Riding our scooters to the Springbok Trophy Tour two weekends ago in Umhlanga was a winner.
Call me a groupie, or perhaps it’s fomo, but I feel compelled to be part of landmark sporting events.
As with the 2010 FIFA World Cup. While people in my hometown of Malelane were dillydallying about whether they were up for the demographics of watching soccer at a stadium, I bought single tickets to three of the four games at Mbombela Stadium. My only regret was that I didn’t buy tickets for all four games. It was the best month of my life and I’m glad I could say, “I was there!”.
Back to the rugby.
Feeling pretty burnt out from all the late-evening games (and becoming a few years older), I wasn’t sold on making the trek into the Durban CBD on a Saturday morning.
But I also knew finding parking anywhere near Umhlanga Rocks Drive would be a nightmare.
Enter the Umdloti scooter brigade.
Our motley crew of six riders – rallied together on WhatsApp about an hour before departure – left the Total garage at 8.30am. Once in Umhlanga, my friend Kirsten and I broke away and did our own thing.
Seeking an immersive experience, we found the biggest, loudest throng close to the starting point at Umhlanga’s Garden Court Hotel and ramped our scooters onto the meridian island at the Coastlands Hotel.
From there we walked to the circle on the corner of Centenary Boulevard and Umhlanga Rocks Drive where we decided to wait with other Umdloti and Mount Moreland locals we bumped into.
Caught up in the hype, and not considering the practicalities of being on scooters, we bought two massive SA flags mounted on sticks from an informal vendor. To our delight, he accepted E-wallet payment when we were short of cash.
The parade started late and passed quicker than many people had hoped. We hastily ran back to our scooters and tried to leap-frog the Springbok convoy via the backroads.
This is where Kirsten’s scooter riding skills, acquired during her six years spent in Bali, shone through.
I said a few anxious prayers while following her lead, white-knuckle darting through logjammed traffic.
We got back onto Umhlanga Rocks Drive at Armstrong Avenue but to our surprise the convoy had already passed that point. So, the kamikaze dash continued with daring evasive manoeuvres interwoven with celebratory hooting and cheering along the way.
Almost certainly having spent seven of our nine lives, we eventually caught up with them at the BP garage at Sagewood Way where the crowd had bottlenecked on a narrower section of road.
The plan was to overtake the buses and wait at the next rendezvous point, but there was no space. We found ourselves tucked into the chaos of the convoy, somewhat like the dog that caught the car and now had no clue what to do with it.
I must admit, riding shotgun next to the Springboks’ open top bus, surrounded by a sea of jubilant South Africans clad in green and gold, was unforgettable.
Kirsten was stoked to have collected Bongi Mbonambi and three others’ autographs, and after surviving the thrill of the chase, I had let go of the idea of following the convoy to City Hall.
It was just as well, because a series of route changes during the week had seen the trophy tour evolve into a 5-hour road-trip that went as far as Pinetown and Kloof before heading to City Hall and finishing at the ICC.
A colleague from another media house said the media bus he was on broke down four times while the driver of the second bus downed keys and staged a protest midway through.
Upon reflection, scootering to the trophy tour produced the best possible outcome.
While most people only caught a fleeting glimpse of their heroes, we had an epic adventure finding the Bokke twice. We concluded our journey with a well-deserved roadside boerie roll before cruising home in the sunshine.
We did all that on about two litres of petrol. Now that’s a winner!
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