Barking at baobabs - A mountain bike tour in Limpopo with two dogs

“Oh no! What have I got myself into?” I ruminated under my breath, as sweat dripped from my furrowed brow and I pushed my bicycle, loaded with more than 50 kg of gear, up yet another loose, gravel gradient. Besides the personal gear in my panniers, I lugged a custom-built trailer (courtesy of Holdfast) so my two Jack Russells (Turbo and Tequila) could join me on my latest, crazy adventure.

As the reality of my daunting task set in and my legs screamed in protest and a spittle-flecked whimper escaped my lips, I prayed for malaria, hijacking, anything as an excuse to go home - and this was only day one. I cringed at the thought of what lay ahead!

Starting from Musina, I followed a gravel road that runs parallel to the Limpopo; wet earth, washboard surfaces and rolling hills tested my fitness to the max. My body’s dissent was occasionally forgotten, as I watched my dogs chase after baboons, vervets and strange six-legged critters that were completely alien to us city boys from Cape Town.

Fortunately, the day was cool. Grey clouds loomed overhead as I focused on my pedal strokes - push, pull, push, pull! Signs of recent flooding were evident. I had been keeping an eye on the news up until then, “Limpopo, 80% chance of rain, flooding and closed roads can be expected,” the weatherman said nonchalantly as he skipped to the next slide.

On two occasions I had to find alternative routes, as the low-lying sections were completely washed away, but fortunately, the heavens held back their sluices for the day.

During one of my frequent pit stops, while making a brew along the banks of the Sand River, a tributary of the Limpopo, I contemplated a dip to cool down. Thankfully, a farmer warned me from his bakkie’s window, “Pasop! There are groot crocs in that river.” Fair to say, I kept my dogs and myself far from the muddy banks after that.

A little later, a close encounter with the four-legged, flea-bearing kind really freaked me out. A pack of dogs, two of which were pit bulls, joined me for a couple of kilometres as I ground along. They seemed friendly enough, until the big, white male turned on my dogs, who were fortunately resting (albeit yapping incessantly) in their box. He attacked the trailer so violently that he left spatters of his own blood on the side of my pet carrier. Luckily, I was able to chase him away without having to resort to my only protection; a small canister of pepper spray. Imagine if my pooches weren’t in their mobile home at that particular time? My girlfriend, Tracy Breeze, gave me strict instructions: “Don't even think of coming home if anything happens to our dogs!”

I was planning on camping most nights, but when I arrived at the veritable oasis that is Popallin Ranch, ten hours after leaving Musina, it took little coaxing into taking out my credit card and spending a night in luxury. Monique did give me a discounted rate in support of my trip, for which I am exceptionally grateful for.

The four white lions patrolling the road from their enclosure, on the way to reception from the gate, are an amazing sight. I did notice a lioness lick her chops as my dogs scampered passed rather sheepishly. Even Turbo shut his trap for once! The lodge’s restaurant hugs the bank of the Nwanedi River; a flowing brown waterway that's filled with crocodiles and hippo. I made sure I kept my dogs close, which was now becoming a habit on this trip with all these predators about. After a delicious meal of true boere proportions and a healthy dose of carbohydrates in liquid form (i.e. a beer), I crashed on my bed under a thatch roof, with the sound of the overhead fan, chirping insects and the roar of lions lulling me to sleep.

The following morning’s silence was shattered by vervets chattering above my chalet. Turbo and Tequila were highly agitated by these noisy creatures, barking frantically as the monkeys mocked my mutts with their high-pitched chatter and aerial antics.

Day two was another cry of anguish and fear, “How am I going to reach Cape Town?” The terrain started off relatively easy, with only a few undulating hills. But as my dogs had run so much the first day, I had to rest their paws and let them ride in their mini chariot most of the way. In true African spirit, I moved at a snail's pace, as I headed south towards my ultimate goal - Cape Point.

The 'Big Tree' or Sagole Baobab is definitely worth a stop. Regarded as one of SA’s biggest indigenous trees, measuring 10.47 x 22 x 38.2 m, it truly is spectacular. Being about as religious as a brick, even I found the place to be spiritual.

A raw, natural energy filled me after I clambered up her knotty, elephant-sized limbs and rested in her branches, while enjoying my packed lunch. Even my fury companions were able to saunter up her arched bows. Run by the local municipality, it costs R21 to get through the gate to see this mighty baobab. As with most municipal officials, you will be lucky to find them at their post doing their job (if the state of our roads are anything to go by). So if you are passing through, there is a chance no one will be there to let you in.

My day ended with a three-hour slog up a gradual 10 km climb. Despite being on a busy road, I had to let my dogs out of their box, as I had to push my loaded steed most of the way up. I tethered my little friends to the front of my bike and repeatedly said, “Right doggies on the count of three, one, two, three, now pull!” to no avail.

Broken, I reached the village of Gundani. My goal was to leave the tar road and travel another 5 km on a 4x4 track to the community campsite of Gundani Mutsiwa. According to my guide book, you have to arrange your booking in advance. So instead, I decided to knock on the door of a Venda lady’s (Angelica) home and asked if I could camp in her garden. What a humbling and peaceful experience. Angelica welcomed me onto her land. She gave me water from her 25-litre drum, which she had to go and pump from a well some distance away. Feeling guilty (as I am too lazy to refill the water jug at home from a running tap), I apologised profusely as she repeated, “No problem, no problem,” and filled my bottles to the brim. Amazing!

Thanks to a full moon, my little green tent glowed inside. The surrounding village’s small homes, with misty, orange halos, reminded me of fireflies as the light from cheap, single incandescent bulbs marked their location. African drumming vibrated from a neighbour's yard, dogs barked in the distance, cows mooed and their bells clunked as I snored deeply on my inflatable mattress.

Much to my relief, the next three days were far easier going and I finished my mileage by lunchtime. My dogs and I had found our rhythm; I would alternate between focusing on my pedalling and yelling, “Turbo! Please … Shut … Up!” every few minutes, as he is an extremely vocal mutt. If he’s not whining, he’s barking for no particular reason.

It is days like these that draw me to cycle touring; the hum of tyres on tar, controlled breathing and miles of flat road. The hills in-between make the easier parts even sweeter. All locals en-route proved to be super friendly. I would wave and greet them as I cycled past. At first, a look of utter disbelief would cross their face, as they tried to make sense of my rig, then big smiles and cheers would follow. When I was quizzed about my destination, “Hey, you are lying,” with jaws agape, was a frequent response when I replied, “Cape Town,” with a fat smile on my face.