Buffalo Rally - Port Elizabeth

The cop was shouting : “We’re supposed to be polite to you guys and then you come and do stuff like that, THAT WAS A RED LIGHT AND AN ILLEGAL U-TURN”.

He had his hand on his gun….

Aaah the Buff has come and gone. Months of planning and skimming bread and milk money to pay for tyres and beer paid off. Indi, Axel and myself would represent IUB. Bring it on!!

It was Thursday morning and we all knew what that meant: fresh undies all around, no wait, that was Wednesdays…. Must be Buff Time, then.

Axel came to my house so we could pack the final items and work out our luggage. His FZR sported a new screen and some carbon fiber goodies to compliment the new Dunlop 207 tyres. His luggage consisted of a tank bag and he was carrying the mother of all backpacks, he looked like he was planning to be air-lifted and dropped off over the rally site with bike and all. I eyed this lot with suspicion (and some envy) and secretly wondered about my own meager worldly possessions, contained in a small backpack and my inflatable mattress and sleeping bag strapped to the pillion seat of the TL. Packing for bike rallies are not on my list of favorite things to do.

For trips like this you needed a mental attitude you can stack bricks on, and to prove that we had what it takes, we’ve arranged to borrow a tent from relatives in Port Elizabeth when we get there. I was glad we didn’t have to haul a tent all the way there and back.

We met Indi on his 1100 Shadow at Firlands. He also had some serious luggage - it looked like one of those leather “Luggage Systems” I’ve read about in the Hein Gericke catalog - and he even had a spare open face helmet strapped to the bike, don’t know where he was going to make the nubile babe he was obviously hoping to pick up, sit. Upon inquiry he said he wanted the open face for riding around in PE. We waffled for a while and then saddled up.

Indi promptly took the lead. On his Shadow… We followed. On our TLR1000 and FZR1000’s…. Ahem….

After filling up we headed up Sir Lowrys Pass. Indi set off at a sedate pace and before long the sports bike was killing me. I tried hard to ride at 120 but on the other side of Caledon the voices in my head told me I should get tired of my helmet fogging up, be less selfish and realise that the TL is plodding along in fifth gear. I went past Indi, Axel followed and we cranked it up. This part of the N2 is wide and winds up and down small hills. There was almost no traffic and I’ve never seen a speed trap here, so we made the most of it.

At Riviersonderend we filled up and waited a couple of minutes before we heard the Shadow coming in. There were lots of bikers at the garage and a festival atmosphere in the air as people chatted, smoked cigarettes and kicked tyres. The town is very small and there were some locals hanging around to admire the spectacle. Snot-nosed kids with their arses hanging out of dirty pants nosed around - fucked because their parents missed the boat to the 21 st century for being more concerned with getting their hands up some skirt than paying attention in school. Bergies were sitting around nursing cheap wine in paper bags and doing nothing to keep their kids from ending up being flattened by some thundering eighteen wheeler - and maybe better off.

I sensed enough stories for an entire season of Oprah and I vowed never to return.

We met some folks here that we knew and when they heard we’ll be sleeping over along the way but don’t have definite plans we were invited to the Pirates Creek clubhouse where there were to be the mother of all parties that night, and we could join everyone else and pass out on the floor. It would solve two of our more pressing worries, to find a party and a place to crash and was obviously a marvelous idea. I decided to see if I can talk Axel into doing that. However I would let him suffer for a bit longer as he thought we were going to sleep in the bushes somewhere…

After some Coke and some crisps, we saddled up and headed out towards Riversdale. Once again the TL was unable to hang with the Shadow and we set off, leaving Indi to admire the countryside on his own. You have to draw the line somewhere. I draw the line when cars and insects start passing me. We would wait for him in Riversdale. This part of the trip went rather quickly and before we knew it we were in Riversdale and went to get a table in the Wimpy. Indi was there within minutes and it once again amazed me how little time you actually gain by going at 160 instead of 120.

Clearly we would have to try going at 180.

There was a guy with a Riversdale lie detector (knopkierie) looking after the cars and bikes in the parking lot so we weren’t worried about our rides, no-one was going to fuck with him.

While waiting for breakfast we were warned by two different groups that there are a speed trap just outside Riversdale. We thanked them. Obviously this put a damper on the proceedings and we rode together at the speed limit all the way to Mossel Bay - without seeing a single copper. Must be some secret conspiracy by the good townsfolk of Riversdale.

I vowed never to return.

I had to stop when I got tired of chewing the inside of my cheeks instead of the bubblegum someone gave me, tried to spit it out through my visor but never had the satisfaction of seeing it bouncing in the road. It was sitting on the inside of my helmet, 10mm from my mouth.

We stopped at the bungi jumping site, babbled for a while, used the facilities, and headed for Mossel Bay. Lots of bikes passed while we were sitting in the shadow of a mobile food vendors caravan. At the garage in Mossel Bay we met some guys on off-roads who seemed to be having a whale of a time riding the dirt roads around Cape Infanta. They were dirty and full of mud, even though they admitted to having trailered the bikes from Cape Town. No doubt with pre-applied dirt, then. Then dirt roads in and around Cape Infanta are well known to me and I’ll do something similar again soon, as soon as we can have some of the broken thumpers Axel and myself have collected fixed.

I vowed it would be soon.

Indi was booked into the Holiday Inn in Mossel Bay and we arranged to meet him in Sedgefield the following morning and then bade him a fond, if somewhat envious, goodbye while he set off to a warm meal, shower and soft bed. We headed for uncertainty. We were going to see if we could find the clubhouse, failing that, it was bushes for the night.

We went past George, lots of camera traps here, two within about 200 m apart. We knew about these and they were easily avoided. Then we rode into Wilderness. I like stopping at the O’Hagans pub when I pass through town and headed that way, Axel followed, probably thinking we’re going to put in fuel. Here we met some people Axel knew and drank some beer with them.

They were a fun bunch also headed for the rally but were going to camp in Wilderness for the night. We were treated to some biking stories and accounts of crashes they’ve been in. They started comparing scars and told horror stories of broken backs and broken bones. One guy had a metal plate in his skull and jumped up and did a conga everytime a cell-phone rang. I wondered whether the plate could rust. Maybe you could bounce a burst signal to a satelite off it! There was a ZZR1100, a Varadero, a VFR 800, as well as a CBX and a 1400 Intruder on a trailer behind a combi. Not all of them were riding up. It made me feel safe, as I knocked back another one.

After some beer and bull, we rode to Sedgefield. I was under the impression the clubhouse is there. We asked around and no-one knew about it. Now we had problems, as the day got older I’ve grown less enthusiastic about the idea of sleeping next to the road - I suspected Axel felt more of less the same way - not that he’ll ever admit it. I had visions of shitting behind a bush and being eaten alive by the local fauna.

We remembered with a sinking feeling passing some bikes in front of a pub in Wilderness and the name clicked - it was Pirates Creek - where we were supposed to be. However, like any true traveler will tell you, one never rides back the way you came because there can be angry cops, fatherless infants and other incriminating evidence there, so we decided to rough it and rode out to Swartvlei to find a place to crash for the night. Now, for me, “roughing it” means watching TV in black and white, so I had some reservations about this part of the journey and sleeping in the bushes progressively lost some of it’s appeal the closer we got to the bushes.

At Swartvlei we found a beautiful beach that looked like a cool place to camp but the bikes wouldn’t be safe and it would be easy for the cops to spot us, especially if we made a fire - which was illegal - and haul us to the cop shop for jay-sleeping or whatever that particular offence is called. We spotted a caravan park just down the road and rode in. We found a nice spot under some bushes and decided it’ll be home for the night. There were some washing laying on some bushes behind the ablution block. We thought nothing of these at the time.

We were hungry so we rode to town for beer. Both Axel and myself would gladly admit to being salad dodgers so we headed straight for the bottle store. I once again, feebly, enquired about the club house and was met with vacant stares, as if I asked for directions to Osama’s holiday house. I tried acting the idiot tourist like Hugh Grant in that movie in the hope we would be offered accommodation with duvets and colour TV ( I’ve pulled this one off once, for your information), but no luck this time. OK then. Whatever. It’s not like we’ve never slept outside, it was just that I vowed never to do it again when I said an emotional goodbye to my army days.

We bought some wors and buns and retired to our bush, only to find it populated by bergies - drunk and disorderly - the owners of the washing. They were still drinking and engaged in the Swartvlei version of “Know your partner” - chasing each other with knives and sticks while shouting abuse. What they lacked in vocabulary (a certain P-word came up frequently) they made up for in enthusiasm.

We sat there watching the spectacle and cheering on the factions we liked in the hope of seeing some domestic violence but the womenfolk was obviously used to dodging sticks and stones. Axel silently wondered whether we should support one of the factions with small arms to settle the dispute and get some peace and quiet for the night. Not impressed with the progress any of the factions were making, we called the cops to come and shoot the buggers, then moved to another part of the camp site and braaied the wors, drank the beer and chilled.

Day 2
It was flippin cold that night. There was frost on my head when I woke up and I was glad when the sun came out and we could leave.

I wasn’t certain about the light beer Axel bought but the next morning I had to admit it was a good idea because if my head were any more hung-over I would have attacked a tap and sucking so hard the local reservoirs would look like a bath when the water is running out. O we also had some full strength Windhoeks just to tune our carbs - in matter of speaking. Plus the beer in Wilderness - hmmmm. Now, where are those Panado tablets….

Our brave warring parties were laying serenely and peacefully snuggled up to their partners. I think they had more fun and slept better than us. God must love stupid people; he made so many.

The caretaker of the caravan park still had to put in an appearance. He probably couldn’t drag his fat ass out of the duvet to attend to his caravan park. Even if he did, he was probably stuffing eggs and bacon down his neck looking forward to another day of nothing to do and the entire day to do it. I should have gone to Caravan park management school instead, I would be good at that.

Obviously it would be to our advantage if we were to high tail it out of there before our friendly host demanded money, we wiped the sleep from our eyes, packed our stuff and left for Sedgefield where we found a place serving coffee. While sitting on the pavement (we’ve slipped into biker mode during the previous night) Indi called and said he’s on his way. We would meet him exactly where we sat in about 30 minutes time.

Indi looked and smelled like someone who slept on a soft bed and had a shave that morning - disgusting. While waiting for him we have ordered saamies to eat on the pavement (they didn’t seem eager to have us inside). These came and Indi was send in to see if he can get us a table to sit at, he obviously made a better impression and we were allowed to wolf these down inside the restaurant.

Our plan was to ride the Swartberg Pass and avoid the Toll Road. We re-grouped at the turn-off and emptied our bladders against the Arrive Alive sign that read “Don’t fool yourself, speed thrills” then added some of our own litter to the piles already there. Then we leaped on the bikes. When we got to the pass Indi moved over and Axel and I attacked the twisties with a vengeance. I overcooked it a bit when I came hard out of a sharp bend and got carried away as I cranked the TL up - and the front wheel hit some irregularity in the road and came up while I was still leaned over from the turn. I sat there and tried to steer the bike with my weight, which I read somewhere might work, shutting down was not an alternative as there was a certain FZR following closely, and it’s difficult enough keeping in front of it. It would have been a fun day at the office if I rode down that mountainside on a bucking sooperbike.

I had a surfing buddy once that used to say he would try to do some bottom turns and cut backs if that ever happened to him, just to go out in style, in a way.

Cool. Whatever. At the pist stop I was expecting some remarks but Axel didn’t even notice it, he was more concerned with trying to piss on some ants and ruin their day.

When we rejoined the N2 no-one was certain in which direction the Petroport was. Indi set off to his left, then stopped. I took it as he wasn’t certain either and suggested it’s to our right (it wasn’t). Don’t know what Axel was thinking apart from I need petrol soon. For some reason they followed my suggestion (they never learn) and we headed out on the Toll Road - wide excellent surface. We rode for about 10 k’s then saw the Toll Plaza - the same one we saw when we took the Swartberg turn-off!! Oops, I was wrong and tried to look apologetic.

However Axel already had a plan in that devious mind of his. If he was going to have to push his bike to the Petroport he was going to be doing 250 when he ran out of fuel and just coast the last 30 k’s or so. It seemed like a good plan. Having just ridden the 10 k’s on the toll road, we had seen no cops, so Axel took off on that FZR like a bat out of hell. It was a totally wild ride, no worries about being caught, just the road and the traffic to worry about. We passed a startled Harley rider and his goose on a bridge while doing about 240 km/h and I hooked top gear as we passed them, leaving the Harley wallowing in our wake.

I was trembling with adrenaline when we finally made it to the Petroport at Storms River Bridge. There were a lot of bikes assembled here and we bumped into some friends and chatted for a while before setting out on the last leg of the trip.

Having arranged with Indi to wait for him along the way, and as there were a lot of bikes on the way, speed traps were always in the back of our minds. Some car drivers flashed lights at us - why do they do it? - so we were extra careful. At the Humansdorp turn-off there were 2 BMW bikes parked with the riders smoking and chatting. We joined them and waited for Indi.

The one guy complained about his RT’s rear tyre losing grip at around 240 km/h (didn’t know they could go that fast myself), the other one, an unlikely candidate for a stunt show treated us to not a bad wheelie on his GS as they took off. Two actually, as he wasn’t satisfied with the first attempt and slowed down to try it again. At first I thought he was doing a burn-out but it was just his bike that smoked so much.

We rode past the Seaview turn-off, about 20 k’s outside of PE as we were under the impression the rally is close to Summerstrand, where our tent waited to be picked up. We split up with Indi in Summerstrand and went to find my sisters house. Here we had some coffee and strapped the tent to Axels bike, then headed out to the camp site, which turned out to be about 30 k’s away, mostly through the city, in, you quessed it, Seaview.

When we got to the camp site it was packed. We got our entry goodies and some fazool parked my bike in where it was parked and I had to ask some guys sitting on the wall to help me push the bike backwards, uphill. One suggested I get a lighter bike - I suggested he go and drown himself. I should work on my inability to be polite to idiots, but that can wait a year or so. Then we rode through the campsite looking for a place where we could pitch our (hooge) tent. There were none. We thought we found a place but we weren’t happy with it. It was so close to the ablutions we could hear toilets flushing. We could probably help by wiping arses, too. Anyway it was far from the center and we didn’t like leaving our stuff unattended while we stumble around trying to find the tent or the toilets or the beer tent.

Later when I wanted to go to the toilet, I found a woman having a bubble bath, effectively blocking all facilities with hubby standing in the door to give her an uninterrupted time while soaking off the road dirt. That was it, I made a call to my sister and they said “Hey. Pull in, bring friends!” (probably thinking: “Sigh, if you must”). So we set off all the way back to Summerstrand, tent and all. By this time it was getting dark.

That night we met Indi at Barneys, on the beachfront. We didn’t know it yet but we would spend more time here than in the campsite. We drank beer and flirted with the waitresses and when Indi left for the hotel Axel and myself decided to check out the sights and sounds of PE at night, despite attempts by the waitress to coax us into going back to the campsite to go and watch the exotic dancers. I think she wanted a lift to go and spy on her boyfriend.

We didn’t feel like driving 60 km’s for some exotic dancing so we rode up and down PE’s beachfront, making the bikes dance instead.

Day 3
This was Saturday. It seemed like a good idea to take it easy the morning and then join the Mass Ride starting on Kings Beach at 11 and ride out to the camp site with them, then enjoy some of the rally. The idea was to stay there until the afternoon, go back to PE and return for the prize giving at 8 that night. There were millions of bikes on the Kings Beach parking lot and it was a hot day. Some guys was putting on stunt shows (or attempting too), the rest of the bikers mingled, admired the bikes and chatted. A wise arse with a V8 Boss Hoss bike rode up and down and revved that monstrosity until the filling in my teeth rattled. He ran out of fuel halfway to the camp.

We gave him the finger when we rode past.

We were going to wait till the last to leave as that number if idiots, some pissed, on powerful machinery made us nervous. However we forgot we didn’t know the route and then had to make our own way through the unknown metropolis of PE with about 200 angry bikers following us, our own little mass ride. Naturally we couldn’t go to my sisters house or Barneys. We decided to try and find the camp site and went the route we usually take and before long the tail end of the mass ride joined us from a side street. Here we had to slip through a cordon of cops holding back the traffic. We managed this without being apprehended and without a shot being fired. Then we pulled off to take some pictures and watch the show.

Then a cop came along in a car. Stopped in the middle of the road and told us to get back on our bikes and shoo-ed us off to the campsite. He was holding traffic up just for us so we put on helmets, gloves, checked tyre pressures and adjusted our chains and when we were ready to go, thanked him politely and buggered off.

At the campsite it was total mayhem. At least two of every bike you can dream up was there. Bikes were parked on each side of the main road and people were walking up and down while others was wheelying and doing burnout’s or riding around kaalgat. I still have nightmares about some fat ass with his feet on his bikes seat, riding around with his anus pointing skywards. Everywhere was fires and people braaiing and drinking and talking biker shit. More bikes were coming in all the time. The campsite was packed to capacity and the ablutions weren’t coping, people ran into the sea with a bar of soap to bathe. When I went to use the toilet I had to put my helmet (upside-down) on the filthy floor and after struggling out of my heavy leather jacket in the little cubicle lifted the toilet seat to find a floater the size of a nuclear submarine patrolling the perimeter. No amount of flushing could get rid of the thing… I thought about trying the next cubicle but that one was probably sprayed or blocked.

The center, where the stalls and beer tent were, were a lot smaller than at Aliwal. The entire camp site is on terraces and the center was on the middle, smallest, one. Aliwal is a piss-ant little town but that campsite were streets ahead of the one in PE, both in size and facilities. I was one of those that said I wouldn’t goto Aliwal again and I didn’t but I missed that nice campsite, and being closer to town.

We ate a pizza, which would later almost have me in hospital with my stomach being pumped. I have some photographs I took on the site and on one I could see the pizza box laying next to my bike. Whenever I look at that picture my stomach turns. Then we drank some coke. There were speed bumps on the main wheelie and drag strip and I got worried about our bikes as some of the people doing wheelies had difficulty seeing the road let alone rally goers stumbling around, each on a mission of his own, so we buggered off for Barneys.

While we were riding back to PE, there is this little town, I tried to remember it’s name, Seaview or Beachview or something. There’s some fancy holiday houses here and there were normal people at some of the houses, obviously there for the weekend. I was riding at the back and out of the corner of my eye I saw a stunning girls walking around on the patio of the houses. I took a closer look and when I looked in front of me again the road had started to turn unexpectedly and I was just in time to see Indi and Axel swerving dangerously close to the ditch next to the road. Then I remembered the places name, Assview!! It’s got to be Assview, imagine explaining that on your insurance claim. I was looking at the woman on the patio and rode into a ditch!

Hmmm, ah.

Yes Sir, then we have a teensy little problem.

Whatever.

At Barneys we drank some more beer and later that evening we put some Bad Boy stickers on our bikes and we weren’t 5 k’s down Beach Road when we ran into the long arm of the law, chasing us up a one way and almost running Axel over.

All this show of force just because we ran a red light and made an illegal U-turn (or two). Pity he missed all the drags and wheelies we were up to along the way - then he probably would have shot us on the spot. Anyway the cop had his hand on his gun and was yelling at Axel, who refused to take his helmet off for fear of the cop smelling the beer on his breath. I pulled up and could see this is a life threatening situation. The cop was either nervous or pissed off and knowing Axel he wasn’t going to stand back. The cop mumbled something about tough bikers and Axel said “I’m even TOUGHER without the leather jacket and bike”, I thought it was clever wordplay as some people sometimes tell cops they think they’re hiding behind guns and badges.

Not me though, nosirree.

So I jumped in and as I took my helmet off and flashed my pearly whites I heard the cop screaming in a shrill voice “We’re supposed to be polite to you guys and then you come and to stuff like that, THAT WAS A RED LIGHT AND AN ILLEGAL U-TURN”. He still had his hand on his gun. I said “But officer, you are polite!!”. While casting my eyes towards the sky in case a lightning bolt was headed my way, I tried to look outraged at the suggestion that he wasn’t polite. That calmed him down and Axel could get a word in, in a voice muffled by the helmet and the fogged-up visor he tried to explain that we are lost and spotted our turn-off and had to turn around quickly before we got lost again. Then he informed the cop that his tax is paying the cops salary, and that the cops tax could maybe buy a monkey for the zoo, or something like that.

The cop probably didn’t understand that as he calmed down, then said Ok he’ll show us the way to wherever Axel told him we were going. Then he said we mustn’t come and do things in PE that we wouldn’t do in our hometown. Axel and I exchanged amused glances. We’re from Cape Town bro… But we nodded our heads solemnly in unison.

The cop got in his car and gestured for us to follow him, than set off at a cracking pace.

Axel followed him at the same pace, then they turned off onto a bridge and the cop waved friendly at us, we returned the friendly wave, giving the universal bikers “Jolly good, old chap”, which as everyone knows is a raised middle finger, and then set off on our own.

It was clearly time to go to Barneys for some more beer. We spend the rest of the afternoon there and suddenly we heard Indis Shadow coming along Beach Road. He stayed behind at the campsite when we left. We’ve been trying to reach him on his cell to ask him to join us for a beer but his phone was off. As luck would have it he pulled in at the garage across from us and Axel sprinted over, followed by shouting waiters waving till slips, and went to fetch him.

Then we had some beer and made our plans for the rest of the day. The prize giving was at 8 o’clock that night and we needed to attend that to collect the main prize which I was going to win. We decided to leave for the campsite around seven. Indi wanted to enjoy a bit more of the rally and decided to leave earlier and meet us there.

When we got there, there were more people in that cramped campsite than you could possibly imagine. I almost ran into the bus that arrives at the site every night while you’re visiting your favourite bush after your 10th beer, and whisks away all the unattractive people so the beer tent is suddenly packed with stunners when you come back in. I was glad to see the backs of them as some of them were really ugly. It was dusty and getting dark.

We found a place for the bikes to park, close to the gate. Then set off to check out the stalls, the beer tent and look for all the people we knew were supposed to be there. I was a bit worried about my bike as it was parked very close to the road.

We checked out the stalls. Lots of the usual stuff for sale. T-shirts, badges, caps, bandannas etc. Nothing really screamed BUY ME. We bought some drinks in the beer tent and listened to the bands for a while. I thought the prize giving would be held in the beer tent.

Then we found George and it was time to make our way down the embankment to where the real prize giving was supposedly going to be held. When we came to the stairway I was struck by how many people there were and realised once again how stoopid I was. They would never, ever
have fitted in that tent.

The prize giving went without hitch, once they sorted the sound system out. Funny how you can hear when they ask if you can hear them, and answer NO. Lots of prizes were given away while most of the crowd took to lighting up Miss Buff (an excellent specimen in my opinion) with the laser pointers one of the stalls sold. Some real brave guys lit up her millennium domes.

So, we didn’t win anything, again, we’re consistent in that regard. We were absolutely disgusted with this state of affairs and set off into town to go and raise some hell where it’ll be appreciated.

We ended up at Barneys (again). We were becoming regulars and the waiters wasn’t keen to service us due to all the abuse Axel kept on throwing at them. We drank and drank and drank.

Somewhere in the early hours we got hungry and decided to ride to MacDonalds for something to eat. Actually some of us were after a MacShit, no intention of buying food, just having to use a clean toilet. When challenged by a pimply staff member, the declaration to them that you’ll buy their food afterwards is called a McShit With Lies.

MacDonalds was still open and we got some food, eventually. They wouldn’t serve us beer however. The fluorescent lighting was harsh and poor Axel looked a bit tired. When we left we almost got run over by the taxis on their way to the rally site to whisk away the stunners they thought they slept with, replacing them with some whales. Then it was time for some drags and wheelies down main road and then a quick drive by my sisters house to check for anything out of the ordinary like 16 police cars waiting to pounce on us. Call me paranoid, but I’ve already met one PE cop and wasn’t looking forward with another altercation with the law.

Once there we woke up my sisters baby when Axel crashed into the metal garage door, to lazy to use his bikes brakes. We retired to our lodgings, tired but happy. The baby’s crying kept us awake and I wanted to go and complain to his parents but couldn’t be arsed to get out of bed.

Sunday was a lazy day. We were kicked out of bed early and told to make ourselves scarce as there were normal people coming over and we were an embarrassment. So we buggered off and took a long ride down the coast, visiting small little bays and having breakfast along the way.

Sunday afternoon found us in, you guessed it, Barneys again. This time the two idiots in the band decided to follow us and set up their noise making equipment right next to our table.

They then proceeded to get drunk and started poking fun at the patrons. We were just itching to kick their arses over the balcony but for some reason they didn’t even make eye contact with us. Old rabbits die hard, anyway. We stayed until late then donned our invisible but warm coats we wear when going home after a booze cruise at 3 in the morning. By the time we got to my sisters home that night, the driveway had gotten even narrower and Axel head butted the main gate this time, which was very thoughtful of him as it didn’t make as much noise as the garage door and as a result the baby didn’t wake up until he fell over the kitchen table, his helmet clattering on the floor and him jumping up and looking for the one that shoved him.

Monday morning, needless to say, we were bright eyed and bushy teethed. My family helped us carry our stuff out and closed the gate firmly behind us before waving us off. We wiped our tears and rode around the corner, waving, but the front door was closed already. It was just after six and the plan was to push on a bit. We rode most of the way very fast. So fast that my reserve light came on after 142 km’s. By this time Axel was really worried as he was on reserve long before that. We stopped and decided we’ll not make the Petroport at Stormsriver.

There was a little piss-ant town, can’t remember the name along the way where we filled up. It was a bit of a detour but probably preferable to pushing the bikes the last 30 km’s or so.

We planned to get to Cape Town in the afternoon and wanted to get to George early. Which we did. We only stopped for fuel when we had to. We rode straight through George and then onto Oudtshoorn. The Outiniqua pass was absolutely breathtaking and the road is one of the best I’ve ever ridden. Axel decided to ignore everything he learned about blind corners and soon disappeared. Down the other side I caught up with him once when he got stuck behind a car but at the first opportunity he was gone again. When I finally got passed the car, he was gone and I tried to catch up…

Coming over one little hill I saw, in the corner of my eye, an official looking car standing next to the road, some badge on the front door. Alarmed I thought “speed trap” but there was no-one so I figured I was lucky and got the hell out of there. Over the next hill I suddenly almost went over someone trying to scramble out of the road on hands and knees. Someone else was standing next to the road with his hands covering his eyes, a tape measure laying at his feet with the other side of it in the middle of the road. As I flashed past them, I realized it was cops probably measuring an accident scene. As I went around the next corner I saw them helping each other up and starting to run to their car, probably for clean underwear. It was time to get the hell out of there. I caught up with Axel as he, being the law-abiding citizen that he his, slowed down to enter Oudtshoorn. We headed for the Wimpy, and first thing we did when we took off our helmets was burst out laughing. It turned out he almost ran the cop over himself and just as the cop stopped trembling and ventured back into the middle of the road he was surprised by a booming TL doing 200 k’s an hour. It was the source of much laughter and speculation. Good to have one back on the cops.

After a typical Wimpy breakfast and some of their famous coffee, we remounted the bikes and headed out of town. As we got to the outskirts, we were flagged down by cops. O-oh, I thought, now it’s payback time. Those okes we almost ran over radio-ed back to HQ for a ten-whatever and now they’re going to pull out our toe-nails. It was two female cops. The one walked over, “The Rookie.” I thought as the other one was giving instructions (keep your hand on your gun, don’t break eye contact, and suck in that tummy, o you sexy thing, you).

Both looked like their uniforms were at least 3 sizes too small. You could see the metal of the zippers as it strained under the pressure. She looked friendly enough as she walked up to Axel and asked him something. He proceeded to take off his gloves and started fishing in his jacket pockets, producing his drivers license. I was relieved as I had brought along one of those (borrowed from a friend) for exactly such an emergency. I handed it over for inspection and it must have passed as we were waved off.

Funny how they never ask you too take of your helmet so they can compare your face with the mug-shot on the license… Maybe the time we spend in the Wimpy worked in our favour and they weren’t certain that we were the hooligans, which off course we were not.

The road was open and clear. The sun was shining, the engines humming. I suppose the bees were bumbling or whatever bees do on a nice day out. Life was great and I was thinking happy thoughts. We were going at about 160 when I saw a golden-coloured BMW approaching us from the rear. Two yuppies in it. I hate yuppie scum but moved over to let then pass and immediately regretted it, they nearly ran me off the road and I watched them overtake Axel, then accelerate and start to drag away from us.

Obviously these guys were looking for a scrap and it would be rude not to wipe the floor with them. We geared down and blitzed them.

We caught up with the BMW and overtook it on it’s inside around a long sweeping corner - showing them first that beautiful white and blue bottom part of the fairing with “Suzuki” emblazoned on it, then maroon and white with “Yamaha”.

At Calitsdorp we filled up at the little garage on the outskirts of town. Actually that is an overstatement as the whole town is basically an outskirts of itself. While we were standing at the garage the BMW passed us again. Not looking at us this time. They disappeared.

We both knew just outside of Calitsdorp was the Huis River pass. It’s not really a pass as it feels as if you ride down into a canyon and up the other side, maybe you do, I never figured it out. I can’t really be bothered with trivial detail, so to me it’s just a nice pass. The road surface is good if somewhat rough, with some tight corners with bumps in unexpected places to keep you awake.

We intended to stop there to take some photographs, so it seemed proper to run down the BMW again and this time properly run it into the ground around a mountain pass.

We timed our run perfect. Catching up with the offending car about 5 km’s before the pass. I sat behind it for a while. The driver just kept going faster and faster. I was amazed at how fast he was going around some of the corners. Those cars must handle pretty well. Anyway, we got bored with watching the backside of the car and boomed past it on a short straight.

Finding a place to park the bikes, we got out the camera and Axel proceeded to ride up and down the pass while I took some action shots. Then it was my turn. We’ve been wanting to do this for some time now, and plan to do it with video cameras next. The pictures came out quite nice.

We didn’t stop in Ladismith, just went through town and out the other side. Then we saw the “Ronnies World Famous Sex Shop” signs and although it was a bit early in the day for my taste, we had to stop for a beer. They were busy erecting a satellite dish and Axel later said he heard them talking about doing a television show from there. I took the compulsory picture of the bikes and Axel in front of the Sex Shop sign painted on the wall. This photograph later caused some consternation when it was showed to Henesia together with the rest of the pictures.

I was getting tired, it has been a long ride up to that point and we both wanted to get home before dark. We didn’t make our usual stop at the eatery in Barrydale where the one legged budgie, three legged cat and dog lives, instead opting to fill up quickly and push on. The road between Barrydale and Montagu is one of the best places for riding a fast bike. There was no traffic, it was a weekday, the sky was clear and the birds were singing in the trees, or the telephone poles. It was a good day to be on a fast bike also, only slowing down when we passed towns or the little farm schools that are scattered along the road.

It was the time when the schools came out and busses were picking the kids up to cart them home, to play their arses off for the rest of the day, lucky sods. We were nearing the bigger towns and the distances between the towns were becoming less so it was conceivable that there might be cops along the way. We took it somewhat easier as we rode through Montagu and on to Robertson.

The penultimate run was between Robertson and Worcester. A boring, busy road with lots of trucks. I was glad when we got to Worcester and pulled into the One Stop for fuel and something to eat. It’s always a mixture of relief and sadness when a trip like this draws to it’s end. You want to get home but you don’t want the trip to end, if that makes sense. So we shared a plate of chips, drank some coffee and buggered off. We had to stop at the toll gates as we didn’t feel like riding over Du Toitskloof pass.

At the Stellenbosch turn-off we stopped for a while to say goodbye and then spilt up. I got home about 5 o’clock. In time for a monkey bath; so hot when lowering yourself in, you go:

“Oo!Oo!Aa!Aa! - Oo!Oo!Aa!Aa!”.

Both bikes behaved impeccably. Axel thought he heard some noises and fiddled with his bikes carbs or something in Port Elizabeth but I think it was just because he didn’t feel like helping me with the dishes.

Our tyres held up remarkably. I was expecting my brand new BT-56 to be square but all those mountain passes and tight corners paid off, it was still round and there was no visible wear. Axels new Dunlop 207 was similar.

Unfortunately I forgot the distance we covered but I remember being surprised at how much further it was via the route we came back. Having said that, the trip up was very relaxed, being shorter and spread over two days. Difficult to say which was the more enjoyable.

Certainly the trip up was somewhat unsatisfactory as we like to ride fast and we couldn’t on the N2 because of cops, the towns being close together and the road busy. There were also no need to push on as we had more than enough time to get to where we were going.

I also seemed to do a lot of vowing on the trip if I read this again.

Tags: Buffalo Rally, Rally Reports