Posts tagged with “Peninsula motocycle”
There’s a Harley on my Stoep
We have friends. No, really.
Some of them just can’t sit still, and keep on coming up with ideas on how to pass the time. Things like going for a 13km mountain run. Or more sedately, visit a wine farm and stomp grapes to make our own wine. (They clearly never heard of feet fungi, but let’s not go there.)
So they landed us some daddy deal (we’re not spring chickens, you know) to go on a Harley Davidson bike ride in the Cape Town Peninsula with Cape Corporate Harley Tours. That sounded remarkably less tiresome than going for a 13km mountain run in Elgin, so we decided to force ourselves and join in the fun.
Rendezvous
So on a glorious Sunday morning in October we travelled out to Camps Bay. The rendezvous point was for ease of reference given with proximity to a rather splendid hotel in Camps Bay. For those not familiar with the place, Camps Bay is not too scruffy a place to stay. It’s different from, say, Brakpan. It’s a lot closer to the sea.
I was not involved in the arrangements, so I just headed for said hotel, trooped into the hotel with my family, and duly announced our presence. I noticed against the wall a large collage with pictures of princes, models, actors and the like that I assume make up the clientele of the establishment.
Come to think of it, years ago holidaying at the (very) small town of Gouritsmond I participated in a Mr Legs competition, and ended up being awarded the Mr Personality accolade. I’m still undecided as to whether I should take it as a compliment, or simply accept the snub and move on.
Sorry, I digress, but I just thought to make the point that I’m quite capable to hold my own amongst international models, given my own extensive experience as stated above.
Anyway, although slightly bemused, the staff at the hotel reception was quite graceful about this and let us hang around the foyer, basking in the reflected glory of the other guests. We did eventually gather that we’re not supposed to be inside the hotel, but that the basic benches outside where the bike parking is demarcated, that’s actually the spot to be. It just happened to be next to the entrance to the hotel.
So we discretely left the hotel in dignified fashion.
Enter the Harley team
Well, it was good preparation. The bikes turned out to be on par, as were our hosts. One of the couples in the group did the self-ride option. The rest of us each opted for a bike (or rider) of our choice.
We were given a few basic rules to adhere to (don’t get off the bikes at speed, don’t interfere with the driver).
And off we went.
The riders were themselves not teenagers anymore, so it was a mature and relaxed crowd. So was the ride.
The Harley experience commences when the bike is started. I have read somewhere that Harley Davidson at one stage unsuccessfully tried to register a trademark on the typical pute-pe-pute sound of their motorbikes. Then there are the looks of the Harleys. I guess the combination of the sound and looks is the thing that cause people to stand still and watch (and take pictures) as we travelled past.
The ride took us from Camps Bay, through Bakoven, and then further South on the scenic road with the mountain on one side and the ocean on the other side. At Llundudno the route swings to the left, going over the neck to Hout Bay, through Hout Bay and up the road to Chapman’s Peak up to the toll gate. There we made a u-turn whereafter we stopped at a lookout point overlooking Hout Bay.
There we did the ‘been there dunnit’ pictures, behaved stupid and had fun.
From there we travelled back to the Hout Bay harbour where we attended the Bay Harbour Market for something to eat.
After a while at the Harbour Market, Eskom also came to the party and switched on the lights again. We took it as a sign and decided it was time for the final ride back.
The ride has been unhurried. None of us was in any event in a mood for racing, but I could nevertheless feel the power of the 1300 V2 animal I was on as we went up the incline leaving Hout Bay.
I liked this. A lot, I’d say.
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