“Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Some trails are happy ones, others are blue. It’s the way you ride the trail that counts, here’s a happy one for you.” – Dale Evans – for Ducki, who will be welcoming his first born, a son, to the world in just a couple of weeks.
In honor of this, and the cold hard truth that it may be a few months before he joins us on an overnight gallivant again, we decided to stretch our sojourn over two nights. Late on Friday afternoon, we gathered at the once glorious Deus Cafe in Hout Bay. At least they still have beer. To gently motor over Chapman’s Peak at sundown should be on the bucket list of every rider. The Sentinal stood watch, in all of it’s glory, as three Harley Davidson Sportsters thundered along this magnificent stretch of coastline between Hout Bay and Noordehoek.
With dusk fading to dark, we arrived at Chapman’s Peak Caravan park after gate closing times. Fortunately, a friendly resident granted us entry and we found a sheltered place to erect our tents as ominous clouds had been gathering throughout the day. The Sean happened upon us mid-pitch and joined in on the action. How he and his pig gained access to the park will remain a mystery, for he would not tell us. Because we had no supplies and the gate was closed, we could not fend four ourselves in our usual manner. Luckily for us, only a couple hundred meters down the road lies The Toad in the Village, a great pub with fantastic pizza and an even better draught jug special. Many jugs, and a couple of brandy and cokes later, we found our way back to our campsite on less than steady feet and retired for the evening, fully expecting to get very, very cold.
Come morning, we were happy to inform each other that we did not wake in the night with aching, shivering toes. We decided that the combination of cloud and tree cover somehow kept things rather comfortable. We broke camp and departed for out first top of the day, the Thirsty Oyster in Gordons Bay, where the engineer and I stopped previously on our eight day journey through South Africa. We enjoyed an enlivening coffee from a small vendor in the parking area while we awaited our fifth, Ed. From this point the ride truly began as we rolled onto the unbelievably scenic R44 that skirts the coastline for a short forty eight kilometers that feels like no more than ten.
Once the fun and games were over, we had to put rubber to tar as two seniors would be joining us for the toe end of the journey, from Barrydale to Warmwatersberg Spa, our final destination. To Barrydale was a fair 200km, and so we tucked tail and rode. One of the greatest draws of riding a motorcycle around the Western Cape is the sheer amount of sensational roads. You almost never find yourself dodging potholes or wishing for the destination to sprout, and every so often, happen upon a stretch of road that brings an unshakeable smile to your face. Just before Barrydale, we were blessed with yet another slice of motorcycle heaven on earth in the tight twists and turns of the Tradou pass. We charged up through the mountains, stopping only briefly for a photo opportunity that will undoubtedly get Sean in Vanity Fair (see below) before popping out quite literally on Barrydale’s doorstep. At Diesel & Creme, the beers were cold, the pensioners were already a couple deep and the grub well deserved after spending all morning laboring away on glorious roads.
The Sean and I made a quick grocery dash in preparation for the evenings festivities, spoiling ourselves to a cowboy steak and some stale buns. Ducki meanwhile sought out an open bottle store and procured a bottle of Jameson, seeing as we didn’t have Rose and his trusty Ford to ferry beer. All the while the Engineer and Ed drank cold beer with the pensioners. From Barrydale it was a quick shot through the hills and out into the open Karoo where we once again happily happened upon Ronnie’s Sex Shop. One or two more beers later, and with the sun setting quickly, we crossed the tarmac and after only a few short kilometers of dirt were at our final destination, the Warmwatersberg Spa.
Unfortunately after we had pitched tents, the warm pools were already shut for the evening. Fortunately, the pensioners arrived with twelve black labels and a large amount of droewors which lifted our spirits. Compounded with a warm fire, a couple of steak rolls and a bottle of Jameson hot on their heels, we went merrily into that good night. In the morning the pensioners graciously provided us with coffee and we took to the hot pools for a session of healing and meditation. Then someone pointed out that the hot steam coming off the water smelled like urine and true or not, it’s hard to convince yourself otherwise, so we evacuated.
Continuing our spiritual journey of healing, we enjoyed a breakfast of peppersteak pies in Barrydale, then began our literal journey home. A short sixty kilometers later we bid the pensioners farewell in Montague and continued on. The road was fairly busy, which is usually the case between the Ashton and Worcester, but drivers were strangely considerate and the journey untaxing. We refuelled in Rawson, stopped for an ABF beer at Ou Meul just a few kilometers before the N1, and then took to the final leg of the journey. For a change of scenery, we bypassed the Huguenot Tunnel by taking the Du Toitskloof pass, which comes complete with it’s own tunnel that throws you into such blackness that for a moment you will believe you’ve met your end. But, true to the old cliché, by focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel, you soon find yourself back in the land of the living.
Back on the N1, one by one, my fellow riders fell away from the pack as they took their respective offramps, until it was just the engineer and I. Eventually we too made a number of hand gestures at each other which must be quite entertaining for other road users to witness, and then parted ways. Until next time.
HARLEY DAVIDSON SPORTSTER SKID PLATE COMING SOON! DRINK KOMBUCHA!! GET PSYCHED!!!
Leave a Reply