The Road To Hell

Peering up at the cliff, I could just make out the narrow and infamous ledge called Die Leer. The Ladder. It looked preposterous. “I don’t think anybody’s fallen off and died,” said Richmond MacIntyre encouragingly. “Although several people almost have.” With that, he hoisted his bike onto his shoulder and scrambled up the rock band, leaving Fiona McIntosh and I to exchange grimaces and follow.

By way of introduction, I call Richmond a friend, albeit that he seems intent on killing me. Previous excursions with him include crossing the Drakensberg on foot, and kayaking the River Thames. This one was a two-day, 160-kilometre round-trip on bicycle from Prince Albert, taking in the Swartberg Pass, Die Hel and Die Leer. It had sounded relatively benign, but I should have known better.

Two days earlier, Fiona and I had driven across the sun-bleached Karoo into Prince Albert, at the foot of the Swartberg mountains,