Mad Bike Trips Hogsback to the Karoo semi desert.

I had experienced real elation at the top of the Hogsback mountains. That bath at the backpackers, that looks out over the mountains, was probably the best ever end to a day's ride. I cannot think of anything better than a hot bath on a chill night on a mountainside that you got to the top of with your own body's power. (OK so mountaineers may be laughing at me...)

The warmth of the people was great too. I have mentioned before what a tremendous difference getting rid of tobacco made to my riding. It really felt wonderful to get all that strength and stamina back that I had learned to go without for so long.
I tore down the forest edged pass from Hogsback to the villages below. It was fantastic. It also broke a spoke. Now, I may not be a great world touring bike guy, but the three months on the road during 2009, when I had made my choice and the choice was the road. Screw apartments... Those months taught me how to maintain a bike. Spoke change? On the drive side of the rear wheel? No problem. Twenty minutes max. Of course, I'll still let a puncture stop me next to mud puddle for twelve hours on a bad day, but that happens later. I still ride pneumatic tubes and fix punctures like a kid at the side of the road. With rubber, glue and a bit of rough stuff.

You're not allowed to sleep next to or under the road in South Africa. But these little spots where a river goes under a road make great resting places...
As you slip off the mountains and start moving along the lower lying areas of the country, the heat can become an issue even for someone born here. Forty degrees doesn't sound like much, but combined with a drying wind and drinking water being a little harder to come across; the Karoo can hurt you. At night, like many deserts, it gets damn cold. In 2010, after I had left my old bike 'Dorothy' in the Baviaans mountains at a new friend's farm while his daughter and I went off on our own little madcap adventure, I had to sleep on the bare Karoo floor near Willowmore on the way to fetch my bike. Those little tricks on the survival channel things? They actually do count. Do 'em all. Without a fire, you can freeze to death at night even if you haven't seen a snowflake in years.
The countryside between Hogsback and Somerset West, a small town in the mountains above the Karoo was easy and pleasant. In 2013 I had money to afford the few hundred Rand an old fashioned hotel in the middle of Midgley asked for. I could even eat dinner. At a comparable moment in 2009, I was in the care of old Vrik Forster of the hairdressing salon and stuffed trout trek, My friend who gave me a month's work to keep him company in the Malutis. He tried to teach me about the diesel lister engine pumps that precariously provide several hundred thousand Xhosa people in the mountains below Lesotho with water. I didn't absorb much. I have a mental block about anything other than beautiful natural stuff. That's how you end up wandering aimlessly around with your bicycle instead of diligently decorating wealthy people's homes in Johannesburg. But ja, life was easy this summer and I was looking forward to the challenge of crossing the Karoo.
The second day with those hills on my right, the wild, treed slopes that Hogsback was only a small part of, there was a monumental rainstorm. Caught me out properly. I got soaked. My little green backpack has a very useful little raincover, so that was all right. In 2009 I had no such thing. When it rained, I just got washed, and that happened this time. A proper downpour.
I have to tell you something about hospitality in South Africa. It's amazing. People in South Africa are amazing. DOn't let anyone tell you any differently. I have wondered if white privilege doesn't afford me special opportunities and I'm sure it does, but I see black friends doing similar journeys and they also know. Wherever you are, whatever colour you are, whoever you are, if you are honest and straight with a South African you are probably going to make a friend.
(This advice does not apply in the cities. In the cities, or the Cape flats, or most of PE or Jeppe in JHB or Durban station at three in the morning where I hid under a sheet of platic to well, to hide until morning, those places you must act like you are meant to be there, you know whatyou are doing. If you hide under a sheet of plastic until the dawn comes to rescue you, it's best to do so with purpose. Then all the other people hiding under plastic on the same block will respect you and you can keep your bag.)

But out near Somerset East, up in the rural areas where the veld and the farm life and wide open spaces and the wild rivers and big cats change the way people think. Up there, after a really thorough rainstorm and a moment's peace in an old guard hut with three other people who also needed the roof for a moment, I decided that I was going to get some hospitality. It could be argued that this was a willful act of evil. Sociopath territory. You could say and be right, that I had learned so much about the generosity of South Africans that I could now take advantage of them mercilessly. In my defence, I will tell you that all I had in mind was a spot to sleep safe just off the front porch. Anyplace where I wouldn't get arrested but also wouldn't have to part with any of my less than holiday style budget.
At any rate. I cleared my mind, rode the last ten kilometres through hissing gurgling road edges, the whole landscape still awash and found out about this little place, Somerset West. I visualised the familiarity and warmth with which I would be greeted.
Daunting, but I knew I'd find it eventually. I was wet, and I wanted to be dry.
First I explored an old bridge just as you enter town, even thought of camping there, but the urge toward the hospitality I knew was somewhere was too strong. Perhaps I willed into existence a warm and inviting family. The second door I knocked on, a family whose names I took pains to remember throughout the night and swore I would never forget and yet could not tell you if they walked past me in the street tomorrow, THAT family. Took me in. Took me with them for the night to a Christmas dinner in town. I feasted with the creme of the crop, the elite of the town. Erudite and intriguing conversation was made and I even learned the whole table-full of people's names as we scoffed roast ham and turkey with three kinds of stuffing and macadamia nut whatsit and fruitcake and .... they were wonderful, and I slept in a well appointed and cosy bedroom. All because someone felt touched to be kind to a stranger. Like they tell you. He could be Jesus so you're supposed to be kind to a stranger if you're sure they're not a serial killer.. Well let me tell you I'm not Jesus but I like Christmas dinner as much as anyone else and I sincerely meant the worthless thanks I uttered when I left in the morning. But it was evil. It was the first time I had just KNOWN. That the amazing adventure of serendipity on the road had become, for me, so predictable that hours earlier on the tar before I met all those charming people I knew, I just knew that all I had to do was arrive and it would happen. MAybe that's why these days I just go to the nature reserve.
I prefer to sleep in the bush. I don't have anything to reciprocate with. What can I ever offer in return for such fabulous hospitality? The road calls
Now the land turned bleak, wind scoured and dry as I crossed the Karoo on the way to my final destination.
The home of my very great hero. A friend who lived at the edge of the Knysna forest. I would tell you she is a wood spirit and a friend to magic, but we do not say things like that unless we want people to think we're nuts. Nonetheless I was on my way to drink tea with her and all that happened in between was just the journey.
I think I mentioned that the Karoo can be harsh? Beautiful though. I even witnessed several rare rainstorms while there. It's an amazing place.

Follow me for more South African wanderer stories, odd thoughts and landscapes. Next comes the massive ride out of the Karoo over the Prince Alfred pass to the forest town of Knysna, where the Outeniqua mountains kiss the sea!