Cycle Odyssey - Maloti to Majuba on MTB (December 2014)

This is the story of a dad & lad MTB adventure – an unassisted track ride of 410km over six days in which we

spent 52 hours in the saddle, traversed three provinces and crossed the Drakensberg water divide four times using six different mountain passes. Our adventure took us along the quiet Eastern Free State / KZN escarpment in a wonderful world of wetlands and mighty mountains.

Day 1: Saturday 7 December 2014 - 59km (7 ½ hours) "Wild Wilge country and looking far ahead": Van Reenen's Pass to Verkyker’s Kop. On the 7th December 2014 my dad and I started doing a (roughly) 400km cycle from Van Reenen’s pass across the Eastern Highlands of Free State to the mighty Majuba mountain in KZN, site of the bloody butchering of the British redcoats at the hands of the Boers in the first short Boer War in 1881. Three hours on the N3 drinking tea from dad's trusty travel flask and munching on Christmas cake was enough to build our energy reserves. This is a far cry from the three days it would have taken in 1881 when Wimpy's excellent egg-and-bacon toasted sandwich would have been a distant future invention. We met Simon Tulley at Oaklands Country Estate where he agreed we could leave our car. After an hour of applying strap carriers to our bikes, suntan cream and looking at the great view from our temporary room, we set off into the mountains. Dad had all the weight on his bike which affected his steering and took some getting used to; I was free as a bird. Everything went quiet. After a short while we crossed the Wilge River and traversed the valley to an expansive area. We passed a lonely looking Andalusian sheep dog guarding his fleecy flock. The land is evidently fertile and verdant - the healthy cattle, new mielies and wild looking horses against the green. We were startled by a solitary duiker darting out of the long grasses and a lone AK 47 cartridge by the roadside. Noticeably, the bird life is prolific - particularly blue crane, white stork, swallows, spur wing, kites, kestrels, widow birds and many more. Everything is watched over by the rolling hills and the prominent mesa and bute formations with their four element hill slopes. My geography and geology lesson had begun! The clouds were changing by the minute and molten gold light pouring over the grass after the storm. Suddenly there was noise of a rush, almost like animals stampeding and a violent wind blowing together. Dad said it was hail so we hid in a pipe under the road in anticipation of the onslaught, but thankfully it bypassed us. Let's me tell you, from the devastation we saw afterwards, you really don't want to be fending off golf balls on your bike!

Realising we were nearing our destination, we raced over the hill into the copse of trees and found Verkyker’s Kop (population 15) with its quaint roadside hotel, pub, post office and police station - the latter of which has just received a R38m police station upgrade (in arguably one of the smallest and lowest crime hamlets in the country) - what were they thinking? There's also the general store (purveyors of sherbet, liquorice "snakes", marshmallow fish, "black balls" and gob stoppers) and a pub and veranda. I couldn't wait for some food...

Speaking of which, dad was chuffed with his honey-and-Horlicks milkshake on arrival and the prospect of venison curry and ice cream after his bath. It couldn't get better! We laughed at the funny old photo on the wall of some ladies who were against liquor. Dad said that their decision was probably a blessing for the menfolk of their village!

Problem was that he fell asleep on the bed (snoring like a diesel) and we only got to dinner after 8.30 and the ice cream had melted. We met hosts Mat Hoffman and his partner Beth Hillary, the fussy black Lab called "Tippex" and Beauty who brought the beautiful milkshake and the even more beautiful curry. In the background Japie and his team from Finmon (distributors of GSM applications for security) were having a teambuilding weekend. There was excited

talk of “bottle feeding” and an invitation to participate tomorrow. Bottle feeding what? Meanwhile, Dad was bottle-feeding himself some Hartenburg Cab/Shiraz blend and holding court in the pub with tales of our odyssey.

Day 2: Sunday 8th December 2014 - 56km (7 ½ hours) Attaining that "Free State": Verkyker’s Kop to Memel via Jaap van Niekerk's farm "Tevrede" to see his vintage cars Koeksusters and koffie met us on the veranda. While the breakfast of wors, vetkoek, scrambled egg and waffles was prepared in the kitchen, other feeding began. It was not the traditional type - the duiker and the baby springbok are rescue animals cared for by Paulina.

Dad chuckled about a newspaper headline "Tokoloshe attacks Christians" and emailed it to granny who is deeply religious - what is our beloved country coming to? Matt, the proprietor, drove us to his new project - an "off the grid" farm estate nearby on the Sharret's old land. It will have eight homes on 600ha of beauty and will have low dependence on ESKOM or anyone else we can't entirely depend on. He walked us to Bushman paintings in three caves and on the return trip we ran over a snake... It's day 2 and we must be on our bikes as dad says we've been cocking around - it is after midday and our Norwegian buddies at www.yr.no predict afternoon thunderstorms. About 2km out I swore "S%$#! Dad! I've forgotten my Camelbak" and sent HIM back to fetch it while I put some distance on him. I felt sorry for him as he is carrying 13.6kg of clothes, toiletries, medical and spares plus 2kg of water and his own 82kg! We proceed onwards for the next hour or two seeing a mongoose bolting across the road, mountain reebok bobbing up and down and a patient heron fishing a dam. The farms are stunning and rich. After 20km (24km for dad) we come across one with stone walls and proper gates at all the paddocks. Dad says "this is probably Oom Jaap's farm". I enquire as to who exactly Oom Jaap is and am told to wait and see. We arrive at the main gate of "Tevrede" and see the name JJ van Niekerk. It all falls into place.

We cycle down the tar drive (unusual for a farmhouse) and introduce ourselves. Dad had spoken to him about buying a 450SL years ago. Dad switches to "simulcast", his own inferior dialect of Afrikaans learned at Kearsney College in KZN. Oom Jaap and the three Tannies look confused! They kindly fed us left-over KFC (cleverly purchased at Harrismith on the way back from church because Eskom had predicted a power cut!) and are hasty to explain that it is not their usual Sunday fare. We also devour bread with nag-something-berry jam and local lamb chops with aartappels. Then Oom Jaap advised us on our route using our 1:50,000 topographic maps. Then we see his three-hundred-and-something knife collection and his massive collection of toy tractors and cars. Oom Jaap is a collector; he even has a trophy of a whole giraffe neck mounted on his double volume lounge! It is now time for tea and cake with Linda and the other two Tannies. Two Nomads and a Borgward from Germany sit in one garage. Three Mercedes SL - a red 1959 190SL, a red 1969 280SL "pergoda" and a blue 450SL like dad's are in the next garage along. Then to "die skeur" to see the Studebaker, Model T Ford, VW Carmen Ghia, two DKWs (which I learned were one of the four car companies which became Audi) including one which is a 2-stroke and doesn't take engine oil, a Volvo "beetle back", a 1974 mini and a VW beetle. Wow! About R15m worth of collectable cars in the middle of nowhere! We then fixed my new half number plate to my bike (I'd picked up on the roadside earlier). It is "2 - FS" which makes sense as our trip is to (2) the Free State! Out trig map rests faithfully above this in its plastic protector with the compass. After some awesome Free State hospitality, we are ready to roll…and roll fast. It was 17.30. We said our thank-yous and left quickly as we still had 25km to Memel and a pass to climb and that meant we'd get in after dark. Along the way we passed the road to Normandien Pass where we will descend into KZN next Wednesday. We also saw wildebeest, an owl, night jars, mud, puddles and Anton from Memel Butchery who kindly stopped in his bakkie to see if we were OK. After all, it was dark! Jimmy at "Mahem Guest House" greeted us with interest and concern and two cokes. He fried half a dozen chops (again) and some chili wors on his braai and we washed it down with potato salad and Windhoek. Half an hour later it's "lights out". What a great day to be alive. Insert: Mentors, Mambo's and our Guides I'm writing today as Elliot has been stealing the headlines and I've a lot to say! Firstly, my son (now called "2 FS") deserves the "Distinguished Conduct Medal" similar to the one won by his great great grandmother's uncle, Jimmy O'Hara, in these same conflicts. The resilient Elliot has ridden over 100km so far without so much as a wince. He's been superb company and has injected his classic brand of derivative satirical humour into our days. He's loved his trip and, for a dad, that's priceless. As he lies still asleep on the other bed the chickens crow for their dawn. Today we face our Majuba.

I'd like to especially thank all the antagonists who said I was crazy taking a 12 year old on a 400km unassisted cross-country which includes crossing the mighty Drakensberg escarpment four times. They've all been wrong. The echoes of "What about security?" and "How will people know where you are?" are fading from my ears. They are becoming distant memories, like Apartheid. Yes I did have my concerns but now that we're committed, it's great and he's handling. In fact, in a perverse way, they've actually helped me. For what would anyone achieve if he listened to all those who tell him he can't? Thankfully, Africa is full of pioneers and their swashbuckling and flamboyant endeavours plant seeds in the minds of others. If you can’t physically be on expedition and exploring all the time, you can actually become part of the odyssey by reading about it. Part of my inspiration came from Riaan Manser who pilgrim-peddled his way clockwise around the coast of The Dark Continent; most came from the generous Kevin Davie of Mail & Guardian whom we met on a dirt road out of Rhodes a few years ago. With all the kids leaning out the window of the H1 bus, I passed him two SupaMoo chocolate milks and some of (90 year old) granny's Christmas cake. He kindly mentioned me in his anecdotal book "Freedom Rider - 10,000km across South Africa on my mountain bike". It's a classic and a great read. It will make you do stuff. We met for a protracted coffee while I dissected his superb brain and pored over 1:250,000 contour maps from Leon at "Maps4Africa" on Jan Smuts. Kevin advised and answered, drew lines on my maps and told me a few simple truths: "Don't over-plan" and "Don't over-pack – 10kg max, without your water". He also assured me that he'd never felt threatened once in all his travels and that all the "Tsotsis" were in Jozy. I commented that a good few were in parliament in Cape Town too. He also told me that tour cycling is a drug. He's right. Then there was fellow Kearsney Old Boy Dave Waddilove, crazy-man and pioneer of the twenty-something-day Freedom Challenge from PMB to Cape Town (which he originally did in reverse on foot on his way to PMB to run Comrades) and the 6 day Ride-to-Rhodes. He and his assistant Meryl helped me a great deal and their site assists riders who want to use their route to free-ride. One day he will fulfil Rhodes’ dream of making it possible for mountain-bikers to follow the red line from the fair Cape all the way up the Rift Valley to Cairo. I'd heard about the legendary Jacu Strydom who, riddled with terminal cancer, circumnavigated SA solo on MTB. He also rode around the perimeter of Lesotho. I corresponded with his widow Ilette as he's sadly no longer with us. Their site is a testimony to Jacu and an aid to expedition riders. Mike ten Hope, a free-riding and spirited entrepreneur, also fired me up with tales of a similar trail with his (then) 12 year old son and his inspirational voyage across the 'berg on MTB from Montusi in the northern ‘berg to just short of Cape Town when he had to bail to help Dale with her news of breast cancer. He's also done a BMW GS tour to Rhodes with his (now older) boys. John Brand, a tall, open and distinguished partner at Bowman Gilfillan, Dropboxed me the pipe-choking 2.5gig PowerPoint of his epic from Cape Town to Beit Bridge. An incredible commentary on his personal epic journey which should be committed to print. Being a genteel attorney, he took a few more creature comforts with him and his kit weighed in at over 25kg. I was determined to be in single figures and, if you subtract Elliot's overnight stuff from my 13.5kg, I think I've made it – no make up required out here!. Out of his Duxberry home's garage, John unconditionally handed me (a virtual stranger) his five expensive carrier bags and an ingenious saddle-like cradle for securing bags to the handle bars. I've since modified the strapping convention and converted it to elastic. The point is that St. John invested time with me, leant me his precious kit, humoured my "old school trig maps" (he favours GPS) and, most importantly, instilled confidence in me that I would do it. His currency was belief. I realised we could do it and that I could ride to Rhodes unassisted. But I'd never really doubted it anyway - it's just a question of justification and de-risking through planning and talking to the seasoned "Great Trekkers".

Day 3: Monday 9 December 2014 - 72km (8 hours)

"The Big Battle": Memel to the Armitage's farm "Glen Atholl" (via Seekooivlei Reserve, Quagga’s Nek Pass, Majuba (site of the final slaughter which resulted in the end of the first Boer War in 1881)) Half seven breakfast of the best fruit salad ever and scrambled egg with parsley and bacon - really filling the tank with high octane! We left Memel in a hurry (it looks like paedophile-ville in the daylight!) and encountered road works. The "ry-go" became "go-go" for us as we used the unused new tar with no cars on it! We pass the game fence of Seekooivlei nature reserve for 20km without seeing any of the reintroduced hippo. It's a RAMSAR (an international organisation protecting wetlands and all that live in them). At breakfast I'd asked if the UK is a member, but no one got my joke! The bird life is prolific and the country green - we spotted widow, shiny green ones, a secretary bird with a lizard and more.

Elliot made a bunch of beefy-looking cows follow us along the fence by letting out this distressing moo sound. The cows followed us for ages anxious and inquisitive to see if the "Bovine whisperer" was in distress or not. Herman and Antonie Brelarge pulled past and stopped in the great white Ford Ranger. They thought we were crazy and offered help - either mental or physical. They've just bought the farm Seekooivleiport as an extension of their empire. Farming land, they say, is going up. They paid R1600 / Ha. We pass under power lines feeding the industrial heartland from the coal burners near Newcastle and over border on Quagga’ Nek Pass from Vrystaat to KZN. No quaggas I'm afraid; like everything else they were shot out and the last died in a London zoo in 1865. We pass by Transnet's pumping operations perpetually pushing diesel and oils up the fuel pipeline to a hungry Gauteng. Here Mabuza, the very Zulu security guard, filled our water bottles: thirsty Gautengers are now using their water too! And then there was “the boy who asked for more…” After a monster 7km club up the SE slope of Majuba we eventually summit the Afrikander shrine where on Sunday 28 February 1881, the Boers contravened their custom of going to nagmal and instead avenged the loss of a young boy hit by a stray English bullet down in the valley in the camp at Laing's Nek. They ascended in the dawn and by seven the mist lifted and they attacked the mystified English. By midday nearly 500 Brits were either dead, wounded or captured and General Pomery-Colley lay dead with a pistol shot to the head. After Laing's Nek, Ingogo and a few other vicious skirmishes, this was enough for Britain and Gladstone gave back the Transvaal Boer Republic its independence until gold was found (hence the need for a second Boer War in 1899). We munched cheese and jam sarmies on the battle site and helped the caretaker, Theuns, break into the museum (the lock was jammed) by posting

Elliot through the burglar bars! Theuns told us about the horror the Boers had felt on discovering that the English were using women soldiers - they were actually kilted Gordon Highlanders. He got back to mowing the grass for the "Gedagtenis Vergadering" on 15 December. It's not called "Dingaan's Day" up here! It’s hard to see in the photo, but the “Ossewa Brandwag Huis” is still there…. Today we've traversed Free State, KZN and touched into Mpumalanga; we've passed the power supply lines, the Transnet fuel vein, the Spoornet artery, the track of the future N3 and the old R103 main road from Jozy to Durban - all on bikes. I'm super-impressed with Elliot's grit. Granted he's 40kg but he's ridden hard and it's hilly. He has nobly filled big shoes and has obviously been drinking cement! I'm knackered from 2014 and feeling a sideways 44. Anyhow, the day's almost over and we are in Volksrust. We celebrated with a chocolate SuperMoo and stocked up with droe wors, biltong and sweeties for the remote riding over the next couple of days. Tonight we stay with old friends. Paddy Armitage's historic farm "Glen Atholl" near Volksrust is sadly now devoid of menfolk; Pat married a lovely English girl called Bex (skande in this region that someone would marry "die vyandt" but he did, and lives outside London) and his brother and dad have both passed away. So the two competent girls run the farm - horses, beef and veg - as well as the comfy cottages which the let out on a self-catering basis. His mum Minou and sister Sylvie are taking care of us and Minou and I are taking care of a bottle of De Grendel Merlot. We are served salad which was in the hot-house tunnel an hour ago and is sweet and delicious - no hard green Woolworths tomatoes to be found here! The crispy loin lamb chops are sensational - we don't mind that it is the third night in a row we've had lamb as they're lovely. At the dinner table we consider "how it was writing letters in the old days" and how "the young kids today are glued to their phones". We discuss the merits of the age of the messenger-rider and the age of electronic communication. Friendship is the wine of life and we enjoy an evening of both. We will deal with tomorrow tomorrow!

Day 4: Tuesday 10 December 2014 - 79km (9 ½ hours)

“Fighting fit”: "Glen Atholl" farm near Volksrust to Memel via Moll's Pass, Ngogo, the Battle of Skuinshoogte and Botha's Pass. This morning I woke as a farmer would - at four on the dot. The bats in the roof were getting busy too, so I made coffee for Sylvie and hauled out the 1:250,000. We sat, trig maps spread over the table, and welcomed the Zulu dawn with Majuba on the horizon. Google Maps kindly confirmed intended tracks. Breakfast was a farmhouse! East down the dive (8km), south down the Mpumalanga-KZN escarpment towards hotter Newcastle and west eventually towards Laing's Nek, eventually crossing the N11 (the old Durban-Jozy main road) at nGogo. White Boy poses for a picture next to the Witbooi River. We see a man with a bandaged arm riding his bike with his foot! This is vintage Africa. Welcome respite from searing heat and 20 knot head-on 'berg wind was found at The Valley Inn (est. 1881 as the battles raged around it). After admiring Allen's garden gnomes, we jumped into his semi-green pool and rescued a few small frogs. Two cokes later we were moving again in the heat haze... Wrong-routed again, we lucked into the site of Skuinshoogte where the self-same General Sir George Pommery-Colley made yet another fatal error and guided his men into an outflanked turkey shoot. The rows of well-tended crosses make one hope our sons and daughters are never drawn into a similar mess.

. Botha's Pass lurked to the west and our aim was to make the 85km before nightfall. The bottom of the pass boasts a tea room where the ginger beer is good. Kindly proprietor Pieter Conradie advised us that the road was dangerous and that there were road works and single lane the whole way up. He popped us in his bakkie and relieved us of the 700m climb to the top and 5km of pedalling against sun, wind and contour lines! Morally, we shouldn’t have done it, but is we justified our actions as it was tar (kind of) and not dirt! Over a roast chicken (Elliot called ahead and requested anything but lamb!) back at Jimmy’s in Memel, Elliot asks: "Dad, do you think I'm getting fitter?" I replied “Of course you are but the most improved is your brain - because now you know you CAN.” Crossing the water divide is a feat; 266km in four days is a memory maker. Claret washes down Jimmy's roast chicken and potatoes with four veg. The back of the dragon is broken.

Day 5: Wed 10 December 2014 - 63km (7 ½ hours) "High Flying on the water divide": Memel to Horseshoe Lodge (via Normandien's Pass) Saying goodbye to Jimmy at Mahem, we cruised on flat dirt and talked about asset pricing based on future cash flows and the effect of gearing in a bull and bear market. Why shouldn't a 12-year old know that stuff? I'm proud of Elliot for his 320km, but not amazed. In some places, 12-year olds wield Kalashnikovs and kill people; in others not so far from here 12-year olds give birth. But don't take anything away from him; he rode like a machine. This is the land of water. It oozes from the hillsides. Like Rhodes, it has mountain topography but more vlei land. Cattle (mainly grey Charolaise and brown Bonsmara) are “dik gevreet” and "beefy". We ran into rain for the first time in our trip and sought cover in the farmhouse of Clifford and Tiana Rostron and three of their four charming daughters Nicole, Tiffany (who'd both just escaped boarding school in Newcastle) and two year old cutie Tiana. There was also the new English Pointer pup who was gun shy and quivering from the violent lightning and thunder. We were served coffee, washed the mud off our bikes, cleaned the chains and refilled the water bottles. If my Afrikaans was better and there hadn't been a second Boer war, weight have made it past the garage into the voorkamer. The rain calmed down and we pressed on to our rendezvous.

Robby 66 call sign Hotel Bravo Sierra had passed east of us earlier en route to Newcastle Airport to refuel. We waved but they didn't spot us and we were sad. When the cloud lifted, over the pass came ZS-HBS back-tracking the dirt road until they spotted us. They scouted the area for hazard, curled lower and put down in a field. Native tribesmen flocked from the hills to witness the spectacle and to pose for photos taken with their a Nokia 6110, the everlasting cell phone from last century. Rotation ceased, turbines started to cool and out jumped Jobie and Lolo with a picnic basket of sandwiches from Fourno's, hot chocolate for the boys and a plunger and ground coffee for the dads. What a treat. These Hilton boys do things properly!

Lift-off and north they went back to the Big Smoke; we saddled up and pedalled south to the Big Puff - over the water divide for the third time in two days following the ancient wagon route of Normanien's Pass. I explain that water dropped one side flows 2000km through Wilge, Vaal, Orange rivers and into the Atlantic at Port Nolloth whereas water dropped the other side flows 300km into the Buffalo, Tugela rivers and the Indian Ocean at Mandini just north of Zinkwazi Beach. Elliot tries it out with our two water bottles and then proceeds to try it with urine too! I notice his cyclists tan! Nice and "buck", my boet! The top of Normandien's Pass was interesting: a great view of an impressive amphitheatre, intact yellowwood forests and striations in the sandstone where ox wagons had been braked and dragged up the mountain by numerous spans. The mist swallowed us up. Descent into the valley was rapid and you could have fried a T-bone steak on my brake rotor. We ended the day feeling like exhilarated fighter pilots who'd just flown down the mountain at an average of 65km/h. Koot Dippenaar at Horseshoe Inn says their family moved here in the '50s and they are still known as “the newcomers” and "uitlanders". He says "Die Ark", as the valley is called, has been inhabited by backward Collyers and Flanagans for half a dozen generations. Apparently they got "lost" off some kind of Trek in the 1800's and remained untouched in this remote valley until being "discovered" in the forties. We feed on beef stew, delicious pumpkin and a veggie mush. We order breakfast-on-the-hoof for tomorrow as we have a big day. Boiled eggs and PNB (peanut butter) sarmies. The patriarch, Kobus Dippenaar (87), totters in to tell us he's heard some fire and brimstone pronouncements on the evening news: North West KZN and South East Free State have a warning out: expect thunderstorms and hail. He excuses himself as he is tired after his day working with his cattle, but not before mentioning that he cycled 12 miles a day from his childhood farm to attend school in Reddersberg and again to kerk on Sunday. He attributed his geriatric vigour to riding a bike. Hopefully we'll also both live to 87! It early to the sack as tomorrow we will attempt the crow's flight route up the escarpment using Roger's Pass - an overgrown stock track over private land used to get livestock to higher summer grazing. No one here has heard of it but we have, and we have it on our 1:50,000. Our whole trip has been fascinating in the respect that local people often cannot point out things in their own back yard. Their "interference" is lethal and can set you on the wrong path or cause you to ride three sides of a rectangle, as we did yesterday. My advice is choose the most direct "Tiger line" and plot it yourself. Also, people's general estimation of distance is shocking and ranges from "quite far" to "10 minutes" to "long way" to the local vernacular “Eish! Too-far”. Get a map and you can measure it yourself. Sounds like I'm having a sugar low but I'm not. Just refining my thoughts about how to conduct the next expedition cycle.

Day 6: Thursday 11 December 2014 - 81km (12 hours) "Die Grooter Trek": Horseshoe Farm in Die Ark to Oaklands Country Estate via Roger's Pass (71km + 10km) Koot did well; cereal and a packed lunch consisting of three sarmies and four pears (or, as I pointed out over breakfast, “a pair of pears” - which fell on deaf ears). Whichever way, they were delicious. Elliot was faffing with the GPS so I rode off slowly along the road to warm the pins. Not sure what happened next bit he didn't follow so I turned back, only to see his tyre tracks leading the other way. He thought I was ahead of him and he’d put down the hammer. I geared up and set off after him, catching him after 4km! With nearly an hour gone and eight sweaty km under the belt (both of us going at high speed to catch the other) we started again from Horse Shoe at 08.00. Unlucky! Easy riding to the base of the escarpment and then it got tough. Up up up past an old hag with a donkey called "Mampee" and to a locked-up looking stone farmhouse. Then up the spur to the cattle pass. This isn't a van Reenen's or an Oliviershoek; it's not even like Normandien’s or Botha's passes. It is a single track cutting used by the ancients in the days of the horse but now a vestigial relic of the past, save for lone herdsmen taking cattle to high grazing in summer months. Both sides are private land, so you have to do a sneak. Cell phones don't work. Fired up on Jobie's nougat and a pear each, we attacked, only to be beaten aside a passing train of healthy but confused bovines, Zulu herdsman (with whip and large smile) at the rear. In our greeting, which sometimes involves the transfer of unwanted "Oros-flavored" chewing sweets, we explained that we had ridden from eGoli and asked directions to eThelwini (Durban). Most people we encounter have been to neither but know they are both far. It makes for good entertainment seeing the faces change and hearing the "hauw...hauw...hauw...hauw". They probably never will go there now that they have seen what crazy people come from the Reef! We spot wagon-wheel scratchings in the bedrock again and try and imagine moving house (or wagon!) in the turbulent 1850s. Imagine a mother's anxiety not knowing if she and her children were going to wake up in the morning: a snake bite, a wagon accident on the pass, a Zulu spear to disembowel you for the vultures. Husbands disappearing for days on reconnaissance and path-finding missions, to get away from the wagon-home or simply to have a lager away from the larger. We trekked on up 1:3 gradients, pushing hard; our vertical is punctuated by frequent stops, ostensibly to admire the view, but really to stave off cardiac arrest.

The top brings a left-right conundrum and we opt for right as it is downhill to a 2000m high dam. Over a wetland and the inlet to the dam and we are there. This must, according to our ordinance survey map, be the source of the Wilge River which we employ freely to wash, cool down and fill bottles. It looks distinctively trouty and we wish we had rods. We're over the watershed but have 40km to go and hail and severe thunder storms have been predicted. We go into clear skies. Hill after beautiful hill pass under our wheels as we follow the pristine wetland of the meandering Wilge (Willow) valley. We see the dirt road to (and power line from) Ingula, an ingenious hydro project in which water is dropped down the escarpment through large diameter pipes housing turbines from 2000m to 1500m generating electricity on demand during peak usage hours. I'm not sure if it is operational yet. It certainly hasn't had an effect of the "rolling blackouts" which ESKOM thrust on us as a price for 20 years of freedom. Meanders, ox bows and crescent-shaped cut-off lakes, one after the other for miles. Grade 10 geography at its best! White stork, black eagle, grey and Goliath herons, bald ibis and vulture. Quiet and open, green and pristine. Big sky country. Gradually, recognized features return: the flat-topped Nelson's Kop (2230m) and Tandjiesberg (2216m) with its row of teeth-rocks. Elliot is near to bonking (a cycling term used to describe an irrecoverable sugar low) and we are out of food. A lager of Toyota Fortuners (wif rooftent nogal!) adorn a campsite in the mountain's shadow. I sidle up purposefully and ask for emergency Coke. Elliot follows, bedraggled. We receive chocolates, more coke, energy drink, a sausage hot off the braai, some cashews and the offer of a lift for the last 15km. We accept all the food we can eat and decline the lift, fix our Ay-Up lights and ride into the cumulo lightning show over van Reenen's and De Beer's passes. The sky is slate, save for a stark white atomic mushroom anvil casting its wrath on nearby KZN. It cools and we cycle on over the Wilge and onto the familiar road we started on six days ago. The French receptionist at Oaklands sees our lights bobbing happily up the driveway and steps into the night to greet us, drawing us into the warmth of the pub. I order a Guinness, curry and wildebeest steaks with mash. We are

separated from the rest of the guests because we hone and are muddy. We look like two freedom fighters after battle. But we are happy in the warm afterglow. I explain to Elliot that he now has "big T.I.T.S." (Connor Dawson's acronym for big Time In the Saddle) - 52.5 hours in total. I point out that he has been riding for longer than it took me to do the Cape Epic or the Jo'burg2C. We've done a 410km figure of eight or “B” shape and about 4500m of vertical. Eight mountain passes (most of which no one has ever heard of) and four times over the Drakensberg water divide. Over arterial rail routes, the old main road, fuel pipelines, the flight path of the JNB-DUR flights, power lines and water schemes. Past simple people, collecting good memories and curio-stories that can be told again and again. Elliot thanks me for the tour and I implore him not to pay me back, but to keep the chain going: pass an experience on to his daughter or son, little brother, sister or a friend. He has become a man and I have done my job as a parent. Day 7: Friday 12 December 2014 - 300km (3 hours) "Looking Back": Oaklands to Illovo Driving back, we chatted about the many enriching things we’d experienced and the “take-aways”. 1. Don't completely rely on other people's directions unless their name is Kevin Davie. 2. Your Afrikaans can improve even 27 years after school. 3. You can be perfectly happy with very little. We had 13.6kg between us and many people we passed had less.

We were both content. 4. We never felt threatened once, except by nearby hailstones. 5. The Boers knew a thing or two about traversing a country: pack biltong and droe wors. As to which is faster -

horse or MTB - there is still debate. 6. A twelve year old is far more capable than you think. 7. Coming from the outside and seeing a place or situation with a fresh perspective often means that you end up

knowing more about aspects of a place that people who live there. Maybe that's because you're actually interested. The corollary is that there must be amazing stuff under our noses in Jo’berg which we will never know about unless we pick up a Lonely Planet or speak to a traveller.

8. Everywhere you go, you meet "another nice South African". 9. Don't over-plan; just let it flow and decide along the way. 10. The sun always rises in the East. Wise men don't necessarily come from the East. People who like adventure will always help you and live a bit more of their lives through you. Thank you to those who inspired, encouraged, followed and documented their travels for others to follow. Thanks to Jobie Clark and Lolo (and ZS-HBS) for intercepting us in the high wetlands for a world class picnic on the summit of Normandien's. Thanks to my son who has been a uncomplaining companion, offered up his own brand of excellent satirical humour, put his back into it (even at the end of the days, when reserves were running low) and appreciated every minute. Being positive and "simply getting along with it" is a great attribute. An orienteering odyssey like this is a graduation. He's actually a man.