The first challenge was to survive the mayhem of Saturday morning traffic in Ceres. After the freedom of scribbling all over wide gravel roads for 1000 km I had to concentrate on keeping to the frayed edge of the road.
Not too soon I was climbing out of town and the traffic thinned out. Up ahead I could see another mountain biker out on his morning ride. At that point the road had widened and there was enough space to ride side by side inside the yellow line. I caught up and we chatted until he reached his destination at Olive Rock.
It was getting hot and the route had flattened out. I didn't mind the heat as much as I did the tedium. The lack of stimulus had me nodding off. Every kilometre became a challenge. I started looking around for somewhere to get a Coke.
At one point, on the approach to the Bainskloof Pass, I stopped to give an oncoming vehicle the right of way over a narrow bridge. As the car came abreast of me it stopped. The driver had obviously stopped earlier and spoken to either Heinrich or Jeannie on his way over the pass as he knew about the race. We traded stories for a few minutes before he moved on. Just before he left he told me I could get something to drink at the Calabash Bush Pub which was just around the corner.
A few minutes later I was walking through the yard of the bush pub trying to figure out where I could order something. There was no obvious entrance. I eventually found someone and they were able to exchange a handful of coins for a cool can of Coke. It transpires that they had suffered a massive fire a few weeks earlier. Fires and thatched roofs don't go well together.
The next job was to tackle the 14 km climb to the top of Bainskloof Pass. The gradient isn't too challenging but I was tired and I knew the reduced speed was going to have me struggling with sleep monsters rather than leg fatigue. And then something weird happened. Instead of nodding off I started seeing things that I knew didn't exist. I could see people in all manner of poses leaning up against the walls of the pass. As I got close they would disappear to be replaced with normal rock formations. It wasn't the first time I had had that experience.
Earlier in the day just before the Race Village at Esselfontein I saw a cowboy sitting on a camel. He was waving his hat at me. I knew it wasn't real but the more I stared at it the more detailed it became - getting closer I could see he wore a checkered shirt. And he was huge. As huge as a tree. As it turned out it was a tree but I didn't know that until I was 20 metres away.
After encountering dozens of 'rock people' I finally reached the top of the pass and was keen to reap the reward of my efforts. That reward came in the form of a 14 km descent into Wellington.
With the added stimulus that came with speed and tight switchbacks the 'rock people' were now a thing of the past. I made good time into Wellington. All I had to do was follow the route as it wiggled through the backstreets and on to Diemersfontein. On The Munga you don't wing it with the Navigation. The rules are clear, you follow the route as supplied. It would be a doddle, or so I thought. With 5 km to go my GPS turned off.
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