My Bike - A strand of spider silk, once taut, now rises and falls with each breath the room takes. Tethered to my bike's shifter, it beckons

A strand of spider silk, once taut, now rises and falls with each breath the room takes
Tethered to my bike's shifter, it beckons

It's been a while
The allure of open roads, quietened for some time
Overwhelmed by life's demands, desire smothered
Yet, my bike doesn't judge; it waits patiently
Its tires bulging—a slow sigh of neglect

Be patient, my friend, any day now
The click of shifters, the chain's soft rattle
Early sunrise's gentle glow,
The splendor and quiet of eventide

We've weathered life together
You've carried me and I've carried you
You've sensed power drain from weary legs
Felt the drip of sweat and tears on your top tube
Heard doubts voiced, fears whispered,
shared the joy of triumphs and the weight of failure
You've helped mend me when I've faced the pain of loss

Soon, the pump's hiss will break the silence
Rust will flake from your chain
Dust and webs gently brushed away
The outdoors awaits, any day now

Return to Vero’s

Over the last 16 years I have ridden over thirty thousand kilometres down the Freedom Trail. In that time each section has had a chance to delight or destroy me. Weather conditions and various stages of fatigue the critical components in each experience. 

In October 2022 during the Race Across South Africa I limped into Vero's Rest and Craft Shop. I was running on empty. I wrote about that experience in a previous blog.

https://mikewoolnough.blogspot.com/2022/12/survival-mode.html

Yesterday I revisited Vero's. This time I was feeling great having spent the last 2 weeks making my way down the trail from Rhodes. The familiarity of Vero's—syringa tree, wind chimes, snuffling dog and hard wooden picnic table bench—brought a smile to my face. 

The images and experiences of the last few weeks, indelibly inked into my memory, have woven a few more colourful threads into the tapestry of my life on the Freedom Trail. 

Leaving Damsedrif before first light I had time to reflect on the last few days. We had experienced a range of weather from cold to hot with some rain showers but not so much that our spirits had been dampened. The only time that gave us pause for thought was when we lay in our beds in the cow shed at Hadley

If the anticipation of going through the Osseberg jeep track wasn't keeping people awake the lightening storm that raged at 3am meant sleep was done for the night. Flashes of lightning poked vivid fingers of light through the small slit windows of the barn. The thunder reverberated across the Baviaanskloof mountains while the rain hammered down on the corrugated iron structure. 

The cow shed. Photo: Herman Botes

Riding through a storm isn't on the list of things I like to do. Wading across swollen rivers also isn't on that list. I don't think I was alone in wondering what kind of hell awaited us. Our plan was to eat at 5am and head out to face the challenge of the Osseberg. For many years that section has been known as Mordor - a reference to Mordor in Lord of the Rings. A dark evil place walled in by mountains. Essentially a place you don't want to enter. Alex Harris was the first to call it Mordor. Years back, after a long night out fighting through the flood ravaged valley he typed a simple message - Last night I stared into Mordor.

  

The clan stirred one by one and gathered on the lower level of cowshed. Just before 5am the storm retreated down the valley, the mountains we would face silhouetted against distant flashes of lightning. A trip to the main house where internet access allowed us to check the weather app as well as a visit to the rain gauge gave reason for less anxiety. Thus buoyed we went up to the house had breakfast and headed out. The rest of the day went smoothly which had us settled at Kudu Kaya with plenty of daylight to spare. 

The ride from Damsedrif was peaceful. There was no wind, the road surface improved within a few kilometres, and the rivers running over the low level crossings draped  with ethereal fingers of mist were merely a few centimetres deep. The pop of gravel as I rolled down the road was joined by the occasional trill of birds readying themselves for the coming day. I rolled into Vero's as the sun popped over the horizon and in short time was presented with a bodum of coffee which complimented the toasted sandwich Hestelle had given us for padkos. While I waited for the others to arrive I read the blog post I had posted 5 months earlier about my last visit here. What a contrast. This time I was happy to be there and the prospect of pushing on held no dread.