Day 5: First Hike-a-Bike, Southern Plateau Distance 17.0 km Altitude 2,797 m to 3,100 m Ascent / Descent +1,012 m / -1,023 m Start altitude 2,870 m Finish altitude 2,858 m Terrain No roads. Cattle tracks, ridge climbs, river-cut valleys. Repeated load-leapfrogging. Start Masoba Soba Lodge area Finish Wild camp, southern plateau Water Available at valley crossings Exposure High. No shelter, weather can move fast. Bailout None easy from this point. Committed terrain. Seventeen kilometres. Over 1,000 metres of climbing. All of it above 2,800 metres, with a high point of 3,100. On paper it looks manageable. It is not. Rocky was completely at ease. He is disciplined on expeditions and seems to understand what is required of him. He rides in the handlebar basket when needed, but given open ground he runs freely across the plateau. Three thousand metres of exposed highland does not trouble him. Altitude changes everything. Push hard and the effort bites quickly. Recovery takes longer than it should. The arithmetic is different up here. The same output costs more, and reserves drain faster. The route crossed three ridgelines and dropped into three river-cut valleys, then climbed again. Very little of it was rideable. The gradients and surface made that unrealistic. Most of the day was spent pushing. On the steepest sections I leapfrogged the load. Remove the Tailfin cargo pack. Carry the backpack and bag up the ridge. Stash them. Walk back down for the bike. Repeat. Distance stopped mattering. The next 200 metres became the only metric. I settled into a carrying system. Left shoulder under the frame, rear wheel pointing forward, left hand gripping the rear stay. Squat. Lift. Walk a few steps. Set down. Recover. Repeat. On some slopes, again and again. Shepherds moved across the hills in the distance, dogs close at their heels. When our paths crossed, Rocky wandered over to introduce himself. The usual canine formalities were observed. A brief circle. A measured sniff. Territory assessed and diplomatically resolved. The Basotho dogs were disciplined and clearly working animals. A sharp whistle or the suggestion of a stone in hand was enough to bring instant order. I pitched the tent in a shallow dip behind a low rise to take the edge off the wind. It helped, but only marginally. Nothing truly stops wind on an open plateau. There was a small stream running through a boggy marsh directly next to my camp. Clear, cold water straight off the high ground. Water supply would not be an issue up here. My cooking system was simple and compact. An X-Boil stove imported from the UK, running on methylated spirits, paired with a 650 millilitre titanium pot. Light, efficient, reliable. It brought water to boil quickly, and made short work of a dehydrated meal and a late brew. The rain waited until 20:00, then arrived as a hard squall that pushed through most of the night. All guy lines were out. The tent was anchored to the bike for extra security. My fifteen-year-old MSR Hubba HP held. I had freshly waterproofed the tent with Nikwax Seam sealer and Nikwax Tent & Gear Solarproof. It really works well to prolong the life of your gear. I was suitably impressed. This was the day it stopped being a ride. It became a traverse.