Mixed moments for Grandads Army

The belching wreck of a huge ore carrier, chunks of cement, rocks, oil and charred rubber smeared across the R31 in Phalaborwa.

And it is only 7am here in the Lowveld.

But the sun is shining with a few sheep’s wool clouds tottering over the horizon in an acrylic sky.

It’s a brand new fourth day for Grandads Army on their barmy 1,500km cycling mission to bring your money home to help child surgery at Frere and Cecilia Makiwane hospitals.

The incredible eight troopers aged 55, 55, 65, 66, 68, 71, 75 and 80 — seven from East London, and one who grew up there — all came together for the morning prayer for “journey's mercies” and a fist-pump exploding into the air with s Siya Kolisi-inflected chant: “East London!”

Today it’s 103km in the saddle and 43km with bikes racked and riders in two of the four-vehicle support cavalcade.

Peace descends when the peloton is cycling and everyone is at his or her post.

Gerald Berlyn’s community taxi, an eight-seater air-conditioned Hyundai, travels in front, red flags waving, and the Mercedes-Benz-sponsored Sprinter bus, towing the new, locally built bike trailer, bringing up the rear.

Red flags ripple on the trailer and out the Sprinter window. Safety first is the credo.

Between them are our precious, vulnerable little single-file cyclists, all with big characters and salt in their veins, forging on in a dangerous, unknown world.

Today it starts with word of protest on the route ahead.

Our road and bush ranger — and braaimeester — Rob Henderson, of Gonubie, who spent five days solo camping in the bush on an old childhood farm near Mapungubwe, does the recce an messages back the all clear.

We hustle to get to this battle zone: early morning traffic is bumper to bumper and there is barely any verge.

This is a parks and mining town. Ore carriers thunder past.

Finally, we rack and drive — the grandaddyos cinch-strap their bikes to the trailer and clump into the transport — and, unbelievable! At an intersection leading left to Makushane township and right to upmarket Selati Estate, the road is a fight site.

Black rubber-smeared, oil-stained, chunks of cement, rocks dotted about with white chipped streaks where the rubble has skidded along dark tar.

There is the smoking hulk of a large ore transporter, the cabin a charred ruin, just the silver rim bones of the front wheels remain.

Acrid fumes drift in the air. We tip-toe through to safety.

But some gangsta sedan, with beat up bodywork gives us a Hitchcockian ending, as it races up and overtakes in the gravel on our left.

In my passenger seat I just hear gravel scrunching and the engine roaring as the moron blasts past my left, good ear.

But in this dark and light existence, the road opens up and the okes are back on the bikes drifting through brilliant green game reserves either side. The ground is rain-freshened and pulsating with new growth.

The next traffic sign is a red-edged white triangle with a black elephant in the centre!

It is followed by hippo and warthog signs.

We reliably learnt in a fireside session last night that a number of deaths of humans and livestock are caused annually by lions, elephants, hippos and brown hyenas.

There are about two-million SA people living within 20km of the park, the vast majority victims of forced removals under apartheid’s genocidal homelands policy.

Unemployment and despair are rife, but there are pinpoints of bright endeavour.

There are traditional medicine projects where harvesting and even plantations are encouraged under researched supervision.

Entry for schoolchildren is free.

Though the park employs 2,500 people, the main economic provider must be found looking west towards Gauteng.

Covid-19 and lockdown were harsh but Kruger, Table Mountain, Addo and Beaufort West national parks were financially self-sustaining.

Fencing the park is a complex of sharing, comprising Sanparks’ “hard fencing”, fencing provided by private reserves and provincial fencing.

There are “hot spots” along the extremely long line.

But the park seems to be doing well and appears to have decent management in place.

They could, however, fix the scaffy thatch at the Phalaborwa entrance structure.

We arrive at Oliphants River bridge and the riders leap off and marvel at a hippo or two down in the ancient river way.

This is the happiest point in the ride. They pose for pictures and it shows on their faces.

Swollen knees, trip logistic troubles, family niggles, all seem to be pushed aside for one wonderful moment.

Let’s leave them there today, chomping energy bars and facing an uphill to Hoedspruit.

Tonight the soldiers will bivvy comfortably under stars and gathered around Henderson’s bush braai, if all goes well.

The contributions are coming in to the Eyabantwana For the Children Trust, (an independent nonprofit Trust established to support the work of the Eastern Cape Paediatric Surgical Services based at the East London Hospitals.)

If you would like to make a donation of any amount to Eyabantwana you can do an EFT to Eyabantwana, Nedbank Branch 198765 (Beacon Bay) Account No 1138181366 or use the QR Code.

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