Saturday afternoons at a bike rally means different things to different people.
To those who partied Friday night it’s usually a time to start looking for booze again as some sort of logic creeps back into their battered brains. Usually they’re into the program in no time at all and can drink huge amounts without getting (too) drunk again.
Those that never stopped partying will find Saturday afternoons a testing time for their will/staying power. Even the hardiest party animals have been known to disappear for an hour or two to catch some much needed sleep/food/showers.
The guys, and there’s usually a lot of them, that only joined the rally on Saturday is easy to spot because they carry on like everyone else carried on the previous day.
To me, a Saturday afternoon at a rally is usually a time to I miss my family. O and my couch and my remote control - because I love my rugby.
So, you might ask, come Saturday, why exactly am I sitting on my arse with my back against a vibra-crete wall trying to get away from a viscious sun while drinking beer in the middle of the Ellenrust Camp site in Still Bay?
Well, firstly I have to sit on my arse because my chair is at the tent which is 20 m away. With all the kids zipping around on quads, pit bikes and bloudraad specials it’s a hair raising experience to attempt to cross the two roads to the tent. If I wanted to go and fetch a chair, which I didn’t, chances are I would have been ran over by one of the crazy kids. Even thought my arse were very tender because we’ve been sitting on grass, cement benches etc since the morning - I remained put.
The Vibra-crete wall is offering a bit of shade, and in the 30 plus degrees celcius heat that’s got to be a good thing because theres no shade at our tent. We’re drinking beer because that’s what one does at rallies and Brink (who bought the beer) reacons he can’t drink alone as that’s usually the first sign of alcoholism, so I had to help.
I protested in vain because I usually get vicious headaches when I drink beer in the sun and can’t think of a reason why today will be any different. Off course that isn’t going to stop me - I’m the worlds biggest optimist. Especially since I’ve discovered I get allergic reactions to most pain killers I’ve had to toughen up considerably and while knocking back the beers I was hoping today was my day - even while I could feel the pounding start in my neck!
And off course we’re sitting in the Ellenrust Camp site because it’s the Freedom Road Rally, presented by CMA CT (not the Concrete Manufacturers Association but the Christian Motorcycle Association). I’ve been to the Freedom Road Rally for the last 10 years. I’ve missed only one (last year) because no-one I knew wanted to go as they all wanted to goto the Buff in Mossel Bay. And off course Simon and Gill had to emmigate to boost the coffers of the Australian Traffic Police and my hero Bobby realised his errant ways and was reunited with his family, then promptly disappeared to Gauteng. With no-one to fill the void left by these to IUB Charter Members I didn’t feel like going alone. Off course the fact that I always shared their tents meant I didn’t have a place to sleep either and with rain predicted I decided to stay home and blame it on the deserters.
This year, I’m with Deon Goosen owner of www.balekaevents.co.za who do bike rentals and bike tours. Deon was on his Thundercat and a guy called Brink on a KLR650. I’ve known Deon for donkeys years and have been to a fair share of rallies with him. Brink I’ve met only once or twice on shorter runs. Deon has brought his 9 year old son along which was great for him when he suddenly felt like coffee/cool drink or something to eat but less great when he was dragged away from the shade and beer to go and swim on Saturday around 2 o’clock. The 4 of us share two tents which we’ve pitched next to some bushes. I’ve forgotten sunblock and slops, Brink has forgotten a towel and Deon had forgotten his big tent but we’re OK. No, really. We have beer.
The plan was for them to leave Cape Town around 2 o’clock on Friday and ride via Villiersdorp, Robertson, Ashton, Montagu and Barrydale. I guessed that would take them around 2 hours as the KLR struggles to hit 250km/h when going uphill. They would call me from Montagu and I’d leave from Swellendam and if everything goes well we’d get to Barrydale more or less at the same time.
At 16h45 I got a call saying they’re in Robertson and running behind schedule and how long would it take them to Barrydale? I guessed another 90 minutes. So I left at what I thought was plenty of time and got to Barrydale around 17H30 to find them drinking beer and chatting away with the owner of the Country Pumpkin - a bikers favourite stop.
I had some time to stop at the Drupgrot in Tredouws pass to admire the scenery and take some pics of my bike. Actually these are old photos (no luggage, see) but it’s a great looking bike and the scenery is awesome.
Situated on Route 62, Barrydale was founded for three main reasons, the first of them being the good water supply and fertile soil. The second reason for the development of Barrydale was the Church that served the needs of the surrounding farms. I suppose the third reason would be that people needed a place to live. Whatever, the church still plays an important role in Barrydale as indeed in most rursal towns. Linking Barrydale and Swellendam (and by implication the R62 and the N2) - the Tradouw pass was built to facilitate the trade between Swellendam and the Little Karoo. It got its name from the San words ‘Tarras’ (footpath) and ‘Doas’ (girls). The two words were combined to create the word Tradouw. The reason they called the pass this was because the path of the pass was there before the pass was built and is believed to have been created by the San. I’m a bit skeptical about this lot (which I found doing research for this trip report) but there you have it. Apparently construction started in 1873 and was completed in 1877 by Thomas Bain, the great road engineer that built many passes throughout South Africa. It was once the pass had been built that the community built the first church. The post office was also very dependent on the building of the Tradouw Pass. The towns name is said to come from a businessman by the name of Joseph Barry. He founded the commercial company called Barry and Nephews and was the main business in the area. As such the town is named in honour of him. The first school was opened in 1885. Today the school stands on grounds donated by Robert Cooke in 1918. Or something like that.
I love the Karoo, OK, the Klein Karoo. After some beer and a chat we took Route 62 from Barrydale to Ladismith (about 70km). The plan was to take the Garcia Pass turnoff and goto Riversdale where we’d join the N2 for the 35km dash to Still Bay. The sun was going down and the shadows were long. It’s one of the best times of day to travel this road (dawn being the other). The scenery was awesome. Our pace was set by the KLR (around 140-150kmh) and although somewhat tiring for us on the sports bikes it was a good pace to drink in the scenery. The road surface is good but theres construction going on and going much faster would have been tiring.
Also along the way was Ronnies Sex Shop - a pub just outside Barrydale. It was once a shop owned by one Ronnie - called, rather unsurprisingly, Ronnies shop. The shop closed down and was left derelict. One day Ronnies friends decided to play a trick on Ronnie and they painted the word “SEX” in between the words ‘Ronnie’ and ’shop’. As one drives along the R62, one cannot help but notice the phrase that is written in bright red. Due to the interest shown in the derelict building with the words ‘Ronnies Sex Shop’ written on it, Ronnie turned it into a pub. ‘Ronnies Sex Shop’ has since been booming with business - so maybe a friend in need isn’t always a pain in the arse as Ronnies friends set him up for international fame. As we zipped past there was a woman in a bikini (remember this is the middle of the Karoo) that turned out not to be a hallucination as I thought. What she was doing there I had no idea and wouldn’t even want to begin to guess.
The Garcia Pass links Ladismith with Riversdale and is another Thomas Bain masterpiece. From the Ladismith side it’s preceded by a 50km run which includes two straights that has to be 5 to 10 km’s long in total with only one little hill separating them. If you don’t open your throttle to the stop here you have more will power than most or perhaps speed isn’t your thing. Anyway we did - because speed is very much our drug of choice thank you very much. Unfortunately I had a tent on my back with the poles sticking out over my shoulder and as soon as I went over 200kmh my head was bobbing up and down like Stevie Wonder on speed so that was as fast as I could go.
The pass itself is very nice with nicely banked corners running into each other. Certainly not as dramatic as some of his other creations the scenery, especially this time of day, more than makes up for it. Unfortunately, like most Bain master pieces most of the corners are blind. OK, maybe not Mr Bains fault (maybe natures?) but caution would be in order - rather take it easy and enjoy the awesome scenery. It was around six in the evening when we went through and the shadows were long and the Karoo was showing it’s sensitive underbelly. We took it easy and it was worth every second we added to our journey.
Riversdal, founded in 1838 on the farm Doornkraal, owned by Hermanus Steyn is another pretty old town but most bikers will remember it as the town where you’d better stick to the speed limit as you zip through. According to history the first expedition to the Riversdale region was led by Hieronymous Crüse in 1667 to barter for cattle. 20 years later an expedition led by Izak Schryver befriended one mister Goukou (the leader of the Hessequas who wasn’t a bike gang but apparently some rather unfriendly locals). When old Izak and his merry men weren’t promptly murdered many barter expeditions followed. By the year 1772 five cattle posts had been established in the area then known as Overberg and farmers had started to settle here, leasing farms from the Company. These included farms such as Plattekloof, Assegaaibosch, Welgevonden, Hollebak, Doornkraal and Zeekoegat (now a historical monument). By this time it was to later for old Goukou as the imperialists were everywhere and has probably introduced him to some cool things he couldn’t live without anymore.
Then the usual happened - the population increased, a need arose for a church shops etc and the farm Doornkraal was bought in 1837 for R640. On 30th August 1838 Riversdale was proclaimed a town. I don’t know when the speed cops arrived but that was probably soon after and they’ve been proudly relieving us of our cash ever since.
As we swung onto the N2, I noticed Brink was missing, so I turned around only to find him sitting on his bike at the stop street. I rode back and stopped next to him. He said something that sounded like “brand” - burn or fire - I couldn’t hear as ACDC were de-waxing my ears via the walkman but nodded and pointed up the road - there were a nice place to stop maybe a km up the road. He followed.
It transpired the man wanted a smoke break. O, and his arse was sore. So we stood around for a while and then jumped on the bikes for the last stretch. The shadows were now quite long and the last 20km’s were covered in dusk.
26 km’s off the N2 between Riversdale and Mossel Bay you’ll find Still Bay and Groot Jongensfontein. Stilbaai, also known as the Bay of Sleeping Beauty, is part of the Garden Route. The towns clain to fame is because it’s situated at an estuary where the Goukou (Kafferkuils - #$% can I say that? Why don’t they change that to the OT Tambo river?) river meets the Indian Ocean.
That’s where we were going. Now, as mentioned Still Bay is situated at the mouth a river and has developed along both banks. The Morrispont Fishing Traps may be found here and date back to prehistoric man. Prehistoric man is not a man. It’s actually people, or so it says here, that lived a long time ago. Before historic (pre?), I suppose but that’s just a guess. So prehistoric would suggest before history itself happened? Whatever, this lot don’t live anymore but has left us some nice artifacts of the Middle and Late Stone Age, rather lamely named the Still Bay Culture. Off course I know what the Still Bay Culture, the Middle and the Late Stone Age is but I can’t explain it now because this is not a history lesson it’s a trip report so Google it.
More recently, the Khoi-Khoi people used to live in this area. When the Dutch settled here there were numerous skirmishes between them and the Khoi-Khoi with neither group getting the better of the other. Then a smallpox epidemic wiped out the hapless Khoi-Khoi tribe in 1713 and the Dutch could concentrate on growing the population, farming and building churches and off course a town. The modern village was established in 1894 and it was used more for holiday purposes than for permanent residence.
Being Dutch some settled on the east bank of the river, others on the west bank. In no time at all there were 5 different churches, 4 political parties and with all the Khoi-Khoi wiped out by the smallpox there were no-one to shoot. Not satisfied with taking pot-shots at their neighbours across the river, Still Bay West declared war on Still Bay East. No, no I’m joking I just made that part up. Anyway between 1930 and 1955 a pontoon ferried vehicles across the river. Then a nice bridge was built in 1955. Still Bay became a municipality in 1965.
More importantly, to the modern day biker and his trusty, bug-splattered steed, Still Bay offered beer, petrol and (at least this weekend) a camp site with a rally going on. Everything suggested a fun weekend was in store for us.
Friday evening we sat around the tents drinking Old Brown Sherry and talking nonsense in hushed tones so as not to disturb anyone. Our supper consisted of (a) bacon, egg and cheese toasted saamie (b) a foot long Russian roll. O and 2 cups of coffee each. One of either (a) or (b) gave me a bad case of the shites. Or maybe it was the water which tasted like it came straight from the sea 6 months ago and was stored in dusty containers. Whatever I couldn’t eat again before late into Saturday. I was startled to see that it’s already almost one o’clock when we went to bed and off course I couldn’t sleep. I blamed my pillow which consisted of my leather pants in my sleeping bag cover and wasn’t very comfortable. In the other side of the tent Brink was having his own problems with his inflatable mattress losing air.
Saturday morning, as tired as I was, I was glad to be able to get up and take a shower - I just couldn’t spend another minute with that damn pillow. We send Wiehahn, Deon son to go and look for coffee but he came back reporting that everything was still closed. I tried to tune into the Stormers game on my telephones radio but there was no reception. We sat around for a while then saw people walking past us with coffee so went down to the CMA (not the Coffee Makers Association but the Christian Motorcycle Association) coffee tent to join a scraggly bunch of revelers in the queue for free coffee. We met some friends here and chatted for a while then went back to the tent to prepare for the Mass Ride. As everyone knows you prepare for a Mass Ride by sitting or laying around for an hour - smoking and chatting.
There were a lot of people. In fact I think it must be the biggest Freedom Rally in the history of mankind. Maybe even prehistory. Actually cancel that - there can’t have been many bikes in prehistory so definitely the biggest then too. We joined the queue at the gate by squeezing in from the side and after a while we were off. This year the route was different. Previous years (OK I wasn’t there last year) we went straight to Jongensfontein about 10 km from the camp site. This year we rode out on the road that goes to the N2. Turning right a couple of kilometers from town we rode into a quant little town called Melkhoutfontein.
Melkhoutfontein offers the visitor a glimpse into a community that’s received the Nelson Mandela Masakhane accolade for social economic community development. The redeveloped township of Melkhoutfontein is a much better place to live in thanks to government and private money being put to good use. The school boasts 28 pc’s and 13 teachers and the community was open and friendly with only the odd guy stumbling around with a half empty beer bottle clutched in his hand - certainly not more than you’d see at the rally camp site at any given time. The first-of-its-kind re-developed township was cultivated by the descendants of the Khoi-Khoi - traditionally outstanding gardeners. The town is close to the Soete Inval Botanical Garden with fynbos species from around the province and apparently viewing in August/September is richly rewarding. Also worth a visit are the tourism production center; the Soeterus Care Centre and Nuut Begin, the shelter for the homeless.
Previous years the organisers of the Rally contributed to the school. I’m not certain whether the same happened this year but hope so. Be that as it may, the sight of all these magnificent machines and their dashing riders and pillions must have been awesome as people lined the streets and cheered at us as we drove through town. Then we returned to Still Bay and took the regular route to Jongensfontein where we bought some Coke and ice creams and stood around eating it.
The stunts were from 13H00 to 14H00. They had a section of the public road cordoned off, event organisers with radios, flags and attitudes running the show. Deon was dragged of to sea for a swim by Wiehahn and Brink and I sat under some bushed drinking beer which I knew was a mistake but hoped in vain it would be OK. After a couple of beers we made our way to the road to watch the stunts - beer in hand.
The stunts were OK but the road was to short to separate the men from the boys came wheelie time. One guy on a ZX10 wheelied the entire stretch without changing gears - others did better but had to put the bikes down inside the allotted stretch. Anyway there were wheelies, stoppies, doughnuts and even 2-up wheelies and one guy that stood on his bikes tank. These were not professionals but the show was OK with only the odd hick-up. One guy fell but got up unhurt (bike broke a handlebar) and some guad rider also plowed but got up - bike OK. The sun was beating down on us - I could feel my skin sizzling, so after about 45 minutes of watching this it became clear we weren’t going to see a massive crash and we buggered of to go and find some shade in the main tent. With everyone still at the stunts we lay down on the grass and stayed there for about 2 hours as none of us had any desire to go back into the sun.
When Deon was dragged of to go and swim again, Brink and I went to the tent and found the shade next to the vibra-crete wall. We stayed there for another couple of hours and only got up about quarter to five to goto the liquor store and buy our braai packs for the evening.
Previous years it rained at the prize giving but this year it was a nice evening. There were too many people to fit into the tent - especially since some decided to bring chairs with them to lounge on. We waited till the last moment off-course so had to stand outside. I found a nice spot on some trailers wheel arch and could watch proceedings from lofty heights. But soon others spotted my great vantage point and two more guys got onto the wheel arch. I could feel it creaking and buckling so got off.
We didn’t win anything (again), so went back to our tent to go and braai our steaks. We didn’t have a grid so Deon went to borrow one and returned with the news (and no grid) that the two old timers who seemed to be having a whale of a time and annoying anyone else when they revved their big cruiser every half an hour through the night have had a run in with fate or stupidity when one tumbled off the back of the bike while on one of their ridearounds. He found them applying Mercurochrome to each other and looking rather rattled.
After a beautifully supper consisting of steak and garlic bread, rum and coke we retired to our tents. Deon once again said he’s in no hurry to leave the next morning but we knew better and so it was. As we opened our eyes the next morning his tent bas broken down, his bike packed and his foot tapping. So we went to the showers.
Tags: Rally Reports, Ronnies Sex Shop
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