Gale force winds swept down from the Wemmershoek mountains. It was nine o’ clock on a Saturday morning. Thirteen of us, twelve men and one woman, stood on a balcony anchored to precipitous rock and examined the sandy lake bed of the Brandvlei dam in the valley 2km away and below us.
The introductions and basic theory of sand riding were already behind us and our Country Trax instructors; Leon, Lourens and Toren roamed in and out of our group making sure everyone was ready (and able) to go.
All that remained was to swallow this last bit of rapidly cooling coffee and get on my bike. It was time for school!
Accompanied by incessant drizzle, two groups of eight descended the steep slopes of the mountain single file. The winding path was paved with wet cement bricks and all of us cautiously edged around the hairpin turns. No one wanted to push the knobbly tyres too far and fall his or her ass off in front of the others. I appeared to be the only one sitting down in the saddle. Even the guy on the Africa Twin stood on his pegs! I was tempted to conform to BMW doctrine and ride my bike meerkat-style but I decided to resist conversion for as long as I could.
After crossing a slightly nasty piece of sand track we assembled on the lake bed for the morning’s instruction.
The recent summer dragged back the water level, revealing pure white sands seemingly devoid of life. The kilometre wide beach was absolutely flat, interrupted only by strips of eroded ridges and devious dunes. Lazily strewn tufts of tall grass and the occasional blackened carcass of a long dead tree were the only features not obscured by a layer of windblown sand.
For the next few minutes we rode in a large circle around the instructors, first with only one hand on the bars, then with only one foot on the pegs. Things progressed steadily and before we knew it we were riding side-saddle and then changing over to kicking the can-can whilst hurtling along over the steadily shrinking circle carved into the damp sand. We must have looked ridiculous but what we didn’t know at the time was that the basic tenants for shifting your bodyweight were being imprinted on our minds. We were also shown the proper technique of fast acceleration and emergency braking in sand…but more on that later.
I have never shied away from sand even though I’m terrible at riding it, but the thought of what was to come next made me tremble, partly from fear and partly from excitement. Power-sliding!
Speed up, look up, step into the turn to tilt the bike in the direction you want to go. Immediately weigh the opposite side of the bike and swing your hips outward while you turn up the volume to number 11.
If you did it right you were rewarded by quick turns and huge sprays of sand. And if you sneaked a peek to the side you would glimpse the rear wheel coming round to see what the hell was going on up front in the control room.
Success was measured by Lourens’ eager laughter and a cheery two thumbs up.
It’s all good fun to behave like a hooligan but without technical control you are nothing but a show-off looking to get hurt. With a row of cones, each a bike and a half apart, came the slalom exercise.
Dodging cones on a bike is as old as the mountains but doing it on sand over and over again with seven other bikes grinding up the same surface is something else entirely. It soon degenerated into a graveyard of tipped over or half buried bikes. No one laughed at each other because we were all falling over like drunken pedestrians on pay day.
It was still early morning and already we were knackered. Toren entertained us with wheelies under the arch of a vivid rainbow while we took a breather and gathered our wits.
The drizzle was replaced by rain striking from the side as gusts started to pick up speed over the battleship grey surface of the dam.
With the five minute break behind us, we all rumbled off in a slow enduro chase across the lake bed; jumping over low dunes and power-sliding to avoid dead trees and trenches.
We lost the first bike due to clutch failure. The smoking 1200GS was towed out of the sand and the rider dropped out of the course with obvious disappointment.
He had made a simple mistake and it drove the morning’s instructions deeper into us. “When you let go of the clutch, let it go quickly and then forget about it!”
Despite the casualty, we left the beach with all the confidence in the world and headed over to a deep sand circuit a few kilometres away. The oval track was not even half the size of a rugby field but it was filled up with deep, loose sand contained within embankments nearly a metre high. There was only one way to go around the circuit without completely burying your bike and that was to open up and ride aggressively.
Most of us were able to do at least one lap without falling but it took a lot of concentration. The harder you worked the bike, the more likely you were to fall. Those who relaxed and trusted their bikes to do the riding, cleared the sharp turns like professionals.
Lunch time came not a moment too soon. As a cooling off exercise we rode various gradients of a mud filled quarry before making our way back to camp.
The kitchen staff really outdid themselves and the delicious meals were wolfed down by the hungry horde, still stinking of sweat and dripping water and sand on the pristine floors.
After some discussion and feedback, we were herded back out the door.
We assembled in the courtyard and fine tuned our bike suspensions, basing the settings on the feel we got during the morning ride. Damping was tweaked, preload was cranked up all the way and the tyre pressures let down lower.
Once again we descended the mountain slope to the lake bed. This time the games were over and our instructors warned us that the serious riding was about to begin.
The rain was coming down by the bucket full and the wind was incredible. We would later learn that the same wind decimated buildings in the cape and flooded whole towns, yet here we were in the middle of it, going for a ride on our bikes!
We took no prisoners and attacked a dune path through a patch of trees. I went third, my confidence way up. Going in a straight line was impossible because of the deep crests and so I had to slalom around the rises, avoiding trees as I went. One such tree lifted its arm-like branches and beckoned me closer. The wind howled a siren call in my ears and I became mesmerised with target fixation. WHACK!
It took a while to find my way out of the branches and much longer to drag the heavy 1200GS Adventure through the sand and out from under the thrashing tree.
Failure must be contagious because almost everyone after me plonked down in the wind swept dunes.
When we finally got the whole group through we rumbled onto the beach and braced ourselves against the horrendous wind.
This section of the lake bed had jutting islands of grass every few metres. You could ride over them if you had the strength to endure a million thumps but it was better to slalom your way through. We cleared the maze of obstacles and entered a dune area where the sand was blowing up a constant cloud of grit.
Now and then everyone would just stop, put out both feet and brace themselves against the tremendous wind. I lifted up my head to locate the rest of my group and could see only two or three heads suspended above the dark orange cloud streaming across the landscape. Suddenly one head disappeared. It looked exactly like a crocodile had pulled the rider under. Before I knew it I was down as well, blown over by the fierce wind.
Whenever there was a pause in the torrent, a bike would emerge from the sand and the rider rapidly trying to turn into the onslaught and on to firmer ground.
It was insane and Lourens signalled with hand gestures that it was time to get out of there. He got no argument from us.
First we had to backtrack over that dune section which by now looked like a construction site from digging up the bikes when we entered.
I went second and rode with mad determination. Suddenly that tree was in front of me again. It opened up its branches like a gaping maw to swallow me whole. This time I miraculously avoided it but got a spiteful smack against the head by one of its flailing branches.
Back we went to the sandy circuit where the wind was much better. Lourens had meanwhile dreamed up another form of torture for us.
We teamed up with partners and rode two-up around the tight track. My pillion and I did quite well and I sped down the track a good speed. It was only when I approached the first sharp turn when I realised the throttle was stuck. The lessons on emergency braking in sand came in quite handy and I killed the power while the engine was still screaming at full revs.
We cleaned sand out of the throttle bodies as best we could but Toren suspected that the controller may have dropped a cable. He was to be proven right.
The looming mountains were beginning to cast dark shadows over the valley and a bunch of wet and tired bikers made their way back up the mountain for dinner.
Across the dirt road leading to camp were speed humps created to channel water away from the road. If you throttled up and compressed the forks at just the right moment the GS would get quite a fair amount of flight time. I did this once or twice until the throttle suddenly swung open all the way again. I could not close it off. The grip was rendered useless in my hand.
Reaching for the ignition key was impossible because the accelerating bike was rocketing up the road while G-forces were pulling me backward. I held the furious bull by the horns like a rodeo cowboy with his girl cheering from the stands. The next whoopsie was struck at a fraction below mach one. When the bike came down I was still accelerating and rapidly gaining on the instructor in front of me. The kill switch had seized up from all the windblown sand and rain. It would not work.
I had to make a dreadful choice: Either ride this demon all the way to hell or end it right now before it ended in tears.
I’m not quite sure what I did but the next moment the bike and I were sliding uphill parallel to each other at no lesser speed than moments before.
Finally the grinding noise faded and the trees stopped their maddening whiz past me.
The throttle was now completely fried, stuck at 100% open. We towed the bike home…the second bike to fall victim to the sand. All the while the rain fell and the wind roared like a laughing giant.
Fortunately I suffered no injury and the bike looked fine aside from dull paint and a frosty headlight. This was due to the sandblasting we all received down in the valley.
After another delicious meal we were assembled again to discuss the night ride.
Perhaps not surprisingly, no one wanted to go anymore, no one except Eugene du Plessis. Leon and Lourens seemed equally eager and the three of them set out at half past seven. The brave act must have pleased the weather gods because the wind suddenly died down and the rain stopped. The skies cleared as if by magic and starlight rained down on the valley below.
The rest of us hunkered over the balcony railing and followed the three lights making their way down the mountain and into the trees and dunes far below.
We eased our stiff muscles with beers carefully decanted by Donovan the bartender while we awaited their return.
Hours later we cheered as they drank down their shots of Jägermeister and thrilled us with their accomplishment.
Falling asleep that night was not an easy thing for me. I kept on replaying the whole day over and over in my head. It suddenly dawned on me that I could have averted my crash if I had pulled in the clutch lever. How such a simple reaction escaped me, I will never know. When I did eventually succumb, it was a deep hibernating slumber.
The next morning introduced a gloriously sunny sky and crispy cool air. Seven of the original thirteen riders remained. Three were only booked for a day course and had left the previous afternoon. Another three had to retire due to personal or technical problems, me sadly being one of them.
After a hearty breakfast, the challenges of the day were outlined to the riders. There was to be little instruction but rather an application of what was learned the previous day.
Since I had to wait for BMW-on-Call to come collect my bike later in the afternoon, I decided to tag along with the group on four wheels courtesy of Klipbokkop Mountain Resort. My driver, PG, is a wild one and impressed his driving skills upon me at every opportunity.
He drifted the bakkie around muddy tracks that would have made the fast and the furious muddy their pants.
We followed the group and witnessed them race along incredibly sandy tracks. The 4x4 groaned around tight curves as the tyres ground up the soft sand.
Not everyone turned out to be an ace sand rider on that day. Certainly a lot of them made regular face plants, their helmets pushing up impressive waves of sand.
Some riders rose above the rest showing supernatural ability while others ‘merely’ doubled their skills and tripled their confidence.
All the bikes performed flawlessly on the second day, proving that windswept sand mixed with rain can cause havoc with technology.
I felt like a leper in a colony of healthy athletes when I saw my comrades race up and down tall dunes. They weren’t riding two-stroke scramblers, they were all on large bikes that are apparently built for touring and occasional dirt roads only.
In less than 24hours the instructors of Country Trax had transformed a couple of regular guys who all feared sand into daredevils of note.
I’m certain that none of us who did the course can claim to be newly incarnated sand gods but we all took away something valuable. The course shook us out of that comfort envelope that traps so many adventure bike owners. It was the first course of its kind to be held in South Africa and I think it will be very successful.
The bikes used this weekend were 1150GS Adventures, 1200GS’s, 1200Adventures, HP2s, an Africa Twin, a TW200 and a 650Xchallenge. I was once again shown that these big bikes are capable of so much more than generally thought.
I would like to thank Country Trax instructors; Leon Kroucamp, Lourens van Rensburg and Toren Wing for their excellent tutorage and a big thanks to the friendly staff at Klipbokkop Mountain Resort.
A special thanks goes to the guy who always mysteriously appeared alongside to help pick up my heavy bike, you know who you all were.
The course was ridden on the writer’s own motorcycle and completely paid for by TopBike.
Klipbokkop Mountain Resort is nestled in the lush green folds of the Wemmershoek mountains. The resort boasts a large conference hall with an adjacent bar and lounge area. The comfortable rooms, each with its own bathroom, have magnificent views on the Brandvlei dam and the Worcester valley. A staffed kitchen prepares excellent meals and is complimented by outside braais for those who prefer the simpler things in life.
The principle function of the resort is to host corporate functions and holidays for large tourist groups. Klipbokkop is run with a strict environmental agenda and is not open to the general public. On average only two drive-outs are permitted each month, minimising damage to the environment.
Motorcycles and 4x4 vehicles are not allowed on the maze of mountain trails except when accompanied by staff or on approved courses like the one discussed in the article.
Though not a game farm many buck and antelope can be seen along the rocky mountain trails. One may even be fortunate enough to spot a leopard. Several still roam the mountains unhindered and free.
Please visit www.klipbokkop.co.za for more information about the resort.
And for more information on the sand riding course, direct your browser to: www.countrytrax.co.za
This article appeared in the August 2007 issue of TOPbike magazine
Nicely written.
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