10 Day Trip
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10 Day Trip
Stan L Tue 26 Mar 2024, 10:07 pm
10 DAY ROAD TRIP 1
Johannesburg, South Africa, 05:50 am. It’s surprising how much traffic there is already. The late summer sky is only now beginning to show the first hint of dawn. At the Engen (Mobil to you) garage selected as the RV point, Bruce (KTM 1290), Paul (GSA 1250) and Stef (Ducati 1150 Multistrada) are waiting for me. I arrive in time to beat the 6 am deadline. A brief instruction about the route to follow, and four bikes roll onto the N3 to set course south.
The first day’s ride is an 1 100 km marathon. No time for scenic routes. We take the southbound N1 toll road, actually stop and pay tolls this time, and settle into a 140 km/h clip (speed limit is 120 km/h; welcome to South Africa) on a glass smooth multi lane highway. Some of South Africa’s expensively-built roads are well maintained, if they’re privatised or located in the right provinces. Like anything the ruling ANC is responsible for, the ANC-territory roads are ruined.
More about that to come.
A rising sun illuminates the monotonous agricultural landscape winding past us to the rumble of wind roar. The four bikes cruise in staggered formation, and the mind wanders. I realise I’ve packed way too much. In the good old bad old days of my previous incarnation, I used hard luggage and soon learnt to count every cubic centimetre. Changing over to soft luggage in my post-2018 reincarnation, I became spoilt by the soft pack’s ability to swallow clothing and junk. I’ve overdone it, packing everything but the kitchen sink. The bike feels it.
Kroonstad (lit. Crown City; derogatorily, Crowntown) and Ventersburg mark the fuel stops before we pass Bloemfontein and go on to a roadside stop.
Happy chappie on a road trip.
Here, we make a discovery. Stef’s back brake is cooked. The disc has discoloured and the caliper seized. This is a brand new bike. Stef is furious.
We call a board meeting. The options are for him to abandon the trip and wait for a recovery vehicle, ride home on front brakes only, or continue the trip on front brakes only.
No point in riding home; if he’s going to ride at all, he might as well ride on to the Cape. That’s the option he takes. We set off with three fully functional and one slightly compromised bike. He gets used to using the front brake only, and before long it becomes second nature.
With the worst part of the trip, the 400 km run between Joburg and Bloemfontein, behind us, it's noon and we count down the kays to Colesburg. We steam past Colesburg, stopping only to refuel, before penetrating ever deeper into my perennial favourite, the Great Karoo. North of Colesburg you’re in the Karoo, but not the nicest part. After Colesburg, the Karoo gets better with each southward kilometre.
The pristine Karoo is blanketed in its usual maize and olive mottle, with its distinctly shaped buttes (“beauts”) and mesas (Spanish for tables) forming the wonderful Karoo backdrop. The road undulates gently as is runs along the floor of the valley between the Karoo mountains. The expensive roadbuilding often involved blasting chunks of mountain away to achieve runway-flat roads. Ride an adventure motorcycle on cheaply built soft roads and you’ll do a lot of climbing and descending. Go with the costly N1 and the only time you ever change gear is to overtake a truck. On the Bandit, gear changes are optional.
The day is pleasantly warm, not oppressively hot. Nor does it present the surprising chill I experienced on this route exactly two years ago when I last rode it. Beaufort West begins counting down on the mileposts. Not far to go until the first night’s stop in the charmingly touritsty village of Prince Albert, though I prefer the Afrikaans Prins or, better still, the German Prinz.
Eventually the sign appears; Prince Albert Road. It’s got some nice curves and bends in it, and I kick myself for overweighting the Bandit. 40 km later, the name of the town is spelt out in white pebbles halfway up the mountain, a popular and quaint custom in the Karoo, and we rumble into Prince Albert, where Clive and Mandy await. Cheating sods added a couple of extra days to their trip and got there early. Clive being a Triumph nut, they ride twin-cylinder Scrambers.
Arrival at Prince Albert. I went a bit overboard with the luggage.
Joburgers-turned-locals Greg and Chris join us, though I can’t remember where. May have been here, may have been a night or two later.
Night 1 is spent in a guest cottage, before moving into the delightful 19th century Swartberg (Black Mountains) Hotel for Night 2.
We go to the Karoo Kitchen for dinner.
The Karoo Kitchen is an institution.
It is operated by a husband-&-wife couple in their 70s.
Husband greets us, seats us and explains the menu options.
Wife, dressed in a full-length patterned dress, beads and makeup, clucks politely and sets our places.
Wife has a full beard. She’s a man.
We dine on Karoo Kitchen dishes whose menu hasn’t changed in years, make our way back to the hotel, and have half a dozen last rounds at the bar, before wobbling off to bed.
The next couple of days will be spent riding the finest roads and routes imaginable, through the most breathtaking scenery, but with an added significance.
I touched on ANC-“governed” provinces vs. one run by actual human beings.
For us Joburgers, the Western Cape is a different country.
You’ll hear more about it.
Regards
Stan L
South Africa
Johannesburg, South Africa, 05:50 am. It’s surprising how much traffic there is already. The late summer sky is only now beginning to show the first hint of dawn. At the Engen (Mobil to you) garage selected as the RV point, Bruce (KTM 1290), Paul (GSA 1250) and Stef (Ducati 1150 Multistrada) are waiting for me. I arrive in time to beat the 6 am deadline. A brief instruction about the route to follow, and four bikes roll onto the N3 to set course south.
The first day’s ride is an 1 100 km marathon. No time for scenic routes. We take the southbound N1 toll road, actually stop and pay tolls this time, and settle into a 140 km/h clip (speed limit is 120 km/h; welcome to South Africa) on a glass smooth multi lane highway. Some of South Africa’s expensively-built roads are well maintained, if they’re privatised or located in the right provinces. Like anything the ruling ANC is responsible for, the ANC-territory roads are ruined.
More about that to come.
A rising sun illuminates the monotonous agricultural landscape winding past us to the rumble of wind roar. The four bikes cruise in staggered formation, and the mind wanders. I realise I’ve packed way too much. In the good old bad old days of my previous incarnation, I used hard luggage and soon learnt to count every cubic centimetre. Changing over to soft luggage in my post-2018 reincarnation, I became spoilt by the soft pack’s ability to swallow clothing and junk. I’ve overdone it, packing everything but the kitchen sink. The bike feels it.
Kroonstad (lit. Crown City; derogatorily, Crowntown) and Ventersburg mark the fuel stops before we pass Bloemfontein and go on to a roadside stop.
Happy chappie on a road trip.
Here, we make a discovery. Stef’s back brake is cooked. The disc has discoloured and the caliper seized. This is a brand new bike. Stef is furious.
We call a board meeting. The options are for him to abandon the trip and wait for a recovery vehicle, ride home on front brakes only, or continue the trip on front brakes only.
No point in riding home; if he’s going to ride at all, he might as well ride on to the Cape. That’s the option he takes. We set off with three fully functional and one slightly compromised bike. He gets used to using the front brake only, and before long it becomes second nature.
With the worst part of the trip, the 400 km run between Joburg and Bloemfontein, behind us, it's noon and we count down the kays to Colesburg. We steam past Colesburg, stopping only to refuel, before penetrating ever deeper into my perennial favourite, the Great Karoo. North of Colesburg you’re in the Karoo, but not the nicest part. After Colesburg, the Karoo gets better with each southward kilometre.
The pristine Karoo is blanketed in its usual maize and olive mottle, with its distinctly shaped buttes (“beauts”) and mesas (Spanish for tables) forming the wonderful Karoo backdrop. The road undulates gently as is runs along the floor of the valley between the Karoo mountains. The expensive roadbuilding often involved blasting chunks of mountain away to achieve runway-flat roads. Ride an adventure motorcycle on cheaply built soft roads and you’ll do a lot of climbing and descending. Go with the costly N1 and the only time you ever change gear is to overtake a truck. On the Bandit, gear changes are optional.
The day is pleasantly warm, not oppressively hot. Nor does it present the surprising chill I experienced on this route exactly two years ago when I last rode it. Beaufort West begins counting down on the mileposts. Not far to go until the first night’s stop in the charmingly touritsty village of Prince Albert, though I prefer the Afrikaans Prins or, better still, the German Prinz.
Eventually the sign appears; Prince Albert Road. It’s got some nice curves and bends in it, and I kick myself for overweighting the Bandit. 40 km later, the name of the town is spelt out in white pebbles halfway up the mountain, a popular and quaint custom in the Karoo, and we rumble into Prince Albert, where Clive and Mandy await. Cheating sods added a couple of extra days to their trip and got there early. Clive being a Triumph nut, they ride twin-cylinder Scrambers.
Arrival at Prince Albert. I went a bit overboard with the luggage.
Joburgers-turned-locals Greg and Chris join us, though I can’t remember where. May have been here, may have been a night or two later.
Night 1 is spent in a guest cottage, before moving into the delightful 19th century Swartberg (Black Mountains) Hotel for Night 2.
We go to the Karoo Kitchen for dinner.
The Karoo Kitchen is an institution.
It is operated by a husband-&-wife couple in their 70s.
Husband greets us, seats us and explains the menu options.
Wife, dressed in a full-length patterned dress, beads and makeup, clucks politely and sets our places.
Wife has a full beard. She’s a man.
We dine on Karoo Kitchen dishes whose menu hasn’t changed in years, make our way back to the hotel, and have half a dozen last rounds at the bar, before wobbling off to bed.
The next couple of days will be spent riding the finest roads and routes imaginable, through the most breathtaking scenery, but with an added significance.
I touched on ANC-“governed” provinces vs. one run by actual human beings.
For us Joburgers, the Western Cape is a different country.
You’ll hear more about it.
Regards
Stan L
South Africa
Last edited by Stan L on Tue 26 Mar 2024, 10:12 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : I called Bruce's bike a 990 - he'd send a hit man after me!)
Stan L- Posts : 104
Join date : 2020-01-06
Age : 66
paul likes this post
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