BATTLEFIELDS, SHIPWRECKS AND RIDING

We left the Blockhouse at 08H00, as planned, on a quiet sunny morning that gave no indication of the cold and damp weather that lay in store. In the tepid and tranquil conditions, the kilometres passed by effortlessly and it wasn’t until we neared the quaint little village of Clarens that we had the first hint of the change that was to beset us all. Dark clouds began to show their ugly little faces on the horizon, the temperature began to drop and by the time we reached the Artists Café in Clarens we were all acutely aware of the rapidly deteriorating ambience.

Also see photos by Gottfried Knell here.

As if in sympathy with the changing climate, Manie’s tyre chose to object and a large piece of the tread was left behind on the road from Bethlehem. The tyre, down to the canvass in the offending area, offered Manie the option of riding back to Bethlehem, by quite astonishingly, not deflating. After some kind assistance from ‘BMW on Call’ an arrangement was made with the Bethlehem dealer to replace the tyre and so he and Linda donned their gear and set off, in a reverse direction without having eaten. Peter and Antoinette generously volunteered to accompany them on this excursion into the ever dropping temperatures. We exchanged phone numbers, in case of further mishaps, and agreed to meet the intrepid foursome later in Dundee.

With hopeful hearts and warmer clothing we set off into the rapidly deteriorating weather. Hardly noticing the usually stunning beauty, we passed through the Golden Gate but were, however, able to view the remnants of snow on the nearby hillsides that lay in crevices like miniature glaciers. This was, indeed, a warning of the cold, damp and misty conditions that were to predominate the rest of the ride down. As we approached Harrismith the wind rose to an uncomfortable level and seem to beckon us to change direction and head straight home on the Highway. Perhaps it was the lack of common sense coupled to our innate desire to ride regardless, that caused us all, without hesitation, to steadfastly continue on our way.

The thickening mist, that later invoked a friendly debate on the point at which it turns to rain, engulfed the bikes as we entered Van Reenen’s Pass. The mist, or rain as some would have it, fell steadily and dampened our clothes without ever quite reaching our bodies or spirits. Under this dark and depressing cloud we were all delighted to see the town limits of Dundee, only to find that a final challenge lay in wait. Within the boundaries of the town, road works necessitated an evil and muddy little detour that threatened to dismount even the more experienced off road riders - but nature’s sympathetic gesture was to allow us all to pass through safely and arrive at the Royal Country Inn, tired and cold but in high spirits despite the hardships we had all endured. Later comments by Motz, proprietress of the hotel, were a testimony to the contradictory cheerful demeanour of the group that had arrived in such adverse conditions.

SMILING FACES 

With compliments of the hotel, a soul warming glass of cherry awaited us in the reception. Our bodies, however, needed a warm shower to recover, which they received, without further delay, and we were all soon in the pub. An hour or more passed by without receiving any word of our foursome of reluctant defectors. Several phone calls failed to yield a response but finally at around 18H30 the presence of their smiling faces was an enormous relief – knowing that they had accomplished the repair mission unscathed. The alcohol induced humour of the, now relaxed, bikers greeted their tale of rain, mist and ‘direction lost’ with a little more than mild amusement, rather than the sympathy it deserved. All was taken in good spirits and at that point the gathering seemed to bond into a very congenial social circle. A superb buffet supper was provided in the dining room followed by a hasty retreat of the weary travellers to their rooms for a good nights rest.

We awoke, once again, to overcast skies, but in a reversal of the previous day’s fortunes, vague glowing rays of sun adorned the white clouds on the distant horizon with a promise of better things to come. The two tour buses stood ready and waiting to transport us to the stark reality of the Battlefield Sites. Our first stop was on a ridge overlooking the Isandlwana battlefield, littered with the stony cold reminder of the mass graves of a Royal British army contingent that had died in their first major encounter with the Zulus.

ON THE BUS 

Our guide was quietly spoken but seemingly very knowledgeable on the history of the area. His cold factual introduction to the misery of the British forces engendered an eerie reality to the ghosts of long forgotten men that had died in a fruitless battle. Not even the increasing warmth of the sun could shield us from the icy cold breeze that felt as if it passed through our very bones as we gazed down on this lonely field of mortal decimation. Against the background of the guides authoritative voice one could imagine, and in the mind’s eye even begin to see, images of the British in violent battle against the Zulu warriors on the barren stretch of land below. A full scale battle, isolated skirmishes, loud voices barking out orders, desperate cries for help amidst the terrifying wailing of the ever advancing sea of black bodies. Armed with their assegais, inflicting bloody and painful wounds that few, if any, would survive. The scene is frantic, British soldiers are attempting to desert in the face of a hopeless situation, running this way and that, but always confronted by another wave of violent savages that showed no mercy.

GHOSTS OF LONG FORGOTTEN MEN 

About 1300 British bodies lay strewn on this dramatic scene with an estimated 1000 Zulus joining their British adversaries in the life beyond. Who was to blame, in fact what blame was there? Why were the British there at all, why did the Zulu’s choose to attack, and most importantly for those British soldiers that died, why did they break the most fundamental rule that had been their saviour on so many occasions? Instead of keeping their tight square formation, it would appear that they formed a long line of extremely thin firing power that not only allowed the Zulu’s to get within spear throwing distance but also to attack from the now unguarded rear. The Zulus, well versed in their ‘horns and chest of the buffalo’ formation, closed in from the rear and within an hour the British army was all but annihilated. It is quite possible to simply dismiss the tragic outcome for the British as incompetent command but there are many other possibilities and many more questions than answers. And in the light of the absence of modern recorded electronic media the actual events will remain with the dead and in the imagination of all who care to take an interest.

By lunch time the sun had finally won the battle against the clouds, which now retreated onto every horizon. We arrived at the very new and ethnically styled Rorke’s Drift hotel for lunch, bathed in brilliant sunshine. Through prior arrangement we were expected by the proprietor who welcomed us to the spacious lounge overlooking the Buffalo River. After a hasty lunch, hasty because the hours were passing by rather quickly, we headed for Rorke’s Drift battle site.

ETHICNALLY STYLED RORKE'S DRIFT HOTEL 

Altogether less dramatic than Isandlwana, the story of the battle here at Rorke’s Drift, as for Isandlwana, begs more questions than can be answered with any certainty. The buidings are well preserved, and it does not seem fair to criticize the authorities for their hardwork, but together with the neatly cut lawns, Café and Curio Shop it lacks the authenticity and atmosphere of the stark and barren Isandlwana battlefield. In an historical contradiction to Isandlwana, there were few lives lost and it seems it was more of a benefit to the ‘face-saving’ of both sides. Such a long drawn out battle is not easy to envisage and what the men were doing in the long hours of the night is difficult to understand. A total of 16 British soldiers and about 375 Zulu’s died in this extended battle and one is forced to imagine sporadic and disorganized Zulu attacks that lacked any serious intent. Nevertheless, it gave the British a moral boost they claimed as a ‘victory’ and the Victoria Cross was awarded to an unprecedented 11 soldiers.

WELL PRESRVED RORKE'S DRIFT WITH CAFE AND CURIO SHOP 

We travelled back to the hotel leaving behind us the confusion of man’s stupidity on the battlefields, and although somewhat enlightened by the mental stimulation, very pleased to be back with our beloved and materialistic motorcycles. Dinner was again a gourmet experience and after a short period of light-hearted socializing we retired to our rooms to prepare for the long day that lay ahead.

After an early breakfast we left on the scenic route through the rural KZN midlands for the picturesque coastal village of Ballito Bay. A few small groups formed to ride at the speed with which they felt the most comfortable. We regrouped along the way and most of us arrived at the coast around 10H30. On account of the early arrival we decided to visit the grounded ship at Sheffield beach, no more than a few kilometres from our final destination in Ballito Bay. And a startling sight it was, to see this massive stricken vessel within touching distance of land. The fierce waves breaking on the bow created a dramatic picture that was well worth the visit.

STARTLING SIGHT 

Remaining as close to the coast line as we could, we slowly made our way to the Restaurant in Ballito. Here our own battle ensued, with me in command. I was determined from the outset not to make the same fatal mistakes that the British had made at Isandlwana all those years ago. The restaurant had not kept their promise to provide us with a sea view seating arrangement. I struck quickly and decisively, keeping the battalion in close formation I sent out a command that no one should place an order. I ran up to the restaurant above and made an alternative arrangement with the manager, who was more than willing to accommodate us and our requirements. The Battle of Ballito Bay had been won and we all marched, triumphantly, up to the new restaurant. The food was good, the service good, and the view even better, so it was an extremely fruitful and satisfying victory.

A BETTER VIEW 

Goats, horses, people, little people, trucks, donkeys, cows and even chickens with their chicks provide a very rural, and sometimes challenging, but extremely interesting ride through the little villages on this route. One can attain some reasonable speeds on the open roads but must remain wide awake to negotiate these obstacles successfully. With some good judgement and a lot of luck, everyone did, and we arrived back in Dundee in the late afternoon in the same brilliant sunshine and warm weather in which we had begun the day.

A CHICKEN AND HER CHICKS HOLD UP THE TRAFFIC 

That evening before another culinary delight we said thank you to Motz and her staff for looking after us so well and presented her with two of our ‘ride gifts’ as a token of our appreciation. I truly believe the ride was a success and, as always, must be attributed to the people that join us and generate such a pleasant social environment. The few small things that go wrong, and the few small irritations that seek out a few individuals, seem to be forgotten in the general atmosphere of happy people doing something they really enjoy and I trust everyone is looking forward to the next ride as much as I am.

The final formal event was to park our bikes in front of the Royal Country Inn and pose for the local news paper photographer. So unlike the events of the battles, our ride will be recorded in the media for posterity.

John Balsdon