Archive of BMW Motorrad Club Cape (2006 - 2019)

The Karoo, Baviaanskloof, Northern Cape, Namibia, even further North. Motorcyclists from the Cape are renowned for exploring distant horizons.  

But what does a Cape motorcyclist do if he only has two days to prepare himself mentally for 2015 on his motorcycle? He then explores the Cape’s back yard.

“Haven’t been to Genadendal for some time. Maybe I should go and have a look. Things might have changed,” I said to myself. “I wonder if the ferry over the Breede River at Malgas is still functional,” I pondered, looking for an excuse to set off into the Overberg. “And there’s family in Riversdale…”

There are not many things in life which happen so by itself – and happen so correctly – as when one points the front wheel of one’s motorcycle in the generally correct direction and just start riding.

While my body adjusted like a dance partner to the movement and rhythm of my motorcycle on the gravel road to Genadendal, I became aware of the fact that I’ve started to hum a long-forgotten and happy tune. To my left, the imposing Riviersonderend Mountains kept guard over the lone traveller down below. Above me the sky was clear blue, but changed into a hazy white further to my right where the cold air over the ocean started to compete with the warm air rising from the land. Ahead of me stretched a road which I was more than keen to follow. I knew that it would lead me to two days’ sheer riding pleasure (I was, after all, on a BMW) in the Overberg and the Little Karoo.

Day one of my two day trip has started.

Towards Genadendal

One doesn’t merely arrive at Genadendal’s historic church square. One respectfully sets foot to it. Maybe it was the presence of the old church building which created the dignified atmosphere, or the buildings surrounding it, or even the small group of women under the veranda that added to the serene feeling, but the graceful square made a quiet impression which beckoned me to stay longer. And I remained there quietly for a while.

Church at Genadendal

Breakfast at Greyton was more than merely a meal. For half an hour I shared the restaurant veranda with locals who, as if in a shop’s display window, spent their morning in this part of town. The artist to my left systematically gulped her toasted sandwich while her finger, as if it was one of her paint brushes, swiped the screen of the iPad on the table in front of her up and down. Further away sat a designer pensioner with a chic ponytail and a stylish Apple laptop computer to keep him company. Now and then he would sip water from a glass which he would then cover with a pure white serviette. The chit-chat from a couple of cyclists gave a bouncy feel to the otherwise subdued atmosphere on the stoep. The all on his own and dusty motorcyclist was probably the only one who did not fit in with this presumed daily Greyton setting.

Breakfast in Greyton

As if building a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, I assembled sections of picture-perfect countryside landscapes kilometre after kilometre as I swopped the green pastures below the mountains for the summer dryness of the Overberg this time of the year. Cranes in the veld with their long legs elegantly moved away as the motorcycle approached while flocks of unconcerned sheep stood heads together as they created their own patches of shade in the warm sun.

“I was born under a wandering star…” The lyrics and melody of the song in my head added to the freedom and enjoyment which I was experiencing as I travelled along. I crossed the Breede River on the ferry at Malgas and enjoyed being all on my own on the endless gravel road which lead me back to the N2. That night I slept in Riversdale with the wandering star still shining from above, this time even brighter than earlier that day. 

The ferry at Malgas

Between Malgas and the N2

Early morning. The fresh mountain air and the motorcycle which handled the bends of the Garcias Pass between Riversdale and Ladismith like a ballerina, further lifted my spirit and soothed my soul. The feeling did not go away when I turned left a few kilometres further on onto the gravel road towards Barrydale. The angle of the early-morning sun cast long shadows which transformed the Little Karoo landscape into a kaleidoscope of shades of brown and grey. In the stretch of 40 km before I joined the R62, I traversed Karoo plains, encountered unexpected sharp risings and observed in silence a spectacular valley which formed part of the mountainous landscape to my left. Farm workers urged me on when I passed their truck and the freshly cut lucerne on the back of the truck reminded me of my childhood when we cut lucerne on the farm. I stopped alongside the road to chat to a farmer where his team was picking brightly coloured peaches from the orchards.  

Towards Barrydale

Farm workers sorting fruit

Barrydale

“I’m in no hurry,” I said to myself in Montagu when I decided to take the longer road through the Koo valley and via the N1 back home. “The shorter road via Robertson has become rather repetitive,” I convinced myself.

And this turned out to be an excellent decision. A route which I’ve often ignored in the past as it did not fit in with my travel plans became the highlight of my tour, especially approaching it from the Montagu side. As if from a glider, the approach into the Koo valley offered endless and constantly changing shades of green orchards as I was leaving the impressive Burgers Pass behind. The following Rooihoogte Pass which just kept winding on and on through the landscape, brought surprises and new vistas after each bend. And the highlight came when the pass ended on an unexpected and confusingly beautiful plateau which simultaneously wanted to be a mountainous region and Karoo flatland.   

View from Burgers Pass

Confusingly beautiful

The Hexriver Pass on the N1 took me deep down beneath. I turned off at De Doorns and travelled through the lush green vineyards which covered a vast section of the landscape like a carpet. I approached the Boland via the Dutoitskloof Pass and observed with wonder the panorama in front of me with Paarl in the foreground and Table Mountain further back. And it was hard to believe that I’ve seen such beautiful parts of our country in such a short period of time as I have experienced over the past two days.

A motorcyclist planned a two day trip through the Cape’s back yard to prepare him mentally for 2015. He, however, got much more than what he was hoping to find. He ended up in the Cape’s front garden and experienced the richness and variety of regions which just kept on giving whilst travelling through it. And he again looked with fresh eyes at a part of the world that he’s seen so many times before but which never seizes to amaze and offer new surprises. He returned enriched.  

And, looking back, he realised that the Cape actually doesn’t have a back yard. There is no such thing. In the Cape there is only front garden.

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