The HeidelBay 545 - Part 2

Shortly after the start the GPS directs us onto the railway reserve road. The weather looks like it might get damp but we're hopeful it'll just be light rain. They've obviously had recent rain because it's muddy and large puddles abound. For the most part we are able to route around all but the largest of puddles. We get to the first of many railway bridges which the HeidelBay veterans refer to as the 5 Arches Bridge. Here we find Niven who has deployed his drone and is filming us as we cross the river below the bridge. I've only ever Niven once before. I arrived in Ntsikeni late one night and Niven was still up and wandered through to the common area of the lodge. He is an avid supporter of the HeidelBay route and when he heard that we were going to give it a bash he asked if he could be a fly on the wall and record our trip. 

The track on the other side has deteriorated since I was last here and we get a bit scratched up getting around the fence. The track opens up and we empty onto a district road that takes us through Balfour. 

After Balfour we're back on a mucky track. In spite of our best efforts we have our first baptism of mud mixed with dodgy looking stuff. This scenario will be played out a number of times as we pass informal settlements along the way. I guess it's a combination of poor sanitation and the concentration of  animal husbandry that takes place on the periphery of the settlements.  

As we progress the frequency of muddy stretches and water puddles increases. Even when not wet the going is hard as we roll over sodden earth. Fortunately the terrain is fairly flat which allows us to move at a good pace albeit not without some effort. 

Approaching Greylingstad the jeep track is hemmed in by tall reedlike grass which whips against forearms with such force that it stings. We constantly switch sides on the jeep track to give one and then the other of our arms a break from the assault. When we get to Greylingstad we leave the jeep track and roll through town on tar before once again taking up position on a jeep track running parallel to the rail line. There's a settlement on the other side of the line and the rail ballast is doing a good job of allowing the watery waste to leach through. Our momentum is broken as we slow to pick our way around and through huge puddles of blackened water. 

Soon we are back on a good and dry district road where we head toward the grain silos at Val. The sky is clearing and it's a gorgeous day. Once through Val we rejoin the service road and it's a bit muddy. Then it's a lot muddy. At one point the GPS route directs us onto a district road but we duck back to the safety of the service road which although not easy sailing isn't leg ripping mud. 

I recognise the next set of silos up ahead where the original route was to the left. The route suggested by our Garmin's is to the right and I'm not keen to keep schlepping through the mud. I figure we can sneak around the left hand edge of the silos and rejoin the route on the other side. The plan goes well... briefly. 

We thread through the derelict remains of the rail siding adjacent to the silos and pop out at the entrance gate. So far so good. The proper route is less than 200m away on the other side of the railway line and we've managed to avoid the muddy road. A stationary train stands between us and where we want to be. I track around the fence of the silos hoping to find a road or footpath that'll take us back over the line. Merak and Carlo foolishly put their trust in my nav skills. 

The road heads away from the train line but I'm still hopeful that we will find a way back toward the line. All we find is a bus abandoned in the middle of the road. As we approach the bus the reason for it's abandonment becomes all too clear. It's bogged down in polisiehondmodder. The clay mud attacks our bikes and before long my bike is so clogged that the chain jumps off and the wheels are no longer turning. I look back toward the silos and suggest we get back there and find a way to cross the rails. 

Once again we pass the bogged down bus. I sled my bike along the road. The wheels are packed solid with mud and they aren't going to turn. After a while I stop and scrape off enough mud that I can ride. There is a meilie field that runs up to the silo perimeter fence. A quick check confirms there is a jeep track running adjacent to the fence. I drop mud laden bike over the fence. Man it's heavy! 

I regain my bike and pedal around the meilie field until I'm ahead of the stationary train and close to the rails. Once back on the service road I ride ahead until I can see a huge puddle of water. It doesn't matter that it's murky at least it's a lot less muddy than my bike. The three of us alternate between scraping chunks of mud off our bikes and splashing dirty water over the liberated bits and pieces. 

It occurs to me that my plan to avoid a fairly muddy road resulted in us getting bogged down on a horrifically muddy road. In my attempt to save time I've flushed at least 30 minutes on this folly. 

Our bikes aren't in concours condition but at least the pedal bones are connected to the chain bones which are connected to the wheel bones. We've still got 30km to get to Standerton and the sun is well above the horizon. We saddle up and move forward. 

The HeidelBay 545 - Part 1

The Wimpy Mega Cappuccino goes down a lot easier than the Streaky breakfast. The foods not bad but I'm struggling to get it down. We've been on the go for 28 hours and the combined effects of exhaustion, sleep deprivation and heat have suppressed my appetite. The ebb and flow of life play out on the streets of Ulundi. It's Saturday morning and the narrow pavement on the other side of the window is pulsing with life. 

We've only got 113km left to do of our 545km quest to ride non-stop from  Heidelberg in Gauteng to Richards Bay in Kwazulu-Natal. The route is mostly along the railway reserve jeep track. At Volksrust the railway line heads off toward Newcastle. At that point the cycle route deviates toward Wakkerstroom topping out at almost 2000m before dropping into Vryheid where it joins the rail line that runs from Ermelo to Richards Bay. 

The idea of the route developed over time. Years back I joined Kevin Davie on a recce ride where he wanted to see how far he could ride in 24 hours along the rail route to Durban. His ultimate goal was to ride nonstop to Durban. He figured that for our exploratory ride we'd have to get beyond Newcastle. We managed to get through Newcastle before the egg timer ran out. 

Shortly after I took Dave Bell for a spin along the route but before Standerton he'd had enough of rattling along the railway service road. It wasn't to his liking. Funny thing now is that he's a contributor and fan of the idea. Elton Prytz mapped out an alternate route that would end in Richards Bay. Niven chipped in and The HeidelBay 545 was born. Niven has the details here http://heidelbay.blogspot.com/p/the-challenge.html

113km to finish sounds easy enough but we are tired and we expect the next section to be as lumpy as our ride into Ulundi. I'm not looking forward to more of the same. This section of the route is described by many as being beautiful. It is stunning but I imagine it looks a lot nicer through the window of a car. 

I look across to Merak who is also chasing his food around his plate. 

"Why are we doing this?" I ask. 

Merak doesn't respond.

"Maybe we do stuff like this so that our mates think we are amazing?" I proffer. 

"That makes us really shallow," I add. 

We leave the why unanswered. 

This is our second attempt at doing the HeidelBay ride. Our first attempt in September 2018 fizzled out near Utrecht when we rode into the mother of all storms. That failure in some way is our unspoken why. We can't go 0/2. 

Our Heidebay challenge started opposite the Yesterday Today and Tomorrow guesthouse outside Heidelberg. Carlo had opted for a good nights sleep and had stayed at the guesthouse. As we stopped next to the road we saw him pedalling up the driveway with his overnight bag balanced on his handlebars. 

Merak and I unloaded our bikes and got them ready. I, as usual, wasn't well prepared and I picked through a bundle of clothes and equipment trying to decide what I should or shouldn't take. In the end I tossed it all back in my backpack. Rather too much than too little. 

Oliver was supposed to ride with us but he was down with lurgy and not in riding shape. It was his birthday so standing next to the road we celebrated his 18th birthday with cup cakes. At 06:06 we hopped on our bikes and set off toward the sea.  

Munga 2019 Final Wrap - Gun Fights and Bar Brawls

As much as I think age is just a number the reality is that when you are standing neck deep in torn off calendar pages you are faced with the realisation that you can't ride away from that number.

It goes without saying that a thirty something year old has a massive physical advantage over someone like myself who is almost sixty. Therein lies the beauty of ultra endurance cycling — it's not all about brawn. I like to think that as your body yields to the ageing process there is a inversely proportional increase in savviness.

I appreciate that if you go to a gun fight you need a gun and the skill to use it. A one day race is analogous to a gun fight. The Munga on the other hand is more of a bar brawl. You have to know how to throw a punch as well as knee someone in the groin. Somewhere along the way knives, broken bottles and guns come in handy. Multi-faceted rampaging will keep you from being the first to be ejected into the street.

30 years ago I might have placed more emphasis on my physical condition going into a race. That's not to say that I didn't get into the best shape I could. I did. However, no matter how hard I train I am never going to be a Kevin Benkenstein or Thinus Redelinghuys. My body simply won't tolerate the training load that they are able to put themselves through. My time to recovery after an intense training effort would take too long and result in sub-optimal condition.

Given that physical condition was not a mainstay I could build my race strategy around I needed to figure out how I could prevail against the younger riders. I was under no illusions - I was never going to beat the best of them. My audacious goal was to finish inside the top 10. That meant I'd have to beat a good number of strong riders.

If I have any super power it's the ability to keep riding with the minimum of sleep. This skill was stashed for the bar fight. But it wasn't enough. Apart from that I planned meticulously mapping out times and distances between water points and race villages. Experience has taught me that even the best-laid plans can and do go awry so I was armed with flexibility. I ended up sleeping well before I'd planned to but given the circumstances it was exactly the right time.

If you are going to be a habitual bar scrapper it won't do if you can only take one punch. The best brawlers can take one to the jaw and shake it off. There were times where all I wanted to do was get off my bike and call it a day. To counter that I had programmed my headspace with a version of Muzak (elevator music) that looped endlessly. The constant refrain was, "Keep moving forward, don't give up."

It might come as a surprise to some but the thought, "This race is stupid, why am I doing it?" is as common among the front of the field as anywhere else. Every long race I do is definitely my last one and at some point every day of every race there are moments when the only rational thing to do is quit. Endurance racing isn't fun. But it's satisfying beyond comprehension. That is, once you've finished... and recovered.

I had a good race. I'd even say I had the perfect race. Conditions were tough but they were expected and I'd prepared for them. The best preparation was experience. I've learnt a lot from my successes and failures in this event over the last 5 years. My failures in particular are rich pickings for improvements. I wanted to be able to come home and have no regrets about decisions made during the race. And that's how it is. My race has survived post-race analysis without criticism being levelled.

Finally, the fight analogy is just that. If there's any battle involved it is the fight against yourself. I'm not alone in wanting to go faster and further or finish higher up. When we stand on the start line it's with the intention of becoming our own hero. There's no malice among riders. We see and understand each other's moments of weakness and inner wrestling. We don't relish others travails. In the greater scheme of things where we finish is irrelevant. Someone asked me if I'd feel the same way about my "perfect race" if I'd placed 15th instead of 4th. It made me think. If 5 or 6 stronger riders had entered or if some of the riders who had entered hadn't been beaten by the elements I might well have finished outside of the top 10. After reflection I'd have to say I did the best I'm capable of which means it was my perfect race.

Munga 2019 - Part 17 - Ceres to Doolhof

I arrive at the Ceres Race Village to a cheery welcome. While I'm filling in the register I'm asked what I would like to eat. I ask what's available. A list of options is run off.
"That sounds perfect," I reply.
"All of it?"
"If that's okay?"
"Sure thing."
He hurries off to whip up an express custom breakfast. I think I just made his day.

The next inquiry is about what I'd like to drink.
"Tea, coffee and Coke will be perfect, thanks." This time there's no query about my broad selection.

By the time I've filled my bottles coffee and Coke are waiting for me.
"Sorry, we don't have tea."
They look genuinely disappointed.

I ask where Sithembiso is and they tell me he's at least an hour behind. Chat turns to the winners. It seems Benky and Thinus settled for a joint win. That's a pity because I'm trying to imagine what a sprint finish would have been like down the precipitous jeep track to the finish. Especially since there's only space for a single bike down the drop off just before the finish.

A plateful of breakfast yumminess is presented. I wolf it down. I've only got 45km to get to the finish at Doolhof. There's sufficient sustenance to fuel my legs and keep a smile on my face.

I sign out and grab my bike. It's a beautiful morning. It's cool with a gentle breeze and apart from the last 2 km drop into Doolhof it's on tar.
A glance at my watch tells me it's 09:20. I wonder if I can get to the finish in under 2 hours. Apart from Sithembiso creeping up behind me there's no particular hurry. It just seems a fun challenge. There is the small matter of getting up the 8km climb of Bainskloof Pass but the road to the start of the pass is mostly flat and fast.

The breakfast has revived me and I'm up and over Mitchell's Pass in no time at all. I'm on the aero bars and moving well. As I get to the approaches of Bainskloof Pass I'm caught by some Wellington based riders who are heading back over the pass. They are following the race and greet me by name. They offer to let me draft behind them but I explain that I'm not allowed to draft and they slip in behind me. As traffic allows one of them rides beside me and we chat. Some of them have done Race To Rhodes and they are familiar with my Blog.

They are strong riders and I'm riding hard so that I don't hold them up. My legs are burning but it feels great to be riding at something akin to race pace. Approaching the top of the climb I see that a sub-2 hour Ceres to Doolhof ride is on the cards. The weariness of the last 3 days has sloughed off. I bid the others adieu and use my aero bars to full effect. The banners indicating the final drop to the finish comes up quickly and I brake hard and head over the lip. I pick my lines carefully as I don't want to crash this close to the end. The final snake like turns make the Garmin ineffective and besides the arrows indicating the route make it superfluous. I'm glad I don't have to keep looking down.

One final drop-off and the Munga Gantry looms. I roll over the finish line and squeeze the brakes. It's 11:18am on Saturday 30th November and one more adventure has come to a close

Munga 2019 - Part 16- Tankwa Padstal to Ceres

Last year the Tankwa Padstal was where my race ended. This time I'm merely passing through. Another 141 km and I'll be done. I'm in a good space. Physical exhaustion and dilatory thinking and actions brought about by endless hours of pedalling and sleep deprivation become the norm so are ignored as meaningless indicators of how I feel. Even hallucinations can be accommodated without too much concern. Physical pain however, be it saddle sores, ITB or Achilles tenderness, or any pain that would be exacerbated by continued cycling would concern me. As it is I've no red flags.

Michael and Carol-Ann radiate a gentle air of hospitality and warmth that resonates with me. They are calm but attentive and engaging without being exhausting. We fall into easy conversation and I'm well fed and watered and am ready to move on.

Michael assures me that the road is in good shape. That's both good and bad. The good is that it will be fast and I won't be rattling over corrugations. The bad is that a perfect surface lacks stimulation. The road is wide and smooth. It's also a single hue of beige. It's a moonless night and my world consists of what I see in the bubble of light ahead of me. I may as well tape a piece of beige coloured paper to my glasses for all the visual stimulation I'm going to get. A bad road surface would require that I stayed engaged as I look for a better line and avoid obstacles. But right now I'd settle for boring and fast and take my chances with sleep monsters.

I roll out and the road is indeed in good shape. I get an audio book running and get on with the business of putting the next 45 kilometres of dreary gravel behind me. There's one section of 20 km's that is straight as an arrow. In some ways I'm glad I can't see the drudgery that lays ahead.

I've been going for just over an hour and I see vehicle lights approaching. It's still pitch black so I see them from far off. It gets to within a kilometre of me and it pulls to the side of the road and stops. As I approach I see a person standing next to the car. It's Leon Erasmus. He has done multiple Munga's and after countless hours of dot watching has decided to drive to the Padstal and see real people. I'd posit that he's suffering from FOMO—Fear Of Missing Out—but technically that'd be a flawed assumption as he has already missed out on doing the race. So it must be ROMO—Reality Of Missing Out. I stop briefly and we chat. Nice surprise.

I'm on my way again and counting down the kilometres when I notice some lights just off the road to my left. I guess they're no more than 10 metres from the road. I'm trying to figure out why a farmer would put lights out for his sheep in the middle of nowhere. Very odd. It's a fleeting thought that barely touches sides as it wobbles down my thoughts passageway and staggers out the tradesman's entrance.

It's starting to get light and I see a district road merging from the left. This is the road you would take if you drove from Sutherland rather than weave through the farms on a bike. It's a critical landmark for me. Now I know I'm only a handful of kilometres away from a change of scenery. I'm so excited I punch the air and give out an audible whoop whoop which is not like me. This long straight boring road will soon give way to orchards and vineyards. It also means there's some climbing but that's okay.

As the sky lightens the temperature starts dropping. It's down to 12°C and I stop and put a jacket on. I really don't like the look of the sky. It reminds me of a cold mid-winter Freedom Challenge sky. The thought makes me shiver.

Finally I'm free of the grasp of the Tankwa Karoo as I ride into Matjiesrivier.
There's a long slow grind to the base of Bo-Swaarmoed Pass. The weather still looks uncertain with heavy cloud obscuring the top of the pass. As I get to the bottom of the pass the cloud lifts and I can see the twists and turns I'll have to overcome. I've never managed to ride this pass and am determined that today is the day that I'm going to conquer this beast. I'm 3/4 of the way up and I realise that I'm not in conquering condition. It's not a hard climb but my legs can't cope. My energy reserves are depleted and I'm running on fumes.

As I'm plodding up the pass I take out my phone to catch up on race chatter and see that I'm now 4th. Somehow Sithembiso has fallen behind me. That's weird. There's only one road from the Padstal to Matjiesrivier and I didn't see him. Hmm. Wait... The lights next to the road that I thought were sheep lights... I now have an explanation that makes sense. The next message I see is that Sithembiso has compounded his problems by going the wrong way. Advantage Mike.

2 minutes later I look back and I see 2 cyclists heading up the pass behind me. So much for my 4th place elation. They are too far back to see who they are but I'm guessing one must be Sithembiso and the other... I've no idea. They are pedalling up the climb I've just walked and making it look like they're on an easy Saturday morning ride. As they get closer I notice that they don't have Munga race boards and therefore aren't part of the race. They are in fact a couple out for their Saturday morning ride. We exchange a few words as they pass. They were surprised to see bike tracks when they started up the climb as they seldom see other cyclists out this way.

I'm at the top of the climb and onto the tar road. My sense is that I just need to roll down the road, cut through a farm section and I'll be in Ceres in no time at all. I look down at my Garmin. What!!! I've still got 40km to get to the Race Village in Ceres. That doesn't seem right. It's just down the road. Isn't it? No amount of wishing is going to make it less. I pedal up the first climb on the tar road. I can see the couple ahead of me. They are making it look far too easy. I know it's about 12 km to the turn off and most of that is downhill. Hill conquered I'm zooming along and my Garmin says I must turn left. It's nonsense. I know I don't have to go left this early and carry on. Then it starts squealing telling me I'm off course. I stop. The Garmin is confused but I'm too tired to argue so I play along. I go back and take a random farm road where the Garmin insisted I turn off. I've gone 30 metres and the Garmin tells me I'm off course again. I'm back on the tar and ignoring my Garmin. 100 metres on and it's happy again. Should have trusted my gut.

Soon I'm passing a community hall which means I should turn left in a few hundred metres. The Garmin ignores the turnoff that I've always taken and tells me to carry on. This is weird. I check the Garmin. Yup, I've gone 12 km. But the route on the Garmin clearly says I must carry on down the tar road. And it is down. Steep and fast down. Like a big effort to reverse if its wrong steep. I'm rolling along with one eye on the road and the other on my Garmin. I'm on track in spite of my reservations. Then I remember Alex saying something about a route change before Ceres. I should have paid attention.

At the 18 km mark there's a turnoff onto a gravel road and my Garmin suggests I take it. Still 22km to go. I don't remember wiggling through farms for so many kilometres and I've cut out a huge chunk by going further on tar. I get to the first climb and my legs are hollow. I'm empty. I crawl up the climbs and roll down the other side. I ride around in what seems ever decreasing circles and now I'm on a tar road that I remember. This is the last haul to town. It's flat fast and... not that short. I remember it being short but I've still got 11.5km to the Race Village. The distances on Garmin have been spot on with the distances I have on my cheat sheet so it must be every inch of those 11.5km. I summon a smidgeon of enthusiasm and manage to get my speed up.

Finally I'm through the centre of Ceres and at the race village. The food here is always good. Individually tailored and good. I'm empty, hungry and keen to fuel up for the final push. I head inside to see what's available.