Day 3 - The Rally, day 1

There was, actually no touring nor biking on day 3. This was the first day of the Swazi Rally. After a good breakfast and even better company, I was chauffeured to the rally site. We got our badges and pins (the reason we ride all the way, to these things), once we had wrist bands attached, we were ready for the rally. Always feels like organized chaos, to me at least. The merriment in the air was unmistakable. 

It was an atypical Swazi day, overcast and not warm. It was a typical rally day, hardly 10am and beers were merrily a-chugging. There are two kinds of people at a bike rally. Those that absolutely love and enjoy everything about a rally; and those that went on a long ride and ended up at a rally. For the latter, the ride is everything. The destination is but a rest stop before riding again. Then there are the campers. Tents of all sizes and colours, sort of arranged on the lawn in front of the castle – those who ask, well… There were more campers behind or above the castle, depending on your point of view. I don’t camp, especially at a rally. It is raucous at best, unbearable loud at worst – apparently the campers are not bothered, not one bit.

A bike rally also boasts a motley crew of characters – all kinds, all ages and all whatever else. Life on two wheels is what binds everyone. The fact that Swaziland was uncharacteristically cold, did not bother those that like to camp at the rally. I don’t camp. 

I was introduced to Stix, one of four 70 something-young okes, who I later learned were on a 40-day bike tour. The Swazi rally was apparently one of their many stops, Namibia was another – just to give some perspective. This foursome was great company over the course of the rally. Many stories under their respective belts and stories for days. Having started the 40-day epic on August 8^th, they had plenty riding days ahead and more memories to make.

The first day of the rally is generally uneventful. It is all about setting up, meeting up, reconnecting – eating and drinking. As the day grows long in the tooth, activities start. Games, competitions, misogyny and the like. I have said, the rally is a convenient stop at the end of a long ride. For some, the rally is the whole thing. The rally is also a whole ecosystem. There are all kinds of stalls, full of bikers’ paraphernalia and badges of all kinds, some not so kind. The lone biker that I am, I just had to have one that said “Independent, No Club”. Right there, a woman and her daughter had set up a sewing station, where you can get the badges sewn onto you biker jacket or waistcoat; for 40 rand/elangeni.

Then there is the Christian Bikers Association…yes, they too ride motorbikes and attend rallies. They serve coffee and save souls.

In the background to the raucous conversations, hearty laughs and back slapping; are the sounds from resident djs, pumping and pounding sounds; to which, most just tapped feet and bobbed heads. Understandably, some of us still had some bum fatigue to nurse. The later it gets, at the rally, the more unchristian everything gets. Haram, haramer and haramest. I generally ever experience the Haram-ish stage of the progression. I tend to tap out earlier than most. This time, I left a little later than usual to much compliments from my erstwhile pillion. “You know, this is the longest you have spent at the rally site”. To be fair to the kind chauffer, I sucked it up a little longer, and even enjoyed some of the PG rated goings on. Yes, it is a rally and things happen. Have you ever seen a Jameson bottle so big, it came with a stand to facilitate pouring? Yeah, that’s the rally for you.

The revving bikes outside competed with the thumping music inside. Amidst the dancing and whatever else, I took my leave.

I was told at breakfast the next morning, just how kak the strippers where. I wonder whether the members of the Christian bikers association stayed for the show, or like me, they bowed out for their evening prayers.