The ride along the Osseberg jeep track can be challenging and there have been a few mishaps with riders over the years. Those mishaps have resulted from the gnarly track being littered with holes and numerous washouts. I guess it depends on your perspective. Some people revel in the challenge of snaking over the mountains on this disused jeep track before plummeting down the mountain to the river. Others are not so enamoured and choose to walk the trickier sections. I'm neutral. I aim to be efficient and safe.
The track from the insistent but ineffective NO ENTRY sign and rusty boom was interesting to navigate in the predawn darkness. I could see where the once good jeep track was but it is now obscured with fynbos and often only a single track would be visible with occasional sections where with both sides were washed out.
One year I arrived here at a similar time of day in the company of Graham 'Tweet' Bird. I crossed the boom and started walking down the track as any sensible person would do when faced with a dangerous track at night. I hadn't gone more than 20 metres when Tweet came rolling by. It was a huh moment for me. Throwing caution to the wind I hopped on my bike and followed him down the track. I figured if there was a race ending hole on the track Tweet would drop in first and as such would alert me to the danger.
This time I had no such scout as Roger was lagging. I scanned ahead looking for holes and rocks as my bike rolled carefully down the track. I had time, this didn't have to be a do or die experience. While I wasn't going to walk, except where riding was impossible, I wasn't aiming for a personal best along the 10kms that ended at the river. A safe passage in reasonable time would suffice. I'd initially allocated an hour to get down in daylight but as I was running under lights for the first half it would take slightly longer which I didn't mind as I had the extra time.
I spotted the occasional car tyre track and sections where the fynbos had been flattened suggesting a vehicle had recently been along the track. It made the going easier but I had to wonder what a vehicle was doing on that track.
Halfway along the peaks I looked back and could see Roger's light against the eastern sky that was finally relinquishing its hold on the night.
By the time I got to the final drop off to the river I no longer needed my lights. Approaching the river I saw there was a vehicle and trailer camper parked in the centre of what used to be a camp site. It seemed they were still asleep. So a vehicle had been down the track. Mind boggling. How long did it take?
As I got to the bank of the river I saw Estelle making her way into the reeds. It was 06:30 – the perfect time to start the Mordor adventure proper.
I know most of the Freedom Trail route well enough that I don't need maps. Even so I always carry the maps as arrogance precedes failure. There is one place where maps are essential and that's Mordor. My custom maps, pieced together over the years, have details of distance between river crossings as well as the line to take when crossing the river. For example, when entering the first river crossing the line is to go right at 45°. Going straight over you'd be faced with a 2 or 3 metre cliff to scramble up. It's tough. I've done it. Once. Going right brings you to the start of the jeep track on the other side with no scrambling required. Still lots of bushwhacking needed to get through reeds and bushes as is the case for every crossing.
I knew there were 9 crossings and the first was behind me. The last 2 are a little tricky but didn't require advanced ninja skills. That left 6 to tackle. Today these crossings exist as ghosts of yesteryear and live on merely as a line on a map. Standing in the bank there is nothing to suggest there is a place to cross. At one point I stopped and tried to imagine what it was like for a bunch of 4X4 enthusiasts to bring their growling machines through this valley. It's a pity access to this valley is restricted to a few dozen mad cyclists, and the occasional group of horse riders. It's a raw beauty that should be more accessible.
The second river crossing is over 100 metres as the line across is roughly a 30° angle. For the first time through the valley I stopped and had a good look at the routing over the rivers. The river when not flowing strongly, which is most of the time, looks like a string of beads. The river is essentially a series of big ponds of water linked together with reed beds. The crossing points are over the shallower reed beds, some of which are directly across the river and others that are diagonally across. With that understanding I was able to picture the line across the river before engaging in battle with the reeds.
The section between river crossing 2 and 3 is head office to the dreaded katjies. Not kittens. These things are not warm, cute or cuddly they are bloodthirsty cactus. I believe their official name is jointed-cactus. They lie in wait on the ground where they get picked up your tyres and then tossed onto your leg. To remove them it's best to flick them off with a stick. If you use your fingers they will happily transfer to your finger. I crossed that section without a single katjie incident. I was really pleased with this and nearly made it out of the valley without one of these on my legs. Alas, just before the last river crossing a single katjie latched onto my ankle. An elusive katjie-clean-passage was not mine to claim.
Most crossings correlated with the maps with one or two being more creative than the line on the map suggested. In all cases the crossings were achieved without any drama. I was across the last river just before 09:30. With the risk of time wasting drama behind me I could have a slow 10km ride to the support station at Kudu Kaya.
It was a slow ride. Without the need to focus on navigation or moving speed I became aware of how tired I was, both physically and mentally. Fortunately I'd be able to get some horizontal time before commencing battle at 1pm.
It was 10:22 when I signed in at Kudu Kaya. Priorities were; sort out bike, tea, food and then bed.
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