Munga 2019 - Part 3 - Disappointment Knocks Early

I'm staring at the spread that's in front of me at WP1. There's an array of sweet stuff as well as energy bars, potatoes and sandwiches. Undecided I get my water bottles filled. Two with the PowerBar mix we'll find at every water point and race village and 2 with plain water. I wet my BottleSox—normal socks pulled over 2 of my bottles which I wet to get the evaporative cooling effect to keep the contents cool—and place them back on my bike. I down a couple of cups of PowerBar mix and chase that down with coke then crunch on a handful of ice cubes.

I know I need to get food into my belly but being so hot my mouth and throat are not in the mood. I grab a sandwich and retrieve my bike. Young guy is vertical and moving but it's more of a death shuffle than the energetic gyrations of a 20 something year old. I feel completely drained but compared to him I'm in showroom condition. I have no idea what the medics make of this madness as they watch us trickle in and with the same lack of enthusiasm trickle out again.

From experience I know the next section is a dog. Its 111km to the next water point. There's a farm shop 37km up the road but even then it leaves another 74km to WP2. It's one of the mind numbing sections of the race made worse by the fact that we'll be riding it in the hottest part of the day.

With a sigh of resignation I press down on my pedals and make my way back up the driveway to the district road. I chew on the sandwich. As sandwiches go it's not that bad but my mouth is already parched from the hot dry air and it feels like I'm chewing on a chunk of leather. I eventually masticate it into paste and force it down my throat with a swig of water. Not nearly enough fuel to get me to WP2 so I'm hoping they have crisps or something similar at the shop.

I see Mickael up ahead and I press forward tackling the mind numbing district roads and then a long sandy section through a farm followed by more mind numbing district road.

The tedium is broken when Jacques Swart—better known as Jack Black—comes riding past. I'm pleased to see him, not because he's making me look ordinary but because he's riding on his own.

Jack has over the years gathered a number of riders around him and he rides together with them. The net result is that Jack has been an underachiever. I mean that in the nicest sense. His results to date are not a true reflection of his riding ability. Riding in a group means you only move as fast as the slowest rider at any given time. There was a boutique race earlier this year where he rode on his own and he was able to showcase his real ability. Before the race this year we chatted and Jack said he was going to focus on his own race for a change. A difficult thing for him to do as he is a social animal and really likes helping people. At breakfast I sat with a guy from the Cape who mentioned he was riding with Jack's group. That didn't tally with the conversation I had with Jack earlier so I am happy to see him sail past me on his own. He slowly opens the gap and soon I see the 2 specks of Mickael and Jack cresting a hill far ahead.

My Garmin indicates that I've only got 2km to the shop. A quick check confirms that I've got cash easily accessible and I start considering my options. Coke, water, crisps... My deliberations are cut short as a medic on a quad bike pulls up next to me and says a really ugly thing, "Just a heads up, the shop is closed but there's emergency water at the Police station." He may just as well drive over me and put me out of my misery. He heads off kicking up plumes of dust in his wake. Shop closed! I mull this over. How far can I ride on a cheese and chutney sandwich?

I know the police station is about 500m short of the useless shop. As it comes into sight I see Mickael backtracking. The medic has relayed the ugly message to him as well. We meet at the gate. There's no sign of water, emergency or otherwise. We see a policeman in the yard and I ask him if these is a tap. He points across to the far side of the yard. There is a tap under a tree. The policeman turns and heads off. It's one of those moments when you realise you've asked the wrong question. A better question would have been, "Where can we get some water?" The tap is exactly that, a tap. The top bit twists but there's no water. Judging from the dust bowl in the vicinity of the token tap it hasn't seen water for many a year. Mickael and I scout around. We find an ablution block but it's more likely to dispense typhoid fever than fresh water. I recall seeing a sprinkler on the lawn in front of the office block when we rode in so we go around and see a hose with running water. We fill our bottles. I dig in my feed bag to retrieve a sachet of Game sports drink mix which I split between 2 bottles. I hope there's enough energy in that sachet to supplement the sandwich because it's scorching hot and there's nothing but misery between me and WP2, 75km up the road