Onnie's Sex Shop, Klein Karoo, Route 62
Legend has it that Ronnie once owned a bit of a fruit and veg shop in the middle of the Klein Karoo (about 70km from the nearest shop) that wasn't doing so well. One late night after a few scoops his chums took a bucket of red paint and scrawled SEX on the gable end, to read Ronnie's SEX Shop. Gas lads. Business thrived the next day with curious locals, farmers and travellers popping in. Before long there was so much commotion and curiosity that he simply had to turn it into a pub. And the legend continues. Inside, every square inch of the place is covered with permanent marker, business cards and women's brassieres. Having left some pro-Lions slogans on the wall there during the Tour in 2009 I endeavoured to find them as I'd completely forgotten what I'd written. All I could find was a fairly uninspired chant for John "The Bull" Hayes, regularly spotted on a bedsheet banner at Thomond Park. I also recall leaving a well worn pair of blue cotton boxers behind the tv, to help balance the excessive amount of womens underthings on show. Oddly enough, they were nowhere to be seen this time round.
Some of the graffitti on show at Ronnie's
Out of patronage sake I grabbed a quick beer in the morning heat and had the pleasure of meeting Ronnie, a bit of a legend by all accounts.Supping a Black Label at 9am, he was predicting rain to end the 10 day 40°C+ heat wave. Eyebrows were raised and I moved on.
A few hot and dust passes later I began to notice that the minor inaccuracy inherent in Betty's speedo was beginning to worsen. The video below, taken at what I calculated to be 80 km/h (via engine pitch), illustrates this nicely.
Betty tipping 160 km/h! Sit tight and watch til the end...
Eventually drove through the next dorpie Barrydale which has come along leaps and bounds since I was last there in the cold rains of 2009. Lots of decent looking padstals, coffee houses, restaurants, dried fruit stalls etc. Kept motoring until I reached Montagu - the town I had allocated as Brekkieville at 0700 this morning. I recognised the small street lamp lit bridge on the way in as being the same one on the popular dried fruit bags.
Two proud culinary signs greet you as you enter Montagu; "Montague - Where drying fruit is a way of life" and "Visit Wimpy in Montagu, 1km on right". The main street through town was heaving with good, hearty looking bistros/delis/cafes that all served all-day breakfasts, so I pulled randomly into the Rambling Rose cafe, hoping that the food (and not the clientele) would bear some resemblance to that at Limerick's infamous Red Rose cafe. I pulled up and parked slowly, listening out for a new ticking sound that had just developed. Upon alighting I realised I was parked next to a familiar looking Toyota Corolla with CL plates. Could it be? A quick sconce at the doors confirmed my suspicions. The 4-speed Corolla with ghastly fruit salad decal splattered down the side was none other than Daffy - the pride and joy of my ex-housemate Robyn. Robyn, I believed, was running a bistro in Bonnievale, some 30km away or so, with her parents. Obviously I was wrong and the Rambling Rose was there little eatery here in Montagu. Quel Surprise! As I ambled inside Robyn lunged at me with a festive hug shouting "I knew I saw Betty outside, I just knew it!".
So I had to stay for a bite then. A lovely little joint, one of the cleanest and airiest and well laid out cafes I'd come across.We chit chatted for almost 2 hours over cappuccinos, scones and a salmon wrap (gratis) before I headed away again, a complimentary jar of tomato jam in the hand.
Betty, Robyn, Daffy, fruit salad and tomato jam
Just outside town there are some incredible rock formations that the road winds through. Seems as if the mountains had split clean in half here and there. Must have been a formidable oul trek up here back in day, wooden wagon wheels underfoot.
Familiar with the route home from Worcester I just kept the pedal down with the end in sight. Very average trip back to Stellenbosch, save for the daunting trip through the 3.9km Huguenot Tunnel - the longest in SA. And a drunk Mahindra driver on the N2. And a car dragging its bumper for several kilometers. A 50km downhill trip to Stellies and I was finally back under the grubby and shaded parkade chez moi. Home safe and sound, quite unbelievably. Time to unpack the contents of Betty's enormous sea-chest full of tools, of which only the Blu-tack (Prestick) was used.
Betty's tool cabinet. Enough hardware tucked away to get out of ANY sticky situation. Thankfully, none of it (apart from lashings of engine oil) was used...
Once out of the steamy and slippery cockpit and into the serenity of my (seemingly enormous) bedroom I realised my ears were ringing like never before. Moderate long-term tinnitis, to be sure.
4759km in Betty door to door!
I was knackered.
