops off the edge. It is physically hard going and knowing it is a 4 hour ride I stop for a rest after 90 minutes. 20 minutes latter and I am at the exit gate. I am not sure quite how this happened. Probably a combination of the bike and I bonding allowing me to ride at a good pace, it being easier on a bike than a car to pick a good line when the road it as its worst and caution in the official time estimates.

A hour later I am in Patensie getting fuel and ordering brunch, having stopped along with way for quick chat with another rider I met on the road. I am due to stay an hour or so from here tonight but don’t want a second lazy half day, so phone my brother Phil who I am due to meet in Die Hel, some 375kms west, tomorrow.

Not sure I can make it all the way, I cancel my B&B and head west. 200kms in I am making good time but it is still touch and go. Phil and I miss each others calls but swap messages and he thinks I’ll get back to the Swartberg Pass about the same time as him. I am not convinced but push on, stopping for fuel in Oudtshoorn (South Africa’s ostrich capital), 50kms or so from the Pass but still a good 3 hours from Die Hel.

My phone battery has run out and my bike charger is not working so I ask the petrol attendant when the sun sets. “Normally around 6pm, but some days 7pm” doesn’t fill me with confidence so I decide to see if I can get to Phil at the Pass and if not, to turn back. I have an interesting chat with the petrol attendant though, who lives in a tin shack on the edge of town. As I race north to try and catch Phil I am mulling things over. I understand the safety concerns here; bad things clearly do happen. But it is not unsafe that I feel in South Africa but something potentially more uncomfortable. The word I settle on is “elevated”. The impoverished black people I engage are invariably friendly, interested, nice. But they engage with me in a way that is deferential. It feels like in their minds I belong to another world with elevated opportunities and privileges which is part of the natural order of things for me, but one that they have no part of now and no expectation of in the future. Of course this is true, but it is an alien thing to observe to a western eye.

My ponderings are brought down to earth by a contraflow roadwork delay on a beautiful twisty mountain road. As I am waiting for the lights to change one of the road workers comes up for chat. She’s a stunning black girl I’d place in her early to mid 20s. As if she’s been reading my earlier thoughts she tells me she’s always dreamed of riding these bends on the back of a bike; can she hop on the back to the other side of the contraflow (they typically run for few kms). Why not? So it is that I find myself riding the bends on virgin (and hence slippery) tarmac with a local girl whose name I don’t even know riding on the back with no helmet, whopping with glee, thinking ‘better not bin this, this could be challenging if something goes wrong’!

Pleasure ride complete, I get to the foot of the Swartberg Pass but there’s no sign of Phil. I try and fix the charger on the bike to power up the phone and call him, but no joy. The sun is falling, I have no idea how much time I have, but I suspect not enough. Reluctantly I turn back and check into a B&B 15kms or so back down the road. It’s not all bad, I get to fix the charger and a few other niggles in their car park and then head down the road to the local restaurant to enjoy a fine ostrich carpaccio with a glass local wine.

Day 6: Wednesday 13 December (descending into Hell for a cold beer and hot curry)
I am wanting an early start but the B&B includes breakfast and the earliest I can agree for this to be served is 7.30am. By then I am kitted up and ready to go, so I’m on the road before 8am.

The second trip up the Swartberg Pass is as pleasant as the first and by 8.30 I am turning onto the Die Hel road. To start with it is very rough; I’ve been struggling with a neck strain which this is seriously compounding. I need stop after 10kms or so to stretch and try and ease the pain. Thankfully the road surface improves a bit and I swap some big hits for some stunning vistas as I ride along the mountain edge roads. 30kms in I reach the final decent. I can see the narrow fertile valley far below and just need to navigate the multiple hairpins to reach it.

Phil hears me coming and is waiting at the gate to steer me into camp. After coffee and a chat we drive to the other end of the valley to visit the two room museum, before taking a late afternoon walk and then tucking into a delicious beef and fruit curry Phil has cooked over an open fire.

Day 7: Thursday 14 December (rain, mist and nostalgia)
Rain hits the tent in spells through the night and this gets heavier as dawn emerges. This is not good news as the exposed roads become slippery and hence dangerous. We don’t hang about, but ride out of Die Hel early without drama, back onto a misty, muddy Swartberg Pass with very limited visibility.

Thankfully things clear as we take off height and we are soon back in the sun making our way west. We lose half a hour as we inadvertently find ourselves having our own ‘City Slickers’ moment; a farmhand is driving 100 or so cows and calves a couple of miles down our dirt road. The plethora of little Normans are very sweet but somewhat less than well behaved!

Within a couple of hours we are in Ladysmith for fuel and coffee, before retracing our steps a bit to the majestic Sewekeespoort Pass which weaves its way through the mountain range, cliff walls either side of the road.

We take a late lunch in Matjiesfontein, a small railway town restored to its former grandeur, which was as a rest stop on the Cape Town to Kimberley line used for the export of diamonds. From there we crunch the remaining miles back to Wellington, the start point of my trip.

Fittingly the final 25kms is a brotherly game of chase down the Bainskloof Pass, start of my trip 18 months ago. It’s a fun way to end but as we hit the town I back it off; I am keen for the last ride through town to be somewhat less eventful than the first!