Velo Tales

Oak Valley 24hr 2012

2012-01-26T16:31:00.000+02:00

14th December: Just entered for the Oak Valley 24hr. Solo. I suddenly feel like a prisoner on death row. What was I thinking? I'm getting too old for this. At least I got the early bird (aka cheapskate) discount. On the positive side, it surely can't be as bad as my Double Century.

24th December: Just got back from a 5 hour ride, having bonked spectacularly after 3 hours. It was like the Double Century all over again, except there was no one to push me. Forget about tomorrow being Christmas Day - I'm just glad it's a rest day.

26th December: Another 5hr ride. Didn't bonk this time - I suspect the 7 mince pies and 2 helpings of Christmas pudding yesterday might be the reason. Probably explains why I climbed like a lead balloon. Time for a compact crank perhaps (or a diet).

1st January: Happy New Year. Twenty days until my date with the Grim Reaper. I did a 6 hour ride yesterday and didn't see a single cyclist on the road. Gave all the merry holiday makers on Strand beach me best death stare - they seemed to be having far too much fun. My plans to have a nap in the car last night at the New Year's party were foiled, but as the dedicated driver I made sure we left just after 12. Thanks goodness for spmall miracles - another rest day today. Can't get too excited though - another 5hr ride tomorrow.

2nd January: I hate my bike. My bum hates me. My dogs (and wife) treat me like a stranger in my own house.

5th January: Started stalking potential competitors, while at the same time keeping a low profile. Thank goodness for Twitter and Facebook - it's so much easier being a stalker these days. Found a route profile and am suddenly quite nervous. An 11km lap with 250m of climbing. Really regretting all those Christmas pies right now. Time for us to diet (us being myself AND my bike).

Oak Valley 24hr Lap

8th January: Completed my last big weekend before the 24hr. Saw last year's 2nd placed solo lady out on the road in the middle of nowhere, so at least I'm not the only antisocial person in the Winelands. Also saw the beginning of the Argus First Timers/New Year's Resolutionists beginning their training/get fit plans. I'm glad to see that tekkies and T-shirts are still the apparel of choice for beginners. (Mental note: be sure to destroy all photos of my first Argus!)

11th January: Where. Are. My. Lights??? Last seen just after Trans Baviaans.

12th January: Found my lights, along with a pair of missing (now mouldy and rank) arm warmers and a stranger's pair of underpants. Don't ask - your guess is as good as mine...

Ready to roll

14th January: Earned some brownie points doing backup for my wife at Attakwas. Going to come in handy next week. Looked like a bit of a tit riding back along the route, but when the coach says 3 hours, I do 3 hours...

20th January: Frantic search for new tyres. Settled on Racing Ralphs. Need all the raciness I can get. Bike serviced, snacks bought, kit washed, lights charged, bags packed and bum cream purchased. The 24hr is a go!

21st January

6:30am: It's impossible to sleep more than 10 hours - time to get up. Best thing about the 24hr - double helping of FutureLife for breakfast.

8:30am: On our way to Oak Valley. Can't believe how much stuff we've packed for one night away.

10:30am: Gazebo pitched. Decided not to pitch tent. Didn't want to tempt fate.

Single track heaven

11:30am: Changed into cycling kit, bum cream applied. Had a motivational chat with Nelly (my bike) - she looks after me and I'll look after her.

11:45am: Race briefing. Felt like I was back in high school listening to the headmaster. Meurant may have missed his calling as a school principal - no wonder he channels that authority into some really great, but equally tough trails around the Western Cape. A fantastic turnout - in excess of 300 participants overall and over 100 insane people going solo.

And we're off

12:00pm: Le Mans style start. It's rather easy to spot the solo riders in the crowd - I've perfected the loping amble. Slightly faster than walking pace, but slower than a jog. Anyone faster than that was riding in a team, and anyone equally slow or slower was doing it solo.

12:35pm: First lap done. What a fantastic course. First half requires a bit of hard work up the climb, but you're easily distracted by the climbing single track. The second half is pure smile inducing awesomeness. Fast flowing single track bobbing and weaving between the trees - mountain biking at its very best. Legs felt great, everything appears to be working well. Seems like there is a sneaky photographer behind every tree, jumping out with camera in hand when you least expect it. Modern day ninjas.

16:18pm: 7 laps done, seven bottles of juice consumed. Bum cream reapplied. 37 degrees out on the course. Have had several close encounters with cows. Rather ironically we still have half an Oak Valley cow in our deep freezer. I was tempted to mention this to them next time they got too close but decided against it. Having one of their friends for supper twice a week might just spur them on to attack me.

17:01pm: Near race and marriage ending argument with my wife (or as Meurant calls her, the best technical support in the business) over the flavour of Gu she was giving me. After forcing down several Tri-Berry, Jet Blackberry and Peanut Butter flavoured sachets I lost it when I got yet another Tri-Berry flavoured one. All I wanted was my favourite Double Espresso flavoured Gu. Perhaps I was going to be pitching the tent after all...

Time for a snack

18:30pm: Discovered I had a granny gear at the front. The climbs are suddenly a bit more manageable. The time keepers are playing silly buggers with me - they won't tell me what's happening in the race. Good thing Tree John wrote the timing software and was able to sneak me some race info. Things are looking good. I might be in first place. Or third. In other news, the wind has started to drop - I'm upset for two reasons. It was nice and cooling, and was doing a good job of blowing us up the climbs.

19:12pm: Stopped for supper and a change of shirt. Was beginning to smell like my long lost arm warmers. Applied more bum cream for good measure. Fitted my underpants flavoured lights while trying to touch them as little as possible. Sunset is imminent.

Fresh gloves

21:50pm: JRR Tolkein was onto something with his Ents. Trees definitely move at night. It feels like they've all taken one step closer to the trail. Rather intimidating. Saw several frogs on the trail. Made sure I wasn't hallucinating and they were in fact real. They have a deluded sense of toughness - quite prepared to take on a bicycle wheel.

12:00am: Halfway. 17 laps done. Very quiet and lonely out on the course. The odd racing snake makes a brief appearance before vanishing down the trail - rear red light blinking faintly. Almost rode over a mouse with the indecisiveness of a guinea fowl crossed with a squirrel. Had to actually dismount while he made up his mind about which way he wanted to go.

An indecisive mouse

2:03am: Found a crazy solo single speeder have a wrestling match with his bike up a hill. At least I'm not that crazy, and at least I'm not struggling that much. Suddenly very grateful to the guy who invented the derailleur and gears. Asked my wife for lube - she handed me the bum cream. I was talking about bike lube for my dry chain.

2:52am: Had a close encounter with a Tree Ent. I swear it deliberately stuck out a branch and grabbed my bar ends. Quite surprised by my cat like reflexes so early in the morning (I put this down to the switch to the Double Espresso Gu flavour). Pity no one was about to see my fantastic bike handling skills, or witness the evil Tree Ent.

Check the cows out

4:28am: The sky is getting lighter - sunrise will be any minute now. Couldn't help thinking of all the other athletes about to wake up - Half Iron Man and the Cape Cobra. I'm secretly jealous of their choice in outdoor activity. In other news, I suspect various parts of my body of planning a pain protest. I think my bum is the ring leader.

5:17am: It is light enough to ride without lights. Imagine my surprise upon discovering the cows were in exactly the same place as they were before the sun set. They'd been watching us all night long. I feel violated by the voyeur cows. Time for more bum cream. Is it possible to apply too much?

In the zone

7:44am: Have had Robbie Williams' "I don't want to Rock DJ" stuck in my head for 2 hours now. I suspect the other competitors are resorting to nasty psychological warfare tactics. The worst thing is that I only know one line of the song. The course is suddenly as busy as the N1 on a work day. And I'm the overloaded 18 wheeler truck grinding up Durbanville Hill, obstructing the traffic.

8:34am: Just did a whole lap with the hiccoughs. Banana flavoured. I haven't had a banana for 6 hours. Some vindictive social rider is making bacon and eggs in the camp. There should be rules about torturing the solo riders like this. The finish is almost within sight.

9:21am: Some windgat race snake wearing world champ colours came flying passed me. Like there'd be any world champs at a little 24hr event in Grabouw. Pffft!

Spot the World Champ behind me

10:26am: No wonder I am so slow - there are bits on my bike that I am not using. Like the big chain blade, the second water bottle cage. And the saddle. The protest has escalated into a full blown strike. My bum refuses to go near my saddle. In other news, in an attempt to let a faster rider past I fell into a bramble thicket - bum first. Once in, I was quite prepared to spend the rest of the day there - getting out brought tears to my eyes.

11:31am: Last lap done. Finished. Just waiting for 12pm to cross the line. Ignoring all the encouragement to do one last lap. Names have been taken and I'll be lodging a complaint of attempted murder against all those egging me on. Far more focused on getting a beer. And sitting.

Bum and saddle are no longer friends

12:01pm: 30 laps completed, 330kms, 6890m of ascent, 17 451 KCal burned. I took in the following: 30 bottles of juice/water, 4 litres of coke, 2 litres of Lucozade, 4 Woolworths milkshakes/yoghurt drinks, 15 baby potatoes, 12 Gu sachets, 4 bananas, one sandwich, one cappuccino, a mouthful of pasta and 17 airborne bugs.

12:17pm: Attempting to shower. Discovered several new features on my bum. I'm either growing horns or they are blisters. Going commando.

12:30pm: Been lusting after a Spur burger and chips all night long, only to be told that they are packing up. Tried to explain that I'd been a little busy for the last 24hrs. Ended up going to the LimeBar for beer instead.

Happiness is beer and a chair

1:12pm: Car is packed largely due to the best technical support crew around (my wife). I sat down to tie a shoelace and stayed there.

1:30pm: Prize giving. Lots of weary bodies with big smiles. On the smile scale the event was clearly a great success. Seems like a tough battle for 1st place was had in all categories. Except that crazy single speeder team - no one was crazy enough to challenge them. The best 24hr event I have been to yet - the course alone is enough to forgive any other oversights by Dirtopia. Good work. Turns out the windgat race snake wearing world champ colours is in fact a Ralph Näf - 2006 World Marathon Champ - out on a training ride. He won the 3hr race.

The top 3 solo riders

2:32pm: Fell asleep on the car trip home. Drooled down my cheek. Car is unpacked, and by unpacked I mean all the stuff is now taking up space in the lounge. A cup of tea in the bath, bum damage inspection and time for a nap. Taking tomorrow off - is it normal leave or sick leave?

Even Nelly took strain

8:07pm: Pizza in bed, time to catch up on missing sleep. Will be sleeping on my stomach tonight. Good night.

One dirty right leg

All professional looking photos courtesy of Chris at PhotoBay

Double Century 2011

2011-11-29T13:46:00.001+02:00

Once again, Team 5339.co.uk had assembled a rag tag bunch of cyclists with the aim of riding 202 kilometers as fast as we could. We're a virtual team, corresponding via email, and meeting up together as a team for the first time the night before the event. Captain Craig and I spend the entire year between events trying to fill the ranks around a core group of riders, always on the hunt for riders who will compliment our cause, so you can imagine our relief when we were able to recruit "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ and some of his friends. The team now consisted of some road cyclists, some mountain bikers, some triathletes, a Double Century virgin, a localised Brit, a senior citizen, The Accountant, and two mustache wearing members of the Village People - a cosmopolitan bunch indeed.

Team 5339.co.uk

Ever since our stroke of recruitment genius, I had been receiving updates via twitter from "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™, mainly about his training, and to say that I was nervous is an understatement. With each update my anxiety levels increased - suddenly my 350kms a week seemed rather pathetic in comparison to the 600kms a week he was putting in. I sensed that this was going to be no ordinary DC.

One straight stripe

We all met up for the first time the night before the big day in a guest house in Swellendam, where we talked strategy and tactics over dinner, while at the same time scared the living daylights out of the DC virgin. The plan was simple - when on the front, ride as fast as you can, for as long as you can, and then drop back into the pace line to recover. Repeat about 30 times, or until you died, which ever came first. After watching the speed with which some of the team members devoured supper I hoped that the same enthusiasm would be present the next morning on the bike.

The team - altogether still

After our great ride from 2010, Team 5339.co.uk had been seeded to start with the big boys of Double Century racing, which meant we started at 6:08am. Of all the teams around us, I was particularly worried about Red John, my W2W partner, who was starting ten minutes behind us. I knew that if and when he caught and passed us, I would never hear the end of it. I needed all the extra motivation I could get. As soon as the gun went we assumed the position that we'd stay in for the next 6 or so hours - one long stripe of men on machines tearing up the tarmac.

Are we there yet?

With Swellendam quickly vanishing behind us we made good progress, lured by the slower teams ahead of us. Nothing like a target or two to motivate a team of twelve cyclists. We whizzed through Suurbrak and before we knew it we were on the lower slopes of the Tradouw Pass, but already we had a problem. We'd lost 3 riders within the first hour, and the race had barely begun. The nice thing about having "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ on our team, among other things, was that we got to climb the 14kms of the pass at his pace, and not at the pace of some of the other mountain goats in our team. The same applied for Op de Tradouw pass, where we had our first feed stop. In addition to grabbing new bottles and snacks, Andy, the localised Brit did an equipment change.

The Andy Train
Photo courtesy of Ronelle Rust:TORQUEPICS

"If the speed goes over 50km/h, I want to be on the front"
Photo courtesy of Ronelle Rust:TORQUEPICS

Much like Stanely Ipkiss in The Mask, as soon as Andy put on his time trial helmet he went from being a strong tempo riding cyclist to an insanely fast speed loving yellow-shoed maniac. Not only did his muscles have muscles, but the muscles on his muscles had muscles. Us ordinary folk were going to be in for a ride of our lives. The next 80kms took us 1h55, and in the process Team 5339.co.uk slowly lost a few more riders. First to go was Hector (admittedly it was my fault after I gave him a dead wheel), followed by our time trialing quiet guy Chris with a flat tyre. We were down to 7 riders and I was starting to take strain.

I had to make a decision quickly - drop off now while I still could, or endure another 2 hours of pain and suffering. Just when I was about to put my plan for a gentle ride to the finish into action, I realised that I was too late. Jarryd had beaten me to it, and now I was suddenly number 6 - the worst number to be in a DC team. I persevered to the next feed stop where I hoped that some coke and a Gu would get me going again. If anything, I felt worse after that, and the thought of another 2 hours of this didn't do much to lift my mood. Thankfully Andy had taken off the time trial helmet - with my spaghetti legs we wouldn't be needing that again in a hurry.

Jarryd
Photo courtesy of Ronelle Rust:TORQUEPICS

Hector feeling rather happy to be off the back
Photo courtesy of Ronelle Rust:TORQUEPICS

I went through all manner of pain and torment, gave up cycling 3 times, and vowed to name my second born (I've already promised the organisers of the Swazi Frontier naming rights to my first born) something along the lines of Trevor Andy Craig Warren Andrew (or a combination thereof) should it be a boy, if I were to survive to the finish line in one piece. With some great team work, plenty of pushing, and some words of encouragement the stronger members of Team 5339.co.uk nursed me through the remaining kilometers. As soon as a gap opened there'd be a hand on my back pushing me back into contact with the rest of the team, as soon as I called for water I'd have a bottle right away.

Guess who Warren is pushing?
Photo courtesy of Ronelle Rust:TORQUEPICS

A team tradition is to go for a cool down ride on the day after the race, and as we crested the final sense of humour killing hill I remember telling Craig that he could stick his cool down ride - I wasn't interested. Somehow, I survived two of the darkest hours I have had on a bike and we finally crossed the finishing line in a slightly disappointing 5h48 and 9th overall. It's not a bad time, but we certainly were on target for something so much faster. The only saving grace was that Red John and his Anderson crew had been unable to catch us - at least a small part of my pride was intact.

Guess who Craig is pushing?

And guess who "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ is about to push?

As the French say "un jour sans" - a day without. I prefer Captain Craig's take on things though: "It's a bit like us being taken for a walk by a much bigger and meaner dog than we expected!". To Eurice (the DC Virgin), Grant (The Accountant), Russell (The Senior Citizen), Hector (The Gay German), Chris (The Quiet Guy), Jarryd (The Kid), Craig (The Captain), Warren (The Village Person), Trevor (The Beast), Andrew (The Silent Assassin) and Andy (The Silver Bullet) - thanks for another great DC. To Chad (The Chiropractor) and Yolanda (The Wife) - thanks for the brilliant backup - without you guys we wouldn't have gotten very far at all. See you all next year.

The finishing six

I was just happy to still be alive.

The Team and Chad

Wines2Whales 2011

2011-11-17T13:31:00.001+02:00

The third edition of Wines2Whales promised to be bigger and better, with more single track, tastier food, and cosier tents. Right after entries opened, the 3 antagonists in the Highly Competitive Married Couples Racing Division from the 2010 event met at a neutral venue to lay down some ground rules. After some tooth and nail negotiations, several bottles of wine (someone mentioned something about focusing on the "Wines" part of Wines2Whales), and some subtle psychological mind games we settled on the following rules:

Pushing is allowed
We all had to start in the same group

Pre race excitement

There might have been more rules and stipulations, but between the lack of minutes at the meeting and the wine no one could recall much the next day. All that was left was for the secret training and intelligence gathering to begin.

While I'd like to think that my team was well on track to reaching new levels of fitness and technical skill as the cold winter months wore on, I'd be telling a lie. As it turned out, my sources revealed that things weren't going much better in the other teams. Intra team politics, bad weather and sheer laziness all culminated in a phone call I received with a little under two months to race day. The faster half of Team Heading for a Divorce (Red John - as I'm pretty sure he tried to kill me several times) was quite worried that they would have to change their team name to Team We're Already Divorced, and so in the interest of saving his marriage had come up with a proposal. Would I be willing to do a partner swap - not the keys in a fish bowl type - and ride with him? And to sweeten the deal he'd throw in some free massages for my wife and I. Team Starsky and Hutch (I was Starsky) and Team Pinky and the Brain (still not sure who is Pinky and who is the Brain) were born.

The problem - too much stuff, not enough space!

Having successfully beaten Red John in 5 out of 6 stages in 2011, I was up for the challenge, but still had two conditions:

Since Red John and his bike weigh less than me alone, he would have to wait at the top of the hills
No swearing at me (people still think Red John's wife is known as "For F*cks sake Nadine")

While I'd been having fun in the hills of Swaziland, Red John had been hard at work on the road bike, earning a podium at the Msunduzi Road Challenge - part of the UCI World Cycling Tour. To say I was nervous was an understatement, and when there was talk of finishing in the top 3 I suddenly wished I hadn't been so cheap and accepted the free massages.

Red John on the podium (in red)

Stage One

Team Starsky and Hutch were initially seeded in B, but this wasn't good enough for Red John. After analysing the seeding of all the riders ahead of us in A, he sent a threatening letter to the organisers promising to pour pool acid all over their plants if we weren't immediately reseeded. Valuing their plants, and not wanting to incur the wrath of Red John, we were promptly reseeded into A, which meant a 7am start from the beautiful Lourensford Wine Estate.

A blurry Yolanda and Coach Louise in the start chute

As we stood in the start chute with hills all around us, I felt a little bit out of place with all the race snakes sussing us out. Thankfully, our podium aspirations had been downgraded to a top 10 in our category, and a top 20 overall (which still made me nervous - I went to the toilet 4 times before the start).

Preparing the "bedroom" tent

The bedroom tent

As soon as the gun went and the trail started going up, Red John assumed the position that I would get well acquainted with over the next couple of days - a couple of bike lengths ahead of me, looking like he was out on a social ride with mates as I laboured on the pedals to try and close the gap. The ultimate indignity came when he offered me his pocket for a tow on the first 7km climb of the day. While I might be prepared to swap my wife for a free massage, I do have some principals, and getting towed on the first climb of the day is against one of them!

A gloomy looking race village and meal tent

With the climb over we got onto some terrain that I'm more at home on when I realised my bike was handling like a minibus taxi. My suspension had popped, squirting oil all over my front brake, and so like your average minibus taxi I had no front brakes and no suspension. Little John's mid morning mechanical gremlin had found a new victim! Downhills suddenly became bone rattling death traps, sweet flowing single track became a hiking trail that I could push my bike along. They say that when you are about to die your life flashes before your eyes, but all I can recall as I headed towards a collision with a barbed wire fence at break neck speed is that I hoped Red John would eventually realise I wasn't behind him any more. No epiphanies, insights or restful bliss - just fear that I'd die and my partner wouldn't even know!

Pinky and the Brain (or is it The Brain and Pinky?)

Amazingly, despite my lack of legs and mechanical well-being we found ourselves slowly moving up through the field (I did swallow my pride and accepted a pocket), and by the time we got to the Gantouw Pass portage section we had several teams lurking just ahead of us. Some determined hiking saw as crest the top of the pass ahead of several roadie teams, with about 15kms to the finish. A slight sense of humour failure and some annoyingly twisty turny single track later we crossed the line at the Grabouw Country club, completing the 70 odd kilometers in 3h48, in 15th overall, and 6th in our category.

The race village

Several hours later, after a shower, a tasty nutella sandwich, and an excruciating massage, Team Pinky and the Brain crossed the line. I wasn't quite sure if that was the time to ask FFS Nadine if she wanted to swap back again and ride with her husband the following day, but judging by the smiles all around I think I knew what the answer would be. Yolanda had only fallen once, which by her standards is a good day out, and they came awfully close to beating Mike and Adrian of Team Finding Vino 2 (a wholly inappropriate name - something like Team We've Got All The Snacks, and We'll Eat Them would have been more suitable).

Malan of Cycle Addiction (my LBS) promised to have my bike in tip top shape the next morning, although part of me wished he couldn't fix it and I would get to ride the rest of the event with my wife.

Stage Two

The A bunch contenders

If there is a better day of cycling to be had in a bike race in South Africa, I would like know about it. With 60% of the course on single track, stage two promised to give those of us with a smidgen of technical skill an advantage over the bunch of roadies we found ourselves racing against.

Is there a better place to ride than this?

Once again, the pace from the gun was frenetic, and I struggled to keep the back of Red John in sight. My legs felt better than the squishy noodles I'd had for legs the previous day, but between the traffic and the occasional hill I wasn't making good progress. A cunning bit of forward thinking by Red John had him dragging me up the steepest hill of the day into some single track ahead of a mixed team, and we slowly caught all the teams we were racing against. Some track cycling like slingshots later and we were on the back of the bunch as we slowly started to climb again.

Perfect

Just as we were getting a gap over the bunch, a water point appeared, and in a move that I'll be mocked about for a long time, I stopped for something to drink. Apparently it isn't cool to stop at water points when you're racing, and that is only something the guys further down the field do. Sensing Red John's scorn, and the lack of any future offers of a tow I dug deep and managed to rejoin the bunch that we'd been with. To make amends for my amateur water point behaviour I kept the pace going, and before we got to the top of the hill, we had opened up a nice gap on the bunch going into the best single track of the day at Lebanon.

Perfect conditions for bike racing

My shock and front brake working flawlessly, we were able to increase the gap as we exited Lebanon and headed towards Thandi, and the next water point. Before we could even see the water point I was told that under no circumstances were we stopping. As we whizzed through the water point, I didn't even dare to look at the cups of coke, and kept my eyes firmly glued to Red John's bum when I suddenly realised that for the first time all day he was showing signs of taking strain (he probably should have stopped for a cup of coke at the water point, but I didn't dare voice that opinion). Red John started to struggle in the final 10kms, so I was able to repay the earlier pushes and slingshots as we raced towards the finish, desperate to keep the gap over a bunch of riders that were steadily gaining on us. With the exception of Tennis Playing Pete, we were able to hold on, and eventually crossed the line in 3h01. It was nice to know that Red John felt pain too. We'd lost 2 places overall, and one place in our category, but had a nice buffer over the teams behind us. It was also nice to know that we'd ridden 11 minutes faster than Little John - perhaps now the persistent mutterings of my lack of technical skill could finally be put to bed.

Yolanda's penance for riding her bike

Several hours later the ladies arrived in a sprint finish for 382nd place, and much like her husband, FFS Nadine's sprinting skills let Team Pinky and the Brain down. This didn't dampen their spirits at all, the grinning from ear to ear continued well up until dinner time. Team Finding Vino 2 had miscalculated their nutritional requirements versus the distance remaining, and with one kilometer to go had to stop for an energy gel. It was only several hours later that Mike stopped bouncing off the walls.

Post stage ~~torture~~ massage

Stage Three

For those of us staying in the tents, stage 3 began at 2am with a howling wind signalling the arrival of the cold front that we all knew was coming but were too scared to talk about. For once, those carrying a few extra kilos were at an advantage as several stick like racing snakes awoke to find themselves half way across the Western Cape. At around 4:30am I was finally able to fall asleep as the wind died down, only to be awoken by the sound of torrential rain, followed shortly thereafter by a phone call from Red John somewhere in the vicinity of BotRivier, letting me know that today Starsky would be going solo. Hutch's sub 5% body fat would not be enough to keep him alive on a bike in freezing conditions.

Pinky putting up a pyjama protest

I wasn't too phased by the conditions - my trusty pair of arm warmers were at hand, and I'd seen worse in the form of the still spoken about in hushed tones 100 Miler of 2009. It looked like Pinky (or perhaps in this case - The Brain) was also going to withdraw, citing a well crafted list of excuses, ranging from the fear of pneumonia to the cost of replacing bike components, depending on who she was speaking to.

The food tent looked like a refugee camp

Just before the start time at 7am, the organisers decided to delay the start for another hour while they frantically put plan B, C and D into action. This was like a stay of execution for many - we'd made the decision to ride, had mentally prepared for a wet, soggy day out on the bike, only to be forced to huddle in the warm, dry food tent as we awaited their decision.

Nervously awaiting the final decision

At 8am, a rather nervous looking congress of commissars stepped on stage and announced that after much deliberation and head scratching, stage three of Wines2Whales was being cancelled, and that this year's edition of the race would be known as Wines2Waters forevermore (it was that, or cut off the second W on the medal). Judging by the cheers in the tent, they had made the right decision, even if we all were a little sad not to be riding into Onrus. Overall results would consist of the first two days of racing, which meant that Team Starsky and Hutch had met the goals set out before stage one - a top 20 overall (17th) and a top 10 in our category (7th). I was glad the stage was cancelled, not because of the weather and the conditions, but because it gave us an official finish, rather than a DNF. The real Starsky and Hutch would never have gone their separate ways!

Snow in the background

A wet and cold looking race village

As for Team Pinky and the Brain, they managed a credible 12th place in the ladies, and 6th place in their category (out of 13 and 6 respectively). Mike and Adrian were quite disappointed too, although I'm not sure what they were more disappointed about, not riding the final stage, or missing the opportunity to stop at 3 water points for potatoes, oranges, bananas and coke. Perhaps next year Red John will let me ride with Team Finding Vino 2 - I think I missed out on a whole other side of Wines2Waters.

Who brings an umbrella to a bike race?

And now you know why we call him Little John

Our thoughts go out to the families of the 3 workers who lost their lives building part of the course.

Swazi Frontier 2011

2011-11-01T14:53:00.001+02:00

Once again, the cousins from Cape Town found themselves re-enacting the Groot Trek as we made our way from Cape Town to Hawane, via Johannesburg, Hendrina, and Carolina, for the start of the 2011 Swazi Frontier (possibly not the exact Groot Trek route).

Nervously awaiting the arrival of our bikes

Apart from the odd ablution stop and run away whirlwind, the trip was rather uneventful. No lost baggage, no forgotten passports, no missing customs receipts. Until we got into Swaziland. Rather prophetically, in the space of 9kms, we got lost 3 times, but eventually arrived safe and sound at Hawane Luxury Chalets. After registration and picking up our race goodies, chatting to familiar faces and sussing out the competition, we made our way to our accommodation. Once again we hadn't quite cracked the nod for a luxury chalet, but we had been upgraded from the tents to the stables.

I drive, Little John navigates. That was the deal!

Once we'd made sure the airline hadn't performed random drop tests on the bike boxes, we un-boxed and rebuilt our bikes. I'm always a little nervous about riding a bike that I've just put back together - I always have this nagging suspicion that I might have missed tightening an important bolt or two, particularly when I'm flying down a bone rattling descent, and of all the races to discover a loose bolt, Swazi is not the one.

Our room for the night

Dinner and stage one's briefing was a rather subdued affair by Fossil's standards - there was no talk of distance or altitude gained, and the profile for the stage was only subliminally flashed on the screen before we were distracted by the arrival of desert. There was some mumbling about a big climb, and drinking lots of water before we were told the difference between a stone and a rock (something along the lines of a stone can be picked up in one hand and thrown, while a rock requires at least two hands). Apparently, all stones had been removed from the course, which leads me to believe that Fossil can't pick up and throw anything bigger than a golf ball.

Little John and his new steed

As far as the competition went - the Kenyan Grasshoppers were back again, and they'd brought some reinforcements in the form of two youngsters. The Swazi pair of Thulani and Fana were looking good, and eager for a spot on the overall podium. Bad luck had struck the Osama Bs (is it just me or are they a magnet for bad luck) with Bruce Turvey falling sick in the week leading up to the event. We spotted a couple of other racing snakes and made mental notes on people to keep our eyes on.

Navigational homework

Stage One

Bright and early at approximately sometime after 7 (Swazi time is a non-exact concept) we were off and almost immediately we were climbing. What little air there was just seemed to get thinner as we gasped our way up the climb, our team name of Altitude Sickness suddenly feeling quite apt. Meanwhile we watched the Kenyan Grasshoppers and their protégés disappear up the climb, but we weren't overly concerned. We knew the Grasshoppers couldn't navigate, and so they were falling into our trap at the front of the race.

Another tough day in Africa

In what is becoming a rather regular occurrence, Little John had an early mechanical problem with a dodgy pedal and several teams came flying past us. We got going quickly again and made our way back up through the field. With the footage of the mountain bike hating buck fresh in everyone's mind we entered the Malolotja National Park and almost immediately spotted one of the now feared and infamous Red Hartebees. I held back a little and made sure I was behind Little John. Everyone now knows that it is the front guy that gets taken out!

Up ahead we could see our plan in action as the Kenyan's had indeed taken a wrong turn and we quickly nipped around a corner and out of sight. Another tough, rock littered climb awaited us before we encountered one of the scariest, death defying technical descents I have ever ridden. I have fondly named the descent Tyson's Traverse, and although I can't remember too much of the descent because my eyeballs were bouncing around so much in my head, I survived the prolonged 10 minute crash-in-motion, my entire body feeling like I'd just been in the ring with Mike Tyson for 5 rounds. Bruised hands, aching kidneys, cramping arms, and sore legs. Several times I questioned the wisdom of riding a hard tail at this event. By the time I got to the bottom Little John was out of sight up ahead, I'd lost a bottle (Fossil's warning about drinking enough suddenly haunting me), and I was convinced I'd forgotten to tighten several bolts on my bike.

Thankfully the descent had given us a bit of a gap, and while Little John and I both had some Mother Earth reacquainting falls, we were in the lead. We flew through the water point, gulping down some Pepsi and ignoring the temptations of the doughnuts and ice lollies and crossed the suspension bridge. All we had to do was keep our cool, follow the map and get to the last climb with a sizable gap and the first stage would be ours. What we hadn't quite banked on was that we'd miss the simplest of turns, get lost on the wrong side of the mountain and then bump into two teams of Kenyans.

Charlie the lettuce farmer feeling the effects of a long day out

We knew were we had to go, and the only thing standing in our way was the almost vertical side of a mountain. While I was trying to find a route AROUND the mountain, a decision was made to go OVER the mountain. I still wonder what Little John's reasoning was, not about going over the mountain, but the decision to take navigational advice from the Kenyans. Half an hour and four blisters later we'd made it to the top of the Kenyan Crux to find that we were now in second place, with several teams approaching fast and one last opportunity to make up time on and lose the Kenyans on the descent.

The Country Club at Bulembu

Little John contemplating a swim

However, Little John had other ideas and got us lost again, somehow sniffing out an illicit plantation of Swaziland's finest cash crop. And it wasn't just us that ended up among the tall, healthy plants - half the field of the Swazi Frontier got "lost" there. This probably explains the ten and a half hours it took the last team to complete the stage (and why they were giggling like girls when they finished).

Thulani stocking up on flapjacks

With our morale at an all time low, and several teams ahead of us by now, we started on the final climb (with the imposing name of Too Brutal). Both the Adult and Nymph Grasshoppers were back on their preferred terrain and flew up the hill as Little John and I adopted a rather more sedate approach of riding, pushing, carrying and dragging our bikes up the climb, eventually crossing the finish line at Bulembu in 5 hours and 7th place, for what has to be one of the toughest day's out on a bike I've had in a while.

Lunch at Bulembu

More worrying than the lack of BMT displayed by Team Altitude Sickness was the news that Little John had cracked a rib. Thankfully, the hospitality, food and surrounds at Bulembu provided enough of a distraction - we would deal with the rib in the morning.

Charlie applying Voltarin to Little John's rib

After failing stage one's navigational test, Little John is eager to make amends

Stage Two

In stark contrast to the treacherous nature of stage one, stage two has to be one of the most enjoyable days one can have on a mountain bike. Fantastically fast descents, countless river crossings, twisty single track - what more could a mountain biker want. Fortunately, the route was almost exactly the same as the previous year's stage, so while we couldn't rely on the Kenyans getting lost, at least we wouldn't get lost either (or so I thought).

The bicycle cleaning and self servicing area

With Little John doped up on anti-inflammatories and pain killers we set off from Bulembu, leaving the inspiring town behind and headed off towards Piggs Peak. Our plan was the same as the day before - try to lose the Kenyans on the descents, and make them have to navigate for themselves. Before we could really put our plan into action, Little John once again had his early morning mechanical, breaking a chain. We got going quickly again, and watched as the group up front were forced to make some navigational decisions.

The pool at Piggs Peak

We rejoined the group just as the long downhill was about to begin and almost immediately noticed that the baby Kenyans were under pressure on the downhills. The Kenyans had to make a decision - wait for their protégés or stick with the lead group. They chose the latter and soon there were just three teams from three countries at the front, Thulani and Fana from Swaziland, David and Davidson from Kenya, and Little John and myself from South Africa. The Swazi guys were riding a great race, they'd ridden smartly on day one and now were setting the pace on the front. I was worried that they would out climb us on the final climb of the day, and so was eager to put them under pressure in the technical stuff.

Now this is luxury

We got a slight gap through one of the longer river crossings and while the Kenyans rode across to join us, the Swazi duo took their time. A lightning fast stop at the water point and we were on our way again, the Kenyan's marking us (obviously relying on our superior navigational skills). One minute we could see the Swazis hot on our heals, and the next minute they were gone - nowhere to be seen. We put this down to them missing a turn, but the reality was that Thulani had broken a frame. Not just a dent or a crack, but a solid clean break. His bike now consisted of two halves, held together by gear cables and brake hoses.

Thulani and his new bendy bike

In a rather courageous move, Thulani told Fana to go on ahead - they'd never been in the lead group before and he would like to know how well they could have done if he hadn't had a mechanical. In order to be considered finishers of the Swazi Frontier, Thulani had to finish the remaining 18kms of stage two with his bike, and so with a borrowed pair of shoes began the torturous trek up towards Piggs Peak, carrying what used to be his bicycle.

Secretly, I think every rider checked their bikes for cracks that night

The only bit of route advice Fossil had given about stage two was that when you see the big blue concrete block, turn right. Guess which way Team Altitude Sickness turned? Ironically, it was the Kenyans who had to tell us we were going wrong, before they kicked it up a gear and vanished up the final climb, eventually riding 11 minutes into us as we settled for second place in just over 3h30.

My pansy feet showing the effects of the Kenyan Crux!

Once again the BMT jokes were flying around as we lounged around the pool when Thulani arrived, bike in hand, to the applause of all those there. We might have beaten Thulani on the stage, but there is no denying that he was the true victor that day.

I came back from Swaziland 2kgs heavier.

Stage Three

Lance was right, it's not about the bike

Much to The Pipe's disappointment, the route for stage three had been changed quite considerably. Mickey's Madness was a thing of the past, as was the long boring district road that climbed out of the valley up to the beginning of Mickey's Madness. Instead, we were all in for a new surprise. Ordinarily, this would have played into our hands, as this would force the Grasshoppers to either follow us, or do their own navigation. However, the Kenyans no longer trusted Little John's navigational skills, and were quite prepared to venture out on their own.

The finish - no high fives allowed!

Instead of having our early morning mechanical within the first hour of racing, Little John decided that 5 minutes before the start was a better option. As if our navigational skills weren't under enough pressure, his speedometer had stopped working. Perhaps we would be following the Kenyans today.

Enter The Pipe, who the previous night had made a bit of a nuisance of himself, immediately offered up his own GPS. Just another one of those things that makes this "race" so special. After a quick crash course on how to use the GPS we were off, and almost immediately the whole lead group got lost. Several times. Team Altitude Sickness wasn't to blame this year, as we were still trying to figure out the GPS at the back of the bunch. I suspect it was the Kenyans who were trying a new tactic - Treacherous Intentional Route Extension - they were trying to T.I.R.E us all out by making us ride up and down hills we didn't need to. A very sneaky tactic.

Do we really have to go home?

After passing back markers for the 3rd or 4th time (that's how many times we chose to ignore the route card), the racing upfront settled down and we reached a pact - we'd help with the navigation if the Kenyans didn't push too hard. Unfortunately, the Swazis were feeling the effects of the previous day's bike portage and were off the pace. However, the Kenyan protégés were in the mix, and this time we wouldn't be able to shake them on the descents.

The Kenyan youngsters - Antony and Kennedy. Keep an eye out for them - you saw them here first.

After a fabulous section of single track along the Komati river we were faced with a couple of torturous kilometers on a tar road up to Maguga Lodge - both Kenyan teams ahead of us, and another team hot on our heals. As the road went up, the Kenyans vanished and we were left to defend 3rd spot. A rather brutal way to finish another fantastic tour of northern Swaziland. We'd done enough to hang on to second place overall, thirty minutes down on the Kenyan Grasshoppers. Once again Little John was the bridesmaid to the Kenyans - and that's not something we minded too much. It's not often that guys like us get to race riders like them and the format of the Swazi Frontier makes that possible.

The overall podium

All that was left to do was enjoy some beers by the pool, cheer in the riders as they finished, pack our bikes back in their boxes and prepare for the prize giving party that night. The Swazi Frontier was over for another year, and already I was making plans for 2012. From the passion of Brett and Lesley, to the hospitality of all those involved, the beneficiaries of the money raised, and the other "competitors" - the Swazi Frontier is quite a special event, and a must do for any mountain biking enthusiast.

Not only did they beat us on bikes, the Kenyans have all the moves on the dance floor too

Time to pull up our socks.

Trans Baviaans 2011

2011-08-22T16:27:00.000+02:00

For the ninth time in succession I made the pilgrimage to the dusty little one-horse town of Willowmore in the Karoo for the queen of endurance events - The Trans Baviaans. Once again, I had dragged my faithful sidekicks - Captain Craig and Little John along for the adventure, with Little John starting his 5th escapade from Willowmore to Jeffery's Bay.

After 5 years of perfect conditions through the Baviaans Kloof, Mother Nature decided to show her angry side and had unleashed a spate of bad weather over the Eastern Cape, with the result being that the rivers in the Baviaans Kloof were barely passable on a bicycle, and completely impassable in a vehicle. Rather than pull a Pied Piper of Hamlin move and lead 1200 cyclists to a cold and watery death, the organisers put Plan B into action - code named "LangsBaviaans" (for the 2 english readers out there - "Next To Baviaans"). While we wouldn't be going into the Baviaans Kloof, we would riding one mountain range over to the right. The positive being that my nemesis hill - The Mother of All Climbs - was no longer part of the route. However, a new hill affectionately dubbed The Father of All Climbs had been found to spice things up (and give me sleepless nights).

Captain Craig, wearing all his branded race gear.

After spending a noisy night in Willowmore Primary School's hostel, and being woken up at 4:30am by some very eager cyclists (bear in mind the race only starts at 10am) The Fire Breathing Rubber Duckies (formerly known as the Soggy Bottom Boys) were ready for the 235km trip that lay ahead. There was a fresh, chilly wind blowing, but thankfully the threatening rain clouds had disappeared overnight. Little John was given the honour of being the team captain to commemorate his fifth Baviaans adventure (and hopefully avoid any of the grumpiness from 2010). This wasn't just a token gesture - along with the title came some tasks and responsibility.

Little John looking nervous, flanked by his merry men.

An elementary seeding system was introduced this year, and our 7th place from 2010 ensured that we cracked the nod to start at the front of the race for a change. It also gave us an opportunity to suss out the top guys, psych out some buddies, and steal some camera time. Our 5339.co.uk kit got a couple of "Go home roadie" chirps. Little did they know that in true roadie fashion we also had newspapers stuffed under our jerseys to keep the cold tail wind out.

We're at the front!

After an interesting interpretation of our national anthem - Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika - the race got under way, and almost immediately the biggest guy on a bicycle I have ever seen - he made his 29er look like a BMX - and his partner shot off the front of the lead bunch. There wasn't a reaction at all from the bunch, and if anything it had the opposite effect - the bunch sat up - everyone trying to hide from the wind and not do any work up front. Enter the Fire Breathing Rubber Duckies.

Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika performed by the Willowmore Wailers.

With a massive bunch of wheel sucking mountain bikers on our wheels Captain Craig and I took turns on the front, enjoying the open road, the tail wind and the beautiful Karoo scenery. After an hour and a bit a couple other teams came forward and helped out with the pace setting, and some moves started to go off the front. This was what we had been waiting for - time to thin out the bunch and get rid of the hangers-oners. Careful not to get into trouble with Little John we followed a good move that looked set on going away when Little John broke his chain. Just as in 2009, it felt like the entire field came past us as we tried to figure out how to fix it. In reality, we were probably only at the side of the road for about 5 minutes, but by the time we were rolling again the bunch was long gone. Now Captain Craig and I had no choice but to set the tempo and make sure Little John was protected on his Little Bike.

Langs Baviaans

We raced through checkpoint 1 after catching our first target, and up ahead we could see several other teams - encouragingly acting as carrots. With the skill of true roadies we'd figured out a move on overtaking the slower teams that would prevent them from hooking onto to our wheels. Little John was the key, and would fly past as we crested a hill or bump, and then Captain Craig or I hop across at pace. We're both convinced that Little John would make an excellent roadie - we're just not sure what will be easier - getting him on a road bike, or getting him to shave his legs.

The roadies on the front!
(Click for big view of the awesomeness)

By the time we reached the second checkpoint we were lying in about 15th place, having made up a good few positions. We needed a quick stop to maintain our advantage and close in on the teams ahead of us when Little John failed in one of his captainly duties - he'd lost the little token that was marked at each checkpoint. This was a 20 minute penalty, the last thing The Fire Breathing Rubber Duckies needed. Thankfully Captain Craig kept a cool head and found the token, lying on the ground and averted a potential morale sapping disaster.

Slowly but surely we were closing in other teams, and at the same time closing in on The Father of All Climbs. Almost on cue, my stomach started acting up, and only through the expert encouragement and motivation from Little John (never before has a coke been so intimately described) and some welcome pushing from Captain Craig did I reach checkpoint 3 in one piece. Another motivating factor not to get off and walk was the fact that I couldn't really walk. In an amateur move akin to wearing underpants under your cycling shorts to your first Argus (come on - you've all done it!) I had bought new cycling shoes the week before. While they did their job perfectly when riding, they chaffed like crazy when walking, and by the time I got to The Father of All Climbs I could already feel some blisters from the walk around the parking lot back in Willowmore.

I didn't realise we were towing THAT many people!
(Click for big view of the awesomeness)

A quick purge of my stomach contents, 500ml of coke, some soup and a bun later and we were ready to conquer the rest of The Father of All Climbs. By now we had caught "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ and it was rather encouraging to see him walking up all the climbs. My legs felt great, my stomach was under control and the top of the climb was beckoning. A rather disappointing descent later and we arrived at checkpoint 4 in 12th place. A lightning quick stop including some expertly peeled Patensie oranges and some coffee for Little John and we were on our way again - the Never Ender ahead of us. We briefly lost Captain Craig as he got lost IN the checkpoint, but a few minutes later we were on our way again. I was paying the price for trying to race "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ into checkpoint 4 and was having a (another) bad batch - thankfully not stomach related. Calling in some favours from several years ago, Captain Craig graciously offered a pocket for me to hang on to while the Gu kicked in.

As the sun slowly set we could make out the lights of several teams ahead of us and we dropped a few gears, put our heads down, and rode like the wind catching and passing 4 teams along the way. Our professional backup driver (and my wife) later told us that we put in the 3rd fastest time on this leg, only 2 minutes slower than the eventual leaders. Another lightning quick transition, some raised voices in the direction of the backup driver (nothing that flowers couldn't fix later) and we were on our way, eager to make up some more ground when disaster struck.

The Duckies approaching the finish

Little John collapsed in a heap right in front of me, with our two bikes getting tangled up together. On closer inspection the little wheels from Little John's bike had disappeared down a hole and he'd come to an abrupt stop. Fearing a buckled wheel, broken fork or some other race ending damage, we slowly extricated Little John from the hole and from his bike. Apart from the handle bars being slightly skew, everything was fine with his bike. It was only then that someone asked if he was ok, and thankfully a little thing like a hole wasn't going to stop Little John from getting to Jeffery's for the 5th time.

We'd lost sight of the team in front of us, but there was no sign of anyone behind us either, so we rode a steady tempo into Jeffery's Bay, finishing the 2011 LangsBaviaans in 8th place as fireworks lit up the sky, in a time of 9h47. Little John had joined the Five Finisher's Club, and we all agreed - this was our best ride at Baviaans, even if it wasn't our best time or placing.

They need a bigger board for our team name!

After teasing the Man Mountain about his descending skills (if I can go faster than him downhill he deserves a bit of teasing), he paid me a compliment (I think): "For a skinny guy you're quite strong". I didn't tell "The Biggest Cyclist in the World"™ that I was only too glad to see the back of him before the Never Ender ;)

Fire Breathing Rubber Duckies done.

Little John has officially retired from the Trans Baviaans, but just like Lance we reckon he'll be back. As they say - you have to retire in order to make a comeback. (Some reading for you Little John). After all - it will be Captain Craig's fifth, and my tenth. Imagine the party afterwards!

The Nav Challenge 2011

2011-08-17T15:22:00.000+02:00

Just when you though mountain biking couldn't get more exciting, along comes an event that tests not just the strength of your leg muscles and your technical ability, but also your ability to think and plan at the same time. The 2011 Nav Challenge took place in Hermanus, mostly up the Hemel and Aarde Valley and pitted teams of two against each other. For the sake of inclusion, the event is also open to our poorer cousins of endurance sports - the joggers, so a big, diverse field is guaranteed.

Maximum points after the abseil near the old Hermanus harbour

The concept is simple - get to as many checkpoints as possible in the allocated 3 hours to collect as many points as you can. The further the checkpoint is from the start, the more points it is worth (or, as it turns out - the better hidden it is, the more points it is worth). To keep the joggers happy there were two point systems in place, and this time the joggers were favoured over the mountain bikers. Personally, I feel that if you forget your bike at home you should be made to suffer the consequences.

What is it with girls and maps?

Our team, the Head Banging Billy Goats, had a distinct advantage in that we relied heavily on local knowledge, some tips the guys who cut the singletrack, and several other teams with better map reading skills. The trick concerning the last point is to pretend you know where you are going, yet are not as fit as the team you are following. The only catch is that you have to chose the team you are following wisely, as several teams spent more time studying their maps than actually cycling.

One of the other more interesting approaches involved intricate plotting, distance measuring, note taking, marking of bearings, and then once on the bike relying on gut feel to find the checkpoints. Needless to say, such a strategy doesn't work that well, and we made sure not to sneakily follow this team.

Verf Meisie coming through!

We had the privilege of competing along side the Ladies classification winners from the previous event, and pick up vital tips and hints. The boys did however chose the more risky approach of relying on brute strength and local knowledge to rack up points, while the girls (this time riding under the name of Die Verf Meisies) chose the tried and tested approach of targeting a couple high scoring checkpoints and then having some fun. Previously this included swimming in a dam, and this time it was fooling around on the canopy zip line.

Made it back with 1:13 to spare

With a little over one minute and 13 seconds left to the deadline, we made it back to the start/finish area, having collected a whopping 175 points from a possible 200. The three checkpoints that we missed didn't really fit in with our plan (or the plans of the other competitors that we were following). To our disgust we discovered that two teams of joggers had beaten us into 3rd place. We suspect a slight favouring of the joggers at this event after the complete domination by the mountain bikers at the previous event.

Fun for the whole family

Die Verf Meisies had done well, or so we thought, only for the organisers to make a clerical mistake and lose their result completely. It turns out they came 2nd in the Ladies category, once again showing the boys that perhaps sometimes brains do beat brawn!

All in all, the Nav Challenge is a great event and adds new dynamic to the sport of bike riding. Nothing like a bit of navigation to create tension within a team. The Head Banging Billy Goats will definitely be back, and we'll be out to extract some revenge on the joggers. And perhaps we'll listen to the series leaders in the Ladies category next time they give us some tips and hints

3rd overall and first MTB team:
The Head Banging Billy Goats

France 2011

2011-07-26T14:30:00.001+02:00

Few hill climbs stack up to the experience of climbing Mont Ventoux - the Giant of Provence. No other hill quite prepares you for the challenge of climbing 1600m in 23km, from the forested lower slopes around the town of Bedoin, to the moonscape of the upper slopes. Right from the beginning you are aware of the challenge that awaits you, as the mountain is visible for miles around, and dwarfs everything around it.

Pit stop and refueling

Eight kms to go

Almost there!

There are 3 routes up this monster, but the traditional and hardest route starts in the town of Bedoin, which has spawned an industry catering for crazy cyclists wanting to emulate their heroes on the slopes of this famous mountain. Names like Schleck, Contador, Armstrong, and Jens are still visible on the road, and it's not hard to imagine the battles that occurred on these slopes for cycling's ultimate honour. And some guy called Jaap.

Shortly after leaving Bedoin all thoughts of emulation are banished, and survival is the only thing on most people's minds. Quitting is not an option, and so the only solution is to slog on up hill, from mile marker to mile marker. While it helps knowing how far you have gone, each mile marker also lets you know what the average gradient is for the next kilometer, and seeing 12% is enough to dampen the toughest of spirits. In an effort to copy their heroes and lift the spirits of their loved ones I couldn't help but notice the tiny writing on the side of the road in pink lettering encouraging Nick, Jan, and someone else. These weren't big Tour de France heroes or expert hill climbers - they were just normal people riding up a very abnormal mountain. By the time I had reached the top I felt like I knew those three people intimately, or at least shared a common experience with them.

Proof that we made it!

Mont Ventoux

Bike route 1093281 - powered by Bikemap

It is with slight embarrassment that I say this - once we got to the top of Mont Ventoux, Yolanda proceeded to descend like a Russian submarine down the descent to Malaucène, and if it wasn't for a struggling camper van maxing out at 80km/h and slowing her down, I would have serious egg on my face!

Post ride swim - helmet and all

Apart from the challenge of Mont Ventoux, we also did some other rides around both Provence and the Pyrenees. France is a cyclists dream destination, the views are spectacular, the people are friendly (contrary to what you might have heard - perhaps they are only friendly to cyclists), the motorists are unnervingly courteous, and the roads are well marked. Definitely a must do holiday for any cycling fan.

Mental note - stay on the right!

Yolanda's steed for the day

Lavender, with Mont Ventoux in the background

Lunch in Sault

The bottom of the Col de Marie Blanque

The climb up the Col de Marie Blanque

Yolanda in heaven, lavender and a view in one

Not bad going on a Pick n Pay Special

Two kms to the top

Oloron-Sainte-Marie

Bike hiring scheme in Pau

Col de Marie Blanque
Bike route 1115935 - powered by Bikemap

Sani2C 2011

2011-06-15T16:03:00.000+02:00

When Little John asked me to ride Sani2C with him he unknowingly unleashed an internal discourse inside my brain. I'd always been under the impression that the South African mountain biking scene was divided into two mutually exclusive camps - those who do the Cape Epic, and those who do Sani2C. With the Cape Epic happening in my back yard, I naturally fell into the former camp with 4 unworn Epic Finishers shirts in my cupboard. What would happen if I said yes to Little John's offer? Would the mountain biking world as we know it cease to exist? Would we all be doomed to road bikes forever? The only way to find out was to take him up on the offer.

Bikes secure, ready to go!

In what was becoming a fairly well practiced ritual (4th time in 6 months) we boxed our bikes, packed our bags and climbed on an aeroplane. A stop over in Durban allowed us to see what we had left at home, and as it turned out Little John's obsessive dental hygiene regiment was severely impeded because his wife had forgotten to pack his toothbrush. As long as that was all she had forgotten to pack.

Our accommodation in Underberg.

A car trip later and we found ourselves at registration in Underberg, and already I had several problems, the first being that I did not have enough space for all the goodies and free stuff that they dished out at registration. And I'm not talking about an event T-shirt and a pair of socks either. My second problem was my lack of suitable riding attire. I had assumed that since the race is in Natal, and that Durban is in Natal, a quick check of the weather conditions in Durban would suffice when deciding on what cold or wet weather kit I should bring. Just like the Swazi Frontier, my trusty arm warmers were my only protection against the elements.

Little John putting his mechanical skills to the test.

Stage One
We had managed to secure a B seeding which, on the plus side, meant we got to start 10 minutes after the leaders. The downside was that this was at 7:10am, and in Underberg the temperature at 7:10am is somewhere between "I can't change gears because I can't feel my fingers" cold and "Is that a snoticle on my upper lip?" cold. At least I had my trusty arm warmers. Another downside in starting in the second group is that the second group is usually filled with riders who feel they should have been in the first group, and so start the race like the dogs of war are after them. This has never been my favoured approach to racing, but I do know that the enthusiasm is short lived and that sanity will eventually prevail, and so it was that after about 30 minutes of riding Little John and I found ourselves off the front, and slowly catching some of the slower A riders.

Where vanilla milk comes from.

On a particular piece of nicely manicured single track that Sani2C is renowned for I got a bit of abuse. From a girl. I thought I was flying through the single track, on the edge of my abilities, narrowly avoiding trees and doing my best to stay upright in the slippery, muddy conditions when I heard the sound of snoring behind me. That was followed with cries of "I'm falling asleep at the back here", and "Girl rider coming through". The final insult to my technical skills was the offer to attend a skills workshop hosted by the cheeky girl herself. My ego wasn't totally deflated though, as this isn't the first time I've been invited to a skills workshop by a female mountain biker, and I suspect it won't be the last.

An eight on the Smile-o-Meter.

It IS a smile - ok!

It doesn't take long for the ethos of Sani2C to sink in - it's not about hardcore technical sections with impossible climbs and life endangering descents. It's all about the smile factor. Farmer Glen and his team go out of their way to put together a route that will bring a smile to the face of the most seasoned mountain biker. And there were plenty of smiles, from the ear to ear grins of people crossing the floating bridge, to the smirks of amusement at the names of each section of single track.

Forgot where your bike is? Good luck!

Stage One accommodation.

Little John and I had a good day out and finished in 37th place, which gave us plenty of time to get down to the real business of the Sani2C - enjoying the hospitality of the farmers from Ixopo at MacKenzi Country Club, and drinking as many Clover Vanilla Milks as my system would allow. And to make my life even more difficult, we got more free stuff that I had to find place for.

Our tent. The boxes positioned to prevent any accidental touching.

Stage Two
If there is a Holy Grail of mountain biking in South Africa, the first half of day two of the Sani2C has to be it. The 25km descent into the Umkomaas valley along sections with names like "Wow" is an experience that I'll never forget.

Our good result from Stage One had promoted us to the A group with all the big boys (and girls) of SA mountain biking. With our promotion came a 6:30am start, and once again I was grateful for my arm warmers. A fast start ensued up to the first section of dual single track, and in a move that is worthy of an article in a Psychology journal, Farmer Glen made the right side of the single track much shorter than the left, and for the rest of the race whenever we were faced with similar decisions, every single rider took the single track on the right. Pavlov's classical conditioning in action, except mountain bikers are a little easier to train than slobbering dogs.

Lube - John's fixall tool of choice!

The other amazing thing about Farmer Glen is that he keeps popping up on the side of the route. We would easily pass him 4 or 5 times on a stage, sometimes he'd be there cheering us on, other times he would be with shovel in hand smoothing over some unwanted bump on the trail, always full of enthusiasm and a big smile to match.

Farmer Glen's chosen mode of transport - no wonder he is everywhere!

After the unforgettable descent into the Umkomaas valley we found ourselves amongst the racing ladies. While Little John will deny it, I'm pretty sure the crash he had was because he was focusing on things other than the trail ahead. Thankfully the only damage was a bruised ego and a lost water bottle. We were back on their wheels in a flash as we slowly meandered our way through the Umkomaas valley, crossing several rivers along the way, knowing that the only way out was up. The exertions of Stage One started to tell, along with some poorly maintained bicycle components and we slowly started slipping back through the field.

John Wakefield "working" on his bike
(i.e. watching Gavin work on his bike)

I also had to take on the role of parent in our team, as by now Little John had become Grumpy John, and so I had to apologise to all the friendly farmers and their wives and children that were on the receiving end of his one word orders like "Coke!", "Water!" and "Banana!" at the water points. Grumpy John was scoring a solid zero on the Smile-o-Meter and it was with much relief that we finally crossed the finish line in Jolivet to the welcoming sight of vanilla milk and jam doughnuts.

Decision, decisions.

Sani2C is all about the attention to detail, like the free beers dished out as we waited for the shower, the light each rider is given in their tent, the baths of ice cold vanilla milk, water and juice dotted all over the camp, the assortment of snacks to be had between meals, the meals themselves. And all the while you are quite aware that the event benefits the people of the region quite significantly, and just what it means to them. Farmer Glen really does have something special going with Sani2C.

All day lunch - what a bargain!

Stage Three
The last stage of the memorable event was billed as a quick dash to the coast through some sugar cane fields and a nature reserve. For once, my arm warmers weren't needed as we once again started at break neck speed. With everyone avoiding the left hand single track option, the bunch was quickly strung out when disaster struck for the front guys. As the sun slowly rose above the hills and into their eyes they failed to see a log sticking out from the undergrowth, ironically on the right hand side of the trail. By the time we passed the log there were several riders pulling themselves together with rather bewildered looks as they stared at their pretzel shaped wheels.

Little John looking like a race snake!

We once again found ourselves riding with the racing ladies, Little John once again slotted in behind the last lady while I went to the front to hurry our little group along, conscious that any mistake or blunder could result in another invitation to a skills clinic. It was Little John that made the first mistake (once again I think his thoughts weren't where they should have been) as he had the "almost crash" of the weekend. An "almost crash" is the beginning of a spectacular crash that doesn't quite work its way to completion, luckily for the crashee, and the crashee is able to walk away with nothing more than a racing pulse, wide eyes, and a sheepish grin. It was such a good "almost crash" that it brought smiles and comments from the ladies around us. Good thing Little John's wife didn't forget to pack his lucky socks! I shouldn't have laughed so loud, as moments later I had my own "almost crash", although nothing nearly as spectacular as Little John's, and with no other spectators.

With the last serious climb of the day done, the leading ladies having ridden away from us, we were left with 25km of sweeping sugar cane road to the finish in Scottburgh when Little John decided to turn on his invisibility cloak. Never before have I ridden with someone (including The Tourist) who was so good at disappearing when it was their turn to come through and share the work load on the front. The only reason I knew Little John was still on my wheel was every now and then he would bark out instructions or directions. The worst of all was that his directions often contradicted those of the route markers up ahead!

The longest row of porcelain toilets ever!

The elation of crossing the Scottburgh beach to the cheers of the supporters is short lived as the last 3kms of the race head back up the hill, on tar, to the finish at Scottburgh High School. Little John had hung in there, and we finished just behind the winning ladies, who, in a nice gesture came up to us and thanked us for all the work we did (and entertainment that Little John provided). All that was left of the 2011 Sani2C was for us to shower, back our bikes and collect our finisher's top, before heading back to Durban. We thought we'd cap the weekend off by watching the Sharks beat the Bulls, but as it turned out I had to watch a rugby game where I wished both teams had lost for playing so badly!

There certainly is a place for both the Cape Epic and Sani2c in South African mountain biking, and they don't need to be mutually exclusive. If anything they compliment each other quite nicely in that they are two very different events, with different challenges and different rewards. Thank goodness, otherwise we'd all be riding road bikes right now!

Panorama Tour 2011

2011-05-24T14:34:00.000+02:00

When the Earth was made, each geographical region was given an option to select a special feature that would make it unique. Cape Town chose Table Mountain, Johannesburg went for gold, Bloemfontein forgot to hand in their request, and through a clerical error, the Lowveld's request for a single hill was misinterpreted as a request for hills. All surplus hills were delivered to the Lowveld with the result that you'll be hard pressed to find a flat piece of tar longer than 200m.

It wasn't until after we had entered the 2011 Panorama Tour that we got hold of an atlas and looked up exactly where White River is that we realised just what we were in for. Hills, hills, hills. After getting a wake up call at the Grape Escape when my partner out climbed me I vowed to not let that happen again. The solution was a two pronged approach - a rigorous training program, focusing on hills and time in the saddle, and a diet loosely based on the nutritional habits of the Dwarf Hotot rabbit.

Team 5339.co.uk finishing another stage.

After an epic plane/road trip up from the Cape we arrived in White River, our lungs already gasping in the thin air. The only positive was that we had brought the Cape winter weather with us, and instead of temperatures in the high 30s, we could look forward to sub 20C temperatures and miserable drizzle and rain for the entire event.

The feature that makes the Panorama Tour unique (apart from the over-abundance of hills) is the two-man team concept. Much like the trend set in mountain bike races like The Cape Epic and Sani2C, the team concept adds a new dimension to bike racing. Interesting tactics come into play, but nothing is more important than being stronger than your partner. The benefits include an easier ride up the hills and the chance to look around at the stunning scenery while the only obligations are an encouraging push here and there and doing a bit of work on the front when the situation requires it.

Tastiest Chelsea bun ever!

Stage One's route description was sufficiently vague enough to give the impression that the organisers had miraculously found 113km of slightly undulating road around all the bigs hills of the Lowveld. As we would slowly come to realise, route descriptions were an obvious weakness of the organising committee. I have volunteered my services for future events, and as a start I would like to offer this description for Stage One: A lung busting climb to the hotspot followed by a life threatening downhill. Some legs ripping rollers before an Alpe d'Huez like climb, with a run in to the finish that will have you wondering how you can ride more uphill than downhill on a route that starts and finishes at the same place!

The snacks made everyone forget about the hills!

Team 5339.co.uk were slightly humiliated on the first stage, with several mixed teams leaving us for dead, as well as the social MTN teams of current and former professionals. The only positive being that I had regained the stronger partner title. The girls had a much better time of things, stopping at all the water points making sure they got good value for their money, and made some friends from the East Rand in the form of the Psycle Maniacs.

The Panorama Book of Horror - not for the faint hearted!

According to the aptly renamed Panorama Book of Horror, Stage Two would be a comfortable, fast 80km ride heading out towards Nelspruit with a few gentle hills on the run in back to White River. The reality was slightly different: A blisteringly fast departure from town down a road more suited for mountain biking with potholes the size of small family cars, followed by a leg numbing climb before another speed wobble inducing series of downhills to the outskirts of Nelspruit. From there it is a balls-to-the-wall race up 20km of short sharp climbs to the welcoming sight of the finish.

Kruger snackpack - holds 3 beers perfectly

Team 5339.co.uk had a much better day out, mainly thanks to the lack of hills in the early part of the stage, and finished a handful of minutes behind the leaders. Our egos were restored as we rode several minutes into the mixed teams, and our place on GC looked a bit more respectable. The girls had given up any notions of racing, and instead were enjoying the tour part of the Panorama Tour, stopping at water points and taking in the scenery and making new friends.

An elephant with a fascinator

With the short fast stage behind us we headed off to the Kruger National Park for a rapid game viewing trip. After several false alarms, and boring bird sightings (both mostly Yolanda's fault) we hit the jack pot and saw some elephants and kudu AT THE SAME TIME. With the whole world interested in Princess Beatrice's fascinator, the elephant tried to get in on the action. Looking like strange German tourists in tights we had lunch on top of a rock outside Skukuza, before slowly heading back to civilisation.

Where are the animals?

While the Panorama Book of Horror tried its best to downplay the severity of Stage Three, we had mastered the ability of reading between the lines in order to know what lay in wait for us. The first half of Stage Three was the same as the last half of Stage one, in reverse. All the torturous uphills were now going to be lightning quick downhills, and vice versa, and then we would be faced with the murderous climb of Long Tom Pass. The last section would be the reverse of the first section of Stage Two, so once again we would be dodging swimming pool sized potholes as we tore our legs off up the climbs back into White River. Throw in some pouring rain and thick mist and Stage Three promised to have the adrenalin flowing (I quickly made sure my life insurance was up to date!).

Beer and a tractor certainly beats Game and a bicycle!

By now, Team 5339.co.uk were starting to find their legs, and after a hell raising descent into Sabie in blinding rain and near impenetrable mist we found ourselves (rather suprisingly) with the lead bunch. Riding our own pace up Long Tom Pass in zero visibility we reached the welcoming left turn a couple of minutes behind the leaders and then then tried to motivate a rather lethargic bunch to chase them down. We ended up doing most of the work and paid the price as we ran out of legs on the climb back into White River. Once again, the girls had a good day out, enjoying the pizza and vodka on offer at the last water point and finishing with their new best friends - the Psycle Maniacs.

The ladies in their time trial outfits - made them 7.84 seconds faster!

The Panorama Book of Horror was exceptionally kind about the 20 odd kilometer time trail that lay ahead of us for Stage Four, but we knew better by now. And to make us a little homesick, the weather had once again turned foul. The ladies started quite early on, and had a good solid ride to cap off a great long weekend of ~~racing~~ riding. Team 5339.co.uk set off with the afterburners glowing, and blitzed the first half of the course, my fear of riding downhills temporarily cured by the atrocious conditions of the previous day. Just when I was starting to do some sums about our overall time disaster struck and I punctured. With the precision of a Formula 1 pit crew we had the wheel off, tube out, new tube in, tyre pumped and wheel on in a matter of seconds (probably about 180 to be precise) and the chase was back on. The welcoming Chelsea bun capped off a great weekend's worth of racing.

Tour over - home time!

All that remained of the Panorama Tour was the packing of bikes into boxes, stocking up on avos and macadamia and cashew nuts, and a long drive back to Johannesburg for a plane trip back to the flat roads of Cape Town.

The ABSA Cape Epic - 2011

2011-04-07T21:15:00.000+02:00

Two great events happen in the world of South African cycling in March - the roadies get their chance on the second Sunday of March to participate in The Cape Argus, the biggest timed cycling event in the world, and a couple of weeks later it is the chance of the mountain bikers to take on the toughest, most prestigious mountain bike stage race in the world - The ABSA Cape Epic.

This year I was on the other side of the candy tape, a Cape Epic spectator virgin, and I had no idea what to expect. Being a participant in the Epic is rather easy - there is a huge pool of knowledge out there with plenty of people eager to offer advice on training, equipment, nutrition, strategy and almost any other aspect of mountain bike stage racing. To be ready come race day you have to put in the training, make sure the bike is in good working order, and have a solid relationship with your partner - not much else can go wrong once the start gun goes off.

An early morning start for the foreigners

In comparison, being a spectator virgin is much like meeting your future in-laws for the first time. You don't really want to be there and would much rather be riding your bike, but it's one of those things that everybody has to do at least once. You don't know what to wear and inevitably regret your wardrobe decisions - do you wear a finisher's shirt from a previous Epic to show that you were once hardcore too? Do you rather choose an event shirt from another event to show off your versatility? Do you wear an ordinary shirt but make sure everyone can see that you are a cyclist from your legs? Do you run the risk of wearing something that will keep you warm at 6am, but by midday will have you sweating like a Pom on the London Underground in mid-summer? You're unsure of the correct etiquette - do you only shout for teams that you know, or just the teams that look good, or the teams that are struggling and need all the support they can get? Do you jump up and down and scream like you've just won the Lotto when you see your team, or do you instead employ a polite golf clap reserved for hallowed places like the 18th green at Augusta? Are vuvuzela's still all the rage, or is inflicting auditory damage on innocent bystanders so 2010?

Robin - cool and calm, Russell - about to sh*t himself!

And then there is the equipment - do you bring a chair to pass away the hours as you wait for your team that you'll have to haul across the countryside? Is it acceptable to bring a book and read while the front half of the field whizzes past? Do you bring an SLR camera with a four foot lens for that perfect photo, or just a point-and-click and adopt the strategy of taking stacks of photos with the hope that at least a few will be of sufficient quality to make the day worthwhile? Did you charge the camera batteries, or are you going to suffer from acute electrochemical failure just as your team comes into view? What shoes do you wear - do you wear flip-flops and run the risk of blisters and severe chaffing as the Epic organisers are under the mistaken impression that the spectators are as fit as the riders and enjoy the challenge of walking vast distances between the designated parking area and the actual spectator zone, or instead opt for Everest grade hiking boots and look like a missing member of a Kingsley Holgate expedition? And what about food - do you get up extra early to make sandwiches from old bread and left over mince, or do you run the risk of death by Delhi-Belly from the half-cooked greasy burger on offer at the finish for the price of an entry level mountain bike?

A very happy mountain biker!

These were some of the dilemmas that faced me, and while I did receive some tips and hints from my 4-time Epic supporter veteran wife, I think she deliberately stopped short of spilling all the beans. Becoming a seasoned Epic supporter is a rite of passage that one must do alone, and is a test of one's character, endurance, emotional stability, perseverance, navigational acumen and resourcefulness. You feel the scrutiny you are under from the other spectator veterans as they see if you have what it takes to join their ranks. It's hard work, but being part of the Epic experience makes it all worthwhile, even if it entails standing on the wrong side of the candy tape.

Completely shattered

The Argus - 2011

2011-03-18T11:22:00.000+02:00

The annual Cape Argus Cycle Tour is more than just a bike race, it is a Cape institution. Like pilgrims to Mecca, it attracts cyclists from all over South Africa, and once a year cycling takes over the streets of Cape Town.

Often called the Fun Ride World Champs, it is the yardstick by which all cyclists are measured. Forget about the Tour de France, or Paris-Roubaix - win The Argus and you have a lifetime's worth of bragging rights. It's the one title seven times Tour De France winner and former World Champ Lance Armstrong so desperately wanted to win before retiring but could only manage a lowly 9th place. It's the one blemish in an otherwise outstanding palmarès.

Lance could only manage 9th place in 2010.

The Cape Argus isn't just a 110km bike ride - it's an experience that starts the previous week with Grape Escape and Argus Mountain Bike Challenge. With those out of the way, it's off to the Life Cycle Expo for registration, although registration is only a small part of what happens at the Good Hope Centre. The Expo caters for those last minute must have purchases, the impulse buys, the "ride you fastest Argus ever" supplements, and the "never to be seen again" discounts. It gives each cyclist the opportunity to suss out the competition, to show off their (freshly) shaved legs, and to be the center of attention for 30 seconds as they receive their race pack. For one week, it is all about the bike.

The secret is out.

The 13th of March dawned - Race Day, and after two years of rather atrocious weather, we were greeted with possibly the best cycling weather the Cape has seen in months. While this is great for cycling 110kms around the Cape peninsula, us locals feel a little hard done by. We've had to endure months and months of howling South Easters, and now all the visitors to the Cape think we have perfect weather all the time, and that we live in a cycling Utopia. Well, we don't, and we've certainly had to pay our dues to the cycling gods.

Our puncture competition opposition dishing out the pain.
From I-FELT-the-FORCE on the Hub.

From our usual parking spot near the SARS building (they are open at 5:30 in the morning, and will let you use the toilet - our tax money hard at work) we got ready for what would be our 15th Argus in a row. While the nerves might be a little calmer than they were in 1997, several nervous visits to the SARS building were required before I headed off to line to join the Not-So-Young-Racing-Snakes category, who this year had the honour of riding with the racing ladies. The air was crisp and smelled of the sea, punctuated by the smell of the Porta Potty's and excessive deodorant. I'm pretty sure several Sub Vet riders saw this as an opportunity to pick up a hot racing lady. The only catch being that many of the racing ladies were probably faster than most of the Sub Vets.

Another Argus start.

At 6:24 we were off, and at roughly 6:32 we had our first crash in the bunch. Nothing serious, but enough for the air to be filled with the smell of brakes, melting rubber and bruised egos. Twenty minutes later we had another crash on the Blue Route and the smell of rotting garden waste from a nearby tip was blended with grazed skin and testosterone, but thankfully no one was seriously hurt. This would be the pattern in an otherwise uneventful circuit around the Peninsula - everyone watching everyone else, and the rest of us only too grateful to still be in the bunch.

When roadies crash, they crash properly.

We rode up Chapman's Peak like it was flat, the fresh sea smells mixing nicely with the body odour of the rider in front of me and before we knew it we were on the lower slopes of the dreaded Suikerbossie. A haze of bacon and eggs and boerewors rolls hung in the air as we rudely whizzed past the spectators enjoying their breakfast. With the usual suspects all around me - Craig, Marius, Zayin - we made it over the top after a brief 30 second scare as we scrambled to get onto the wheels ahead of us, but we needn't worried - the race was going to go down to a sprint finish 14kms away in front of Cape Town Stadium.

The Sub Vets and Ladies sprint finish

As the dedicated riders that we are, Craig and I decided to get some TV time for our sponsors by going to the front and taking a turn. It sounded like a great plan until we actually got to the front and realised just how much effort was required, and also noticed that the TV cameraman was more interested in filming the scenery of the coastline than the two 5339 riders on the front. Our turn done we disappeared back into the obscurity of the bunch, now just interested in getting to the line in one piece. Just when we thought there was nothing more to worry about, Craig had a slight tumble, safely falling on top of a hay bale and another rider. A short scramble later we were back in the bunch and crossing the finish line in a time of 2h49:59.

Apparently he didn't lose a bet!

The Dulux ladies had been rather coy about their target time, downplaying any suggestions of a personal best. A quick two-women time trial later they managed to cross the line in an amazing time of 3h30, convincingly beating most of the names on their list of nemeses (Nadine, The Runner, and Lexi).

The Famous Argus Cool Down Beer Run.

Craig and I embarked on our post Argus cool down, which entails having a beer in Kalk Bay, another in Glen Cairn, lunch and a beer in Noordhoek, pushing some struggling cyclists up Chapman's Peak, one last beer in Hout Bay, and pushing some other struggling cyclists up Suikerbossie. It's at the back where the true Argus is ridden - the weekend warriors relying a little too heavily on muscle memory and regretting the lack of training, battling the wind, the gradients, their ill fitting cycling shorts, their heavy and poorly serviced bicycles and each other - all with grit and sheer determination. To us it's just a medal, but to them it is an achievement and that is why we all keep on coming back for more. Bring on 2012.

Two cyclists who got rather side tracked in a pub in Glen Cairn.

The Grape Escape - 2011

2011-03-10T16:41:00.000+02:00

Every year during the month of March, the Cape becomes the unofficial capital of cycling in South Africa. With events like The Cape Argus Cycle Tour, The Giro del Capo, The Argus Mountain Bike Challenge, The Tour de Boland and The Cape Epic you'd be excused for thinking that everyone's needs were catered for. Meurant Botha of Dirtopia fame didn't agree, and saw an opportunity for a mountain bike stage race through the winelands of the Western Cape, geared towards the average weekend warrior who wanted to give stage racing a go, but didn't want the commitment or have the budget to attempt some of the other stage races on offer. And so the Grape Escape was born.

Meurant Botha, with Dr Evil aspirations, promised an "achievable route that would incorporate the best features that the diverse terrain options present". This is code for "it's going to be tough, and you are going to hurt, but you'll have fun and will soon forget the pain once you get your medal at the finish". Any final delusions that this was going to be a sedate bike ride through the farmlands outside Cape Town where dashed when word got out that the likes of Kevin Evans, David George, Burry Stander, Christoph Sauser, and Karl Platt would be lining up with the rest of us weekend warriors. After several rounds of creative brainstorming and voting, I dictatorially chose the team name Blind Melons for our latest adventure. To confuse the pro's we had a B team wearing the same kit as us - some mates doing their first ever stage race, calling themselves Team Tired Raisins (we quickly renamed them to the Wrinkly Raisins). One year ago, one member of The Wrinklies was doing his first MTB race - the 25km Argus MTB race.

Stage One - Big Bay to Nelson's Creek

After a 2h30 car trip from Somerset West, several border crossings and time zone changes later we arrived at Big Bay with a handful of minutes to spare before the 9am start. The sun was already blazing away and rather uncharacteristically, there wasn't a breath of wind as we snuck into the back of our start chute. Team Wrinkly Raisins had been in the start chute for hours, and had hopefully out-psyched our competition. Our immediate goal was to beat John and Pieter - John being the weaker half of Team Heading for Divorce at Wines2Whales.

It was a long road trip to get to the start

The stage started off with a 8km neutral tar section which was great - that was 8km less that I would have to chase Craig for. The only risk being the riders around us - putting a whole lot of mountain bikers together in a big bunch is a recipe for disaster and it was no surprise when several riders went down before we had even left the tar. As soon as we hit the dirt the bunch stretched out and the racing started. Team Blind Melons were flying, passing riders left and right as we made fantastic progress from the back of the bunch, the matching 29ers loving the flat fast course. And then disaster struck 5 minutes after leaving the tar. Craig nicked something as we rode under a railway line, past a pair of red high-heels. As we were bemoaning our bad luck and fitting a tube, The Wrinklies came past us - they were going to have to fly the flag today - we had heard about another unofficial competition and were eager to compete, after already claiming the prize for the earliest puncture on the stage.

Is there a better backdrop to cycling than this?

With only bragging rights up for grabs, this unofficial competition centered around punctures. Three points for a side wall cut, two points for a puncture in a slime tube, and one point for a puncture in a standard tube. Convincing strangers to part with their tubes is worth an additional point. Bonus points would be given for creative approaches to fixing the above mentioned punctures. The rules were strict though - no intentional tyre sabotage would be accepted, just the general riding conditions on route. With less than an hour of riding done we were well placed with 11 points and no spare tubes left. The competition was fierce as riders lined the side of the route, pumping, bombing and patching away like crazy. In a stunning piece of creativity, Craig managed to bag us an additional 7 points as he somehow managed pop his tyre off the rim, in the process leaving an 8cm side wall cut and puncturing our last tube. After asking roughly 200 riders if they had a tube for us and receiving nothing but blank stares rider #1257 kindly donated his tube to our cause. With two gaiters, a bit of swearing and lots of pumping we finally got going again, now right down amongst the back markers.

The Professor, me, Craig, and the Race Snake, all representing 5339.co.uk

By the time we made the first water point they were about to pack up and leave, all the coke was finished and the water was luke warm from the 40C+ temperatures. We grabbed a spare tube and some duct tape from our dedicated (and somewhat disappointed) supporters and set off on our merry way, trying to make up some lost time. As we raced on to the next water point, our supporters raced to Chris Willemse Cycles to buy a new tyre, just in case. Meurant was right - this was a race for the whole family!

Duct tape ingenuity.

We'd barely left the water point when we scored another point, and I've put in an appeal for additional points for variety and creativity - unlike the previous punctures this one was a snake bite. As half the field once again passed us, snickering and chuckling, we fixed the puncture and headed off, again. After a long an uneventful 20 minutes we stopped again, this time to do some running repairs on the side wall tear which involved the liberal application of duct tape to keep everything together. As we got going again, thinking we were clear leaders in the puncture competition, we passed Christoph Sauser flapping and waving his arms about, gesticulating wildly, and directing some angry Swiss words towards a flat wheel. Suddenly the competition was on, and this was one race the skinny Swiss rider was not going to win!

Hot, tired and grumpy, but winners of the unofficial puncture competition.

The next 30kms of tar and gravel gave us little opportunity to puncture, but we did catch The Wrinklies who were starting to take after their team name as they started to feel the heat. At least some serious embarrassment had been avoided. With opportunities now few and far between, we made good use of a patch of thorns when riding through a vineyard to once again score 3 points. As luck would have it, we had chosen quite a good spot to stop, and I had some time to sample the different grape cultivars, much to Craig's annoyance as he fixed the puncture on his own. I would have thought that he would be an expert by now, but he still needed some guiding assistance which I reluctantly offered, tearing myself away from the tasty grapes. Thanks to rider #1133 for donating his tube to our cause and scoring us an additional point. Two minutes up the road we passed the devious skinny Swiss, still waving his arms about, fixing another puncture. He was good, and was not going to go down without a fight.

Glad Stage One is over!

From there on in the race was rather uneventful, and we actually had to pedal for more 20 minutes at a time and before we knew it, we crossed the finish line at Nelson's Creek, all chances of a top performance gone, but with the coveted unofficial puncture award safely in our hands.

Stage Two - Nelson's Creek to Boschendal

With the adventure of Stage One behind us we decided to get down to some serious bike racing, and once again managed to sneak into the back of the start chute with minutes to spare. Have I been hanging around Craig for too long that I now too faff and fiddle as much? In a haze of dust and sweat we set off eager to avenge the misfortunes of the previous day. The route promised to be a little more exciting than the previous day's and would once again favour the big wheeled 29ers.

The pre-race faff with minutes to spare to the start!

I set the pace for 40 minutes as we weaved and snaked our way through the field. Craig then took it upon himself to dish out 2 hours of pain and suffering as he drove us on towards the big climb of the day. We caught Hector (aka The Professor), another Hermanus local who is starting to look a lot like Laurent Fignon and let him tag along in our little posse. We also caught John and Pieter, and although they had over an hour on us from the previous stage, we were eager to get one back on them.

The Pro's

The route was fantastic - a little bit of everything, and probably the closest you will come to an Epic stage without actually doing an Epic. There were certain sections where Meurant could have competed with Dr Evil, but instead thought of the riders and chose the easier option. The riding was good, the route was well marked, the water points were well stocked (banana bread, peanut butter sandwiches, biltong, banans, ice cold grapes - I'm bringing a lunch box next time for take aways) and there were plenty of marshals along the way. The same could not be said about the locations of the spectator points which were pretty much kept a secret, except for a select few. We did eventually spot our support crew with about 10kms to go, shouting and cheering us on as we whizzed by.

David George waiting to pounce!

With the finish line at Boschendal almost in sight we started to slow, but the combination of white line fever and the urge to beat John got us to the finish line in good time. The demons of the previous day had been laid to rest.

The Dane Train

The Wrinkly Raisins had a long day out, but finished in one piece, although there were reports of an emergency visit to the pharmacy for bum chafe related products.

Stage Three - Boschendal

With maximum temperature for the previous two days reaching well into the 40s, the promise of cooler weather for the final stage of the Grape Escape seemed to be to everyone's liking. Once again we snuck into the back of the start chute with minutes to spare, and after a half hearted apology from Meurant for lying about the route distances, we were once again racing (I thought mountain bikers were supposed to be tough!).

Two Niners off to the race.

Today was Nelly's birthday and I'd really hoped that we'd be able to have a good ride, but as the race unfolded I was convinced my bike had been sabotaged - try as I might I just couldn't get her going and my legs felt like sacks of gooey cheese. Craig proceeded to extract revenge for the Grape Incident of Stage One and cranked up the pace as I desperately tried to hang on for dear life, hoping my legs would wake up and decide to actually participate in the race.

It's hard to smile after three hours of Craig Pain.

Christoph Sauser's bad luck from day one had rubbed off onto his Epic partner, Burry Stander, and he yo-yo'ed around us for the early parts of the stage. I felt under a bit of pressure as I took a corner with several guys all following my line, including Burry. Would he approve? Before I could ask him he was gone, effortlessly speeding away from us weekend warriors.

You'd swear he wasn't on the front.

As the stage wore on, a strange thing started to happen - we started to catch and pass riders. My legs weren't feeling any better, and I was still having to bite down on my handlebars just to keep up with Craig, but we were once again going forward. Perhaps the exertions of the previous days were catching up with those around us, or perhaps they had gone out too hard too early. Whatever it was, it gave me a glimmer of hope that something could be salvaged from Stage Three. And then the near impossible happened - we caught a glimpse of John and immediately my legs went from gooey cheese to stodgy pâté, and my jaw tightened on the handlebars - we had a target to chase down!

Still got lock jaw from biting the handlebars.

With 10kms to go we caught John and Pieter, and after some silly roadie talk of us all riding to the finish line together humming Kumbaya, we dropped them like a bad smell in a wind tunnel. By now my legs were starting to wake up a little and we went in search of targets, quickly catching and passing several more riders on our way to the finish line. We managed to avoid some embarrassing finish line handlebar entanglement and safely crossed the line for our best placing all weekend, collecting another well earned medal.

The Professor, Craig, me and Little John.

The Wrinkly Raisins put in another good performance, enjoying the route and amenities on hand, finishing just in time for lunch to the cheers of their supporters. I hope to see them regularly at events in the future, and a collection is being put together to fund some new shorts for one half of the team...

The Wrinklies - all smiles and ready for the next challenge.

Attakwas 2011

2011-01-20T16:56:00.000+02:00

My memories of the Attakwas 2010 event were a little blurred by the Epic-ending crash of my prospective Cape Epic partner, and I wasn't sure I wanted to venture all the way out to Oudtshoorn to take part in South Africa's toughest mountain bike marathon event. With the Bicycling Omni-Motion 24hr still lurking in my legs (and head), I was also quite skeptical of my form, and really wasn't in the mood for another suffer-fest.

In a moment of madness (or weakness) I entered the Attakwas 2011 - I think the promise of a free event T-shirt was all it took to change my mind, and possibly a long weekend away in Herold. With the entry fee paid, I set about trying to find some form on the bike, only to feel rather fat, unfit and decidedly slow. Added to this, all the buzz on The Hub SA was about tyre choice, training programs, riding conditions, race strategy and a bit of smack talk. I was beginning to wonder how much I really wanted that event shirt (which they give to you BEFORE the event, at registration).

Etienne, with me lurking on the right
Photo thanks to Debby Champion

As is always the case, a keen eye was kept on the weather forecast - perfect cycling conditions require an exceptionally rare combination of factors. It must be warm, but not too warm. It must be dry, but not dusty. It must not be windy, but it also must not be windless. Tail winds are preferred, except when climbing steep hills in the heat - then a gentle, cooling headwind is desired. The drive to Oudtshoorn was done in the pouring rain, which did not bode well for the event. Thankfully, as we headed further into the Karoo the weather started to clear and race day promised to be one of those rare days of perfect bike riding weather.

Since we were staying in the quaint hamlet of Herold at a place called Over the Mountain I had to get up rather early on race day. I was rather tempted to roll over and rather enjoy a couple hours of extra sleep than to start the process that would end in upwards of 6 hours of suffering. My masochistic streak won in the end and at 6h40 the Sub Vets set off on our 121km journey towards the coast.

Route thanks to nathrix™ ® from TheHubSA

Attakwas is a race of two halves - the first half is a rough, brutal, off-road, technical, hilly affair, while the second half is a rough, brutal, dirt-road, non-technical, hilly affair, with water point 3 being the transition between the two halves. The plan was a simple one - survive the first half with my limited technical skills, and then take advantage of Nelly the Niner's love for dirt roads on the second half.

The race turned out to be a rather lonely one, and I often found myself in the middle of nowhere with no one around and only my thoughts for company. Occasionally I would catch and pass someone I recognised (and occasionally I would catch and pass someone who I knew and didn't recognise). The former included Etienne, a 100Miler teammate, Tree John, my Swazi partner, Baviaans Backup Freddie, and crazy Anton Bosman from the 2009 Bicycling Omni-Motion 24hr event on a single speed rigid fork bike (it took me over three hours to close the 10 minute gap he had on me, making full use of my 27 gears and 3 inches of front suspension).

The latter included Rob Dormehl, one half of Osama B's from the Swazi Frontier. We rode together for around an hour, along with Hanlie Booyens, sharing the pace setting (although in the photos I am on the front), and it was only when looking at the photos afterwards did I realise who my fellow pace setter was.

Rob Dormel, Hanlie Booyens (hiding behind Rob) and me
From Photo Dynamix's album on Facebook

I had heard that the silver medal cut-off was 6hr30, so when we got to within 40kms of the finish with 2 hours to go I was confident my little threesome would easily make it. At 20kms to go and just over an hour I was pretty sure the silver was in the bag. And then the wheels fell off up a particularly steep hill, with the sun scorching down, and the air thick and humid, with stench of something dead. I remember that smell from last year too, and had to wonder if perhaps this was a hill that often killed cyclists, as it was busy killing me. At least I had the water points to look forward to, with the Attakwas water points easily winning the prizes for the best stocked, most enthusiastically manned water points in any race that I have done. Burgers, donuts, fruit, gels, juice, coke, ice cold damp towels, chain lube and big smiles.

One of the 6 buildings in Herold

I limped on trying to find some legs when a fellow Somerset-Westian, a knight in shining armour by the name of Deon, offered me his slip stream and towed me for several kilometers towards the final downhill, and the awaiting finish line. I crossed the line in 6h20, a little tired and weary, but chuffed with my ride, only to be told that the silver cut off was 6hr15 (only 13 non-UCI riders qualified, or just 2% of the field). It didn't really matter - I was still quite chuffed with my 18th place (of non-UCI riders), and only to glad that the pain and suffering from a rather long and torturous day out in the saddle was over.

Our guest house - Over the Mountain

My decision about the 2012 edition of this race still needs to be made - perhaps a few memories need to fade before I'll commit to another Attakwas.

Omni-Motion 24hr 2010

2010-12-07T16:49:00.000+02:00

After the disaster that was 2009, I wanted one more go at this event. I was quite prepared for the challenges this time around, and had made plans accordingly. We flew up early, we got lots of sleep, the bike was actually ridden before the first lap, and we arrived at the venue early missing the worst of the Gauteng Saturday morning traffic jams.

The quiet before the storm

The highlight of this year's Omni-Motion 24hr event was that David "Tinker" Juarez was going to be riding. I had heard the name, but still didn't really know too much about him. After a bit of googling I realised that he could ride a bike, and that this was going to be a very interesting 24hr race. It's not everyday that you get to race a former 24hr Solo World Champion.

With the previous weekend's Double Century still in my legs, the plan was a simple one - ride my own race at my own pace, and don't get sucked into any racing early on. Hopefully there would be someone else who would be keen to race Tinker, and I could be left alone to do my own thing.

My leisurely Le Mans stroll (that's right, there is a lady dressed as a bee ahead of me!)

At registration I received my number, and a knee guard. I had heard that there were going to be goodie-bags, but this has to be the oddest goodie-item ever. Not even a sign of an expired energy bar, a 4 month old copy of Bicycling Magazine, pamphlets for races that don't interest me, or a sample of bum cream. Next, I needed to get a camp site, and was given a camp spot on the other side of the country. There was only one camp site further away from everything than ours! Hopefully one day I'll be given some inside info on how to go about organising one of those camp sites right near the action on the Start/Finish line.

A late afternoon snack

The start was quickly approaching, and at 12'o clock we got underway with a customary Le Mans start - with some rather eager cyclists sprinting for their bikes. I prefer the more relaxed approach of taking a leisurely stroll to my bike, letting the fuss around me die down, and then get on with riding - there is plenty of time to pass riders later on.

The route

Wendell (of the Cycle Hub at Rietvlei) had put together a good course - an 11.5km loop that was not too technical, but quite tight with lots of twists and turns in the first half, and a fast, flowing section in the second half. Lose concentration for a second, and you were going to come short. The course had a bit of everything for everyone, from a former World Champ, right down to the rest of us weekend warriors.

I did have some fans (and some future 24hr riders) supporting me

As they say, ignorance is bliss, and the second part of my plan was to be kept in the dark about the progress of the competition. For the first six hours I didn't want to and didn't need to know who was leading, who was doing quick lap times, and where I was overall. It was all about getting into a rhythm, getting comfortable, learning the course, and managing my body. With temperatures up to 39C, fluid intake was going to be important, and I was going through a bottle and a half a lap. Luc the Belgian had brought some Frangipanes with him on his last visit, and told me that Tom Boonen swears by them for long races. I ate several during the event, and now Luc can tell Tom that I swear by them too!

Showing Tinker the way.

After about 4 hours of riding, I got the sensation that I was being followed. To my surprise, Tinker had decided to latch on to my back wheel and follow me around the course. For the next 5 laps or so he remained glued there. I took it as quite an honour that he felt he needed to mark me, and at the same time resisted the urge to get involved in a head to head race with him. It also gave me an opportunity to show Tinker some good lines through the technical stuff, and give him some tips and hints on how to ride a bike. I also suspect that I might have subliminally exposed him to 5339.co.uk for 4 hours, as it was written across my bum, and he'll be buying some bike stuff online shortly.

Still showing Tinker the way.

When the information blackout was finally lifted, I found out I was in second place, a lap down on Tinker, and two up on the guy in third. So far so good. Tinker and I continued our mating ritual of him following me around, and me claiming to have a headache and pretending to ignore him for another three laps, when I decided it was time for dinner. As I stopped, my mechanic whisked away my bike, my nutritionist gave me a plate of macaroni and cheese and some juice, my masseuse started massaging my neck and shoulders, while my manager tried to motivate me and keep me up to date with the race proceedings. Unlike Tinker and his crew, I only had a support crew of one - my wife, and she did a fantastic job of keeping me going.

And again, showing Tinker the way at sunset

With night fall the racing changes and the riders go into maintenance mode. The course gets quieter as people head off to bed. This is the best part about 24hr racing - you, alone on your bike in the darkness, focussed on only the small patch of light in front of you. Nothing else matters. Pure mountain biking heaven. I also got to see a fair amount of wild life - a hedgehog (which at first I thought was a rock until it moved), a rabbit, and a mongoose. These were all real, unlike the giant yellow chicken that I have seen in previous races. I did however see a guy in a blue top several times lurking in the trees. He is either a figment of my imagination, or a master of deception, because he would vanish in the blink of an eye. Also, under the cover of darkness, rocks seem to gain magnetic powers and trees start to move around and suddenly you find yourself riding into obstacles that weren't there in the daylight.

Sunrise

Toasted sandwich for breakfast

By midnight I had done 17 laps, and was 2 down on Tinker. There was very little chance that I could make up that time, so I settled on a target of 30 laps for the event, which would be around 350kms of riding. I could now take a bit of a rest between laps, ride as fast or as slow as I wanted, and just enjoy the event. I did however encounter a bit of a problem - Bennie's Bend was messing with my head, and in two consecutive laps I had ended up riding into the same tree in the same manner and have the grazes and bruises on my shoulder to prove it. This was a tree I had ridden past 24 times without incident, and now suddenly I was like a deer in the headlights, inexplicably drawn to it lap after lap. Nothing like a bit of a challenge when you are tired.

Finishing the last lap.

At 10h10 I set off on my 30th and final lap, with various parts of my body now no longer keen to endure the tortures being dished out. I finished shortly after Tinker who had completed 34 laps, but he looked absolutely knackered and as it turned out was unable to attend prize giving. I had hoped to shake his hand on the podium and thank him for a good race, but he was nowhere to be seen. All in all, that was a little bit of a let down.

Done.

Tinker did however agree to a reverse match this coming weekend. Since I had gone head to head with him at his job, he was going to go head to head with me in mine. I hope he has brushed up on his computer and electromagnetic skills! Winner takes all!

24hrs of dirt and grime.

A message for Tinker.

With the demons of 2009 laid to rest and my confidence restored, we got ready for the long trip back to Cape Town. Somehow, a 24hr up in Gauteng is never just 24hrs long - it's more like a 72hr endurance event.

Results

Prepping Nelly for the trip back to Cape Town

Double Century 2010

2010-12-01T08:42:00.000+02:00

Once again, the ragtag collection of riders that form the basis of Team 5339.co.uk got together for the first time the night before the Coronation Double Century in an African themed guest house in Swellendam. There were computer nerds, cycle industry executives, UIF receivers, surf apparel consultants, and a soon to be pro triathlete. We had Poms, Saffers, a Swiss, and a guy from Nam. There were some tall cyclists, some tanned cyclists, some short cyclists, some pale cyclists, and pair of ginger cyclists. Anyway you look at it - we made for quite a random collection of people. But we all had one common goal - to finally go under 6 hours for the 202km.

Team 5339.co.uk
Marius, Russell, Dan, Sarel, Zayin, Pascal, Craig, Karel, Dane, Jarryd, Gavin, Hector

There was a very different vibe in the air on the evening before the race, compared to previous years. While everyone seemed nervous and a little introspective, there was a quiet confidence that we had finally assembled a team that would be good enough. The person most nervous was our backup driver - James. Twelve cyclists proceeded to give him often contradictory advice, and then let him know in no uncertain terms that the fate of the whole team rested in his hands. Possibly a little overwhelming for a guy who had never done backup before, let alone the DC. Rumour has it that he never slept that night, and spent the entire evening going over the race rules again and again, pacing up and down, while mumbling words like "pressure", "responsibility" and several other words not suitable for this blog.

Awaiting the start

After eating a surprising amount of pasta for dinner, and hashing out the plan for the next day several times, the riders slowly headed off to bed. Except Marius. He had been in bed since before the sun had even set (being newly wed, we forgave him just this once). I am not sure about the rest of the team, but I didn't sleep very well. I think I must have cycled the entire route at least three times in my mind, going over the smallest detail, running through checklists, and hoping that this wasn't going to be a repeat of the 2009 disaster. I, along with the rest of Team 5339.co.uk were put out of our sleep deprived misery when we were rudely awoken at around 4am by a stray herd of wildebeest that ran through the guest house several times, occasionally stopping to use the toilet.

One straight stripe

With everyone up and ready, and Hector being closely monitored by three assigned chaperones, we went over the plans one last time. The backup car was packed, the bikes were lubed and tyres were pumped. We were ready once again to tackle the DC. Our 7am start meant we had missed the worst of the weather, unlike the poor teams that had started at 5am. The light overnight rain had cleared, the wind had dropped and the clouds were lifting. A perfect day for bike racing. I was a little disappointed that our team captain didn't get us into a huddle and give us one last team talk, and when I saw the team behind us doing this I thought we might be doing something wrong. Although, with our fancy looking 5339 cycle kit, we didn't need a team huddle - we already looked like we knew what we were doing! As the start gun for Team 5339.co.uk went off, all thoughts left our heads, and we got on with the task of riding 202km as fast as we could.

Synchronised feeding under the watchful eye of the captain

There isn't much to report about from the actual race. I was either behind someone, focussed on his wheel and bum, or taking my 2 minute turn on the front. As we started catching people, the view from the front became quite unpleasant (much like the view of a certain Swiss bum in see through shorts) - there were riders spread out all over the road, backup vehicles squeezing into gaps that didn't exist, busses overtaking on blind rises. Often, we were left with little choice but to attempt to pass in the right hand lane. How no one got hurt, let alone killed, is amazing.

By the top of Op de Tradouw we were down to 11 riders, but still flying along under the steady, and often excruciatingly painful, pace set by Sarel the ~~See~~ Fiets Monster (for the youngsters on our team reading this, ask your parents about the Sarel the Seemonster reference) and Dan the Triathlete. Montague, Ashton, Robertson, Bonnivale all passed by in a blur of sweat and energy juice as we slowly started to lose riders. With 40kms to go, we were down to 9 riders, but more importantly, still had 1h30 to play with.

A friendly Dan the Triathlete, warmed up after 160km and ready to lead the way.

Then came The Incident that we'll debate for years come. Five of us were on the front of a rather big bunch of riders consisting of at least 2 other teams. We were setting a good pace, but somehow lost sight of the rest of the team, and proceeded to ride them off the back of the bunch. By the time we realised we were just 5 riders, it was too late - the damage had been done. We lost several minutes as two riders went back looking for a suitable number 6. Everything was eventually sorted out and we got going again - no one could drop off now as it was down to the 6 of us to get the sub 6 hour we had been aiming for.

Sarel on the front, dashing for home.

With great team work, determination, gritted teeth and aching legs we made our way over the last couple of hills which felt like mountains by now - all the while receiving encouragement from the backup vehicle. James had clearly found a manual or something on the internet the night before, and was putting his new found backup knowledge to great use. I almost felt like a pro. White line fever took over and with speeds well over 60km/h on the flats we steamed towards Swellendam, cresting the last climb and crossing the finish line in an unbelievable time of 5h47:10 and an average speed of 34.91km/h. It was surreal. In an instant, all the pain and suffering vanished and it had been worth it.

A rather chuffed looking Team 5339.co.uk

The customary post DC Team 5339.co.uk braai took place in the rain, again, and it wasn't long before we all drifted off to bed with full stomachs and big smiles. We awoke early the next morning to the news that we had finished 6th overall - not bad for a bunch of mountain bikers, triathletes and bit-part roadies.

After a breakfast of scrambled ostrich egg, bacon, mushrooms and toast we packed up and headed back to reality - already scheming about DC 2011 and how we could go even faster!

Watch the video 59 times for the full 5h47 DC experience

Wines2Whales 2010

2010-11-18T13:38:00.000+02:00

For the first time since my second Argus way back in 1998, Yolanda and I were going to ride together, and this time it wasn't just going to be a little trip around the Cape Peninsula. It was going to be a 3 day stage race from Lourensford in Somerset West to Onrus. That's 230km of bonding. Craig and Bonte (Team Finding Vino) would be doing it as well, and the event promised to be a great weekend away. Wines2Whales, here we come.

A bunch start!

That was until we got word of some competition. Our spies had been busy monitoring the Western Cape cycling scene, and something big appeared on the wires. Another couple with high ambitions had entered, and neither Yolanda nor Bonte would tolerate losing to this couple. And so the intelligence work began. Many favours were called in, information was gathered, Facebook accounts were monitored, results were scrutinised, acquaintances were interrogated, and plans were formulated. We knew when and where the opposition would be riding, how far their training rides were, their mental state, their strengths and their weaknesses. All this was done in absolute secrecy - something any intelligence operative would have been proud of. After several refinements and iterations we had a plan to beat the Wakefields, aka Team Heading For A Divorce.

All smiles

With our Plan safely locked away behind triple reinforced stainless steel doors, and two killer guard dogs employed on 12 hour shifts, we set about getting fit for the challenge that lay ahead. For Yolanda, this generally included looking out of the window, seeing a threatening cloud in the distance, and going back to bed. With only a couple of weeks to go she upped the training, both quality and quantity, and actually got on a bicycle. This was all part of The Plan, in case the Wakefields had infiltrated our cycling group and had spies reporting on her progress. While Yolanda was busy training, I was frantically trying to discover the race commissar's weakness. While I am not at liberty to discuss these details, the results speak for themselves, as both Finding Vino and The Bizweni Benders managed to get an A seeding.

A hearty meal for a stage racer

Race day eventually arrived, along with some rather foul weather, but mountain bikers are a tough lot and welcomed the thick sticky mud and slippery conditions with open arms. After a hearty breakfast of chocolate Pronutro at the Bokomo Breakfast Zone, we headed off to the A bunch, hanging with the likes of Christoph Sauser, Burry Stander, Conrad Stoltz and Dan Hugo.

Stage One

Stage One was going to be a bit of a brute with lots of steep climbs, some technical descents, and some tight singletrack as we made our way from Lourensford to Grabouw Country Club, for a total of 70kms and just under 1500m of climbing. Yolanda rode like a star - fearless in the face of some rather slippery conditions and attempted everything. A couple earth shattering tumbles later (and some rather sore looking bruises) we rolled across the finish line narrowly beating Team Finding Vino in a time of 6h22. Our bodies had survived, and more importantly so had our marriage (even if there were parts where we weren't speaking to each other - because apparently it's my fault when Yolanda falls on a slippery root or rock). I had earned massive brownie points by carrying my bike up the wagon trail, and at the same time pushing Yo's bike - this single act possibly saved our marriage.The many months of hard training had paid off, as Team Heading For A Divorce finished in a whopping 7h11. Barring any major mechanical difficulties, the overall victory would be ours.

Chatting to the enemy (mind games at work!)

What a view (except for the half naked cyclist)

With the riding out of the way, Yolanda quickly settled into the chore routine - showering, snacking, getting a massage, mixing juice etc. She especially enjoyed setting up "The Nest" - the tent we would be sleeping in. We would use the other tent to store all our stuff.

Stage Two

Ready for Stage Two

Stage Two had us hooking up all the best singletrack mountain biking in the Western Cape - OakValley, Thandi and Lebanon, into a 75km loop. I was a little nervous because I wasn't sure I would be able to stay on Yolanda's wheel. It turns out that she is quite a downhill maniac, especially when it comes to technical singletrack. Not a single person caught or passed us when she was in full flight, and I had to work hard to keep up with her. We had a couple of issues - an inconveniently placed root resulted in Yolanda having a rather heavy crash (which again was my fault). That was shortly followed by the longest puncture repair ever as I tried to fit a tube. Team Finding Vino passed us after we had been stationary for about 20 minutes, and Team HFAD somehow also sneaked past us. I suspect they did so on their bellies, leopard crawling through the long grass to maintain the element of surprise. It was only much later when we caught them that we realised we'd been passed by them.

Close to being finished

In the spirit of W2W, we had come up with a rule that said there was to be no pushing of the ladies by the guys. We were going to ride at their pace. However, there was a escape clause, affectionately known as the Nadine Clause - if Team HFAD happened to be challenging for position on a stage, then pushing would be allowed. And that was exactly the situation Yolanda and I found ourselves in. We had started 10 minutes before Team HFAD, and when we recaught them we still had to get a 10 minute gap on them to stand any chance of beating them on the stage. It was like old times again - instead of Russel, I now had Yolanda to push, and we made good progress in the final 18kms, but unfortunately only managed to make up 5 of the required 10 minutes and finished in 5h52. Well done Team HFAD. Team Finding Vino also had a last minute puncture and lost out on the stage victory by a mere 40 seconds. A cynic would suggest that the circumstances of Team HFAD's victory were a little suspicious - both the opposition teams suffering punctures. A complaint was lodged and the race commissar is still investigating.

Up bright and early, ready for Stage Three

Stage Three

Stage Three was the final push towards Onrus, an 85km route with some great downhill, and a bit of a sting in the tail. With Team Finding Vino leading on GC, our two teams stuck together to provide a mental deterrent to Team HFAD. We were a little shocked to see them at the first water point - once again they had ridden 10 minutes into us, and once again we had to invoke the Nadine Clause. That was the last we saw of them as the ladies rode like champs up the many climbs, spurred on by the desire to claim the bragging rights. I was also made to look like an amateur again by Yolanda on some fast singletrack as she raced away from me (Coach - if you're reading this - we need to work on my skills!). With Onrus in sight, Teams Finding Vino and The Bizweni Benders flew past some dedicated supporters , all smiles. It had been a perfect day's riding. Or so we thought. With a couple hundred meters to go, Bonte had an altercation with an unforgiving Milkwood tree, the Milkwood winning and Bonte adding to her collection of scrapes and bruises. We crossed the line in 5h44, and then had the agonising wait for Team HFAD. Ten minutes eventually passed, giving us another stage win, and Team Finding Vino the overall victory.

Finished!

Team Heading for a Divorce - still together and smiling.

All in all, a very enjoyable event - well organised with a great route and fantastic vibe. This race is everything that the Epic is not, and I hope it stays this way. Plans are already underway on how to beat Team HFAD next year - our operatives are hard at work. Owning the Wakefields again will be a challenge, but we're more determined than ever.

The Bizweni Benders and Team Finding Vino - in matching 5339 kit

Swazi Frontier 2010

2010-10-19T20:09:00.000+02:00

In a small land locked country on the south eastern tip of Africa, roughly the size of Wales and better known for things like the Reed Dance and being the last absolute monarchy in Africa, is an event that captures the very essence of mountain biking. How this event hasn't received more publicity is a mystery. The country is Swaziland, and the event is The Swazi Frontier.

Swaziland, here we come

After hearing some fantastic stories from several sources, I composed the best suck up letter ever, promising the naming rights to my first born, and large sums of money and other favours, should I get an entry. (I have kept the letter, and will be using it as a template for similar events. I haven't yet told my wife that we'll be having a rugby team of children). I also bribed some past participants into putting a good word in for me. After several nervous weeks I finally got the email - I had cracked the nod.

Svalbaard in kit form

The next challenge was to find a partner. With Craig preferring the company of older men, I was left to either find someone of a similar level as me, or someone who was brave or mad (or both). After exhausting the former options, I had to resort to the latter, and thankfully I didn't have to look to far. Enter Tree John - best known for his lack of skill at avoiding trees. I made a couple promises, about riding sensibly blah blah blah, and suddenly, Team Goat and Guru was born (I am the goat, as I go uphill well, and John is the downhill guru, provided there aren't any trees).

The old movie house

After months of planning the logistics, Team Goat and Guru and Team 5339.co.uk (feel the creativity in the name) set off on a country crossing adventure. Hermans to Somerset West, Somerset West to Cape Town Airport, flights up to Johannesburg, hire car to Pretoria, sleep - the junior team got relegated to the caravan by a rather grumpy Little John (of Little John and his Merry Men fame, the other half of Team 40.is.old), road trip to Oshoek, fighting with obstinate customs officials, lost customs forms, missed turnoffs, before finally arriving Hawane Lodge in the pouring rain. Us Capies know all about the rain, and aren't scared of a bit of mud and gunk, but throw in a bit of lightening and thunder and we become quivering wrecks - looking for the nearest bed to hide under. The other concern was that the sum total of my wet weather gear consisted of a pair of arm warmers (once again, Team 666.be.evil providing us with bad advice, telling us how hot Swaziland always is).

The T-shirt doesn't lie

Team 443222.mtb.gears on the podium

Stage 1 was a "gentle 60km ride through some beautiful surroundings, with a bit of climbing near the end" - to quote Brett, the event organiser and finalist for The Most Understated Route Description award. Unlike the Epic where Dr Evil goes to great lengths to put the fear of God into you many months in advance, Brett just lets the trail do the talking - up, mist, long grass, wild animals, trees, dam wall, down, stile, down, river crossing, waterpoint, up, up, up, trees, down, down, down, river crossing, forest, up, up, mud, up, trees down, waterpoint, up, up, up, down, tar, finished. Something like 64kms with 2100m of climbing for a total riding time of 5h25 through some of the best riding I have ever done. Team 2236.co.uk came in second, losing some time on the last climb.

But is it art?

Derek and Cliff - all smiles after Stage 1

In an effort to try to be inclusive, and to stop being a control freak, I had delegated the role of navigator to Tree John - that way he had some control over where we went and how fast we did it, and I had to follow him. That was the idea anyway. It became quite apparent that Tree John wasn't happy with this designation, and did his best to sneakily dispose of our route maps when I least expected it. After having to ride back up the trail to hunt for our cards for the third time, Tree John finally made a plan and stuck them down with a mouth full of half chewed PVM Energy bar. I always knew those bars were good for something. Thankfully, we were able to navigate by following others most of the time, but this comes with its dangers - several times we followed teams off into the great unknown.

Little John hates a dirty pool

The rest of the afternoon was spent soaking up the atmosphere, chatting about the fantastic riding, gorging ourselves on the tasty food, fiddling with bikes, and napping - all in the old mining town of Bulembu, now an AIDS orphanage.

View Larger Map

Stage 2 dawned with the rain pouring down. Resisting the urge to climb back into bed after a hearty breakfast I once again put on all my wet weather gear - a sole pair of arm warmers, and got ready for what promised to be a 60km mud bath. At the Swazi Time of 7am we set off, braving the elements, the mud, and Tree John's navigational skills (Swazi Time is very much like African Time - just a little more random and unpredictable). With the odd slip here and there, mud in the eyes, ears, nose and mouth, wet bum, caked bikes and big smiles we progressed along one of the best day's riding I have ever done, made even better by the weather. We climbed, we flew down hills, we got lost, Tree John staked a claim to a particularly slippery piece of land, we crossed rivers, we crossed rivers, we crossed rivers (something like 32 times), we got stuck in mud, Little John broke a chain, we raced pigs (the pigs won), we high fived kids, and eventually crossed the finish line at the Orion Piggs Peak Hotel in a little over 4 hours. Team 8008.dodgy.giant, and in particular Little John, lost time as the mud brought their race to a sudden stop, but managed to hang onto a third place.

Certainly beats an Epic tent!

We weren't the only ones to fall victim to the mud, with the truck carrying everyone's bags getting stuck. The result was that 180 cyclists walked about the hotel in nothing but towels. All in all, the Unofficial Piggs Peak Toga Party went down well, with no reports of wardrobe malfunctions. Several riders even achieved minor stardom as other hotel guests clamoured to take photos of people in towels with funny tan lines.

Bike wash geniuses.

The mud had been particularly brutal on the bikes, and for the first time I experienced what can only be called "Collective Bike Repair" - where a whole bunch of people work on a whole bunch of bikes - often not their own, for the general good of everyone. Karl Marx would have been proud.

The Collective at work

Stage 3 was to be a 60km affair with 3 major climbs. The weather was finally playing along, so the arm warmers weren't needed, and I swapped them for a pair of sunglasses. After a slightly relaxed start, we found ourselves in the lead bunch. Just as we were settling in, as happy as a Swazi pig in Swazi poo, Little John of Team 911.im.lost sent the entire lead bunch down the wrong road. We watched despondently as first the mixed teams, and then the baggy shorts clad mountain bikers whizzed past us. The only consolation being that now we had some targets up ahead of us, and there is nothing I like more than something to aim at.

The finishing venue - Maguga Lodge

I'd given up on Tree John's navigational skills, and had to find other reliable sources of navigational info. The obvious option was to follow the tracks ahead of us, but there was a certain risk in this. With people like Little John doing the navigation up front, who knows where we might end up. A far more reliable source is what I call SCPS - Swazi Children Positioning System, and involves scanning the route up ahead, and then heading off towards the largest group of Swazi children on the side of the road. I'm still working on a business plan to commercialise my new positioning system, so watch this space.

We came down that mountain

Tree John had finally found some legs, and was making me work hard. While not as technically challenging as the previous days, the riding was still top notch, and as an added bonus we got to see the scenery. We also got a hint of just how warm it can be, and were more than grateful for the cooler weather we had experienced. We enjoyed some steep climbs, sweeping descents, a swing bridge crossing, angry Swazi cows, emaciated Swazi dogs, friendly Swazi supporters, beautiful panoramas, swamp crossings, flowing cow tracks, and a fast tar descent to finish off at Maguga Lodge in a little over 4 hours, securing 7th place overall. As Ricky Bobby says - "If you ain't first, you're last", and the Kenyan team of David and Davidson (or Epic fame and good friends of Sarah and Benedikt) made sure they were first. Team 0002.isnt.bad secured a well deserved 2nd place with the defending champs - Bruce Turvey and Rob Dormehl of Osama B's - succumbing to mechanical issues and finishing in third.

A Kenyan showing off his technical skills during Stage 4

The rest of the day was spent packing, cleaning up, enjoying a few drinks overlooking the Maguga dam, and just chilling - we had Stage 4 to look forward to that evening, and a long trip back to reality the next day.

Little John working on his Captain pose.

It's not often that event organisers get everything just right, and yet some how, Brett and Lesley have managed this. Even when things go wrong, it just doesn't seem to matter. From the race briefings, to the route, to the food, to the accommodation - everything is just perfect. The Swazi Frontier isn't a race, it's a ride and an experience that is out of this world. Many thanks to Brett, Lesley and all the other unseen helpers that make the Swazi Frontier the event that it is.

Still no word on the name of my first born, but I expect a call any day now...

Karoo2Coast 2010

2010-09-22T15:45:00.000+02:00

For years I have had to put up with mountain bikers talking about a ride from the quaint little Karoo town of Uniondale, down some mountain passes, to Knysna. I have had to listen to the war stories, the tales of triumph and heartbreak, the accounts of steep cliffs, dangerous drops and atrocious weather. When asked how my ride was, I would mutter under my breath that I hadn't ever done the ride, and in an instant I would be excluded from the conversation and given that look. The look that says "You obviously aren't a real mountain biker."

The Route

But that all changed this year when we finally decided to enter the Karoo2Coast Mountain Bike Challenge. How hard can it really be? Apart from the odd bump here and there it is all downhill. On big wide roads. These mountain bikers are pansies! I had ridden the route in reverse in the 2007 Epic, and although Julian had suffered a bit, it didn't seem that bad. And surely the Epic route was the tougher direction to ride the route in anyway!

It's all downhill!

Along with the usual Hermanus contingent, we had a visiting Belgian physio/soldier/cyclist - Luc, who was eager to see just how tough us South Africans are. Bonte had once again used her amazing organisational skills to secure us accommodation in the school hostel, and Luc's first hurdle would be to survive a night with The (injured) Runner and The Greek in a tiny dorm room. After a few ground rules were laid down, I think they all got on like a house on fire. First rule - no snoring. Consequences - Death. Actually, that was the only rule. The Greek was particularly scared, and was only too grateful to have a very cute duvet with chickens on it to cuddle in the night as he made sure he didn't snore.

Our accommodation for the night

Race day dawned bright and early with The Greek bringing The (injured) Runner breakfast in bed. Those two do make a good couple. After breakfast and the usual pre-race pfaff we all headed off to our start chutes - the threat of bad weather having failed to materialise. It looked like a perfect day for a downhill ride to Knysna.

The Greek's duvet

And that was probably the last pleasant thought I had until I crossed the finish line 3h42 later. Craig and I had the pleasure of starting in the Elite bunch, with both of us downplaying our form - Craig blaming his island adventure, and me blaming all the racing I had done. At 7:30 we were off, and I was quite nervous - whenever a large bunch of mountain bikers get together in a bunch on tar bad things are bound to happen. Barely 100m from the start and I almost had my first crash, and in return sending Craig sideways into some other innocent bystander. Luckily no one went down. Shortly after that 2 riders did go down - but it was on the other side of the bunch far away from us.

Rent-a-mechanic as The Greek and The (injured) Runner look on.

As we hit the dirt at the bottom of the first climb the race exploded and the front guys were off. Craig and I were stuck behind some riders whose own perceived ability and actual ability were on opposite ends of the spectrum. I weaved my way through the traffic, thinking Craig was right on my wheel - Team 5339 ripping up the course. The reality was that Craig had bust his dérailleur at the start of the climb and was on his way back to the start to either look for a new dérailleur, or a new bike. I should probably look behind me every now and then.

Nelly got her own special place to sleep

After some ups and downs I found myself in no man's land - there was a group up ahead that were getting away from me, and a group behind me that weren't quite catching me. I plodded along at my own pace when I was eventually caught by Jarryd just when I needed someone to pick a line down Prince Alfred Pass, and he was the perfect person for it. Unfortunately he punctured not long afterwards and I was all on my own again. I finally got some company in the form of Tiaan Erwee, another Helderberg local and together we rode well up the never ending climb towards Buffelsnek. The bunch finally caught us, but nothing changed - Tiaan and I stayed on the front and did all the work while we towed the rest of them along. It's the burden of riding a 29er, and I am slowly coming to accept it.

We were picking up riders who had been dropped quite regularly, and one of them happened to be Hector, a Hermanus local, and my future DC teammate. It was rather bad timing for Hector, because as soon as we had caught him my little bunch decided to drop the hammer and the gaps started to open. I had to go around several riders to stay in the bunch, with Tiaan falling victim, and Hector barely hanging on. It wasn't long before the elastic broke, and Hector was off the back.

Luc - the sun burnt Belgian

Things pretty much stayed the same, 29er on the front until we reached the last hill. I had descended quite amazingly, and was looking good to get over the climb in good shape when my legs decided to call it a day. They just wouldn't go and I slowly found myself going backwards. By the time I got to the top of the climb the bunch was gone and I was left to limp home to the finish line on my own. Never before have I hated riding on flat tar so much - it just didn't seem to want to end. I finally finished in 3h42, in 30th place, having had one of my hardest races in a long time. Karoo2Coast certainly isn't easy, and it certainly isn't downhill. I was sore all over, and a little disappointed that I could stick with the bunch, but that's bike racing.

Still smiling, despite over 6 hours of trouble

After what seemed like an age, The Greek crossed the line in fine form, shattering his personal best and comprehensively claiming the floating trophy. With The (injured) Runner out of action, his win seemed assured, but as is often the case, a new contender stood up and put her cards on the table. Bonte finished a mere 20 minutes behind The Greek, and while he basked in his amazing victory, I couldn't help notice the fear and worry in his eyes.

The Greek receiving his trophy

As for the others - The (injured) Runner had done 250km in a little over 3 hours, and was looking as fresh as a daisy. He did complain of a sore bum, but that is to be expected over such distances. Yolanda had a disaster of a ride - her dodgy Specialized equipment letting her down, although she swears it was her mechanic's fault. Craig, once again, got beaten by pretty much everybody. It's happening at such a regular occurrence that it doesn't surprise anyone anymore. Yolanda was more than happy though - Craig's mechanical skills were put to good use on her bike. Just a pity his own bike doesn't get the same level of care. Luc got his money's worth and enjoyed the scenery and the race atmosphere. He also now admits that all Belgian cyclists are wimps and that South African's are slightly crazy (despite us telling him that The (injured) Runner and The Greek are not true representatives of typical South Africans).

Podium girls, fame, groupies.
The Greek has arrived

Stanford Finishing Photos

2010-09-20T11:35:00.000+02:00

Some nail biting action photos from the finishing line in Stanford.

Winding up the sprint

The lunge for the line

All by myself

Freewheeling

Staalwater 2010

2010-09-14T19:06:00.000+02:00

As the poster boy for this Staalwater MTB Challenge I had an obligation to attend. Thankfully, the organisers had set up a course that favoured my strengths, and decided to keep the technical stuff to a minimum. It still wasn't going to be easy - we had loads of climbing to do, and it looked like it was going to be flat and fast.

With Karoo2Coast just around the corner, this was to be the last dress rehearsal for The Runner and The Greek, and an opportunity for either of them to gain the upper hand in the psychological war games. We were all expecting big things from this race.

Another reminder - I am the poster boy

I was a little disappointed to see that some of the big guns had rocked up again, and were likely to ruin my poster boy day in the sun. Equally distressing was the fact that I had competition from 3 other riders: my Baviaans team mate John, Marius the Pansie, and Henning, a local Somerset West rider.

With a turnout that far exceeded the size of the start shoot, the long route set in a flurry of riders. The quicker riders eventually made their way through the traffic and a nice little bunch formed at the front. The old saying "If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is" applies here - I thought I was doing well, sitting comfortably in the bunch, feeling good when all hell broke loose. In slow motion. Four riders just rode away from the rest of us, and no matter how hard I tried I could do nothing about it. Two hours of chasing followed, with mixed results.

The Greek, having a pre-race stress about the integrity of his carbon Giant

We managed to catch one of the leaders, also on a 29er, and so there were 3 riders chasing the 3 leaders, with us being chased by John and Marius. A catch 22. I wanted to stay away from the guys behind us, but I didn't want to kill myself trying to catch the leaders, and give Henning a free ride. Thankfully, the course was very 29er friendly, so Henning was practically removed from the equation.

The Runner, adopting an interesting warm-up routine

The status quo remained until the first water point, and the sharp little hill that followed it. We lost the other 29er early on, with Henning next to go. In the interim, Jarryd, a downhill demon and future Double Century teammate, had been dropped by the leaders and was about 100m ahead. With everything looking great, it was around this time that my legs decided that they were no longer interested in cycling, and were going on strike. To make matters worse, all three of the guys I wanted to beat had now joined up, and were working together to chase me down.

My only hope was to get over the climb with a slight advantage, and hope that some more 29er friendly roads would present themselves. While my wish wasn't granted exactly, I got the next best thing - some technical downhill. John was able to ride across to me, but the others struggled, and before they could close the gap the hallowed 29er friendly road appeared and John and I were able to open the gap. Things pretty much stayed like this until the finish - we could see third place, sixth and seventh could see us, but there wasn't a lot that any of us could do about it.

Third placed Jarryd looking cool

With Caledon approaching fast, John got a serious case of white line fever, and I had to hang on to his rear wheel for dear life. Just when I was about to pop, the cycling gods smiled on me once again, and John dropped his chain on a steep little uphill. Doing the thing that Alberto Contador should have done, I waited for John. (That's what it appeared like anyway - the truth was that I would have walked that hill anyway.) In return for my generosity, John didn't sprint me for fourth place. We had ridden the 60kms in 2:14, and were only 5 minutes behind the leader. Being old also has its benefits as I was the first SubVet across the line (and the first 29er, but there are no prizes for that).

Both the ladies beat the boys

Back to the main attraction - The Runner vs The Greek. We were expecting fireworks, with thousands of spectators turning up to see the action, drama, and suffering. What we got was one of the biggest anticlimaxes in the history of cycling. Sadder than Lance Armstrong's return to competitive racing, more disappointing than Jan Ullrich's attempt to win a second Tour de France, less riveting than watching a Dennis Menchov interview. It was a total damp squib. The Greek and The Runner had declared a truce and rode together. Something about The Runner suffering from an old ITB injury he picked up back when he was an up and coming endurance runner, training under the watchful eye of Arthur Lydiard in a bid to smash the Comrades up run record.

The deserved winner of the trophy, flanked by the two losers.

Bonte had gone to great effort in securing a trophy for the main attraction, but given the outcome, it was decided that she should receive it as she comprehensively beat both of them. Whether this stunt by The Runner was just another salvo in the psychological duel with The Greek remains to be seen. One thing is for sure, this burgeoning rivalry will keep us gripped for many years to come.

Stanford 2010

2010-09-06T16:55:00.000+02:00

One of my favourite rides on the calendar happens each year in early September, just as the legs are starting to recover from Baviaans. The Stanford MTB race. I am not entirely sure why I enjoy this race, as it certainly is one of the tougher rides on the calendar. Maybe it's the scenery and the great views from the top of the mountain, or the laid back atmosphere at the venue, or the rush of endorfins when the pain finally ends once you cross the finish line.

This year was no different. The route was a new route, but the idea was much the same - lots and lots of up, some short, sharp, lethal descents and bit of district road for good measure.

57km

The medium route wasn't immune to the evil streak running through the race organiser either, and also took the riders over any hill that he could find.

35km

A reasonable number of brave mountain bikers had once again turned out for the long route, known as the Akkedis (Afrikaans for Lizard). In a rare moment of weakness, the race organiser has decided to give us a 7km warmup loop before we started climbing the fabled Salmansdam climb up to the mast. In fact, one of the draw cards of this race is that it follows the part of the route as Stage 6 of the 2008 Epic.

An Akkedis

The race set off at a reasonable pace with the bunch being quite large until we hit the first rolling hills, where it suddenly reduced to about 7 or 8 riders. And then the real climbing started. The racing snakes and mountain goats disappeared up the climb and I found myself in 6th place. We climbed for around 45 minutes in hot, airless conditions, the sweat dripping off me. Ever since Knysna, I have become a little paranoid about losing a bottle and so made sure neither of my bottles were trying to escape at regular (i.e.2 minute) intervals. The new bottle cages also helped.

Once we made the top of the climb we had a sharp, dangerous descent back to the valley floor below. I had ridden up the climb on the wheel of the guy in 5th place, but as soon as we started going down I lost sight of him, and half expected the rest of the field to come flying past me. By some miracle they never did, and I managed to catch the guy ahead of me as he stopped with a puncture. I was now 5th, and had some lovely farm roads ahead of me - 29er terrain. Still half expecting the bunch to catch me I rode on by myself, when, all of a sudden, I got a glimpse of the guy in 4th - Chad the Chiropractor. I think Chad is one of those guys who struggles to leave his work at the office, as twice he had tried to straighten out my back on the warm up loop. Now I wanted to catch him and ask him if I really had a skew back.

The only catch was that I had just caught sight of the bunch (containing everyone I wanted to beat - the Hermanus locals and Marius) closing in on us as I slowly climbed one of the rolling hills. The effort of riding on my own into the wind up a hill was taking its toll, and almost on cue, as if the race organiser was speaking to me, I saw a squashed Akkedis. That was pretty much how I would feel if I got caught. Suddenly, we turned the corner onto some flat grass fields, and I could feel Nelly was eager to show me what she was made of. Before long, I caught Chad, and told him about the fast approaching bunch, hoping the two of us could work together. Chad was obviously still too interested in my back that he forgot to pedal, and when I next looked back he was gone.

A tired spectator catching a napAdd caption

With the last big climb of 7km approaching fast from the front, and the bunch and Chad behind I was in a bit of a spot. I needed a gap over any chasers so that I could survive the downhill, but I also couldn't go too fast on the 29er up the hill. My only hope was that the guys behind me would suffer as much as I was going to, and the gap would be intact once we got to the top.

Everyone's a winner at Stanford

After riding through a sheep field, the climb began. It was a series of short sharp climbs that strained the legs and lungs, followed by relatively flat sections. With half an eye on what was going on behind me I gritted my teeth and clenched my knuckles up each climb. Again, as if on cue from the race organiser, an Akkedis came running past me as I slowly ground my way up hill. Was I really going that slowly?

After the endless false flats I finally made it to the top, and there I caught a glimpse of the guy in third. Did I climb the hill that well? Was there enough race left to catch him? In a combination of my fixation on the guy in third place, and some poor route marking I took a wrong turn and followed the guy in 3rd place back to the mast we had climbed to earlier. Once I realised I was on the wrong route I then proceeded to ride down the way we had ridden up earlier. Thankfully I didn't follow the guy in 3rd place again, as he got horribly lost, going down the hill we had descended earlier. Marius too made this mistake, and had to be rescued in Caledon. Feeling a little disappointed and annoyed, I crossed the line in 5th place, in just under 3h30, Chad and another rider finishing ahead of me after taking the correct route. After gulping down some coke and hanging around for a back massage that never happened (Chad seemed to have lost interest in my back), I joined the ladies on the picnic blanket for a picnic. They had had a great ride on the 35km route, and finished 4th and 5th in a sprint finish, Yo's new bike Crumpet doing the business.

Picnic time!

Trans Baviaans 2010

2010-08-18T17:02:00.000+02:00

The annual Trans Baviaans bike race from Willowmore to Jeffery's Bay saw The Soggy Bottom Boys reuniting for another stab at the 230km mountain bike route. While we tend to get on quite well as a team, there are always several areas that cause a little added tension. Inevitably, the first point of concern is the team name, and like most things in life, people are very quick to criticise, but rather slow in offering any alternatives. Having had to endure names like The Soggy Bottom Boys, The Tartrollips etc, John was eager to give us a name that we could be proud of. Unfortuantely, the best he could come up was

HERMANUS PLUS 1 WHINER
2 RACING SNAKES 1 WEIGHT WATCHER
RUSTY KNEECAPS
RUSTY BALL-BEARINGS
RUSTING CRANKS

As benevolent dictator for life of the Baviaans team, I could not possibly accept such half hearted attempts. And I certainly took offence at being labelled a whiner (I also wasn't quite sure who the weight watcher was). Since we were going to be two 29ers, I thought "Little John and his Merry Men" was quite fitting (and as it turned out, a little prophetic too).

After many years of great service from our usual seconder, Bonte, we welcomed a new guy to the team - Freddie. Freddie is an avid mountain biker with some good results, a blog, a broken bicycle, and an Epic entry. We still aren't quite sure why he volunteered to put up with us, but whatever his motivation, he did a great job.

It looks downhill, but it really isn't

We spent the night in the local school's hostel and after the mattress thievery of last year we had been promoted to real beds in a corner room. Luxury. Apart from the odd bit of faffing and fiddling with bikes and equipment, we all got a good night's sleep and were well rested for the race. I had organised the tops, and since I know how much John (and his wife) likes tight yellow tops I had a special treat for him. I reckon we could have gotten him to wear it with a little bit of persuasion. Our real kit were the trusty 5339.co.uk tops.

Sexy in yellow

With everything packed, we said farewell to Freddie, and would see him again 8 hours later near Patensie. We were a little better organised this year, and managed to get quite close to the front of the start pen, where we proceeded to do the usual pre-race suss of the potential competition. This is an art that we have perfected over the years. Look at the bike, look at the rider, look at his legs, look at his kit, look for a camelback, look for accessories on the bike. Repeat as many times as required.

The area we were riding in

At ten o'clock we got underway and made good progress riding fast, but not too fast. Imagine our surprise then when we rounded a corner to see a bunch ahead of us, and then nothing in front of them. Could that be the leading bunch? I have never even seen the lead bunch at Baviaans before, so this was rather special. It got even better when we realised that we were catching the lead bunch without too much effort. In fact, it looked like they were freewheeling. We eventually rode onto the back of the bunch, and were quite surprised at the lack of pace, and so, before too long, Little John and his Merry Men had two riders on the front of the bunch, both on 29ers, leading the Trans Baviaans race. A dropped chain had Craig and I off the back, but we quickly rejoined and went straight back to the front.

We led the bunch into Checkpoint 1, got some juice and coke, and were out in a flash. Just as the bunch was reforming I heard the sickening sound of air escaping from a tyre. A quick check to make sure it wasn't my tyres (and lots of relief) before looking at Craig. He had a hole in his rear tyre, but we quickly plugged and bombed it and were back up to speed in no time, and in the bunch shortly after that.

The pre race fiddle and faff

For the next 60kms, Little John and his Merry Men set the pace - Craig being a bit of a TV slut and riding off the front on his own, with the rest of us following. Nelly, my 29er, was certainly proving her worth and was making short work of the rolling hills. With the bunch starting to swell a little, I decided that Craig had showed off enough and started to close the gap to him. The immediate effect was that the bunch went from about 15 teams down to 7. Not only were Little John and his Merry Men in the lead bunch, we were making the racing and lead everyone into Checkpoint 2. We knew our time at the front was now up, as the hills now lay ahead of us, and the 29ers aren't the quickest up the climbs.

With the temperature getting up to 33C we started the first big climb of the day, riding a good pace with everyone still looking good. We crossed the summit of the climb together, although the same cannot be said about reaching the bottom of the descent together, my descending skills still letting me down. Checkpoint 3 awaited us, and after some sosaties, potatoes and coke we set off for the Mother Of All Climbs up to Bergplaas and Checkpoint 4.

I like the guy in green checking us out

A motorcycle marshal told us we were just five minutes behind the leaders which surprised us a little. As we started the early slopes of the M.A.C., I started to feel a little funny. Something wasn't right. My legs felt ok, but my heart rate was slowly climbing, and my stomach was starting to act up. I hoped it was nothing serious, something that a good burp would solve, and I could be on my way, but as I progressed the feeling in my stomach got worse and worse. Thinking it was dehydration I tried to drink more, but each time the aches got worse. Thankfully, I spotted a water tank on the side of the road from the recent road works on the M.A.C. and after a quick check found it to be full of fresh water. I only managed to get one gulp down before the evacuation order was given and all evil was told to leave my body. I never knew evil was bright orange with bits of potato in it, but I certainly felt better after the purge. One or two vehicles came past me as I was ridding my body of evil, and so as not to show any sign of weakness, I pretended to be doing some stretches. I filled my bottle with water, hopped on my bike and was back on way.

Cool calm and collected

My team mates had deserted me before my exorcism, and Craig must have been a little worried as he came back to find me and offer a bit of assistance. Nothing was more welcome than the short push he gave me up to Checkpoint 4. I grabbed the other elixir of life (tea is the original elixir of life) - coke - and downed a whole bottle, had some snacks and was ready to go. We flew down th Big Dipper, some of us a little slower than others and eventually got back onto 29er turf - flatlands and rolling hills. Eager to make up for my bad showing on M.A.C. (again), I tried to help out as much as possible with the pace setting. We were still doing extremely well - at least an hour ahead of our previous best, and sitting in 7th place overall. In the past we have always arrived at Checkpoint 5 as the sun sets, but this year we rolled into the checkpoint in broad daylight.

Freddie at work

Freddie was there to welcome us, and was exceptionally organised. He had convinced his family to join him in supporting 3 sweaty, smelly, strangers. We got naartjies, juice, water, potatoes and all our goodies laid out neatly on a blanket. I needed to take a Gu, and inevitably this is followed by some gagging and dry heaving as I struggle to convince my stomach that the Gu is not evil, and very much required, so I had to put on a brave face and conceal any gagging for Freddie's family. I am not too sure how well I succeeded.

Back on the road, we had the last big climb of the route left - The Never Ender. This climb got its name from the fact that usually you end up climbing it at night, and because of all the twists and turns, can never see the top. It feels like you are going up hill for ever. However, in the daylight, it is a much different experience, and rather pretty. We made good progress again, my legs were feeling strong, although there were some cramps about, but nothing that a bit of teeth clenching couldn't solve. My stomach was still a little dubious, but we had reached a compromise - I would't give it any more energy juice, if it promised to accept a Gu or two. As the sun set, we finally got to use our lights that we had been carrying since Checkpoint 4, and not long afterwards, we arrived at Checkpoint 7. (Alert readers will have noticed that I skipped a checkpoint there - checkpoint 6 was an unmanned checkpoint not really worth a mention).

Jeffery's Bay - our Siren

Freddie and his family saw to our requests once again, and we were off - the lights of Jeffery's Bay just over the horizon and calling us like Sirens - we just hoped there would be no crashing into rocks. Despite the tired legs and fragile stomach we pushed hard, keeping the pace high and making full use of the 29ers. As the brightness of the lights of Jeffery's increased, so too did our white line fever. Little John and his Merry Men were flying, and we crossed the line in 9h25 - in seventh place. We were over an hour faster than our previous best time.

Smiles all around

Freddie was there to welcome us with beer. It is such a pity that he wants to ride Trans Baviaans next year. Hopefully he can pass on his expert knowledge to a worthy recipient.

Little John and his Merry Men, and seconder extraordinaire Freddie

We were a little lost at having finished so early - in previous years it was simple - you ate, showered and went to bed, but we had loads of time to kill, and not that much to eat, so we ended up watching The Guru on TV before finally going to bed on what had been a fantastic day's racing.

Who is that guy?

2010-08-17T08:04:00.000+02:00

While dropping off Craig's bike for some last minute bike maintenance in Hermanus (I don't get surprised anymore when things like this happen) I saw a poster on the bike shop window advertising a race in Caledon.

Blue bike, blue sky

Something about the poster got me, but I couldn't put my finger on it - and then it hit me. It was a photo of a Dirtopia event and the sun was shining.Very rare occasion indeed.
(After much analysis and oogling at the handsome bike, I also noticed that it was a photo of me from the recent 9-5 Dirtopia event)
Now I have to go and do the Dirtopia Staalwater Challenge on the 11th of September.

Bicycle Portraits

2010-08-06T10:10:00.000+02:00

I found this cool website: Bicycle Portraits. From the about section:

My name is Stan Engelbrecht. A friend and fellow bicycle enthusiast, Nic Grobler, and I recently started a project investigating South African bicycle culture, and the lack of cyclist commuters out there on our roads. We want to raise the funds to turn this project into a self-published full-color hard-cover photographic book ( similar to a previous book I've done, 'African Salad' - www.dayonepublications.com ). We are shooting the entire project from our own bicycles while traveling around the country - we are meeting everyday South Africans out there while they use their bicycles.

Some of the bikes and people they have encountered:

Elvis Klaasen
Friedlander st., De Aar, Northern Cape, South Africa
2010 / 07 / 29 17:10
'My name is Elvis - my dad gave me my name. I cycle because I like it, especially going to the farms. The longer trips - I like those. I cycle every day, I cycle to work three days a week and the rest of the time I just cycle around. I painted my bike like this, I like the bont colors. I bought this frame for R50 from my cousin. The rest I built up bit by bit myself.'

Gabriel Moloi
Oxford str., Rosebank, Gauteng, South Africa
2010 / 06 / 05 17: 32

'I cycle almost every day because this is my transport. But I just started it, it was just a simple bike and then I made it to look like this myself - because I like my job, I'm a security guard, by profession. I like cycling actually, this is not the one that I like, I'm going to get another one better than this one, you see. Because I don't have material - this is just a frame of what I can do. I'm just showing people I do have ideas even though I don't have materials to make something to look like this. This is just an idea. It has got music, it has got lights, it has indicators - it looks like a police bike. This one comes on and this one comes on as well. So, It looks nice at night. You see at night I used to do it like this so that I'll be visible anywhere where I go. Almost 25 kilometer I cycle, I work in Absa Bank Rivonia. I can go very far - it is like a car. The hooter has different sounds. This is a radio, I listen to 94.7.'

Ernestus Segers
Grey st., Phillipstown, Northern Cape, South Africa
2010 / 07 / 31 13:25

'I bought a piece of property just outside town, where you can keep about 20 sheep. As it is quite close I decided I will walk - but after a while I started thinking that walking wastes time and sometimes you got things to do - so I bought a bicycle. It’s been about two years now. So I cycle there in the morning, come home around ten to eat and around two I head back and then I tjaila around five again. It’s great exercise you know. With that and a bit of exercise bicycle it keeps one in good condition. It is only about a kilometer, but you'd be surprised as to what it does to a person, just the fresh air and the fact that one doesn't sit and rust up. I bought me and my wife bicycles at the pandjies shop in De Aar. Look, you know life is a chase. With the bicycle you can cycle around and there is opportunity to look around. I often cycle around town and have some usual places I stop at - spending some time with and greeting people along the way. It keeps one young. With a motorcar you are always heading somewhere in a hurry, but with the bicycle you get opportunity to take your eyes somewhere and ask the neighbors how things are going. Otherwise you know one would just sit. I can't sit for very long... I have a story of a bicycle. We lived in Vrede, and our deacon there - rich people with lots of property, farming with about 3000 sheep - he came into town one morning, to the Koöperasie - I was also there, just before he got there he saw a group of guys standing, talking and looking very unhappy. So he asked what was the matter. They said that one of guys’ brand new bicycles was just stolen the night before. So sympathizing with them he mentioned that the week before they had just stolen 300 sheep from him. They didn't sympathize with him saying that he has lots of sheep but this guy only had this one bicycle and it is the only thing he had.'

If you'd like a copy, go to the KickStarter page, pledge some money, and get a copy.

Gansbaai MTB

2010-08-05T17:46:00.000+02:00

A week after Dirtopia's 9-5 we trekked out to Gansbaai for another mountain bike race. It promised to be a great event - a bit of climbing, some flat fast sections, and nothing too technical.

The Routes

After her good performance at the 9-5, I thought Nelly the Niner deserved another outing, and what a good choice that turned out to be.

The 60km Profile

The start was a furious affair, and I quickly jumped across to join the leaders as we made our way to the first climb. With my lungs dragging alongside me we flew up the climb, legs burning. Just as we were about to pass out from the high pace we crested the top and had a fast crazy descent to deal with. I not only lost contact with the leaders dues to my shoddy descending skills, I also lost a bottle.

Thankfully, I was joined by Marius at the bottom of the descent and the two of us set about reeling in the guys ahead of us. We were sitting in 5th and 6th place. Nelly did a fantastic job - Marius was barely able to keep up as we made short work of the rolling hills. By the time we got to the bottom of the climb in the middle of the route, we had caught the rider in 4th place, and could see the guy in 3rd.

With a procession of little bikes behind us, Nelly and I slowing closed the gap to the rider in 3rd place as we neared the final climb of the day. By this time Marius was looking a little glazed over (perhaps the stress of asking Tania to marry him was starting to take its toll). As we started climbing, he was the first to get dropped, and I thought I might be next, as the other two guys pushed hard up the hills. My only saving grace was that the hill wasn't too steep, and I was able to grind my way up, hanging on.

Almost finished

When the next rider unexpectantly fell off, I suddenly had a chance of getting third. The two of us crested the climb together, and I promptly lost touch with the other rider (again) on the descent. The run into the finish was nice and flat - perfect for Nelly to show her true colours, and slowly but surely we managed to make up the ground we had lost on the treacherous downhill.

With two corners to go, I had sussed out a plan to win the sprint to the finish - I had to get into the first corner in first place, and then hold that place till the finish. A bit of traffic congestion played into my hands and I managed to finish in third place quite easily.

Bonte was out to defend her title from the previous year and had some tough competition from some 13 year olds, as well Tania, and managed to come second. It was Yolanda's first time on a bike in almost 4 months, and all things considered, she had a good, if not slightly slow ride, but thoroughly enjoyed it.