Amazing roads, like these...
Amazing roads, like these esses, kept us in good spirits
BEST OF THE BEST
I believe it's impossible to shove a story so grand into a "today we had scrumptious gruel in Hanover" format, so perhaps the best I can do is encapsulate the highest of the high points. Those on the tour with me will undoubtedly shout, "What about the waterfalls pouring thousands of feet down the Langeberg mountains!" and, "What about the World's Highest Bungee Jump!" and probably even, "What about the time Roger stuck that lady's corn cob in his ear and had to pay for it?" Sadly, there just isn't room to report all the amazing and crazy things we saw and did.
♦ One of our most giddy highs was an optional early evening run with Hellrigl over a dirt pass called Swartberg just outside of Oudtshoorn. We'd already had several days of alarmingly beautiful vistas, so we were really in it for the promise of an off-road adrenaline rush. And sure enough, our teeth were coffee brown by the time we got to the summit, as we'd been unable to stop laughing during the dusty ascent. Top of the world? Pretty close. It was certainly as high as we could get without drugs.
At "Shakaland," a kitschy...
At "Shakaland," a kitschy tribal village, the Zulu warriors fell in love with our BMWs
♦ Yummy babootie. Sounds kinda sexy, I know, but it is really just good South African-style chili, and my favorite thing we ate on the trip.
♦ On the afternoon of the sixth day, Preining offered those interested a little scouting opportunity that would take us into the tribal lands of the Transkei region, near Umtata, where Nelson Mandela was born. We'd attempt to close a loop to a bay called Qora Mouth, which we could tell on the map would offer a completely remote beach experience, maybe even time for another dry-your-bum dip in the ocean. What we found was vastly more refreshing. The tribal villages of the Tembu, only one of several indigenous cultures we encountered between Cape Town and Johannesburg, are made up of whitewashed mud and thatch huts scattered among the rolling green hills like so many flower petals after a summer wind. Even though it required a strong hand to negotiate the winding, rutted dirt roads, we still made the effort to wave back to the kids who came running across the fields to greet us.
♦ Everywhere we went in South Africa people would gather around our bikes, and the same was true out here in the Transkei. There came a moment, though, when the magnetism of those smiling faces suddenly became much more important than our destination. So we stopped. And we let ourselves be totally embraced by these kids with their magical sense of simplicity and joyful curiosity. At one point I was taking digital pictures of them and then showing them the screen. And they were so floored. I was so floored. I'd shoot and then they'd dogpile me. We took them for rides on the bikes, they asked us our names and we tried to pronounce theirs. I don't know how long we stayed, but we never made it near the beach, and when we finally did ride away we'd all been moved to the point of feeling shaken. These people had an inexplicable feeling of happiness surrounding them, yet they were very poor, their futures so limited. It was a kind of happiness that was new to us. Haunting, almost, because the purity of it seemed unobtainable.
♦ This experience wouldn't have been available from the seat of a car or a tour bus, of course. When you are on a motorcycle you are infinitely more connected to your surroundings. There's no ignoring the smells, the temperatures, the hands outstretched in greeting. All day we would wave back to people, even to the drivers of oncoming cars and trucks who would flash their lights in greeting. We were surprised at how even this fleeting bit of contact seemed to make them so happy. You can imagine the cumulative effect it had on us. Our souls grew fat and jolly.
♦ After we'd seen South Africa so close up, it was impossible not to be infected by its generosity of spirit. I know our last gourmet roadside picnic (an original Edelweiss tradition) at Torgaat Beach was not only a favorite moment of the guests, but also of the guides, simply because of the people we shared it with. We had extra food, so Hellrigl and Preining invited everyone around us to join in. The warm feeling made it easier to say goodbye to the crazy-blue Indian Ocean, which we'd turn away from that eighth day so we could make our way inland toward Zulu territory and finally Kruger National Park for a bit of the real, real Africa. The one involving lions, rhinos, zebras and giraffes...and a food chain that doesn't include brie cheese.
♦ Our time among the Zulu was priceless. We stayed in huts on the location set of the 1986 miniseries Shaka Zulu that follows Africa's most famous tribal king's life and his people's struggle during the height of British invasion. The sets are now used as dioramas, and the locals dress in somewhat authentic fashion and reenact period lifestyle. This was colorful and fun, if a bit hokey. The coolest thing was talking to the Zulu about how modern tribal life stays surprisingly true to ancient structure and ritual. If you have enough cows, for example, you can buy as many wives as you can handle.
♦ Doing a "game drive" at Kruger is kinda like a quickie safari. You spend a half day hunting Africa's Big Five: elephant, leopard, lion, rhino and water buffalo, only with cameras instead of guns. From our two hired Rovers (you'd get eaten on a bike) we saw three out of five (no leopard or rhino), plus about 100 other animals that amazed us, many of which we'd never heard of. No Africa Safari U.S.A., this government-protected reserve shelters more than 50 million acres. The animal viewing was definitely a highlight, but perhaps more unforgettable were the two nights spent at the Protea Hotel at Kruger Gate. Edelweissaccommodations are always high-quality and memorable, but this place was enchanting, and it wasn't just the amazing food or the wild monkeys hanging about the elevated, open-terrace lobby either. The nights at Kruger Gate were so special because we'd gotten to know each other so well. We'd shared so much by that point. South Africa had become a part of us, and in that sense, we'd become a part of each other.
FAREWELL TO TRANSCENDENCE
Leaving the wilds of Kruger, I didn't expect more than a trudge to Johannesburg, where I knew my euphoria would be spoiled by another 24-hour plane ride (and a lifetime of not being in South Africa), but the route from the park to Waterval Boven turned out to be rather exceptional. First we wound our way up onto the Drakensberg plateau to gaze down into Blyde River Canyon. I'd heard it referred to as South Africa's Grand Canyon, which I thought an insult because this shocking geologic wonder is far too distinct to be compared to anything else on the planet. The next stop was God's Window. Surely some of you remember the cult film The Gods Must Be Crazy. Well, this is the exact spot the little bushman, Xi, throws the troublesome Coke bottle over the "end of the earth." Having no evil of my own to expel, I was left to consider whether this was a window looking into heaven, or a window looking out.
Butt rash and all, this particular Edelweiss trip has become my favorite experience in 20 years of riding. Totally unexpected. Also unexpected was the difficulty I had saying goodbye to the people I'd shared it with. Sooner than any of us wanted, we were toasting farewell and catching planes in different directions.
When I finally got home I was still waving, though hardly anyone waved back. Weeks later, I'm still smiling at people I pass on the street, still throwing out animated hellos and good mornings. Trying, anyway. It's inevitable, I suppose, that the elixir of Good Hope begins to fade. In the absence of reciprocation I may become a little sullen myself, yet this unrequited joy has a certain positive: It only deepens my appreciation for all the wonderful things I found in South Africa. For what you will find, too, should you choose to journey there.
To this day, as I tell people about riding motorcycles in South Africa, my hand unconsciously rises to cover my chest. Perhaps I fear my heart will simply leap out and disappear.
And I'll have to take another 24-hour plane ride to retrieve it.