Chugging along to Centocow

Leaving Allendale I knew it was going to be a hard job getting through the first section to Donnybrook. It was still hot and the second half had plenty of climbs. My body reserves were depleted. I was running on empty. Even so, I drew on previous experiences and knew that as evening drew closer and the temperature began to drop I would find the going easier.

Coping when your body is drained requires a different approach. Pinning Ntsikeni - 95km's with 2600 metres of ascent - to the notice board of your mind does nothing but deflate. I broke the sections down into tiny pieces - need to get to the corner fence, the road, up next to the trees, etc.. By snacking on digestible mental fragments I was able to stay focussed and keep despair at arms length.

Janine moved ahead of me without any obvious difficulty. She set a reasonable pace that I tried to match. It didn't come easy. Reaching the tar road just short of town I put my head down and ground out the last kilometre to the filling station shop. It had never felt so hard and far.

My internal furnace was doused and the pilot light threatened to flicker out. I needed to get something into my system to get it going. I grabbed 3 buddy Cokes and a packet of Lays crisps - Noakes diet be damned. One Coke went down the hatch albeit slowly, the second mixed with water in my bottles and the third as an emergency stash in my pack.

I lingered outside the shop trying to finish the crisps. I was just too exhausted to eat. Exhaustion won over and some kids got to finish what I could not.

Back in the saddle we moved toward the forest to take on the forest ride that would eventually empty out on the road just short of Centocow.
As expected the drop in temperature resulted in a inverse reaction in my energy levels. While not effortless, the ride become noticeably easier. Each climb, no matter how slight reminded me just how empty my legs were.

I was constantly aware of the fading light and wanted to be out of the forest before dark. We had been chasing sunset since before sunrise that morning. The drop into Centocow is best done in daylight. We reached the top of the watershed with ten minutes of light in hand. That meant we would do the last ten minutes in the dark, that was fine.

Dropping down we followed the track as it wound through the forest. Eight years ago it was a seldom used jeep track. This year it resembled a highway - a result of recent logging activity. Rounding a hairpin bend I stopped. It didn't feel right. The main track dropped off to the left but I had no recollection of going that way before. Janine and I discussed it and decided to take a lesser track that went straight. We climbed up slowly, desperate to see something familiar. The only thing familiar was that it went uphill. Logging had also changed the look of this track. It opened up onto another logging 'highway'. There was nothing familiar about this road either. Stopping at a junction of two major tracks we stopped. After umming and ahing for a minute I made the decision to drop down left. The direction was okay, the road not. I was used to a small track.

I ticked off the distance in my mind. After about 600 metres we got to a t-junction. That seemed about right. Taking a left I expected to see another track to my right after another 600 metres. On queue it showed up. Ducking right, now in darkness, we followed the track which started to deteriorate. It hadn't been used in a while, was covered with broken branches and we had to contend with little ditches every 100 metres or so. I was starting to doubt my navigation. I could see the lights of the mission station through the trees ahead and comforted myself that we were at least going in the right'ish direction. After a minute or two the track emptied onto the district road near Centocow Mission. We had ridden the perfect line through the forest. More by luck than judgement I must confess.
After cranking out the last few kay's we pulled up outside the intermediate support station of Centocow at 17:58. That left us with just another 6 or 7 hours to Ntsikeni. Too much to contemplate on an empty stomach. Food and something warm was on offer inside. So inside we went.

Welcome to the Cimmerian Caverns.

We talk about the Pain Cave. What few people realise is that it comes as a companion set along with the Cimmerian Caverns. To save you google time; the Cimmerians were a mythical people described by Homer as dwelling in a remote realm of mist and gloom. The Caverns; a dark, gloomy and deep place. More about that later..

Tim and Andrew were already at Allendale and had not yet left. It seems Andrew had arrived first and was intent on trailing Tim to Centocow as he wasn't certain of the route. So he just hung around waiting. Tim took the opportunity to jump in the pool to cool off after the hot climb out of the Umkomaas valley. I sucked on a toasted sandwich and tried to coax some tea down my throat as I watched those two go about their game. Andrew playing open cards and Tim already in game mode. All rather amusing.

Janine was rustling through her resupply box figuring out what she needed. Being a last minute entrant I had no boxes so I was spared that bother. I had made myself a pot of tea which I expected to drain. As it turned out I didn't even have the energy required to make that effort.
In past years I have moved through Allendale in 10 minutes. This year I was broken. By the time I had drunk a glass of coke, poked the toastie down my throat and managed a cup and a half of tea, 30 minutes had ticked by. Janine later described my appearance as "Shattered! Looking like if he could work up the energy to go shower and then climb in bed, then that's exactly what he would have done."
The mind is a funny thing. I had mentally shuffled into the Cimmerian Caverns - a place beyond pain - but the objective was to make Ntsikeni a further 95 kilometres down the road. I picked up my gear and told Janine I was leaving. 38 minutes after arriving at Allendale I started to explore the depths of those caverns.

Our ragtag army made its way down to the town hall. Glenn, the race director, said he wasn't going to lead us out of town as he was sure the racing snakes would want to get on with the job as soon as the clock started chiming. At the first knell we were off. 

By the time we had cleared town and were pedalling through the last suburb I was at the front of the pack with Janine tucked in behind me. A solitary light switched across the road a few hundred metres behind.  Entering Bisley Tim caught up with Janine and I and we sped through the farm gates onto the tar and into Baynesfield Estate. By the time we got to the first big climb of the day we had covered the distance from the start faster than any previous start batch. Clearly the lack of training was not yet showing. 

Stopping to shed a layer I was passed by Andrew Barnes who gave me a jolly greeting - clearly he was having fun. Further along I passed Janine similarly engaged. The climb up the watershed to Minerva is something in the order of 10 to 12 km's. I don't really know as I carry neither maps nor narratives. I have even dispensed with a bike computer. I ride from memory and it is liberating not to mention efficient. Some have suggested it's an unfair advantage. It probably is. 13 or 14 trips along that section of the trail gives you a distinct advantage over a rookie. After a solitary ride up through the forests I saw Andrew and Tim about 5 minutes ahead walking up the first of the open grass sections. I eyed a sneak I had contemplated before and decided it would save me 2 or 3 minutes. A tangled rusty old barbed-wire fence made sure the trail gods were appeased with the first blood offering of the ride. They would be similarly appeased on numerous occasions along the route. 

Arriving at the Minerva soup stop I found Tim readying his kit for departure. He told me Andrew had just left. Three minutes later I passed Janine. She was entering the shed as I was leaving. 

It was 09:30 I was moving well. The drop down and through Byrne went easily. As I hit the gravel road beyond Byrne Janine caught up. We rode together down to the Umkomaas river making short work of the descents and rocky portage. By 11:30 we had forded the icy waters of the river and were moving toward our next goal - The Hella Hella. It takes a good 60 to 90 mins to tame that climb. The first steep climb tested my legs. A few minutes in the hamstrings of both legs started cramping. Standing there stuff legged like a scarecrow I was quickly caught and passed by Janine. I have only cramped once before and it was on this same climb in 2012. Perhaps the icy waters of the river crossing have a part to play. This thought crossed my mind briefly. Mulling it over wasn't getting me up the mountain. I plodded on slowly, eventually trying to ride but the cramps quickly resumed. Over the next 10 minutes I was able to ride but had to nurse my legs along to keep the cramps at bay. I guess the cramps cost me at least 15 to 20 minutes up the climb. I passed Janine somewhere along the way and pulled up at Allendale a minute or so ahead of her at 13:50. I made my way to the support cabin and sat down. I had lost time through cramping and had still managed to equal my two previous arrival times at Allendale. Except this time I was spent. 

No it wasn't fun!

After competing in and winning this years Race to Rhodes I have had to contend with people asking "Did you have fun?"

I have caught myself on a few occasions when I have wanted to reply with a flippant "Yes." The true answer is "No it wasn't fun." Taking an untrained body into a 500 km non-stop race in the middle of winter is not a recipe for fun. 

Let me tell you how it was and let you  be the judge of whether it was fun or not.

 

Pre-race Dinner

Sitting around the table waiting for the race briefing to start I was aware that Tim James and I were by far the oldest people in the room. Having said that, we have been tramping the trail for the longest - we both rode our first RASA in 2007. Marnitz Nienaber (aka Hyena) the most blanketed Freedom Challenge rider was sitting with two strong looking lads who would be accompanying him on his ride to Wellington - Ivor Jones and Stuart Roos. Janine Stewart and Ingrid Avidon, both doing R2R completed the group. Missing was Andrew Barnes who was still making his way to the venue. 

Janine and I had a loose alliance which essentially meant she was planning to ride to Centocow but would tag along with me if I was able to push through to Ntsikeni on the first day. I have met Ingrid before on a  few occasions. She is delightful. To illustrate that I offer the following true story. As we sat around the table someone asked Ingrid if she could fix a puncture. Her answer "Sure..... Well I could wing it!...... Okay, I have watched a YouTube video!" Ingrid announced her intention to push straight through to Ntsikeni. 

Andrew Barnes arrived in due course and entering the room walked straight up and greeted me like a long lost friend. The last time I had seen him face to face was in 2007. This is the nature of this race. Twice more along the route I would bump into faces from past FC races and we would pick up where we left off. 

Marnitz et al were planning to stop at Centocow as was Andrew while the rest were hoping for Ntsikeni which is a strategy often voiced but seldom executed - it's a huge haul and requires a 17 - 19 hour effort. Long enough for a myriad things to go wrong and plenty of time to change ones mind.

The last day is typically reserved for those riding hard, the so called racing snakes. I can tell you that the motley crew assembled around that table did not look that fierce. Only one rider, Ivor, looked like he understood the seriousness of the job in hand. The rest looked resigned to the task ahead. I commented to Janine that Ivor had the look of someone who was a bit awestruck by the race and as a result I believed he would make it to the finish - the trail needs respect. 

I wandered back to my room. Days of vacillation had resulted in me packing everything bike related into a carryall. Unable to delay any further I finally got around to stuffing kit into my backpack. A quick weather check had me tossing in an extra layer as snow was forecast along the route. 

Bike and kit readied I set my alarm for 4:30am and flopped into bed. 

It's time to go play with my friends

Today as I drive down to Pietermaritzburg to register for the Race To Rhodes starting tomorrow I have no illusions about the state of my physical preparedness - or unpreparedness as it stands. I have had five easy rides since finishing the Race To Cradock three months ago. Two of those in the last week. So little riding in fact that I think I saw the last vestige of a cycling tan disappear down the drain when I showered this morning. This pink body is going to put through its paces over the next few days. I cling to the hope that the body will follow where the head and heart lead. 

When on the trail the solitude and feeling of companionship combine in a complex mélange of emotions. You are never alone on the trail. Physically perhaps, but there is a community of followers and fellow riders who follow along and live vicariously through your exploits. 

I remember as a child going out to play with my friends under strict instructions from Mom to be home before it got dark. As eventide approached there was always a heightened sense of enjoyment born of the knowledge that you were pushing boundaries. The fun interspersed with regular glances toward home in the full knowledge that you were out beyond curfew. It all came to an end when you were unceremoniously dragged off home and admonished for not listening. The defence of "but I didn't know it was dark because the street lights were on" falling on deaf ears. 

I really do feel like a kid going out to play with my friends. The trail is our playground and we finally get to stretch the fun out way beyond sunset. Sorry Mom, I am going to be home well after dark. 

Kindred Spirits

This is an excerpt from an interaction with Rory after he completed his Race to Rhodes. He sent a text that simply stated "Glad you understand." I include my response here because I believe we - those of us who have traveled down the trail and those who support us in these endeavours - are united in what Rory summarised in his short but pithy reply " Kindred souls on the trail."

             ***********

"Glad you understand." Short sentence pregnant with meaning. There are not many people who do understand. Particularly about the Freedom Challenge. They can plot your journey across the country on their monitors and participate in the online banter but they cannot see the journey of our minds and souls. The race is challenging and enriching in a way beyond words. The traversing of the country side is but a side show to the real journey. I guess you are no different to me. In the race I get to spend many hours alone in my head. I get to lay my life out and sort through the clutter. I get to distill the essence of me. And there are times I look at that product and understand the need for change. Over the years the process hasn't changed. I am continually attempting to tweak, tune and rebalance my life. That necessitates some serious soul searching. The trail is the perfect place for that. 

Yes Rory, I do understand. 

Bomb Proof Your Race

Over the years very few people have dropped out of the Race to Rhodes. On the other hand there have been a good number of riders on the Race Across South Africa that have pulled out before getting to Rhodes. Amongst them some notable riders who have had fast finishes before or since and a few less notable ones such as this writer.  I didn't even finish day 2. 

There are some good reasons to call it a day and catch the next lift home and some even better reasons why you should rather vasbyt. One reason to hang in there is articulated as 'I have some unfinished business!' Leaving the trail without a previous finisher draping a blanket over your shoulders starts out as a little disappointment that is 'understandable under the circumstances'. By the time you get home you have an invisible companion who at first resembles a cute organ grinders monkey. In the days, weeks and months that follow the cuteness is supplanted by a monkey that weighs you down and needs constant feeding. 

The only way to get it off your back is to wheel your bike back under the clock of the Pietermaritzburg town hall the following year. While that sounds like a good plan consider the following. The first time you enter the race the sacrifices made in time and energy is massive. I am yet to address the sacrifices made by the rider, I am addressing the sacrifices made by the people around the rider - family, friends and work colleagues. Don't make them go through all that for nothing. 

So what's a good reason? Your leg falls off. Maybe a few other reasons. I have experience in this regard. If you have a physical impediment such as a broken leg, torn muscle or other ailment that makes it impossible or dangerous to continue then by all means get Uber up on your phone and hail a taxi. 

If in the other hand you are simply tired and/or morbid, that's a poor excuse. Here is the formula to get through that. The first step takes place months before the start. Brag to everyone within earshot that you are doing the Race Across South Africa and promise your child a finishers blanket. Having to face them afterwards sans blanket is a serious motivator to hang in. Secondly, never give up until you have slept on it. Things seem better the next day. Thirdly, and I have loads of experience in this, understand that your best day on the Freedom Trail is likely to follow a day or two after your worst. When that happens you start to wonder what you were thinking when you wanted to give up. 

To family and friends reading this, if your riding champion calls and indicates that they can't go on. Don't sympathise. Remind them why they started and put the phone down. 

It's flippin' hard out there but home sympathy doesn't help one bit. 

Bad weather sucks but it rarely lasts more than a few days. Ride it out and even consider doing shorter rides each day until it clears. 

Lastly, I do understand that non physical challenges can bring a ride to an end. If you have a few days on the trot where you are hollow and completely joyless then go home. Rather live to fight another day. 

Why we ride the Freedom Trail

A few years back the FC promoted the race with the following sentence, "Discover South Africa, discover yourself."

The first half of that is very true, particularly for city dweller sorts like me. I had never ventured into the area known as the Transkei before and had no idea what inland Eastern Cape had to offer or truly understood the vastness of the Karoo. Back in 2007 the paucity of information around the event and conveyed experiences of previous participants made it a big unknown. Geographically speaking the event was spectacular. That initial sense of awe cannot be replicated in subsequent trips along the trail. The majesty of it however remains. 

The second component of the rallying call that refers to discovering yourself is an ongoing process. It is easy to remain composed in familiar surroundings facing the normal day to day grind of life. On the trail your ability to control your day is limited. You are often forced into reactive mode. There are days when the weather is on your side and your navigation is flawless. Then the weather intervenes and holing up until it blows over is not an option. It takes a lot of grit to leave a warm bed and head out into bad weather. It is in those moments that you start to discover what you are made of. You also find out what those around you are made of. I have had many surprises over the years as I have witnessed riders under pressure lose their veneer of politeness to reveal a person who is negative or intolerant. Even some who became abusive. Not all people react this way. Some withdraw deep into themselves and disconnect from the riders around them. We all cope in different ways. And I venture to suggest that we are capable of growing in our ability to handle tough situations. 

In my first race I just hung in everyday not daring to think beyond the next support station. Over the years I have allowed the "what if's" of my post race rumination to slip into my plans. I have watched riders do amazing things and wondered what it would be like to achieve those goals. Their achievements became my goals and those goals became my achievements. Each year I have amazed myself at my own ability to do the things of "giants". 

But why do we keep going back? 

There is no simple answer. When I ask other stalwarts of the Freedom Challenge I get a wry smile or a shrug. We are inextricably drawn back to the trail but are unable to articulate the reason. Why doesn't the Epic have the same draw? There are people who do the Epic every year but I doubt the attraction of that race is as visceral as the Freedom Challenge. 

I suspect it has something to do with the format of the Freedom Challenge. At times it seems a bit deurmekaar with what appears to be hands off management of the event. It is nothing like other formal stage races. There is no daily finishing line or formal daily routine. It's a line on a map and you are at liberty to go as fast or as slow as you like. There are certain out of bounds routes and a whole pile of optional bits and pieces.  

I suspect that the loose order is the attraction. In our daily lives we constantly conform to the various paradigms that direct our lives whether socially or familial. That is not to say these norms are wrong. However, when you are out on the trail you are stripped of the necessity to operate within the boundaries of these rules. There are few rules and no one is looking over your shoulder or directing your every move. You are on your own and the precepts that make us functional social human beings are for the main part put on hold. If you want to wake up at 2 in the morning and jump on your bike and ride off into the night you can. There is no one to stop you. By the same token you may choose to stop for the day after only riding for a few hours. If you fancy a 30 minute siesta under the shade of a tree halfway through the morning you can do just that. And there is no one judging you for it. The world and the events unfolding in it get put on hold. Your existence becomes the here and now. Dare I say it? You become selfish! Your whole world centres around yourself. Choices are made with only your own comfort and safety in mind. 

It's glorious. It's liberating. For a short while you get to do something just for yourself. Communication with the outside world is generally limited to a few minutes on the phone to loved ones and the occasional text message. As you stand on a mountain ridge overlooking a valley below, your life, your very existence is in front of you. And it looks like a single track heading off to the horizon. In that moment life is good, uncomplicated and completely satisfying. 

How Hard - Part 2

If we accept that the extreme nature  of the Freedom Challenge exists on a continuum then it's fair to assume there are levels of difficulty. 

We established in the last post that the baseline is tough. It is challenging  but not as hard as you would expect. On a 21-23 day strategy to Capetown or a 6 day ride to Rhodes a  typical day entails 8 to 12 hours of riding. It isn't anything like your average weekend ride. In truth it's fairly laid back and the pace is anything but frantic. A weekend warrior will find the days a bit long but it is doable. Get yourself into a small group, preferably with someone who has done it before and you are going to have a great experience. The weather becomes your major challenge. It can get bitterly cold, windy, wet and muddy but it all adds to the adventure. 

The groups that ride together form friendships that last years. From a spectator view point these small groups take on interesting "personalities" and we track their progress day to day. Some of them that spring to mind are "The Beetles" made up of John, Paul and George. The "Wine Train" comprising a number of colourful characters, the "Boere Kommando" made up of Carl and Marnitz with added diversity in the form of Boskind. 

I was at Dennehof in Prince Albert one year when Carl, Marnitz and Jaco came through looking every bit like commandos. They wouldn't have looked out of place in a war movie with a Blackhawk helicopter in the background. They looked rugged and were on a serious mission. They had ridden in from Rondavel and after a quick mid morning snack pushed on into Die Hell. I remember being in awe of them. 

What they were doing seemed tough, but was it? 

This past weekend I asked Marnitz about his riding experiences on the Freedom Trail and how hard it has been. The answer might surprise you - "Not hard enough!" I recall one of the reasons that Martin Dryer advanced for wanting to do the Freedom Challenge. He wanted to do something hard and thought the idea of sleeping in the snow on the Swartberg Pass might be really cool. He never got to sleep on the Pass and as I recall he had no snow either. He did have a good dose of mud mind you. I was at Kranskop in 2012 when both Martin and Alex Harris arrived late at night having battled through relentless rain and the gloopiest mud I have experienced in all my years on the trail. They came inside and went about the business of wringing themselves out and prepping their kit for an early morning departure. It seemed like it was just another day at the office for them. It was hard for them but more so physically than mentally. 

I argue that the Freedom Challenge is as hard as you want it to be. For a rookie battling with the stress of route uncertainty and trying to make sense of the narratives and maps it can get a lot harder than they want. People returning to try it again are generally over the anxiety and are able to engage better with the race. Having done the race you sit and home and start wondering how you would do it next time. Most people who have done the race have had a next time. That's the allure of this race. When you are familiar with the format and route you start applying pressure on yourself. In Marnitz's words, "You stop racing other people and you start racing yourself, trying to push yourself harder every time."

It is this self-push that has changed the complexion of the race. Back in my first race of 2007 the prospect of going over Lehana at night was unthinkable. It has now been done by a handful of riders. It's a big achievement but has only been tried by people who knew what they were doing and the risks were calculated. I did it in 2012 when it was so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. It didn't go entirely to plan but we made it out without any drama. It was interesting to say the least but we were never afraid and as such kept our heads and thought our way through. 

Was it tough? No, not for us. I will tell you what is. The lady I sat with at the breakfast table knows how tough the trail can get. She didn't finish the race and she experienced some harrowing sleepouts and faced her demons. She knows what it is like to to so far outside your comfort zone that you need and air ticket to get back. She was crushed but not defeated. I am pleased to see that she is back again this year. I have huge respect for that level of toughness. 

In closing let me recount something she said to me at that breakfast table that struck a cord. "When non Freedom Challenge people hear that I pulled out of the race they say 'shame, you must be so disappointed.' By contrast, when I meet an FC rider they say 'well done, you did so well to get as far as you did.' They have respect for the experience I had."

That's the truth of it. The handful of crazies who crank out the huge miles and finish days and weeks faster than the average rider are seen as the tough nuggets but they aren't. The tough ones are the ones who go somewhere scary in their own head space and are able to hold it together. On the extreme continuum the winners and comfortable 21 day riders are on the near side. The far side is occupied by fear filled rookies.

I didn't race in 2013 and watching the drama unfold I tweeted the following which I think is pertinent to this discussion. "We cheer race leaders because we see and comprehend. The real victory happens in the hearts of the riders who face their demons and triumph."

How hard is the Freedom Challenge?

If we claim to do extreme riding then we need to examine how hard it really is. My experience of extreme is limited to a handful of stage races including the Epic, JoBerg2c and the Freedom Challenge. I don't consider either the Epic or JoBerg2c to be extreme. That is not to say they are easy. The Freedom Challenge events are not stage races in that once the clock starts it only stops when you cross the finishing line days or weeks later. 

Just as there is a continuum across the spectrum of riding difficulty there is one for the Freedom Challenge. Any event on the Freedom Trail is hard in the sense that there are no easy days. The section from Masakala to Malekghalonyane is the shortest and easiest section of the trail to Rhodes at around 68 km's. This can take anything from 5 to 8 hours. A pair of riders stretched it to 12 hours in 2011. 

In 2007 I rode my second Epic finishing middle of the field and then went on to do my first Freedom Challenge Race Across South Africa. I arrived at the first support station at Allendale after dark shell shocked from the experience. As I recall we started at 07:00 that year. Even so it took 11 hours to cover the 100kms. Back then the route was a little easier as we avoided the current gnarly route down the Umkomaas valley. We simply rode down the district road. These days the racing snakes bang out this section, grab a mouthful of food and push on. Even so, it still takes the top riders 7 or 8 hours to cover the distance. It's just a hard race, particularly when you ride out of the predawn hours into the evening darkness every day for 3 weeks. 

I spoke to a rider who had failed to finish last year. Many days had elapsed from the time she had withdrawn from the race and the post race dinner. The morning after the official dinner she sat alone having breakfast looking a little bleak. I joined her and asked her how her ride had been. She was still shattered and hollow about the experience. Her words to me were, "People must stop romanticising this race. They make it sound easy and it isn't." She was right. It is hard. I have finished 3 times and dropped out once. On all three occasions when I have finished there have been moments when I was on the brink of throwing the towel in. I had a hundred good reasons to quit but only one flimsy reason to stick with the race. Pride is such a powerful force. 

What Is Extreme?

Rappelling from a helicopter in a combat zone while under fire is extreme. But it is a "don't try this at home" activity. I polled a few individuals to determine their idea of extreme sports and the go to activities were Base Jumping, wing suit flying, skydiving and a handful of adrenaline charged pursuits. I must admit to being a type 1 Why's man when it comes to adrenaline type stuff. For our purposes we will limit the discussion to mountain biking which is typically bereft of that level of rush. 

Extreme is a continuum. At one end the idea of riding a 10 km race seems extreme to the as yet unblooded newbie. Sani2c is hectic the first time and ABSA Epic entrants are viewed as warriors. The Freedom Challenge is a whole new animal. Interestingly the 36One (361 km's non-stop) is a huge race and yet I expect that it is easier than the first 105 km's of the FC for a rookie. Perhaps those who have done both can comment on their experience. On the extreme MTB continuum The Tour Divide probably occupies a big chunk of the tough end. 

I contend that the FC and Tour Divide are bigger challenges because they are tougher mental and physical challenges. It is the aspect of mental toughness that I consider extreme in our events. I have done a few Epics and in my first I suffered to the point of missing dinner one night while I lay alone in my tent in the fetal position alternating between the fear of death and the fear of not dying. I was physically and emotionally drained. But I was devoid of pleasure. Hiking my bike for 11 hours off Black Fountain to Vuvu in FC 2007 was also draining but it came with a real sense of having done something big. It is the exultation derived from beating the odds that can become habit forming. This is the 'more' aspect, the adventure creep. 

Alex Harris relayed an incident of when he came down off Everest and was sitting around base camp with Sir Ranulph Fiennes. As I recall the story, Alex asked Fiennes "What's next?" For most of us Everest would seem to be the pinnacle of extreme achievement but that's probably because we haven't done it and the prospect of doing it seems as intangible as us going to the moon. So Alex and Fiennes sit around chewing the fat with neither one particularly intimidated by the other. We know Alex and that knowledge gives his achievements a human touch that allows us to sense the enormity of what he has done over the years. Fiennes is a tough nugget. In 2000 in a failed bid to get to the North Pole unsupported he got frostbite in his fingers. The surgeons wouldn't remove the necrotic fingertips immediately as they wanted  the underlying tissue to regrow first. Fiennes got tired of the pain and cut the tops off himself with a fretsaw. Something else to add to your adventuring kit list - 1x fretsaw. 

I digress. The point is that once a challenge has been overcome it tends to lose its allure. We will examine the pull the FC and Tour Divide have that keeps people coming back at a later time. 

As Alex and Fiennes sat around it was suggested that walking self supported across the Empty Quarter following as close as possible the route of Thesiger's 1947/8 crossing by camel was the one big challenge that still existed. So Alex went out and did just that. 

Back to ordinary people. Doing the Freedom Challenge in 2007 as a rookie was the toughest thing I have done in my life. And don't think for a second that I lived a pampered existence. I have served in the military and had my share of helicopters and bad guys with guns. 

My first FC was harder than that. The combination of exhaustion, pain and anxiety for 3 weeks is taxing. 

I was asked by someone why I would do it more than once. The answer is encapsulated in 3 words; Faster, Further, Harder. Each time I return it is to do it harder and to do something memorable such as going up Lehana at night or riding non stop for up to 40 hours at a time. Even after my spectacular failure in 2011 I drew from the experience and came back the following year and went harder and finished. 

An example of the creep is day one of the FC. The first time in 2007 I made it to Allendale (105 km's) after dark and stopped for the day. With Glenn on the tandem we arrived with an hour of daylight left and we pushed on to Centocow 45 km's further on. 

In 2009 I pushed harder and arrived in Allendale at 13:50 and got to Centocow at sunset. I then pushed on to achieve a previously unattainable (for me) double to Ntsikeni - 200 km's. 

Last year I arrived at Ntsikeni at 11pm and pushed through to Glen Edward arriving at 5am. A quick snack saw me out the door and pushing on as the 24 hour mark ticked over. 

I guess my next goal on day one will be to cross into the Transkei inside of 24 hours. That's the challenge creep that I impose on myself to keep it interesting. 

The Three Why's Men

When asked why we do extreme stuff I find it comes is three flavours. 

The first is usually followed by a statement. "Why? You do know that it's a lot easier in a car?" There is no adequate response to this "why" save to make a flippant reply and smile dismissively. The asker has no understanding, appreciation or interest in our endeavours. It's simply a shallow form of humour born of a need to exercise ones vocal cords while disengaging their ears and minds. 

The second kind of 'Why' is interested. But more so in understanding what makes us tick. They do not connect viscerally with the activity or have any desire to replicate our experiences. They are keen to gain an intellectual understanding of why someone would subject themselves to what, in their minds, seems amazing, edgy, perhaps even a tad foolhardy, but ultimately jolly interesting. Having sated their curiosity they nod knowingly and over the course of the next week or two they ply their friends with the tales and adventures of an adventure addict they bumped into. 

The third 'why' enquirer is far more incisive. They might not understand the full depth of the how's and why's of extreme pursuits but they are keen to unravel the process with a view perhaps of going down that road themselves. 

I use the word 'process' deliberately because 'extreme' is exactly that. Something you have just completed is oft no longer considered extreme. We will explore the compounding nature of 'more' in the context of extreme in the next instalment. 

Why?

Why?

When people hear about the extreme bike adventures we do the responses are varied from "That's so cool", or "You guys are nuts!" through "Why?"

The last response is the shortest to ask but the most difficult to answer. 

As I sit here now trying to manage a riding induced hand ailment that will no doubt result in going under the knife to resolve, the question of "Why" plays on my mind. Why do we do these things?

As cyclists we are no different to other athletes. Mountain biking, apart from other risks such as carpal tunnel syndrome and saddle sores, carries an ever present risk of broken bones. We all fall off our bikes. Often it's funny, at other times there is no humour in it, but it is treated as an acceptable and inevitable risk. We can take steps to mitigate against catastrophic outcomes by lessening the risk. This, to a mountain biker, would be like an aspirant boxer settling for shadow boxing to avoid taking a punch to the face. 

The "Why?" to the basic pursuit of mountain biking is uncomplicated. Certainly a lot less complicated than asking someone why they choose boxing as a past time. Particularly when you finish with "it's healthy exercise and is good for me."

Over the next few weeks in the run up to the Race to Rhodes I want to try unpack the answer/s to the question "Why?"

Post Race Reflections

My goal at the start was to finish in 55 hours or less. It was never going to be easy. However, there was a time during the early part of the race when I thought 48 hours was on the cards. As it is we finished in 63 hours 35 minutes. We had endured 14 hours of rain and I had squeezed in about 2 hours of sleep - Casper a whole lot more. Our unscheduled stop on the Elandsberg portage had cost us about 8 hours and it was there that my hopes of racing my age evaporated. However, if you were to ask me which section of the race was the most memorable I would have to say it was the night on Elandsberg. Money can't buy experiences like that. I look forward to doing that section in the future and would welcome the challenge of doing it in the dark again. 

A few words about Casper. It was never my intention to do the ride with anyone else. I am completely comfortable in my own company. I knew of Casper from past races and he had been generous in supporting the Scholarship Fund through my last Race to Rhodes endeavour. I had never met him in person. Stepping in to the dining room at The Rubicon when I arrived in Rhodes I met him for the first time. We clicked immediately and by the time dinner was eaten we had a loose alliance. He has all the characteristics that epitomise a Freedom Challenge rider - A quiet humility coupled with tenacity. 

In truth he was the stronger rider and could well have beaten me by many hours. That's just not the way he rolls - he has a high regard for alliances. 

We laughed a lot and he had an appreciation of my dry humour. He trusted me implicitly with the navigation and when I did falter on Elandsberg it didn't faze him one bit. 

I like to think that through this journey he got to experience a little of the dark side of endurance racing. By that, I hope he had a renewed appreciation of his ability to push boundaries. To move forward relentlessly and go beyond exhaustion and stifle discomfort to emerge at the end of the experience with a bit of "Wow, I did that!" Casper is the kind of person you would want at your side if ever you had to go to war. 

I, as indicated by my blog name "Adventures of an Ordinary Cyclist" am very ordinary. I am ordinary in my ability to ride a bike. I can't ride faster or better than any of my friends. I merely want different things from these races. I want to go beyond. Whilst pushing boundaries and piling on non-stop miles I try not to be so focussed on that one goal that I don't take time to smell the roses. I attempt to take in all the small detail. The one thing I do miss out on is the extended hospitality of the support stations. Fortunately, most years I get to do a recce ride down the trail where I spend quality time at the support stations ahead of the race.

These race blogs are intended primarily for people who have ridden the trail. They get to fill in the blanks from their own experiences and relive in some way the rich pleasure of living on your bike for a few short days or weeks as the case may be. 

Casper mentioned an incident related to me that he wouldn't have heard from me. I asked him how he knew. His reply "From your blog. I read about your adventures on the Freedom Challenge from your blog and that's how I came to do it."

That makes it all worthwhile. 

Would I do this race again? I can't think of a single reason why not. In the words of Casper who messaged me earlier "Do you know that I don't have a single bad memory,hardship yes but bad memories,no"

Right now it's time to rest up a little and then begin preparations for the Race to Rhodes in June. 

Storm Clouds Building

Storm clouds were building around Stuttgart. As we pedalled down the road looking toward Schurfteberg where we were headed it looked clear. I commented to Casper that we might get a 'get out of jail free' card. 

As we started up the Garland Valley Casper rode over a cattle grid just as a rinkhals was making its exit. The rinkhals reared up and dropped away from Casper while Casper swerved off in the opposite direction. I suspect each was as surprised as the other. I caught up to Casper. 

"Did you see that?" he said. The exhilaration clear on his face. 

Casper set off a a good pace and I trailed behind. I was really tired now for the first time since we we had left Rhodes some 57 hours before and I battled to keep my eyes open. The track was wet and muddy. The tyre tracks of the group a few hours ahead of us were obscured by recent rain. Looking behind us a huge storm blackened the early afternoon sky and we could hear occasional thunder. We had already endured 12 hours of rain and weren't keen for more. About half way up the valley I called out to Casper that I needed to have a quick nap. Stopping in the shade of a tree I lay back on my backpack. I set an alarm for 20 minutes and pulled my buff over my eyes. A dog was barking in the distance. I heard it bark twice before I felt the darkness of sleep drop over me like a heavy blanket. It had taken seconds to fall into a deep replenishing sleep.

I killed the alarm, put my helmet back on and pushed my bike back on to the road. 50 metres ahead a farmer had stopped by one of his gates. He pointed behind us by way of warning. The storm was closer and a lot bigger. We acknowledged his warning with a wave and pedalled off with more purpose. 

The Schurfteberg portage appeared ahead of us bathed in sunlight. Perhaps this was a 'get out of jail free' moment. 

We kept moving and eventually arrived at the Die Hoek farmhouse ruins where the climb over the mountain starts. The track to the top of the mountain looks spectacular if not a little intimidating.

"How long will that take?" asked Casper. 

"About an hour," I replied. 

"Are you mad! That's going to take at least 2 hours," said Casper. 

If you have ever stood at the farmhouse and looked up at the track that scribbles its way up that mountain you will have sympathy for Casper's assessment. It looks like a massive challenge. In truth, on a fresh pair of legs most of it is ridable and a good rider can knock it off in 30 minutes. We hadn't had a fresh pair of legs for a few days now and settled into a trudge to the top. 

An hour later our efforts were rewarded with magnificent vistas over the Karoo. Clouds, pregnant with rain, loitered menacingly over the plains below. 

"I am not so sure about the 'get out of jail free' card now," said Casper. "The best we can hope for now is some parole." With that he hopped on his bike keen to savour the exhilarating 20 minutes descent off the back of the mountain. 

We reached the road at the bottom of the mountain as it began to drizzle.

"Maybe we should put our rain gear on?" suggested Casper. 

I looked up the valley toward the exit we would take and saw it was still basked in sunlight. "Nah, I am sure we can outrun this." With that I put my head down and powered down the road. 

We cruised down that road at high speed belying the fact that we had been on the go for days. We slowed occasionally for puddles that stretched the full width of the road and then resumed our charge. All the while I kept an eye on the rain clouds around us. The nek we were headed toward was still clear even though we were all but surrounded by clouds. The drizzle continued. 

As we reached a steep climb that would take us over the ridge and down toward the district road at the foot of the Swaershoek pass the rain intensified. It is a steep climb, steeper than many parts of the Schurfteberg track we had just walked. Spurred on by the prospect of outrunning the rain we powered up the climb without any thought of walking. Cresting the ridge it became immediately apparent that we weren't going to outrun anything. The plain ahead of us was fully obscured by torrential rain. Casper made some comment about my dumb idea of not putting our rain gear on and charged off into the downpour. 

I desperately wanted to stop and put my rain coat on and my cell phone wasn't in its waterproof pouch. Casper however was a hundred metres ahead and in the reduced visibility I didn't want to lose sight of him. For twenty minutes I chased him down the road past the Jakkalsfontein farm house toward the district road. We were soaking wet. It felt like I had just walked out of a muddy dam. Catching up to Casper just short of the district road I suggested we take shelter under the cover of a shed at the junction where we could wring ourselves out. 

We arrived at the shed sopping wet but still high in spirit. We looked back toward Schurfteberg and wondered how Tim was going through the storm that engulfed the mountain. 

We spent 30 minutes putting on dry base layers and wet leg warmers and realising that the rain was there to stay we headed back into the deluge to take on the last climb of the trip. It's 10.4 km's to the top of Swaershoek pass. The first 8 km's is a gentle climb. We rode side by side chatting for most of this. The pass ahead was pitch black while the sunset behind us was clearly visible in a break in the clouds. At one point Casper mentioned that the rain had stopped. Indeed it had. We had been so engrossed in our conversation that we hadn't noticed.

Casper had spent many a holiday on a farm nestled at the foot of that mountain. He reminisced about days spent wandering around the bush and nights of warmth and laughter around the kitchen table. We stopped at the gate of the farm that used to belong to his family. The post was still there but the nameplate long since removed. Like most farms in the Karoo the small farms have been consolidated into larger farms as market prices force up the minimum size of economical farming units. It is no longer possible to profitably farm 1000 hectares in the Karoo. I am told the minimum economic unit is now 3000 hectares. 

As the road kicked up to start the last few kilometres to the top we stopped pedalling and walked. The race was all but over. Alex had arrived earlier that day to secure the win and we were certain of finishing in second place ahead of Tim who we figured was at least 2 hours behind us. We savoured the walk and spoke of nothing in particular. As we came over the top of the pass we were enveloped in mist. We noticed snake like critters on the road. On closer inspection they were giant earthworms. The rain must have forced them to the surface. They were about as thick as an index finger and about 2 feet long. We saw hundreds of them as we rode down toward Cradock. We also saw hundreds if not thousands of frogs. They didn't hop as you would expect. They ran towards our lights like rodents. 

As we dropped below the mist we could see the lights of Cradock in the distance. They seemed so close but we still had 17 kilometres to go. The descent at night, although looking fast, is a whole lot slower that doing it during the day. I had previously ridden this section of 18 during the day in just under 30 minutes. At night, with mist and a little mud to deal with it took us almost an hour. It went on forever. Every time I thought we were at the bottom it dropped down even more. 

Finally we got to the T-junction at the bottom and turned toward town. A short while later we took our final turn and rode toward the finish at the Ou Pastorie. Waiting outside to greet us was Glenn and Meryl. It was good to see them. Our race was over. We had done well. 

I learn a new Afrikaans saying

There are certain moments in life that stand out in bold face. Once such moment occurred in April of 1973. I was in the First Form (Grade 8) and my day dreaming during the Afrikaans lesson was interrupted by Mevrou Wasseman. 

"Woolnough?"

"Yes ma'm?"

"What is the Afrikaans word for Thursday?"

I had absolutely no idea and just winged it, "Dinsdag?"

I recall watching the veins on her neck and forehead getting bigger by the second. She grabbed a ballpoint pen off her table and strode over to where I sat at the very back row. 

"The word you are looking for.....," she said, grabbing my by the hair on the back of my head. "Is..." she pulled the cover off the pen with her teeth and spat it out on the floor. "D" the ballpoint pen pressed deep into my forehead. "O". A deathly hush fell over the class. "N". The pen stopped writing and she paused to scribble on my diary to restore the flow of ink. Having painfully redrawn the N she continued. "D". The girl sitting next to me started giggling. Rather that I thought than pity. "E R D A G."

She stood back looking quite pleased with her work. Fixing me with her bloodshot eyes she continued, "Donderdag, DONDERDAG!" 

That's quite a few fillings I thought as her face was obscured by the widest mouth I have ever seen. 

And so, to this day, I have never forgotten what Thursday is in Afrikaans. 

"How do you spell that?" I asked. 

We had made our way across the scarred landscape and were walking up the jeep track. 

"L-e-p-e-l l-ê with a cap on the e," replied Casper. 

"Lepel lê," I repeated. "So that's the Afrikaans word for spooning, interesting!" There was my new Donderdag. 

A little further on Casper remarked, "At least we have had a good nights sleep and should be able to push through to the finish without any more power naps." I chose to ignore that comment as a battled to keep my eyes open. 

At 7:30am we walked in through the front door of the Elandsberg farmhouse where we were warmly greeted by Lisa. 

"Hello Mike, you better call Meryl. She is worried about you guys."

We apologised for not letting her know we were running a little late but explained that we had no cell signal on the other side of the mountain. 

'A little late' meant 8 hours. We had surrendered an 8 hour advantage to Tim by parking off in the bush for the night. We knew Glenn and Meryl had been at the farm the night before and were keen for any information about Tim. When we asked Lisa she mentioned that Tim still wasn't feeling well and she thinks he spent the night  at the previous support station of Romansfontein. I was a little skeptical because that didn't sound like Tim. You would have to beat him with a gum pole to make him stop. We didn't have 3G signal so couldn't check the Freedom Challenge website to check on support station times. I called Meryl. The conversation went like this.

Me: "Hi Meryl, we have just arrived at Elandsberg."

Meryl: "That's great. Glenn and I drove through that awful storm near Elandsberg last night and were really worried about you guys. Where did you sleep?"

Me: "Doringbos Lodge."

Meryl: "Thank goodness. We were so worried. Did you have any trouble getting in?"

Me: "Huh?"

Meryl: "Were the people at the lodge okay with you just pitching up?"

Me: "Meryl, there is no lodge. We slept under a thorn bush; a doringbos!"

Meryl: lots of laughter.

I asked her where Tim was and she confirmed that he had indeed left Romansfontein the previous evening at 21:15. That meant he should be right behind us. She said he was last spotted entering the Elandsberg portage section. That's where we slept. 

I converted this information to Casper and we resolved to get out of there as fast as we could. The problem was the food. It was awesome. At one stage Casper spilled something and apologised as he scraped it off the table cloth. I told him it was okay, after watching him scrape the yoghurt off the carpet at Brosterlea and eat it I was immune to anything. 

"I was hoping you didn't see that," he said the laughter rising in his throat. 

I took a dollop of anaesthetic cream and gave my saddle area a good smothering to numb it ahead of the long ride to the next support station of Stuttgart. 

Casper looked up in mock shock. "How can you do that in the middle of the dinning room?" he asked.

"You stick to carpet yoghurt and I will take care of my sore butt!" I replied. 

Suitably fed and hydrated we got a cricket score update from Jose, thanked Lisa and Jo for their hospitality and pedalled off down their driveway. 

Still no Tim in sight. That was good. 

We resolved to get to Stuttgart as fast as possible with the hope that if Tim was close behind he would see that we were moving quickly and give up any hope of catching us. We could then take a lazy ride to the finish without worrying about Tim pipping us at the post. 

The ride from Elandsberg to Baroda is normally crazy fast. We had a slight head wind that continued all the way to Stuttgart. Crossing the tar road near Spekboomberg I could feel the sleep monsters rousing. I asked Casper if he had any music and ear phones. He did. I told him I was sleepy and was going to get my ear plugs in and drown out the monsters. I did just that and Casper followed suit. Without any chit chat we moved efficiently on to Stuttgart covering the 72 km's in 4h30. 

Refuelling on a pot of tea followed by a plate of scrumptious venison pie we left Stuttgart half an hour later at 13:22 ready to bang out the last 72 km's of our race. 

A long uncomfortable night

Although layered up with both a wind shell and raincoat on top of my cycling jersey I was sopping wet. I had leg warmers in my back pack but decided the pouring rain coupled with the cramped space under the bush, which we named Doringbos Lodge, made it too tedious a job to put them on. It took us about 10 minutes to fold ourselves into the smallest possible mass and tuck the space blanket around us to exclude as much rain as possible and trap as much body heat as we could. If I so much as moved an arm it would cause the space blanket to open somewhere and we would spend a few minutes getting it secured again.

I kept my helmet on as I didn't fancy the prospect of pressing my face into the wet soil. As I lay there I had one ear to the ground and the other pointing skyward. The rain hammered against the space blanket and I was glad to have at least something between me and the storm even if it was a thin foil cover. I looked at my watch - 01:32 - it was going to be a long night. Within minutes I could hear Casper snoring gently. That chap could sleep anywhere. I wasn't so lucky. I moved a foot and immediately felt the cold night air invade our cocoon. I slowly reached down to see if I could tuck the space blanket back under my foot. At the same time I noticed a light. For a second I thought Tim had caught up and was standing there looking at these two tjops wrapped up in a foil blanket. My movement woke Casper. "My flippin' headlamp won't turn off," he said. He gave it a slap and it started cycling its way through its lighting programme from white to red and then a red strobe. He gave up placing it on the ground above his head. The rain it seems had invaded its gizzards and it wasn't going to turn off. We spent a few minutes adjusting our foil cocoon and soon Casper was asleep again. I looked at my watch  - 1:36. I adjusted my head to rest on my backpack and had the Christmas light display of Casper's headland right in my face. Not wishing to wake him again I placed my still gloved and wet hand over my face. A reasonable level of comfort slowly waned giving way to aching muscles begging to be moved. Eventually I surrendered to their plea and gave them a good stretch. Freezing air filled our space. Casper woke and announced "All turn over!"  We flipped over onto our other side, tucked the cover in and started shivering. Intense shivering that makes your muscles ache. We snuggled up closer desperate for warmth and pulled the space blanket down to minimise the airspace. I tucked my head into my raincoat to preserve the heat of my breath and try make it count for something. It was 01:45. 

That was the pattern throughout the night - cramps followed by shivers followed by cramps. At some point the rain stopped and was replace by a chilling wind. 

It seemed a week had passed before the darkness of the eastern sky gave way to the first light of dawn. I unfolded myself and dragged my aching body from beneath the bush. It took me a while to straighten out. The words of the poem "There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile...." played through my mind. I could hear Casper chuckling at me.

I looked up and one kilometre over the gnarled landscape in front of me the elusive jeep track ran up the ridge into the mountains. We were in exactly the right place. Looking up I saw a sky totally devoid of clouds. The wind had abated and it was a beautiful morning. Time to break camp and get to Elandsberg farm for  some breakfast.  

Doringbos Lodge.

My exact words to Casper were, "This is not cool. I don't get lost!"

I can imagine the deflating effect that had on him. All along he thought he had his own personal GPS guidance system and here is the middle of the bush it declares it doesn't know where it's going. 

I saw a ridge off to my left and decided to go have a look on the off chance that it was the ridge we sort. Casper wasn't keen on traipsing his bike across the bush so found a perch while I set off on a little explore.  As I climbed the ridge I saw a distant electric light off to the North. It was the only fixed point of reference in my black world. I was careful to check my bearing against this light so that I was able to retrace my steps to get back to Casper. After a few hundred metres it became apparent that the ridge I was on wasn't going to help with the nav. I turned back and made my way toward Casper careful to keep the light at my 2 o'clock position. I stopped paying attention to it for about 30 seconds and when I looked up expecting to see Casper's position dead ahead he was nowhere be seen. Instead I found the distant light directly ahead. It was a reminder of how easily you can get disoriented. I could see Casper off to my left. 

Arriving back at his position I said we need to go back to the fence and start again. He wasn't keen. "It's so far! How are you going to find it if you don't know where we are?" It was a valid point. Fortunately the fence line ran East to West and was kilometres long. I set of in a northerly direction and we intercepted a track that I mistakingly thought was the one we wanted. After a few hundred metres I realised it was heading easy instead of South. We rode back down and resumed our search for the fence. Intercepting the fence we split up to look for the cycling shoe I had left on the fence pole which Casper found off to out left. Regrouping at the shoe I started going through the required navigation. It started raining and Casper decided to take shelter under a little bush. He looked like a dassie tucked under the little bush. While I was 99% certain of where we were it takes just a smidgen of doubt to make you start doubting. Random thoughts like "what is this is the other shoe I found?" can unhinge your confidence. As I stood looking out ahead of me toward where the jeep track must be I could see absolutely nothing so complete was the darkness. 

Casper suggested we go to ground and wait for light. It was only a little after 1am. I figured it would take us over an hour to get to Elandsberg if we got the navigation right on our second attempt. Stuttgart was at least 5 hours from there and then it would take another 5 or 6 hours to the finish. And we were tired. We would have to take a nap somewhere. The prospect of racing my age had evaporated. 

Always up for an adventure I asked Casper what he had in mind. He told me he had a black plastic bag which we could put on the ground. Sitting on that we could cover ourselves with a space blanket he had in his pack. Standing there in the soaking rain it did sound an attractive proposition. 

I scrambled under the bush to join him. The black bag was placed on the damp earth and we did our best to get equal amounts of body on it. Then the interesting job of unrolling the space blanket started. It came out the bag as a long sausage and bit by bit we unfurled it uncertain how big it was going to get. Fortunately is was a large one and we figured that if we lay on out sides and spooned we could shelter from the rain and do our best to keep warm. That was the beginning of one extremely uncomfortable night. 

The science of getting lost

Being discombobulated I stopped. I could well have been going the right way but I didn't have a sense of my direction. This seldom happens to me and when it does I stop and reset to get reorientated. I had my compass out but it is little comfort knowing the compass directions derived from magnetic north when you don't know where you are. I knew I wanted to go SSE to intercept a jeep track that would take me in a southerly direction. SSE was the direction from the start of the track and not necessarily the direction required from where I stood. I am not quite sure what Casper made of my sudden halt. A walked around a bit and then told him we needed to get back to the gate to start again. We found a fence line and by following  that in a northerly direction Casper found the gate. Starting back at the gate I gave my head a little shake to reset my internal gyro and tried again. We went in exactly the same direction but this time I had no doubts and we quickly picked up the track we were looking for. We bumped along this track for a short distance and then walked up a couple of steep sections all the while I was checking and double checking. Once we were at the top of a ridge that would lead us down to the fence line where we would have to stop and hop the fence Casper was ahead of me. It was a mistake. Not that Casper did anything wrong, it is just that I didn't have a proper sense of the distance we covered. I told him to look out for a fence line on our right hand side and mentioned that when it got close we were to cross to the fence line and hop over. He did just that. 

Something wasn't right. The slope of the land did not correlate with my mental picture of what should have been in front of us. My light, although bright did very little to help. I told Casper I was going to go further down the track. He said he was happy to stay where he was and I climbed back over the fence and walked further down the jeep track. I walked for about 100 metres and saw the fence was a lot closer to the track as I had expected. Crossing to the fence I stepped on an old cycling shoe complete with cleat. I had seen this very shoe on my previous excursion and confident that this was exactly where I wanted to be. I picked the shoe up and hung it on the fence. After hopping over the fence I walked in Casper's direction to fetch him. Imagine my surprise when, as I walked down the straight fence line, I saw his headlight far off to my right. A short distance on I found a junction in the fence that I hadn't noticed before. Casper and I had crossed the wrong fence. It ran perpendicular to the fence we wanted. I reached him, retrieved my bike and we made our way back to the spot I had marked on the fence. I explained to Casper that all we had to do is head directly south and after a few hundred metres we would intercept the track that would take us on to Elandsberg farm. It's a no brainer. I did this same section at night in 2009 when riding with Glenn on the tandem and we made it look easy. The only difference this time round is that it was dark - there were no stars or skyline visible. The only way we could get a bearing was with a compass. That is where it got interesting. As most of us know, geographic north (true north) and magnetic north are not the same thing. Maps are oriented to true north which is a good thing as magnetic north has a nasty habit of wandering. It moves all the time. From Cradock magnetic north is way off to the west of true north. The trick is to know how much. On the last government ordinance maps of that area that I saw I seem to remember the magnetic declination (it's marked at the bottom of the maps) of the maps being something of the order of 18 degrees west. That means your compass will point 18 degrees further west than the true bearing if you are heading north. We were heading south which means the indicated bearing would deviate east 18 degrees, or so I though. The maps I last saw were dated late 70's early 80's and I thought 18 degrees a little steep so I aimed to walk just off South, 10 degrees or so. Today I googled the current magnetic declination for Cradock and found it to be a whopping 23 degrees west. That's massive. Certainly a whole heap more than I anticipated. The net effect is that we wandered off too far left. There is another interesting contributing factor that causes you to go off line. Every time you walk around a bush or try find a line through an obstacle,such as the dongas we were faced with, it is unlikely you will realign yourself on the same intended track once through. You will be some metres left or right of your previous bearing. Pick up your compass and continue on the same bearing and you will continue on a parallel line that will maintain your obstacle deviation. After a few hundred metres you could be 20, 30 or even 50 metres away from your target line. With the benefit of some light you will see the skyline. By aiming at a feature you do away with the parallel deviation and introduce converging paths. If the distance to the feature you head toward is fairly close the convergence effect is self correcting.

While this may all sound rather boring, to me it is fascinating. By understanding how we get it wrong we are able to apply the learning to avoid a reoccurrence. 

When I spoke to Alex about it later he said he was surprised because we know the lay of the land and it is simple. True, except for a few things. Firstly, we had been on the go for nearly 40 hours with less than an hours sleep. While not aware of any ill effects I guess it might have played a part. The second challenge is selective visual attention. If you stand at the fence in daylight it is easy to see the track that you need to get to. Your brain, bombarded by many visual stimuli, is able to focus in on the target stimulus. In this case it correctly identifies the distant jeep track heading up the ridge as the way out. There is a high resolution of focus on this one object. Everything else is  demoted to your periphery where it is scanned in low resolution and is stored in your brain with little detail. If the jeep track was not visible from the fence then it is probable that the stored memory would contain more detailed information. 

As we drifted left I started seeing things that I was not familiar with. The dongas we encountered were huge. Nothing like the ones I remembered from previous years. Probably an effect of poor memory data and the effect of things looking bigger at night as you battle to get a sense of scale in a limit visual pool. Eventually I stopped and told Casper that it wasn't going well. To be continued....