READER STORY

The R355 is the back road between Springbok and Ceres, famous for huge views and tyre-chewing gravel. But why drive, thought Henko Roukema, when you can ride a bike?

2017-04-01 -

Henko Roukema cycles the (long!) dirt road between Springbok and Ceres.

I’m an adventurous person. I enjoy rock climbing, ice swimming and riding my bike. I’m a navigation officer for a Canadian shipping company so I spend months at sea, but I also get long periods of leave when I’m on land. I use my leave to do as many exciting things as I can. That’s how I found myself in Springbok in the Northern Cape last year, having just done a cycle tour of southern Namibia and the Richtersveld. The thought of sitting in a cramped car for a day’s drive back to Cape Town wasn’t appealing, so I looked at my map. The R355 caught my eye – I’d heard that it goes through an open, arid landscape full of nothingness, where sharp stones will almost certainly rip your tyres to shreds. From Springbok to Ceres, it’s about 600 km of gravel. This was the road I’d ride to get home…

DAY 1 Namaqualand becomes Bushmanland

At the start of a big adventure, the hardest part is swinging your leg over the saddle and getting started. Once you’ve done that, there’s no turning back: You have to see it through to the end. The excitement of doing something new soon erases any doubts. The terrain on the first day consisted of endless uphills – just steep enough to tire out

my legs. A pesky headwind wasn’t helping either, but my bike and I made it to the top of the escarpment. Look at a map of the Northern Cape and you’ll see there’s no clear transition from one region to the next. My journey began in Namaqualand and soon I’d enter Bushmanland. I approached a goatherd next to the road and asked, “Where does Bushmanland begin?” He smiled. “You’ll know when you get there. When the people you meet lose that look in their eye and start to smile, you’re in Bushmanland!” After 80 km I came to Vaalputs, Eskom’s radioactive waste disposal facility. I filled up my bottles, almost expecting the water to glow luminous green. I cycled on until I could no longer see the entrance to Vaalputs, then I found a level spot about a metre from the road to spend the night. It seemed safe – if there are no people around, there aren’t any evildoers around either. I had only seen one vehicle the whole day. I cooked my instant pasta and read my book, M Scott Peck’s The Road Less Travelled. Quite appropriate for the situation I found myself in!

DAY 2 Two hamburgers in Loeriesfontein

The sun was up, it wasn’t too hot and there was a gravel road calling my name. The second day was less of a shock for my body. I saw strange names and places, like the remote villages of Gamoep and Kliprand. My plan was to ride as far as Loeriesfontein, about 150 km down the road. Fortunately the surface wasn’t too sandy or corrugated and my legs weren’t too wobbly. Still, I had to be careful of punctures. As the woman behind the counter at the shop in Kliprand warned me: “Oppas, it’s a sharp road.” I pulled over at a junction to eat an energy bar and a man with a wild Father Christmas beard stopped next to me in a Land Cruiser bakkie. “My donner, are you really here or am I seeing things?” “Hello Oom,” I said, which seemed to give him a fright. “So you are real!” he exclaimed, before speeding away in a cloud of dust.

The landscape slowly transformed from red sand and grass to grey rocks and silhouetted quiver trees standing guard in the late-afternoon sun. I arrived in Loeriesfontein at 5 pm and went straight to the Spar, where I ate two hamburgers, had two chocolate Steri Stumpies and a packet of sliced salami. And I still ate my instant pasta for supper! You get hungry on the road, especially when you’re carrying all your gear with you. (Maybe my radioactive water had given me extra energy…) I rarely pay for accommodation when I’m travelling like this. There’s almost always a river to wash in – or a drinking trough if you’re really desperate. I made myself at home in the riverbed outside Loeriesfontein, close enough to treat myself to a cup of coffee at the hotel the following morning. That night, something outside my tent woke me. I bashed the side to scare it away and heard the rattle of quills as a porcupine ran off into the night.

DAY 3 The beauty of nothing

I woke up knowing that I only had to ride 80 km to Calvinia, so I went back to sleep for a bit. And I took my time packing up my campsite. Was it Monday? In two days, I’d completely forgotten about the outside world. My existence had been distilled to the bare essentials: Were my wheels still turning? Did I have enough water? Where would I find my next cup of coffee? People are curious creatures. When they see a guy on a bike in the middle of nowhere, they like to ask questions. I don’t mind. It’s part of the fun and I find it interesting to talk to strangers. Most of the time they’re passionate about the region they live in, but sometimes they look at me like I’ve lost my mind. I was sipping my coffee at the Loeriesfontein Hotel when a man asked where I’d slept the previous night. I told him about the riverbed. “You can’t sleep there!” he screeched. “That’s where the satanists go!” Now that’s something you’ll only hear in a small town. Outside Loeriesfontein I found the skull of a small antelope, horns still intact, lying next to the road. I picked it up and tied it to the front of my bike. I even gave it a name: Punt in die wind. I arrived in Calvinia with aching legs and bum. I stopped at the Spar to restock because the next section of the R355 would be tough. It’s 256 km between Calvinia and Ceres – the longest uninterrupted stretch of road between any two towns in South Africa. Someone at the Spar asked why I’d chosen this particular road: “There’s nothing to see in the Tankwa!” Well, nothing can also be beautiful, I thought to myself. I pitched my tent in the veld a few kilometres outside Calvinia. I still had cellphone reception so I called my loved ones at home and gave them a progress report.

DAY 4 When the Tankwa breaks your heart

I flew down the Bloukrans Pass, following the contour lines into the Tankwa Karoo below. The next section would be pretty much straight – until the mountain passes above Ceres. I sped along as the world and my mind became quiet. I started to talk to myself. A butterfly floated past. How fast can a butterfly fly, I wondered? For 15 minutes I stayed behind the butterfly, trying to calculate the answer. At one point, with the wind at its back, it reached 30 km/h! A few kilometres further I saw a small

antelope in the road. There were fences on both sides – the Tankwa Karoo National Park – and they were too high for the bokkie to jump. There was nowhere for it to go. It ran away from me, zigzagging across the road. After 3 km I felt like an ancient hunter exhausting his prey by running it to death. I didn’t want to be the cause of the bokkie’s demise, although the thought of braaiing a tender venison steak did cross my mind… I had to accelerate and overtake the antelope, at which point it turned and fled in the opposite direction. My legs were on fire and my lungs begged for air. I’d already cycled 100 km – could I push myself and ride another 76 km to the Tankwa Farm Stall? The farm stall’s motto is “a little bit of everything in the middle of nowhere” and that’s all the motivation I needed. I wondered about the sadist who’d put up signs every 10 km marking the dwindling distance to Ceres. Every time I saw a sign, I realised how many kilometres still lay ahead and it was like a punch to the stomach. Then the Tankwa broke my heart. After more than 170 km in the saddle, and hours spent salivating about food and beer, I arrived at the Tankwa Farm Stall to find it closed. It’s closed on Wednesdays and I’d arrived on a Wednesday. I couldn’t believe it. Tears ran as the setting sun turned the Karoo hills red. It’s okay, I told myself. Pitch your tent and make some pasta. You’ll be fine.

DAY 5 A soft bed in Ceres

I was at the door of the farm stall at 9 am sharp. Ravenous. They brought me a meal that could have fed a small village: two huge roosterkoek burgers, a plate of chips and four cups of coffee. Then reality set in: I still had 80 km to ride to Ceres, via the Karoo Poort and Theronsberg passes. The weather was also changing. A storm was moving in from Cape Town. I knew I had a soft bed, the company of friends and a warm fire waiting for me in Ceres, so I turned the cranks in earnest. After five days of adventure I was ready to spoil myself. I rolled into Ceres and someone asked where I’d ridden from. “Springbok,” I said proudly. “Along the R355.” “How many punctures did you get?” “None.” The man was amazed. “Then you must have been a saint in your previous life!”

HENKO’S PACK LIST

When you’re bikepacking, everything you take has to be lightweight. I packed my stuff into aerodynamic bags that I strapped to the frame of my bike. There’s not much space for luxuries.

• Tent

• Sleeping bag and sleeping mat

• MSR stove

• Headlamp

• Camera and small tripod

• Food for three days at a time

• Six litres of water

• First aid kit

• Map

• Cable ties and duct tape

• Chocolate

• One cycling jersey and one pair of bib shorts