Disclaimer: This article was written for a touristy publication but was dropped due to space restrictions. It’s a bit wanky and not my usual style. Don’t judge me. But there’s tonnes of useful information which I thought I should publish in order to help you experience dune driving in Cape Town.

Cape Town is home to many tourist attractions famous around the world and one doesn’t have to search far to find them. I would happily guess that you’ve already conquered Table Mountain, visited the boutiques of the Waterfront or perhaps even come face to face with a formidable Great White.

But just 40km/h outside of the city, towards the town of Atlantis, and hidden just out of view from the road that winds lazily up the West Coast of Africa, is the Atlantis Dune bank, one of the largest dune banks in the world not situated on the sea.

The dune bank holds fantastic memories for me, having taken the new Hummer H3, the Mistubishi Triton, the new Suzuki Vitara and the new Ford Everest through their paces on the rolling hills of the dunes. Obviously the dunes are also great for sandboarding, but that requires way too much running for my liking. It is quite simply an unearthly experience; when you are in the middle of the dunes the sand seems to stretch for eternity in any direction, evoking feelings of adventure and maybe just a hint of trepidation. After all, there are no markings to help you find your way out.

Of all the cars I have driven on the dunes, all of them coped adequately but I had the most fun in the Mitsubishi Triton. It is a fully-equipped 4×4 with everything the enthusiast could hope for from a standard production vehicle, in terms of mechanics, ground clearance and tyre choice.

Make sure you have at least one passenger in each vehicle, to help with spotting obstacles and to attach the rope when (not if) you get stuck. Make sure you have another capable vehicle in the convoy, and don’t lose them! Of course, make sure both vehicles have a strong recovery rope, the kinetic type are the best but not necessary.

Before you get on the dunes, let the tyres down for around 60 seconds. This is ensures the tyres have much more surface area to help you ‘float’ over the sand. Low range is not essential, unless you are well and truly stuck in the softest sand. Keep your revs low and keep momentum. Be cautious when cresting a dune, they can drop of sharply and if you’re going too fast you risk nose-diving and damaging the front of your car. Too slowly however and you risk beaching the car, leaving all 4 wheels dangling in the air! (This, rather embarrassingly, happened to me in the very long Ford Everest.)

I can assure you that a day on the dunes is probably one of the most enjoyable driving experiences available anywhere. There are no special skills needed either. And with that famous flat mountain watching calmly in the background, this will be an experience not soon forgotten.

Of course if you are a visitor to our shores and forgot to pack your 4×4 in your suitcase, www.drivesouthafrica.co.za will provide you with the excellent Toyota Hilux for around R720 a day. You will require a day-permit, details below.

If you feel that you’d rather be a passenger and let someone else worry about the tyres and the sand, www.chelseamorning.co.za will take you on an exciting day out in a luxury Land Rover, for about R2800 for two persons.

Permits are available at R100 per vehicle.
8 th Floor, 38 Wale Street, Corner Long Street, Cape Town CBD
Weekdays from 08h00 to 12h30 and 13h30 to 15h30
Phone 021 487 2485 and speak to Chantelle

Directions to the dunes:

Leave Cape Town on Table Bay Boulevard and split left onto the R27. Stay on the R27 for 35km and then turn right onto Dassenberg Road. After about 3km, the dunes will be through a small unmarked gate on your left (told you they were well hidden).

In flight entertainment, yesterday.

Gavin and I have often threatened to watch Nascar. It’s a form of motorsport that has so far failed to really pull us in beyond the grandeur of the opening ceremony. And what an opening ceremony it is. This is a spectacle you simply have to see to believe.

Picture, if you will, a racetrack facility roughly the size of Bloemfontein. Thousands of winnebagos dot the landscape, spewing over 100 000 drunken sunburnt fans into an arena of noise and product placement. The commentators are getting excited now, peppering their delivery with metaphors that make absolutely no sense. And then all is quiet. Over the gargantuan PA system, a voice rings out: “Let us pray.” A portly man with an awful comb-over holds command over his congregation, ending the prayer with the words: “and we pray for our armed forces, Amen”. Surreal, but we’re only just getting started.

Every human in a 18 mile radius now raises their hand to their heart as the very blonde Brittini Black (correct spelling, I swear) belts out the National Anthem. A few tears roll down a few cheeks as we get close-ups of the drivers and their girlfriends/wives. As the anthem deafens everyone into patriotism, a massive big rig truck in stunning silver parades around the track, flying the biggest Stars ‘n Stripes I’ve ever seen. And just as the anthem ends, five F16 Tornado fighter jets fly over in formation, roaring into the distance. Cue mad applause, beer, bear hugs, whoops and hollers: this is Nascar motherfucker, let’s go racing.

More cars than is necessary line up behind the pace car as the heavy southern accents of the commentators build the tension. The cry of the archaic, massive V8s is the only sound anyone can hear and as the green flag drops, 20 000 combined horsepower is unleashed. This sport isn’t terribly green.

Americans cover sport like no other nation on earth. An armada of cameras catches every moment on the track, with the best camera angles coming from the outside wall. The violent air coming off the cars shakes the camera almost off its mounts. As a viewer, it feels like you’re being shot at. Talladega is a superspeedway, which essentially means that the cars can reach insane speeds, deemed unsafe by the same authorities who are trying to stop the vehicles from taking off during crashes. So this is ‘restrictor-plate racing’, which, to be honest, I haven’t researched, but problably means a certain-sized plate is fitted under the accelerator pedal.

What this all means is that we have 50-odd cars travelling at exactly the same speed. To get ahead, you have to do something rather special. You have to draft. This is, quite simply, the daftest thing we have ever witnessed in motorsport. At over 200 mph, about 325km/h, two cars will ‘link up’ and push each other around the track. The rear car will nose up against the front car’s bumper, cancelling the drag on the second car. This gives the two of them an extra 10mph, and the effect is incredible. This handy diagram should help:

All of the above creates some of the tightest racing we’ve ever witnessed. The last millimetre of the last lap decided the race; a stunning draft-and-slingshot move by, um, a racing driver in an orange car, gave him the edge over a frustrated Montoya, who has never won an oval race. The last few laps featured a few massive smash ups, which just added to the tension towards the finish line.

Before Talladega this weekend, it would have been tough to get a good word out of us about Nascar. But hell, the scale is incredible, the speed is intoxicating and the noise frenetic. You’ve got to love the old-school charm of the pit stops; the barrel of fuel on a crewman’s shoulder, the roller-jack and the jigsaws for removing damaged body panels.

I think the irony of praying for your armed forces is about as lost on the fans as the fact that every car looks exactly the same. The constant barrage of advertising and sponsorships can get a bit tiresome and the ‘yee-ha-ness’ of it all tends to wane around the 147 laps mark, but over on this side of the Atlantic, where our top motorsport is so stuck up its own arse, Nascar is downright refreshing.

Grab a beer or six and enjoy.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCpoWoBmJsA

Ciro De Siena

While our love for Formula One knows few bounds, we can’t help but ignore the pangs of jealousy when we peruse the line up of the Indy Car series over in the States. They’ve had Danica Patrick kicking ass for a while now; that fiery brunette who was rumoured for a turn in F1 two years ago. But step aside, you sharp-tongued wielder of steering wheels, here comes Milka Duno.

Apparently she’s as sweet as Jelly Tots delivery truck, and has masters degrees in Organizational Development, Naval Architecture, Maritime Business, and Marine Biology, with work experience as a naval engineer. Her race debut came at the age of 24, which is practically unheard of across all motorsport; young Hamilton was reportedly still sporting Huggies when he got started. Duno is now 38 and still kicking it hard obviously, she holds the record for the highest placed female driver in the 24 hours of Daytona. Nice.

Follow this handy link for more on the lovely Milka Duno.

Hey, what's happening? Come here, I want to tell you about this car's torque curve.

Seoul. Apparently they have amazing internet connections there. And a car show every now and then. I really like this first car attendant. She’s just got something about her. Imagine she was selling you a car; you’d order more extras than the director of Ben Hur.

One more lovely Seoul motor show girl after the jump.

Nice. She is actively disinterested in you.

Looks like that headache you get from white wine and fudge.

They find it neccessary on their website to explain the following:

Well, we’re glad that’s cleared up then.

Their payoff line is “Statement Of Pride”.  In what?  Being the only person on your street to have a gold-plated bidet in your lounge?

-Gavin Williams

How things change. ABS brakes, traction control, cars that start every time. Mini skirts, less-awful hairstyles and daring fashion. Obviously one thing that doesn’t change is our fascination with motors, our interest in the opposite sex, and, when possible, those two things combined.

Two more pics await you for just clicking here:

Still with us? Good. Last one for the day:

And we’re good. Chat tomorrow.

Ciro De Siena

If you’ve never visited a motor show in South Africa you haven’t missed terribly much. Oh don’t get us wrong, it’s a party if you’re a journalist, but if you’re a paying member of the public, it’s awful. You won’t even see the vehicles amongst the hordes of onlookers, nevermind actually get into one. You will have to endure an endless stream of twats trying desperately to chat-up the motorshow girls and you will never find a bathroom. Ever. But, if you find yourself overseas while a motor show is on the go, be sure to pop in. It is the next level. This lovely Fiat and it’s minder hail from Geneva.

One or two more pics after the jump:

Okay, one more. Why not.

Not that it matters, but any idea what the car is?

We’ll try do this every week. Honest.

A rare Marcos GTC. By rare we mean the company only lasted long enough to build four of them.

The British car industry has existed only in name for about the last three decades. The only glimmer of hope in that time has been a noble effort, ironically, by a chap called Lee Noble, who showed the world that Brits could still build well-sorted cars, even if they did look and feel a bit like an upturned jacuzzi.

You’d think that sort of history would convince would be investors and engineers to burn their money elsewhere, but it’s a bit of a running joke in the UK these days as to who’s going to have a go at building the next great British supercar. A wonderful website called sniffpetrol.com developed a standardised press release for such companies, which you’ll find after the jump. This is laugh-out-loud material.

I hate beginning articles with a rhetorical question but I feel maybe this is unavoidable. Have you ever noticed that the only place, in the whole of South Africa where motorists stop for pedestrians crossing at a pedestrian/zebra crossing is in the V&A Waterfront? Now that’s just plain weird.

I’ve road tripped most of South Africa (a few times) and I’m basing this entirely on sound personal experience, but I don’ t think I’m wrong. It’s just that overseas, the UK in particular, a motorist will get the ABS involved to stop for a pedestrian waiting to cross. I think that down here we just don’t respect pedestrians enough.

So what is it then? Again, I hate to be this guy, but I think it’s got to do with our past. Back in the shit/good old days, depending on which side of the colour fence you happened to be, motorists were rich, ie white, and pedestrians were poor, ie not white. The whole system was engineered to denigrate certain citizens, most of whom happened to be in front of your bonnet, rather than in the car next to you, picking his/her nose.

I’m willing to bet that this whole lack of respect for pedestrians doesn’t apply to the waterfront, because that’s probably the one place in the whole of South Africa where you just know that if you do knock over a pedestrian, he’s definitely going to be wearing socks and sandals. Tourists, in other words, by the plane/open-Land Rover/ship-load, swarm the place.

Or perhaps it’s just us locals showing off. It’s a sort of; “Hey, look at us, Johnny Foreigner, we practice civilised road manners down here too.”

Either way, I think it’s all a bit sad.

Ciro De Siena