I don’t like riding the N4 from Gauteng to the Lowveld. It’s 350km of mostly uninspiring riding. The East Rand is a happy hunting ground for Gauteng traffic cops and shortly after crossing the provincial border, Mpumalanga cops are keen to give you a warm, expensive welcome. The road is infested with 26 and 34-wheel behemoths which usually stay in the left lane but have an irritating habit of overtaking each other on steep uphills and then battling it out for last place while a queue of cars builds up behind them. The Middelburg toll fee is R79.00 for a bike. It’s also R79.00 for a taxi carrying 18 passengers and towing an overloaded trailer. Clearly, this is unjust and therefore it behooves us bikers to sashay through without disturbing the moths breeding in our wallets. From Middelburg, it’s 100km to the Machadodorp toll plaza where the fee is an eye-watering R118.00, the country’s most expensive Class 1 toll fee. Total toll fees for a return trip are R394.00! Eina! After Machadodorp things get better. There’s a choice between riding Schoemanskloof or the Elands River Valley road past the gargantuan Sappi mill at Ngodwana. Both are excellent riding roads characterised by fast-flowing sweepers. But they hardly compensate for the tedium of the N4 and the outrageous toll fees.

On the infrequent occasions when I ride to Joburg I make a point of riding alternative routes. The destination is important but the journey is where adventure awaits. There’s real Africa out there and it’s easy to discover away from the N routes. In the immortal words of Lou Reed:

“Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side”
I said, “Hey Joe, take a walk on the wild side”

1 of 2

On Tuesday morning I collected a Suzuki GSX-S1000GX from Freedom Motorcycles in Nelspruit. The GX is a razor-sharp sport touring bike, a crossover motorcycle that combines the precision and performance of the legendary GSX-R1000 with the upright seating position and long-distance comfort of a touring machine. It weighs 232kg full of fuel. The GX is characterised by sharp lines, aggressive styling and rakish good looks. The vertically stacked pair of LED headlights is flanked by upswept LED position lights, the menacing eyes in the GX’s predatory lupine face. The GX is a wolf in wolf’s clothing.

I spent time with Dewald, the Sales Manager, so he could explain the myriad electronic settings of the Suzuki Intelligent Ride System (SIRS). For long-distance, high-speed riding, I chose medium settings for Power Mode, Traction Control, and Suspension Damping. Over more than 1000km on roads that varied from excellent blacktops to patched, potholed deathtraps, the settings suited me perfectly.

With my minimalist travelling kit strapped to the GX, I rode south on the R40. Nelspruit to Barberton is 40km of high speed, excellent condition tarmac which features the extremely tricksy Hilltop Pass. Hilltop has eight vicious corners that will give you big eyes if you run in too hot. But if you get them right, you’ll grind the hero blobs and erase every vestige of chicken strips on your rear tyre. It’s a brilliant pass. From the foot of the pass, the road runs through the valley of the Noordkaap River where the never-ending sweepers tempt you to hang off further and further and give your tyres a good scrubbing.

At the junction with the R38, I rode east into the mountains. The first of two passes is Botha’s Nek which winds up rugged mountainsides cloaked in pine and eucalyptus plantations. The corners are fast and flowing and overtaking slow-moving vehicles is easy. From the summit the views over the Lowveld are spectacular. The second pass is Nelshoogte which drops steeply to undulating grasslands. Over the three passes, I discovered that the GX is a finely crafted weapon for dealing with challenging roads. Handling is precise and predictable, brakes are potent and progressive, and the bi-directional quick shifter is uncannily smooth and seamless. The GX was fitted with new Michelin Road 6 tyres which are developing a reputation as the best all-round tyre on the market. With all these factors in my favour and on roads that I know well I was riding like a maniac with his hair on fire, loving the speed and the confidence instilled by the Suzuki.

After the recent good rains, the Vygeboog Dam overflowed into the Komati River, which rushed like a torrent under the road bridge. On the flatlands approaching Badplaas, I bombed along at 180km/h, enjoying the soulful aural accompaniment of the 999cc mill spinning easily at 8000rpm. Despite the slim dimensions of the windscreen, the wind protection was remarkably good, and I was becoming increasingly impressed with the bike’s blitzing long-distance capabilities. This was going to be an exceptional ride.

I could have continued straight on to Carolina but I like the deserted R541 that runs southeast to Lochiel across vast savannahs. On one of the long straights, I tucked in and wound the GX to 230km/h with the engine howling sweetly at 10000 rpm. I’m sure I would have seen 260 if I tried but sometimes enough is enough. At the intersection with the N17, I stopped for a photo of the sign that declares this to be the Grasslands and Wetlands route. The N17 to Chrissiesmeer and thence to Ermelo is 100km of bucolic verdant meadows scattered with sparkling pans like sapphires strewn on a billiard table. It’s one of the most beautiful roads in the land but on this day I had no eyes for the scenery. I was focused on the ominous darkening sky on the eastern horizon. In the metropolis of Warburton, I stopped and donned a jacket that was gifted to me on a Harley launch many years ago. I had never worn the jacket and always assumed it was a rain jacket. Short before long, I discovered how wrong I was.

1 of 3

20 kilometres from Chrissiesmeer I rode into a maelstrom. On the grasslands, there was no place to hide and I had no choice but to ride on. It was the worst storm I’ve ever ridden in. Swirling torrents of rain and thrashing winds reduced visibility to practically nil. The darkness under the cloud was riven by incandescent lightning bolts and I found myself wondering what it would be like to be struck by lightning. Cars and trucks loomed like spectres out of the gloom and as I passed I imagined them thinking “Why is that fool riding in this weather?” The only upside was the Michelin Road 6 tyres which didn’t twitch once, even when I was navigating rivers running across the road. After twenty minutes of insanity, I stopped at the petrol pumps in Chrissiesmeer chilled to the marrow and dripping. It was still raining heavily so I sat in the garage shop and ate a Russian and Chips washed down with a cleansing lager.

Eventually, the rain slackened. I refuelled the bike and rode onwards to Ermelo. Now I was properly cold as the water evaporated from my sodden apparel. I resigned myself to a long cold afternoon in the saddle. I weaved my way through the chaotic Ermelo traffic and joined the N17 to Bethal. The road from Ermelo to Bethal has existed forever. Now it just happens to be a toll road with no viable alternative route. Therefore I considered toll fees to be optional and I opted to dawdle through with a smile on my face and a song on my lips. If I had stopped to pay I would have occupied an entire lane for at least five minutes. Stop. Switch off the bike. Remove wet gloves. Find a wet wallet. Remove card. Hand card to fee collector. Receive card. Drop card from trembling hand. Get off the bike. Replace card in wallet. Place the wallet back in the wet pocket. Get back on the bike. Struggle to put wet gloves back on while swearing loudly. Wipe mist from the visor. Start bike. Ride away. Just give bikers a dedicated metre-wide bike lane and be done with it. But Nooooooo! Rools is Rools! Bureaucratic idiots.

Just after Bethal, I rode out from under the clouds into bright, warm Highveld sunshine. I started to feel human again as my clothes began to dry. A few clicks past Trichardt I left the N17 and followed the R29 through Kinross, Leandra and Devon. It’s been many years since I rode through those towns. One word to describe them: Shattered. This is what I saw in the main streets: cattle and goats roaming free, piles of rotting garbage, litter everywhere, informal dwellings, shebeens, gutted buildings, wrecked vehicles, tatty spaza shops, broken fences, unemployable people sleeping in doorways. The degradation of once thriving platteland dorps is a microcosm of the destruction taking place on a massive scale across this country.

1 of 2

I continued the ride in a sombre mood and rejoined the N17 on the outskirts of Springs. At 17:00 I parked the GX outside Tonino’s Restaurant in Orange Grove. Tonino’s is a biker-friendly joint specialising in Portuguese cuisine. There were eight of us for dinner. I ordered 15 queen prawns for R225; excellent value for money. We spent a splendid evening swapping stories and talking twak as bikers do. After dinner Jamie and I rode in the rain to his casa in Victory Park. Despite tough conditions, it was an excellent day on the road. 480km of not the N4.

1 of 2

On Wednesday morning I inspected the bike before setting off. The rains of the previous day had washed every hint of lubricant from the chain. I like to think I’m a mechanically sensitive rider and therefore it makes sense to maintain the only exposed mechanical part of the bike. Jamie didn’t have any lube; he rides a shaft-drive GS and a belt-drive Harley. But I had a plan B. My route out of town was the N3 past the Suzuki HQ in Marlboro. I pulled in, Shane lubed the chain and I was back on the road at 11:00. I rode the R21 past the airport and then took the R25 to Bapsfontein and Bronkhorstspruit aka Dronkwordspruit. Riding conditions were ideal, overcast and cool. I set the cruise control at 150km/h and watched the emerald-green countryside fly by. In Bronkhorstspruit I stopped for photos at the magnificent Nan Hua Temple. The R25 crosses over the N4 and on the far side of the bridge, two female traffic cops were sitting on their BMW R1250RTs. Of course, I stopped to chat with them. They were polite enough but declined to talk about their duties so I continued on my merry way.

1 of 4

The road from Bronkhorstspruit to Groblersdal is a special ride. It traverses lush, mountainous bushveld terrain, a delight to the eye. There’s not much traffic but there are a few large settlements along the road with names you might never have heard of: Sokhulumi, Chief Magodongo, Verena and Dennilton. There are good reasons to take it easy when riding through these places. Firstly, there are myriad cattle, sheep, donkeys and goats on the road and the verges, and, secondly, there are bastard unpainted, slab-sided speed humps that launch you out of the saddle if you hit one at speed. North of Verena I stopped for a photo of the weather-beaten, almost illegible signboard at the entrance to Zithabiseni Resort. In 1999 Zithabiseni was the venue for the one and only, the first and last, the legendary Hustler Rally. In the months leading up to the rally, Hustler Magazine promised an extravaganza the likes of which South Africa had never experienced. And they did not lie. I don’t know where Hustler found so many gorgeous women but there they were in all their naked glory, basking in the sunshine, cavorting in the pool and parading their assets on stage. It was a fiesta of unbridled, gratuitous female nudity. I nearly went blind. But that was then and now I needed to gijima because I still had distance to cover.

I stopped in Dennilton for a photo of an old, abandoned Komatsu grader standing forlornly on perished tyres, slowly decaying in its final resting place. That sad machine suggested these lines from Shakespeare:

Fear no more the heat ‘o the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou they worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en they wages…

After Dennilton the road runs through the astonishingly fertile valley of the Olifants River, an Eden of citrus orchards, vineyards, maize, and a cornucopia of vegetable crops. The roadsides approaching Groblersdal are a colourful array of stalls selling crops from the valley; oranges, pumpkins, watermelons, mangoes, potatoes, onions and butternuts. It’s a happy scene and the stalls appeared to be doing good business as motorists stopped to stock up on fruit and veggies. It was a quick 60km blitz from Groblersdal to Stofberg through beautiful game-fenced bushveld panoramas and past Rooikraal Dam. I was expecting the R555 from Stofberg to Roossenekal to be a potholed disaster area but it wasn’t too bad. I turned off the R555 and rode the R577 across the plains towards the bulwarks of the Steenkampsberge looming ever larger on the eastern horizon. It was an exhilarating ride up and over De Berg Pass down into the flatlands. If you’ve never ridden De Berg, add it to your bucket list. It’s a magnificent spanking road on a wild, rugged mountain. Just before Jaap se Hoogte chrome ore trucks from Burgersfort join the R577 and for the next 10 kilometres the road is smashed. It’s a very bad section but to put things in context this was the only dodgy tarmac in two days and more than 1000km.

1 of 2

In Lydenburg, I had a decision to make. Long Tom Pass or Robber’s Pass? Robber’s was the longer option and it was only 15:30 so time was on my side. I rode north towards Ohrigstad on the R36. The last time I travelled the R36 was in July 2024. Then it was a potholed deathtrap but it has since been repaired and is in reasonable condition. 30 kilometres from Lydenburg I hooked right onto the R533 and steeked across the grassy plains to the foot of the pass. I have a healthy respect for Robber’s Pass. It never sleeps; it waits! I rode fast on the ascent to Crystal Springs and then took it easy on the steep hairpin descents to the valley of the Sabie River and Pilgrim’s Rest. The road is almost always littered with loose gravel and this day was no different. I love the tight bumpy road from Pilgrim’s up and over the mountain. It’s a good workout for rider and machine. No surprise, the GX bounded up the mountain like a surefooted goat. The R532 to Sabie is an iconic Mpumalanga road characterised by long, balls-to-the-wall sections as well as the butt-clenching corners near Forest Falls and Mac Mac Falls. If you know the road it’s high speed heaven. If you’re not familiar with the road err on the side of caution. And then, like a horse scenting the stable, I left Sabie and rode full tilt on the R537 to White River. That road is 44km of come-to-glory sweepers interspersed with flatstick straights, one of the best +200km/h biking roads in the country guaranteed to have you grinning in your helmet like a demented ape. As the sun set I pulled into my casa in Nelspruit with a very satisfying 560km day on the road behind me.

1 of 2

Allow me to restate the point of this article. If you’re riding from Gauteng to the Lowveld there are magical roads and intriguing places to the north and south of the N4. Challenging roads, amazing vistas, unexpected experiences, friendly people, and weird platteland dorps are yours to discover. Why drone along the N4 when an African adventure awaits you?

I must have been in a coma for a decade. Until a month ago I had never heard of the Ubuntu Run even though the first run was held in 2015. I’m a member of a WhatsApp group, Moz/Swazi Sun Riders and one of the members posted the Eswatini Ubuntu Run flyer on the group. I spoke to my friend Carlos Paiva, convenor of the Swazi Rally, and we agreed to ride together. Done deal!

The Ubuntu Run was the brainchild of Rod McBride. The intention was to connect diverse groups of bikers who might not usually ride together. Ubuntu means “I am because we are” and embodies virtues like compassion and humanity. The idea caught on and from small beginnings, the Ubuntu Run is celebrated in nineteen African countries, in Portugal and the USA.

On Saturday afternoon I rode from Nelspruit to Eswatini via Barberton, Badplaas, Lochiel and Oshoek Border Post. The border crossing was swift, painless and short before long I was flying down the magnificent sinuous two-lane blacktop that runs from the border to Mbabane. Near Manzini, I rode south and pulled into Riders’ Ranch for the weekend as the guest of Carlos and Sonia.

Sunday was a perfect day for riding. We rode to Matsapha Inn, the starting point for the run. The parking lot started to fill up as the Swazi clubs rode in: King’s Brigade, Hyena, Swazi Boyz, Harley Boyz, and Macs. Many of the Swazi guys were on litre-class superbikes, mainly BMW S1000RR, and all of them were without number plates. Seems the Swazi cops have a very relaxed attitude towards bikers. There was a big contingent of Mozambican bikers who rode in from Maputo. It was good to meet them face to face having only connected with them on WhatsApp before.

1 of 3

The ride began just before 10:00. 111 bikes left Matsapha Inn on a 200km lap. For the first 100km, we followed roads I had never ridden before. Eswatini has had excellent rains. The rivers were flowing strongly and the countryside was a patchwork of lush green meadows and eucalyptus plantations. We regrouped at the crossroads at Gege. Like an idiot, I hadn’t filled up that morning and I wasn’t sure I would make it to Nhlangano. There was a derelict fuel station at the crossroads. Half the roof had collapsed and the other half looked very dodgy. But the fuel pumps were still there. I’m an optimistic fellow so I rode in but it was obvious the pumps hadn’t worked in years. And then Sylvester appeared bearing a five-litre bottle of 95 octane. While he decanted the precious fuel into my bike he gave a well-rehearsed speech about how he was looking for a business partner to invest in re-opening the garage. I politely declined.

1 of 5

Carlos and I left Gege ahead of the pack and rode the brand-new road to Nhlangano. The road had been open for less than a year and was in immaculate condition. From Nhlangano I was back on familiar roads riding north in the valley of the Mkhondvo River. I always stop on a low-level bridge over the river and this ride was no exception. In previous years the river flowed gently through the pipes under the bridge but this time there was a deluge roaring through the pipes. We rode down the valley and ten kilometres from Riders’ Ranch the TFT screen on my GSA went blood red. I had ridden over a roofing screw which made such a big hole that the tyre deflated instantly. I always carry a tubeless tyre puncture repair kit but the tyre was so flat that it was impossible to insert a plug and the hole was so big that a CO2 bomb rushed straight in and straight out. I limped back to Riders’ Ranch. Carlos continued back to Matsapha for lunch at the end of the ride. I stayed behind with my wounded bike. Later that afternoon Carlos’s factotum Nene inflated the tyre with a compressor and plugged the hole but by now it was too late to ride back to Nelspruit which wasn’t a problem. I’m retired so one day is just like any other.

1 of 3

As things turned out it was a good thing I didn’t ride to Oshoek on Sunday afternoon. There was a monumental catastrophe up at the border post. A 26-wheel, 50-ton, coal carrier interlink lost its brakes on the steep downhill to the border post. The juggernaut demolished buildings destroyed sixteen cars and dumped its load of coal before grinding to a halt. Miraculously nobody was killed. On Monday morning the border post was back in action even though all the staff still had startled expressions and big eyes from the drama of the previous afternoon. I retraced my Saturday route and once I was through the border I was home in under two hours.

1 of 3

That was my first Ubuntu Run and it won’t be my last. I met many new friends and travelled new roads. And that’s what biking is all about, the road, the ride and the brothers. Roll on Ubuntu 2026.

Sometimes you feel that you just need a kick start to your end-of-year chilling. Doing something that just plain says ‘Relax!’. My mate Brian came up with an idea. “Why don’t we speak to Corrie at Lambretta and see if he can hook us up with a couple of 300s?” “Damn straight” I retorted, “why don’t we?”. Corrie, with his overdeveloped sense of adventure, was a pushover. There was a condition, however. “No problem, but I’m coming too!”. I phoned my mate Abrie from Angel’s Mist B&B in Kaapschehoop, my preferred chill spot. As always, he was accommodating, so it was trip on.

As is typical with these spurs-of-the-moment trips, our numbers soon swelled. My son Dave and stepson Ryan signed up, as did my old mate Loy, who was on a road trip from Cape Town with his trusty Honda NC700 DCT with over 150,000 trouble-free k’s on the clock. My buddy Vernon was keen to do an open road trip on his BMW F 900 GS, so he too jumped at the opportunity for a quick over-nighter. And so, the original two became three then five and ended up at seven!

We rode out of Pretoria earlyish on a Saturday morning. Dave was on his 310 GS and Ryan piloted my NC 750 DCT. The Lambrettas immediately impressed with their willing engines and ride quality on the rather pockmarked back road to Bronkhorstspruit which would take us onto the N4. Scooters can have a choppy ride due to their stiff chassis and shortish travel suspension. Not so the Lambrettas. They exhibit good damping and an all-round comfortable ride. In no time the cavalcade was on the highway and heading east at a decent clip. The Lambretta is almost eerie at speed in that it is uncannily smooth and gives no sign of mechanical stress whilst cruising at the legal limit. I can confirm that the green ones are the fastest! For some reason the green beast that I was riding was a Rocketship, easily outpacing Brian’s stunning red chap and Corrie’s black fellow.

We turned off at the Balmoral turnoff for breakfast at the Boer war-themed restaurant alongside a poignant Boer war concentration camp cemetery. After a hearty brekkie, we strolled through the cemetery, appalled at the number of young mothers and tiny children that succumbed to what ironically was termed a ‘Gentleman’s war’. Back on the bikes, we fuelled at the Ultra City then rode ever eastwards. Just after the Belfast turn-off we pulled into the Bergendal memorial to the last pitched battle of the Boer war. this preceded the guerilla warfare phase, where small bands of highly mobile boers led the might of the British Empire a merry dance around the country. After a good leg stretch, we cruised a little further, through the tunnel at Waterval Boven where we stopped and then rode through the old original tunnel which runs parallel to the current tunnel.

The old tunnel is only accessible by foot or, of course, by bike. This leads to a decaying wooden deck which provides a great view of the waterfall off the escarpment which feeds the river in the valley below. Only Brian and I were aware of the tunnel’s existence, so it was a revelation to the rest of the group. The ride through the tunnel is pitch dark but it is not long before you literally ‘see the light’.

Back on the bikes, we continued down the valley, loving the cool air and even getting the odd spot of rain on our visors. We refuelled in Ngodwana before riding up the mountain to Kaapschehoop. The quaint little village owes its existence to gold being discovered there around the time that Barberton and Pilgrims Rest all experienced gold rushes. Small herds of feral horses, remnants of boer war mounts which got ‘left behind’ and flourish to this day, still frequent the village. The town was enveloped in mist which morphed into light rain at times. We got settled into Angel’s Mist and then, after a quick cold one, proceeded to the office, or rather ‘Nagkantoor’, the iconic little pub in ‘bo dorp’ run by investigative journalist and author, De Wet Potgieter.

A year’s worth of concerns and cares seeped away as we ‘kuiered’ up a storm as only a bunch of motorcycle mates can. The little pub was particularly festive with a wedding party popping in to slake their thirst, or top up on Dutch Courage perhaps? By now breakfast was a distant memory so we decided to stroll down to the pub and pizza spot next door to our lodgings. The mist was now even heavier, and a general cool dampness prevailed. Festivities continued unabated over dinner, and it was a bunch of happy and content chaps that strolled next door for a wee drop of the red stuff before hitting the sack. All except Corrie that is.

Taking a little longer to don his wet gear than the rest of us, we had already made our way home before he emerged. In mist-induced confusion, perhaps slightly enhanced by a carafe or two of red, he turned left instead of right, embarking on a long and arduous tour of Kaapschehoop. Everything seems to look the same in the pea soup fog covering the village. After a tour of the furthest reaches of the town, he resorted to technology to aid his navigational skills and phoned me to drop him a pin.

In no time he pitched up at Angel’s Mist, which begs the question as to how far and wide he wandered. His tale of woe was the source of much mirth at breakfast the next morning. His fitness app on his phone told the story of a comprehensive tour of Kaapschehoop. The ride home was epic. It was a deliciously cool morning with hints of blue sky breaking through. The bikes ran sweetly in the crisp air.

Exiting the extortionately expense tollgate before Milly’s near Machadodorp, I gave the Lambretta its head to see what the green machine could do. Granted it is a significant downhill, but I was astonished to see the little 300 nudging 160 kph, pulling well into the red. It always remained rock steady, a testimony to excellent design and build integrity (please note dear reader that such lawless frivolity can be hazardous to your health and is not recommended and should not be emulated).

After a coffee and more war stories at Milly’s, and a top up at the Ultra City, we kept a loose formation, occasionally enjoying some slipstreaming fun until close to Pretoria where we waved our goodbyes and headed to our respective homes. Thinking about the weekend it once again occurred to me how much richer we are thanks to our motorcycle habit. A night away on an eclectic mix of bikes and we were refreshed in body and soul.

The Lambretta I rode is an obvious answer to urban mobility, and perhaps long-distance touring was not high on the design brief, yet the fact that it took it in its stride is testimony to a beautiful, efficient and superb scooter. Owning a bike like this makes economic sense and opens endless possibilities for getting away from the daily grind. You can embrace life in a way that seems to come naturally to the Italians. Thank you, Corrie, oh and by the way, just remember that the green ones are the fastest…

For more information on Lambretta scooters visit – www.lambrettascooters.co.za

My love for all things petrol-powered stems from my dad and his passion for motorsport, adventure and motorcycles. Let’s just say it didn’t take long before I got my first bike. I wanted a motorcycle since the day I could say the word, so my dad made little three-year-old me a promise, and that promise was: “As soon as you learn to ride a bicycle, I will buy you a motorcycle”. By age four, I was on a 98-2001 KTM Pro Jr 50; the rest was history.

Project bikes, throwing spanners at one another during late nights spent in the garage, going to the race track, watching racing after church on Sundays and plenty of open road rides later, it’s fair to say that motorcycles have been the glue of our relationship. Life is a funny bugger though, it throws obstacles, piles of work and with that excuses of why it’s never the right time to go for a proper road trip.

This leads us to the title of this article – a question frequently asked by my dad, “when are we going on that bike trip?” My dad longs for road trips and has had many bucket list rides that he consistently looks back on, so I made him the promise that when the time is “right” we should go on an adventure bike trip. Life and all of its excuses happened to me but eventually, our calendars aligned.

Our plan was simply no plan, well that’s not entirely true, we had a destination and we wanted to stick to b-roads, dirt roads and railway line service routes, basically skipping out on all the boring tolled roads. My dad and I like traveling light so GoGravel backpacks for luggage were all we needed and repair kits were all stored under our bike seats. Talking about bikes, our short list of potential bikes grew and then shrank, crossing off all the heavy 1000 cc plus adventures and rather looking at the more exciting, lighter and dirt-capable middle-weight adventures. Our taste and style of riding soon led us to the Husqvarna Norden 901 and the new BMW F 900 GS.

My dad and I have had a massive crush on the Norden and in particular the Expedition model, which wasn’t available for our trip, but the standard model mixes good open road manners with decent enough dirt-worthiness for both mine and my dad’s skill level. One bike that I never thought I’d see my dad swing a leg over or choose for our trip was Bavarian’s new F 900 GS, the old GS stigma lives no longer with the new 900 thanks to decent Showa suspension, good ground clearance, aggressive off-road geometry and a strong but smooth power delivery. It doesn’t look like your typical GS, but rather a rally bike crossed with an adventure bike, which gets the thumbs up from old Julio and me, especially in the BMW motorsport colours and gold rims.

Day one of our semi-planned two-nighter adventure trip was to visit Julio’s high school mate David Seitz in Witbank, ride to some Nostalgic parts of my dad’s home town and then excavate some dirt at speed towards Dullstroom for our overnight stay at Kinlock Lodge. From Pretoria, we decided to head down Boschkop Rd passing Kitty Hawk Aerodrome and turn left onto a dirt road called Spoorweg Ave, just before the train bridge. This network of dirt roads led us to the R104 which popped out just before Bronkhorstspruit and then seeing us through to the Balmoral turn-off.

Usually, I turn onto the highway at this split road for a short stint, but my dad wanted to show me a scenic road that my grandfather would always drive back home on—even after the highway had been built he always enjoyed driving through the countryside. Nowadays you will find mining operations to the left and right of the R545, but it is still a scenic and peaceful route to take, so much so that I decided to stop for a picture and began to reflect on my time spent with my granddad—I could imagining him driving his Bronze Mazda Capella down this road with the windows down back in the day.

We rolled into Witbank, shot the breeze with David, enjoyed a recommended single track back to the main road and took in the last bit of the Witbank at the dam. First impressions of Witbank? It isn’t as bad as people make it out to be, yes there are some rough parts but the potential of the town and the development that is taking place far out ways the negatives.

Witbank to Dullstroom is just under 120 km and we thought we would b-road through Kromdraai to Middleburg and then catch the R104 to the turn-off that takes you into Dullstroom. Whenever I ride a road bike in this area I always get jealous of the adventure riders, this road makes your inner meerkat itch and it did for both myself and my dad. After the turn-off, we were on the railway line and cutting through the green pine forests into town. I just love adventure bikes!

Before heading into town for dinner we quickly dropped our backpacks off at Kinloch Lodge, a beautiful countryside lodge nestled up in the hills 12 km outside of Dullstroom en route to Highland Gate Golf Estate. If you love the countryside, rolling hills, good hospitality and fishing, Kinloch is a must-visit. Dinner saw us chat about how both bikes faired on day one and how the spec sheets paint them so similar, but in reality they have two completely different personalities.

The BMW surprised both of us as to how well it handled the dirt, the suspension ironed out the corrugations, rocks, ruts and jumps but what made riding off-road on the F 900 GS so comfortable was the dirt-focused rider triangle. Navigating the electronics rider modes was simple on the fly, with the mode button on the right switch gear selecting from the road-biased Dynamic to the dirt-worthy Enduro Pro mode with a single press of the button and better yet switching TC off was just as simple with a button on the left switchgear. For a modern bike filled with sophisticated electronics, we were both happy to see how easy it was to navigate.

The Norden was definitely a favourite coming into this ride and having ridden both models before I was glad to hear similar feedback from my dad. We were both impressed with how light the motorcycle feels due to the lower centre of gravity thanks to the low-slung fuel tanks. Fuel economy, fuel range, comfort and peppiness from the motor from low in the RPM range was a consistent visor open and giggle every time we made a stop. In what world is a KTM, I mean Husqvarna a better do-it-all bike than a BMW, yes I know BMW has an F 900 GS Adventure, but frankly, the base Norden fits right in the middle of both Germans, as it does with its Austrian cousins.

Negatives so far on the BMW were short fuel range from the small 14-liter tank and what we complimented the F 900 GS for on the dirt was its compromise on the road, leaving you slightly uncomfortable in the seat and arms on prolonged tar stints. On the Husqvarna, we had got the bike a day before our road trip and the suspension wasn’t set up for our ride and we felt it on day one with many angry head shakes both on the tar and especially on the dirt. After opening the Norden’s suspension manual we quickly dialled the suspension on its more sporty off-road setting making our complaint null and void. Suspension setup aside, the engine heat riding through town was a bit toasty, but that’s just nit-picking from me.

At this stage, both bikes were like two tasty meals that neither of us could make our mind up on quite yet—we also had plenty more riding to still do.

Day 2 saw us ride up to Mashishing formerly known as Lydenburg to meet up with old family friends Philip and Lenie Grover, before winding our way through twisty mountain passes and logging routes into Sabie for an overnight at Sabie River camp, a ZA Bikers favourite. We decided to ride the potholed R504 with plenty of reserves left in the wrist and boy is that road stuffed, we do hope to see the road works in Mashishing carry their way out onto the R504.

Once in Mashishing, we road up a lovely dirt road where we got to stretch both bikes’ legs and suspensions on the way up to the Grover’s. Once at the gate we wound our way through a stunning pine forest to Philip’s place and were greeted by massive Caucasian Shepherd Dogs or Caucasian Ovcharka as they are formerly known. A stout was a must as we planned to stay out of the blistering sun, spend some quality time chatting with the Grovers and also get to know and build trust with the dogs.

You must be thinking, what the heck is a Caucasian Shepherd Dog? These big grizzlies are large livestock guardian dogs that are native to the Caucasus region, notably Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Dagestan. These stunning dogs were bred in the Soviet Union from about 1920 from dogs of the Caucasus Mountains and the steppe regions of Southern Russia. Philip’s wife Lenie takes care of these amazing hounds and is a South African breeder.

From the Grovers, we headed out on Long Tom Pass and enjoyed plenty of twisty tar. The one reason I love adventure bikes is that you don’t get a set menu like you do at a Michelin-star restaurant, but rather you get the full menu which means you are never dissatisfied. We got to the top of Long Tom and we could have easily chosen another twisty way down that was on dirt and it didn’t feel like we were sacrificing that much on tar compared to a touring bike and not that much on the dirt compared to a lighter travel bike. These adventure motorcycles are truly for those who have FOMO (fear of missing out) and once you’ve experienced it all you’ll struggle to go back.

We settled down in Sabie after riding as much tared and dirt road nirvana as physically possible in beautiful Mpumalanga. If you love riding bikes Sabie has it all, fast road riding, twisty logging routes and slow and technical forest routes, at one stage my dad and I were making our own routes as the skies had blessed the mountains with plenty of rain, leaving us with overgrown forest sections. Over at camp we lit our fire, poured our rum and just sat back reflecting on two full days of adventure riding, finding new routes and making awesome memories.

Right there we knew “that” bike trip had come to an end and we had already started planning “that next bike trip” by the time the ice in our rum had melted in toasty Sabie. Owning an adventure bike allows you to see the world or those holiday destinations from a completely different perspective, from being there to getting there and bonding over it all at the end.

1 of 34

As for the motorcycles we were impressed to see what these two companies had built after what seemed like engineers taking notes from one another. A wild off-road focused beamer and a feature-packed and sophisticated Husqvarna—two fantastic adventure motorcycles with two very tasty flavours.

For more information on the bikes featured in this article, click on the links below…

2024

BMW F 900 GS

Pricing From R253,450 (RRP)

Brand: BMW Motorrad

2023

Husqvarna Norden 901

Pricing From R246,699 (RRP)

Brand: Husqvarna

When was the last time you did something for the first time? I have been riding motorcycles for the best of forty years but have never been to a motorcycle rally. Personally, I like to ride on my own, and crowds are not my thing. I got a call from a mate who lives in George about a new rally being planned around the Oudtshoorn area. It is called the GrootVoël Rally, and hearing him talk enthusiastically about the future they envision for this one, I said yes. I wanted to find out more, and with the date booked, I had to find a suitable steed to accompany me on this journey.

After a quick chat with Conrad Koen from Off-road Cycles in Pretoria, I managed to secure the new Kove 800X Pro. Obviously, I would need something to carry my undies in, so for that job, there is only one solution: Turkana Gear. Turkana is also involved in a wonderful initiative called the Turkana Safari Challenge. They give you 15 challenges to do, and if you complete them all, you stand a chance of winning some great prizes. As it happens, one of the challenges is to photograph your bike at Gariep Dam. Quite convenient then that I was heading that way!

The Kove is a remarkably light dual-sport motorcycle, but after a brief stint on it, I was wondering whether my derriere would hold up on the 1000-odd kilometres down to Oudtshoorn. As a precaution, I made the decision to stay on the N1, all the way to Gariep Dam, and see if I could find a place to rest my weary head. The luggage solution offered by Turkana included the MadMules rackless soft bags, each side holding 15 litres. To compliment that, I added the Turkana Duffalo bag. That is good for another 25 litres. I normally carry my camera gear on my back, but with the distance ahead of me and the extra luggage solutions, I was able to fit it into one of the bags. Between the handlebars, I fitted the Turkana PelliPouch to hold all my essentials within easy reach. The Madmules fit on the Kove perfectly as the bike is already fitted with a rugged luggage rack.

As day broke on the Wednesday before the rally, I was already negotiating the first bursts of light Johannesburg traffic. The fully laden Kove dispensed the distance with ease. The 20-litre fuel tank gave a respectable range, and while I was filling up in Ventersburg, the first of many onlookers walked over to try to identify the Kove. When they heard what it was, the reaction was universally positive. During the course of the next few days, I realised that many riders are looking for a lighter bike, and the Kove is definitely on their radar. When a bike competes in the Dakar, people seem to look past its Chinese origins.

I stopped at the Sand River Convention site where, in 1852, the United Kingdom and Ireland formally recognised the independence of the Boers North of the Vaal River. Visiting national monuments is also one of the Turkana challenges. Winburg also has a very impressive structure commemorating the Voortrekkers, and the area was remarkably well-kept.

I pulled into Bloemfontein for a quick stop at Safari 4×4, the local Kove dealership. If anyone is in the area, they have great coffee! After a top-up of my favourite beverage, I headed onward towards Gariep Dam. I stopped in Trompsburg for lunch, and it always fascinates me how these small towns have a vibe all of their own. As I was devouring a burger, everyone that walked through the door, greeted the people in the restaurant by their name. Remarkable.

At Gariep Dam, I took the obligatory photo for the challenge and realised that I was not tired yet. As it was still pretty early, I pushed on to Graaff-Reinet. I figured that every kilometre I travel today is one less for me to travel tomorrow. Dinner was a delight at Hello You restaurant and I got chatting to a retired couple about travelling, and before I knew it, it was way past my bedtime. The next morning it was raining, but I was confident that the Turkana bags would keep my undies and camera dry.

I stopped in Aberdeen, which boasts one of the tallest church steeples in South Africa. In Willowmore, I stopped at the first shop that had the word “coffee” on the wall. With breakfast done, I tackled the last few hundred kilometres to George. I had to get a photo of the bike next to the ocean for the Turkana Safari Challenge, and the Outeniqua Pass stood between me and ticking another challenge. Here, the Kove amazed me. I could throw it around on the pass with some vigour, even fully laden. The front felt a bit soft on braking, but the front forks are fully adjustable, so I am sure that can be cured. I made a brief stop at Garden Route Motorcycles which will be the Kove dealer in George. From there I rode to Hartenbos, so I could hit the Robinson Pass back to Oudtshoorn.

My destination for the night was with some friends who stayed on the Oudemuragie road outside De Rust. Here, I could experience the Kove on a decent gravel road. The electronics do not offer a dedicated off-road mode, but you can switch the traction control off completely, as well as the ABS. The throttle fuelling is a bit sensitive, but it handled the ruts pretty well. The next morning I headed for breakfast in De Rust and then made my way to the rally site, the Cango Mountain Resort, outside Oudtshoorn. As the riders started trickling in, I used the opportunity to go up Swarberg Pass with the Kove. I can honestly say that I enjoyed both the Swartberg Pass and Outeniqua Pass equally. This really is a true all-rounder.

About the GrootVoël Rally

Rallies are in abundance in South Africa. Speaking to people, I did get the impression that there is at least one happening somewhere in the Republic almost every second weekend. However, this one wants to be something more than just another rally. This was the inaugural rally called the GrootVoël Rally. Their reasoning was: “If you put on a good rally, the people will come.” The upside of the location is that it is a sufficient distance from the town so the noise does not bother the residents of Oudtshoorn, but it is close enough that you could quickly pull into town should you be running low on braaiwood. As a bonus, the organisers managed to secure the Oudtshoorn airport runway for the Saturday morning, where you could do a quarter-mile drag or an uninhibited wheelie safely.

The rally aims to establish something that could eventually grow into a bike week, rather than just a weekend. If you are going to attend at least one rally a year, they want it to be this one. A lot of thought has gone into the event and there were even two motorcycles given away on the Saturday evening. The organisers are hoping to get manufacturers to buy in on the idea and bring their demo models down for the event. Just imagine having the opportunity to ride Swartberg Pass with four different bikes, back to back! The roads around Oudtshoorn are spectacular. If you are an adventure rider, there are more than enough gravel roads of varying difficulty. The road riders have beautiful passes to enjoy, and the cruisers can cruise down Route 62. It is all there. It is a biker’s paradise!

The event itself catered for all ages and affiliations. There were more than 20 different food stalls—eating lamb on a spit, served on a roosterkoek was something else! There was also a team of about 40 people that kept both the regular and temporary bathrooms clean. Overall, the rally was nothing like I pictured it in my head. These were all just normal people looking to belong somewhere with their tribe. As I walked through the campsite, I saw a beautifully maintained Kawasaki GPZ 900, the poster bike of my youth. Over some coffee, I had a long conversation with the owner about this bike. And right there, I understood the rally thing. We all share a passion for motorcycles, and having a conversation with a complete stranger about a motorcycle is just normal.

As I said in the beginning, big crowds at rallies are not my thing, but this is the beauty of the GrootVoël Rally. There are so many places in the area where you can ride if you want to be alone. And then, when the riding is done, you can come and have a cold one and some decent food, while listening to the entertainment. With more than 1300 visitors to this inaugural event, it shows that there is potential to expand this event. Let’s hope that this rally can become all that the organisers envision!

My thanks to Conrad Koen for entrusting the Kove to me. I covered almost 2000 km over 4 days, and the only issue I had was running out of fuel—my fault. I was enjoying the scenery of the Karoo so much that I did not pay attention to the fuel gauge. When I finally realised my mistake, I pulled into the only service station that had no petrol, all part of the adventure of solo travelling!

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.

1 of 7

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.

1 of 2

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…

2026

Suzuki V-Strom 1050DE

Pricing From R261,250 (RRP)

Brand: Suzuki