This too shall Pass: Journal entry 1

The road in front was filled with sunlight, but the horizon was black, like a giant yin-yang, the evil bit being the storm we were heading into. It’s a pretty vulnerable feeling, sitting on a motorbike heading into darkness. I kept picturing hailstones, and lightning, and getting tenderized before getting fried.

I shouted to the lady at reception that we’d settle the bill later, if we could just get the keys to the hut before the hailstones came. She seemed suspicious, but gave them over anyway. I jiggled the keys in the lock as the rain started, and we ran inside just as the hail came. It really did, banged all around the roof and windows and the motorbikes without people on them.

Whats with kettles in Bloemfontein? Over 10min and still only lukewarm. In desperation we tried to cook some water in the microwave, but had to peel moldy bread from the fan off first. Then hot coffee, and homemade choc-chip cookies. There’s only space for essentials when biking, so warm clothes get substituted for coffee and biscuits, obviously.

It was only 5pm, but we got in bed anyway, since it was hailing outside, and there was nothing else to do but read and play angry birds. I bet those pigs wished they had a warm bed and coffee and not a poultry storm hailing down.

I thought about that storm again, and riding into it. It was frightening really, feeling responsible for leading your friends into a storm, when you should perhaps be finding shelter. It reminded me of Church, and the things we were going through, especially the leaders. I hope they’re warm and safe and drinking coffee and eating biscuits.

The next morning we left early, to miss the storm that was brewing again. The office at the resort wasn’t open, so we left without paying, confirming the receptionists suspicions from the day before. Never trust bikers, I guess, especially if one has a pink sweatband and vuvuzela. We did eventually pay though, just so you know, at Gerhard’s place in Philippolis.

It was a Sunday morning, and we were hungry, and Gerhard was in bed, but the sign outside his window said breakfast, so we woke him. If he was perturbed he sure didn’t show it, piling eggs, bacon, toast and sausage on our plates. I respect Gary for being a vegetarian, and for giving me his share of bacon and sausage. It made me think of angry birds again, and the morality of throwing fowl at swine, never mind eating them.

Philippolis to Colesberg to Middelburg, and the weather was turning sour again. This time we weren’t so lucky, getting rained on for the next five hours. This is supposed to be a desert right? The highest recorded rainfall for the Karoo fell on the day we rode across it. We covered the Eastern Highlands in a cloud, not seeing more than five meters in front. I thought about being a baby, when you wore those baby jumpsuits, the ones that covered your whole body with the only hole being for your face, and wished I had one, but a waterproof one, to stop the rain seeping down my jacket, down my pants and sloshing around in my shoes.

We found a pub open in Middelburg, on a Sunday. No morals in the desert it seems, but we let it slide, because we had a warm place to spend a couple hours, and drink three pots of tea each. Later we walked around town to try and find a store open, to buy some more clothes, to replace the ones that were left behind to make space for the coffee and biscuits. I prayed for Jet stores that day, and their cheap clothing, and their willingness to open on Sundays so we could be warm and not die of drowning or hypothermia or both.

The relief didn’t last long. We rode for another hour and then stopped again in Graaf-Reinet, this time at a Spur restaurant. It was quite busy, being the only place open on a Sunday, and it seemed like the whole town had gathered to cheer on the bikers who bravely rode through the desert storm to stop in their town for hot chocolate and pudding. They didn’t really cheer, they more commented on the mess we were making, puddles of water and mud following us from the door to the table to the bathroom where we hogged the hand drier for about an hour, drying everything but our hands.

We ate nachos, with hot cheese, spicy but not-too-hot salsa, and warm guacamole. I drank two mugs of hot chocolate, and felt pretty sleepy afterwards. But we had only sixty kilometers more to go, so we headed out again, the rain getting even heavier.

We arrived in Aberdeen almost an hour later, a tiny desert town with dirt roads and a garage, and a church next door. I love the fact that the first thing you see from the road in these Karoo towns is the churches. Their steeples rise high above anything else on the horizon, providing a landmark to the civilization, a point around which the town can assemble. I wish it were like that in reality, not just in architecture, the worshipping community being a locus around which the rest of life revolved, allowing people to maintain perspective in the midst of a hurried life. It’s ironic that Karoo towns depict this, since they’re not ever in a hurry.

Aberdeen, a little desert town with about 10 people, two of which we happened to know, and who happened to welcome wet and muddy riders into their homes without fussing about the floors like the Spur. Sue had made us biscuits, fresh out the oven, which we had with coffee again, but only after showering for hours and draining all the water from this desert town. Wait, we brought the unseasonal rain right? So we had earned the water, payback to the sky really, using the water that it had used to freeze us, to make us warm again. Take that, sky.

Peter made us a bean stew, which was delicious. We probably would have had Karoo lamb, but as I have mentioned we had a vegetarian with us, who I respect, because he gave me all his bacon and sausage that morning, so it didn’t matter that I didn’t get to eat roast lamb. And warm homemade bread with lots of butter, and some wine, which we had brought as a gift, instead of warm clothes, because as I have said, space is limited on a bike.

I fell asleep while the others watched British comedy on tv, not caring about the likelihood of drooling in public, because it felt good to be warm, and full of nice food, and in the company of people who like having you there, even if you’re just sleeping.

The last day of traveling, and the sky was nice to us today, perhaps because we had lashed out at it by showering for hours. The clouds around started to open and clear as we approached the mountains separating desert from sea. Windmills, sheep, and mountainous bumps spotted the landscape. It doesn’t sound like much to look at, but it really is, especially when you’re on an empty road that stretches out straight ahead of you disappearing into the horizon.

Coffee stop in Willowmore, at Sophies’ antique store and coffee shop. We drank a good cup of coffee with some scones and jam, and sat by the fire. This is a freaking desert, and we’re sitting by a fire in the middle of summer? It was warm, and we got the chance to dry our gloves and socks and other articles of clothing, since no-one else was in the shop, and Sophie didn’t mind.

I had cut holes in an old pair of socks to use as arm-warmers, to stop the sneaky cold air from freezing my arm pits. It had worked pretty well, but smelled quite bad, roasting by the fire. You had to improvise on a bike, especially in unseasonal weather, with limited packing space.

Onto Uniondale, and the Prince Alfred pass, the last bridge between desert and sea. In three hours it felt like we had travelled three continents. It started with the semi-desert, then switched to farmlands in the Keurbooms valley, then onto views of the Outeniqua mountains that made me feel like we were in Switzerland. I’ve never been to Switzerland, but I’ve seen photos, and they looked exactly like those mountains.

We had a lazy lunch stop next to a river, between the crags of the pass. The stream was pleasant enough, and we had some good shade from the Yellowoods, and ate steak sandwiches on the rocks. It wasn’t real steak, nor real sandwiches, it was really just provita’s and cheese, but it felt like steak sandwiches. Gary ate them too, even though he’s a vegetarian. I guess his imagination was not up to ours so it was OK for him. We lazed about for quite a while and then set off, only to find a beautiful waterfall just a couple of meters down the road. That would have been a nice lunch stop. But the steak sandwiches were already finished, and we wanted to see the sea.

Which we did, just a few km’s later. Desert, farms, mountains and now seaside. Make that four continents in a day. It was good to arrive at such a stunning place in such perfect weather after a long trip. It’s testimony to the fact that sunshine really does follow the rain, and times of renewal follow times in the desert, on bike trips and in life. I thought about that, and how the rain and desert would come again, but in that particular moment it was enough to enjoy a nap in the setting sun, listening to seagulls and smelling the salt of the sea.