The "Franschhoek and beyond" trip

 

A friend of mine who also has a four year old son recently bought a new bike after he had been "bikeless" for a couple of years. Our conversations about four year-olds have taken a dramatic turn towards the stuff that men actually should be talking about...stuff like bikes and road trips. Not only did he get a new bike, but he was wise enough to buy something that could go on tar as well as gravel...a BMW F800 GS. Yes, the same bike as what I have and the same colour. He only had white and orange to choose from so one cannot really congratulate him for getting the colour right (besides, he had help from his wife and 4 year old son), but for choosing the right bike he has to be publicly praised. I wish to believe that my input during our conversations at the beach while our four year-old sons were braving the cold Atlantic waters convinced him to make that choice, but seeing that he is relatively intelligent (more than me) with enough biking experience (definitely more than me), I am sure he convinced himself that the F800GS was the bike to go for. I am quite excited about his decision though because I have added a new biking buddy to my list who can explore the dirt roads with me. Now our conversations are a bit more about bikes and less about four year-old boys, but we both cannot wait for these two boys to grow up so that we could involve them in our biking expeditions. But for now they still have to play in the cold Atlantic while we explore the hot gravel road of South Africa.

Stopping for breakfast

Talking about "hot gravel roads". This morning we went for our first ride together. We didn't really have any plans on where we were going. He just wanted to get on the road (everyone with a new bike knows the feeling) and I was just glad to have someone to share the experience with. We were hoping of doing some gravel as well, but we realised that gravel worth riding is a bit far from Cape Town, so we did the normal Malanshoogste Road, the Occultdale Road and the Slent Road for our "gravel part" of the tour. His bike was doing great on the gravel, and so was he. But the rest of our trip was on tar. I am sure that we will do a proper gravel ride very soon. We stopped in Franschoek for breakfast. After the breakfast we realized that it was still early and decided where else we wanted to go. Somewhere "beyond" Franschhoek. Anywhere except back home. And this is where the fun of having a bike and having time on your hands come in. We looked at the map and decided that if we head on towards Villiersdorp that we only have two options of getting back. One is via Grabouw and back on the N2 (which we didn't think was a good option), and the other was towards Worcester and back on the N1...or not if we take the scenic route. So the obvious choice had to be Worcester.

Down towards Breede Valley

Cold drinks at Rawsonville

 We were a bit concerned about the temperature, it was 9.30 and the temperature was already touching the thirties. At Villiersdorp I filled up and from there we cruised in the direction of Worcester. It reminded me of my first "rookie gravel trip" I did with some guys in that area. We started of at 80km/h so that I could get used to the gravel. Boy, that feels like years ago. It was really getting hot and as we approached the Brandvlei Dam, what I first thought were clouds were actually a layer of smoke from veld fires. Typical dry and hot conditions for veld fires and the fire department was working hard to extinguish the many spots where the fires were jumping up. On the bikes it felt as if we were riding in the fire as well as the temperature was in the mid-thirties already. Just before Worcester we turned of towards Rawsonville. The last time that I went through Rawsonville the temperature was minus 2 degrees. Today it was 34 degrees.  We stopped for a cool drink and there I decided that the remainder of my trip was going to be without a jacket. I don't like riding without proper gear, but I reckoned that losing consciousness from heat exhaustion was more likely than falling and scraping my elbows on the tar. We were in any case taking it very slow and enjoying the scenery instead of pinching our bums to make it around the corners.

I wasn't feeling like taking the N1 back to Cape Town, so I suggested the same route my BIL and I took a few days ago when we returned from the South Coast. Through the Slanghoek Valley and over Bain's Pass. I stopped at the Breede River low water bridge to take the picture I wanted to take months ago when we flew passed on that road when Noelene was doing her "mileage trip". That trip had no time for pictures. It was extremely hot at this point and I was thinking of jumping in the river with only my birthday suit on, but unfortunately some locals have pitched up camp next to the bridge and would not have appreciated my stunt, so we headed on towards Bain's Pass.

I have been over the Bain's Pass a couple of times now, and I have never actually stopped to get down to the river. I think a day trip with some beers in an ice box would be a good idea, but how do I carry beer in an ice box on my bike? Maybe I should fill my topbox with water and see if it leaks. Today the temperature was touching the forties along the pass and unfortunately I didn't get my swim in this time either. I will definitely return to this spot for that much needed dip in the Wit River.

From the Bain's Pass it was on to Wellington where the mercury hit the 41.5 degree mark. Riding towards Cape Town the first sign of "coastal" air hit us when the temperature dropped to 33 degrees. It was for sure one of my hottest trips so far, and even though riding in minus 2 degrees sounds like "uncomfortable riding conditions", I think that hitting 41 could be just as uncomfortable. But in the end the ride was a lot of fun. The two 800's were enjoying every moment and so were their riders. The ride was about 250km and took us, with the breakfast included, around 6 hours to complete. Still too fast. We stopped a couple of times to take pictures and enjoy the scenery, but I guess one could do the same trip a couple of times and still find new things to see. I think that we both already are thinking about our next trip. We will just wait for cold air to move in from the Atlantic first....

Franschhoek and the Ex-Frenchies



"Smoke break" towards Franschhoek

Arriving in Franschhoek

I don't know much about the history of the French Huguenots and why they left France in the late 17th century. All I know is that they were members of the Protestant Reformed Church of France (or French Calvinists) from the sixteenth to the seventeenth centuries that was persecuted by some intolerable stuck-up Catholics. They fled from France to many places across the world, a handful even floating on little ships as far south as South Africa. Something else that I do know about these Huguenots that came to South Africa is that they chose probably the most spectacular location to settle down in what was called the Cape Colony at that time. Olifantshoek (Elephant's Corner), or what is today better known as Franschhoek ("French Corner") became the home of these "unfortunate" French farmers. Here they hooked up with some raunchy Dutch girls and eventually became Afrikaners. Unfortunately that was the time were the raunchiness of the "pre-Afrikaner girls" also ended. Today you will find many Afrikaans speaking people with French surnames or names, like Du Toit, De Klerk, Le Roux, Joubert, etc. And in the Franschhoek valley you will find many wine farms with French names like La Motte, Chamonix, Dieu Donné and La Dauphine. Despite all the French names you will hardly find any French speaking people there. They have an annual festival called Bastille Day, but I bet you most Jouberts and Le Rouxs that are selling "boerewors" rolls and biltong at their little farm stalls do not even know what Bastille Day in France commemorates. One thing I have realized going there is that even though most inhabitants of Franschhoek speak Afrikaans, you still feel like a foreigner in your own country when you visit the town. To own property there you either have to be very wealthy or have a long family history stemming from the first Frenchie who planted his first vine-shoot there. I think the hardest thing for people living there is giving up their property the day they die and go to heaven. For the still living this place looks better and feels better than what heaven could possibly provide.





Breakfast at Essence restaurant

Wemmershoek Mountains in background

So, Saturday I did another breakfast run. And as you've probably guessed by now, to Franschhoek. I have been to Franschhoek many times before, for sightseeing, paragliding, braai competitions, and whatever else you can think of. It is about 75 kilometres from Cape Town and a very popular weekend drive for many Capetonians and other fortunate people living close enough to drive through for the day. I don't want to write much about my bike ride, I think that is getting boring by now and compared to last week's ride a bit less interesting. I would rather talk about this town that I have never really explored before. You see, even though I have been through this town plenty of times before, even seen it from the air a few times, I have never gone through the effort of driving through the rest of the town itself. You enter the town via the main road and if you don't pull over for breakfast or coffee,  you leave it 2 minutes later from the same road. The rest of the town (which probably does not have more than 7 roads in total) you don't see if you don't turn off into one of the few side streets. When you drive down the main road, at first glance all you see are restaurants and little shops selling all touristy stuff. Your common African art stalls which you find all over South Africa is also everywhere to be seen. Some of the best restaurants in South Africa is found here, but unfortunately they are not very cheap. You can come here to have a relaxing day and to hang around some of trendy restaurant to enjoy the best cuisine (sometimes even French) this part of the world has to offer. Perfect for bikers wanting to have a breakfast and calling it a breakfast run afterwards. So, that's what we did. We drove through from Melkbosstrand and ended up at a very nice restaurants for breakfast. The food was really good and this gave me a nice future idea for my blog, but more on that later. Again the usual discussions on bikes and stuff taught me a lot. After the breakfast everyone jumped on their bikes and raced home leaving the undiscovered gem of Franschhoek behind. I decided to turn off into one of the side streets and see what lies behind the fancy restaurants, coffee shops and African art stalls.

Main street

"Evil Clown"

What a discovery. The houses, all decorated with the most beautiful gardens, in small narrow streets, some not even tarred, and the best country atmosphere you will find in any town, immediately takes your breath away. Lying nestled in between the Wemmershoek and Franschhoek Mountains, with the most stunning views from your back yard, I realized why the property prices here have skyrocketed over the last couple of years. Some plots even have horses grazing on the front lawn. This is heaven on earth. Near the main street they had a farmer's market where I smelled braaivleis and stopped to have a look at the stalls. Except for a forward clown I didn't really see anything different from what you see at most farmer's markets. I don't trust clowns that do not belong to a reputable circus, and the only circus we have in South Africa, except for our government, were definitely not in town, so I decided not to hang around the farmer's market for too long. The braaivleis smelled good, but I was already stuffed with bacon and eggs and left without buying or eating anything.

Monument

Farmer's market

I then drove up to the monument at the end of the main road and took more pictures. Even this funny looking museum I've seen many times as I drove passed, but I never actually stopped to look at it or to find out what it was. I was hardly surprized when I saw that it was to commemorate the French that came to South Africa and helped putting up wine farms and producing more fresh products. Something that the natives obviously didn't have the know-how to do back then. Apparently there were not many Huguenots that came to South Africa, but I guess they multiplied and did enough for South Africa in general to justify a monument of that size. Today many of the descendants of these French are packing up again and leaving for other countries, although they are not called French Huguenots anymore and hardly anyone goes back to France. And today they are doing it for different reasons than religious ones, but that is not the topic of discussion today. I however do wonder if they will make such an impact over there to deserve a monument like this in the countries where they are shacking up today? I am not a wine connoisseur myself, but I appreciate a good tasting wine and the good reputation South Africa has as a wine producing country. And it is because of these French dudes that we can internationally boast about our wines. I don't know how many natives were kicked off their land during those days, but considering that this valley was called "Elephant's Corner" because of all the wild roaming elephants, I doubts whether there were many who were willing to face these gigantic creatures with their little bows and arrows. So I guess the land was up for grabs. I just wonder why my forefather who came from Holland decided to get an office job in stead of claiming land in this area? Ok, he was not French speaking and he had no reason to run away from Holland other than to work for the VOC , but he also probably had no idea of farming and how it could benefit his descendants many years later. Maybe I do not have a French surname and the privilege to live there on a farm, but fortunately I can get on my bike or my car and drive there whenever I feel like it. I can also share in the beauty that this little town has to offer, even if I just go there for breakfast or french toast and french fries. This town has obviously much more still to be discovered, but to do that I will have to park my car somewhere, take my camera and explore from street to street. Only then can I maybe capture the beauty of Franschhoek, or write more about what the town has to offer. But that will only happen once they get rid of that freaky clown...

Back yard view



Peacefulness



To a funeral via the scenic route

I don't really have the money now for a new GPS so I bought myself the cheaper version instead. A 1: 325 000 map of Cape Town and Surrounding Attraction, 3rd edition. There is something to a map that you don't find with a GPS. It is like reading a newspaper from the Internet. That feeling and smell of the newspaper in your hands just disappears when you try do do it electronically. The same goes for finding your way through some unknown territory with the help of a GPS instead of a map. I remember once I was traveling through the Sahara with a convoy led by a guy that really knew his way around in a place which to me just looked like u huge beach with no sea. When we stopped to have a drink, I asked him where we were. Instead of giving me some coordinations from his GPS, he took out a map and opened it on the bonnet of his 4x4. Apart from the fact that it was probably the closest I ever came to feeling like Indiana Jones, it was much easier to orientate myself in case I had to continue walking from there. GPS coordinations would not have helped. Anyway, so I got the map and what better way to try it out than going to a funeral via the scenic route.

Yes, I went to a funeral of a cousin which I didn't really know. I believe that the rest of the family always appreciates the support more than the deceased, but at the funeral I was thinking that by being there I might've increased the chances of actually having someone at my funeral one day as well. If you ever get time to watch the movie "The Big Fish", then you will know why I would love to have plenty of people at my funeral but that's another topic for later. I am sure I can write many posts about funerals, but I will leave that for a day when I have not seen the heartache of people seeing off a deceased loved-one as recently as yesterday. So, I was on my way to a funeral with my bike and a map. The nice thing about living in a more developed country is that there is usually a well developed road network. The problem with living in a more developed country is that most of these roads are usually tarred. I am more interested in the gravel roads. My new map shows more detail  on gravel roads than my previous Road Atlas so thought I might as well take the scenic route to the funeral and back. Not that I don't have any sympathy with the deceased or the family, but I have learned that if you cannot turn an "uncomfortable" event into an "acceptable" one, then you might as well give up on life too.

Road towards Du Toits Kloof Pass

Disgruntled family members

My trip to Worcester started very early. My plan was to go straight on the N1 across the Du Toits Kloof Pass to Rawsonville, which is close to Worcester. According to my map this is where I could find some interesting undiscovered (for me at least) gravel roads. From my start I had to endure the same cold temperatures I had on Sunday, so going to 3.5 deg C was not a good start for me. When I approached the Du Toits Mountains I was thinking of chickening out and going through the Huguenot Tunnel, but as I was climbing the pass, strangely enough so was the temperature. In my head I was paging around through my old climatology text books that my dad so dearly paid for in an effort to give me an education trying to unravel this strange phenomenon. I eventually came to the chapter on anabatic and catabatic air flow and figured out why. The temp at the top climbed to 16 deg C, but as expected on the way down it went down with me. Just after the small tunnel at the bottom of this pass, I met a few other relatives of mine. Babboons. I stopped to take a family picture but they were not interested, typical of family that you have neglected over the years.

By the time I got to the Rawson turn-off, I was back to nearly a frozen state. The temperature was around 4 deg C. My first gravel road was up Holsloot to the Limiet Berg Nature Reserve. Here I was not only hoping to find a nice gravel road leading up to the reserve, but also checking for any future camping possibilities. To my disappointment the road was closed, with plenty of signs advising NOT to enter. My first gravel road for the morning was a dead-end. A little bit less motivated now due to the temperature effect on my state of mind, I headed for my second road I was planning to do before the funeral. This road, according to my new map, runs around the Bergvlei Dam where it meets up with the Villiersdorp to Worcester road. From there it would be an easy ride to get to Worcester and in time for the funeral.

Bergvliet dam

Bergvliet dam

I was impressed with the size of the Bergvliet Dam as I was heading towards this gravel road. I stopped to take a few pictures of the dam with the sun rising on the opposite side, hoping that the temperature would also rise soon. By now it was around 7 degrees and climbing. A sign next to the turn-off saying "Bergvlei Correctional Services" didn't bother me much, but when I came around a corner and saw huge gates with guards, it did. I stopped to ask what the hell was this in the middle of the road that I am about to take around the dam, and was informed that this was in fact the road leading to the prison, and unless I arrived there for work or in the back of a police van, then I have no business there. Another dead end for me, at least not as permanent as for so many on the opposite side of that fence, but still. By now the motivation was completely lost so I went straight to Worcester two hours early to find the church where the sermon was going to take place. For comfort and to get my blood flowing again I stopped for a breakfast and coffee at the Wimpy.

Theewaterskloof dam

One thing that really caught my attention at the funeral service was the way the deceased were described by the family. A man that was totally obsessed with nature and hunting. I was wondering what people would say about me at my funeral one day. A man that was totally obsessed with the pleasures he could get out life, or someone maybe who could never find the gravel road experience he was obsessed finding? While I sat there I once again realized that time is short and we have to make the most of life while we can. I was sure that my cousin would not have raised an eyebrow if he heard that I took a scenic road to his funeral, so I decided there and then that I will continue my scenic trip back to Cape Town.

More Theewaterskloof Dam

From Worcester I went to Villiersdorp but decided I will skip any more gravel roads and just head back to get back to work. The road is not much longer than the N1, but it has more curves than a California beach babe and with lots of picture opportunities. From Villiersdorp I took the Franschhoek Pass road towards Franschhoek. First I took some pictures of the Theewaterskloof Dam just to show that I was there, and also stopped at the famous lookout point on top of the pass. The Franschhoek Valley that lay in front of me is nothing new to me. I have seen that valley from various heights before. This is a very famous paragliding spot and I used to fly there quite often. But today I was on my bike and I was now in a hurry to get back to work (yeah, I know it sounds like bullshit but I was).

Back of Franschhoek Pass

Franschhoek pass

The couple of kilometres on the N1 back to my office gave me enough time to reflect on my day of  "dead ends". Despite the fact that I was going to a funeral, despite the fact that I reached some dead ends myself, the day turned out to be another exciting one. I have not given up on finding that ultimate gravel road yet, and like the cliched saying says about life, the journey towards the destination should never be ignored. Today was just another stop on my way to find that ultimate road....

Franschhoek Valley

My 67 minutes of charity

The call was made to every South African to donate 67 minutes of their time towards some sort of charity in order to commemorate Nelson Mandela Day. To promote this a bunch of celebrity "wannabe bikers" would ride all the way from Johannesburg to Cape Town and get involved in some community projects on their way down to the Mother City. The last stretch would be from Franschhoek going down to the biggest black township in the Western Cape, Khayelitsha. Here they would contribute by "putting up a fence" to show their involvement and to motivate others to adopt the same attitude. So this is where my story starts....

After seeing an invitation from the Cape Town BMW Motorcycle Club to join these celebrity bikers from Franschhoek to Khayelitsha, I decided that this was the perfect opportunity for me to pledge my 67 minutes while having fun at the same time. I was a bit scared that I might have to dig sewage trenches or build schools, but putting up a fence could not ruin my motorbike attire too much and I was happy to go along. Getting a bike ride as part of the deal was an opportunity not to be wasted and a bonus. I was hoping that my wife would come along, but she had recently decided that "putting all our eggs in one basket" on a bike while we have a 3-year old son was not a good idea anymore. "What would happen to him if we don't survive a crash or something?" So to have some company I had to find another pillion fast. Besides, the more hands we had to erect the fence, the less work for me I reckoned. My new pillion, which happened to be one of my friend's "eggs", was more than willing to cruise along. She claimed that she had her "pillion training" many years ago on speed bikes, but she soon realized that there is quite a difference between a speed bike and a dual purpose semi-offroad like my 800 GS. Speed bikes are for real men with more balls than brains, while my rugged looking semi-offroad macho machine is more for real men with balls as well as brains. Being a pillion on these different types of bikes differs quite a lot, but she was a fast learner and got the feel for the more adventurous bike pretty quick. This time she only had to sit still and enjoy the scenery. But this she would only figure out a little later on the trip.

My charity actually started at around 7.25 when I collected my pillion from her house. By providing some additional biking excitement to my passenger I was for sure in for more than 67 minutes of "charity" for the day. The meeting point for the bikers (the real ones) was 8am at the N1 Engen garage. On our way there the temperature dropped to 6 deg C and I could see that I might lose my pillion if we didn't stop for coffee soon. When we arrived at the Engen meeting point we were told that we should be moving on, so no time to defrost and no time for coffee either. On our way to Franschhoek we hit temperatures of 3 deg C and at 130 km/h it can get rather chilly. We all managed to reach Franschhoek without looking like popsicles and fortunately for us there we had time for a cup of coffee and a muffin. After that we departed to meet the fancy wannabee bikers at a posh estate just outside Franschhoek.

When we arrived at the hotel the celebrities were still picking bacon from their teeth after their full English breakfast. One of them was none other than Madiba's stunt double from the movie Invictus, Morgan Freeman. It was clear that they had a good night's sleep in this 5-star hotel where the rooms could easily go for R1500 per person per night sharing. If I had known that doing charity was such an luxurious affair I would've opted for the whole week in stead of just 67 minutes, but I guess I don't have celebrity status yet and would not have qualified for the team. Of course the media was on time as well and when Mr Freeman showed his face outside for the first time I wondered if anyone were really thinking about the poor kids in Khayelistha at that moment. I also forgot about them for a while and tried to get some pictures myself without being too obvious about doing it.

At 9.30 we were ready to leave in a well structured convoy. We were told that the celebrity wannabee bikers would ride in front, then a flashy BMW with Mr Freeman as occupant behind them, and then the real bikers would follow suit. The explanation was that the wannabee bikers were scared that the real bikers would go too fast and make them nervous on the road. This was just a bunch of bullshit of course. They didn't want to mix the elite with the riffraff. So, off we went, about 40 bikers on their way to do charity work in Khayelitsha. All of us on bikes worth R100 000 or more and Mr Freeman in his R850 000 7-series BMW. What a way to get our hands dirty for charity...

Needless to say, the ride to Khayelitsha was awesome. All bike rides are usually awesome. We went from Franschhoek through Stellenbosch along the most beautiful roads and scenery. The traffic officers stopped all traffic and allowed us to cross red lights and disrespect speed limits. With the Beemer in the middle, 8 traffic officers on motorcycles in front and the 20 riffraff "bodyguards" following, I couldn't help but feel like a VIP escort for some Head of State in Africa. Presidential convoys are so typical of Africa and this one had the same pretentiousness. My pillion at this point realized that she could release her claws from my jacket and that we could actually go around corners without having to touch the tarmac with our knees. She took out the camera and started taking pictures like a chinese tourist on her first trip to the Kruger National Park. She got so carried away with the pictures that at some point I had to turn around to see if she was still on the bike.

Now this would not only have been my first time in Khayelitsha, but also my first time in a black township. I don't know why the old regime planned the black townships in such a way that it feels like once you're in you can never get out again, but I guess it added to the excitement. Khayelitsha was no different. You can drive in circles going deeper and deeper with the prospects of ever seeing your family again seemingly getting smaller and smaller. This was probably my biggest concern, how to get out once I'm in. But with a group of 40 bikes, Mr Freeman in his BMW and all the staff from the local police stations on duty alongside the roads, I was not worried at all. Today I was going to erect a fence in 67 minutes flat, and then I'm going to negotiate my way out again and feel proud of myself. I was rather disappointed when we came closer to the spot where the rest of Cape Town's media and some other high profile celebrities were already waiting. The area was cordoned off and the poor people whose lives I was about to change were nowhere to be seen. All that we found was a plot of land belonging to some charity organization with a section of a fence in the middle of nowhere, half way erected already. All that was needed was for someone to attach the upright slats with some bolts and a rachet socket. Not nearly blisters-on-your-hands kinda work at all, and nothing that would further ruin my bike jacket with the recently acquired claw marks. Only then I realized that erecting this fence which didn't really fence off anything was nothing more than a publicity stunt. With camera's clicking Mr Freeman nonchalantly walked towards the fence while someone was already holding one of the slats to be tightened. With one hand in his pocket, he lifted the rachet socket and while smiling at the camera he made a few dummy turns. This was done with a spanner that was shining brighter than the beemer he had arrived in. Nor he nor the socket spanner has ever done more than 67 second's worth of hard labour before, let alone 67 minutes of it. I was still taking pictures of Mr Freeman when somebody mentioned that the Western Cape Premier, Mrs Helen Zille, was also helping at that stage. I wouldn't even have noticed her if someone else hadn't point her out to me. Not only is she too short to pose next to Mr Freeman on the same portrait, but she was pretending to tighten some bolts lower down on the same slat somewhere around the height of his waist. I was too disgusted to take any pictures of her effort and rather went for a much needed wee in one of the temporary mobile toilets that were shipped in especially for this occasion. That was probably the only toilet in Khayelistha with running water at that time, and I am pretty sure they didn't leave it there after the theatrical procedings were done for the day. The ANC Youth League has a history of destroying toilets that were not built with solid bricks.

I looked at the spectacle of VIPs trying to look all interested in doing their bit for the community, the dozens of photographers trying to get the best shot for their morning paper, the real bikers watching the organized choas form a slight distance and the clear absence of hungry black faces benefitting anything from this exercise. I looked at my hands that have never done any hard work for anyone that I could be proud of and wondered if I was just as fake as these people with all their money and riches. There are so many people that have sacrificed their lives to help the poor and needy, and here we were with our shiny bikes and flashy cars trying to look important. I asked myself what did I contribute today, and I couldn't think of anything. Maybe I didn't contribute to this event at all today, but it stopped me for about 67 seconds to reflect on myself and what I have. Whether I was previously "advantaged" or not, whether I worked for what I have or not, I was fortunate to be there, to have what I have and to live the life I live. I was wondering what I could do to give something of myself to the poor. Not to gain anything by doing it, but to do it as a way of showing my appreciation for what I have. Who cares if this whole exercise was just a show or not, it opened my eyes. It made me think. If this was the objective and one person today was made aware of how much his support and contribution could mean to others then the objective was achieved. How many more did experience what I have experienced today. Together we can all make a difference, if we are only willing to put aside the much needed time. I am sure I will find another 67 minutes to do something more substantial than what I did today and that many others would do the same.

Happy Birthday Madiba.

Good Vibrations

There are always something mysterious about a bunch of bikers together, even intimidating at times. No matter if your group is called the Hell's Angels or Heaven's Angels, men with leather jackets hiding behind full face helmits do look like they have some sort of mystical power over normal citizens and motorist. When you ride in a group you see motorists making way for you without hesitation and when entering small sleepy towns you might even find mothers hiding their daughters away. You yourself get goosebumps when all bikes start up at once and riding in a group does have good vibrations accompanied with some good adrenaline.

This morning I went for a 200km round trip to Franschoek with a couple of friends. We left Melkbosstrand at around 7am in awesome weather. Although there were not many bikes (only a total of 12) riding in a group does present the feeling of having "the right of way". Remove the helmits and leather jackets and all that remains is a bunch of nice law abiding guys who would not even look twice at your daughter. But motorists, whether they were scared or just very polite, did make way as far as we went and riding into Franschoek did turn a few heads. Fortunately the real Hell's Angels weren't planning a breakfast in Franschoek this morning and the "Wild Hogs" could enjoy their 4-egg omelettes without any intimidation from other more serious bikers. A few other "good guy bikers" had the same idea and it is interesting how quickly conversations are started and new friends are made when you have something in common.

On our way back we decided to split up so that everyone could ride at the speed of their choice. Unfortunately the guys on cruisers are always holding back the guys on the speed bikes, and the guys on the speed bikes struggle to show respect for the "laid back lifestyle" bikers. Riding alone does have its benefits as well. Apart from not having to be constantly aware of the bike in front of you, you get to do it at your own pace. You have time to enjoy the view, pull over at any time when you need to take a pee and when you want to open up in the twisties you don't have to worry about leaving the other guys behind. Although you don't have the back-up to enter any town with much bravado, you'll find that some people still show interest when you drive in all by your lonesome self. There is a different kind of mystery to a lonesome biker, the kind of mystery that propels mothers to send their daughters out to investigate rather than to lock them up. I guess your choice of riding in a group or alone is similar to your choice of sports. Some like team sports like football while others prefer doing it by themselves like surfing or rock climbing.

My choice? I like the exitement of riding in a group but personally I think I am the lone rider type...