The Cape Run
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The Cape Run
Stan L Sun 24 Apr 2022, 11:27 pm
There’s nothing like that moment you thumb the button, click her into gear, and the first rolls of the wheels announce the trip is underway.
Beautiful Cape Town lies 1 500 km distant from unbeautiful Johannesburg. I made the customary "you fly, I ride" arrangement with the missus. Two nights before her flight, I mount the Bandit and set off. Not a bad plan, eh?
The ride opens with a day’s ride to the town of Colesberg, 650-700 km distant. Colesberg being halfway to the Cape, my Cape-based mates will ride up to Colesberg, where we will RV for firewater and war stories. From there, into the magic Karoo, taking a scenic route to Cape Town.
The opening phase’s landmarks are the towns of Parys, Bothaville, Bultfontein, and then Bloemfontein. A 4-hour toll-road trip to Bloenfontein takes closer to 6 hours via the alternative route. Emerging from Bultfontein, the mileposts count down to Bloemfontein. On the Bloem bypass, between hasty chomps of a plasticky burger at a plasticky roadside-restaurant, I set River Destiny Lodge on my phone, and then depart Bloem for Colesberg.
The trip is still young as my aerodynamically contoured schnoz sniffs out the route.
Riding solitaire means one has much time for musing. More than one person asked, isn’t what you’re doing risky? Let’s grasp the nettle, Instead of a “nah, it's nothing” non-response, let's face the risk head-on, and decide how to manage it.
There are two aspects to the risk. The first is the sheer danger of riding a motorcycle in a banana republic like South Africa, where all too many driver’s licences are bought (I kid you not). The only way to manage this is to ride like a coward. If the other #### can do something wrong, assume he will. You never have right of way, whether you do or not. I’ve been riding this way for years, and surviving for years. It helps.
Then there is the aspect of being alone in remote areas, when you’re not much of a mechanic. I cringe when I think of my younger years, blasting along at youthful speeds, on bikes with tubed tyres, carburettors, and dodgy 1980s electrics. In that scenario, “lucky” means you managed to keep the bike upright when the tyre blows out. A punctured tube means roadside repairs. Getting the bike onto its centre stand, removing the wheel, levering the trye off the rim, replacing the tube, seating the tyre, and refitting the wheel. Bad enough with a shaft; imagine doing it with a chain!
Modern motorcycles, by contrast, were worth waiting half a lifetime for. They are simply amazing. Japanese reliability is amazing. X-ring chains are amazing. And modern tyres are amazing. I’ve had a nail in the tyre – disaster in the tube days! – pumped up the tyre with the nail still in it, and ridden on. Thanks to Japanese electrics, fuel injection, X-ring chains, and tubeless tyres, I’m confident in the bike.
But I get the shivers when I recollect chancing those tubes and carbs and electrics of yesteryear…
The alternative route I’ve chosen is proving slow going. It is badly potholed. The supposedly 6 hour trip is going to take the whole day. This being March, I had expected late-summer heat; in fact, it’s cool, even chilly. Autumnal khaki has been brushstroked onto the hitherto-green landscape. Pressure systems El Nino and El Nina – the Child, in its masculine and feminine forms – determine how much rain we receive in summer. El Nino brings us hot, dry summers. Of late, El Nina has brought us lovely summer rains. The veld was emerald-green until just days ago. Now autumn is infiltrating. Yet it’s overcast, and from time to time I hit a patch of rain. The tarmac rolls underfoot as I cruise along suspended hypnotically, not bothering to stop and fish the rain suit out of the luggage. Turns out I won’t need it… yet.
A chilly two-hour ride brings me to a bridge proclaiming the Orange River, named not for its hue, but for the province of Orange in Holland, recalling Dutch influence in SA history. The river is impressively swollen after the season’s ample rains.
On the far side of the bridge, a direction marker announces a turnoff to River Destiny Lodge, but no road materialises to turn onto. Placing a call from the roadside, I learn I am to take a long way around. A ten minute ride brings me to a sign translating to Van Zyl’s Siding. Two kays of badly corrugated dirt join onto a tar road. Swinging left onto the tar, I ride over a bridge proclaiming the Destiny River, explaining the lodge’s name. The Destiny River is a bone-dry river bed, despite the season’s excellent rains. Another minute’s ride brings into view a gate proclaiming River Destiny Lodge.
Turning off from the road, I roll onto the River Destiney Lodge dirt track. A sliding gate appears before me. A sign bears the legend “OPEN MANUALLY/ CLOSE BEHIND YOU”. Having opened manually and closed behind me, I make my way up the dirt track. It’s dry, and therefore no great challenge thus far.
Ahem… please read that last sentence again.
Kilometre one. Kilometre two. Kilometres three, four, five. I cautiously guide the Bandit along the dirt track. Aside from a point where a stream crosses the dirt track, evincing a mischievous wriggle from under the bike’s tyres, the track proves quite manageable.
At length, with those five kays of dirt behind me, I roll into the camp itself. There, under the trees, are three bikes. One is an Africa Twin 1100. One is a GS 900, and the other, a GS 800.
Here comes trouble...
RV time. Felix (GS 800), Alan (GS 900) and Chris (Africa Twin, and arranger of the Cape-to-Colesburg run) have the braai (barbie) fire going. A supply of fighting fluid adds cheer to the evening’s proceedings. Felix is a former Parabat (Parachute Battalion) who went on to become an adventurer, and entertains us with stories that could only happen in Africa.
A couple of hours later, we retire in the very dark African night.
The leaden sky closes menacingly…
Flashes of lightning blitz from thunderhead to thunderhead…
Thunder roars and rolls…
And for what follows, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the next post.
Regards
Stan L
South Africa
Beautiful Cape Town lies 1 500 km distant from unbeautiful Johannesburg. I made the customary "you fly, I ride" arrangement with the missus. Two nights before her flight, I mount the Bandit and set off. Not a bad plan, eh?
The ride opens with a day’s ride to the town of Colesberg, 650-700 km distant. Colesberg being halfway to the Cape, my Cape-based mates will ride up to Colesberg, where we will RV for firewater and war stories. From there, into the magic Karoo, taking a scenic route to Cape Town.
The opening phase’s landmarks are the towns of Parys, Bothaville, Bultfontein, and then Bloemfontein. A 4-hour toll-road trip to Bloenfontein takes closer to 6 hours via the alternative route. Emerging from Bultfontein, the mileposts count down to Bloemfontein. On the Bloem bypass, between hasty chomps of a plasticky burger at a plasticky roadside-restaurant, I set River Destiny Lodge on my phone, and then depart Bloem for Colesberg.
The trip is still young as my aerodynamically contoured schnoz sniffs out the route.
Riding solitaire means one has much time for musing. More than one person asked, isn’t what you’re doing risky? Let’s grasp the nettle, Instead of a “nah, it's nothing” non-response, let's face the risk head-on, and decide how to manage it.
There are two aspects to the risk. The first is the sheer danger of riding a motorcycle in a banana republic like South Africa, where all too many driver’s licences are bought (I kid you not). The only way to manage this is to ride like a coward. If the other #### can do something wrong, assume he will. You never have right of way, whether you do or not. I’ve been riding this way for years, and surviving for years. It helps.
Then there is the aspect of being alone in remote areas, when you’re not much of a mechanic. I cringe when I think of my younger years, blasting along at youthful speeds, on bikes with tubed tyres, carburettors, and dodgy 1980s electrics. In that scenario, “lucky” means you managed to keep the bike upright when the tyre blows out. A punctured tube means roadside repairs. Getting the bike onto its centre stand, removing the wheel, levering the trye off the rim, replacing the tube, seating the tyre, and refitting the wheel. Bad enough with a shaft; imagine doing it with a chain!
Modern motorcycles, by contrast, were worth waiting half a lifetime for. They are simply amazing. Japanese reliability is amazing. X-ring chains are amazing. And modern tyres are amazing. I’ve had a nail in the tyre – disaster in the tube days! – pumped up the tyre with the nail still in it, and ridden on. Thanks to Japanese electrics, fuel injection, X-ring chains, and tubeless tyres, I’m confident in the bike.
But I get the shivers when I recollect chancing those tubes and carbs and electrics of yesteryear…
The alternative route I’ve chosen is proving slow going. It is badly potholed. The supposedly 6 hour trip is going to take the whole day. This being March, I had expected late-summer heat; in fact, it’s cool, even chilly. Autumnal khaki has been brushstroked onto the hitherto-green landscape. Pressure systems El Nino and El Nina – the Child, in its masculine and feminine forms – determine how much rain we receive in summer. El Nino brings us hot, dry summers. Of late, El Nina has brought us lovely summer rains. The veld was emerald-green until just days ago. Now autumn is infiltrating. Yet it’s overcast, and from time to time I hit a patch of rain. The tarmac rolls underfoot as I cruise along suspended hypnotically, not bothering to stop and fish the rain suit out of the luggage. Turns out I won’t need it… yet.
A chilly two-hour ride brings me to a bridge proclaiming the Orange River, named not for its hue, but for the province of Orange in Holland, recalling Dutch influence in SA history. The river is impressively swollen after the season’s ample rains.
On the far side of the bridge, a direction marker announces a turnoff to River Destiny Lodge, but no road materialises to turn onto. Placing a call from the roadside, I learn I am to take a long way around. A ten minute ride brings me to a sign translating to Van Zyl’s Siding. Two kays of badly corrugated dirt join onto a tar road. Swinging left onto the tar, I ride over a bridge proclaiming the Destiny River, explaining the lodge’s name. The Destiny River is a bone-dry river bed, despite the season’s excellent rains. Another minute’s ride brings into view a gate proclaiming River Destiny Lodge.
Turning off from the road, I roll onto the River Destiney Lodge dirt track. A sliding gate appears before me. A sign bears the legend “OPEN MANUALLY/ CLOSE BEHIND YOU”. Having opened manually and closed behind me, I make my way up the dirt track. It’s dry, and therefore no great challenge thus far.
Ahem… please read that last sentence again.
Kilometre one. Kilometre two. Kilometres three, four, five. I cautiously guide the Bandit along the dirt track. Aside from a point where a stream crosses the dirt track, evincing a mischievous wriggle from under the bike’s tyres, the track proves quite manageable.
At length, with those five kays of dirt behind me, I roll into the camp itself. There, under the trees, are three bikes. One is an Africa Twin 1100. One is a GS 900, and the other, a GS 800.
Here comes trouble...
RV time. Felix (GS 800), Alan (GS 900) and Chris (Africa Twin, and arranger of the Cape-to-Colesburg run) have the braai (barbie) fire going. A supply of fighting fluid adds cheer to the evening’s proceedings. Felix is a former Parabat (Parachute Battalion) who went on to become an adventurer, and entertains us with stories that could only happen in Africa.
A couple of hours later, we retire in the very dark African night.
The leaden sky closes menacingly…
Flashes of lightning blitz from thunderhead to thunderhead…
Thunder roars and rolls…
And for what follows, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the next post.
Regards
Stan L
South Africa
Stan L- Posts : 107
Join date : 2020-01-06
Age : 66
paul, GSX1100G and Uncle like this post
Re: The Cape Run
barry_mcki Tue 26 Apr 2022, 12:10 am
Love these stories Stan.
Just noticed you mention Felix was an ex-para, I'm in another ex-military bike club and we have a member who is ex 3 Para, wonder what the the chances that your Felix knows our Andre, he's an ambulance paramedic over here in Tasmania.
Just noticed you mention Felix was an ex-para, I'm in another ex-military bike club and we have a member who is ex 3 Para, wonder what the the chances that your Felix knows our Andre, he's an ambulance paramedic over here in Tasmania.
barry_mcki- Posts : 1778
Join date : 2010-04-10
Age : 67
Location : Hillwood, Tasmania -
Re: The Cape Run
Stan L Tue 26 Apr 2022, 1:26 am
barry_mcki wrote:Love these stories Stan.
Thanks, Doc.
Just noticed you mention Felix was an ex-para... wonder what the the chances that your Felix knows our Andre...
If you let me know Andre's surname and year(s) of service I'll ask Felix. He did his year in 1974 to 1975.
Stan L- Posts : 107
Join date : 2020-01-06
Age : 66
mud wrestling for the Bandit ? 
GSX1100G- Posts : 797
Join date : 2019-11-08
Age : 62
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