Archive of BMW Motorrad Club Cape (2006 - 2019)

Somehow, there are specific reasons for most of my motorcycle trips. And, somehow, these reasons have to do with things that non-motorcyclists will never understand because they relate to a motorcyclist’s mind, body and, especially, soul. My trips usually have names and references to do with clearing-the-head, refreshing-the-soul, reviving-the-spirit and restoring-the-energy-levels. Moreover, I usually do not plan them way in advance. They just take place, or, in proper Oxford English, they sommer happen. This was the case when I posted a note on this website towards the end of last year: “I'm planning to do a 2 - 3 day easy-going GS trip from Stellenbosch to the Southern Cape somewhere between 17 - 22 December this year. No detailed plans yet. Is anybody perhaps planning something similar and could I perhaps join you? If not, is there anybody who would like to join me?” It was the end of the year. I had to get onto my bike and get 2008 out of my system. Peter Mann responded and decided to join me. The Getting-2008-out-of-our-Systems trip started to happen – sommer happen! We left Stellenbosch early-morning on 17 December – Peter on his new 800GS, I on my faithful 1200GS. I’m not ashamed to admit that the tar stretch up to Barrydale did me good. Just riding without having to focus too much, absorbing the ever-changing countryside, chuckling at sardine-style holiday-goers in overloaded cars and even helping a poor damsel in distress when her vintage Toyota was stuck next to the road with a leaking water pipe. “You must be nervous with these two bikers alongside you”, I said to the damsel, while fiddling with her chariot’s leaking water pipe. “Not at all”, she replied, “I’ve heard that only good and rich people ride BMW motorbikes.” I kept quiet. The moment was too valuable for me to even try to prove her wrong. We had the obligatory breakfast at the Country Pumpkin in Barrydale and from there headed off on gravel on the Brandrivier road. We crossed the R232 and continued on gravel to Van Wyksdorp…and almost got lost in this quant little town where time stands still. “Cannot even trust my GPS anymore”, I said to myself as we eventually hit the correct gravel road to get to Oudtshoorn. Rooiberg Pass – does it’s beauty lie in the first stretch where the road snakes towards a high ridge, only to be followed by more and higher ridges beyond that, is it the smell of the fynbos that penetrates your whole being as you make your way through the winding road, or is it the surprise of the panorama that greets you when you reach the plateau, overlooking the valleys towards Calitzdorp and Oudtshoorn with the Swartberg imposingly lingering in the immediate background? I do not know. All that I know is that this stretch of road never ceases to amaze me. I will go back again and again. Sleeping for two nights in our two tents at Kleinplaas holiday resort’s camping site was an enjoyable experience. R130 per night for the stand was good value for money. (The stand was big enough to have pitched a dozen tents or more for this price if we wanted to…) The ablution facilities were absolutely spotless and the swimming pool crystal clear. However, we should have camped on the far side, away from the road running next to the site. Even Oudtshoorn has its late-night racers in their supped-up City Golf’s. We enjoyed the best apple tart that I’ve ever tasted when we stopped for refreshments in Prince Albert after exploring the Swartberg Pass late afternoon after arriving in Oudtshoorn. We enjoyed home-made chicken pie in the Gamkas Kloof (Die Hel) the next morning. We explored the historic Montague Pass leading into George and we each received a traffic fine for allegedly overtaking on a solid white line on the tar road between George and Oudtshoorn on our way back. (This is another intriguing story of four South African police vehicles with flashing blue lights, Rastafarians anxiously jumping out of a suspicious looking motor car that had just been pulled off by the police that were now also dashing around on the scene, a Mercedes Benz (trying to get away?) dangerously pulling out in front of us, two BMW motorcycles overtaking the cars in front of them to get away from this potentially dangerous situation and, eventually, a provincial traffic cop car chase to catch the two unsuspecting motorcyclists as they nonchalantly entered the town of Oudtshoorn. “I’ve heard that only good and rich people ride BMW motorbikes”, the damsel in distress said the day before. Suddenly I was glad that she wasn’t from Oudtshoorn. “What if she had to see us now being apprehended by five traffic officials in one of the town’s main streets?”, I said to myself as I was listening to my rights being read out to me. And the amount on the fine made me wish that I was one of the rich BMW riders that she was referring to.) We left Oudtshoorn on Day 3 and worked our way back to Calitzdorp via the Groenfontein road. This road must be one of the best-kept secrets of the Klein Karoo. With the ever-imposing Swartberg on your right-hand side and above you – so near that you almost want to stretch your hand out to touch it while riding – and with once proud farmhouses that have now fallen into dilapidation alternated by pristine farmyards with green lawns and elaborate dwellings as you work your way ahead in wonder, only one word can describe the exhilarating, yet humbling feeling that fills the mind: “Awesome!” Seweweekspoort was spectacular, as always. Also spectacular in its own right was the road to the Gamakaspoort Dam with turn-off to the right as you exit Seweweekspoort from the Calitzdorp side. For almost 20 km this mountain pass winds down into the lower plain where the Gamka and Dwyka Rivers meet, reminiscent of the Bain’s Kloof Pass, but only in gravel. A sheer drop on the right-hand side kept us alert as our motorcycles descended to the next turn in the road. “This road will be a real challenge in the rainy season”, I thought as we entered a narrow cutting in the mountain where road and the then dry riverbed became one. On the flat plain we were spewed out at the Gamakaspoort Dam where we met Fox, the enigmatic caretaker of the few self-catering houses on the site. Tradition has it that, because of his isolation, you have to take an English newspaper and a loaf of bread with you to give to Fox when you visit the dam. We could only find an Afrikaans newspaper in Calitzdorp which we’ve handed to him. “Sorry, Fox. Next time we’ll make sure to get an English one.” At least the bread was fresh and Fox was delighted! The gravel road to Laingsburg was in a good condition. The euphoria of absorbing the sights and fragrances of the Klein Karoo was, however, shattered without ceremony as we entered Laingsburg to become part of an N1 that was bursting with pre-Christmas holiday traffic. But, as we pointed our trusted steeds towards Cape Town and as I settled comfortably in behind Peter who was leading the ride back home on his 800GS, I felt a certain calm come over me. For three days we were knights on our own special pilgrimage – a pilgrimage in which Peter and I not only became good friends, but also realized that we shared the same values in more than one way. This became evident when, standing next to our bikes during a stop on one of the many beautiful roads that we’ve travelled, we exclaimed: “What a privilege to experience nature in this way and to be able to do it on such superb motorcycles!” And as we started the descent into the Boland after reaching the summit of Du Toit’s Kloof Pass an hour or two later, I realized that it was not the same two persons who had left three days ago that were now returning home. We were now refreshed. We were new. The Getting-2008-out-of-our-Systems trip worked – and it worked with such vigour and delight, that there was no doubt in my mind that we had been more than successful to get the woes of the past year completely behind us. “What is next on your agenda?”, you may now ask. I don’t know. But watch this space. I may soon find a reason for my next trip. Of course it will be about a motorcyclist’s mind, body and, especially, soul. And, I’m sure, it will sommer happen. Johan du Preez A damsel in distress. Iron horse amongst real cows. Camping at Kleinplaas. Prince Albert's best appletart coffee shop. The road to (the) hell. Looking down into the Gamkaskloof. In the Swartberg. Groenkloof road. View towards Gamkaspoort Dam. The pass leading to Gamkaspoort Dam. Gamkaspoort Dam Two trusty steeds.