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.