Two friends, three provinces, ten passes and miles of open dirt road. What could possibly go wrong? Quite a lot, discovered Scarlett Steer.

Those two guys have guns,” co-pilot Lauren reports, squinting through the misted glass of the car window. “No, no sorry,” she continues.

Phew!
“There are three of them.”
Another man steps into the road from behind a mud splattered bakkie – the third gunman on the grassy knoll?

Tap, tap, tap.
Has he really just used the butt of an assault weapon to rap on the vehicle window?

It’s a Sunday afternoon and we’re on the road between Bergville and Cathedral Peak. It’s the end of a pretty disastrous road trip.

The plan had seemed straightforward: travel from Volksrust to the Northern Drakensberg over as many passes between the Free State and KwaZulu-Natal (there are about eleven) and as much dirt road as possible.

However, mud, mist, rain, more mud, and a run-in with a roadside ditch put paid to our well-laid plans. The Drakensberg’s Cathedral Peak campsite, only a couple of minutes down the road, was to be our final camping (and now possibly resting) place.

“Police, ma’am.”

Oh, sweet relief.

“You can’t go any further. There’s fighting up ahead and it’s just not safe.”

With the windows wound down, the muffled pop, pop of gunfire echoes across the valley. Slim spires of smoke break the distant skyline and the policeman battles to be heard over the thwack of helicopter blades.

This is all a little bit too Ride of the Valkyries for comfort.

We would later learn that a faction war, which had erupted two weeks before, had claimed eleven people.

It was good of the campsite’s receptionist to have mentioned this over the phone three days ago …

Just passing through

You may think it’s a good idea to enjoy several shooters after dinner (some Volksrust locals may even encourage you to). But it’s not, trust me.

The result? We set off from Volksrust the next morning under a sky as leaden as our collective moods and, moreover, the rain began to fall in great, pale grey sheets.

This corner of the world is no stranger to warfare − the Battle of Majuba unfolded some 10 km southeast of Volksrust in 1881, during the First Anglo-Boer War.

Roughly 10 km out of Volksrust on the N11, on the way to Ladysmith, look out for the signpost pointing right to Kwaggasnek Pass, and prepare to get some dirt between your car’s treads.

This track leads from KwaZulu-Natal into the Free State, and somewhere along it is the Kwaggasnek Pass (I have yet to pinpoint its precise location on a map.

Perhaps it was the mist – so thick many of the birds opted to walk – that made the going so disorientating. Were we approaching the pass, on it or already over it?)

At least the geography in this part of the world is restful – mid-March the landscape is greener than envy itself.

After about 25 km the dirt road met with a wet strip of tar – the R34. We turned right (turning left would take you up the tarred Botha’s Pass) towards Memel, a pretty little farming community set into rolling grasslands.

Upon entering Memel, keep your eyes peeled for a sign on the main road announcing that Muller’s Pass (heading back into KwaZulu-Natal) is 19 km away in the general direction of Newcastle.

Tar turns to gravel almost immediately after you’ve made the turn. It was at this point that the weather threw an almighty temper tantrum and the clouds burst into tears. Visibility ended a metre from the nose of our 2.4-litre Honda CRV and the vehicle’s tyres struggled to gain purchase in the ooze.

The going was incredibly slow and Muller’s Pass came and went in a soggy blur of grey and green.

On the other side of the iNcandu River the dirt road became tar again (albeit pitted with potholes), and about 15 km on a T-junction presented itself.

Turning right and following the signs leading to the gravel road heading up Normandien Pass turned out to be a good choice, as the pass is certainly one of the most dramatic.

Follow the dirt track that lopes through the foothills of the Drakensberg and, as you gain altitude, stop and take in the view.

Ravaged wind warning signs attest to the aggression of the elements up there. It was a fight to open the car door against a wild wind that, no sooner were we out, slammed the doors closed and savagely pinned us to the sides of the vehicle.

Once you crest the ridge at the top of the pass you’re back in the Free State. The last 20-odd kilometres of Normandien Pass – also the steepest – is paved, a detail you’ll be thankful of if you’re attempting to ascend it in a soft-roader post rain storm.

The sign to Colling’s Pass lies roughly 30 km on from the top of Normandien Pass. It’s easy to miss, so stay alert.

A spot of what we (mistakenly) thought was good fortune meant that it caught Lauren’s eye as we zoomed past. Little did we know fortune was about to give us the finger.