The Continuing Adventures of Two Cyclists Who Never Learn
In which we battle Karoo headwinds, negotiate with sheep for road access, and discover that snow forecasts are basically horoscopes with temperature readings…
Morning in the Karoo: Cold, But Not Cold Enough
Day two began with that special Karoo cold—the kind that makes you question why humans abandoned cave living. After a quick bite to eat (because nothing fuels poor decision-making like insufficient calories), we enthusiastically prepared for our next adventure: cycling the Compassberg road.
With the efficiency of people who had clearly learned nothing from yesterday’s wind battle, we packed our bikes and drove out to the Stone folk—a perfect starting point for what would soon become a lesson in meteorological humility.

The Wind: A Betrayal of Trust
Overnight, the wind predictions had changed dramatically—a fact we discovered only after arriving at our starting point. Weather apps, it seems, operate on the same principle as casino slot machines: designed to keep you hopeful while consistently disappointing you.
“But we’re here now,” we reasoned, with the flawed logic that drives most vacation misadventures. “Might as well continue with the original plan!”
And so, like salmon swimming upstream (but with significantly less biological purpose), we headed directly into the wind.

The Karoo Canvas: Beautiful Enough to Distract from Pain (Almost)
The gravel road surface was surprisingly good, and the scenery? Absolutely breathtaking. The Karoo spread before us like an artist’s palette—not the vibrant, in-your-face colors of coastal landscapes, but subtle shades of brown, orange, and green that somehow manage to be spectacular in their understatement.
It was almost—almost—beautiful enough to distract from the fact that my legs were screaming profanities at my brain for this voluntary torture. While my eyes feasted on natural beauty, my quadriceps were planning a mutiny.
Rural Traffic Jams and Mountain Vistas
Our journey took us past scattered farmhouses that looked like they’d been there since the Earth cooled. We crossed a lovely river (which provided a brief moment of downhill relief), and then encountered what can only be described as a “sheep roadblock.”
Now, city folks might be familiar with traffic jams, but until you’ve negotiated right-of-way with a herd of sheep that clearly believes they have the constitutional right to occupy an entire road, you haven’t truly experienced rural transportation challenges. Their collective expression seemed to say, “You chose to cycle here. We live here. Guess who’s moving?”
Beyond our woolly roadblock stood the magnificent Compassberg, its peak both inviting and mocking our cycling ambitions.
The Breaking Point: When “Determined” Becomes “Delusional”
An hour and a half into our ride, the relentless headwind had become soul-draining. Each pedal stroke felt like pushing through concrete, and our forward progress could have been measured with a sundial rather than a speedometer.
Eventually, we reached that special moment in every challenging bike ride: the point where stubbornness surrenders to sanity. “Enough,” we decided, with the wisdom that sometimes comes only after significant suffering.

The Return Journey: Suddenly We’re Lance Armstrong
The ride back? Oh, what a glorious transformation! With the wind now at our backs, our bikes seemingly morphed from torture devices into motorized chariots. Speeds that had been impossible minutes earlier were now effortless, and we quickly forgot the struggle of the outward journey—nature’s way of ensuring cyclists will always make poor decisions again.
We reached the car in record time, pausing to take photos by the Stone People (because if there’s no photographic evidence, did the suffering even happen?). At this point, Roger—clearly experiencing oxygen deprivation to the brain—decided he would cycle back to town while I drove the car. Someone had to do it, he reasoned, and that someone would not be him.
The route back featured a long, challenging hill followed by a glorious downhill into town—further evidence that the universe has a sense of humor when designing cycling routes.
The Great Food Tour of Nieu-Bethesda
After cleaning up (and, in my case, calculating how many days until my legs would speak to me again), we decided to braai for supper. This required a supply run to the local store for wood and other essentials.
En route, we spotted a sign at a Padstall claiming they sold “the best wors.” Now, claiming to have the best boerewors in South Africa is a bold statement—roughly equivalent to claiming you make the best pizza in Italy or the best croissant in France. Naturally, we had to investigate this declaration.
After acquiring our meat (which, I’m happy to report, lived up to its advertising), we consulted with locals about lunch options. They directed us to Zalig a restaurant very close to our accommodation, promising it offered “the best pizza in town.” Considering Nieu-Bethesda probably has a total of three restaurants, this wasn’t necessarily high praise—but we were pleasantly surprised to discover pizza that could indeed “give most pizza places in big towns a run for their money.” Small town, big flavors!

The Brewery Hunt: An Exercise in Persistence
During our previous day’s exploration, we’d spotted a brewery—and what cyclist doesn’t appreciate craft beer after battling the elements? We decided to investigate.
Upon arrival, we found the brewery apparently open but completely devoid of human life—like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie where everyone disappeared but thoughtfully left the beer behind. After wandering around like confused tourists (which, to be fair, we were), we finally located the owner in an adjacent shed, brewing coffee rather than beer.
We settled in the garden, watching the weather change and noting with excitement that the snow prediction was still holding. The owner served me some ginger beer and Roger a pale ale, both of which hit the spot perfectly as we contemplated the possibility of waking up to a winter wonderland.
Evening Reflections by Firelight
Back at our accommodation, we braaied outside at the fire pit, then retreated indoors to spend the evening in front of our impressive indoor fire. Conversation flowed as easily as the red wine, covering topics that seemed profoundly important in the moment but would be completely forgotten by morning—the hallmark of a perfect fireside chat.
The Great Snow Disappointment of 2025

Morning arrived with that special excitement that only potential snow can bring. I raced to the window like a child on Christmas morning, only to discover… absolutely no snow. A quick check of the weather app insisted it was “snowing right now at Compassberg”—clearly an alternative fact.
Undeterred and still hopeful, we bundled up in warm clothes and headed toward Compassberg for a snow-hunting expedition. As we drove, we scanned the peaks with the intensity of big-game hunters, convinced that white flakes would appear at any moment.
Spoiler alert: they did not.

We eventually pulled over to the side of the road, not to marvel at snow, but to admire the natural beauty and share the hot coffee we’d brought along. Then, slightly disappointed but philosophically accepting that weather predictions are basically elaborate guessing games, we headed back to pack for our next destination.
Onward to Knysna: The Scenic Route, Obviously
With Nieu-Bethesda in our rearview mirror, we set course for Knysna—but in keeping with our apparent commitment to never taking the easy route, we opted for the Prince Alfred Pass rather than boring old tar roads.
Just past Uniondale, we hit the gravel. As we navigated the pass by car, we did what cyclists always do: assessed whether we could conquer it on two wheels.
“We could totally do this,” we assured each other at every long, steep hill, while simultaneously thinking “This would absolutely destroy us.” Nevertheless, we recorded the route on our Strava app, dutifully noting distance and elevation for future reference—or future warnings and added it to our bucket list.

A Tale of Two Landscapes

The Prince Alfred Pass offered a dramatic contrast to the Karoo landscapes we’d left behind. Where the Karoo had been all subtle earth tones and open spaces, the pass surrounded us with verdant forests and imposing mountains. The transformation was so complete it felt like we’d driven onto a different planet, not just a different biome.
We stopped again for an impromptu breakfast picnic, marveling at views that defied description (though I’m attempting it anyway). And just before descending into Knysna, we spotted Diepwalle Forest Station—the starting point for tomorrow’s cycling adventure through Knysna Forest on the legendary Petrus se Brand route.

Because apparently, one challenging cycling experience per vacation is simply not enough.
Stay tuned for our next installment, where we’ll undoubtedly convince ourselves that cycling through a forest will be “easy” and “relaxing”—right before discovering some new form of topographical torture.
P.S. If anyone from the Nieu-Bethesda Tourism Board is reading this, your snow machine needs serious recalibration. We’ll be submitting a formal complaint along with our application for permanent residency—because despite everything, we’ll probably be back for a fourth visit.

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