It's midday. The race is on. Last year it was about 28°C at the start. This year it's already in the mid 30's. At least we don't have a howling headwind.
Less than 2 km into the race and I see a water bottle fly free of young guy's bike. He hasn't noticed. I bring it to his attention and after a brief pause he pulls over to retrieve his bottle. The corrugations at this point are bad but not nearly as bad as the ones a few kilometres ahead. If it isn't tied down the corrugations are going to claim it. I lost 2 bottles in quick succession three years back. Since then my bottles are firmly secured with elasticated cord.
In no time at all young guy is back in our group, water bottle stashed in a back pocket. As I struggle to find a smooth line through the corrugations young guy is bouncing around next to me holding his phone aloft taking pictures fore and aft. He's having a blast—for now.
The first few kilometres are relatively civil as the field starts shaking out to suit individual ambitions. The race snakes are jostling at the front. I'm tagging along behind them watching for the break. I'm not joining in when that happens. Not that it wouldn't be a blast but I don't have the power or speed. It's fun to watch though. No one makes an early break and the big names roll along together. Ramses, his GPS device still not working, misses a turn and him and Piet Laubscher who are at the front head off in the wrong direction. Instead of cashing in on this early mistake Benky and Marco call out alerting them of their error. They turn and are soon shoulder to shoulder with their peers.
I look around and familiar faces are close at hand. Rafeeq Safodien is just ahead, Janine Stewart is right behind me as is Mickael Da Matta Sant'anna. I met Rafeeq in 2016 when we rode together from WP6 to Loxton. We fell into easy conversation as we rolled along. It was good to chat and we kept each other from falling asleep. Mickael hails from France I met him and his friend Alain Broglia (also back this year) when they flew over to do their first Munga a few years back. In Mickael's words, "We are here because we read your blog... many times!" Janine, one of my homies, is looking strong.
I watch the lead group, a few hundred metres ahead, round a corner and head into the farms. A rough count places me 15th. We were only 15 km into the race but at least I can now keep a mental note of where I am in the field. Rather insignificant but it's all part of the mental game that plays a part, albeit rather small.
I put in a spurt and reel in a few riders and settle into 13th spot. Only 1050km to go! In practice it's best not to think about how far you still have to ride. The focus, especially being as hot as it is, is to ride from water supply to water supply. These are mostly at official Race Villages or water points which are typically spaced 60 to 80km apart. There are other spots where water is available such as a farm shop 97km into the race. There are also farm taps and farm reservoirs where you can fill up. Last year I slipped past WP1 at 60km and stopped for the first time at the shop a further 37km up the road. This year that's not an option.
As I'm barrelling along I get a rude reminder that my idea of barrelling along is the next guys idea of trundling along when Dana Schutte and Jean Biermans fly past me. I don't recognise them at first and give a big kick to get onto a wheel. It takes a while but the penny eventually drops and I know I'm in the presence of riding royalty. When I drop off a bit Dana swivels an arm around and points to his back wheel beckoning me to close the gap and take advantage of a draft. Drafting is permitted up to Race Village 1 at Vanderkloof 224km into the race. Drafting as and when you can makes sense but once you're into farm tracks the risk of being swallowed by an unseen aardvark hole is a real possibility.
The elastic breaks and I'm back in 15th spot. That is until I spot Piet walking through sand pushing his abomination. Those who know me know that my opinion of gravel bikes is that they are abominations. To be fair it's an uninformed opinion based on nothing of substance. To support my view it's best to ignore the fact that Benky went on to win the race on an "abomination". Anyway, skinny tyres and sand pits 800 metres long are not good bedfellows. I slithered through the sand as did everyone else around me except for skinny wheel Piet. Trudging through thick sand in the heat wearing carbon soled cycling shoes should be added as an Olympic Decathlon event. It's far more challenging than shot put and will quickly separate the men from the boys.
That's the last time I saw powerhouse Piet.
The route winds through some farms where we skirt around holes and do the best we can to avoid sandpits. We empty out onto a district road and I can see riders ahead and behind. All the while you are going through farms it's okay. It's a bit slow but you stay engaged. Once you get onto a long straight road with a headwind and a noticeable incline all you can see is the schlep that lies ahead and it's demoralising. All the while the mercury is ticking up.
My focus now is on my Garmin. I'm begging the numbers to tick over. It's only another 10km to water point 1 but that seems so far off. Never mind a watched pot never boiling, the same is true of a Garmin GPS. When you're desperate the distance ticks over ever so slowly.
Just short of WP1 I see a rider up ahead. They have taken refuge in the scant shade of a thorn tree. As I approach they get back on their bike and move ahead without haste. It's the young guy. We arrive at the water point around the same time. He flops into a chair and it's obvious that he is finished. His eyes are red and any hint of enjoyment sloughed off him many kilometres back. The temperature is now in the 40's. I feel sorry for the young guy. I doubt he'll carry on and if he does it won't be for long. The next section to waterpoint 2 is the ugly step sister compared to our Cinderella ride to WP1.
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