Saturday, 31 December 2016
The road kicks up immediately after leaving Fraserburg and you get to test your gears and your headspace -the landscape a stark reminder that you are riding through an arid part of the country. You'd be forgiven for thinking that the next water point at Celeryfontein was a good climb out of Fraserburg but it is actually at a slightly lower altitude.
All the while I was threading my way along farm tracks I had no issues with tiredness. As soon as I hit the Sutherland district road my eyelids got heavy. It was only 7 km to Celeryfontein Farm but it felt like 100 km. I struggled through every one of those 7 km. I knew it was time to grab a power nap. The more I thought about the prospect of sleep the longer It seemed to take to get to the farm.
I arrived at the farm and had a snack. Sthembiso was there and one of his wheels was looking rather rickety - a couple of broken spokes had it resembling a Pringle chip. His next chance of getting access to a bike mechanic was in Sutherland which meant he had to nurse his bike through the next 63 km.
My original plan was to flop onto the lawn and have a quick nap. 30 seconds after arriving at the water point I knew that was a bad option as I was immediately set upon by horse-flies. Fortunately the farmer had a spare bed indoors and I was able to hunker down for 35 minutes without the risk of being sucked dry by the pesky flies.
By the time I returned to the water point tables set up in the shade of some big trees on the lawn outside the farmstead I was in 4th place. Jeannie and Heinrich were still up front with Rafeeq and Sthembiso almost 2 hours behind them. By the time I swallowed a coffee I figured I was nearly 45 minutes adrift of the 4th placed rider. I also knew that Kevin Benkenstein and Tim Deane were close behind. I expected that the leading pair would get to the finish without being challenged for positions 1 and 2. The real tussle was going to be for positions 3 through 7. It was time to get a wiggle on if I didn't want to fall out of contention for a top 7 finish.
The moment I left the oasis of Celeryfontein and got back onto the district road that would take me to Sutherland I knew it wasn't going to be fast and giggly. We had ridden through some hot and dry country but this section took the cake.
A satellite view of this part of the country looks like a sepia-toned image with a distinct lack of vibrant colour. On the ground the same reddish-brown colour dominates the landscape.
To add another layer of despair the road was rough and care had to be taken with the riding line to avoid rocks and rough sections.
Sutherland is about 200 metres higher than Celeryfontein which doesn't sound so bad except for the big drop to a river crossing (dry as a bone) which adds significant altitude metres. And it's lumpy. You end up climbing many hundreds of metres. It's nothing like climbing up through the trees at Sabie or Barberton, there is no pretty. It's a slog through a mountainous desert on a dusty gnarly road.
Monday, 26 December 2016
The morning was unfurling as I got back on my bike and headed off to get some coffee at the next water point. About 10 km short of the farm that was hosting the water point Sthembiso passed me like he was being chased by a pack of hunting dogs. I didn't expect him to pop up at that point. I had heard that Brandon had exited the race and I knew that Kevin, Rafeeq and Tim Deane were close behind but hadn't figured on being caught by Sthembiso. I added him to the riders on my "Ridar".
I caught up and started chatting. That seemed to settle his mania. I told him that I thought he was going at an erratic and unsustainable rate and that he should pace himself carefully. He told me that he was carrying a 30 minute penalty for not signing the register at a Race Village so needed to press ahead as Gerald Cele was close behind.
As we chatted it seemed there was uncertainty over his classification in the race. The previous year the Development category was capped at 26 years of age and I hadn't heard anything to the contrary. But I had been told that Sthembiso was racing in the development category this year even though he was older than 26 and I told him to take it easy and defend his lead. It was his race to lose. We arrived at the water point together and I finally got the coffee I had been obsessing over for the last 4 hours.
I remember passing the farm last year when it wasn't a water point. I stopped and got water from the reservoir next to the road above the farmhouse. The farm yard off to my right at the bottom the hill seemed asleep among the trees. It became just another place to get water from a reservoir lacking any connection with people.
The Race Village and farm stops are real oases. You get more than water and food - you get to meet the people of the Karoo. The isolation you feel while riding through that part of the world is extraordinary. Outside the towns and water points it is likely that you won't see a single person including people in cars. It's that remote. As you roll down the endless dusty roads it's hard to imagine people living there. The land seems desolate and devoid of life. Yet, enter a farmhouse or town and that perception is quickly dispelled. The vibrancy for life that you experience is magic. The pulse of life very real. We were treated like kings being served coffee and snacks with infectious enthusiasm.
Reenergised I left the farm and knocked off the 43 km to Fraserburg in under 2 hours and wasted no time in going into JJ's Kafee as I had done the previous year and bought an Eskimo Pie ice cream. It was every bit as delicious as the one I had last year.
I topped up my water bottles and headed out of town. Sthembiso caught up a few kilometres the other side of town. He didn't hang around and rode ahead. Even so, he must have made a few navigation errors as I caught up to him a short while later. He hadn't stopped for water in Fraserburg and asked how far we had to go to get more water.
One of the race rules for The Munga is that you should have capacity for at least 2.5 litres of water. Sthembiso had lost one of his bottles so was down to a little over 2 litres. It's enough, but you need to make use of every opportunity to fill your bottles. Last year I started with only 3 bottles and lost one along the way. I wasted a lot of time walking across the veld to fill my bottles at reservoirs. This year I had 4 bottles and suffered no losses so managed without a single reservoir top up. It saved a lot of time and anxiety.
It was already mid morning which meant I had been on the go for almost 48 hours. It was hot but that had become my new normal and I gave it no attention. With 400 kilometres to the finish my focus was simply on getting to Sutherland just over 100 km away. I had yet to finish my audiobook so popped the headphones in my ears and spent the next few hours on Mars.
Thursday, 22 December 2016
Heinrich and Jeannie had yet to sign out so that put Rafeeq and I in the same place as the race leaders. All that separated us at that moment was 90 minutes of sleep.
The plan was to eat, shower and grab a quick nap. Eating and showering went to plan. Sleep was another matter. We had indicated our intention of taking a short nap and were directed to a disused building that had a shower and then a couple of huge rooms with mattresses and blankets tossed on the floor. Perfect, I thought. Unfortunately my room was next to the bathroom and the geyser made a loud noise as it reheated. I contemplated turning it off so that I could sleep. After 20 minutes it reached operating temperature and quietened down.
That's when I heard the mosquitoes. There were hundreds of them. I turned my light on and saw them buzzing all around with a few more squadrons congregating on the wall above me. As much as I tried I couldn't ignore them. I even tried pulling a blanket over my head and made a point of burying my good ear in the pillow. Partial deafness it seems is no defence against the irritating whine of a mosquito let alone a flight of them.
After 20 minutes, with sleep out of the question, I got dressed and went in search of coffee only to be told that instant coffee was my only option. The one extravagance of The Munga is the availability of great coffee. Most Race Villages and water points had espresso machines and I had become fussy. Instant coffee checked no boxes for me. I knew the next water point would have good coffee and was happy to wait until I got there. I signed out at 04:14 and headed into the night.
I had been in Loxton for an hour and 40 minutes and all I managed to do was eat and have a shower. I had wasted more than an hour. Heinrich and Jeannie had left only 50 minutes ahead of me.
I rode 10 kilometres out of town and with sleep beckoning lay in a ditch next to the road. I set my alarm for 20 minutes and lay back. It was peaceful. Perfectly peaceful, not a single mosquito in my vicinity. Sleep came quickly.
Wednesday, 21 December 2016
60 km is a long way to ride considering how far we had ridden and how little sleep we had had. 50 km of the remaining distance to Loxton was on the same nondescript district road made even more monotonous by riding it at night with the glow of our headlights defining the boundaries of our "world". When the chit chat ran out I resorted to listening to music.
I have an eclectic mix of music on my phone. Some recent and some nostalgic spanning some four decades. Over the years some of the music on my phone has taken on special significance in relation to my riding.
A Freedom Challenge favourite is Beautiful Dawn by James Blunt. Those racing hard are always out and about hours before the first hint of light traces the outline of the eastern skyline. Barring inclement weather the waking of the eastern sky is a harbinger of a warm sun that will both see off the iciness of the night and chase away the wee hour sleep monsters. The lyrics in that context make interesting reading:
"Beautiful dawn - I'm just chasing time again.
Thought I would die a lonely man, in endless night.
But now I'm high; running wild among all the stars above.
Beautiful dawn - melt with the stars again.
Do you remember the day when my journey began?"
Another song that now has a strong Freedom Challenge connotation was playing as I crossed over the Schurfteberg on the Race to Craddock earlier this year. I Wish It Would Rain Down by Phil Collins, was playing as the heavens opened and soaked me to the bone. It was an amusing coincidence and I am reminded of that thunderstorm every time I have heard that song since the race.
A new song connection was made as we rode into Loxton - Hotel California. Some of the lyrics had me smiling:
"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair."
"Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night.",
"We are all just prisoners here of our own device",
"You can check out any time you like but you can never leave".
As the lights of Loxton beckoned we were directed off a good tar road and routed through a farm that presented the scratchiest part of the race. We stopped a couple of times to reconcile the GPS directions with the featureless veld that lay ahead. Obeying the GPS we forged ahead slowly scanning the bush with our headlamps until a jeep track, or rather the remnant of what might have been a jeep track, appeared in front of us. We scribbled through the bush, over dry river beds, along fences, around buildings, through a farm yard around a dam or two and eventually emptied out on a tar road a few hundred metres from the appointed Race Village at Die Rooi Granaat in the middle of town.
Arriving 6 minutes faster than the previous year I had finally managed to make up the time lost on day one. I was just over halfway through the race. My ambition to finish 10 hours faster than the previous year was going to be challenging.
Saturday, 17 December 2016
I pressed on eventually reaching the district road that would take me to the next water point at the farm Pampoenspoort and then on to the third race village in Loxton. I dropped onto the aero bars and got into a good rhythm. On the good surface the kilometres got ticked off in good time. But there's the rub of it. A good road with zero navigational challenges equals good speed but it's less likely to engage you mentally. No mental stimulation leads to sleepiness. After a handful of kilometres I could feel that I was getting drowsy.
I looked behind to see if anyone was close. If I could ride with someone to chat to it would help keep me alert. I couldn't see any lights. I slowed down and got back to listening to my audiobook. That was good for about 15 minutes before I started nodding off. Looking back I could now see a few lights. I decided to keep moving forward at a moderate speed and wait for the riders to catch up. I pedalled along steadily and was eventually caught, not by Tim or Brandon as expected but by Rafeeq Safodien. He was flying. We fell into a good pace and although we didn't chat much it was good to have someone around. In no time at all we were at the Pampoenspoort water point.
It was after 11 pm and the water point was in full swing, never mind that we were only the third and forth rider to pass through. Mother and daughters got the espresso machine hissing away and pointed us in the direction of some food which included pumpkin fritters. I wolfed down at least half a dozen pumpkin delights before it occurred to me that it was a little excessive if not greedy. I was assured that there were plenty to go around.
By the time Rafeeq and I left the farmhouse the riders behind hadn't yet made an appearance. We had 60 km to get to the next race village and set off intent on banging that out as quickly as possible.
Wednesday, 14 December 2016
It served no useful purpose to remind myself that I had 670 km to go. My thoughts were fixed on the next water point. That would become my approach for the duration of the race - one water point at a time.
The next water point was in fact an unofficial one at a farm. The owners, the Steenkamps, are enthusiastic about the race and supplied ice cold water to all the riders and made a point of filling their massive pool/reservoir so riders could cool off. I knew it wasn't that far beyond the dust bowl dam and pressed on eager to get my full of cold water. I arrived at the farm and was greeted by name - they were watching the race tracker on their iPad. More than that, they remembered that I had done the race the previous year. I found Brandon stretched out and fast asleep under the thatched afdak.
I too could have parked off under their lapa all afternoon but knew it wouldn't serve to get me any closer to Wellington. I needed to keep my momentum.
The next section through to water point 5 (WP5) brutalised me last year. I called it the "jeep track from hell". A year ago the 70 km from Britstown to WP5 took 7 hours and arriving there I lay on the grass for another 90 minutes. Fortunately I was on a better frame of mind this year and I had a pleasant ride through to WP5.
They had a selection of sandwiches on offer as well as an espresso machine. I gobbled a couple of sandwiches and poured 2 strong coffees down my gullet. Brandon arrived a short while later and as I was leaving Tim Deane pedalled in. I was waiting for Tim to make an appearance. He is serious competitor and I had him tipped for a top finish. The aspect of Tim that exceeds his toughness is his niceness. He is a really lekker guy. He had pipped me to the finish post on the Freedom Challenge Race Across South Africa earlier in the year so I knew I had to put in a massive effort if I wanted to stay ahead of him. To be honest, I expected that I would finish behind him as he has an impressive adventure racing pedigree so a race like The Munga is right up his alley.
I scuttled off with about an hour of daylight left very much aware that I had both Brandon and Tim on my tail. Up ahead Vaughn Roux was about 30 minutes ahead of Heinrich Visser and Jeannie Dreyer. That put me in 4th place about 90 minutes adrift of that pair with two racing snakes on my tail.
The 30 minute nap I had just had stood me in good stead. I had also downloaded an audiobook and it was about to step up and do duty. My book of choice was The Martian. It ticked 3 important boxes. Firstly, the story line was technically interesting and peppered with enough humour to keep me engaged and hopefully awake. Secondly, the narrators voice was lively - dull and boring is tasty candy for eyelid tuggers. Lastly, it was over 10 hours long.
The Martian was an excellent choice of book. Particularly in terms of solitude and the landscape I was riding over. I felt like I was part of the story. Talking of solitude, apart from Erik Vermeulen in his Pajero the only other vehicle I saw in that entire stretch (apart from my fellow competitors) was the motorised bicycle of a guy who was on fence inspection duty.
In addition to the audiobook I also had many hours of music stored on my phone which would be called upon from time to time.
I rode out of Britstown on the tar for a few kilometres before the route had me riding up a sandy jeep track. It wasn't fun but I knew it wouldn't go on for more than a few kilometres. It was the perfect time to get into my audiobook.
Ahead lay the Smartt Syndicate Dam. Most people refer to the dam simply as the Syndicate Dam but I like the full description with the Smartt prefix. I simply enjoy the irony of the name. The original Dam was built over 100 years ago with grand plans for it to support 1800 hectares of irrigation. Their idea was to grow wheat and lucerne to support the establishment of a breeding centre for sheep, goats and horses. In practice it peaked at less than 300 hectares given the unreliability of the water flow of the Ongers river.
Today it's a red dust bowl - there isn't a single drop of water in the dam. The surrounding landscape is barren and drier than Bill Murray's humour. Even if you close your eyes into a narrow slit and turn your imagination on full-blast it's impossible to imagine green fields of lucerne and wheat swaying in the wind. It was much easier to imagine I was piloting a Mars rover over the surface of a dusty rocky strewn planet.
Monday, 12 December 2016
I found Brandon Stewart in the quad readying himself to hit the road was looking spick and span. With him looking so clean I became aware of how grubby I looked. The dust of the last 24 hours had amalgamated with the sunblock on my arms, legs and face leaving me looking like I had been well basted with a dark brown marinade. All that needed doing was to pop me in the oven. The oven was ready and waiting. The sun was nearing its zenith and the mercury was already ticking toward 40 degrees. Another hot afternoon lay ahead.
Brandon gave me directions to the hotel pool which seemed the method of choice to both cool down and clean off. The water was so cold it sent my back muscles into spasm.
I returned to the quad and noticed that Kevin Benkenstein's bike was still there. I was pleased that I had managed to reel him in. The breakfast buffet was still operating so I grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs, a couple of rashers of bacon and added a slice of toast for good measure. I also ordered a pot of tea to round out my breakfast order.
No sooner had I sat down I realised that my eyes were bigger than my belly. I struggled to poke food down my throat. I think I managed a quarter rasher of bacon, two flakes of scrambled eggs and a corner of toast. I was 391 km into the race and I still couldn't stomach a decent meal. To add to my woes I started feeling nauseous. That probably had something to do with the Coke and milk mix slopping around in my belly. I asked for a room and flopped onto a bed for quick nap.
As I waited for sleep I did the maths. Before the race I had made a list of the riders who I was sure would beat me. My list had had 12 names. That being the case I was hoping that I could at least finish 13th. As I lay on the bed I realised I was well within the top 10, thanks in part to a number of race contenders pulling out of the race due to heat stress or injury.
After a 30 minute sleep I no longer felt nauseous. I filled my bottles, drank my now cold tea, lathered myself with sunblock and headed out. But not before I had checked to see that Kevin's bike was still propped against the wall in the quad. This was a race after all and I was pleased to be in the mix.
I caught up quickly and introduced myself. My riding companion did the same. I had finally made the acquaintance of someone I knew by reputation only. Firstly as an outstanding cyclist and more recently in relation to his name appearing on the list of doping cases on the South African Institute for Drug-Free Sport website. That was a few years ago and his ban had since expired. Still, there are critics who persist in turning the hate-churn handle.
I wasted no time in bringing up the matter of his ban. His answers were forthright and, in my opinion, honest. People fascinate me and I find myself asking all manner of questions. As we rode through the morning we chatted about his introduction to mountain biking, marriage and kids and the new life he is forging for himself since moving on from being a professional cyclist.
The Munga falls squarely into the genre of ultra-distance cycling. These long events, while requiring you to turn your legs over endlessly, also push you into an interesting mental space. While you keep tabs on your competitors you also keep checking and rechecking your own motivation for being on a bike. In this regard you bring your life experiences into the race. It gives it context and purpose and hopefully the motivation to press through your moments of doubt. Read through Kevin Benkenstein's race account you'll see how he leaned heavily on his past - https://benky.exposure.co/the-munga
As the day wore on and we approached the second Race Village at Britstown I fell back and was left to ride into town on my own.
The nature of the race is that you pass some riders and some pass you. Occasionally you get to ride together. The company is always great even if you don't actually say anything. At the very least the other riders give you a gauge to measure your pace and progress.
The hours spent riding together into Britstown that morning left me with the impression of a man who, like me, enjoys riding his bike. Just like me he has a wife and kids, holds down a job and faces the same challenges of providing for his family. The person who rode off ahead of me was more than a tarnished reputation. He was a flesh and blood man riding his bike just like I was. He was a man whose company I enjoyed, albeit briefly, and would be happy to sit around the table and share a meal with. The history that trailed behind him had no place in that desert. It was of no import. We were just two guys pedalling our bikes in the harshest of conditions in the hope of making it to the finish in Wellington.
Saturday, 10 December 2016
It was almost 4 a.m. After a day of being buffeted by a merciless wind it was good to lay back in the roadside ditch and enjoy the Karoo night. I had left the first race village 90 minutes before. Behind me I had left the bulk of the race field. There were only 6 riders ahead of me and there were a handful that were sure to follow. But at that moment I was completely alone. There were no lights, bike or otherwise, visible in any direction. I had doused my lights and lay back drinking in the peacefulness and solitude of the night. The race proper had begun.
It might seem odd to think that I was already 250 kilometres into the race and yet felt like the race had just started. Without doubt my legs and body knew I had been riding hard for the last 16 hours, but that had been with and around other riders. The first objective for every rider was to cover the 222 km to Van der Kloof Dam. For a handful of riders that was not their reality. A handful more never ventured beyond the dam.
The Munga is a hard race. It is set at the hottest time of the year through an inhospitable part of the country. Don't misunderstand that last statement, the landscape is brutal, the people on the other hand are friendly and helpful beyond belief. To traverse 1086 km inside of 120 hours might not look too difficult on paper. In practice it is unbelievably hard. It is not the sort of race where you bang out an 8 hour effort and then put your feet up and share a few beers with your mates before tucking up for 8 hours of sleep. The clock is always running, even while you sleep. To make the cutoff you need to focus on keeping your momentum. That means moving through race villages efficiently. Efficiently means forgoing your regular dose of socialising and sleep. It's a luxury the race format does not afford you.
This year the race leaders arrived at the dam well after midnight. Last year the first rider was in by 10 p.m. I myself had hoped to be out of the race village by midnight. As it turned out I only arrived at 01h50 and left at 02:14. I was already more than 2 hours behind my self imposed schedule. Even so, I needed 5 minutes to unwind and start thinking about the task ahead.
The aardvark was close but I didn't want to turn my light on lest I disturbed it. I was content to lay there looking up at the stars while it scratched around.
Tuesday, 6 December 2016
I left the first water point on my own. Ahead I could see a pair of riders battling into the wind. The race rules prohibited drafting except for the first 222 km section up to Van der Kloof Dam. Most riders were taking advantage of the rule exemption and were toiling into the wind in small bunches where possible. I tried to close the gap and hook on to a back wheel. Half way across the gap my left leg cramped. I managed to ease the cramp without stopping but in easing off I lost ground on the pair ahead. After 10 minutes I slowly increased pace aware that a knotting cramp was a mere muscle twitch away. The battle of cramp verses pace was to go on for the next 5 hours.
The next opportunity for water was at a farm shop at 96 km and I was counting down the distance kilometre by kilometre. I couldn't bear to think beyond that. The second official water point was at 170 km and the thought of riding that distance in the heat was simply depressing.
I figured I was well into the back half of the field. Every now and then I would pass a rider sitting in the shade of a tree. A few people rolled by me as I took a couple of breaks. At the top of a climb I saw an ambulance on the side of the road. I could see the medics mingling with 3 riders, one of whom I knew well.
Philip Kleijnhans, seeing me go passed yelled out to me, "What are you doing back here? I really thought you could finish in the top five."
Before long Philip was on his bike and riding alongside me. I explained how I was battling with cramps and he told me that his knee inflammation had returned and he thought it highly unlikely that he would manage to finish. With that he pulled in front of me and started powering into the headwind. I tucked in behind him and we made good progress. Every now and then I would sit up to ease a cramp and Philip would slow up and wait for me.
A particularly bad cramp had me far back. The farm shop was only a few kilometres away so Philip rode ahead. I caught up with him just short of the shop after he had taken a dip in a reservoir to cool off. I bought a Coke and 4 bottles of water. Philip waited outside while I filled my bottles. It was just after sunset. I turned my lights on and headed up the road. The next water point was 74 km away. It was still hot and it was going to hard work. Once again Philip took up a lead position and hammered into the night. I sat on his tail happy for the help. At no stage was there any suggestion that I should take my place at the front.
10 kilometres short of the water point, after pulling me for 75 km, Philip was hurting. He told me to go ahead. I put my head down and made good progress passing a number of riders on the way. Philip had helped me through a particularly hard section of the race and I am grateful for that help. What I hadn't realise was the full extent of the assistance. It would become apparent once I arrived at Van der Kloof Dam. Signing in to the race village at 01h50 I was surprised to see that there were only 9 riders ahead of me.
> "Man it's hot. Just stopped at a farm school to get some water. But not before hurling my guts out. The bottles are so hot it doesn't get absorbed. I must have puked out a good litre of liquid. Taking 5 minutes to let my stomach settle then into the scorching wind again. Going is very slow into the wind. Going to be a long haul to Van der Kloof dam. Still have 170km to get there. Only done 50 so far in 3 hours."
Although I had only been on the road for a few hours I was trashed. When asked about the weather conditions Alex tweeted:
> "Desperate. Strongest wind I've ever experienced down here. And block head wind. 40+ degrees. 7 scratched already I think."
One of the teachers had given me a chair and I sat up against a shady wall castigating myself. Sure it was hot, but that was no excuse. I was one of the most experienced endurance riders in this race and had made a rookie error.
We all know that in order to stay hydrated you need to drink. And I was drinking - a lot. But there is a big difference between drinking fluids and rehydrating. I'll get to that just now.
I had publicly declared my intention of riding a 75 hour race (I had ridden 85.5 hours the previous year) and I was off to a bad start. At the 40km mark I was comfortably in the top 20 in a field of just over 80 riders. That changed by a few positions when I slumped next to the road in the shade of a tree and took a breather. A dozen riders passed by, many asking if I was okay. I wasn't dying but I knew I wasn't coping that well. I got back on my bike and soldiered on trying to figure out a plan to fix the situation. When I spotted a water tank next to some buildings I turned off into the school and was directed to a tap. Two mouthfuls of cool water and the urge to void my stomach could no longer be ignored.
The problem was my choice of drink. It's simple science and something I had read about back in the early 80's in Tim Noakes book Lore of Running. Fluids enter your stomach and make their way to your small intestine where they are absorbed.
As the sugar levels in a fluid rise their mobility through your system and absorbability decreases. One way to counteract this is to lower the temperature of the fluid. With the temperature in the 40's and 4 hours to get to the first official water point hydration fluid temperature was not something you could control. The other way to counteract the lack of absorption was something I could control, the contents of my bottles. I normally ride with plain water or water that has a zero sugar electrolyte added. For some arbitrary reason I had started out with 4 bottles filled with sugar saturated sports drink. The hot sweet liquid was merely slopping around in my stomach and wasn't getting to the part of my plumbing that could draw it into my system. As I sat in the shade one rider after another trickled by on the road. I emptied all my bottles and refilled them with plain water and then joined the slow procession snaking its way toward the first water point which was 12 km further up the road at the 62 km mark.
Riders were making use of the shade offered by the occasional big tree. I did too. It felt good getting out of the sun even if it was for only 1 minute at a time. A few kilometres from the water point a saw a rider in a blue and white top standing under the shade of a tree. I figured it was my riding friend Janine. Before I could catch up she was back on her bike and pedalling. I couldn't catch her and was happy to simply match her pace into the water point. We sat in the shade of a tree with 10 or 15 other riders and drank as much cold water as we could manage. There wasn't much chatter going on. There wasn't much to say. We were all struggling and it wasn't necessary to give that suffering voice.
My Blog List
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Roller Coaster Time... But...
- Racing The Munga 2016 - The Quest for Coffee and E...
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Loxton ...or Not
- Racing The Munga 2016 - On a Dark Desert Highway.
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Onward to Pumpkin Fritte...
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Water Point to Water Point.
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Taking a Trip to Mars
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Taking Stock.
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Crossing Paths
- Racing The Munga 2016 - Getting into Race Mode
- Racing The Munga 2016 - A Friend in Need.
- Racing The Munga 2016 - An Inauspicious Start.
- ▼ December (12)
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- Johannesburg, South Africa
- Just an ordinary guy who started riding in 2005 at the age of 45. I started with the ambition of completing the local 94.7 Cycle Challenge (94.7km). This is an annual road cycle race in and around Johanesburg. Some where along the way it become a race and not merely a completion excercise. I clocked a 2h54 in my first attempt only 6 months from my first trundle down the road and back. I was hooked and then discovered the magic of MTB. While my efforts on the road were credible, MTBing humbled me. Having said that, over the last 24 months I have competed in 9 multi-day events. I'm a very middle of the field rider, but I enjoy every minute of it.