When I was a lightie I was amused by silly, non-existent books: Rusty Bedsprings by I.P. Knightly, Under the Grandstand by Seymour Butts, Seven Days in the Saddle by Major Bumsore. In November I spent seven days in the saddle of a new Suzuki V-Strom DL1050DE and I’m delighted to report that my bum was just fine and the V-Strom proved itself to be a brilliant long-distance touring machine in all kinds of weather and across all types of roads from the sublime to the ridiculous.
At 2255km the N2 is the longest numbered route in the country. My mission was to ride the N2 from its origin in Ermelo to its endpoint in Cape Town. In the days before the ride my plans were derailed. Heavy rain was forecast for the east coast from Richard’s Bay to East London. I’m not a fair-weather biker but I had no desire to ride 850km in snot flying downpours. It was an easy decision to start the N2 ride in Cape Town instead. But as you’ll read that didn’t work out either.
At 07:00 on Monday morning, I met Kyle, Suzuki Area Manager, at Suzuki HQ in Marlboro. I strapped my new Desert Fox bag to the rear seat and luggage rack of the handsome glossy black bike, got a rundown from Kyle of the bike’s features and by 07:30 I was on the road braving the insane Joburg traffic. The N3 was solid in both directions. The N1 was a mess because of an accident. Every offramp was choked and every arterial bridge over the N1 was rammed. It was a relief when Soweto disappeared in the mirrors and the open road lay ahead. With the Grasmere toll plaza behind me, I took it easy on the N1S. There was a strong smell of bacon borne on the breeze. Thrice I spotted the porcine, khaki-clad revenue collectors lurking in the bushes and blessed my highly tuned olfactory sense for saving me from their clutches.
It was perfect riding weather, overcast, cool and windless. I made good time as I crossed the Vaal, left the freeway and followed the country roads to Parys, Viljoenskroon, Vredefort and on to Bothaville. A few years back the road to Bothaville was a potholed deathtrap and it was a welcome surprise to find the road reconstructed and in 160km/h condition. The next two towns were Wesselsbron and Bultfontein. I thought I would have had enough fuel to make it to Bultfontein but I was still getting used to the range readout on the TFT screen. Once the range readout dropped below 100km the remaining range dropped at an alarming rate and the last thing I needed was to run out of fuel. Wesselsbron was a mess. Over the years the degradation of once proud and pristine platteland dorps has been a tragedy to behold. The pavements were broken and littered with uncollected garbage. The potholed main street was lined with buildings that hadn’t seen paint in a decade. Unemployed people sat in the parks and on the sidewalks with nowhere to go and nothing to do. On the outskirts of town an informal settlement of hundreds of zinc shacks mushroomed across the veld. I don’t know how this will all end but it cannot end well. I rode across the plains to Bultfontein and rejoined the N1 on the northern side of Bloemfontein.
Viljoenskroon to Bloemfontein is a ride I highly recommend. The vast flat plains are the breadbasket of South Africa. Fallow mielie fields, waiting for the ploughs, stretch to the distant horizons. The landscape is punctuated by stands of ancient bluegums and occasional grain silos. This archetypal South African scene is the essence of lebensraum and a tonic for the soul.
On the southern side of Bloem, I picked up the N6 and headed to Reddersburg 60km distant. At about the halfway point the weather ahead looked increasingly ominous, a black wall riven by lightning. But there was bright sunshine to the west and a strong wind blowing in from the west which would dissipate the storm. I expected to ride through a shower and emerge slightly moist on the other side. Oh Yeah??? I rode into a ferocious Free State tempest. Thrashing wind, pelting hail, sluicing rain, blinding lightning strikes and zero visibility. After 10km of deluge and sound and fury, I emerged into bright sunshine soaked to the skin and stinking like a wet chicken. Way to go Howard! Why bother with the neatly folded and easily accessible rain gear in your luggage? Idiot! I stopped in Reddersburg, bought a drink and stood in blazing sunshine drying out and warming up.
There’s a magical, narrow tar road that runs from Reddersburg to Edenburg. Every time I ride that road it has become narrower as the grass encroaches. In 30km I did not see another vehicle and that’s the beauty of riding backroads and avoiding N roads. Edenburg to Trompsburg to Philippolis is my favourite road in all the land. It’s narrow and bumpy and potholed in places but it runs across breathtakingly beautiful, golden, grass-covered plains that disappear in infinity where the line between earth and sky becomes indistinguishable. I stopped to say ‘Howzit’ to a battered old tortoise and revelled in the ineffable tranquillity and solitude unique to great open spaces. My destination for the day was Hanover. As the shadows lengthened I cruised through Philippolis, crossed the Orange River, bypassed Colesberg and stopped at 3 Darling Street, Hanover at sunset. 3 Darling Street is owned by Dave and Heather, old bikers from Port Elizabeth. I spent a pleasant evening in their company, ate one of their legendary pizzas and then slept the sleep of the righteous man.
James Taylor sang in my dreams:
“Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway call
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
And signs that might be omens say I’m going, going…”
I woke to bright sunshine on Tuesday morning. Great, a nice warm day on the road. Or so I thought. A few clicks down the road I realised I was badly underdressed but like an idiot, I pressed on. The sunshine was a distant memory as I rode under a low scudding cloud, the colour of ashes in a cold fireplace. The temperature readout was pegged at 11°C. After 160 miserable kilometres, I stopped in Three Sisters, put on as many clothes as possible and continued to Beaufort West. If you’re in the movie business and decide to make a zombie apocalypse movie, Beaufort West is the place to go. There will be no need to hire any extras. Weird, tattered apparitions stagger through town moaning and screeching and gesticulating and making a nuisance of themselves. I know nothing about drugs but it’s clear that those benighted souls are in the grip of industrial-strength chemicals.
I rode south into the great nothingness, the 100km of desolation from Beaufort West to Klaarstroom. In Klaarstroom I stopped at The Shed, drank an excellent coffee and admired the collection of old machinery which included an aeroplane, an MGB GT and a beautifully restored Chrysler. Meiringspoort was as mystical and magical as ever, an otherworldly canyon through the mighty Swartberge “waar die kranse antwoord gee.” It was a skip and a jump to De Rust and thence to Oudtshoorn, the start of a legendary road. Route 62 is one of the sweetest rides in South Africa characterised by orchards, vineyards, meadows, lakes, wildflowers, picturesque hamlets and abundant emerald valleys flanked by rugged sunblasted mountains. Route 62 traverses an intriguing and ever-changing landscape. The towns are easy distances from each other which breaks the ride into nice bite-sized chunks.
By now the icy morning temperatures were a distant memory and I bombed along to Calitzdorp basking in the spring sunshine. Huisrivierpas is always a delight to ride. It’s tight and challenging with amazing views around every corner. Back on the open road, I rode at speed past Zoar and Ladysmith and thence to lush, beautiful Barrydale where property prices have gone aapkak because of semigration from Gauteng. Montagu, Kogmanskloof Pass, Ashton and Robertson were soon behind me and in Worcester, I joined the N1 for the last leg into Slaapstad. I was tempted to skiet the Huguenot Tunnel toll gate but decided on the less risky and more scenic option of riding up and over Bain’s Kloof Pass. I rejoined the N1 before Paarl and twenty minutes later parked the Suzuki at my nephew’s home in Durbanville.
Wednesday morning was the start of my quest to ride the length of the N2. I wanted a photo at the Cape Town Waterfront to depict the start of the odyssey. I left Durbanville, rode the N7 south and at 09:00 I joined the N1 to the city centre. I expected an easy ride but the freeway was rammed. It was horrible, high-concentration riding as I weaved through the crawling traffic. Eventually, I made it to the Waterfront which was a further nightmare with construction taking place everywhere. I took my photos and at last, it was time to hit the open road or so I imagined. Dream on Bru! The N2 past the airport, Somerset West and Gordon’s Bay was a mess. In Cape Town, every idiot, his moron brothers and his imbecile sisters, heads straight for the fast lane and refuses to budge. Add to the mayhem unsynchronised traffic lights and stupid speed restrictions. By the time I rode Sir Lowry’s Pass, I was a frazzled fellow. Houwhoek Pass was a sweet ride and for a brief while my mood improved but that was short-lived as I hit a Stop/Go at Botrivier. My usual tactic is to ride straight through but two-thirds of the road was under construction and the remaining third was barely wide enough to allow the passage of dozens of 26-wheeled juggernauts. I cooked in the sun for twenty minutes before eastbound traffic was allowed to proceed. The section under construction was about seven kilometres long which explained why the wait was so long. Ten kilometres later there was another Stop/Go and again I sat and cooked for twenty minutes.
Past Caledon, the road through the Overberg was in excellent condition. I stopped for photos of the rolling wheat fields tapestry, and vast pastel-coloured landscapes to delight the eye. I had arranged to meet my mate Gustav for brunch in Riviersonderend at 11:00 and eventually, I stopped at Die Ou Meul, in a foul temper, at 11:30.
It’s too painful to describe in detail the rest of that awful day on the road. There were four more Stop/Go sections but by now I had learned my lesson. I didn’t bother to stop, rode straight through, took my chances with oncoming traffic and damn the consequences. Shortly after Swellendam, a smirking cop pulled me over for allegedly overtaking on a barrier line. I could see he was in the mood for an argument so I shut my mouth when he presented me with a fine of R2500. Another wonderful feature of the N2 is the capricious and completely random speed limits which vary from 120km/h to 60km/h and every speed in between. There are so many changes to the speed limit, especially in the Knysna environs, that it becomes almost impossible to remember what the limit is. To make my joy complete the temperature peaked at 37°C. When, at last, I reached my friend Greg’s house in Plettenberg Bay I was hot, exhausted and angry. In more than half a century of riding that was the worst day I have ever spent in the saddle. What should have been a great day on the road was a hideous, stressful, dangerous ride. I should have been enjoying the Garden Route fragrances and scenery but instead, I spent the day wrestling with Western Cape stupidity. Thank heavens I was on a bike. Pity the poor bastard driving from Cape Town to Plett. A 550km journey that should take six hours will take nothing less than nine hours.
On Thursday morning I had a decision to make; continue the N2 ride or abandon the idea. Plett to East London would be easy but then there were three baastid sections; the unpredictable and potentially hazardous Transkei, KZN zero-tolerance land with multiple toll plazas from Port Edward to Richard’s Bay, and the coal truck-infested road from Richard’s Bay to Ermelo. Over breakfast at the extremely swanky ‘The Plettenberg’ Greg and I looked at a map and on the spot I decided to discard my N2 plans and ride backroads I had never ridden before. My decision to cancel the N2 ride was vindicated the moment I left Plett. The N2 was down to one lane in each direction and once that mess was behind me the road became a freeway. There were two eastbound lanes and a single westbound lane. I expected a speed limit of 120 but this is the Western Cape so the completely arbitrary, churlish, spiteful, perfidious, pernicious, illogical speed limit was 80.
I left the N2 and followed the R102 to Nature’s Valley, a road I had never ridden before. It was a beautiful ride through a lush floral landscape past farms with lyrical names like Blue Lilies, Narnian Meadows, Lily Pond and Four Fields Farm. To make my joy complete I found myself on the Grootrivier Pass which wound down and down through dense indigenous Tsitsikamma forest and ended at the ocean. In Nature’s Valley, I stopped at the Blue Rocks Café and sipped a bottle of Windhoek Draught which cost a stinging R50! I called my maat Gilbert and asked if I could stay at his home that evening. “Pull in,” he said. With accommodation sorted, I looked forward to spending the rest of the day exploring the R102. At the start of the Bloukrans Pass, there were all sorts of signs declaring the pass to be dangerous and closed and big arrows pointing to the N2 and the R67.50 Tsitsikamma toll plaza. To hell with that. I was on an extremely capable dual-purpose bike and the pass lay ahead. Bloukrans was a magnificent ride through never-ending tunnels of green. There were a couple of rocks in the road and that was the extent of the danger. At the foot of the Pass, I left the forests behind and rode into a landscape of pine plantations redolent with the fragrance of freshly cut timber. This day was just getting better and better.
I spent the rest of the day cruising eastwards on the lovely R102 with not a care in the world. In many places, the roadsides were brightened with hundreds of white lilies. In the meadows herds of dairy cows grazed contentedly. My helmet was filled with the perfume of flowers and eucalyptus, the smell of new-mown grass and freshly ploughed soil and the aromatic essences of the trees and fynbos of the Garden Route. This idyllic day on the R102 stood in stark contrast to the previous bloody awful day on the N2. As I rode through avenues of flowering trees I sang:
What a difference a day makes
Twenty-four little hours
Brought the sun and the flowers
Where there used to be pain…
Past Humansdorp and Jeffreys Bay the R102 ended. Back on the N2, I set cruise control at 120 and soon reached the exit to Blue Horizon Bay. It was a pleasant 15km chortle down to the ocean and Gilbert’s home. We braaied and drank beer and talked until late as old maats do. Gilbert’s joke: The girl says to her boyfriend “You only ever talk about bikes.” He says “What do you want to talk about?” She says “Tell me about your feelings.” He says “I really love bikes!”
Friday was a slack day with only one item on the agenda, a ride on the R102 to Van Staden’s River. Gilbert rode his Yamaha XT660 and led the way. We stopped on the low-level bridge over the river from where we had a perfect view of the massive concrete arch bridge where the N2 crosses the gorge. The bridge is known as the Bridge of Death because of the number of suicides who have leapt into the rock-littered abyss. The bridge opened on 11 November 1971 and just 12 days later the first suicide, a man from Uitenhage, jumped to his death. We spent more than half an hour in that scenic spot and in that time three groups of bikers rode past. Clearly, they were as averse to the N2 as I was. Back in Blue Horizon Bay I made the most of a peaceful afternoon and had a rejuvenating sleep. Saturday was going to be a long day on the road.
Saturday morning dawned bright and windless. I was looking forward to an 850km day in the saddle. Who knew what adventures lay ahead? As the saying goes; “The road whispers secrets only old bikers can hear.” I was on the road by 08:00. The N2 past Port Elizabeth and Coega was free-flowing and by 09:00 I was past Nanaga and riding due north on the N10. It was pleasantly cool, 19°C, and the road was in immaculate condition. Paterson was soon behind me and then it was up and over fast, tight, challenging Olifantskop Pass and onto the plains of the vast hinterland. I set the cruise control to a decent pace and the Suzuki devoured the distance to Golden Valley and Cookhouse, over Daggaboersnek and into the lush green valley of the Great Fish River. Cradock is yet another historical town that has fallen victim to the name-changing frenzy that afflicts this country. The new name is Nxuba. The coloured people of the town still live in abject poverty in baking tin shanties on a barren, sun-blasted plain. But hey, we changed the name from Cradock to Nxuba and taught them colonial bastards a lesson. Amandla Awethu!
It’s only 60km from Cradock to Hofmeyr and in that stretch, there were four Stop/Go sections which I rode straight through. I was in hurry-up mode and blitzed to Steynsburg, Burgersdorp and Aliwal North. Aliwal North was named after the Battle of Aliwal which was fought in 1846. British East India Company troops under the command of Sir Harry Smith defeated the army of the Sikh Empire. For a short time, there was also a town called Aliwal South before it was renamed Mossel Bay. Now Aliwal North is also no more. It has been renamed Maletswai.
I crossed the Orange River on the General Hertzog Bridge, left the Eastern Cape and began a long hot trek through the eastern Free State. I had already ridden 520km but I still had 330km to go. Thank heavens for cruise control. The V-Strom ran smooth and easy at my usual pace and soon I was through Rouxville, Zastron, and Wepener for my habitual stop in Hobhouse. I always stop in the churchyard to pay my respects to Emily Hobhouse who brought to the attention of the British public the diabolical conditions in the British concentration camps in which 34000 Boer women and children died during the Boer War. It’s 50km from Hobhouse to Ladybrand. That road is a disgrace, a legacy of yet another politician’s tenure as Free State Premier during which the province’s fiscus is treated as a personal bank account. There are killer potholes everywhere and to add insult to injury there’s a 10km section where the R26, the main arterial through the eastern Free State, is a dirt road. Provincial employees should go to jail for this nonsense. Ladybrand to Clocolan to Ficksburg and Fouriesburg is a lovely scenic ride characterised by towering sandstone buttresses and fertile valleys. The meadows and roadsides are home to stands of ancient trees, aspens, willow and poplars, their spring foliage shimmering in the breeze.
In Fouriesburg I stopped at DiPlaasstoep Restaurant. I hadn’t eaten anything the whole day and I demolished an outrageously excellent toasted bacon, egg and cheese sandwich washed down with a couple of Windhoek Draughts. I checked into the Fouriesburg Country Inn for the night. After a long day on the road, I was fast asleep by 20:30.
Sunday morning should have been an easy 400km ride back to Joburg. It started off well enough with a swift pipe opener to Clarens followed by a leisurely ride through Golden Gate which was as delightful as ever, the roadsides illuminated with banks of wildflowers, purples, oranges and yellows. I saw baboons and antelope and meerkats and dassies. And of course, there were the towering sandstone bastions that give the park its name. But as I rode north to Kestell I rode into the teeth of hammering winds from the north. Past Afrikaskop and Warden and then on to Villiers there was no respite. On the N3 between Warden and Villiers, I caught up with some other guys on bikes and we rode together for a while making exaggerated gestures to indicate how badly we were being slammed by the wind. All I could do was to hang on like grim death and endure the battering. This too shall pass! And it did. I parked the Suzuki at my daughter’s home at 13:00. I was tired but fulfilled. I hadn’t ridden the N2 but I had ridden a 3700km lap of the country.
These days if you add accessories to your new adventure bike the price will almost certainly exceed R400,000. That’s an eye-watering number and, frankly, it’s out of the reach of many men. Check these base model prices:
- KTM 1290 Adventure – R350,000
- BMW R1300GS – R362,000
- Triumph Tiger 1200 Rally Pro – R340,000
- Ducati Desert X Rally – R399,000
If you want to save R100K or more then I suggest you ride the Suzuki V-Strom DL1050DE which retails for R259,000. Over 7 days and 3700km, the Suzuki transported me in safety and comfort across this land. In all that time and distance the only maintenance I performed was to lubricate the chain every evening. The long travel suspension, 170mm front and 169mm rear irons out road irregularities and reduces fatigue on serious days in the saddle. The sophisticated, proven 1037cc liquid-cooled, fuel-injected, DOHC, 90° V-Twin never missed a beat and delivered an exhilarating ride on every conceivable road surface. The 20-litre fuel tank was good for 300km stretches and suited my riding style. I like to ride without stopping until the fuel warning light comes on. The multicoloured TFT screen provided all the information I needed with one exception – no tyre pressure readout. That might be due to the new 21-inch front wheel which has a tube instead of being tubeless like the rear 17-inch tyre. Fortunately, I never had a puncture and my ride was completely uneventful.
For all the reasons mentioned here, the biggest Suzuki V-Strom is selling by the container load. This goes to show, you don’t need to spend R400K to embark on your personal journey of exploration.
Suzuki V-Strom 1050 DE
For more information on the bike featured in this article, click on the link below…
