Archive of BMW Motorrad Club Cape (2006 - 2019)

So there I was heading off into the Blue Yonder all by my lonesome self. I decide on a whim to go after reading XT660R's post on the Wilddog site about their ride on the lovely Rooibos Heritage / Moedverloor route ( left off the R364 to Calvinia ) the week -end before. I must go and ride this road . No one else is available, so it ends up being a solo ride . Not that I think XT660R used the word " lovely " It was more like " WOW what an awesome ride " also " a jewel of a road not for Newbies " and " some of the most beautiful roads in the Cederberg" .I must do this ride, it's calling me, as is the "lovely " campsite at Mertenshof farm , Biedouw Valley . Going solo changes the dynamics dramatically . Normally "someone else" or rather " anyone else but me " takes care of the practical " side " issues , you know : the little things like fixing punctures , medical aid, planning routes , reading maps, deflating tyres , erecting tents and braaing. I normally take care of the more important things like packing my bikini, sunblock and food . So in a jiffy I visit Harley and leave with a tent, mattress , big bag , and ratshit straps. I visit Pete , and leave with some basic map reading techniques and a tyre repair kit. On the morning of my departure I visit Geoff and get a puncture repair lesson ( to follow on from Neil 's one - but this time I am listening as if my life depends on it- as it might!) and a lesson (at my request) on how to seal a leaky bike gut with pratley black. I leave with a route for some Piketberg Dirt and a Compressor. But most importantly Geoff changes my suspension, as my front end rattles like a rattlesnake every time I ride over corrugated stuff or sand . Geoff says it's no wonder as mine is set for road racing , which admittedly is 99% of what I do on my bike; I race it to work and back . I buy some Rescue remedy , painkillers and Betadene and the most beautiful meter- high map of the Cederberg at Cape Union Mart, which even I am bound to be able to figure out . I'm all set to go . DAY ONE As I ride I reflect on my very short off -road riding career : 9 months , many little falls and two expensive ones , one costing me a new clutch kit, and 2 weeks later another one costing the Insurance company R43K, when my bike ran out of control down a gravelly hill near Elim. I also remember that I failed the Countrytrax intro course due to my inability to lock my back brake. I also have a tendency , when I see anything technical, to scream, panic and throw my bike down as Shaded can testify when I try and ride down at the Quarry, or Rony and Gwaai saw at Matroosberg . More importantly I can't pick up my own bike. O yes ,did I mention there is no cell -reception in the Cederberg, so I am totally on my own. But all of this fades away as I feel the joy of the road moving beneath me. Just before Piketberg at the 399 I gooi a left, expecting to hit pay dirt in a few minutes . I don't hit pay dirt, on the contrary I ride and ride and ride ,and only about 30 Km later do I hit pay dirt : Kapteinskloof . See I knew maps try and fool you. I deflate my own tyres ( trumpets blowing here ) I think my massive tyre gauge is actually one used for trucks wheels , but hey deflating tyres is not so hard, and I finish it in 20 minutes flat . The roads and the views are lovely and I'm having the time of my life . Some excitement when an undisciplined collie runs in front of my bike , forcing me to brake ( I AGAIN forget about the back brake) I won't rattle on too much about this part of the trip, and the one past Hex River, except to say that I soon realise that reading a map is like doing a crossword puzzle. I don't get it right the first time round ,but have to guess my way around after a few wrong attempts .I do get to meet a lovely farmer out Het Kruis Way ,who assures me the route is not through his farm, and he points me in the right direction. A few pictures of the tranquil Banghoek Mountains behind the Piketberg Mountains ( all my pictures are taken with my cell phone ) Piketberg 1Piketberg 2 Piketberg 3. Piketberg 4 My little gravel detour ( wrong turn-offs included ) sets me back 2 hours , but I enjoyed it and that's all that counts . I'm back on the N7 and its tar all the way. I ride over the lovely curvaceous Piekeniers Pass and arrive at Clanwilliam at the ingloriously late hour of 18h45 . I down some fish and chips, and tackle the Cederberg. I am slightly irritated at myself for all my faffing back in Cape Town , as now I'm about to enter a no cell- reception area just as the sun is setting. And I have to rely on my own yet very undeveloped map- reading skills . But as soon as I hit the Cederberg dirt roads I relax immediately and totally. Yoo hoo, my holiday has begun . I love the air here, the beauty , the peace and tranquility , the smells of the place. The spectacular mountains and valleys , the rich earthy colours . The silence. Sunset is my favorite part of the day. I have nothing to rush me , its just the bike and me, and the awesome roads . Cederberg 1: Check out the long shadows on the road , it's nealy sunset Cederberg 2 : Start of Pakhuis Pass Cederberg 3: Top of Pakhuis Pass which is semi- tarred thankfully as it is very steep Over a hill and nearly into the only car I see the whole way to base camp. It is spread out across the entire road doing a u-turn!! This proves to be my nemesis the whole week-end : objects appearing suddenly in front of my tyres, testing my braking abilities to the max . Despite practicing like mad , I fail to use the back brake in each and every emergency stop ,but gratefully I do manage with the front one . The Cederberg is snoep with signs in this vicinity leaving me just about ready to just pitch camp right there and then. Thankfully and miraculously I do eventually find Mertenshof in the Biedouw Valley. The farmer Barry is happy to see me, as they expected me any time from 6pm .But not as happy as I am to see them ! Mertenhof on arrival On the left a photo of the cow shed/ garage ,wait till you see the beautiful farm house ( Pity ,I don't have a photo though ) Barry inquires happily about XT660 and his friends, and brags to me about their riding abilities. I don't think he realises that I don't know XT660 or his friends except that I read their great trip report on the Wilddogs site , which is why I am here. Barry jumps onto a Quad bike and takes me down a tricky section to base camp. Naturally I struggle to pitch my tent, but the nice (single) neighbour and his 2 kiddies help me. I sleep for 8 hours straight on the lush lawn ,and wake up to a glorious sight. Mertenhof camp-site: On arising I find these awesome views surrounding my tent Mertenhof camp-site: View whilst having breakfast DAY 2 I briefly chat to my neighbour as he leaves for Kromboom camp-site , now its just me and the nice couple at the other end of the camp site. I am extremely excited to ride the Rooibos Tea / Moedverloor Route ,and manage to leave at 9h30 which is early for me, despite having to pack all my tools ( such as they are ), puncture repair kit , compressor, my medical kit, food and warm clothes, as I am on my own and have to be Responsible. 30 / 45 minutes later I cross the Doring River at the safe cement bridge crossing on the R364, and minutes later I arrive at the turn -off left to the Rooibos Tea/ Moedverloor Route. For the first time on this trip I Hesitate. I wonder about the wisdom of rushing blindly into the unknown all alone. But secretly I also enjoy the adventure of it all. ( Andyman I promise I won't ride alone anytime soon don't worry ) Moedverloor: Rooibos Tea /Moedverloor Route I have a moment of Indecisiveness. I wonder if there is Sand on this route. I have encountered Sand 3 times, and fallen 6 times , oops, I have a 200% fall rate in Sand. I decide to consult my big Fortune Cookie for answers and haul out THE MAP. Before I even figure out where I am , I see two bikes gliding down the R364 from direction Calvinia towards me, like a mirage they appear out of the dust. Considering that I have seen one other vehicle since leaving Base Camp, this is remarkable. Even more strangely, the one biker gives me a big wave and then does the most magnificent skid towards me , leaving me drooling with envy at his back -braking skills . I see that it is darling Ruan from Atlantic , and his very nice Uncle . They appear totally nonchalant at finding this madcap chick on her own on a bike in the middle of nowhere, for which I am grateful. Ruan assures me that I will easily be able to handle the road , I must just paddle the 4 sandy bits . I suspect then already ( correctly as it turns out ) that I will not be paddling, but it is a nice security blanket anyway. He laughs and says all he could see coming down the hill was this great big map. Ruan and uncle A little later Ruan's dad, Wayne, Jonny and 2 other guys arrive. They stop for a nervous chat after finding me here all alone , Ruan's dad bravely attempts to persuade me to not ride alone , of course to no avail. Cederberg 9: Wayne on his bike, Ruan's dad and Jonny with their backs towards us Due to my faffing, I have now not even started writing about the Rooibos Tea /Moedverloor Route, which is what my story is all about, so I will continue with that hopefully tomorrow. ---- continued 2009-01-14 ... So my adventure starts ( drums rolling ) : Moedverloor Road , here I come ! I wonder what awaits me? I am still reminiscing on the lovely men I just saw , but this road , like a jealous boyfriend, claims all my attention, and straight away too . Cederberg 10: At the start of Moedverloor Road After this rocky start , the road eases off just enough to let me breathe. It clearly does not want to scare me , but warns me that I've got to keep my wits about me , and concentrate till my eyes bleed. One of the first of many, many gates . Stop, try and lift my right leg higher than it wants to go, yank it smartly (and smarting) between the high bag on the pillion seat and the tank , tumble off the bike , walk , open gate , contort leg up again , rest of me up , ride 5 meters , off bike again , close gate , on bike , and so on . After each gate my steel tips get heavier, the seat higher , and my space suit bulkier to walk with ..... Cederberg gate: Gate ( Hantam ) But I don't mind too much , the gates add to my sense of adventure , and they are just a few of the many, many obstacles that this Road doles out to me in generous helpings. One of the first tests the road sets for me : I see two hares , and seconds later , a duikertjie running across the road as I approach a u- turn. As I turn to watch the dainty bokkie , the road nearly shrugs me off it's back and into the bushes . I get the hint : this road is high -maintenance. Its not going to share me. Its the road on full blast, or it's belly up for me. It demands all of my attention, all of the time. Cederberg 12: U-turn The road twists and turns constantly as it weaves through some of the strangest, most mysterious landscapes that I have ever come across. There are the strangest structures that these people live in . There are no sounds , no TV , no radios ( no electricity ) , no talking , no laughter , no movement at all , the air is heavy . The people are frozen in their postures like dummies in a macarbe museum. The silence is deafening. I feel like a trespasser . I am enthralled , my jaw hangs at the bottom of my helmet. I cast furtive glances around me, fascinated . Like Alice in Wonderland I feel like I have fallen through a hole in the ground and landed smack bang in the middle of an earlier century , and in a different country. It's beautiful and eerie and desolate and heavy. Admitting , the weirdness of my own company probably enhances my sense of strangeness. A young bull meters away starts to storm me , it bucks and snorts, but changes it's mind at the last minute and runs off ungracefully. Ok, back to the road ; it is a shift shaper , giving me some easy peasy, then some sandy bits , then a couple of ruts, nothing too technical mind you, just enough to keep on my toes. But it doesn't stop winding , narrow and winding. And the colour of the road changes constantly, from brown to red to yellow to white to brown ..... I am very impressed with the suspension setting. Going over ruts , the whole bike sways a bit, which feels scary, but the front end is remarkably stable, and that is the much preferred option . How did I ever manage with the rock hard suspension! Thanks Geoff. I am having the time of my life. I am one with the bike and the road , and up to dealing with anything that comes my way . Some more photographs. Cederberg 13: Road twisting and turning Cederberg 14: Another gate Cederberg 15: a strange structure - I didn't want to go closer to take the photo I pass Jaagvlak , Lelikkloof and Vlooikraal. On one of the narrow uphills I am in the wrong track , as I am not anticipating any cars. But suddenly , unexpectedly, I see a local careening wildly towards me on a bicycle . I see him frantically pulling at his brakes, but he is going to fast . Now what . I am not planning to ride over the large mound of loose gravel and sand in the center island to go back to my side of the road . But it's his side of the road , and besides he can't go anywhere else, he is out of control . I debate and stall, and the poor man's eyes get bigger , and at the last minute I haul the bike across the mound of graveyard gravel . We narrowly miss each other, and I make it safely across . I do not look back, but I can practically feel the man's relief . It's probably bigger than mine. Cederberg 16 Some more beauty Cederberg: Some sandy bits Cederberg 18: Sandkraal Sandkraal. As I suspected in Base camp already, a place called Sandkraal is bound to have sand . It does . I am tired and light- headed from hunger. I want to eat my tin of sardines , but I feel invisible eyes bore into me. In fact, I fully expect a family of bushmen to be gorging on a buck behind the bushes. And besides, there is no shade , the sun is relentless, so regretting that I didn't eat a bigger breakfast, I make do with 2 Brazil nuts and water , hope for the best, and push on. I get to a fork in the road and the Rooibos Tea farm is on my left. I continue rightwards . This looks like a proper road now . I think the worst is over, and I reflect , not too humbly , that the road wasn't so bad after all . I must be styling on the bike today . Just as I started to slack off, the Sand Monster rears it's ugly head from where it has lain in wait to devour the (iron) maiden. The sand is upon me , there is no time to dither or debate , let alone stop. I must just roll with the punches . Now for a quick interruption : a beloved friend of all at the BMW Club and on this Forum , phones me up recently and howls with laughter down the phone. He spotted me riding the entire length of Table View Sea front standing up . He asks me who I think I am, standing up and posing like that , a beauty queen? I say no, I am practicing for my debut on the Sand Runway . Every day I practice standing along the 4 km' s beachfront on my way to work and back . Some days I pretend I am riding on sand. I take the weight off my hands and into my feet and lean back. So even though I have done very little real life sand riding , in my imagination I have done plenty ..... So back to the Moedverloor Road . I just fall into action , the dress rehearsal is over, this is real life fright . I lean back , weight off the handlebars and into my feet, and I accelerate surely but steadily . O yes, did I mention that I also cannot look at sand whilst I am riding it, as it will absolutely freak me out . I choose a line and the Sand laughs at me , so instead I have to trust the bike totally like I am a blind beggar. Despite the severity of the situation for me , my luck holds and all goes swimmingly . The bike behaves beautifully , it does not even do a hint of a snake, just perfection in a dead straight line . But then to my utmost horror I see at the bottom of the downhill a corner coming wildly at me. Not just a turn, mind you, but a corner. Cornering in sand is not part of my repertoire. My world and time stands still . I rack my brain , I fish frantically for advice on how to corner sand. I run though all the posts I ever read on the Forum and come up empty handed. I am in trouble , very big trouble. I am stuck . Suddenly I remember Lourens telling me at the Wilddogs Intro training day at Nelsons Creek that to do a U -turn one can push down on the inside peg to turn the bike and then immediately jump on the outside peg to keep the weight on the outside . I will try this . Like a magic potion, this piece of advice will keep the bike from falling, because I can't pick up the bike. So under no circumstances can I let this bike drop. By this time I am gunning it and am not intending to ease off the throttle at all . I enter the corner in the middle of the road , well actually the bike does. I am just standing there looking pretty . I give a jump to the left , then a jump to the right and go for it , o yes and I pray. As I move it through the corner the bike veers closer and closer to the edge of the road, but I ignore it and just keep the speed steady and fast . At the end of the corner, I am one second away from crashing off the side of the road , but I start counter- steering again , and stay on the road. I am wildly elated , and feel like I have conquered Mount Everest . In a sense I have. But I am humbled at how difficult and tiring this sand riding business is, and how I would struggle to ride the Weskus with one of Geoff's Weskus rides . But one sandy step at a time! This , for me, was quite an achievement and I'm proud and happy . And so I reflect on the glorious ups and downs of off -road riding . To be continued..... _______________________________________________ Part 3 ( Conclusion) After my wild escapade in the last sandy corner, I am intensely aware of the road again, and keep my eyes peeled for more monsters that want to fling me off my iron horse. I negotiate a few more sandy patches and then a brand new danger appears : RUTS . Admittedly the ruts are not very deep , but still there they lie quitely awaiting their chance to catch me off -camber and throw me down . I keep moving the bike around to keep my wheels perpendicular to the road surface, which keeps changing . I feel like I am doing a dizzy foxtrot to rap music . I come across a rotting cat in the road and the stink nearly overpowers me . For the first time I wonder who removes roadkill back home, and am grateful that they do. I know who removes roadkill in New Zealand : little old ladies . Whilst on a visit to a farm on the outskirts of Christchurch a few years ago my friend’s aunty made us stop to pick up all the roadkill she could fit in her car's boot. And so , with our rotten booty we drove around sight- seeing the whole day . That night the blood flowed copiously as she sat next to her vegetable patch with its monster- sized leeks, skinning possums and hares for her hungry cats. Back to Moedverloor Road: I discover that I have reached the end of it's tether. A sign announces Niewoudtville to the left and Soutpan to the right . Nieuwoudtville -Soutpan Road T-Junction Moedverloor has released it's forceful hold over me . I will miss it , what an intensely exciting journey I have had across it's wild beauty and ( to me ) unchartered twists and turns. I am back in civilisation where normality reigns again. The Nieuwoudtville Road Back in civilisation again 15km from Nieuwoudtville , I come across first one, and then another , pathetically drunk local , staggering painfully and slowly towards Nieuwoudtville in the sweltering heat , one step forward , two steps back , three steps lie down . I feel guilty but don't stop. It being late on a Saturday of a public holilday week-end , everything is closed in Nieuwoudtville, except for the Protea Petrol Station where owner Tinus promptly takes me under his wing. Tinus sensibly changes my travelling plans, and I discover that I am no longer riding through Calvinia , a 70km tar detour, but that I am doubling back 20 km in the same direction ,and then instead of turning right towards Moedverloor I will keep straight, direction Soutpan . Sorry that I will now miss out on a hearty lunch in Calvinia, I am nevertheless pleased that I will be slicing approximately 100 km's off my route , time which could be more fruitfully occupied in the farm dam. I plonk myself down under the shade of a tree at the end of the forecourt and proceed to eat my emergency rations : a tin of sardines and some "African Gray parrot food " ( dry oats with seeds and red goji berries ). I also sip on some tepid petrol station water, having drained my 3 litre Hydra Pak since leaving camp this morning. Lunch spot under the trees I am so hot and tired that I regretfully omit taking sufficient photographs to showcase Tinus' magnificent museum collection of old cars and bikes . Quaint Car nesting Old bike inside - new bike outside And this is ? After the bike and my tummies are both filled, we depart from Nieuwoudtville, and 20km later it’s a left turn at the Soutpan / Moedverloor sign, direction Soutpan. I am content to stand loose in the saddle and watch the beautiful scenery go past , relaxed in the knowledge that I have had my fill of adventure and danger for the day and that I'm heading safely for Base Camp . Having used yesterday and today to experiment with how many fingers I have hovering over the clutch and brake, I am currently in the one finger session . This I have reserved for the easier stretches where I am doing not more than 80 km an hour . Anything faster warrants two fingers to be able to clutch and brake adequately. In sand, technical or steep downhill sections, I have now banned the use of any fingers , so that my trigger happy fingers won't be tempted to brake or pull the clutch unnecessarily, with potentially disasterous consequences . From time to time I do wonder idly how I will really manage to stop the bike with only one finger. However , two fingers in the air whilst standing is far too tiring , and besides I'm still hoping that in an emergency my right foot will automatically shoot forward ,stomp down on the back brake, and heroically stop the bike in a nick of time. I am still experimenting , and still quite confused by all the finger modes that my imagination has conjured up , when suddenly I see a steenbokkie materialise out of nowhere. Like a furry blurry magnet the bokkie is propelled towards my front light , with the speed of lightening. My right foot stays perfectly frozen , uselessly perched on it's iron peg . I am forced to rely on my one-day-old one-finger habit to rescue me with the front brake only. I do slow way down, from 80 km/ hr to probably 20 km/hr, but clearly emergency back braking was the called for action to take, and I didn't take it. In the meanwhile I am mesmerised by the erratic bokkie's actions. The bokkie passes my bike’s wheels with less than a meter to spare . But madness reigns, and the crazed bokkie, having made it safely pass my wheels, then doubles back on itself and , Kamikaze style, it goes for it again in the opposite direction. I pull even harder at the front brake with my one ineffectual finger , whilst seeing in my mind's eye the bike slicing the bokkie wide open, and wondering if I could nevertheless manage to keep the bike upright. Miraculously the bokkie again makes it past my tyres, this time with only centimeters to spare. It then throws itself spectacularly down on the gravel next to my front tyre , so hard that I thought it had broken it's back for sure . It's whole body jack-knifes , then it uncoils itself like a spring and ,changing direction yet again, it tears down the road like a bat out of hell in the direction from which I had just come from . I am stunned and shocked at the suddenness and unexpectedness of the encounter, and that all three of us survived it unscathed. I vow to conquer the back brake yet . I know that neither the bokkie nor I will forget this harrowing experience for a long time to come . I pat my bike on it’s side and we carry on. 20 km from the Soutpan turn-off I arrive at the promised cross road, where I turn right on the R364 Calvinia to Clanwilliam road . R364 : Calvina- Clanwilliam Road Around a bend and with a thrill of pleaure I happen upon the breathtakingly beautiful Botterkloof Pass . Botterkloof Pass The road falls away into space beside me and I slow down to admire the astonishing views . God must have had a field day creating these splendid mountains . Heart in my throat , I cowardly traverse the slopes in first gear, not ready to deal with more adversity just yet. The descent turns out to be less evil than I anticipated, and I carry on , drinking in the views and inhaling the sweet scent of the Cederberg. At the Doringrivier , I reach the safe cement bridge crossing . ( The 'dangerous' Doringrivier water crossing is Eastwards, off the 355 Calvinia- Ceres dirt road, on a 4x4 route westwards towards Biedouw Valley) Doringrivier : safe cement crossing at Doringrivier Another 30 or so kilometers and I am at the top of the Biedouw Valley. Top of Hoek se Berg Pass The top part of Hoek se Berg Pass is mercifully tarred. Top of Hoek se Berg Pass However , the very steep gut-clenching gravelly u- turn in fresh air half way down Hoek se Berg Pass is quite frightening . Tight corner in fresh air : Hoek se Berg Pass Exhausted, but elated , I sink down to the grassy meadows of my Biedouw Valley Base Camp, only to find my sorry tent hanging miserably in a tree, having escaped all its pegs . I wish I hadn't chased my single neigbour away last night ,before he had finished putting up my tent, due to my nervousness at his fine looks . I fish my tent out of the tree and move it into the shade and attempt to erect it . It is , however windy for the entire time that I fight wih the tent , and I am exhausted and hot . After my 5th attempt the tent flops over and shows me it's bottom . I decide to haul out one of my favourite , emergency- only idioms , namely : " when all else fails : give up " I flop down on my sleeping mat, gleefull in the knowledge that I have outwitted the tent , having decided that I would sleep under the stars instead. But Trish , in neighbourly fashion, comes to the rescue and within minutes my tent is erected. I note that the wind, having successfully played it's windy joke on me, mysteriously drops when Trish arrived. Trish kindly explains to me that she has been camping since childhood, and it is just practise. A few minutes later she and Arthur , having by now ,I'm sure ,discussed my clownish attempts to erect a tent,come to the inevitable conclusion that I cannot be trusted to make a fire or to braai on my own . And so ,to save me , and possibly them , from certain catastrophe , I am invited to braai with them . I decide that I can escape my big-city girl roots , by learning to light my own fire ,another time . I reflect that I might possibly also have had my quota of adventure for the day , and I accept their kind offer . Then I jump into my bikini and into the dam just above the campsite to cool down. Mertenhof Farm dam There I see something riveting : two perfectly formed tiny ducklings swimming along innocently , not bigger than 5 cm each . I glide over to them doing the ducky paddle, and to my surprise they promptly come and perch their tiny tickling feathery bodies on me, like I am their mother duck . The one looks as pooped as I feel, and I am compelled to rescue it. I put it on the side of the dam and wait to see if the mother duck will fetch it . I see the parent wild ducks surfacing . They must have been under the water the entire time that I was in the dam. My ugly duckling makes sqeaking noises, and as it's real mommy comes closer to fetch it , I take my leave , the duckling's tiny feathery body firmly imprinted on my heart . Tiny feathery duckling Arthur shows me how to braai , and despite my best attempts to drop a chop and then later the whole grid, Arthur perseveres and does a great job . One squash undressed itself from it's tinfoil dress and burns to death, but the rest of my veggies are succulent, and the meat very delicious. There is enough wors left over for the rest of the crew, which includes the two interesting women who are renting the house situated in the campsite, and for my breakfast . Off to bed and a restless sleep , I wake up and start faffing . I love this camp-site, and don’t want to leave . Its tranquil and peaceful, and at R50 per person per night, it’s a steal . There is a kitchen in the house in the camp-site with a very convenient kettle and fridge, for use by the happy campers. kitchen and bathroom with a view The bathroom is cosy and clean. Why , the toilet seat even has a knitted PINK cover to warm my bottom . Whoever would have thought of that? PINK toilet seat cover Even the mirror has a pretty satin and lace material frame . Pretty satin/ lace mirror frame I chat to Arthur and Trish . I chat to Barry the farmer . I chat to Ella -Lou whilst she is practising her Tai Qi moves on a tree . She and her friend go off with the farmer's children to look at the caves and bushman paintings. When they come back I am still packing . Eventually , in the midday heat I take my leave, hoping to return very soon . Day 3 : About to leave Mertenhof I backtrack my way towards Clanwilliam , but am pleased to be able to traverse the majestic Pakhuis Pass again . On the last downhill I encounter a green jeep crawling along at 60 km/ hr . My patience is tested to its limit, but surprisingly I manage to resist the almost overwhelming temptation to overtake it , as I note that the downhill is too steep, and there are too many blind corners, making braking hazardous. I realize that my solo trip is to have long term benefits to my safety. I exit the Cederberg at Clanwilliam and then enter it again past the Clanwilliam dam . I am riding high on the mountain path which winds past the dam and the river far below. A few kilometers later I turn left at the sign that says “Cederberg” , in the direction of Algeria camp site . I am riding at the very top edge of a ravine and I am awed by its stark beauty . The road is hilly, with enough twists and turns to keep it interesting. The colours are rich and vivid, and the heady smells intoxicatingly sweet. Nature at her finest .I enjoy the solitude , and testing my bike against the elements . Coming over a hill I spy someone standing in the centre of the road, just across the way from a deserted buiding site . He then disappears to hide under a bush hanging over the side of the road. As my mind works out all the possible escape options I warily watch the bush as I draw closer . Under the bush I see a huge black baboon sitting innocently plucking at the fruit on the bush. It sees me and lumbers away . I pass Grootkloof and Jamaka , and at the Algeria camp site I come to a T –Junction , where I turn left into the Algeria road . I now know where I am, having been here the previous week -end with Harley , Cloud and his brother. That was the week-end that I discover a deep love for the Cederberg . I still have to keep my wits about me, not so much to figure out where I am going, as to negotiate the road . There are some sandy bits and loose tar gravel on the construction-in-progress parts of the road , as well as some steep uphills . I ride to the very top of the Uitkyk pass and stop to admire the glorious views, hardly believing that the road could rise so steeply . Top of Uitkyk Pass Then I descend down onto the valley floor and find myself in a lush green valley, which is so flat in comparison with the rest of mountainous Cederberg , that surreally I half expect to find dinosaurs grazing in it's soft grasses . I pass Driehoek campground, and then Sandrivier and Krom Rivier . I negotiate some tricky turns, and then out of the corner of my eye I see a reptile slither across the road just behind my wheels . I do not look back, as I have just passed Lot's statue . Through a short sandy bit , I perform my first fishtail of the week–end. Only a little one , mind you , nothing like the spectacular snakes performed by Cloud and his brother last week-end ,when, if not for their skill and fortitude, they would have bought a nice big farm each. On the crest of another hill, I see the valley suddenly falling away far down below me . The photograph I took does not do justice to the magnificence of this view. On the far side of the photograph one can see far in the distance, the road twisting up another mountain again . The view from just above Cederberg Oasis Perched near the top of this view is the biker’s delight : Cederberg Oasis. I am so hot and tired that I can barely manage to get off my bike . Like a beached wale, I waddle over to the back stoep . I take off my shoes and as much of my clothes as is legal , but even in my strappy vest and cycling shorts, I am in serious danger of over heating . Gerrit , the owner takes my order for rooibos tea and slap chips, and suggests that I jump into the pool just as I am . I can hardly summons up the strength to go and search for my bathing costume, so I gratefully take his advice . This place is refreshingly casual. The swimming pool is an Oasis in the Cederberg , and the cold water a kiss of life which revives me again. While I sit on the stoep in my drenched clothes. Gerrit brings me the hugest plate of slap chips. To my surprise, but probably not his , I wolf it all down. Very much at peace with myself , I admire the pretty views from the stoep over the lemony orchards and across the valley . Gerrit loves bikers and informs me that he gets upset if a whole week-end passes without any biker visitors . In fact , he says that 50% of his trade comes from Oversees backpackers and the other 50% are bikers. We happily chat bikes, in the way that bikers do , whether they know each other or not . When I leave, still wet from my swim ,Gerrit's young collie plays around with me, and at the last minute, just as I pick up speed, it hurls itself in front of my wheels . But by now on this week-end, I expect this kind of thing and I brake easily .My guardian angels had sure planned a steep learning curve for me this week–end, yet also ensured that I was divinely protected. Now I am in a hurry, as I want to be back home in three hours time . Depite flying down the mountain, the road is endless as I keep discovering more mountains and more valleys , the most notable and scary being the very steep downhill at Opi Kopi, too steep to stop and take a photograph . On this last leg of my Cederberg journey, neither my cellphone nor I have sufficient batteries left to take photographs , but I do stop for one last-fling photograph of the wonderful Cederberg. Last photograph Only 45 minutes after leaving Cederberg Oasis do I arrive safely back on tar. As I speed towards Ceres a local car stops dead in front of me to turn left. Having hogged the middle of the road, and there being another car approaching me , I have no choice but to brake. To my great relief and satisfaction I manage to brake in time . I smile, knowing that one day I will be able to brake on gravel like that . On the way home another three cars were to turn in front of me or brake suddenly . It must be the drunk Sunday feeling around here. Being on tar , I outwit them all . At Nelsons Creek I spy a GS1200 ;the rider waves; I think it is Mr Nelson senior. I relax knowing that now I am only 30 minutes from home, but in the interest of my new safety policy, I slow it down to 40 minutes, which is a good thing as the cars are misbehaving badly today ,it being holiday time . Standing on my pegs all the way down the beach front at Table View on the way to Big Bay, I am thrilled to be inhaling the fresh sea air again. I stop to phone my mom to tell her that I am safely home and she informs me that my brother has broken his leg playing soccer with his kids . I feel really sorry for him , but am also relieved that I didn’t stay at home this week-end . I could have broken my leg. Safe and sound back at home, I dismount my faithful bike in ecstacy . Walking towards my front door I wish I could down a Red Bull, and turn around and do the whole trip over again . That night as I am drifting off to sleep in my soft bed , I am already planning my next bike trip.