Adventure Job

We were destined for Lesotho, the Mountain Kingdom, land locked in the heart of South Africa. This would be a Fathers and Daughters biking trip, where the guilt of not taking his younger daughter on an adventure, which he and his son had enjoyed regularly had reached a point. It was time... the nagging had reached a threshold and an equilibrium where she was now old enough, hopefully responsible enough and at a point where he could not take another plead. Secretly he was pretty chuffed, as much as his ego would allow him to be.
Based in Semonkong, we migrated out with a 5 bike pack, 2 Dads, 2 daughters and a token son. The best thing about a bike is that we covered areas a car would battle. Each day we navigated the rough terrain where roads are an excuse for a donga (erosion), only increasing out enthusiasm. Children wrapped in their customary blankets run towards the road at our spotting and by the western influence demanded ‘sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeets’ as we passed by, with grubby hands out stretched.
As our road disintegrated from a bumpy district road, through to a rocky donkey cart track and finally to a mere foot path, the children no longer partook in their standard greeting as the bikes trundled past. In the depths of the mountains and towards the limit of our travel, a child would spot our advancement, give a shy and quick wave before hurtling back up to the security of their hut. Eventually our track ended with a view of blue mountains, ragged beyond description and inaccessible for our bikes.
Lost in the tales of the track and describing the handling of the bike down a particularly treacherous section, acting out with my body the movement of the bike as it had descended the path. This was a series of hip shakes and rollbacks but to my horror, these movement were followed by a cackle of laughter behind us. We turned around, to see a gaggle of kids, nervous but anxious to look closer. These kids were more inquisitive than demanding, they had not had the opportunity to see many white skins so far up in the mountains. Charming foreigners had not spoiled them with sweets and they were content to just watch. They interpreted my movements through dance and it only left us with one option. The next thing we knew, we were busting some good old 60’s dance moves to the music of laughter, all lost in the mountains.