Survival Mode

Above, the overarching cloudless canopy of blue was partly obscured by the foliage of the syringa tree that grew next to where I lay. The leaves quivered when stirred by the occasional breeze that did little to stifle the oppressive heat. I was grateful for the dappled shade of the tree as I was for the hard wooden slats of the picnic table bench on which I lay. 

Apart from a dog that snuffled at a nearby garden where I had moments before emptied the contents of my stomach there was the soothing tinkle of numerous wind chimes as the breeze rose and fell in momentary breaths. 

I heard the occasional BMW motorcycle cruise by on the gravel road just behind me. I was struck at how effortless their engines sounded as they rolled by and started up the climb I had just descended. 
My ride through the Baviaanskloof Reserve that morning had started off okay. I had managed the initial climb from Cambria to top out at Bergplaas in good time. The climbs before and after the Smitskraal picnic spot were equally dealt with.For the last two days I had been dealing with a tummy bug which had made sufficient intake of hydration and food difficult. Fifteen kilometres shy of exiting the reserve, headwinds, rising temperature and a road surface that had steadily deteriorated took their toll. The last of my reserves dwindled. I was still in the park and had the Buffalo Herders following close behind. Feeling responsible for ensuring the Herders completed their task in reasonable time I suppressed the urge to stop, gritted my teeth and pressed on to the exit gate. 
Once at the gate I milled around aimlessly for half an hour after the Herders had left on their return leg to Kudukaya. I was in no hurry to get back on my bike. All the same I was acutely aware that the kilometres weren’t going to tick themselves off while I lingered. I fell into conversation with one of the reserve employees. “Why do you do this?” he asked. I shrugged in reply. It was a good question and one I had often asked myself many times over the years.
I eventually mounted my bike and without any enthusiasm pedalled on to Damsedrif where I poked some food down my throat and drank my fill before falling asleep on a couch situated on the patio. Waking a short while later I consulted my notes. Any hope that the distance from Damsedrif to Willowmore had miraculously shortened while I had napped was dashed… obviously. The way I was feeling those eighty five kilometres may well have been one thousand. Both seemed impossible. 
Two hours after making my way down the driveway to the farmhouse I made the return trip back to the district road. I didn’t feel any better for my stop but was buoyed by the knowledge that sunset and the commensurate cooling off of the days heat was at the very least a few hours closer. Darkness I reasoned would ease my passage to The Willows Hotel in Willowmore. I simply needed to survive the next few hours under the unrelenting sun. 
Kilometre by sluggish kilometre I ticked off the distance toward a feature known as the Baviaanskloof Sleutel which would mark the beginning of the exit from the Baviaanskloof. There would still be a smidgen over forty kilometres to get to Willowmore but the majority of that, once over the Nuwekloof Pass, would be downhill. 
Twelve kilometres shy of the Sleutel, Vero’s Rest and Craft Shop hove into view. I’d ridden passed it many times thinking it to be merely a craft shop that sold nothing of consequence to a weight conscious bicycle traveller. However, I recalled seeing photographs of riders in the winter version of the race enjoying lunch there. I pulled up at the informal looking roadside attraction just off the road I saw there was indeed a table and chairs, a picnic bench and a few chairs scattered about. I even noticed a menu on the table. Hope thus buoyed I parked my bike anticipating something cold to drink as well as a refreshing cup of tea. Apart from a languid dog that lazed in the shade of the syringa tree there were no signs of life. Poking my head inside a building that I imagine served as both home and kitchen I startled someone who was quick to come to my assistance. Coke wasn’t an option but Iron Brew and tea were certainly on offer. Order placed I retreated to the wooden picnic table. 
In short time a glass of Iron Brew and a tray of tea accoutrements where delivered to the table. The cool drink was gulped down in an attempt to slake my growing thirst. A little too quickly I imagine. Within a minute I felt the rising unease that announces you are about to void your stomach contents. I managed to move a few metres away from the table before spewing my guts out. Looking at the resultant splatter in the garden and over my riding shoes it was no wonder that I was feeling weak. It seems my lunch and everything I had drunk that afternoon had hung around in my stomach. 
I returned to the picnic table and lay on the bench waiting for the stomach spasms to recede. The person who had served me, and observed me fertilising the garden, was at my side in a flash. “Dertig Rand.”For a second I thought they might have been concerned for my well being. Apparently not. It seems they simply wanted to be sure of receiving payment before I keeled over. 
For the next while I simply lay there staring up at the sky in the company of the languid snuffling dog, the tinkle of wind chimes and the occasional purr of passing BMW motorcycles.

Is it about the bike?

Yesterday I saw an article in VeloNews about how Lael Wilcox had set a new Fastest Known Time for the Arizona Trail. A record that is now mired in controversy because a film crew followed her in contravention of a race rule that prohibits outside support and specifically mentions media crew. There's much grumbling on social media with polarised support for Lael on the one hand and the Race Director on the other. 

Controversy aside, what initially caught my attention was contained in the opening sentence of the VeloNews article. The article goes on to dedicate all of paragraph 3 to the same topic—the bike. Here is both the opening sentence and paragraph 3. Bold highlights are mine: 

On Thursday, ultra endurance cyclist and bikepacker Lael Wilcox got off her Specialized Epic Evo at the Arizona-Utah border after a very long ride.

Wilcox set her record aboard a Specialized Epic Evo with RockShox SID 120mm front suspension, Zipp 3Zero Moto wheels, a 2.6 Specialized Purgatory tire up front and a 2.35 Ground Control in the rear, and SRAM AXS (30T chainring, 10-50t cassette) shifting.

If you didn't know any better you'd think the bike did all the work and Lael was merely the jockey. That does Lael a great disservice. She is an accomplished and powerful athlete. The bike she rode was merely the instrument she used to craft a result. 

Bike manufacturers do all they can to encase their offerings in success stories. Specialized will no doubt hope to piggyback off Lael's achievement just as big bike brands attach their sponsorship to the top teams of the ABSA Cape Epic where a win can hopefully lead to an ant trail of wannabe riders outside local bike shops wanting to buy the "best bike".  The Cape Epic win this year by newcomers Speed Company Racing no doubt generated an unexpected windfall for Orbea even if Orbea rue the lost opportunity of not backing the team by tagging their brand onto the team name as brands have done with other teams that were expected to win. 

It's obvious that top riders attract sponsors and apart from the occasional anomaly it's not sponsors that make top riders. That doesn't stop people from spending wads of cash on bikes and brands that have "proven" success. 

Most of us are overbiked. By that I mean we have more bike than we have talent. If I get on a Specialized Epic Evo I might feel like I'm Lael Wilcox until it came time to turn the pedals at which time the charlatan within me is soon outed. The same tool doesn't correspond to the same output. 

The Mona Lisa is the most well known painting in existence. I've been to the Louvre Museum and joined the throng of visitors crowding around the painting. When I look at the image I'm captivated by Leonardo da Vinci's talent. Do I look at the painting and give credit to the brushes he used or the pallet knife he used to mix his paint or the array of sponges he used to create the image? Obviously not. If I was an art aficionado I might have an interest in the tools and medium employed but that wouldn't distract from appreciating the end product. 

Anyone with an interest in 2 wheeled pedal powered shenanigans is familiar with the Lance Armstrong/Sally Jenkins book It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life. As for the assertion that it's not about the bike, I agree. In Lance's case it transpired that it definitely wasn't the bike that propelled him to infamy.

We love our bikes and we are passionate about the technology. The interest in who rode what in what race has people drooling over images of race rigs posted online. We compare notes, wrangle over what's best and poke fun at each other's choices. A case in point is my apparent dislike of gravel bikes which I have referred to as abominations. Do I dislike them? No. They have a legitimate place in cycling as do time trial bikes, road bikes, mountain bikes, cyclocross bikes and the newcomer greatly disparaged and equally loved E-bikes. The obvious exception to belonging is single speed bikes… I jest. 

I posit that it's not what bike you have but what you do with it that counts. 

At life's end you may have had half a dozen "best bike ever". Stand back and join the throng and see what your bike life image looks like. For Lael it might mean creating a legacy of someone who set records and won races. Creative expression has many outlets that includes painting, song, dance, acting and many other forms. Whether it's on public display or the unseen unvoiced personal appreciation of the great outdoors find the bike activity that feeds your soul and then decide if the image is a testimony to the tools used or the adventure wrought using those tools? 

To suggest that Lael's achievement was predicated on her using "a 2.6 Specialized Purgatory tire up front" is like crediting Leonardo da Vinci's choice of painting knives for his art. 

Get a bike, any bike and any number of bikes to craft the bike life image that expresses what a bike can do to enrich your life. 

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 8

Schurfteberg 

It's amazing what a good nights rest can do for one's outlook. After the unscheduled but sorely needed sleep in Hofmeyr I was enjoying being on my bike. The ride through to the Elandsberg farm support station had been a lot of fun. The flawless navigation through the notorious Elandsberg portage in the dark had done wonders to bouy my sagging enthusiasm. The biggest change had been to allow myself to be off the clock. By that I mean I became less concerned about my finishing time and far more engaged with enjoying the challenge of moving down the trail. The first sign of this change in attitude was the 5 hours I'd allowed myself to sleep in Hofmeyr. Typically I would have set my alarm for 3 hours. Setting a 6 hour alarm was a luxury I wouldn't have allowed myself previously. Waking after 5 hours without the blaring of an alarm meant I had worked through a natural sleep cycle and had woken fresh. My time to Elandsberg was respectable and I had arrived at a time that was compatible with sitting down to a good breakfast. Instead of wolfing down as many carbs as I could in 10 minutes I had a leisurely half hour eating and chatting to the SS host. 

As much as I was having fun I couldn't resist the temptation of chasing down Seb and Warrick who had spent the night at Elandsberg. It was going to be an interesting chase. They were on gravel bikes with a 90 minute head start. If there's any part of the Freedom Trail that is perfect for gravel bikes it's the road out of Elandsberg. The first 25kms are fast due to the smooth district road that is predominantly downhill as it makes its way to the Fish River. Even when over the Fish River the next 25kms are easy riding. I'd have the challenge of spinning out once over 30km/h which would slow me. They would be slowed by the navigation. I know the route so wouldn't waste any time figuring out where to go.

According to the timesheet they'd left at 5am. It was now 6:30am. The chase was on. The road was in good shape and over the next hour I'd managed to cover the first 25 km's to cross the Fish River. Once at Newlands it was only another 7 kms to Groenfontein but the terrain is such that it took another 45 minutes to get there. A this point a gravel bike is as much use as a single speed MTB but I still had the advantage of knowing exactly where I needed to go. 

Rounding the last corner of the Groenfontein farmhouse I found Seb and Warrick standing next to their bikes ready to head out. They'd arrived 30 minutes before me. I'd made up and hour over the last 3 hours 15 minutes. Not as impressive as you'd think considering that only 1 of us was racing - me. The navigational advantage of knowing the route also plays a major part in time spent moving forward. 

We had a quick chat and they hopped on their bikes and headed out. As for me, I settled down to a good breakfast and a long chat with hosts Frans and Amelia. Before I knew it an hour had ticked by. I gathered my kit and headed down the driveway only to turn back after a few minutes to hunt down my cell phone I had left in the dining room. By the time I got going again the gravel bike lads had a lead of 75 mins. It wasn't a race between us but it gave me something to focus on. 

By the time I got to the base of the Schurfteberg climb I thought I could see Seb and Warrick making their way up the mountain. It was far off and with the mid afternoon shadows cast over the track I couldn't be sure. 

The winding jeep track is a stiff climb up the mountain and while I had previously managed to ride to the top there was no way I was going to get up there on my single speed. With that in mind I picked the bike up and hiked up the steep face of the mountain skipping the first big switchback. Big saving? No—probably 5 or 6 minutes at best. What I did achieve was going undetected by Seb and Warrick who were checking the lower track of the first switchback to see if I was closing on them. About halfway up the mountain I could see Seb and Warrick just ahead. It looked close but it took me another 10 minutes to get to where I had seen them. By then they were over the saddle and on their way down the mountain. 

Once over the top I scanned the plains below to see if I could see the curly bar bike boys. As I've said previously I am not particularly good at technical riding or brave enough to discard the risk of falling off. They were long gone by the time I had negotiated the twisty rock strewn track and bottomed out. 

Once off the Schurfteberg it's another 45 km to the finish in Cradock. The last 20km are downhill so are effectively free miles. That leaves 25km that need pedalling. Leaving the Schurfteberg farmhouse it's a fast ride to cross the Small Fish River, past the Jakhalsfontein farmhouse and on to the Cradock/Somerset East district road which would leave 30 kilometres to finish. Given the free 20km at the end it meant only having to negotiate the 10km up the Swaershoek Pass. Those 10 kilometres would take over an hour. 

I caught up to Seb and Warrick at the low level bridge over the Small Fish River. I was concerned that they had stopped for water. It wasn't a river I'd drink from. I had a spare bottle of water on me and unsure of where they could get water I was happy to part with the extra weight. Lightened, I scampered up the jeep track that rises from the river crossing. A few kilometres later I chastised myself for not offering them the bottle of Coke I had in my bag. I didn't need it. I put the bottle in the middle of the road and scratched a message in the dirt so they'd know it was intentional and not a poison trap. I hadn't gone more than a few hundred metres when out of nowhere I had a craving for Coke. I'd been carrying that bottle since I don't know where and hadn't given it a seconds thought. The moment it wasn't there I became fixated on it. Weird how that happens. 

As expected the climb up the Swaershoek Pass took over an hour from when I joined the district road. I rode sections until my legs whinged and then walked until they stopped muttering and repeated the cycle until I was rewarded with my free miles to the finish. 

I hadn't made either of the targets set for me by the Freedom Challenge family but that didn't stop them from doubling down and in some cases exceeding that with their generosity to the Freedom Challenge Scholarship Fund. By the time Ron and I had got to Cradock the donations to the fund had swelled to 3 times what had been pledged when I'd left Rhodes two and a half days previous. 

I'd set out on a single speed because Roger had been unable to ride. In my Ride for Roger I'd overcome adversity and made it to the finish. Even though my time wasn't brilliant it was still good enough to establish a single speed record for the event which was Roger's goal. Unfortunately for Roger I'm told that the record is not transferable and he will have to enter next year if he doesn't want to see my name loitering next to the Race to Cradock SS trophy. 

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 7

The conversation between myself and Chris the race director went back and forth a few times. I insisted that I was done with the race and was going to arrange to get picked up. He refused to accept that as my final answer. He even went as far as to tell me that he was only saying to me what I would say to someone who called me wanting to quit. At one point I agreed to continue but after riding only 20 metres I almost fell off my bike due to the slippery mud. I called him back and told him I was definitely quitting. He eventually accepted that I was done.

I rode another 100 metres and thought as long and hard as I could in the time it took to cover that distance.
I stopped and checked the signal strength on my phone. It was marginal. Another 100 metres and I'd be out of contact until Hofmeyr. After a minute of reflection I called Chris, "You win, I'm carrying on." Had the conditions changed? Not up to that point. I realised that quitting isn't something I'd be happy with once I was home. There are legitimate reasons to quit but watching an arbitrary deadline potentially slipping out of reach after a few hours of trudging through mud with a bike that hated me didn't qualify as solid reasons. I'd been in more desperate situations before and rather than quit I embraced them. I had allowed my head to go soft. My body was tired but I've come to realise that it's a serial liar—always wanting to stop, always wanting to sleep. I lead with my head understanding that we are so much more capable than we give ourselves credit for. When you think you're done the truth is that you still have a few days left in the tank. Head space management is the secret ingredient.

Once I had transitioned out of that negative space I moved forward determined to get to Hofmeyr as soon as possible. In my conversation with Chris I had whinged about how horrible the roads were and how it was going to take me 4 or 5 hours to get to Hofmeyr. The road sludge persisted for a few hundred metres but after wading through a swollen river that ran over the road the conditions improved dramatically. There were a few sections that had the bike squirming but it wasn't anything like the roads I'd spent the afternoon cursing. Less than 2 hours later I was standing outside the Hofmeyr Hotel.

I was covered in mud so went around the back of the hotel into the secure parking area and was was shown to a room that didn't require me to walk through the hotel. It was late. I didn't need food. My priority was to get some shut eye. A quick shower, 2 rusks and a cup of tea and I was in bed. I set my alarm for 6 hours and pulled the sheet over my head.

5 hours later I woke up. I always feel better if I wake up before my alarm. If I got out the door at 3am I would be at the start of the Elandsberg portage just after 4:30am. The Elandsberg portage has tripped up a number of riders over the years including me. After my dismal performance the previous day I was up for the challenge of attempting it in the dark. I needed a victory no matter how small to cheer me up. A cup of tea and 2 rusks later I was good to go.

The ride out of Hofmeyr went smoothly and on schedule. Soon I was at the fence that required a walk across the veld to find a vague jeep track. I took my time checking and double checking that I was at the right place along the fence line. Once I had roughly figured out my intended line I got my compass out to make sure I had it right. Once over the fence I headed south for 620 metres. At exactly 620 metres I was standing on the centre line of the jeep track that ran perpendicular to the line I had been walking. It's easy when it goes right. Once on the track I continued on to the support station at Elandsberg. There was one section littered with Golden Orb spiders. Their webs glinting under the full moon made it easy to spot them. I was surprised by the colour variety ranging from black and yellow to silvery pearl.

It was 6am when I rolled down the driveway of the support station. It was a full 10 hours later than I had originally hoped but on the bright side I'd had a good nights sleep and was feeling strong.

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 6

Photo: Llewellyn Lloyd - Reblex Photography 

The weather was cool and the skies overcast. Perfect riding weather. Arriving at Romansfontein I felt okay, tired but not exhausted. It's hard riding 330km, including a number of time consuming portages, and not feel secondhand. I sat at the kitchen table and chatted to hosts Wil and Stephanie while they plied me with an assortment of food and drinks. 

After 30 mins I was ready to leave. Backpack on I slid my water bottles into the bottle cages and was all set to go when I came over light headed. It was a bizarre sensation. I felt like I was about to pass out. I put my bike down and asked Wil if I could crash on a bed for half an hour. I was asleep in seconds. Waking 25 minutes later I felt a whole lot better. 

I wandered through to the kitchen and told Stephanie I was going to be on my way. Her answer surprised me - "You'd better hurry there's a storm coming." A storm coming… I wasn't expecting that. Sure enough the sky to the west had turned a menacing grey and the wind had picked up. 

The forecast has been for afternoon rain. Light rain. I looked at my watch. It was 11h15. I suppose that's closer to afternoon than sunrise. I hopped on my bike and after 15 minutes of snaking through the farm I exited on the district road. 5 mins later I felt the first drops of rain. Not heavy enough to be of concern but surprisingly cold. 10 minutes later the rain had increased sufficiently for me to don a raincoat. I could see that it wasn't an isolated shower as the landscape as far as I could see was blurred by rain. Looking ahead I couldn't see Aasvoelberg which was shrouded in cloud. Aasvoelberg was the mountain I needed to cross in order to drop off the Eastern Cape highlands into the flat Karoo. I figured the prospect of rain would lessen as I lost altitude so pushed on with more urgency. 

The ascent up Aasvoelberg starts at the farm Gunsteling. The last 2km of district road to the gate of Gunsteling is reasonably steep making it a bit of a slog on tired legs. To make matters worse the road surface had recently been covered with gravel which had yet to be compacted. I could see the yellow metal responsible for finishing the road sitting idle on the side of the road up ahead. To make matters worse the rain had increased in intensity. Even so I was puzzled by the amount of water pouring onto the road from the adjacent fields. It didn't correspond to the amount of rain I was experiencing. The combination of loose gravel and water turned the road into a sloppy mess that reduced me to plodding along at 4km/h. 

Once at the farm gate it's usually a quick ride down to the farmhouse. The  mud however reduced me to picking my way down carefully. After freewheeling down the driveway for 3 km I felt the chill of rain through my raincoat. I took shelter behind the wall of a kraal and stripped off enough to put on a merino wool base layer. Now with 3 layers against the wet and cold I started up the mountain. There was no chance of riding. The water cascading down the track resembled a river. Every now and then I saw water fountaining out the ground. I figured the water was coming out of mole holes fed by water higher up. I slopped through the water reaching the crest. Any hope of a reprieve from walking was dashed as I watched rivers of water tumbling down the track I needed to take. 

I started down the track and in spite of using my bike for support I lost my footing a couple of times. Eventually the track surface improved enough to get back on the bike. I was able to ride short sections before having to dismount to walk through the bush to get around patches of mud that spanned the track. 

By the time I reached the bottom of the mountain I'd been of the go for 4 hours since leaving Romansfontein. In fair weather it takes a little over 2 hours. I was bleeding time. My 58 hour finishing goal was going to be tight. 

The mud coming down the mountain covered my bike. Thankfully it wasn't the kind of mud that clogged wheels and turned your bike into a sled. 

I stopped at the first stream and washed my bike. It wasn't showroom condition but the drivetrain and brakes were cleared sufficiently. I did the maths. The ride to the next drop off would take an hour. After that it was another 2 hours to get to Hofmeyr. Elandsberg lay another 3 hours beyond that. It was 15h15… Hofmeyr by 18h15 and Elandsberg by 21h15. That meant doing the Elandsberg portage in the dark which I had hoped to avoid. 

I got on the bike and had gone less than 20 metres when the bike ground to a halt. I couldn't believe it. My bike had become a sled. The wheels were coated in mud locking them solid where the mud had compacted into the gap between wheels and bike frame. It's the last thing I needed. The only remedy is a mud stick - a stick you carry to scrape mud off your bike every time the build up has you skidding your bike over the ground. Clearing the mud sufficiently to get the wheels moving again is time consuming. When I saw puddles I rode through them. The mud in puddles isn't as sticky and the additional water  helps release the mud already on your bike. The 2 kilometre stretch to the district road burnt my candle down an additional 30 mins. 

Once on the district road it was another visit to a stream to get the bike shipshape or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. It was time to get trucking. The next 12km was all uphill. Not steep but a persistent climb that my gearing, or lack thereof, should have been fine to grind away in an hour. The effort was harder than I had anticipated. I alternated between sitting and standing. When standing I could accelerate the bike sufficiently that I could sit but once seated the speed dropped off slowly until I was out the saddle again. I stopped and checked the bike to make sure the drive train and wheels weren't binding. They were fine. The problem was the road. It was soggy. While it's okay to stand and pedal for 50 or 100 metres at a time it eventually takes its toll. It didn't help that a 4x4 with monster tyres came churning passed ripping up the best lines. I alternated between riding short sections as I could and plodding through water and mud. 1 hour became 2. Eventually the road levelled out signalling the end of that torturous section. Only another 35 km to Hofmeyr. 

More yellow metal, more road work, more mud, more frustration. I'm not someone given to strong language or the use of 4 letter words but I must have muttered "Eish!" at least a dozen times. 

Clear of the mountains the conditions hadn't improved. The 4x4 that had passed me earlier had left evidence of its challenges. It had lost control a couple of times sliding off the muddy road. 

The road passes close to a cell phone tower near a place called Rietfontein. I'd never given it much thought except to use it as a reference. Once there the riding was normally fast and easy all the way to Hofmeyr. I took my cell phone out and was pleasantly surprised to have signal. It was 18h30. When leaving Romansfontein I had planned on being here around 15h00. The rain, mud and endless walking had eroded my resolve. The question that haunts every endurance athlete surfaced, "Why are you doing this?" In that moment the only response I had was, "I don't know." The question is one we constantly suppress. When it does pop into our heads we take a moment and fight back. I was tired and the fire of fight had flickered out. That phone call to the race director was made, "Chris, I'm done!"

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 5

Leaving the comfort of a support station at 23h30 isn't everyone's idea of fun. The sensible thing would have been to have a shower and flop down on a bed. However, when deliberately racing the Freedom Trail sensible is surgically removed from your ride lexicon. Many people don't get the attraction of racing hard and I don't blame them. There's no question that the Freedom Trail is best experienced in daylight when refreshed from a good nights sleep.

There's a small group of weirdos that can't resist the urge to test and redefine their limits. Riding at night, particularly when tricky navigation comes into play, opens up a whole Pandora's box of challenges. The potential for failure is ever present, even for seasoned campaigners. One moment of inattention and the dot watcher army (DW Army) fire up their popcorn machines. The moment someone deviates from the recommended route, as marked on the tracker page, the DW Army literally snaps into action with screenshots filling the various Whatsapp groups. Game on, OH NO!!! and Not again being familiar refrains.

The term schadenfreude is often used by the online brigade. It refers to deriving pleasure from another person's misfortune. However, as much as the DW Army derive amusement from wayward rambles there comes a point where they feel sorry for the flesh and blood person who is that dot and will that person back on track. However, if the dot is a so-called race snake the schadenfreude runs deep and long. Especially if it happens at night. Riding at night is mostly a choice. Stepping into the dark is a risk and in a way a tad arrogant. It screams, "Watch me!" And watch we do. So many DW Army sleep hours surrendered to schadenfreude.

Leaving Kranskop I had two sections of attentive navigation to deal with. Two back to back sections across farms that would take an hour each. A few years back the DW Army watched the race leader make 2 big mistakes - one on each section - that had us (I was a drafted DW Army member at the time) pushing back our usual bedtimes. The mistakes were incomprehensible. A year later I rode those same sections at night and could see why they had gone. Each resulted from a momentary lapse in concentration. Their mistakes a year before become warnings that helped me not make the same blunders.

My attention levels were high and I moved through those sections without a hitch. It might seem easy but it's not. All of us who willingly take on night navigation have made mistakes. Even when I turn at a given point and am 100% sure that I am going the right way my mind is not at ease until the next expected landmark emerges from the gloom. It can be anything from a gate, fence line, windmill or signpost.

I have developed mantras for the tricky nav sections. For the second farm traverse out of Kranskop it goes: Gate, over stream, follow fence, over a fence, through a donga, find gate, turn right, etc. might sound silly but by the time I get there I've been on the go for over 18 hours and I'm fairly fatigued and I find these prompts helpful.

Once through those two early farm traverses I had a few hours on district road that didn't require too much thinking. While it sounds like a good time to relax it does introduce the risk of nodding off. Fortunately I didn't have that problem this time around. I bypassed the interim support station of Brosterlea, passing their turnoff a little after 03h30. Riding in the cool of night means less water is required and in my case the need to eat is markedly reduced. It'd only been 4 hours since leaving Kranskop so my water supply was still fine.

By the time I portaged down off the ridge above the Stormberg station the sun was up. The station is the halfway point of Race to Cradock. It'd taken me 26 hours to get there. 3 hours later I was rolling down the driveway of Romansfontein the 3rd support station. It was 10h00. So far my ride was going to plan.

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 4

Holspruit river crossing by day

Stepping out of the kitchen I bumped into Ingrid who had just arrived. A few minutes later we were joined by Peter. I left them to forage and headed out. 

After leaving Slaapkrans I started feeling the real downside of not having a range of gears. The tough portage up the mountain behind the house was okay but time slipped away as I walked most of the way to the start of the portage. I typically ride most of it. It's steep requiring a low gear to keep moving. There are parts a better rider could manage but I don't have the strength or skills to ride hard up technical single track. I can manage if seated but once I'm out the saddle my dexterity in putting my front wheel on the right line while stomping on the pedals doesn't exist. So I walked. 

Once on the portage I was able to move quickly as the bike was light. I had decided on a backpack to keep the bike light for portaging, slinging over gates and fences and scaling the occasional 10 foot game fence/gate. All I had on the bike was a small top tube bag, 2 bottles and a feed bag. The dry weight (excluding water) of the bike was a tad over 10kg. Other riders had opted for an array of bike bags. I helped manhandle a bike or two over gates and as shocked as I was with the weight of other peoples rigs they were equally shocked at how light my bike was. I prefer the weight on my back. You get used to it. When you need to hoist the bike on your back a lighter bike is bliss. When you're pushing your bike over rough terrain a lighter bike is a lot more manoeuvrable. With all the walking I expected to see Ingrid closing on me. I looked back occasionally scanning the fields below to see if I could see her. 

Getting to the unoccupied Bonthoek farmhouse took me 15 mins longer than I had hoped. Once there I discovered that the water tank that has over the years supplied refreshing water to countless riders as they flee the grip of the Bonthoek mountains was no longer in service. It was a long ride to the next interim support station at Moodenaarspoort and I wanted to make sure I had enough water to get there safely. As I left the farmhouse I crossed a stream and stopped to top up a water bottle. It looked clean enough and as the stream rose not far away at the base of the mountain it was probably okay. Even so, I made a note that this bottle was only going to be used as a last resort. A few kilometres later I rode passed a windmill that had running water. I figured this was a better option than the stream and swapped out my emergency water ration. 

It was getting dark as I rode through the settlement of Rossouw. Ahead lay a 6km slog. The elevation gain is only 300m but the first 3 km of road is the steepest and always in poor condition. 45 minutes later I was over the crest and on my way to Moodenaarspoort 7kms away where butternut soup and bread rolls would certainly be waiting. 

It'd been a year since I was last there and as happens every year Danie the host and I sat around the table in the garden cottage and caught up with each other's news chatting about family and farming. 

So far I'd had 3 stops and at all 3 stops I had stayed longer than usual. It was lekker to kuier and It took a big effort to get out the door. At 20h20 I was back on the road. Ahead was the second support station of Kranskop. With a bit of luck I could be there before 23h00. 

I made good time. Approaching a low level crossing over the Holspruit river  7 km short of Kranskop I could hear angry water. Popping over a rise my lights revealed the source of the noise. The small river, normally nothing more than a trickle, was rampaging over the road. If you've ventured out at night you'll know that things that look challenging in daylight look monstrous at night. 

I'm wary of water at the best of times. A still pond or barely flowing river is fine but this was flowing hard and fast. The race maps and narrative include a caution for riders as there is a step in the concrete where a crack has resulted in significant vertical displacement on which a number of riders have trashed their wheels. Standing at the edge of the water I could see where the fault was. Not that I was going to be riding. The water closest to me ran smooth and fast. About a third of the way in a standing wave marked the point of fault. It was noisy and ominous. The river ran from left to right. On the right hand side on what I assumed marked the rightmost edge of the concrete base was a barbed wire fence that was partly submerged. Great. If I lost my footing I'd end up tangled in the barbs of the fence and so entangled would drown. 

I stepped into the torrent making sure I made solid contact with the concrete. So far so good. A few metres in I could feel the current tugging at my feet. Making sure my bike was downstream from me I shuffled toward the wave. Soon the water was up to my knees. For a full minute I stood there considering the best plan of action. In the moment it seemed the best option was to retreat. It was only 5 metres back to the safety of the bank. I looked across to the  opposite side which was easily twice as far. The last bit looked okay but I still had to deal with the roiling midsection dominated by the intimidating standing wave. As I stood there the rushing water toyed with the tyres of my bike which at that point was hoisted up under my armpit. The buoyancy provided by the tyres would need to be counteracted if I wanted to remain sure footed. I managed to get the bike on my back and turning to face the onrush to minimise the resistance I shuffled along inch by inch feeling for the split in the concrete with my foot. Edge located I tried stepping up. Hmm. Wasn't going to be that easy. Balancing on one foot in a torrent is a skill I hadn't practiced… careless of me. I composed myself and made the step. The water was now approaching mid thigh. It wasn't a great spot to hang around. I kept shuffling and soon was through the worst and was able to walk up onto the far bank. 

Standing on the bank I looked back at the river. It looked every bit as challenging as it had been. Then a thought struck me. Ingrid would be along in an hour or two, how was she going to cope with this? She's tougher than me and would probably stomp through without giving it a second thought. 

With that unexpected excitement behind me I rolled on to Kranskop getting there around 23h00 as I'd hoped. Based on all the riding kit spread out to dry I could see that a small army was ensconced there for the night. 

First order of business was to get the kettle on. While waiting for that to boil  I filled my bottles and got them back on the bike. A cup of tea or two and a snack from the wide selection always on offer at Kranskop and it'd be time to continue down the trail. 

The Accidental Single Speeder - Race to Cradock Part 3

Even before the race had commenced I hadn't got off to a good start. Arriving in Rhodes I realised I didn't have a pump or a tyre plug kit. Fortunately the race director had his properly equipped bike on hand and was happy to lend me his pump and plug kit. The fact that I didn't have either of these basic items is testament to my typical lack of preparation.

Just as a journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step a bike race of 580km begins with a single pedal stroke. With that initial stroke the race was on.

I wasted no time in spinning up the bike. Soon I was at terminal cadence and rolling down the road at 30km/h. Well, maybe 30km/h. I had no way of knowing—my Cateye cycling computer was hanging out with my pump and plug kit at home. Like I said, lack of preparation is my thing. Viewed from behind I must have looked like a circus clown with laughably high cadence. Peter Roux rolled up next to me and said something along the lines of me having to pedal like crazy for a modest return of speed. The pair of us - Peter tapping out an easy rhythm and me spinning clown like - reached the first climb and got stuck in.

The lowest sustainable speed on the bike was around 12 km/h. Below that I'd be walking at 5 km/h. By comparison, you can ride a geared bike at 5 km/h. The speed differential between 12 km/h and 5 km/h is massive. That being the case I stood and kept the bike moving forward as long as I could. At some point the burn in my legs became unbearable and I was forced to walk. The "gears" on a single speed are Sit, Stand, Walk. The moment you transition from sit to stand there's typically no going back. You ride it out as long as you can and then it's time to walk. I walked sections and was surprised that I had managed to get to the top of the climb ahead of the rest.

Passing the Bokspruit turnoff I had a moment of doubt. Did Chris (Race Director) tell us to take this alternate route in race briefing last night of did I dream it? While I was 100% certain we'd been told to come this way to avoid the flood water pouring over the low level bridge that crossed the Bokspruit river I couldn't help looking back to make sure Peter was coming the same way. Once over the top I was overhauled quickly by Peter and I watched him, not without a measure of envy, glide effortlessly over the occasional rough patches and flow around the corners at speed and disappear from sight.

Once across the steel bridges that span the Bell and Kwaai rivers at Moshesh's Ford we turned south toward Elliot. For the next 30 km the road would rise and fall gently before spiking up toward the Bottelnek turnoff. Peter and I rode together with me attacking the climbs before walking the steep bits. This method got me slightly ahead of Peter at the start of the climbs and he would then reel me in with us topping out at the same time.

Grinding my way up the Bottlenek pass I was able to get to Chesneywold ahead of Peter. A plate of jungle oats and a cup of tea and I was out the door just a few seconds behind Peter who chose to skip Chesneywold. We rode together to Kapokkraal.

Portaging is the one time when the playing field is level. In fact, it may well be advantage single speed as the bike is lighter and easier to carry. Peter paused near the Kapokkraal farmhouse while I got on with the portage over the saddle and down to the jeep track near the abandoned and ruined Spitzkop farmhouse. Once on the track I made my way to the first support station of Slaapkrans. I had made good progress arriving there slightly under an hour slower than my previous time.

It was time to top up with water and food as the next section was tough and would be tackled in the heat of the day. If I made good progress it was going to take me 3.5 hours to scale the two mountains that lay between me and the Bonthoek farmhouse a mere 22 km away.