Day 7 - In Durban

Was nice to wake up and not worry about getting on the road asap. Or at all. Still up at 06:30 though, a combination of routine, bright light and humidity. After brikky-brek Mike and I took a drive to the foreshore to check out uShaka Seaworld & aquatic theme park. Sitting in a jam in 35°C heat for over 30 mins to get into "car park B" didn't bode well for us nor Betty, so we pulled a slow U-turn and parked along the beachfront instead. After thoroughly locking everything away and out of sight in Betty's sea-chest, we went for a highly regulated swim between red and yellow flags and whistle blasts on Dairy Beach. The water was as delightful as all the rumours put together - a far cry from frigid Western Cape waters.

Betty's sea-chest, passenger cushions and tool bag. And an interesting bumper sticker advertising the Athlone Muslim Community (previous owner).

As a sign of defiance against the teenage Zulu "lifeguards" in oversized rashvests we ran to the end of the fishing pier just beyond the break, leapt off and struggled our way ashore amidst the heaving swells, avoiding the barnacly piles along the way.

After an elevenses beer or two in the nocturnal hotspot "Joe Cools" we feasted on Chicken Breyani, dhal (delicious lentil stew) and chicken kharai (a great, oily curry) with plenty of naan in the Copper Chimney right across the road. Durban Injuns at their finest. And for half nothing too (well, lunchtime special).
Back home for a relaxing afternoon's read of Platform by Houellebecq. In the evening Mike's bro and cousin and I went to the nearby VirginActive gym with the my intention of gaining access by feigning interest in gym membership. I eventually had a pleasant but short-lived row on the Concept 2 following a thorough back-office interrogation and promotional spiel from gobshite branch manager Roland "This is the best fucking gym in all of Durban my man, I tell you no lie. The fucking best" McPunjab.

That evening after a feast of lasagne we stayed in and watched the impressive lightening display from the stoep instead of hitting the town for some fancy dancing like we had planned. What a grand storm it was. After some chinwagging with Mike and a showing of "Prince of Persia" on the laptop (which, admittedly, was better than expected. A visual treat.) I dozed off to sleep, ready for my old nemesis the N2 the next morn.

Day 6 - Port St Johns to Durban (367km)

Port St John: Cute colour-matching rear view mirror accessories. No real prizes for guessing what dash it belongs to.

Woke up this morning sore and tired and truly not in the mood for a run. Would have enjoyed a repeat of yesterday's saunter, but it wasn't going to happen. Betty, too, was sluggish crawling out of the muddy driveway, as it had rained overnight and was still very humid outside. She really doesn't like a damp night, and twould be a good 20mins before she'd start firing properly and pull away cleanly. In addition the front left brakepad was stuck (ish) and scraping away for the first few km until it snapped loose again. I did manage to nick a copy of Roddy Doyle's Barrytown Trilogy from the hostel's bookshelf though, which put me in something of a better mood for the day.
The trip over the hills to Port Edward was a nice winding ride on relatively smart and quiet roads. The towns however were complete havoc. Flagstaff, Lusikisiki and Bizana were chockablock, leeway only offered to the bravest of drivers. After being stuck in Bizana for 30mins I let loose my inhibitions (namely my paternal protectiveness for Betty's front wings) and wrangled my way through a parade of beat-up Isuzus and Hilux's's.


Popular Chine shop, next to the (pony?) cobbler and the hair saloon, somewhere in the Transkei.

Eventually wound my way down the hills of the Transkei into the pretty Port Edward - the first major civilised settlement inside KwaZulu Natal (KZN). Scarcely using my brakes now as the whole vehicle lurches and vibrates when I brake too heavily. So at least one pad is completely shot.
Stopped in Maria's café for lunch - peri-peri chicken livers in a paprika cream topped with scrambled eggs on toast. The livers certainly needed more peri peri, paprika and perhaps a tomato base wouldn't go astray. Pulling out of Port Edward I noticed the indicators had blown again. So I picked up a handful of 15A fuses (as prescribed on the fusebox lid, confirmed by Haynes manual) , slotted one in its defunct predecessor's place, and kept motoring.


Maria's peri-peri chicken livers. Not spicy enough, but eggs were grand. 2.4 out of 5.



Betty, Munster.

8km later I pulled into a tiny village (basically a cluster of about 5 shops) called Munster, named after the wee river flowing adjacent. After the mandatory photos and biltong here I pulled away, again without any indicators. I little concerned, I pulled in and spent an hour dismantling the steering wheel console, opening up headlamp fittings and truffling under the hood for some loose wires that might be shorting. Five burnt out 15A fuses later I took the easy option and just swapped with a 25A fuse elsewhere in the fuseboard. An effective permanent temporary solution.

I endeavoured to take the scenic coastal road R102 to Durban, though far slower than the freeflowing (and tolled) N2 that runs parallel to it. This worked well for most of it until I wantonly took a wrong turnoff leading me in the opposite direction on the N2. The next turnoff was 20km down the line, and me running low on LRP. So, basically, 40km wasted. And an extra tollgate. No harm in any case. I had me a new sound system to keep me company, the homophobic, homicidal, hypocritical and wildly entertaining rantings of Buju Banton setting the tone.

Arrived in old friend Mikee's (parents') house in Westville, suburb of Durban, just after dark. I was absolutely honking after such a muggy, long drive. My appearance and odour contrasted in every possible way with the lavish and smartly decor-ated manor I had set foot inside (his mum being a celebrated and revered interior decorator). Was good to meet Mike after 2.5yrs. We last lived together in a 28ft boat (aptly named "Scruffy") with two other men in a condition that almost constituted squalor. Cramped certainly. Our nightly bed rota worked on a "first come first served" basis.
The gaff we now shared, and in which he now lives, almost ridiculed our previous relationship.
I still had to sleep on the couch, mind.


Plush interior at the Davies' residence (above) contrasted somewhat with the "lively" conditions we lived in aboard the 28ft (or was it 26ft?) Scruffy, in a grubby boatyard in St Maarten, 2008. Pictured below are Matty, Mikee and I. Note the essentials at hand: salt, jar of inedible jerk sauce, WD-40 and plastic cups of warm Castillo rum ($2.50/700ml). Photo courtesy of The Pole.


Was, again, shattered after the day's hot motoring and the dozen or so Amstels that immediately and hurriedly followed it.
In my bedroom/tv room couch I was treated to the tail end of Spring Break Shark Attack which seems to be doing the rounds on SA television before sliding into slumber halfway through History Channel's Secrets of the Samurais.

Day 5 - East London to Port St. Johns (313km)

Up at 06:30 in order to sample Fran's legendary home-made muesli before hitting the road. They really have hit the nail on the head here with regard to a unique guesthouse experience. All sorts of homemade foodstuffs - muesli, sweet chilli sauce, biltong, droewors, jams, chutneys etc - that vary regularly to keep regular guests guessing. Left the B&B at 0750 and the rain began belting down at 0800 just as I was pulling on to the N2. Really, I couldn't see a damned thing. Cars were bowling over left right and centre on the N2 like so many skittles.


What's that sign say?

The rain thankfully eased after half an hour. Not much to report on until the Shell station at the Bridge over the River Kei, where I tucked into a Shamrock chicken pie at 0900. Decent, meaty. I bit much bay leaf maybe though.



Mmm. A Shamrock pie (top) and an ingenious improvised locking mechanism on the door at the Gents jacks in the Shell station. Look carefully and you'll spot 3 different types of wire and one cable tie acting in unison.

Lots of steep hills today, and I've an inkling that my brake pads are no more. At least my clutch is fine (well, no worse than usual), unlike those belonging to a host of crocks parked up at the same petrol station, by the smell of things.


Steering completely shagged? Don't have a 13mm spanner? Take a nap! Twill sort itself out.

Another uneventful spell to Umtata. Well, several dozen near incidents, but that just constitutes a standard day's driving in the Eastern Cape. Butterworth, Payne and Umtata were chaotic, with my hand playing a more active role on the horn than the steering wheel. Dodge the cars and aim for the pedestrian, that's the name of the game here. I doubt these towns have seen a busier day all year. Yessir, we truly are in the Transkei now - real black Africa somehow nestled snugly within the borders of RSA.

Wayside hotel in chaotic Butterworth. Unintentional tongue-in-cheek marketing.

From Umtata to Port St Johns (off the N2 now) most traffic was 160kph minibus taxis or 40kph clapped-out bangers with missing door handles and bailer twine holding the boot down. A tricky combo to weave through on these roads. Anyway, got to PSJ without much fuss, early too. Pulled into the quote unquote "legendary" Jungle Monkey backpackers and unpacked Betty amid a cloud of herbal white smoke, swathes of mozzies and a cacophony of toucan and parrot cries. The gaff really does deserve its "hippy heaven" status.
Quickly popped up the tent and shot out for a nice muddy hilly run over the steep head that separates "beach#2" and "beach#3" here. Went over and back a couple of times for the craic amid the gawping disbelief of the local lads who thought I was daft to be running the hills. One boyo saw it necessary to shake my hand in celebration/admiration/repulsion for some reason.

Less than responsive company on my trail run. Poor bugger.


Local goat-herding trail in PSJ at the top of the head...

..that turns into slushy muddy rainforest at the base. Great running, if a bit stanky.

Also went for a very quick dip, first time this trip, beach #2. Nice water. Later that evening I walked to "town" to one of few restaurants, "N.E.W.S." for an enormous feed. My favourite, mutton curry stew, served with about a kilo of pap. I love the bland white stuff, but how do these locals put away so much of it? I felt embarrassed not finishing my plate, as I'm sure the Sisi gathering my dishes tucked away a similar amount for breakfast this morning.


Gargantuan plate of mutton curry stew, already half eaten.

It's dark now in the backpackers (or in EU "hostel") and I'm listening to a jam session/evening entertainment live on the mini-stage. It's not the tightest jam, but certainly not the worst. In fact it still is grand enough, with backpackers jumping up to play guitar etc every now and again.
Time to turn in I reckon - I don't have the desire or energy to sit in a bar drinking beer and talking shite to predictable complete strangers. My God, what has become of me?
Time for leaba, 2230.
What would the real Padhraic say about all this?
...

PS, I have never before seen, or never again wish to see, so many infected donkeys, dogs and goats by the roadside, stinking and bloated, hooves pointing up to the sky with rigor mortis. Good ol' Transkei.

Day 4 - In EL

Spent the day relaxing for a change, and how nice it was. A late start, had a fry-up at around 0900. Walked the McColes's doggies on the Blue Bend Beach afterwards and marvelled at the steep sand dunes we used to sled down and horse around on way back in the early 90's. At 1100 we dropped Fran and mum back home while McCole and I went for a "sightseeing drive". We took in plenty sights, sounds and smells of the EL seafront from many a beach bar, including the notorious Buccaneers with its perennial sticky floors and hops-scented tabletops. Around 5hrs later and a number more pints, Afghani war stories and semi-censored tales about the 80s in Lesotho, we were back at the B&B. An extended siesta was called for in the mid-afternoon which reached right up until suppertime at 2000.
Some godawful schmaltzy xmas flick with the over-aired Vince Vaughan followed supper, succeeded by another early night. The last few days of Le Mans style driving and the midday booze-up musta really taken it out of me.


My bed-chamber for two nights in EL. Fancy out.

There's a lot to be said for this "early to bed early to rise" craic, especially when you start to reach my age.

Day 3 - Knysna to East London (606km)

Another early morning run today - very pittoresque indeed. Ran half of the Featherbed trail (that what I did in July) and back again across the famous choo-choo train tracks that disect and bisect the saltwater lagoon. I stupidly left my camera in the tent; the view really is quite something from the Heads. Packed the tent and just before hitting the road I checked the oil & water situation for the first time. The oil was practically bone dry save for some sandy tar stuck to the bottom of the dipstick. Filled the oil again and decided to keep something of a more regular eye on her status. As for the water we haven't lost a teaspoon since leaving Stellies. Recently my friendly local "for you, good price" mechanic Hassim replaced the waterpump, cambelt driving it and fluid as she was spitting out coolant through the expansion tank overflow pipe. Following this rather costly exercise she was still overheating to an extent. We took a look at the old waterpump - perfect condition - so that wasn't the issue then. After much head scratching Hassim suggested I change the pressure cap (basically, a fancy bung) on the water (expansion) tank as a last shot, as the rubber on the existing one was all chewed up. One R45 pressure cap later, problem solved. Ah well, live and learn. The simplest, most glaringly obvious solution is typically the correct one, in all aspects of life. Best not to flatter oneself with the notion that your case will be an exceptional one. At least the timing belt is changed now (well due) and he threw on a fan belt for free.

The mercury hit around 35C inside the cockpit en route. Doesn't make for the easiest driving conditions.

So with a clean bill of health we set off from Knysna in more muggy heat. Roads were a bit quieter today and consequently I was averaging a bit more per hour. After a number of consecutive hours of steady 3500RPM whining in top (4th) gear, I pulled into Humansdorp at around midday to give my ears a break and refuel. Before pulling back onto the deathly N2 I noticed my indicators didn't tick tock when I signalled to pull out. So spun around and back to the garage, jumped out - only one of the four indicators worked. Luckily I was parked adjacent the only motor spares store for 100km around, one which would close in 20 mins for the rest of the weekend. What timing! R4 and 4 fuses later I had 3 working indicators of 4. So I quickly prised open the rear-light hatch to replaced the last blown bulb before Midas closed. The filament seemed fine but the bulb refused to stay in its socket. One big lump of white Blu-Tack later the bulb was stuck more soundly than ever before. Four working indicators and I was back on the road.

Some say you can fix anything with Duck Tape and cable ties. In an old bakkie, a lump of Blu Tack really is the only true saviour.

Passing through industrial and industrious Port Elizabeth I pulled into landmark Greenacres Mall for an hour. A silly move considering it's the largest mall in the Eastern Cape and twas the Saturday before Christmas and yesterday was payday. Silly silly move. Anyway I treated myself to an early Christmas pressie of a stereo sound system for Betty as I was getting a little hoarse and depressed singing to myself over the revs for entertainment sake. It should also help me stay awake a little easier in the heat. The mega sound system comprises a dinky MP3 player (yes! POC has gone digital!) and a pair of dinky but surprisingly powerful Shox stereo speakers. Dinky is the word here.

State-of-the-art stereo sound system. Note the speakers on the dash and portable digital media player clipped to shorts. The eagle-eyed reader will spot the luxurious legroom, afforded by the "one position fits all" bench seat.

Much dilly dallying and not much ground gained. Outside of PE lies possibly SA's finest Padstal and pieshop, Nanaga. Incredible pies, really, that you can watch the locals handcraft in the kitchen behind the counter. Went, of course, straight for the muttoncurry. I couldn't enjoy my pepper steak pie dessert as I had a crampy tummy after eating that bad Swellendam biltong all day long and nothing else. Threw away the Adam's Apple that was a brown bag of old meat to avoid any more temptation.

Culinary treats at Nanaga Farmstall. Click on the top picture for a high res image, available for download and use as your Desktop Background.

It got dusky early tonight, around 1700ish, thanks to a blanket of purple clouds that drew the sky closed. A frighteningly majestic lightening storm ensued at around 1800 and entertained me all the way through to East London, 2.5hrs later. My what cracking lightening! The rain was unwelcome however as I don't have the fullest confidence in my brakes and the windscreen was uncharacteristically greasy for some reason. Vision seemed to be better off without the wipers. Arrived in the dark at Blarney House B&B just in time for a small braai - chicken, roast spuds, carrots and pot bread. Lovely. Plenty of Windhoek Draughts (the new bottled lager from Windhoek, certainly superior to any gassy SAB beers) were knocked back as the McColes and I caught up on our 16-odd years amiss.

Day 2 - Hermanus to Knysna (454km)

Early start - woken by Frank on the way to some bachelors golf party at 06:40. Lovely day out so got up meself at 07:00. Popped on the tekkies and ran along the foreshore going westalong for some time. Nice 50min run, perfect temperature. Interesting signs along the route you're unlikey to see in many other countries. Back to the house and shaved off the all-powerful "snorr" for the 1st time since the 1st Nov.

Trust no -one! and Super Snor (soon to be no-more)

Pro-Nutro and a steak sarmie for brekkie, on the road by 09:00.

Pulled off again 1km down the track into the dirty industrial zone of Hermanus. "Sea and Shore" contractors were casting unique half-dolosse for use on the world's most miserable inaccessible inhabited spot, Tristan de Cunha, before the whole harbour gets washed away next winter. We at CSIR recently conducted 1:42 scale physical modelling for the breakwater repairs, so I had something more than a passing interest in these oversized concrete blocks. The boats and cranes on the island can't cope with 10T dolosse (which they definitely need) so they're being shipped out from Cape Town in halves and stitch-cast together ashore on the island. A world first, apparently. Anyway, twas interesting to see a dolos casting yard. The boss/foreman was Adam something or something Adams. A 62 yr old hard nut, ex SA triathlete who still does the excruciating Cape Epic every year, as the oldest competitor. Bizarrely, went to school in Midleton back in the day.


Didn't stay long and belted on to Caledon via the majestic Hemel-en-Arde mountain valley road. I took it before but completely forgot it was mostly dirt. Poor girl got a bit of a shock. Betty also picked up her first ever hitchers at the base of the pass and dropped them out at the top. Two old boys, toothless weather beaten 50/60yr old grape-pickers. Very grateful, especially with the cushions they found in the back to ease the journey. Betty laboured and struggled with the extra weight though - it sounded at times as if the tappets were knocking against the bonnet and trying to get out for a bit of fresh air. Won't pick up hitchers again in hilly zones, methinks.

Average drive down from Caledon to Swellendam where I had a burger in the Milestone Cafe. Picked up biltong next door following the cafe owners recommendation... "we're very pedantic about our food quality here". Needless to say, it was pretty average to poor biltong. Arrogant gobshite. Bit of a faster haul from Swellendam to Glentana where I met ex-housemate Francois and his new fiancee Helimari(?). Didn't delay them as they were in the process of moving house. Good to catch up - a genuine gentleman. And did well for himself with the missus. Good work!
Pulled into Knysna for the night, threw up the tent in the car park of Lake Superior backpackers.

Hemel-en-Arde valley drive and Camping in a muddy car-park for a nominal fee

Seems an enormous extended coloured family have booked out the entire hostel. Small bit loud but no harm meant sure. Finished a ham salami garlic chilli avocado anchovy mozzarella and tomato calzone at my favourite Knysna eatery "Persello", which fellow athlete Chris Baret and I frequented during the Knysna Oyster Festival in July. Before hitting the hay I marvelled at how 100% of the words on my handpainted tablecloth were misspelled.

Brrrr! Chilly Tomatoe


Fashion Selector Beauty Shop, just round the corner