Dirt Busters. Deon Meyer

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      Cederberg magic

      I once had a strange experience in the Cederberg mountains on the road to Matjiesrivier via Eselbank. After a hard week on the sand roads of the West Coast and in the baking hot mountains of southern Namibia, Jan du Toit and I were on our way home on a pair of identical R1150 GS motorbikes. It was the last leg of the last day of the expedition. That may be why an odd spirit possessed us beyond Wupperthal – a sense of euphoria, madness, exuberance.

      We had not discussed or planned it. Without warning, words or any other communication, we simultaneously pulled out the stops, heading up the mountain’s steep jeep track. And took off. Side by side, in a mad rush over the stones, gravel, sand, drifts. Rounding one sly, blind corner after the other, reckless, irresponsible, playful, a torrent of adrenaline carrying us along. We focused on the track and the track alone. The knocking of our panniers against each other, the rear wheels jostling for grip, the motorbike suspension barely coping with the bumps, all that was only vaguely recalled later, our speed needed total concentration.

      We saw very little of the scenery. But it was fun.

      That was one of the reasons Anita and I rode the route again a year later. Racing has its merits, but you owe the Cederberg – and yourself – more than that.

      The other reason was to test the new R1200 GS on the same road. How would a more modern, more powerful, lighter motorbike, with rider and passenger, fare on this stretch of paradise?

      It was the first week in November that we rode via Ceres and the Gydo Pass to Op-die-Berg and then turned right to Blinkberg Pass. We didn’t hurry, as we wanted to look around. Firstly at the Skurweberg on the left: an inaccessible landscape of wicked, sharp rocks, rof en onbeskof (rough and rude), as Tolla van der Merwe would say. The Koue Bokkeveld.

      Later the angles became softer, the valleys longer, the road a bleached yellow ribbon laid by long-gone engineers, the souvenir of a forgotten celebration. The veld was a different, unfamiliar Karoo, greener, brighter, younger. We stopped at the Cederberg Oasis for a cold drink. There were some mountain bikers looking for refreshment. They looked enviously at our mounts. It must have taken hard pedalling to get here.

      Then we braved the Eselbank road again. At Matjieskloof, where the big, broad dirt road swings left to Clanwilliam, you go straight on. It’s 4x4 country, up the mountain on a bumpy track, thick, loose gravel, cracks and runnels – the route I had careened down not so long ago.

      The view is awe-inspiring. Each bend presents a new vista – the Tra-Tra River gorge, Wolfberg cracks, Corridor Peak and Tafelberg. There are settlements up there, tiny fields, fat livestock, glittering streams to splash through.

      But it is the winding, steep pass down to Wupperthal that makes me burn with shame at our reckless racing of before. It is simply breathtaking and enchanting as we descend and turn, descend and turn down to the blessed shade of the mission station, where we stop beneath a giant tree to mull over everything we’ve seen.

      I stand and consider how much more easily the new motorbike handles the challenges of the road. My wife puts her stamp of approval on the passenger seat. We discuss where this road would rank on our Big Five list and then we ride on, to Bushmans Kloof.

      But, when I look back one last time at the thin stripe of the Eselbank road running up the slope, I wonder fleetingly how it would feel to ride up there on this brand-new beast, off the leash, romping in playful exuberance.

       Route grading

      3,5

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