2001 Biking South Africa

Day 14, Friday, June 29
Ficksburg to Hobhouse
123.3km @ 16kph

Potholes defined our first 30-odd kms to Clocolan. There’s the common-or-garden pothole; the mended pothole from which the tar has been weight-pressed to form a deadly ridge; and, my personal favourite, the pothole of unknown depth filled with gravel! The next 40-odd kms to Ladybrand were idyllic – taking us through pretty scenery along a broad safe shoulder on a road in really good nick. The last 50km were wet and cold. Rain dripping from our helmets, fingers wet in our ‘water-proof’ ski gloves, feet sloshing in plastic bags in our boots. On arrival in Hobhouse our desire for a dry haven was delayed by cattle being herded down the main street past the garage and the bank!

The first third of our day was beset by potholes! Later too we had potholes – these in the process of being repaired, so large squares of tar had been cut out around each hole, but not yet filled.

From Clocolan to Ladybrand is really nice cycling country – we averaged 16kph over the distance. Opposite Ladybrand we took our second break of the day, just on the side of the road.

Unfortunately it started to rain on the long climb out of town and continued to do so for the next 12km. Luckily we had a shoulder for the entire rainy time / distance. We got soaking wet and freezing cold. Pretty damn miserable.

When we turned onto the Hobhouse road we still had 40km to go. Our feet were very wet despite the plastic bags in which we had wrapped them, and our expensive ski gloves proved not to be in the least waterproof. We are going to go back and kill the salesman. We literally squeezed water out of the gloves (which have also split at the palms).

We did very good time despite our misery. The road nice and quiet, fairly hilly, but we still averaged 16kph overall.

Coming into Hobhouse there was a huge traffic jam of cattle being run down the main road past Worst National Bank and the BP station and Rainbow Stores.

We spent the night in a B&B converted from an old hotel. We were the only guests and used the enormous kitchen to heat and spice up leftover chilli.

And spent the evening drying our stuff on the heater.

Day 15, Saturday, June 30
Hobhouse to Smithfield
108.6km @ 12kph

Our 12kph average attests not to particularly difficult terrain (although some of it was tough), but to 72km of dirt road – the bulk of which was done into a headwind with a sting in the tail. We left Hobhouse just before 08h00 and arrived at the Smithfield Hotel just before full dark – making for a long and draining day. Highlight of the day: A perfect sunset which stained the incoming cold front – a bank of cloud stretching across the horizon – peach and grey-blue; and set the veld aglow. Most disconcerting moment of the day: We were overtaken by a man in a horse-cart! Our support team were fantastic – dad driving 20km up the dirt road from the Smithfield end with mom’s freshly-cooked Mexican Chilli jaffles – and spending the last few kms behind us to ensure our safe arrival.

We spent the first 32km on tar travelling through quite hilly terrain and so averaging only 14kph. The next 72km were on dirt – dropping our average to 12kph.

The dirt road was sometimes good, sometimes very bad. This was the shortcut to Smithfield – mom and dad took the long way round. I was very anxious about the whole enterprise, but going the long way round would have taken us two days! At the entrance to the dirt road Charl asked someone coming out on a bike about the condition. He said: “Dis ’n bietjie modderig maar alright”.

We arrived in Smithfield just before dark –  after a long day. With very little traffic, very few people, very little to see. We did see two labourers sitting in the sun against a white wall, and caterpillars inch-curling across the road, and the hoof prints of horses in the dust, and black-headed sheep.

Day’s end was absolutely beautiful, however, with the sun setting behind our right shoulders, and a cold front approaching from in front, stretching from one end of horizon to the other, a beautiful formation of clouds. And as the sun set, the top of the front was a dark bluish grey and the bottom tinged with pink. The veld was also lovely with aubergine and subtle shades of green, and cream and pink and yellow.

There was a subtle change in the flora yesterday, from grassland to grassland studded with scrub, and with dark green bushes hinting of the Karoo to come.

At around 4pm Dad brought hot jaffles filled with Mexican chilli to keep us going, and drove behind us into town, giving us some much needed light on the disappearing road. Charl enjoyed the dirt road much more than I. I must congratulate him; he obviously took a conscious decision to be patient, didn’t huck me, and so we coped.

We spent a freezing cold night at the Smithfield Hotel, spending our evening in the bar chatting to the locals. We met an ex-nursing sister who got divorced after 21 years of marriage and then started an ambulance service in the area, first out the back of a bakkie, then a combi, and finally an ambulance which she has been driving for 16 years. She is due to retire end July. She told horrific accident site stories: one Xmas eve she attended to a combi taxi collision. The doctor took the pulse of man sitting in window with his elbow on the ledge, and his arm came off in the doctor’s hand. When the sun came up there were 19 dead at the scene. As the sun rose she said to the doctor, “Happy Xmas” and he answered, “Does this look happy to you?” On another occasion a man so drunk he had not realised that his wife’s upper body had been amputated in the accident and thrown from the car, sat with his hand on her knee telling the rescuers she was fine.

The hotel owner, an ex-policeman, was Pik Botha’s private security guard for two years.