As a new member to Steemit I would like to introduce myself and also share some of my stories of my travels from my school days. I am retired now and still having adventures a-plenty. My passions are riding motorcycles and hiking and I have a lot of adventures to share. Not only in South Africa but also in neighboring countries and even one from a trip to the USA.
A tale of a Yamaha FS1. From South Africa to Rhodesia.
University of Cape Town, ready to return back to PE
Introduction
The year was 1974, and I had just discovered that the totally inconsiderate authorities had failed to understand that it was of critical importance to synchronize the University holidays with the school holidays so that maximum party time could be achieved. After a minutes thought on the subject it was decided that I would simply travel from Queenstown to Cape Town to spend the school holiday with my friend Martin Horne who was at the University Of Cape Town at the time, and so it was, as soon as the school holidays started I jumped aboard my Yamaha FS1 50 cc and set sail for Cape Town, a journey of approximately 1050 km. I had R 37.00 in my pocket for food and petrol and all requirements for the trip, and as it turned out this was more than adequate as I returned home still having R 16.00 in my wallet.
The Start of the adventure.
The first leg of the trip was to travel from Queenstown to Uitenhage; I had left late and arrived well after dark in the freezing mid-winter night air. After a good night’s sleep over with family I left early again the next morning and sped off on my adventure. Little did I know that this would be the experience of a life time and the call of the open road and the adventure of the ride would sink deep into my bones and that for the rest of my life I would yearn to be in the saddle on an adventure. Leaving Uitenhage I wound my way down small winding roads and as I neared the Bloukraans Pass and Natures Valley part of the journey, I experienced the feeling of absolute euphoria as I followed the narrow winding road down into the valley, the road was very busy with travelers going on holiday and heavily laden logging trucks heavy with freshly cut logs, I can still remember the smell of the logs freshly cut and the hot diesel engines as they slowly crawled on their way. At one point there was a big troop of Baboons swinging on the monkey ropes and a few sitting on the small stone wall which protected the edge of the road. The forest was dense and the cool forest air washed up the embankment onto the hot surface of the road where the tar was soft and melting from the driving hot sun concentrated in the confines of the narrow passage of the pass. There were birds to be seen and the forest was dense with fern trees and vines. At this time, my life changed and I was filled with an immense feeling of happiness and inner peace which I have only ever experienced when riding my bike. I have often wondered if non-bike riders ever have the chance during their lives to experience the wonder of the open road in a similar way and to get high on the magnificence of the ride, I do not think they do because I have not ever found anything else in my life which brings me close. At the bottom of the pass the river was flowing softly through under the bridge and I stopped to soak up the sounds of the gurgling water and the smells and sounds of the forest, it was wonderful beyond words. I was soon back in the saddle and winding my way back up the pass and on my way to Knysna. Reaching Knysna I remember sitting on the pavement in the main street with my trusty steed parked alongside, eating what was our staple diet at that time of my life, a half loaf of bread where I had ripped the soft inner bread out of the crust while still hot and wolfed it down with mouthfuls of ice cold fresh milk, when the center of the half loaf was all gone, a packet of salt and vinegar chips was emptied into the cavity and the crust and chips were eaten. Gourmet food beyond comparison with anything else, in the town and all around it was bustling with activity and sixties hippie like looking people were to be seen and it looked to me as though I had left Africa and had traveled to some exotic location in another country. As they passed they looked at me curiously and some muttered half helloes. Leaving Knysna the wonder of the road and the beauty of the surrounding area remained with me all through the day.
Knysna to Cape Town
Reaching Wilderness I was winding my way down through the main street and at the end there was a bridge to cross over the Kaaaimansrivier, as I neared the middle of the bridge there was a mighty explosion, I thought my bike had exploded or at the very least I had burst a tire or perhaps people were shooting at me, it was so loud I almost took evasive action and went off the side of the bridge but luckily did not. None of the other people driving along even seemed to notice and looking around I did not see any evidence of ANC planted suitcase bombs which were the big cause for terror at that time or evidence of roadwork’s and blasting, puzzled I slowly pulled over and parked my bike, getting off I noticed a trickle of clear liquid running out from the back of the engine. Removing a side cover I quickly discovered the cause, it was the bikes battery which had exploded, I found that the battery breather pipe had been pinched closed at a point where the pipe had a kink and it had obviously built up pressure. There was nothing which could be done and after wiping as much of the acid away as was possible I carefully re-positioned the pieces of the battery back into the battery box and was soon on my way again. Fortunately the battery only powered the indicators and stop light etc. and the ignition and headlight were powered by a separate coil so the engine ran normally.
That night I decided to sleep on the side of the road where there was a bit of an embankment which I had managed to maneuver down, I had tied a bivey sheet to the sides of the bike, one attached to the carrier and the other to the handle bars. Luggage carefully positioned under the bike I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to sleep. The wind was blowing quite strongly and the great big pine trees were swaying and groaning in the wind, somewhere not too far away a wolf or dog howled and there were other unfamiliar sounds to be heard, to say the very least it was very scary and I lay there feeling alone and ever more scared as the minutes slowly ticked past and I became more and more aware that I was miles and miles from anywhere and all alone. In the far distance the night sounds were broken by the distant rumble of a twenty four wheeler as it thundered down the road, louder and louder it got until eventually it thundered past. The wind swept up by the passing truck was a huge gust which swept up my bivey sheet, throwing the luggage I had carefully positioned on the bivey to hold it down off like weightless twigs, the bivey lunged up into the air and I momentarily saw the winter moon shining down through the clear skies and then suddenly the bike came crashing down onto me. I got such a fright I shot out from under the bivey, still in my sleeping bag, like a coiled spring released from a jack in the box. Five seconds later the bivey was folded and packed away and I was on the bike heading for civilization at just under flat out. That night I slept in a not too clean but much less scary toilet at a petrol station, the ride had been very cold and I had arrived late, lying on the cement floor the cold had slowly crept up through the protection of the sleeping bag and I had eventually fallen asleep with my legs drawn up tight against my stomach to keep warm. The next morning when I eventually awoke the sun was streaming in through the windows and the entire staff of the petrol station had gathered in the toilet and were all staring at me while I lay there, they were bent over in a large circle standing over me clearly believing I was dead, one of them was about to pull the sleeping bag open to have a better view. When I suddenly sprang into life they surely believed I had risen from the dead and with a look of shock and horror and with huge eyes and a look of terror on their faces went fleeing for the door. Guessing I may have overstayed my welcome I slowly started to gather my possessions and get ready to leave, by now they had appointed a member of the team to return to the toilet to report on the status of the situation with the dead sleeper, he was to say the least very happy to see I was packing possessions and scurried off to report to the rest of the team that all was OK, eventually they even brought me a steaming hot cup of coffee to drive off the cold and sent me on my way with a cheery wave and some of them still looking like they were ready to run and take cover. During the following day I was riding through an area where there was a lot of logging activity and suffered a puncture in the back tire, managing to get to a garage it was quickly repaired with the patching and solution I carried and I was soon back on the road again. The rest of the journey to Cape Town was uneventful and I can remember the feeling of wonder when I had eventually climbed over the escarpment and saw the extent of Cape Town for the first time in my life, it was beyond belief.
The Ride Back Home
The ride back was not as eventful as I was by now an experienced and seasoned traveler who knew it was not good to sleep in forests and such stuff, there was however one incident worth a mention, at that time South Africa was under the political spotlight for our then ruling parties policies and there were many sanctions being imposed upon South Africa, and one such sanction included the supply of fuel to South Africa. Due to the fuel shortage all travel was greatly discouraged and there was a speed limit of 80 km per hour on the open road in place. My Yamaha 50 cc could reach a magnificent top end of 110 km per hour on the clock, this was after changing the rear sprocket and some minor changes to the exhaust baffle and other little tweaks here and there, so I was in fact able to overtake the long row of law abiding drivers who carefully ground their way to wherever they were going to. Intent on demonstrating my total disregard for the speed limit and showing the restricted drivers the extreme capabilities of my bike I was speeding past all the cars who were backed up for kilometer after kilometer. Having just finished over taking a long row of cars and speeding ahead of them I suddenly saw what appeared to be a ball of black smoke directly in my path of travel, puzzled by the strange smoke and trying hard to imagine what it could be it suddenly got very close very fast and the next thing I was into it, a massive swarm of bees. They went into my jeans legs and were buzzing around my legs, they went into my shirt and crash helmet and buzzed in the ear cavities until I was deafened and they just seemed to be everywhere. I slid to a halt with the wheels locked up and the bike still sliding while the side stand was already out and I was in the process of dismounting, leaving the bike rocking in a cloud of dust I took off up the road with a small swarm of rather furious bees swarming around my head, first my helmet, jacket, shirt and then eventually my shoes and pants were flung off in a matter of seconds, still the crazed bees followed as I sped at full speed up the road. By now the long row of cars I had passed had caught up to me and were passing at exactly 80 km per hour as I sped up the road pursued by a small swarm of crazed bees, running by now just in my underpants. Small children stared from the back windows of passing cars with a look of amazement on their faces. Amazingly I was not stung once and eventually the bees lost interest in me and I was able to make my way down the hill recovering my possessions as I went.
Back Home Again
The three week holiday finally over and safely back at home, it was soon time for school and as was the custom in those fine times, the first day was dedicated to oral and it was required to give the class an account of what you had done during the holidays. Feeling rather pleased with the extent of my adventure and with the wonderful memories still flashing through my mind, I was anxious to share the experience with the rest of my class and possibly the class teacher would be slightly impressed by my endeavors because up to that time I had not managed any notable achievement which might have even remotely impressed any of my teachers. Standing proudly before my class mates and talking directly to my teacher in a clear and slow manner I started to give them an account of my adventure. As soon as I got to the part where I mentioned that I was traveling on my 50 cc and that I had gone on my own the class erupted into a state of total disarray with the entire audience shouting comments and abuse, some accused me of lying and others backed them up saying it was not possible for a 50cc to travel any distance out of town, they quoted specifications and statistics and I was soon overwhelmed by the protests and outburst until I eventually grew silent and just stood there completely dumbstruck by the extent of their complete ignorance and lack of belief. As I slowly sat down I had one final statement to make to the class who had now become silent and were all glaring at me as though I had committed some heinous crime. Its true I tell you I said, and to prove it I will ride my bike to Rhodesia and back during the next school holiday and I will keep petrol slips as proof. Yah right they said, losing interest in this now old subject and eagerly turning to the next victim.
The Dream of an Adventure to Rhodesia
Later that night when I saw my Dad when he got home from work, I informed him of the challenge and the ignorant non-believers, he frowned and looked at me gravely and said, as you wish my boy. This was his standard reply when he did not entirely agree with what I wanted to do and he hoped I might change my mind. Little did he know the extent of my resolve in this matter and the determination I had developed to clear my now blackened name which was previously not good but at least I had not been branded as a liar.
The following weeks included apart from normal routine activities, some investigation into the trip and a couple of visits to the AA where fortunately my Dad was a member. I was horrified to learn that because I was only 16 years old at that time I could not leave the country unless accompanied by a parent or an authorized adult. A small obstacle I realized and later that night at the supper table I duly informed the rest of my family that they were imminently destined to visit my Moms brother in Rhodesia. Amazingly enough, the announcement was received with very little shock and soon we were all getting passports and planning our trip.
Rhodesia, The Start
On the 20-06-1975 the day for me to leave had finally come. It was planned that I would make my own travel arrangements and would only meet up with my family at the border post to enter into Rhodesia and I would then make my way on my own again. I did however promise to spend a few days with the family at my Uncles home in Gwelo. Leaving Queenstown once again quite late I decided I would travel as far as Aliwal North and would then spend the night there and carry on the following day, I had a provision of three days to make the trip which considering my Cape Town journey was quite reasonable. With a fuel range of no much more than 150 km it was required to stop in almost every town for petrol, and a bit of a stretch of the legs was also always welcome. So in keeping with this requirement my first stop was in Jamestown. Unfortunately the petrol slip for the trip up is no longer legible but I have attached the slip for the return trip. Note the cost of petrol at a massive 25 cents for 1.4 liters. Compared to the cost of fuel today which is around R 12.00 per liter this was incredibly little in comparison.
Arriving in Aliwal North I made my way to the railway station and found a nice comfortable bench to sleep on for the night. A half hour later I was still wide awake, clearly the excitement of the trip and the unfamiliar surroundings were going to make it impossible to sleep. Eventually I got up and slowly packed up my gear and then headed off into the cold winter night. 21 hours after leaving Queenstown I pulled into Boksburg and made my way to the Boksburg Hyper Market where I had arranged to meet up with Keith Jones, a friend of mine who was living in Boksburg and working in the butchery at the Hypermarket. Exhausted I sat down on a big square fiberglass seat at the entrance to the hyper to wait for him and within seconds I was fast asleep.
After spending a leisurely day or two with my friend in Boksburg I was once more ready to hit the road. The ride went without incident and I remember that the road also passed through a very beautiful part our country winding through forests and over rivers bordered with lush green bush and very beautiful. At some point on the ride I met up with another bike rider on a bigger bike, a 250 cc I think. I remember that he was rather mysterious and spoke very little, giving only the odd yes and no, but our bond was strong as we were kindred spirits and without even discussing our plans or our journey we instinctively set off together to continue our ride. He carried no luggage except a guitar strapped across his back, he was indeed a mysterious fellow. I remember how nice it was to have the company of the mystery rider with his guitar and how his presence soon became a familiar feeling of companionship, we wound through the passes and up and down the hills and through the valleys, eventually it was time for him to give a cheery wave and be on his way and he sped off taking a side road.
Into Rhodesia
All too quickly the border control loomed on the horizon and it was the business of being processed by the authorities on both sides, we learned that Rhodesia like South Africa was also suffering from sanctions and various other forms of political madness , while we were waiting to be cleared to proceed on the Rhodesia side we watched with amazement as a motor car was methodically stripped and searched, the wheels were removed, door panels and seats and a lot of the interior trim were removed, deciding that the vehicle was actually clean and not being used to smuggle goods into the country the authorities told the driver he was clear to go, he stood there looking at his car which was in many pieces and looked back at the authorities and then back at his car again, how can I leave he asked, gesturing at his dismantled car, the authorities shrugged and walked off. We were eventually cleared and as we made our way out of the parking lot I got one final glance at the dismantled car and the helpless owner who was still standing looking at the car shaking his head and muttering to himself.
While at the border control we had been issued with special petrol coupons, each coupon I think entitled the bearer to a liter of petrol, I can remember the cars standing in a long Que to buy petrol.
The coupons were issued in big sheets which were perforated so that individual coupons could be torn off. The petrol seemed to be OK and my bike ran well enough but it started to carbon up the spark plugs, I also eventually found that there were no spares available anywhere in the country and would eventually buy any plug I could find providing the thread diameter and reach was correct. In the end my one side pocket on my leather jacket was full of plugs and I would ride along and then the bike would start to splutter and backfire and eventually splutter to a stop. I would lay all the plugs out on the road and inspect each one individually looking for what appeared to be the best option, then I would carefully clean and adjust the plug and if I was lucky my faithful little Yummy would fire up and we would go speeding off again at just under flat out.
The country was beautiful with very good tar roads in most places, the grass verges were very neat and well maintained and the trip went very well. After a visit to the Victoria Falls the next stop was to visit the Zimbabwean Ruins. This part of the journey was a little hair raising because the roads were all strip roads, and there were only two strips, so when two vehicles were both using the road at the same time and were approaching from different sides it was never certain if the other vehicle was going to swerve off the strip and it was a bit like a game of chicken, with both vehicles hurtling towards each other and not knowing who was going to give way. It was also very difficult to get back onto the strip again with the bike because often the strip was raised above the road surface and the bike would skid and leap as you launched back onto the cement strip.
Zimbabwean Ruins
The Zimbabwean Ruins were amazing, I was totally captivated by the mystery of this ancient unknown civilization who had built the strange structures, and at that very time, unbeknownst to me, I became captivated by the mystery and intrigue of finding new and unknown things, and so like the euphoria of the open road, a deep routed love for exploring and seeing new and different interesting places developed somewhere deep within, and has remained with me all my life, and so it is that we are molded and shaped by that which we have experienced and which has captivated our imagination.
Tickets to gain access to the Zimbabwean Ruins
Back Home Again
At the ruins I had been joined by my family and it was planned that we would make our way back to the border and once over, my family would continue on to Hendriena to visit my uncle who lived there and I would make my way back to Queenstown, as by now I wanted to get back to my friends and have some fun of another nature.
We reached the two border posts and it was plain sailing through both and very soon we were ready to leave and start our journey home. By now it late afternoon and my Dad suggested that it might be a good idea to travel for an hour or so and to stop for a good night’s sleep in the caravan and then I could head off once again on my travels. This sounded like a fine idea and so it was agreed that I would ride on ahead and that when I found a nice pick nick spot suitable for the night, I would stop and wait for them to catch up. After a short time dusk fell and eventually it became a really dark night with little moon and stars. Riding along I remember coming over the crest of a rise, there was a shallow valley directly ahead and the road ran straight down and then up the opposite side, half way up the hill and directly in the pool of lights from my head light, I saw this massive monster with very bright shining eyes crouching on the road, It was clearly lying in wait for me to reach it at which time it would pounce and rip both my bike and myself into shreds. Terrified I wound the throttle fully open and crouched down behind the fearing, lying flat on the petrol tank I resolved to take the beast head on and to go down fighting. Closer and closer I got, the beast appeared massive, its eyes shining so brightly, unblinking as it stared down its prey. Surely I was doomed, my heart pounding the moment of impact arrived, and then nothing, I went flying past so fast it had no opportunity to even rise up from its crouch and pounce. Badly rattled I sped on, convinced that the best was speeding behind at a leopards pace. Not once did I look behind, lying flat on the tank and running as fast as I could, I put distance between myself and the beast. Eventually I noticed lights flicking behind and realized it was my family, my dad had been driving like hell to catch up and was clearly not impressed, where on earth are you going he demanded. Oh I was just enjoying the ride I said, showing no sign of the terror I had felt. Later on when we had set up camp and were all sitting around the table having a nice cup of hot coffee, my Dad asked, hey he said, did you see that little fox which was lying dead on the road, it must have been hit by a car. Ya I said, its eyes were shining, they do that he replied, even after they are dead. That night I slept like the dead, clearly exhausted from my near death experience.
The next morning after a hurried breakfast we said our good buys and I set off for home. I hit Johannesburg in late afternoon traffic and decided to ride on the freeway although motor cycles were not allowed, I had got as far as the center of Hillbrow riding high up on the freeway with the buildings scattered below, and the next thing a cop came speeding up alongside, lights on and shouting for me to pull over, no bikes he shouted. I tried in vain to explain that I did not know the road and that I was just passing through, well the next thing I knew I was riding through the streets of Hillbrow, totally lost and going in circles. Eventually I saw a friendly looking little pub, decided to have a well-deserved drink and something to eat and parked my bike and took up position at the bar. There was a fellow with long hair and a mighty fine beard, guitar in hand and jamming away, songs I did not recognize and really good music. But there were some other really scary and seriously rough looking fellows sitting in the bar and I was soon overcome by their silent stares and scurried off to find my bike, back on the road again I managed to find my way to Uncle Charlies, in those days everybody knew the Uncle Charlies road house and it was like the gateway to the South. By now night had fallen and once again it was freezing cold, I sat huddled on my bike sipping on a cup of hot coffee after eating a toasted sandwich.
Receipt for a toasted tomato, ham and bacon with a cup of coffee. 0.56 cents
The Kindness of Strangers
For the first time, I found myself lost and feeling lonely, cold and unhappy with the prospect of the long ride back home. It had started to rain and I pulled my coat up tighter around my neck. Parked to my left was a car with a couple sitting having a meal, the lady wound down her window and asked me, where are you going and where have you come from, soon I had given a brief account of my travels and experiences and we were headed for their home close by, where I very gratefully fell into the most wonderful warm comfortable bed and slept like a king, a good breakfast the next morning lovingly prepared by the friendly lady and even a little parcel of pad kos, and then back on the road again.
Back Home
Back at school I waited eagerly for the day to pass and for the class teacher to finally get to the period where I could proudly stand up and tell my story. It had been a year in the making and I had a fine story to tell and I was eager to restore my reputation. Evidence in hand I waited and finally the period came up. Rite said the teacher, we are far behind with our work and we need to start by reviewing chapter seven in the text books, no time for orals and idle chatter. And such is life and the lessons we learn.
In Conclusion
Thank you for reading my story and to Steemit for making it possible to share our adventures and life experiences. Also to my son for helping me to join Steemit and make my introduction post.