Madmen @ work (part I)

All maps of Lesotho indicate that there’s no road or path from Semonkong to the gravel road in the east of the country. Until Roma there is tar that becomes a dirt road going southeast for some kilometres. After this, there is nothing, except for mountains and two big rivers. At one of the many climbs in the north of Lesotho we have met a South African man, who spoke excitedly about the transverse he once made: from Semonkong right through the mountains of the hinterland, to the southeast of Lesotho where he crossed the Senqunyane and Senqu River by 4wheeldrive. With this ample information Peter and I decide to embark on this huge challenge.
The advantages are evident: we will see the Semonkong Falls and at the same time avoid the duller southern part of the country. The disadvantages, however, are just as clear: a ‘road’ that doesn’t exist officially, no facilities, insecurity, two rivers without bridges and the mental problem that in the end we might have to return on the same impossible road.

Alas, we are never afraid of taking risks and on the 19th of March we leave Maseru, into the for ongoing travellers wrong direction.
The first stop is Roma, the university town of Lesotho. We stay for the night at the Roma Trading Guesthouse, where Jennifer Thorne offers us a luxurious rondavel for the price of camping. Hmmm…

In the afternoon we walk up the mountain, on our way to the dinosaur footprints that have been found here. Dozens of children accompany us and lead the way. The footprints are not as impressive as the ones we saw in Tsikoane, but still amazing. To thank them I give each of the children a biscuit. The children orderly queue up, but the line never shortens because they all return to the rear of the queue after receiving the gift, that they hide quickly in their clothes.

From Roma to Ramabanta it’s only 37 kilometres. Two mountain passes with the well known high gradients make us arrive in the late afternoon. Cycling sometimes turns out to be very cheap: when Rosemary, the manager of the Trading Post Lodge in Ramabanta, welcomes us, she offers us to camp for free. By this she contributes to War Child, the charity organisation we cycle for.
It’s raining cats and dogs from the evening up until sunrise. After four weeks in Lesotho, of which three with rain, we understand even more why the South African water project has been organized in this country of highlands.

The next morning a couple of South Africans point at one of the mountains towards the east. We look into the same direction and see something strange that looks like a big grey pipeline that goes steep up the green mountain. Then we hear what the ‘pipeline’ really is:
“ Look, the road to Semonkong!”

In abhorrence and with bulging eyes we look again. The road? Did they really say road? We ask them and our abhorrence appears to be righteous. It really is the road, which goes up the mountain in an absurd angle. When they hear about the route we have planned, many of them become a little cynical:
“ The fifty kilometres to Semonkong is going to take you at least two days, and that’s just the start of real hell.”
Fine, thanks a lot. While they gaily drive off in their fancy 4wheeldrives, we load op our bicycles, knowing a hard time is to come.
Slowly we cycle out of Ramabanta, on gravel roads and muddy paths. Easily we avoid the potholes and water ditches in the road to keep things as clean as possible. After two hours of climbing and steering around holes, we arrive at the long, steep part of the road. Because of the high gradient this part of the Thaba Putsoa Pass has been tarred a long time ago. Now the old tar shows a lot of potholes and patches, some parts have been washed away completely. After two sharp bends we see the ‘road’ in front of us that seemed to be a pipeline from below. We take a couple of deep breaths and start to attack road from hell.
Without having to think, our fingers put the gear automatically in the lowest one: 22 x 30. The chains squeak, bicycles and luggage sweep from left to right while I stand on the pedals and ascend metre by metre. We make moaning and hard breathing sounds, which are a natural part of this enormous strain. Sometimes Peter looks at his computer that measures the gradient. For over a kilometre the gradient is 29%: every one hundred metre we ascend 29 metres. Incredible, the famous Keutenberg in the Netherlands fades to the level of a small fly-over.
We finally reach the top, encouraged by two shepherd boys who a day later still wonder where our car actually was. Four hours after our departure we’ve only managed to cycle 25 kilometres and the road keeps on climbing and descending. At the end of the afternoon we arrive in the village of Semonkong. A Basotho lady on a horse shows us the way and a couple of minutes later we look into the very surprised faces of the South Africans who predicted the two-day ride. Ha, ha, we laugh disinclined and with pain in the legs.
Jurgen Herrmann, one of the South Africans, shows his admiration for the effort and the same evening we enjoy his company with his friends and eat a delicious African ‘potjiekos’.

Now we only hope that the famous attraction of Semonkong is worth the route we’ve chosen. Under a lovely sun we walk to the Maletsunyane Falls, a hike of about one hour. Black widows and red bishops fly in and from the fields of maize and wheat. Especially the male black widows perform a nice show to impress the females. Well, they certainly do impress us.
Half an hour later we sit next to each other on a rock boulder and look out over a ravine with a depth of a few hundred metres. Right in front of us the water of the Maletsunyane River drops for almost two hundred metres. A stunning and altogether unreal view that is worth the hardships.

Enjoying this wonder of nature, a nasty thought keeps popping up. We are only halfway this heavy route we chose. Is this road from hell going to beat us, or will it be the other way round?