Romansfontein to somewhere dark and interesting.

Romansfontein as a support station is a double edged sword. The hospitality and food are fantastic. While that can be said of any number of support stations along the way, there is someone unique about this place. When the kids are home it is even better. It exudes a home-away-from-home feeling. It always makes me home sick because there is something about the place that is uncomplicated and completely welcoming. Will and Stephanie are so chilled. That we managed to get out in under an hour and a half is surprising. We arrived to a warm welcome, were plied with tea and good food and given a bed where we lay out grubby bodies for a 30 minute snooze. As it turned out I only managed about 10. I scratched through the opened resupply boxes hoping to find some AA batteries but it seems AAA are more popular. Will scratched around in a few boxes in his garage and came up with a handful of assorted brand AA's and I fitted 4 of these these in my headlamp. At least I now had a light to make the transition through the Elandsberg portage a bit easier. 

Shortly after 2pm we left the support station and headed toward the next big portage of Aasvoelberg. I was hoping to get to Hofmeyr by 7pm and then on to Elandsberg by just after 10pm. 

During our lunch stop I had read a message Fiona had recently posted about her ride down Aasvoelberg earlier that morning and her group encountered really bad muddy sections. I wasn't looking forward to those. We pedalled along to the farm Gunstelling and after a crazy descent to the farm house started the plod up the near side of Aasvoelberg stopping to take a picture of me sitting on the old rusty shell of a car near the top. I like many others always wonder how it got up there. Last time I posted a similar picture I labeled it "Iconic relic." Dave Bell shot back "Double sided comment 😜".  I am a relic but hardly iconic. 

We popped over the top not quite sure what to expect and were pleasantly surprised to find the 'going underfoot' rather good. We could see where Fiona's posse had bludgeoned their way through some snotty sections but could also see how Alex, like us, rolled over the now firm surface barely leaving any tracks. 

I am a cautious technical rider avoiding any chance of an unscheduled dismount while Casper revels in the challenge. Not having any front brakes made him even quicker. His reward? He got to open and close most of the gates on the way down to Magdala farm. 

We trudged along in the heat to Vlekpoort and stopped at the stone barn to fill out bottles from a tap just behind the barn. 

At this point Casper made a startling confession. He is quicker that me on both uphill and downhill sections but admitted he was not looking forward to the flat stretches in to and out of Hofmeyr because he struggles to keep up with me on that type of riding. I can't figure out how that works but was surprised to hear that. The result is that I made a point of riding behind him on flat sections. That made him quicker. On the odd occasion that I moved ahead of him there was an obvious drop off in his pace. As soon as I backed off and let him go ahead I would have to increase my effort to keep up. 

Before the drop down Vlekpoort pass Casper said his rear brakes were almost gone. We decided he could take his brake pads out his dysfunctional front brakes and swap them to the rear when we got to Hofmeyr. 

Arriving in Hofmeyr we found a spot under a street lamp just outside the hotel and Casper set about sorting out his brakes. The street light would burn for about 5 or 6 minutes and then go out. It would slowly start again and after a few minutes of full brightness would go off again. I called the race office to check in and Glenn asked me what time we expected to get to Elandsberg. I figured on 3 hours from Hofmeyr so I said 11pm. The bike maintenance took 6 light failures (30 minutes) so we only rolled out of town at 10:30. 

With a slight tail wind we 'breezed' out of town at a blistering pace and I though we could make up a big chunk of the 30 minutes we had lost. 

The ride to the start of the portage went faster than expected but it wasn't interesting enough to keep the sleep monsters at bay. Casper was seeing kangaroos and snowmen regularly. A storm was building up ahead and the stars above us were completely obliterated by cloud. Getting to the last gate we turned off left and followed the faint jeep track for 50 metres before is disappeared. 200 metres in I had absolutely no idea what direction I was headed. 

For the first time in many years I dug out my compass to get a heading. 

The night was black as ink. Without a torch visibility was zero. The occasional lightening bolt would show a silhouette of the mountains but fairly soon the lightening would stop altogether. It was the start of an interesting night......

Stormberg to Romansfontein.

Although the wind was strong and icy we were counting on it pushing us toward Romansfontein. Exiting the blockhouse we would for the first time on the race have to wind at our backs. A funny thing happened during the ten minute ride toward Vegkoppies - the wind stopped blowing and a while later the rain followed suit. It seems you can't have everything your way - in our case it seemed we could have almost nothing our way. We still had to deal with the effects of the deluge - huge puddles and loads of mud. We picked our way through these obstacles as we went through the Stormberg battle site and arrived at the nearby farm house where we hosed our bikes down and filled our bottles. It was around 10am and we had been at this for 29 hours with minimal sleep. Having said that, apart from the spirit damping effect of being soaked to the bone for 9 hours we were in fairly good shape evidenced by our humorous exchanges. Casper laughs easily and has an infectious cheerfulness about him. We had commented on the toughness of the riding but neither one of us had complained or wished we were doing anything else. 

A short distance up the road we hit a climb with the worst mud of the whole race. It took us a good ten minutes to cover about 400 metres. Once through we wound our way through some challenging bits but were not reduced to walking. Once at the Molteno tar road I expected a fairly clean 20 kilometre run toward Seekoeigat and we had just that. At one stage Casper stopped briefly while I rode on slowly and once again he accused me of making it difficult for him to catch me. All a figment of his imagination, mostly.  

The Seekoeigat section through the farms was really wet and the going was slow. I never realised before just how long that section is. We were happy to see the district road and with sleep monsters tugging at our eyelids made haste to get to Romansfontein where we could get some hot tea for the first time since leaving Kranskop nearly 15 hours earlier. It had taken us 4 hours longer than we had anticipated. As such, the prospect of racing my age, while not impossible to achieve, got a bit tougher. We signed in and noticed that Alex had left Romansfontein less than 3 hours before we arrived. It seemed he hadn't fared any better than us through the rain and mud. 

Cold, dark, wet and windy.

Over the years Brosterlea has come to represent an oasis, a happy place in a challenging section of the race. I sort refuge from a snowstorm there in 2007 albeit only for an hour. Good food and mugs of warm tea reviving me sufficiently to push on. In 2011 on a recce ride the temperature plummeted below zero on the road there and we spend a night comfortably snuggled up in warm beds after a sumptuous meal sitting around the dining room table with our hosts. It's a great place with hospitable hosts. Arrive at midday and your resolve to ride on is truly tested. Arrive at 3:30am during a blackout expecting to push through and the reality is very different. It is an interim support station and as such you should expect nothing more than bread and water.

We found Anthony fast asleep drowning in plush pillows and swaddled in a fluffy duvet. In the other room, by the light of barely adequate emergency LED light we found a loaf of bread, margarine and peanut butter with some kind of juice. There was a kettle; with all the stuff needed to make tea, toaster and microwave oven but Casper had forgotten to bring a 6.5KVa generator along not to mention a litre or two of petrol - that's the price of packing light to race the trail. I normally carry a few fuel tablets and a metal mug but this time decided to lighten up. 

I nearly forgot to mention the yoghurt! There were 2 or 3 little yoghurts. This is the interesting part about this stop. Casper grabbed a spoon and peeled the foil lid back and dipped his spoon in to get a good portion. As he raised it to his mouth his frozen hands misfired and the yoghurt slipped from the spoon and splattered on the carpet. Without hesitation Casper leaned down and scrapped the yoghurt up with his spoon. Now he has contaminated his spoon I thought. Having recharged his spoon with the floor scrapings he simply popped it into his mouth and carried on like nothing unusual had happened. Waste not want not. That's interesting I thought and said nothing. 

There were three empty beds and they were exactly that - empty! Not a stitch of bed linen. 

Anthony woke up at about 3:45 and said the hosts had been told we were pushing through so they hadn't made arrangements for sleeping. He had initially set his alarm for 4am but with the storm he said he was going to get up at 5 instead. We decided a little nap for an hour while we waited for the storm to abate wouldn't do any harm. Casper found 2 bath mats and what looked like towels. I placed a bath mat on the bare mattress to protect it from my muddy clothes, carefully lay on it and covered myself with the tiny towel. The next hour was long. I was wet, cold and uncomfortable. We got up at 5, layered up in our soaking clothes and headed out into the rain. As we pedalled down the slippery road in the rain I commented to Casper that this was a lot more comfortable than the time I spent on the hard mattress. He concurred. Here we were pedalling down a muddy road in the rain just over 24 hours into the race and I had had about 10 minutes sleep. Casper had fared better on the sleep front. 

Anthony soon caught us and after a few pleasantries he rode off at the pace of a man who had spend many hours fast asleep in a cozy bed. By the time we got to Enerdale farm Anthony was out of sight. For the next few hours we trailed the twin set of tracks from Alex and Anthony. Alex wasn't that far ahead. According to Anthony, Alex had lingered at Brosterlea because of the storm and had only left about an hour before we arrived. We could see from Alex's tracks that he had a torrid time of getting through the mud and sand traps along the way. At least we had the benefit of daylight to pick better lines. 

We refreshed our water bottles at Weltevrede farm and began the slip 'n slide ride up the back of Stormberg. The wind had picked up and we were being lashed by regular squalls of rain. The ground had long since given up trying to absorb the rainfall and it ran down the track we were riding up. 

Cresting the ridge above the Stormberg station we made our way to the blockhouse intending to get shelter from the icy wind. The wind had picked up making the inside of the blockhouse unbearable. In fact it was probably the low point of the ride. We got back on our bikes and pedalled off through the rain grateful for the heat the effort produced.  

Headlong into the storm.

When we arrived at Kranskop at 9pm stars sparkled in the moonless sky. When we came out an hour later with Casper having added sealant to his back tyre to put the tyre issue to bed it was overcast and pitch black. To make it more interesting my batteries of my headlamp and my spare bar mounted light went flat. Entirely my own stupidity as I forgot to get new batteries before the race. Nevertheless I had a dynohub driven light and we cruised through the first two tricky navigation sections and crossed the tar road south of Jamestown. 

The ride from the tar road to Brosterlea is hard because it's boring. Sure there are one or two steep climbs but the navigation involves just one right turn. What makes it hard is that sleep monsters, like trolls, lurk under every bush particularly when you have been on the go for over 18 hours. The trickier the nav the easier it is to stay awake. The converse is also true. 

This stretch wasn't without points of interest. Ten minutes after leaving the tar we approached a car on the side of the road with its hazards on. Clearly the driver thought we were another car and had gotten out the car to flag us down. As we rode past we heard him say "bicycle." Clearly we were a huge disappointment. We did wonder at his chances of getting help on this road at midnight. Fifteen minutes later we came across two inebriated souls who were carrying what looked like a 5 litre can of petrol between then and assumed they had been dispatched many hours before to get fuel for the car. Clearly their skills at tracking down shebeens trumped their fuel sourcing skills. But they seemed to have fuel, could still walk after a fashion and were headed in the right direction. I remember thinking "if they hurry they might just make it to the car before the storm hits." They at least were headed away from the storm. We on the other hand were heading into the teeth of the beast. 

For the last four hours we had watched the lighting storm ahead of us build in intensity. It started as a distant flash and had over he last few hours grown until it filled the whole sky ahead of us. I told Casper I wasn't going to get worried about it until I could hear the thunder. The very next lightning bolt produced audible thunder. We rolled on as the storm wrapped its arms around us without a drop of rain falling where we were. Nearing Gouevlei we decided to "suit up" and not a moment too soon. That was the start of 9 almost continuous hours of rain. After an hour it stopped briefly. Casper had sleep monsters crawling all over him so we stopped for 15 minutes. I spent 14 of those minutes listening to Casper snore away gently as he vanquished the monsters. I envied his ability to sleep so easily. The rain started again and we pressed on. 30 minutes later I realised that Casper hadn't vanquished the monsters. He had in fact piled them onto me. With another brief lull in the rain I tried to get some shuteye myself. After a minute it started pouring again so I gave up any attempt at sleep and instead had a running battle with the beasties all the way to Brosterlea. We were tired and cold and spoke at length about how good a few gallons of hot tea would feel in our bellies. The turn off to Brosterlea was like a kettle watched. It seemed as if it would never appear. Finally, it showed in the glow of our lights and we scuttled off in anticipation of something warm. We opened the door to the Silos where we could see Anthony Avidon's bike propped and discovered to our dismay that there had been a power cut. Given the intensity of the storm we had endured it was hardly surprising. It was 3:30am and we were tired, cold and hungry. The storm outside had worsened and we were in no hurry to run outside and play. 

Easy night riding.

Out of Moordenaarspoort we had a gentle breeze that while neither hindering nor helping our headway had a pleasant cooling effect that allowed us to make good speed over the ground. It did occur to us that with Tim holed up in bed we were in second position on the race behind Alex as the only people who has pressed on beyond Moordenaarspoort on the first day. We weren't fooling ourselves that we were stronger than the mighty Tim James and counted ourselves lucky to to feeling strong on our bikes.
Casper still had problems with his tyre deflating. When it got too soggy I would ride on slowly while he stopped to pump the tyre. Every time he caught up he would accuse me of sprinting off and making it harder for him to catch me. I actually slowed to make it easier for him. It highlighted the benefit of continuously moving forward which it what characterises the way I ride. I told Casper he would have time at the next support station to sort the tyre out while I made tea and heated dinner. In the mean time he must just pump it hard.
45 minutes into this section we met with a car coming in the opposite direction. The road being narrow we pulled over to let the bakkie pass. It stopped next to us. Quite satisfied that it was just a pair of cyclists Casper and the farmer got chatting. I understood just about nothing of the conversation and Casper unwound it for me as we rode on. Apparently at a farm behind us someone had mistaken our lights for a suspicious slow moving vehicle and the news had been relayed via the farm radio network. They knew about the race and where we were headed. The week before they had lost 70 sheep to stock theft so were extra vigilant.
He said the farmer also said we were mad. No offence taken at that but the slow moving part did rankle somewhat.
Passing the old store and turning into the jeep tracks through the farms I stopped to phone home and check in with Meryl while Casper pumped his tyre. Meryl asked how strong we felt in a scale of 1 to 10. The easy answer was 10, we felt great. It was at that moment I saw the first distant flash of lightning on the horizon in the direction we were headed.
In spite of all the stops to pump tyres, chat to the farmer and phone home it took us just short of 2 hours to cover the 40 km's to Kranskop from Moordenaarspoort. We were on a roll!

Hunting trip out of Moordenaarspoort.

Since leaving The Bonthoek farmhouse Casper had been having problems with his back wheel. He would stop every so often and pump it up. Just before arriving at Moordenaarpoort he stopped to pump it again. I went ahead to the farmhouse and tucked into a plate of creamy butternut soup and a few cups of tea while Casper poured water over his tyre to see if he could find where it was leaking. When Casper joined me the hosts were surprised we had arrived so early and asked if we were pushing on to sleep at Kranskop. We had been on the go for almost 13 hours. With sunset the temperature had plummeted making it more conducive to cranking out some serious miles. Casper later confessed that he would have been quite happy to clock out for the day. My reply was that we would sleep when we got to Cradock. Casper merely rolled his eyes and continued spooning soup down his throat. 

Finishing, I rose from the table, thanked the hosts and told Casper he better hurry if he didn't want to get left behind. With that I went outside, grabbed my bike and make my way over to the cottage to use the bathroom, fill my bottles and refresh my chamois cream. Unknown to me, Casper came outside, didn't see my bike in the shadows, called out a few times, cursed me for leaving him behind and dashed out the gate and down the road in hot pursuit. I came out the bathroom to find Tim and the hosts looking bemused. "He has gone to hunt you down!" 

"Really?" I replied. "Thanks going to be very interesting because he is a lot faster than me."

Fortunately the hunt was short lived. I ride without maps and rely solely on memory. I figured Casper would have to dig out his maps and figure out which way to go. That would slow him slightly. That's exactly what happened. Getting to the first turn and unable to see me Casper sorted his maps and settled down for some night navigation. He confided in me later that he was very disappointed. He thought we were getting on nicely and really didn't expect me to pull a fast one on him. 

Turning on to the district road I could see Casper's lights a few kilometres up the road heading off at 90 degrees to my right. He obviously caught sight of my lights and came to a stop setting his headlight to strobe. Satisfied that he had seen me I made my way up the road and together we continued on our way to Kranskop 40 km's ahead. 

Slaapkranz to Moordenaarspoort

The trip from Slaapkranz to the Moordenaarspoort emergency support station is only 57 km's but straight out the door you have to take on the back to back portage pair of Slaapkranz and Bonthoek. If you can knock off those first 22 km's in under 3h30 you have done well. 

Tim finished his lunch and scurried out the door while Casper and I settled into a routine that would continue through the next few days. The hosts would engage us in conversation and occasionally I would look toward Casper who would translate the gist of the chat. The hosts would often switch to English after realising I was a rooinek but that would only last a few seconds before they unwittingly reverted to Afrikaans.

Lunch eaten, bottles replenished we slide out the door at 12:50. At the bottom of the first portage which I refer to as The Scar we saw Tim a few hundred metres above us. I knew from previous experience that he was at least 25 minutes ahead. I swing my bike up onto my back and started the trudge up the mountain. It's was tedious. My shoulders and arms started aching and my thigh muscles burned but the best way to get up is to switch off your mind and keep plodding for the 30 minutes it takes. My mind was alert enough to spot a snake as it slithered past but I didn't break my rhythm. 

Having got up the worst of the climb Casper asked what the plan was. We could see Tim higher up on the mountain but I had no intention of climbing that high. We hopped a fence and contoured around to a nek where we hopped another fence and 

dropped down onto a cattle track. We could see Tim making his way down off the ridge in our direction. As the cattle track converged with the jeep track that would take us off the mountain we caught up with Tim. 

Out clever sneak around the top of the mountain had obviously played a role in closing the gap on Tim but he was also starting to look a little grey around the gills. 

The three of us settled into a comfortable and efficient rotation of opening and closing the gates on the way down to the district road. We had made good time crossing the first mountain and wasted little time in heading up the valley to take on the next.

Scrambling up the cattle track that leads to the last contoured ridge Tim slowed and soon Casper and I were hundreds of metres ahead. What we didn't know at the time is that he was busy donating the contents of his stomach to the mountain gods. 

We waited for him to catch up at the summit and trailed him down the mountain to the uninhabited Bonthoek farmhouse where we stopped to replenish our bottles. 

I scratched around for some rehydrate which I normally carry but came up empty. Casper gave him an effervescent electrolyte tablet which he added to a bottle and took a swig. Fairly soon Tim was on all fours desperately trying to not heave. I told Tim that he didn't look particularly legendary like that. 

We continued on to Rossouw and as Tim was feeling bleak we went to the Rossouw Super Shop to get some cokes. Don't be fooled by the fancy name. It is just a hole in the wall spazza shop. 

Tim couldn't finish his Coke and as we  started the grind out of Rossouw he told us to push on without him as he was going to go to ground in Moordenaarspoort until he felt better. We rode on without him and arrived in Moordenaarspoort about 10 minutes ahead of Tim at 18:40.

On to Slaapkrans

It had taken us 4h15 to get to Chesney Wold. Refreshed with tea and a selection of fine nibbles we were back on the road 11 minutes later. We knew Tim was only 5 or 6 minutes ahead and we were keen to keep in touch with him. The first support station was only 38 km's up the trail. With the first big portage of the race in this stretch we were hoping to cover the distance in 3 hours. Hitting the first steep climb of the day I changed into granny gear and my chain over shifted on the rear cassette and got properly stuck between the cassette and spokes. This was hardly surprising as I had only assembled the bike the day before I had headed down to the race and apart from not test riding the bike I had installed new shifter cables and a rear dérailleur and clearly hadn't got it perfect. After freeing the chain, not without some effort I might add, I ran through my mantra for figuring out which limit screw to adjust to prevent the chain jumping off again. Is it the H (high) screw or the L (low) screw? Before steep descents on roads there are generally signs reminding truck drivers to select an appropriate gear to use engine breaking to slow their descent. "Heavy vehicles engage high gear," I chanted myself. Quite clearly I had to turn in the H screw as that was the high gear. Half way up the climb the chain jumped off again. This time it took a full 2 minutes to free up the chain. I got out my multitool and gave the H screw a good number of turns. The funny thing is that the dérailleur didn't budge at all. Slightly perplexed I ran the mantra again - "heavy vehicles engage LOW gear."  Darn, I had messed it up and turned the wrong screw. I wound the H screw out a few turns to where I thought it might have been before my befuddlement and turned the L screw in a quarter turn. The dérailleur responded immediately and I knew the chain over shift was a thing of the past. 

Heading into the farm Kapokraal I was chatting away with Casper who was riding next to me when he came to a sudden skidding halt. I stopped about 20 metres ahead and asked what the problem was. Less than a metre in front of him lay a Cobra. It hadn't reared and just lay still on the ground with its hood slightly flared. It's yellow/orange colouration was beautiful. 

"That was close," said Casper. "That's the problem with only having rear brakes."  

The night before Casper had given his bike the once over before the start and all was in order. As he pushed his bike to the start he realised his front brakes were completely dysfunctional and they remained that way to the finish.  

After admiring the snake for a minute we continued up toward the farmhouse of Kapokraal. Allow me a digression here. I have since learnt that kapok is a name for a type of soft/slushy snow - if not, then someone can enlighten me. Anyway, in the race of 2007 I had never heard the word before. In fact, I didn't even know we got snow in South Africa. The first time I heard the word used in a sentence was while lying in bed at the Romansfontein support station. It was the early hours of the morning and Will and Stephanie's youngest daughter looked out the window in the sitting room adjacent to where we were still snuggled under blankets and declared in an excited way "Dit kapok!" Having no idea what she said  I asked Rowan in the bed next to me what that meant. He pulled his blankets up higher and answered, "It means we are going to have a bad day!"  We did!

Passing the farm house we started up the portage and could just see Tim a few hundred metres ahead. We took the low line along the wetland and made good time to the top. Cresting the ridge we made our way down to the old ruin on the other side. Casper had never seen the murals before so we spent some time looking at the paintings as well as marvelling at the ox wagon that is parked in the shed behind the house. 

I am always left with a sadness about the lifeless state of these abandoned houses and wonder at what they were like when people stayed there. I stand still and strain to hear the echoes of yesteryear. To hear the voices of families around the dinner table, kids running around the garden or special occasions like birthdays and weddings being celebrated. 

We exited the house through the old front door and found 2 herdsmen propped against the derelict walls smoking home rolled cigarettes. 

We picked up the old jeep track leading away from the ruin and 7 hours 20 minutes after leaving Rhodes we had covered the first 105 km's to arrive at the first support station. As we walked inside Slaapkranz farmhouse we found Tim tucking into a hearty plate of food. By checking the race sheet we had to fill out we noticed Alex had left more than an hour before. 

Rhodes to Chesney Wold

Leaving The Rubicon it was apparent that the three big guns were intent on getting on with the show. As we rounded the first turn down the driveway Alex slowed briefly, turned his head toward me and wished me a good ride - a nice touch. With that he was gone. By the time we had cleared town Casper and I were officially last in a race of 25 seasoned riders - being the inaugural Race to Cradock it was opened to only finishers of a previous Freedom Challenge event. By the time we reached the first climb it was still dark and we could only make out two riders ahead of us. Alex was nowhere to be seen. 

Crossing the Bokspruit river we caught up to Robbie. Just beyond the river the road splits and the race takes the right hand fork. Casper decided it would be fun to mess with Robbie. Robbie turned right and Casper sprinted up the left fork and shouted back, "Robbie, where are you going?" 

Robbie dutifully turned around and followed Casper up the wrong road. Casper chuckled before turning around and headed back the way Robbie had just come. Robbie did a big loop and fell in behind us. In truth it was really funny until we heard Robbies laboured breathing.  He hasn't enjoyed the best of health lately and he was wheezing like an emphysema sufferer. Safe to say we felt awful. 

Robbie stayed in touch for a few kilometres before the elastic snapped and we could no longer see him behind us. In truth we were concerned about him. We heard later that he battled through to Chesney Wold where he retired from the race. 

I had originally intended to skip the interim support station of Chesney Wold but gave in to the temptation of a good cup of tea as well as wanting to show appreciation for the effort Minkie makes in catering for the riders. We arrived to find Tim's bike propped against the fence next to the house. As we walked in we passed Tim who was on his way out. Minkie went out to see Tim off and we surveyed a table set with enough food to feed an army. But it was tea we sought more than food. Fortunately, I know my way around the kitchen and by the time Minkie had finished chatting to Tim outside and returned to the kitchen we were gulping down mugs of tea and tucking into the spread before us. 

Race start

Race to Cradock

As I sit at my desk back in my Johannesburg office I am not sure how to blog the 63 hour adventure I shared with Casper Venter. There is no merit is doing a day by day account as it ran as a non-stop film strip. There were no days as such. It was just light then dark and then it got light again and sometime later it got very dark and wet and we spent a few hours snuggled under a bush before it got light and then the sun peeked out briefly before it got dark and very wet and we arrived at the finish having covered a few kilometres short of 600 kilometres in just over 63 hours.  

I knew very little about Casper Venter before the race but it was no accident that he had been assigned a last batch start which is typically reserved for riders wanting to race the event hard. 

We arrived in Rhodes in appalling weather. The roads were snotty and everything looked and felt bleak. Walking into the building I met Casper for the first time. Apparently he had spoken to Glenn, the race director, and Glenn told him I wasn't fast but would just keep going so he should look to tag along. The big guns of Alex, Tim and Robbie methodically readied their kit while I flopped on a couch in front of the fire. Casper and I made some polite conversation. Just before lights out I spoke to Casper and asked him what his race strategy was. He said he had none but would like to ride with me. Generally I like to ride alone but Casper struck me as particularly congenial and I was immediately up for the company. 

The rain fell off and on during the night and by the time we got up at 4am it had stopped raining. I coaxed down some food and joined the other 4 at the low-key start. Glenn looked at his watch and as it said 5 o'clock wished us well. The race had started. 

Arrived at the start

In Rhodes. As I lie here up to my neck   in a bath of hot water I can hear the steady rhythm of rain on the roof. 

I departed Johannesburg early this morning in the company of Alex, Tim and Robbie. These guys are well organised, meticulously equipped and psyched up for the challenge ahead. Their mounts make mine blush with embarrassment. Kilograms lighter and fitted with Tri-bars theirs look every bit the kit of athletes who know their craft. 

180 km's short of Rhodes the skies opened and continued sheeting down on us all the way to Rhodes. The 4x4 setting on the car came in handy as the dirt roads into Rhodes got snottier. The rain was accompanied by insane winds and spectacular lightning that rivalled any Highveld storm. 

We are all doing our best to convince each other that it will blow over by morning in spite of all weather apps suggesting this is just the beginning of 3 days of steady rain. Reports from down the trail attest to the extent of the inclement weather. I nearly fell off my bike earlier riding across the parking lot - they make really slippery mud in this part of the world. 

The 55 hour race-your-age just got a whole lot trickier. The worst part of the race for mud occurs within first 150 km's. After that it is challenging but less likely to have you sawing at your neck with a Leatherman. 

Almost ready for Race to Cradock

Friday morning. Tomorrow I load my bike into the car and drive down to the sleepy hamlet of Rhodes in the Eastern Cape. From there I will join the tail end of a steady stream of riders making their way to Cradock. Tail end in two ways. Riders depart Rhodes in small batches every day for four days starting yesterday. My batch on Sunday is the last. The last day is typically reserved for those who want to race hard and the race winner is most likely to come from that batch. I am without question the slowest rider in that batch so will be the sweeper right out of the start gate. My batch has two previous Freedom Challenge record breakers and winners in Tim James and Alex Harris. Then we have Robbie McIntosh known primarily for his exploits on a road bike (particularly in time trials) is no slouch on a mountain bike and if memory serves has partnered Tim on the Absa Cape Epic. The last of the racing snakes is Casper Venter. I don't know his pedigree but do know he is fit and fast. My only hope of company was Allen Sharpe who has had to withdrawn with an arm injury. 

The format is non-stop covering a distance just shy of 600 kilometres. There are support stations spaces roughly every 100km's and while they supply food, water, showers and beds they are entirely optional except that you must sign in and out at each.   

I rode the route last week over 6 days and it is fairly straight forward. As such, it doesn't play to my strength which is navigation. For example the route to the first support station entails just 7 turns - 4 left and 3 right. The others in my start batch are going to spit it out in no time at all. I expect I will be an hour slower than the fastest rider to Slaapkranz. 

Bike is finally patched together. It's looking a bit like an Oxfam hand me down but I have all confidence it will get the job down. 

So hard to start a new chapter

The novel wordometer clicks over slowly. I am now just a few keystrokes shy of 36k. 

Every thousand words or so I start a new scene (a chapter or part of a chapter) The first line of every scene is always a mission. Each scene must be afforded the respect it deserves. The reader must be sucked in anew. A great opening line in scene one can make a reader think 'this book might be interesting'. After that the challenge is to dare the reader to put it down. As a writer that is one dare you hope to lose. 

The opening line of subsequent related scenes is but one half of a couplet. We normally associate couplets with poetry but I think it works in this context. I found this origin of the word couplet: "two pieces of iron riveted or hinged together." 

The last line of every scene should be 'riveted' together with the opening line of the next pulling the reader through the temptation to bookmark the page. For example, you could finish a scene as follows; "The events of the day hadn't gone as planned, the full extent of which wouldn't be apparent until he got to Grandma's house."

That wraps up a scene and plants the seed of expectation. The opening line of the next scene at Grandma's house must justify the turning of the page. 

I have no idea what happened at Grandma's house but I certainly know what happened when my main character arrived at the hippies house expecting to have a meeting with his friendly cop. 

Riding Through Sand

Writing a novel is a bit like riding a mountain bike through sand. Not the small patches, but rather the long and unavoidable stretches you encounter on remote jeep tracks during races. 

The first time I encountered sand like that was on a race in the Cederberg nine years ago. It ended with me deposited on a bed of ground hugging thorns except they had taken to hugging my backside. 

Such was the misery I decided I would skill up to avoid a reoccurrence. The first thing to do is understand what you did wrong so that you can figure out what to do right. The biggest mistake was trying to hold my line. I tried to force the bike along a given path. The "come hell or high water" approach is doomed to failure in this instance. 

My new method has served me well in the years since then. When I see a sand trap approaching I increase my cadence and then follow the bike. Meaning that I don't dictate the line. I allow the sand to direct the bike any which way it chooses and I go with the flow. Sometime that flow results in me cascading over thorn bushes or  cutting a new path through the veld. Once through I point my bike back in the right direction and get on with the job. 

From time to time as I write my plot hits a sandy patch and it's fun to see where it takes me. 

Writing is easy.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Ernest Hemingway

Oh the imagery that quote evokes. I see the writer slumped over a typewriter, wracked with angst. The frenetic tuk-tuk of keys striking parchment in a desperate attempt to find words that will give voice to the story within. Finally, with a flourish, nicotine stained fingers reach forward liberating the sheet from its bonds. Rheumy eyes scour the page. Even as the crumpled ball arcs through the air in search of the dark recesses of the cabin a new gladiator takes guard. 

This NaNoWriMo rookie is almost like that sans the typewriter, angst, rheumy eyes, cigarettes and pile of discarded paper. I also forgot to mention the the lack of the story within. 

The couch is snug as long as there is room for a comfortable cushion and space to put my feet up. The cell phone is a great substitute for a chunky typewriter, or laptop computer for that matter. 

And The Big Bang Theory is a great way of entertaining myself between keystrokes. Not so difficult to be a writer after all. 

NaNoWriMo Day 3 Update

Day 3 of NaNoWriMo finds my main character (MC) in the company of his annoying albeit faithful friend. A rising desperation to locate a character abducted in Chapter 2 has the MC's friend uttering the words "The dog ate it". 

The characters are emerging from the pages as I write. The personalities evolving. A main character who at times takes himself too seriously has a sidekick who is the perfect counterpoint. The MC is on the verge of stumbling into an underworld that shakes his perfect world. 

I have found writing to be an all consuming and exhausting process. The fact that I am writing on my cell phone means I am never far from a keyboard. As the plot emerges in my head it is instantly committed to 'paper'.

Creating things is what I do, but there is a vulnerability in writing that does not exist in other forms of creativity. If I make a contraption that ticks the boxes of form and function I am satisfied. Questions like "but what does it do?" arouse no feeling of disappointment. Appreciation doesn't come easy in a technical knowledge vacuum. But everybody reads. 

Some people claim to write for personal satisfaction but is that really the case? 

Somerset Maugham once commented that a book is incomplete until it has a reader. André Maurois wrote, "He, the writer, has written with the deliberate purpose of revealing the truth about himself and about the world as he sees it. The revelation can have no point unless it reaches those for whom it is intended."

I as a writer should be mindful of my audience and should craft a story that resonates with them. Some will like it and some will think it sucks. 

My quote of the day is also by André Maurois: "We appreciate frankness from those who like us. Frankness from others is called insolence."

Show don't tell

Apparently I am the last wannabe writer on the planet to hear about the maxim "show don't tell". 

It's a real gem. Without it my writing would slip into yawn worthy narrative. 

So, rather than jawing on about what it is lets demonstrate - show rather than tell. 

For example, instead of saying Neil was really tall we can write "Neil folded himself into the drivers seat of his 3 series".

Take this longer albeit simple example. 

   As he opened the barn door he heard a noise coming from inside. Suddenly filled with fear he stood rooted on the spot. Was that Sam or the gunman inside the barn? As he stood there wondering if he should turn and run a chicken rushed out passed him 

We are told he is scared and of what. The fear is resolved because it was just a chicken. 

Instead of simply rewording the passage we need to treat it as a scene. We could rewrite it as follows. 

   The barn door finally yielded to the force of his shoulder. The eerie screech of rusted hinges sending shivers down his spine. 

   Eyes searching the gloomy interior he suddenly took a step back, "Sam, it that you?"

No reply. His ears strained to pick up the sound of movement. Someone is in here he thought, I definitely heard a noise. Nothing but the sound of his heart as it beat like a drum against his ribs. 

   His mind raced. It can't be Sam he reasoned. His mouth suddenly dry he realised the only other person around could at that very second be pointing a gun at him. 

   The realisation turned his feet to lead and any thought of escape thwarted.  

  A flurry of feathers at his feet..... Etc. 

Anyway, that's the general idea. Get the reader to sense - hear, see, smell feel - the story. 

One more big sleep and I am still so thin on skills. 

Creating a main Character

Two more big sleeps before the word nerds (yup, that includes me) start banging away on their keyboards in the quest to drop 50000 words on the hard drive in 30 days. 

My goal today is to complete my main characters bio. It will be a comprehensive description covering every aspect of his life. Yes, my MC is a guy. 

In order to bring a character to life in the minds of the reader it is important for the writer to create a character in depth before words inflate their lungs and give them life. It includes, the obvious stuff such as name, age, height, weight, colour of eyes and hair, etc. It could include a date of birth, the fact that he doesn't like carrots, keeps tooth picks in his car, is allergic to cats, only ever wears lace up shoes and  is a fastidious dresser. 

Small details like having 2 sisters, a widowed mother who he visits every second Thursday, enjoys online chess and has his suits dry cleaned every second week add depth. He might not currently be in a relationship but the details of his past relationships should be detailed. How long, why did they end, how were they terminated?

  What is his personality like? Maybe he doesn't suffer fools gladly, perhaps he is long suffering. Is he sensitive or not. Is he opinionated. Does he squeeze the tooth paste tube from the end or the middle. 

While most of this detail will never be revealed in the story it helps the writer to deliver a person who responds in accordance with his world view shaped by past experiences and prejudices. Just like a real person would. 

 We as individuals often reveal different facets of ourselves dependant on the situation we are in. Our boardroom persona may and should differ significantly from the person who dresses up as a clown to entertain his 2 years olds friends at a birthday party. However, no mater what facet is in view, the underlying gem is still the same. Warts and all.

Readers expect their heroes to be consistent. Failure to define and deliver a consistent and believable character will result in the reader disconnecting and interest in the story line drying up. 

Write what you know

As I contemplate and plan my first novel I have found the process thoroughly absorbing. While a novel is the goal, I am currently more intrigued by the process as I dip my little toe in the waters of the writers world. I would love to say 'immerse' but, apart from being arrogant, it would do a huge injustice to those people who have spent decades of their lives developing and honing their skills. 

I love the documentaries about the making of movies. The actors talk about their characters in the movie as if they are real people - their inner turmoil, prejudices, passions and key motivators. Actors understand the importance of indwelling a character. 

Successful writers instinctively understand the importance of crafting real characters. Actually, I detect that  there are at least two distinct character development skills at play but more about that in a later blog. 

Right now I want to explore the first rule of writing that most people are familiar with - write what you know. 

Let me say up front that what I say on this blog about writing is merely my first glance interpretation of how the various skills and tools interact. It will probably seem incredibly naive to seasoned writers, like my buddy Fiona Coward who started on this process many years ago. That's okay. I hope that in years to come I myself find it cringeworthy. Some may call it embarrassing. I like to think of it as personal growth. If my perception hasn't moved on it means I am either incredibly perceptive or I am simply as naive as when I started. 

"Write what you know." What does that mean? If you are an engineer should the story be about engineers or orbit around the axis of their experiences? It could, but I believe the injunction encapsulated in those  four simple words has much broader scope. 

Firstly, there is an implication to not write about what you do not know. For example, if I decided to write a plot set in Elizabethan England I would be on a hiding to nowhere. I could Google "Elizabethan England facts" and get a handful of shallow detail that I could weave into the story - cruel punishments for inconsequential 'crimes', wreaths of garlic to keep germs at bay, etc.. However it would lack the attention to detail that would breathe life into the scenes. Furthermore, anyone even remotely familiar with the period would quickly reassign your book  to the section of the library marked 'humour'.

   The thing that consumes most of our time on daily basis does not define what we know. For example, Doug is an engineer. That's not all he knows. He could also be an amateur adventurer, a husband, a father of a member or the PTA. We know a lot more than we think we know. We understand love, fear, hunger and uncertainty, to mention a few. Draw on those experiences and emotions when writing them into your story. 

  Now for a twist. There are those who say the guideline of 'write what you know' is problematic as it builds barriers and limits would-be authors who consider themselves boring. 

I have been surprised at the interest in fantasy. I have no appetite for the genre but apparently it is served up on huge buffet tables with queues of people waiting to select their poison from a surfeit of choice. 

The beauty of fantasy is that the author knows everything about that world and its people's. I imagine however, that it take an enormous amount of skill to build and populate that world in the mind of the reader. Lack of appetite aside, I don't have the skills to attempt that. 

   I am going with a far simpler approach. My story will take place in a contemporary setting - Jo'burg, 2014. I live here and now so I know the setting. That's one hurdle less for me to navigate. 

Strawberry Jam and Novel Writing

Fiona Coward put a post on our Weekend Rides Whatsapp Group a month ago asking if anyone had any spare lever-lock keys. I had a whole bunch so offered her a pile. 

We got together and she mentioned they were for her annual NaNoWriMo kickoff. As it was a steampunk theme I offered to make her a whole pile of squared gear thingymajigs. I kind of knew she was invoked in an annual novel writing thing but was short on detail. NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. The goal per the website is as follows:

"National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. On November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 PM on November 30. Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought fleetingly about writing a novel."

To save you a long story you can go read more about it at www.Nanowrimo.org  

Fiona asked casually "why don't you do it?" With no Munga in my immediate future I pretty much decided there and then that it would be a good idea to swap my pedals for a pen. 

Is there a novel waiting to burst out of my head? No. Did I have any idea of what I was going to write about?Again, No. 

Often you hear the phrase 'you should write a book about that', but the reality is that many think about it and a tiny few convert that thought into words on a page. 

I thought it would be interesting to temporarily reinvent this blog space and keep a conversation going in parallel with writing a book. 

I am no writer. I have never done any creative writing but I think it could be a whole pile of fun. I have a lot to learn about crafting dialogue, creating and resolving gripping conflict and developing a credible plot populated with believable characters and scenarios. 

Fiona's advise, "don't overthink it, just vomit the words on to the page. You can always edit it afterwards."

This is where the strawberry jam comes into play. Chris Morris always advises people who are feeling nauseous to eat strawberry jam. He assures them it does nothing for the nausea but it sure makes the vomit taste better. I am busying myself scratching through the interwebs trying to learn as much as I can before the vomit process begins. 

Munga race postponed until Dec 2015

Press release this morning saying that owing to the key sponsor pulling out the inaugural running of The Munga will be postponed for a year.
It's a tough call for the organisers and I am not sure it is the right one. I would have preferred the race to have gone ahead albeit with a reduced entry fee and a commensurate decrease in the prize money. I believe it could have been rebranded as a Million Rand race and the entry fee reduced substantially. There is a domestic appetite for tough races and the idea of racing the first edition has appeal. They are going to get slaughtered on the social media platforms as already witnessed on The Hub. The fixation on a million dollar race is probably the downfall. It's a huge purse but a purse that is effectively shared by 3 winning teams and one lucky draw. Once you have a handful of true contenders you have to ask how much of a draw card is a lucky draw prize? Is it worth $10k entry fee to stand a chance to win $100k? Very few people will turn their noses up at $100k but to be honest, if you can afford to stump up $10k to enter, $100k is unlikely to change your life and you are certainly not going to enter the race just to have a remote chance of winning a lucky draw.
I can understand the sponsor withdrawing. I have absolutely no knowledge of the who, what or why of the deal but assume that someone was happy to underwrite the prize money after being presented with the entry forecast. After all,the press around the race indicated a cut off at 450 teams. Do the maths and you will see the prize money as well as the logistics and admin around the race would have been well covered even at only half that number of teams.
It's back to the drawing board for the organisers. Sadly for them the echoes of the naysayers will reverberate for a while yet.

Preparation/Trepidation

My race partner Sean Badenhorst used the word combination preparation/trepidation to describe his activities and mindset leading up to The Munga. The key word in this combo is "trepidation". It's often paired with fear as in "...with fear and trepidation...". Fear is a synonym for trepidation so pairing those words simply aids to underscore the feeling of disquiet and anxiety. Anxiety ahead of and during a race can be decidedly debilitating. My first Freedom Challenge race was back in 2007. I think I lost about 10 kg's that year, most of it due to anxiety. The Freedom Trail route takes riders into and through some incredibly remote spaces both geographically and mentally. When you don't know what lies yonder you feel like a nervous explorer of old heading over the horizon into an area marked 'hic sunt dracones' 'here are dragons'. Had a very real sense of that during the 2007 Freedom. Somewhere just north of Molteno it started snowing and what at first was a picturesque fairytale setting soon settled into a desperate fight to survive the weather. In hindsight it wasn't so bad but I had absolutely no idea where the trail was headed and what obstacles I would face so the desperation mushroomed in that knowledge vacuum. Foreknowledge of the challenges you will face allows you to mentally prepare. Leading up to this years Race to Rhodes I had mentally ridden the race at least once everyday for the last month. Detailed knowledge of the terrain allowed me to formulate a minute by minute strategy that apart from an unforeseen wind storm worked out almost as planned. 

Heading up to The Munga we know only half a dozen things, start near Bloemfontein, end near Stellenbosch, support stations roughly every 180 km's and water should be available every 60 kms or so. No seconding and outside assistance. That's it. 

Oh, one more thing we thought we knew - the route will be marked. Can confidently say it is highly unlikely as logistically it is impossible to do so. The race route will be GPS guided. 

With all the uncertainty, don't get me wrong, I am not criticising, the mental preparation is limited to the obvious challenges such as how and what will I eat and drink, how long before I stop to sleep etc. 

The physical preparation is all about hardening up on the bike, predominantly time in the saddle. 

Lacking data you tend to speculatively fill in the blanks. I guess we will leave Bloemfontein and head toward Stellenbosch keeping west of the N1. That should route us near De Aar toward the Roggeveld mountains near Sutherland before dropping into the Western Cape and then snake through the Skurweberge mountains near Ceres to Tulbagh and then head south to the finish. All wild speculation! The route will be revealed the day before the race by which time the die will already be well and truly cast. 

Without adequate mental hard points to fix on the challenge is tougher. Fear is amplified. You either succumb to that fear or use it to motivate. As a motivator it is a powerful tool. Sure I have fears. Fear of failing to finish, fear of being the weak link in the partnership. These fears properly harnessed will be the motivation to get out on my bike, get me into a regular stretching and body conditioning regime and get me to push beyond my comfort zones. 

I have heard people say it takes a certain amount of courage to embark on a race like The Munga. It's going to be hard and we are going to hurt and most certainly go to dark places and the prospect of not finishing is a very real threat. For those of us who have experienced the hardship of endurance events these very challenges are what makes our ears prick up and and those desperate words roll uncontrollably from our lips "please pick me"

"Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear; The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all." Meg Cabot

Slow progress

This past weekend I rode the 3 day Mankele 3 Towers Race with Gavin George. Firstly let me say what an amazing race. It's tough with 2 standout components - plenty of climbing and some awesome single track sections called "Bush Tunnels". The bush tunnels are essentially dry water courses carved out by storm water. They are thickly bushed with plenty of rocks in the dry river bed. A lot of effort has been made to clear a technical single track through these ravines often for a number of kilometres. Gavin was much stronger than me as expected. It was a bit of a wake up call for me ahead of The Munga. We finished 76/150 in GC and 24/50 in sub vets which is Gavin's age group. I didn't have enough power to scamper up the climbs and that cost us. Need to work on dropping more weight. Sean Badenhorst is in good shape and is a full 10kgs lighter than me. Excess blubber is a poor travel companion on a bike. 

A few days rest and it's back to the training grind. I need to improve both my endurance and speed. I have good plodding endurance but that will not serve well on The Munga as its going to be a flat fast race. Will plan to hook up with Sean for training rides and we can start figuring out how our riding styles are going to mesh. Interestingly enough we have only ever ridden together once and that was a short night ride. 

Water affairs

I have started weighing myself before and after my hour long lunch rides to get a sense of how much weigh I lose through sweat and respiration. The figures are rather alarming. Currently I average a weight loss of 800g over an hour. (Water/weight ratios are 1:1 - 1 litre of water weights 1 kg.) For my typical Magaliesburg rides I don't take any form of hydration apart from a mid-ride bullet coffee at the Wimpy. Those rides typically take 3 hours. So my water losses are probably 2.5 litres and I replenish that with 350 ml. That's a deficit of 2.15 litres. Over 3 hours that's all well and good as a glass or two of water and a pot of tea over the next few hours and it's fixed. Also, as noted in a previous link, there are performance benefits to be gained from running a little dehydrated in training. 

Now fast forward to the Karoo in December. Temperatures in the 40's. Hourly hydration losses of ???  I guess a conservative guess would be 1 litre an hour moving at a moderate pace. Over 14 daylight hours that's 14 litres. Then add in the nighttime hours albeit at a lower rate. It's fine to do a 3 hour ride and get slightly dehydrated but over the long haul you will need to retain a good hydration at all times particularly if you intend to cycle 20-22 hours of every day. Research suggests that the max safe oral hydration is 1 litre per hour. Beyond that there is an increased risk of electrolyte imbalance that could lead to hyponatraemia (decreased blood salt levels) in which case you turn into a human sponge and you can absorb plenty of water before you drop down dead. Hyponatraemia is a real risk and this needs to countered through supplemental sodium intake. There are lots of electrolyte replacement options like Rehydrate and the new fizzy pills like High5 and a myriad of other brands that you can pop into your water. Unless informed otherwise it would be safe to assume that you will need to start the race with enough supply to get to the finish as there won't be any at the support stations. Riders in the habit of taking specialised race nutritional supplements would be better served ditching some of that and include more electrolyte additives unless they want to carry everything from the start. Normal food will do the trick from a nutritional standpoint as you pass through support stations but not specifically supplementing electrolytes can lead to disaster. 

Lets make some assumptions starting with an average traveling speed of 15km/h. Water points on The Munga are roughly 60 Km's apart. So you only need water for 4 hours. So the simple maths with my current hydration guesstimate makes the requirement 4 litres. That's a 2 litre Camelbak and 3 bottles. Carrying an extra 4kgs is huge. Endurance race experience has highlighted that my hydration requirements are a lot lower than the average rider so for some it could be upwards of 6 litres. It's logistically challenging. Stronger guys will ride a lot faster and might get through water points every 3 hours. Some will be slower and take 5. Add a headwind and it starts to get interesting. Above 35 Celsius normal sweat functions are impaired. Smart clothing choices that maximise evaporative cooling effects become imperative. It is primarily the electrolytic losses through sweating that needs to be replenished. In a 1 hour spin class you can drip out 3 litres of sweat but it takes a few hours for you body to effectively replace that volume. Go for a hike and you sweat a lot less and can easily keep your hydration in balance. I think it's going to be interesting to figure out the right pace to ride at. That pace will be informed more by establishing a hydration balance than how am I doing on the leader board. 

Anyway, this is all based on my initial measurements. Will continue to study the losses and see if they improve. Will also ride at different intensities and see how that impacts on losses. 

This race format is new and exciting. No one, including the race organisers know how this is actually going to play out. Riding is riding but the extreme endurance and challenging environmental aspects combine to make this one huge science experiment where we are the guinea pigs and the public are the observers. Certainly not going to be boring. 

Training observations

In the last 8 days I have cycled 430 Km's on my MTB over 7 rides. That's 23 hours of riding. On the face of it it's a reasonable amount of training but in context of the upcoming race it's an average effort. What is worrying is how tired I feel.
Last Saturday I rode 200 Km's on a Mini Munga ride with a handful of other Munga entrants. I struggled. If Anne Robinson was around she no doubt would have quipped "You are the weakest link, goodbye!" To add insult to injury she may well have recycled one of her more acerbic but fitting insults, "Who, alas, has delusions of adequacy?"
I am grateful to have a job and while it puts food on the table and pays the bills it makes it challenging to rack up significant saddle hours. To make up those hours I have been riding during my lunch breaks as well as riding at night. The lunch rides are of a short duration, 1 hour, but should slowly get me more heat adapted.
My performance riding at night is in stark contrast to my day time rides. Once the sun goes down and the mercury follows suit I am invigorated and ride a lot faster and harder. Perhaps my cold adaption over the last few years is deeper than I thought. My inability to ride strongly in the heat needs serious attention. Hopefully the ride at Mankeke in a fortnight will help this adaption.
The constant tiredness is also concerning. Over training comes to mind but is that really the case? Exercise gurus will advise you against increasing your training load by more than 10% per week. Going from a single weekend ride of 50 Km's and increasing it slowly in accordance with good sense guidelines can get you all the way up to 156 Km's a week over 3 months - whoop whoop!!
That won't work. The answer, I suggest, it to deliberately over reach without over training. Most people are familiar with the idea of over training but haven't heard of over reaching. Over training in a nut shell is training so hard that performance becomes progressively impeded to the point of requiring weeks if not months of rest to recover. Over reaching by contrast requires one or two days rest to recover. When you are training regularly it's hard to take a day off. The idea of two days without training seems completely insane. Balanced carefully with adequate rest overreaching can help you increase your weekly training hours without pushing you into an overtrained state. For me it means 2 rest days at the end of each week. It seems to work as I have increased my workload a few hundred percent and after a few days rest my small time trial rides show my speeds are increasing. If they were headed south I would need a serious rethink. As I sit here now wishing I could go for a ride I know that being off the bike today is in fact the best form of training possible right now.
By the way, after a 2 day rest following the Mini Munga ride thoughts of Anne Robinsons trenchant criticisms no longer haunted me.

Let The Munga show begin.

The Munga, a non-stop race from Bloemfontein to Stellenbosch approx 1000km, through the Karoo mid summer. Teams of 2. Daily cut offs and US$1 Million in prize money. A race conceived and presented by Alex Harris. The race has its genesis in an obscure corner of Alex Harris's cerebral cortex probably as a result of an overload of intertwined decades long extreme adventuring experiences. Alex is no ordinary adventurer and The Munga will be no ordinary race. I am teamed up with Tread Magazine editor Sean Badenhorst.

A few years ago over a cup off coffee Alex casually mentioned the concept of a race with a big purse that would change the face of endurance riding as we know it. We are both Freedom Challenge Race Across South Africa veterans with 3 finishing blankets apiece. Alex has managed 2 wins and a second place while I have managed to roll through the finish in 7th place on my first two attempts and 5th on my last. Alex is gnarly while I am your average mountain biker. One thing we have in common is the experience of suffering on a bike. It just takes a lot more effort on his part to get into the suffer zone.

Having set his sights on a big purse ride he tried and failed to secure consent to race the length of the Sishen-Saldanha Bay iron ore railway line. His plan for The Ironmonger race were scuppered. Undeterred he dropped the "Iron" and morphed the "monger" into "Munga" to create a name that will in time epitomise the ultimate mountain biking vasbyt challenge.

Alex has come up with a race concept that draws on his personal experiences in conventional stage races as well as the Freedom Challenge and Tour Divide. Evident in his race model is the need for serious grit. The off bike pampering that is typical of the well healed or professional multi day stage racer will not be a part of The Munga. Equally, 12 hours a day of slow grinding that will see you finish the Freedom Challenge or Tour Divide will be hopelessly inadequate in Alex's race format.

What makes it tough are the conditions and time constraints. Routing from Bloemfontein to Stellenbosch over 1000 Km's the terrain won't be a serious issue but the heat will certainly present a challenge. The Karoo is a desert and a hot one at that. The race timing will ensure the challenge of desert heat will have full effect. Regular cut offs will force riders to push on relentlessly or face disqualification. The race distance will require riders to complete at least 200 Km's per day. Anything less will be a sub par performance and result in an early bus trip home.
There are many challenges that competitors need to gear up for. Heat and hydration easily come to mind. Riding in the cold requires an extra layer or two. Heat is not about a layer or two less. You need to protect yourself from the suns rays and be able to tolerate the heat. That tolerance only comes from physiological adaption. You need to train in the heat to get used to it.
To be continued....