the mountains and back from there once homeward bound . The round pan part had a few bites taken out of it and then spent a month being dragged behind a timider adventure bike . Perhaps one that frequented that tyre eating route .
With a moist mist touching our skin , the smell of the fish factory just wafting up from the harbour , our hands firmly gripped to the monster of a bike and the taste of sea salt thick in the air , we left the city . The majestic Table Mountain in the rearview mirror and the hydraulic seat slowly raising under our butts , we opened-up . The sun soon broke the mist away and to our front , a bank of mountains . The bike felt very solid . Perhaps due to the extremely low mounted engine . Perhaps the fact that there is no frame , with everything bolted to that engine . No matter how many more kilometre per hour we twisted to , the bike just felt glued to the asphalt , much like a limpet to the side of a rockpool at low tide .
Up the mountain passes and around the tangle of bends , leaning into the corners to a point where previously untouched rubber flirts with the tar for the first time . Down the other side at lightning speed . Big Mike playing with the cruise control and toggling between riding modes to find the best fit .
Before long we were cruising through the Slanghoek [ Snake corner ] valley where a sea of farmlands stretched as far as the huge mountains on the horizon . I smelled the fermenting grape stench as we passed a cellar and heard the gurgle of the Breede River as we crossed the causeway . The bike sounded so good . If there is one award I can confidently add to its lengthy list of achievements , it ’ s best sounding bike . When at high revs and slowing , the distinctive Harley sound clearly and proudly reared its head .
We continued wondering the passes and heading north . Through the famous fruit juice capital of South Africa , The Ceres Valley . Also known as “ the valley of the gods ”. Many more fruit smells as we passed and as we made our way through the centre of the village , lots of noisy farm labourers doing their weekly shop .
The bike purred smoothly up the Gydo pass and no matter what we threw at it , it managed the roads with ease . We were going to have to try harder and it was time to smash the dirt . We swung onto the gravel and toggled to Offroad plus on the big screen . Mike took off at lightning speed towards the rather steep Katbakkies pass . On the first few bends , we got a taste of what was to come . Sand , stone , and shattered shale . The rear wheel seemed to have a mind of its own . It wanted to take the lead . I tapped his shoulder and shouted out through the roar .
“ Excuse me mate , but perhaps we should re-evaluate the settings . I do not feel like spending the rest of the day going sideways .”
Ok , in all honesty , my words were more like , “ What the fucking hell ? Are you flipping mad ? WTF ? I have a three-year-old son at home and would prefer to be there when he reaches four . You fucking madman . What just happened ?”
A few adjustments to the onboard computer and to our enthusiasm , then we were off again . One more problem though . As we crested the pass and headed along an overgrown jeep track , an ocean of mountain bikers came heading towards us . It seems that we had chosen the route on exactly the same day as a massive MTNB race . It was an hour of slalom course with us bouncing over the centre and jumping out the way of the racing bicycles . For some crazy reason , none of the riders grasped the fact that we would have won in any collision .
At the base of the pass , we stopped
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