Working Sabbatical

On Saturday I realized that I might have a wasted weekend if I don't do something exciting quickly, so I decided to take a working sabbatical to Reebok, in between Mossel Bay and George on the South Coast. There I have free accommodation, with free laundry and Internet included, as well as the best meals from the menu. The best "guesthouse" in the Southern Cape but also the best kept secret, so I won't say no more. I left Cape Town at 12.30 in the heat of the day...32 degrees Celcius. When I passed Paarl and Worcester, the mercury went up to 38 and for the rest of the journey it did not drop much. I only stopped for fuel and water, and it didn't take me long to realize that leaving at that time of the day to ride to Mossel Bay via Worcester and Robertson was not the greatest idea ever. The wind did not help much either, and when I arrived in Mossel Bay I was literally wasted. My neck was sore from the wind that was pushing and pulling my head in all different directions, I had to take painkillers for what felt like the worst whiplash ever. Definitely not one of my nicest trips so far, and very uncomfortable.

In Reebok I did not do much riding, it was a working sabbatical after all. But I did manage to sneak away from the laptop to do a little gravel road from Reebok to George, looking for a bike shop to check out if they might have biking gear. I was refered to Mossel Bay where I discovered the "biggest bike shop in the Western Cape", or so I was told by the sexy sales girl in the extra low-cut hipster. I was amazed to find a bike shop that size with so much variety of all gear you can think of. Maybe the fact that the Buffalo Rally has been hosted there for several seasons might explain, but I was told that people ride from PE and Cape Town to shop there, and I was not surprized why. There I kitted myself out with new biker pants, a new biking jacket and boots. I also threw in some chain lube for my bike and junior bike goggles for my son, or "diving goggles for motor bikes" as he calls it. Now I look like a real biker and my son closer to one.

There are the most awesome gravel roads in the Garden Route area, and if it was not for the rain that fell on Tuesday morning I might have changed my working sabbatical into a biking sabbatical. I was a bit cautious of the slippery mud in that area and decided that I will come back and do some of them in the future. I did many of them on my mountain bike years ago, but never took any pictures of the stunning vegetation and scenery. There are also quite a few gravel passes and they are definitely on my to-do list.

On my way back to Cape Town I decided after consulting the weather forcast to take the N2 via Caledon. The wind prediction was easterly and the temperatures much lower than in Worcester. It was the second best move of the weekend (the first being the enquiry that led me to the big bike shop in Mossel Bay). I left Reebok at 5.30 am and with the wind from behind and the sun too I managed to reach Riviersonderend at around 7.35. There I stopped and filled my tank and my stomach for the first time. Just before Riviersonderend I passed a dad and his son on two Vuka 110 scooters. They were away for the weekend and on their way back to Cape Town. They pulled in at Riviersonderend a few minutes after me, filled up and left before I did. I passed them again just before Caledon. I was amazed to see how little you need to create your own fun. You don't need the best and most expensive bike to have the best ever weekend. They were clearly enjoying themselves and at approximately 90km/h I am sure they saw more of the scenery than what I did at 130.

The temperature along the way ranged from 13 to 17 degrees Celcius. I always wondered why anyone would need heated grips when you are wearing gloves. After a while I was cooling down and I was amazed  at the difference heated grips can make to your body. I have since changed my opinion on heated grips and cannot wait for winter to arrive (not really!). I stopped at Sir Lowry's pass to take a picture, but when I tried to get off my bike the wind was howling and I was actually scared that my bike would blow over. It was obvious a venturi effect right there through the "gap" in the mountain. Even the tourists that stopped climbed out and some immediately jumped back into their bus when they felt the wind. From the top of the mountain to the bottom of the pass, the temperature climbed from 17 degrees to 26 degrees. A classical example of bergwind conditions and a good explanation for the warm weather in Cape Town today. I arrived at my office at 10 am, 30 minutes shorter than my trip on Sunday...and much more fun this time. I also won't be needing any painkillers today either. I am glad that my trip back was done with so much less effort, otherwise my "sabbatical" would not have been succesful. A 900km round trip, a beautiful weekend in the Garden Route and staying at the best guesthouse in the Souther Cape. It was definitely worth it.

Taking on the Argus

My wife has decided to do something different this year, so she decided at the last minute to do the Argus. For those of you that don't know what the Argus is, it is called The Cape Argus Pick n Pay Cycle Tour and is an annual 109 km cycle race hosted in Cape Town. With approximately 40,000 cyclists taking part, it is the world's largest individually timed cycle race, and is the first event outside Europe to be included in the International Cycling Union's Golden Bike Series. OK, I got this information from Wikipedia, but at least now you know how spectacular this race is. She obviously won't be the first person to pick up a bicycle a couple of days/weeks before the actual race and manage to finish it, so it can be done. Besides, she is a master at spinning and she has a history of cycling behind her, but if she was not in her early 30's I would've thought this was some mid-life crisis attemp to prove that she still has what it takes.

Last week we took her bike from the roof, a Trek dating from circa 1994, and dusted it off for the first time in approximately 12 years. Apart from the perished tyres and some rust spots, the bike still looked capable of doing the job. In 1996 we did a route of approximately 188km from Prins Albert to Mossel Bay. So I know she will have the stamina to do 109 km. What makes our feat even more impressive is that we've crossed the Swartberg Pass on our way to Oudtshoorn, and after having a burger at the Spur, we crossed the Outeniqua Pass towards Mossel Bay. A journey that took us exactly 12 hours to complete if you include the hour lunch in Oudtshoorn. The Swartberg Pass is one of the most spectacular gravel mountain passes in South Africa and definitely NOT a baby you take on for a Sunday morning fun ride. It actually makes the Argus looks a bit tamed, but I don't want to sing her praises before she actually crosses the finish line. So she knows what to expect and she knows that her biggest fear at this moment is saddle soreness which she will definitely start experiencing after the first 10 kms and a possible strong headwind. O yes, and then there is the flat tyre problem. She has never ever changed a tyre before because she always had a capable cycling partner who will not be accompanying her this year. Me. I have to admit that after inspecting her bicycle and showing her how to change a tyre, the memories came back and I am determined to dust off my bike as well and join her for some future riding. Fortunately there will be lots of road side assistance at the Argus. When we did our 188 km over mountains and through valleys the only back-up we had was my mom and dad that waited for us at certain points to see if we were not knocked over by passing motorists. We didn't have energy drinks and all the nice goodies everyone has now to mentally make them feel stronger, we only had water and I think a Lunch Bar every now and then. The Spur Burger also provided some energy.

I've always wanted to do the Argus. Not to test my endurance, but just for the fun of it. After the Swartberg Pass I don't really think that the Argus will appeal to me or prove anything, but I still think it can be lots of fun like any other fun ride. What I do think will be a challenge is the Cape Epic, but that I will leave to the men out there who has more balls than brains (with all respect guys). To my wife I just want to say good luck. I am sure the new tyres, seat and brake blocks will help...and you look stunning in your new cycling outfit.  I won't be there to witness your dash towards the finish line, I will be traveling, but my thoughts will be with you and I will celebrate with you when I get back. Have fun!

The Rookie

When George Clooney was asked what makes a man attractive he said a sense of humour. Obviously he couldn't say "if he looked like me", but I was more hoping for him to say a man that can admit he is a rookie without coming over as a being an inexperienced wuss at the same time.  When Dave our navigator and "team leader" for the day pointed out that the route he had planned for us was done "with the most inexperienced rider in mind", I knew he was refering to me and I couldn't help but feel like a wuss at that point. John the Salesman invited me to join himself, Dave and Graham for a breakfast run that would include a large section of gravel road. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to get over my recently acquired fear of any road that does not resemble something similar to a runway at the O.R Tambo International Airport . After my recent fall I felt rather inexperienced and embarrased to say the least and not wanting to look like a wuss I knew that something had to be done. So I said "Yes, count me in".

We met very early at the BP filling station at Klapmuts. Dave showed us the route he had planned out with his GPS and GoogleEarth and what-have you, but all I could see was the yellow lines representing gravel roads. Dave mentioned something about "doing some highway" but later explained that he calls any section of tarred road a highway and that there wouldn't be much on this trip. At 8.30 we were heading towards Bonnievale via Franschoek and Villiersdorp even though I was pretty sure that there was just one road to Bonnievale and as far as I could remember it was "highway" across Worcester. Dave and his GPS proved me wrong. When we hit the first dirt just after Villiersdorp I realized that there are more than one road indeed, but definitely not all tarred and definitely not all indicated on your average South African Road Atlas. At first I tried to remember the names of the little backroads we took, but when I touched that gravel road everything except my last fall was erased from my memory bank. Dave was so eager to get onto the dirt that he did not even stop to disable his ABS or to give me a small introduction as to what I can expect. Only when his GPS started getting confused somewhere in the Ouhangs Mountains we stopped for the first time and at this point John said to us it might be a good thing if we all switch off our ABS. At this stage we were doing maximum speeds of 60km/h on the gravel even though it felt to me like we were trying to take off to fly over to Bonnievale. When we decided to turn around the prospects of getting back onto tar made me feel a bit relieved, but the turn-off we missed was not very far back and we never saw that tarred road again. 

My biggest challenge at this stage was to find out what the bike can do on gravel, how far I can take it before it slips out underneath me and which section of the road has the least amount of loose gravel. Dave and John was ahead of me and Graham at the back followed me at a safe distance just to make sure I don't do the unmentionable and stay behind somewhere over a ledge. All I was thinking was that if John's bike can do it at that speed, then so can mine. At least we were both on a F800 GS. Dave was on a F650 GS and although he said it looks more like "a bike for a girl", he definitely was not riding like one. Neither was Graham, who took his girlfriend Brigitte along "just for the fun of it", on his 1100 Adventure . As I was going along I could feel my confidence grow with each kilometer we reeled in, but sharp corners and loose rocks still left me quite nervous. Thankfully we never hit sand, but that I want to leave for a later stage after my planned Introductory Course. Every now and then we crossed a very small section of tar and then I had time to breath in and breath out again. It felt as if my bike was glued to the tar in comparison with the gravel, so my confidence on tar was improving at the same time. By this time we were covered in dust, and every now and then the breeze would make it a bit easier for us to follow at shorter distances. When John and Dave disappeared in the dust I slowed down, not only to prevent myself from suffocating, but also because I could not see the road surface anymore. Thinking back I believe it is actually better not to see the surface, because it did not feel like the GS really minded where we were going and I wasn't worried about loose rocks on the road when I didn't see them. Just before Bonnievale we hit some drizzle that cleared all the dust and by that time it was a real pleasure to be doing around 90 km/h without the Klein Karoo dust powder in my lungs.

You think about a lot of things when you ride, but my thoughts on the last few kilometers before Bonnievale were spend mostly on food rather than the dangers of gravel riding. At 11.30 we stopped at a small cafe called Into Africa and had a very pleasant breakfast. There I took in some more tips from my more experienced companions. The road from Bonnievale to Robertson was all tarred, but just after Robertson we turned off onto another dirt road towards Elandia. This road would eventually meet up again with the road we came on, and by now I was standing up and riding like an experienced circus clown on a circus pony, a skill also needed when the road gets a bit rough...or when the sand appears from nowhere. At one point we were doing 110km/h and I even managed to push it up to 120 aiming to set my new gravel land speed record at the same speed as the national speed limit on our highways. At this point a little voice from nowhere started talking to me and I took it back to around 100. But the record was official and I was feeling really chuffed with myself.

On our way back to Villiersdorp we pushed the bikes to 160km/h on the straight tarred sections. I wasn't attempting to break my tarred land speed record that I set on my GV650 cruiser as well, but it was interesting to see what the GS could do on tar. But this was just on very straight sections and something I would never do again if I don't have to. Fortunately for me at some point sanity kicks in. The round trip was about 450 kilometers and I arrived back home at 4pm. The weather on route was perfect for biking, no wind and overcast with temperatures ranging from 21 to 33 degrees Celsius. When I arrived home I could feel that I have just spend about 7 hours in the saddle in a semi-crouching position. Despite that I was very pleased with my riding for the day. Just before we parted ways at Franschoek my fellow riders all agreed that my improvement since we started this morning was "fantastic". I might not have a good sense of humor and might still be a rookie in the eyes of many but at least I don't feel like a wuss anymore. I wonder if George Clooney would add that to his list...?

Reality Check

I was having a quick breakfast at Carlucci's this morning. We were chatting about the morning traffic to town that had come to a complete stand still. I knew exactly why the traffic was backed up, because I just came from town and drove passed the problem. I took my GS in for her first 1000km service and for some repairs after my second fall. Yes, I did not even write anything about my second fall, I was too embarrassed. On my way back from the service dealer I passed a motorcycle accident. A gentleman was lying on the side of the road next to his damaged bike. It gave me cold shivers to think that I've just passed that same spot a couple of minutes earlier on my way to town this morning. It could've been me lying next to that road....

I think out of all the adventures sports that I have attempted in my life, and this ranges from skydiving, paragliding, surfing, skateboarding and bungi jumping, the most dangerous of them all does not compare to a bike ride through peak traffic. In all the other activities the biggest source of concern is the unpredictability of the elements. What I think is even worse for any biker is the unpredictability of motorists. When I see or hear about a motorcyle accident, I always wonder what the cause of the accident was. Was it an unpreventable or unforseen accident like a pothole in the road or loose gravel maybe? Was it the result of plain stupidy by the biker himself like speeding or taking reckless chances? Or was it the unpredictable motorist that changed lanes without looking back or skipping a traffic light maybe? No matter what the reason behind the accident might be, it is not a nice feeling seeing a fellow biker lying on his/her back on a sidewalk.

I have a new bike. Much more faster and difficult to ride than my previous one. I have fallen twice already, ending my clean record after many years of "safe" riding...and being lucky I guess. I know these falls are a bit different, both happened on loose sand while knowing what could happen if you take an oversized semi-offroad bike through thick sand for the first time. Stupidy on the side of the biker maybe? Yes, definitely. But regardless the cause, falling is not a nice feeling even when done under "controlled" circumstances. Falling on tar is a bit worse. Getting hit by another car is extremely bad and should be avoided at all costs.

While sipping down my last bit of coffee I got a lump in my throat. It's a sign of a reality check. In all the adventure sports you take a calculated risk even though you cannot predict the outcome. In biking you just take a risk, no calculations and no predictions either. Unless you drive carefully and you keep thinking about the what-ifs, you are in the hands of other drivers, drivers that couldn't care less when they jump a red traffic light or couldn't care less if they get caught for speeding or reckless driving. Drivers that do not do the calculations for the risks you are about to take. Sadly it took another biker's misfortune to bring me to my reality check this morning. All I can hope is that he is ok and then thank him for that. I am signing up for an introductory course on gravel riding. I hope the cost of the course will reduce my costs of repairing my bike in the future and maybe improve my general riding skills. But I will always try my best to ride safe and never get too confident.

Keep well and keep it safe.

The road I travel

I seldom have to worry about getting from point A to point B when I do my business travels. Usually everything is organized well before my trip, and even though pick up in most African countries are below standard, I still manage to get where I have to be fairly easily. Today my trip to Pretoria was a bit less organized. I knew I had to fly to Johannesburg, but from there to Pretoria was still a bit vague. I asked around for opinions but decided I will cross the proverbial bridge when I get to Johannesburg. There are not many options; taxi, train, shuttle or hitch hiking. Before I could make my decision I was cornered by what seemed to be a taxi driver. “Taxi Sir?” First I wanted to bypass him for being so obtrusive, but I had to start somewhere. A taxi to Arcadia usually costs R450, “but for you sir, we can do it for R400”. He got the job…

It was already dark when I got into his sporty red Mazda X6 and before I could say “go”, we were already on our way. Being a reggae fan I was very pleased when I heard Burning Spear’s “My roots I'll never forget, I'll always remember the road I travel” playing on the sound system while we were doing about 120 in the 100km/h zone. It was only closer to the Tembisa off-ramp that I realized for the first time that I got into a stranger’s car without checking if it was really a taxi or not. There were no signs on the door and no yellow light on the roof either. It didn’t even have a distance clock. What if I end up in Tembisa minus a laptop, a cell phone or even my life? I realized how careless I was and was thinking of ways to protect myself should we take this turn-off to Tembisa. The taxi driver whose name I never got didn’t speak much. I never know when I take a taxi if you should speak to the driver or not and if you should sit in the front or at the back. I didn’t make too much conversation either but did tell him that Cape Town was “always good” when he asked. I also mentioned that I also like reggae and hoped that my fellow brother will have some mercy on me because of that. When Burning Spear was well away with his “We all are one” I made sure that my driver friend heard me sing along. After we passed the Tembisa turn-off I was looking for familiar landmarks to confirm that we are actually on our way to Pretoria. Doing 130 in an 80 zone now didn’t bother me much, I was buckled up and we were on the R21 north which sounded like the right direction to be in. I have never been so pleased to see the Voortrekker Monument before. Pretoria indeed. Now we still had to get through Sunnyside and then hopefully to Arcadia.

The nameless taxi driver took me straight to the hotel’s entrance. I was so relieved to be there in one piece that I did not even go for the R400 deal. I gave him his R450, shook his hand and wished him a safe trip back to the airport. When I checked the receipt it looked like a real taxi company and that my fears were unfounded . I checked in and when Marvin at reception asked me how I got there, I was quite proud to say “I came by taxi, why?” Marvin said: “Oh, we had a shuttle waiting for you at the airport Sir and they just phoned to say that they could not find you....”

Demotion Blues

Traveling sucks. I am not talking about the excitement of two weeks lying ahead in Mauritius or the expectations of conquering Kilimandjaro that usually overshadows this fact. I am talking about the part of getting from point A to point be B, before the fun actually starts. What is nice about standing in queues, sitting in cramped up seats and dragging huge amounts of luggage around with you? Just like in many facets of life, there is also a ladder to climb for travelers. From flying on low budget airlines with no free meals or special treatment to flying first class on the world’s most luxurious airlines with champagne and white slippers. The higher the status, the easier the traveling part becomes, but to get there you have to work for it or be filthy rich. I have never gotten far on this ladder myself, but I have managed to reach step 1 on SA’s most popular airline…Silver Status on SAA’s Voyager Program. So what benefits does this have for me as a traveler? Nothing much to be honest. I get to check in with the business class passengers where the queue is usually shorter, I have access to some of the SAA lounges where there are comfortable seats and the muffins are for free, and if I get really lucky I get bumped up to business class on some occasions when the economy seats were overbooked. Apart from that, nothing else. Oh, and I get my preferred seat (if available). So nothing much, but to make traveling easier every bit counts.

So today was my first trip for 2010. I was not going far, only from Cape Town to Johannesburg, but the procedures were the same, waiting times were the same, it is just flying time that was different. I asked the driver to fetch me early. I wanted to check-in, get comfortable in the SAA lounge and fire up my laptop to get some work done…or to update my blog if all else fails. Check-in went smoothly, but on my way to the lounge I noticed something on my boarding ticket - Frequent Flyer Status “BLUE”. This meant only one thing - I have been demoted, no access to the lounge, no comfortable seat and no free muffin. I checked my Voyager card and saw the expiry date...”02/2010”. I missed it by one week. All my privileges were ruthlessly taken away without getting a warning letter first. Being the optimist I usually am I immediately went to the nearest restaurant where the seats were also comfortable, the muffins slightly more expensive but the Internet access exactly the same. Or so I thought. No internet access today, no power socket for my laptop, the muffins were too expensive and I still had 90 minutes on the clock to kill. It is amazing how the few lost benefits could put such a damper on your trip. At this point I remembered that the lady at check-in never asked which seat I wanted, meaning that she was either kind to put me on my preferred seat, or what I was fearing most now, just where she wanted to put me. And why did she not say anything about my status while checking in where only the privileged were allowed to check in? I guess she was just kind, not my preferred seat, but at least in an aisle seat. Better than nothing for someone who had just been demoted to “BLUE”.

So what do I have to do to get my status back, to get a free muffin and to have internet access? I have to fly more. I have to go through this a couple of times until they decide I deserve preferential treatment again. How many flights do I have to do, how many long queues do I have to face, how much money do I have to spend on overly expensive muffins? I don’t know, but in order to put some sunshine back in traveling I need that silver lining BAD!

Biting the dust

I wasn't planning on doing any riding yesterday except for a ride with a friend of mine who wanted to have a go on my other bike. He had a bike years ago and was thinking of getting one to beat the morning traffic, so the idea of getting some refresher experience sounded like a good idea to him. I was expecting his call around two.  My wife and son was taking a nap around noon and I was getting bored, so I decided to take my bike and go to Yzerfontein. I headed in that direction but got sidetracked when I stopped to refuel and saw another gravel road that I have never been on. One thing led to another and soon I found myself in a area called Morning Star. There were a few smallholdings in Southfork Ranch style like from the TV series Dallas, just on a smaller scale. It seems like everyone was breeding or doing something with horses. I was more interested in the gravel road and finding out where it was leading to, so I was heading on. I was thinking of returning here one day because learning to properly ride a horse is on my to-do list for 2010.

Anyway, I am starting to realize that riding on gravel and sand is not as easy as what Ewan McGreggor and Charlie Boorman form The Long Way Down made it look like. I am definitely very inexperienced when it comes to gravel riding. On a small section of the road I hit sand. I could feel how the bike was getting all wobbly underneath me. I don't have a problem with falling of a bike at that speed onto sand, but when your bike is 3 weeks old that idea becomes less favourable. Then the sand turned into something that I would refer to as powder rather than sand. At this point I was nearly standing still. I guess the more experienced riders would tell me never to stop and just to throttle through, but I made the mistake and stopped. When I put my feet down on what I thought was firm ground, it turned out to be nothing more than fluffed powder. I couldn't hold the bike and we both fell into the powdered sand, my bike nicely on her side, and me face first into the white powdered dust. I got up and all I could think of was my bike. I would not have been able to handle another dent in the fuel tank. The bike's engine was still runnning while it was lying on its side, so I killed the engine and with power that I don't know where I got from, I picked up the bike. There was no-one around at that time and I was stuck in the powdered sand. Then I remembered how Ewan and Charlie did it when they got stuck. I switched on the engine while standing beside the bike and rode it our while allowing it to rest against my body, making sure it does not fall again.

Well, to make a long story short, I eventually managed to get it to firmer soil. I checked the bike for any damage, but apart from my damaged ego the only other damage I found was the bracket holding the clutch lever that was broken. I managed to tighten it to a point where I could use it again and covered in white dust I decided to head home. I was thinking that the image of a ghost on a bike might unsettle some of the locals along the road so I headed straight home, not wanting to upset the children. Once home I washed the bike to look for more damage, but fortunately there wasn't any. The soft powder turned out to be a better choice for falling than concrete.

I will not stop exploring dirt roads, but I will definitely be much more careful when I hit sand again, but I am now thinking of dishing the horse riding lessons and rather go for proper offroad biking lessons....

Lifelong scars

My mom, who keeps everything from a plastic toy to an empty toilet roll all for "sentimental reasons", told me the other day that she has a shoe box full of my love letters from primary school hidden away somewhere with all her other ancient trousseau. I actually still remember writing some of them, the huge round letter types I used, the paper that we all collected with silhouettes of lovers in the moonlight, sometimes smudging the words when we sprayed the final attempt with deodarant, all that stuff. I think that was the first proper "documents" I wrote when I started learning to write. I was never good at essays though, but love letters seemed to come naturally. I am a bit disappointed in my mom for reading my love letters, to me invasion of one's privacy is a serious offence, but that is a topic I'll take up with her one day in person still. What I would like to do though is to go and read all of these letters again. See, I always believed if you move on from one girl to the next, you have to cut all ties with the previous one. That is because the chances of hurting the previous one or getting hurt yourself is just too big. So I want to go find out when I first came to that conclusion in my life...or if I ever did. These historical letters might help me. Apparently the same goes for buying a vehicle and letting go of the previous one. I learned the hard way...

Since I got my new bike I was "selling" the other one. But because I was not really keen on selling it, I kept it and still uses it. I should've let go of her immediately, because I could sense her feeling of betrayal every time I pushed her out of the garage to go to work. I was hoping that she would stay in my life forever, or that I could do what our Mr President Jacob Zuma is doing....marry them all. I could sense the hurt in her when I started her, she was not as eager as she used to be, and when I compare her with my new "lover", besides for her looks she does not really come close. And then yesterday she did it. I took her to work and after returning from Paddocks I parked her in front of the office building. I've always parked her there when the spot was empty, so this was nothing new. What she didn't realize was that I was actually looking for shade so that she does not get sunburnt, a sign that I still love her. I was three steps away from her when I heard a crashing sound. I was shocked when I looked around. She threw herself over in an attempt to end her life. I never knew that she would turn suicidal after what I've done to her. Wasn't the fact that I wanted to keep her along with the new "lover" enough for her to understand that I still love her? If our President can do that, why can't I?

Anyway, she is now not only emotionally bruised, but physically as well. I am so glad that the scar on her tank is not too big, but it has to be repaired. No-one would buy that bike now, not with that ugly mark on her side. It could've been worse I guess, but the fact that she got hurt even more really makes me feel like the bigest loser around. I was not careless, I promise, she just started to move forward and then the side stand gave in. What a ugly sound. What an ugly sight to see your bike lying on her side like that. Scarred for life maybe, because after purchusing the other bike I definitely don't have money to repair this one. I am really sorry for what I did, it cannot be reversed, not even the huge tub of Trifle pudding made me feel better. I hope one day that we can heal that wound, because she might not be as fast and furious as my new lover, but she is ten times prettier.

Hidden treasures

When a friend from further up north in the country recently paid us a visit, he told us about this beautiful place that he discovered not far from where we usually go on our Sunday breakfast runs. I was a bit disappointed that someone from up country could come down here and tell me of beautiful places that I have not discovered myself, but this is another way of discovering new places I guess. So yesterday morning I took my bike and went looking for this "awesome place" that he described as "a scene from Switzerland."

Somewhere not far from Franschoek is a dam called the Wemmershoek Dam. I searched the Internet to find some information on the dam, but was not really very succesful. All I know is that it was built in 1957 in the Wemmershoek River which is a tributary of the Great Berg River. Finding it on my map was also difficult, but I guess a better map might have worked. I headed towards Franshoek and eventualy drove past the road leading up to the dam and the waterworks. I made a U-turn at the Drakenstein Prison and was glad that I had the freedom to turn around and try again. I was warned by my friend that a permit was needed to get in, but he was allowed in to have a look and I was hoping I could do the same. At the gate a friendly gentleman was telling me exactly that. The problem with obtaining the permit of R9-00 is that it can only be obtained during office hours at the Paarl Municipality. This means that you have to plan your trip to the dam a day or two in advance, not wake up Saturday morning and decide to spend a nice day at the dam. The friendly gentleman at the gate told me that I was welcome to drive in and have a look. On my way to the dam wall I past a sign saying "Picnic Area", but I did not see anyone around. I stopped at the dam wall and took a few pictures. It did give some sort of impression of Switzerland, but I was not totally convinced. The dam was completely deserted, not a soul in sight. I drove down to the picnic area which was also deserted. If it takes so much effort to get the permit in Paarl, then I guess it is clear why there weren't any visitors. The picnic area was not very well developed and it looked more like a stop-over point on your way through Africa. Something else that worried me was that the picnic area was downstream from the wall. I am not paranoid, but trying to relax with your back to a 20-storey high wall with millions of tons of water pushing against it does not give me that reasurance that I could sit down and braai without having to worry. But I guess it could be a very nice secluded spot if you want to have a "private" braai there, and it has it advantages, but I cannot even remember seeing ablusion facilities.

I have never seen the dam on a "busy" day, so I cannot really say what it is like and what it has to offer. I read that there are bass in the dam and that it is popular for fishing. What I did like was the fact that it was not well known, that you might still find a spot to go braai in a safe area with not having your neighbour eating his meat from your plate or his child screaming in your ears. But going through the effort of getting a permit in Paarl is just not worth the effort for me.

Mini-Breakfast Run

When I confirmed to John The Salesman that I will be using my new 800GS for commuting, I could see the disappointment on his face. He was probably thinking that it would be the same as your wife using your Z6 convertable to drop the kids at school every day. I don't blame him, why would one buy a Landrover Discovery to fetch bread and milk at the corner shop every day, or a GS to go to work with? Anyway, I was thinking that maybe I could take the scenic route to work every day, maybe this will make John feel better, so this is what I did this morning....

I live about 8 km from work, all through concrete jungle and hectic traffic. But I also live close to the nicest backroads and cross country roads. So this morning I decided that I will include a little mini-breakfast run on my way to work. I left home at around 7 and headed the opposite way towards Melkbostrand. I had all the morning peak traffic coming from the front, so I had an open road all to myself. At Melkbos I turned right towards the N7. On the N7 I headed towards Malmesbury. About 30 kms from Malmesbury is the Swartland Engine 1-Stop. I've never stopped there before, the place out there in the middle of nowhere always looked too deserted. When I saw the Wimpy sign I thought this could be the place to have my breakfast. I am a big fan of Wimpy breakfasts, so deserted or not, at least I knew what to expect on my plate. Boy was I surprized when I entered the Wimpy and found that the whole farming community goes there for early coffees and morning chit-chats. Rodwin the Waiter in true Wimpy style offered me the menu and I had something small to get the digestive system going. It was a breakfast run after all. And then of course my favourite Wimpy coffee, or milky coffee as my dad prefers to call it. I watched the people going in and out and realized that this must be a regular hang-out spot for many farmers and businessmen. They seemed to know every one in the way they greeted each other. I felt a bit like an intruder, but then again that mysterious biker image I so much love was starting to appear. I was hoping for someone to come up to me and say "And where are you from Stranger?", but I guess my Cape Town number plate ruined that moment for me. This might happen 800km further down the road somewhere in the Karoo maybe.

From the 1-Stop I headed for the Durbanville back roads, through a small farming settlement called Philladelphia and down Adderley Road onto the Malanshoogtepad. There I met my first gravel road ever. What an amazing feeling. This is why I bought the GS, to explore the dirt roads of Southern Africa and here it was lying in front of me. Sadly my pleasure ended very quickly when I discovered that the dirt road was just a small section of the Malanshoogtepad, but the twisties that awaited me further down the road made up for the disappointment. I then hit the Contermanskloof Road who is not shy with its twisties either. Here I started picking up morning traffic but on a bike, who cares? I just had an awesome ride to work this morning, and I still arrived before most of my colleagues. When I took it out from my topbox, I saw that the chicken salad my wife neatly packed for me for lunch was already mixed thoroughly, so that saves me some extra effort over lunch. But all-in-all I think John would be proud of me. I wonder where I will have breakfast tomorrow?

Calmness within

A couple of years ago I read a book by Steven Kotler called The West of Jesus - Surfing, Science and the Origins of Belief. Steven was an ex-surfer (if you can call a surfer 'ex' when he stopped surfing for a while) who suffered from Lyme disease. He spend nearly two years in bed and with his illness just got weaker and weaker to such a point that doctors did not give him much time to live. As he says, he lost everything: his health, his job, his girl, and, he was beginning to suspect, his mind. Then one day a friend reintroduced him to surfing. He took his board and headed for the waves once more, as weak as he was at that point. He got hooked again and miraculously after a while he got stronger and eventually beat the struggle against this life threatening disease. In this book he tells about his three-year globe-trotting quest to find out what believe really is. He was wondering that if there was nothing to believe in anymore, can something as unlikely as surfing be something to believe in? The answer to his quest unfortunately cannot be answered with a yes or a no, like most questions on beliefs. What stood out though, not only from this book but from other authors writing about the capabilities of the mind and religion, it seems that if one finds something that one enjoys so much that it can cure where no doctors or medicine can. I definitely don't want to start writing about the origins of believe and the power of the mind, but when I think back to his book and compare it with what I experienced last night, I have to admit that I might be convinced that there might be some truth in the healing powers of surfing.

Yesterday afternoon after work I headed for the beach as usual. Yet another perfect day in Cape Town, no wind, quite warm and spectacularly beautiful. I saw a couple of surfers in the water and immediately went back home to fetch my board. The waves were small compared to what most surfer's would call a "respectable wave", but there was something unexplainable in the air and in the water. The sky was blue and the water was crystal clear and warm. Something the Atlantic side surfers cannot brag about often. There were about 70 surfers spread out from the KFC all the way down to Doodles, each one enjoying his own little "private spot". I sat in the water, caught a couple of nice melow rides and experienced what I think changed Steven's life. Unfortunately the feeling or the serenity could not be captured in a picture, but the calmness I experienced while enjoying the sound of waves breaking, hearing guys expressing their pleasure after each wave and the sun that was going down at the same time made me realized yet again how something as simple as surfing could clean out your head and your heart in a single beat. After nearly two hours in the water with the sun already down at the ocean's bottom it suddenly as if someone had switched of the wave making machine. The clouds moved in and everything went flat, the water became glassy and it felt as if I have just had the longest purest meditation session ever. I took my last wave to go out very reluctantly, but I sat down on the beach for an extra couple of minutes just to make sure that the euphoria soaked  completely into my body and soul. It is moments like this that cannot be explained to people who have never experienced that. Maybe if we all could get a taste of this at least once in our lives we could all turn into more calmed and peace loving human beings who not only appreciates the beauty of our surroundings more, but also allow ourselves to believe that there is something more powerful and greater out there than what meets the eye.

The GS has landed

Ok, so I got it. My GS was ready for collection and my nerves were shot. I went to the BWM Motorad showroom to do the final paperwork and to pick up my bike. While John the Salesman was handing over the bike and explaining what the different buttons were, all I could think was how am I going to drive this expensive piece of machinery back home in Cape Town's horrendous traffic? I remember the day I brought my first-born home from the hospital. It felt like all the trucks, trees and lamppost were coming at me. It was like driving on eggs to be honest, too scared that my son might get hurt on our way home. Today was not different. When I went past the roadworks on the N1 I saw the sign flashing "Speed Kills. Please Go Slow". I knew that message was not directed at me because I was already holding up the traffic behind me which were cruising at less than 60 km/h through the bends and road signs.

Compared to my old bike everything was different, from the starter to the indicator lights. At one point I realized the confusion I must have been causing when I discovered that I have two indicator switches and a third to turn it off. Thinking back now I believe John did mention it to me. The throttle was sensitive and the brakes sharp, making be look like a kid on a rocking horse while I was trying to get the hang of it. I cannot remember exactly which road I took to get back to the office, but it was definitely the one with the most traffic. Or so it felt. When I stopped at work I realized with a bike this size (compared to my previous one) you have to know exactly where you want to park, there is no chance of pushing it around until you are happy with the spot. My feet barely touches the ground. Once I stopped I took what felt like my first breath since I left the showroom. I had another problem when I discovered that I was not sure if I could just switch it off or if it had a procedure to follow to kill the engine. And then off course getting down from a bike twice the size of my previous one is a skill mastered only after a couple of demounts. The black topbox and being stiff from a recent squash game did not make it any easier.

Anyway, my first trip was good, it reminded me a lot of my first bungi jump and skydive. The nerves were calmed down after I managed to put my feet back on Mother Earth again. It was not long after that I realized I had something else to do before I go home. Last year I came home all excited with my new kite board and said to my son "Look what Daddy bought himself". He replied with "Where is mine Daddy"? I know a two-year old is a bit young to have his own kite board, but the disappointment in that little voice and face I will never forget. So to prevent this from happening again I had to go out to find him small toy so that he does not feel left out. (As if this is going to make up for spending all his college money on my own personal gratification). Maybe a little bike similar to Daddy's will help.

My second trip went much better than the first one. I couldn't find the toy I wanted though but now I have an excuse to ride again. Finding excuses to ride, I think that would be the pattern from now on. Although I guess you cannot compare a cruiser with an on/off road motorcycle I am sure I made the right choice. I still have to get used to the upright seating position because I keep putting my feet on the front footrests which are not there anymore. It makes me look a bit stupid but fortunately no-one could see my face under the full face helmit. The helmit by the way also kept the bugs out of my teeth. With all these summer bugs flying around the smile was just too big for an open face helmit. But my biggests challenge still lies ahead...which bike is sleeping outside tonight? Or might it just be my wife's car....?

Well, I hope from now on that I will have more things to blog on, many trips and happy returns wherever I go. I will not attempt Africa right now, but be sure my family is not going to see much of me over the coming weekend.

Happiness is...

They say that men don't grow older, it is just the price of their toys that gets bigger. After discussing the fact that our wives don't understand the reason behind spending money on "toys", a friend of mine replied with: "The guy who dies with the most toys WINS!" Period. I love that. Honestly I won't mind leaving this world as the winner then...

I read in the newspaper the other day that a study was done at the San Fransisco State University that claims that money does not bring happiness. Or rather, money does bring happiness, but only if it is spent on experiences rather than possessions. I looked on the Internet and found more information on the topic, but my first reaction when I read it was "No shit, you must be kidding me. They only discovered this now?" I knew this fact long before they even thought of doing research on it and I could've had my doctoral thesis by now had I put my wisdom on paper. Anyway, I see the study extended over a period of 35 years. You want to tell me it took them THAT long to reach this conclusion?

So to get back to my toys and how it ties in with happiness. Since I got my first pay cheque I always said that I am working to DO things, not to HAVE things. The money I earn is also usually spent on experiences rather than stuff. When it is spent on possessions then it is on things that I need in order to be able to have these experiences, like a surfboard to be able to surf, or a bike to be able to travel through Africa. But this is not the same as buying a painting or expensive jewelery. Mine are toys, but the latter is classified as possessions which apparently does not make anyone very happy in the end.

Anyway, to get to the point. I have made another purchase to ensure another unforgettable experience. I think this one will take me past nirvana. I have always had this dream of riding through Africa on a bike. I don't think I will ever get the opportunity to go right through, but I have told a friend of mine that to reach a dream you have to take small steps at a time. I cannot give an exact number on how many steps I have taken towards this dream already - quite a few to be honest - but I am certainly yet another step closer. How many steps remain is also not clear either, but I will never stop dreaming. And I will never stop doing. So let me introduce you to my new toy. The BMW F800GS, built for Africa. Unfortunately I will have to get rid of my old bike in order to pay for this one, so my tally on toys (despite the cost of the new one) will remain the same as well as my ranking on the winner's list. But I am adding onto my experiences, and if we can believe anything on what the study that took 35 years to complete says, then I'm definitely going to be a much happier person from now on. So here's to all the new people I am going to meet, the interesting places I am going to see and the experiences waiting out there. I hope to see you on the road soon....

The White Squaw

I never did much reading when I was young. I always believed there was something better to do than lying on a couch with a book in my hand. I think the only book I voluntarily read from start to finish before I left school was the Bible in fact. This took me four years to complete. Then there was of course the books that I was forced to read in order to hand in my quarterly book reviews. One particular book I remember from school was called The White Squaw. The reason I remember this one so well was because it landed me in the headmaster’s office. I cannot remember the plot so well but my English teacher didn’t think it was good English literature and I wasn’t going to read another one just to please her. What the woman didn’t realize at that point was that no matter what the adult rating of the book was it did teach me a couple of new English words like moist, shaft and loins, to name only but a few. It was also my first introduction into interracial relationships and in South Africa that was a big taboo then. I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about and today I realize I was actually light-years ahead of my classmates and English teacher. It is only now later in life that I see the real benefits of reading. I do not only learn new words every time I open a book, but I also learn a lot about other topics. One topic I particularly show interest in is stories on people and their views on life. Fiction? Never in my life…I still believe there are better things to do than to waste time on fiction. For that I have a DVD player and a big screen.

I just finished a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called Eat, Pray, Love. Although it is supposed to be a "girlie" book I started reading it and actually finished it in about 5 days. What caught my interest was her style of writing and specifically how she has the ability to describe things and events in such a way that everyone could relate to them. “With those giant brown liquid-center Italian eyes..” I also realized that she knows a lot of English words that I didn’t even know exist, “fervent”, “imbibed”, “maw”. I guess if I had read better English literature at school I might have picked up on these words a long time ago. Admittedly I never had the opportunity to use moist, shaft or loins in any of my posts yet. Another thing I realized not only from this book, but also from the couple of post that I have done so far, is how observant one has to be when writing. Especially when describing situations and scenes. One good thing about this is that it makes you see and experience things in a different way than just plainly doing and seeing it. People, names, time, places, finer detail, all becomes important. The more you look at these things, the more you learn and the more interesting life itself becomes. We get so caught up in our thoughts that we sometimes miss all the finer detail. We go to place, come back and can’t even remember what we saw or heard.

I won’t call myself a writer by a long shot, but what I do know is that reading makes you a better writer. Even if it just makes me see and experience live from a different perspective, then I guess I have achieved something. To my English teacher just the following…if you had encouraged me to read instead of trying to convert me I might’ve been a better writer today. To the white squaw…you might not have taught me a lot about English literature, but you sure got my imagination and creativity going.

Beach Tennis Discovered

I mentioned in one of my previous posts that I need to go back to beach basics, doing things on the beach that actually makes going to the beach more pleasurable than just surfing or kite surfing. This week I had some time to kill on the beach, so I tried the beach tennis for a change. Now as previously mentioned beach tennis used to be very uncool under surfers. This is the stuff the Vaalies (the people from Gauteng that was previously called The Transvaal) did when they came down to Durban for their summer holidays. Fortunately later in my life I dropped this superiority attitiude of me that was merely based on where people decided to spend their lives and adopted the "live and let live" approach. Unfortunately the beach tennis stayed uncool....until this week.

So, first of all you need a beach tennis set. My wife bought this set for my son at The Crazy Store for something like 25 Rands. I am sure you get better quality bats, but this one is OK for beginners. The neon pink ball looks a bit 80's but does the job well. At least it is visible against the blue backdrop of the sea. It does become a problem when your partner, or is it opponent, is using the printed side of the bat when hitting. The ball seems to disappear for a while and it makes it difficult to predict its trajectory once the ball is hit. I guess the only other thing you need is sunblock and a reasonably skilled partner.

I guess this is the second reason why beach tennis never became big in our family. "A reasonably skilled partner". Although I have some ability to hit a squash ball right in the middle of the racquet and place it where I want it, my wife does not possess any of these talents. As a matter of fact, when asked what type of sports she watches on TV she would immediately say "None, I don't have ball sense at all". Like you need ball sense to watch sports on television. But that gives an indication of how skilled she is when their is a ball involved. What she can do however is cook, and after I told her to see the bat in her hand as someone catching pancakes, she immediately showed considerable improvement.

Now I never thought that beach tennis could be so much fun. Not only is it very good exercise, it also helps with concentration and while you are busy doing it, you get a very even suntan all over. I guess the worst injury that anyone can get from this is sunburn and tennis elbow. After a couple of attempts my wife started hitting pancakes back to me left, right and center, and we had rallies up to a 100 hits before one of us dropped a pancake. At a point she did so well she started talking about our son's progression at school while she was progressing in becoming the best beach tennis player I have ever played with. I don't know where this beach tennis is taking her, but next week we both start working again, so I guess the bats will be put away until the next time that we go to the beach....which could be as soon as next weekend. Anyone else interested in some beach tennis...?

Back to the beach basics

I remember at school we always told this joke. We used to ask someone if they had known that there was a lady of 85 living in Durban and who has never seen the sea. Obviously no-one would believe that and would say "no way" to which we would reply.."yes, she was blind". A bit of an insensitive joke, but we were kids and what better did we know. Anyway, she had a reason for never seeing the sea, but I guess there are people living by the sea who never put their feet on the sand, let alone in the water. I know living by the sea does not mean you have to be on the beach every day...or even like the sea for that matter, but I feel that if you have the priviledge of living by the sea then at least you could go and sit at the beach every now and then and just appreciate the beauty of it. I try to go to the beach every single day, even if I just drive past to see what the waves are doing. Today I actually realized even though I live by the sea, go to the sea every day and named my blog after the sea, that I have forgotten what it's like to do the activities that some people usually associates with beach holidays.

This morning after another lovely Carlucci's breakfast I headed for the beach to go surf. My wife, son and his granny were already there. Yes, after my last cold water surfing experience I decided that today is the day to get back on the proverbial horse and to face the cold water again. Armed with a wetsuit and lots of enthusiasm I had one of my best surf sessions in months. I was really stoked. But you see, this is usually where I end my "beach activities". Today was different. Instead of going home I joined my family where they were lying on the sand and because it was such a  beautiful day I decided to stay for a while. My wife bought a beach tennis set for my son and like real holiday makers we played for nearly an hour. With my wife's limited ball sense beach tennis has never been big in our family, and besides, beach tennis had always been considered to be uncool by surfers. Rather play touch rugby if you really want to run around with a ball on the beach. I also realized today that I never swim in the sea anymore. I mean like doing real "body surfing" swimming, not standing in the water up to the waist and then calling it swimming. In Durban and Mossel Bay I used to body surf for hours, until my body felt like I've had the best chinese massage ever. Ok, I have to admit that the water is bloody cold here and body surfing with no wetsuit is not what I call fun anymore, but I miss that feeling of going down the face of the wave with no board underneath you only to be smashed when the wave breaks on your back. What a feeling! And spending time on the beach, like sun tanning, building sand castles, sitting under an umbrella and eating expensive ice creams from the local ice cream vendor who is selling his ice cream for double the price, is something I hardly do anymore. All these things I have lost along the way.

So next week I am planning a full day on the beach, to do all these things I never do anymore. I want to come home all wasted with sand everywhere. I want to do it the way the holiday makers do it. For the body surfing...well...that will have to wait until I reach a place with warmer water. So a trip later this year to Durban is not excluded.

Build a pergola the African way

I have this problem with a pool that is not fenced off, and no matter who comes to visit, it seems to be the attraction in the garden every kid loves. I do have a safety net on the pool, but I also have an adjacent fish pond which is not covered. The biggest problem with the pool and pond however is the little stones lying around the pond. My son knows that stones should not be thrown into the pool, but usually my friend's children are not that well educated. Hahaha, no hard feelings guys. Anyway, I decided that I need to build some sort of barrier to keep children away from my pond, so I decided a little picket fence and a pergola the African way is the way to go. I won't call myself a skilled carpenter, but I know how to hold a hand saw so this how you do it.

So what is a pergola the African way? Nothing much really, it just means that there were no plans, no design and the whole contraption was build with one saw, a couple of nails and a lot of enthusiasm. Ok, I did use a grinder and a sander as well, but everything was very basic. I only had one right hand man in the shape of my dad and also my son who tried to help but usually just carried my tools away. I started at 7am and had the whole thing finished at around 6pm. I still have to do the gate otherwise the whole exercise would not be worth the effort, but I ran out of material...and time. At least most of the hard work has been done.

I can't really tell you exactly how much material I used, I can't remember to be honest. All I know is that the wood is treated with CCA (chromated copper arsenate) which is a water-borne preservative that protects the wood for at least 30 years. Or so I was told. The picked fence I bought in lenghts of 1800 mm. Everything was rough timber. Not only is it cheaper than "machined" wood, but it has a rustic look which suits the African look. The nice thing about this pergola is that it will hopefully one day be covered with some creeper. This will hide all the mistakes. But there weren't really many. It is rustic after all. Everything was concreted into the ground to make it a bit more sturdy..and to last at least 30 years. All I have to do now is the gate and then paint it with some wood protector to protect it against the African sun.

Do you wipe your arse..?

A friend of mine recently told me she likes my posts where I am speaking from the heart more than the opiniated ones. Aren't opinions also coming from the heart I wondered? Anyway, listen to this one and then tell me if it came from the heart or if it is only my opinion.

I was driving home from the beach when this guy in a Volkwagen Golf (CA 86414) opened his window and catapulted a half eaten apple onto the pavement. Now when I see people doing that I feel my blood pressure rise in an instant. I cannot understand when or why some people missed the first lesson in keeping your country clean. I think that lesson came just after the "keeping your arse clean" lesson. What is wrong with a person that he/she will open a window and toss everything out that they do not want inside their car? Is a car the only place that they believe should be kept clean? Because if that is the case, why can't they extend that believe a little further to their surroundings as well? Do they brush their teeth, do they shower or bath, do they wipe their arses when they are done? Then why the hell can't they wait until the next waste bin before they clean their cars out?

Ok, I know an apple is probably biodegradable in a sense, but if it was only half eaten apples then maybe I would calm down a bit, but anything from plastic bags, aluminium cans, everything that should go to a waste bin. Where do these things end up? Who has to clean it up? No wonder the national flower in South Africa is called the Plastic Bag. Dammit man, this country belongs to us all! If you can keep your arse clean, try and keep your country clean as well.

Even this will pass

For the past 20 Christmas holidays I have been going to Mossel Bay with its sunny weather and warm water. This year for various reasons which I'm not going to go into much detail now, I decided to stay in Cape Town for a change. For one I was hoping of eating less and being more active. Despite a couple of good things that have convinced myself that staying at home was a good choice, too many disappointments made me realize that I might've been better off in Mossel Bay. Although most tourists and holiday makers might say that the weather has been gorgeous over the last couple of weeks, I don't think that they really do much kitesurfing or other nature involved sports. Except for sun tanning maybe if that could be called a sport.

So this morning  I got up very early ready to make today the best day of my holiday so far. Had I only known what was waiting I would rather have stayed in bed. After deciding to go for a surf to clear my head and to see if I can lift my spirit I headed for Big Bay to enjoy the reasonable sized waves it had to offer. Clearly in need of some sort of comfort that only surfing can provide I jumped into my wetsuit and headed straight for the waves. When I reached the water I could only utter one word...:"F**k!". No, it was actually two words..."Holy f**k!!" All of a sudden the absensce of surfers in the water and the couple of guys sitting on the beach covered from head to toe with booties, hoodies and 7 mil wetsuits started to make sense. Although the surf livesaving information board indicated the water temperature the day before to be 14 degrees C, I am pretty sure that overnight it dropped with another 3 or 4 degrees. It was freezing cold. And this was it...I just couldn't take it anymore....

I know a quick surf sessions ALWAYS makes me feel better no matter what dilemma I am going through in my life, but this morning I don't think my current state of mind could handle the cold water that well. It's like crawling through a desert and coming into reach of a bottle of Perrier mineral water that was dropped by some passing Arabs on their way to Timbuktu. The only problem is that there is absolute no more energy left to move 5 inches forward to reach a bottle of water that might save your life. You just cannot do it. So there I was, I also just couldn't do it. For the first time in my life I turned around and walked away from what could've saved me this morning. I feel like I have failed miserably. I made a mistake and it feels as if a love affair has been ended..... What I was hoping to be the best day of my vacation turned into probably the worst one ever.

But like my wife always says..."Even this will pass". I am pretty sure that the water will warm up again. I am also sure that my life will go on and that I will do many exciting things again, meeting many intersting people and looking back at this day as a lesson learned. It might be good to try new things, make changes, but when things are working, stick to them. Maybe in a year's time I will be soaring with my paraglider above the dunes near Mossel Bay or will be swimming with the dophins again. Maybe even doing my first trip on my bike into Africa and thinking back at today, the 30th of December 2009, when I realized that there must be more out there than disappointments caused by stupid decisions.

I hope you all have a good 2010, better than what my day was today. I am planning on making 2010 the best year of my life. I'm sticking with the friends, people and things I know that  makes me happy, and will stay clear from those who don't.....

May 2010 be the year to remember!

Weather watching

A friend of mine always said that it is dangerous to view the world from behind a desk. I had a similar experience today, but I was just viewing the weather instead. I get very annoyed when friends tell me about the predicted weather for the day or for the next week. Being an outdoor enthusiast doing things that are 100% weather dependant I am constantly aware of the weather, checking it on TV weather forecasts, on iWeather, on Windguru, Windfinder, SA Weather..you name it and I have been there already. So telling me about the weather is like telling a skydiver that there is something called gravity. I am so good at the weather that I can sit in the comfort of my house and from the sound of the wind coming through my chimney I can tell whether the wind outside is strong enough to go kitesurfing or not. Looking at the trees outside I can even tell the wind direction. Well, so I always thought....

Today I was sitting listening to the wind and was sure that kitesurfing was not an option. Being on vacation and being very bored, I decided to take my car and go down to the beach despite my inhouse weather prediction. I wasn't expecting much so I headed for different spot this time. To my surprise I saw about 50 kites in the air. What a pleasant surprise. I realized yet again that when you want to know what the weather is doing, then you have to go and see for yourself. If you want to know what the surf is doing, go and see for yourself. If you ever miss out because you were too lazy to get up and thought that relying on your lifelong weather predicting expertise will safe you a trip, then know that it might just cost you a fantastic opportunity instead. Viewing the world from behind a desk might be dangerous, but viewing the weather from a distance might even be worse.