Bikers

They come in all shapes and sizes. They range from motor mechanics to business executives. Their common love is the motorcycle. The men camped one side of me were school teachers, their bikes were Harley-Davidson wannabees and they ride every day to work; the other side was a farmer from Ottosdal on a BMW touring bike. He admits to riding his bike three time a year... to three different bike rallys.

So we escape from life for a weekend. And we have permission to dress up and strut our stuff. And swear and drink beer and rev the engines of our bikes and do wheelies and generally remind ourselves of what it felt like to be rebellious and carefree.

Then we go home and resume our daily responsibilities.
Feeling just a little bit lighter.
With a glint in the eye.

Bikers

There were five bikes in a row ... an even split between Dakars and GS 650’s and right at the end a classic thumper: an XT 500. And on the stoep of the restaurant were their owners tucking in to a traditional breakfast of sausage, eggs and bacon.

I left Port Elizabeth at 6am, scampering through a drizzle all the way down the Garden Route. It only stopped raining at Plettenberg Bay, where I stopped to refuel, before pushing on to Albertinia. Which is where I found this posse of bikers. They were returning from a bike rally in Heidelberg, 80 km down the road. They were a group of older guys (yes... I know “Like me”) who had thinning hair and age-lined faces. They were not trying to be “heavy bikers” – in fact one of them was wearing a floppy gardening hat, while another wore a flimsy jacket from Macro. And their conversation went something like this:
“Thanks for waiting for me guys”
“Well that’s what we do”
“When I go over 100kph the front wheel begins to drift”
“That’s because your thumper can’t go any faster”
“Well I didn’t know what to do – so I just moered on”
“No broer – you just throttle back and the compression will pull you right”

And I treasured this moment: this was not about bragging who had the best wheels, or who could do the best wheelie. These men were respectful of their friendship; they hung together; they were brother bikers – and when they pulled off they surrounded the XT 500 and ensured that he was part of the group.

Farewell to the Tiger

Here is a photograph of my Triumph Tiger.

We spent many, many happy hours together in and around Cape Town, transporting children to and from school, visiting congregation members, and riding with the Iron John Bike Club.

We also had some epic trips further afield:

• We visited Port Elizabeth, winding up the beautiful garden route – choosing to do the Grootrivier and Blaaukraans River passes instead of the bridge overpasses. I spent a wonderful week with my dear friend Charmaine, and then rode back down Route 62, enjoying the hospitality of Cherrill on the way.

• We spent one mad winter’s day riding 1000km from Cape Town to Kimberly. My friend Alex and I took our respective Tigers to his family farm. We left Cape Town in the dark and braved the misty cold of the Hex River Valley and the chilly Karroo wind. When we returned a week later we decided to accept the warm Beaufort West hospitality of my colleague Rod. The following morning we rode a consistent 160kmph to Cape Town with the rising sun at our backs.

• We visited two Buffalo Rallies, joining thousands of other roaring, swearing, drinking, posturing bikers. And amidst the thousands of Japanese and German bikes there were a few unique British bikes: my Tiger proudly strutting its stuff.

So I bid farewell. And this is all that is left of the bike. This will make my bank manager very happy, because my credit card has suffered a painful financial hole since I have purchased my BMW GS 1150.



And a new biking chapter begins for me.

Wht are Scooter Drivers such berks?

I spent a couple of hours today at a bike repair shop having the brake pads and back tyre of my Triumph Tiger replaced. Which gave me ample opportunity to observe the stupidity of scooter drivers. Here is my gripe – they think they ride in a different world from motorbike riders.

They do not wear protective clothing, and show scant regard to head protection. One arrived to collect his repaired Vespa wearing shorts, a T-shirt and slipslops. He then placed a small pisspot helmet on his head, and declined to strap it on. No gloves in sight. He revved his scooter into the traffic as if he was immune to injury. Another arrived wearing a spaghetti-strap top, tiny shorts and sandals.... no problem with this except that she was riding a chinesesomething two wheeled vehicle. Again, no gloves, and a helmet that looked like it was bought in a toy store. The final example of idiocy was the dude who rode past wearing a vest, shorts and MX boots – no gloves and a helmet that must have been rescued from a trash can.

The rule of the road is always dress for safety:
Do not ride without gloves; wear a decent helmet; wear a padded jacket; preferably choose padded pants (I know, I know, I often do not wear these); and wear boots. These are simply not negotiable. But scooter drivers seem to think that because scooters are not the same category as motorcycles, they do not need to dress for safety.

Oh yes – there are many, many motorbike riders who also ride as if they are invincible to tar burns and smashed limbs. Sliding across the road on your butt or chest causes a huge amount of heat to be generated. This means that skin and cotton will melt when in contact with the road surface. Let us support the culture of dressing for safety by wearing all the right clothes all of the time. “It is better to sweat than to bleed”.

Changing Brands

I confess that I have changed allegiance.

After great joy at getting a new bike, I discovered that I had been sold a bike with a cracked frame - which caused great unhappiness. Needless to say I gave the bike back to the shop and after some delay got my money back. I then had an opportunity to buy another Tiger, but the owner was extremely rude to my wife, and I chose not to pursue this any further. Then my brother-in-law in Johannesburg persuaded me to look in Jo'burg. And with his assistance, the rest is history. See the attached photograph of my new bike.

The only problem is that it is in Johannesburg. So Jenny and I plan to fly to Jo'burg and ride the bike back over the September longweekend (22-24). Yahoo.