We left Swaziland through a different border station, this one more upscale and businesslike, in a larger brick building.  There were windows to go to with a bored government employee at each one wielding a stamp for this particular paper but not that one...next window please.  We've been through enough of these now to know that they have their regional differences, but in essence they are all the same.  Still, it's not a place for individualism.  Just do what they ask and move to the next window.   While we were there, two events stood out.  A motorcade came through, with flags flying and dark-windowed limousines stopping just long enough to receive salutes from the guards before the gates swung open to let them pass.  And then, as we much less important individuals were mounting up, a middle-aged woman in wrapped colorful robes walked past us, carrying a full-sized car battery balanced on her head.  She walked quickly on, as if she bore no burden at all, just going about her business.

 Once back in South Africa, we were on the relatively straight path back to Pretoria for our connection the next day with the train tour in Johannesburg.  It was windy up on these mountain ridges and the road for many miles was as much pothole as pavement.  It is part of SA's coal mining area and, as in its counterpart in Eastern Kentucky, the heavy coal trucks have chewed up the pavement beneath their overloaded wheels.  Some holes were big enough to easily swallow a bike wheel.  We weaved in and out of the broken bits at a fairly good speed, slaloming mostly within our lane and hitting only a few....but they were good ones.  Again, one must be impressed with the ability of the GS to handle what's thrown at it.  

 Near Pretoria, Darryl pulled us into the Buddhist temple for a look-round.  According to the information I processed, the Buddhists were, like all nonwhites during Apartheid, relegated to an outlying area for their living space.  This  particular group spent the next fifteen or so years turning their area into this temple and grounds, making it a showplace and monument to determination in the face of adversity.

With just 15 years and a lot of help, your house
can look like this

 Darryl brought us to a late lunch, not far from his headquarters, at Roxy's, a motorcycle-themed  restaurant in a small town near Pretoria. 

The power was out in the town at that moment, meaning that they had only the food they could grill out back on the braii (barbeque pit), so here in exotic Africa, we had that most American of meals....a cheeseburger. 

 That night, upon our return to Pretoria, Darryl and his family had us to their house for a traditional barbeque meal.  Poor Jonathan, who had picked us up at the airport, was in the throes of some form of  flu, so we all kept a safe distance from him while he walked about, looking like death barely warmed over.  We learned that Nicole, with whom I had started this whole thing, was returning to America soon to explore a new relationship there. We talked late into the night, fueled by wonderful food and South African wine and wide-ranging conversation.  Darryl and his family walked us back to the Marloot House to get a few hours' sleep before starting out for the train station and the second half of the tour.

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