The Great Trek on our Harley Davidsons 3/5

Our now weathered and worn bags packed onto our Harleys, we had a long way to go still. This brought us immense joy, the road is life. – adapted

Day 4 began with mixed emotions. It was likely down to a combination of having slept indoors, which felt like cheating, Dom being giddy for a pit stop in Natures Valley, his childhood holiday destination and the strangely short ride we had ahead of us. There was only 193km on the agenda for the day, so it made everyone drag their feet a little.

Boss Gareth and I rambled down to the local Spar in Knysna for some eggs, buns, bacon and a tin of tomato and onion to prepare a breakfast. When we returned we found the other two had defiled the bathroom, as expected, and so we set about preparing them a meal, lest they go hungry. We had handed over some of our clothing to the gentleman who was hosting us to be washed, and they had not yet fully dried. So while the sun finished the job, we packed our motorcycles and argued about the difference between religion and fanaticism.

We then made the quick mandatory pit stop at the Knysna Heads…

Then we fired up the donkeys and trundled onto the N2. Only 52km later we were peeling off the highway and taking a short but beautiful descent into one of South Africa’s best kept secrets, the small seaside village of Natures Valley. With no more than 460 residents, the little town boasts an incredible beach and lagoon, and one restaurant and cafe to satiate all your cravings. After a long brunch and a longer debate about not even bothering to proceed to our destination for the day, Jeffrey’s Bay, sanity finally prevailed and we got back on the road. We were happy to find that the R102 did not simply jump back onto the highway, but continued parallel and almost within spitting distance of it the rest of the way to Jeffrey’s Bay. When we arrived it was business as usual. We pulled into the first pub, watched Ash suck back a few beers (we opted for the brandy special) and then stocked up at the local Spar.

Once again we were spoiled for choice in the Jeffrey’s Bay caravan park, which is located right off the beach. We rode around for a solid five minutes, annoying the few people who were set up around the park with the not too subtle thud thud thud of our Sportster engines until we finally found a site we all agreed on. On this evening our only true conflict took place, thankfully after dinner. The Boss borrowed Doms’ cake of soap to wash something. While washing, he let the cake of soap fall in the sand. Ash backed up his claim that it was accidental. Dom was having none of it, and retired early amidst a lot of back and forth swearing and insults.

Day 5 of our journey began with a little more gusto. We had to push as far through the Eastern Cape as possible because we didn’t really know what to expect for day 6, when we planned to arrive at Coffee Bay in the Transkei.

We had 500km ahead of us to our destination on the edge of the Transkei, Kei Mouth. Now don’t get me wrong, of all our national highways, the N2 that runs from Cape Town all along our east coast, cutting inland and eventually terminating in Ermelo, Mpumalanga of all places, is probably our best national highway. It’s in great condition and for the most part it cuts through the most beautiful regions South Africa has to offer. It is also favored by the always surprising and delightfully unpredictable minibus taxi’s and a variety of holiday makers from the Fortuna family with six bicycles strapped to the back doing 100 km/h and refusing to give way to the just became a partner in his firm X5 flying up your ass at 180km/h flashing his headlights because didn’t you know? He just bought the N2 and is on his way to a very important international business meeting.

Long story short is that the N2 is too busy to actually enjoy the ride, but it had to be done. From day 1 Ash had been on about needing a new chain for his KTM 1190, the Boss Gareth was having none of it, and insisted he only needed a good lubricant. Using his google machine Ash found an outlet that supplied the product he was looking for. Unfortunately, it was in Gqeberha (formerly Port Elizabeth). The armpit of South Africa. To be honest, we cannot really comment on how awesome or not awesome the bay city is, all we saw was the manky industrial area where Ash purchased his overpriced (the Boss’s opinion) can of chain lubricant. From there we continued to blast up the coast until we reached East London, South Africa’s other armpit, where we collectively sighed as Boss Gareth took an exit signaling his intent to ride through the city.

There are precious few good things to say about East London, so the less said the better. The bridge isn’t half bad and the city is now (or rather was pre-pandemic) host to Africa Bike Week. Although they did steal it back from Margate, where it was hosted in a far superior fashion. The waterfront area was in shambles as a ‘refurbishment’ project was underway, though it seemed more like a misplaced tender in the works. After a lot of gesturing and shaking of heads, the Boss had had enough and we made good our escape from Mordor.

When we arrived in Kei Mouth only an hour later, we were sorely disappointed. A town that clearly had once been something worth a damn was in a general state of dilapidation. We forced open the gate at the local camp grounds to find the office boarded up and the facilities in ruin. After fueling the bikes up at the only petrol station, a Puma (this speaks volumes too), we backtracked a few kilometers to Morgans Bay. Here, in haste and out of fear we would have to sleep in shifts that night, we checked into a backpackers. Ash was not happy, and it soon became apparent he had a strong dislike for hippies. We unloaded our bikes and went for ride through town to find a pub and some grub. As we came down to the seafront we were greeted by possibly the most beautiful campsite we saw on our journey. Located right off both the beach and the lagoon, the Eden of camping grounds lay. With low trees, perfectly manicured lawns, clean and intact facilities, to say we were disappointed in our accommodations for the night was an understatement.

We pushed on through the town and found a rather upmarket restaurant, but they had a bar counter, an excellent gin special and wood fire pizza, so we settled in. From there the night progressed better than expected, we built a large fire and shared a good few beers back at the backpackers. The lads were in good spirits again and best of all, Dom and the Boss had kissed and made up. Although the Boss does still owe him a new cake of soap.

Next we venture through the old Xhosa state of the Transkei, I dodge a monkey at 120 km/h, Dom befriends a drug dealer and we pop in on a family member that just barely survived your own bout with the corona virus. Stay tuned to Bronco Iron

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