November 25, 2025
To Lobatse
The drivers in Gaborone can be a little ambitious when it comes to overtaking cyclists. Nothing like the ignorance I experienced in Central Asia earlier this year, but still, requiring me to keep my hands ready on my brake levers. I found leaving the city slightly unpleasant, even at 7:30am, given the streets had no hard shoulder that I had got so used to! I was soon out on quieter, wider roads, and made my way South past Kgale Hill, which is the other tourist attraction in Gaborone. Tourists chamber up the hill at 6am to avoid the heat, and I hear that the views from the top are pleasant and include the city skyline, Gaberone Dam (lake) and the surrounding countryside. I hadn't the time, or more importantly, the inclination to make the climb yesterday.
The road surface was less impressive than it has been so far, and the gentle and gradual climb added to the effort required. Rough tarmac has that ability to shake your shoulders, arms and palms, gradually wearing you down. "Vibration fatigue", is what I like to call it. The scenery, however, improved. There were more settlements and farms and distant hills to look at. Some of the rocky outcrops were impressive, looming ominously over the road that meandered between them.
"Hi there!" A voice startled me, dragging me out of my day dreamy state. To my very pleasant surprise, two local cyclists had crept up on me. Anouka and her Father were out for a spin. My joy at meeting them must have been evident because I hurtled into a talking frenzy, answering all their questions and asking plenty of my own. Anouka was an experienced bike tourer who had cycled across Europe and into Asia up to Singapore, about 10 years ago. She told me she didnt have the courage to ride Africa, despite having lived in Botswana for most of her adult life. She said it scared her. I know never to question someone's trepidation when it comes to bike touring, so I didn't. Bike touring has its ups and downs, highlights and challenges, and is certainly not for everyone. If a seasoned rider like Anouka had reservations about Africa, I respected that, and certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell her "Its absolutely fine! Don't worry, nothing bad will happen!" because the truth is, anything can happen, and I am by no means an oracle on the subject, despite the experience I have had so far. I could relate to Anouka's nervousnes about Aftica. I am always nervous when I ride long tours, anywhere, and this nervousness doesn't lessen with experience - it is part of the experience, and takes effort to overcome.
My cycling buddies were with me for about 5 km, and I struggled to keep up with them before they peeled off at the next junction. As we waved our goodbyes, Anouka's Father shouted, "Have a safe onward journey! Enjoy the nice roads in Botswana!"... I so wanted to ask what he meant about the roads. Did he mean that the roads in South Aftica were bad? Did he mean the drivers in South Africa were bad? We were out of earshot, so I couldnt ask, and I felt that nervousness return.
Lobatse is a small town in the South of Botswana, about 55km from the Ramatlabama border with South Africa. It is a long smooth tarmac downhill run into the centre of Lobatse, which I enjoyed not least because of the cooling effect of the breeze generated on a fast descent. The centre of town was quiet except for a stream of smartly dressed school kids on their way home. They smiled and wished me a very polite " Good afternoon Sir" which I found heart warming. I was staying at "Swinburn's Rest" Guest House which was a delightful home stay just 8 minutes walk from the town centre. Mrs Swinburn was a kind elderly Botswanan lady, whose husband passed away 2 year ago. "He was a white man from England, like you!", she explained as she told me how much he used to do for the homestay that she now has to do herself. My self contained cottage faced a lovely garden with a seating area just outside the front door. I freshened up, did my laundry and went out food shopping. I changed my remaining Pula to Rand, at the local ABSA Bank, in preparation for the border crossing into South Africa tomorrow.
Another country, another culture and more history awaited. I was curious to cycle through the country that Apartheid had left behind. Alks and I had driven the Garden Route with the girls many years ago, but this time would be very different, on my bicycle, through the less explored Northern region of the country. As I pondered the coming weeks, another fierce thunderstorm passed over head, this time throwing hailstones onto the tin roof of my little cottage in Lobatse.
Today's ride: 71 km (44 miles)
Total: 1,193 km (741 miles)
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