On road trips I dream of drinking the perfectly frothed flat white at a farm stall. But usually I grab a polystyrene cup while filling up with petrol. That means that what I'm drinking is most often from Wimpy, which offers large cappuccinos of variable quality at a standard, and pricey, R23.On a recent trip from Cape Town to Mbabane, I wasn't in quite the rush I normally am, and a little more conscientious about my search for a coffee.There was the stuff from a Nescafé machine in Richmond just off the N1. A day later, things improved marginally with a cream-topped cappuccino at a café in Reddersburg - soured by the disparaging comments made by its owner about her black patrons who'd visited the day before.I hurriedly left her, turning from the N1 onto the R717, which Google Maps failed to warn me was gravel. It was worth it, I thought, chugging along in my road-hugging sedan past cows and antelope that dotted pancake-flat fields.By the time I got to Dewetsdorp, I was sleepy and skirted round crater-sized potholes, decrepit houses, and people gathered on the pavements. There was no sign of a coffee shop.I drove on the R702 towards the blue Maluti mountains rising above brassy plains.The coffee at a petrol station in Ladybrand where I'd spotted a Lavazza logo tasted like warmed-up dishwater.The next day, I had to rely on the double espresso I'd had with breakfast at the Golden Gate Hotel until I was well into Mpumalanga. I was more than ready for my next cup when I got to Standerton.There were bottle stores on every street corner, but no sign of coffee. I dodged goats and dogs and potholes, before spotting a KFC, which I learnt did not sell coffee after staff directed me to a petrol station with a coffee vending machine.It was hours later, after I'd passed Morgenzon, with its rubbish dump spilling litter at its outskirts, that I finally found a tolerable cappuccino at a wool shop-cum-guest house-cum-café in the trout fishing village of Chrissiesmeer. If only I'd brought along a percolator and a gas stove - I could've had top-notch coffee the whole trip.But, I wondered, would I have bothered to stop (or at least slow down) in the likes of Trompsburg if I had my own coffee? While my search for a decent cuppa in the platteland had proven near fruitless, I arrived in Mbabane with a picture of small-town South Africa etched indelibly on my mind. Far from gleaming freeways, our neglected dorpies left me with an aftertaste as bitter as the coffee they offered...