View Full Version : Another Novice (4 years ago)

10-07-2008, 09:36 AM

Well, my customized Z650 was finished and it was time to learn how to ride. My friend, Susan’s Z1300 was finished at the same time. Her new buildup bike had been chopped at the back and lowered a bit so that her feet could reach the ground and I thought she was one gutsy lady for not skrikking for such a big scooter. The two of us spent the best part of Sunday riding around the block practicing our pull aways and seeing if we could co-ordinate indicators and stuff. We even managed to wave at each other as we passed.

A few of our club members planned a 5 day trip to Springbok, which is 600 km away, as our maiden voyage in the hopes of turning us girls into biker babes of note. Susan and myself on our new bikes, Chi-Chi rode his Honda CBR1000 and Kyro, my son, in my old pillion spot, and Doctor Koos was on his customized Z1300. Larry, The Silent One (he’s deaf), brought a new friend, Naomi along for company and they traveled by car, towing a trailer in case of breakdowns. We gave Naomi a copy of sign language to help her to communicate with The Silent One but she said there was no time to study the book as she clung on for dear life as Larry floored it all the way. He was a bit miffed cos he had just had a minor eye op and therefore wasn’t allowed to ride his bike for a few weeks. Susan and I were chaffed cos now we had space for luxuries like pillows, vanity cases, 2 huge cooler boxes, sleeping bags for 7, duvets for 7 (for the kamstag cold weather), extra shoes and toiletries, a toolbag, a braai grid and 2 huge tupperwares full of rusks. We were equipped for a month long holiday to the north pole and back.

We had all agreed that if we got as far as Malmesbury so be it. No pressure. Yeah right. Tuesday morning, sparrowfart we were up. I spent my first 3 waking hours running to the loo but nothing could calm my churning stomach.

Day One - 160 km

Eventually we were off. We hit the N7 and a big yellow bug splattered on my visor. I had been initiated - yahoo!! We traveled a whole 60 km / hr all the way to Malmesbury. It took us nearly 2 hours to travel the 30 km’s as we had to make loads of stops cos Susan’s bike kept cutting out from a fuel starvation and my bike was spitting oil all over my shoe. Susan and I looked like ducks treading water when we pulled away from stop streets and robots. At Roses restaurant I nibbled at brunch – what with my tummy still churning an all – but I noticed the guys emptied their “stress bottle” skelmpies with their coffee. The road beckoned and we were off to Piketburg. We did the 60 k’s a little quicker to Piketburg Hotel and stopped for a wettie and a bit of bike maintenance. Susan decided to park her bike sideways while the doctor wrapped a cloth under the sump on my bike to catch up some of the oil that was leaking out. Hubby and Kyro thrashed out Old Lang Sian and chopsticks on the hotel piano. Then we were off. We stopped at Kardoesie restaurant on top of the pass and everyone admired the view while I wrung out the oil from my sock. I was allowed my first beer at this stage which went down really well as the weather was surprisingly hot for that time of the year. Back on the bikes and off to Citrusdal. By now we were doing speeds of 120 - 130 km / hr and had traveled the 45 kmto the Citrusdal Hotel in a jiffy. Going past a truck was old hat by now. Grip down, elbows and knees tucked in and you just whoosh past. The concentration of keeping my eyes glued to the tar as I raced along was very tiring. I peered ahead, not looking left or right in case of roadkill or rocks or potholes and all I saw was black tar rushing by. Consequently, I missed all the scenery.

From Citrusdal to Gheko Packpackers it was a whole 22kmand by late afternoon we had reached our first overnight stop and were ready to party. The dirt road up to the backpackers was potholed, steep and twisty and took some negotiation but I made it safely. Peter, the backpackers host, took photos of our bikes and welcomed us bikers with great gusto. He got a roaring bonfire going, we braaied, kuiered and he served us Springbokkies on the house. I felt the need to reciprocate his hospitality so I promptly warmed up my bike and attempted to do cut-outs. I say attempted, cos by now even though I felt like an old biker the guys still had may tricks to show me. Some things would have to come later. Before 10 o clock we were all sound asleep in our dorm. I think the days traveling or was it the Springbokkies and Elephants (our clubs traditional drink – recipe to follow) had caught up with us.

Day 2 225 km

Next morning we all sounded wheezy and croaky but luckily Gheko Packpackers is situated on a citrus farm in the most beautiful surroundings so there was no lack of Vitamin C. We faced daybreak with bottomless coffee and kumquats. Chi Chi cooked us a yummy breakfast, we promised to see Peter on our way back especially since he promised us a “surprise” on our return, and off we went to Clanwilliam. We traveled the 35 km to Clanwilliam hotel in a jiffy and enjoyed their delicious orange juice. Another 100 km on to Klawer and thru to Vredendal.

Chi Chi wanted to go to Lutsville to try their sweet wine which they are famous for. We had to take a 40 km detour along a dirt road. Riding in the dongas created by the grader was too scary for me so I jumped in the car and watched the sand skim off my footpegs as Larry rode my bike thru. We bought a variety of wines at the Cellars but had no packing space in the cooler box but we solved the problem by eating food and drinking beers.

Back on a new road again. 50 km on a tarred one this time thru Vredendal and on to Van Rhynsdorp where we booked into the caravan park at Van Rhynsdorp which offered cosy rooms and a lekker lapa for braaing. After laming out and getting a moerse fire going, we needed to give my bike’s sump a good clean and covered it with red gasket sealer. We still couldn’t find the dam leak. We braaied had a few elephants and a few woffies (recipe to follow) and once again we were all crashed out by 10 o clock.

Day 3 - 285 km

Next morning Chi Chi lubed our chains and checked my oil leak. Still there. A quick breakfast and a handful of kumquats and we were loaded up for the next stretch. We stopped at the General Dealer at Nuwerus and enquired about the town. Big joke – we were in the heart of the town, and the locals said Bitterfontein, the neighbouring dorp, was a bit too fast moving for them. We tied another lappie onto the sump – yes it was still dripping and pushed on 85 kmto Bitterfontein. The wind was slicing strongly from the side and I found myself lying on my tank as I raced along at a 45 degree angle. I was sure I could give the guys at the track a run for their money. I started looking and feeling like a true biker. We arrived at Bitterfontein and made a beeline for the hotel. My bike was spluttering a bit so the doctor filed away at the points. The locals thought he was flame skerp. We were also told that Bitterfontein was not a town but actually a big farm and they were pretty proud of the new door fitted at the mine. We downed a cold brewsky, munched on a couple of kumquats and revved the bikes on to Garies where we showed the bar lady at Garies Hotel how to make Springbokkies and Elephants.

We pushed on a further 50 kmto Kamieskroom and rested our weary limbs at the local hotel for a spell. The German owner gave us a very interesting tour of the old museum and a bit of history of the town and its surrounding mountains. From Kamieskroom to Springbok was another 70 kmbut the km flew by as I realized I was reaching my goal. We passed a sign that said Springbok 40 km and a grin appeared on my face. 20 km later I still couldn’t stop grinning and Yahooed at the top of my voice. We had arrived. We headed for the nearest pub for a Springbokkie since we were in Springbok and as luck would have it found ourselves at Susan’s friend’s restaurant. A few springbokkies later we realized we urgently needed to go back and moon the sign. That night at Leons restaurant we kuiered on good food and his bottle of Jurgemeester. We were staying at his guesthouse in Nababiep and the guys crashed early and drove back in Larrys car while we partied on with Leon. He took us to a couple of pubs in town until the night caught up with us as well. Next morning Leon extended even more Namaqua hospitality and organized a breakfast braai. Those guys up in Springbok are not shy when it comes to expressing themselves and don’t beat around the bush. We nursed our headaches, sampled his jonkmans liqueur (recipe to follow) and before you could say “o fok” breakfast had turned into lunch. Tummy’s full, the car packed up once again, and it was time to make the long journey back home. We made a quick stop at Springboks butcher so Chi-Chi could buy an afal and we rearranged the coolerbox to squeeze it in. We zoomed thru Kamieskroom and headed straight for Garies Hotel where Susan negotiated good rates to stay the night. It was late afternoon, hot as hell so a braai at the local caravan park under some thorn trees went down well. We were careful not to linger under the trees since they were covered in worms the size of sausages.

The next day our friend Arno rode up from Cape Town and arranged to meet us at Clanwilliam around lunchtime so we pushed all the way through. We made a pitstop along the way and snacked on some energy bars which had somehow got packed in the same packet as the chain lube. Now I even tasted like a pukker biker. We arrived at the hotel soon after Arno and I couldn’t wait to tell him what a pro biker I had become. Peter at Ghekos was expecting us, and had Metallica pumping down the valley just for us. What a welcome. We relaxed around the fire, braaied and did the elephant thing. That night we discovered some African drums and thrashed out our own rendition of kwela. Larry joined in, picking up his own beat and guess what, our rhythm was just as good as his. I think we frightened the bus load of travelers but they took fotos when we did the cut out thing again. Peter brought us his “surprises” which were hollowed out oranges filled with a different cocktail concoction in each one. Absolutely yummy! We pooped out early once again. Next morning after the lekker brekkies that Chi Chi made us with all the left over goodies we were on our way again. We hit our first chilly weather that morning on our way to Citrusdal. There we hooked up with our friend Dawie who came through to do the last stretch with us. We pushed on to Piketburg and then to Mooreesburg. I was feeling a bit sad now that the holiday was coming to an end. We stopped in Malmesbury for a beer and a rest before doing the last stretch to Killarney. We looked a bit tired and dusty by the time we arrived but I still managed to swagger in. I was a regte egte pakke biker babe of note and no-one dared tell me otherwise.



1 Bottle Red Heart Rum
A whole bunch of lemon slices sprinkled with loads of sugar.
Pour rum shooters, knock back and bite down on lemon slice.
Proceed till bottle empty.


1 regular cup of coffee
1 shot of whiskey to top up cup. Shot size depends on whoever is pouring.
Stirr well and sip.

Jonkmans Liqueur:

1 bottle brandy.
1 packet prunes.
Have a few glugs of brandy. Empty prunes into brandy bottle. Leave to mature for as long as possible. If you can’t last longer than a month, start all over again. Pour into shooter glasses each with a piece of prune and knock back.


If you don’t know how to make these you shouldn’t be reading this or alternatively you must be a foreigner and need to visit SA for braaivleis, rugby, sunny skies and springbokkies.

10-07-2008, 09:44 AM
Oi well done :headbang::headbang:

That must have been a blast:wink:

Thanks for posting and sharing the memories

It would seem it was more than a biking initiation run:evil4:

10-07-2008, 09:56 AM
thanx - hehehehe - like i sed - we were more ruff and ready then.

10-07-2008, 10:02 AM
CT - Kuruman round trip 26/12/07 - 4/01/08 on a Honda CBR1000 and a Ninja 750 - 2 600 km (Sorry - no pix)

Our planned trip to Kuruman became a reality 2 weeks before Xmas – the day Theo’s leave was finally approved. Until then I’d crossed my fingers, waiting and hoping and we suddenly found ourselves rushing around making checklists and consulting maps and realized we needed to get hold of and fit a top box onto Theo’s bike in a hurry. 20 Years ago we would have grabbed a clean set of underwear and set off into the sunset but these days sensibility, or was it senility, took over (oddly, the rest of my family still think we fly by the seat of our pants). We grabbed the magnifying glass and rushed into the spare room to plot our route on the wall map. We are not at the geriatric stage yet but it was the only map we could find after turning the house upside down, but anyway the road from Cape Town to Kuruman looked more exciting stretched across the spare room wall. More importantly there’s a fridge with cold beers in the spare room. Our antiquated map didn’t indicate whether roads were dirt or tar, which poses a problem if you’re on road bikes. I wondered if places like Grikquastad still existed or whether they had camping places preferably with a pool and or shady trees. I scanned the internet and made a few phone calls to Theo’s brother, Herman, who lived in Kuruman and who was the cause of our mad decision to go there in the middle of December in the first place. We were expecting extreme heat but when we found out that the temperature at night was 350C (great, leave the sleeping bags behind I thought) and combined with the fact that sites on the net advised against drinking beer but rather lots of water in case of dehydration. I started wondering if perhaps a trip to the Northern Cape in December in leathers was a good idea. Oh well, it was too late to go to Knysna and I wasn’t into all those tourists anyway.

2 Days before Xmas our friend invited us on a breakfast run and I almost turned him down just in case something happened to the bikes. You never know, anything could go wrong. We went anyway and I took it easy. Well, except the last bit on our way back when some dude in a bakkie wanted to dice me down Durban Road. Hmpf. Xmas day arrived and we spent it with the fandamily which was lovely except for one minor mishap. I slipped on the kitchen floor and broke my fall on a chair and cracked a rib. Just frigging great! That’s what you get for boding ill fortune. The pain got worse as the day wore on. The bikes were packed for a early departure next morning but I could barely roll out of bed on the 26th. Theo laughed and offered to send me fotos. Oh well, no pain no gain.

Riding my bike was actually ok so long as I avoided potholes and bumps. Hit a massive swarm of flies outside Durbanville and I was happy I didn’t ride a cruiser with a bandana separating my face and fly paste. Stopped in Citrusdal for water and I couldn’t resist a cold beer. Thru Niewoudsville and on to Calvinia making a total of 480 km the first day. Good going. We camped at a nice small place (backyard of a B&B actually and 1 000 times better than the dried up sandy municipal park) and we were the only people there so no one heard my moans and groans each time I got up and down from the blow up mattress. My cracked rib had stiffened up so we had a good few whiskeys to loosen things up. Next morning we visited the museum. Theo couldn’t understand why the stuffed sheep on display had much bigger heads than any he’d ever bought in CT for making aval. He double checked the space situation in the top box. Yeah right. We left, his pockets bulging with Calvinia droe wors but given half a chance he would have wedged a sheep’s head under his arm. 182 km later we stopped at Brandvlei at Die Windpomp for brunch and to fill up. The place was owned by some famous SA musician who goes by the name of someone Windpomp. The walls were signed by loads of bikers passing thru to rallies and it was clear the place came alive at night. I wondered how far the people out there had to travel for a jol, but evidence showed it was worth it.

Traveling further we spotted the strangest bird nests draped over telephone poles. They looked like haystacks up in the air with whole flocks of birds living inside them. 150 km further we reached Kenhardt making it a total of 332 km traveled the 2nd day. By searching the net I had seen pix of the hotel in Kenhardt and heard the owner was a biker so we were keen to stop for a cold beer. We got chatting to Eaton, the owner, who offered us extremely good biker friendly rates and a air conditioned room sounded pretty attractive. We changed into cooler clothes, walked thru the lazy town, sweating and picking up semi precious stones embedded in the sandy pavements. Theo wanted to move there cos he reckoned the gardens were up his alley - not a blade of grass in site, just sand and the people seemed to siesta in the afternoons, another big plus for him. That evening we kuiered with Eaton and Suzette and became friends. They are the kind of people who you can’t not become friends with. He showed us a project which was close to his heart, a Chevy bakkie which he had restored, sprayed burnt orange and pimped up. Awesome. The thing tilted and rocked as it idled in the back skuur like a fiery bull waiting to break free. We braaied on the back stoep of the hotel and drank lots and lots of rum and coke until Eaton decided he was gonna ride a bit of the way with us next morning. We were up early, Eaton on his R1, and the 3 of us rode the 250km thru Keimoes, turned down to ***amas for petrol and on to Augrabies Falls. The falls weren’t at their best, according to awesome pictures on display, and the place is a bit touristy but offered cold beers and at least now I can say I’ve been there. Then we headed back to Keimoes, where we relaxed at a nice spot with more cold beer before parting our ways. Eatons addy is kenhardt.hotel@lantic.net (kenhardt.hotel@lantic.net) and offers good hospitality and the best biker friendly rates I’ve ever come across.

We headed on to Upington where we met up with Herman, filled up and drank gallons of water. Traveling in the heat had not been bad at all so far. The problem is when you stop and get off or negotiate thru slow moving traffic and stop go situations soon has the sweat running down your back and into your eyes but on the open road we traveled at speeds of 160 – 170km and stayed cool. Even though the roads were so straight you could see into tomorrow, it still required concentration cos the heat made the road shimmer ahead and oncoming cars became a blur making overtaking dicey, especially when you’re tired. We flew thru to Olifanstshoek, stopped for petrol and gallons more water and finally reached Kuruman. We had traveled 560 km that day. My body was sore and tired and I needed to strip out of my sweaty clothes and crack open a cool beer.

The countryside so far had varied a little here and there but mostly consisted of sand and low bush, except around Keimoes which was covered with vineyards, much to my surprise. Kuruman is like a oasis in the middle of the dessert. Huge, lush, cool gardens surround massive properties and house designs are varied with some mansions thrown in. The sand is red and the roads are wide and a peacefulness rests over the town. I saw no poverty, beggers or litter. Over the next few days, Herman took us sight seeing in his air conditioned car, and we all relaxed in their cool garden around a fire in the evenings. Theo, keen to try local food ate Dumpies, a traditional thing the Tswana’s make. It’s a moer of a big dumpling (more like a whole steamed bread) which gets cooked in the potjiekos pot and steams above the meat soaking up the pots flavours. Costs R5 for a slice served with gravy and tastes lekker. We visited the Wonder Caves. Overseas archeologists have determined (and are still currently excavating) from the layers of stone that the cave is 3 million years old and the bushman paintings and other artifacts show evidence of man living in the caves dating back to 850 000 years ago, making it the oldest inhabited caves in the world. We visited Donkergat Baai, a naturally made hole in the ground which is 24 km deep. On route we drove thru a game farm with loads of game from Kudu to Springbok. We visited Kathu, a mining town, also an oasis in the middle of nowhere. Herman told us the men all work in the mines while the women run the business’ in town. The sand is even redder and the gardens even more lush and cool and you succumb to the tranquility. We rode past the red sishen iron ore mines and stopped to pick up bits of tiger eye and iron ore rocks lying around next to the side of the road. On the roads we passed a few Kalahari Ferarri’s, that’s what they call the donkey carts which some people still use for transport. We rode past the Tswana townships which Herman explained was run by a chief. The people start their homes by asking the chief for permission to own a piece of land and then they build a shack. As soon is as possible the shack is upgraded to a brick house (often home made bricks). As the family can afford it, they continually build on and upgrade and quickly their home is transformed to a really nice house in a lovely neighborhood and the people walk tall and proud. When their son is ready to leave home and he is in good stead with the chief, he does the same and so the cycle continues. Everyone seems to be employed and no sign of poverty.

Old year’s came and went and so did another few cases of beer, a bottle of shooters and our first thunderstorm. Hot summer afternoons are often cooled down with a 10 minute down pour or a good thunderstorm with a guaranteed power cut and then everything goes back to normal. That evening we went into town looking for action but found more back home in the garden when the guys let off the crackers and a low flying one had us all running for cover, me clutching my ribs. Mind you I guess I would have done more damage to myself trying to dance on the bar counter in town and loosing my clitoris once again. New years morning everyone took as long as me to get the ol body to co-operate but at least I had an excuse.

Our route going back had changed from the original plan which was supposed to be along the N1 via Kimberly which I’ve never traveled as an adult, but Theo decided it would have been boring and more traffic heading home after the silly season. We settled on going left to Springbok and down the N7, a road we’d traveled 5 years back when I first learnt to ride a bike.

We packed up and mooched around waiting for the heat of the day and our babalas to pass. We collected the Vlak Vark wors (Wild Boar) which Theo had ordered from the butcher down the road. The guy had a off sales, a general dealer and a small butcher rolled into one and after chatting he told us to hang in there cos he was expecting a Vlak Vark any day. We made daily visits to find out if the pig had arrived which was handy since we kept running out of beers and on old years we found him in his shorts, barefoot, sucking on a beer, and ready to make sausage from the pig hanging in the cooler in the backyard. Theo was thrilled and after swapping recipe ideas with the guy he ordered a whole pig and made arrangements for it to be sent to Cape Town. I stopped him before we needed to sell the bike and hire a container truck for the sheep and venison he wanted to buy.

Our first stop back we planned to stay over at Die Eiland in Upington, which everyone recommended and was only 260 km away. We’d heard the temperature there the previous day was 50o C and I wondered what lay ahead. Once back on the road we were eager to ride. Arriving at 4 o clock on New Years day was a bad idea. There were hundreds of people all jam-packed on a piece of lawn and the promised Orange River seemed fenced off. We decided to push on to Keimoes traveling 350 km for the day. We stayed at Kalahari Waters, which cost a whole R80 / person, a really cool place – more rustic you don’t get. Good choice unless you’re bang of creepy crawlies. Only problem was 2km dirt road to get there and another 2,5km to the river bush camp where we passed a 3 foot likkewaan dashing across the road. The section of corrugated road vibrated things including my rib, and the soft sand dip had me ***ing in my pants but once we arrived at the bush camp it was worth it even though I dropped my bike the morning we left when I stupidly grabbed the front brakes and the bike slid out under me - no damage except a scratched fairing. There are 4 basic bamboo houses each with their own wooden furnished stoep and braai, and a communal kitchen, ablutions, and a lapa. We arrived hot and tired, the sun was setting and we didn’t have anything cold to drink. All we had was 2 packets of Vlak Vark wors squeezed into the top box, fortunately nothing looked me in the eye each time I got the sunblock out. We’d stopped in town for a packet of smash and some cheese bread thingies which I wedged down the front of my jacket. The liter of milk which Theo had wedged down his jacket got polished off at the camp office already.

We oohed and aahed at the cute bamboo house (a glorified tent with beds) and stuck the supplied gerrie can of luke warm water (marked “do not drink” but which the oomie at the office sed they grew up on) into the gas freezer in the communal kitchen. We chilled on the stoep, drinking slightly brak luke warm water with the Orange River in front of us and listened to the sounds of nature around us while we braaied the wors. It tasted yummy but Theo being a **** hot sausage maker himself was hoping for something more gamey and less coriandery. The only bummer about the place is the 2 houses facing the river are very close to each other and our neighbours seemed odd but we crashed out early and were lulled to sleep by the sound of their African drum which they beat in a ritual type of rhythm making me hope they weren’t planning to cook us in a big pot but was too tired to care. Something tickling my toe woke me up in the middle of the night but I soon drifted off again.

Next morning our potential cannibal Sandton slicker neighbours packed up and we had the whole place to ourselves. We couldn’t resist staying another day to enjoy the river and to explore. A troop of Blou Aapies (Fervit monkeys) came down from the tress above the river to eat and watch us. Some of the night time noises made sense now. We checked inside the freezer and found a pack of meat, cooldrink, a lettuce and six beers. What a luck! Theo sed we must have done something right and it was karma coming back. Alternatively if the water we’d been drinking the night before gave us gippo guts then maybe we did something wrong. So we got stuck into the beers hoping no-one other than karma did come back for their stuff and wondered what we were gonna do about the fact that the loo paper was finished. After exploring the whole area we sat in the river where it turned out my toes were a sought after delicacy for the fish, or something or other kept sucking on them giving me the hebie jebies. Later that afternoon we rode one bike into town to stock up on more beers and food for breakfast and returned to laze in the river and braai again. We left early next morning, eager to be on the bikes again. That’s when I dropped my bike in the sand, luckily not landing on my cracked rib side, but didn’t wanna linger long enough to stew over the scratched fairing. We stopped at Pofadder for coffee and Skeynskoek, in Springbok for a beer, thru Bitterfontein, Garies and that’s where the wind started pumping hectically from the side for the next 100km till we reached Van Rhynsdorp doing 638km for the day. We headed for the bar at the hotel. The place was deserted except for the exact same two locals who were sitting at the exact same bar stools when we passed thru on our way up. I wondered if they’d ever left especially since the barman sed he’d worked 2 days solid right thru since old years. We booked into the caravan park, braaied and crashed early. I’d noticed my bike wasn’t turning so lekker and wondered if I’d damaged anything on the front end in my little gravel spill. My body was tired and sore and I didn’t ponder on it for too long. Next morning took effort to tie my boots, and getting up and down on the mattress was a mission. That’s mission, not missionary. Theo was complaining about his kidneys big time as well. He sed it was from the bouncing but I sed it was from the boozing. We packed up and headed for Clan William. It was hot but we stopped off at the museum and got a guided tour thru the old jail. From there on to Citrusdal for a cooldrink and soon we were close to home. We stopped at Kriges in Durbanville for a draught to end off the trip. I could barely negotiate my bike thru the traffic down Durban Road and nearly dropped it in the parking lot. I made such a wide turn I nearly rode into an oncoming car. I could barely get my jacket off and was even shaking a little from exhaustion. We had only done 300 km that last day but I was pooped. Our holiday had come to an end and I was sorry. It was the most continuous riding I’d ever done, and on top of that I’d been protecting my cracked rib which put extra strain on my shoulders and arms. We got home safe and sound and flopped on the couch and stayed there for a few hours. Later that evening when we parked the bikes and I could barely lift it off the side stand, never mind turn the handle bars, I realized there was nothing wrong with the steering on my bike but the problem was me and my sore, uncooperative arms and limp body. None the less, I was grinning and happy and can’t wait to plan the next trip.

10-07-2008, 10:18 AM
CT - Kuruman round trip 26/12/07 - 4/01/08 on a Honda CBR1000 and a Ninja 750 - 2 600 km (Sorry - no pix) ........

Well written and well done!
Hardcore what with the rib and all!:thumbleft:

10-07-2008, 01:10 PM
Actually riding my bike didnt hurt - getting up and down and crawling into the tent etc was the paintful (i mean hardcore :badgrin:) part. I couldnt bend my arms for 2 days after the trip. All part of the fun.

11-07-2008, 08:59 AM
Actually riding my bike didnt hurt - getting up and down and crawling into the tent etc was the paintful (i mean hardcore :badgrin:) part. I couldnt bend my arms for 2 days after the trip. All part of the fun.

You tougher than me...I just have a little sniffles and I wanna stay in bed all day...hehe:roll::evil4: