be beautiful. And the beauty just keeps on giving – every metre is a masterpiece of visual aesthetics.
But let me start at the beginning: one June, together with my former boss Lachlan Harris of BMW Motorrad, I took Leon Potgieter of Stellenbosch, Raymond Botha of George, Jan Nortjé of Kimberley and a raw Pommie from London, Phil Horton, through the Baviaans.
That evening, when the trip back to Cape Town was under discussion, I tossed Seweweekspoort into the hat of possibilities, only to discover that not one of them had been there. So I knew what had to happen.
At 11 in the morning we stopped in the middle of the Poort and I watched the group closely. It was an intimidating scene: at first you feel small because the mountains are so close, they oppress you with an excessive show of force. Once you master that, you begin to notice the colours, the red and rust, brown and black, of the rocks. The varying green shades of the plants. And then the texture of the mighty rock formations squeezed and crumpled and rumpled by forces so incomprehensible that it scares you even to think of it.
At first the men looked around a little warily, half out of the corner of their eyes. Then they began to gape and gasp their amazement and soon the digital cameras were chattering like small arms fire in a skirmish.
This is what Seweweekspoort does. It spoils you visually to the extent that you can easily overlook the section of road on the other end of the Poort, which has its own unique charm – all the way from Waterval (an incredible thin ribbon of water that tumbles hundreds of metres down the mountain) to Rooibek, just this side of Laingsburg.
It’s more open, and wider. It begs you to twist the bike’s throttle ear a little, with sheer exuberance after the earlier intimidation. The aesthetic thrills are more spread out, requiring more concentration and observation.
The solution is to ride Seweweekspoort twice, three times, four times. Until your eyes have tamed it. And then to travel the road past Rondefontein, Nietvoorby, Hartland, Suikerbosfontein, Tierkloof and Drielingskloof slowly, willing to accept that there is more for the eye in this world than any supermodel can offer.
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Ladismith
113 km from Ladismith to Laingsburg
Allow three hours to give the Poort and the road beyond it an equal chance.
The unexpected beauty (and baboons) of the Witteberg
I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye only because I was concentrating on the rocky drift in front of us, a challenge for a heavily laden motorbike. Just to the right something scurried up the near-vertical red cliff stretching w-a-a-a-y up.
My curiosity got the better of me. I stopped and looked: a solitary female baboon, barely 20 m from us, began to clamber up the cliff face. I tapped my wife’s knee and pointed. Then something incredible happened.
Another baboon began to move. And another. How we had failed to spot them before, I do not know. Perhaps it was the colour of their pelts blending with the rusty-brown cliff. Maybe they had just been sitting dead still and staring at the monster machine riding past below. It could also be that our city eyes no longer see such things.
When they started to move, it was as though we were seeing for the first time. Four, five, six of them scrambled up the cliff … 10, 12, 13 … 20, 30, 40 … until the whole mountainside was alive with primates disdainfully jogging uphill, paying no mind to the impossibly steep and slippery cliff face.
We stared at them open-mouthed until the whole troop, perhaps a hundred or more, was on the move, ever upwards. Mothers clutched little ones under calloused elbows, little clowns tumbled and jumped, old sentries sauntered unconcerned, until the last one disappeared over the crest. Anita and I said, ‘Can you believe it …?’ This could have been our motto for the day, because there were so many surprises.
We had to go to George for our annual motorbike safari with beloved Gauteng friends (I know, I know, ‘beloved’ and ‘Gauteng’ go together just about as well as ‘military’ and ‘intelligence’, but there are exceptions to any rule). For a change we wanted to take a new, unfamiliar road.
The only unexplored alternative was a black line on the GPS map that turned off to the right on the N1 about 28 km after the Touws River – and then wound along for a long way roughly parallel to the N1 in the direction of Laingsburg. We didn’t expect much. We had travelled down this national artery so many times; how attractive could this part be? After we turned off the N1 onto the gravel, the first surprise presented itself: the road sign, short and sweet: ‘Witteberg’. But, after a few small folds in the land, pretty little hills and one or two farm gates, it seemed as though the promise of mountains was an empty one.
Until we suddenly crested a rise – and the valley spread like a fairytale ahead of us: proper mountains on the left and a gravel road winding over the hills into the distance. From there on it was sheer pleasure. The road surface was good (apart from the slightly eroded drift), the view extending to all points of the compass was impressive – and there was absolutely no tourist traffic.
At last, just before you connect with the numberless tar road between Laingsburg and the Floriskraal Dam, it looks more like the Karoo again, but for 60 km it’s a surprising mountain world, with plenty of small game – and of course, that troop of cliff-dwelling baboons that so amazed us. If you are on your way to the Seweweekspoort, this is the ideal starting point.
Once you have the Witteberg route behind you, turn right to Ladismith. At the fork about 10 km beyond the Floriskraal Dam turn-off, keep left – and prepare yourself for a part of the Western Cape that will impress not just our beloved Gautengers. The unbelievable geomorphology changes every few kilometres, the colours of cliffs and ravines, peaks and mountains change from dark red to yellow, brown and green, and no horizon looks the same.
At Seweweekspoort, of course, you expect this spectacular display. But, when a little road between Touws River and Laingsburg catches you off guard, it makes you want to pack the motorbike and explore more unknown little black lines on the map.
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Konstabel Station on the N1
