Sunrise over the aloe strewn campsite and the tent was wet with dew. We had to try and move the thing into the sun to dry before packing up to leave.
We had to drive the N2 a way before turning off on yet another gravel road in order to link up with the one coming up from the pontoon. That would effectively ‘connect the dots’ so to speak. That was also from where we’d have to start cycling again.
It was rather discouraging since we seemed to be going down rather than across the country. But that was just how the roads ran. It was first south in the direction of Witsand and then just before the little village at the mouth of the Breede River, we’d turn east and cut across the farms on a great bit of gravel to link up with the tar road that links the N2 with Witsand. That’s when things really felt strange. We turned north again for a couple of kilometres on the tar road before we came across the road that finally turned eastward in the direction of Vermaaklikheid and Jongensfontein … gravel again, of course.
That was also where we’d stop for a quick lunch and narrowly escaped a farmer driving over our bikes as they lay on the gravel verge. We never even saw that a bit of fence had been removed and suddenly this farmer came gunning it along in his bakkie, across the field and out by the hole in the fence.
After lunch the gravel road would begin to turn into precarious downhills followed by impossibly steep uphills. Suzann volunteered to drop down into the valley and was doing very well until the road just fell away at a near vertical drop. She stayed on over the loose rocks and made it to the little cement bridge over the stream. But that was it, no human being could’ve climbed the hill that lay ahead. So we drove it.
Then it was Lynsey’s turn again until we reached the final precarious drop into Vermaaklikheid where she flatly refused to struggle down, knowing of course, that the hill she’d have to climb out again would be impossible. So we drove … again.
She finished her turn on the flatlands above, on the Blombos road. This notoriously foul gravel strip lived up to its reputation and the hard knocks the bums were subject to was something fierce. It was getting late and we still had a few kilometres of bum-smacking gravel to crank, and again, the wind had come up. Totally drained, we loaded up the bikes and drove the last bit into Jongensfontein where we were met by a super friendly lady from the Hessequa Municipality that would furnish us with a tag for the boom gate of the caravan park and show us to our allocated site … right opposite the ablution block.
There wasn’t much privacy so we shacked up the gazebo with its sides even though we were only scheduled to stay for one night. However, our neighbours turned out to be great folks who got incredibly excited about what we were doing. What a shot in the arm they all were.
But what a rude awakening when we realized that again the blocks had no loo paper, and now our reserves were really low. Where’s those socks? Thank goodness for the kitchen towel otherwise we’d really have been in a pickle. The local ‘shoppy’ had closed already by the time we arrived so there wasn’t even an option of buying some TP on our evening walk along the rocky shore of this little holiday village.
At least Suzann did her good deed for the day when she picked up a cell phone from the side of the road and returned it to a very frantic young man who was playing with his friends a little way back. Much to her disgust though, he thanked her and added ‘tannie’!