Om Die Dam

Day 1 – Friday 26 Feb 2016 (73km’s)

Phillip “Footloose” Wrightson’s drinking problem finally started to affect his personal life. The “head wet” that he attended the night before, had an adverse affect on his ability to wake up in time to meet the rest of the team for a 6h00 departure. Stu “Turbo Diesel” Yates finally managed to rouse the delinquent and they arrived closer to 6h30. Philly had a proper sweat going by the time they got to us. The smile on Stu’s face hinted at the fact that he had pushed the pace beyond Phil’s levels of comfort. Perhaps in retribution for time wasted. Seemed fair, I thought.

The rest of the crew were way more dependable.  Walter ”Earlybird” De Vallier and Denzil “Duracell Bunny” Strukmeier  arrived at 5h30, early enough for a cup of coffee and the first to help ferry supplies and equipment to the awaiting truck. In Wally’s enthusiasm, Eileen laptop almost made the journey with us. Luckily, this item was discovered just in time. He did a much better job of hiding my son’s gym bag amongst the rest of the luggage. This bag did the entire trip with us and James was relieved to be re-united with it, late Sunday evening.

Whilst the packing took place, Frank “Heart and Lung” Fornasari and Ian “Slim” Duncan patiently poured the first drinks of the day. Bitterly cold home brewed porters. Nice!

And then we were off.

Porter Delight

It’s always difficult to completely avoid tar when leaving the suburbs, but I thought we did a fair job. We rode mostly on pavement, designated cycle paths, footpaths and even single track. The weather was overcast and cool. Perfect cycling conditions. Seeing, but not being one of the commuters rushing off to work, also had a certain charm, so the mood was good.

Shortly after crossing the R28 Krugersdorp highway, we spotted the support vehicle for the first time. They pulled up next to us on a quiet district road. We were stopped out in the countryside, a bunch of mates and another round of cold beer. It doesn’t really get better than this.

All the while, including after the beer stop, the riding had been gentle with a mixture of tarred country road, foot paths, The Cradle bike track and more single track. Finally, taking us to Maggie’s Farm (Home of the Chicken Pie), where breakfast awaited.

Breakfast was good and if Wally is to be believed the chicken pies are once again, as good as they were when we first tasted them, some thirty odd years ago. A couple more cups of coffee, chit-chat, restocking of the bikes, chit-chat, Ian getting ready for his first ride of the day and more chit-chat. The next stretch of riding to Nikita’s, was only 12km’s, but rather technical. There would be no more chit-chat.

When you are new to cycling and not as fit as you should be, the colour of your face is a wonderful barometer to others, showing how much enjoyment you are getting out of the ride.

Slightly rosy cheeks, with a light sweat and the ability to chat and giggle, says:
“All is fine and I’m having the time of my life.”

Red cheeks, profuse sweating, the odd expletive, says:
“I’d rather be at work”

And then there’s Ian.

A lovely shade of beetroot red, sweat reserves exhausted, blood pouring from wounds on his legs, two punctures needing repair and not a word uttered, says:
“Nivvie, you and rest of the seven dwarfs, fall asleep tonight at your own peril. You don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Slim ”

Call me a sadist, but that picture gives me a warm fuzzy feeling.

This part of the track is well ridden though short, but it has about 300 meters of near impossible riding. Credit to all though. It would have been easy to jump onto the tar road next to path from Hell, but no-one did. 

Mordor

The support crew were now hitting their straps.  With the help of GreenAlp, they were able to follow our track and were getting really creative in making their pit stop decisions. So coming out of Mordor, around a bend and finding Denzil standing there with a couple of cold beers in his hands, was more than a pleasant surprize and probably the only thing that saved me from certain death at the hands of “Slim” Duncan.

The rest of the stint up to Nikita is not as severe, but you have to stay focussed. A lapse in concentration could result in some serious injury, or worse, you could damage your bike.

Mario was our waiter. A young Portuguese chap, with a great disposition. He had to have. Dealing with a bunch of middle aged men on a work Friday, out riding and quaffing beer, can be rather ordinary at best. He took it in his stride and entertained us whilst keeping the drinks coming. He must have liked us, because he introduced us to his fiancé, the bar lady. A rather buxom women, with the very feminine name of Abraxus. Perhaps her daddy got the name from some award winning monster truck.
We left having had the compulsory pineapple based Nikita cocktails and with our new best friend promising to send us invitations to the pending nuptuals.

Nikita Stop

 “Slim” was either pissed or he has memory issues, because he got back onto the bike for the last 30km’s of the day. This was probably the most enjoyed section of trail, of Day1. 

Leaving Nikita

We ran along the Crocodile river, which feeds into Harties. One climbs up and over a hill on a dirt road with stone masoned safety barriers on one side and beautiful views of Villa ‘Afrique and the dam, all round. Almost felt like we were riding one of Thomas Baines passes.

Isle d' Afrique

Diesel Heading up d' Afrique Pass

 The concrete strips into the valley, finally spewed us out onto the disused railway bridge and past the run-down platform, where decades ago, people must have taken a train ride into Pretoria.

Concrete Strips to Dam

Disused Railway Bridge

Footloose Crossing the River Croc

 We stopped at a bicycle shop in Schoemansville. Riding the technical section earlier that day had come with consequences. I had my bent derailleur hanger straightened and my gears re-set. “Slim” had additional protection added to his tires as he was not running tubeless and “Diesel” had a sticky cable situation attended to. Some of the best service I had ever had from a bike shop and in Schoemansville, of all places.

Wally had managed to negotiate an extra room at Squires Motel at no additional cost. This made things more comfortable.

After a shower, we made our way to the second best pub in the world, ever. Some more beers, a brandy and coke or two, a team WhatsApps to Bob, the rugby on telly and dinner and finally off to bed. A great day.

Squires Pub

Day 2 – Saturday 27 Feb 2016 (85km’s)

I love a good Bloody Mary buzz early in the morning, as much as the next guy, but when the left support crew member, does not know what the right support crew member does, you end up having triple shots of Vodka at 5:45 in the morning. Wally’s cockup, Denzils arse.

The Bloody Mary’s were meant to be dispensed by “Earlybird” the previous afternoon as we all rolled into the high coral, but he was too busy quenching his thirst at the pub to be concerned by the trivial matter of tradition. It was therefore decided to have them as pre-breakfast drinks instead.

Those Bloody Mary's

Going through the tunnel and crossing the dam wall at sunrise, was quite a surreal experience. Combine this with the Vodka buzz and we would gladly have put our names down for a hippy commune, if they were recruiting.

Sluice Gates Controlling Water Flow

Top of Dam Wall

Slim Smiles but not for Long

Breakfast at the Wimpy and a few double espressos with warm milk on the side, hit the spot and we were starting to feel a little more human. Except, perhaps for “Slim”.

“Slim” had been quite economical with his training regime and 5km’s into the day’s ride, had developed a distinct bearing knock. He felt so out of sorts that he tried blaming his cycling equipment, eventually blaming it on a catching brake disc. On closer inspection, this was indeed found to be the case and rectified forthwith.

Sadly, “Slims” bearing knock deteriorated to the point where the service crew was summonsed and both him and the bicycle, were loaded into the support vehicle. He would take a short break, allowing him to recover enough, to attempt “Tant Mimmie se Dagga Pad”, a little later that morning.

Shallow Bridge over Harties

This tour is organized by a bunch of mates as an excuse to have a bit of fun. We realized that although, it was a disparate group, consisting of strong riders, occasional riders and even non-riders it could work as long as everyone felt that they had contributed, to the weekend, in some way. The strong riders had to help guide the occasional riders, the occasional riders added to the social aspect, the non-riders were designated crew members responsible for transport, nutrition, mechanics, etc. As with most events, the timing is not convenient for all our friends. So, we also wanted to make the tour flexible, in the hope that some of our mates would make guest appearances.

Top of Concrete Strips

Bobby made it on the Saturday. It was his wedding anniversary on the Friday 26^th and feeling unwell the week before, he was unsure whether he would be able to join us at all. The rest of the group mounted a huge social media onslaught from the pub the previous night, in an effort to convince him to come out and play. Him and I have done a lot of cycling over the years and basically took to cycling together, one Christmas holiday, a few years ago.
Seeing my mate struggle with some health issues and having this affect his riding, is upsetting.

The guy loves to ride. In the last few weeks I have seen some progress as a result of a new medical approach that he has adopted. Sometimes, despite his hard work, he has a setback. Those times are demoralising. I wanted him to join us just to ride and have a little fun, so I was chuffed when he agreed.

We met up at the entrance to the Van Gaalen concrete strips. “Slim” got back on the bike and Bobby looked happy to have joined us. The riding from there is quite brutal, but the views and the riding that follows, makes it well worth the effort. 

Bob Heading Towards Dagga Pad

 Once one crosses the style at the top of the hill, the tracks start to flow with a lovely regularity that allows for a rhythm and pace that makes for sublime riding. Everyone enjoyed it. 

Dagga Pad Single Track

 We finally made it back to the district road, where our support crew waited with cold beers. A group of riders affiliated to the Swamp Dogs came past us. These chaps also have a fun-riding, beer-drinking philosophy. There were a few good natured comments exchanged between the two groups, relating to our beers and their incomprehensible lack of organization.

From there it was a short stint into Van Gaalens Cheese Farm, where lunch and a few cold beers awaited.

Lunch at van Gaalens

Phil took his shoes and socks off at the lunch table, in order to paint his toe nails, I think.
It was then that he cut his foot on an empty insulin vial left there by some inconsiderate diabetic. This caused him some discomfort throughout the remainder of the weekend and resulted in him cutting short some of the days rides.

After lunch, Bobby showed us the way along the Van Gaalens river section. We were heading for the bottom of the Breedts Nek saddle. For me, this portion of the weekends ride, was by far the best. It is a very picturesque, tropical, forest like, undulating stretch that just puts a smile on one’s face. All the guys were riding well and with good intensity.

We stuck to the district road until we met up with the service crew again. Bob was starting to experience familiar symptoms, warning him to take it easy or face a lengthy recovery period. It was in his best interests to end his ride at this point. The discomfort caused by the cut in Phil’s foot also forced him to retire for the day and with “Slim” having pulled out after the Van Gaalens lunch, it was left up to the three blind mice to finish the days trip to “Booga’s” farm.

The final 40km’s was on district gravel roads and seemed to pass by quite quickly. But then we did push it a bit. The gate to “Booga’s” farm was a welcome site and jumping into the pool after a long hot ride, is one of life’s most underrated pleasures.

We had Manny’s baby chickens on the braai, a few more cold beers, a few laughs and enjoyed the company of the “Booga’s”, our gracious hosts and a great family.

Tired, I fell into a deep sleep, listening to the gentle, rhythmic snoring of Denzil the “Duracell Bunny”. 

Day 3 – Sunday 28 Feb 2016 (92km’s)

“Slim’s” truck had developed a problem with the suspension over the course of the weekend. One of the leafs in the leaf spring had snapped and resulted in the entire back axle moving out of alignment and settling back in the wheel well. Although the truck was still rideable, it was a source of concern. “Slim” thought that he may be able to work a temporary fix, so he, Wally and Denzil would follow on after this was attempted.

The four remaining cyclists were transported up to the main homestead, where we were met by Kieron. Kieron is “Booga’s” teenage son. He seemed quite fascinated with the idea of our tour. He did not need much convincing and although he had never ridden more than 25km’s, we agreed that he could join us and ride until he had had enough. From there the support crew would collect him and take him to our final destination.

We were heading for Magaliesberg and followed some very scenic district roads that finally joined a 12km tarred section. This leading up to the Wimpy. There was a fair amount of early morning traffic, mainly in the form of breakfast run bikers and a particularly foolish bunch of high performance drag racers trying to outpace each other.

The Wimpy was packed with cyclists, motor bike enthusiasts and there were high performance cars in the parking lot, the pride of which surely was the Ferrari. We had a good breakfast and were later joined by the support crew who were unfortunately unable to repair or straighten the misaligned rear axle. They would follow on at a cautionary pace.

We left the Wimpy, heading up a concrete path leading to the school at the top of the hill. From there we followed a trio of riders heading down to an abandoned house near the river. A short section of single track hacked out of the lush vegetation, followed.

We crossed the river at a weir and climbed out of the valley, heading for the railway line. The service line, running along this railway line, would be our constant companion for a large portion of the day’s ride. This road was in great condition and made the riding easy. The weather had been good to us on the trip thus far and today would be no exception.

Weir Crossing

My tummy was starting to misbehave. It seems the six tomato cocktails from the night before, as well as my progressive dietary experimentation with Canola Oil was at the root of the problem. I would have to make a few unscheduled stops deep into the vegetation in order to seek relief. The first of such stops coincided with Kieron and “Footlooses” collection by the support crew, along a quiet section of the railway service road. Phil's foot was causing him distress and we thought that Kieron needed some recovery time. This kid was determined to carry on, but we knew that there was still a lot of riding to come. So we convinced him to take a breather. A few more beers and we were off again.

Unsettled Tummy

 Frank, Stu and I rode the last stretch to Harries Roadhouse, in Randfontein, on our own. There we were met, for the last time, by the support crew. This was, also, our final beer stop and Phil and Kieron once again joined us, for the final run in to the CMR Golf Club. 

Heart and Lung in Randfontein Grasslands

Back of Mine Dumps

 The final 30 odd km’s required that we ride in and around old mine dumps. I remembered portions of this ride with fondness, from our days as off-road motorcyclists.

River Crossing in Mine Dump Country

"Footloose"

"Diesel"

"Slim"

"Heart and Lung" with Kieron in the Background

A short stint through Meadowlands in Soweto got Phil's attention, but there was no cause for alarm. We were greeted with much fanfare, smiles and enthusiasm by the locals, especially the children. I believe riding in my Orlando Pirates soccer shirt, has a lot to do with this. It seems to create an instant bond with the people living in townships or informal settlements and affords us a certain amount of trust.

New housing developments, where old tracks used to be, played a little havoc with our last few kilometres and forced us onto tar roads a little sooner than I would have liked. But Phil was right. This was probably a good thing, as by now we were all a little weary from the big physical effort of the past few days.

The CMR Golf course parking lot, was a most welcome final stop. Despite our outward appearances, we were allowed up to the bar where we had a few last rounds amidst much laughter and recounting of memories.

And so it ended.

Last Rounds Called

Conclusion

Denzil and Wally did a superb job of looking after us. Fixing bikes, handing out drinks, negotiating discounted packages, driving, fetching and braaing. Denzil was as busy as a "Duracell Bunny" and Wally was methodical, but only if allowed to have a little lie-in. By his own admission, not one for the mornings, our Wally.

"Slim" and Kieron astounded me. Ian rode every day of the tour and never complained and given the amount of training that he did(if you could call it that), he coped brilliantly. Young Kieron did about 75km's, far exceeding his previous best. Also a remarkable achievement.

Bob's conservative decision, was a wise one. He did not push himself too much into the red and was able to do a few long riding stints, the following weekend. He should be good-to-go at the next event.

Stu is a strong rider with the ability to grind it out for hours, but his beer drinking stamina, is something to behold. This oke was born in a barrel.

Phil's "hangover ride" on day 1, was legend. He can ride.
The injury he suffered, was a bummer and I could see the disappointment when he cut short some of the rides. He did the Argus the following weekend and had to keep his wound clean and dry in order not to compromise his Cape Town trip.
Definition: "Head Wet" apparently a British tradition of getting snot-flying on the birth of a friends baby
"Chubby" Thornhill thought it meant: Taking terrible aim in the toilet on a sailboat.

"Heart and Lung" was the dark horse. No doubt, he has been doing some clandestine training. Arguably, the strongest rider of the group.

I had the best time. This type of long distance riding is the most enjoyable type of riding I have ever done.
Until the next one...