Eventually we were able to make the long awaited trip to Wupperthal. Any offroading I’ve don’t till now has been piddly easy compared to this trip. Now I can truly say I’ve done offroading.
We left Jamaka at about 8 in the morning, stopped in Clan William to fill our tanks and took an extra 5 litres of petrol with since we were warned there was no garage there. The gravel road from Clan William through the Pakhuis Pass was in good condition and I loved every minute especially when the back tyre came alive every now and then. The next pass, Hoek se Berg was narrower, steeper and tighter with stunning views as you come down the valley and into Wupperthal. I took Theo’s advice and stayed in low gear.
We stopped for lunch and rooibos tea at the little eatery in the dorp. No such thing as a cold beer since Wupperthal is an old Moravian mission station started a few hundred years ago by some people who decided to convert the 7 or so Khoi families living there so they built a church and settled in. Another German guy started the shoe factory which is still operational today – and shoes are still all hand made. We bought our hiking boots, chatted to the guys working there, ambled around town, visited the Rooibos tea co-op, where we were given a tour. The Rooibos tea bundles are weighed on a scale, the farmers are paid one third of the weight since after drying, 2 thirds are lost, then it gets spread out on a cement slab where a tractor drives over it to squash out the big bits. Depending on the weather it sweats out in the sun for a minimum of 1 day then it gets steamed to kill the goggas and finally sold to tea distributors. They package a little themselves to sell to tourists and the community. We bought Buchu, lemon, plain and lemongrass flavored rooibos tea. Seems like I’ll have to sacrifice my morning coffee for tea. Mmm, we’ll see about that.
Back on the road and that’s when the fun started. We were planning to return via the same route, since according to ALL the maps, to carry on the circular trip entailed a section labeled “4 x 4” or “jeep tracks”. Sounded too scary to me but as we left town we got chatting to a guy who knew the road and said it wasn’t too bad and that our bikes would do just fine no problem at all. I succumbed and 10 minutes later I regretted it as the Koeberg Pass, a steep, loose, rocky single track mountain pass loomed ahead. There wasn’t time to say I told you so and turning back wasn’t an option. I flew up over the rocks, cross country style, much too fast but luckily controlled the bike as it hopped everywhere. I was afraid that if I stalled I would slide back down the road but adrenalin and a need to change my underwear kept me going. I made it to the top without falling down the sheer drop to my left and wooped from the thrill. I was doing just fine and once I started relaxing, it became fun. Well almost. Bake brakes gripping loose gravel going downhill was just as scary. Further along, on a corner, the bike cut out and I was still struggling to get it started when I heard a car racing up behind me. Time for a few swear words but definitely no time to look over my shoulder or find the dam neutral gear. They skidded up behind me, by which time I was, lets just say a bit anxious, so I dived sideways into the bushes. Good move – they skimmed past - their bumper touching my tyre. Luckily I hadn’t changed my underwear yet.
Later we passed through a little dorpie called Matjiesriver. Well I call it a dorpie but it was just a cluster of houses in the middle of nowhere with an entry gate displaying on old sign which read – Close the gate. Jy word dopgehou. We diligently closed the gate and rode on - forgetting to take any photos. The going was slow, and the afternoon shadows were getting longer and we still had a way to go.
A few kilometers later we passed a isolated house next to the road. A woman, standing in the front doorway, decked out in her curlers and wearing pants which I suspect long ago stopped meeting around her waist, confirmed that we were on the right road.
We did 6 mountain passes that day, a total of 135 km. It might not sound much to the experienced rider but the going was slow, treacherous, and the last 20 km was done in total darkness over the last mountain pass with roadworks thrown in for good measure, me being a bit night blind and my bikes’ light is a poor excuse. That last bit was madness and when we turned onto the farm I was exhausted and dropped the bike on a sandy patch about 100 meters from the campsite. I’d almost made it home without eating dirt (well except the bush diving bit) but no damage done.
NOW I can say I can do offroading.
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