What is there to be said about motorcycle rallies? After the fact, not a whole lot, but attend one for yourself and you’ll find there is never a quiet moment. Even when the Springboks are in the midst of giving the Welsh yet another thrashing, men and women in leather vests decorated with colourful patches chatter on and on about everything motorcycles.
Harley-Dale ’22 takes place in its namesake, Barrydale. A small town in the heart of the Western Cape with a lot of charm… along its main road. Down one of the side streets, you will come across the Karoo Art Hotel, a boutique hotel that may initially seem like a strange spot for a biker rally, but these are no ordinary bikers. The majority of the two-wheeled motorized carriages lining the street are Harley Davidsons, who are a kutte above the rest.
The event was organized with a mass ride departing from Strand early on Saturday morning. We, unfortunately, missed the opportunity to convoy with the herd and forged our own path through Hawequas mountains, stopping only twice on the 260-kilometre journey. Once to refuel in Rawsonville, and at a random spot on the R62 to pick up the legendary Rayman on his Sporty Chopper. By the time we arrived in Barrydale, the festivities were in full swing. After a brief investigation, not wanting to take part in the singing and dancing at the hotel just yet, and also absolutely famished, we visited a familiar haunt. Diesel & Creme, the vintage diner on the R62 is an unmistakably South African slice of Americana that makes sensational milkshakes and mouthwatering grilled cheese sandwiches. Fortunately, they also have beer on tap.
The Zac, our new junior engineer, is a capable but slight young man with an irritable bowel. After devouring a grilled cheese the size of his face, the accompanying thick-cut fries and sucking down a double thick oreo milkshake, the lactose started acting quickly. Rayman had accompanied us for the ride and the sweet taste of beer on tap, so with a tip of the cap he took back to the road, with many tasks awaiting him back at his farm. The Zac requested we check in at our lodgings for some relief before joining the festivities.
An hour later, we were crammed into the well-sized pub of the Karoo Art Hotel, singing the national anthem with reservation at first, as none of the bikers seemed to care for it. Then as the third verse kicked in, which is in Afrikaans, the rest of the congregants joined in with gusto. Perhaps they can’t be blamed for not knowing their own anthem. The aggregate age of a Harley Davidson event is typically around fifty-five, and the demographic is typically of a paler complexion. This one is no different. So, it stands to reason that none of the people in the pub were taught our new national anthem in school.
After the aforementioned victory of our national rugby team, we claimed our free dinner that came with the price of entry, a burger and fries. Zac eyed his quarry wearily, took a few small bites and poked holes in it with his forefinger. We could then take to drinking, socializing and enjoying some of the live entertainment, an Afrikaans band neither of us was familiar with.
The next morning we woke feeling rather alright, splashed some water on our faces and took back to the road. The morning air was crisp, the roads quiet and the sky a brilliant blue. The best reason to go to Harley-Dale, is to ride your Harley on the R62. After enjoying the Du Toits Kloof Pass we merged onto the N1 and formed a small pod with a few other riders also returning to the mother city. Reminiscent of our trips with the rest of our usual bunch, one by one these riders split off as we drew closer to the city, each returning to their homes for recovery. Finally, it was just Zac and myself, tooting our hooters to the bewilderment of those around us at each other as we split. Listen to the young man’s thoughts on the event and riding his own machine in the short video below.
Leave a Reply