1 Mountain, 2 Fools, a Dakar & a Strom... (the_wes' Lesotho report)

Part 1: Whichever way you want

"Whichever way you want". These words echoed in my mind as I left behind me the comfort of Cape Town and home, suddenly completely overwhelmed by the journey that lay ahead and the instant solitude. 2 Days had been spent preparing and shopping for all the gear I didn't have, everything from tools, to a sleeping bag, to a new camera. After these two days, and an early morning spent packing, I was left with a massive headache and a simmering sense of excitement as I stood in my parent's driveway (they live close and I had promised them a goodbye) repacking the bike yet again (watching my father toss away stuff I apparently didn't need) in order to find space for myself on the pack-donkey I call my bike (I don't have the luxury of panniers). Finally the time came for me to hit the road, and as I turned to Celéste and asked "which way?" (a little private joke referring to the fact that I never know the best way out of any given suburb) my old man replied "whichever way you want" - unknowingly setting the precedent for the entire trip.

And with that I was on the road heading North, with no-one to talk to and butterflies in my stomach. After all, this was it - I was on my great adventure. The reason I bought a bike, the realisation of months of dreaming and scheming. Nothing prepares you for the feeling of being out on the road, alone, for the first time. Not for a quick little outride. I wasn't going to be back in 2 hours. I was gone, for 12 days or more, on my way to conquer the legendary Sani Pass before the bastards tar it. Off to see the spectacular Katse Dam and everything in between, completely oblivious to what I was getting myself in for...

5 Days later and I find myself sitting outside our room at the backpackers at the Himeville Arms, kicking back with Chris, and sharing stories of our respective solo trips up until this point - his only 3 days, but mine 5, going "whichever way I want". Taking him through the highlight reel of what could be a whole other ride report by itself - having to send back my breakfast at the Dros in Robertson on day 1 after 1 bite, because I was too sick to keep anything down; asking the nice lady at Rooiberg Winery to open the Muskadel I had just bought so that I could empty it into my spare water bottle (and watching her reaction); hitting dirt on day 2 and dropping my bike for the first time while moving it off the kickstand (losing a mirror on my first attempt to lift it, and only managing to pick up the pack-donkey with the help of Leon, a kind-hearted Harley rider on the way back from the rally in Graaf-Reinet who saw me struggle and stopped to help); the beauty of the Eastern Cape, the tranquility of Rhodes, and the challenge and splendour of Naude's Nek; struggling up 500m of what was a 7km mudslide in the rain in order to reach the guest lodge I was to stay at in Matatiele, only to give up, turn around and stay at the overpriced but adequate chalets at the caravan park; dropping my bike for the second time in the steep, slippery, S-bending driveway of friends I stayed with in 'Maritzburg (cracking my footpeg and losing half a clutch lever); heading to Himeville via the mythical Natal midlands and the edge of the Drakensburg; and along the way realising that travelling alone is no fun at all.

Hard to believe while we sat their and made repairs to our bikes (Chris had had an off on Naude's Nek) that what I considered to be the adventure itself had not even begun, yet I had already done 2000km of beautiful riding.

The shit-talking and bonding continued over a couple of Windhoek draughts and some pub grub under the majestic Natal skies, before we settled in for a good nights sleep, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead. After all, tomorrow we enter Lesotho...