Just Keep Pedalling

Mystic 8 Ball (aka Life After PBP)

2015-09-15T09:00:00.000+02:00

Rather obviously my 51st birthday was a considerably quieter affair than last year's raucous celebrations. In amongst this year's carefully chosen gifts was one that has found a prominent space on my desk: the Mystic 8 Ball now resides under my monitor, close at hand to help out with all manner of day to day decisions. Believing in higher cosmic powers and being of a generally more spiritual nature than me, Yoli looks at the answers it gives in a literal sense. Whereas with a love of games (and in particular poker) acquired from my father, I view it's responses as pure chance - but curiously, this does not diminish their value. Random as the answer may be, it forces me to think more deeply about the question - especially where I disagree with the result. Despite having diametrically opposing views, we both derive a similar level of fun and value from giving it a shake and peering into it to see what it says on the burning question of the moment.

All of which brings me to that topic I've been avoiding so far - "What next?". It's a question I've been asked a few times over the weeks since PBP, especially by friends on the regular weekly club rides. The answer handed out so far is that I've promised Yoli and Ben a year off from any seriously crazy and time consuming cycling adventures. Whilst completely true, it would be a little disingenuous to pass that off as the answer here. The PBP dream was years in the making, and despite having no declared goal it would be impossible to pretend there isn't a list of potential cycling adventures, some of which have already reached the infatuation stage. So here is that list, and what the 8 ball had to say when asked about them.

Race Across America (RAAM)

RAAM came onto my radar quite soon after finishing LEL. I forget the exact Facebook thread, but basically one of the LEL riders (Shusannah Pillinger) was training towards RAAM the following year. As with PBP, I found myself rapidly reading up on the event. But where PBP had seemed crazy but strangely doable, RAAM was a whole new level of insanity - Ultra Cycling. It was simultaneously terrifying and mesmerizing, and much like Joe Simpson's account of the North Face of the Eiger from The Beckoning Silence, it was impossible not to imagine oneself into the story. So many aspects of RAAM involved my greatest areas of limitation (pace, riding in heat, altitude, Shermer's Neck) that I tried to dismiss it from my mind. But as PBP preparations moved on, I started to question whether any of those limitations were absolutes: I was getting faster; riding qualifiers through the South African summer forced me to deal with heat better; and my neck problems hadn't returned. The gulf between my performance and that needed for a RAAM attempt was still there, but I was starting to consider how to bridge it rather than just staring at it in awe.

Very few solo riders have finished RAAM in the 32 years which it has been running. A significant factor is of course the enormous physical and mental performance needed to complete it - typically the failure rate in solo riders each year is 50% or higher. But that is really only part of the answer. In my opinion a significant factor in the small number of finishers is much simpler - very few actually get to the start line because of the huge cost of taking part. And therein lies my bigger problem. As well as the task of training and preparing properly to have a realistic chance of finishing, I'd need to find money to get a support crew of 8 to 9 people to California, hire 2 or 3 vehicles, and get them and me 3,000 miles across America. The budget needed to get one rider across one continent could easily reach a staggering fifty thousand dollars or more. Needless to say, it's unlikely my family would agree to me spending ten year's worth of luxury holiday money on one bike ride. And sadly I'd have to agree with them.

The voices urging you towards a crazy ride aren't so easily silenced by such everyday practicalities though. For now it remains a distant dream, but the shadowy corners of my brain continue to contemplate ways in which my efforts might add sufficient value to some brand or company that in return they may help me finance an attempt (or two) at RAAM.

But enough of logic and reason, let's see what answer the 8 Ball gave when posed the question "will I finish RAAM?. Yoli and I both laughed out laughed out loud at that - both of us knowing that my grinding persistence does have a habit of making ridiculous ideas become reality.

Silver State 508

I'm going to stick on the theme of RAAM for a moment because, when first gripped with the idea, I started looking at where and when you could do qualifiers. For quite a while I pondered the Deccan Cliffhanger, a significant reason being what had motivated Shu to ride it - to get conditioned to riding in heat. In truth though, if you pick the pick the right day and location you can ride in forty degree heat without ever leaving South Africa. And although the notion of a ride in India still sort of appeals, it possibly isn't the most practical choice.

It didn't take long before the idea of combining a work visit with a qualifying ride came to mind, as had worked so well for LEL. Shu's account of the Race Around Ireland made that sound way too hard as the next step, and I wasn't sold on the idea of a TT based qualifier riding around the same track for 24 hours either. With those two discounted my attention turned from the UK office to our US office in Sausalito, the likely location for our annual management meeting in September 2016. Initially things seemed too good to be true - a Northern California qualifier was held in 2014 which started in Sacramento. But that disappeared from the calendar in 2015, and looking again I stumbled across the Silver State 508.

Even with RAAM itself in the background until funding can be found, the Silver State 508 has stuck with me. Several of the qualifiers (I could name No Country for Old Men in Texas) seem to stand out as rides with a true spirit of adventure, proper endurance tests against a harsh yet beautiful landscape. And that's the reason the Silver State 508 is still on my list - it's impossible to ignore that completing it would qualify me for RAAM, but the ride itself is what grabs me. A 508 mile race out from Reno, across the Nevada desert passing through occasional wooden fronted towns that look like sets from a cowboy movie, before turning around and racing back - what's not too like!

So here's what the 8 Ball had to say on the idea. Not quite the answer I would have liked to be honest, but it forced me to think about whether I really wanted to do the ride for it's own sake and not just because of it's association with RAAM. I can honestly say, after since seeing the pictures and reading accounts of this year's edition that answer is yes. And therein lies the value of the 8 Ball - the real answer lies in the person asking the question.

Trans-Continental Cycle Race (TCR)

And finally we come to the most recent addition to my "big rides" wish list. I first heard about TCR over a year ago but didn't give it much thought. As I started to realise any RAAM attempt could be some way off (if ever), TCR 2015 was just beginning and caught my attention again. I think what grabbed me on a second look was the simple ethos at the heart of the ride - TCR is as much about cycling as possible, with as little else to distract from that. So where on RAAM getting a rider across a continent involves this massive logistical challenge with huge expense and an unpleasantly large environmental footprint, TCR takes a more direct route - get on your bike and ride across the damned continent on your own. The continent this time being Europe (there is also a Trans America), and the rules being few and simple - no outside support, and private re-supply i.e. you find what you need on the way. Not unlike an Audax in fact, except as with RAAM drafting and otherwise helping fellow riders is forbidden, at least if you are in the solo racer category. There is a "pairs" category should you wish to ride it with a friend, although quite how that would work out on a ride of more than 4,000km over two weeks I'm not entirely sure.

That last aspect is perhaps the one area which I'm less than 100% sure on. Although I love riding alone, I enjoy it most when done in the company of others - a paradox which long Audaxes resolve to perfection. Aside from phone calls home, a TCR attempt could be an very lonely affair. I was still in love with the idea when I posed the question to the 8 Ball - and it was only the response which forced me to look deeper inside at whether it was truly a ride I would enjoy. I like the answer though, I'm not going to bet against it either - it's a definite maybe for 2017.

Is that really all?

Of course not, there's at least two local single stage marathons I've yet to ride: Desert Dash Namibia; and The Munga. The first of these appeals very much to me, and it's great to see that a new sponsor has been found (Nedbank) to keep the annual Windhoek to Swakopmund 24hour race across the desert going. It's a ride I'll definitely try and get a place on some day. The second, for reasons it's hard to define, has yet to really strike a chord. A 1,000km non stop race across the Karoo ought to be right up my alley, but even with the drastically reduced price the formula still doesn't quite grab me.

For this year though I need to come back to that promise of more family time for Yoli and Ben. Rather conveniently, less time cycling could be just what I need as the next stage of preparation towards RAAM or TCR. I definitely need to increase my riding pace to do well at either of those, so more concentrated interval work, and shorter faster races could server all of us perfectly.

PBP - Epilogue

2015-08-21T19:38:00.000+02:00

I forget which one of the Cape Randonneurs described the meal provided at the Arrivée as worthy of army canteen rations but the description was completely accurate. The chicken was bland and the pasta limp, but I ate it all the same. My body needed the fuel and I couldn't be bothered to go out in the rain searching for something more palatable. On the table in front of me was my plastic wallet. All this now contained was the photo of me and Ben, and a small slip of white paper saying something like "Well Done" - it may have indicated my finish time on it somewhere too. The actual brevet card was now part of the ACP process, collected up after being stamped, hopefully to be returned at the end of the year with finishing medal and other paraphernalia.

I gave up on the pasta and ate the muffin instead. It was thick and sticky, like those you get at filling station counters, quote an expiry date closer to the end of the universe. Crammed onto the long wooden benches all around were groups of riders celebrating and taking pictures of their friends. I felt a little sad not to have finished with some of the other Cape riders and been able to celebrate together. I made up for this with a few messages to Yoli after which, with nothing more for me at the velodrome I headed back to the bike park. I was looking forward to my hotel, a comfy bed, and a long sleep.

A handful of other riders were making their way soggily up the ramp, the rain continuing to fall. The ending may have been a rather damp ending but conversation was lively and spirits high as we rolled towards the road where it had all started. Even with some quite heavy downpours, it was really quite pleasant to make my way back to the hotel - for the first time in four days there was no time pressure, I could just amble along. Also odd was to see cars and pedestrians going about their ordinary Thursday business - I was just another cyclist again, no more cheers of encouragement. It was all wonderfully normally.

Back at the hotel I dumped my bike in the conference room - the plastic sheeting which it had been covered with now made perfect sense as all around were filthy, dripping machines. I needed sleep, but I needed to reward myself too. I quickly checked into my new family room (with space for Ben and Yoli who would be arriving later) and headed to the bar. It may have been mid-morning, but I was due a beer. Several of the staff from the hotel congratulated me as I sat enjoying probably the best glass of Leffe I've ever tasted. It was exactly like every other glass of Leffe of course, but I wasn't, and this moment wasn't.

The beer worked it's magic, my eyelids grew heavy and I trudged off to the room. After showering some of the stink off, there was one last card to open before sleeping. The envelope read "open at the end of your ride" (or something similar). Inside was a hand-made treat that Yoli and Ben had constructed for me. I drifted into unconsciousness with the biggest smile on my face.

I was out cold until Yoli and Ben arrived at the hotel around 3pm. I was pretty sleepy for most of the rest of the day too, although I do remember we went for a nice evening meal back at my favourite pizza cafe back in St-Quentin center. I was quite surprised how recovered I felt by the next morning - the pain from my knee had eased considerably, and a good night's sleep had chased off the worst of the fatigue. Whilst Yoli visited nearby Versailles I tackled the final bicycle related act of my PBP - dismantling Jolly and packing her back down into the bike box. Ben sat playing games on my tablet as I pottered, cleaning some of the worst of the crud off with wipes before stowing parts in their respective spaces. I felt a strong desire to leave the registration plates on the bike, but they wouldn't stay on when back home so I snipped the cable ties and stashed them with my other memorabilia from the ride.

With the mechanical work done, Ben and I grabbed a very welcome swim in the hotel pool. It was a glorious sunny day and the cool water soothed my muscles wonderfully. A beer bought by a couple of Randonneurs from Singapore capped off the morning almost perfectly, which I was sipping on just as Yoli arrived back. With an afternoon free we acted like any good tourists would, and went off to central Paris to enjoy the sights - and also get another beer of course, a proper sized one this time.

Spending time with my family really was the perfect way to celebrate the culmination of a three and a half year obsession with PBP. Without their love and patience I'd never have been able to prepare thoroughly enough to succeed at such an all encompassing physical and mental challenge. PBP was also the spark that inspired this blog, which begs the question what happens to it now? The immediate answer is that it's too early to tell. One thing I am certain of though - the end of PBP is not the end of my passion for riding, or writing. So watch this space ... the ride may be over, the journey most definitely is not.

PBP Part 3 - Sleeper

2015-08-19T15:17:00.000+02:00

00:30, 19 Aug - Loudéac, 780km

I woke before the alarms rang - in fact remarkably close to the original time of midnight to which they'd been set. It was still a solid 3.5 hours of decent sleep, and the shower had already worked it's magic - leaning against the tiles, eyes closed whilst a torrent of hot water washed over me until I was something close to fully awake.

I have a strong recollection of dithering around rather a lot. The usual chores were easy - swapping out batteries, including this time the Garmin's AAs just in case. But once dressed I needed to pack up my drop bag, and for some reason this totally baffled me. Kit was strewn all over the small desk and both beds and eventually I just gave up trying to figure it out and stuffed whatever seemed worn or now surplus into the backpack.

The last item needing my attention was the card marked "Open at 2nd drop bag". It didn't have quite the laugh-out-loud value as the previous one but it was precious nevertheless. A favourite photo from this year's Junior Argus. It was my turn to try and make Ben proud and, to keep that in my thoughts, I put the card in the plastic wallet so I'd see it every time I took out my brevet card.

Standing outside it was significantly warmer than the previous night. Stupidly I'd fully packed my saddle bag and now needed to unpack it to retrieve the small bottle of lube. Needless to say that with the time approaching 1am the chain got the most cursory of wipes and a liberal squirt of fresh lube. It was now a rather oily mess, but it ought to smooth out the few missed shifts that had crept in over the final stretches the day before. My OCD fully kicked in before getting going - checking the room several times before tossing the key inside and making sure the door locked behind me.

The backpack wasn't heavy or cumbersome, but I was glad the control was nearby. It felt a little odd to be leaving the hotel behind as I made my way back to the town. This was it - the final stretch - and what I was now wearing or had in my saddle bag would have to be sufficient. Not needing a stamp, I swung left one roundabout earlier in the hope of finding a back entrance to the control. It was a good guess - although I was rather surprised to wander through the top gate with no checks. Within a few minutes I'd visited the bag drop area, ditched the backpack in roughly the spot I'd collected it from, and rolled out again this time via the official fenced off channel leading out of the control.

01:30, 19 Aug - Loudéac:

Approaching the roundabout at the end of the closed off section I glanced down at the Garmin. The time shown on the small screen was a very pleasing sight. I was starting my 3rd night on the road with roughly 2.5 hours in the bank. Even better was that the "race out, tour back" philosophy of PBP meant I was sure to pick up extra time today even if I took it easy. Many things could still go wrong but for now my ride was in great shape.

I spied a lone red tail light as the route went under a busy highway, and started to gradually climb. It was a glorious night to be riding - still, cool rather than cold, and the roads was almost deserted apart from small pockets of riders here and there. For a while I took it very gently, careful to let the legs warm up properly. The road was mostly uphill too - winding it's way slowly towards various red lights in the sky which I guessed were probably wind-farms, power cables, masts or some-such. It was impossible to ignore that I still needed to reverse all 450km of that first leg. It was a little daunting, but I felt good - no significant aches, and yesterday's fatigue was gone.

The exact sequence of events over the next section is a bit of a blur to me although I remember very clearly a lot of surprisingly fast riding. In the warmer night air and quiet roads at some point the energy I'd been missing the day before surged back into my legs. I found myself standing and charging at each small rise, and thundering down the descents that followed. It was exhilarating stuff and at times felt almost effortless as I preserved my momentum across the rolling landscape. I made two short stops, although the order of them is now a bit vague. The first I think was for a very welcome and perfectly timed cup of coffee at a tiny roadside stall hosted by an elderly local. The other was under the orange street lamps of a small town to quickly eat a Pronutro bar.

The pace I was pushing into the wheels brought up the next official food stop quicker than I'd expected.

04:15, 19 Aug - Quedillac:

The few towns we'd passed through had shown little signs of life, so I pulled into the food stop rather than risk not finding anything open before the next control. It proved a good call - they were well stocked with supplies and there was no queue. I quickly grabbed a large glass bowl of coffee and two croissants and headed to a table. I sat opposite another English rider - I forget which of us arrived first. We chatted about the previous leg, apparently both of us had been enjoying the fast riding. I have a vague feeling he may also have been called Rob, but I may have imagined that.

It was a pleasant stop - 20 minutes for breakfast and some good conversation. I wasn't feeling any sense of urgency so far today as I slowly kitted up in the bike park and rolled back out. I really remember very little of the 25km or so to the next control. I can see from my GPS track it took a a bit over an hour, and I recognised a few places from the journey out - first of these being the cafe at the top of the hill after the food stop in the actual town of Quedillac. But beyond that it's just a blur of lanes and hills, and a vague recollection of a couple more roadside stalls, still being diligently manned to help out riders in need of supplies.

05:53, 19 Aug - Tinténiac, 865km

The brevet stamp took no more than a minute - sleeping bodies lined both sides of the snaking corridor to the exit. I did wonder if anyone I knew was lying there, but didn't look that closely. I'm not sure what I did with the other 17 minutes I spent at the control - it certainly did not involve eating. Water refills couldn't have accounted for more than 5 of those, so I must have faffed with my bike or clothes in some way.

If my recollection of the last stage is vague, it's borderline non existent over the next few kilometers. The memories become a little less murky as the landscape emerged again, lit by a third dawn spent on the road. It was a beautiful morning for cycling - not a breath of wind and barely a cloud in the sky. Soon after I rode through a town I recalled from the route out, and just beyond the crossroads where Gerhard and I had become separated. Our route continued on a pretty country lane and somewhere just after the junction I heard a familiar voice call out from behind - it was Nico again, this time in the company of Barry Shaw (one of the Gauteng based Randonneurs). If I'd looked more closely at those sleeping bodies I might have seen them at the previous control as apparently, they had lain exactly where I'd walked. Another odd coincidence was that the last time I'd ridden with any of the South African riders was this same stretch of road two days ago. Most of our conversation is lost to me now - but I do recall catching up on the details of how Nico had recovered from the spoke breakages: replacement spokes by the mechanic in Mortagne-au-Perche; and then a whole replacement wheel from a Giant dealer on the approach to Villaines when yet more broke.

Before long the road ahead took a sweeping left curve up to a big roundabout at the start of the town. Two moments are burned indelibly into my brain from climbing this short ramp with the guys. The first of these happened at the bottom - I had a vivid recollection of a McDonalds nearby, and suggested to the guys we grab breakfast there. The second was much less welcome. Standing to power up the last few meters, pain shot through my right knee and I collapsed back onto the saddle. I nearly stalled out, barely managing to dump enough gears in time to keep spinning forward. Boy was I glad I'd messed around lubing my chain - one missed shift would have sent me sprawling into the ditch.

08:42, 19 Aug - Almost like Fougères (but with clean loos):

A girl who had been riding with the guys followed us across the roundabout, but as soon as she realised where we were heading shook her head and rode back out onto the route. I guess not everyone enjoys fast food even when it comes guilt free. With no such qualms, Nico, Barry and myself propped up our bikes and headed inside. What came next is pretty much the antithesis of any definition of "fast" though. The McD's was equipped with a new high tech self-server ordering system consisting of huge touch panel screens. It baffled all of us and, even with help, refused to offer all of the choices we craved. I ended up with another ruddy burger because none of the McMuffin variations seemed to come without egg. I can't remember if Nico managed to get his milk shake either - even with help from the assistant. It was a bit of a shambles really, although to be fair probably none of us were fully mentally equipped by this stage of the ride. Food did eventually arrive, it was tasty, and enjoyed with the conversation and good company of riders from back home.

What happened next is undoubtedly the most bizarre few minutes of my ride, or any Audax ride for that matter. As I headed for the luxury of a clean toilet, some very non-standard McD’s music came blaring out over the PA – Rammstein’s Du Hast. Some moments later, my needs sorted, I opened the stall door into total darkness. Dark except for the two purple alien eyes that were glaring ominously back at me, thrash metal still blasting into my ears. I honestly thought I’d lost my mind, fallen asleep, or woken up. I couldn’t decide which, but I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The slightest motion of my hand resolved the scene in a way my sleep deprived brain could not – energy saving lights flickered on, and ahead were two urinals with some kind of UV sanitising light. Phew! As I left the toilet, the next tune was cued up on the PA - Nena's 99 Luftballons. Just a couple of month's back we'd sat around a campfire as our friend Riku's daugher practised her rendition of the English version for a school Idols competition. Coincidentally, Riku is also probably the biggest Rammstein fan on the planet. Rejoining the guys, I made a mental note to share this rather surreal McD's visit with him.

09:38, 19 Aug - Fougères, 919km

We rode the remaining 5km to the control and parked up our bikes together as we collected brevet stamps and topped up bottles. I knew my knee would not stand their pace beyond this though and told them to push on and not wait for me.

Alone in the bike park, what lay ahead suddenly hit me - 300km on a dodgy knee, and at least half of that distance significantly hilly. My "final section jinx" had struck again and all of a sudden my PBP had gone from remarkably smooth sailing to a battle against injury. At least having gone through it before on LEL, I knew as long as it remained just painful I should be able to slog through. But not really knowing much about ITB injuries (which Barry had pretty much confirmed this to be) also meant I didn't know if the knee would give up totally and end my ride. I contemplated visiting the medics. It probably would have been the smart move, but a nagging worry crept into my brain that they could force me to pull out of the ride. So instead, I took an Advil to dull the pain, and texted Yoli to pass on the less-than-good news. I made it clear in the message that I was carrying on and tried to avoid sounding downbeat. It was a thin facade though - I was downbeat as I rolled gingerly out of the control, spinning very light gears to avoid further stress.

The last thing I needed was a long hill which is, of course, exactly what the route put in front of me once we'd wound past a sprawling strip mall and out of the town. Over the course of the next 30km or so it became clear that I needed something more than just painkillers. Aside from the fact that I could only take so many in a day, the knee was beginning to wobble under the pressure of climbing. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep an even pedal stroke without my knee looping left and right making ugly figures of 8 rather than nice clean circles. I cursed myself for not packing some of those brightly coloured physio straps in my bag - they'd have taken up almost no space and seemed to be exactly what I needed. I started to daydream of finding a pharmacy that stocked, and knew how to apply them. It was pretty improbable, but maybe I'd get lucky and find one that had a knee brace or something else usable.

Somewhere whilst having these thoughts another "Walker on a Burls" came up alongside and we started chatting (Charles Walker I think, from Australia). I already knew about him, and he about me because he'd met some of the other guys in Paris - Gideon and Ernst I think, who are also Titanium enthusiasts and hence tuned into our rather uncommon bike brand. He'd spotted my SA Flag jersey and easily caught up, my speed now having dropped down to a snail's pace at times. We chatted about our bikes for a while, how we came to choose Justin Burls, and Audaxing in general. His was a very smart disc machine with Easton forks I think. I forget the rest of the spec, but clearly he was just as happy with his choice as I was.

Eventually I explained and apologised for my pathetic speed, and urged him to continue at his own pace rather than limp along with me. Soon after I rolled into a town I recognised. It was Gorron again, although with the main street closed for a big market there was no chance of temptation at the same bakery for more of those fruit tarts. I was just wondering if the detour had also taken me past the town's pharmacy and contemplating dismounting and walking back into the center when I spied what I thought was a green cross flashing dimly up ahead on the left.

11:45, 19 Aug - Gorron (possibly the world's most helpful pharmacist):

I swung across the road and leant my bike outside the shop - where it would still be just visible from inside through the sliding glass door. I remember getting an amused look from a couple who were leaving, and hearing the sound of cheering and a band playing - or maybe just a lone trumpeter - a bit further along the road at the end of the town. I'd barely taken 3 steps into the shop before an enormously enthusiastic assistant came across to help me - I must confess, I did put on a bit of an exaggerated limp to make it obvious what I needed. It wasn't really necessary though - between my French and the pharmacist's English we quickly homed in on their selection of supports, and within minutes I was seated and trying on a knee brace. It was darned uncomfortable if I'm honest but, hobbling around in the shop, I could also feel it was giving just the level of support I'd been hoping for. I indicated this with the universal "thumbs-up" sign and was soon swiping my card in payment. Before leaving though, the assistant shoved handfuls of ice gel sachets in my direction. I rolled the brace down and rubbed one onto my knee, stuffing the rest in a jersey pocket. It was a bit of a silly place to put them - later in the ride, with a foggy brain, I came very close to eating one mistaking it for an energy gel.

I started out again slowly, getting my own personal cheer as I passed the band and headed out of town. The brace rubbed and chafed like hell, but the knee pain was considerably diminished - or maybe it was that the added discomfort of wearing it gave my mind something else to dwell on. Either way, I was able to push quite a bit harder on the uphills, and in between rest on the descents. Despite the irritation to my skin it was an improvement - I was making better progress and my knee no longer felt like it was going to give way on me. And with that out of my mind for now, I started to get hungry again.

Not much further on I came to a familiar dogleg in the road followed by a fast descent - I was back in the ridiculously picturesque town of Ambrières-les-Vallées. The road dipped down to a stream and swung left to cross it on an old bridge. I'd foolishly not stopped there for breakfast on the way out, a mistake that I wasn't going to make twice. I didn't really care what the food was like, the setting was sublime. The standard jambon baguettes were sitting on the bar, I needed something more to cheer me up though, and opted for a small pression (draught beer) to go with. I wasn't sure it was an entirely sensible idea, being so tired and sleep deprived, but at that moment it felt like exactly what was needed.

I sat outside, taking in the wonderful view, and relaxing over my beer and sandwich as other riders threaded their way through the S-bend, across the bridge and up again out of town. Quite a few did as I had and stopped, in the course of which I found myself sitting opposite a guy in a Scottish flag shirt with a chap in a Welsh shirt making his way to a table. I remember making a comment to the Scottish guy that it was a perfect scene for a joke - an Englishman, a Scotsman and a Welshman sitting at a bar. He laughed, but it occurs to me now he may just have done so out of politeness - the joke probably lost a bit of meaning with me in a South African flag jersey.

It was hard to tear myself away from such an idyllic spot but I couldn't afford to let my leg seize up so after around half an hour I started out again, slowly up the hill and out of the town. Part way up I passed a chap with his garage fully open and tables inside from which he was serving food and drinks to passing riders. I remembered seeing him stood there in the early morning on the way out - I wondered if he'd manned his little food station for the whole time since.

The roughly 40km or so to the next control took me a little over two hours. Not too bad really considering the terrain and my slowness up anything resembling a hill. Somewhere along the way I met a young English rider named Chapman and we rode together for a while. He was also struggling but it seemed to be more from a general lack of energy. It was clear from our conversation that he was normally a fast rider and a little dismayed and downbeat to find himself lagging behind his usual pace. I guessed that a lot of it was the mental fatigue such long events bring. Before we separated he asked if he could take a copy of my Garmin log for his records, his unit having died some time back. I wasn't entirely sure he'd remember my name but we did actually swap emails after the event, so clearly his memory was still functioning at least.

Over the last couple of kilometers to the control I vaguely remember seeing a blue and white Giant sign beside the road. I guessed this was probably the same sign Nico had spotted and followed to acquire the new rear wheel that saved his ride.

15:25, 19 Aug - Villaines-la-Juhel, 1008km

I recall hearing a quote from someone along the lines of "prepare to feel like a Pro racer" about the approach to Villaines. They weren't wrong. The entire town was one huge street party and we were the guests of honour. Huge inflatable arches had sprung up either end of the street that was cordoned off for the control, and the fences both side were lined with cheering supporters. It honestly did feel and look like the finish of a Tour de France stage. I stopped to snap a picture, which sadly does not come close to doing it justice - the crowds behind the barriers inside the control were crammed in like sardines.

I stuck to the basics at the control - the obligatory brevet stamp, a top up of water, and a quick pee. Or I tried too stick to that at least. A very nice young girl tried repeatedly to lure me into the massage area on seeing my strapped up knee. I was tempted but in the back of my mind was a voice telling me not too - "it's manageable now, the pain's not too bad, don't risk making it worse and don't waste time." I listened to the voice and reluctantly declined, heading back to the bike and smearing on a fresh pack of ice gel under the brace before rolling out.

Just two more controls and a little over 200km to go. I started to believe again.

I knew the leg to the next control was going to be a tough one but that also, once done, the route beyond would become easier and less rolling (or at least that was how I'd remembered it). I figured the best plan was to break this section into two, with a stop for a rest and dinner somewhere around midway. As it happened, quite by chance I picked a town which I now see on the map is almost exactly half way. In other respects, it possibly wasn't such a great choice.

17:10, 19 Aug - Fresnay-sur-Sarthe:

When the owner told me they weren't yet serving food but he'd see what he could do I should have
ridden on. It was a generous offer, but clearly it wasn't going to be quick. But the lure of a beer and a sit down on a wonderful sunny evening was too great so instead I lingered and watched the world (and PBP) go by as he busied off to find his chef. Whilst waiting there one of a pair of Italian riders on the most superb vintage fixed gear bikes pulled up to get a beer. I struggle to imagine how they were going so well on such old machines and wearing heavy vintage woolen clothing too. Their setup and kit seemed remarkably authentic and quite wonderful - it must have been an absolute sod to wear and ride though.

Eventually my dish of lasagna arrived. It was tasty and filling, but otherwise fairly standard. Gideon and Ernst rolled by as I was eating, stopped for a quick hello but I failed to talk them into a beer. They were clearly on a schedule - most likely meeting their support RV at the next control. Spending 40 minutes over a mediocre dinner wasn't an efficient choice on my part either, but I wasn't short of time so there was no value dwelling on it.

The stretch to the next control was every bit as tough as I was expecting - one hill after the next, some of them a lot steeper than my legs enjoyed. I stopped twice along the way. The first stop was initially in response to a desperate need for a pee, induced no doubt by that beer. Noticing the time though I also got in a quick call to update Yoli and say goodnight to Ben. It was just a few minutes off the bike, but in the early evening sunlight on a leafy stretch of lane with nothing in sight except farmland and passing riders it was also rather delightful. The second stop was just before the control to take off the knee brace. The chafing was now driving me insane and it seemed to have done it's work, the knee pain was considerably diminished. I was also feeling a little more confident after a message from Penny back home saying my ITB wouldn't tear, and however badly it hurt I could just keep going without worrying.

Somewhere along this section I also finally actually met Marcus Jackson Baker. After swapping numerous forum messages, and both of us having taken part in LEL this was the first time we'd actually ridden together. He sauntered alongside me at a leisurely pace on a very smart looking orange fixed gear bike and, after chatting a while, pulled slowly ahead. Even with the excuse of an injury he was putting my efforts with 22 gears and a freehub rather to shame. At some stage as we were riding together we came across Chapman, who Marcus clearly knew or had also met on the ride.

Buildings came into view up ahead, the last rays of sunlight picking out rich brown and orange colours on the old facades lining the route into town. A last climb, a left turn, and then a short steep ramp that had me standing on the pedals and cursing I hadn't dropped one more gear - none of it mattered though, this was the control and most of the hard riding was now behind me.

20:42, 19 Aug - Mortagne-au-Perche, 1089km

Finally a control with no queue for food, it was impossible not to go and see what was on offer. For some reason, despite the sausage and mash looking good I ended up with yet more pasta. I wasn't really sure I was hungry but I must have been - it disappeared rapidly, along with some type of soda or other. I was feeling decidedly light headed and spaced out - the canteen was lined with sleeping bodies and I decided to try and grab a nap. After retrieving my saddle bag I found a spare space near one of the doorways. I lay there for a while, rolling over a couple of times. I was comfortable enough, and it wasn't especially noisy but I just couldn't drift off. Eventually I decided I was just wasting time - sleep was not going to come. I packed up, went back to the bar, and grabbed a coffee with two sugars. I still felt pretty crappy, but I was awake enough to push on - I could always have a nap by the road or at the next control if the dozies kicked in.

It was a bit of a waste of an hour and 15 minutes, but I was at least fed and refreshed as I headed out of the control. Whatever lay ahead, my fourth night on the road would be the last for this PBP. Despite feeling shabby I knew I had to make every effort to enjoy it, and make at least one more roadside stop on the way to savour the atmosphere properly for possibly the last time.

The road dipped down and climbed out of several valleys - clearly my memory of it being flatter after the last control was somewhat flawed. My spirits were good though and it was wonderful riding - the smell of damp, lush forest all around as we crossed the bottom of each valley and wound up their wooded sides. None of the inclines were long, and the descents were fast and fun. As we crested the last of these and started to run downhill I spied a brightly lit stall that looked familiar. It was a much bigger affair, with an expansive table covered in food, chairs laid out and more people serving, but I was pretty sure it was the same family who'd served me my first coffee on the way out.

00:24, 20 Aug - roadside stall in Senonches:

I gratefully accepted the chair which I was ushered towards, and then a cup of vegetable soup, soon after followed by a second cup. Riders came and went as I sat relaxing and enjoying the soup. I only stopped for around 15 minutes but they were some of the most enjoyable of the ride so far - such generous hospitality in the middle of the night a full four days after we'd passed this spot previously.

Riding out again the road finally flattened out into the rolling pastures I'd remembered. To head towards Dreux we must have diverted from the outbound route at some point, but the terrain was similar - fast, and predominantly downhill in this direction. The cool air combined with the higher speed was a great relief, helping keep me awake and alert as we rushed through the night. Every now and then a few drops of rain fell from now cloud-heavy skies but they never quite became even a proper shower.

An orange glow of city lights eventually appeared on the horizon - but riding towards them I felt my concentration wandering for the first time. Despite our speed we hardly seemed to be making any progress towards them. Time seemed to slow down, and the scenery almost froze into an unchanging picture. My eyes blurred and tiny but noticeable gaps started to appear in my consciousness. I was watching a movie reel that had been slowed down to reveal the blank space in between each frame. I was beginning to doze off, just kilometers outside of the last control. This was not good. I shook my head a few times, stood on the pedals and picked up my pace in an effort to keep awake. I tucked alongside a fellow rider and focused on keeping a straight path alongside his. It was just enough to get me to the streetlights ahead, where we swung right and down a stretch of main highway, luckily empty at this late hour. At the bottom we swung off the highway and onto some kind of cycle path which wound back and forth through a park until finally depositing us on a suburban road. It was a huge relief to see barriers and marshals ahead. I'd avoided falling asleep at the wheel by the smallest of margins and made it to the control.

02:26, 20 Aug - Dreux, 1166km

This was it, my last control and I felt - well - truly dreadful to be honest. I wandered aimlessly looking for a space to park my bike. Eventually a marshal put a steadying hand on my shoulder and guided me to lean it against the railing of a bridge over a small stream. I trudged into the control, fumbled around getting my card stamped, loaded a tray with coffee and food and sank into the nearest available chair. It was more than 24 hours since I'd left Loudéac - my body was in reasonable shape, but mentally I was shattered.

I really wasn't sure what to do. The logical thing with time in hand would have been to go into the dormitory and get a couple of hours proper sleep. But a voice inside was telling me it was a bad plan - the ghost of that near disastrous Market Rasen stop on LEL probably still haunting me. I didn't want to lie down and risk that again. So instead I set my alarm 45 minutes ahead, quickly drank another coffee, leant my arms onto the table and slumped forward to rest my head on them. All around were snoozing riders doing the same - it wasn't exactly comfortable but my eyes did close for a while although not nearly the full time I'd set on the watch.

My mind was still hazy when I woke up, but I had no doubt what I needed to do. One more coffee went down and I picked up a Red Bull for my bag just in case I became dozy again later. Another hour and half stop and no real sleep - my efficiency through controls was long gone. Back at my bike I ate a snack bar, and stashed another in my pocket for the ride back. And then it hit me - the one thing that would really help me keep awake - clearer vision! Having carried my glasses the whole way, it was now time to use them. I dropped my contact lenses into the stream below and put them on. The effect was miraculous - feeling instantly more alert I topped up water bottles, mounted up and rolled out of the control. Only 65km lay between me and the finish of my PBP dream. I could do this.

As the wheels picked up speed through the town I found myself riding alongside an English randonneur named Paul Revell. He very kindly agreed to let me ride with him in case I started drifting off again. It turned out we also vaguely knew each other from online discussions on YACF. Over the next few kilometers the company and conversation was excellent, more than enough distraction to keep the dozies at bay. It was clearly a bit too distracting as a bit further along the road we missed both a sign for Paris and my Garmin track. We were riding across open farmland, flat and fast, and in the wrong direction. We realised our mistake at a T-junction - I think Paul wanted to punch me at my insistence we stuck to the rules and backtracked to the point of our error. Paul's printed route sheet clearly showed a much shorter option to rejoin the route but we did the right thing, and in the process racked up 15 or 20km extra and added "getting lost" to our PBP experience.

Dawn saw us re-entering the Rambouillet forest - and here, rather obviously, those lovely fast downhills from the way out became a less welcomed chain of wooded climbs, at least a couple of which were just that bit too long and steep to be comfortable. We were nearly home though, and a combination of adrenaline and good spirits were more than a match for them. The roads all around were very wet although the rain didn't reach us until we hit open farmland and rode back up that long straight avenue of poplars where our escort had left us on the first evening. Paul was stretching his legs a bit now and gaps opened a couple of times. I thanked him for the company but said he must push on, I wanted to try and message or call Yoli anyhow - I wasn't sure if I'd let her know that I'd reached and left Dreux earlier.

The roads were busy now with rush hour traffic - and ahead was my second wobbling and wandering rider. She seemed blissfully unaware of how close the speeding cars were passing at times. As I pulled alongside I called across to stay awake and be careful. I think she swore at me, although I couldn't really hear what she said - I'd clearly pissed her off, but at least she was awake now. I pulled over a little further ahead, rain was falling properly now and there was no signal on my phone. Standing around getting wet was not appealing so I typed a text that I hoped would send when there was coverage again and set off for the final 10km of my ride.

There was no near-dead horse this time - just rain, roadspray, and unpleasantly heavy traffic. None of which mattered though - I had enough time in hand to carry my bike to the finish from here if I needed too. Eventually we swung around a loop of road at the top of which were marshals who signaled us left and off the road. We joined a cycle track through a park - I didn't recognise the scenery, but I knew that we were very close to the end. I was pretty certain this park ran all the way back to the velodrome.

As the path swung left the finish line came into view. Bizarrely, I saw the chain snap on one of the bikes just ahead of me. The rider must have been pretty pissed off, but he was just meters from the end and it wasn't going to make any real difference now. I stood up and, in the pouring rain, pushed for the banners ahead. It took a fair amount of concentration to twist up the last little path and take the sharp and narrow bend at the top. The barriers both sides were lined with people, the crowds weren't huge but they cheered us all enthusiastically. My wheels rolled freely down to the marquee ahead and the end of my PBP - it didn't quite feel real. It still doesn't feel quite real. After three and a half years of dreaming I was here, I'd done it!

With no more time pressure I dithered massively finding a space in the bike park. Finally I headed towards the velodrome to get my card stamped. On the way I called Yoli to deliver the simplest of messages which I knew would mean as much to her as it did to me:

"Je suis un Anciens"

My official time was 84:52, inside the cutoff by some 5 hours which is all that really mattered. I'd have just have happily taken 5 minutes inside the cutoff. I'd spent about 61 hours riding, had around 6.5 hours of sleep, and spent probably 1 hour getting lost. The roughly 16 hours remaining let's just say I spent thoroughly enjoying myself (others might call it faffing).

Click here to continue to Epilogue

PBP Part 2 - Slow Train To The Coast

2015-08-18T00:00:00.000+02:00

00:00, 18 Aug - Loudéac, 448km

I can't remember whether I opened it before going to sleep or after waking up but the card Yoli and Ben had made for me which read "Open at 1st drop bag" made me laugh so much I nearly wet myself. It was a real boost to the spirits.

I've mentioned it before on this blog but I love riding at night - still, cool air, quiet roads and peaceful riding. It's a big advantage on any long Audax ride but particularly this one when, an hour ago, multiple alarms went off all around my room. Some of these were placed intentionally out of reach so I couldn't just roll over and mute them. The various ringing bells dragged me up from possibly the deepest sleep I've ever experienced mid-ride. I was so dead to the world it took me a couple of minutes to properly come too and even remember where I was. Before heading to the shower I sent Peter a quick message - there was still about 3.5 hours in hand over the control cut-off, meaning he could still use the hotel room if he was nearby. As the powerful downpour from a hot shower restored me I patted myself on the back once again for planning ahead and booking this hotel last September. It seemed ridiculously early at the time, but I know they were fully booked not long after.

I faffed around quite a lot getting ready. Fresh contact lenses went in, Sudocreme was liberally applied to the undercarriage, and on went fresh clean kit - thermal vest for the cold night, and William's old-style jersey on top which had a fairly generous cut. The new-style slim cut jersey went in the saddle pack to wear later when it warmed up. Body all sorted, I started on the bike - swapping out the front light battery pack, leaving the used one in the hotel room on charge. As a precaution I put fresh AAAs in the rear light I'd been using - they should have plenty left, but it save me needing to think about changing them en-route. Finally I reset the Garmin and loaded up the track for the next leg. Just before heading out I checked my messages but nothing from Peter - I messaged again saying I was leaving but would keep an eye out for him on the road.

It was a great feeling rolling past the control around midnight with 2.5 hours in the bank - it was unpleasantly cold though, and I cursed leaving my leg warmers back in Paris. As I wound through the town my mind went over the day ahead and started to form a plan. It was just short of 350km out to Brest and back to Loudeac - a welcome relief to have 100km less riding than yesterday. I resolved to take it much easier and give the legs and body a bit of a break. They had looked after me well the previous day, now it was my turn to look after them. Somewhere between 18 and 20 hours to be back in Loudeac seemed a decent target - it would allow a considerably more relaxed pace, with time to enjoy some cafe stops along the way.

I hadn't really intended that first cafe stop to happen so soon, but within half an hour of starting out I rolled through a sleepy little town called Trevé and spied two other riders sat at tables enjoying coffee and croissants. Setting off with no coffee or breakfast had troubled me, and this was too good to pass up. I dashed inside and ordered two pain-au-chocolats and a coffee - possibly two coffees, I forget. I sat at a free table outside with a stupid grin on my face - this was exactly the sort of day I'd planned, enjoying whatever I chanced upon along the way. A few other riders obviously had the same thought as they saw me there and by the time I started out again several other tables were now full. It was 15 well spent minutes, the perfect start to the day.

The riding was just as rolling as the day before - pretty much continuously up and down. Clearly another day of hill intervals lay ahead. A steady flow of headlights were passing now, already on their way back to Paris. I wondered if my front light was as blinding as theirs - I suspect it probably was. One upside of the cold was it gave no incentive to be lazy, lifting the effort a shade on the hills being about the only way I could warm myself up a little.

Having breakfasted already I had intended to bounce the official food stop, but the organizers had other plans. This was our first secret control - and marshals were funneled us towards bike stands and the brevet station.

02:35, 18 Aug - St Nicolas-du-Pelem, 492km

It was a record control for me - I was stamped, topped up, and through the control in 5 minutes. Talk about getting my faffing under control! I did spend another 7 or so minutes beside the road just beyond the town though taking a pee and donning more warm gear. Out came thin beanie, on went warm gloves, and my PBP gilet went on over the top of my jacket. It was just enough to get me vaguely warm. My legs were still freezing in just cycle shorts, but at least my feet, body, hands and head were warm. It was just about enough. Someone later told me they'd recorded a low of zero degrees in the middle of this night. I'm not sure how true that is, but the temperature was definitely very low single digits. Fumbling around in the dark I made a rookie mistake and let the heavily loaded bike slip out of my hands - scoring a gash on my leg as the chain-ring gave me a nasty bite.

03:55, 18 Aug - Somewhere Random:

The road took a dog-leg left and right through a small town just before the next control. As the right bend of the main street straightened out I saw a banner and flashing lights pointing up a narrow paved alley, with a board next to it advertising drinks and food. Quickly checking it was clear behind, I grabbed handfuls of brake and pulled up sharp to look down the alley. A 100m away was a brightly lit collection of benches, tables and umbrellas. With no intention of eating at the control up ahead this seemed like an ideal stop for breakfast. I guess more accurately a 2nd breakfast, but who was counting. The plan was for an easier day, meaning there was no need to rush past inviting looking little stops. I rolled up the alley, lent my bike against the wall and wandered towards the family running the stall.

There was a short handwritten menu with various tarts etc but I fancied something a little bigger, so in my limited French asked if they could do me a sandwich - "avez vous baguette Jambon-Fromage?". Instantly nodding a girl I guessed was the daughter ran inside to start making me one. With the chilly air I wasn't remotely sleepy and so asked if they could make a "chocolat-chaud" to warm me up. They ushered me to a chair and table whilst another reached for cups and hot water. I sat there munching a deliciously fresh sandwich and sipping on the wonderfully sweet hot chocolate. Despite looking like an ordinary house this was clearly a boulangerie - an enormously welcoming one. They asked me how I was going (at least I think that's what they said) and I did my best to reply that I was doing great, and the food and drink were lovely. I also managed to learn the name of the town (Mael-Carhaix), and that the control was only another 10km further on. Although our conversation was limited, I was stupidly pleased to have managed it entirely with my limited schoolboy French. There was really only two sad parts to this wonderful little stop: having to pack up and leave; and that more hadn't also spotted their sign and taken the time to enjoy the warm hospitality this family had laid on at such a ridiculous hour of the morning. As I headed back down the alley I did my best to rectify this, telling the riders I saw passing what a lovely stop it was and well worth the visit. They all just looked at me blankly and rode on - their loss!

04:38, 18 Aug - Carhaix-Plouguer, 526km

Well fed and watered by the stop just before I made this another zero-faffing control - in and out in 5 minutes, despite the usual long and meandering layout which required a bit of wandering around.

It was impossible to ignore that the next control was Brest, the halfway point. Once we turned around we'd start to follow signs saying "Paris". Rolling out of Carhaix I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic - this leg was just under 90km, meaning that dawn would break somewhere around midway to the coast. With no great rush, and no real desire to ride it all in one go, I figured a stop for breakfast around 40 or 50km down the road somewhere sounded like a good idea. OK, yes, technically this would be my 3rd breakfast of the morning but once again, it was planning ahead. Taking fuel on board early would mean no need to queue for any at Brest. Including a stop, I figured I'd probably reach the control in around 5 hours - even with today's more relaxed pace, this would still be well ahead of any timing I'd dared dream of.

The first faint rays of light revealed what a stunningly beautiful landscape the unceasing hills were leading us through. We wound through the village of Huelgoat, in the dim grey light it looked stunning, an impressive looking church looming up on one side and somewhere a line of trees traversing a steep hill with a large lake down below. I made a mental note to stop on the way back when there was more light and take some photos. Soon after we swung right onto a main road - faster, and much less pleasant. It was wide enough that the speeding traffic never really bothered us, but it was soulless after the lovely lanes. One long dull rise, red tail lights of riders ahead, white headlights of returning riders coming the other way. The long drag climbed steadily up and up. A mast ahead clearly indicated the top we were aiming towards and eventually, at a crossing with another road, the climb leveled out. Very briefly we were running along the top of a high hillside, with glimpses of coastline beyond. Somewhere, down there, was Brest.

Parked alongside the road and in lay-bys were numerous RVs, some with riders stopped. I was a little confused by this (and still am). Brest may have been close but we were definitely not within the last few kilometers of the control where support would be allowed. They might have been locals supported any riders needing help, but a few definitely seemed more like family or friends. I dismissed the thought - perhaps this was designated as an official area for support if parking nearer the control was limited. It would have been a rather flagrant abuse of the Audax ethos if not, but either way it didn't really bother me. I was riding my ride, and they were riding theirs - no one else really polices our rides aside from ourselves.

The sun was fully up as my wheels picked up speed and ran down a long descent to the flat coastal plain below. It was fast, fun, and still rather cold - the whole time passing a steady stream of riders slogging back up the climb. On a ride of mostly rolling hills this was something approaching a proper climb - Roc'h Trevezel. I tried to stop my mind dwelling on the thought I'd also need to climb back up it later, when it was also likely to be much warmer too. As kilometer after kilometer of fast and effortless riding whizzed by it was simply impossible not to realize that a heavy price would be exacted later for the free ride.

Beyond the small hamlet of Commana came a somewhat bigger town. A large hotel on the right was filled with riders and bikes and a smaller cafe on the left was also busy but with a few spaces. Guessing there was maybe 35km to the control this was an ideal time to stop. I quickly parked up and headed inside to warm up.

07:15, 18 Aug - Sizun:

What a relief. The cafe was warm, there was a free chair at the bar, and although it was busy with other riders the staff were friendly and efficient. With no more than a nod in their direction I was quickly served a large and excellent cup of cafe-au-lait plus a pain-au-chocolat. I think it was a kind of breakfast special for riders - the slip said something like "formule" and showed a ridiculously small price. It was exactly what body and mind needed. I contemplated having a second, but I really didn't need either the food or the caffeine. Reluctantly I gave up the warmth of the bar, visited the loo and headed out - donning gloves and warm gear as I left. As I pottered around I noticed the registration plate attached to a bike that was just pulling up. It had a South African flag on it - but it wasn't a machine I recognised. Quickly scanning the name I saw it was Gerrit Visser, already on his way back I think. We exchanged hellos and quick updates on how we were going before he headed inside and I mounted up, looking forward to this final outbound stretch.

We continued along a main road, now busy with morning rush hour traffic - including quite a few trucks, most of which waited patiently behind our group until it was safe to overtake. A very small number didn't though, passing uncomfortably close and scarily fast. The same applied to cars too - the majority were extremely careful, but the few which weren't gave real cause for concern. We were clearly on one of the main arteries to Brest and it was not particularly pleasant - in fact it was rather too reminiscent of heading into Edinburgh, the LEL turn-around point, at rush-hour. The road ahead gradually rose up, riders the other way enjoying a brief respite before the big hill which they would all know was coming. Just in front of me a guy in a red jersey on a silver coloured bike was wobbling around all over the road. I wasn't sure if he was falling asleep or fiddling with things on his bike, but every now and then he took a sudden lurch left or right and grabbed large handfuls of bar to bring it on track. In the process he often over-corrected and veered violently to the opposite side. I really did not want to go any slower or faster, but sitting behind this guy was a recipe for disaster. If he didn't end up in the ditch, he was under serious risk of straying into the path of one of the cars racing past. I had no choice - standing on the pedals, I urged my weary legs to push some power into the back wheel, and passed him. I knew he wouldn't thank me, but I called to him to pay attention or take a break as I went past. I've no idea whether he understood or listened to me, but at least I had tried to wake him up.

I was very pleased when our route left the main road at a junction a little further ahead - marshals signalling us to turn left. I clearly wasn't paying attention here because at the time I did not notice that riders coming back were rejoining a route split here - it would have answered a question that was going to nag me on the way back. Anyhow, for now I just enjoyed the quieter lane even if it did send us some more hills to roll over. The knowledge that not far ahead was the control helped a bit, as did the lush green woods lining the hillside and folding over the top of our path. It was rather beautiful. Ever since entering Brittany we'd been passing dual language road-signs, each town having it's Breton name in italics underneath the modern French name. It reminded me of Ireland in more ways than just that - many of the local names felt as if they shared some common linguistic root to gaelic. A few were also quite amusing, at least to me in my road weary state - Loperhet (Breton: Loperc'hed) sounded to me like "lop-her-head", maybe an ancient site of witch beheadings!

Our route took a 90 degree turn left and started to head downhill, running parallel to a main highway on our right hand side. The towers of a bridge could be seen up ahead - this was clearly the final descent into Brest. They surely weren't going to take us onto the busy highway to get across the bridge though - maybe there was some kind of cycle-way, similar to the Humber Bridge on LEL. The approach became even more reminiscent of that section as we swung left into a park at the bottom, bollards preventing cars traveling further. But the reality which unfolded in front was far more delightful than a climb up onto a bike path. We were being taken across the old bridge, now pedestrianised and running right alongside and a little below the massive modern suspension bridge carrying the highway. Only the tops of it's twin towers and supporting cables were visible rising out of the thick fog bank - making it appear to be floating next to us in the morning sunlight. Like many riders around me I stopped to take photos. Once I realised where we were, I also recalled reading a forum post that we would only cross this bridge on the way into Brest. So this was going to be the only chance to capture a memory of the wonderful scene. I made sure to get a shot of me in my William's Bike Shop shirt too. It had been my turnaround jersey in Edinburgh, and it felt especially significant to be wearing it again today. Will's wheels were still rolling fast and true 600km into this adventure and I had absolute faith in them, despite that being a dangerous thought - the puncture and buckling fairies have a knack of hearing over-confident brainwaves.

We wound through a much longer stretch of suburb and then town than I was expecting. The surface in places was quite patchy and poor - so far we'd mostly been blessed with good smooth tar. A couple of short sections had cycle lanes I seem to recall, but mainly we jostled with morning traffic on not-always wide roads. Eventually we crossed some tram tracks, and the route swung a couple more turns before marshals and a large inflatable arch finally signaled that this was it - the somewhat dreaded halfway control!

09:33, 18 Aug - Brest, 614km

I dithered around rather more than the last few controls, managing to lose 30 minutes somewhere. OK, I did fill bottles, get card stamped, put on sunscreen, and quickly phone Yoli to let her know the news. I also ate the other half of the baguette from the Mael-Carhaix stop - still fresh, but I knew it wouldn't be enough to keep my rumbling stomach quiet for long. What I was really craving was a big bowl of Spag Bog. I was pretty sure they'd have some form of pasta at the control, but couldn't face the idea of wasting more time queuing to find out. I snapped a quick picture of my now fully stamped outbound brevet card page, stashed my gear, and rolled out. It was daunting to think we had to ride every one of those kilometers again, but at least for now it was very pleasant riding.

As we crossed the tram tracks again some kind of electrical interference must have upset my Garmin - a few meters on I noticed the screen was blank and it was off. At first I figured maybe the battery had died prematurely, but switching it back on again showed a full set of bars on the battery meter. It was only later that a spike from the overhead power lines struck me as a possible cause. Having checked it regularly, there didn't seem anything else wrong.The Garmin wasn't the only thing misbehaving. My body compass was badly thrown off by the minimal sleep over the last two and a half days. Knowing we didn't cross the bridge again, I was expecting our route to swing right and south back, but it went the opposite way, bearing left and north through different suburbs. The roads were too busy to mess around looking down at the Garmin - plus I find having too big picture of what lies ahead distracts from the task of pedaling the stretch of road directly in front of me. So I rode on a little baffled.

Baffled, getting rather too hot on the inclines, and also now needing to pee. I managed to waste another 5 minutes on a road-side stop, taking a leak and shedding layers. I also changed into my new style William's jersey which, being closer fitting, should be considerably cooler in the what promised to a warm day of riding ahead. I really should have sorted both of these needs out in the time spent faffing at the control, but they were sorted now.

A large river appeared on my right as we ran into the pretty town of Landernau, also choked with busy traffic. I cautiously weaved my way around the stationary cars, more than once nearly getting clipped by either impatient or just unobservant drivers. It was a big relief to finally hit a quiet stretch of road which swung right and across the river. It's glaringly obvious with a map in front of me now that we'd skirted north and just re-crossed the same river that the old bridge had carried us over the estuary mouth of earlier. But my tired brain just couldn't unravel things, it made such little sense to me that I concocted an alternate, completely ludicrous theory. Perhaps we weren't going to go back up the big climb after all. Perhaps the RVs parked on top were actually some official support point, and only the riders with support vehicles had to go that way. I did eventually realise there was no possible way my bizarre, altered reality version could be correct. I would have read at least something about it in the pre-ride materials, and there would need to have been alternate route signage to make it work too. But all of us were now following the same, single set of very welcomed signs saying "Paris".

And then the real truth appeared to unravel the mystery - we came to that fork in the road I'd not paid proper attention to earlier. Riders still heading into Brest were being marshaled across our path and onto the quieter country lane. As the small group I was with approached we were signaled straight through, back onto the busy main road and that slight decline I'd seen homeward bound riders freewheeling down a couple of hours earlier. I spotted one other tell-tale detail which would have solved the mystery earlier - we'd been on the D764 since leaving Landernau, which was the same road number all the way back, up and over Roc'h Trevezel.

Bugger!

I much preferred my version which magically avoided the climb that was now just a few kilometers along the road. Some rather better news did at least come my way before then.

12:00, 18 Aug - Sizun:

Several coincidences collided perfectly as I rolled back into Sizun. First of these was it was almost exactly midday, and here was a town with a restaurant for lunch. I spied the hotel up ahead but, as before, it looked busy. I glanced back to my right at the marquee in the hope it might be an alternative but, although people were eating inside, I couldn't see anywhere serving food. At that point the next coincidence happened - the exact moment I looked into this corner of the town square, a large van started up and drove out of it's parking space. Behind it was a restaurant with a single rider sitting eating, surrounded by empty tables. Clearly the van had blocked everyone's view of this little establishment. The final coincidence landed as I hurried over - the chap was eating the most delicious looking plate of Spag Bog with a side salad. I almost pinched myself to check that I hadn't drifted off into some idyllic dream. A quite improbable sequence of random events had delivered me to the exact plate of food I'd been lusting after and it was lunchtime. I didn't risk disturbing such a perfectly aligned universe and pointing to the plate immediately said "la même" (the same) to a waiter nearby, foregoing his attempts to bring me a menu. He also brought some strange local variant of Coke (Breizh Cola) too - which didn't taste half bad despite not being "the real thing". I felt a bit of an ignoramus when I realised later that Breizh is actually the breton word for the area we were cycling through (Brittany). At least a couple of other riders arrived and eyed my plate hungrily as I relaxed and enjoyed the sublime simplicity of a plate of pasta covered in delicious meaty sauce.

The short ramp into Sizun signaled the start of the slog back up to the peak ahead. It dipped a couple of times in places, but mostly it was a slow long haul for the next 15km. Being long though also meant it wasn't especially steep. Even the final 5km that were all uphill never became a chore. Sitting there, spinning an easy gear, it was actually rather enjoyable. The slower speed gave a chance to look at the wonderful views, most of which had been lost on me earlier as I'd been focusing on the fast descent. It was a shade on the warm side though, and I was becoming quite hot and sweaty as the foot of the mast finally came into sight and I crested the top. I patted myself on the back for the timely kit change - the benefit of sweating into a close fitting jersey is that it immediately starts to act like your own built in air-conditioning, and I was now cooling down nicely. You'd expect tight clothes to be unpleasant for exercise in hot weather but actually the reverse is true, providing they are made of decent material which this clearly was.

My sense of direction was so badly blurred that for some reason I expected us to turn right back to Huelgoat. In fact, it was on our left - something I'm certain the signposts must have indicated but my brain ignored. Whichever side it was, we didn't turn and I lost my chance for a photograph of the pretty hamlet. Instead the route planners kept us on the D764. They had good intentions I'm sure - a faster, more direct and less hilly route back to Carhaix. But it was busy, the cars passing unnervingly fast, and worst of all it was dreary. I rode with an English rider along this stretch. As well as some nicely distracting conversation, he also saved at least a couple of my attempts to turn off this dismal, hot, black stretch of tar. There were no signs telling us to do so, and I'm reasonably sure my Garmin route didn't indicate we should - it was the by-product of an over-tired brain trying to take over and lure me somewhere more pleasant. The only saving grace of the temporarily ugly route was that it transported us quickly to the Carhaix control.

14:40, 18 Aug - Carhaix, 698km

On the outskirts of town I'd spotted Idai, one of the EliptiGO riders I knew from LEL, and I saw him again as I was leaving the brevet station. He commented how hot the afternoon was. He was right - it had gone beyond just a warm day, the temperature had climbed into the thirties and it was becoming uncomfortable. As we parted I said something about heading for the first ice-cream I saw. It wasn't far down the road, back in the town of Mael-Carhaix, where I spied a small local store which looked promising.

15:30, 18 Aug - Mael-Carhaix:

A fellow rider came in as I stood in front of the freezer cabinet choosing - or rather not choosing, since I left the shop with both a Magnum and something similar to a King Cone. I forget what soda I took - I have a vague recollection of it being an Orangina. I sat on a wall in the shade of the town's church and scoffed the lot. They tasted wonderful but it was a disastrous idea - another rookie mistake, some kind of heat induced madness.

I expected to get underway and pick up speed on the way back to Loudéac, but just a few meters further on through the town a marshal ushered me right and into a secret control. I was surprised it was so close to the previous actual control, but I guess that was the point. If it surprised me, then it was a pretty good and unexpected secret.

15:45, 18 Aug - Mael-Carhaix, 708km

Chatting to someone after the ride (I forget who) they commented on the great food at the Mael-Carhaix control. I must have missed it, or maybe they'd meant the earlier proper control but either way I rode out with no more than the required brevet stamp. If there had actually been food, and if I'd found it maybe the next grueling 70km could have been averted. Not the distance, that had to be ridden of course. But the terrible mood with which I rode it was perhaps avoidable.

I forget exactly where along this stretch the slump set-in. I have a feeling it may have been a little after St-Nicholas du Pelem, now reverted to a food stop with the Paris-bound secret control already past. With no need of a brevet stamp I rode straight through and back onto the route. I may not remember the exact section where my spirits sagged, but I do vividly remember the stretch of road I was on at the time. The lane rolled down slightly and then rose up - hedges and a few trees lining both sides to the crest. It wasn't long or steep, in fact it was extremely gradual - but combined with over 700km of riding and limited sleep, enormous fatigue suddenly overtook me. My legs felt heavy, strength faded from them and I had no push left. I dropped onto my rear 28t cog and span incredibly slowly up the innocuous rise, other riders flashing past me.

A little further on a group of young children were serving drinks and snacks to passing riders from a small table outside their cottage. I stopped and gratefully took a fill up of cold water. My eyes surveyed the table and for a moment contemplated tossing some coins into their tin for one of the cakes or some sweets. Which is when my earlier mistake struck me. Instead of taking on proper fuel I'd loaded up on sugar an hour or so back which, once used up, had caused what I was now going through. For the first time in years, I'd bonked. Realising this was both a relief and a huge downer. I knew if I kept myself well hydrated in the heat, and put some proper fuel in my body it would pass. I also knew that whatever I ate now would take several hours to kick in - meaning I was going to have to slog through it probably all the way back to Loudeac. It wasn't likely to improve until after I got back to my hotel. Bummer!

I skipped the sugary treats and rode on. Now, and roughly every 20 minutes over the next 2 hours I put in a Perpetuem Solids energy chew, in between taken the occasional mouthful of ProNutro bar. I'd much rather have sat down and eaten a proper meal, but these would deliver the right mix of carbs to kick start my engine again, which I could top off with a nice big burger before bed. It was easily the worst two and a half hours of my ride so far. The lanes and villages were still every bit as pretty but I barely noticed them - staring down at the road in front of me and grinding on. More than once I looked at the messages on my headset cap and frame sticker. I needed to remind myself that I'd get past this and that feeling grumpy and tired was not even close to a good enough reason to consider bailing. I wasn't considering bailing, not really, but I was battling the lazy demons. Rolling back up into Trevé I passed the cafe from my 1st breakfast earlier. The energy was slowly starting to return and as if to build on that I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Phil Whitehurst, who I knew from LEL. Both of these were well timed and gave a very welcome boost over the final ramps back to the control.

19:25, 18 Aug - Loudéac, 780km

We chatted as we headed into the brevet station, and back in the bike park I got Phil to snap a picture of me in the new jersey. William had given it to me just before the ride so I had to show it actually being worn! That last stretch would have been hell if I'd been riding in poor quality kit, so it'd had a more than positive effect on my ride too. My hotel bed was beckoning so I bade Phil farewell, rolled out of the control and back up the short hill towards some sanctuary. The same girl was serving at McDonalds, busier this time with a couple of cars ahead of me in the queue. I doubt she recognised me as she handed over a double helping this time - two burgers and fries. No sense taking chances and under-fueling after the misery of that last section.

Back in the hotel I scoffed both burgers and one of the bags of fries and somewhere in between chatted to Yoli and Ben. It was a huge relief to get that day behind me - and even with the unwanted mental challenge I had zero reason to be unhappy. I was back in the hotel a little after 8pm, almost exactly the 20 hours I'd set as my target for the day. It hadn't been as easy as I'd hoped, but I'd banked plenty of extra time for a decent sleep now. I set the alarm for 3.5 hours ahead, around midnight although I vaguely recall getting back up a bit later to adjust it to 00:30.

Click here to continue to Part 3

PBP Part 1 - Overnight Express

2015-08-16T19:30:00.000+02:00

19:30, 16 Aug - Saint-Quentin en Yvellines, 0km

By the time Peter and I lined up at the start a couple of my plans had already gone astray in minor ways. Despite a comfy hotel room, I had lain awake for the afternoon unable to sleep. And misjudging what would be open on a Sunday in a Parisian suburb had killed off my idea of starting with a baguette or two in my bag. I was surprised to find myself rather unstressed by either of these though. The 36One and more recent 450km Audax had shown me that I could manage a 24 hour stint on the bike despite an evening start following a day of little sleep. Plus, in the absence of real food I had a couple of snack bars and my "emergency" Hammer energy chews. In fact even one of those bars had been generously donated by a Portsmouth based Randonneur (called Maisy I think?) who I'd met earlier in the pizza restaurant. At least skipping the organized meal had been a good call. A few other Audax UK riders were sat at nearby tables having given up when the promised (and paid for) velodrome meal failed to yield anything other than more queuing. Around an hour before my start time, I took my nicely stuffed belly over to the velodrome - rather glad of a waiter's premature removal of my plate, a mistake which had yielded a free tiramisu to top off the mostly eaten pizza.

Almost as soon as I arrived I bumped into Peter Muller and Gerrit Pretorious, and we rolled down to our respective chutes. We stood there in the perfect evening weather - still nicely warm and with the slightest breeze. The clock slowly ticked away as we waited. The last minute decisions piled up on top of the mountain of plans made over the past months and years. They were no longer current - the endless TODO lists were closed, a now unchangeable history of preparations for the ride ahead. Good or bad, right or wrong, remembered or forgotten, whatever I had with me now would have to suffice one way or another. Around 15 minutes before our start slot, we shuffled out of the bike park and up the ramp towards the velodrome proper. Eventually, the seemingly endless babble from the announcer tailed off as he ran out of things to say, the last Mexican wave rolled overhead, the countdown hit zero, and the air all around was filled with the sound of wheels whirring into life and cleats clicking into pedals. A lump formed in my throat - this was it.

We swung right out of the velodrome and onto the dual carriageway heading back towards Saint-Quentin center. The early roads were closed, allowing Peter and I to ride two up. I remember making some comment on how unreal it seemed to finally be starting out on this adventure after our first discussion about it as we climbed Bainskloof all those years back on the Cape Monster. As we reached the main square I saw Daniel Webb, the LEL organizer, standing in the middle island of the road cheering riders on. I'm not sure if he actually recognised me or just the LEL jersey, but I vaguely thought I heard him call out "Rob!" as we rode past. The Garmin display may not have yet been showing even a single kilometer traveled, but this was all very real. This was our PBP, right here, and right now.

As predicted on YACF threads the pace was fast, way too fast really - something I'm sure Peter or I remarked on. We went with it though, there didn't seem much point riding intentionally slow and losing out on some early time gains whilst drafting large fast bunches. In fact, our entire start group was pretty much one huge bunch - the backs of riders clad in yellow hi-viz PBP gilets as far ahead as the eye could see. Aside from the crowds lining either side of the street cheering in French, and riding on the wrong side of the road, it felt a little like the start of a very long Cape Argus.

BOLLARD!!!!

Holy crap, the forums had been spot on about the dangers of street furniture in the early stages too. I'd strayed ever so slightly left and come within centimeters of wiping out on a low concrete bollard placed in the middle of the road on a roundabout approach. Sure enough, as promised, none of the riders in front had bothered to indicate it. I dropped back a shade and resolved to be a lot more attentive to my path - ending my ride without even leaving Paris was unthinkable. Somewhere in the jostling and surging groups Peter and I got disconnected. It wasn't a big deal, some time back we'd agreed we each had to ride our own ride, but it was a bit of a shame to lose his company this early on. In one of the last stretches of the suburb I passed Maisy again, and soon after the road turned slightly downhill and the group's speed raced even higher. Alongside the road at the bottom of this stretch was a stark reminder of the risk of speed in tight groups - emergency crews were attending to a downed rider, presumably part of an earlier accident. Somewhere around this area a single emaciated horse was standing in a field - it looked to be on it's last legs. Rather more bizarrely, the name of the hamlet just along the road was Cheval Mort. Surely the locals weren't keeping an intentionally half starved animal just to match the name of the town? I did wonder if maybe it was the name of some odd local delicacy, but even in a country which gave us culinary delights such as snails, frogs legs and foie gras that seemed just as unlikely. Later in the ride, I'd have put this down as a hallucination, but so early on I'm pretty sure it was really there, just some random coincidence.

All of a sudden, the city was gone - our route became a country lane meandering across open farmland, dotted here and there with old, quaint buildings rather than high density housing. Just up ahead our bunch were taking a right angle bend and running down through a stunning avenue line with tall poplar trees. It was the first and last time our escort car was visible as it signed off and left us at the bottom of the avenue. I began to seriously question those who'd commented on the lack of scenery on our route - we were only just starting and already it was lovely. Just up ahead I spied Peter. It was a bit of a surprise as I'd thought he had dropped back, but a very welcome one at that. We exchanged words on how lovely the ride was becoming before settling into a steady riding rhythm. Whatever we'd thought of the scenery so far though it was about to become even more sublime as our route entered a heavily wooded section, the forest at Rambouillet, damp and wonderful smelling after recent rains. The terrain didn't hurt either - long fast downhills around sweeping bends. Somewhere in the middle of this section the woodland gave way to a gorgeous village before diving back into the trees again. We might have been going fast earlier, but now we were flying. At some stage this ride was sure to get harder, but for now it was rapid and effortless.

The last rays of sun gradually faded, and bike lights started to light up around us. We switched ours on just in time, literally one or two curves before we passed marshals checking and calling out to those not yet on. They didn't seem to be handing out penalties at this point - although a rumour quickly spread through the field about riders having been penalised for short cutting a roundabout in the wrong direction. Darkness brought on another scene much discussed on PBP forums - the endless stream of lights ahead. Again, this was completely accurate. Although riding bunches had now spread out, whenever the route ran straight (which it often did) all that could be seen ahead was a continuous snake of red tail lights, either rising up to the top of the next gradual incline, or descending into and out of a shallow dip. It was mesmerizing.

The countryside was now fairly open, which allowed a slight but troublesome breeze to hamper our progress slightly. I forget whether Peter or I commented that we should find a bunch to work with, but we both agreed it was a sound plan. Perhaps two hundred meters ahead a small group was swinging right off a roundabout. I commented that we looked to be gradually overhauling them and so without lifting our effort too much, we should be able to reach them and start sheltering from the wind in turns. In fact, by the time we reached the group it had already begun to splinter, but other fast riders were joining from behind and soon enough we were charging along again with a decent bunch of riders to share the effort against the wind. With tight and fast riding I didn't dare mess around looking at my Garmin, but the pace was high - I guessed it was well above 30km/h for much of the time. The exact makeup and lead riders changed as we wound through various small towns and villages, but there always seemed to be a group of some kind as we left each town for open countryside again, even if not the same one we had entered the urban stretch riding with. It was exhilaratingly quick riding - not something I was expecting from a long Audax, even though I'd been cautioned to expect a fast pace early on.

Around 22:30, Châteauneuf-en-Thymerais, 80km:

Marcus JB (amongst others) had promised a town with an open sports bar around the 80km mark, and sure enough up ahead in the main street riders were gathered filling water bottles and grabbing cans of coke from a table outside a cafe. Inside were more riders filling bottles, and a few drinking cups of coffee. Much as I fancied a coffee I didn't really want a long stop waiting for one this early in the ride. Peter and I agreed we'd top up bottles, visit the loo and get back under way keeping an eye out for a less busy coffee option on the next stretch. A quick glance at the Garmin was both pleasing and a little worrying - 3 hours to cover 80km was definitely not Audax pace.

The events of the next section are something of a blur. I remember spying a roadside coffee stall, which looking back at my Garmin track seems to have been in a town called Senonches. I was both craving caffeine by now and also keen to indulge in another much fabled PBP experience. In the middle of the night, a family were out on their driveway with a little stall serving free coffees, soups, juices and cakes to any passing riding who needed them for no other reason that this was Paris-Brest-Paris, and these riders were a part of this historic event. All along the route we had been cheered on with cries of Bon Courage!, Bonne Route! and many other greetings but this was beyond all of that - the generosity and admiration shown to us was really rather humbling.

I'd tried to hail Peter to stop but must have missed him. I set off again at a high pace to try and catch him - which I did after a few kilometers. We rode together again for quite a way, drafting a couple of fast groups. Somewhere though we got split again for the last time. I did come across Nico just outside the food stop in Mortagne-au-Perche. He was not in great spirits. One tyre had managed to find the most bizarre of objects to puncture on - a fishing hook of all things. Rather more serious were the two broken spokes his rear wheel was now carrying. His knees were starting to get sore from all the seated climbing to preserve the wheel but it wasn't enough, just on the outskirts of town the sickening twang of a third spoke breaking rang out. His disappointment and anger were evident - I suspect he thought his PBP might be over before it even started. I did my best to re-assure him that the food control ahead would have a mechanic who should be able to either replace the spokes, or better still supply him with a new wheel or rim. On the last short steep incline to the stop I pulled into a space between two parked cars to check he was OK, but despite waiting for a few minutes I couldn't see him. Just before the climb he'd called out he was 10m off my wheel, but he must have stopped or passed me. Mounting up again I rode into the food control alone - I was worried for him but in truth there was little practical I could do. My spare spokes wouldn't fit his wheels and I really didn't have the skills to fit them anyway. He would definitely get to the mechanics station and hopefully they'd patch him up enough to keep his ride alive.

01:30, 17 Aug - Mortagne-au-Perche, 140km

One glance at the long line for hot food inside the control was enough to convince me it was likely to be a serious waste of time so I headed to a circular cabin outdoors dishing out sodas, beers and baguettes. It took me a while to suss out the counter with the shortest queue, and rather surprisingly I was leaving just a few minutes later with two ham baguettes and a coke. I figured the extra one would either save me queuing at another stall along the road, or else avoid Peter or Nico queuing if I saw either of them again in the bike park. Neither of them could be far behind, or ahead. The first baguette was really rather delicious - fresh cooked real ham, thick velvety butter and yeasty soft bread. At some point as I chewed, and in an order I now forget, I saw Gideon and Ernst and Salim. We didn't chat long, but all of them seemed to be having a good ride so far. Not having seen either Nico or Peter though, the extra baguette remained stashed in my jacket pocket as I prepared to start off again. Before doing so I had my first taste of PBP toilets. Already quite stinky even this early in the ride, and with a slippery floor made even more dangerous by the absence of any form of working lighting. I was glad I'd stuck to my guns and stayed with touring shoes - proper road cleats could have been lethal.

I'd managed to limit my time at the control to 30 minutes and get food and drink in the process. Not exactly fast, but by my usual standards it was a level of magnitude less faff than I usually manage. I'd even scored some extra supplies in the process. It may have been around 2am, but I was smiling as the wheels began to turn again. A nagging worry persisted over Nico though - it was a long way to come to have a mechanical end the dream so early. I hoped the wrenches at the control had got him sorted. It was a harsh wake-up call for my own ride. Despite much better preparations than LEL, and a lot more practice pacing myself, a finish was far from certain with so many factors outside my control. The only way to avoid failure was to make sure I savoured every moment and experience of the ride. Finish or not, I was riding my PBP and needed to make the journey everything it could possibly be.

I really remember very little about the next 80km section. A rider beside me in the queue for baguettes had warned me that it got much hillier and that was definitely true. The long and fast flowing straights for now were replaced with a solid procession of rolling hills, often quite sharp but short climbs and rapid descents. The legs were still quite fresh so it didn't become a problem, but it was a little concerning how much tougher it was going to feel in 1,000km time. My recollections of this stage are so hazy that it's only by checking my GPX file that I can see I didn't make any stops along this part, it was one straight blast to the first control. I do definitely recall hopping onto a fast train being driven mostly by a handful of guys in Colombian club jerseys - although this bit could have also happened on the leg into Mortagne. Either way, the pace was simply mental - 35 to 40km/h at times. I even remember getting a guilt trip at sucking their wheels and taking at least a couple of long turns on the front, and holding that pace. It was a completely crazy thing to do so early in a long distance event, but heck it was fun too - a mad express train hurtling through the dark.

05:30, 17 Aug - Villaines-la-Juhel, 220km

My first proper control on PBP - something of a milestone. Wooden bike racks lined the narrow street through the control. I walked quite a way before finding a space but luckily it was close to the steps up to the brevet station. There was practically no queue to get my card stamped, but rather a long line at the cafe just beyond. I went off towards a restaurant sign I'd seen on the other side of the street.

I could see through the windows the line there was even longer, but a small sign to the right said "cafe" or "bar", I forget which. I headed in. The line was much shorter but having stood a while was not really moving. I realised everyone ahead was looking for sandwiches and the staff were waiting for bread. I jumped the line and grabbed two identical sized glass bowls - one containing coffee and the other soup. By the time I sat down I'd forgotten which was which, and it wasn't easy to tell without actually drinking them. Luckily neither tasted too bad, and I also ate about half of the spare baguette from the last stop. It was actually a pretty big hall, filled with lines of tables around half of which were full. Gradually more and more people were filtering in, clearly also running out of patience in other queues. After a short break, I packed up and wandered out again - at least a little refreshed.

Yet another unpleasant loo experience - this was a little cleaner, but no more pleasant smelling. Even more off-putting was that a hose attached to the sink was apparently the water station. I really wasn't sure this was a good idea with my well-known weak stomach, but I needed a refill. I sniffed and tasted the liquid delivered, and it was surprisingly free of bad odour or taste. I just hoped no bugs were lurking in it.

It was quite a long walk back to the bike - I'd been warned that controls could be quite spread out. Kitting up and rolling out I was dismayed to see that I'd wasted an hour achieving so little. I resolved that from now on, I'd only use controls to fill up my water bottles and get the essential card stamp. Food and everything else I'd try and find en-route to save time and hopefully get something a little more appetising.

Back on the road, a grey dawn crept in over the next hour. A damp heavy mist lay across the fields all around and it was also rather chilly. I was surprised at how many riders had chosen to sleep on the verge by the roadside - partly because of how damp and cold it was, but also because none of them could have much more time in hand than me. It had never occurred to me to sleep so soon in the ride but I guess if they were faster riders they'd now zoom off ahead and make up whatever time they needed. Many were in the stages of packing up and readying to head out - a few were quite well equipped with bivvy bags and even sleeping bags. Others had seemed to have just laid where they fell, back lights left on to warn other riders to move on before taking a pee. One chap had found a dry and presumably warm cow shed to sleep in. None of us smelt great by now, but he would probably be somewhat riper than the rest of us.

The roads continued to roll, and somewhere around here at a T-junction in a small town I spied a popup stall, it's white tablecloths being spread with freshly baked croissants. Quite what possessed me to ride on I do not know - having just eaten I was thinking proper breakfast should wait a while. But I ought to have realised that the same scene was happening at the same time along the road, and riders ahead of me would be cleaning out the supplies before I got there. Sure enough, that was exactly what happened.

After a couple of failures I finally found a bakery in Gorron which had something left. It wasn't the pain-au-chocolat I was hoping for though. All I managed to score was two fancy fruit tarts - one strawberry, and one pear. They were sweet, sticky and delicious, but they didn't satisfy the craving for croissants. Each was gone in about one mouthful too - I did smile at the thought they might be the only thing close to fruit I'd eat on the whole ride.

The mist started to lift on the next section to the control - the hillside now long straight sections, mostly rising gradually but sometimes steeper. It was beginning to warm up as the route dived on a long downhill into the large town up ahead.

10:30, 17 Aug - Fougeres, 309km

15 hours elapsed to this point, with more than 2 hours of stops. It was still way above my endurance pace, but I was feeling OK and it was great to be making such good progress. If you worked on moving speed, Marcus' prediction that we'd do our fastest 300km was proving extremely accurate.

Around 20 minutes later I was leaving the control. I'd got my card stamped, filled up water, ditched my jacket and thermal now the day was warming up, filled up water bottles, and put some sun cream on. I was starting to get my level of faffing down to manageable levels.

Somewhere along the next section I met up with fellow Cape Randonneur Gerhard Van Noordwyk. We rode together for quite a while. I remember him mentioning something was troubling him a little - chest I think - and that he was avoiding his big ring as a result. I think I replied with that I was going well but hungry and wanting some proper food. We passed through a number of villages together, many on this section were still wearing the decorations from the Tour de France, which had come along this part of the route a month back. A few of these had been re-purposed and had PBP banners added. Eventually we got separated, I think it was at a crossroads where our lane crossed a main road.

I stopped at a village shop a bit further on in a town which I now see from my Strava map was called Dinge. The shop was quite small, but I finally managed to score that pain-au-chocolat. It was a pleasure to sit outside in the shade of a now beautiful afternoon watching riders swing through the main street. I kept an eye out expecting to see Gerhard come past, but I guessed he was already ahead. I definitely ate and drank something else there too, but I forget what. A lady popped a head out of the house next to the bench I and a fellow rider were sitting on. I thought she was going to bend our ears about my bike leaning against her door, but instead she brought out a bucket to put our trash in. She smiled and sat it down next to us.

From here it was a fast and mostly downhill stretch to the next control.

13:50, 17 Aug - Tinteniac, 363km

I had to pinch myself at this stage. The next leg was a long one at just under 90km, but that was all which lay between me and my hotel and planned sleep stop. Thanks to our overnight speed I was so far ahead of even my most optimistic scheduled it was a little crazy. I'd figured getting there by 9:30pm would have been manageable, but barring mechanicals I looked set to be there hours earlier than that.

The control seemed fairly standard - the restaurant wasn't remotely close to the bike park so I didn't even bother to go and check the queue or what they had. Even with messing around having to go back to my bike to collect water bottles which I'd forgotten, I was through the control in 18 minutes. Plenty of time to stop somewhere on the next stretch to get a bite to eat before the next control.

Soon after leaving the control it became obvious that the slope I was riding up was actually going to be a fairly sizeable climb. I forget whether I saw a mast, water tower or possibly both - but it was obvious that they were somewhere near the top and it was a fairly long climb up from where I was now. Cresting the top it was clear this was far from the last - the landscape ahead was more than rolling, forested hills and in between deep shaded hollows that disappeared out of view. It wasn't far to the control, but it wasn't going to be easy riding either.

There was a food stop at Quédillac which I wasn't planning on using but by coincidence as I rolled through the town at the top of the hill above the stop I spied an open bar with tables outside and a few people eating and drinking. I pulled over, dashed inside and asked for a coffee and whatever was the quickest food they could make. This turned out to be a fairly standard ham and cheese sandwich made with white sliced bread - and some salad. Nothing special but tasty, and the coffee was excellent - dark and strong. With no fear over calories I tossed in a sugar for that extra punch. On the next table was an English couple plus female friend who, I learned, had her husband also riding PBP and expected through any moment. We chatted a bit, and the guy said he had decided he must do the ride someday having sat there taking in the festival. I did my best to dissuade him with tales of how tough it was but it was pointless - the bug had bitten him just as it did me 3.5 years back. He was hooked.

The next 70km odd to Loudéac were every bit as tough as the view had suggested, taking me close on 3 hours.

18:08 - HOLY CRAP!

That is a time which was instantly and indelibly burnt into my brain. The next control was just up ahead - a decent result for me but at exactly this time I was served up a strong reminder of what a mediocre achievement it really was. For this was the precise moment when the lead peloton passed going the other way. Sure, they may have started a couple of hours before me, but they were now around 350km ahead and already on their way home. Their train was absolutely motoring and as if to hammer home the cycling talent they had on-board there was a chap close to the tail sitting upright, hands off his bars stretching out, and singing as they flew by. It was as if he was making no effort at all - which, quite possibly by his standards, was actually the case.

Nothing could disappoint me though. I was riding to my plan, within my own levels of fitness and ability. It was my fastest ever 450km, a full hour under the 24 I hadn't dared dream of making and 3 hours less than a time I'd have settled for. It was a great start. I imagined that guy on the back singing was probably also pretty pleased with how his ride was going.

18:30, 17 Aug - Loudéac, 448km

Even dithering around trying to find the bag drop area, and then locate my bag I was through and out of the control in 14 minutes - perhaps urged on by the lure of the hotel bed nearby. I was glad I'd programmed an extra waypoint and route into the Garmin to find my way there. It ended up much closer than I'd expected, taking just a few minutes to get there. Even the short rise up out of the town which I was expecting proved very slight. I rode past the hotel as intended and into the drive-thru lane of the McDonalds next door. The cashier looked amused to see a cyclist at her window - I'm guessing I may not have been the first to come through. I was soon wheeling off to reception to check in with bag of cheeseburger and fries in hand. The evening sky was gradually turning orange, and as I rolled through the parking lot more riders were beginning to arrive, and others were sitting on benches near the main hotel block. It was a wonderful calm escape from the madness of the main controls.

Checkin was quick and easy thanks to Nadine. She'd been super patient with all my dumb emails over reservations so it was nice to actually meet her all these months later. It was a huge relief that the booking had all worked out. Not quite as expected though, she explained reception closed at 9pm. I was glad I hadn't known that out on the road - the pressure of a deadline to get there would have been an unwanted stress. It was a bit of a stumbling block for Peter sharing my room though. I tried to call him but his phone was off so I sent a couple of messages and hoped he'd get them.

The room was small, clean and basic - just enough space to wheel the bike in, two comfortable looking single beds, and a decent looking shower. It was ideal. I scoffed the burger and dialed Yoli for a quick chat with her and Ben. As it turned out they'd also had a great day at Euro Disney, although the details of our conversation are now lost to me. I didn't have the energy to shower, and figured it would be better anyway as a way to wake up later. So I set the alarm for 11pm, a bit more than 3 hours ahead, ditched my contact lenses, cleaned my teeth and sank into the bed, somewhat dazed and utterly exhausted. I was a little worried about how I'd manage to get up and ride again in three hours. But the worry didn't last long, I soon drifted off into absolute unconsciousness.

Click here to continue to Part 2

Hurry up and wait

2015-08-16T10:42:00.000+02:00

So here we are at last, after three and a half years of dreaming the day is finally here - it's the 16th August 2015 and the 18th edition of Paris-Brest-Paris starts today. Frankly, I cannot wait - not just because it's been in my thoughts so long, but also because the last two days or so have been a steady processing of rushing from one place to another to get to the next waiting line in time. Airport check-in, security controls, flight boarding, bike checks, registration, and jersey collection. That last one was the most needlessly long really - how hard is it to dole out a bunch of jerseys of a known size to people.

Anyhow, I'm not moaning - really, I'm not! The atmosphere has been superb so far, surrounded by fellow randonneurs from all over the globe. And the waiting in line, even if it seemed unnecessary at times, was an opportunity to chat to other rides and soak in the vibe as the excitement built. I'm just eager to actually be riding now - the bike and luggage are all sorted (I think), and I've literally had to remove myself from the hotel room so I don't faff and tinker any longer.

Which brings me to blog entry I had intended to write, but never got around too - how my bike setup and kit has changed from LEL, and why. So since I have time, I can catchup that now - although it seems a little mundane really. Not only is every country seemingly represented here, but every possible shape and size of bike and rider. Some aren't even really bikes at all - vélos spéciaux as the French refer to them. This set of weird and wonderful machines includes velomobiles, EliptoGOs, and all manner of other human powered vehicles. In fact, even when it comes to actual bicycles the variety is bewildering: recumbents, tricycles, tricycle tandems, folding Bromptons, an assortment of turn of the century vintage machines, even an updated modern form of a Penny Farthing. As one of the Cape riders said at our get together last evening - the first question which comes to mind is "Why?". Surely PBP is hard enough already?

Anyhow, I digress, surrounded by a cornucopia of the strange I will now describe probably the most mundane and orthodox Audax machine that you'll see on the road over the next few days. Pictured left is the bike setup outside my hotel in Guyancourt on the way to the bike check.

Luggage - gone from my LEL setup are the bar bag, my top peak saddle bag, both of which have been replaced by my Bridge Street saddle bag. It's served me well on the brevets, although I still have lingering doubts whether the L would have been a better choice. Based on a promising weather forecast I've paired down my warm clothing to save space - a decision which hopefully does not bite me!

Lighting - gone is the Lezyne XL, replaced by my Extreme Lights MTB light with 6800mah battery pack. I've had whole night rides on a mix of Med and Low settings with this, and the SON Dynamo Hub remains as a backup. Rear lights are a pair of el-cheapo AAA powered affairs.

Groupset - almost by accident this got upgraded to Ultegra 11-speed. In fact, actually by accident. When the RD on Merry broke, I decided to move the 10-speed across to that bike and treat Jolly to some lovely new kit.

Everything else - remains largely the same: Burls TI frame, Mavic Open Pro 32h/36h wheels, mudguards, Shimano SPD touring pedals, Garmin eTrex for navigation. It's such a common Audax setup it could definitely be described as middle of the road - which is all fine really, it's a fitting phrase for the rider too!

There was at least a bit of riding yesterday in between the waiting. First down to the Novotel Golf to deliver my drop bag. With no one around, I left it in a heap of similarly tagged bags - so I'm really hoping it actually gets to Loudeac! I met a chap called Tim (pictured right) who was doing the same and we rode to the Velodrome together. Having already tried to ride the wrong way on several roundabouts and roads it was good to be alongside someone used to riding on the right to correct me. Despite the San Francisco shirt, Tim actually hailed from Sacramento - part of a large contingent of Northern California Randonneurs who were outside the Velodrome for a group photo later.

The queues were epic - first for the check and then inside the velodrome itself. It's hard to describe how many bikes were there, but even finding a space in the bike park was a challenge. It was good to get done and have the all important frame badge and brevet card in hand. The latter rather confusingly did not seem to be personalised to start times, so I'll need to remember I have a couple more hours in hand than on the card. A selection of pics from the mornings adventures are below. It was good to find a cafe to relax and soak up the spirit over a pizza and a beer once all the admin was done!

We gathered with most of the SA riders later that evening too for a meal and group photo. Of course we ended up at the exact same cafe I'd been to earlier, but at least the pasta was as good as their pizza so I didn't have to eat the same. TBH - it was so good, I may even go back again today for a third helping. I am a creature of habit after all.

The last treat of the day was opening the first of four cards Yoli and Ben have prepared to keep me positive and motivated. Real damp in the corner of the eyes moment - no words of thanks would ever be enough for your support to get me here.

Almost Famous

2015-08-02T16:35:00.002+02:00

I'm not sure I've ever really subscribed to Warhol's fifteen minutes of fame theory. I'm also not sure a local newspaper would really qualify as the level of celebrity the artist was referring too. Regardless of these, it was a little bit wonderful to get some recognition for the efforts we've made locally qualifying for PBP.

First up Mark Stuart, a journalist from the local District Mail, emailed me asking for an interview. He'd seen announcements from Gerhard's SNAP charity, which several of us are adopting as our charity for the ride. A couple of days later we had a short telephone interview, resulting in the article above appearing in the next edition. A full half page spread - I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a smile of satisfaction at reading it. OK, there was a minor inaccuracy in the distance on LEL, but that aside Mark did a remarkable job in getting down the essential details given how little time we spent on the phone and that I suspect this was the first time he had heard about Randonneuring, Audax and PBP.

One last rather pleasant surprise in this whole chapter was to see Gerhard's post on Facebook a few days later. He had also got his few moments of fame in a paper local to him in Paarl. Fitting really, since it was the PR efforts being for his SNAP charity which had brought the spotlight on our succesful Cape Audax qualifying series. It'll be great if we can get a follow-up piece once PBP is done to record our experiences, whatever they may be!

Not the shortest day (winter riding #2)

2015-06-18T21:00:00.000+02:00

They say that mad dogs and Englishman go out in the midday sun, but there doesn't seem to an equivalent saying for Cape Randonneurs gathering for a 1,000km Audax at 9pm on a cold mid-winters night - beyond just simply "mad" that is.

Five of us started out from Vrede to embark on this epic adventure, although we weren't all fully committed to attempting the whole 1,000. For my part, it felt too close to PBP to risk such a big exertion. The possibility of resurrecting my neck injury, or nerve damage to hands or feet seemed all too great, and the prospect of starting PBP not fully recovered just did not seem wise. At 450km though, the first loop out to the West Coast was much more appealing. Almost the exact same distance from Paris to Loudeac and with similar rolling terrain aside from the early climb over Bainskloof: it was a perfect test of whether I could reach my hotel in Loudeac with a big enough time buffer for a 1st short sleep.

Our numbers swelled to six in Wellington with Chris van Zyl catching the group after a delayed departure. Open garages or shops were an unknown quantity on the next stretch of road, so we'd decided to stop at the Shell garage at the foot of Bainskloof to top up water bottles before the long overnight stretch. The climb up and over the pass was pitch black in the moonless night, and bitingly cold. But in every other sense it was a beautiful night to be out riding - myriad stars shining brightly in the crisp cloudless skies, and barely a breath of wind.

Differing climbing and descending speeds had split us into four groups by the time we reached the valley beyond and joined the main road to Ceres. Somewhere behind were Peter and Nico, and somewhere up front Chris was belting out a lone pace up front. Theunis, myself and Gary stood by the junction for a while - peering into the dark to try and glimpse the guy's lights coming up behind. Several times we thought we saw dancing LED lights, but each time they proved to be a car or jut a farm light in the distance. After 10 or 15 minutes it was getting too cold to hang around so we opted to push on to Wolseley and wait for the guys there if we could find something open.

Thankfully Theunis' recollection of a possible 24hr garage proved correct and we'd already downed the first round of coffees by the time we saw the guys passing and hailed them inside. It was clear all was not well with Peter though. It's hard to get the body and legs warmed up in such cold conditions, amplifying cramps, pains and other ill feelings. Under kinder conditions these might normally be ridden through, but Peter was battling and made the difficult decision to retire. With only 80km ridden it must have been a tough decision. Nico made a call home, his father offered to drive out and collect Peter. It was amazingly generous, given it was now sometime around 1am.

With the impromptu break in Wolesley, we made the decision to push straight on past Tulbagh a few kilometres down the road rather than stop again. After the small rise over the Nuwekloof pass we raced down and swung right through Gouda. The riding northwards became much more rolling, and the pace picked up considerably. It was still painfully cold though. All of us needed a quick pitstop in Porterville, but with nowhere warm to wait inside we stood shivering outside the only establishment open - a brightly light garage forecourt in the middle of the deserted main street of the town. There was no open shop, and only the slightest hint of warmth radiating from the doorway of the attendant's cabin. Keen for a proper stop we rolled out again and fairly charged down the final 20km of rolling hills to the 2nd control at Picketberg. The last time I'd ridden this stretch was in the stifling heat of teh Cape Monster, more than 2 years ago. A stark contrast to today's cold morning air, but just as on that ride the distant town edged closer at a snail's pass - visible at the top of each rise, but barely seeming to get closer. The early pace had been relatively swift and Chris, who had been off the front since Bainskloof, was just leaving the busy truck stop as our group arrived. He swung around and joined up with us again was we headed inside to try and warm up over a variety of coffees and garage pies.

Rolling out of the truck stop we did something totally new for me, and I suspect pretty much every motorist who drives the N7 to or from Namibia and Springbok - we actually went into the town of Piketberg. I'd expected no more than a few houses but the main street was surprisingly long and gave the impression of a well kept and little town, or at least so it appeared under the orange glow of street lights. The time was probably around 6am, here and there signs of life beginning as we rolled through the waking town: a few cars here and there on there way to work; and rather oddly two youngish women riding mountain bikes without helmets, not apparently going anywhere. Our group chirped to them as we passed - I forget exactly what was said, something about a nice night to be out riding or some-such.

Just out of the town the route turned right and headed West out to the coast. A short ramp started this leg, the vast quarry dropping away to the group's left as the road rose up and around the edge of the mountains behind Picketberg. Once over the top the pace picked up again, aided both by the long downhill stretch and by Chris driving the group on. We had been forewarned that this stretch had long sections of Stop-Go roadworks. For the most part they were fine though, only becoming a problem in the final few kilometres before Velddrif when volume of traffic, and especially heavy trucks, picked up as daylight broke over Berg estuary and West Coast flatlands. We crossed this 63km in very quick time - a few times Theunis commenting he was concerned the pace would be too high given the distance left to cover. For most of the stretch I was feeling great, pulling hard and easily. But in the last few kilometres before the control stop, my legs and lungs started to agree with him. My riding gradually slowed and became more laboured - so much so that Chris and Theunis reached the Engen quite a few minutes ahead of me.

Velddrif (around 220km) saw us gathered again in a garage - scoffing yet more pies and coffee. Only Nico elected to hit the delights of the local OK store. As we headed out again this would be the last we'd see of Nico on the ride. He opted for a 10 minute nap to cure the dozies which were beginning to set in. Once rolling again he broke 2 spokes in his rear wheel as he pushed to catch us up, and became our 2nd DNF of the day. The rest of us stopped briefly at the 3rd official control in Saldanha, before heading for pizzas at a much celebrated and oft visited waterfront restaurant in Langebaan. Those of us visiting for the first time were not disappointed - the pizzas were excellent and the views even better. It was hard to leave, but there was still close on 150km of riding left in the first leg.

The next section through the West Coast Park and on to Darling was both delightful, and also almost the only part of the ride which saw us shedding layers and actually warming up in the afternoon sunshine. The stark cold beauty of the night had given way to a glorious winter's day to be out on the bikes. Sadly Darling saw our 3rd retiree of the day - Theunis' saddle woes struck again, and his rear was way too painful to continue. The lure of that first 1,000km medal was still strong though as Desiree pulled up to give him a lift home - and the temptation to try and ride on despite the extreme discomfort was visible even as he started to load his bike into the car.

Three riders down, three remaining. In true champion form, Chris was relaxed and cruising - the pace so much lower than his norm that he commented his legs felt as fresh as on a coffee ride. The same could not be said of Gary and myself - we'd pulled well above our comfort zones the whole day, and the strain was slowly beginning to show over the last rollers into Malmesbury. Unusually, the Engen/Wimpy was not a control on this route, but the temptation to stop for coffees and toasties was too great all the same.

It was indescribably hard to resist the temptation to take the short route straight back to Vrede - the official route being some 20km longer via the final control of the first leg in Paarl. As it turned out, it was actually a pleasant alternative to the normal direct route. It was surprisingly fast too, despite being a series of almost continuous rollers. Tired legs and bodies had been refuelled, and spirits were lifted with the home stretch of this leg in sight.

Paarl was busy with it being a Friday evening, and riding through the outskirts we passed a serious car accident with blue lights flashing and police cars rushing around. It was a sobering sight, and an unwanted reminder of how fragile and exposed one is on a bicycle with such thoughtless idiots on the road. Once through the long stretch of town, there was just a final 17km or so and two small but unpleasant hills to push over. The group rolled back into Vrede at 9:20pm, just over 24hrs after leaving and with 443km in the bank. It had already become chilly again as night fell over the final section, and by the time we pulled into the gate temperatures were plummeting still further. Common sense took over and our remaining group of 3 riders decided to retire and savour the ride already completed rather than head out for a second night of bone chilling riding.

For my part, it was an almost perfect last long tide before Paris. The presence of Chris in our group had lifted our pace considerably meaning for much of the day I had ridden well outside my comfort zone. I'd gone through a couple of lows, but much to my surprise I'd never really bonked or broken. Given that our moving average was 2 or 3km/h faster than I usually ride this was a huge and very welcome surprise. Clearly when needed, there is more in my tank than I realise - although it's also clear I need to be riding in a faster group to give me the confidence to tap into that reserve. Most of all though, our time for the route was almost exactly what I'd been hoping to see. If luck is on my side, and I can get anywhere close to replicating that on PBP, then I should have time for a shower, fuel up, and short sleep stop in Loudeac and be able to leave for Brest with some time in hand over the 2am control close time.

All pictures thanks to Desiree Naude

Tales of the Unexpected (winter riding #1)

2015-05-16T00:01:00.000+02:00

“Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.” ― George Carlin

The first unexpected aspect of the final Cape 300 qualifier was that 14 brave souls pitched up to ride at midnight with a distinctly unpromising weather forecast. I must confess, half of me had been hoping that no one showed up so I could go back to the warmth of my bed - some chance! It was cold but at least dry when we set out - sadly that did not last long. A light drizzle started within the first few kilometres, soon becoming a steady downpour that looked set to be far more persistent than the occasional showers predicted.

Before long the next unexpected scenario unfolded as the tail group caught up with four of the faster riders huddled around an upturned bike

"Does anyone have a spare tyre"

I suppose in Audax terms, shredded tyres are not totally unexpected, but rare all the same. Oddly this was the second occurrence on our Cape Audax series, both of them happening on the 300. Sadly on this occasion, the other unexpected element of this scene did not help. Although I do carry a spare, it was of no help this time around - at 28mm wide it was too large for the afflicted rider's frame. We did at least manage to share a spare tyre boot to get the guys underway.

The railway crossings on the approach to Franschhoek contributed the next unexpected, and thoroughly undesirable element. It was even harder than usual to gauge a safe trajectory in the dark, and the rails were extra slippery in the rain. A number of us skidded and slid scarily across these, and two of our riders fell. Derek was badly scraped and bleeding by the time he reached us on Franschhoek Pass, but fortunately still able to continue. Sadly the other fallen rider (Walter) had broken his rear derailleur and was forced to withdraw. Barely a couple of hours into the ride, and we were down to 10 riders - three of Walter's friends deciding to retire with him.

The rest of us battled on up the pass - the rain was pelting down and it became icy cold on the descent. Rounding a bend somewhere part way down the pass I came across a worrying scene. Just in front were the headlights of a stationary car, bikes gathered all around. My heart skipped several beats as memories of the recent tragic accident on this stretch of road flashed into mind. Fortunately the truth was far more bizarre - the guys had stopped to try and help the motorist, who had somehow got his car stuck on top of a giant rock.

Unexpected doesn't really come close to summing this one up - all that could be seen of one of the guys from the car were a pair of legs sticking out. There was no sign of him being able to shift the rock, and he was in serious peril of being crushed by his own car. At one stage he screamed that the wheel was stuck on his foot. Eventually sense prevailed, and with six or seven riders plus the blokes from the car, we managed to bounce it off the rock. Once moved, it was clear how futile any attempt to roll the rock out from underneath had been - it took at least two of us to lift it to the side of the road. It's hard to decide which of the two events are more unlikely here: that someone could manage to drive onto a rock so big that the car became completely stuck; or that a bunch of cyclists would be seen coming down the pass at 2am on a miserably cold and wet morning to help them off it. You had to be there.

Everyone was drenched and shivering as we rolled into the first control in Villiersdorp. It had been raining hard on us for all but around half an hour of the ride to this point. The laughing and joking as we tried to warm up with coffee and hot chocolate probably came from a place closer to desperation or hysteria than actual good spirits. I was rather amazed that our rookie Randonneurs, Desiree and Louna, were still with us. Lesser riders would have been looking for an early exit rather than heading back out again in the cold, the wet, and the dark.

The rain was easing off as we headed out of town began the climb over Rooihoogte and had stopped completely soon after we'd dropped down the descent into the lush farmlands beyond. Not that we got to enjoy it. Normally we'd have been bathed in early dawn light and enjoying the wonderful views of the narrow lush valley flanked both sides by steep mountains. By some madness, I'd listened to the guys calling for a midnight start. Not only had this consigned us to the previous few hours of miserable weather, but it meant the sunrise would only greet us somewhere around the start of Slanghoek valley. I vaguely recall muttering something to the riders around me about how democracy had no part on an Audax ride, and wishing I'd put my foot down and stuck to our usual 3am start. There really wasn't much point dwelling on that now, so I focused my energy on pulling hard to see if I could haul back a group of three riders who were a few hundred meters ahead.

Our pace remained high through the outskirts of Wellington, but we made no real progress at chasing them down. I was beginning to fade as we reached the T-junction by Nekkies, and it was a relief to see that Nico and the guys had pulled over to wait for us. Even with them stopping I struggled to keep up over 15km to the next control in Rawsonville. Theunis dropped back a couple of times to help pull me back into the group. I'd pushed too hard and was now short on fuel - I need a decent stop to fill up with coffee and food.

The 24hr Total garage in Rawsonville could not have been a more welcome sight. I grabbed coffee, chocolate milk, and a bacon sandwich. At some point in the past it had been toasted, but was now flabby and cold. It didn't matter, I was starving and wolfed it down anyway. Our group of riders littered the floor of the garage as we stoked up our reserves.

Slanghoek valley and Bainskloof pass were wonderfully scenic as ever, although this time the surrounding view was brooding mountains draped in mist and clouds rather than the blue skies of the last couple of editions of this ride. My fatigue had passed and with the rain now holding back, I was riding strongly and beginning to enjoy the day. I was still cold, especially my feet, but in every other respect it was a lovely day to be out on the bike.

After observing the traditional Steers stop in Wellington, we even get some sunny riding through to the other traditional stops for beers in Riebeeck West, and chips and toasties at the Wimpy in Malmesbury.

The final leg home brought up our last two unexpected events.

The first of these was NO WIND. It was a wonderful relief after the dreadful weather at the start of the ride to be seeing the leg home in daylight, with easy headwind-free riding. It was also very pleasant to be seeing this section of road in daylight for a change - at least one positive from our earlier than usual start.

The second event comes with a very definite "do not try this at home" warning. Ever wondered what happens if you use a 16g bomb on a road tyre and then unscrew it from the adapter without venting the remaining CO2? In this case, the adapter had become jammed to the tyre valve, so it was an attempt to free things up. The attempt did not go well and what transpired happened so fast, that we stood there in shock, followed by fits of laughter. There was a loud crack, the bomb shot within millimetres of Theunis' leg, flew across the road, and disappeared somewhere hundreds of meters away in the field opposite. By a miracle no cars were passing - the deadly missile would have probably cut right through. An unlucky cow or sheep close to the fence the other side of the road would also in all probability have come off rather badly.

The few remaining kilometres of the ride were peaceful and serene by comparison, arriving back at Vrede just in time to watch the sunset. Oh, apart from Theunis' second mishap - discovering that electronic keys do not like sitting in soggy cycling jersey pockets for hours on end. At first the key was unable to unlock his steering, and then refused to work any of the electronic systems in his car. It required a hasty lift back to Somerset West to collect a spare key. I must confess, my car key is also electronic and it's never occurred to me that riding in the wet could kill it off. Definitely going in a plastic bag next time!

Photos with thanks to Desiree Naude

Booking my spot

2015-05-10T00:03:00.000+02:00

I got so carried away with penning a Facebook piece to announce my entry into PBP, that I lost track of time and almost forgot to actually register. OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration - but I was unusually late getting to the web page.

The problem was that, true to usual form, I'd got to my PC way too early. The Asparagus & Strawberries 400km gave me the ability to pre-register on 10th May 2015. To be precise, at 00:01 as the clock turned over into Sunday. But I'd been sat at my PC since Yoli had turned in for the night, sometime after ten. Having dealt with a few work emails, caught up on Facebook, surfed the web a bit, there was still more than half an hour to go until midnight. And out of nowhere the muse struck. The crazy journey of the last three and a half years rushed through my mind and the words began to flow. I just had to get them down before they vanished again.

The clock was reading 00:03 as I saved the first draft - actually the only draft, since apart from correcting some typos I didn't go back and change a word. It was all rather presumptuous really, writing my announcement down before I'd even logged on and managed to reserve a place. Somehow though, the nerves had gone though. For the first time in the last couple of weeks, as I waited for the web page to load, I wasn't remotely nervous about whether I would get a place. The running tally which other riders had been posting on occasion to YACF and Facebook indicated that perhaps 2,500 places had already been bagged in the two earlier waves (for those with 1,000km and 600km pre-qualifiers). With around 4,000 actual riding spots still unclaimed the concern hadn't been so much on the event filling up, but whether there was a cap on the number of pre-registration spots which would kick in before I got my chance. Nothing had changed in that respect, except for the fact that the moment was now here - the wait and worry were over, and whether I got a place would be answered soon.

Very soon in fact, it took longer to read the web page and decide what start time to go for than it did to actually enter my details in the form and click "Pay". Two emails arrived almost simultaneously: one confirming that 30 Euros had left my account; and the other confirming my place with a nice PDF attached showing my details and start time.

I didn't check the clock, but it can't have been much past 00:10 and the task was done. I sat there a little dazed. A mad thought that struck me back in December 2011 had suddenly become a significant step nearer. I hit "Post" on my Facebook entry and went to bed, hoping that Yoli might still be awake to share in my excitement. I'd booked my spot in the oldest bike ride in the world.

Vasbyt

2015-04-17T18:10:00.000+02:00

"It's somehow like a 'vasbyt' in the army, you just keep going and wait for something to break inside you or to recover."

Chris van Zyl

A faint glow rose above the eastern horizon as our wheels ate up the final few kilometers to the half way checkpoint, rolling easily across the smooth tar after hours of gravel roads. Dawn would break over us before we got there, but only just. We were three riders, myself, Janine, and Etienne. Riders with no connection aside from all being mad enough to take on this crazy challenge - and all preferring some good company and conversation rather than riding alone for twelve hours through a dark and cold night. It was almost exactly twelve hours too - the Solo group had left Oudtshoorn at 6:10pm the evening before, and it was now approaching 6:15am. In around 15 minutes we'd be dismounting and heading for breakfast, coffee and the warmth of the checkpoint. After some low points on the ride to here, it was great to be arriving in good spirits and in touch with the schedule I had been hoping for.

The first few kilometers of the ride had also been in daylight, or at least dusk anyhow. Ominous clouds loomed grey and heavy over the mountains into which we were heading, but the storm never broke. The tracks were still wet and muddy in the dips and hollows though from the heavy downpour earlier in the afternoon.

The last of the daylight faded by the time the route swung left and onto tar road for a while - directly in front of the Cango Ostrich Farm just outside Oudtshoorn. With the onset of night, front and rear lights were being switched on all around. The groups were still numerous and chatty, speed having not yet spread out riders and distance having not worn down their spirits. Before long the real work began in earnest - a marshal signaled us right and we gradually started climb. I recognized the turn from our sightseeing trip earlier that day to the Cango Caves - it was marked with one of those brown tourist signs showing a picture of a waterfall. And as the road rose up we could hear the sound of a stream directly down to our left. In the dark it was impossible to tell how deep the ravine it ran through was, but the edge of the road fell sharply away. I decided not to take any chances, and kept well to the right of the edge, waiting for a nice wide gravel shoulder before hopping off to take a much needed pee.

Not long after I got rolling again two things happened: the tar gave way to gravel road again; and I found myself riding alongside rider #175, a girl with a purple Camelbak and a headlamp. I didn't find out her name for another 100km, but this was the first time I rode and chatted with Janine. She talked about her reasons for doing the ride - as preparation and experience for the Freedom Challenge later in the year. And I explained mine, as a break from road riding but one which would still be good endurance training and quite literally a change of scenery. Our speeds varied along the climb, but we kept passing each other - it was clear our overall pace wasn't that far apart. I remember at some stage we both hopped off and decided to walk a short but steep part of the climb, albeit separated by maybe 50 meters or so. I heard someone later comment that it'd be a very long day for those people he'd seen walking already. He wasn't wrong - my legs were stiff and tight, partly from the growing chill that night was bringing, and partly I'm sure due to nearly three weeks off the bike with vacation and other interruptions. There wasn't much which could change that now though, the ride was underway and whatever I had in the legs and lungs would have to be enough.

Aside from the one steep stretch, it wasn't a tough first climb, in fact I was whizzing downhill towards the first water point feeling great before long at all. Feeling great sure, but also starting to get cold. I'd definitely be changing into some of the warmer gear I'd stashed in the box waiting for me at the next stop - Leeublad, the second waterpoint, but first full checkpoint. It was somewhere near De Rust from memory, although all we actually ever saw of the town on the way there was some lights far off to our right, before swinging onto an especially muddy stretch and yet another climb. Somewhere around here I began boring possibly my 3rd or 4th victim with stories of long distance road riding. I forget his name, but do recall he was a marketing guy for plots on the Touwsberg Nature Reserve, or some job involved with its development anyhow. I rarely ask or remember what people do for a living, but Yoli and I had passed the reserve on the drive up and both commented on it, remembering having seen literature on it at some padstaal or other on previous a roadtrip.

Riding along and chatting, I could feel myself beginning to push a bit too hard - I even commented on it, but refused the offer to drop back. My heart rate crept up to 150 and at times as high as 160, completely above my endurance zone and definitely not sustainable. The damage was soon done - I uncleated as cramps shot through my left leg, and my riding companion asked if I was OK as he passed me.

"Yep, I'm OK, leg just a bit stiff - you guys push on"

Or some bollocks like that. I wasn't OK, I was sore - and it wasn't just one leg it was alternating between both. I could barely make it up the smallest of gradients without at the very least uncleating, and sometimes coming to a dead stop. It took me a while to find a workable way of handling this, but eventually I realized that standing and climbing for a while stretched out the legs and eased the pressure. A bit surprising really - I do alternate standing and sitting on the road bike too, but when cramps set in I usually find that standing makes them worse. I had a hunch my bike fit was partly too blame here, but wasn't about to start fiddling around with the bike if I could find some way to survive it, which for now at least it seemed I had. Checkpoint 1 was not far ahead - it was way way too early in the ride to be suffering cramps or any other kind of issue, but at least there was some time off the bike and hot soup to look forward too. I fixed my mind on that and tried as best I could to ignore the shooting pains.

There weren't just shooting pains either - there was actual shooting. Somewhere along the way myself and the chap I was riding alongside heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire to our left. And not shotguns being used to blast unsuspecting furry creatures, this was small caliber pistol or rifle fire. I joked that hopefully they were bad shots and would aim at our lights. The guy beside me joked back something about maybe our lights were what was giving them a target to aim at. I think both of us unconsciously sped up and ducked a little lower on our bikes. No more shots rang out though - the danger, if indeed there had been any, was passed.

It wasn't the end of my immediate troubles though. I'd overdone it and wasted energy pushing too hard, given myself the cramps, and now as I rolled into the checkpoint the one thing I had really been looking forward too wasn't there. The soup had all gone. I swore at the bastards ahead for drinking it all - but it wasn't their fault of course, the organizers hadn't got their catering right. Pretty poor really on a now very cold night, with a ride where we had been promised we needn't worry about food because each checkpoint had plenty. I swore again, went to get my box, and swore some more. Sitting on the only place I could find - a low, cold brick wall - I slowly unpacked the warm gear from my box, and swore some more. I sat, and swore, and shivered, and swore. My energy levels were low and I was cold now from the inside. Leg warmers went on, a long sleeve thermal replaced the thin base layer, my thicker outer jacket went on, and with no rain in sight I went for my non-waterproof but much warmer and more comfortable Berghaus fleece gloves. I was still bloody cold and shivering. I knew that the only thing which would get me warm was to eat whatever I could find, and ride on.

My recollections of the stretch to Waterpoint 3 are pretty sketchy. I do remember eating nuts and an energy bar, and making a concerted effort to drink both the electrolyte mix from my bottle, and water from my backpack. I know from experience that dehydration is just as great a risk on cold night rides, if not more so, because you don't feel thirsty which leads to not drinking enough to replace what you are still sweating out. I also remember a rather pretty section where our trail dropped down into a dip to cross a river, and as it did so you could see the lights of riders ahead climbing a series of switchbacks to get back up out of the dip. It may have been along here too that I passed and briefly chatted with rider #175 again, who by now was hearing lions roar in the night. Despite most of us probably only catching an hour or two of sleep the previous afternoon, and it now being past midnight there was no way hallucinations could be setting in. There really must be lions somewhere out in the dark, hopefully behind a big fence of some kind - first gunfire, and now lions. They did say this ride was going to be a challenge.

It's hard to say whether water, food, or warm clothes made the real difference but by the time the 500m to Waterpoint 3 sign came into view my spirits were considerably improved. I was enjoying the ride again. There was still no hot food, but they had peanut butter sandwiches and the staff helping out were super cheerful and friendly. I made a conscious decision to fill my bottle with energy drink - I normally don't touch the stuff but now, with food options limited, I knew my body needed fuel and lots of it. It was time to be practical not picky, the back end of this ride would require every ounce of reserve and running out of steam early was simply not an option.

More lions roared on the next section, this time I heard them too - or thought I did anyway. There were a couple of epic sized, road-engulfing, mud wallows along this stretch too. I managed to pick a slithery line through all but one of them, which was just too vast to even attempt - I had no desire to take a dirty plunge having just started feeling better. The gravel roads rose and fell, swung left and right, but with so little to see beyond a short patch of rutted dirt road it's hard to recall any details. Just before Waterpoint 4 though they took us on a curious little detour. We left the track and rode around the slightly muddy edge of a farmers field. It wasn't really obvious why we were doing this initially since we were mere meters from the road we had been on for most of the time. I began to think it was to avoid a busy road junction, and perhaps there was some truth in this, but after a couple of kilometers we came upon a railway line and the marshals signaled we must ride along it and through a tunnel - actually more of a bridge really, it wasn't that long. The best line wasn't immediately apparent, but having tried the stones next to the rails and found them way too loose, I eventually picked out a trail of tyre tracks in firmer ground. We were actually on some single track!

We rode right of the tracks for a while, rising above them slightly, before dipping down and crossing them to ride on the left. It was a fun stretch - the riding path was narrow, and the bank down to the left was steep. Occasionally there were storm-water drain bridges too. It demanded full concentration to stay on the path and not crash into the stones on one side, or fall down the bank on the other. By the time we finally parted company with the rails, we had just a short freewheel down to the waterpoint. And as I sped down, a number flashed by again - #175 - it's amazing how it happens on so many rides that you pass and re-pass the same riders.

"That was fun ….." she said, the rest of the words trailed off and were lost as she sped past me, down the track and into the stop

My reply was some minutes later after dismounting and hanging my bike in the rack

"I can't believe we've ridden 145km just to find coffee and hot food!"

And added hastily, lest I offend the guys manning the water point:

"You have no idea how welcome this is, you guys rock!"

I meant it too - boerie rolls, sosaties, and cups of hot sweet coffee. It was the best stop so far, real manna from heaven. To make things even better, there was now only one more leg of 37km before I'd be seeing Yoli and Ben at the halfway mark, Checkpoint 2. It was still dark, and cold, but I was now feeling top notch. Even the legs were beginning to loosen up nicely. I dug in the pack for my phone and quickly rushed off an SMS to Yoli as promised - confirming that I was at WP4, with 1.5 - 2 hours until the checkpoint. I'd see her and Ben there, awesome!

Somewhere along the next section the third member of our merry band joined up - or we joined him. The three of us had been bouncing past each other for quite some way, myself, Etienne, and rider #175 - who I can now refer to properly as Janine, all of us having finally exchanged names. We settled in and rode along, and before long swung out onto the tar almost perfectly in time with arrival of light from the approaching day.

"Half way guys, well done. Hot food and coffee ahead."

The marshals at the entrance to checkpoint 2 greeted us cheerfully, jotting down our numbers as the sensors clipped to our forks triggered beeps from the nearby sensors.

Ahead was a large house, bikes propped everywhere and cyclists sprawling all around. It took me a couple of minutes to spot Yoli and Ben standing on the left side of the surrounding front stoep. Our plans from the day before had worked, they'd got my message and were here. Moments later I was dismounting stiffly and Yoli was taking my bike off me. It was great to see them, and even better was the family hug that soon followed. After the greetings, I followed Yoli to where they had been sitting - cleverly she had found a spot which not only had comfy chairs, but was directly in front of a roaring fire. This was going to be tough to leave! That was a problem for later though, for now having disrobed and dumped my kit all around I needed to eat. Etienne joined us by the fire with a polystyrene plate of full of Lasagne. I headed off in search of some, collecting coffee too whilst I was there.

We sat and chatted as I ate and warmed up. With one plate of food down, I went back for more - it was delicious and the energy from it much needed. Whilst I was tucking in to seconds, Etiene bade us good bye, keen to get underway again. I wasn't quite ready and lounged some more. Although not quite to the extent of the couple on the sofa next to me - both fast asleep under a blanket and showing no signs of stirring. One of the marshals looked at them and laughed, clearly also wondering if this was it for them. Later on I discovered there were a Tandem couple, fellow Randonneurs, and they had in fact finished. Janine had decided to call it a day though - she'd already commented she may do on the last stretch in. Having already gained the night riding experience she was hoping for, the control was clearly too comfortable to leave.

Given the choice, I'd probably have packed there and then too. After a reminder from Yoli that I'd already been here for 45 minutes, I knew it was time to leave. I'd come here to finish the ride, and despite feeling pretty wrecked, I wasn't ready to quit just yet.

"Good luck Rob"

Janine called out as I topped up water bottles.

"Thanks, good luck for Freedom Challenge"

I replied, or words to that effect as I headed down the steps to my bike to begin the kitting up process. After swapping out batteries, and shuffling around clothes and layers it was time for a last hug before rolling slowly down the drive out and turning left out of the checkpoint.

Getting going again was tough - every turn of the pedals was sore, sharp pain shooting through my right knee, and every time I went to sit down the saddle chaffed at my raw backside. The break was necessary, but the endorphins had subsided whilst I lounged around and now the body just was not happy on the bike. At least it was fully daylight now, bright blue skies all around and fresh crisp air, it was going to be a beautiful day to spend on the bike. Or it would be soon, once the adrenalin got going and nature's pain killers kicked in again. I alternated a few pedal turns standing, to ease the bum, and a few pedal turns sitting to ease the knee. Slowly but surely the Garmin started creeping above half way - I knew better than to stare at it, the longer I looked the slower it edged forward.

In a few hundred meters I reached a T-junction, and just before I swung left a dark shadow loomed into my peripheral vision on the right, soon followed by the tooting of a horn and some shouting. It was Yoli and Ben - they had caught me up and were waving goodbye one last time. The Prado roared off, and our ways split - it would be many hours before I'd see them again. Exactly how many was anyone's guess. With the big hills ahead, I was pretty certain it would be more than the twelve it had taken to cover the first half. It didn't really matter too much though as long as it was less than 23 hours I'd be inside the cutoff time and be declared an official finisher. I knew time was not my enemy today - fatigue, accident, lack of determination, not looking after my hydration or fuel needs. Those were the real risks to not completing the rest of the ride.

With no great time pressure I ambled along, soon after the left split a lone marshal signalled me right onto a farm track - back on dirt road again. At times it was a narrow sandy track, a surface that could have been sketchy without yesterday's downpour - or had that been the day before? I was losing track of time, the steady churning of pedals and passing of kilometres were replacing the rhythm of clocks, and hours and minutes as the measure of my day. Up ahead another solo rider was slogging on, and just beyond him the gravel track could be seen turning right, and then sharply upwards into the hills. The warmup was over, the second half was about to begin.

I said something as I pulled alongside - I forget exactly what, some remark about the hill ahead probably. He didn't really reply, just a grunt - I'm not totally sure he understand me, the grunt sounded more Afrikaans than English. Clearly he wasn't in the mood to converse, so I slowly passed and began the climb. Somewhere close to the top a couple of guys passed me, pulled over to the side, dismounted and started taking their clothes off. It was a good idea, the morning was warming up and the climb was adding to the heat. My brain decided to do the same, but my body was too slow to react - the bike stalled on the slope, both cleats stuck fast with build up of mud, and the bike and I fell slowly to the left. Crashing to the ground with a yelp of "bollocks!" or something like that. Possibly the most embarrassing thing you could do on a bike and I'd done it right in front of them. I had to laugh. A voice from behind volunteered a tip

"You should drop your heel to uncleat"

Seriously? I could have punched him. But heck, I must have looked like a total beginner and he was just trying to be helpful. I said nothing, electing instead to do a very obvious job of cleaning my cleats out to make it clear this was the problem, which also wasn't totally true. I was bloody tired, that was the problem.

More and more people arrived, and more and more clothes came off, mine included. I recognised one of the riders from breakfast from her CBC craft brewery jersey. She had sat near Yoli, Ben and I at breakfast. I'm not sure my "did you bring the beers" quip was any funnier this time than it had been at breakfast, it certainly didn't seem to go down any better. My backpack swelled as I stuffed leggings, base layer, jacket and other crap into it. One of the guys made a comment in Afrikaans to his mates along the lines maybe I could fit their kit in too. My mental faculties were so dull that by the time I'd translated one of the other guys had already responded

"Hy kan jou nie verstaan nie"

I hadn't so much as looked up, so it was a fair conclusion. I looked up and said something along the lines that I had understood but my head was a bit slow - and offered up the stuffed pack as proof that I didn't really have room anyway.

The group of friends were underway several minutes before me, I was faffing around with shoes and kit, and I actually did want to get my cleats clean properly to avoid a repeat fall. By the time I got going again the five riders were disappearing around what looked like the crest of this climb. The slope was gradual and winding, and the scenery stunning. It was wonderful riding. I forget exactly how the terrain went from here, it rose and fell many times - the climbs were occasionally sharp but mostly fairly manageable. The descents though were one thing and one thing alone - fun. Great surfaces, wide sweeping bends that required no braking whatsoever. With each downward rush my Garmin registered a new top speed for the ride. A couple of times I wondered just how painful it would be if something broke suddenly on one of these - with the speedo passing 60Kmh and rocks and gravel all around, it would not be pleasant. I held firm inside and trusted that William had checked all my bolts properly - there was no way I wanted to waste one watt of downhill momentum that could save a bit of pedalling at the start of the next rise.

Rather surprisingly, bit by bit, I found myself ever so slowly overhauling the group of friends. Eventually I drew alongside, but had neither the energy or desire to pull ahead, instead I struck up conversation with them. They were all mates who had talked each other into the ride. The girl with the CBC shirt, Anja, was actually a brewmaster for the craft beer firm - not every day you get to ride with a beer maker, and I didn't waste the opportunity to chat a bit about my own efforts at home brewing, how she got into beer making etc etc. One of the other guys ran a bike shop in Malmesbury. I mentioned how many of our Audax rides went through there, and resolved to get his details so we could call in if passing during opening hours. I totally failed at this though and still have no idea where exactly his shop is. I remember chatting about cycling with the other guys, but the details now are sketchy. I do remember nearly wiping one of them out as we dropped down to cross ride the smooth white boulders of the river bed we had been riding alongside. I misjudged the corner, braked too hard, and he nearly ploughed in from behind. Yet more proof of my limited skills on a MTB, if any were needed.

We rode through a couple of water points together. The landscape was insanely beautiful: rolling farmland, gradually giving way to karoo scrub and deep red soil as the road wound its way towards the foot of the mountain range ahead. It was not hard to see how Rooiberg got its name. One of the guys had asked if I wanted to ride with them to the end - he even suggested that being a roadie, I might be able to help them pull a bit harder over the last 10km to get a better time. They had a goal to be home before 9pm. It was a nice gesture but I knew the climb ahead could well defeat the idea. One of their group was beginning to suffer from lack of sleep, but that aside they were a lot younger and looked considerably stronger than I was feeling. I knew inside I was going to be way slower climbing the mountain pass, and you simply can't ride someone else's pace on an endurance ride of this magnitude.

I filled up on potatoes, a Mars bar, and yet more energy drink at the waterpoint before the climb. I also sent Yoli a message, or tried too. In fact I forgot to hit send, and wouldn't rectify this until over the pass and almost at the next stop. So for now, she had no notion I was reaching the crux of this section of the ride. Even before the pass the group had strung out - Anja and one of the guys gradually stretching out ahead, then myself, then the remainder of the guys behind. I wondered if we'd regroup at the top but deep down I knew this was the split which inevitably happens at some stage on every long ride. It had been great to have such good company for the last few hours, but now it was time to ride solo again. Which was fine, especially with an evil climb ahead that I needed to take at my own speed without feeling guilty about walking in places when the legs or heart didn't have the will to climb. It also gave me a chance to whip out the camera and snap some not very impressive shots of the landscape. Having had it in my pocket all this way at least I was living up to Yoli's insistence that if carried it I must actually use it.

The climb was dusty, occasionally steep, and seemingly endless. I trudged up the greater part of it, only mounting up for short flatter stretches. My legs probably could have spun me up most of it, but once over the other side there would still be 90km and a fair amount more climbing between me and the finish. With an ever tightening right knee, I just didn't want to take the risk of over taxing the legs now. It made for a slow grind - after a while I stopped looking at the distance on the Garmin, focusing instead on the altitude. I had no idea of how far the top of this beast was, but knew from the route profile that it was around 800m in altitude - although I wasn't totally sure if that meant 800m upwards from the start of the climb, or if the peak was at 800m. I decided it must be the latter, and as the Garmin slowly ticked upwards it became clear that this was probably correct. As the display ticked over to 799m, the trail swung left and flatted out almost completely. I allowed myself to hope this was actually the top, mounted back up and rolled effortlessly through the red dirt flanked by lush fynbos. A little way ahead the path veered slowly right and then snaked sharply left and down. This was the rocky and tricky descent we had heard warnings about, and disappearing around the first hairpin bend I saw Anja and her group of friends maybe a kilometre ahead. I knew they'd be much farther ahead than that by the bottom - I'm not the fastest or most confident of descenders, especially when someone has planted the idea in my head that what lies ahead is dangerous.

The first couple of bends were fine, but then the trail started to drop more steeply and the surface broke up into a rocky 4x4 trail. I actually passed an SUV on this part - a Jimny I think. It seemed to be a couple out for the day and not one of the ride marshals or sweepers. A one finger wave was all I could manage, not wanting to lose my grip or concentration. I hopped left and right across the track looking for the less rutted and smoother line - there were deep gouges everywhere to be negotiated, and sharp rocks. The corners were tight, with loose gravel and stones. As much as I tried to heed William's comment not to trail my brakes, eventually I started too. I'd managed a few sections of letting the bike run and only braking in short hard stretches, but my hands were just too sore and my nerve was failing. So I fell back to beginner tactics, and kept my speed low by overusing the brakes. The bottom took an age to come - my hands and arms were stiff by the time the last bends unwound and the rocky track gave way to smooth-ish farm trail. No more steep edges and sharp drops to fray the nerves, but still plenty of painful corrugations to jar the arms and prevent them from recovering. At least it was gradually downhill, allowing some speed again without requiring much effort.

I thought it would be a relief to hit tar again on the run-in to Calitzdorp, but oddly it wasn't. The sun was how overhead and the day getting hotter. Despite the town being only 10km or so ahead it became a long and tiring slog. The bike was shifting pretty quickly, but the eyelids were getting heavy as the warmth broke through the thin veil of adrenalin, exposing the extreme tiredness underneath.

"Gee ons 'n bietjie tjoklit aseblief"

A group of very round middle aged women cried out, laughing as I rode past - farm workers I guessed, or their wives maybe. My normal sense of humour failed me and I had no banter for them in reply. Instead I just stared down at the grey tarmac and pedalled on. I was close to done - the mind was faltering, the body sore and broken. A few buildings rolled into view a little ahead - visible across the top of a large bed of reeds, or was it bamboo, I forget. Based on the distance I guessed it was checkpoint 3 but the first building showed no signs of life and I began to wonder. Soon after though I spotted the flags and a marshal signalling me left. I rolled down the concrete ramp and into the farmyard. I nearly fell off the bike as I dismounted, and it took me a couple of attempts to get the bike up onto the rack.

Dazed with fatigue I stumbled to the tables for food. The small part of my mind still capable of thought was beginning to wonder if there was anything on offer which could help me recover enough to be able to carry on. Someone had thoughtfully laid out a couple of camp beds - one of which was already occupied with a rider who was fast asleep. It was tempting to just skip any attempt at food and claim the other one for myself. I knew it would most likely have ended my ride though. It was already mid-afternoon and the shadows were beginning to lengthen. I'd definitely be seeing another sunset somewhere fairly soon into the last leg home, assuming of course I did actually manage to ride further. if I slept now though the night would probably creep in whilst I dozed. I doubted whether I would have the mental strength to leave the comfort of the checkpoint and ride out again into the dark. Reluctantly I headed for the food table.

A very friendly guy helped me to sosaties, wors, and pointed me in the direction of bowls full of pasta and potato salad. By the time I left the paper plate was bending under the weight of food. I grabbed iced water and coffee too. Sitting at the table though it was a battle to get the food down. My throat did not want to swallow - a scary reminder of the Joburg 600 which I had bailed on a year ago. I knew I had to force the food down to avoid a similar result here. The salad dressing burnt my throat and re-ignited the acid building in my tummy. I hastily searched through my backpack for the little plastic bag of medical supplies, chugging down two Rennies the moment I'd located it. It wasn't a solution, but it damped down the fire enough to get down some more of the food.

I paused a number of times to try and get more food down. In one of those pauses I called Yoli - it was in my mind to tell her I was quitting, and see if she would come and pick me up. She refused of course. She has strict instructions to never ever give in to my pleas unless either the bike or I are so badly damaged that we cannot possibly make it home. I felt broken, but despite my voice wavering to hold back tears, she knew I wasn't actually done. Instead she put Ben on the line to say good luck and I love you. He barely managed to get the words out before accidentally disconnecting our call. Or maybe my clumsy fingers had. Either way, we didn't chat long.

In the short time I had been at the table, I'd managed to scatter kit everywhere. And now I needed the loo. Ordinarily I'd have gathered it all up, packed it away and headed for the ablutions. But I was too tired for any of that and just got up and headed off for the porta-loos, leaving behind a person sized hole where I had been sitting, surrounded by all my junk.

Even in my dazed state I couldn't help thinking of the lines from a Passenger song as the plastic door flexed and closed behind me:

"I hate festival toilets, especially when you need a shit"

The thought of it made me smile as I sat there - and in that moment I knew I'd be able to carry on. If you can find humour sitting taking a dump in a blue and white plastic cube then you can get back on your bike and finish what you came here to do.

I dithered a bit more - eventually collecting my drop box and sifting through to extract the warm gear and light batteries I'd need for the final leg. A quick bit of mental arithmetic indicated maybe 3 or 4 hours of night riding, if things went well. My main light would last fine, plus a couple of batteries for the Lezyne as backup just in case. Clothes were trickier. Eventually I figured a long sleeve thermal under the William's Bike shop jersey would do, with my windproof on top and a warm hat and gloves just in case. The benefit of this setup being I did not have to carry my heavy jersey or jacket for the next few hours until the temperature dropped enough to wear them. I was quite surprised with how logical and methodical my preparations were - despite my fatigue I was thinking clearly about the demands of the road ahead. It was a good sign, and when I finally rolled out of the checkpoint I did so with a fair degree of confidence. I was prepared. I may have already ridden 50km further than my longest ever bike ride, and there may still be 80km still to ride, but I had this in me. Barring accidents or mechanicals I was going to finish.

Immediately on leaving the checkpoint at Boplaas farm we exited left and back onto a gravel road that wound around the outskirts of town, passing a few workers houses before crossing the main road and heading out into the mountains again. We had crossed the valley floor, and the route was now taking us back towards the foothills of the Swartberg range. I knew from the profile that although the biggest hills were now behind, the climbing was far from done. I vaguely recalled a mound of about 400m, followed by another of about 700m. Had I studied a bit further, I'd have realised I missed one - in between was another of about 600m with a small dip before the final peak. It was probably best I didn't check, much easier just to focus on a couple of climbs ahead - and the checkpoint staff had assured us they were gradual and rolling rather than steep.

The trail wound around farms, at one point taking a sharp left after a short ramp. My reduced speed gave kids from a nearby house a chance to run out and catch me up. They sprinted alongside, each taking turns to slap my hand and then dash ahead of their mates so they could do it again, all the time laughing and shouting at each other and me. They ran, and laughed, and ran - so far in fact their house was almost out of sight behind by the time they finally turned back. It was a priceless moment of pure joy. Adding to it the food was now working it's magic too, and the day was cooling off as the late afternoon bathed the surrounding hills in a warm orange glow. My one knee and both feet were painful to the point of breaking, but my spirits could not have been higher.

On, and up and on the track twisted, at some point passing a large dam which answered the question Yoli and I had debated on the drive up as to where this area got their water. A few houses were dotted here and there along the road, which eventually stopped its gradual rise and levelled off with the Garmin reading around 405m. To confirm my reading of the profile my speed picked up as the track ran at first flat, and then downhill. It felt like the penultimate water point should be close by, but it wasn't. I noticed the Garmin reach 299km - a major milestone was approaching, and I watched carefully until it hit exactly 300km. There was little around to mark the achievement, but I dismounted anyway to snap a picture of the screen, a selfie, and a couple of shots of the surrounds. It'd be some time, if ever, that I rode this far on a mountain bike again so the moment had to be recorded. Eventually, as the road wound up again I realised I must have failed to register some part of the route. Up and up again we went, until the Garmin topped 600m before finally diving down again and into a small hamlet. Later on I realised from road signs that this must have been Kruisrivier.

At last the waterpoint came into view - possibly one of the friendliest so far. By some quirk of fate too their limited range of snacks included exactly what my taste buds were craving - small marmite sandwich quarters. The first one barely touched the sides, and I was busy munching on the second when it occurred to me that the evening was now becoming rather cold. I apologised to the ladies at the refreshment tables and stripped off - donning the long sleeve thermal before putting the William's jersey back over the top. Both were slightly damp, but it didn't take long for body heat to cancel out the initial chilling effect. I ate at least one more sandwich whilst chatting to the helpers, possibly more. They didn't have any Mars bars, which I was also craving, but it wasn't a disaster - I still had some chocolate energy bars left. Two guys who were riding as a team had pulled in a bit after me, and we stood around chatting with one of the Marshals about the section ahead. He confirmed that ahead lay the final climb which I had overlooked, but after that it was mostly downhill to the final waterpoint and the end.

The three of us rolled out of the waterpoint as daylight began to recede from the valley. We'd exchanged a few words at the waterpoint but weren't really riding together. We weren't really riding apart either though. Most of the time the two guys were ahead of me, but every now and then I saw them separate as the hill got steeper, one of them clearly dismounting to walk - his rear blinkie suddenly stopping and then plodding on at a much slower pace. My legs were shot too, and I also found myself dismounting around the same spots. So we never really caught up, and never quite put any distance between ourselves either. In the very last of the daylight another rider flew past me as the trail dipped down again. Just visible ahead was yet another gradual climb but it was now impossible to see how high it went or what lay beyond. The night engulfed us and once again we were cycling alone, the immediate world defined only to the extent of our lights. Beyond just blackness and the occasional screech of an owl.

The invisible climb proved very gradual, hardly a climb at all in fact. And somewhere before it's top the bright white torch of a marshal waved us right. I pulled over in front of one of their bakkies so I could take advantage of its headlights to don my final night time layer. In the gloom I guessed this was the top and my jacket would be needed to keep out the cold wind of the descent. We travelled along what I guessed was a ridge for a couple of kilometers, red tail lights just barely visible ahead. Finally the road pitched downwards in earnest, and surprisingly I found myself catching up with the two guys in front. My lights were both on full beam which lit the trail ahead very well. Perhaps this accounted for my faster descent - certainly not any technical ability, that was for sure.

It was a long fast run down - occasionally so narrow that the branches of bushes from either side of the track closed around us. Several times the path swung down and across a stream before climbing up and out of the other side. It was fast and exhilarating. I mistook a group of marshals and medics on quad bikes for the final water point, and was surprised to hear them say it was still some 10km ahead. My mind had got this section of the route seriously wrong - I'd been expecting the stop at any moment. Rather more unpleasant was that we were at the bottom of the descent, meaning the trail now pitched up again often as it rolled around the contours of the valley. Clearly we were now running back into a more inhabited area too - the road widened, buildings passed left and right, and the surface became corrugated as a consequence of the regular traffic. It seemed to take an age to reach the waterpoint, but finally the unmistakeable lights and flags came into view. What a relief - some respite from the bumpy road, and only another 20km or so to go.

I sat on an ice box - coffee in one hand, and two mars bars in the other. I had such a job with the wrappers that one of the staff offered to open them for me. I declined, but continued to fiddle with them for long enough to immediately regret not accepting their help. My numb fingers eventually tore the slippery plastic, and I stuffed them into my mouth, along with gulps of coffee to wash them down. I dug out my phone one last time to message Yoli. Something along the lines that I was at the last waterpoint and would be home in the next 1.5 to 2 hours. Looking at the time I was quite pleased. I would be well over the 24hrs that I'd hoped for, but comfortably under 30hrs, meaning I'd be home well before midnight. I topped up with a little extra water - just in case - and headed to collect my bike. I wasn't allowed to fetch it though. A helper took it down from the rack, held it whilst I mounted, and then re-assured me it was only 20km now - easy riding, and half of it on tar road. What a relief.

Once again, I rolled out at the same time as the two guys riding in a team - only this time we rode together to the end of the dirt road. The batteries of one of their front lights had failed, and I tucked in behind them - my lights casting a long beam ahead to aid with the riding. We could see the lights of a police car ahead, but it took an age to reach - the dark and flat road fooling the mind into making it appear closer than it was. When finally we did reach it the guys pulled over to message their family, telling me to keep going and they would catch up. The left turn though took us back onto tar though, and despite intense fatigue the roadie deep down inside me kicked in. I settled into a steady cadence and my speed began to pick up. A few cars past and their headlights lit up a tree off in the distance as they drove by. I studied each car as it reached the tree and then vanished a few moments after passing it. I knew from driving here a couple of days before that this was effectively the end - the other side was a downhill run back into Oudtshoorn. Almost home. I aimed myself firmly at the tree and pushed hard

A lone marshal stood on the outskirts of town at the bottom of the hill. He signalled us left onto a grass verge, and a bit further on another marshal signalled us left again off the verge and onto side streets of the town. I sat up, took a deep breath and relaxed. My smile grew as each side street passed. It was a little eerie though also - the area was deserted aside from the odd youth hanging around. I felt rather vulnerable - it would be rather ironic to get mugged just a kilometer or so from the end. None of that could detract from the immense relief of being so near to the end. Eventually, I spied the tiniest of arrows indicating the final right turn into the street back to the hotel. It would have been easy to miss, there being no marshal indicating the way. Each of the stop streets beyond was marshalled though. I waved and thanked the guys standing at each of them. At last, ahead, I saw the flags and lights which we had left behind the evening before. Somehow, the mind and body had kept going.

I rolled up the ramp, down the grass bank the other side, and nearly fell off my bike as I dismounted. Every ounce of energy had now left my body and I was shivering with cold. A girl grabbed my shoulder, and snipped the timing chip off my front fork. Another handed me a medal. And that was it - the end of the toughest 361km and 27hrs I had spent on a bike. Big rides so often have an anti-climactic end, especially at the tail end of the field, but this was perhaps as low key as any I had finished. I did see Anja and her parents who were just leaving, and muttered something about well done and tough ride. Mostly though I just wanted to be home. I limped slowly off to find our room, Yoli, some food, and my bed.

Below par

2015-03-21T18:58:00.000+02:00

The second running of the West Coast 400km Cape Audax certainly wasn't lacking in variety - although when it came to weather, not all of that was good news, especially earlier on in the day.

As has become the custom in recent entries, the official report included below covers many of the highlights of the day. Leaving just the need to add some personal observations on the ride for this blog

The first of those observations would be that I nearly didn't ride at all. I'd been feeling well below par the whole of the previous weeks - with some significant aches in my joints, especially neck and shoulders. It was hard to attribute these to anything specific. Maybe the different position from doing more mountain biking recently in preparation for the 36One? Or perhaps I was coming down with a bug. Whatever the cause though, I really did not feel like riding - especially so when the alarm went off at 10:30pm. I'd gone to try and get some sleep a bit after 5pm, but it had been patchy at best. Nope, I really wasn't feeling like starting a 400km ride. But that was exactly the reason I did get in the car and head out to Vrede Wines for the start. There's no telling how good or bad I might feel at the start or during PBP, so today would be a valuable lesson in tackling a big ride when not feeling 100%.

We rode steadily but at a reasonable pace to the 2nd control in Riebeek West where Hendrik was again waiting for us with his legendary road-side hospitality - table out with muffins, beskuit, coffee and water. I nearly packed up there and then. Along the road from Wellington my stomach had been feeling decidedly queazy - neither snacks or drinks were going down well. It was 4am, it was dark and cold, there was a rain storm coming, and I felt like crap. Getting in Hendrik's car would really have been an easy option. But I passed up the chance and pushed on. The coffee from Hendrik's control started to work some magic, and my spirits improved. I added another really good cuppa in Moorreesburg, and a couple of also very goo cups at the wonderful breakast laid-on by Ella in Hopefield. It was a healthy dose of caffeine, and it worked. I did slump again a bit around Vredenburg, but instantly spotted a lack of fuel as the problem.

Our restaurant stop in Saldanha may have been bizarre in the extreme, but it set me straight again. I'd decided that a Hawaii Pizza was the perfect fuel - pineapple for short term energy, some carbs in the base to keep the fire going once lit, ham for the muscles, and the cheese to add some long slow burn fuel. It was probably all in my head, but it kept the engine turning wonderfully through the scenic delights of the West Coast Park and all the way onto Yzerfontein.

My choice of pie at the Spa stop was perhaps a bit less inspired. I should have stuck with my usual coffee too and not dallied with a Red Bull. For most of the road through Darling and to Malmesbury my stomach was really struggling again. On a couple of occasions I came close to throwing up by the road side, and even my usual order in the Wimpy did not go down well at all. I managed the coffees and some chips, but barely got half way through the toastie.

We were lucky with the wind though - it died off completely and we positively flew over the last 48km home. I remember chatting with Theunis about how neither of us had struggled with our legs all day. His bum was killing him, and my stomach had been playing up on and off all days. But we'd ridden steadily and with relative ease all day. I guess you have to take that as a result - a 400km ride when the systems are out of shape, completed well within cutoff and without struggling physically. Not the most fun type of preparation for PBP, but valuable nevertheless.

Official Ride Report

In the report from our November ride we already covered the essential facts and figures of the current Cape 400km route. To avoid going over old ground, this report will pick out some of the highs and lows from our second ride of this route.

Stolen in Stellenbosch

The first, and possibly lowest of the lows has to be the thieving little sh*t who helped themselves to parts from Tom's bike whilst he was getting his brevet card signed in McDonalds in Stellenbosch. Being Tom's first control on his first Audax, he hadn't quite got himself organized at the process of getting through controls. His fellow riders in the fast group were already starting to kit up for riding out as Tom was finishing up. Luckily Tom was out before they had a chance to remove anything major enough to end his ride there and then, although what they did take would have made most consider abandoning. Fortunately Tom is a tough character, and he wasn't to be deterred.

Perhaps what is most notable and remarkable about the incident, apart from the sheer cheek of it, is that it’s the first we've had since starting the Cape series last year. We’ve had a couple of slightly suspicious roadside incidents, and Peter witnessed a spectacular punch-up from a safe distance in the small hours of the morning in Wellington. But this is the first incident that has affected any of our riders directly. Hopefully we'll avoid such incidents in future but let's make sure we look out for ourselves and each other out there.

Le Relais de Riebeek

You did realise you were meant to be learning some French in preparation for PBP, didn't you?

OK, we'll help out this one time - 'le relais' means 'road house'. Hendrik Vermaak may have manned the Riebeek control with his car, but at 3am he had all the hospitality you could wish for from a roadside inn on a dark and stormy night. There was light, and fresh water for bidons, jars of beskuit, and packs of muffins. As if that weren't enough, Hendrik had laid on that staple of all cyclists - plentiful supplies of hot coffee. A few days ahead of the ride it looked like we would be standing around in deserted streets gathering ATM slips as our proof of passage, or visiting the SAPS for a signature and stamp. Either way, we'd have been wondering if we had enough water left to make it to the next control. How much more pleasant to be standing around Hendrik's car, laughing and joking and contemplating if there was time to quickly swig down an extra cup of coffee before mounting up and pressing on.

A massive thank you to Hendrik from all of the Cape Randonneurs for coming out at such an unearthly hour to make our ride so much more pleasant.

Moistened in Moorreesburg

Somewhere along the road to Moorreesburg a light drizzle started to fall. Barely more than a mist in the air, but enough to be picked out in the beams of our headlights - pinpoints of light in a mesmerizing dance ahead of the bikes. It was turning to full scale rain as we reached the outskirts of town - but with the Total petrol station in sight, all that was needed to avoid a drenching was a quick stand on the pedals and sprint into the shelter of the garage forecourt. There had been no real plan to stop long at this control - however the coffee machine in the corner said otherwise. For a 24hr filling station it was a little surprising to see a proper coffee machine, complete with a hopper of dark roast beans waiting to be ground. It would have been remiss of us not to at least check that the coffee tasted as promising as it looked. We were not disappointed - standing around drinking hot, delicious coffee whilst peering out into the dark and the rain. The idea of getting back onto the bikes and riding out for a proper soaking was not appealing, but it had to be done. There was still 280km of pedalling left to be done.

Hopeful in Hopefield

When the Cape Audaxes were first being planned in March 2014, at least one voice was heard to say something along the lines of 'any route as long as it's not Hopefield again'. The back-story behind this was the 2011 qualifier series which had almost exclusively used west coast routes. As a result, the first draft of the 2014/15 brevets had no routes to the north and west, only in later iterations adding the 400km being ridden this weekend.

None of the riders who'd originally requested avoiding Hopefield were on today's ride, or took part in the previous edition in November 2014. Which was more than a little ironic - since this season's crop of Cape Randonneurs have enjoyed a rather different experience of this unassuming little West Coast town. On our first visit, a wonderful lady named Ella had very kindly opened her café early and provided a fabulous breakfast and coffee. When organizing this weekend's ride we contacted her to see if there was any chance she'd do the same again. Sadly she couldn't, the café was closed. But with amazing generosity Ella had offered to make us all breakfast and coffee again, but this time on the stoep of her house. She didn't have to ask us twice, we positively bit her hand off!

A little after 7am we trudged up her drive, soggy and dishevelled from riding the past 30km through the rain, with regular extra showers of dirt and spray from trucks rushing past. Ella's fabulous hospitality could not have been more welcomed or more timely. Lashing of hot coffee and plates piled high with cooked breakfast, it was quite literally a shelter from the storm. As we sat and ate, the clouds rolled back and the sun came up properly. Only one of us had thought to bring dry clothes, so it was a relief to feel the day warming up.

It was difficult to tear ourselves away, but the remaining 250km of the ride beckoned and there was at least one remaining tough stretch ahead to be battled.

Before moving on we must say the most sincere of Thank Yous to Ella for twice making Hopefield a place we've thoroughly enjoyed riding through.

Winderig in Velddrif

Our count of mechanicals was already standing at one puncture, and I added a broken rear spoke to that tally before we'd actually even left Hopefield. We'd heard it pop some time back, but annoyingly I forgot to check it whilst we had breakfast. Rather than hold the ride up, Ernst and Gideon helped me get it a little less wobbly and open the brake arches to lessen the brake blocks fouling.

It wasn't a great start to what proved to be the least pleasant leg of the ride, again. The Northerly winds were not quite as strong as they had been in November, but they were more than unpleasant. At least with seven riders we had a few more to share the workload this time around. It was a tough 40km or so, and not one I think will make the top ten list of favourite stretches for any of our riders.

Eventually of course, persistence overcame the wind and Velddrif came into view on the far bank of the Berg river. It was an unremarkable control stop, the group choosing to pull into the Engen garage and grab ice creams and sodas before pushing on again

Surreal in Saldanha

Without a doubt the most surreal thing I have witnessed on any Audax ride unfolded in Saldanha. Somehow our desire for food had landed us at a bay side hotel with a restaurant on the 3rd floor. The obvious decision would have been that this may not be a good fit for cyclists - but not to us at that time, we'd already stopped, and we wanted food. Even if it meant cramming ourselves and our bikes into possibly the world's smallest lift.

Yep - you did read that right. We were confronted with a miniscule lift cubicle, which could just about take two bikes if stood upright on their back wheels with their owners bent into variations contortions around them to squeeze inside far enough to avoid blocking the door. It's almost impossible to explain why not one of us suggested riding on to look for somewhere else. Instead we just laughed at each other and the situation, and a couple of the guys took the stairs. 220km into a ride, why on earth did it seem like a good idea to be carrying our bikes up 3 flights of stairs? Honestly, you had to be there.

The spectacular view outside the restaurant across Saldanha Bay was at least some consolation. The view inside the restaurant rather less so. Unless your idea of scenery is shabby cyclists, their shoes, their bikes, and other miscellaneous equipment sprawled all over the place. The restaurant were amazingly tolerant of our scruffy presence - to be fair though, they were hardly busy and we were not exactly a demanding crowd, well aside from cluttering up half their restaurant. We just wanted hot food and milkshakes. It wasn't the best we've eaten on our rides, but it was more than good enough to refuel us for the next stage.

Hurrying Home

At this point, I'm pretty much out of alliterations for the remaining controls … I mean what on earth would one use for Yzerfontein?

In truth too, aside from a broken rear spoken for one of our other riders, and a couple more punctures, I don’t recall too many other unusual or remarkable events on the remaining 180km of the ride. The tail wind pushed up our pace significantly from Saldanha on, and the West Coast Park was as sublime as on the previous 400. Considerably fewer snakes this time, thankfully, but several Eland were spotted as we rode through.

The tailwind died down on the final stretch from Malmesbury - but that was still infinitely preferable to the strong headwinds we have battled along that stretch on recent rides. With no wind, progress was rapid and even the tail group of riders were home well before midnight, three hours ahead of cut-off.

Sub-two

2015-03-08T19:36:00.000+02:00

The picture left may resemble one I snapped a couple of years ago whilst waiting to enter my Argus (now Cape Town Cycle Tour) start chute, but the event we were gathering for would be a very different experience. Bush fires had ravaged the Cape Peninsula for more than a week, and in some places were still raging. The damage to hillsides surrounding the route, and the need to keep access roads open for emergency services had left the ride organizers few choices: cancel the event; or drastically alter the route. The latter option posed problems of it's own - the usual standby route over Ou Kaapse Weg was also extensively burnt, with ash and smoke still lingering in places over the pass. Even if it had been totally safe to ride, it would not have been pleasant sucking down lungfuls of acrid smelling with every pedal stroke as we battled up the long climb.

Rather than cancel, the organizers announced a fore-shortened event of 47km which they had declared as a Solidarity Ride to show the city's support for the tireless and unceasing efforts of the fire crews. In theory then, we were queuing up for a leisurely social jaunt to the end of the "blue route" (as the M3 is known) - should be back for breakfast in a couple of easy hours riding.

Yeah right!

Of course not one of the cyclists gathered in the earlier seeding groups saw it even remotely that way - myself included if I'm honest. We'd been handed a golden opportunity to spin as hard as we damn well liked up Hospital Bend and Edinburgh Drive without any fear of burning our legs out too early. And whatever we had left in the tank we could use to scorch as much tarmac as possible in the opposite direction back into the city.

And sure enough, that is exactly what happened. The gun sounded and the herd charged. With no chance to spin and warm-up prior to the race, my cold muscles ached and screamed as we surged up onto the ramp and out of the city. At some point before we turned onto the M3 a flying peloton passed us going the other way. Hard to tell whether it was the Elite's or one of the top seeded groups, but they were seriously shifting. We weren't traveling nearly so fast, but I've still never crested out at Wynberg ready for the run down towards Tokai with my Garmin showing such a high average speed - I think it was still clocking 25kmh or maybe 28kmh. That's not especially fast by most standards, but it's pretty decent for me - more than enough to broaden my stupid grin even further. This was fun - I was thoroughly enjoying the freedom to ride as fast as I liked with no concerns about pacing myself for later.

The rest of the ride was taken in a similar spirit - short of breath, legs spinning furiously and loving every minute of it. At the end of the run down the M3, rather than swinging left to Muizenberg we turned right and looped around onto the other carriageway of the freeway back towards the city. I started out drafting a couple of Tandems, but as the hill started to pick up they slowed. I found myself pulling solo and pulling hard. I wasn't solo for long though, clearly my 40+km/h pace was attractive to riders around me and within meters I found I'd acquired a drafting train of my own.

My speed dropped as we climbed up the back side of Wynberg hill, in fact to quite a crawl at one stage but luckily it was a short stretch. I'd lost my start group early but was trying my best to keep up with every 3C numbered jersey I could see around me. I had no idea whether I was mid-group, or had slipped down to the tail. Anyhow, it didn't matter. Soon enough we rejoined the N2 at De Waal drive and were greeted with the stunning views out over Cape Town, the harbour, and Table Bay beyond. I've seen it dozens of time from a car, but never by bike. It was a special moment, but all too brief. With bikes all around, speeds rapidly picking up speed to the 60s and above on the down slope, and swirling winds pushing and dragging us all over the highway there was no time for sightseeing. Utmost concentration was required to hold a line as we raced back into town.

The best was yet to come - charging headlong through closed off streets, buildings rising all around, leaning over hard left and right as the route swung around city blocks eventually ejecting us onto the elevated freeway back towards the finish at Green Point stadium. In one smooth movement, our bunch compressed together to navigate a roundabout, and fanned out again just as rapidly before a final dash to the line. In a blur of wheels and pedals, it was all over. My Garmin was reading 1:30 as we crossed the line - pleasingly my official time shaved a few seconds off that to take me under the one and a half hour mark (1:29:56). Not bad for a slow paced long distance rider.

My 8th Argus may have been the shortest, but it was also quite possibly one of the most fun. I've heard a number of people question whether the ride organizers did the right thing rather than cancel the event outright. For myself, there was no doubt. This year's Argus will live in my memory for many years come.

What a difference a year makes

2015-03-07T20:33:00.000+02:00

Driving out of the car park after Ben's first Junior Argus last year he was adamant that he didn't want to ride the next one with Daddy.

"I'll be too scared to do the yellow one - can't Mummy run with me next year too"

In a way, he turned out to be right. We weren't riding in the yelllow (2.5km) group. After he and his friend Munro had spent an entire weekend charging around on their bikes, we'd made a last minute decision to change to the orange (5km) group instead.

I guess it must be pretty obvious what a massive day this was for me - Dad's first bike ride with his 6 year-old son. And in truth, I fear my writing skills will come up short in trying to express all I was feeling on the day. So I'm going to let the pictures Yoli and ActionPhoto took do most of the talking, with only occasional commentary interspersed from myself.

First off the essential pre-ride fueling - a nice big sugar boost from every kid's favourite on hot day - iced lollies. One of the few purchases I'd made at the Argus Expo during the week previous was Ben's first proper cycle shirt, courtesy of Rapid Sports. Needless to say, the Spiderman theme proved a popular choice. And what every cycling jersey needs - some jelly babes in the pockets in case a mid-ride energy boost is needed.

With tummies stoked and pockets stuffed it was time to leave the cool shade of the trees and sweat for a while in the steadily building heat if the day whilst waiting for the start.

I'm used to nerves in the chute, but this time they were for Ben rather than myself. Surrounded by young kids struggling to aim their bikes in any specific direction it was clear that the start was going to be something of a melee. The potential for a pile-up to mar his ride was worrying, but thankfully unfounded. Holding back a bit to allow the throng to untangle Ben managed to pilot us both through the masses with confidence and determination. We were underway, side by side on our first ever cycling event together. Just writing that brings a lump to my throat even now.

Five kilometres seemed a ridiculously short distance but watching Ben's legs spinning rapidly, I realised how much longer it would seem when measured out in turns of his 16" wheels as opposed to my 27.5" ones. He seemed undaunted though, passing up the opportunity to stop at both drinks tables on the first lap.

"We'll stop for a little drink on the 2nd lap Daddy"

And sure enough we did just that - a pink soda of some kind in his case, and for me a sip from my water bottle. We were already almost half way into the 2nd lap and I'd rather have stayed a bit longer but Ben had other plans. He was fixed now on reaching that finish line.

On our 2nd approach to the final corner, we guided our way across to the left lane and under the finish arch. It was all over way too soon for me, but I could also see how tired Ben was.

"3 laps next year Daddy" he said to me as we wheeled through to the tables for his goodie bag and medal. It cannot come soon enough for me.

Qualified

2015-02-21T03:00:00.000+02:00

Once again, I find myself re-hashing the official AudaxSA ride report, but on this occasion it does give a somewhat more descriptive account than usual.

I was jumpy and on edge as we gathered for this year's Cape 300km ride. It's not the longest or toughest of the local brevets, and we completed last year's edition with relative ease despite mechanicals and a relaxed social pace. But the nerves that often plague me ahead of important races and events were back with a vengeance. The ride wasn't the problem, it was the significance - successful completion would mean I had all the qualifiers needed to enter for PBP. It's not quite the same as an actual confirmed entry for the big event, but it's only one step removed from that.

At least I was kept busy before the start - our field of riders had grown yet further from the January brevet. It was a little surprising to see the ride so popular. A 200km in January makes sense - just after the Christmas break it's a good way to get training again and the distance is not such a big stretch for regular riders. But a 300km ride just two weeks before the Argus (now the Cape Town Cycle Tour) seemed like a recipe to deter potential entrants. But here we were, with 25 riders and I was more than a little disorganized getting them all signed in, explaining brevet cards to the newcomers, and also handing out medals from past rides.

The brevet itself was a tale played out in three acts. The scene for the first of those being set just before dawn, as most of us were descending Franschhoek pass. Despite Henri's convincing re-assurances that we’d been looking at the wrong weather forecast, clouds rolled across the mountains and rain fell. A light drizzle at first, growing quickly into a full blown downpour. The route down the pass towards Theewaterskloof is usually a fast, fun, occasionally chilly blast down to the dam. In the dark though, on wet roads, it was a rather different experience. Brakes squealed ahead and behind as riders picked cautious lines through the snaking, slippery bends at speeds considerably below the norm. One rider even commented on Facebook later that he'd actually got off and walked for about 100m downhill, the visibility was that bad.

Randonneurs around the globe would have instantly recognised the scene a little way beyond at the first control - the Shell garage in Villiersdorp. Bikes propped up all over the place with groups of riders huddled around, a little cold, a little damp, but still smiling and chatting, with vending machine coffees in hand which were considerably better than their R8 price suggested. Or maybe, it was just that they were warm and contained at least trace amounts of caffeine. Fortunately, departing the control also saw the end of the opening act. As the road turned downwards towards Worcester, so the clouds started to lift upwards. Patches of blue began to appear overhead, allowing shafts of sunlight through to pick out the sublime landscape of mountains, fynbos, and farms along the valley. The bad weather was past, puddles along the road were drying out, and act two could begin - riders enjoying a glorious late summer's day to be out on a bike.

The pre-ride briefing offered the option to use Die Eike at the start of Slanghoek valley as an alternative control to Rawsonville - it being just a couple of kilometres further along the road. As the tail group pulled in, it was apparent this had proven a popular suggestion. Close on half the field were there, and whilst the service was a bit on the slow side - the coffee was strong, and the breakfasts seemed to be hitting the spot. Once water bottles and bellies had been filled, it was time to set out and savour the most scenic section of the ride - Slanghoek valley, leading to Bainskloof pass beyond. In a valley which faces predominantly North, with a wind that was supposedly from just East of South, it was surprising to meet occasional blasts of headwind along the way. It was tempting to hope the forecasts had been wrong, and there would be no battle with the wind later on in the day. It didn't seem especially likely though, the tightly packed surrounding peaks appeared to be a more plausible cause of the shifting wind direction.

Sad to report, but the road surface on Bainskloof is not improving - already rough and potholed, there are now a few places where the steeper edges are clearly starting to break up. The roadside of the lower section had also been booby-trapped with Duwweltjies - resulting in a second puncture of the day for the tail group. None of this detracted from the dramatic beauty of the pass though, especially for those in the field seeing it at cycling speed for the first time. The climb itself isn't steep or difficult, but it's surprisingly long. In fact it's a perfect test for rider's Audax credentials: the ability to maintain a steady pace and strong resolve. As the last riders came into the 3rd control at the Shell Garage in Wellington it was clear that everyone had passed the test.

One rider's machine though was faring somewhat less well - after two punctures, Hendrik's rear freehub was now protesting loudly. With a predominantly downwind leg of 40km to the next control, it was a cruel blow - instead of being able to enjoy some fast and easy freewheeling, he had to keep pedalling for the entire leg to prevent the chain fouling. He was riding probably the only 10 speed fixed gear bike in the Cape. The tail group hatched several plans to remedy the fault though - the first of those being a liberal lube at the next control. A very attractive plan as it transpired, since Riebeek West offered up a very friendly roadside pub at which riders could also lube up with some beers whilst the repairs took place. Luckily there was no need for plan B - rolling out of the control back towards Riebeek Kasteel the squeals and chain lock-up were gone, replaced by a re-assuring hum.

On the short stretch to the next control, it was clear that the pleasant easy cycling would soon be coming to an end - act two was drawing to its close. The weather was back, only this time in the form every cyclist dreads, strong headwinds. It wasn't much of a problem over the short distance to the final control in Malmesbury, but it was clear that the final 50km home would be a much tougher task. After a brief respite enjoying cappuccinos in the Wimpy, it was time for the tail group of riders to go out and battle the beast. Every cyclist knows the most important word in that last sentence under such conditions - "group". The wind was truly brutal, easily the worst most of us had experienced since the Cape of Storms Argus in 2009. Progress was painfully slow, but luckily the group had several riders still feeling fairly strong who could alternate places at the front and break-up the workload a little.

The tail group of 6 riders soon became 7 as we picked up Markus a little way outside Malmesbury. He'd left the Wimpy ahead of us, but had clearly decided the combination of wind and uphill was too much to slog through alone and was trudging along beside his bike. The group slowed, gave him time to latch on and gather his breath, and pressed on - although it wouldn't be fair to say we sped up much, such was the force of the wind. It was clear this was going to be a low, slow grind to the end. With about 27km to go one rider (me) was beginning to lose good humour, and called for a brief stop. We stood exposed with wind ripping across the fields, joking and swearing about the conditions. At least one bike was picked up and nearly tossed into the field alongside the road, but after a few minutes respite we mounted up again and slogged on. A few kilometres further our group swelled to 8 - Nico had got so fed-up battling the last 70km solo, he'd stopped and waited for us. We'd hoped the wind might drop when the sun finally dipped below the golden fields of wheat to our right, but it didn't, at least not immediately. We did at least hit some smooth tar though, a joy to sore hands and behinds. Eventually, as the final landmarks came into view over the last few kilometres the wind did drop in force slightly. It had blown its worst, battered our riders, but none were broken as they closed out what was for most the toughest 50km they had ever ridden. The previous 250km now just a distant memory of pleasant and easy cycling.

At least there was no sense of anti-climax to the ride. The last 50km may have been one of the most brutal stretches of any of our brevets, the 600 included, but there was simply no way I was going to cave or mess it up with all that completing it meant. My resolve and determination had not wavered for a second as we battled it out - and the relief at the end as we swung into the Vrede entrance was enormous. It was also the last qualifier Nico needed - I forget our exact words, but remember riding up the drive exchanging congratulations. The last big task is to actually secure that place when pre-registration opens on May 10th. With cycling popularity at an all time high, it's far from certain - going to be a nervous time until my ride place is actually booked.

With thanks to Andre Steyn for the use of his photos.

ToS 2015

2015-01-24T19:15:00.000+02:00

Seems that in all the Audax activity, I totally forgot to make any mention of this year's Tour of Sufferlandria. The formula was pretty much identical to the past two years - 9 stages over 9 days. As before, I opted to participate using Trainer Road to keep me honest and track my progress through the tour.

Whilst there may have been little new in the format, the stages were quite different. First off were a series of new videos:

Elements of Style
Nine Hammers
Angels (I opted to upgrade to the new 2015 edition)
The Rookie
Half is Easy

I had added most of these to my library already when released, but had yet to ride any of them. As a creature of habit, it's easy to get stuck riding old favourites rather than experimenting with new videos especially when pressed for time. So the 2015 tour presented a perfect opportunity to give them a try.

Another obvious difference was the tour start - no FTP test this year to establish the required level of punishment. Following that was what seemed like a very untypical series of straightforward stages with just 1 video per day. The sequence of Nine Hammers, Local Hero, and The Rookie did however present plenty of tough riding. The real sting was in the tail though, or close to the tail at least. The queen stage on day 8 involved 3 sprint videos totaling 2 hrs and 25 minutes of high intensity suffering. It was no less brutal in practice than it looked on paper. After 7 days straight of training, it was a real slog. I started with the goal to try and get through at least the first one or two videos at 100%, with some leeway to ease up on the third if needed. In the end, I was foolishly pleased with myself at surviving the whole set without lowering the bar.

Luckily, after the 8th day beating I had two days of camping before tackling Stage 8. The 50 hour time window allowed me to do Stage 8 at lunchtime on Friday, and complete Stage 9 when home on Sunday evening. It was definitely a kinder option on the body, but it was not an easy option for the mind. After a relaxing weekend kicking back with family, drinking beers, and generally not doing much it was a battle to get back on the trainer again to finish the tour. To be honest, I almost didn't. I don't recall what motivated me - possibly just plain stubbornness wanting to finish what I started.

Anyhow, I climbed back on the trainer and span it out. It was sweaty, grueling, and I fell short of the power targets on a couple of sprints. But overall, it was a decent effort and I was happy to have completed my 3rd straight tour. The real benefit, as I discovered in previous years, doesn't appear immediately but comes out gradually over the next few weeks. With some recovery and easier rides to rest the body, the legs bounce back stronger and faster than ever. It's too early to say whether I'll do next year's tour, but in all probability I will. In the end, they're a fun way of pushing one's limits at just the right time of year.

Shortest of the qualifiers

2015-01-17T19:48:00.000+02:00

I'm cheating again somewhat by recycling the report I wrote for Audax SA on the Cape BRM 200km. I'm already 2 blog entries behind, and this weekend is both the Junior Argus and the main Argus rides (more on that later). So some shortcuts are needed to avoid falling even further behind by next Rather than just regurgitating the official account though, I'll start with some thoughts and observations of my own.

The 6am start was quite a luxury for a change, albeit not one which was universally liked by all of the riders. Some would have preferred to be underway earlier and finish before the full heat of the day. Planning and agreeing the PBP qualifier routes took a fair amount of effort to get right. Having successfully ridden each of them in the 2014 series the smart decision was to stick to the same routes for the 2015 rides.

Starting out felt a little odd. Having ridden the toughest qualifying distances, here we were heading out on a ride marginally shorter than my first DC - a milestone ride which kicked my long distance cycling into gear more than two years ago. It was easy to be complacent, and we did set off at a cracking pace. Even with a puncture, we were at the first control not that long after it's official opening time. The pace backed off a little on to Darling, especially towards the end of the leg where my energy levels started to flag. In spite of that, even as far as the third control at Malmesbury on the way back, we were still making rapid progress. Here though, in hindsight I made a fuelling error. Rather than stoking up again, I figured the big meal we'd eaten in Darling would be fine and just opted for a ice cream and a Coke, some sipped and some in my bidon.

I pulled strongly out of Malmesbury, but with around 30km still to go the tank ran dry and the legs started to cramp. I suspect in fact it wasn't so much a lack of food, but the wrong fuel at the last control. I was on the downside of a nasty sugar spike, rather than actually running low on fuel. Either way, I limped along the last section with Peter kindly keeping me company. Both Theunis and Hendrik were still feeling strong and finished about 10 mins ahead of me. It was an enjoyable ride though, and yet another valuable lesson in the value of eating proper food, and getting ride pacing right. The 200km may be the shortest of all qualifiers - but it's still an endurance ride, and more than capable of kicking you in the cycling pants if you underestimate it.

WC200 Report 17-Jan

WC 200km BRM, Stellenbosch
Paris-Brest-Paris 2015 qualifier
17 January 2015, 06:00
by Rob Walker

The 2015 Cape Audax events kicked off with the shortest of the SR Series rides, a 200km brevet. It seems word is slowly spreading about the local long distance events, with the largest field to date of 17 riders gathering at Vrede Wines for the 6am start.

Routing and timings were kept the same as those for the 2014 event, the only change being removal of the unnecessary outbound Malmesbury control. The later than usual start of 6am was set based on the opening time of the first control, the Du Vlei farm stall in Hermon. And a most welcoming oasis it provided as the initial stop for riders – providing not just excellent coffee and food, but even a handsome official stamp together with signature to grace brevet cards.

With the potential for hot and windy conditions developing during the day, riders opted to bypass a lengthy breakfast stop in favour of a quick cup of coffee and refuel, and an early depart for the next control. With no need to stop in Malmesbury, faster groups of riders reached Darling by mid-morning. As they returned along the R315, greetings and banter were exchanged with later riders still on their way out to the control. By lunchtime, all riders had made it to the Darling control, some choosing to stop for generous portions of burgers and chips at Café Mosaic next to the official Spa shop control in town. Sadly none had time to visit SA icon, Evita se Peron, before turning back toward Malmesbury.

Malmesbury Engen was the third stop, familiar now to riders as a control on 3 of the brevets. It seems our arrival is starting to become known to the staff too. Their reception was cheerful and helpful – providing receipts and signing cards, even though most opted this time not to stop in at the Wimpy for coffee and food as has become something of a custom on the longer rides.

What can be said about the section from Malmesbury back to Vrede? For some reason this leg appears on 3 of the 4 rides despite being – to borrow Chris van Zyl’s words – “one of his least favourite stretches of road in The Cape”. Unfortunately, it is a prime link back to Vrede for any route northward. On the 200, this was where the price was paid for the 6am start, with most riders tackling this last 48km in the worst of the heat and a rather stiff headwind. Tail end riders on the longer brevets tend to navigate these last few Km in cooler and less windy conditions around dusk.

In spite of the heat and wind, all 17 riders finished inside the 13 hour 20 minute cut-off – with times being spread out across almost the whole window of opening to closing time of the Arrivée control. The fastest riders were home almost too early for the control opening, and the final rider rolled home around half an hour inside the closing time.

The distance of dreams

2015-01-01T12:38:00.000+02:00

Three year's ago the madness started. Despite knowing almost nothing about Audaxing, or long distance cycling for that matter, the thought stuck in my head that I wanted to take part in Paris-Brest-Paris - the world's oldest organised bike ride. At a distance of 13 times further than I'd ever ridden, it was a preposterous idea really. As the clock ticked past midnight and 2015 rolled in, we are officially in a PBP year - the once distant dream is now just 7 month's and 16 days away.

Of course I don't have an actual place reserved yet, and with interest in Audaxing growing rapidly around the world, there's no guarantee I'll manage to bag one of the 6,500 available places. I'd feel a lot more comfortable to have that Joburg 600km pre-qualifier on my side. Maybe the difference between being able to register on May 3rd rather than May 10th won't be significant, but it's a shame to take that chance. At least in the failure, a lot of valuable lessons were learned. They've come back to me many times on the Cape Audax rides of the last few months - in fact pretty much every time I've felt the urge to push the pace harder than I knew was wise. The simple fact of knowing that I have the strength and endurance to complete the longer distances well within the cutoff time as long as I stick resolutely to my own pace has been an enormous boost to morale.

Even with the added week before being able to register, dropping back to a 400km brevet for the pre-qualifier was a good call I think. I have Yoli to thank for that moment of clarity. Successive failures on 600km rides within the course of a couple of months could have been a disastrous setback to confidence. Whereas completing the shorter distance comfortably within the cut-off time restored a great deal of self belief. There was more to the ride than simply getting my pre-qualifier too. In a year of many great rides, the Asparagus & Strawberries 400km can hold it's own as a wonderfully memorable event and one that I would definitely ride again given the chance. At times, especially in the early and late stages, it was rather more challenging than I had imagined. But ridden at my own steady pace throughout, it restored faith in my ability to endure and prevail at the tougher end of randonneuring. The long, largely solo dusk 'til dawn leg is still vividly imprinted in my mind: the hooting of owls and haunting call of a nightjar in the cold, damp woodlands of Thetford Chase; and the slightly surreal vision of the enormous, brightly lit, but somehow ghostly Lakenheath air-force base in the middle of the night.

2014 wasn't totally about getting in shape for PBP - OK, that's a lie, it was actually all about PBP. But at least it also provided an excuse to head off the tar and back onto the trails. It's both odd and wonderful how everything is inter-connected, and Trans-Baviaans is a perfect example. The basic idea in riding it was a way of staying fit through winter, and at the same time not becoming bored and burnt out from endlessly riding the same routes on road. But the inspiration had come several years before from my brother-in-law Hendri. His descriptions of this mega offroad marathon had put Trans-Baviaans on my bucket list. Left gasping at the top Pausing of even relatively tame climbs, I was rather awestruck at how anyone could tackle such a monster. And here's where the interconnections start to happen. Hendri is mountain biking again after many years away from the trails. He is doing so on my old Specialized Stumpjumper, which I only decided to sell because I had bought the Giant Anthem as a more appropriate machine for riding long distance offroad events. And the guy who sold me the Stumpy, Eugene, who I have hardly seen since I bought it, suddenly resurfaced to join us on the recent 600km Cape Audax. Take away any of those connections, and I might not have been lining up to ride Trans-Baviaans last August, and Hendri may not have rediscovered his love of mountain biking. The most beautiful part is how the bikes themselves fit too. I'm no downhill flyer, so the Stumpy's long travel forks and aggressive geometry were never really a match for me even though I enjoyed the setup. They suit Hendri's riding style and preferences perfectly though, whereas the Anthem is a mile-eating monster, perfect for my love of marathon distances. By the oddest of paths, we both ended up with the right bike in the end.

One aspect of qualifying for PBP which I'd always assumed was that there would be a Cape Audax series for local riders hoping to qualify. I'd read enough reports to know this had been the case for past PBP editions back at least as far as 1999 and possibly earlier. What I didn't expect was to end up quite so much in the thick of actually organizing the required 200km, 300km, 400km and 600km rides. Not that it's been a chore - in fact quite the reverse. Working over route ideas and understanding how to take them from ideas to actual events has been a lot of fun. Luckily we've had great support from our country co-ordinator, Eddie Thomlinson, in terms of what is both necessary and acceptable for a brevet to qualify as a BRM event. With his help, the small team of us locally have managed to pull off a complete Cape SR series for 2014 - although Nico stands alone in completing all 4 events as a rider. It's perhaps fitting the Nico should be our sole All Cape Super Randonneur too - since he's provided so much support for each of the rides, hosting the start and finish at his family's farm, and providing accomodation for us mid-way through the 600km brevet. Missing one of the rides was unavoidable for me, but I did at least manage to achieve my first Super Randonneur Series courtesy of the UK 400km.

In theory most of the hard work of the 2015 SR Series should be done, aside from the not-so-minor task of actually completing the rides. With the 400km and 600km already done, I'll need a further 2 of the remaining 4 events to complete the qualifying set needed for PBP. Obviously the ideal would be to achieve this with the 200km in January and 300km in February, but there are at least additional options beyond these in case of mishaps. Nothing is ever certain in Randonneuring, and one should never really plan further down the road than the next control, so I certainly won't be taking them for granted, or making the mistake I did in March of 2014 and under-estimating them. There's still a couple of extra incentives too - if I can complete 3 of the Cape brevets plus PBP, that would also equate to a Super Randonneur set for 2015. And I have a confirmed entry place for the 36One mountain bike event on 17th April. I'll only be able to use this if I don't have to take part in the 600km brevet the following weekend to make up for a missed or failed qualifier. I would of course give up the 36One place if necessary to keep the PBP dream alive, but I'd rather not. Trans-Baviaans used to lay claim to being the longest single stage mountain bike event in Sotth Africa. There's a narrow window before The Munga gets going where the 36One now holds that honour. It would be nice to take part and complete it whilst it is still the longest. Plus it will give the Anthem and I another healthy dose of off-road endurance riding.

The first few months of the year should prove interesting and challenging from a training perspective too. On the last few rides of 2014 I was already starting to feel the benefits of Erica's grand plan - strength from the hill intervals gradually beginning to translate into speed on everyday rides. My moving average for the last solo 50km ride of the year was just shy of 25km/h, the last third of which was into a significant headwind. That's not a speed which will win me any races, but it is significantly quicker than I was before and a welcome step towards the kind of fitness and preparation I'm aiming at for PBP and beyond.At some point during this year's blog entries I'm going to have to start to discuss what that 'beyond' represents - a dim and flickering, dream which is every bit as ludicrous and beyond my abilities as PBP was three years ago. It's just as firmly stuck in my brain though and until something shows me it's impossible, I suspect it's unlikely to budge unless I act on it.

For now, I'm not going to stray into such thoughts and plans further down the road than completing the dream that kicked off the whole endurance cycling obsession. I will be in Paris in August, and hopefully I'll be there for PBP. I do have an awesome fallback plan, and that will be to go to Euro Disney with Ben and Yoli instead. Having seen Ben wide eyed at the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park over the Christmas holidays, I can honestly say it's not a bad consolation prize. It wouldn't be what I'd hoped, trained and planned for of course, but you can't take anything for granted in cycling, you have to hope for the best and just keep pedaling.

Tip of Africa 600

2014-12-06T17:14:00.000+02:00

Writing multiple pieces on our Cape Audax rides is becoming a bit of a habit. Yet again I find myself updating the blog after already creating reports for the Audax SA web site and my club newsletter. The latter is copied in below at the foot of this entry, and the former can be found here.

There's really not many factual aspects of the ride that aren't covered pretty thoroughly across these two pieces. But they do fall short in terms of this blog - being semi-official accounts for other purposes, neither really capture my feelings or experiences of the 600. That's a gap which I'll attempt to address now, hopefully without repeating too much of what's already been said.

For what may be the first time ever, I found myself not needing to sneak around the house at 2:50am when the alarm woke me. I could bang and crash around as much as I liked because Yoli and Ben had already gone away for the weekend - in fact that was part of the ride plan. We'd rented a beach house in Onrus for Yoli and her parents that I would be aiming to reach for my sleep stop. At 473km into the ride, it was an extremely bold plan. In perfect conditions it was a tough but marginally possible target. But with the strong winds forecast for the day it was already looking on the foolish side of bravery.

I was also a little worried for Theunis too. Having not exactly discouraged him from having a crack at the 600km, it wouldn't really very good form to drop him and push on hard. As it transpired though, that problem never even remotely arose. The first point we found ourselves trailing behind the main group was climbing Bains Kloof, and it was entirely down to me not Theunis. We left the Wellington control as a group, but within meters of pulling away from Peter Muller's car my rear wheel punctured. If there is such a thing as a good time for a puncture then it's at a control. But even with access to tools and a workshop pump the delay put us 10 or 15 minutes behind.

We made reasonable pace up the pass though, and a very decent speed through Slanghoek. By the time we reached Peter's 2nd roadside control we'd caught up most of the riders again, aside from Chris and Derek who were charging along up front. Emmie, Thys and Gerritt were kitting up and pulling out pretty much as we pulled in. We drank coffee, ate, and regathered ourselves with the rest of the guys before rolling out. From Rawsonville the wind and heat steadily picked up. As we turned right onto the R60, I could see my water bottles would need a refill before McGregor. I suggested to Theunis we quickly stop at the padstal just up ahead, and we both grabbed a quick coke and some cold water. What was left after filling both bidons went over my bandana and sun sleeves.

We were back on the road a few minutes later, and riding with ice cold arms and head made for a wonderfully comfortable next next few kilometers. Finally I seem to be learning how to manage heat without fading. The headwind was more troublesome, and yet again it was me rather than Theunis holding us back - at least a couple of times leading up to the last climb over to Robertson I fell off the pace. We caught up with Nico and Eugene just before the start of the town, but they chose to stop for lunch whereas Theunis and I pushed on to McGregor before eating. I'd expected to see the guys who were ahead coming back past us as we slogged our way into the heat and the wind, but they were only just leaving the control as we reached the town and pulled over for food. Peter's stint as safety driver was done at this point - needing to get back to his family for the weekend. He stayed and ate with us though before we all rolled out again.

This was perhaps the one control where we lingered a shade longer than we should have, but my glutes needed a rest. They'd been bothering me most of the morning. After a quick phone call with my coach Erica, we decided that lowering my saddle a couple of millimeters was worth a try. Whether the effect was real or in my head, it worked a charm and the problem never re-appeared. Sadly the wind was not so easily fixed - and as we turned right back in Robertson again, the rest of the leg to Bonnievale was spent battling. It had a leveling effect on all of our speeds too, we caught Nico and Eugene up front, and soon after, Daniel and Gerhard caught up with us. We rode into the Bonnievale as one group of six. All of us having ate lunch already at various places, we opted for the Spa in the middle of town for a quick control stop. A typical supermarket Audax stop - water, snacks, energy drinks or cokes. And on our way again. Sadly my prediction that we'd have a crosswind for the next stretch proved hopelessly wrong.

Once past the Stop/Go section around 10km out of town a pattern developed which would be painfully repeated for the next 65km to Bredasdorp - big rolling hill ahead, dropping to low gear and crawling up at a snail's pace fighting both slope and headwind, followed by too short a descent, and then the pattern repeated. Again, and again and again. It was uncomfortably the slowest and toughest 74km I have spent on a bike ride of any kind. I lost count of how many short breather stops we took at the top of the many rollers - it was at least 3 or 4 though. On one of these I was seriously flagging and needed most of a bottle of coke and a whole Pronutro bar to get some energy back in my legs.

Theunis too found his energy reserves exhausted over the last 10km into Bredasdorp. We were now already past the 8pm to 9pm arrival I had hoped we'd arrive in Aghulas. Audaxing is all about adapting or throwing out plans depending on what a ride throws at you, and that was clearly needed now. Neither of us could realistically push on another 40km without taking fuel on board, so instead of making for a bowl of pasta at the accommodation in Aghulas we opted for a dinner stop in Bredasdorp. A Spur served up just what was needed in the form of burgers, chips, and multiple coffees. Henri Meier tried to refuse us paying for his food, just as Peter had done earlier in McGregor. But we insisted - it was a completely inadequate token of gratitude for them driving safety for us, but at least it was something.

It was getting chilly as we headed out of the restaurant for the last short stretch to the tip of the continent. We may have looked odd as we stuffed newspapers under our cycle jerseys as we kitted up, but in the absence of a gilet it was a surprisingly effective substitute. No wonder Tour riders are often seen grabbing a paper from the crowd at the top of a climb to ward off the cold of a fast descent - it works! Compared to the previous section we were now fairly flying along - I took a rare glance at the stats on my Garmin a couple of times as we rode through the darkness. Our average speed was picking up again, now around 16.5km from what I recall. It wasn't great, but at least we'd be at the control before midnight.

Along one part of this long straight road my lights kept picking up pairs of little twinkling diamonds in the road - they were the eyes of frogs, hundreds of which were sitting or hopping in the road. It was rather hard to avoid running them over in places. Somewhere further on we saw an equally strange sight - coming towards us were what were clearly bike lights. My brain was obviously foggy by now from the day's exertions because they were alongside us before I could make sense of who on earth would be out riding at this time of night. It was of course our fellow Randonneurs - Emmie, Thys and Gerrit were making back up to Bredasdorp for their sleep stop.

Despite the late hour and my desire for a rest I was rather sad when we finally saw the lights of Struisbaai ahead - this had been a wonderfully serene and peaceful stretch in stark contrast to what had preceded it. I know I've often commented on how much I love the night time riding of Audaxes, and this leg was up there with the best of them. We'd been concerned over the narrowness of this piece of road when planning the route, but in the dark quiet night it had been simply delightful.

I was beginning to fret somewhat about how we would find the house at Stormsee - the flash of the Aghulas lighthouse grew closer and closer before I remembered I'd had the foresight to stick a Waypoint for it on my Garmin. We were scouting around the complex and car park when a door opened and a friendly face peeked out - clearly we'd not been nearly as quiet as intended. It turned out there was no need to worry anyway. All of the riders who had arrived ahead of us were still awake, variously showering, chatting, eating pasta, drinking beer, and generally relaxing. Nico, Eugen, Thys and Gerrit hadn't been far ahead of us on the road, so it perhaps wasn't surprising they were still up. Derek on the other hand had arrived 7 hours earlier - in fact he and Chris had been the only riders to get there in daylight and manage a selfie at the lighthouse as proof of passage. It was very sociable of him but I did wonder if he'd regret passing up the chance of all that sleep.

The pasta Nico's wife Valerida and her sister laid on for us was tasty, filling, and with perfect with a beer in hand. Daniel to my left looked seriously shell shocked - in fairness though, I suspect most of us did. I couldn't help noticing that Theunis passed up both food and beer, opting just for a couch and a coffee. It was a worrying sight. We'd stoked up pretty well in Bredasdorp, but I doubted it was enough to do more than fill the hole we had dug in our energy reserves. A small part of me was still considering sticking to my plan and pushing on to Onrus before sleeping - but by now it was a very small part of me. It would be a minimum of 7 hours more cycling, alone, through the night. And by the time I arrived there, it would be daylight and I probably would be beyond sleeping. Reluctantly I abandoned the plan, and accepted Nico and Valerida's kind offer of a towel for a shower, and a spare bed.

I'm not sure any amount of sleep has ever felt as short as the 45 minutes I managed to grab. It felt quite literally as if Valerida was waking us up moments after my eyes I had close. My phone confirmed otherwise though - it was 1am, we'd had our full allotment of sleep. It wasn't nearly enough, but it would have to be. The control close time was 1:41am and I had no desire to put myself behind the clock before we even started the remaining 260km home. I don't think I've ever enjoyed pasta with my breakfast coffee, or will be likely to again, but there in that moment it was just what I needed. Something warm and comforting before braving the dark and the cold. I encouraged Theunis to try some - but he was already on the way to the bathroom to throw up before I even had time to press the issue. The signs were not good, but despite his obvious suffering he kitted up and we wheeled out the front door as the other guys were starting to get themselves ready too.

We had time, and now wind with us, so we meted out a steady but not too taxing pace. Before long, Derek, Eugene and Nico passed us - but on the long straight road back to Bredasdorp, their blinking tail lights continued to be visible up ahead for the whole stretch up to the outskirts of town. In the quiet of the morning, I could sense Theunis gradually recovering strength as we rode along. We pulled into the 24 hour Engen in the middle of town before 4am, well ahead of the control close time. In the fluorescent glare of the garage shop we sat there like so many zombies, stuffing our faces with an assortment of junk snacks and drinks. I got some well deserved flak from Eugene about the toughness of the route so far - but at least from here we'd have the wind behind us most of the way home.

Dawn was just breaking was we rode silently through the town of Napier. We'd already crested a couple of decent sized rolling hills in the 10km or so after Bredasdorp, albeit with much less effort thanks to the helping breeze at our backs. Whether it was tiredness, or actually real, each roller after Napier seemed to get bigger and longer than the last. As the hills stacked up one after another, Theunis confidence that we were looking at the last before the turn to Stanford gradually subsided. To be fair though, as we reached the bottom of the dip beneath a particularly evil looking monster, he did in fact call it correctly - it was big, but it was the last. After the long grind to the top the 4-way stop was clearly visible at the foot of the wonderful snaking downhill ahead.

We stopped a couple of hundred meters after the turn, at the top of a short sharp incline. We sat munching snacks and chatting for a few minutes - but mostly admiring the view. The boundary where rolling Overberg pastures gave way to fynbos clad coastal mountains was below us. And just beyond it was the majestic sweeping rise of the Akkedisberg Pass. It slightly surreal to be feeling eager to get down there and start climbing it after all of the painful hills which had slowed our progress since Bonnievale, but the feeling was there nevertheless. It lay there before us like some heavenly gateway to the coast beyond, and it was begging to be climbed. It didn't disappoint either - the herbal scent of the fynbos hung on the air as we wound up through the stunning scenery.

With a last couple of ramps, the worst of the hills were behind us. We rolled down to Stanford, swung right and headed towards Hermanus. With the wind behind, there was no breeze to deflect the rising heat of the day. It was still somewhere around 8am, and already uncomfortably warm - with no clouds in the sky, it was clearly going to be a scorcher. Without uttering a word, both Theunis and I had exactly the same thought for breakfast. In the middle of Hermanus we swung left and headed for Savannah Cafe. French toast and bacon for both of us, coffees for me, and milkshakes for Theunis. Not only had I missed the overnight stop with my family in Onrus, I was now missing breakfast too - I felt rather guilty. At least I knew that Yoli of all people understood that on a long and tough Audax you must make decisions in the moment to maximise your chances of finishing - and right now, food was that decision.

We at least had a plan to say hello at the Engen in Onrus - or would have, if I had sent the SMS that we were leaving the cafe to the right person. Instead though, I sent it to Nico - yet more evidence of my fatigued mental state. As a result, Theunis and I stood waiting for 10 or so minutes longer than expected until Yoli and Ben drove up the road. It was lovely to see them, but all too brief. We were ahead of the clock, but not by much, and needed to keep pressing on. In theory with the tailwind we should make good time, but the heat could be a factor as we rode into the middle of the day. Daniel joined us whilst we were waiting - it was disappointing to see him alone though. Gerhard had pulled out with a bad stomach. With is own ambitions on PBP, I knew what a bitter blow that must have felt. It served as a reminder that our ride was still far from in the bag.

We pushed on, but were barely out of the garage forecourt before Nico, Eugene and Derek came alongside too. Everyone's differing speeds and breakfast stops and ours had averaged out and we were six on the road again into Kleinmond, about an hour up on the clock. My temptation was to stop briefly and push on, but the guys clearly needed a bit longer, so we sat eating ice creams and chatting. Time was still on our side as we headed out again, but there was that faint ticking of a clock again just as it had been on LEL heading south back into England. I knew I was feeling strong, and Theunis seemed to be in great shape too - we needed to capitalise on that and keep moving.

On the rise up from Pringle Bay we had the joy of some company in the form of Peter, Adele and family - not just keeping an eye on our safety, but also snapping photographs and sharing the odd word of encouragement. It was a great feeling and clear evidence that we were close to home. Not so close to be past all danger though. I did panic somewhat when a badly maintained lavatory door in the Strand Caltex locked itself behind me. Visions of missing the cutoff time trapped in a loo flashed through my mind, fortunately the moment was over quickly as one of the pump attendants came to my aid. More potential trouble surrounded us through Strand itself in the form of some of the most absent minded and downright abysmal driving I've ever seen. It was as if every driver was drunk, had sunstroke, or both. I guess in the end though the fault was our own for trying to ride through one of the most popular sections of Cape seafront in the middle of scorching hot Sunday. What else do you expect but distracted idiots in cars?

It seemed somewhat strange that the final 30km were along roads so familiar to me - quite literally ridden 3 or 4 times a week sometimes. I don't ever remember riding them in such searing heat though. Add to that a severe case of hot-foot and I was seriously uncomfortable. I doubt Theunis was felling any better, but he was definitely somewhat stronger as we pulled out of Stellenbosch with just two remaining hills between us and the final control at the Klapmuts BP Garage. Having never experienced hot-foot before, I had no idea to alleviate it. Fortunately, Henri Meier and his greater experience in cycling matters came to my rescue at the stop. He doused both feet with cold water as I sucked on an ice lolly and downed one final Sterrie Stumpie bottled milkshake. Those last 10km were the first time I dared to allow myself to believe - with my previous 600km ending in a DNF, I just hadn't dared to jynx this ride.

Somewhere before the final left turn back to Vrede, Nico swung across from the other side of the road. They had opted for the longer but flatter route past Vrede to Klapmuts. He was concerned for Daniel and Derek, both now seriously suffering from lack of sleep and in danger of nodding off at the wheel. We discussed what was legal in the way of assisting them, Nico opted to ride alongside to keep them awake, with Henri available on the motorbike a far enough distance behind to not be actually helping, but still be available in case of emergency. My concern was for Nico - it was a generous and selfless act, but one which could cause him to miss the cutoff himself.

Luckily that didn't transpire. Theunis rolled in at 38 hours 43 minutes, myself at 38 hours 50 minutes, and Nico, Derek, Daniel and Eugene at just over 39 hours. All of us safely inside the 40 hour time window. The toughest of the PBP qualifiers safely negotiated, my first Super Randonneur Series, and the ghost of that Joburg 600 finally banished. Oh, and my dreams of riding the 36One in April still alive.

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600km, are you mad?

Sane individuals do not decide on a Thursday that they will enter a ride in two days’ time which is triple their previous longest distance (202km). Normally at the very least, their friends would talk them out of it. Sadly in this case fellow Wannabee, Theunis Esterhuizen, had asked exactly the wrong person for advice on whether he should ride i.e. me! As someone whose sanity when it comes to cycling has often been questioned, I of course encouraged him to come across to the dark side.

And dark side it was at 3am Saturday morning, as 11 hardly individuals gathered to tackle the distance, in spite of a not exactly inviting weather forecast for the weekend. Two of the riders had travelled down from Gauteng for the event – both looking to notch it up as a qualifier for Paris-Brest-Paris in 2015. We also had a larger than normal send-off committee too, with some riders’ family joining at the start, Peter Müller as safety driver for the morning, and Wannabee club-mate Hendrik Vermaak– who had pitched up at this unearthly hour to wish us all a good ride.

The cutoff time for a 600km Audax is 40 hours. Under normal conditions this is plenty of time for a leisurely ride, a few enjoyable food and drink stops, and 4 or 5 hours sleep somewhere around halfway. With the first blasts of a strong East-South-Easter already slowing our progress up Bains Kloof it was clear that may not be the case today. Theunis had not just picked the wrong person to ask advice about tackling the ride, he'd also picked completely the wrong 600km for his first Audax experience. At least he wasn't alone - two other brave madmen had also picked this to be their first long distance adventure, one who had clearly lost all sense and was riding a full suspension MTB with knobbly tyres.

Even with wind, we made good progress into the 3rd control point at McGregor, around 180km into the ride. And despite Eskom's best efforts, the cafe our safety driver had pulled up at managed to feed and water us with a superb cold platter and iced coffees. For a further 20km back to Robertson we continued to make good pace, helped by the slight downhill gradient, but then things changed. The roundabout at the end of town will be familiar to every recent DC rider, and it marked two significant milestones on our ride too. It was the point at which Theunis crossed into the unknown - every meter beyond that point marked his longest ride to-date. Rather less exciting was that it was also where we swung into both the heat of the day, and the full force of the headwind. From here on, as we slogged along the beautiful lane flanked with flowers and vineyards, our progress became markedly slower and tougher. Part way down this stretch a few of us hopped under lawn sprinklers to douse of the worst of the searing heat.

The 4th control point at Bonnievale was around 228km into the ride, and the last stop for food and water this side of the 5th control at Bredasdorp. Peter Nolan had kindly checked the Stormsvlei road conditions for us as far as the N2, but we'd omitted to ask him quite how lumpy this stretch was. Into a full headwind, the rolling hills were punishing. But they were nothing compared to what awaited us the other side of the N2. The sign indicating 50km to Bredasdorp was handily sited in the bottom of one of these monstrous rollers, with nothing but rising tar ahead. It would have been enough to break the spirit of even the hardiest of Randonneurs, so quite how Theunis managed to keep pushing on in spite of the harsh conditions was remarkable. We both had low spots on this section, but luckily they didn't coincide. Mine came first, and was fixed with a double sugar hit of Coke and Pronutro Bar. Theunis' came towards the end of the stretch. He was clearly short of fuel so we opted to pull into Bredasdorp Spur for huge plates of food and multiple coffees and milkshakes. We bade goodbye here to Henri Meier at this point too – he had kindly come out on his BMW motorbike to ride safety for us on this long and lonely section.

The worst was over for the first leg - we were 300km into the ride, with a flat 40km to go until the 6th control at Aghulas, and some very welcome time off the bikes. It was around 11:30pm when we pulled into the control, a wonderful beach house in the Stormsee complex, kindly laid on by one of our other riders, Nico Coetzee and his family. Not just a bed, but also showers, pasta, beer, and coffee. There's very little more a Randonneur could wish for just over halfway into a ride. Except for extra time. The wind had robbed us of 3 or 4 hours by this stage. The control close time of Aghulas was 1:41am. Our brevet cards were already signed, so in theory we could leave after the control closed, but it's a risky strategy - one serious mechanical, and the rest of the ride becomes a battle against the clock on tired legs. So we took the "sensible option", which was to opt for 45 minutes sleep before heading out again. Only in the world of Audaxing can sleeping for less than 1 hour out of 40 be called sensible!

It was obvious Theunis was battling with the idea of getting back on the bike - seriously nauseous, unable to face pasta for dinner or breakfast, or even keep a coffee down without chucking up. I'm not sure who was most surprised to see him mounting up, but he was there still pedaling as we headed North again back out of Aghulas. By now it was cold, with a slight drizzle in the air. But at least the wind was behind. A group of us were close together on the road by this stage. We watched the blinking tail lights of 3 riders ahead pretty much the whole way back up to Bredasdorp, and were a single group again by the outskirts of town. We rode into the Engen together and all 5 of us sat like zombies in the shop eating snacks, and drinking coffees and Sterrie Stumpies. It was just before 4am, and the sight of cyclists was clearly rather amusing to the few locals who stopped in to fill up their cars. I'm not sure they believed us that we were riding back to Stellenbosch, or that we had left there the morning before. Why would any sane person want to do that?

Our group fragmented again on the rolling hills through Napier, and on to the 4-Way stop where the route swung left over Akkedisberg Pass and down to Stanford. Theunis and I pushed on to Savannah Cafe in Hermanus for a proper breakfast, whereas Nico, Eugene and Derek opted for a food stop in Stanford. By the time we reached the official control point at Onrus though, speeds and stops had averaged out and we were one group again - also joined now by Daniel, who's riding partner Gerhard had pulled out around Bredasdorp with a bad stomach. It was a bit before 11am as the 6 of us turned left past Arabella and on to the familiar coast road home through Kleinmond. Well, familiar to most of us that is, but a first for Nico. Perhaps his enjoyment of it was a little diminished by the fact that he'd been sat on the bike now for more than 30 hours.

Just an Argus or so to ride, with a bit over 7 hours to do it in, and only 2 control points left - Strand and Klapmuts. Easy right? The problem of course is built-up fatigue in legs, body, and especially brain. Peter and Adele Nolan and family joined us around Pringle Bay and were a great source of encouragement, especially as the coast road was now busy with early Sunday afternoon traffic. They also snapped some great shots of our group riding up and over to Rooi Els. By this stage we were 550km into the ride, with under 60km to go.

We lingered a bit at the Caltex on the way into Strand, and it was only when Eugene remarked that we wouldn't be home before 5pm that I realised how close we were running the clock. One significant incident, and all of the effort of the last day and a half could be for nothing. For Theunis, it would mean no medal and not being able to say he'd completed a 600km Audax. For a few of us though, the consequences were even worse: a DNF of a Paris-Brest-Paris qualifier, meaning we would have to come back and do it all again next April. It didn't bear thinking about, so Theunis and I stuck our heads down and pushed on. On the two nasty little hills out of Stellenbosch on the R44, Theunis was pulling much more strongly than I was able too, arriving at the BP Garage a minute or two ahead of me. Henri Meier had joined us again, to see us over the last few kilometers. A great comforter to ward off the threat of a mishap at this late stage, and also a source of relief for me as he poured cold water over my feet and alleviated a nasty case of hot-foot that had been building up the last few hours.

It was a beautiful evening - so close to home, and with more than an hour in hand, it was actually possible to relax, look up and enjoy the scenery bathed in an orange evening light. A lot of thoughts go through one’s mind on the last couple of kilometers of such a long ride. As I swung left onto the R304 and the finish at Vrede Wines came into view, I'm willing to bet I know what was going through Theunis' mind just ahead of me on the road.

"I've done it!"

Those were the exact same words I heard him whisper under his breath on his first DC as he crested the top of the last of the three bitches. Now, 3 years on and 3 times the distance, I hope he shouted it out loud this time though. His official time for the 609km was 38 hours 43 minutes - mine was around 7 minutes longer. Not content with seeing us off, Hendrik had returned to congratulate us at the finish too. As we both sprawled on Vrede’s tasting room steps, Henri Meier came in too followed by the remaining group of 4 riders. 10 riders out of 11 home within the cutoff time, an astonishing effort given the conditions. It’s hard to imagine how the 1st rider, Chris van Zyl, had managed to complete the course in a shade over 26 hours – but he is the South African record holder for Paris-Brest-Paris.

'Round Midnight

2014-11-08T14:28:00.000+02:00

As with the previous Cape Audax, an official ride report was created. But rather than be lazy two entries in a row, I have also written a personal account of the ride. It was after all the first full PBP qualifier of our SR series.

It's rather an odd feeling to finally be gathering to ride an event which you and a handful friends have created. OK, that statement would be equally true of the last Cape Audaxes in September and October too, but a few things were different in this case. For this event we had some riders arriving who none of us knew - inspired to take on the challenge by some active discussions on The HubSA over the past few days. That inspiration had also caught my friend Hendrik's imagination too, and he'd volunteered to drive safety car for us. An amazing act of generosity which I wondered if our midnight start might have dampened. But as we pottered around the Vrede Wines car park getting ourselves sorted, he had a distinct sense of energy and excitement despite the crazy hour.

In Henri Meier's case this excitement was more a case of nerves whether he would be able to ride at all - his car had helpfully locked the keys, and all his cycling kit, inside. Fortunately Henri's son arrived with spare keys in the nick of time, and after a short pre-ride briefing we were under-way.

It was clear immediately that the faster riders had no intention of holding back, and they were out of sight over the first kilometres. Designing a full distance route had necessitated a slightly untidy detour into and out of Stellenbosch with a control only 14km into the ride. The fast group were already heading back out of the control as our main bunch pulled in. No one needed supplies of course, so we got cards signed and wheeled straight out ourselves - well, almost straight out. We tried to resuscitate Gerhard's dead Garmin for a few minutes, but it was beyond saving.

I know I've often commented here how much I enjoy dark hours riding and this leg into Wellington and then on to our first control in Riebeeck Kasteel was no exception. A freshening headwind kept us cool the whole way, almost cold in fact. It's common to see owls and various animals on these quiet night-time roads, but about 10km out of Wellington on the R44 we were treated to an up close and personal encounter. My headlights picked out a barn owl sitting on a low road marker less than 2m away from me as we passed. I could almost have reached out and touched it. Utterly unphased by our presence, it just sat there and watched as we whirred passed, and then lifted lifting silently into the air and flew alongside us for a short way, before vanishing into the dark.

With no shops open in the sleeping town of Riebeeck Kasteel, Hendrik had agreed to provide a manned 1st control. I don't think any of us were prepared for what greeted us as we rolled in though - it was more like a camp than a control. Table, lights, water, coffee, home made beskuit. I've done official races that offered less at a water stop.

It was all too tempting to stop longer, but we pushed on to Moorreesberg for the 2nd control. By now, the wind had gathered and was now becoming strong enough to slow our speed. Battling away into it, I slipped off the back a couple of times. I'd donned my jacket at the control, but it seemed to be acting a bit like a sail pushing me back now. I was still too cold to take it off though and soldiered on, the guys slowing for me thankfully. I'm sad to say with the focus on battling the wind, I didn't really notice the sunrise much - except to note a slight orange glow on the horizon, which was swallowed soon after as it rose into a heavy grey blanket out of cloud.

It was fully light by the time we reached Hendrik again though - he had found an open fuel station for our control, but most of us still opted for Hendrik's far more welcoming coffee and supplies. At only just over a quarter of the distance we were already more than 2 hours ahead of schedule. The ride was going nicely, but this next leg would be tough - it would start out across the strong winds, and then swing directly into it for the last 40km or so to the half way point.

Whether the drag from my jacket was real or imagined, I was struggling to keep up. Rather than have the guys keep waiting, Peter made the call that we drop back to an easier pace. It was exactly the right decision - it was clear that Henri, Gerhard and Nico were riding a stronger pace than either of us should be trying to sustain this early on. A rather weird Don Quixote thought flashed through my mind as we turned right towards Hopefield and rode through the middle of an enormous wind farm. Towering masts with triple-bladed propellers slowly spinning all around us. It was all rather surreal.

We'd watched the 3 guys slide off into the distance, but caught them again at the Hopefield town sign. They were having a brief chat about the route, and whether to join us looking for breakfast or push on to the next control. I wasn't at all surprised they opted to push on, but Peter and I decided a short stop was in order. Breakfast was only possible because a lovely lady named Ella had agreed to open early and serve us - the power of the simplest marketing device on the planet, her cell number painted on the cafe door! It also gave us a chance to look after Hendrik for a change. The three of us enjoyed great coffee, a hot breakfast, and some friendly banter together in this unexpected oasis. Needless to say, despite his protestations, we flatly refused Hendrik's contribution to the bill before we reluctantly battled out into the windswept landscape.

The sign as we left Hopefield was not encouraging - Veldriff 36km. All of that would be into a full force headwind now, no shelter or respite. It was going to be a long slow tow. We did stop briefly - a tortoise was stranded in the middle of the tarmac, and Peter called for us to enlist some good karma by relocating it safely to the side. Fortunately for both us and our hard-shelled friend, the traffic was very light on this stretch. The landscape was barren - fields, salt-marsh and scrub-lands. But at cycling pace there was more to it than immediately obvious. Abundant wildlife, slowly taking over a few run down houses dotted either side of the road. We saw hundreds of bright orange and yellow crickets - they felt somehow alien, their luminous markings out of place against the subdued surroundings. For much of this stretch we followed a railway line, the ramshackle remains of a remote station and sidings of rusting trucks suggesting a now much diminished role in the local economy from it's glory days when presumably it provided a lifeline to Cape Town and the world beyond. The still heavy brooding clouds were a fitting backdrop to the sense of decline - an ever present and ominous threat of rain. Dreary, desolate, endless, but above all of these, beautiful.

The tortoise wasn't the only slow moving object - Veldrif seemed a very long time coming. But as with all Audaxes, steady and persistent pedalling slowly ground the distance down. The last kilometre brought a final brutal onslaught - a right turn swung us square into the howling wind. The control was in sight, but took an age to reach as we slogged our way over the Berg estuary bridge and into the town on the far bank. 11am and halfway. Despite the winds we'd made great time. From here we'd turn around and the wind would be more often friend rather than foe as we headed back South.

The petrol attendant helpfully told us the lead group had raced through at 7am - some four hours earlier. With crampy legs it was hard to comprehend how anyone could ride that fast. But if randonneuring is about anything it is diversity - all manner of riders and bikes join to take on their own personal challenge.

I was looking forward to a fast stretch to our next control but it didn't quite work out like that. The wind was across more than behind - so although it didn't slow our progress, it wasn't pushing us much either. Peter had started suffering a bit from Hopefield, but now he took a significant turn for the worse. It was clearly more than just fatigue as his stomach finally gave up the fight and he was forced to find a road side bush to evacuate both ends. Clearly some bug or something eaten was now adding to the difficulty of the ride. I honestly thought he would bail, as did Hendrik - waiting nearby to take him on-board in case, powerless to help otherwise being outside a control. Somehow a mix of coaxing on my part on determination on Peter's got him back on the bike. I'd pointed out the town of Vredenburg was just ahead, and once over this last hill the control at Saldanha was a mere 10km further on, almost all of which was downhill. Even feeling poorly, very little effort would be needed to get there. Being a control it was also an opportunity to regroup - access supplies in the safety vehicle, and a calmer assessment of the situation away from the pressure of riding for a few moments.

Somehow this thinly clutched straw of a theory worked. I could see Peter was already feeling brighter by the time we pulled into the BP station where Hendrik was parked. We took our time - and whilst we recovered I saw something completely new as Peter downed an Ultra Mel custard. He reasoned it was loaded with energy and at the same time gentle on the stomach. It seemed such a bizarre thing to have packed in your kit bag. But it worked like a bomb and before long we were riding out again, bound for Langebaan and entry to the West Coast National Park. We fairly flew past the iron and steelworks to our left, and the supporting harbour and docks on our righthand side. Peter narrated our flight with interesting facts: the enormous docked oil rig part of a new local industry, taking advantage of high prices in Cape Town harbour to offer an alternative for refurbishment and servicing; the large and heavily fortified complex to our left actually a huge oil storage terminal, a throwback to apartheid days when the threats of sanctions necessitated secure places to stockpile large quantities of such essentials. Clearly Peter's spirits had recovered as well as his physical condition.

Running downwind at our rapid place, we were soon entering the the outskirts of the Mikenos development, so expanded that there was no real demarcation line - the holiday homes now more of an extended sprawling suburb of Langebaan beyond. Ignoring the inviting places to eat in town, we pushed on to the park - although a couple of short, steep and painful climbs through housing estates were required before we finally reached the San Parks entry gate. What a joy - ahead lay 25km of quiet roads through sublime scenery, and we were still at least a couple of hours ahead of schedule. No need to rush, we could savour this most welcome stretch of scenic beauty. As is often the case, we actually saw little in the way of large animals - no Eland, despite copious spoor across the road. We did seem to arrive at snake sunbathing prime time however, counting at least 3 puff adders basking on the warm late afternoon tarmac, and a golden-bronze Cape Cobra that coiled and slithered it's way across the road in front of us.

It was tempting to head to the restaurant at Geelbek, but they would likely be closed or closing soon. So we pushed on, all the time flanked by dunes, coastal scrub, and the serene peace of this wild and beautiful place. The afternoon was still hot when we had entered the park, but the shadows were lengthening and air cooling as we rolled up and down the last few kilometres to the exit gate. Our peaceful amble through the park sadly was all too short. The contrast with busy speeding traffic as we swung right onto the busy R27 could hardly have been more complete. It's virtually impossible to plan a route along the West Coast without involving some time on either the N7 and the R27. Fortunately we'd managed to minimise the time spent on either of these, and as unpleasant as these few kilometres were, they were soon over. The final few hundred meters to the right turn to Yzerfontein though were a brilliant example of road designers having no regard of cyclists. In an effort to slow traffic down ahead of the turn, the entire safety lane was filled with lethal saucer sized speed bumps. Far too dangerous to ride over or around, we had no choice but to stay right in the lane with the very speeding cars these were design to impede. It was a terrifying few minutes.

I waited a few minutes for Peter to make sure he didn't miss the turn. We'd seen Hendrik at the exit to the park, and before driving on to the control he'd informed us the next group of guys were only an hour or so ahead. They must have already come back up though as we didn't pass them on the 10km or down to the pretty little coastal town. Peter was suffering a serious attack of the dozies by this stage (a common randonneuring affliction from too many hours in the saddle combined with too little sleep before). I felt rather cruel yelling and barking at him, but was worried he might just nod off and sleep where he fell. It was something of a slow trudge into town - the one obvious restaurant wasn't open, but at least the Spa had hot food and coffee. By the time Hendrik and I came out with supplies, Peter was propped up on a wooden staircase, eyes closed busy nodding off.

We lingered a while, but daylight was fading and time moving on. Peter was somewhat recovered so we pushed on. I'd hoped to make the Malmesbury Wimpy in daylight, but with the undulating terrain and tiredness our speed towards Darling had dropped considerably. By the time we sat on top of the last hill looking down on the town, shadows were lengthening and the rolling Swartland pastures bathed in orange evening light. It was a glorious sight, even if it did signal that our next leg of dark riding would be upon us way before the next control. I stopped for a quick call home. My timing was just off though. I managed a quick chat with Yoli whilst looking out from this wonderful vantage point, but missed a goodnight call to Ben who was already in bed. Hendrik came alongside whilst I was chatting, clearly concerned I'd stopped with a problem, and then soon after Peter came up too. I waved both past with a quick hand-signal intended to indicate I was calling home - I suspect my flapping gesture may not have conveyed that at all accurately, but they seemed to get the gist.

I caught back up with both of them in Darling. Apparently Nico had been considering bailing here - legs tired and overworked. But he'd shown proper Audax experience and rather than making any decision on an empty stomach had searched out a restaurant for a meal. The food had clearly done the trick as he was long gone by the time we rolled through the town. I half expected to see him along the road or at the Malmesbury control, but he'd got his second wind and pushed on home without needing a further food or rest stop.

By now I was getting the dozies too. I apologised to Peter. I needed to stretch my legs and raise my heart rate to wake myself up. I urged him to keep the pace going, and then paced off at full speed to try and shake myself back into some state of alertness. It worked - combined with the now chilling night air, my increased speed and effort woke me up nicely. For a few kilometers my speed picked up over 30km/h. By the time I dropped back to a more sustainable pace the last light had gone, but I was fully awake again. My little sprint must have done something for Peter too. I stopped on one of the many rollers leading into Malmesbury for a quick shot of coke and chunk of Snickers bar - and as I stood there enjoying the peaceful night air, I could see what could only be Peter's front light less than a couple of kilometres back. He must also have picked up his pace too.

Just before the town was a section that worried me ahead of time. A remote area just beyond the shacks at the edge of town. Scarily, this worry materialised in the form of a couple of very dodgy looking guys shining bright lights at us as we crossed the railway line. It seemed their idea might be to jump us whilst we were blinded by the light. Fortunately Hendrik was close by at just the right time, and looped back to ensure Peter also got safely passed this threatening patch. It was rather amazing, and very comforting, that our safety driver had been right there on hand at the one spot needed in the ride so far.

I think I reached the Wimpy first, then soon after Hendrik, and only minutes behind Peter. I immediately recognised our waitress from the 300km a month before - and she clearly recognised us.

"Where have you been riding this time?" she quipped, and flashed the sort of smile at our response which is usually reserved for the clinically insane.

It was a priceless moment - Hendrik clearly amused and delighted by our local minor celebrity status.

Even with taking time to enjoy multiple coffees and toasted sandwiches we'd still managed to preserved the two hour buffer which had cushioned our passage all day. We resolved to take it slow and steady on this last 50km or so - no need to rush, we may as well pace out a nice even tempo and preserve tired legs and bodies. The route home was largely quiet, as we had found at the tail of the 300km ride. An occasional car, often travelling very fast, but generally not much in the way of traffic. One car pulled a very odd stunt in front of us somewhere past the grain silos - slamming it's brakes on, swerving into the safety lane, and then angling the car's nose slightly outward again. It was at one and the same time both odd, and highly worrying. I gave the car as wide a berth as I safely could as we rode past, but I half expected to be jumped, or have the car come out and nudge me off the bike. It didn't happen, the car U turned once we had ridden by and sped back in the direction of Malmesbury.

It was hard to figure out what the purpose of this manoeuvre was - but the worrying thought that they had been checking our bikes out occurred to both of us. Some way down the road we saw Hendrik and asked if he wouldn't mind keeping an eye on us over the last few kilometres. We were almost home, but the remote chance that they had gone back to fetch some mates seemed a risk just not worth taking. They didn't re-appear, or if they did Hendrik's presence a discrete distance behind us was enough to put off anything they may have had in mind.

At last, the N1 came into sight. We rushed down towards it, up the nasty little ramp over it, and within minutes were turning left into Vrede wines. Home. Our first PBP qualifier in the bag, and Peter's longest ride to date. He'd prevailed through stomach upset, sleepiness, and almost total fatigue towards the end. As I shared a beer with Nico and Henri after the ride I commented on how impressively fast some of the guys times for the ride had been. Nico replied that in many ways he found Peter's accomplishment somehow even greater - battling to overcome real adversities and finish a ride that would have broken the spirit of many riders. It was an amazing display of mental strength. And had brought about the first official nickname of our SR Series - The Zombie - awarded to Peter for returning from the dead on at least four occasions to complete the ride.

All photos by author.

Cape BRM 300

2014-10-11T18:19:00.000+02:00

I've been a little tardy in updating the blog of late. There are a couple of reasons for me getting behind. The first is that I've been heavily involved in planning our Cape SR Series. It's actually been a lot of fun devising the routes, but also quite a lot more work than I'd have ever expected - plotting out possible routes, and then refining them to come up to full BRM distance and ensure that they have adequate control points. The most time consuming part by has been cue card creation though. And just as I put the final touches the last ride, I found that RideWithGPS has a possible near automatic way of generating them for me. Oh well, at least it gives me something to tinker with for future rides.

The second reason for neglecting the blog is that as part of the Audax admin I've also been writing up ride reports for other sites. For the Cape 300km ride, I actually ended up two slightly different versions of the ride - one for the Audax SA site; and another for my cycle club newsletter. In a pathetic attempt to catchup with minimum additional effort, I've pasted both of these in below.

And with that shortcut taken, I'll just add the log for our ride

Audax SA Ride Report

300 km, Stellenbosch 11 October 2014(Paris-Brest-Paris 2015 prequalifier)
by Rob Walker, pictures by Emmerentia Jacobs

Weather

Slightly chilly and blustery at the start, once dawn broke the chill lifted and it was a glorious sunny day, quite hot across the middle of the afternoon. Headwind was only really an issue up Franschhoek pass where it was very strong at times, and then occasionally on the leg to Rawsonville. After that, the wind lessened. When it did pick up later in the day it was a helpful tailwind into Hermon, dying down nicely for the final stretch from Malmesbury. Moonlight helped visibility for first couple of hours at the start, but good lights still needed, and especially later on for the final night time stretches. Also grew quite chilly again on the last 30km or so home, especially in the fog hollows between rollers.

Route conditions

Routing worked well in general. There is a stretch with no safety lane for the last few Km into Villiersdorp, and then again once down the pass until about half way to Brandvlei Dam. Traffic was a little heavy along those sections, and also at the start of Slanghoek. Once past the wineries though the traffic was noticeably lighter! Despite being narrow, the climb back over Bain’s Kloof Pass had light traffic, and most cars gave enough passing room. Road surfaces in places are a bit rough, but nothing too nasty: there is a stop go section on Franschhoek pass with rough stone chips; and the last part of the descent of Bain’s Kloof needs some care with some bumps and holes in the shade of trees that at speed could be a hazard. Aside from these, nothing more than a wary eye for occasional potholes needed. The smooth tar on the R304 just before the 4-Way stop for Durbanville was truly a delight for sore bums! The scenery on the route is stunning – but this does not come for free! The two big climbs of Franschhoek and Bain’s Kloof Passes are needed to earn that reward. They do add some challenge, but not to the extent of making control close times unreasonably tough.

Controls

Satisfactory. The late start meant that the Galleria coffee shop in Villiersdorp was open. This is directly opposite the Shell 24 hour next to Remax. They do a decent coffee and bacon toastie – well worth watching out for, especially if you need to fix a mechanical anyway! Rawsonville has a range of shops to get water and supplies – along the road in Slanghoek are more options if a sit down and hot food are needed. The winery our group tried was closed for a wedding so we pushed on to the bush pub at the foot of Bain’s Kloof for a beer before the climb. The Shell in Wellington has a takeaway Steers that proved ideal for a quick refuel. Riebeeck Wes does have a nice looking café/pub at the start of town – but our group just refilled with water and rode on to the Engen in Malmesbury for a Wimpy before the last leg home. Don’t try and convince the server your dog is a guide dog though – serious lack of humor on that! You had to be there to understand how canine accompaniment was acquired on an Audax ride.

Organisation

The distance came out to 305.6km measured on the road, a shade over calculations but ideal for what is needed. Additionally, the ride started around 30 minutes late – in part this was a bit of faffing around, and also uncertainty over whether to wait for expected riders. For the future, a standard process for late arrivals will be followed of leaving brevets and cue cards in a visible spot on the Vrede stoep. Added to the late start was an early mechanical, which meant that by the time Villiersdorp was reached around 1 hour had been lost. Even with this the control close time was made, and by Rawsonville the group had pulled back to an hour ahead of schedule. This margin was easily maintained through the rest of the ride, even with a relaxed pace. Minor revisions will be made to the cue sheet before the February 2015 300km ride to adjust for distance, and also correct a signpost cue in Rawsonville. The cue needs to read ‘SP Slanghoek’ – the Goudiniweg sign is now straight on, which could be confusing.

Observations

Of the 6 or 7 riders expected, only 3 arrived on the day. This did make it a very easy call to all stay together as a group though, which made for a thoroughly excellent day of cycling in great company.

The group was joined by Emmerentia Jacobs at Wellington to act as safety vehicle for the remainder of the ride. This was most welcome, especially as night time fell on the stretch into Malmesbury. It really was immensely reassuring to have the comfort of a safety car keeping an eye on us at intervals on the final stretch down the R304. A massive thanks to Emmerentia. Definitely need to find a way to cajole some volunteers for at least the homeward/night time stretch of future rides.

Finishers

Nico Coetzee
Peter Müller
Rob Walker

Wannabees Club Report

As we gathered for last Wednesday's club ride, John asked me to write a piece on the recent 300km Audax for his last newsletter as club chairman. Having agreed though, it feels something of a missed opportunity to simply re-hash official ride report already up on the Audax SA website.

So at the risk of incurring a second chairman's warning in as many months, I'm going to intentionaly mis-interpret his request and use this short piece to also try and show some of the ways an Audax ride is different to the road races we are all used too.

The natural place to start is, well, at the start. At the start of say an Argus, 35,000 of us line up in waves at the tape. The gun shot hasn't finished echoing around the buildings before cleats are stamped into pedals and the mass charge of riders heads for that tunnel. From that point on, the clock is everything. The official 4am start of our BRM (Brevet Randonnee Mondial) 300km was a rather more sedate affair. In fact no one was actually on a bicycle: the 3 of us who'd pitched were still standing around drinking coffee, admiring each others machines and waiting for late arrivals. An Audax ride, you see, is not a race. Starting 30 minutes late may not ideal, but the cutoff time is sufficiently relaxed that it isn't a disaster either.

Lights, plenty of them, and backup lights, plenty of those too. All but the shortest Audax rides involve a significant amount of night time riding. In our case, the day's riding would be bookended with 2 hours or so of dark riding into Franschhoek, and several hours home from Malmesbury. Hence our bikes have multiple front and back lights. Night time riding for me, and many others, is one of the real highlights of Randonneuring - peaceful riding with the occasional hoot or silent fly-by of an owl.

Bags too, we have big bags on our bikes as well. It might seem crazy to start such a long ride carrying 5 or 6kg more than normal, but those bags are way more than just dead weight. They carry the essentials to get you to the end, whatever the road throws at you. In our case, the road threw us it's worst early - a shredded rear tyre before we'd even got over Franschhoek Pass. We rolled into our 1st control point in Villiersdorp with the replaced inner tube already flat, and it was clear the tyre needed replacing. The first step in fixing an Audax mechanical is differemt too - you sit down, get a drink and something to eat. Early in a ride it's less essential, but 20+ hours into a longer event with a foggy brain it's the best way to avoid a costly mistake. We were now nearly an hour behind schedule and only minutes before the control closing time. Nevertheless we followed procedure. Instead of getting our control (aka brevet) cards signed at the Shell garage, we went over to the Galleria coffee shop opposite and ordered breakfast. Yes, you may laugh, but buried somewhere in that big bag of stuff is a spare tyre. Always carried and seldom used, but ride saving when needed. As it was this time.

Fixed, fed, and fresh we rode on. And here's how relaxed an Audax time schedule is - we left Villiersdorp right up against the time limit, and rolled into our 2nd control point at Rawsonville having pulled back an hour on the schedule. In between we'd been treated to glorious rolling scenery and clear blue skies - it was turning into a beautiful day. Your main choices for proof of passage are having your brevet card signed or collecting till or ATM receipts at the controls. In my case, having forgotten to pick up the supermarket slip for my water and coke, I accosted an unsuspecting member of the shop staff on a cigarette break in the alley. I'm not sure she had any idea what she was signing, but she smiled and thanked me all the same!

Our 3rd control was some way down the road In Wellington. We'd planned a drink stop in the impossibly picturesque Slanghoek valley, but our chosen winery was closed for a wedding. Fortunately the Calabash Bush Pub has been rebuilt and was open for business a few kilometers down the road at the foot of Bains Kloof. The afternoon was becoming properly hot by this stage - it would have been rude to have ridden past and not sampled their hospitality. So we pulled in for a beer - just the tonic ahead of the second big climb of the day.

The climb up and over Bains Kloof is truly one of the Cape's most majestic stretches of tar to see from a bike saddle, especially on a bright sunny day. It's easy to find your front wheel wandering dangerously close to the edge as your eyes rise up to enjoy the view. The road is a little narrow in places, but the traffic was light and all except maybe one or two cars passed us with plenty of space. The run down the other side into Wellington is a long blast of snaking turns, several of them sharp enough to raise the heart rate if you sweep into them carrying too much speed. The road surface is testing at speed too - especially in the dappled light of the stands of trees towards the bottom.

The Shell in Wellington was our 3rd control, or more accurately in our case the take-away Steers in it's forecourt - as we loaded up on calories for the remainder of the ride. With 190km down, we only had an Argus left to do. And we'd have company from here on as Emmerentia Jacobs, a seasoned randonneur herself, had joined up to drive safety car for the rest of the ride. It was most welcomed as we headed out towards Hermon with shadows lengthening in the late afternoon light.

Despite the extreme distances, Randonneuring is not really a physical challenge, it's a mental one. Everyone hits low spots, and finishing a ride is about finding a way through them. We were about 10km out from our 4th control when Peter hit his. The tell-tale signs of gradually dropping speed, and eyes fixed on the tar ahead were painful to watch. At these points it's all too easy to just give up without really understanding what is going wrong. Luckily, in this case, we spotted the cause - full water bottles. With persistent nagging to drink, the risk of a DNF gradually faded from view as we rolled into Riebeeck West, our 4th control. The pub looked inviting, but we all wanted to get over Bothmaskloof before the light was completely gone.

As it happened, we crested the climb to see the last orange glow of sunlight low on the horizon - Swartland's rolling hills laid out below, with odd clumps of mist gathering in the hollows. It was fully dark by the time we reached the Engen in Malmesbury - the 5th and penultimate control of the day. More importantly for us though was the Wimpy inside. What can I say? Audaxing needs a lot of calories to be enjoyed properly, and despite our leisurely pace we still had that hour in hand we' d earned earlier in the day. So we sat and enjoyed coffee and toasties, Emmie joining us too before the last leg home.

The R304 in the dark of the evening was probably the quietest stretch of road all day - both in traffic terms, and literally. It was peaceful, serene and becoming chilly as a large red moon rose over the hills to our left. We rolled into the Arrivée (fancy terminology for the last control) at 23:13, 47 minutes inside the cutoff time. And here really is the final difference to a road race. Coming in close to the cut-off of an Audax ride has no connotations of a slow time - in fact quite the reverse. You have earned your very own piece of Audax terminology - you are deemed a 'full value' rider. A phrase recognising someone who has enjoyed everything the event had to offer.

Not riding 200km

2014-09-28T10:33:00.000+02:00

After an unbroken run of entries sticking to the topic of cycling, I'm going to fail for the 2nd time in succession. I'm going to write about not riding. But at least in this case, the not riding part is still at least relevant to cycling. For the event that I will not be riding is this weekend's Cape Town BRM 200. It's the first of four rides that a number of us have been working on for some months - a complete 2014 SR Series for local Western Cape randonneurs and PBP aspirants.

I've known since we first planned the calendar that I would miss one of the first two events - Yoli's 20th High School re-union was pencilled in for the same date as either the 200km or 300km rides. It's an important event for her, and she already gives up a lot for my riding, so I'm not bitter in any way over it. Just slightly sad to not be there on the day with Anthony, Nico, Henri, Peter and the guys who have worked in planning the event these past months. Even more ironically, Yoli's re-union is in Joburg - where Eddie is running an Aurasan BRM 200 on the same day as our inaugural 2014 Cape Audax. I didn't even try and suggest to Yoli the idea of taking a bike along for the trip, although as I sat on the plane up I did wonder if I'd I missed an opportunity. I may have to delete that last sentence before Yoli gets a chance to read it.

At this stage it looks like around 15 riders will be taking part in the ride, which seems a pretty fair turnout. The numbers have been buoyed I'm sure by riders looking to get in some extra long distance training for November's Double Century in Swellendam. It'll be interesting to see how the turnout for the longer brevets compares. Instinct suggests that we'll slowly whittle down to the handful of us who are attempting to qualify for PBP next year.

I did get a chance to meet with Eddie whilst up in Joburg - to at least chat about cycling, and share in that most essential of cycling experiences, a darned good cup of coffee. Ostensibly we met up so I could collect the medals for the BRM 200 finishers, but the caffeine and banter were of course far more important, and took much longer than would have been necessary for just the exchange. It was a great chance to get to know Eddie, our South African Audax co-ordinator, a little better. Mixed in between first and then second cups of the magic bean were stories of LELs, PBPs and Scottish Audaxes ridden because of the handsome Club Ecosse jersey for finishers. Even more impressive though than Eddie's cycling history is how well he belies his age. Based on the energy and enthusiasm he throws into the local audax scene, and our one previous meeting at the 600 in March I'd have given him at somewhere just over 70. I nearly choked on my cappuccino when I learnt he's actually 84 - and already has his entry for next year's Argus. I've often joked about riding Argus's into my 90s, but here's someone I suspect may actually manage to do just that. He laughed at my description of the mad scramble to get my entry for this year: sat in the passenger seat of a rental car heading to our friends Riku and Erika the day before nervously watching the laptop screen hoping that my 27,292 place in the Q would translate into an actual chance to enter. It did, luckily, but only within an hour or too of the ride selling out. None of that for Eddie, as a club 21 rider his Argus was assured weeks ago!

So for a weekend of not riding, I did in fact manage to have a fair amount of cycling activity. Now, as we head back on the plane I'm thinking of the guys riding our 200. It will be a familiar route for most of them, minus the spur out to a control at the Spa in Darling. I rode that section on last year's Yzerfontein outride - it's pleasantly scenic, but in a wind can be challenging and has enough rollers to test tired legs. Hopefully all the guys will have managed their pace well though, and so won't be suffering any of that. They'll be 9.5 hours in by now, which for most of them will mean they're on the last stretch home and looking forward to the final brevet signature at our Cape Audax base camp: Vrede Wines.

Keep pedalling guys!

2015 PBP qualifiers: 200 km

EveryTrail - Find hiking trails in California and beyond

Rider photo courtesy of Anthony Doman - more can be found online at his Twitter feed.

Home

2014-09-20T10:27:00.000+02:00

Before we get into this one an apology is needed, because I'll be leaving the main route here for a short diversion. As will be obvious from the cake pictured left, this last week has seen the arrival of a fairly major life event for me. Like the Arrivee of a good audax, a landmark that at one stage seemed impossibly distant has come and gone. Not one measured in kilometres this time though, but years, a haf century of them.

The actual birthday itself was a quiet one - time for family after a week away with work in the US. But in the style of Yoli's family a birthday is never just a single day - varying from anything to a weekend, a week, or even a month, depending on the ability to stretch things out and keep the party going. In my case, it was a week long affair - starting the Sunday before with a family lunch at Coseca. Rolling onto the actual day itself which unusually for me was spent at work but nicely book-ended with tea and cake in bed, and rounded off with an early dinner at 96 Winery Road. Early because Ben joined us.

Daddy, are we going to a restaurant?
Maybe it's odd for a 5 year to actually enjoying dinners out, but it's delightful for us. The one caveat being some form of play area to burn off some energy before we sit down and eat. After that, we're pretty much sure of a well behaved child and the surprised but relieved look of waiters and maitre d'. Again, there's a few caveats buried in there too - a couple of well chosen toys for the table, don't linger too long, and there must always be ice cream to end, or cake, or both.

So we come to the finale of my week long 50th - an actual piss-up in a brewery. Having worn out that phrase before and during the party, it's the last time I'll say it. Promise. But it's too good to miss out. The brewery in this case being Triggerfish of Somerset West. At one stage they could have been called a new craft brewery. But with so many recent startups, Triggerfish are now firmly established as a member of the old guard producing solid stalwarts of the burgeoning local ale scene.

Yoli's project management skills came fully to the fore in organising said drink-fest. There were of course the core essentials of the venue, champagne, awesome food, even more awesome cake. But beyond the obvious were all sorts of little touches: the old photos strung up on the birthday banner, many of which I'd totally forgotten about; the disposable cameras and props for everyone to snap embarrassing and surprising pics of the event; and the jar of handwritten messages, something which I only discovered a read day later after the hangover had dulled down to just a raging headache. I'll lay claim to the pumping soundtrack, but that's the start and end of the work I did on the event (and yes, ok, Vicki, when we call it a mix tape there is no actual tape, but playlist really sounds so lame).

Did I mention the awesome cake at all? Talk about centrepiece - the Cup Cake Tarts outdid themselves on this one, capturing every aspect of Yoli's details to the letter: dual flags across the five and zero; the Dumm Weiss label and miniature bottles; me in cycle gear plus bicycle; and a full set of signposts - LEL, PBP, TB MTB, and RAM. That last one is the only slight hiccup, there's an A missing, and that's fine. In fact it's actually rather fitting, because it's not a goal that can really be talked about yet - only dreamed of.

And then we come to the last, and most important aspect of the party. The amazing gathering of friends who could make it along to celebrate with me. And that's really where my usual talent for excessive verbiage dries out. I have no words to sum up what their presence means to me, not just at the party but in our lives. The seven and a half years since we moved to South Africa have been an incredible ride so far, but I could not possibly call this place home without the friends and family who share it with us.

Thanks guys. Not just for the best 50th party ever, or the far too generous gifts, but for being part of the amazing adventure that is our lives.

Not quite an Athlete

2014-09-05T16:39:00.000+02:00

Those who have been reading this blog from it's early days will be aware of my irrational discomfort with certain names and terms. For some time this held me back from joining my cycling club, the Wannabees, simply because I was hung up over their name. There has been a recurrence of my foolishness over names more recently. On several occasions in the past few weeks I have been referred to as an 'athlete' in conversation. Hearing that word in reference to me quite literally makes me cringe - worse even than the sound of nails scraping down a blackboard. It seems such a disservice to those who actually are athletes to use it to describe someone who spent 25 years sat at a desk in front of a computer screen and then accidentally chose to take up cycling. The term MAMIL (middle aged man in Lycra) seems far more apt in my case, even if it's harsh accuracy makes me just as uncomfortable.

The reason for mentioning this now is my visit to the torture machine pictured above. Around a week back I signed up with a cycling coach, Erica Green. Erica is the wife of Spook, who along with William has seen to all of my bike setup needs since the whole long distance cycling adventure started for me. As a world class cyclist and former Olympic mountain biker, Erica most definitely has earned the right to be called an athlete. Together with Spook, she now runs Daisyway Coaching, who rather handily for me are a based a few hundred meters down my road. I'm not sure Erica knew what to make of the type of cycling I do - it's quite different from mainstream mountain or road cycling. As our conversation deepened into longer term objectives, I sensed there may be an unspoken question in her mind about my sanity. She certainly wouldn't be the first person to think I may be mad, including me sometimes. Regardless of any doubts, Erica outlined a very professional and structured approach to assessing my needs and building training plans - exactly what I had been hoping for from the visit.

My motivation for adding a cycling coach to the help I already get from André with my gym work is simple - I want to improve my speed over distance. If I don't faff too much at controls, the speed I have now will be fine to complete PBP. Even with my sluggish plod around LEL enjoying the food and companionship at controls rather too much, I still crossed the 1230km distance at Market Rasen in under the required 90 hours. But PBP will be different, queues will be longer at controls, and purely for personal satisfaction I'd rather go into the event fitter, faster and better prepared than I was for LEL. I'd like to enjoy the ride more with less stress from time pressures. Being able to sustain a faster pace at the front of the bulge is the most effective way to do this. There are also longer term goals which I have in mind, but in good Audax fashion I'm not going to get ahead of myself by planning beyond the task at hand - the next control along the route, the next event, PBP.

So we come back to the torture machine, and my visit to the Stellenbosch University Sports Physiology Lab. As with buying a power meter (which will be the subject of a future post), I've thought about having my VO2Max tested in the past. Both have seemed rather extravagant though - lots more numbers and stats but with no real context. Now, as part of Erica's structured approach to my training they not only make sense, they're essential. To quote Erica (and others)

'we need to make sure your hard days aren't too easy, and your easy days aren't too hard'.

I must confess that along with hunger and thirst from fasting for the past 3 hours, I was also feeling rather nervous at what the testing would entail and reveal. Fortunately the first past of the test, body composition, was over quickly. It was pleasing to see my overall body fat is nicely low - helped I'm sure by drop of a few kilos from my recent switch to a Banting diet. Even more relieving was being able to quench my thirst, although there was a moment of panic in the lab tech's voice at what might be in my bidon. He was clearly relieved at my answer that it was plain water.

The testing itself was much quicker than I expected - it took almost longer to get the saddle mounted on the infernal pain machine. I was impressed they had the exact model and size I use - a Specialized Romin Evo, 143mm. The machine is initially set at a power of 80W for warmup, and you are instructed to spin above 80rpm. Coming from a regular indoor trainer, it's an extremely odd sensation at first. However fast you pedal, the power stays fixed. Initially it takes a couple of very heavy turns to get the big chain-ring turning - it felt like climbing a steep hill in a big gear. But as the cadence picks up, the pedals spin more freely. It's tempting to say it gets easier, but of course it doesn't. That's an illusion - 80W is 80W, it just feels easier pedalling at 90rpm than 1rpm.

After warmup came the second lactate check - a quick finger tip prick, and a drop of blood is sucked into a hand-held measuring machine, The first attempt before warming up had barely drawn enough blood to measure. But now my heart rate was up the blood flowed easily. The HR strap was already in place, and before the test proper a ventilation mask was attached to measure respiratory response. To describe it as uncomfortable would not do it justice - it was claustrophobic. I was about to be asked to push myself to the max, wearing a gas mask.

The initial level of the test started at 120W I think, and then hopped up to 150W. After this a further increment of 30W was added at around 3 minute intervals. During each interval came another stab at my finger to measure lactate levels. My tempo was comfortable at around 95rpm for the next couple of intervals. As the power increased it dropped a shade to between 90 and 92pm but was still steady. As we headed to 240W I could feel myself slowing and it became a struggle, and when it went to 270W the suffering really started.

Come on Robert, come on, let's complete this interval. Come on, 2 minutes more, half way there, 1 minute to go now, 30 seconds. Come on, come on, you're down to 80rpm, push now, fight for this, come on, just 15 seconds, 10, 5, ...... you're done.

The 80rpm threshold I had been warned ahead of the test was a key indicator. Once I couldn't sustain this cadence or my HR went too far over my predicted maximum the test would be finished.

I wanted to punch the lab tech during every screaming moment of that last interval, but it kept me going. I dug deep and buried myself spurred on by his words of encouragement. My heart was pounding at the end, I later found out we'd hit a max of 189bpm in that last 3 minutes, considerably above the prediction based on my age. I did mess up the heart-rate-recovery measurement by ripping off the mask too soon, a mistake I'll know not to make next time.

My nerves had been misplaced, the stats didn't come out too bad - I'm relatively fit for my age. The lactate threshold level was measured at 210W and my peak power 270W. What's interesting is the last FTP test I did myself gave an estimate of 220W. Given what a crude setup I have, I'm rather surprised this was within 5% of the properly measured level. My lactate heart rate level is considerably different to my last home test though - at 171 vs 153. I'm actually rather surprised it's higher not lower, given that all my recent rides and events have been long and low intensity.

The rest of the stats will now be assessed by Erica in devising a training programme for me. I'm fascinated to see how that maps out. One last part of Friday's lab test visit made me smile though. Towards the back of the test report is a categorisation of your VO2Max level on a colour coded 3D bar chart based showing fitness levels grouped by age. My current level is at the upper end of a rating termed as High - a nice royal blue colour on the bar chart. Just above it is a dark blue set of bars termed Athletic. So it seems in this case, my dislike of inaccurate names is justified, It says it there in blue and white on a properly measured report. I'm not an athlete, at least not yet.

For the rest of you, it's an adventure ...

2014-08-16T10:57:00.000+02:00

"Just look back at the trailer every now and then to check all the bikes are still on"

And with those words from Laurence's we pulled away from his drive, bikes, kit and team of five all loaded. Five because as well as riders, our team also included Laurence's son, Thomas, who had volunteered as our team support driver. Or maybe he had been volunteered, either way he was an enthusiastic and welcome addition to the team. Initially it had seemed like a support driver was perhaps non essential, but as our planning took shape it became evident that he could be the difference between us finishing or not. And for even this first part, it meant an extra pair of hands to share the 500km odd drive to Willlowmore.

So many things can go wrong in the preparation for a ride - even arriving with a healthy team and a full count of bikes is filled with potential to end an event before it even starts. Laurence's comment was only half serious, but it highlighted how many moving parts have to work perfectly to get to the end of an event. Alarmingly, the B&B I had booked way back in January had closed but the owner Denise, an enormously friendly and helpful lady, had promised she would be re-opening for our team and also for a later booking she had for Karoo 2 Coast. I didn't doubt her words for one second, but I'd be lying if I claimed it hadn't caused me some concern initially. A solid farm dinner and comfy bed for the night would be just the tonic required for the night before our big adventure. And as we rolled up the drive it was clear this was exactly what we were going to get. Joley, one of Denise's neighbours greeted us and left us to get settled in our rooms as she worked on the food.

Verberg Herberg Inn may have been technically closed as a B&B, but it was still stunning and immaculately kept. It was also calm and serene, being around 18km away from the main N9 along a surprisingly well kept gravel road. The first stage of preparation was a success - we were all here, the accommodation was perfect, and we had already swung by Willowmore to register, collect our checkpoint boxes, and have an obligatory beer at the Royal Hotel. Dinner was short but pleasant, initially conversation was fairy lively but as the evening wore on pre-ride nerves started to build, at least for me anyhow. I found myself looking inward and mentally preparing for the ride. Laurence made a couple of valiant attempts to convince me to open the bottle of red wine standing on the table. With 3 beers already inside, I knew it was not the safest of ideas, and reluctantly declined. The checkpoint boxes were already packed, but we still managed a quick check and repack as we headed back to our rooms. I knew we'd recheck them again in the morning too, my mind now fully in going-over-ever-last-detail mode.

The night was chilly, but the bed was comfy with plenty of warm sheets. I did sleep, but in small bursts of at most a couple of hours at a time. I got out of bed every wake-up, and each time the air and floor were noticeably colder - if tomorrow night (or maybe it was tonight) was going to be the same temperature we'd need every stitch of the warm gear squashed down into the box for checkpoint #4. I probably managed about 4 or 5 hours of proper actual sleep by the time the grey dawn light started peeping through the curtains and I heard showers firing up in the other room and footsteps wandering up and down outside. The endless churning and reworking of our ride had at least highlighted one major mistake on my part. As well as the spare light, I had also stashed all the spare batteries in the box for checkpoint #4. We would be unlikely to actually need these this early in the ride, meaning we would then either have to carry them as extra dead weight, or leave them in the box rendering them unavailable for later in the ride. It could have been a fatal mistake, and as soon as Penny knocked on my door for milk, I dashed around to her room to retrieve the items and put them in my kit bag which we would see with Tom a further 35km down the trail at checkpoint #5.

Breakfast done, fresh coffee and soup in the flasks for later, we loaded up and rolled out somewhere around 7:30 - the last short stretch in a car until sometime in the small hours of the morning the next day. Our first mechanical was already waiting to be fixed on the trailer behind. I had lashed one of the bikes down too tight, which had pushed the tyre away from the rim, breaking the seal and causing all air to escape. Luckily it was my bike so I hadn't messed up someone else's ride before it started. Even more fortunate was that Laurence knew how to deal with tubeless tyres and after several pumps up to high pressure, bangs, knocks, and bouncy rides up the road, we had the bead reseated and sealed on the rim. I kept the tyre at high pressure though - it would be easier to drop the pressure later assuming the seal held than try and reseat the tyre again with a limited supply of bombs and a handpump. Whilst I was stressing over getting the tyre sorted, the guys were all kitted up, checkpoint boxes handed in, and we were ready to part company with Tom until sometime later that day. My estimate was we'd see him between 8 and 9pm at checkpoint #5, but all being rookies, we really had no idea what lay ahead.

"For a few of you this will be a race, for the rest of you this is an adventure"

Came the well practiced words of Wikus, the ride organiser, as he set us off at bang on 10am. We'd been standing around getting nervous for close on an hour by then so it was good to finally get rolling. The whole team together, all in great shape, and all looking mighty fine in the CSM team shirts that Vicki had got for us courtesy of her company. I'd mumbled something insignificant by way of an attempted team talk a few minutes earlier, but it was those words from Wikus that really set the scene and resonated in my head as we started off down the main street. Very soon we swung left to swap tar for dirt road. Although I'd ridden far further on a road bike, 230km on dusty, corrugated gravel was going to be a major test.

Initially we were all together, but where the trial forked left at the Uniondale turn a pattern emerged that would remain for the opening section of the ride - Penny and I riding a steady pace at the back and Vicki and Laurence were pulling strongly somewhere up ahead. There were times we rode all 4 together, but often we were split in 2 groups of 2. It didn't trouble me at all, I knew from our training rides we all rode very different paces, and I always expected to be the slower or slowest rider. I also knew that if I went out too hard, I'd be struggling at the end. We regrouped many times though, and finally at 26km in we hit the top of Nuwekloof Pass, marking the end of the gradual climb we had been labouring up since the start. According to the profile, for most of the next 100km, the trail was predominantly downhill.

As we started the wonderful descent of the pass, the scenery became more rugged and stunning. High red and orange cliffs rising around us as the trail twisted and looped downward. It was fast, and at times bone-shakingly bumpy. I stopped for a moment to drop the pressure a tad in my tyres, and also switch my suspension into Trail mode, softening it from Climb, more efficient and less bouncy for the uphills but way too harsh for this stretch. Penny, being less experienced on the mountain bike, was rather more nervous on the descent, so I throttled back my speed to make sure she was coming down safely.

Eventually the trail flattened out at the bottom of the pass, and we found ourselves pulling into an unpleasantly strong headwind. I was concentrating hard on finding the smoothest line through the gravel, at times it was nothing more than a wheels width of stones flattened by riders in front. The bunches snaked across the road and back, the lead rider picking the easiest line and everyone behind following. Despite the wind the bunches were traveling pretty fast, and I was enjoying myself rather too much. Penny had dropped back, and I realised she probably had a point - we weren't even 50km into the ride, and this pace was too high to be sustainable. I geared back and Penny and I rode together. Her 26er was also not as optimum for pulling hard and fast over flat terrain as the 27.5 Vicki and I were riding or the 29er Laurence was on. That would even out though as the terrain and road became more lumpy later in the ride.

We really should have consulted our distance before taking a short pee stop. Hidden around a corner less than 500m up the track from where we pulled over, were Vicki & Laurence waiting for us to enter the first checkpoint. I had to laugh, they'd waited some minutes longer than needed if we'd only pushed on that short section around the corner. We were all together now though, and quickly topped up bottles, and grabbed some food. I made the immediate decision I was not going to worry about Banting foods for today, and grabbed one of the sandwiches on offer. Keeping my fuel topped up regularly seemed way more important than worrying about avoiding carbs.

Straight out of the checkpoint was a climb, not hugely long or especially steep, but definitely enough to test the legs. It seemed a long, hot and dusty 50km from there to checkpoint #2. For the majority of it though we rode together, Vicki had dropped back somewhat, and mentioned to Penny she had hit a bit of a low spot, feeling the early pace. We all backed off and took it steadily. Luckily the profile was mostly downhill. After what seemed like an age, we eventually passed Baviaanskloof police station, and a little beyond it came the gate marking the start of the wilderness section. We'd be in national park from here until Patensie at the other side of the kloof. The gravel road immediately gave way to a much narrower and rougher 4x4 trail, an early warning of the terrain that lay ahead.

We splashed through the first couple of river crossings, much shallower than typical for the time of year, still enough to wet the shoes and back though. We also navigated the first section where road and river bed were one and the same. I'd been rather nervous about these stretches - two long ruts of smooth, rounded river bed rocks, some of which were pretty large. The Giant Anthem came into it's own here though, the larger wheels rolling over them beautifully. I knew this would be the case with momentum, but what surprised me was how stable the ride was even when my speed dropped. Not once did the bike stall out or feel like it would grab a rock or topple - it just ploughed on rolling over every rock and boulder in it's path. By the time I powered up and out of the river bed, the gritted teeth had given way to a stupidly broad grin across my face - this was fun! I came up to Vicki and Laurence, and with Penny just behind we rode into checkpoint #2 together. Not before time too, we were all starting to run low on water by this stage.

Vicki had commented before the ride that checkpoint #2 was a sugar-only stop. She wasn't wrong - jelly babies, marshmallows, bananas, orange segments, coke. Carbs and sugar were all around. On the way to top up water bottles and backpack, I grabbed a couple of orange segments and a banana, and did also sneak down a couple of jelly babies. Laurence had retrieved our box, and we all topped up jersey pocket with snacks etc. Penny had also stashed a bottle of frozen milk in each box too, as a proper low carber unlike me this was one of her vital fuel sources. I vaguely remember her remarking it was still frozen. Keen to keep moving, Laurence chivvied us along, returning the box and ushering us back to our bikes. Exiting the checkpoint we collected the first sticker for our team token, a round disc of plastic on a lanyard which had to be conveyed to the end of the ride with all stickers attached to validate our passage. It was safely stowed in the top pocket of my Camelbak before we started off again.

Soft, deep sand, followed by another stiff climb - seemingly a theme for the location of the checkpoints. I knew the climb was not nearly big enough to be Baviaans Back, but as I puffed to the top I was kind of wishing I was wrong. Sadly I wasn't, and worse was to come before we did reach the actual climb. In a moment of silliness I pushed too hard in too big a gear on the smallest of ramps a little way down the trail and a sharp cramp shot through my left quad. A couple of kilometers further on the trail turned upwards for the climb proper, and my right quad was tightening in sympathy. This was not good - barely half way into the ride, and with all the big hills still ahead. On any normal ride, my spirits would have sunk at this point. Except this was no normal ride - it was a team ride, and Vicki was there just behind me. It was a great relief. She was more than capable of powering up the climb, but sensing my physical and mental distress, she had sat back and chaperoned me the whole way to the top.

Somehow, despite the tightness, neither leg seized fully - the slope was just shallow enough to be able to stay in a low gear and keep spinning lightly. I even passed a couple of 26ers on the last stretch to the top where Penny and Laurence were waiting. It was a worry though, MAC (Mother of All Climbs) lay ahead, which even without crampy legs would have been a test. For now though, we had a lovely fast descent down towards checkpoint #3. We hadn't seen much wildlife so far, although buffalo spoor was evident along the trail. Towards the bottom of the run down though a female kudu flashed across the trail. She was several meters ahead of Vicki, but at the speed we were descending, it was literally a couple of seconds from colliding with her. Gradually the light was fading, and shadows lengthening. Drifting smoke and the smell of braai meat announced our entry to checkpoint #3. Just in time to fit the lights we'd need for the rest of the ride.

We each collected coffee, sosaties, potatoes and other snacks, Laurence was rather miffed that he'd been flatly refused a second sosatie due to rationing for all the riders, whereas Vicki had managed to grab two without complaint. It took us some time to get all the lights and batteries mounted. Laurence's back light was rather patchy, so I attached my spare to the loops on his backpack. Exiting the checkpoint gave us our next sticker, and something of a surprise. One of the volunteers was pouring shots of Witblits. It was harsh, firey, and a great kick to the pants to get the next leg of the ride going.

We needed that shooter almost immediately. Ahead was my biggest fear going into the ride - another stretch of river boulders, but this time the riding surface was invisible under about half a meter of water. To make matters even more interesting, Laurence stood ready to take pictures of us as we rode down into the water. Nerved by the water, Penny almost immediately splashed a foot down. The temperature was starting to drop, and wet feet were the last thing I wanted. It was a long stretch as well - too long to just charge through and power out the other side. With no way of knowing whether you were heading for a big rock or a deep hole under the water there was nothing to do but hold your nerve and ride steadily through, hoping you had a good line. A couple of times my front wheel stuttered into, over or around some hidden obstruction, but somehow the bike just kept going until eventually we hopped over a short concrete lip, up and out of the other side of the river. Any idea of dry feet was gone though, the water was deep enough that my shoes were just as soaked as Penny's.

No sooner than we'd negotiated the water torture than we were onto the first of the Fangs - two short sharp climbs softening us up before the biggest hill of the day. I think I managed to ride the first of them, but part way up the second a short steep section with a sketchy surface was too much for the still crampy legs. Where normally I'd just have powered up to get over rougher terrain, the tightness in my quads simply did not make this a viable option. By the top of the second Fang the light was almost gone - riders all around were firing up lights, and we lit ours up too as the team gathered at the top. I knew Penny would be nervous descending in the dark, and so we all hung back a bit to give a better view of the trail from our combined lights.

The last rays of daylight had gone and it was fully dark as we started the Mother of All Climbs. All that we could see was a twisting ribbon of lights winding up and over themselves and seemingly right up into the stars. It was a simply stunning sight, and at the same time a rather daunting one. We still had to get up there! Initially both Penny and I were going well, but as the gradient pitched up and surface deteriorated we both dismounted more and more often, until eventually we were just walking. I wasn't surprised, or even unhappy really. My legs just did not have enough to spin up this section, but I was worried about how much time it would take us walking. This was a long long climb. Penny did point out that we weren't actually that much slower than our pedalling speed had been though, which made me feel better. We met up with Laurence and Vicki at one point, both of whom had managed to ride to that stage and had waited some time for us. The view was even more stunning from here - a wiggling line of white lights coming up the hill behind, and a matching line of red tail lights rising up ahead the other.

Laurence rode on but I seem to recall Vicki stayed walking with us for a while. Eventually we swung right past a parking spot, and the gradient eased. I took a rare glance at the distance screen on my Garmin. It was clear the checkpoint was still a couple of kilometers ahead. There was simply no point walking this section, so we all mounted and ground up the easier and flatter final part of the climb. Ahead was an initially confusing sight - a line of riders both coming and going along a path to the left. It was the panhandle turn into checkpoint #4. Laurence was grinning at the end of the short grassy track - clearly pleased with himself at managing to cycle the whole of the climb. I'd have loved to had the legs to do the same, but at that point in time only two thoughts were going through my head: MAC was behind us; and the legendary Bergplaas soup was waiting for us inside the checkpoint.

"Let's find a spot to sit and take a few minutes to rest here and gather ourselves"

It wasn't just the soup that was warm and welcoming. Our chief whip Laurence had suddenly mellowed, and everyone sounded very relieved to be able to linger and faff for a little while. Whilst we sat and sipped soup and coffee, two cups of each in my case, we also raided our final checkpoint box for the warm clothing we'd packed the night before. It was perfect timing, the sweat from the climb was already starting to become cold and clammy in the suddenly quite chilly night air. I even managed a quick call home, this being the one spot in the kloof to have a cell phone signal. In fact, I caught Henri first, Yoli's brother - the whole family were gathered for a braai. By the time Yoli herself came to the phone she was in a bit of a panic.

"What went wrong, why didn't you finish?"

I had forgotten I'd said there would be no cellphone signal and would only be ringing if I'd pulled out of the ride. Oops! Once the panic subsided, Yoli was very happy to hear about our great progress and what a stunning ride we were enjoying. A quick chat and goodnight with Ben was the perfect last tonic to get me up on my feet again and starting to kit up ready to ride. Laurence had also taken the chance to call Thomas and update him on our progress. It was already somewhere after 9pm, and there was still 35km to go until checkpoint #5. My estimate had been hopeless. I felt rather bad - Tom was going to be in for a long night supporting us.

"Oh crap!"

I'd made a potentially disastrous mistake. The mount for my spare front light was still empty - and Vicki had already returned our checkpoint box. What an idiot. Desperate to correct my mistake, I raced back through the crowds at the checkpoint and just managed to recover box #59 as it was being stowed back on the truck. I grabbed it, got the cable tie snipped, whipped out the light and batteries, and dashed back to get the box back on the truck. An immense sense of relief came over me as I got back to the bike, and we mounted up and rode out. At this stage I had no idea just how lucky I was managing to get our box back and retrieve the light.

Trans Baviaans had taken on something of a mythical status in my mind over the years since I'd first heard about it, the ride so far had already lived up too and exceeded every expectation I'd had of it. What was to to come next though totally blew me away. I knew the descent from MAC was steep, rough and twisty over the opening kilometers. It hadn't occurred to me though what a stunning view this would yield. The dark outline of the mountain was barely visible ahead, and the myriad stars of the Milky Way shimmered in the night sky above. In a weird sense of symmetry, hundreds of tiny lights were picking out the trail beneath diving around successive switchbacks. In a split second, we became part of that chain of earthbound stars. The track was rough, and potholed, and required a lot of concentration to spot riding lines over, through and down the ruts and rocky drops. It was an absolute blast - letting off the brakes and flying down the track, pulling a short sharp blast on the levers to wash off some speed ahead of the next bend, sighting a line through the bend, backing off the brakes, and feeling the bike surge smoothly around the small berms through the corner.

I joked to Laurence not to touch his brake discs for fear of melting his gloves. I'm sure with the speeds we were carrying and the sharp bursts of braking they would be riding pretty hot by now. I'd forgotten myself though, or rather my team. This was in places a tricky technical descent, and Penny had never ridden off road in the dark. I dropped back and as she caught up took up a somewhat slower pace so that she could follow my line and lights down the rest of the hill. It was over too soon. Even with my crampy legs, if we'd had the chance I'd have gone straight back up again for one more turn down the fairy-light roller coaster. Everyone had talked about how stiff a climb MAC is, but no one had mentioned what an absolute ripper it was to fly down.

Something I discovered on LEL was that I absolutely love night riding - I often have my best sections in the dark hours. Maybe it was just this, or maybe it was the magic soup at the last checkpoint - but as the trail leveled at the bottom of MAC my energy levels and spirits rose. My leg muscles may have had some residual tightness in them, but this was now my sort of riding - short rolling ramps, and long stretches of fast and steady cadence riding. The pedaling felt effortless and we were motoring at last. For the first time also I was absolutely comfortable with our pace. It may have been fast, but with the experience of all those Audax miles, I knew what sustainable felt like. Our pace picked up even more was we hit smooth tar for the last kilometer or so to the next checkpoint.

I forget if Vicki's or Laurence's battery pack had started failing first, but by the time we pulled into checkpoint #5 both were running out.. Not only was Tom there wide awake and waiting for us, but his support immediately became essential at keeping our ride on track as we retrieved the spare battery pack from the trailer for one of the guys. Donating the battery pack from my light completed our set again, with me switching to the spare light we had so narrowly managed to recover from our crate at the previous checkpoint. As a precaution I also grabbed all of the extra batteries for my spare light - with a limited life of around a couple of hours, several might be needed. As we sorted ourselves out Tom told us a bit about his journey. We had ridden 175km to this spot, but the support drivers route had taken Tom around 500km to get to the same spot. Even with a detour into Jeffrey's Bay it was a startling difference in distance. His commitment to our support was such that there wasn't a hint of complaint in his tone describing the massive roundabout tour to reach us. As we chatted I sloshed back two more cups of coffee and stuffed down a white roll filled with chips. Definitely nothing low carb about my ride fueling plan now, but I didn't care. I was over my slight slump from earlier, and was loving the riding.

The checkpoint was bright and buzzing and in one corner a solo guitarist was belting out live music to complete the party atmosphere. It would have been all too easy to linger until the 3am closing time for the control and just enjoy the festivities. Our ride was far from done though, ahead lay 65km more riding including a substantially lumpy section known as the Never Ending Climb which would start almost as soon as we left the checkpoint. According to the route profile, it looked like we would be climbing for a significant part of the next 30km. It was time to get started, and we rolled back out into the night, collecting the next sticker for our team token on the way.

Never Ending Climb was not inaccurately named. There were a couple of short flat or downhill sections, but mostly it was just a very long steady grind. At least my prediction that it couldn't possibly be that steep with it being so long proved to be largely accurate - aside from a few very short sections, the gradient was kind and it was easy to keep a nice light spinning cadence. My quads were extremely thankful of this. Somewhere en route to seeing Tom at checkpoint #7 there was something referred to as the unmanned checkpoint #6. I knew we were nearing it, and seeing a large orange red glow on the hillside to our left I mentioned to the team that maybe the checkpoint was up ahead. In between bouts of hysterical laughter, the guys pointed out to me that what I was looking at was in fact the pale glow of the moon rising up above the mountain side ahead. Oops! My distant vision with contact lenses is never brilliant, but even with trail dust and tired eyes it was a pretty epic mistake to make.

When we did eventually reach checkpoint #6 it was rather disappointing. A simple table planted at the side of the track, with an empty plastic container screwed to the top. There was no sign of the stickers which should have been inside for our team token. Clearly someone had miscounted, or stolen them. It was rather pointless really. The stop did give us a chance to look at Laurence's light though - the bolt holding the mount had sheared off. Digging down into my Camelpak we managed to find enough cable ties to make a temporary fix. The war of attrition on our front lights was not letting up - we were two battery packs down, and now a broken lamp. It took me a few minutes to figure out what we could do by way of a longer term fix. Then it came to me. I'd tossed my main light back into the trailer when it became redundant as we swapped battery packs around at the last checkpoint. We'd be seeing Tom again a short way down the trail. We could retrieve it again, and swap out Laurence's broken front light. Somehow we'd skate through another front light issue thanks to the stalwart presence of our backup driver down the road.

"When was the last time you rode past midnight into the next day"

I chirped at some stage as we freewheeled rapidly towards checkpoint #7. We were now well into the small hours of Sunday morning, and I was really starting to feel strong. I'm not sure if my exuberance and irrepressible chattiness was starting to get on the nerves of my team mates, but they were too polite to say anything. Instead they answered back that it was a first for all of them - Laurence went further that it was a day of firsts; longest time on a mountain bike; longest ride of any kind; and first ride spanning two days. He may have listed a couple more which I've forgotten. It seemed I wasn't the only one in good spirits.

Very soon the the slight glow of the lights of Jeffrey's Bay were visible as we rolled left into checkpoint #7. A little later on as we sat on hay bales eating delicious Jaffels, Tom was able to explain the strange alien red lights we'd been seeing to our right on the run down to the checkpoint. They were lights on the massive propeller blades of a huge wind farm on the hills around the town. We sat for a few minutes and savoured this last checkpoint. It was a small affair by contrast to checkpoint #5 had been back near Patensie. In place of the party spirit though, a tremendous warmth and spirit seemed to enshroud everyone there, riders and volunteers. None of us were quite sure exactly how far it was to the finish - estimates ranged from between 20 and 30km. But the fact remained, we were within striking distance of the end now. A couple more hours on the bike and, barring mechanicals, we would have completed the legend - our team would have ridden Trans Baviaans.

"Let's do this, let's finish this thing"

Laurence's words stirred us, and we kitted up and rolled down the grassy field into the darkness again. The path swung left and wound past some posts with automated flash cameras on them. Just around the corner the reason for this route out of the checkpoint became clear, it took us onto a farm track through a tunnel under the highway. The ride organisers had done an amazing job keeping us off tar and on trails, even on these approaches into Jeffrey's Bay itself.

For several kilometers we rode along, down and around a succession of farm tracks. Bizarrely it seemed for quite a while that not only were we not actually getting closer to Jeffrey's Bay, but we also seemed to be continuously riding along the same wind farm. I'm not sure if it was a trick of the mind from so long on the bike, or just that it was one humungous wind farm, but we did eventually leave it behind us. Not before one last evil climb though, the aptly named mini-MAC - steep, rough, but thankfully short. I took a run at the opening stage, and flashed past quite a few riders as I did, but I didn't quite have the legs to keep the momentum going and walked the last section. Sure enough, there was Laurence grinning again at the top. None of the climbs had beaten him, and this was most definitely the last one.

It wasn't the last test though. In one last effort to keep us off tar road, the planners threw us onto 10km of single track following the railway line into the town. I swapped out my front light battery for a fresh one and waited for Penny. I knew her battery pack could not have much life left in it, and the single track would not be here favourite section even in daylight. She rode in front of me the last couple of kilometers. I had to smile too. Despite doubting her abilities on technical sections, she was going well and it was one of the guys in front of her who actually fell off, swearing as he went down. Whereas Penny came through strongly and unscathed. Her light held out just long enough to see us back over the railway line, and onto smooth tar road for the final run home.

"You're there, you've done it, this is the end"

A welcoming confirmation from the marshal signalling our route into Fountains Mall. Across a short patch of grass, down a kerb, one left, one right through the car park, and there was the big red arch marking the finish. We adjusted our pace to match each other, lined up four abreast, and crossed the line together. The time was somewhere past 3:30am. We hadn't broken any records, and we were way over the time we'd contemplated when planning the event. We were also clearly at the tail of the finishers (someone mentioned to Vicki there were still 170 riders out behind us). None of that mattered one jot though. We'd had no punctures, no mechanicals that we couldn't fix, no accidents or injuries, and to cap it all off the weather had been sublime the whole way. The ride could not have gone better. Everyone was smiling as the photographer snapped our picture. The smiles were still there as we sat on the kerb munching on Spur burgers and fries and reminiscing over the ride. I took a quick glance at the medal as we were sitting there waiting for Tom. It was just another medal, no bigger or more striking than any other on my shelf - but it was special all the same. This was a bucket list ride medal, setting it apart from most of the others, aside from perhaps DC and LEL.

After a short delay rousing him from a well earned nap, Tom arrived to haul our tired bodies back to the apartment which he had already checked us into and dropped our gear at. Sadly the celebration would have to wait though - for two reasons in fact. Firstly was that my coolbag contained a now toxic explosion of burst beer bottles, leaking thawed out curry, and broken cool brick gel. The smell was overpowering and I quickly gave up trying to salvage any of it. The champagne had survived, but was warm. Before we had time to even contemplate whether we drank it anyway though, the lights went out.

"The power wasn't supposed to be going out until tomorrow morning" commented Tom

"Err, it is tomorrow morning" someone pointed out, possibly it was me

We had no torches or candles, and there was no one around to get any from. Clearly we were not meant to be partying tonight. We each showered off the caked on trail grime to the dim glow of our cellphones and crashed in our rooms. That wind farm may have been massive, but clearly it wasn't quite big enough.

We did get to celebrate though, later on Sunday when we arrived back at Laurence's house. I needed a lift from Yoli to get me and the bike home anyway, so I convinced her to bring Ben over so we could at least crack the Champagne Laurence's wife Chris also joined us, and there we sat, gathered around with drinks in hand and chatting about the ride and sharing the highlights. I'd imagined many things about Trans Baviaans over the years, and the ride had lived up to all of them. The aspect I had never considered though was that in every respect it was a team ride - everyone looking out for each other. Sitting there on Laurence's balcony in the cool evening air, it struck me how much greater the event had been because of that. An amazing adventure shared with a superb group of friends.