March 1902
(From Venterstad C. C. )
40 miles

It had been raining very hard for something like a week
And the road from here to Burghersdorp was not at all a treat
For two days after the rains had stopped the clouds were hanging low
And the mud was nearly axle deep for the road was drying slow.

It was on 27th March that I decided to do this ride
Not in a spanking cape cart or a horse’s back astride
But on my byke of devillish high gear I intended to traverse the way.
I intended to do in three hours what it takes a good horse a whole day.

At half past five in the morning I started off in high fling
I got my head down to the handlebars and fairly made the wheels sing
I hadn’t got more than a mile till a cropper I came with a rush
I picked myself up out of the mud and for a short time had to push.

Then I mounted again and off I went scattering the mud around
Till I looked more like a travelling plough or rather part of the ground
For I was mud head to foot and felt quite like a guy
And everyone I met in a cart just winked the other eye.

I got on to the road to Knapdaar, for the sun was right in my face
And I couldn’t see I had gone the wrong way and was going at such a pace
That I had gone a mile or more, then I missed the telegraph
When I dismounted and looked around, you can bet I didn’t laugh.

By this time I was desperate, I swore I wouldn’t return
So I started to trek across the veld just like a great big worm
Twisting and turning and rushing across, sluits and rocks and bush
Till I was fairly knocked out of time, and again had to dismount and push

At last I reached the other road, and can’t tell till this day
How I never got a puncture for I can safely say
The veld was absolutely full of dubalkees and other spikes
That are at least a hundred times worse than the thorns on the English dykes.

I was now on a bit of nice flat road that didn’t seem bad at all
I prepared to do a sprint without the fears of a fall
I had just got up a fairly good speed; oh dear what’s that in front
Why it’s a great mud hole stretching over the road and I went into it full speed with a bump.

I pushed with all strength and dragged myself through
Ah me what a mess was the byke
And I looked as if I’d been dragged through a pond, and shook
like a poor little tyke
The wheels wouldn’t move, they were stuffed up with mud
So I dismounted and looked at the lot
And swore that I wouldn’t another inch move, but remain
Here right on the d—- spot

But after a few minutes self argument, I decided to go on my way
For I could see it was bad to go back, and better go forward than stay;
For staying on the veld in Africa isn’t the least like a joke at all.
For there aren’t so many neighbours here upon whom a fellow might call.

So I up and mounted and off again, but the chain was cracking bad
And this of course meant extra work, and you can guess that I felt very sad
When I thought of the miles in front of me, and the muddy roads as well
I wished that I had never been born, or else was down in h—-.

And then I came to a long slope, on which the road seemed good
At this again my hopes rose high and I felt in a better mood
So I sprinted away like the devil again whilst a Dutchy stood aghast
With mouth quite wide no doubt wondering I went like the devil past

But my exultation was short lived, and I quickly came to grief
In front was something on the road, which just looked like a reef
And a reef it did turn out to be placed there bicycles to wreck
And I was wrecked and may thank my stars I didn’t break my neck.

Among ruts and reefs and dangers deep and mud and bushes and stones
I pushed and struggled and swore and sweat and thought of my poor bones
Which were now beginning to ache and my joints were getting dry
When I thought of the days I rode in a train I couldn’t supress a sigh

At last [illegible] was in sight, which wasn’t yet half way
“Oh dear” says I “the other half I’d do some other day”
But I pedalled on arriving there I dismounted and had some skoff,
A drink of water, and stretched myself and felt ready again to be off.

Finis