Archive of BMW Motorrad Club Cape (2006 - 2019)

WARNING: Read this ride report with a pinch of salt and a dash of humor. The plan was to ride solo to the Tankwa Karoo. A remote desolate place of weird dreams. This was the first time I would use my new GPS, and after nights of plotting various routes I’d decided on one route there and a different one back. This was also going to be my first solo trip of the year. And by solo I mean the Ewan and Charlie definition of solo – with a convoy of back-up vehicles. The first back-up vehicle would carry my extra fuel, water and booze. The awesome turbo-charged Land Rover would contain the first valuable members of my team; my PR Agent and my Librarian* (*No jokes, I would rendezvous with half my book club in the middle of the desert.) back-up vehicle Unfortunately Land Rovers don’t have the best reputation with regard to reliability, so my back-up vehicle had it’s own back-up vehicle – dubbed the porcupine. The porcupine was driven by my drug dealer and yoga instructor. This traveling work or art was laden with pillows and blankets in the back and rear mounted speakers that oozed a never-ending stream of deliciously cool reggae, and would ferry us around the festival, since it was far too large to walk around on foot. Porcupine A third back-up vehicle carried the rest of my supplies, including a large free-form tent, fully equipped kitchen and raw materials to build a shower on the burning plains. Friday morning dawned bright and early. I missed it completely, only getting out of bed around 8. There was no rush since I’d packed everything the night before, and I knew my back-up team had been at the festival since Thursday. I loaded my panniers onto my bike, strapped on my tent, clipped the GPS into it’s mount, selected the route I wanted and pressed ‘go’ on the touch screen. My first pit stop for the day was a staggering 1.2kms away at The Village Café, one of the last true street-side cafes in Cape Town. I had a leisurely breakfast and hit the road proper just before 10am. Village Cafe My route took me onto the N1, and I turned off on the R44 towards Wellington and Bain’s Kloof. Now the first time I ever rode Bain’s Kloof on a bike was during Nelson’s Creek 08 – and I hated it. I couldn’t keep up with the riders in front, and felt like I was holding up the riders behind me. I’ve since ridden the pass many times, and now thoroughly enjoy it. Bains 01 Bains 02 I followed the R44 all the way to Ceres, where I stopped to refuel and have a snack at the Steers. Ceres From Ceres I joined the R355 for a 110 kms of great gravel highway. As I got to the gravel I let some air out of my tyres, and while I was doing so recognized one of my friends drive past. They didn’t see me, and I made it my mission to catch up to them. Unfortunately in order to do so I’d have to overtake 4 or 5 other cars. Normally this wouldn’t present a problem, but on this road it was bloody scary. The dust kicked up by the vehicles caused a complete white out, you couldn’t see a damn thing. There were only two choices, hang back so I wouldn’t have to eat dust or push on through the clouds of dirt not been able to see where I was going. A good thing about traveling 120 on a dirt road with zero visibility is that you can’t look down – I have no idea what the road itself was like – I was concentrating on anything that would tell me I was approaching the car in front of me. Scary stuff. Exhilarating too. There is no sign telling you you’ve entered the Northern Cape, which is a pity cause it would have made a nice photo. The turn-off for Tankwa was just a couple of kilometers after the Tankwa river, and the last 10 or 15 kms to the venue were absolutely great. Rocky bits, interspersed with soft sand; adventure riding heaven. I was absolutely awe struck by the sheer size of the event. It was huge. How would I find anybody? But as fate would have it as I got to the entrance to ring the bell announcing my arrival, I was greeted by one of my book club members, who pointed me in the direction of my camp. AwooHoo. camp I was greeted by my entourage, who showed me a nice spot to pitch my tent. Even before I’d unstrapped my kit I was handed a beer and a joint. Normally it takes me 15 minutes to setup camp, but now in the blazing afternoon sun feeling as goofy and stupid as hell it probably took over an hour. No worries man, no worries at all. camp 2 unpacking After setting up my stuff I took was wander around the place, and was totally blown away by the magnificence and oddity of it all. Giant lego pieces in the middle of the dessert, a sculpture that looked like a giant slinky, and the most wondrous of all: the wish. Sculptures Let Go The Wish Make a Wish Patterns This sculpture had been erected the year before, and it was absolutely stunning. Inside was a small burning Brazier into which you throw your wishes on small scraps of paper. Unfortunately one of the creators of this magnificent sculpture was killed in a car accident last year – so instead of burning small scraps of paper they decided to torch the whole thing…. Burning Wish Funeral Pyre Aftermath I wont tell you about the rest of my night, so lets skip to Saturday morning. It dawned bright and early. Again (as dawn often does). I missed it. Again (as I often do). While lounging on the pillows drinking espresso and eating a croissant with jam I noticed four people dressed in tight white short and t-shirts surveying the area in front of our camp. They looked like tennis players from the 70’s. I didn’t think too much of their outfits since I’d been seeing crazier ones everywhere, but when they started sweeping the desert smooth I got really intrigued. How nice! The were building a tennis court. In the desert. Awesome. While I lay back in the shade sipping Peroni and imported tequila these idiots were attempting to play tennis in the hot noonday desert sun… only mad dogs and Englishmen would try something so stupid…. And so entertaining. I felt like I was in the grand stands at Wimbledon, watching retards trying to play tennis. It wasn’t that they were bad, but the ball would bounce erratically all over the place. Rather them than me chasing that fuzzy green little ball. Tennis Post Office that works Astro Turf I wont tell you about the rest of my day either. So lets skip to Sunday morning. It dawned bright and early…. Apparently. I packed my kit, and left my back-up team to their own devices. There was no way in hell I was gonna assist with taking down the giant free-form tent, or dismantling our shower. I just wanted to get on the road, and enjoy the craziness of racing through the dust clouds. As I got back to the tar I stopped for a smoke break. The R46 was maybe 40 metres ahead of me, but according to my GPS it was still 40 kms away. How odd! I asked it to recalculate the route – and it plotted a course over 1000kms long, up past St Helena Bay on the N7, with a u-turn in the middle of nowhere. Not that I needed a GPS to guide me home, since I planned on following the N1 all the way. Not the most exciting road I’ll grant you, but the hex river valley is beautiful, and I always enjoy riding through it. It started raining lightly just before I got to the tunnel to Paarl – which was fantastic. My bike needed a good clean, and it was doubtful I’d do it when I got home. Yup, and that was my first trip to Tankwa – I’ll definitely be going back, but this time I think I may go without the back-up team and entertainment on tap.