Munga 2019 - Part 1

Two weeks back my bike rolled to a stop at the Doolhof Wine Estate near the Western Cape town of Wellington. That marked the end of a race of 1080 km from Bloemfontein through the Great Karoo. I'm told the name Karoo is derived from the original Nama word meaning Hardveld. Having engaged with that landscape during this event over the last five years and watched the ongoing drought tighten its merciless grip on an already parched environment I have to say the Karoo is aptly named. 

Sheep no longer wander the landscape grazing as they go. There is nothing for them to eat. As you cycle you pass sheep clumped together in pitiful numbers at the corners of their camps as they wait to be fed what little farmers are able to find. Food is often donated from far afield but the farmers generally  bear the cost of getting the feed to their decimated flocks. It's a harsh landscape to cycle through yet even harder for those who attempt to eke out a living from the drought crippled Northern Cape. 

Animal skeletons—sheep and buck—many bleached white by the harsh sun, bear evidence to the conditions. Some skeletons, pressed up against roadside fences, paint a picture of desperation. 

There was no veneer of niceness draped over the race by way of favourable conditions. On the contrary we faced off against the Karoo at the height of a heat wave with scalding head winds and road and track conditions in as bad condition as I've ever experienced them. There was no seduction. It was a raw battle of attrition that saw almost half the field of riders failing to make it to the end. 

For those who threw in the towel or were carted off by ambulance to local hospitals I pass no judgement. The conditions were brutal and unless you had prepared for the oppressive heat it was all but impossible to keep moving forward. I witnessed riders of the highest calibre wilt in a matter of hours—start line jocularity replaced with dull unfocused eyes. 

At breakfast on the morning of the race I was chatting with Kevin Benkenstein and we were both of the view that harsh conditions would ultimately suit us as fair condition racing meant the race would only be about who could ride the fastest. If the going was rough it meant that you'd need a combination of speed, experience and grit to prevail. As it turned out grit was the crucial component of the race. 

I went into the race with two plans. Firstly, if the conditions were easy I was hoping to finish the race in 60 hours which, looking at the starting lineup, I figured would be just enough to get a top ten finish. Secondly, if the conditions were similar to the scorcher of 2016 I'd settle for a top 10 finish whatever that meant by way of a  finishing time. 

I've experienced Karoo temperatures in the 40's and it ain't fun. As part of my preparation this year I maximised the amount of time I spent riding in the heat of the day. The Gauteng weather played nice and gifted us a heatwave in the weeks leading up the the race and I took full advantage. I also followed a 10 day pre-race regime of post-exercise hot water immersion baths to beef up my heat acclimation as I figured the heat would be a huge challenge. 

If I was going to chase a PB time it meant I would be in the heart of the Tankwa Karoo in peak heat. If a fast time was out of the question it would probably be because of extreme heat at other parts of the race. 

If you pitch up to this event without giving heat due respect in your training you are going to get spat out quickly. That's exactly what happened. The European based riders coming out off a northern hemisphere winter were on the back foot from the start. Day one was brutal. Day two was worse. 

A few hours into the race any thought of a personal best time or even a record setting time for the eventual winner was off the table. 

Lining up in the start chute is always intimidating. There are a good number of riders who look like they are looking to do no better than finish inside of the five day cutoff. I didn't show up to just finish. In spite of being half a century plus vat plus a tip years old I'm here to race and finish as near the front as I can. When I look around me I see plenty of competition for the top 10 spots. Of the riders I know there is Ramses Bekkend the record holder, Kevin Benkenstein, Thinus Redelinghuis, John Ntuli a former winner, Marco Martins the winner from 2 years back, Sithembiso Masango, Jean Biermans, Michael Mc Dermott and Dana Schutte. And then there are a whole lot of riders who I don't know but they look like they know how to handle a bike. 

I move toward the front of the riders bunched behind the start line and immediately feel a little out of place and a lot intimidated by the chiselled physiques that surround me. The idea of getting a top ten finish evaporates as self doubt washes over me. Mentally I join the ranks of the 'just do the best you can.' 

Erik Vermeulen is doing a live feed from the start line interviewing the big names. Ramses is just behind me. As Erik asks him a question Ramses attention switches from Erik to his GPS device. "It just keeps rebooting," I hear him say. I look down at my Garmin and it looks fine. 

"One minute to go!" says Alex Harris. 

Ramses is still fiddling with his device. I’m glad mine is okay. My nerves are already on edge. Not from excitement but from knowing the next few days are going to be hard, very hard.