Swaziland - August 1997

A Motorcycle Ride

It all began with an e-mail from Etienne. "Who's up for the Swazi Rally, 29-31 August"? I was keen since I'd never been to Swaziland and had always wanted to go. Swaziland, for those that don't know is a small landlocked country sandwiched between South Africa on the west and Mozambique on the east. Unique in that it's one of the few monarchies in Africa (nearby Lesotho is, I think, the only other). It's a popular destination for South African tourists because of its sub-tropical climate and the legal gambling that can be had at it's two or three casinos. Internationally, it's probably most famous for the good quality marijuana grown there. You have to be famous for something I guess. The road in from South Africa passes through the Drakensberg mountain range so it makes for great touring for bikers too.

Things weren't quite working out as planned. Etienne didn't have a passport and couldn't get a replacement in time and I couldn't take the Friday off. We decided to give the rally a miss but go for a weekend away. I would still go through to Swaziland on Sunday and then back on Monday, but Etienne and his wife, Anna-Marie, would head back to Johannesburg on Sunday. I can't say I was too disappointed to miss the rally, I needed a weekend away and the though of drunken bikers plying me with alcohol didn't appeal to me.

I'm riding my '82 R80 GS and Etienne and his wife were on his F650. I'm still saving up for my luggage, so as usual I had my rucksack carrying all my possessions strapped to the back of the bike. It had proved to be a useful means of hauling my stuff in the past, it just precluded a passenger which could sometimes be a problem. (This story is for sale to anyone who's willing to provide me with a new set of touring luggage).

As arranged, I was outside the McGinty's in Northcliff at 5:30am on Saturday morning. Etienne was a late but I attributed that to the fact that he had his wife with him. He arrived at about 5:40 and after filling up we drove up D.F. Malan towards the center of Johannesburg. Driving through the concrete jungle early in the morning can be a strange experience and Etienne remarked at how quiet and deserted it was.

We took the Germiston road at the Gillooly's interchange and headed South. We would be taking the N17 to Ermelo, a road which I'd never traveled before. I got just a little bit worried when it looked like I'd missed the turn off somewhere, I couldn't have them thinking that I was lost, especially since I was the one that had suggested the route. All was OK again when I saw the sign above me pointing the way to the new tollroad. We rounded the bend and soon the neared the toll plaza. R1.60 later and we were off again. Anna-Marie and Etienne had put there earplugs in just after the toll plaza and I had remembered the first thing that I had forgotten to bring with me. We reached the next toll plaza just as the sun was beginning to rise, R3.60 and we were off again. We were driving East and the sun was rising just to our left but strangely it wasn't uncomfortable riding into it and I could see clearly ahead of me without having to put on my sunglasses. The new visor I had bought on Friday was also a help. The road was quiet and I rode along in silence, just the rising sun and me.

My peaceful bliss ended at Leandra when the road dead ended in a fork. I almost took the right fork as it looked like the right thing to do but changed my mind at the last minute and went left which turned out to be the right way. The road would take us through Leandra and then on to Ermelo. Through town we pulled up behind a school bus and there was excitement in the back of the bus as the young boys in the back gestured to us and waved. I could see that there was much discussion and pointing to my funny looking cylinders which stuck out the side. "I am a hero to young children", I though modestly.

The first 200km's of the route is hardly the best riding. The roads are flat and straight and flanked by monotonous mealie fields. The people in this region of the country extract coal from the earth and turn it into electricity for the rest of the country. Coal mines and power stations are hardly ideal driving scenery.

We stopped for a quick cup of coffee in Kinross, a town famous for being the sight of the world's worst underground mining disaster, 100+ miners died a few years back in an underground fire at the coal mine. It was the sort of town that would never be famous for anything else. We were all damn cold and the coffee went down well, by now the sun was well up and I put on my sunglasses before we left town again. Outside there was a spectacular sight at the mine as they were burning off some natural gas out of two tall chimneys. Two tongues of flame leapt 25-30m into the air. They didn't warm me up at all.

After finding out that our intended breakfast stop of Secunda was off the main road I carried on to Bethal. Bethal was a typical small town, main street, small river and lots of car dealerships doing a roaring business selling cars to farmers on money borrowed from next years harvest. Inside the Wimpy Bar was another biker, his anonymous white Japanese machine outside. He was on his way to the Swazi rally. He had a long story to tell about how he'd left Heidelberg, about 200km's away, the previous morning and when he'd got to Bethal he'd been too tired to continue and had to find a place to sleep and he was now on the road again. The bottle of Tequila hanging out the side of his rucksack wasn't full. If this was the sort of people that I would be missing at the rally then really didn't mind missing it. Outside two boys were circling Etienne's machine, they were impressed by the 650cc displacement but looked unimpressed when they saw the speedo only went to 180, they walked over to my bike which was on the other side of the road. I was no longer a hero to young children. Where's a K12 when you need it.

Inside the Wimpy over breakfast I had pulled out my assortment of maps (I came well equipped) and we decided that the best route to take from here would be Hendrina-Carolina (pronounced Carolena, as in Lena Horn, which rhymes with Hendrina) and then Badplaas. On the way out of Bethal we drove past the "Geluk" prison. "Geluk" is the Afrikaans word for "Well Done" or "Congratulations". Somebody had had a sense of humour. Carolina was indistinguishable from Hendrina apart from the large banner in Carolina advertising the upcoming Church Fete.

About 20km's outside Badplaas we hit our first nice roads. Pine forests, a few twisties and a mountain alongside us to the left. There would be no more straight flats until Monday morning, things were looking up. I had only 135km on the clock but decided I needed to fill up since it would be a push to make it to Barberton on what I had left in the tank. At the petrol station I balanced my helmet on the top of my rucksack. As I turned around I heard it falling to the ground. My new visor had lasted almost 24 hours without getting scratched. It was a small scratch on the side of the visor and wasn't in my direct line of sight so I wasn't too upset.

Now that we were in tourist country, Anna-Marie was eager to have a look around the town. We asked the petrol attendant "Waar is die dorp?" (Which way to the town?). He shrugged and looked at us blankly. Apparently Badplaas wasn't a town but just the holiday resort about 500m down the road. Badplaas literally means Bath Farm and was named for the hot water springs around which the resort was built. A small road ran parallel to the main road and to satisfy Anna-Marie's desire to tour the town we rode along the side road and then turned back onto the main road. I had lead all the way from Joburg, and Etienne now took the lead as I relaxed behind him. I would follow him all the way to Barberton. Looking at the fully kitted 650 from behind I wondered what it would be like riding with all that luggage on the back. Maybe one day I would have my own luggage. I also saw that riding two up for almost 300km's couldn't have been too comfortable for the two of them. I guessed that they may be getting tired.

Going over the map later I would see that there were actually two mountain passes along this road. I had missed them. In part because they couldn't have been very twisty or spectacular, but more likely was that for me, passing each turn off into the pine forests was like taking a cigarette and crushing it in front of someone who has just given up smoking. My name is Donald and I'm a dirt road addict. Etienne knew about my addiction and had suggested earlier that we split up to allow me to get my dirt fix. Anyone who has driven through a pine forest through a shadowy narrow dirt road knows what I'm talking about. You've been there and most other people in the world will never go there. It's sometimes a wonderful feeling of isolation, of being lost but still safe. If you've been there then you'll know what I mean. I could hold out until Barberton.

The scenery changed as we neared Barberton. Thick bushveld, made up a of variety of thorn trees and bushes. It seemed this wasn't ideal land for growing pine trees. Barberton is famous for a lot of things. The most famous of these is Jock of the Bushveld. This was the town where the famous dog, on which the children's novel was based, lived and worked. This wasn't the first time I would think about "The Dog". Everywhere you looked there was a Jock of the Bushveld something. Hotels, Caravan parks, a Restaurant and probably more than one street in the town were named "Jock of the Bushveld'" Barberton was larger than I had imagined it. I had been here before on childhood holidays, but had no clear memories of the town.

We searched out the tourist information office where Etienne and Anna-Marie found a Bed and Breakfast that suited them, they looked ready to settle in. I had my mind set on camping at Sabie that night. We settled down at a small pavement tea garden, it was only 11:30am but I felt a cold beer would go down well. I ordered a Castle, Etienne and Anna-Marie had coffee and cake. Anna-Marie was clearly upset about the fast pace that we had taken to get here. I couldn't blame her since they had been two up and me only one, but I had long ago worked out my strategy for this type of touring. You needed to set yourself a target to reach by lunchtime, I use lunchtime because it's anytime between 12am and 4pm. Once you get to your destination find a place to stay and pitch your tent or unpack your bags or whatever. Then you have the rest of the afternoon do what you want, secure that at least you have somewhere to sleep tonight. Too many times in the past I had dawdled along the route and arrived at 8pm at night without knowing where I would be sleeping. We sat and talked for a while and eventually I decided that I needed to push on. We took some pictures next to the bikes, said goodbye and I headed out of town. It looked like from now on I would be riding solo. On the way out of town I rode past the Barberton prison. It seemed I had a thing with prisons today.

A few kilometers out of town and I started regretting the cold beer. My bladder was feeling the pinch. I drove past an a picnic spot on the side of the road. I decided it would be as good a place as any to relieve myself. Nelspruit was a good 30km away and there was no way I would last until then. I checked the traffic and did a U-turn and headed back to the picnic spot. It was off the road but still easily visible, I waited until all the cars had passed and stood close to the bushes. Just after the relief had begun about 5 cars drove past. I had the feeling I was being watched.

Before leaving on the trip I had gone over the map and had noticed a short dirt road, off the main road I was on, to a place called Kaapsehoop. I could see from the map that it was straight and probably flat and pretty easy, even with two up. I had considered taking Etienne and Anna-Marie on a short ride if we had passed by here just to give them a taste of the dirt. My thoughts were somewhere else when suddenly the turn off to Kaapsehoop flashed passed me. I remembered that the name had intrigued me. Kaap is the Afrikaans word for Cape, as in, a piece of land sticking out into the sea. But here very close to one another were three places with the word Kaap in their name. Kaapsehoop, Kaapmuiden and Noord Kaap. All these Capes 300km from the sea puzzled me. I decided that this was as good a place as any to get my dirt road fix. For the second time on the road to Nelspruit I did a U-turn, this time back to the Kaapsehoop turn off.

As I had expected the road was flat and mostly straight. 4000rpm in 4th gear mean 100km/h, and I was taking it easy. I lifted the visor and let the wind blow into my face. I really was addicted to this sort of thing, but it was a Good Thing to be addicted to. About 5km's down the road there was a road sign pointing to Waterfall. I wasn't sure whether it was a place called Waterfall of an actual waterfall. I decide to find out. The road was no longer flat and straight. It wound itself around small hills and meandered between the houses and farms around the hills. The locals walking along the side of the road were friendly and all waved to me as I drove past. Being a GS rider obliges you to return all waves from locals no matter what it takes. I had some nervous moments doing stomach dropping dirt hairpin bends while waving at the same time but my honour remained intact and all friendly gestures were returned, even though some of them may not have been seen. I reached some sort of koppie which I had identified at the most likely position of the waterfall. It was surrounded by a fence with a sign "Waterfall Farm, No Entry". My second unwritten rule of GS riding is to heed the no entry signs. I headed on. I would see a another waterfall later on today.

I was aware that this road was leading me in a circle back to the original flat, straight dirt road but I wasn't too concerned. The idea had been to get some dirt riding and I'd done that. I could happily carry on the Nelspruit without visiting Kaapsehoop. I was reveling in the road conditions. My dirt riding had taken a month long break, which probably explained the desperate need to do some now. On some of the steeper downhills I held back a little, not confident in my ability to handle the rear kicking around on the way down. On the uphills I went full tilt. This was an 80km/h road at best and I was doing that on the uphills, the downhills were taken at a more sane 50-60. At the bottom of one of the hills was my first "real" river crossing. It was only a meter wide and I'd driven through deeper pools in a Johannesburg thunderstorm but rivers are scarce and small around here so I was glad to be able to say that I'd finally crossed a river on my bike.

At the T-junction with the original dirt road I almost ran into a white V12 Jaguar coming in the opposite direction. He was occupying the middle of the road and so was I. I decided that I should be the one to move to the left. He stayed in the middle of the road. I was 99% sure that if I turned left I would be back on the tar road to Nelspruit but a road sign to my right would confirm it for me. I did a right 90 turn and hit the sand bank on the opposite side of the road. The rear wheel kicked out to my left and the bike fell over. I managed to keep my hands on the handlebars and kept her revving with the clutch in. I gave a tug and we were upright again. At that point I knew the only people who would not have been laughing at me were R11GS riders. They would be jealous of me for being able to lift my bike without stalling just seconds after dropping it. I looked around and saw that the Jaguar had disappeared over the hill before I had fell. At least he wasn't laughing at me. The sign confirmed that this was the same road so I headed back to the tar.

Before arriving at Nelspruit I would have to head up a nasty little mountain pass. It wasn't marked on the map so I can't give it a name but it was steep, potholed and altogether bike unfriendly. I almost lost it around one of the corners when the rear slipped because of some unseen loose gravel in the road. I passed a whole lot of traffic up the hill and when I got to the top I looked around and decided that it was a good photo opportunity. It had been bad experience getting there, but the top of the hill had a great view of the valley below and I wanted a picture. I pulled off on the verge and as I was taking the pictures all the traffic I had passed on the way up came past me. I took them all again on the road into Nelspruit. I was happy to have been warned early about this nasty piece of road as I would be riding back this same stretch tomorrow on my way to Swaziland.

Nelspruit is the capital of Mpumalanga province. (You'll have to work on that pronunciation. Believe it or not, it's pronounced exactly the way it's spelt! I've got some more tongue twisters coming up later on.) It's strikes you as an altogether "Nice Town" and doing quite well lately as it's the hub for most of the foreign tourists who visit South Africa. It has also benefited from the end of the civil war in Mozambique as it lies on the main road between Maputo and Johannesburg. For me the tourist oriented filling station just outside of town contained memories of the beginning of the end of my last relationship. It was here that the cracks began showing between me and my ex-girlfriend after a week long trip to Mozambique. I wondered if returning there would open up any old wounds.

The Hall's farm stall next to the filling station is a Nelspruit tradition. Heading out of the town back to Johannesburg the tourists would stop at the stall and buy bags full of pecan nuts and dried fruit. My mother has a school friend who lives around here and we would often visit over long weekends or on our way back from the Kruger Park, so childhood memories of stopping at Hall's for nuts and dried fruit rolls are still quite vivid. Together with the stall and Filling Station is a Wimpy bar and antique furniture store. To my disappointment it's been commercialized (read expensive) and the prices are obviously aimed at people with Pounds or Deutchmarks in their pockets. I picked up some miniature jams for gifts when I returned home, and bought some biltong for the road. As I tried to start the bike another mystery was solved. I had been kickstarting to save my starter motor but at Badplaas the bike wouldn't start and I had to resort to the starter motor. I was having the same problem here. It was when I pulled away from the pump that I realized it was in second gear neutral. Apparently kickstarting in second gear neutral was less likely to succeed that in first gear neutral. If you are wondering about the neutral light, it's been inoperative since an earlier rewiring attempt.

I sat in the Wimpy bar considering which route to take to Sabie. There were two possibilities, which was actually a good thing. I could take the one today and return tomorrow using the other. I decided to take the route which would not take me back through Nelspruit. I would need to pass through the town tomorrow for breakfast. As I sat I realized that I hadn't once thought about the event of few months back at the end of the Mozambique holiday. The only things that I was still carrying was the St.Christopher medallion that she had give me. The patron saint of travelers was smiling on me today. The route that I had chosen would prove to be the right one.

I headed out West on the N4. Usually this was the route that would take me back to Joburg at the end of the holiday, but today I turned off after about 14km at Schagen. I had been making good time since it was only 2:30 and the ride to Sabie would only be half an hour. The stretch of tar that I was riding immediately won the award for best road of the day. It was narrow with overhanging trees on either side. Two days before the beginning of spring was the closest that this place ever got to autumn and the leaves of some of the trees had turned to their autumn colours, red and orange flashes passed me as I drove. Every now and then a small farm would open up on the side of the road, fresh green vegetables being cultivated on the fertile lands. There was some traffic on the road but they were all on their way to the Sudwala caves which where about 5km's down the road. The road to the caves went straight and I turned to the right.

A small mountain pass took me up the hill to where the newly tarred road started. It had that new tar feeling as you drove along. No bumps and wide, with the forest close enough to the side of the road to give you that feeling that you are really moving. I was pushing about 140 kph. The long sweeping curves were effortless and fun. It was the sort of road that you hoped went on for a long time. It only went another 10 km's which was really too short but I'd had a good time while it lasted. Finally the road came to a T-junction at the Rosehaugh station. It was a small railway station the side of the road. Felled pine logs were loaded from here onto trains to be taken to the pulp factories. It was a quaint little place in it's own way.

I was now on the main road again and the traffic picked up again. I stopped on the road where it passed through a small forest gully. It made a nice backdrop with the bike in the foreground. If I turned left at the next T-junction I would have headed up the Long Tom pass. It's the road that's widely regarded a the best stretch of biking road in the country and probably in the whole of Africa. Anyone whose ever been to Mpumalanga on a bike has to have done the Long Tom pass. I had never done it and wasn't going to do it today. It was the sort of drive that you had to do in the morning because if you did it once would want to do it a few more times. On the way down into Sabie I would have a bit of biking company.

The first to buzz past me on the way down was a ZX9. It was brand new judging by the number plates and the rider was obviously breaking it in on it's first Long Tom crossing. He wasn't going too fast and when he'd got about a 400m lead on me I decided to see if I could keep up with him. I wasn't doing too badly and he'd only gained about another 100m over the next kilometer. I decided that the fun was over and pulled up, just in time as it turned out. Around the next corner a tourist bus had stopped in the middle of the road with a flat tire. Some bright spark in a car had stopped on the opposite side of the road from where the bus was and there was now a gap of probably 3m left to get through. I half expected to see the ZX9 and it's rider splashed across the road but he had got through the unexpected road block safely. Further on down the hill an R11GS passed me as well. Being that he was another GS rider I expected a wave and I waved at him as he went passed. He didn't return it. This sort of thing hardly endears me to 11GS riders, not that I've come to expect friendliness on the road from them. Yes, I am generalizing but on my travels Airhead riders have always been a lot friendlier than Oilhead riders. Mr. 11GS speeded on down the hill and I was happy to let him go. With all this bike traffic passing me I took a long look in my mirrors to see if there were anymore two wheelers behind me. In the distance I could see a single headlight. He caught up to me just as I entered Sabie. It was a purple GoldWing. I'd arrived at Sabie, now to find somewhere to stay.

I took a slow drive around town. I like these slow drives after a long fast one. Cools down both bike and rider before stopping. There was a flock of Japanese mosquitoes parked outside the Wimpy bar. Their owners were sitting on the pavement tables enjoying lunch. Behind the Wimpy bar was the Jock of the Bushveld Bungalows. It was the place I was likely to be staying unless I found something better. At the other end of the town I found the other hotels and motels. They all looked expensive so I headed back to the Jock of the Bushveld. The sky was mostly clear and rain didn't look likely so I decided if there was a campsite I would take it, if not, then I would settle for a room. The guard at the entrance to the Jock of the Bushveld had to call the manager on his two-way radio, while we waited I had talk with him, he said that they weren't busy and there would probably be a camp site free. It was Saturday afternoon and I had probably pulled the manager away from his TV set and a cold beer. He was surprised that I was alone. I filled in the registration book as he made out my receipt. Total cost for the night was R25 (~$5). He handed me a tourist information kit consisting of a map of the town and of the surrounding area, the rules of the campsite, a postcard (the first person to e-mail me their postal address can have it), and a discount voucher for The Barrow, a restaurant just up the road. He gave me directions on how to get to my campsite, said I could take anyone that wasn't occupied, then he went back to his cold beer and TV.

The entrance was around the back and when I rode in I was surprised to see that there were only five camping sites. The middle one was already occupied by a family in a caravan an two 4x4's, all their equipment took up the whole campsite and overflowed into the next one. I took the empty site one down from them. I parked the bike facing out, dismounted and headed for the ablution block to freshen up.

It was only 3pm and I could still get a lot of touring in before sunset.

I unlashed the rucksack took the tent out and quickly pitched it. Unrolled the rubber mat and sleeping bag and put the one on top of the other inside the tent. The rucksack went inside as well. Twenty minutes later I was ready to ride.

Sabie can only be described as a timber town. As I looked out from my camp site on the side of the small hill on which the town is built I had a 180 degree view of the surrounding pine forests in their various stages of cultivation. The pine trees here take as little as two years before they reach maturity and are felled to be processed. To the left of my view was Mount Anderson, which the tourist brochures are so eager to point out to visiting tourists as being a significant landmark to look out for. My interest in the hill is that it had lookup post on top. These lookout posts are occupied by teams of men who, for weeks on end, keep watch for forest fires. Previous experience had led me to discover that these lookouts were accessed by narrow, rocky, 4x4 paths which spiraled around the mountain and made for challenging hill climbs on the back of a GS. This one, like the Long Tom pass would have to wait for another trip as I was headed out of town in the opposite direction.

Just outside of town I passed the Sabie regional office for one of the large timer companies. Pine logs were piled high ready for chipping, smoke was rising slowly out of a small chimney. I don't know why places like this always seem to have smoke rising out of a small chimney, but all of these little forest outposts that I passed seems to have one. The tourist map I had received from the owner of the camp site pointed out a lot of tourist attractions further along the road. The first of these was the Mac-Mac pools. A private gravel road let to the parking lot where families where disembarking to have a look at the pools. At the gate I was annoyed to find that entry wasn't free, but that I would have to pay R4 for the privilege of looking at the Mac-Mac pools.

The land I was on was owned by a company called Safcol. I only knew of the big three timber companies in the area. Sappi, Mondi and HR&R. From experience I knew that the first two allowed free access to their forests to both bikes and cars. I can understand their concerns with tourists starting forest fires, but the roads in the forests were not usually accessible to anything other that off-road vehicles which, in it's own way, controlled the number of people entering the forest. The HR&R forests had a standard "No Entry" printed on the name board at the entrance, but by bending the GS rule about heeding the "No entry" signs I could gain entry by looking the other way, and since I had often received friendly waves while riding in their forests I counted them as one of the good guys. Safcol, as I was to discover would soon be listed under the "Bad Guys" column. Charging an entrance fee to look at some pools in a river was just the start.

I turned around and headed back to the main road without seeing the Mac-Mac pools. A little further down the road was the Mac-Mac waterfall. This too, turned out to be a disappointment since it was overrun by tourists and their busses and traders hawking their tourist art. I don't mean to be critical of the traders efforts to make a living for themselves, and if the truth be known I'm quite proud that most of the stuff on display is made locally, but really, some of their stuff can only look good to a German tourist. A little further along the road was Maria Shire's Falls and Graves. Waterfalls and Graves sounded like an interesting combination, I would stop on my way back. At the top of the hill I found my eventual destination. A dirt road which headed off into the hills, to my left was a sign, "Burger's Pass". A dirt road mountain pass. My idea of fun.

Before heading up the mountain I made a quick dash into Graskop, about 5km's down the road. On a previous trip I had once rolled into town on a Sunday afternoon with just a whiff of fuel left in the tank and had never been happier to see a 24 hour filling station, I decided I owed them one and I needed to fill up anyway. Before reaching the town I pulled up behind a car with a Cape Town registration. He was doing a comfortable 45 km/h. Cape Town drivers tend to panic when they the road isn't straight and flat and they end up slowing to a crawl on the main road. Although on flat, straight roads they go at rarely go faster than 50 km/h. I buzzed passed him, filled up in town and headed back out of town again. The Cape Town driver was still on the road as I drove back.

The first thing that struck me on my way up Burger's pass was how rocky the road was. Not loose rocks but small chunks of sandstone embedded in the surface of the road. Their edges looked sharp and I grimaced over the very rocky parts, thinking about the damage I was doing to my tyres. After a longish, flat section the road started twisting up the hill. I stopped in a shallow gorge and looked up at some amazingly tall trees. Most of the trees around here don't get the opportunity to grow tall, but these seemed to be growing in an old natural forest which had not been planted by the timber company. A row of trees must have stretched at least 20m into the air. There was a small ledge to the left of the trees, covered in moss as a result of the water trickling down it's side. As I stood, the whole scene just felt like a forest should feel.

Further on up the road I saw the familiar sets of white footprints painted on trees and rocks which marked the route followed by hikers through the forest. It was the Prospector's hiking trail, just one of the many hiking trails in the area. I hoped that I would run into some of the hikers so that we could have a talk and compare notes about the area. The peak of the mountain pass came up quite soon. It hadn't been the challenge I had expected by it was a nice enough ride. The hiking trail headed of down a small narrow side road to my right. I decided to see where the road led to. Some of the trail marking signs had indicated that there was an overnight hut, the "Graskop Hut", somewhere around here. The road narrowed a lot and I had some difficulty where a 4x4's tyres had left a deep ditch in some mud which had now dried. I got past it safely but stopped a little further up the road when the road seemed to dead-end.

These types of forest roads are interesting to say the least. There seem to be two rules to building them. The first is that they can't go over cliffs, at least not high cliffs. The second seems to be that they must follow the shortest distance between A and B. This means that if there is a steep slope the road just goes straight down the slope, not sideways to ease the slope, just straight down. I had once been down a road deeply rutted by water at a 45 degree angle (I've got the pictures to prove it). Sometimes you are faced with the problem that you can't see the bottom of the road you are driving down, as you sit on your bike at the edge of the slope. These roads were built for 4x4's and GS's.

When I stopped it was because I couldn't see where the road would lead me. I walked a little way down the road and was glad that I had stopped. The slope wasn't that bad and the road was flat, but it just stopped at the bottom of the slope and would have been very difficult turning the bike around. The hiking trail twisted up on the other side, but a bike would never have been able to make it up there. I walked back to the bike and took out my water bottle for a bit of refreshment, I dug something out the bottom of my bag to snack on . After taking a picture I couldn't help wondering what the hikers would have said if they had found me this far down their hiking trail. I almost wanted a few of them to come walking down the road just to see the surprised looks on their faces.

I turned the bike around and headed back, this time forewarned about the mud ditch. Where the path joined up with the main road again I turned around and saw some movement behind me, I though that I would be meeting some hikers after all, but when I turned around I saw what must have been the biggest baboon I have ever seen, about 20m away from me. He must have been fully over a meter tall even though he was crouched in the grass. I could see the rest of his troop beyond him, further into the forest. If you are wondering why this Africa GS story is not filled with more wildlife encounters I guess it's just because it's something that you come to expect. During the trip, especially on dirt roads, you often come across small buck grazing on the side of the road or troops of monkeys in the trees on either side. They usually don't stick around long enough for you to have a good look and often you just see something darting off into the bushes. The big baboon didn't seem too worried about my presence. I waited for a few moments for the troop to move on, but they were quite content where they were and weren't going to let a lone GS rider scare them away. I drove off down the other side of the hill.

They rockiness of the road was still concerning me, but as I gained my sense of direction I realized that they road would eventually get me to Pilgrim's Rest, if I followed it all the way. It was at most 20km's away if I need to make some repairs. Pilgrim's Rest is the home of the Royal Hotel, whose restaurant I rate as the best in the area. One of the two places on my list of "Restaurant's that treat you like a friend and not a customer". The other is the Wimpy bar in Nelspruit. I was driving along pondering whether to press onto Pilgrim's Rest or to turn around and head back to Sabie when a road came up pointing the way to the "Christmas Pools". It sounded like an "Adventure", so off I went.

They road here was still good, but rocky, and as I rode over the top of one of the hills I saw the small valley below which would prove to be the location of the Christmas Pools. To get there I had to go off the main road onto a narrow grass road, but about 500m along I found the Christmas Pools. Before I could stop I would have to execute another river crossing, this one infinitely more difficult that the puddle I had driven through earlier in the day. It was more than twice the length of the bike, about 4 meters, from the side it looked to be less than knee deep. Although the Afrikaans name for the pools, "In Die Diepte" ("In The Depths"), was a little unnerving. I plucked up all my courage and went for it. Now that I can speak from a position of experience about river crossings, my advice to you is this. Imagine that you are riding through a sandpit full of cricket balls, (baseballs if you're American). They will tend to move around as you drive over them. The water splashed over my pots and at least my estimation of the depth had been about right. I got a little stuck in the middle of the crossing as the rear wouldn't grip. I probably did the wrong thing by applying a bit more gas but it popped me out of the hole and I drove out on the other side.

On the other side of the river was a nicely laid out picnic spot. It seemed quite strange that here, way of the beaten track, someone had gone to the trouble of putting up a little fence, enclosing a small grassed area with a picnic table in the center of the grass. It was a magical sort of place and as I stood next to the pools I could feel the stress and tension, which somehow has a way of building up after a few weeks at work, slipping away. As I stood there I started to think about the difference between, what I would call an Adrenaline-junkie dirt rider, who gets his thrills out of driving to fast on bad dirt roads, and the Adventure-junkies like me for whom the thrill is to be found in discovering out of the way places like this. I stood looking into the depths of the Christmas pools. If I hadn't already found a place to stay for the night I would have pitched my tent here. Another time I will.

The sun was beginning to set and I needed to start heading back to Sabie. There would be no supper at the Royal Hotel I'm afraid. As I got back to the river I chickened out and decided to check out the two roads which went to my right to see if they would afford me an easier river crossing. I went down the one road and came back down the other, round in a circle. It seemed that the only way out was over the river. You would have thought that the experience of coming across the first time would have prepared me for the return crossing, but going back was less successful than coming in. This time I did get stuck in the middle and applying more gas only dug the rear wheel in deeper. I found a good grounding for my feet on the river bed, and gave a strong shove with a bit of gas, this was enough to free me from a watery end, even though my shoes where now soaked. The trip back along the road I had come along seemed shorter than it had on the way in. The only attraction was a small house buried in the trees on the side of one of the hills I passed. Smoke coming out of a small chimney, I wondered what it was like living in such isolation. As much as my sense of adventure drew me to places like this I don't think I could bear the isolation of living here, very far away from civilization. I stopped on my way back to have another look at the tall trees. I had wanted to take a photo on my way out, but this side of the hill was in shadow so I decide not to waste a shot.

My shoes and jeans were soaked almost up to the knees and riding back in shadow it was starting to get cold. I stopped at Maria Shire's Falls and Graves. Must be the loudest waterfalls I've ever heard, the way that the water is channeled down the rocks seems to ensure it hits the pool below with enormous power, making one hell of noise. After walking a short way on the path to the graves, I could see that it was heading to the top of the falls. After a day in the saddle my knees took one look at the steep path and decided that they weren't going to make it. Besides it was starting to get dark very quickly and I wanted a warm shower.

As I drove back into Sabie darkness fell. Back at the campsite I connected my newest accessory, a fluorescent light, to the battery. I haven't got round to installing the utility socket yet, but the light comes with alligator clips that I connected to my battery terminals. I was immediately satisfied with my newest purchase, as the tent lit up inside. I could get ready for my shower without having to grope around in the dark. I also found the latest use for my warm cylinders. I had previously jokingly identified them as good ankle warmers but now I found that they could also be used to dry out my wet socks. I draped them over the fins. Later when I returned from supper they would have dried out. Really useful these things, these pots.

I was glad to find that there was hot water in the showers and I took my time. Nothing like a hot shower after a good days riding. After the shower I got dressed and decided to go for a walk around the town. It was Saturday night and I expected the usual weekend activity , but it seems that most residents of Sabie had somewhere better to be on a Saturday night. The town was all but deserted except for an ambulance which kept driving through town with his lights flashing. Three times I saw him drive back and forth as I walked through the town. This was the most exciting thing I would see in Sabie that night. The only place to eat was The Barrow. My tourist pack that the owner of the campsite had given me, contained a voucher which entitled me to free glass of wine and 5% off my bill at the restaurant. Since there was nowhere else, it looked like I would be eating at The Barrow. I was the only person at the restaurant, although there was one person at the bar next-door. I order my free glass of red wine and a burger. It wasn't too bad but I could have done with something a bit bigger, maybe a steak, but it wasn't to be. As I walked out of the restaurant the ambulance drove past again. This time it was followed by a forestry truck with his lights flashing. The clientele in the bar had doubled to two and I decided that the nightlife in Sabie didn't exist. I headed back to the campsite.

The Jock of the Bushveld Bungalows was also a youth hostel and I though maybe I could find some foreigners there, but the only foreigners I found were the German tourists in a camper who had parked in the bottom half my campsite. They had arrived after dark and ,I guess, had parked in the first empty space that they had found. This empty space was unfortunately the empty part of my site between my tent and the fence which surrounded the camp. I went back to the swimming pool and stared up at the stars. I was missing an astronomy course for beginners to be on this trip, I had always had an interest in the stars. I tried to find satellites in the sky above, it's really quite amazing when you see one, it's just like a little star but it moves very fast through the sky. I couldn't see any tonight. A cold beer would have gone down perfectly about now, I regretted not having bought a few this afternoon.

Despite my best efforts it seemed I was fighting a losing battle. There was nothing to do in Sabie on a Saturday night. I surrendered and climbed back into my tent. I sat listening to my radio for a while and was soon asleep.

I woke up the next morning at 8am. I hadn't slept that well in the tent, I never do. I poked my head out the tent just in time to see one of the German tourists on his way to the ablution block with his towel under his arm. I dug my towel and toiletry bag out of my rucksack and followed him. On my way back I met his wife on her way back to the camper, she smiled and said good morning. She actually had this big, embarrassed smile on her face. She had obviously realized that they were parked in my campsite. When she got to the camper she burst into laughter and said something to her husband. I wished I could understand German.

There had been rain sometime during the night. The sky was overcast, the bike was wet and the outer cover of my tent was soaked with water. I gave it a good shake to get rid of some of the water. My routine for packing up my equipment is as well polished as the routine for setting up camp. At 8:30 everything had been packed in the rucksack and lashed to the back of the bike. The German tourist was watching me as I tried to start the bike. Despite being in the rain the night before, it roared into life at my first attempt. He could feel a small sense of pride in the German machine.

I'm not a morning person, so I was still a little sleepy on my way out of town. I was going in the right direction, but there were two roads out of town. One went to Lydenberg and the other went to Hazyview. I wanted to go to Nelspruit. Hazyview sounded good, so that's where I went.

The next 25km's of road are the best tarred roads I've ever ridden on. Just out of town they start with some long sweeping, but not too steep curves. These were just a warm-up for what was to come. Pretty soon the gentle curves become a bit more long and sweeping and steep. Real bum-hugging twisties that stick you down in your seat for 500m or more. Totally effortless, totally comfortable, doing 120kph around perfectly cambered curves with pine trees rushing past you. When bikers, sorry, motorcyclists, die, this is what their heaven will be like. All day long they will get to ride up and down these hills. This was the bottom half of the Long Tom pass, if the top half is better then it must be perfect.

At this point I loved everyone in the world. When I drove past some Technicolor boy-racers at the peak of one of the slopes and they waved to me, I was hardly surprised. If you were driving a bike on this road then every other biker on the road was your friend, and deserved a wave, whatever bike he was riding. If I had seen a R11GS rider I might even have waved at him.

Just when I thought that the road would go on like this forever, it finally bottomed out in the valley. The bottom of the valley had a climate which was typical Lowveld. Green, bushy with Avocado pear orchards at regular intervals, as well a the occasional group of citrus trees. The sun had broken through the early morning mist and it was warm as I drove through the valley. I drove past one of the resorts built next to the river in the valley. The golf course looked artificial next to the natural vegetation. This was clearly a popular tourist area as there was plenty of hotels, guest lodges and craft stalls on the way. I was tempted to stop at a few of them, but I knew Swaziland wouldn't wait for me, literally. The border post closed at 4pm.

As I stopped outside Hazyview the bike almost stalled. The choke was still on from the cold start earlier in the morning. Damn, I would have loved to have a bit more power through those twisties. One day I'll spend the whole day riding up and down the Long Tom pass. Maybe by then I'll know someone with a K12 and he'll lend it to me for the day. Well, I can dream, can't I.

Don't let the name Hazyview fool you. It's really a little industrial town with a disproportionate number of auto repair shops. The first reason for the excess of garages is that it's just a few kilometers from the main entrance to the Kruger National Park. If your car breaks down in the park, you have it towed to Hazyview to be repaired. Nowadays, if you live in Mozambique then you also bring your car across the border for service or repairs. In Mozambique all the auto parts have to be imported and paid for in Dollars (sounds familiar), so most Mozambicans with cars prefer to bring them over the border into South Africa where they can get used spares instead of new, and more importantly, pay for them in Rands.

Breakfast in Hazyview had sounded like a good prospect until then. The town hadn't quite lived up to it's name. It would have to be a late breakfast in Nelspruit. By this time I had finally woken up and realized that I was taking the really long route to Nelspruit. I'd probably added and extra 50 km's onto the trip, but the road had definitely made it worth it. It was quite a busy road, especially for a Sunday morning. Again, this section seemed to be a tourist area, with plenty of accommodation and farm stalls along the route. I was tempted to stop along the road and take picture of the bike in front of a road sign warning of Hippos for the next 4km's. As I rounded the next corner the DaGama dam came into view, I suddenly thought to myself, "Why am I rushing past all these great places to stop?". Anna- Marie's words came back to me about rushing through places without stopping. But then it hit me, as long as there are still places along the way that I haven't seen, then there will be a reason to come back. If one day I ride along all these roads and say at each place, "Been there, done that" then I will have seen everything that there won't be anything left to see. No reason to come back. I stopped feeling guilty about rushing past it all and pressed on ahead to Nelspruit.

At the Danie Joubert Dam I finally gave in. It's a large dam surrounded by pine forests. Along the banks of the dam there were a number of people in tents and campers next to small fires warming up their morning coffee. I made a mental note to camp here on a future trip. It looks as if you just pitched your tent on the side of the dam and left when you wanted to. No entrance fee, but at the same time no facilities. The real outdoors. I took a picture of it.

Before Nelspruit I drove through White River. It was quiet here, everyone seemed to be in church, except for the traffic cop. I checked that my lights were on and nothing was hanging off the bike before he drove past. He drove past slowly and gave me a look. Halfway between White River and Nelspruit was a huge construction site. There was an enormous flat area being graded for some future building activity. A large crane in the center of the site was dwarfed by the size of the whole area. It was the site for the new casino. Gambling in now legal and casino licenses have been allocated. This was to be the site of one of them.

In Nelspruit it seemed everyone had got out of church and gone shopping. I accidentally turned into a shopping center parking lot, instead of the road into town (don't ask how). I had to dodge a few supermarket trolleys and prams before I got back on the main road again. I was about 10am and I needed a good breakfast. In the old days you could call yourself a town if you had a certain number of facilities, a post office, a bank, and a church. A cathedral made you a city. I wondered what the modern day equivalents would be. A Wimpy Bar was the first thing that came to mind and a petrol station. Wimpy Bar and Petrol station made you a town. For a city you would need an ATM machine and a Cinema. Nelspruit was by this reasoning a city, the next city I would be in would be Mbabane.

Finding the Wimpy Bar was easy, getting there was another problem. Nelspruit is a city of one way streets. One wrong turn and you're doomed to zigzagging up and down until you can get back to where you started. I pulled up outside the Wimpy Bar just as a light drizzle started. Inside, I sat down and ordered the first of two cups of coffee. Sometimes all you really need is a Wimpy breakfast, this was one of those times. After the second cup of coffee it was still drizzling outside. It didn't look like it would let up anytime soon, it was a light drizzle and it wasn't going to hold me up. Outside the bike had some admirers, they wanted to know where I was going. They could have looked a bit more impressed when I told them I was going to Swaziland via the dirt road.

I stopped just outside the city at a petrol station and decided to give the bike the works. The roadkill build-up on the front headlight was getting thick and I could write my name in the dust on my license plate and indicator on the back. I squeegeed everything that could be squeegeed and wiped it off with cloth. Put in a can of oil and checked that nothing was coming loose. The news was on the radio playing in the background and I heard something about Princess Diana and a car crash. Before I had time to think about it I saw a white and blue F650 just like Etienne's rolling down the hill and into Nelspruit, in fact on the back were two people who looked just like Etienne and Anna-Marie. It couldn't be, but it was. I watched them drive down the hill and turn right into Nelspruit. If they had turned left it would mean that they were on their way back home, but since they were had turned into the town, I thought it would be easy to find them and find out what they had been up to.

Easier said then done. After I'd finished at the petrol station I drove back into town and looked everywhere that I could think of. The Wimpy Bar, the Tourist Information, the coffee shop outside the Tourist Information, even the ATM machines, but they were nowhere to be found. When I got back from the trip I told Etienne about it and he told me that they had gone to the news agent. One place I hadn't looked. Eventually I gave up and decided that they weren't going to be found. In the end it was probably better. They would have told me about Princess Diana's death and I would have been down for the rest of the day. After getting caught up in the one-way street merry-go-round again. I finally got out of town again. Swaziland was getting closer.

Out of town and quickly down the nasty mountain pass of the previous day and back to Barberton. Nothing looked familiar on the way there, even though I had ridden down this road the day before. Despite the patches of sunshine the road was still wet and slippery. I was trying to make good time, but after a bit of a slip around a wet corner I decided that I could slow down just a bit. I had no idea of the availability of petrol in Swaziland. All the tourist books said that they were open on Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoon. Not wanting to be caught short and despite only being 40km's into my tank I decided to fill up in Barberton. Outside of town and I turned left to Bulembu. This was it, I was really on my way to Swaziland. The only thing in my way was then Drakensberg mountain range. It rose up in front of me like a huge black wall. This was going to be fun.

The road to Swaziland got very steep, very quickly. On my way up I passed a big truck coming down in the opposite direction. He must have been doing at most 20km/h, all I could hear driving past was the strain on his brakes. The day before in Barberton the conversation had drifted towards the advantages of having a GPS onboard. I didn't see much use for it unless you where going to leave the roads on your map, but I would have loved to have one right now to measure my increase in altitude. As a rough guess I would say that the road rose at least 1km over a distance of 5km with maximum inclines of 30 degrees.

Twice on the way up I stopped. At the first stop some tourists in a 4x4 were having a look at the view in front of them. About 500m further up was an even better view and I stopped to take a picture or two. I could see Barberton far down in the plain below me. I was almost at the height of the clouds that covered the plain below and could see the shafts of light shining through the holes in the big cloud roof.

The plain soon disappeared behind me as I headed further into the hills. Most of the climbing had been done in the first part of the journey and although it was quite twisty here, the steepest of the road was behind me. Soon there was a twinkle in my eye as a road sign came up "Tar Ends, 500m". I've always thought that they should rather say "Dirt Begins, 500m", a bit like the cup being half-full instead of half-empty. A road went off to my left at the sign and some people were standing around, probably waiting for a ride into the town below. To my left I could see the settlement from which they had come, it looked like a forest station of some sort. I couldn't see the smoke rising from a small chimney, but it was behind a row of trees and I'm sure there was a chimney down there somewhere.

Suddenly, for some unknown reason, I got the feeling I was lost. I pulled over and looked at the map again, but that didn't help. I was probably going in the right direction but I decided to turn back and ask the people waiting at the road sign which was the right route to take. I did a U-turn and almost straight away drove past a 4x4 coming in the opposite direction. It looked loaded up with gear and after a bit of thought I reasoned that it must be on its way to Swaziland as well. I turned around again and headed back in my original direction.

After a while I was trying to figure out whether the 4x4 had turned off the road or was just as driving fast as I was. The road here was rocky and twisty and I would not have seen him unless I was close behind him. Eventually there was a long stretch of dirt and I just saw him rounding the corner in the distance. I picked up the pace and despite the road getting a bit steeper and rockier I eventually caught up with him and passed him around a tight corner. I managed a wave as I went past.

I finally got to the top of the hill we had been riding up and there, over the top was a long, deep valley below me. This was the heart of the Saddleback Pass. The road stretched all the way to the bottom of the valley and then climbed up in a long straight road on the other side of the valley. This was great dirt riding and I floored it on the way down and on the way back up. As I was climbing the opposite side of the valley I saw the 4x4 on my left hand side on the opposite side of the valley. I had built up quite a lead on him in a short distance. At the top of the other side the valley I stopped for a rest. A quick picture of the valley below and the road I had come along, stretching out in front of me. As I pulled my water bottle out of my bag the 4x4 came round the corner and pulled up behind me.

His green epaulettes identified him as an employee of the Mpumalanga Parks Board. I remembered that I was actually driving through a National Reserve on the border between Swaziland and South Africa. We shook hands and the first thing I asked him was if I was on the right road to Swaziland. He smiled and said I was headed in the right direction. He said there was another 20-25 km's of dirt before the border, then a short stretch of tar to Bulembu, but from Bulembu to Pigg's Peak was dirt road again. He said it as if it was a bad thing, but I reassured him that dirt roads were a good thing for me. We spoke a bit and he pointed to the backpack tied to back of the bike and told me it was looking a bit precarious. The bumpy road had loosened it up and it was now listing to the right. As he left I tightened it up. I saw his two dogs running around the back of the 4x4 as he pulled off.

At first I wanted to pass him but I decided to hang behind him for as long as I could. The road was getting rocky, like it had been the day before over Burger's Pass and I if I got a flat tyre now it would be better to be near someone, so I tailed him for a few kilometers. The dogs in the back of the truck were having the time of their life. I looked around at the backpack and it had started slipping again. Hard luggage had never seemed more appropriate. I stopped again to tighten the ropes again and the truck disappeared over the top of the next hill. After tightening the ropes I pulled off and over the top of the hill, I was surprised to see that he had stopped as well. He waved and I figured this was the end of the road for him. On my way up I would only see one other car.

The road here was great if you loved driving in the dirt, but no-one said how tiring it would be. Sometimes it can be a pleasure to drive on roads like this on a GS. Most of the time it was a mental strain, having to concentrate on every rut, rock and dirt patch on the road, but I was now probably 20km's into the road and it was starting to get physically tiring. I looked behind me to see if the pack was slipping again, but fortunately it wasn't. On my way up I started thinking about names for the bike. After all I couldn't go on calling it "the bike" forever and after driving up a road like this together there was a sort of bonding that was inevitable. I though about the dogs in the truck. I would be hard pressed to choose between my love of dogs and my love of bikes. "The Dog" would make a good name, reliably, trusting, man's best friend.

It sounded like it had potential.

My attention turned to the fence to the right of the road. I was definitely there to catch anyone who went over the edge. There wasn't a cliff on the side, just a very steep slope down which I would have rolled to the floor of the valley a few hundred meters below me. The pine trees had disappeared and now there was just green grass wherever I looked, with rocky outcrops here and there in the steep hills that surrounded me. I was zigzagging across the path of the aerial cableway that ran from Barberton to Bulembu. I'm not sure how long it is exactly but it must be about 20km's. It's the longest aerial cableway in the world and is used to carry asbestos from the mine in Bulembu to Barberton. All along I was crossing a wide green stripe that cut though everything in its path to make way for the cableway. I stopped underneath it and took a picture.

The road had been tough up to here, but with a enough stops along the way I had made it through relatively unscathed. A T-junction in the road was another good excuse to stop for a rest and the blue truck that I had passed on the road earlier caught up with me. He went right, but the road sign at the T-junction was quite clear. The border was 2km down the road to the left.

The border post on the South African side is called Josefsdal. It's just a border post, no town or settlement here, high up in the Drakensberg. The customs guy asked me to fill in my details in the book. He asked me a few questions about what I would be doing in Swaziland. In passing he asked me if I was here to see the Reed Dance. It's an annual celebration in Swaziland and if I'd known that it was going to take place this weekend I would have made the time to see it, but more about that later. I filled in both pages of the book and had my passport stamped, it was the first stamp in my new passport. The customs guy turned into a border guard as he followed me outside to raise the boom so I could drive through. As we walked out the door he asked me, as an afterthought, if I had anything to declare. I told him I was really worn out from the drive, but I don't think he got the joke. Maybe he'd heard it before.

As is normal, I expected the Swazi border post to be on the other side of the South African one, but for practical reasons it was another kilometer down the road. It was built just outside Bulembu and bore the town's name. Since Bulembu was more than a kilometer over the border this explained the gap between the two posts. The Swazi border officials were a little friendlier than the South Africans had been. They had the radio turned up loud inside the office so I could hardly hear what they were saying. We eventually resorted to hand signals, which was good idea anyway. I had a distinct impression that they weren't speaking English, but rather the Swazi language, Seswati. Five fingers seemed to indicate that my road tax would be E5 (~$1), the local currency, the lilangeni, is pegged on a 1-1 basis with the Rand and you can use Rands to pay for virtually anything in the country so at least there would be no money changing problems.

Just past the border post was the town of Bulembu. A quaint little place, everything seemed to revolve around the mine at the center of the town. There were rows upon rows of colorfully painted houses along the side of the hill. This was the section of the road that was tarred, but apart from a short section through the town, it was mostly potholes. The occasional cow blocked my path through the town. I wished for a return to the dirt. Just outside of town my wish came true, although as I got back on the dirt, I changed my wish to a nice comfortable bed instead. I stopped for the last time to tighten the backpack and was amazed by the sight in front of me. A group a cows casually browsing the grass on the side of a 45 degree slope. These were 4x4 cows. I wanted to take a picture of them but I only had one or two shots left on my spool and no replacement. I already had a picture of a cow standing knee deep in a pool of mud, and no-one I showed the picture to appreciated the humour, so I doubted whether a picture of 4x4 cows would be appreciated by anyone I knew.

The road from Bulembu to Pigg's Peak was unremarkable, but perhaps if I wasn't feeling so worn out I would have liked it more. As I drove into Pigg's Peak I almost expected a welcoming party to be standing at the entrance to the town to shake my hand. Instead there was an equally heartwarming sight of a 24 hour garage. I pulled up at the pump and a small crowd gathered to have look at the bike. Inside the shop I asked for film for my camera and was handed a packet of Camels. I declined, since I had stopped smoking about 3 years ago. The tourist books tell you that the locals can speak English. They also tell you that the petrol stations are only open on Sunday afternoons. Don't believe either. For the most part you can communicate with a combination of hand signals and words, but don't expect to hold a full conversation with a Swazi native. They don't speak English as well as most of the guide books would have you believe.

When I had mentioned to everyone back in Johannesburg that I would be going to Swaziland, they all said one thing, "Don't miss Pigg's Peak, it's really great up there". If there had been a place to stay in town I would have. It had taken me two hours to get from Barberton to Pigg's Peak, my trip meter told me it was a distance of 70km's of which 50km's had been dirt. I was dog-tired and in no mood to have a look around the town. It would definitely have to wait for another time. Mbabane was about 80km's away and it was a good tarred road all the way. I could make it in time for a 3pm lunch.

The road to Mbabane really is a good road. It looks newly tarred and the markings are still their original bright yellow and white. I always feel safer on a road with a wide run off on either side of the yellow lines and I felt quite comfortable on this road, until I came across traffic. As I had crossed the border large signs had warned me that the general speed limit in Swaziland was 80km/h. This had hardly been relevant on the dirt roads and potholed tar, where 80 would have been difficult to maintain. But here on the wide tar road I decided that I could push 100 without a problem, other than being nabbed by the local traffic police. After all, back in South Africa I would have been doing 120 on a road like this. This all changed as I drove up behind a car in the road in front of me. If the tourist guide warns you about the drivers in Swaziland, believe it. Swaziland has a large Chinese population and it seems that most of the driving instructors here must be Chinese. The drivers are all totally unpredictable. The first car I pulled up behind reacted by braking really hard and slowing down to about 40 km/h. I assumed that this was to allow me to pass. I would have been more appreciative, if it weren't for the adrenaline flowing though my veins. As he had slammed on his brakes I had almost gone into the back of him.

The road was quite hilly here and below me I could see a long stretch of road winding down into the valley below. Here I saw another local driving custom being practiced. It seemed that larger vehicles had right had right of way regardless of whether overtaking was allowed. A small car in front of me had to swerve to avoid an being hit by an oncoming truck that was overtaking on the blind curve in front of us. Straight away I decided that maybe 80 km/h was a better speed to be driving at. The local driving habits aside the road into Mbabane was a pleasant drive. As I sank lower into the valley below, The Ezulwini Valley, the air warmed up and the sun started peeking though the clouds. By the time I got to Mbabane the weather was starting to become quite tropical.

The first sign that I was approaching Mbabane were the large billboards placed outside of town, quite out of place in the surrounding bushveld. Just before I reached the town a road sign suggested that it might be prudent to slow to 60 km/h as I was about to pass the Kings residence. Not wanting to be disrespectful towards the King I slowed. Just past the Kings residence Mbabane opened up in front of me. A large sign across a pedestrian bridge read "Cooper's BMW welcomes you". It was nice to know that I had friend in Mbabane. Cooper's BMW itself was just beyond the sign, right next to Cooper's Toyota and Cooper's Volkswagen. It seems Mr. Cooper has done quite well for himself in the Mbabane vehicle sales industry.

Before I continue take out a pen and a piece of paper. Now write a large V in the center of the paper and draw a circle in the neck of the V. Just above the end of the left arm of the V draw another circle. Now join the two circles with a flat half circle starting down the right side of the V and turning to the left. The Ezulwini Valley runs down the center of the V. Each arm of the V is a mountain range creating the valley below. The circle in the neck is Mbabane, where I was now, and the other circle is Manzini, Swaziland's second city. The half circle between the two is the road of about 40km's which joins the two city's. The first 10km's of the road out of Mbabane is devoted to the tourists. It's here that you will find all the accommodation, the Swazi market and the casino. Mbabane lies at a higher altitude than the valley below and as you drive out of the town the road drops steeply into the valley. This road was being rebuilt all the way down and narrowed to a single lane in most places which slowed my progress into the valley.

I drove straight through Mbabane and down the road under construction. I wanted to find a place to stay tonight. I had, for a short while considered camping at the caravan park, but it looked like it would rain tonight and even more importantly I really needed a comfortable bed to sleep in after today's ride. The first likely place to stay was the Mgenule Motel . It was just outside of town and looked nice enough from the road as I rode past. A little further on was the "Cuddle Puddle" hot springs. I would ride past here quite a few times and each time I would have a laugh at that name. Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot there was a lot of cuddling going on in the puddle this Sunday afternoon. Just past the Cuddle Puddle was the casino, here the hot springs were called the Health Spa. It just didn't have the same ring to it at the Cuddle Puddle. Further on was the Swazi market with the caravan park on the opposite side of the road. A little way along was the turn off to Mantenga and there seemed to a lot to do there, judging by the sign boards on the side of the road, but it was a 5km dirt road and I had almost had my fill of dirt roads today (Did I really say that?). Finally, there's the Happy Valley Motel. I took one look at it and decided not to stay there. It had go-go bar and disco, what more can I say. I turned around and drove back to the Mgenule (know from now as the M-Gen) to book myself a room.

I walked into the reception and asked for a room for the night. It was E135 (~$30) and I was happy when then said they would accept my credit card. I had enough cash on me but I wanted to go to the casino tonight and thought I would need some of it. As the receptionist processed my credit card I filled in the guest book. Outside the doorman indicated that I should followed him on the bike. So there we were, he walking slowly up the hill and me behind him on the bike trying not to fall over. Eventually we got to room 28 and he showed me inside. He showed me where each of the light switches was, how to turn the TV on, how to turn the radio on. I think he was about to show me how the taps worked, but I stopped him before he had a chance. I slipped him a tip and showed him to the door. As soon as he was gone I went back and flopped myself down on the bed. That felt good. It was only about 3pm and I still had a lot to do today, but I had reached my destination, I had a place to stay and I was about to have lunch. I couldn't have been happier.

Mbabane is in Hhohho province. I could help you out with Mpumalanga but Hhohho has me at a loss. Mbabane on a Sunday afternoon was surprisingly busy. Most people were just sitting in groups and talking. I rode around the center of town getting a feel for the place. It's a hilly city and the main peak in the town has a tall apartment block on top. The residents probably have the best view of the city and valley below. At about ten or fifteen stories it was the tallest building in the city.

After driving around for a while I pulled into filling station for a top up. On my way from the M-Gen I had seen a billboard for Nando's chicken. Those of you who haven't tasted Nando's chicken yet don't know what you are missing. It may not have been a Sunday lunch, but peri-peri chicken was just what I needed. The pump attendant spoke the best English I had heard from anyone in Swaziland. Even so it took a few hand signals before we established that Nando's was a little further down the hill. The petrol came to a little over E17, I paid with a R20 note. This was the first time I had noticed the price of the fuel. At E1.86/l it was about 30c cheaper than the petrol in South Africa. Another good reason to live here. The attendant returned with my change. He dumped a pile of foreign looking coins into the palm of my hand. I am in the habit of tipping at the petrol pump but as I stared at the coins I had no idea which was which. I handed them back and shrugged. He smiled and walked away. He must have been thinking that foreigners get really happy when you tell them where the Nando's is.

I found it at the bottom of the hill where he had said it would be. It was located in a shopping center called simply "The Mall". It had obviously been built to cater for the needs of South Africans resident in Swaziland. The South African consulate was located on the second floor. All the stores were taken straight out of a South African shopping center. The Steers, Jet Stores and Woolworths wouldn't have been out of a place on a Johannesburg street. I placed my order for a Mild Peri-Peri 1 Chicken and Chips and took my slip. While waiting for my order I took a walk around the shopping center. I found a shop which I wouldn't have found in South Africa, The Lotto Shop. I would see quite a few of these as I drove around. Top prize was E200,000 and I was a little tempted to drop some coins in one of the slot machines inside. It was a state run operation with the profits going to the national coffers. As South Africans we have a tendency to look down on our neighbors because they are poorer than we are, but this was just one of the examples I would see were we could learn a thing or two from Swaziland.

My 1 chicken was ready and it had never tasted better. The music was playing at full volume here as well. It seemed that Swazi's in general liked their music loud. The choice seemed to be that of the young woman being the counter. It was a collection of Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston's greatest love songs. Not quite ethic Swazi music but sitting and listening to the music and friendly chatter of the locals made me feel quite at home. A new building was going up across the road. The new residents were to be Nedcor Bank, my employer back in South Africa. I wondered if there was any chance that they would move the IT division to Swaziland. This would be a nice place to live.

At that point I had no idea what to do with myself. My only suggestion was to drive around a bit. Nothing too challenging, just a bit of look-see. I completed another turn of the city and then out of town again. A road sign ahead of me pointed the way to Mhlambanyatsi. Between Hhohho and Mhlambanyatsi, I can probably pronounce Mhlambanyatsi more correctly. I had already decided that tomorrow I would be riding home via Mhlambanyatsi, and since I didn't have anywhere else to go today I carried on up the road. It's a steep road, up over the mountain range on the right of the V. At the top you have a great view of Mbabane below you. I drove another kilometer along the road and got to a traffic circle. I drove all the way round the circle and back along the road I had come along. I needed a good picture of Mbabane and I had just ridden past it. At the viewing point I stopped and took a picture of Mbabane an then drove back there. My drive to Mhlambanyatsi had been a short one.

Back in Mbabane I stopped at another filling station to get something to drink, as well as a roll of film for the camera. As I was sitting drinking my drink I decided that I would to go to Manzini instead. I wouldn't have time tomorrow and it was only 40 kilometers away. So back down into the valley I went. Down past the road works, past the M-Gen, the Cuddle Puddle and the casinos. Just past the casinos I saw a sign pointing to the Tea Road. Now admit it, if you had time to waste driving around a foreign country wouldn't you want to see the Tea Road. The first part was enjoyable. Tall trees on either side of the road made it cool in the afternoon heat. The road itself full of people with their kids and animals. All the kids waved as I went past and eventually I was riding one handed, my left hand being too busy returning all the waves. The Tea Road then became a dirt road through a residential area and finally it ran into the new highway.

The new highway between Mbabane was being built on an entirely new route. Down the center of the V instead of the right. Swaziland gained independence in 1968 and I guessed that all the road works were in preparation for the 30th anniversary next year. The new highway was far from complete but I drove up onto the newly laid tarmac and down the center of the tar. I hoped the local police were all somewhere else today. If they had seen me I had no doubt they might have something to say about me riding down their unfinished highway. The tar soon became gravel and then dirt. They were still building the bridge over the river that flowed down the middle of the valley. The road was tarred on the other side of the unfinished bridge, but the only way to get there was a wobbly looking temporary bridge. A sign warned me that I would be crossing at my own risk. I had no intention of taking the risk so I turned around and drove back to the main road.

The road between Mbabane and Manzini was once listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the most dangerous in the world. These 40 kilometers of tar had more accidents per kilometers than any other road in the world. Looking at the way people were driving I was not surprised. It's a fairly straight road so the danger of being struck by something overtaking on a blind curve is reduced. The big danger here was that most people didn't seem to want to stop unnecessarily. Before I left, a friend was telling me about the drivers in Mauritius who don't stop when they enter the main road from a side road. As they approach the main road they lean on their hooters and go for it. If you are driving on the main road you should know that a car with be coming from a side road if you hear it hooting. Here in Swaziland the same rule seemed to apply, except hooting was optional.

About halfway to Manzini I had another encounter with the local police. They had set up a traffic calming zone along a stretch of the road. (I would find out why on my way back). I was trying to look inconspicuous when I saw one of them making a flashing signal with his hand. I looked down and saw my lights were off. In South Africa, and Swaziland it seemed, you are required drive with your lights on at all times. I turned the light on and waved to the policeman. He waved back. They seemed to be friendly after all.

A huge crowd of people were milling around Manzini as I came in. Was this my welcoming party that had missed me in Pigg's Peak? No I wasn't. They were all streaming out of the soccer stadium after the Sunday afternoon match. They all seemed happy, so the right team must have won. I did one of my usual look-see rides around Manzini. It was a lot smaller than Mbabane. More a town than a city. I drove past a park where people where playing with their kids. The center of town had two one way streets. Despite there being only two, I still managed to get into a loop and found myself pushing my way through the busy bus and taxi rank. I was full of soccer fans waiting to get back to Mbabane. I hoped that none of them would jump onto the back of the bike, although for a small fee I would have given them a lift back to Mbabane. Outside of town I stopped to take a picture of Manzini and as I got off I could feel and smell the heat coming off my cylinders. It was hot here in the late afternoon.

Outside of town the airport looked like the most interesting place to visit. I always like visiting airports. If I was lucky I would see a plane landing. A large man was busy washing the rental cars in the parking lot outside the entrance. The airport itself consisted of a single building which served as the arrivals and departures hall and two air traffic controller towers. The older tower had been abandoned for the newly constructed tower. A third tower was being built next to the newer one. I pulled up in front of the old tower and took off my gloves and helmet and looked out towards the runway. Lying abandoned next to the runway was a big gray US Air Force jet. It wasn't parked there and it wasn't crashed. It was just lying there on it's side. It was the strangest thing I had seen that day. I don't suppose anyone knows the story of how it got there. I was worth a picture, which turned out to be the last on the spool. I rewound the film, inserted the new one and was soon back on the road again. As I drove out of the main gate a whole lot of signs welcomed me to Swaziland again.

On my back I was driving into the setting sun. As it sank lower the temperature started dropping, until we were driving through a cool breeze. As we drove I couldn't help thinking about my dog at home who sticks her nose out of the car window and lets the breeze blow into her face to cool her down. As I drove I could feel "The Dog" below me sticking her nose into the cool breeze letting it cool her off as we rode. That was when it was finally decided, it was longer the bike, it was now "The Dog". I flipped up the visor an let the breeze blow into my face as well. I could see why she liked it so much.

Further on and I saw what the road calming efforts had been about. A policeman stepped into the road and held his had up for me to stop. A long row of Mercedes' and BMW's came driving out from a side road past me. Now I'm not saying that it was definitely the king in one of those cars, but the chances were very good that it was him. After all who else would be driving around in a long convoy of luxury cars. The King of Swaziland had just ridden past me and I was feeling quite important. A little further down and I saw a possible reason for the friendliness from the local policeman. Lined up on the side of the road was a row of white F650's with blue lights on the front and rear. At least they were spending the profits from the Lotto machines wisely.

Right now a cold beer would have made a perfect ending to a perfect day. I decided to give the Happy Valley Motel another visit, since in addition to the go-go bar and disco I had seen that they had a sports bar as well. The doorman as the motel started waving his arms when he saw me. I almost expected to be told that bikers weren't welcome. After all, there were a bunch of less well behaved bikers attending a rally not too far away. His intentions were the opposite however. He led me right up to the entrance and made me park next to the front door. As I got off he gave me a big smile and a thumbs-up. Did I say how much I liked driving a BMW?

Inside it seemed I had judged the Happy Valley Motel too harshly. The air-conditioning was refreshing, the restaurant seemed to be full of happy patrons. I headed for the sports bar. Inside a group of men were watching soccer. The COSAFA Cup, Zambia vs. Namibia. I ordered two beers at the bar and found a place to sit. I sat watching the soccer and drinking my beers until it ended. Zambia won. The soccer fans in the bar got bored with the post-match interviews and left. I had almost finished my second beer and was about to do the same, when the barman switched channels to CNN. Princess Diana had died that morning. My first reaction was disbelief. This was Swaziland and the news here was different, she wasn't really dead. I actually tried to rationalize that logic for a moment. Now that I've had time to think about it, the life that she lived and the way that she died has set her up to be an idol. The way that our generation idolizes Marilyn Monroe and James Dean, even Grace Kelly, the next generation will idolize her. I can't help thinking that if I have children and they idolize Diana, that won't be a bad thing. Whatever happens I know that I will always remember where I was when I heard that she had died. I was in the sports bar at the Happy Valley Motel about 10 kilometers outside of Mbabane.

Sitting in the Sports Bar at the Happy Valley Motel one thing was quite clear to me, I smelled bad. A day in the saddle and the wet clothes from the river crossing the day before had combined to form an earthy smell all around me. I needed a bath. Outside the entrance the doorman looked sad to see me leave, or rather, sad to see the Dog leave. Back on the road it was dark, but the M-Gen was just a few kilometers along. Inside my room I turned the TV on and listened to the news on BBC World as I took a bath. Acceptance of Princess Diana's death was starting to sink in. The warm water in the bath came out the tap in a slow trickle and as it started to fill the bath I could see a slight brown tinge to it, but that wasn't going to stop me from having a long soak. After my bath I dug my last clean shirt from the rucksack and pulled it over my head. I was going to the casino tonight so I made an effort to look respectable. I even went as far as putting on a little deodorant. I was smelling a lot better than an hour ago. At 8:30pm I pulled into the main gate of the casino.

The Royal Swazi Spa is more of a resort than a casino, it has the Health Spa, Hotel and a golf course. The casino itself was quite small compared to others I have been to. Half of the room houses the slot machines, one quarter the blackjack and roulette tables and the last quarter the bar. I walked up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. Drinking G&T's in these parts is essential, since it chases the mosquitoes away as you sleep. Don't laugh, it really does work. This being a malaria region, there's an added reason to take precautions against being bitten by mosquitoes at night. I sat down at one of the tables in the bar. Sky News was showing the coffin being flown home. For the first time it occurred to me that with Swaziland being a monarchy, the locals residents sitting around me were probably more aware of the tragedy of a member of the royal family dying. They all seemed quite somber.

I walked over to the ATM machine in the corner to investigate and it turned out to be quite a novelty. I could use my ATM card to draw money from my account in South Africa, but the machine issue lilangeni notes instead of Rands. I drew a hundred of them and went to the cashiers window and converted a fifty to coins. I had my choice of slot machines, but even so the coins didn't last very long. When will I learn that you can't beat a slot machine. I decided that at the bar, the odds of getting something in return for my money were better. I walked over and ordered another G&T. After a little small talk with the barman I went over to the blackjack tables and tried guessing which card would come up next. I realized I hadn't eaten since lunchtime so I went looking for something to eat.

The pool deck was occupied by a large group of delegates from a conference being held at the hotel. I was weighing up the pro's and con's of gatecrashing their dinner when they all stood up an headed back to their rooms and into the casino. I wouldn't be getting a free supper from them tonight. Back inside the casino one of the delegates showed me how to play roulette. I'm one of those people who will either bet on the red or the black, maybe the odd or even. She had piles of chips that she spread out across the all the numbers. Every now and then she would get lucky with four or five chips on a winning number, but most of the time she would lose them all. I tried my luck back at the slot machines with the remaining fifty I had drawn, but this round lasted only slightly longer than the first. More G&T's, more blackjack tables and it was soon 10:30, time to go to bed.

I still held out the idea of getting something to eat before I went to bed, but as I was starting the Dog, an enormous bolt of lightning lit up the sky above me. The parking lot attendant shook his head and laughed as I drove past him, it was starting to drizzle slightly. Back on the road, feeling undaunted by the worsening weather I decided that the 24 hour garage in town would be the best place to find something to eat. Rounding the bend in the road at the Cuddle Puddle another bolt of lighting lit up the sky brighter than daylight and I suddenly got a lot less hungry. Then the unmistakable rush of cold air hit me. The hail followed shortly after the cold air. The entrance to the M-Gen came up a mercifully soon. As I drove in peanut sized hailstones were pelting down. I parked as close as I could to my front door and rushed inside. From a safe vantage point inside my room I looked at the white carpet of hail being laid outside. As a credit to myself, I did think of the Dog as well, I ran outside and covered the front with my raincoat. A smashed speedometer wasn't out of the question the way the hail was coming down. Five minutes later and it was all over. By that time I was tucked up in my warm bed, very close to falling asleep.

I woke up the next morning at 8pm again. Not bad, considering I didn't have an alarm clock to wake me up. Without a tent to pack this time, I was ready to leave twenty minutes later. I emptied my pockets of the Swazi coins I had accumulated and left them in the ashtray for the cleaning lady. Back in Mbabane I decided to make an effort to find a tourist information office. Today was the day that the Reed Dance was being held. For those who don't know, the Reed Dance festival is held every year in Swaziland at this time of year. It was the first day of spring today, but I'm not sure if that held any significance. I do know that the Reed Festival is held to honor the Queen Mother and it involves all the Swazi maidens going to the river to collect reeds and then dancing around holding their newly gathered reeds. If this doesn't exactly sound enthralling, consider that all theses young women do the whole dance topless. I'm told that the young men use the opportunity eye the talent available to them, before deciding who to marry. It sounds like a good idea to me and I couldn't help wondering why European countries didn't have similar festivals. If Sweden held a festival every year where all the unmarried Swedish girls danced around topless then I would be there in a flash. It would be bigger than the Olympics.

I wondered if it really was Monday morning since Mbabane was deserted. Other than the occasional car and the attendants at the petrol station there was very little going on. I decided that if there was a tourist office in town then it would be closed too. I wasn't too disappointed at missing the Reed Dance. I'm was sure this wasn't the last opportunity I would have to see it. At the petrol station I did another squeegee job to remove the caked bugs from all over the bike. When I got to the rear the unhappy sight of a leaking shock greeted me. It seemed the Dog had a sore leg. I hadn't noticed any change in handling and being eager to get back home today I decided that his sore leg could hold until Johannesburg. I bought a packet of chips and a drink from the shop and stuffed it into my backpack before finding the road to Mhlambanyatsi again. This time I drove past the traffic circle and was soon back in the countryside again.

The road here was also newly tarred with a wide run off, although the rain left over from the night before made it seem less safe. I was happy to stick to 90 km/h. I stopped at a picturesque dam about ten kilometers out of Mbabane and pulled the chips and colddrink out of the backpack. This was to be my breakfast. Ten kilometers from Mhlambanyatsi I passed the road to Meikles Mount. It's a youth hostel/Caravan park/Camp site. I had considered staying here when I had been looking through my guide book, but now it seemed quite isolated and I probably would have ended up camping in the rain if I had stayed here. It was a 5 kilometers drive off the main road, along a dirt road. The state of my rear shock was enough to convince me that Meikles Mount would be visited another time as well.

A little further along the road I came to Mhlambanyatsi. Straight away it wasn't the sort of place that I expected. It reminded me of a town in South Africa called Dullstroom. Dullstroom has become the trendy place for Johannesburg yuppies to go trout fishing over the weekends. Mhlambanyatsi probably had a trout dam or two but it was the air of being better off than the rest of the country that reminded me more of Dullstroom. All the houses in the town were middle class, with late model cars parked in the garages. Just like Bulembu everything seemed to revolve around a mine. Unlike Bulembu I couldn't see the mine anywhere, or any sign of what was being mined. After driving though the town I followed a sign to the landing strip. My route there seemed to be blocked by the golf course. Then I saw a wind sock blowing in the middle of the golf course. Apparently the second fairway doubled as the landing strip. Two men were earnestly engaged in their round of golf and the sound of my engine disturbed one of them, who was about to drive his second shot. He paused and gave me a dirty look. I did a U turn and drove back through the clump of trees I had driven through to get here. Back in the town I stopped for a picture of some of the houses. As I was taking the picture I could see people staring at me from behind their curtains. Mhlambanyatsi was starting to seem a bit creepy.

Outside of the town I started to hit the first really bad tarred roads I had been on in Swaziland. They were narrow and increasingly potholed. The reason for their state were the numerous logging trucks that I had to pass along the way. Passing logging trucks on wet narrow potholed roads is no fun when you are in a hurry to get home.

I drove past the turn off at Bhunya as I didn't realize that Bhunya was actually just a paper mill, and nothing else. The road I was supposed to have followed wound itself through the mill itself. Missing the turn off gave me the opportunity to look at an enormous mountain of wood chips on the other side of the mill. I turned around as soon as I realized my mistake and drove along the road through the mill. Just past the other side of the mill was a bridge over a fairly deep gorge. The bridge had no drainage and was filled with black oily water. I had no idea how deep it was. A man was standing on a small mound at the side of the bridge. I gestured towards the water and gave him a questioning thumbs-up. He nodded his head and seemed to indicate that it was safe to cross, at the same time he got a better vantage point on his mound to watch me cross the bridge. I wondered if I was being set up. There was only one way to find out. In the end the black goop was only about fifteen or twenty centimeters deep. Even though I had driven as slowly as possible it had still splashed all over the bike and I now had big black sticky dots all over my white paint. The Dog looked just like a Dalmatian, I thought. Further along, the road was getting worse and the clouds were getting lower.

I wasn't surprised when eventually the rain did start coming down, it had been threatening for a while. The worst was that it didn't look as if it would let up anytime soon. The clouds were low and dark. It wasn't a heavy rain, in Afrikaans we call it a "deurdringende reen", a penetrating rain, but that doesn't quite express how it surrounds you and refuses to let any part of you escape. More dangerous, was that the potholes were becoming less visible as they filled to the level of the road with water. Between the rain on my visor, the encroaching mist and the invisible potholes, conditions were definitely not suited for riding a bike. I tried to press on as there really wasn't anywhere to stop along the way for some shelter.

My first stop was to put on my waterproof pants. I left the engine running and pulled the pants out of the backpack and onto myself as quickly as I could. I was glad that I had waxed the seams before I left. My second stop was at a turn off into the forest that I might have driven down on another day. Today I had to stop because the rain was really starting to come down hard and the visibility had dropped below a safe level. I sought some shelter underneath a tree for a few minutes before deciding that the border post was probably near enough for me to make a slow dash to. The shelter it would offered me was enticing. It was a pity about the rain. Just before the border was the only place that I had actually planned to visit today. On the map it was marked as the Bushmen Paintings and seemed to be a few kilometers off the main road along a dirt road. Probably a cave where bored bushmen had drawn a few pictures on the walls when the weather was like this. The rain had unfortunately put an end to an excursions off the main road today.

As I stopped at the border post the clouds lifted and the rain stopped. The only thing missing was some sunshine. Two more stamps in my passport and a picture of the border post and I was back on the road again. The road on the South African side was a big improvement over the road on the Swaziland side and despite being slightly wet I opened up the throttle until I was doing about 130. It struck me that during my day and a bit in Swaziland I had never gone faster than 110. It was nice to be back home again.

The first town past the border was Amsterdam, a little green farming town. It didn't have anything in the way of fast food so I decided to drive on to Ermelo, a hundred kilometers away, where I knew I would find something to eat. A heavy downpour on the way there was the only setback. The road was slowly becoming a flat straight line again, which meant that I was getting closer to Johannesburg. Ermelo did have a place to eat. By the time I got there it was too late for breakfast, so I had lunch instead. Next town along the road was Bethal. I had come full circle from two days before, from here on in it was the same brown mealie fields for the next two hundred kilometers into Johannesburg. And that my friends it the end of this story. Well not the end really, just the end of this chapter. There are a lot more chapters to go before I come to the end of the book. I guess that's one of the lessons I learn on this trip. There really is a lot to do and see if you just have a look. Before this trip I had had my share of dreams about touring the world on the back of a bike, but now I realize that if I'm lucky I may get to go on one or two long world trips. The real adventure is to be found just outside your back door. On weekend drives and week long trips once or twice a year to places you have never been to before or to places you promised to visit again sometime.

  Link to Donald Massyn's web site to see some photos from this trip