South Africa’s Cape Town by Bike

  • A family enjoying a couple of glasses of wine on the steps of their Cape Dutch row house on historic Church Street in Tulbagh.

    A family enjoying a couple of glasses of wine on the steps of their Cape Dutch row house on historic Church Street in Tulbagh.

  • Pruning grapevines at Doolhof.

    Pruning grapevines at Doolhof.

  • Cycling Cape Town's vineyards.

    Cycling Cape Town's vineyards.

  • A bedroom at Delaire Graff's lodge.

    A bedroom at Delaire Graff's lodge.

  • Well-manicured vines in the surrounding vineyards of Delaire Graff.

    Well-manicured vines in the surrounding vineyards of Delaire Graff.

  • A sommelier discussing the finer points of the estate's cabernet franc rosé.

    A sommelier discussing the finer points of the estate's cabernet franc rosé.

  • The writer following his nose in South Africa.

    The writer following his nose in South Africa.

  • A view toward the Cape of Good Hope, the southernmost point of the Cape Peninsula.

    A view toward the Cape of Good Hope, the southernmost point of the Cape Peninsula.

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From Tulbagh, we will cross the Boland Mountains and enter the heart of Cape wine country. Our route traverses the valley in the shadows of a great crest of peaks, then narrows to a tight two lanes as it traces the Witte River up a steep-sided gorge strewn with rocks and the flowering red fynbos shrubs endemic to this corner of South Africa.

The road, which pierces the range through a precipitous cleft called Bain’s Kloof Pass, is a magnificent piece of engineering that was constructed in 1853 by the self-taught civil engineer Andrew Geddes Bain. With a woozy view down over a thread of whitewater and a steady five-percent grade for almost 16 kilometers, the pass is as good as anything I’ve ridden in the Alps or the Rockies. It almost feels like France, except that the few cars that pass us—including several Land Rovers—do so at a crawl, rather than hurtling wildly through turns as is so often the case in Europe.

Four hours of moderate riding brings us to Wellington, where we find our way to the vineyards of Doolhof. Strung like a verdant tapestry on the hillside, the 380-hectare estate is crowned by a gleaming country manor called the Grand Dédale. It’s a magnificent place done up in chalk-white marble and gilded antiques, and our stay here underscores part of the Cape Winelands’ appeal. If you were to ride up panting and covered in road grime to an opulent place like this in France or Napa, they might not even open the gates. Here, co-owner Angelo Casu greets us like old friends and sends a butler down to look after our bicycles. The wine tastings, both at the Doolhof winery and elsewhere, are similarly easygoing, hosted by young sommeliers who laugh and crack jokes with you and dispense with uncomfortable formality.

Bearing an uncanny resemblance to Christopher Plummer, Doolhof’s British owner, Dennis Kerrison, is down from his home in Bordeaux, and he and Casu invite Jen and me to dinner along with the four other guests at Grand Dédale. They set out a feast on a massive table on the veranda and pour bottle after bottle of wine, including a rare magnum of 2006 Cape Boar. “I took a bottle of this to France with me, and we tried it against second- and third-level grand cru Bordeaux. We all agreed we’d take the Doolhof every time,” Kerrison says after a mouthful of the blend. “The wines from this country are extremely underrated.”

As the empty bottles stack up, talk turns to politics. It’s impossible to speak about South Africa without pausing on Nelson Mandela. The elder statesman will pass away just a few weeks after we leave the country, but even in his current infirm state, people speak about him with unabashed reverence. The roads, the peace, even the wines—there’s a pervasive sense that none of it would have been possible without Mandela. That’s not to say everything is rosy. I’ve already met many South Africans who express palpable apprehension about the direction of Mandela’s ANC party and the crisis that could be coming once its figurehead is gone. But Casu doesn’t see it that way. “There’s too much money at stake, too many smart and successful people here to allow things to spiral,” he tells me. “This won’t ever be another Zimbabwe.”

Conversation briefly lulls, perhaps because such a prospect is unspeakable. In many ways it seems impossible that South Africa could ever end up like its dysfunctional northern neighbor, if for no other reason than nobody is willing to tarnish Mandela’s legacy. One of the other guests, a financier from England who brings his wife to Grand Dédale every year, raises his glass: “To Mandela.”

Red-wine balloons clang together in the warm spring night, and everyone goes back to talking. And though it’s well past midnight, Kerrison uncorks a bottle of 2008 Doolhof Renaissance, then a 2007 Bordeaux-style blend called Lady In Red. Mindful of tomorrow’s 50-kilometer ride, I hold my hand over my glass. But then I think better of it and nod to the waiter for a refill. There’s wine to be appreciated too, after all.

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