Lesotho: Longshot

Mountain Bike Mag
3 hours ago
14 min read

Three friends rode across the Rooftop of Africa, a nine-day 900km journey starting in Bloemfontein and finishing in Hilton that delivered awe-inspiring landscapes, plenty of rugged adventures – and its fair share of cuts and bruises.

"It was nearly six hours into our fourth day of riding across Lesotho, the sun beating down relentlessly on the rugged landscape. Despite our efforts, we had only managed to cover 35km of the day's planned 128km. For the past two hours, we had been navigating a treacherous path, hiking down and up across a river valley. As I pushed my bicycle up out the valley, dust coated my parched lips, and fatigue weighed heavily on every step. And then, like a mirage in the desert, I stumbled upon him – a lone Basotho figure, bathed in sunlight, savouring the simple pleasure of a peach. Desperation overcame me, and in my best broken Zulu/Sotho mix, I asked the man for a bite. But his response was cruel, a nonchalant flick of the wrist sending the half-eaten fruit tumbling to the earth. Disappointment hit me hard, like when James got slammed by his mean old aunts Spiker and Sponge. How had our journey led us to this moment of disillusionment?" – Jared

Bloemfontein to the border

Four days earlier, Jared, Julian and I had embarked on our much-anticipated Lesotho Traverse adventure, brimming with excitement and anticipation. Lesotho, the tiny landlocked nation surrounded by South Africa, earns its moniker as the Mountain Kingdom due to its position high among the Maloti-Drakensberg peaks. Its lowest point sits at 1 400m, marking it as the country with the highest-altitude low point globally. With such lofty terrain, Lesotho offers cyclists an ideal playground for mountainous adventures unparalleled elsewhere.

In the lead up to our trip, I had spent countless hours planning the route we would take. This involved reaching out to friends and acquaintances who had ridden in Lesotho before, meticulously studying Komoot maps, and devouring insights from various bikepacking blogs. The final route spanned nine days, beginning in Bloemfontein and culminating in Hilton in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands. Along the way, we planned to overnight in Ladybrand, Ramabanta, Semonkong, Thaba-Tseka, Katse, Ha Lejone, Mokhotlong and Himeville.

We gathered at Bloemfontein Airport. Jared and I had taken the red-eye flight from Cape Town and we assembled our bikes over a hastily grabbed cup of coffee while awaiting Julian's arrival.

Our first day's ride traversed the vast plains of the Eastern Free State, heading east toward the town of Ladybrand and the majestic Maluti Mountains. In February, the end of the summer rainy season, the rolling hills of farmland were adorned with golden fields of maize and wheat stretching endlessly into the horizon. In the town of Tweespruit, we made a quick stop to raid the local supermarket for supplies and, with our bags restocked and the assistance of a tailwind, we breezed through the final 50km to Ladybrand.

Into Maseru and a donkey reverse

Day two marked our entry into Lesotho through the Maseru border post, a mere stone's throw from Ladybrand. While the South African officials maintained a demeanour of cold formality, the atmosphere on the Lesotho side was warm and inviting. This stark contrast set the tone for our journey through Lesotho, where hospitality and friendliness seemed to be woven into the very fabric of the land.

Exiting beneath the grand billboard proclaiming our arrival to Africa's Rooftop, we were instantly enveloped by the lively energy of Maseru. While the morning's ride had predominantly been on smooth tar roads, we knew that the terrain would soon transition to the rough and tumble of township gravel roads and winding livestock trails.

Shortly after breakfast, we found ourselves on the outskirts of Maseru, where the scenery swiftly transitioned into rural farmlands and quaint villages linked by gravel roads and winding single tracks. The riding proved to be among the most enjoyable of our entire journey, with the landscape constantly evolving. The morning led us through riverbeds and past fields of maize, while the latter half of the day saw us conquering steep mountain slopes and breathtaking valleys. Despite a punctured front wheel, the day progressed smoothly, until we found ourselves just 12km from our destination.

The day's finale unfurled like a twisted rollercoaster ride. It began with a thrilling descent, a white-knuckle journey down winding paths to the Makhalaneng River crossing, only to be followed by a brutal climb, marked by several steep, rocky ramps, back to 2 000m above sea level.

On the descent, slightly fatigued and admiring the view, I veered off-line on a rut, washed out my rear wheel and crashed. The next thing I knew, Jared was playing doctor, pouring the last precious drops of clean water over my elbow and hand. Blood was gushing down my arm, and my elbow had definitely taken a beating. It might have needed stitches, but that wasn't an option.

This last stretch proved to be a gruelling two-hour ordeal. We were tasked with pushing our heavily laden bikes up steep ramps, and we were out of water and food. We could see the lights starting to go out in Jared's eyes.

"Day two and I'm already off the back, dragging my bike up a hill that seems determined to stay unrideable," he said. "Surely this isn't a regular bikepacking pace? When was the last time I ate?"

Just then, out of nowhere, a kid appeared, riding backwards on a donkey like some kind of trail-blazing prodigy. Before Jared could botch the Sotho greeting he'd been practising all day, the kid hit him with 'Give me sweets!'. Jared slapped his pocket and shrugged his shoulders to indicate he was out of sweets, and the kid started laughing. As did Jared.

Our spirits soared as we embraced the absurdity of the situation and we set our sights on reaching Ramabanta Trading Post. Somehow, Julian mustered the energy to give kids a ride on his back, while Jared and I eagerly anticipated the taste of our first ice-cold Maluti lager.

'Rest Day' on tar

Day three marked the first of our three planned and much-needed 'rest' days. Our route stretched 60km from Ramabanta to Semonkong, primarily on tar roads, with a noteworthy detour to the awe-inspiring Maletsunyane Falls. It was still far from leisurely – we were riding in the Mountain Kingdom after all.

The day started with a delicious buffet breakfast at the picturesque Ramabanta Trading Post, offering panoramic views of the Makhaleng River, before descending to the river itself. From there, it was onto the Thaba Putsoa climb, a formidable 23km ascent, boasting an average gradient of 5%. But it was the several steep ramps surpassing 20% that made this climb a real monster.

"How does Herman think this is a rest day? I've been climbing the last two hours up really steep ramps. Not feeling that rest yet," said Julian.

The remainder of the day, however, truly embodied the essence of a 'rest' day, offering moments of awe and tranquillity. At the Maletsunyane Falls, Julian captured footage of Cape vultures soaring above the gorge, while Jared and I kept our eyes peeled for glimpses of the real star, the bearded vulture.

As we neared Semonkong Lodge, the final kilometres along various horse trails provided a serene and picturesque conclusion to our day, before a quick dip in the Maletsunyane River and some well-earned relaxation time.

A long day of hiking bikes

The fourth day's leg, the stretch from Semonkong to Thaba-Tseka, had concerned me the most before our departure. We would traverse several kilometres devoid of any roads according to all the maps we meticulously examined, a real venture into the unknown.

We got dressed and ate our packed breakfasts in the early hours of the morning. The evening before Jared had raided the local village spaza shop for some supplies, mainly biscuits and magwinya (a traditional fried dough bread or vetkoek) and these were stowed in our bags for the day.

We set out from Semonkong Lodge at dawn, greeted by the gentle dance of golden rays upon the dew-covered grass fields. We started with a short yet steep climb on cattle trails, before reconnecting with a gravel road that guided us through seemingly endless rolling valleys, punctuated by small homesteads scattered every few kilometres.

Along the way, we crossed paths with herders on horseback, their figures exuding a majestic aura against the backdrop of the remote landscape. Some herders strummed homemade guitars, while others skilfully guided pack donkeys, adorned in vibrant Basotho blankets and gumboots. All greeted us with a warm "Dumela" behind a genuine smile.

After 20km, we veered off the gravel roads, transitioning onto donkey trails and footpaths that had served the local Basotho people for centuries, linking their rural homesteads to neighbouring villages. Along these ancient routes, we encountered scenes of everyday life in rural Lesotho: children from rural schools cheering and waving as we cycled past, locals tending to their flocks stopping to enquire about our destination, their eyes widening in amazement when we mentioned "Thaba-Tseka." It felt as though we were traversing the very heart of Lesotho.

Three hours after departing Semonkong, we had covered 25km and we were staring down into the valley of the Senqunyane River. Between us and the river crossing lay a 4km descent on goat trails that would not be out of place on the Enduro World Series.

With frayed nerves and adrenaline still coursing through our veins, we reached the river, and the prospect of a quick dip to cool down. Surveying the terrain ahead, it became evident that the next stretch wouldn't entail much riding. Instead, we were confronted with the formidable challenge of scaling a very steep wall to ascend the valley on the opposite side. It was on this 7km "hike-a-bike" out of the valley, that took over two hours and depleted our food, that we encountered the man with the peach.

"As I stared at the half-eaten peach pip, a pang of despair coursed through me," explained Jared later. "But then, in a moment of clarity amid the chaos of our miscommunication, it dawned on me: the man wasn't cruel, we were simply lost in translation. In his own way, he had offered a breadcrumb of understanding, a single word amid our linguistic jumble. 'Thabang.' The name struck a chord. It was a village I had spotted on the map the night before, a small sign of people in the huge area we didn't know. I was ready for a coke… and a cry."

Coke break, and cable break

We rolled into Thabang to a hero's welcome. The local primary school was on break, and as we came down the hill, the children dashed to line the path, cheering us on with outstretched hands for high fives. Following their directions, we found ourselves at the local spaza shop. Perched on soft-drink-crate thrones, we savoured our cokes, recounting our journey to the shopkeeper.

From Thabang, the riding didn't get easier; the hiking just became less frequent. Over the next 30km, we managed to ride our bikes for the most part, with occasional steep ramps that necessitated pushing as we ascended out of the valley toward the ridgeline. Progress was slow and challenging, but the breathtaking views and encounters with friendly locals made this a day that I would never forget.

Finally, after nine hours and nearly 55 unforgettable kilometres we were rewarded with a descent down to the first town. Needless to say, we had run out of food hours ago. Rejuvenated by the diverse array of delicacies available (vetkoek, chips, sweets, bananas and an assortment of soft drinks), we said our goodbyes, leaving behind a crowd of curious local children who had gathered to observe the antics of three intrepid adventurers. The only thing lying between us and our destination for the night was the Mokhoabong Pass. A snaking 50km tar-road pass that peaked at 2 900m. Normally this would be a daunting prospect, but after what we had already conquered, we eagerly anticipated a relatively straightforward stretch of road.

We were about 2km from the top of the pass when my rear shifter cable snapped. We had packed spare parts for most eventualities, but I had stupidly decided to leave the spare shifter cable inner at home the night before we flew to Bloemfontein. With light fading and not a lot of options available to us to try and fix the problem, I was forced to grind the last couple of kilometres up the pass. Luckily, I didn't need many gears for the descent.

After 13 hours of riding, we finally arrived at Motherland Guest House in Thaba-Tseka. Exhausted and with my spirits dejected, we reflected on what had been an incredible day. Luckily, Julian was not entertaining any negativity. Over dinner, he convinced us that we would be able to sort everything out in the morning. "Your trip is not over, not over something as simple and stupid as a shifter cable. We will make a plan," he said.

Helping hands and easier days

And, as almost always, he was right. The next morning, we set off with a plan. My fiancée had discovered a place called "Thaba-Tseka Bike Shop" on Google, and their most recent review was just a month old. I called the owner first thing in the morning. While he didn't have any spares, he encouraged us to come around and believed he could make a plan.

A Thaba-Tseka local, Napo had studied law in Maseru and spent a few years in the legal field before he discovered his true passion lay with bicycles. He transformed his home into Thaba-Tseka Bike Shop, where he not only helps locals with bicycle repairs but also loans out a small fleet of bicycles to local kids, fostering a love for cycling in the community.

Eager to assist us, Napo quickly assessed the problem and came up with a solution. He disappeared into his storeroom and returned with the largest BMX bike he had. After confirming its rear shifter cable was long enough, we promptly replaced my snapped cable with it.

The next couple of days brought some welcome relief. On the fifth day, we covered 60km of gravel roads, following the Malibamat'so valley towards the wall of the Katse Dam, a primary component of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project. The terrain was forgiving, no major climbs, just a relaxed ride with plenty of scenic spots to pause, sip on ice-cold Maluti lagers, and even visit the local shebeen that evening.

The sixth day was another highlight, as we spent the entire 50km cycling along the breathtaking banks of the majestic dam. We took dips in the refreshing mountain waters and capped off the evening with a delicious dinner featuring trout caught in the dam.

Queen of incidents

On day seven, we set out from Motebong Lodge at daybreak, heading for Mokhotlong, on the second of the two Queen stages of our traverse. The day would cover nearly 130km, with around 3 300m of vertical ascent. What's more, a significant portion of the journey would take us to altitudes above 3 000m.

The first 20km followed a winding path alongside a majestic waterway, treating us to breathtaking vistas. Eventually, we crossed the river one last time before our route diverged, leading us to the day's main challenge: a 18km ascent past the Kao diamond mine, gaining over 1 000m in elevation.

Halfway up the climb, our journey took an unexpected turn when we were greeted by a chorus of barking dogs. While this was a familiar occurrence in Lesotho, what happened next had us in stitches. Within moments, the owner of the dogs emerged from his hut, stark naked, apparently in a heated discussion with his furry companions – or perhaps with us. It was a moment of sheer hilarity amid the gruelling climb, one that we would recount with laughter over dinner that evening.

At the pinnacle of the ascent, we encountered an unusual landmark: the mining truck tyre graveyard. Perched atop this lofty summit, we paused for lunch, relishing the sensation of being on top of the world. Yet, as we savoured our meal, we couldn't ignore the undeniable difficulty in drawing each breath, a stark reminder of the high altitude we had attained. A warning we should have perhaps heeded.

As Julian handed over the digital camera, Jared briefly let go of the handlebars. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but up here, the wind was fierce. Suddenly, a strong gust hit, Jared's front wheel wobbled and then gave way, sending him hurtling towards the ground in a jarring collision with reality. To my astonishment, Jared remained conscious amid the chaos, and though adorned with gashes, grazes and a bruised ego, emerged relatively unscathed. Alas, the same could not be said for the two cameras, which bore the brunt of the impact. Luckily, both were still functional. But the high altitude traverse had one more victim to claim.

On the final gravel descent, pushed on by the high altitude tailwind, Julian overcooked one corner, ending up on the ground with torn bib shorts and bleeding from the elbow and hip. I was back to playing doctor, using my water bottles to try and clean the wounds and applying leftover gauze to stop the bleeding. "It's always that last one that's bad, like the one last drink the night before," exclaimed Julian.

"Suddenly, a strong gust hit, Jared's front wheel wobbled and then gave way, sending him hurtling towards the ground"

The remainder of the day unfolded with relative calm. We rejoined the A1, a road we had left five days earlier in Maseru, and completed our high altitude traverse before the exhilarating descent into Mapholaneng, where we hit speeds surpassing the speed limit. A brief stop allowed us to replenish our supplies of food and water, and a detour to the pharmacy secured some cleaning alcohol for Julian and Jared's wounds. With Jared battling the onset of a bonk, we pressed on, aiming to reach Mokhotlong before an impending thunderstorm swept in.

'Sala hantle' to Lesotho

The next morning we departed Mants'ebo Guest House – set above the Senqu (or Orange in South Africa) river valley – still reeling from the spectacle of the powerful thunderstorm the night before. Throughout our journey, we had been fortunate with the weather, and our streak of luck persisted on our final day in Lesotho. To our delight, a massive tailwind propelled us forward, hastening our progress up Kotisephola Pass (also commonly referred to as Black Mountain Pass) and toward the formidable Sani Pass.

The ascent of Kotisephola Pass was my favourite of the entire Lesotho traverse, starting with a manageable gradient, the climb gradually intensified as we neared the summit. As we ascended, a majestic bearded vulture soared above us, navigating the peaks with effortless grace. Cresting at the highest point of our journey, a staggering 3 242m above sea level, the pass offered unparalleled vistas and a sense of triumph.

Upon reaching the summit, we stumbled upon a scene of pure joy: a lively group of shepherds, adorned in vibrant Basotho blankets, swaying to the rhythm of local music amid the gusts of wind. Eager to engage, they welcomed us warmly, their infectious laughter and smiles embodying the hospitality of the Basotho people. It was a fitting finale to the Lesotho part of our journey, a reminder of the genuine kindness and camaraderie we had encountered throughout the Mountain Kingdom.

Bidding the lively shepherds "Sala hantle", we began our descent down Black Mountain, propelled by the wind and steep gradients to eye-watering speeds. In the blink of an eye, we found ourselves at the summit of Sani Pass, home to the Highest Pub in Africa. Craving one last sip of Lesotho, we paused for cold Maluti lagers accompanied by a hot lunch.

We crossed the border with mixed emotions as it felt like a symbolic ending to our adventure. "Bummed our time in Lesotho is over but increasingly glad and grateful to be back in South Africa," summed up Jared.

Descending Sani Pass was like riding through a masterpiece, the late afternoon light hitting everything perfectly. It was one of those moments where we kept looking at each other in disbelief at how beautiful everything was.

Journey's end

On our final day we travelled from Himeville to Hilton, through the foothills of the Southern Drakensberg, along some of the most pristine gravel roads in the country.

Still, we encountered our fair share of hurdles. First, Julian grappled with his arch-nemesis: humidity. Then, just when we thought we'd caught a break, I was faced with yet another front wheel puncture, a frustrating setback in our journey. Undeterred, we pressed on, leaving the majestic Drakensberg behind as we made our way towards Nottingham Road.

As we descended from the mountains, the weather shifted abruptly, cloaking us in fog and throwing a relentless headwind our way. Despite the challenges, the thought of pies and beers at Notties Brewery kept us going. In the final stretch, on the dash from Nottingham Road to Hilton, a downpour drenched us. It felt ironic to be caught in rain after evading it for 900km. Arriving in Hilton, soaked but undeterred, we felt a huge sense of accomplishment.

Our traverse through Lesotho was a tapestry of unexpected encounters and awe-inspiring landscapes, weaving together trials and triumphs that will linger in our memories forever. It wasn't just about reaching the finish line – it was about the journey itself, and the transformative experiences that enriched our lives along the way.