Not raining at the moment, but the roads are wet. The railway service road is bound to be muddy. Going to be a messy affair. More rain is predicted. Nottingham Rd is about 115km's away and that's where I'm headed.
Breakfast is late and will only be served at 07h00. Pity. I may only get in after dark. Breakfast turns out to be good, when it finally arrives. They have great coffee and I have both flasks filled for the trip. I have a feeling todays riding is going to be spectacular.
Breakfast is late and will only be served at 07h00. Pity. I may only get in after dark. Breakfast turns out to be good, when it finally arrives. They have great coffee and I have both flasks filled for the trip. I have a feeling todays riding is going to be spectacular.
Getting out of, or into town, is often a mission. It seems to be a human flaw, that you embark on a journey of a 1000km's, with which you have no hassles, but doing a few 100 meters extra to get to or from your accommodation, really gets your goat. This morning is no different. I often ask for directions out of town, because a GPS does not know all the sneak routes that humans have engineered. Getting out of town is ugly. That's usually when you see the filth that we generate.
The landscape improves the further out of town one gets, but the rain has softened the service road and makes the going tough. I keep checking for a flat wheel or locked brakes, but alas. ..
I ride a long section with the river on my left and the railroad to my right. There is a slight drizzle and things feel surreal.
The river is raging and is in full flood. I watch pieces of driftwood come past me. I try to race them, but come a poor second. I still have not hit that sweet spot physically. I feel sluggish and my bum is still sore.
Washing Day Blues
I love the rural villages. They are so vibrant this time of the year. There is music coming from various huts, stray dogs, cattle, kids playing, people on horse back, men huddled together drinking, food being prepared, gospel music coming from a huge tent and goats.
I'm in the heart of the battlefields of the Anglo Boer war. Signs all around point to this.
I'm unable to capture the beauty of my surroundings and the dreary weather does not help much.
I stop for a coffee break and always read the names of the fallen, perhaps expecting to find an unusual surname of a friend or family.
I stop at a farm stall called The Aloes just outside of Estcourt. They sell all manner of meat products including venison. The farmer owner, George, invites me to join him any his friends. We talk. Cattle theft forced him to convert his livestock to game. He has an abattoir on his farm that processes meat products and people come off the N3 specially to buy from him. I can believe it. The venison dry wors I bought is delicious. He asks me my story, shares photos of his fishing trips to his house in Inhasora in Mozambique, I replenish my supplies, wash my bike and go.
I have passed through numerous railway stations that are in disuse. The cost of all the derelict infrastructure must run in the hundreds of millions of rands. Trains pass through on their way to Durban, but no longer stop. They are like ghost towns. Some show no signs of human presence.
Not far from Estcout I pass under this impressive railway bridge. I recognize it as the one I often see on the left hand side of the N3 on my way to the Mooiriver Plaza.
Shortly after the bridge is this field of wild flowers, seemingly put there to brighten up a rather ordinary day.
The riding these last 3 days have been tough. There is mud everywhere and my equipment is taking a beating. My chain is screeching at me again and it surely just a matter of time before it snaps. I hope I can make it to Maritzburg, where I will replace it.
These hiking shoes were virtually brand new when I started. I never liked them much and now I know why. They are coming apart at the seems and I'm on a bike. Imagine what state they'd be in if I went hiking in them.
I make Estcourt and decide to stay. I was wrong. Today's riding was ordinary. Perhaps it was just me or the gloomy weather. But as they say, even a bad day is only 24 hours long.
At this stage I'm 2 days behind my intended schedule. I underestimated how tough this would be.
I check into a self catering B&B. Go to the shops to buy groceries, came home and did my washing.
Yup cold beer and spaghetti bolognaise.
Feasting tonight.
Good night Sweetie.
