The road we took to the kingdom had recently been a dirt track, but now was widened and paved for the most part.  We stopped at the top of the mountain to look back down whence we had come.  We could see the dirt roads still remaining, going off into the distance.  I could easily tell how isolated this place must have been if that was the main route in. 
 
 We reached the border crossing and went inside to present our papers and pay the “road tax.”  Guards at the border, carrying automatic rifles, inspected our bikes for the proper serial numbers and documents. 

 Then after a few yards from the SA border, we came to the Swazi border post, where we had to show our documents again and have our passports stamped.  We passed through a small town, on potholed, broken pavement, and on the other side of this village, were stopped again at a checkpoint.  These soldiers again wanted to check the papers for the bikes, but did not demand our passports.

Your papers....where are your papers!

 
Darryl had asked me if I would mind a dirt road route, about 20 kilometers or so, to avoid a long stretch of straight pavement and town traffic. He said he watches riders for the first day or so of the tour to see if he thinks they can make this part.  Apparently I passed the test.  Brenda was a bit apprehensive, but game (as long as I promised to take it slowly), so after turning off the ABS and traction control, away  we went.   The red dirt road went up over a mountain, following the edge of a ridge line most of the way, affording spectacular views of the slopes and valleys below. Not many cars joined us on the road, mostly coming the other way, but the ensuing dust cloud did require a bit of holding the breath.  The surface was partly graveled for some of the distance and it was much easier riding when the gravel ended and we could be on just the red dirt.  In a few spots, there were rocky areas where the dirt surface had worn down to expose some clumps of rock beneath. Brenda wasn’t too happy about these, but I welcomed them as a chance to do a little more technical riding.  I was standing up most of the way, meaning Brenda’s view of this portion of the trip was mainly of my backside.

 At the end of the dirt portion, we filled up at a petrol station in a small town that was having some kind of market day or celebration.  There were hawkers selling their wares on the streets, music playing from different directions and a constant din of voices happily yelling across streets in what sounded like a variety of languages.  The bikes looked as if we'd spray painted them with reddish-brown dust.

 Swaziland seems made entirely of mountains, with the roads carved into the sides or running along the ridges at the top.  As we reached the top of one such peak, Darrell pulled over and told us there was an overlook above us, up a dirt track, looking down on a newly made lake. We bumped our way up to the top and parked in a grassy area between rows of stalls, only one of which was occupied by a vendor.  We walked to the edge and looked down on the new dam and the lake it contained.