TG Newsletter: NORTH EAST SOUTH WEST
Never Eat Soggy Waffles
(7 - 10 April 2023)
Well.. adventure is adventure, is it not?
Still, on the other hand, north is north and south is south. And if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce, they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.
Now, you come back and tell me what you found.
Let’s dive straight into the matter:
Skinny and Chikita decided to rope in two friends by the name of Ettas and Vince, because they needed four souls for this misguided adventure.
They loaded four bikes onto the bakkie and trusty 2M Lazy Lowder, and whisked them all away to a secret destination. After a few hours of driving, Roxette-sing-alongs, and guess-my-job games, they killed the engine at a small Free State town called Winburg. Staying in the Winburg hotel, the foursome gulped down a few coldies in the enchanting little pub, catching up on lives that nobody lived.
That evening, each adventurer had to draw a mystery direction – NORTH, EAST, SOUTH OR WEST.
Armed with a map and mission objective, you had to ride a minimum of 220km, by your lonesome self, into your direction. This distance was marked by a predetermined town where you would have to buy something or somehow prove that you hit the spot. You could also go further, less direct, taking tar roads, dirt roads, or non-existent foot paths. Even the least ticklish fancy was spoilt for choice.
For this one-nighter, you would have to bunk somewhere on course! You could camp, wild camp, bum a bed with a friendly local, pick up a one-night stand or sleep under the bar at the local pub if your pick-up lines were unsuccessful… The only catch was the R800 budget-in-a-bankie. This had to cover ALL your expenses – petrol, accommodation, munchies and dop – no crookies! You were however allowed to pack your own snacks and dop, or beg on the street corner for spare change, as long as you video-ed / photo-ed everything, for bookkeeping purposes.
A Short To-Do List
Because it’s the least you can do – video / photograph everything!
1. Tequila! Buy one, beg one, steal one.
2. Visit a body of water – anything greater than a bath tub. A pool, a dam, a waterfall, a water crossing.
3. Meet a donkey or a horse and ask him what his name is. Report back.
4. Meet three different people along the way, and ask them to share a secret with you.
The next day, the four wayward horsemen would make their way back to Winburg Hotel for a night of stories, cold beers and a braai. On the way back to Pretoria, everyone would donate their left-over spending money (a reason to be stingy) to anyone who might appreciate the small pecuniary gift.
Let’s get going!
Chikita (South)
Get an early move-on because if you want to take good pictures you need golden light! My thoughts and prayers were with the boys going north and east because it looked like they were headed for a monsoon… I was riding south, and the sun was (mostly) out in that direction, I felt lucky to be me!
One of our assignments was to meet a horse and find out its name. This one was by far the friendliest, but he only whispered sweet nothings in my ear which was not very helpful at all.
It was still early and I didn’t have far to go so I stopped often, trying to photograph the essence of a largely featureless landscape. The nostalgia factor was high though, with the windmills and donkeys and cosmos and sunflowers! I don’t know too much about farming, but I hope all the late summer rains were welcome…
I didn’t ride many tarred roads, knowing how badly beaten they are, but between two small towns I was slowly slaloming around a few trenches when my nose caught wind of the feta-and-olive snack packet I had popped into my jacket pocket last-minute. I must have squashed it while squeezing through the holes in the road… It was a right oily mess, seasoned with herbs and spices that couldn’t have done my personal body odour any flavours… I’d intended for my last bath to last the duration of the trip!
I passed the only other bike in the entire southland, a blue Super Ténéré, when I turned into Tweespruit for a fuel top-up. Comet is so easy on the gas…and the ass too! The Free State is swarming with wide open dirt roads which is where the rally seat really soars!
I left Wepener as soon as I arrived. My navigation system brought me via the Jammersdrift bridge and a crowded foot path through a small forest into the town where some sewerage was overflowing, and most buildings had been stripped bare. Unfortunately, I misread a sign for the Ford Laser Hotel, thinking it was the skeleton of a building on the corner while actually it is up into the side street. Next time!
From there I took the first dirt road, still shifting steadily south. I’d found myself settling into the now more ominous climate and was glad to be wearing my rain inner. The drizzle did not fizzle. I was cold and wet, but it was an adventure, and a bit of a competition maybe even, so I had to push on. Plus, as a bonus, my aforementioned unfortunate little oil spill had washed clean off! I stopped by a small lake where some red-knobbed coots and darters were bobbing about, and I checked my global position. Vanstadensrus was where I was headed.
I disembarked, dripping wet, at my dictated destination during the downpour’s demise, at last. ‘Tis but a two-horse town and I met them both, thanks to Moshe, Katlego and Bohlale who were so kind to show me where I could buy me a Red Bull and them each a packet of Toppers biscuits. I wondered if the old Asian man I saw leaving the supermarket perhaps owned the place – it was called Hour Grass after all. Apologies if that’s racist.
The horse on the right was called “Push-up” and the one on the left had a name that made no sense to me but sounded like “Groin”, so I don’t know. Comet was faster through town than the two horses, but not through the mud. More about this later…
We celebrated the bike’s 3000th kilometre with sweet scenery and smooth trails. This little scoot has certainly made the most of its relatively short existence, so far! There was still plenty of daylight left since the sun re-joined the party, so I figured I’d carry on a while longer.
It was about 3pm when I realised I had skipped breakfast and lunch because I was riding so lekker! I ordered “just” a cheeseburger please at Nell’s restaurant in Zastron, but what I got was a frickin’ gourmet cheeseburger, with the obligatory tequila chaser. A friendly couple at an adjacent table asked about my trip, and I started explaining that we – “I see only one bike, where’d you lose the others?” – that us four wayward horsemen had split up into four separate directions, and that I had hoped to do Lundin’s Neck, but it was already too late and I had to start looking for a place to camp. – “We happen to have a campsite on our farm!” – That was way too easy!
While they finished their meal, I started making my way to the Marais farm. I hit a few dead ends and made a few wrong turns but that’s how I roll. Failing light. Camera shyness. Aaand ACTION!
The Ruff & Tuff campsite is situated right on the Lesotho border, and I was very opgewinde to be steering little Comet towards some actual mountains! I had Google Maps open but had somewhere lost my location thanks to incessant data roaming notifications, and accidentally took the wrong path going straight up the hill. It was extremely steep, and I worried that we might not make it, but as long as the little bike kept on going up, who was I to rain on his parade?! After a short, near-vertical ascent we were overlooking that entire valley below…
It was so stunningly perfect that I decided to make myself at home straightaway. After pitching my tent and neatly unpacking and organising all my things, I looked at my phone again and confirmed my suspicions that this was indeed not the campsite, but it was close enough. So, I sent my lovely hosts a message to let them know I’m safely settled in, even though I missed the mark a little bit.
The reply came that it’s too dangerous so close to the fence, and that they’d prefer me coming down to where they knew I’d be safe… Fair enough, they feel responsible for me being on their property and this was definitely better than getting shot at or hijacked, so I happily obliged when JB came and escorted me back down with his quadbike called “Oorlog”!
Lightning and thunder raged deep into the night, and it rained on that tin roof non-stop for hours! I cosied up to Comet and even though I had looked forward to camping, I was very grateful to be indoors. My tent and everything in it would have slid all the way down the side of that slick, wet mountain!
In the wee hours, I awoke from the whining wind and found that the skies had pretty much all cleared up. A bright white moon was peeping through the tiny window and as I watched the little block of light crawl across the cow dung floor, I started preparing myself for a muddy ride out! By the time I had some water boiled, everything was packed up. I let myself enjoy my hot cup of tea, but I was anxious to get going.
I must say, the dirt roads were none as bad as I had feared. I was the first to make tracks and maybe this made all the difference. Again, I stopped as often as I could to get good pictures in the morning light. And it seemed everything was going to be just dandy!
As it turns out, even with my best intentions, my sense of direction can’t always be trusted. I ended up in a loop going basically backwards, so, I flipped a coin at a fork in the road, because either way was going to be uncharted territory for me. Fate decided we would go up towards Thaba Nchu. I just remembered how SABC2 weather presenters used to pronounce it “tabaansjoe” and thought, okay, cool, let’s go check out the forecast over there…
I waded through the hustle and bustle of suburban Thaba Nchu, taking some narrow shortcuts across the neighbourhoods, feeling a little isolated and uneasy.
I was relieved to get out the other side, only to discover that the traffic load had turned terra firma into sludge. For miles and miles up ahead, all I could see was a sadistic Mud Mistress, about to make a pro duck-walker out of her next victim. When I had my first moment, I put the bike down gently, just so that I could manage my emotions before I attempt to pick it up, except when I bent my knees to lift with my legs, my feet started slipping, and I had to pitter-patter for twenty-four seconds before I had Comet all the way upright! A long-legged Xpulse is not what you want here, you want a four-legged horse!
Suddenly I had no more time for taking pretty pictures. I went into survival mode. I inched ever closer to the four-way crossing on my map, hoping that any one of those directions might be sand, or rocks, or, god-forbid, be tarred! But I must have used up all my wishes when I lucked out with last night’s accommodation, because today I had to work for it.
Not knowing how long this was going to go on for, I just tried to keep moving. The clouds were huddling up again and I knew I was not going to outrun this one. I was losing my sense of humour a little bit, and seeing other people stuck in the mud didn’t make me feel any better either, I couldn’t laugh at them because I was technically one of them! And tried as I might, nobody was interested in trading their horse for a Hero. Not even with a cash difference!
I wonder if I’ll make smarter choices next time now that I have this experience to look back on. Bwahahahaha! Delusions of grandeur! On the outskirts of one of the small settlements, I started down another slippery track where the grass next to it was even slipperier! Nevertheless, I persevered, not without depleting my expletive reserves, and eventually connected an S-road to Verkeerdevlei, by which time it had started to rain again. I could hardly see the road but was trying to catch footage of the lightning, so that I may not die in vain, I appeased myself, but the batteries had all gone and I had to pack my phone away out of the deluge.
I had one last decision to make. Dirt or tar. I went for the dodgy dirt. Traffic is too scary when you can only do 80km/h on whatever fumes are left in the tank and visibility is poor… For the last 20km though, there was only one option left and I had to brave the N1 highway. I took the first turnoff to Winburg, and came into town from the arse end, completely disoriented. I was second to arrive after my 595km round trip and had the most spending money left (R463) 😊 I’d never been so happy to reunite with my bestie from the west, who’d had a hundred new stories of her own to share with me all at once!
No matter what direction you take – remember the stories!
Vincent (East)
Not Least, I Went East
Skinny called me at work to invite me on an adventure and being a fan of her and Chikita's previous escapades, I eagerly asked her where we were going. She replied that it was a secret, so I told her I would call her back. A little while later, I sent her a message with two words, "I'm in!"
The next morning, Skinny picked me up in Hartbeespoort and we headed to Pretoria to meet Etienne and Chikita. After loading up the bikes, Etienne was instructed to head south. After a few hours, we arrived at our destination, which turned out to be Winburg.
In Winburg we went to the hotel bar to quench our thirst and, of course, to kuier. When it was time to choose a map lying on the table, I picked the one that led East. Etienne jealously told me that this was the best direction and the look on the others' faces told me I had made an excellent choice. My destination was Harrismith. Etienne immediately grabbed my map in the light of the load shedding and started pointing out fun locations and routes.
When our host and bar man heard this, he immediately suggested I go past Kestell, where an ex-policeman and fellow biker named Ampie lived. He called Ampie and told him that ‘King’ would be passing by.
The next morning, I woke up to see Etienne kitted and ready to go. Being a boarding school boytjie, I was dressed and ready in under five minutes, just in time to see Skinny and Chikita roaring off into the distance. After my stuff was attached to the strapping young Hero Xpulse, Clark, I hit the road like a pair of excited male donkeys' things that hang under.
From Winburg, I took the N5 to Senekal, heading for the mountains in the distance.
After Senekal, I turned off towards Rosendal on a holy mess of a road that should have gone straight but left me weaving like a drunkard.
After Rosendal, I found a dirt road that was strangely in much better condition than the tar road, even though it had a ‘road closed’ sign up.
This meant I had the road to myself, and the mountains and valleys made me feel like I was in a storybook.
The Hero was in its element, and what once was a speed restriction sign of 60kph had faded from red to blue in the Free State sun, meaning I could really enjoy this piece of road.
When the stunning dirt road ended, I was somewhere between Ficksburg and Fouriesburg on an even worse tar road than before. This meant that the Hero was the fastest thing on tar. I did not enter Fouriesburg, which, of course, had nothing to do with the traffic police parked at the entrance or the fact that two indicator bulbs on the Hero had blown due to my gentle riding style, and that I had forgotten to bring my license along…
Now, I was heading for the place I really wanted to go to: Clarens. I had heard there was a cherry festival but didn't know it had anything to do with fruit. Clarens was everything I had heard of and more, with craft breweries, art galleries, sidewalk cafes and a great vibe. The autumn leaves added colour to the landscape, and it was definitely a place I will visit again. Maybe I will even find some cherries!
On Etienne's advice, I headed towards Kestell via the Golden Gate Highlands National Park. Entrance was free and the views were priceless. The roads were filled with winding sections and switchbacks that bikers love.
Just before exiting the park, I turned onto a dirt road called S22. It went through the mountains and ended up very close to Kestell. I did not meet a single person on the road, and if I had fallen, I might still have been lying there. I recommend the S22 for any bikers willing to hit some dirt.
When I arrived in Kestell, I found my way to the police station and inquired about Ampie. His house was pointed out to me, but due to the presence of a bloody big Boerboel, I decided to head to the pub instead. Luckily, at the pub, I met Ampie's son who took me directly to Ampie.
He proclaimed, "The King has arrived!" and proceeded to pour me a beer. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that I spoke Afrikaans, and we were able to communicate without an interpreter. I told him about my challenge to find tequila, to which he produced some locally produced tequila - a remnant of the lockdown era that a local had produced. Unfortunately, the camera didn't work on the first shot, so I had to have another for the record, of course. He offered me a place to sleep and food from the pot, but I foolishly opted to head for my destination while the sun was still shining.
Harrismith was not what I expected. I stopped at the first bar where I had a weird experience with a local that left me uncomfortable. I decided to do a relative sprint as fast as the trusty Hero would take me back to Kestell. As I rode off into the orange sunset, the temperature started to drop. I stopped on the side of the road and proceeded to put almost every piece of clothing on, including my winter inner. I now know why it's called the Freeze State.
Back in Kestell, the Kemp family (Ampie and his lovely wife Frieda) welcomed me back with a cold beer and a warm plate of delicious potjiekos. We had a very enjoyable evening with karaoke, good music and great company. I only found my warm, comfortable bed in the early hours of the morning. The next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast of scrambled eggs, fried onions, bacon, sausages and toast, I reluctantly said my goodbyes.
The way back was just as beautiful as the way there, except I got to see everything from a different angle. Just past Senekal, I encountered a rainstorm that made me feel like I was walking on water. That is the problem with waterproof riding boots; they keep the water in! When I arrived back in Winburg, shaking, shivering, and 375 rands rich after 658km, I found that Skinny and Chikita had already arrived and were warm and dry. I followed their lead and had a nice, long, warm bath, and all was right with the world. Warm and dry, Skinny and Chikita made me a hot coffee on their gas cooker, and we started sharing experiences. Not too long after, Etienne arrived looking cold, wet, and miserable. He too headed for a bath.
We all gathered to see how much money was left over and to start telling stories and sharing our experiences. This was an experience I will never forget and cannot wait until I get to do something like this again.
Etienne (North)
It was with great excitement that I left Winburg after quite a heavy night at the Winburg Hotel. I do not know how many Tequilas, Red Heart and Cokes were consumed, but it was numerous, and I was feeling better than I thought I would. I put it down to the eagerness to get going on a bike trip again. It has been quite a while for me!
I had drawn the ‘NORTH’ card last night and my destination was to be the buzzing metropolis of Klerksdorp.
Now, there really is boggerol between Winburg and Klerksdorp so I thought it best to hit the first small town west of the N1 that I could find and then make my way north. The main aim was to avoid the N1 at all costs.
As I pulled out of Winburg with the 1090 mothership starting to take off, I spotted a small little light coming my way. It was Skinny pointing feverishly at the engine of the DR650. I turned around and we chatted to see what the issue could be… I will let her explain. 😊
After a quick spin back to Winburg, everything was sorted, and I pointed the mothership west towards Theunissen.
Small farm roads took me all the way to Welkom where I decided that 10:30am is as good a time as any to start with a Tequila.
Quick breakfast and a Tequila later, I was back on the road heading to Phakisa Raceway for a pic, but the heavens opened and pissed on my parade, so I headed north to Bothaville, then Orkney.
I parked myself in a very Afrikaans camp site, it was a revelation into the Afrikaans-Paas-Naweek-Rivier-Oewer-Kampterrein, even for me, who is Afrikaans! Sjoe, I was scared to even mention to anyone that I have a British wife because I would have gotten donnered!
I had a quiet evening by myself, reading, drinking milo made on my little stove while chomping down bread rolls and viennas! All while it was raining. Luckily I have a lekker waterproof tent!
Packing up camp in the rain, I decided to head to Klerksdorp, then Stilfontein and head back through the Vredefort Crater.
Klerksdorp, well what a dump. Last time I was there was about 22 years ago when I dated a girl from Klerksdorp, it has gone backwards massively. Not sure what ever happened to the girl, probably also gone backwards massively!
I made my way to Scandinavia Drift, then onto dirt roads to the Schoemansdrift Bridge over the Vaal River.
Made my way to Vredefort, then Kroonstad for the powderiest garage pie ever! It is a wonder that I did not have gieter-gat after that pie!
In Kroonstad I saw dark clouds towards the South-West, so I decided to head South-East.
It did not help as there was rain everywhere with the name ‘South’ in it.
I got very wet from Steynsrus to Senekal and arrived back in Winburg, cold, wet but incredibly happy, having covered 669km with 77 randelas to spare!
Skinny (West)
So, my needle settled on west.
Starving for story, a hunger for adventure, a slight terror for the unknown, I packed my bags and headed west; and then, not so much…
My riding stopped as soon as it started! As I pulled off from the hotel, I heard a worrisome *cluck-cluck-cluck* clatter! The only thing I could imagine it being, was the chain we had tensioned the day before. Round the block, back to point A. We quickly relaxed the chain some and thought… that’s that then. But oooh-wee… Nope! The *cluck-cluck-cluck* continued…
In the main road I decided to give a spurt of juice to see if the chain would settle – JUST AS A BLEDDIE SPIETKOP APPROACHED FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF TOWN. This would not be so concerning if… IF… I did not forget my wallet with all my cards, my ID, my drivers’ licence and the bike licence at home (also remember that there’s no licence plate on Kapow). I was riding full blown anonymous.
With a quick twerp of his siren, the cop pulled a U-ey and I knew I quickly had to centre all my drama class training from primary school for the performance of my life. I pulled over with the cop next to me, but without looking up I started talking loudly with the bike, not making any eye contact with the man in brown.
“What else can it be?!? I don’t know. I already set the chain. There’s not much else I know about bikes to fix this noise!”
I then delivered a surprized gasp as I looked up at the cop and asked, “Aah, someone to help. You by any chance know anything about bikes?”
Chopper got out and started looking sheepishly at the wheels and mumbled something about a stone maybe lodged in the tire tread?
I shrugged my shoulders, uttered a sigh, and thanked him for stopping to try and help me, as I clipped my helmet straps and waved him goodbye. In my mirror I could see a perplexed look on his face as he thought… “How…? How did…?? WHAT?!?”
In the next 20km I stopped a few times trying to decipher this clucky noise. There is really only so much I know about bikes and if the chain is fine, and the wheels are round, there’s just one other thing left to check and that was the oil… OEPS! Dry as a bottle of José at month-end!!!
I crawled back to Winburg and caught Ettas just as he was about to depart. He escorted me back to the garage where we phoned FokkenConrad. Uncharacteristically cheerful, he answered the phone, and advised me rather to put ANY oil in, than nothing at all. But ending the conversation with a, “…but where did it go?”
1.5L of 5W40 and my third attempt at cutting ties with Winburg. By the time I hit Theunissen I stopped to pull myself towards myself. The situation needed assessment as the clucking persisted. This was a competition after all. The main aim was to get to Boshof and even if I had to be trailered back from there – the least I had to do was try and reach the town on my own 93 deep blue smoke puffs. I would slowly stroll along like a loaded lady through a Carol Boyes shop.
I put my cowgirl panties on, mounted my steed and we trotted further into the Wild West.
Amazing how different everything appears when light hits your retina at 60km/h versus light hitting it at 120km/h. The colours are more vivid, the scenery is sharper, you can see the smiles on people’s faces, you can see the wind blowing ripples through the long grass, you can see the flies squatting around the bull’s sphincter.
I met quite a few horses, but none would tell me their names. There was an obstinate donkey trying to show me the soles of his hind hooves. I called him Voertsek… The last two ponies were called Stompie and Toronto!
I met Andries and his skaaphond, Witvoet. His secret was told in a fast-bubbling Tswana. His secret is safe…! Then Dustin with the drilling machine mumbled something about a Blue Bulls supporter. And lastly there was Mr. Ish… Mr. Van Ish. He was gone before I could ask him his secret.
When you travel this slowly it’s hard to miss the smaller roads. Lots of abandoned old farm house ruins and locked gates. Viro was making a killing in the Free State.
All along the way I only saw one other vehicle – ONE! Easter weekend and the roads were quiet. But then again, with the state these paaie were in it was hardly possible for any normal vehicle to get to the next town within a day. You would find better roads on Mars.
Riding through Boshof, a sunset town that resembled a chess board with as many deserted yards as there were occupied plots. It was only the chess pieces moving between the blocks. And as with the game… the pieces became less and less.
At the end of town, I found three cars parked in front of the hotel. Whoah – stoppie lorrie! The bar was packed with a crowd of jolly people and I tried to sneak in next to them. A man noticed me and started bombarding me with questions. I shushed him, while I was trying to get a damp jacket off my sticky arm. I found a window sill to dump my kit, and with one hand motioned the tender for two tequilas. I gave Mr. Nosy his shot and asked him to smile for the selfie. Raait, another thing ticked off my to-do list.
Time for introductions. I told him what I (…we) were up to and Adriaan (the second tequila man) asked where I would be staying for the night. Said I saw a sunflower field with an unlocked gate about 10 kays back. I would ride back there and pitch my tent behind a bouquet, well out of sight.
He just gawked at me… Nope! That would not do! He invited me to his farm (about 40kays North) where I could at least roll out my sleeping bag on the stoep. I smiled as I accepted the offer (Secret #2: I always had it planned for ‘vrou soek ‘n boer’).
While Adriaan took us on a short tour of his homestead, I also found out he owned a few butcheries. And boy did we have the best skilpadjies ever that evening. Served with braaibroodjies, salad and even koekstruif!
A full moon painted the clouds silver, the people roosted, roasted and braaied. Laughter was the main dish. Thanks for a great evening De Klerk-family!
The next morning, after a quick coffee, Karin opened the gates and I headed back to Winburg.
One last stop at the Boshof dirt oval for a sprint through the overgrown track, scattered with half bricks and empties.
Halfway back to Winburg, the sky to the west darkened and the skyline ahead turned a neuter grey as far as the eye could see. The distant lightning glowed like welding, as if repairs were underway at Thor’s haven.
I pulled back into the hotel parking at 2pm – first one home!
I had made it to Boshof, I ticked all my to-do’s, covered 504km and came back with R350 still in my bankie.
“For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old-field pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. It is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go. It was just where I went.”
~ Robert Penn Warren, All the King's Men ~
Sponsored by Daniel Mulder Distributors (DMD)
Hero Motorcycles South Africa (www.heromotorcycles.co.za)
Forma Boots (www.formaboots.com)
Caberg Helmets (www.caberg.it)
Oxford Products (www.oxfordproducts.com)
Givi (www.givi.ite)
Answer Racing (www.answerracing.com)
Off Road Cycles (www.offroadcycles.co.za)
2M Lazy Lowder (www.2mtrailers.co.za)
Winburg Hotel (www.facebook.com/Winburghotel)
Ruff & Tuff (Googlemaps - Ruff & Tuff)
CHIKITA PRODUCTIONS PRESENT:
Tank Girls: Four riders each pick a cardinal direction. By your lonesome self you then have to ride 220km in your direction, sleep over in/outside/near your destination town and ride back the next day. Trick - you only have R800 for the whole trip; this should cover petrol, food, drinks & accommodation. Any money you bring back is donated to a needy person the next day. BE STINGY!
Starting from Winburg, Free State, South Africa:
Ettas picked North: Klerksdorp
Vince picked East: Harrismith
Chikita picked South: Vanstadensrus
Skinny picked West: Boshof
Video produced by Jolandi Mentz (7 - 10 Apr 2023)
https://youtu.be/XwDYLIyyIN0
HONESTY NEWSLETTER!
Does anyone have me a stocking I can borrow? I have a bank me needs to visit tomorrow…
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Skinny & Chikita & Ettas & Vince
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