Speed Wobble

image courtesy Sam Javanrouh

Day 3

Since I had, in the space of a day, managed to make a significant recovery - almost shook off the sore throat - I didn't make use of the downtime in Suurbraak to rest. Instead we wandered to the river, threw stones, kuiered and sat around a fire till late. The latter in particular wasn't what the doctor ordered.

So the next morning the slime had regrouped, and manifested as a sort of mental malaise. I found out later that I was recording people on my Sharp Viewcam in PAUSE mode, and then pressing record once finished. How dumb is that? So I ended up with lots of footage of my upperlegs moving from A to B. PJ, Jean, San Marie and others - all that 'footage' not even recorded in the first place. Sorry guys.

[Place head here: kick at will]

Since the new bus arrived late, the stage to Bredasdorp was cancelled. I had a chance to catch up on an extra hour or two's sleep, in the Much Better Bus.
Bredasdorp was interesting. Didn't feel like the geldinsamel (money collection) but then we found a historic looking building and ended up chatting for 45 minutes to an old geezer, going through albums (quite a sad story of a double divorce, money swindling and deteriorating health), then found a geologist (a very pretty brunette in a pretty roadside house, Vergesog... or something...beside a sparkling silver Golf) and then headed to a Guest House where a long, blonde pony tailed woman - who reminded me of a horse, grilled us about missionary work, confessed to 'having a heart' for 'sendingwerk' (missionary work) and then ran back inside to fetch even more money.

Yolandi, a quiet girl studying Radiology, and I walked back to a splendid meal. Afterwards I quickly rode down to the nearest bike shop in search of a spare tyre (mine was so worn through there was a soft black strip peeking through the worn away red rubber), but it turned out to be a dinky-toy type cycle shop. In fact, I think they sold toys and tricycles and stuff as well.

Then I turned into a superman blur: sprinted back to the bus, scooped up some Gu2O, headed up the carpetted stairs of a nearby house and did the loo thing, then grabbed my bike just as the blue cyclopede was wheeling out of Bredasdorp.

When I saw Yolandi's bike I nearly started crying. It was a R500 (if not less) Klopper's special. It had a water bottle cage situated not on, but under the slanting tube, just behind the front wheel. Try grabbing a drink out of that death trap while cycling. Meanwhile, above around 30km/h the gears were practically useless. This was a bike designed to cycle to the shops 4-6 times in its lifetime (and then be discarded for the rest of its life in the garage).

Meanwhile Yolandi, a tingerige (fragile, waify) girl, managed to unnerve me even more than her bike (which hardly seemed possible). She cycled with rigid elbows, and once over one eggshell climb, she'd plummet down, body rigid, then body and bike would wobble, sometimes with her feet flying out like landing gear, and I'd want to cover my eyes... While I was trying to avoid auditioning (for the leading role) in Imminent Carnage 2, riders around us were engaged in happy countryside stuff like dam-duiking (swimming in roadside dams). It took all my energy and concentration to keep both my tissue and hers from being shredded on tar and orange reflectors inbedded in the road.

Every few metres I explained to Yolandi (who told me she had been headgirl) how to change gears, when to change, how much to change. Then to change back. (Headgirl, who'd never had a boyfriend before.) Then, having only covered 15km, she, following my instructions, jumped 2 gears and the chain gayly skipped into the gutter between the sprocket and the frame. No problemo? Well, not if you have a bike using technology from the latest century. Her wheels had been bolted to the bike (otherwise, yeah, they might wobble off). So without a quick release we had to wait for 'Repairs', the guys who are essentially the broom wagon. With wrench in hand we did the greasy job of simply getting the chain back onto gears. That little chore took around 30 minutes.

From there, we cycled over a series of eggs (very curvy up and down roads), ending in The Road of Death, a very dangerous, narrow, shoulderless, blind-rise infested piece of road ending in Hermanus. We did quite well together I thought, and had even agreed to go for coffee once home and dry.

It was gratifying to be in Hermanus. Back at the sea. Back alive and unshredded. After showering I felt like a human being again. Our sleeping quarters was a stones throw - literally - from the sea, and right beside a Spur restaurant. I would have gone in for a burger except that the grub cooked specially for us was so delish, and so bountiful, it wasn't necessary to go next door to buy food.

A beer wouldn't have been bad though. To put away the worries of the day, and to forget about the unspeakably difficult road that waited for us all the next day.