March 23, 2016

My bike flew into Cape Town from Buenos Aires via London yesterday. This morning I went to the airport to begin what I assumed would be a long process of getting the bike through South African Customs. I had set aside a couple of days for this process just in case, especially since I still didn’t have a title for the bike (it’s on its’ way; in South Africa now but hasn’t been delivered yet), and I wasn’t sure if I could get the bike released without the title.

First up: find the bike. It arrived on a British Airways 747, but nobody, including Google, seemed to know the location of British Airways Cargo Services. I wandered the airport for a while, until someone pointed me towards South African Airways Cargo. It was a large building, so I thought maybe they shared it with British Airways. After going through their security checks and signing in, I was told that British Airways cargo was handled by Swissport, which was a few more blocks down the street.

When I got to Swissport, they immediately knew my bike was there, and handed me paperwork and directed me towards Customs which was just across the parking lot. This is the point that I figured I was going to spend the rest of the day, and I fully expected to have to hire a customs broker in the end to complete the transaction. But I was determined to try to do it myself first and save the expense.

To my surprise, the woman in the Customs office was incredibly helpful and very knowledgeable. She handed me another form to fill out, which I recognized as the form that a customs broker would normally complete. I took this as a good sign. She then asked me to sign a form giving Customs the authority to fill out my carnet de passage. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the carnet, it’s basically a form stating that you have put up money for a bond, and are temporarily importing the motorcycle and will take it back out of the country within a certain time limit or forfeit your bond.  This is required in many countries, including most of Africa. I’ve been carrying it with me but hadn’t needed it until now.

I signed the letter of authorization and she filled out and stamped my carnet. She never asked for any other paperwork for the motorcycle. At this point she and I walked back over to the Swissport warehouse together and she verified the chassis number of the bike, then signed the release form.

Wait, what? That’s it? You mean I’m done? I can take the bike? Are you sure? Wow.

Well, I did have to pay Swissport $18.95 for handling charges. But within two hours I had my bike and was free to go. No hassles. Very little waiting. It probably took me longer to get to the airport and find the right warehouse than actually walking the bike through Customs.

The forklift driver and warehouse supervisor asked me where my vehicle was located to load the pallet. “I’m going to ride it away”, I said. They looked at me, then at each other, then back at me. Finally the forklift driver said, “Who?”

“Me.” I waved my helmet at him. The grin on his face was huge. I’m not sure, but I think he was thinking, “This guy is crazy, and too old to do this.” Apparently I don’t look like a motorcyclist here. I haven’t decided yet if that’s a good or bad thing.

I took the bike off the pallet, connected the battery, installed the mirrors, pulled my compressor out and aired up the tires, and I was ready to go. Slowly. Very slowly and cautiously. Because they drive on the left here. Which makes intersections, especially right turns, a bit tricky at first. Not too bad if you’re in traffic and can follow other cars, or when the street is well marked with arrows painted on the lanes. Without all of that, it requires a bit of extra concentration. As I approached the first roundabout, I was constantly repeating “LEFT! CLOCKWISE!!” in my helmet. I know from past experience riding in England that it will quickly get easier.

I’ll spend the next few days sight-seeing around Cape Town and prepping the bike, then I plan to head along the coast for a few days, camping and visiting some of the spectacular spots in South Africa. It’s all coming together.

 

 

 

March 25, 2016

Yesterday I tried to go to Table Mountain and ride the aerial tramway to the top for a look around. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing like I was back in Patagonia, and the Tram was closed due to weather. So instead I rode up to the top of Signal Hill, which is near Table Mountain, and took in the views of the city from there.

 

 

 

Today I played tourist and ticked off a bunch of places to see and things to do on the Cape Peninsula south of Cape Town.

I started by heading towards Table Mountain again. After checking their website, I decided to pass on the cable car ride to the top, for two reasons: first and foremost, today is a holiday, and there are tons of people there; the website said there was a two hour wait at the bottom to board the tram. Second, it’s a bit pricey at 240 Rand, or a bit over $15, just to get a view of Cape Town from higher up. Yesterday I rode to the top of Signal Hill and the view from there was good enough for me.

So instead of going to the west side of Table Mountain, I rode down around the east side, and then around to Hout Bay. The traffic this morning was a bit worse than normal due to the Two Oceans Ultra-Marathon that is taking place tomorrow. As a warm-up, there were several different “fun runs” this morning. Several roads will be closed tomorrow, and all along my route today I saw television cameras being set up on platforms alongside the road. I’m thankful that I was able to do this trip today and didn’t accidentally stumble into that mess tomorrow.

On the way to Hout Bay, a car pulled alongside of me at a light and honked. Having learned my lesson in Buenos Aires, I decided to see what he wanted, so I moved over a bit and let him pull alongside. The passenger window came down, and the woman on the passenger side asked, “Are you really from Texas?”

“Yep.”

“Are you riding around the world or something?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a blog?”

“Yep. Number Two, Ride The Globe, Dot Com.”

“We’re from Nashville!”

It was cool to meet someone randomly in traffic from “home”. I didn’t get to speak to them for long, but it appeared that perhaps they were here for a bit longer than a week’s vacation.

 

 

Just past Hout Bay is a spectacular road along the coast called Chapman’s Peak Drive, or simply “Chappie” by the locals.

Chappie ends at the town of Noordhoek on the south end. From there the road splits, and I chose to head further south to Scarborough before turning east and cutting across the peninsula to Simon’s Town.

 

Simon’s Town is a quaint little seaside village that has become quite a tourist draw. The South African Navy is based here (both ships, from the size of the harbor…just kidding), and just south of Simon’s Town is Boulders Beach, which is home to a colony of 3,000 African Penguins. These penguins used to be called Jackass Penguins, due to the donkey braying sound that they make, but somebody decided they needed a more attractive name, so now they are known as African Penguins, and are the only penguins that breed in Africa.

 

 

 

 

 

As I was walking back to the bike after visiting the penguins, I noticed a family standing around my bike. When I approached, one of the gentlemen asked, “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I have the 660 version.”

“I would have, but they don’t sell it in the U.S.”

We had a brief conversation about my travels thus far, they wished me luck, and off they went.

Heading back up the east side of the peninsula, I stopped at Kalk Bay for lunch at Kalky’s Fish & Chips. As I was walking to the restaurant, a couple walked up next to me.

“We saw the foreign plate on your bike. Where are you from?”

“Texas”

“Had a long ride?”

“Not yet, but I’m planning on it!”

Another brief conversation about my travels, then off to eat. I’m enjoying meeting people, and I seem to stand out more here than in Latin America. It could just be the license plate — South African plates are much larger and easier to read — or it could be that I’m the only person on a small bike. BMWs are clearly the bike of choice here. Whereas in South America, I could spot another long distance traveler a mile away by the large BMW and panniers, here in Cape Town nearly every bike you see is a GS, and they’re about 99% locals. Of course, there’s also less of a language barrier to keep people from approaching me here; many people speak English, although it is only the fourth most spoken language of the eleven languages in South Africa (Zulu is the most common, Xhosa is second, and Afrikaans is third; many people in the neighborhood I’m staying in speak Afrikaans primarily, and English second.)

After a bit of clean-up, I was back on the bike and headed to Muizenberg Beach.

 

My tour of the peninsula complete, I headed back “home”. On the way, I passed a large sign on the freeway. I couldn’t stop to take a photo of it, though I wish I had. It said “Warning! Average Speed Prosecuted”. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what this means. Does it mean they only prosecute average speeders? Or does it mean that if I go through the first speed camera at 140 kph, and the second speed camera at 60 kph, I only get charged for 100 kph, which is actually under the limit? Not sure I want to test it…

Tomorrow I leave Cape Town for “greener” pastures.

 

It’s getting a bit harder to find good wifi on the road, so I’ll post a few posts at a time when I can…

March 26, 2016

It’s Easter weekend, and while summer has just ended, it’s a holiday (think Labor Day at the end of summer in the U.S.). I’m headed first to Franschhoek (Afrikaans for “French Corner”) and then to a campground on the river for my first night in the tent in Africa.

Franschhoek is less than an hour from Cape Town. Nestled between mountains in a beautiful valley, the road there is lined with vineyards and wineries for miles. It seems like every few hundred yards is an entrance to another winery. They all have beautiful large Provencal looking buildings. It definitely feels like I’ve arrived in Provence. It’s a town of only 15,000 residents, but it swells on weekends and holidays.

 

Just before riding into town, I spot the Franschhoek Motor Museum on the opposite side of the road, and turn around to take a photo. I really wanted to tour this museum, but I visited their website and found that while their collection includes antique cars and motorcycles, motorcycles are not allowed on the grounds. Seemed very hypocritical to me: “If you are a true motorcycle enthusiast, you would surely appreciate our collection of rare motorcycles. But you are not welcome to view them. However, if you arrive in a car and have no interest in motorcycles, feel free to have a look.” I even sent them an email explaining that I had ridden my motorcycle around the world to see their collection, and received no reply. 

I rode through Franschhoek all the way from end to end twice. It’s a small town. A beautiful, but touristy, small town. I quickly noticed that I was the only motorcycle in town. After seeing tons of BMWs all over Cape Town, I thought sure I’d see a few here, mixed in with the occasional vintage Rolls Royce and Mercedes that I saw easing down the main street. Perhaps Franschhoek is just too snooty to accept any motorcycles. 

After two passes through town, and not finding a parking spot within viewing distance of a sidewalk cafe, I decided to ride on. I’m sure the parking lots off of the main street are safe, but with all of my gear on the bike i just didn’t feel right walking away from it. In other places in both South America and in Cape Town, I simply pulled over the curb and parked on the sidewalk (no reason for a bike to waste an entire car space), but here it just didn’t feel right. 

I rode back through Stellenbosch where I ended up having lunch in a strip center Chinese restaurant (“No eat here. Take away only. Chopstick cost extra.”)

After a late lunch I headed towards the campground I had found on iOverlander.com. It’s Easter Saturday, and I was afraid I might not find a space for my tent, so I figured mid-afternoon might be better than waiting too late. 

When I arrived at Berg River Resort, I asked if they had a spot for my tent. 

“Yes, but one problem. We don’t allow motorcycles.”

What is with this country??

“You can camp here, but you’ll have to leave your bike just inside the gate and walk to your campsite.” 

After a brief discussion, I agreed to their terms. It turns out, my campsite (the last one they had) is in direct view of the gate and only about 100 yards away. It took three trips to haul my gear from the bike to the campsite. As I was covering the bike, two guys in a loud small car came through the campground. If it’s the noise that made them prohibit motorcycles (and I don’t know that’s the case, but I suspect it is), then the Honda Civic just proved that point wrong. 

I had expected to be denied access to the National Parks in Africa due to safety concerns with the wild animals. I was not expecting to be denied access to motorcycle museums and campgrounds. Still, this is the only real negative I’ve found so far in South Africa, and it’s offset by the tremendous kindness that continues to arise from total strangers. Like tonight: as I was about to fire up my stove to cook my now standard pasta-in-a-mug dinner, my neighbors at the campsite, Franz & Christie invited me to share their dinner, which was way better than my pasta…rice and veggies stir fried with ostrich meatballs. After dinner, Franz pulled out his Africa Road Atlas, turned to the South Africa section, and began circling roads and places that I should see. Then he gave me the book! I couldn’t believe it. It includes nearly all of the countries I intend to visit. Inside the cover, they wrote their phone number, and told me to call them if/when I got to Mossel Bay and I could stay with them. Unfortunately, I may pass through Mossel Bay before they even return home from the campground, but if the timing works, I intend to take them up on their invitation. 

March 27, 2016

It poured down rain all night. I stayed dry in my tent, though for the first time I had a little drip where the fly and tent touch the main pole. It stopped after a bit and never really became a problem. I slept really well, other than occasionally having to peek outside to make sure the river wasn’t rising too fast. I knew when I went to bed it was about four feet lower than my tent. It rained a bit over an inch during the night. So I didn’t float away. 

It continued to rain on and off until about 10am, when the sun peeked through the clouds long enough to dry the rain fly and footprint of my tent and get everything packed. I headed for the coast, to the town of Strand, then followed the coast road to Betty’s Bay and Hermanus. The road to Hermanus from Strand is another one of those epic coastal roads, just hanging there over the ocean. With the front that blew through last night, the wind was howling and the seas were really churning. Waves looked like they would crash and stop, the wind forcing them back and not allowing any further forward progress. Like Chapman’s Peak, this is a road I could ride several more times just for the scenery. 

 

Beyond Hermanus I turned inland and really fought the wind. At one point I found myself fighting hard to stay on the road at 28mph. Any faster and I couldn’t keep the bike in the lane. A large dust storm blew across the road for about a mile, reducing visibility and making it feel like the front tire would slip out from under the bike at any moment. It was worse than anything I had experienced in Patagonia. 

Eventually I made it to Cape Agulhas, although I have to admit that for the last ten miles I was seriously questioning if it was worth it. The whole reason to go to Agulhas is like going to Ushuaia: it’s the furthest point south on the African continent, and of course I just had to have the photo. But getting there made getting to Ushuaia look easy. It’s not always like this here; I just picked the worst possible day, just after a strong front passed through. 

I made it to the lighthouse, and then down the dirt road to the southern-most point of Africa. When I got there, the wind was blowing so hard that I couldn’t get off the bike to take the photo. Eventually, somebody wandered up and asked if they could help take my photo, so I handed them the camera and then asked them to hold the bike while I got in position to take a photo of the bike with the sign. “Okay, let go NOW!” Snap. Grab. A lot of work for a photo of a sign that isn’t even AT the southernmost point, but 150 meters away. (Had there been nobody else there I would have ridden the last 150 meters down the boardwalk and taken a photo at the actual end point, but this is as close as I could get with the bike as it was.)

I had planned to camp at a caravan park in Agulhas but it’s just a big grass lot a block from the ocean, and I was afraid the wind was too strong for my tent, so I began to look for a place to stay. Unfortunately it’s Easter Sunday, and everything in town was booked. I stopped at several places, and at one the couple who own it called around for me, confirming that nothing was available. 

While waiting for the couple to check on alternative lodging for me, the wind managed to blow my bike OVER the kickstand and onto the ground. First time I’ve had that experience. I knew when I parked the bike I should have pointed it into the wind, but at the time there was a lull and I thought I could make it.

I resigned myself to trying to pitch my tent at the caravan park. When I got there, it was closed, and there was a sign that said their Sunday hours were until noon, and listed an after-hours number to call. I fished my phone out of my pocked and started to dial, but before I could finish a woman walked up and asked if I was looking for accommodation. 

“Yes.”

“Have you tried the Backpacker Hostel?”

“Yes, but they’re full.”

“They have camping also.”

Well, that decided it for me. I got back on the bike and rode back across town to the hostel. The guy at reception was very nice, showed me a great place to put my tent with good wind protection, and gave me a tour, including all the amenities available to me even though I was just camping. Hot showers, free coffee and tea 24/7, swimming pool. All for 80 Rand, or five dollars.

The wind is supposed to die down tomorrow. I hope so. I’m not sure I can get out of this town otherwise, as it will be worse heading the other way. Tomorrow will be a long day, with or without the wind, but I’m looking forward to more spectacular scenery. And I’m only a couple of days away from large animals!

April 2, 2016

Until just a few years ago, I didn’t drink coffee. I always drank a lot of Coca-Cola. Then someone (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) got me hooked on coffee. Although to be honest, I still knew nothing about it. I had no idea what a macchiato was versus a latte, or what made one coffee good and another less so. I knew about as much about coffee as I do about wine: in other words, nothing. I knew what I liked but that’s about it.

So when I found this coffee shop in Cape Town called Truth Coffee, and saw that it had a Steampunk theme, and read that it had been named the Wold’s Coolest Coffee Shop by the UK Telegraph, I decided to put it on my list of places I wanted to visit while in town. Then I discovered on their website that they offered barista courses as well as a half-day “Coffee Appreciation” course that would help me understand coffee. So I signed up.

 

 

The instructor for the course is a fascinating guy in his own right. José Vilandy was kidnapped at 11 years old and forced to become a child soldier in his native Angola. Several years later, he escaped, and eventually made his way through refugee camps to South Africa, where he went to college and earned a civil engineering degree. Not long after that, he discovered that he had an interest and a love for coffee that he could pursue as an occupation. In 2008 he won the National Barista Championship in South Africa.

I had a great time in this course learning about different coffee types, “cupping”, grinding, brewing, and using a commercial espresso mahine. I’m certainly no barista now, but I have a much greater appreciation for what I am ordering and how it’s made, and when it’s done right. They ought to franchise this place. It is way more interesting than Starbucks.

As I was leaving Truth, I happened to spot a guy riding up on a brand new Honda Africa Twin.

 

He was headed to Truth, but was unaware of their closure due to water problems. I spent a few minutes checking out his bike and talking about my trip with him. The Honda was nice and narrow (although it looked tall), and looked like a good size for a 1000cc adventure bike, though still much more bike than I’d want or need to take on this trip solo. I have to admit though, for a large motorcycle, they definitely got some things right, like the 21 inch front wheel, the narrow tank/seat junction, and what appears to be a good center of gravity. It’s definitely a nice looking package.

Then, on the way home, I stopped at a McDonald’s (yeah, yeah, I know…) and I spotted this:

April 3, 2016

I left Cape Town mid-morning, taking a back road north and around the city, through beautiful rolling hills and more vineyards. The weekend bicycle crowd was out: road bikes on the pavement, mountain bikes on a trail alongside the road, and occasionally mountain bikes doing laps in the large vineyards, which I thought was pretty cool.

My lunch destination was Paternoster, a small fishing village on the coast a couple of hours north of Cape Town. 

 

Specifically, I wanted to eat at The Noisy Oyster, just because I liked the name. However, I seem to have a knack for bad timing. 

Sign out front says they are closed Sunday, April 3rd. Not all Sundays, just today. Just my luck.

So I ate down the street instead. 

After lunch I took another back road out of town, eventually joining up with the N7, the main road north, which is also known as the Cape Namibia route. After another couple of hours, I turned east off N7 onto a gravel road and headed into the Cederberg Mountains.

My camp site for tonight was a small campground along this gravel road. It took me several tries to find it, even though there’s a sign at the road for it. After searching and not finding it, I rode back up the gravel road to a hill. From the top of the hill, I could see the grassy spot that is the campground, so I knew I was close. Eventually, I took the correct turn through a citrus grove that dumped me into the campground. 

I was the only one there. In fact, I never saw anyone else, including the owner. The place had nice bathrooms, and nice, clean stainless steel sinks for kitchen prep, along with a heavy wooden door that had been turned into a kitchen prep table. There was also electricity, with outlets over the table and lights in the bathroom that worked. The campsites had a few small trees that provided enough shade. 

The stars were out in force, and it was a beautiful night. I slept incredibly well, and in the morning, after packing up and still never seeing a soul, I left a 100 Rand note (about $6.80 — the going rate for most decent places I’ve camped) and one of my stickers under a rock in the middle of the kitchen table before leaving.