Two cities live up to their name: PE, the friendly city and George whose registration letters CAW stands for "cold and wet".

Like many Sunday morning sports cyclists I used Old Cape Road to leave the city. Those travelling in my direction would wizz past me, always greeting me "good morning". In the opposite direction a group came by, all shouting something that sounded like "Trevor, Trevor". As they came closer I realised they were saying "you're travelling, you're traveling ... good luck!"

One fellow riding in my direction slowed down to my pace for a good ten minutes, just for a chat, before turning off towards Seaview.

He told me of the Van Staden's River bridge I'd be passing, well known for being a platform from which people choose to end their lives.

Once there I felt a deep sense of this being so tragic because there's no better feeling than dropping down the forested pass on the alternative to the N2, below the big bridge, by bicycle.

Feeling miserable and being on a bicycle are like oil and water to me. They don't mix.

At a roadside garage called Mondplaas I met Swiss grandparents Urs and Barbara, also cycling.

Some years ago  their son, Jonas, had ridden from Alaska to Ushuaia, at the bottom of South America.

He convinced his mum and dad that cycling was the way to travel and they became hooked.

They were in the first month of a three-month cycling safari in South Africa having already done a similar one in Mexico and neighbouring countries, plus many shorter excursions in Europe.

They do between fifty and ninety kilometres a day, starting early in the morning and resting after lunch before a two hour afternoon-evening ride. From the Eastern Cape they were headed for Lesotho, KwaZulu-Natal and Mpumalanga.

The next stage of the Tour of South Africa starts at Bloukrans where the world's third-highest bridge offers the world's highest bungee jumping.

I pedalled into the adventure centre and got chatting to a fellow who turned out to be a helicopter pilot who takes tourists on flips. Minutes later, still feeling the saddle on my rear end I found myself seated in his chopper which he was taking back to its night-time parking, via a quick view of the Bloukrans Valley, the bridge and the sea.

The next morning the road to Nature's Valley from the N2, through a fairyland-looking forest was free of cars. But there were plenty of cyclists: holiday makers from Nature's Valley starting the day off with a climb up from the lagoon village. I had my uphill turn after the village.

Two bikers on Harley Davidsons were resting at the top. They were on a journey of all the mountain passes between Cape Town and PE.

Plet came and went, the only event having been a stop at a roadside fast food joint set up in a container especially for the holiday season. I couldn't resist stopping there when I smelt the food!

The owner, Dave, had semi-grated to Plet from Yeoville in Jo'burg years ago and been in the food game ever since.

I was once again grateful for wide sidewalks, which made cycling free of the traffic hazard. They could, however, take a cue from Pretoria West where they are lined with trees.

Thirty kilometres on, the N2 runs alongside Knysna's lagoon. With a strong wind at my back I didn't even need to pedal.

I veered away from the Tour of South Africa route between Knysna and George as holiday traffic began to get heavier. I took a mostly dust road route through thick Knysna Forest up and down a number of passes, the first one being the Houtini.

It drizzled and rained: perfect cycling weather. I fantasised about having a rare spotting of one of the last of the Knysna elephant. A fresh dung sighting would do.

However, there was none of that in sight but by the time I reached a little "dorp" called Tarakara having passed many dairy farms my panniers and bike were splattered with sandy mud and cow dung.

I arrived at George, further down the Tsitsikama and Outeniqua mountains, cold and wet. Uphills were more comfortable negotiate because downhill freewheeling made me cold.