Trip preparation includes
checking over my bike
washing the bike
I used to use tracking software but now you have to login via FaceJew, which i refuse to join, so I made a whatsapp group of fellow bikers who monitor my progress and direction. A lady friend would send me daily weather forecasts (which didn't really change my path much despite her worries about it being dangerous etc. ). So now I just checked in every day when I stopped for the day.
I wear a helmet, buff around my neck to keep dust from going down my neck, synthetic armoured riding jacket (leather is for harley posers. It is hot and weighs a ton when wet), synthetic trousers with knee armour, off road boots with an ankle swivel for walking as over 200 kg of bike landing on your foot will leave you just lying there.
The trip packing includes, tubes, tyre levers, synthetic racing oil, chain lube, a compressor, master link for the chain, chain brush, first aid, clothes, biltong and everything you need for the bike and myself. You need to travel light as weight and space are limited. No firearm on this trip as I was going mostly to an area with no blacks. Just coloureds.
Every thing packs into 2 panniers
Except things I may need on the road like a compressor after deflating tyres for mud and sand, a rain liner, toilet paper (when a man has to go he has to go), biltong, cell phone, charger, ear plugs (a 990 with open throttle can make a lot of noise to listen to all day) etc. go into a tank bag. 2 l of water go in a camelpak on my back and a tent and a jerry can for emergencies on the back rack. Some distances between towns were over 300 km so I needed a jerry can.
After packing I realised all the rivets on 1 pannier had sheared off. All the vibrations, and hammering of hitting ruts and holes at speed. Another reason to travel light.
Nothing to do but drill holes and put in bolts with locktite
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After an 0400 rise, by 0530 just after sunrise Im packed and loaded and ready for departure.
After 100 km I have come through this. Wind, cold, but didnt catch a drop . I open the bike up to 160 kmh to outrun the storm. So far the score is KTM 1 and Birds 0. I've had bird strikes on my head, a big one, and my head was ringing for a while. This bird was dumb enough to take on a hand guard.
I hit my first dirt by 0800. It had rained a lot the night before, the storm I came through and the road was very soft or mud. twice farmers stop to greet me and ask if Im OK in all this mud.
After that I hit the pan belt. With all the rain the pans are full of water. Too bad the sky is so grey and getting ominous
By 10 I am hitting drizzle and more mud, and stop to put in my rain liner and snack on some biltong
By noon I am in heavy rain and must get on the tar as progress on dirt is getting very slow. It is raining buckets. Every oncoming truck creates a wall of water higher than my head that i hit at a combined speed of 200 kmh. Water pours into my helmet so even wiping the visor doesnt help, down my neck, into my boots. I am like a drenched rat. Every time you try overtake you can see nothing and get another wave of water. The weather is so bad i saw 2 major pile ups. the cops closed the road; they let me through as the bike is narrow.
It got so bad I pulled into one of those stop filling stations that i despise. I had to wipe the inside of my visor and warm up a bit and ate awful american style junk food. The burger coke and chips I was dripping puddles and totally demoralised asking myself why do I do this? Sheer misery. Another biker pulls in from the direction Im going, and like bikers always do, immediately greet each other and start chatting. I fine young man with the biker spirit to press on in bad conditions and still smile. Not one of those weekend warriors. Hhe said he just came through 4 hours of rain straight from Williston and he was shivering and as wet as me. We nodded, wished each other a safe ride, and each went our way.
This is what the dirt looked like by then
At this stage I made the decision to get off the main tar road and all the idiotic cagers causing pile ups and switched to smaller back tar roads. It was an immediate improvement to only wory about rain and not tidal waves of waver.
I was staying a fellow bikers place. he was on holiday and had the left the keys to his house for me. I kept looking at the GPS to see how much further I must endure this sodden hell. Even my underpants were soaked.
Finally as I cross the Orange river God, or Allah, or Zeus, Thor or all the gods took mercy and I see clear sky to the west for the last 100 km. I have to pull over and pay homage. I take off my helmet and tie it on the back and ride with no helmet and open jacket to dry my hair and shirt. the chance of a cop on these remote roads pulling me over for a bribe is small. I put my boots against the cylinders and pipes to dry my feet and turn on the hand grip warmers.
It is so uplifting and life in nice with the wind in your hair and moiture evaporating from every item of clothing with the bike running at a good 160 kmh. By the time I get to prieska I am mostly dry. Hot desert air does wonders.
I arrive at my mate's place in blue sky and sun.
First thing on the agenda is change into dry clothes and go into own and find a bottle store for booze.
The town looks rally scaly and the bottle store looks bad. Nothing but coloureds hanging around and going in and out. A place called Rickerd's and it is owned by chinamen
They don't speak a word of afrikaans and I speak no chinese so it is english.
Next thing on the agenda is find a place to eat. the GPS only shows me 3 options. The hoederhuis sounds too black and a place for truck drivers and whores. the liquor store can't be a nice place to get a proper meal.
So i call my lady friend and she searches the internet and sends me to a great place. There is only one problem. Because of all the rain to get there the road is underwater and i have a water crossing to do...wt all over again
The place is great, and just white farmers, who immediately start chatting to me and say did you come by bike. And then I tell them I rode over 850 km in this weather, a lot of it on dirt. There is a family there wanting to go where I want to go but the farmers advise against using that road after rain as it is very slippery. The family decides to detour by tar, and the farmers tell me to come for breakfast tomorrow and we will decide according to the weather.
I order a nice large steak and devour it. And it starts raining again. Im having visions of being stranded here with no dirt road out and only 1 tar road going the wronf way and 100s of km of detour.
I wlak out to a soaking wet bike and seat and figure here we go again. The rain and the water crossing will soak me again
My one set of jeans are now a soggy mess as well
My room looks like a tornado hit it, with wet and drying clothes strewn everywhere.
I go to bed asking myself why on earth do I have this crazy hobby of enduro riding 1000s of km by dirt. I say a prayer for God to look after me tomorrow as the next stretch is over 160 km of very slippery dirt, and almost no people live there. Maybe 1 car a day at most comes through there. So if you get stuck or crash there is only your own resources and God. There is no cell phone reception either.
I wake up to a beautiful cloudless desert day. I delay leaving hoping the sun dries those roads up a bit but the farmers say it is better when raining than a few hours after, when the surface dries, but it is thin and you break through to the slime underneath. The farmers say it hasnt rained since last year and this is abnormal. Every time I come to this region it rains. The farmers say I should come more often and perhaps they should sponsor my trips
First thing on the agenda is lube the chain as the rain and mud has stripped off all the lube
I am wondering about tyre pressures as for mud I ant soft, but due to all the stones in the road you need hard tyres to shred them and get punctures. No spare tyre on a bike! I opt for hard.
The distance yesterday
I agree with the farmers that I will ride 10 km into the desert, until reception starts to fade, and if it is bad I will turn back. If I think I can make it, I will call and them I am going. The road is soft and it looks like clouds are closing, but I figure I will rely on experience on bikes, and stay on the stony bits in the middle and off soft edges. Im going to go for it.
The raod gets progressively worse as stones disappear and more and more mud holes appear. I cannot use brakes as the bike immediately slides out underneath me. That means speed is down to a maximum of 60 kmh as you grow through one mudhole at 20 then speed up slowly then must slow down for the next mud hole. 160 km of this
I cant stop on the soft stretches as the bike immediately sinks in. So I can only stop where there is hard ground. Riding mud is exhausting.
I look back at see the deep grove my tyres make in the surface and realise my pressures are too high for this soft road. So I stop to reduce tyre pressure. Up ahead I see farmer on a dirt bike and he flags me over. He said heard my KTM coming for 10 minutes and came out to greet and invite me in for coffee. He says next time I must plan a stop there and he will give me a small dirt bike to explore the huge farms.
He warns me up ahead the road gets much worse as the water from the veld drains onto the road and there are deep deposits of silt. He was not joking. I subsequently had 10 km of sliding all over the place at 20 kmh or less and cant stop or i wont start again. I certainly cant put the stand down
I get to carnarvon at lunch time after a morning of struggling over 170 km and coffee with farmers. Some idiot tourist from Joburg asks me is there a tar road to Hopetown. In the desert????? I told him it is dirt. I have done it before and it is good dirt and he is a 4x4. But he says no he doesnt want to do dirt
Through the bad bit with 93 km to go from Carnarvon to Fraserburg
Now it is good fast dirt and I am motoring at 100 kmh
I get to Fraserburg in high spirits after good speed to make up for the slow morning 350 km done today. The only Inn in town is full and their restuarant closed. They only do meals for the guests now. No problem. Some local flags me down, says welcome to the town. he says go see tannie Magda at the supermarket. The old lady speaks not a word of english. She gives me a set of keys for a 6 bedroom old style house and charges me only R220... That is like $15.
I quickly unload, and get to the urgent business of finding a bottle store for beer, wood for a braai and meat. Not like there is a choice of shops.
I get back back before they roll up the pavements at sunset. Not a person on the streets after sunset, and just the church bell on the half hours. I ride my bike right up the steps of the back stoep and park on the stoep with my dinner materials
The house has an indoor braai from the days when people had 10 kids and you had yo braai a lot of meat
My puny fire to make 2 steaks is like a candle in that braai
I say goodnight to maedchen sleeping on the back stoep
The 3rd morning starts at sunrise and coffee on the stoep with my bike and the morning ritual of packing, lubing, stripping dirt of chain checking oil and water and tyre pressures.
Mud has gone up everywhere. This is looking up the forks
What a stunning day
The road to sutherland. The road looks good but is treacherous. It is very corrugated and between the tracks are large mounds of loose gravel if the corrugation throws your fron wheel into that your handlebars go side to side with no control, called a head shake. You try and correct it or apply brake and you will go down. The only thing to do is apply some throttle to stabilise the bike. Dirt riding is largely conquering instinct to brake or try and control the bike. You need to use throttle when in trouble to bring t upright and straight again. After a few headshakes i slow down to 65 each time i see my speed has risen to 80
I stop every 15 km of this 120 km stretch to rest my hands which are numb from the vibration of corrugation, and my nerves, which are tight from the arsehole tightening moments of headshakes. You ant to go faster to fly over the corrugation but cant. The windmill is the entrance to another farm, and another farmer comes out to greet and chat on a dirt bike. I notice he rides below 50 kmh. He must know something I just learnt by my bike thrown across the road with no control.
When I get to sutherland every restaurant is closed until 1800....on a saturday....The town is a ghost town. Another wanker joburg tourist asks me for the road to Loxton. I told him it is 250 km of dirt that way. He says he cant do dirt. He will go 100 km back to Matjiesfontein and take the tar. I tell him why not. you have a 4x4 and I just came that way on a bike. He said if he said if he had a bike like mine he would do dirt. The wanker wont even do dirt in a 4x4; he certainly wont do it on a bike. All these peopel afraid of dirt.
I push on and have to go to the national road to refuel as the next stretch is long. What a culture shock. After the karoo of maybe seeing 1 car all day it is bumper to bumper of brigades of cages, bicycles mounted, caravans, trailers, boats, SUVs....At the petrol station they all grab junk food, they get out of the car and the wife is yelling at hubbie, kids are screaming, hubbie yelling at the coloured attendants. I just want to flee. I look at the coloured as he is filling my tanks and jerry can and say WTF. How do these people call it a holiday? they are stressed and bring traffic with them. They look at my muddy dusty bike, my sunburnt face, and dirty bike kit as if I am an alien from Mars. the first time people don't greet me. In the karoo if I am stopped every car will stop and ask are you ok. People come out to greet. These asshole urban types make a detour around me and avoid looking at me. WTF.
Tar is so boring after riding 100s of km of remote dirt.
I get back onto the dirt through the mountains around Anysberg. rather than eat junk food amongst all those wanker cagers, i opt for a remote lunch under a windmill
Bully beef and bread and warm water from the camelbak beats a hamburger amongst cagers
Life is a joy and it is good to be a Free White Man in Africa
The road through the mountains into the Cape Winelands is aweome
Eventually Maedchen gets thirsty and it is time to refuel
Going through the Ouberg pass into the winelands is a great part of the ride. The western cape doesnt have dirt roads. It has gravel highways. A smooth hard surface with little loose gravel. You can open the taps and really motor, except the switchbacks
In Montagu I decide to camp on a pecan nut and olive farm of a lady I know. Nice sand riding to get in
The problem with the western cape is that it is full of faggots, metrosexuals, liberals and race mixing. It also has plenty of european tourists who think this is africa and come here and pomp coloureds. It is not really a place for a Good White Man of the old school type. On the plus side, it has fast dirt and almost no blacks. I haven't seen a savage in days and this good fortune will continue for 2 more days.
I leave Montagu and all the faggots, arty farties, liberals and other traitors of white values behind and head up into the mountains to the village of McGregor for breakfast. Again every restuarant closed. Don't people want to work and make money in the western cape. Bunch of weak sister faggots
Like WTF. advertise a breakfast menu and not be open for breakfast at 0830. A white man has been up for hours already
I leave McGregor on dirt and saw the first 2 other bikes Ive seen on dirt. Must be western cape faggot snobs as they don't stop and greet and chat like any normal white biker would do. Fark them. I over take them and they are riding like 50 kmh, weekend warriors, and I shoot past them at at least 100 kmh and lave them in dust. Hopefully ruin their faggot hair. They looked like fat farks as well so maybe their fat rolls cant take the virbrations going any faster.
By this stage im pushing th KTM as im so hungry I can stick my arm up the arse of a Pterydactyl, pull out its liver and eat it raw. I get to stromsvlei and find a nice place for a good white breakfast, with linen and all like a civilised white man
I push on eastward to the southern cape taking dirt through the mountains through hillbilly country, awesome scenery. If you ride bikes and don't get off the tar like the harley crowd, you are wasting your time. technical riding is on dirt. Any idiot can ride tar.
After Hiedelberg I turn north into the mountains and figure I will climb up past the hillbillies. Again locals stop and ask if I am OK or i am lost. Not many people pass through here
Up past the hillbillies
This place screams bos kak. A place to have a nice dump. I find a nice spot with a big rock to sit on so I dont have to squat like a darkie savage or an Indian.
By now it is time to descend and look for fuel. I pull into Riversdale and again every petrol station and shop shut. people in the western cape don't work. They just promote faggotry, liberalism, and nigger rights. I have to head to the national road and another 1 stop for fuel, and the brigades of tourists, SUVs, trailers etc. Horrid.
Iam heading to a couple I know farming Macadamia nuts in the mountains north of Mosselbaai. Hillbillies
awesome peaceful place. They give me a rondavel and I have dinner with them
I leave my friends farm at 0630 in mist heading to Eight Bells
Traffic conditions are bad. I wonder how the cagers are coping in heavy traffic? Any New Zealanders here would see this pic as porn
Stunning scenery except the narrow roads and blind corners mean watch for someone coming around the corner
Once again, no petrol station when you need one
I head over the mountains into the dry klein Karoo. Ostrich country
I see this sign a little late as I came the other way. I was only 30 kmh over the limit
It is absolutely stunning and empty out here, except the wind can really mess up your hair
Cagers in the distance so i am finally approaching tar again. How awful. But I need fuel and am getting hungry
Brekkie in Uniondale
I am now in the eastern cape, my former home province. It feels good to be amongst kindred white men of good racist values
I turn off to take the Fullarton road. From here I have done all these roads and know them
But first a boskak calls. That feeling only comes second to a dump on your own toilet. hen finding a place to sit, it is an act done by white people since they existed
I am heading to the farm of an old mate of mine, but first we must meet at a local pub for a few beers. Typical eastern cape, the bar lady says I recognise you. I havent been there in like 20 years since I came to play a rugby match here. There are not so many whites in the eastern cape you you never forget each other
By now I am totally sunburnt with a helmet tan. Just my nose and cheeks. Everyone asks me did i shave off my beard I have that white strip where the helmet is. That is the problem of being a white man in Africa. You burn. Even still, it is far better than being a brainless savage like darkies.
It is a beautiful old hotel of historic significance as a wool loading area
I arrive at my mate's farm
Before sunset we go out to check the stock
He thinks it is funny that i open the gates like a kaffir
Not the himalayas in india?starchild5 wrote:Looks Amazing...I want to do this soon ..in Philippines
I wake up at dawn to a grey day, my lady friend sends me weather forecast showing 100% chance of rain on my planned route north east across the eastern cape to the Lesotho border. Not good on those clay roads which become as slippery as ice when wet. She asks me not to do it, but i say I will start until i say rain imminent and then head for the nearest tar. No way do i want to miss doing the Swaerhoek pass.
I quickly outrun the first belt of weather and figure I am home free under clearing skies. Good fast dirt to pearston I take at 90 kmh as by now the bike and I are 1 and reactions are at their peak
Soon I am in totally blue sky as Maedchen is running faster than the storm front. But as I approach Swaerhoek I see rather ominous clouds over the mountains. I stop and weigh it up. Do i risk going up there? it is 120 km of dirt to Cradock, steep, clay roads, and no cut out to tar as there is a river between the dirt road and the tar road.
I scheme, go for it. Im in peak form, bike running like a charm, and if worst comes to worst, I can turn back if I have sufficient fuel, so i fill up.
There is a boom across the road and it looks like the road is closed due to the rain they had, but my bike can squeeze past the boom. Despite the grey skies the road going up is stunning. Another farmer pulls up and asks is everything OK. I give him the thumbs up and white power salute, he says good luck ride safe and he turns off to his farm house.
The mud starts to get worse as i climb towards the pass and it starts to get slick. Soon my bike is digging in and it becomes a 1st and 2nd gear slog unable to stop as you cant put the stand down.
The last steepest climb is rocky so i can make it. I have no desire to back down that mud anyway. When i get to the top it is absolutely worth it. the peace and solitude is broken only by a work call and message from my lady friend about why did I attempt something so stupid like going up a closed muddy road with no reception most of the way in cloud by myself The other side is clearing sky
This shale rock is the cause of all the treacherous black clay.
In Cradock I stop for lunch. I am starting to see my first darkies so must keep the bike in sight at all times. Those bastid Xhosas will steal your shadow if you stand still. There are no darkies in most of south africa, the western half. Just coloureds. The darkie plague never infested that far. There are no trees to sleep under all day, no food to fall on your head and nothing to steal. You have to work to grow food. Work and darkies don't go together.
By now the sky is grey and you can smell rain and the first drops. I am debating heading east to Tarkastad to avoid teh rain but sooner or later common sense prevails and I decide to take tar through the rain than attempt darkie infested dirt in the rain with no firearm. So I call a friend in bethulie and say I am heading his way and am 250 km away. he said it rained a lot the night before so the dirt will be very bad. So i take tar to Hofmeyr.
In Hofmeyr, some darkie asked me 'do you ride a bike in this weather? I say yes it is good for white men. It makes us tough so we can take the country back
Soon I am on the tar towards the orange river
Tar is so boring I say stuff it, the dirt looks dry enough so get back on dirt
I soon cross the Orange river just before a serious thunder storm hits
Crossing the Orange means leaving the Cape and spiritual homeland. A place where white men are good racialistic chauvinistic old school white men and no metro faggotry exists or liberalism exists. It is time to spend a moment with my bike and giving thanks to God for bringing me through safely. the rest of the trip home is 750 km of easy riding the next day.
My mate is on the other side of the river and soon I am dry while a huge storm hits. My mate looks at my bike and he says you have been riding very hard and fast. Your rear wheel actually hit your number plate. Guilty as charged
This pic of course illicits a flood of angry texts from my lady friend to slow down warra warra fishpaste.
My mate gives a flat to myself. I just sit there and watch the rain glad to not be riding in it.
The last day. Time to head home. I was planning another day or 2 in the eastern cape but with rain forecast there is no point as i wont be able to do the dirt I want to do. I have done those roads before anyway. I leave under grey sky but no rain. Today is largely tar but i cant stomach motorways like the cagers and harley and cruiser crowd. Takes no skill, is dead boring, and I will get lots of speed fines. I cant ride at 120.
So i head off on back roads for the last 750 km across the Orange Free State.
Eventually the tar gets too boring for me. The original white men did not cross the Vaal river in metal cages on tar roads. They crossed on horseback on trails at little drifts. So I head to Vermaasdrif to cross the Vaal like a white man on my iron horse. Not some weak sister or woman in a carriage
Due to the rain the cages have really buggered up this road. Those ruts are hardened clay like concrete. It is a jarring ride.
I get to the Vaal
The last bit is just tar home at a high rate of knots. Im on a dirty muddy bike lane splitting through the cagers standing still in rush hour traffic. So glad I am not one of them.
I cant wait to go again in a few months. How the hell can a white man live free in the crowded places of europe and america. Always someone around you and so much PC BS. I did 4000 km and didnt cover most of the country. Didnt go to Natal, nor northern Transvaal, nor the west coast, nor cape town nor most of the eastern cape, nor namaqualand and the Richtersveld. I could easily do another 4000 and not cover everything.
One day when I am too old to ride a proper bike, i may consider a harley which is slow and low and suitable only for fat old men and posers in pirate costumes. But I hope to never sink to such depths. After that they will have to invent a 2 wheeled wheel chair to get me off bikes. I love my big tall enduro bikes on sterioids. Even with a 910 mm seat height I am bottoming out the suspension and knocking the number plate These bikes aren't meant for fat farks who cant swing a leg over due to their stomachs and fat rolls, or short shits who cant touch the ground from that height, or weak sisters to weak to control the 100+ HP ploughing through sand and mud. They are for white men to get out and get dirty. I will ride till the day I die. No weather and no woman can get me off bikes. The woman will go before bikes go. Living like a Free White Man, the kameraderie of bikers of all races everywhere, with the sun in my face, the rain, the heat, sand and mud, no crowds and at the mercy of God's will is non-negotiable. if I had to to live in some big city in a flat, commute in a cage in traffic, no empty space outside to escape, I may as well be dead.
There werent any. Almost no darkies where i went. As a i said, no trees to sleep under and nothing to steal. Looking for darkies where there are no people to steal from or food to fall on your head is like looking for jews where there is no money or leeches where there is no host.Moretorque wrote:Where are the pictures of the DARKIES ?
Why would you want pics of darkies. It says under your avatar you are in florida. Go to your nearest ghetto or prison and you will see all the niggers you can stomach. I would rather take pics of my turd when i have a dump than pics of darkies. At least my turd eventually stops stinking and turns white
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