Munga 2019 - Part 12 - Fraserburg to Celeryfontein

Leaving JJ's Cafe I get to a T-junction and turn right. If I follow this district road for 95km's I'll get to the next Race Village in Sutherland. It could be that simple. Except we just rode 95km's down the road from Loxton to Fraserburg and doing two uninspiring 95km stretches back to back would be unthinkable so the race organisers have thrown in a treat. 12 km's out of town I veer off left and for the next 32km's I weave through farms. Sometimes on good farm road but more often on jeep track with intermittent corrugations and sandy sections and then there is some single track with a few interesting sections that make me happy I'm on a mountain bike.

This section can be either thoroughly enjoyable or soul destroying. I'm here early in the morning and the sun behind me lights the barren landscape in golden hues. It's not as hot as the previous 2 days and I'm feeling upbeat. That translates into a good ride. A few years back I went through this section in late afternoon. It was windy and the sun was in my face. That coupled with the late afternoon heat made it torturous. To make matters worse I also happened to be listening to the audio book The Martian. At that stage of the story Watney was in his modified rover trundling over the desolate surface of the red planet. Looking out over the barren landscape ahead I had a sense of how bleak Watney felt.

If you were to poll the riders on their best and worst sections of the race you'd get widely differing views. Factors such as weather, fatigue, time of day, degree of sleep deprivation and mental state contribute to endless permutations of fun or fret.

A few climbs test the top end of my cassette but they are short and are soon behind me. A large donga halfway across demands I take care where I place my front wheel. I ride through a farm yard and I'm back on a good farm road that leads to another farmhouse where in the shade of a tree the family have placed a cooler box filled with ice cold water. I stop and enjoy the freshness of the water mindful that this family doesn't have to do this for the nameless faceless riders who pass by their house at all hours of day and night. Yet, every year I have ridden this way the cooler box and clean glasses are waiting on the table under the tree. It's a welcome gift.

I make my way through a couple of gates that route me around sheep pens and a few kilometres later I'm back on the district road to Sutherland. I've got 7 km's to get to the WP8 at Celeryfontein. The road is in good condition and it's easy riding. I think about what it would have been like to ride on this road all the way from Fraserburg and I'm not disappointed that I've ridden through the farms. The farm detour has added 8 km's but it has allowed me to feel the pulse of this land. It's not all about roads merely being spokes that connect a myriad small towns. These towns are there because of the farms and families that are dispersed across this landscape. We have the privilege of seeing their homesteads and riding across their farms. We see the evidence of their endeavours to get water to people and livestock by way of windmills, reservoirs, kilometres of pipes and water troughs. It's easy to be trite about the saying "water is life" but when you've experienced the befuddlement and desperation of dehydration with the uncertain prospect of when you're going to get your next mouthful of water you see windmills in a different light.

It's not yet midday when I arrive at WP8. It's not too hot and the threatened wind has yet to show it's face. The water point is set up on the expanse of lawn in front of the cape dutch farmhouse. I chat to the farm manager while I make coffee and sort my bottles out. There's a serenity about Celeryfontein that's hard to explain. It's an emotional oasis.