All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth

So recently I needed to visit a dentist. The gums around my back molar started swelling to such an extent that it was affecting my intake of food, which led to a loss of appetite which led to the fantastic realization that I might loose a few kilos. That was the upside of dealing with a throbbing jaw. The downside was I couldn’t pop down to the local Medi Cross Centre and flick through a 5 year old copy of Fair Lady missing the back page with smells of novacane wafting around the waiting room before a man in a white coat could cause more pain and take all my money.

I had three options. One; an overnight trip to East London to see a dentist who would probably take ex-rays and charge exorbitant fees for his services. Two; a trip to Butterworth to a Chinese dentist who the locals here recommended but who I had reservations about since I didn’t know what to expect. Three; a visit to the local igqirha (medicine woman) who I was told by a village teacher treated toothache by dripping juice of a certain bush down a smoking twig into the problematic tooth cavity. I didn’t have a whole lot of money for option 1 or an actual hole in my tooth to be filled the African homeotherapy style remedy so I settled on option 2.

The bike trip to Butterworth took my mind off my throbbing jaw and in fact my whole body shuddered so much I thought the trip might be fruitless as I feared the molar, which had slightly loosened over the past few days, would fall out of its own accord by the time we arrived. The combination of our old 550 XT Thumper which has seen better days and the gravel road to Centane which is deteriorating badly makes for a horribly bumpy ride. I can’t make the full 15 km’s without having to stop a couple of times and get off the now seemingly shockless bouncing back tire, stretch my aching semi metal knee, wipe the oil which leaks from the engine onto my shoe causing my foot to continually slide off the footpeg and finally realign my bifocal glasses and wedge them back into my helmet at the correct angle so that when I arrive at my destination I don’t have a headache from vision which alternates between near and far sightedness at the speed of the bikes piston, causing me to be more squint than usual.

From Centane to Butterworth the 17 km's of tar is smoother but by then the damage was done to my body so I sat on the back and tried not to think about the dentist visit which I dreaded. I focused on keeping my lower jaw stretched as far away from my top jaw as possible to give my teeth a rest from the hour of clamping they had been through which is a good way to prevent your tongue being bitten when your body vibrates at that speed but the enamel coating on my teeth is wearing thin. I also had to focus on not actually opening my mouth while doing this as I didn’t want to scare the dentist by presenting him with squashed bugs all over my pearlys.

We arrived at the Chinese dentist and I took a seat in the sparsely furnished waiting room with a dozen or so other patients while Theo went shopping. The friendly Xhosa women all chatted away around me and after 4 hours, I’d picked up the rhythm of how things worked at this dentist surgery. By then I’d poked my head into the room next door since there wasn’t a receptionist, where the friendly Dr Chang and his Chinese assistant, who was probably his wife, asked about the tooth and after a quick exchange of hand signs, their limited English and me trying to talk with my mouth open for him to see my swollen gum from the doorway, I returned to the waiting room for the long haul.

An old Xhosa man directed people from the surgery room to the bathroom at the back of the building where you rinsed your mouth but generally people seemed to know where to go. The patients seemed to be business people and chatted away except those who came out of the surgery room. They sat clutching tissues against their lower faces, waiting for the injection to kick in while the dentist peered into the next patient’s mouth in his surgery. My turn eventually arrived and the dentist told me that it was too late to save the tooth and that after pulling it, the huge abscess would drain by itself. I settled back in the waiting room for about 10 minutes after a quick trip to the back bathroom to rinse my mouth and squeezed past the generator for a quick pee. Just as the drool was about to run down my chin, escaping the provided tissue, I was called back in to have the job finished. The dentist had a lovely jaw side manner and put my mind at rest before the extraction which wasn’t half as bad as I’d expected. I’d once nearly punched a dentist who hurt me. It was an instinctive action as my clenched hand automatically shot out when he carelessly groped around in my mouth with his sharp tools. He was not a nice dentist at all. This guy was totally different and in fact afterwards we even tried chatting although it was really difficult since by then, we not only had a language barrier but my limp mouth made it impossible for me to articulate coherently. I paid my R100 and left, relieved and with a lopsided grin.

The trip going back wasn’t so bad as my body seemed to be more relaxed, from the adrenaline surge probably or maybe because I rode half the way with my leg stuck out straight but we still stopped just as many times for me to spit mouthfuls of blood out and to replace the surgical wad which I was biting down on with a fresh one tucked away in pocket which the dentist's wife had sent me home with.

That’s a dentist I don’t mind going back to but if I do get a cavity and the Igqirha is off duty, I’ll try a recently recommended option by a woman who said her parents treated their farm labourer's tooth aches by sticking a hair dryer nozzle into their mouth to dry it, followed by a blob of quick set Pratley putty pressed into the hole.

Hopefully I won’t need to look for my hair dryer stuck in a cupboard in the truck any time soon. My appetite is also back so the 2 kg's I thought I'd lost have found their way back to my middle again. Oh well.

CRASH BOOM BANG (Crocodile Dundee se moer)

I spend a lot of time sitting on the stoep with binocs peacefully watching life around me. In fact the best times are early morning which means I get up at 6 or 7 hard to believe but true. The other day, just before sunset, I heard a loud, continuous strange barking coming from the bush so I crept across the lawn to investigate. I got the fright of my life when I came face to face with a rooikat (caracal) behind the rondaval. He’d been stalking Impala who were barking their warning at him.

Today I sat on the stoep with my binocs and got my entertainment for the day watching Theo leopard crawl over a sandbank behind the putting green in his PT shorts armed with a pellet gun trying to pot a guinea fowl. He was unsuccessful but I got a laugh.

Seems I’ll be spending a lot of time on a pool lounger on the stoep since I can’t friggin walk. I’m so mad. We took the bikes for a ride around the farm to explore the place. We haven’t ridden for a good few months so I was careful at first, but after an hour or so started relaxing and enjoying myself. Heavy concentration picking your way over rocks, crevices, dongas, sand and gravelly bits. And then of course naturally there are all the thorn trees so you have to dodge the branches which could rip your eye out while keeping your other eye on the road for broken thorn branches which could poke a hole right through your tyre and your boot. I was nervous going down to the dams cos on top of all the above, you have to keep a look out for crocodiles lying in the grass waiting to ambush you. Anyway I was going along fine, thinking about how I could get the insurance to pay for a new bike since mine was still not going so lekker. An idea was forming about how I could say that I fell in the dam and a crocodile snapped my bike in half when I remembered that the insurance was only on the bus and not the bikes and wack, that’s when I hit the deck. I twisted my knee (yes, the one which is already a mess) and pulled every possible ligament. I had to ride back while my knee swelled to the size of a very painful soccer ball. I’ve been keeping it elevated and iced for 2 days now and it’s slowly improving although I can’t walk and I’m mad as hell. Oh well, at least I’ve got more time to blog and read an old book I picked up which I’m enjoying - James Mitchener, The Covenant. It’s all about SA history and quite appropriate right now.

We’re starting to have our doubts about this place, some funny things have come to light and I might very well need both legs to make a fast dash in the middle of the night but I’ll blog about that next time. Right now I need to change the frozen chicken and milk sachet on my knee and try and get some sleep – which isn’t easy with my leg up in the air listening to the dam rat in the kitchen at 2 in the morning.

CLAN WILLIAM TO WUPPERTHAL ROUND TRIP

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.

My First Off Road Experience

We’ll I’ve had my bike a month already and only taken it for a quick spin – no offroading. Finally a free weekend rolled around so we packed the tent and sleeping bags and planned to follow the railway line along the service road and see where we ended up. We took the tar road until Joostenberg Vlakte and then onto gravel. My first impression was not great. The road was sandy and my bike seemed to have a mind of its own. This was supposed to be fun and I wasn’t having any. My mirrors had loosened themselves from all the vibrations and the one even fell off. The road changed after a couple of km’s and I started relaxing and then it was back on tar again before we turned onto the service road at Hermon. I was kak scared when the road became a grass track and you couldn’t see the condition of the so called road and at one stage the prickly tall weeds were flapping around me at waist height. I was really grateful for my brand new offroad boots, my birthday present from Theo, which scored him big brownie points.

My bike started easily enough the day I bought it but for some reason I sukkeled to kickstart it from there onwards. I wasn’t opening the throttle enough so it cut out every now and then on pullaways and poor Theo had to kickstart mine, then his and his leg was taking the punch. At some point he signaled for me to stop so he could take a photo of me riding through a difficult section. Yeah right. The only thoughts I had were to keep moving, stay upright, try not to say oh sh!t too loudly and convince myself I was having fun. We stopped under a tree for a rest and I pulled a weed out of my bum, rearranged body parts, had a stiff drink for my nerves and decided that this was fun, only just though. The scary factor was high up there. Theo suspected that there was a drift up ahead and warned me that I better not cut out in the water otherwise I’d have a problem. I followed his lead, gave power, crossed through successfully but came out too fast and my back tyre slipped and slid all over the place and I nearly lost it. Luckily the bike cut out 2 inches before I hit a fence and I started doubting the fun factor again. I entertained a cow while I huffed and puffed and tried to maneuver my bike backwards into a better position for me to climb on again and try and kick the thing into life. Theo rescued me and to my relief he soon turned off and we hit the tar again. Riding on tar roads soon got boring traveling at 100 km’s. We came over the Nuwekloof pass into Tulbagh and Theo decided to explore the original old tar road along the gorge. It was fun but unfortunately we came to a section with locked gates and had to turn around. We headed for the forests in Tulbagh (which sadly hardly exist anymore) and the gravel roads up in the mountains had my adrenalin rushing to the limits. We rode up and down hectic gravel roads and when we stopped for a break I was exhilarated yet kak bang and panting. It was hard work turning my bike around in the dirt, until I realized it’s possible to just ride over small bushes. I had to keep pushing my remaining left mirror away from my shoulder to get my clutch lever back into a clutchable position and not point skywards. There was lots of vibrating I tell you and not the kind I was used to.

We took the back dirt road through to Wolsely and back along the tar. We arrived at the Tulbagh caravan park, pitched our tent and I flopped down grinning and exhausted. I didn’t care that my hair was stuck to my dusty face. There was no mistaking the fun factor anymore. A few drinks later, still buzzing, I praised myself and relived each and every scary bit.

The next day we chilled around our campsite and took a slow ride back home alternating between boring tar and straight easy gravel roads. Our bodies were sore and I was glad I didn’t have to deal with any serious stuff other than kickstarting my bike. I’d been managing occasionally to start it and felt sorry for Theo’s right bum each time he limped over to get mine going.

I’m sure I’ll miss my road bike and the buzz of racing along, pushing yourself to the limit through a sweep but my introduction to offroading scored a big adrenalin rush and I can’t wait for more.

Window Shopping

We’ve moved into my old bedroom, which seemed more spacious during my budding teenage years. Squeezing 2 very full grown adults and meters of computer cabling into the same area is a tight fit. There’s not even space for my vibrator.

After trying over and over to kickstart Theo’s XT which didn’t happen since I didn’t have the “knack” and after viewing a few other bikes, I finally settled on a Suzuki DR 200. It’s a kickstart but you don’t need thunder thighs to get it going. (Bugger the knee, I’ll wear a knee brace or something.) I took it for a spin and it sure is different to my old bike. It’s old and it rattles and shakes and I have to just about sit on top of the tank and there’s no cockpit effort in the front which my old bike had. Theo told me to sit up and lift myself off the seat but I’m too poep scared to stand up on the footpegs. I’m sure I’ll get it after a few more tries.

Theo’s roadbike is also sold now so we have the deposit for a bus. We’ve looked at a few, even viewed a camper but haven’t found the perfect bus yet. It seems a 62 seater bus is the right size or else we’re gonna have to store the Webber (for smoking meat) and Theo’s sausage maker in the shower and his Still and boxes of bottles will have to be stored in the loo. Sounds a bit cramped. Or we could go true African style and load up on the roof. Going under bridges would pose a problem and anyway not our style.

Oh well, the right one will eventually come along, it’s just a matter of time. I’ll breathe a sigh of relief when we do find one and in the meantime there’s enough other things to keep us busy.