Ardmore, Cathkin Valley
I would not be leaving Wakkerstroom in a rush. A late arrival generally means a late departure. I had a blog to write, but mostly I had to eat.
John, who runs a central store and information service, is also a keen mountain biker and among a seeming handful of South Africans with whom you can discuss the Mohlapitse River.
In the same area, near the Oliphants, John has been taken to see cave paintings of elephants. Mapless in Wakkerstroom, John helped me on my journey to Memel, with me phoning him several times to confirm and check several points.
I had not done this part of the route previously. We had cycled to Wakkerstroom on one trip and then from Amajuba, on another.
I had made a call to Mark Armitage on the farm Glen Atoll, though, to confirm that it was possible to cross the Buffalo from his farm and end up on the Quaggasnek road to Memel.
It was all quite slow going and I got to Glen Atholl much later than I expected. Mark was away, but his father painstakingly drew on my 1:50 000 map to show where and how I should cross the Buffalo.
The Glen Atholl farm is as historic as they come but a recent fire has meant that part of the main farmhouse was burnt down. The Armitage family lives in a wonderful sandstone house which has in part been re-built using materials from the destroyed house. There is a cottage which is rented out, with glorious views of the valley below.
They stocked me up with spring water and fruit and armed with careful directions, I was off.
Leaving Wakkerstroom
The valley to myself
As usual I had the valley to myself, sharing it with cattle and horses, but no people. A track has been cut in the sandstone and you snake your way down then up the other side.
The river has also cut its way deep into the sandstone. This is as sublime a spot as you’ll find anywhere in the Drakensberg. The designer of the trail has done a very useful thing at the main point of crossing. Time has cut furrows in to the sandstone. You can easily step over these, at this time of the year crossing without getting your feet wet.
I made my way to Laing’s Nek where long lines of cars were waiting to take their turn down the pass. The queues are so long that Ivran, an entrepreneur, sells Yogipops and crisps to the waiting motorists. I bought one of each.
The day was ending and I was about 55km short of Memel. There is a camp facility near Amajuba which commemorates the site. You can stay there. The manager was very friendly and he and I discussed my best option while his wife brought me a Fanta (orange).
I decided to cycle the 55km. The sky was full of stars, a giant arrow pointing the direction of Memel. Night riding takes some concentration. At one point the road curved and I did not notice. The next moment I was in a ditch and tumbled off the bike. My first fall.
My pace got slower and slower, eventually arriving at about 11pm. Charlotte Viviers, who runs the Antique B&B in Memel and much else besides, had a supper waiting for me. In the morning I had three boiled eggs from her Nguni chickens.
On a previous trip we had cycled to Swinburne via Normandien. I was keen to compare this with a slightly more direct route via Verkykerskop. The road was rutted, sandy and there was a headwind. There was also a surprising amount of tar on this section, given the remoteness of the area.
The previous night my left shin tightened into a knot. This is an injury runners pick up which can see you laid off for months. I had tried to massage it out but this had not worked. My seat had been slipping and I re-set it to the correct position. Three cranks of the pedal and the tightness released.
This was to be my best riding day yet, me getting more out of the bike and it getting more out of me.
Verkykerskop
A couple bought the hamlet of Verkykerskop and have done an excellent job of turning it into an off-beat tourist attraction. There is a pub, a restaurant and accommodation facilities ranging from basic to comfortable.
I had a cheese and ham sandwich with chips, a vetkoek with cheese and jam and a litre of Fanta Grape. Then I put my feet up in the corner and had a short sleep.
But as charming and useful as Verkykerskop is, I don’t think it would be on my main route. There is a lot of tar and this route does not match the other which largely follows two rivers, the Klip and Wilge.
The N3 brings a strange energy, a non-stop howl of vehicles making their way across the Drakensberg. They take an east-west line. I was going north-south.
Swinburne
There are a number of tour operators in the Swinburne/Geluksburg area who offer trails, quad biking and the like. There are also a number of little heard-of passes such as Bezuidenhout’s, Twintwa and Middledale. But I had spotted a single track on the map connecting the two and was keen to take it.
Only problem was that Swinburne was wet and cold and covered in mist. I bought a plastic survival bag and some long-fingered gloves.
Lucia, who runs the House of Coffees at Swinburne, gave me some plastic gloves, the kind they use to prepare food.
I called Hansie, who promotes a trail in the area. She had three ways for me to get down the mountain but had never heard of the route I wanted to take.
It was too cold and wet a day to go looking for new trails, so I took the Twintwa/Middledale pass. This is a favourite ride of mine. While the road is tarred (and potholed) you pretty much have the thing to yourself.
The donkeys are very friendly. I saw two which had a single stripe on their backs. Given enough time, could the quagga return to this area?
Geluksburg and Ardmore
Geluksburg’s claim to fame has been that it is a town without a council and without services. But Lucretia at The Homestead says that there are now plans to introduce rates.
She has framed articles on the lost valley, an area where some of the kaalvoet trekkers who were making their way up the Berg with Piet Retief fell off the back and got left behind.
They were discovered by the press in the 1950s and written up in much the same way as Die Hel in the Cape. There are pictures too, kaalvoet people in front of mud houses. They have long gone but artifacts attest to the time they were here. One is a suspension bridge made of wire and oil drums.
I looked closely at a 1:50 000 map on Lucretia’s wall. The track I wanted to take would take me right through the lost valley.
I had lunch at Belingela near Bergville and started making calls to local people to find the best off-tar route through the Berg. This is not easy. I was unable to reach anyone and set out to see for myself. At one point I wasted 12km on a road to nowhere.
A farmer stopped, explained why what I was trying to do would not work, and invited me to stay for the night. It was only 3pm so I pushed on. There are stretches of tar on the route I have followed that do not fit with a trail aesthetic of riding off road. But here is a stretch which is plain life-threatening. At one point there was a grader making its way towards me.
A taxi overtook it at 120km/h, passing head-on to within a metre of where I was riding.
I heard the next day from an Australian couple at Ardmore over breakfast that they had seen a similar incident, with the cyclist ending up in a ditch.
I phoned ahead and booked at Ardmore, world-famous for its pottery, after making sure I would be able to continue the next day from Ardmore into the Injasuti valley.
It started to rain. I started the climb up to Ardmore. A little fountain of water danced in front of my face, lit up by my head torch. My backside was soon wet from water on the road. My Speedo stopped working, meaning that I had some difficulty working out where I was and how far I had to go to find my accommodation for the night, at Ardmore.