Dirt & Trail Aug2020

“Bow down to me, peasants! I am your lord!”
Donovan declares his sovereignty over Fouriesburg.
that fast food takeaways are
banned, and they very grudgingly
allowed a Protea Hotel to be set up
provided it wasn’t too franchise-y.
We weren’t interested in such
intricacies because this would be
our base for our real purpose – the
quest for snow.
Being a monarch, I slept in
a castle and then . . . dawned
happened.
A frozen dawn, at that. By
7am, the temperature gauge was
reading -9ºC and fingers were
turning cadaver blue.
But the grass was clear, the sky
was blue, and there was no sign of
snow.
I threw a royal tantrum and
prepared to declare war for
this outrage until the hostess at
my bastille lodgings (it’s called
Camelot in Clarens – seriously, go
stay there) told me that Clarens
very rarely gets snow while the
peaks in the area are most likely
covered in it.
For her services to the crown,
I appointed her a Dame and again
Would it have to be revved
stukkend to just cruise at the
speed limit? The bike answered
itself as I pulled onto the freeway,
revving through the gears and
spending more time concentrating
on the freeway traffic than the
fact that the speedo had just
surpassed 150km/h.
Oops.
The motor pushes 43hp – a notinsignificant
amount – through a
motor with a 373cc single-cylinder
leading to one more concern –
vibrations. These thumpers can be
buzzy, a trait made more worrying
through the streets of Joburg as
revs bounced through the gearbox
sending shakes through the bars.
Three and a half hours of this
might be painful.
Thankful, at a cruising altitude
of 120 to 140km/h, the buzz
through the bars eases off, leaving
only a little through the footpegs.
I’m the sort of fellow that ignores
that sort of thing, but if you have
feet like a record player, it could
get annoying.
Not long ago, only the proper,
top-shelf motorcycles had a fullcolour
TFT dash, but thankfully,
the 390 designers were able to sift
through the skip out the back of
the factory and came across some
old dashes from the 1190 Super
Adventure. On a 1290, this dash
would be outdated. On a 390, it is
the sort of thing you brag to your
friends about.
Three hours later, my butt, neck
and shoulders still felt good as
new and felt even better as the flat
Free State eventually succumbed
to the odd hill that soon also made
way for a bit of mountain, until the
Drakensberg exploded before us. It
was at its foothills that we arrived
triumphantly in the town of
Fouriesburg. Given my birthright,
I announced my sovereignty to
all and sundry (two sheep and a
chicken) before making my royal
way towards the fabled town of
Clarens.
This hub of artistry is famous
for dinosaur bones, galleries,
cafés and being surrounded
by mountains. Quaint bed and
breakfasts look up at towering
peaks, and patrons of restaurants
breakfast under their mighty
shadows. The town is so rustic
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