THE LANGKLOOF PASS

It was towards the end of 1992 and I had recently bought a 500 CC motorcycle with the help of my mother and a friend. My first transport in a long time having walked by foot and making use of public transport for a few years. My year was spent in Port Elizabeth trying to get my trade papers for the second time on a large construction site. This didn’t pan out once again unfortunately. I spent several months of that year in a coloured area with some friends who were migrant laborers and had many adventures with them. Much like the book ‘The Cider House Rules’ I was a young white guy living in the outhouse with coloured workers. Our landlords were pleasant and we all got along fine. Now I was headed for Oudtshoorn in the Karoo desert where I had a friend who was a Priest. I rode on my motorcycle for several hundred kilometers through the beautiful ‘Lang Kloof Pass.’ Most of the journey I would be the only one on the road. I drove through lovely curves and bends in the countryside, and then I would hit a straight stretch of road at other times where I could open up the throttle of that old bike. It traveled like a dream on that long stretch of highway with me listening to Fats Domino on the walkman speakers rigged inside my helmet. The pleasant sound of that old time rock and roll was a great touch to my spectacular trip through the mountains. I traveled for a whole day in this fashion from early morning until late afternoon. The black children came out to the roadside whenever they heard the sound of a passing motorbike and would wave and cheer. All of them dreaming of making their own escape to the great wide world out there someday. Meeting people from all walks of life and paving a road for themselves in this life. Just before dusk I would enter the last bends into that old desert town, going past big ostrich farms with the large birds approaching me out of curiosity and wonder. They had never seen an ostrich like this before as I blew the horn at them and they responded with loud calls of their own until I had passed them riding far on down the valley towards the main street of the town. I met the good Father in the Cathedral giving a service and he took me in gladly. They wrote me in for my correspondence high school diploma through generous donors of the Church who came from the U.K. I finished my high school the next year as a twenty four year old and had never been so pleased with myself. Better late than never as they say. I did a couple of return trips through this lovely valley before finally decided to head back home once again. One night I took to the road northwards towards the Transvaal and road in the darkness through the entire length of the mighty Karoo desert. It was a dream and blessing to be able to live like this young and free one last time. My spirit was filled with hope for the future and wished that I could always be as happy as I was then. Live to ride - Ride to live!