Warthog Kidney: July 2013

The Great Trek - 2013

Monday

It is over ten years since I drove the great North road - the highway from Cape Town to Johannesburg. When I was a student I probably did it at least once a year, often more. Often in one go - was I crazy? 1400km! When we stayed in KwaZulu and my family in Cape Town, we made the journey fairly often, maybe once in two years. Then we moved to Cape Town. I think we did the trip twice when our kids were small, once in an ancient Merc 200 and once in an even more ancient Corolla 1.6GL. Those were eventful trips, as I recall. Leaking fuel lines spring to mind. Gigantic thundering storms in the Eastern Free State, so violent we thought we would certainly be struck by lightning or blown off the road. Excitement, hope and glory. Thrilling stuff. And then we somehow grew up, grew out of having adventures, started using aeroplanes. So much more sophisticated, so much more convenient, so much more expensive, so bloody boring ....

One of the reasons we undertook our epic train journey across the USA in 2007, from Washington DC to Flagstaff and back, 100 train hours in all, was that I wanted my kids to get an idea of how big and full of variety the USA is. It worked. They still talk about it, 6 years later. Our country is nothing like as big as the US, but it is nevertheless big. Compare it to Holland. Or the UK. So I thought it was time to reacquaint ourselves with our great hinterland, our wide open spaces, our endless horizons, ... our heritage. Ok, the fuel price is hitting an all time high. In our little car it costs about a rand a km now. So a long trip sets you back a few thousand, and that is just for starters. But a plane ticket sets you back more, and there are four of us. So the decision was made - we would drive.

Cape Town, Beaufort West, Bloemfontein, Knysna and back to Cape Town, in a week. 2,200 km or so. Bring it on! Princess Secondborn and I would travel north and collect Princess Firstborn in Bloemfontein, who would accompany us back to the Mother City. At this stage I need to introduce another character to these blogs. It is overdue, since he has been a feature of our family life for some time now. He is princess secondborn's pursuer, a dapper youth I shall call Prince Lean Billed, given that he is of rather slight proportions. Prince Lean Billed would also be coming with us. I found this strangely comforting given that he is an absolute whizz when it comes to anything mechanical, and I am not. So dickey carburetors, strange noises from the engine compartment, oil stains on the tarmac - all his department and would be referred without further ado.

So it was that one very cold winter morning we set off from Cape Town. We waited until after 9 when all those pesky people going to work had cleared off the highways and byways of the City. The little Getz Diesel had just had a service and four new tyres. Despite the cold wind, it was dry. We stopped at the Winelands one stop to get some coffee. When we got to du Toit's kloof, I decided not to take the tunnel route, but to head up the old "up and over" R101. Not just to avoid paying the toll. I wanted to show the princess the views of the Hottentots Holland peaks, the Paarl and Franschoek valleys, Table Mountain in the far distance. The fairest Cape obliged us with some stupendous vistas and she happily clicked away with the supa dupa camera. There were proteas in bloom, baboons on the road ... it was really very pleasant.

Then in through Worcester, past de Doorns, up the Hex River pass. There was still a cap of brilliant white snow on Matroosberg. Dazzling. Touwsrivier passed. We continued to climb steadily as the vegetation changed from green fields to brown shrubs, the red brown sandstone to the grey shale of the Karoo. I tried to explain to the princess what little I remember from high school geography about folded mountains, sedimentary rocks, strata, table mountain sandstone, tafelberge and spitskoppe, fossils, glacial striae, all that stuff. Probably got most of it wrong. She listened politely.

Laingsburg, the river, the Vloed Museum, some OK burgers at Steers, and then on the road again. The "kanniedood" stretch between Laingsburg and Beaufort West. 200km of rather dull straight road. But today I found it beautiful. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was my mood. The quaint little town of Leeu Gamka. Only about ten houses, but two churches. How does that work? I remembered our train getting stuck there for two hours in the middle of summer once, while we waited for a technical person to drive out from Beaufort West and tap the wheels, before we could proceed. No aircon. Small kids.

You can see the mountains above Beaufort West for about 50km before you get to the town. They are really quite impressive. We passed the entrance to the Karoo National Park, where we once spent two nights camping and had a fun time. Then the town itself. The rather run-down main street - I told the kids it is notorious for prostitution. Or so I heard. We had booked at "Wagon Wheels Country Lodge", just outside on the Johannesburg side. Again, not the grandest establishment, but also not the most expensive. Under $50 for all three of us for the night.

We found room 25. It looked ok. Nothing luxurious, but the door locked, the windows closed, the toilet flushed and there was hot water. Life could be worse. I left the kids there and went for a run though the town. There were literally dozens of bed and breakfasts. I wondered how many of them actually had tenants. Most advertised that they were luxury, four star or whatever. Many were converted Victorian family homes. They looked nice enough but I figured we'd be fine in old Wagon Wheels. I ran back along the dam wall, disturbing a dassie. Not many years ago, they had such a bad drought here that the dam was virtually empty and they had to truck in water. Now the dam is full - about 2 feet below the spillover, which is good to see. There is "leiwater" in the channels in the streets. Gardens are looking green and lush. Clearly a good year.

My run was just under 7 km and I enjoyed most of it, the exception being the bits on the national road where I worried about the big trucks running me off the road. I got back and had a hot bath - which was wonderful. We decided to head back into town and patronise the Spur for dinner - as most South Africans know, Mondays at Spur are "2 for 1". It was not unexpectedly crowded. The kids ordered a chicken burger (they brought two) and I ordered something called a Texan flame burger, which turned out to be a chicken cordon bleu type thing, with a rather zesty chilli sauce. Not bad, but I couldn't manage the second one they brought, so we took a doggy bag - breakfast or lunch tomorrow, I guess.

So here we are in our little room, the kids watching TV, me writing this and listening to James Taylor's Mud Slide Slim on my iPhone (which I love). Life could be a lot worse. The adventure has begun...

Tuesday

I passed out last night with the earphones in and James droning away. Never a good idea. One usually wakes up with acute earache, not on account of James but on account of the earphone, which has now lodged itself in your ear canal. No matter. Went back to sleep fairly quickly only to be woken up around 5 by knocking at the door, a lot of shouting, revving of big diesel engines, and general commotion. Turned out to be the navy getting their corpulent bodies into gear. They had stayed over last night. Since when do the military stay in hotels - times have changed since I did basic training. I made my way to the door and inquired rather irritably of two large men in uniform who had knocked. They ignored me, so I asked again and they said something like "probably that guy" indicating one of their brothers in arms, who was also not interested. The noise went on for about an hour. The language was ... what one would expect. They finally moved off. Nobody missed them. Given that they had filled about 3/4 of the rooms, I guess management weren't going to entertain any complaints. They didn't when I tried.

Couldn't get back to sleep so left the sleeping beauties and made my way to the dining room where I managed to get some coffee and do my emails. Never a good idea, given that they only brought all the office issues back into focus. On the other hand, that is 50 less emails to read next Monday...

And now I must go and wake the "kids".

===

We had the Wagon Wheels breakfast - not bad considering. The boerewors was that thin Karoo wors which I like. Just tastes better. While we ate we were regaled with a mixture of upbeat "discofied" American country music and Afrikaanse liedjies. One of the latter consisted of some twit singing about the glories of Three Sisters. See later. We were finally ready to leave at around nine. A quick trip back into Beaufort West to fill up with diesel - wasn't sure I would make Colesberg or whether there would be fuel in Three Sisters. Then we hit the road again. It is about 100km to Three Sisters, which consists of a couple of garages and a few more houses - nothing to write home about. Definitely nothing to write a song about. The "town" lies where the N12 and N1 meet - the Kimberley and Bloemfontein roads, but otherwise there is not much to notice. The "sisters" themselves are quite impressive spitskoppe, but it was a little cloudy and they weren't that clearly visible. Then there is a rather tedious stretch to Colesberg. Somewhere on the stretch you pass from the Western to the Northern Cape Province. In the old days it was all one Cape Province / Kaap Provinsie or, in isiXhosa, "iKoloni", which I have always found a tad amusing. Not that you would notice. There is just a signboard telling you that you are now in Pixley something or other district, and I happen to know that is not one of ours.

Along the way you also go through Richmond and Hanover, two real Karoo dorps. We weren't in a hurry so diverted through each and had a look around. I find these quaint country towns interesting, especially the old houses and churches, but the kids were, I think, just thankful that they didn't live there or have to spend the night there. I expect the towns have a life of their own, but it wasn't evident when we visited. There were a number of stretches of roadworks along this section of the N1, with Stop/Go arrangements, which slowed us a down a bit. At some, the local kids had seized the moment and were begging from the stopped cars. Afraid they didn't get anything from me, not only because I didn't have any. Just all beggared out in Cape Town.

Colesberg is similar, just a little bigger. It brought back memories of a number of previous trips - from staying in the International Cafe for R5 a night when I was a student to looking for a restaurant on New Year’s Eve a few years ago, hungry for Karoo lamb chops, and eventually having to go to the Wimpy at the One Stop because everything else was closed.

Just after Colesberg you cross the Orange River which even in the dry season is pretty impressive. We didn't divert to the nearby Gariep Dam (previously the Hendrik Verwoerd Dam, until that name became decidedly non-PC). I wouldn't have minded going, but we still had a few hours to Bloemfontein and didn't want to be late for Princess Firstborn.

The last couple of hundred Kilo's through to Bloemfontein are not bad - single lane, but with frequent passing lanes. No tolls, thankfully - those come between Bloemfontein and Johannesburg. Lots of trucks, but didn't seem too bad. We got there around 4.30 and had time to fill up with diesel, find the University and Princess Firstborn's workplace by 5.15. We got a quick tour of the unit, met some of her colleagues and then headed for her flat in Heuwelsig, which appears to be the Constantia of Bloemfontein. She rents a cottage in the garden of a medical specialist and his wife, on Rayton Ridge, which looks north towards the Botanical Gardens. The garden is full of indigenous trees, particularly cabbage trees, which are some of my favourites. Consequently the bird life is good. I got to thinking about north facing houses and gardens. All my life I have heard about them - it is like an added bonus, an extra selling point, if your house is north facing in SA. Obviously because it gets more sun and is warmer in winter. But maybe there is something in our psyche as well, which prefers them. Looking north, away from the Cape, away from the Mother City, the connection to Europe, the umbilical cord, the British ... I wonder.

Wednesday and Thursday

We spent a couple of days in Bloemfontein. I got in two lovely runs in the Heuwelsig vicinity. Wide roads, no wind, no rain, cool dry air, beautiful views - it was great. We visited the Botanical and Zoological gardens, the Mimosa Mall, the Waterfront, the Olievenhuis art gallery and restaurant, and a sushi place - all in about 36 hours. Not bad, I thought. The town itself reminded me a little of what Johannesburg used to look like, about 40 years ago, when I was growing up, before it became the huge, terrified, gated community it is today. I liked Bloemfontein and thought I could easily live there. The people I met seemed very friendly, from the princess's landlord and landlady to the waitress at Primi's, who taught me how to say thank you in seSotho.

Then it was on the road again, back down the N1. This time just as far as Colesberg where we took the left fork onto the N9 and headed down towards Middelburg and Graaf Reinet, our intended overnight. I had purposely not booked because I thought we might get a better "last minute" deal at a B and B. We went over a couple of passes. I forget the names, but the first gave an altitude of around 1700m. The terrain was quite mountainous and a lot more interesting than the stretch from Colesberg to Beaufort West. The vegetation was still quite scrubby and sparse, but greener and lusher than that along the N1. It was overcast, spitting with rain on and off, and there was a strange yellow light which was very attractive. Before long we had passed Middelburg (didn't look very interesting, apart from the name of the hospital, which sounded very German and made me wonder) and then Nieu Bethesda - I had wanted to have a look around, but it was getting dark and rainy. We stopped at the offices of the National Park, but they said they were full and referred us into town.

And so we arrived in Graaf Reinet. One comes in past the township and the first part of the town looks like any other Eastern Cape town, with cash and carry stores, taxi ranks and the like, but further on is the old town, with the colonial architecture, and it is quite charming. We drove up and down the impossibly wide streets, looking for possible accommodation. It had started raining a little harder. I went into one B and B and was told that they could only give us two rooms at about R1000 each. When I intimated that that was more than I had in mind, they referred me down the road and we eventually got a whole house for R1000, including breakfast for 4. Not bad, I thought. It is actually a semi-detached house. The ceilings must be about 20 foot high. The walls are thick. The electrical distribution board looks like it is from world war one. But it is clean, warm, safe and comfortable, and we are very happy. We had the leftover chicken cordon bleu's for supper, with avocado on toast and now we are watching Leon Schuster's panic mechanic on TV - mindless, but there you are. Can't get much more South African than that. More is nog 'n dag ....

Friday

Friday morning was cold, misty and wet in Graaf Reinet. The establishment manager accused us of having brought it with us, but in that part of the country they are never upset by a bit of rain - they certainly need every drop. We made a short dash through the rain to the dining room, which appeared to be the converted space between two of the houses, nicely furnished and decorated. We had the full house, including the hash browns. Very nice! Then we hit the road to George, with a quick stop at the local Shell for diesel.

The road was good, the scenery lovely, flat topped mountains bathed in soft yellow light. The rain stopped after a short while and we trundled down some mountain passes to Aberdeen and then across a large plateau to Willowmore, then some more passes down to Uniondale. We passed a large empty dam with an impressive sort of scalloped wall which we discovered was the Beervlei dam. I could not figure out why it was empty - totally empty - until I found a notice in the parking lot informing me that it had been built in the 1950's as flood protection for the Sundays River valley and is maintained at 0% capacity. OK ...

We crossed the Western Cape border and then it was on to Uniondale. Now we had to make a decision - should we take the shortest route or the safest route. The shortest would have been the R339 straight over the Outeniquas to Knynsa. Dirt road. People I asked looked dubious and reviews I read were guarded. The safest route is just to follow the N9 through to George. It follows the line of the mountains and then breaks through between Oudtshoorn and George down the Outeniqua Pass. Tarred, well maintained, passing lanes. Stunning views. Discretion proved the better part of valour. We followed the N9.

We had booked two nights at Carmel, just outside George on the Knysna side, set on a hill overlooking Victoria Bay. It is a Christian retreat centre. I have been a number of times and the kids have been twice, though they couldn't remember the first time. I love it there. The accommodation is modest but clean and comfortable. The surroundings as absolutely gorgeous, with views across Vic Bay towards Wilderness, a string of headlands, each one fainter, stretching away to Knysna. The gardens are indigenous, and at this time of the year lots and lots of aloes in flower, but also some of my favourite trees – cabbage trees, yellowwoods, waterberries. Everything has been placed with thought, it appears. The chapel has a huge glass window allowing one a full panorama of the coast. There is a bird hide built out of high supports which catches the early morning sunrise superbly. Just beautiful. Mealtimes are communal, which puts some people off. One usually ends up sharing ones table with others and they can be quite talkative. Not so good if one is searching for solitude and quiet. We managed to find the one table with only five chairs so were pretty much left to our own devices. The food is wholesome and generously proportioned. Meat/foul/fish plus 2 veggies, soup and home-made bread, pudding, coffee or tea. Porridge for breakfast, plus bacon and fried eggs. Kind of stuff I grew up on. And all this for less than a B and B would have cost…

We went through to Knysna on the Friday afternoon to register for the race on Saturday. There were roadworks outside Wilderness, which was a little tedious, and a lot of traffic in and around Knysna, not unexpectedly, since the Oyster Festival was in full swing. I found the tent, picked up my number and e-tag, declined to be sold an iPhone holder for R270, failed to find a pair of blue running shorts (which we are supposed to wear), and we left. We popped in at Vic Bay on the way home and had a walk along the promenade to Lands End, “vir oulaas”. Still one of my favourite places on earth. There were still a few surfers around, though the sun was setting and most had gone home. We had parked quite far up the parking lot in an effort to avoid the parking attendants (!) and when we walked back we decided (or I decided) to take the boardwalk, which tracks up the hillside and then down again. Only to find that it was missing large sections in its last and steepest section. No problem, the princesses did a sort of gymnastics bar regime and Prince Lean Billed and I did some cross country stuff.

Dinner was a communal affair back at Carmel. Their philosophy is presumably that Christian fellowship is a Good Thing, and so one inevitably ends up sitting with some strangers and having to talk to them. This freaks teenagers out, but they got used to it. The family we sat with was very pleasant. The meal was what my mother would have called “wholesome” – soup and homemade bread to start, pieces of roast chicken, veges, rice for mains, and melva pudding for desert, all washed down with coffee. I enjoyed it. We excused ourselves as soon as it was polite to do so, and headed for our rooms. I joined the youngsters in a few games of Uno, and came last, but then decided to go and get myself ready for the race.

First decision: had to decide whether to take the long sleeved top or the vest. Easy decision when I remembered just about freezing at the start 2 years ago. Second decision: had to decide whether to wear blue cotton rugby shorts, as is required by ASA rules, or grey synthetic running shorts, Again as easy decision – I thought of 42km worth of cotton shorts rubbing against tender loin skin and went for grey. Decisions made, the rest was easy. Electronic tag threaded into shoelaces. Number pinned to running top. New socks and running cap placed ready. Running watch ready but we’ll do without the chest strap – who cares what the heart rate is! Cell phone and arm band holder ready. Again, probably do without the GPS as it would exhaust the battery, but need the phone for emergencies.

Saturday

I had set 2 alarms for 3 a.m. And it was a Saturday. I managed to get myself moving and staggered about getting myself together. The kids were up – bless them, they had agreed to take me through and drop me. I wasn’t happy for PF to go alone so everyone was going together. I drove through. It was dark, quiet and a little spooky. We saw maybe 3 other cars, but as we got near Knysna there were a few more, and once we neared the turnoff to Loerie Park, quite a lot more. I parked the car, got out and said my farewells to PF, putting on the plastic over-garment they supply you with – like a garbage bag with holes for your arms. I watched as the little car’s lights faded into the distance – they were going back to Carmel to sleep. There were a few other runners heading up the road so I just followed them. After a few blocks we came to the pickup point and had to show our race numbers and taxi tickets. Then we got put into a waiting taxi and soon we were off into the night. Up past Nekkies with the engine groaning. The only way for the driver to get the ancient beast up the steep uphills was to gun it on the downhills. Which he did. I thought the old crate would fall apart. I became aware of a cold draft on my bare legs at one stage and, thinking that a door or window was open, tried to close it. My fellow passenger pointed out that all windows and doors were in fact closed, but that there were gaps in the bodywork. We arrived at the drop off point and the ancient vehicle came to a squeaking halt. The two folks in the front seats got out but we couldn’t open the sliding door. The fellow who had told me about the gaps in the bodywork gave it an almighty kick, which I think made it worse. The driver got out and came around, fiddled for about five minutes – he couldn’t open it. Eventually we climbed out of the window! AT least I did, I am not sure how the rest escaped.

From the drop off point you walk about half a km along a forest trail to the starts. There is a clearing alongside a dirt road and the 21km start faces one way (east), the 42km start faces the other (west). When I arrived there were relatively few runners around. It was COLD! At the top of the clearing was a large Bedouin type tent, under which were the Pick ‘n Pay sponsored tables with hot coffee, tea, chocolate, and rusks, energy bars, banana’s and apples. All complimentary. I helped myself and walked back down to the lower part of the clearing where there was a small dam (making things colder), stream and a number of wood fires, each attended by someone (the fire risk in the middle of a pine plantation is obviously a huge concern). I chose a spot by a fire, found a low brick wall to sit on, took out my cell phone, opened Kindle and read some more of George Sheehan’s “Running and Being”. Thought I might find some inspiration. He makes the point that 100m sprints are all about muscle; marathons are all about mind. And he says a lot else besides. I really like his writing.

It was quite a long 2 hours waiting for the start, but it was preferable to the mayhem which I knew was going on down in Knysna. At one stage I went back to the tent and got some more coffee and a banana, losing my place at the fire in the process. The numbers had swelled meanwhile and the clearing was pretty full. They had got the PA system going and someone was going on about what a great race it was, interspersed with comments about the South African in the Tour de France and the possible results of the day’s rugby matches. There were very long queues outside what had been labeled “Toilet Town”. The other option is to take a warm up trot up the road and find a tree, which I did. I was a little surprised to pass a group of three female runners who had made the same decision but were having some difficulty finding a suitable spot, with much accompanying giggling. There are definite advantages to being male.

Time crept on to 7.00. Gradually the “real runners” left the campfires and made their way towards the 42km start. I was next to a woman from Gauteng called Phumzile. She told me she worked for Classic FM radio in Johannesburg and ran for the same club. I asked her what time she was targeting. She laughed and said “Sub-qualifying”, in other words anything less than the cut-off. But she was a triple Comrades veteran. The announcements came over the PA and then the gun. I wishes her good luck, pushed the start button on my watch, and we set off. It was still dark and quite cold. No one was charging ahead which made a pleasant change from the usual 21km. There was plenty of space to move – only about 1000 runners entered and some no shows. Some of the runners were in groups, some ran alone. I like running alone. I zoned out and just enjoyed the occasion.

The kilometers were well marked. I had aimed to run at 8.5kph to make 5 hours, which meant 7 minutes per km. My major concern was going too fast, as I knew the second half of the race was tough and in the last marathon I ran out of puff. So I just relaxed and went with the flow. The sun came up. The road slowly turned south and then east. At 14km (1/3) my watch showed 8.30. I was on track for 4.5h if I kept it up. At 28km it showed 10.00. Still on track. This was beginning to look good. I asked a fellow runner, “Have you run this race before?” “Yes,” she said. “Is there much more uphill?” I asked. “Oh yes,” she said, and I got the impression she stopped short of telling me more. “Oh, then I’d better keep something in reserve,” I said. She nodded.

Somewhere around that point we were passed by a Bakkie, hooting like crazy, three runners on the back screaming “Move left, Make way!” or something similar. I moved over. I was a bit irritated – they were spoiling the quiet and calm of the forest where before there had only been the soft putter putter of the runners’ footfalls before. We were none the wiser – the bakkie disappeared. A little later a lady came past on a mountain bike. I called ahead to ask runners to move over for her. “No rush,” she said, “Are you part of the group who took the wrong turning?” I said that as far as I knew we hadn’t. “Oh,” she said, “evidently the front runners did and ran 10km further than they should have – they had to take them back to the front in a bakkie!” So that is who the 3 runners on the bakkie were. Some poor race marshal would be for the high jump!

Every three km was a refreshment stall, staffed by support people from the Knysna Marathon Club. One must really take one’s hat off to them – they had been at their station since before 7 and faithfully doled out Cokes, water sachets to 1000 or so runners without any complaints. Some of the stations have music, some not. All of them have encouraging words and welcome applause. Well done, guys. So I guess it was at about the 30km stall that they said to us “The first runner came through about an hour ago and it was a GIRL!”. Not sure why that was such a remarkable thing, but suspect it had something to do with the three in the bakkie. The gradient up until 30km had been gently up and down – nothing to write home about. After 22 km it took a dramatic turn for the worse. First a steep short up, then a long and very steep down, from around 23km to 32km, down a stunningly beautiful mountain pass with precipitous drops on the left to a river, then a grueling long uphill, from 32km to 35km, winding up through the plantation to a fancy golf estate, where we joined the 21km route, and then another steep downhill – that took us up to about 38km I think. So that was about 16km of roller coaster, and it really killed my legs – not only the uphill. The result was that by the time I got to the final 4km I could only shuffle along. I walked once or twice, but found the energy to run the final 2km along the promenade and into the stadium. I was watching the clock. 2 runners passed me and I heard him say to her “Just keep on like you are and you’ll make it.” It being 5 hours. “Damn it,” I thought, “I can also make it.” So I gritted my teeth, concentrated on my breathing and tried hard to ignore the pain in my muscles and joints. It worked. I crossed the line with 23 seconds to spare. The announcer even got my name right.

I cannot describe the feeling. 5 hours for a standard marathon is no great shakes, but for me it was an achievement. I could have cried and nearly did. I took my medal and held it as though it really was gold plated. I grabbed a couple of cokes from the table, and an Energade, and wandered through the channels to the exit where I found an open piece of grass and lay down. I sent sms’s to herself and the kids – they had been held up at a roadblock so hadn’t been there for my finish. “No worries,” I said, “I looked like a piece of crap when I came in, so you didn’t miss anything!”

We got a boerewors roll each, bought a T shirt and then headed back to the car and back to George. I bathed (with some of the Deep Heat stuff they had given us in our Goody Bags) and went and lay down on my bed. Soon I was asleep. I got up around 6 and we went for dinner, which was steak and veges – delicious. There was no TV in the establishment, so we drove into George and found the Spur to watch the Super XV rugby match between the Sharks and the Bulls, sipping a Windhoek Draught while I watched. The kids had milkshakes. Then we drove back and went to bed. I didn’t have the energy for Uno.

Sunday

I was up just before dawn, dressed and packed. We had to be out of our rooms by 10 and it was a 4-5 hour drive back to Cape Town. Carmel’s grounds are quite extensive and run down several sides of the hillside. They have landscaped them beautifully and planted a lot of indigenous trees, shrubs and flowers. It really is very pretty and peaceful. I went and sat in a shelter called “Gordon’s Rest” and watched the sunrise over the headlands. Indescribable. It felt very peaceful.

Too soon it was breakfast and then time to head West to Cape Town. The trip was pretty uneventful. The weather was turning a little but not bad. PF drove about 200km and I drove the rest. We stopped for cold drinks in Heidelberg.

It had been a full week. 2800km and 7 full days. 4 different towns. A Marathon. Lots of interesting places visited. It persuaded me of two things. Firstly, I miss those old style family holidays where the trip was part of the holiday. Secondly, I can run a marathon and even enjoy a marathon. Bring them on….