So December eventually rolled around and it was time to put the whole year’s drinking practice to good use and go on holiday. Only problem was I’d bought my new bike, an old Ninja 750, but since no buyers for my first bike were forthcoming, the garage was bulging at the seams and hubby and I were tightening the belt. This proved a difficult task since he was getting as round as Father Christmas and I sure wasn’t far behind. We were adamant to still go on holiday, penniless or not so we all prepared ourselves for a budget getaway. Visions of me cooking food on the bike’s engine went out the window when I realized the engine on my new Tupperware bike was not accessible. I got an email which explained how to boil eggs between two cell phones if you made a really long call but unfortunately the email only came too late - so it was bunny chows and chip rolls on the menu.

I had made enquiries at most of the West Coast camping spots only to find that they were all full. "Not to worry," the gang said, "we’ll just sleep on the beach and rough it up."  Willem reckoned the West Coast farmers would be eager to invite us to spend the night in their barns once he bellowed down at the local pub that we’d have to sleep on the beach again.  Yeah right.  Like they’d be keen to put up with 9 noisy bikers.  

Fortunately, Somebody up there heard my prayers. A week before we were due to leave I sold my bike and we were able to pay our debts and even had a few pennies left over to buy baked beans for the bunny chows. Things were definitely looking up!

The logistics were complex. Not that it's ever different with the 'Skullies. Willem was tripping over his bottom lip. The Boulevard he had ordered hadn’t arrived yet so he and Amanda were forced to travel by car. Arno also opted to go by car. He hadn’t yet reassembled his engine but he likes to hang his elbow out the window with the Tassies nearby, so a can suited him just fine. Cool for us too as we could take cooler boxes to keep the beers cold and the bikes were luggage-free. Hubby was on his CBR1000F with Kyro, our son as pillion, Susan on her Kawa 1300, Philip also on his 1300 with Rico up back - and of course there was me on my Ninja 750.  English Lady rode up on her Honda CBR750 to join us three quarter way through our trip; she couldn’t get leave.  Greg abandoned us at the last minute. His neck cartilage packed up after years of riding, old age and unmentionable frivolous pursuits - and had to be hospitalised. Anyway the morphine or something they pumped into him sorted the pain in his neck and helped him deal with the fact that he would have to sell his SV and spend more time on his Z1300 and his Bandit after raising the handlebars. Poor Larry had to stay home and baby-sit his mother.

December 26th arrived and nine of us left Cape Town nice and early for our spontaneous West Coast adventure.  First stop was Yzerfontein for a cold beer and to check out the brick in the wall which we had sponsored on one of our previous day trips, the one where Amanda discovered Tequila for the first time.  Willem was suffering from a blocked ear and popped in at the chemist for eardrops.  The tannie behind the counter advised he should use an ear candle to draw out the wax but she was out of stock.  We spent the rest of the trip looking for this miracle ear candle but got blank stares from everyone we asked.  We were starting to think that the tannie at the chemist was having him on especially as images of him with dynamite sticks wedged in his ear had us rolling with laughter.

Next stop was Paternoster for a much needed cold beer.  The one and only pub was crawling with holiday makers and the two dudes on their guitars set the mood for kuering to numbers like Ou Ry Perd and Die Leeuloop.  We watched the Vaalies getting suckered into buying crayfish from the locals (right outside the copshop nogal) at R40 a pop.  next stop was Veldrift where we went in search of unsliced white bread to make bunny chows. No such luck. We were spotted by the Stormers MCC who very promptly invited us to their clubhouse. It wasn’t long before all their biker friends pitched up at the clubhouse and after a few rounds we were invited to sleep at their house where they treated us to a potjie, refusing our offers to contribute towards the pot.   We were amazed at their hospitality and they had us is stitches with their west coast humour. Next morning a few of them joined us at Elandsbaai for breakfast before we departed for Lambertsbaai.  We only arrived at about lunch time because as we stopped at every general dealer in sight in search of elusive loaves of unsliced white bread.  All we found were Bokoms and Willem was not impressed with them ponging out his carboot.  We debated as to whether we should sleep on the beach and risk the cops chasing us or if we should send Susan back to negotiate with the management of the caravan park which, we were told, was full. Kyro in the meantime discovered a shop that sold fresh unsliced white bread.  Then, it was back to the campsite where Susan ("The Negotiator") persuaded them to let us pitch our tents in the surrounding bush since there was no place inside the campsite.  We followed the dirt road and came to a spectacular, excavated clay pit.  We felt isolated and surrounded by peaceful beauty.   We pitched our tents, and marveled as the red setting sun reflected on the red clay all around us.  We lit half a dozen candles in upside down coke bottles, so Willem could see if he was gonna be attacked by scorpions or snakes while we braaied a piece of meat and had our long awaited curry bunny chows. 

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Next morning we all agreed that the next stop had to have showers. We were dusty, crusty, and my helmet hair was hanging in dreadlocks.  We hit the road and found ourselves at Strandfontein.  We pulled up alongside the caravan park which we were told was full but we could see a spot which we could squeeze into.  We baked in the sun, cooled down with a few drinks while Arno traded his red wine with the outa who worked at the campsite in exchange for a camp spot.  Willem boomed at passing holiday makers that we were in search of accommodation but to no avail.  A farmer in a bakkie passed by and Arno decided to try the same.  We couldn’t believe our luck when he actually stopped, got out of his bakkie and told us we could sleep at his place down the road.   He had a small holding with 2 vineyards that offered wine tasting and a venue he rented out for functions.  When we asked how much he would charge us, he replied that he had enough money and didn’t need ours, so long as we closed the gate when we left.  We couldn’t believe it.  There were tables and chairs, lights, a braai area, and best of all, ablution facilities!  We had sack races with our sleeping bags and didn’t bother pitching our tents, choosing instead to sleep under the lapa. 

Next day we made it to Van Rijnsdorp.   On arrival, we did a tour of the museum and heard about a game farm with a bar which was worth visiting.  Susan negotiated us in at the very quiet caravan park and we all squeezed into one small chalet, which worked out to only R36 per head.  We piled into the two cars and made our way to the game farm which was owned by a young couple who had gemsbok in their backyard and a little meerkat as a pet. They let me feed a bottle of milk to a little grysbokkie, who wandered around in their huge lounge.  They told us about a lovely drive through the mountains so off we went thinking it would be 20 km but turned out more like 100 km’s.  We spent the whole day driving across narrow dirt mountain passes with the most exquisite views I’ve ever seen, miles and miles of undiscovered beauty.  Then it was miles and miles of Rooibos tea plantations.   

The following morning started with a huge breakfast before we packed up and headed out to Clan William.  Once again, accommodation was a concern. The local caravan park made it damned clear they didn’t want us.  We obviously looked too suspect and the back packers were also full.  But again,  everything fell into place. The girlie at the till at the bottle store said her auntie's friend's cousin's brother-in-law had camping spots on their farm.  We rode about 2km down a dirt track, between the cows, and bulls nogal, and found ourselves at a lovely secluded spot along the river with a sandy beach area, a rowing boat, ablution facilities and shady trees that cost us a princely R20 a head!  The oomie invited us to the dance at the farm across the way which would have been a jol. They celebrated old years on the 30th since they wouldn’t have been able to dance on the 31st, that day being a Sunday.  But after braaing our batteries were pap and we crashed out early. 

Next day we rode back to Cape Town in a quick trip, stopping only to refuel.  The holiday had come to an end and my bike proved to be a good ride.  

We’d slept out 5 nights, costing in total R56 per person - which proves that the west coast hospitality definitely is welcoming and if you can understand their lingo you know you need to go back for more.   

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