tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37798503989041187992024-03-13T06:00:28.346+02:00Dash For FreedomFreedom to ride anywhereSantacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.comBlogger229125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-78984183963862650092015-08-20T20:17:00.001+02:002015-08-21T22:36:56.731+02:00And so it ends<div class="mobile-photo">
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Eish. The spelling in my previous write-ups...<br />
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Bucklands is still as magical as I remember with lush gardens from the rain. As we arrived, Hannes came out to meet us and shepherded us to have dinner. This was 5.45 - a mere 90 minutes after we had last eaten! </div>
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Well trained support station that it is, Rini has prepared piles of bobotie and veg and pudding for us. </div>
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All of which had been taken from the farm. They were also on a Banting mission - it's everywhere! I kept my Malta pud and custard for later and we walked across to the renovated cottage for the evening. What a quaint place now with electricity. </div>
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During dinner we spoke about the various farms we'd passed through and discovered that the farmer at Stuttgart had a relapse of cancer but was beating it through his own natural methods. Brave man. </div>
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We left at 7.30 and I became concerned early on. Kelly's knee was limiting her ability to pedal which meant our average speed was low. We thought the day would be about 76k to Mount Ingwe but the ascent out of the Groot Rivier was always going to be slow. The fine drizzle stayed on the surrounding mountains and it was brilliant riding conditions. </div>
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When we eventually turned onto the road towards Hadley, we did Dave The Myth's injury treatment. Double the dose of everything. </div>
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This finally gave Kelly some relief except she complained of sparkling eyeballs. We staggered on with quite a few pushes until the descent to the river. The road was being fixed and was great to this point. We'd already crossed the river on Bucklands farm and it was flowing quite deep and in the valley, it was wet shoe time as the water came to our knees. </div>
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The long push out </div>
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At least 2kms of straight up pushing stretched and strained already tired muscles. It was rocky and stony and the drizzle was now coming down in earnest. There had been quite some rain as the puddles were deep and the mud copious. We slipped and slid our way up every climb and the rain picked up. I finally got cold and had a chance to wear my new improved rain jacket. This one worked. Reaching the plateau was a relief but there was no view of the sea or Baviaanskloof. Just mist and an ever darkening sky. </div>
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In the distance and rich green of the hillside, we could make out the descent to Osseberg. </div>
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It was now about 4pm and there was still far to go. </div>
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We pushed on and up again. I thought the next section would be about 10km and to both of our relief it was only 6km - a gift. </div>
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At the summit of the hill about a km from the t-junction, we called Daleen at the lodge to give her an update and to check how far to go still. </div>
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Bad news. Another 17km but she said she would send Lukas to fetch us. Instead of waiting we started off and it was fast and exhilarating... Then came the mud. Black and viscous. I raced straight into a rut and two shakes of the bike and I was flying into the mud bank. As Kelly stopped to check she fell off, unable to uncleat. Cold, wet, hungry and now very muddy. </div>
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We set off again a little more restrained. Another km later was another mud patch with two cows coming for us and a shouting herd boy in pursuit. </div>
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At the same time, Lukas arrived and chaos ensued. He reversed out the mud, we loaded the bikes and headed on down the road, broadsiding at times as the 4x4 slipped through the mud. </div>
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We managed 72km and it had been hard.<br />
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Mount Ingwe was a stunning Lodge in completely different terrain and grasslands. </div>
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We decided to call it a day. Kelly's knee wouldn't hold out for the 70km the next day but we were well satisfied with our adventure.<br />
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But what an interesting man. Film maker, farmer, collector of Anglo Boer war artefacts, and now mountain bike route builder. </div>
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He had business in PE so the next morning, we were back in the bakkie with three quad bikes, two mountain bikes and two tired cyclists.<br />
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There are more bits to write about and photos to post.<br />
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In the meantime, thanks to Kelly for agreeing to come with me. For a novice rider, she was amazing. I think there might be a RASA in her future. </div>
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Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-1663753830885301872015-08-18T20:47:00.000+02:002015-08-21T22:41:47.878+02:00Lies and deja vue<div class="mobile-photo">
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What a long and eventful day.<br />
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When I was prepping my maps and checking narratives, I was somewhat dismayed that the summary distance was still based on the old route. The 105km that had Kelly sleepless - being 15km further than she'd ever ridden - was going to be way under. Oops. </div>
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I hoped she'd be too tired to do the math.<br />
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She had already begun with a knee niggle and despite icing it, it would be a problem. </div>
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We left as it got light and began the tedious route around the Addo Park. Whilst not bad riding it was still dead straight district road. Once in the park, the route to the dam wall went on for ages too but the view when we reached the small pass above the dam wall was superb. The dam was very full and quite a bit of water was being released. We entered the Gwaas Valley which was green with an abundance of small flowers. </div>
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The road had been cleared which took a little of the magic away from the days when it was more a country lane. I felt the same way about the road to Kleinpoort. </div>
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Just before we left the valley, we had our first proper break. The tuna sachet came out and although I wasn't too hungry, I shoved it down knowing the day was still young.<br />
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There is something about tuna. I flew up the pass unlike 2009 when it was soggy road and hard riding. The descent was stunning with the folded cliffs towering over us. <br />
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By now Kelly's knee was bad. We had placed some kinetic strapping on it being given fairly certain it was ITB. This didn't last with dust and moisture. So now we tried a bandage to support the knee </div>
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By the time we got to the next Ridge, it was a painful struggle. So then we duct taped it which also came off but helped marginally. We also changed seat height to take some pressure off.<br />
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While Kelly was deep in the pain cave, I contended with my tool bag coming loose. An extra 1.6kg went into my backpack which did my butt no favours. Finally we spied Kleinpoort. The pie shop was open again and we sank into their chairs gratefully. </div>
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<b>Kleinpoort Pomp Stal</b> </div>
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This was after I had borrowed the rolling pin and punished Kelly some more on the ITB. Picture a dusty cyclist lying on the floor of the coffee shop writhing in angony whilst her mate stands over her wielding a wooden rolling pin!<br />
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Some Dutch men arrived having just done a 4x4 safari and they told us how much they loved the country and how beautiful it was. They had a hard core Landy outside which had already traveled Africa. They were really interested in our adventures - similar spirits I guess.<br />
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Credit to Kelly, she sat on my wheel and we bolted for Bucklands to make it in the daylight averaging 20km/hour.<br />
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It had been a really long day of 118km.</div>
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Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-40428757706667301712015-08-17T14:44:00.000+02:002015-08-21T22:46:43.004+02:00Moving on<div class="mobile-photo">
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Lood built us a fire to take the chill off the evening but the wind ensured we were smoked out. I came out of my room to burning eyes and a grey haze. So we were forced to open doors and windows to try to breathe. Our washing was drying in front of the fire with a new brand of stasoft : woodsmoke.<br />
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The next morning was leisurely leaving at 8am to do the 52km to Toekomst. We got a little derailed by a pair of Angora kids. Too cute and they liked the paparazzi. Finally we got on the road fairly uneventful until we pulled over for a bakkie coming from Karoopoort.<br />
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The good news is that she plans to buy a bike and start riding. Seeing two women on the trail on their own was hopefully inspirational. I think we need a mini freedom trail event for the support station farmers who ride. Looking at you Glenn and Meryl.<br />
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Karoopoort was spectacular. The views, greenery and flowers were amazing thanks to some unexpected winter rains. On the way down, the game gate was locked so as per the instructions on the narrative, we scrabbled our way through the bush to the dry river bed. There we shimmied under the game fence but saw only warthog and water buck for our troubles.<br />
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I am now lying under a mohair blanket in my comfy tent looking out over the Karoo scrub. Below me are Eland and Sable antelope.<br />
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The silence hurts. </div>
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Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-57289975578295466232015-08-16T19:34:00.000+02:002015-08-16T19:35:16.153+02:00Who's the boss<div>Not I. The wind bossed us from Struishoek to Gegun with just the 5km on tar to Pearston at our backs. </div><div>Otherwise it was a master class in echelon and wheel sucking techniques. </div><div>But that was later. </div><div>Back at Grootdam we met Tienie when we arrived who dished out chicken soup and crispy vetkoek along with all the gossip. </div><div>There was an American bow hunter, Gene, plus a couple of local hunters who work with boss man Neil. </div><div>The braai was indoors. Next to the pub. I saw a couple of quivering slabs of meat being turned and tried not to wonder. </div><div>The conversation was easy and the company relaxed. Starters were served and it was a plateful of braaied prawns which were dispatched in short order. </div><div>Dinner was next and there were the slabs, brown on the outside and decidedly pink on the inside. Ooh eh eh. </div><div>The choice was reed buck or fresh eland, as in hunted that morning by Gene. </div><div>I went with the reed buck and hid the pink bits with mustard and mushroom sauce. Veges made an appearance which were delish. Rounding it all off was creme Brule. After the shortage of sleep, I couldn't stay up to watch the rugby so scuttled off to bed to lie back and stare up into a Leopard's arsehole. </div><div><br></div><div>A leisurely breakfast of bacon and eggs and coffee got us out of Grootdam at 7.30am.</div><div><br></div><div>Tollies Torture </div><div>Our first challenge of the day was the clambering over our first 3m fence. The bikes weren't too heavy according to the weigh in at Intercape. So 14.4kg of carbon Santa Cruz porn went over followed by another. </div><div><br></div><div> The second challenge was to de-socknshoe or not. The idea of wet feet nixed that so off they came and freezing wade ensued. </div><div>Way above us we could see the road winding it's way up the Koppie. Towards the top we reached 24% gradient then HC. </div><div>I think I'm going to be very stiff tomorrow. After that came more water bars, 5m power intervals that went on and on until we finally got to the top of Struishoek portage and there were all the whitewashed stones in all their glory. Thanks Dave and all the Redcliff staff. </div><div>A short picnic then we started down. One can never explain what these are like to novices so Kelly was left to her own devices to discover for herself. </div><div>At Radcliff farm the family was settling in for a Sunday braai when two sweaty women arrived wanting water. True eastern cape hospitality meant water, homemade lemon juice and fresh oranges. </div><div>Our detour into Pearston was put on hold as time was moving on and the wind had picked up, ready to bludgeon us on the last 25km.</div><div>Gegun was deserted, my phone died and we were cold and tired. Eventually - only 15min really - we discover the key in the pot plant via a portable charger and calls to race office. The entire region was without power so no tea to revive us. In the freezer was steak and chops and a frozen loaf of bread. The kindling for a braai was prepared outside in the cold strong wind. </div><div>But help was at hand. Lisa and Lood arrived with a cooler box full of roast chicken, salad, pasta and potato salad. Topped off with chocolate eclairs. </div><div>The lights have come on and all is good with the world. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div id="composer_signature"><div style="font-size:85%;color:#575757">Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.</div></div>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-32170334117443884472015-08-15T16:53:00.000+02:002015-08-16T07:53:19.233+02:00Finally on the trail<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FSi4JhkEN88/VdAlUBKleBI/AAAAAAAADhA/_mzjCZVlSDI/s1600/IMG-20150815-WA0002-799234.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FSi4JhkEN88/VdAlUBKleBI/AAAAAAAADhA/_mzjCZVlSDI/s160/IMG-20150815-WA0002-799234.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6183483314220136466" /></a></p><div>So the trip to Cradock was tedious and more expensive than anticipated. The welcome from Margaret made up for that and it was with a small amount of trepidation that we finally set off. </div><div>There were a few mechanicals to deal with: brake pads that had closed, saddle again that kept hitting get the rear wheel and a slight adjustment to my saddle. </div><div>A Wimpy coffee sorted out my grumpiness and then we couldn't put it off anymore. Time to commit. </div><div>We crossed the Fish River and began the climb. It's a great route. Gradual ascents of 4-5%.</div><div>A lone cyclist came at us head on in his rugby shorts and fleece, intent on having the first of many conversations today. Now we know that most of the Cradock cyclists are at Trans Baviaans, and that he had ridden out to check on his sheep. With a detailed description of what lay ahead of us, off he sped. </div><div>We rode leisurely and took photos. After all it was only 55km. It was a cool day and joy, a tailwind. When we finally submitted, we tucked out of the wind to snack and enjoy the Freedom of where we were. Cradock lay behind and a vast Valley lay before us encircled by Hills stretching away into the distance. </div><div>A white Bakker pulled up next to us. </div><div>"Why aren't you doing Trans Baviaans? " We explained why? </div><div>"Look where my bakkie turns off, that is where you must turn. Stop at the farm. It's Eldorado." </div><div>We watched from our lofty perch barely able to make out the white vehicle against the sun bleached winter veld. </div><div>Eventually the wind got cold and we headed off down the pass. As we turned off the full force of it hit our backs and we flew along the road. </div><div>There was a moments hesitation then we swung into the farm, with Pierre Oosthuizen's experiences spurring us on.</div><div>Eastern Cape, Karoo and Farmers. The hospitality doesn't get any better. Water or whiskey? </div><div>Water, whiskey and rooibos tea. </div><div>The parlour was wall to wall hunting and fishing trophies and of course the topic moved to Cecil the Lion.</div><div>Much shaking of heads. "Gives the industry a bad name." Seeing we were in hunting country and would be staying at a hunting Lodge, we agreed. </div><div>With multiple have good wishes and offers of help in PE, we left the Moolman's for a fast 20k downhill with shunting wind at our backs.</div><div>Grootdam awaited. And therein probably lies another story. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div id="composer_signature"><div style="font-size:85%;color:#575757">Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.</div></div>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-13184155192823833472015-08-15T12:58:00.000+02:002015-08-15T12:59:30.763+02:00Docking into Cradock<div>The bus down to Cradock is not cheap and definitely not fun with a bicycle. After some crazy fly by night volumetric measurements we had some very light pockets. After a crazy week prepping, I passed out for the full 12hr drive. Fiona did not sleep a wink thanks to crazy loud phone calls at 12am... Bollywood movies being watched on cellphones (no earphones necessary apparently) and one crazy near brawl over something we've yet to figure out. </div><div><br></div><div>We arrive and thank Bob Margaret was there to save us from the Friday Shell garage jollers complete with milk stout and bloodshot eyes. </div><div><br></div><div>Margaret's home was the perfect pre ride resting place sent comfy beds, hot water bottles, sausage dogs galore..</div><div><br></div><div>3hrs of proper sleep later we unbubble wrapped our babies, wrestled with an unwieldy brake pad and hit the local wimpy. Hard. </div><div><br></div><div>It was basically onwards and upwards and upwards and upwards. Pretty Karoo 18k. climb up Swaershoek Pass. Took some pictures of myself in the pretty Karoo flowers - what an awesome Day! </div><div><br></div><div>- KellyKazi</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div id="composer_signature"><div style="font-size:85%;color:#575757">Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.</div></div>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-43942226910802404542015-08-15T12:44:00.000+02:002015-08-15T12:45:02.939+02:00Getting to Cradock<div><br></div><div>Bleh! Bus at night not to be recommended. First we had to pay in for the bikes. Big surprise. Making this not a cheap option. </div><div>Unless you have a blanket, pillow and eye cover, you won't sleep. </div><div>It was a long night. </div><div>Margaret was there to meet us, thank goodness. The drop off is very dodgy with late/early revellers accosting one looking for more money to buy milk stout. </div><div>A comfy couple of hours kip in a bed made all the difference. </div><div>Filled with streaky bacon breakfast, we were finally off. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div id="composer_signature"><div style="font-size:85%;color:#575757">Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.</div></div>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-42526547283156275562015-08-14T13:20:00.002+02:002015-08-14T13:20:42.491+02:00People of the Freedom Trail rockNews just through from the race office of Freedom Trail:<br />
Margaret (of Elandsberg fame) is generously and selflessly coming to pick up Kelly and I at 3am and taking us to her house. So we'll have a couple of extra hours of sleep, a homemade breakfast and then we'll set off for the rude 18km ascent up the Swaershoek Pass.<br />
The hospitality of the hosts on the Freedom Trail are legendary and every year, riders are blessed with mothering, cosseting and love before heading out into bitter winter nights and days.<br />
Respect and whole hearted thanks to Margaret for looking out for the two orphans.Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-12782094980085485122015-08-14T11:15:00.001+02:002015-08-14T13:16:43.127+02:003 hours to goI sit here with random thoughts cascading around my head. Underlying them all is a quiver of nerves for this ride.<br />
On this, there is no safety net of a Freedom Trail race office and its logistical support. They have booked our overnight spots and the rest is over to us. One novice and one more 'experienced' rider on this unsupported lark.<br />
There are vague memories that lurk from 2009 but I realise that much will have changed and it will be focusing from scratch on maps and narratives.<br />
We've made a last minute decision to include our bike lights in case we decide to ride in the dark from Cradock. A four hour wait for the Wimpy to open has no appeal. So there is a possibility that we will watch the sun rise from the top of the Swaershoek Pass. Magnificent!<br />
The clock is ticking.<br />
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-7894653407399484822015-08-13T11:09:00.002+02:002015-08-13T11:11:26.671+02:00Rule #1It's best to plan these unsupported events with a little time in hand.<br />
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I find I am quite nervous about it because I haven't put in my usual hours of planning and attention to detail. Not having the luxury of 2l tubs also means extra weight of snacks to be carried.<br />
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Our late commitment to the ride also meant that we couldn't get on to the Shosholoza Meyl which would have dropped us off in Cradock at the reasonable hour of 5am.<br />
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Now we are on the Sleepliner and clamber off somewhere in the town at the ungodly hour of 3am. I am pretty certain the Wimpy isn't open at that hour but I do know the Shell garage has a 24 hour coffee bar.<br />
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Going to be interesting!<br />
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-6350149295062257302015-08-12T09:12:00.001+02:002015-08-12T09:12:52.779+02:00Two more sleeps<div><br></div><div>The next adventure is upon me. This time there has only been a scant two weeks to prepare. </div><div>A five day unsupported ride on another section of the Freedom Trail. </div><div>I have dragged my friend Kelly with me and the tale will begin at 16.30 at Park Station, Friday 14th August. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div id="composer_signature"><div style="font-size:85%;color:#575757">Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.</div></div>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-59482629601104032512015-05-06T16:41:00.001+02:002015-05-06T16:41:41.073+02:00Let's make it a stage to rememberAnd so the weather gods did.<br />
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We left Stuttgart upbeat and ready for the last 70km of which the last 18km were promised as "all downhill". Yeah right, heard that one before.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omIoGaejBAU/VUogtCRQC6I/AAAAAAAADek/3-Y4D8HTXKk/s1600/15-DSC03557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omIoGaejBAU/VUogtCRQC6I/AAAAAAAADek/3-Y4D8HTXKk/s1600/15-DSC03557.JPG" height="96" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical Karoo scrub</i></td></tr>
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I had been really worried about the Garstland Kloof because waaay back in 2009, we'd struggled through the clay mud and with all the rain, I was convinced it would be a replay of the same. It's a gradual climb up the narrow valley with a couple of farms along side the road. In front of us were mountains and it was difficult to identify which would be our Schurfteberg portage.<br />
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My legs were feeling better - not fast - but not as tight so I was happy. We had a tailwind which made the going pretty hot and we'd regroup under the shade of the odd tree that leaned over the road. We reached the bad memories of 09 (Yes, I still recognised it such was the trauma!) and rode comfortably over it. There was really no mud to speak of despite the downpours of the night before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNUFrFRwfOw/VUogzNpV8rI/AAAAAAAADfA/pXzFLWWwoiU/s1600/17-DSC03560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kNUFrFRwfOw/VUogzNpV8rI/AAAAAAAADfA/pXzFLWWwoiU/s1600/17-DSC03560.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mmm Yum</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WwYsd6WeyXw/VUogzTBgwPI/AAAAAAAADfY/N3G161FIEJI/s1600/18-DSC03565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WwYsd6WeyXw/VUogzTBgwPI/AAAAAAAADfY/N3G161FIEJI/s1600/18-DSC03565.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tricky operation</i></td></tr>
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You know you've reached the end of the valley when you practically ride into the last farmstead. As I pulled up to the others, Leon was attacking a prickly pear bush with a stick and a pen knife.He swat the fat fruit or poke at it until it dropped then stab it with the blade. Using both as tools, he slice off the prickly outer skin and hand us all slices of the insides. I wasn't sure about this but tasted some anyway. It was surprisingly sweet.<br />
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Thus fortified, we pedaled on to the gate in the fence. It's quite easy to make a mistake here and many have done so. Leon remembered his error clearly from the previous year and my maps read: Go through gate!"<br />
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So we did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ig3EjIAgjPg/VUogoTsBWRI/AAAAAAAADd8/NBmwRojqt3M/s1600/01-DSC03571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ig3EjIAgjPg/VUogoTsBWRI/AAAAAAAADd8/NBmwRojqt3M/s1600/01-DSC03571.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from below</i></td></tr>
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The track appeared and on we rode to the ruins at the base of the portage. As we got there, black clouds bulged over the ridge and the wind had a distinct chill and smell of rain. Undeterred, we rode onwards and I saw to my relief the ominous black cloud move off over the ridge and the sun come out exactly where we were going to ride. "Great timing," I thought.<br />
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I have two photos taken in 2009 which are framed. The one is from the bottom of the portage beside the small lake and the other from the top, looking back and over the ridge into the Karoo with a dusting of snow. I had looked forward to taking a repeat for months already. So I got my picture of the lake and the mountain looming above then pedaled off after the others.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FsJQYLNZcGM/VUogy7C5zKI/AAAAAAAADe8/bm5lEHuIAEc/s1600/19-DSC03597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FsJQYLNZcGM/VUogy7C5zKI/AAAAAAAADe8/bm5lEHuIAEc/s1600/19-DSC03597.JPG" height="98" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sheeting rain</i></td></tr>
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As we hit the base of the mountain and began to climb, the black clouds rolled in and within minutes, a grey sheet of rain descended the mountain and dumped on our heads. Howling wind made it difficult to pull on rain jackets and to pack away phones and camera. Eventually, packs were on and we began the slow plod with rain driving in our faces one way, then pushing onto our backs another. Once again, I was reminded of the distinct lack of waterproofing that my seldom used jacket offered.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d4P1Pvhe-pQ/VUogox3vffI/AAAAAAAADeA/E6l_abfBP2I/s1600/02-DSC03573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d4P1Pvhe-pQ/VUogox3vffI/AAAAAAAADeA/E6l_abfBP2I/s1600/02-DSC03573.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from the top</i></td></tr>
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We were probably half way up the climb when the clouds rolled away and the sun came out, blazing down on us in our jackets. In moments, it was hot and humid and the only one smiling was Jonathan who hadn't bothered to put on a waterproof shell at all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J3dePWsB8nU/VUog0puJT0I/AAAAAAAADfQ/LDNesd9uYXc/s1600/21-DSC03601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J3dePWsB8nU/VUog0puJT0I/AAAAAAAADfQ/LDNesd9uYXc/s1600/21-DSC03601.JPG" height="112" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jackets on</i></td></tr>
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This was my only low point of the race. For some reason, I struggled here. I felt exhausted, legs heavy again and I just wanted to put my head down on the handlebars and sleep. Of course, this is also when the negative demons come out to play and the old mantras of being useless, not up for this physicality and other rubbish roamed around my thoughts and dragged me into self pity.<br />
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I reached the gate barely able to speak but I was still determined to take my photo looking down the hill. So while the others moved onto the saddle where we would have a brief picnic. Jonathan and I messed around with photos. (I've combined the two pics from above at the bottom of this blog).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NkNo9Z1Ec6Q/VUogpEl87UI/AAAAAAAADeM/JR-PmtkGZj8/s1600/03-DSC03576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NkNo9Z1Ec6Q/VUogpEl87UI/AAAAAAAADeM/JR-PmtkGZj8/s1600/03-DSC03576.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The tuna moment</i></td></tr>
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Then I pushed my bike wearily to where the rest of the group lay sprawled in the warm sun, drying off kit and eating. Finally, I could eat my Pringles which I'd carried all the way from Elandsberg. Leon swopped me a spoon of tuna for some chips and we made a type of tortilla. OMG. If I hadn't been so tired, I would have mugged him on the spot and torn his tuna sachet from his grip. I had this intense craving for this magic food and yet stupidly, had never packed one for emergencies.<br />
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Jonathan to the rescue with an extra sachet. Using his spork, I inhaled the contents and my world was was intact again. I was really surprised at the lift it gave me as it wasn't that long ago that we'd eaten well at Stuttgart. Never mind, it was exactly what I needed to get going. Oh, that and the technical downhill that followed!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y3JIbeskyqo/VUogrc_WtSI/AAAAAAAADec/jXP4iSpFFv8/s1600/05-DSC03578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y3JIbeskyqo/VUogrc_WtSI/AAAAAAAADec/jXP4iSpFFv8/s1600/05-DSC03578.JPG" height="106" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Karoo vistas - descent looming</i></td></tr>
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It was magnificent riding all the way to bottom of the valley and we were in great spirits. It was a fast downhill that made your wrists and calves ache and our speed continued onto the dirt road from the farmhouse.<br />
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A strange recollection now was my Garmin which started beeping incessantly. Eventually I figured out there was some dirt or mud jammed in one of the buttons which eventually washed out with the next downpour which came on us with the same rapidity as the dissipation of the previous one.<br />
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We were helter skeltering down the road constantly looking over our shoulders at Schurfteberg and when the valley started to blot out, it was time to whip on the waterproofs. Except for Jonathan. It seemed that everyone was trying to beat the rain as three bareback horseman came galloping up the road clearly trying to get home before the rain started in earnest again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PajqPmPJNhA/VUog1iEU5CI/AAAAAAAADfg/1GclHfagp-A/s1600/22-DSC03617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PajqPmPJNhA/VUog1iEU5CI/AAAAAAAADfg/1GclHfagp-A/s1600/22-DSC03617.JPG" height="105" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Soggy roads</i></td></tr>
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There is a tough little climb on this road which under normal circumstances, would slow your momentum. Today, we were going nowhere. The heavens opened again creating rivers of water that rushed down the road making its own gullies and forcing us to keep our heads down. If that were not enough, it began to hail.<br />
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In the small window that was created by my jacket hood and the angle of the road, I watched the white stones bounce crazily before being swept away by the torrent. As we reached the top of the climb, the entire road surface was covered by lakes of water around which there was no riding.<br />
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It was exhilarating despite the cold from the wind which drove the rain through our layers. I loved it.<br />
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We began the descent hoping that the ruts beneath the layer of water wouldn't be too bad when Leon broke his hangar. We managed to shout the word above the wind and saw a farmhouse not 300m away. Perfect.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_pF2bWoIU2E/VUoguPGRUyI/AAAAAAAADes/qC_NKkxBm2s/s1600/06-DSC03581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_pF2bWoIU2E/VUoguPGRUyI/AAAAAAAADes/qC_NKkxBm2s/s1600/06-DSC03581.JPG" height="111" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jakkalsfontein</i></td></tr>
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It was the farm called Jakkalsfontein, one of the last surviving historical farmsteads. It had an old fashioned bell pull which summoned a rather surprised looking inhabitant. Too wet to go inside, we gratefully took his offer of coffee while Leon expertly replaced his hangar. Despite the hot coffee, we'd all chilled down with the wait and when we eventually set off, this time chasing the veil of rain, it was a teeth chattering affair until we reached the bottom of the hill.<br />
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Time to leave the RASA route and make our turn towards Cradock. Only the Swaershoek Pass awaited us along with the promised 18km of nirvana downhill.<br />
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The rain had softened up the surface of the road so it became a slog and when we reached the pass, only Leon and Craig rode it. For the rest of us, a headwind, the slope and general fatigue from the weather meant a push to the top.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UY1dUd7BGy0/VUog2UzEfRI/AAAAAAAADfs/YzysFEsSPcI/s1600/23-DSC03624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UY1dUd7BGy0/VUog2UzEfRI/AAAAAAAADfs/YzysFEsSPcI/s1600/23-DSC03624.JPG" height="88" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Top of Swaershoek Pass</i></td></tr>
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Once there, the wind howled through the gap so we didn't hang around long. In the distance we could see Cradock and the light was beginning to fade. A downhill can't be enjoyed in the dark so we put our heads down and sped down the hill. Yeah, yeah, it was all of 18kms of downhill. It began with a steep drop down to one level, then gradually became less steep but the descent never wavered. It was only as we hit the tar road that would take us across the Fish River to our lodge, that the road finally leveled out.<br />
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What an awesome way to finish any event. It was almost dark when we arrived but to a warm welcome from Glenn and Meryl of the race office and the other riders who had finished.<br />
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How does one end off a tale like this? I'm not sure what is fitting. Perhaps the real measure is whether I would do it again.<br />
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Hell yes!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lC8Arj39ris/VUogqWhROzI/AAAAAAAADeQ/tcpKzy3IRcc/s1600/04-DSC03577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lC8Arj39ris/VUogqWhROzI/AAAAAAAADeQ/tcpKzy3IRcc/s1600/04-DSC03577.JPG" height="91" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Priceless</i></td></tr>
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-76328238099208638092015-04-13T12:02:00.000+02:002015-04-13T19:42:40.051+02:00Double UpFrom when the race was announced I had it in my head to double up the last two stages. It would make it 140kms but I figured there was a remote chance I would be fit enough to handle it. Or, on the other hand, I might be so tired, I'd regret it immensely and opt to stop after 70km at Stuttgart.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-egh4zMIVHJ0/VSuQctTih6I/AAAAAAAADdE/Rtnu_m0C2yE/s1600/07-DSC03541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-egh4zMIVHJ0/VSuQctTih6I/AAAAAAAADdE/Rtnu_m0C2yE/s1600/07-DSC03541.JPG" height="162" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Second Breakfast</i></td></tr>
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The event so far had been a lot of deja vue. Memories from 2009 were like they had happened yesterday. I had suffered quite a lot angst from Moordenaarspoort (as we covered the segments that had been RASA demons) all the way to Romansfontein where I could finally put it all behind me.<br />
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Way back then, eight riders had arrived at about 8:30pm at Elandsberg surprising Margaret who had expected four and much earlier. Chief among our group was Carl Crous, fondly known as The General. He was keen to double up from Eandsberg through to De Doorns bypassing Stuttgart. Doug and I were happy to go with him, proper little soldiers that we were! It was absolutely worth it and I still remember the energy and excitement we felt as we walked into the support station that evening having completed our first double stage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SNjTfzcTrvQ/VSuQchYmNuI/AAAAAAAADc4/Nzik0Y3ZYU0/s1600/08-DSC03544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SNjTfzcTrvQ/VSuQchYmNuI/AAAAAAAADc4/Nzik0Y3ZYU0/s1600/08-DSC03544.JPG" height="183" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Clouds building all around us</i></td></tr>
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The ride from Elandsberg to Stuttgart is fast especially the first 30km or so. We had debated the time for departure and eventually compromised on 4:30am. After another restless night of dogs barking and mind tossing, I was happy to get up and get moving, fatigue notwithstanding. At that hour, there was only porridge which would probably last all of an hour or two but that was not my biggest problem.<br />
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Lactate had built up in my legs and they were heavy and turgid. Nevertheless we all sped off and I was just off the back, with Jonathan an easy companion. He was upbeat as he started to feel more like his old self but wanted to stay conservative. Any little climb would push me further back but I managed to make up time on the flats and downhills.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pGEJcHg-agI/VSuQcWAAbtI/AAAAAAAADc0/aF_UQ7I5hF8/s1600/09-DSC03546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pGEJcHg-agI/VSuQcWAAbtI/AAAAAAAADc0/aF_UQ7I5hF8/s1600/09-DSC03546.JPG" height="127" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Soggy roads</i></td></tr>
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The immense storm of the night before had not affected the roads too badly and they were firm under our wheels. What we had not anticipated were the culverts (cement water drainage across the road) which were running as shallow streams.<br />
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Jonathan and I came around the corner to shouts from the others. Leon had ridden straight across, his wheel had slipped on slime sending him skidding through the water to the other side. Luckily he semi-aquaplaned and only had minor roasties to boast about.<br />
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We crawled across and even so, my front wheel washed out and I just managed to correct it and reach the dry road on the other side. There were several of these obstacles on this section of road and they were treated with the necessary respect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fneLg45xj_w/VSuQdjFmPVI/AAAAAAAADdI/Nf3W80ZWO_0/s1600/10-DSC03549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fneLg45xj_w/VSuQdjFmPVI/AAAAAAAADdI/Nf3W80ZWO_0/s1600/10-DSC03549.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sun tan lotion - wishful thinkin</i>g</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was still dark as we reached the tar road to Cradock and it was disconcerting to see a road sign announcing it was only 60km to the town. We were really going the Long Way Round.<br />
<br />
It was still dark when we reached the road, slap bang in the middle of a stop&go section. The sky should have been lightening by then but ominously, clouds were building on the eastern horizon suppressing the gray light of pre-dawn.<br />
<br />
Craig endeared himself to the race office by mistakenly dialing Meryl's number and asking her why she had called him. One of those classic moments of confusion.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mkUQYx8wLTc/VSuQebcFReI/AAAAAAAADdo/wCiPbypJG_s/s1600/11-DSC03552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mkUQYx8wLTc/VSuQebcFReI/AAAAAAAADdo/wCiPbypJG_s/s1600/11-DSC03552.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bum break</i></td></tr>
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At one of the myriad gates, I discovered my rear tire was too soft and I sincerely hoped this was the cause of my struggle to keep up. Alas not. It helped once it was pumped but not to the extent I had hoped. As always, the group waited for everyone to catch up and we made our way through a game park hoping to spot some game but equally hoping it wasn't a charge by an angry rhino.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: right;">
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The game we did hear was depressing and nauseating. As we exited the game park, we could hear a lion making its trademark coughing sound. Moments later it was joined by another until there was an incredible cacophony of lions. It was coming from the farm across the road and in my heart of hearts I knew it was lions for canned trophy hunting.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Smyzz-xSXPg/VSuQeo_NzBI/AAAAAAAADdY/ZW0w6sb4z3k/s1600/13-DSC03554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Smyzz-xSXPg/VSuQeo_NzBI/AAAAAAAADdY/ZW0w6sb4z3k/s1600/13-DSC03554.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stuttgart break</i></td></tr>
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<br />
For an animal that is rapidly disappearing from the wild, (in 50 years, lions have gone from 450 000 to a mere 20 000) to breeding them for sport was sickening.<br />
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</div>
<br />
We left the area as quickly as we could, feeling quite disturbed. There remained only one potentially tricky bit of navigation which entailed sticky mud as we forded the Pauls River but we sailed through that and were soon on the last stretch to Stuttgart.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_p1fZyV4IM/VSuQfxNY6ZI/AAAAAAAADdk/AewcKTp9gDM/s1600/14-DSC03556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_p1fZyV4IM/VSuQfxNY6ZI/AAAAAAAADdk/AewcKTp9gDM/s1600/14-DSC03556.JPG" height="126" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sunny spot</i></td></tr>
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Once again, we fell behind on some of the hills as well as stopping to take pics of a tractor seat perched on the side of the road. It felt soooo much more comfortable than my bike saddle at that moment. Finally we arrived at the farmhouse which entailed: stretching, water top ups, opening and closing of boxes and only removing the Allsorts, catching up on the semi-finals of the World Cup Cricket with SA vs NZ, eating vast quantities of venison pie and salad, lubing bums and bikes and drinking tea. All of this in an hour.<br />
<br />
There really wasn't a rush as we would finish that day, no matter what. We still aimed for a daylight finish and there was plenty of time.<br />
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The weather gods had other ideas.<br />
<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-18731791475465620602015-04-08T21:17:00.000+02:002015-04-14T14:37:00.913+02:00More storms, mud and a tail windRomansfontein has a special place in the hearts of the RASA riders. Somehow it epitomises a haven, a place where you will be cared for, it's a home from home. We rolled in there and made ourselves immediately comfortable washing bikes, drinking coke chased by copious amounts of tea.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GYmRGhG_mzs/VSV7vKfsd0I/AAAAAAAADcE/Ma_34dtCaQc/s1600/03-DSC03517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GYmRGhG_mzs/VSV7vKfsd0I/AAAAAAAADcE/Ma_34dtCaQc/s1600/03-DSC03517.JPG" height="114" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aasvoelberg in the distance</i></td></tr>
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I think I had the same room as in 2009, it was certainly in the same area of the house but there are so many offshoots and nooks and crannies and spaces for riders to bed down, who can be certain. The ghost rider who did not arrive at Krantzkop was expected to make an appearance this night and Stefanie wisely decided to allocate a single room off the garage. It was miles away from me and probably guaranteed not to disturb the others in their rondavel.<br />
<br />
There was a process of sifting through other peoples leftovers in their boxes and I scaled some sour jelly tots. My own biltong, trail mix and droe wors were put back into the common pile. I took some of Craig's soft Woolies biltong instead and topped up my Allsorts and easter eggs. I think I may have also snaffled some cheese wedges.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNu1NDuP0M/VSV7wz0XvuI/AAAAAAAADcU/2VI7k1xhtZs/s1600/01-DSC03513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KTNu1NDuP0M/VSV7wz0XvuI/AAAAAAAADcU/2VI7k1xhtZs/s1600/01-DSC03513.JPG" height="141" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Um?</i></td></tr>
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I had a neat pile on the floor of my room which makes early morning packing a breeze and the various gadgets were plugged in for charging. Will had showed Leon and I the path out of the farm which was all well and good in the daylight. In the pitch dark, it's another story altogether.<br />
<br />
That night a huge storm rolled in with lightening, great echoing rolls of thunder and of course torrential rain. All I could think of was the racers who would be out in the middle of this and whether they would find some shelter. I ran through the route in my head trying to visualise the various options of farmhouses along the way. Not conducive to falling asleep. I had also opened my window a crack and every little noise sounded like an animal or creature trying to get in.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-75-C3_zl-L0/VSV7wSWAYXI/AAAAAAAADcM/zIWDfXbTEpk/s1600/02-DSC03515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-75-C3_zl-L0/VSV7wSWAYXI/AAAAAAAADcM/zIWDfXbTEpk/s1600/02-DSC03515.JPG" height="118" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the landmarks</i></td></tr>
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<br />
At 11:43 my GPS beeped at me. I fumbled for the lamp switch but it did not work. Thinking I had knocked the plug askew, I groped for the overhead light - nothing. The power was off. I had to leave my GPS plugged in case it came back on so for the rest of the night I had this regular beeping reminding me of the problem I was going to have the next day.<br />
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Ironically, Romansfontein was the first decent night's sleep I had on RASA 2009 but this time around, a good night's rest eluded me. Tiredness was beginning to accumulate. I was looking forward to the Aasvoelberg portage and navigation but dreaded the long district roads into Hofmeyer.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UMT5olmzgSM/VSV7x5tvjsI/AAAAAAAADcY/k92MqJTJxR8/s1600/04-DSC03519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UMT5olmzgSM/VSV7x5tvjsI/AAAAAAAADcY/k92MqJTJxR8/s1600/04-DSC03519.JPG" height="104" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wrapping up before the descent</i></td></tr>
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<br />
4am eventually arrived but without courtesy of Eskom. Miraculously, Stefanie managed to produce the best breakfast of the trip on a gas ring and amidst a plague of miniature frogs. It was an egg frittata with cheese grillers sliced into it. Tasty! (Maybe it was frogs?)<br />
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It had stopped raining but was still dripping and threatening more. We opted to avoid the farm track and rode around on the district road. I had yet to wake fully and was disconcerted at the speedy pace set by Stewart as he hauled us along the gravel.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OfOoDAcH73M/VSV7Ew3Um7I/AAAAAAAADbk/ZbgcByUY1Bs/s1600/10-DSC06785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OfOoDAcH73M/VSV7Ew3Um7I/AAAAAAAADbk/ZbgcByUY1Bs/s1600/10-DSC06785.JPG" height="111" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bike wash</i></td></tr>
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I spotted the black outline of the Aasvoelberg in the unearthly grey light of pre-dawn only to find out it was a copse of trees covering the road. Eventually, as the sky lightened and we arrived at Gunsteling gate, there was the mountain. We took a few minutes to orientate ourselves and I showed the others the path we would be taking.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pYyqJrhJBE4/VSV7yydyK3I/AAAAAAAADck/cBj11zVWf8g/s1600/05-DSC03524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pYyqJrhJBE4/VSV7yydyK3I/AAAAAAAADck/cBj11zVWf8g/s1600/05-DSC03524.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trying to stay ahead of the rain</i></td></tr>
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No mistakes and we popped up at the gate at the top which would send us on our way down again. There was a pumping wind on top and we pulled out windproof layers before beginning a long descent to valley below. The descent is steep and wrists and brakes are saved by the berms built to stop erosion so I could afford to pick up speed knowing I would be forcibly slowed. The tail wind pushed unmercifully and it was exhilarating.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KqF8wKuOONY/VSV7AF81h2I/AAAAAAAADbM/bX6mlZnmAc8/s1600/06-DSC03527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KqF8wKuOONY/VSV7AF81h2I/AAAAAAAADbM/bX6mlZnmAc8/s1600/06-DSC03527.JPG" height="160" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Reaching the Karoo proper</i></td></tr>
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Or it was until we reached the mud. At first it flicked off like angry bees but in the lee of the berms it collected and reached out its sticky arms to coat wheels and jam derailleurs. Bummer. Having experienced this before, I managed to clear the mud with a stick enough to be able to lift my bike off the track and push it amongst the rocks and grass. After I rejoined the track, I walked next to the bike to keep weight off it and so came to the first of many gates.<br />
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From there the gradient dropped off again which seemed to keep the mud at bay and we rode all the way to the bottom stopping eventually at the river for an extended clean up. I hate getting my feet wet but here there was no real choice. I joined the others and waded in and used the river's flow to get rid of what I could.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HcVHxxDkHhg/VSV7BB4e3pI/AAAAAAAADbU/p3R_B205xfM/s1600/07-DSC03532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HcVHxxDkHhg/VSV7BB4e3pI/AAAAAAAADbU/p3R_B205xfM/s1600/07-DSC03532.JPG" height="159" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> Pie Shop</i></td></tr>
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I was really disappointed in our descent. I had looked forward to it despite its previous gnarly nature being tamed by an over zealous farmer grading the track. As we left the river behind, the soft road surface was tedious and it was really hard to find a rhythm. It was my turn to be towed by Leon for a couple of stretches and yet the road climbed ever so gently to Vlekpoort nek. Under normal circumstances, it would be an easy ride but not this day.<br />
<br />
My GPS had long been switched off and I found it immensely disconcerting to be unable to track distance but then, it was always a surprise to know we covered large chunks of kilometers when we stopped at junctions.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e0vyc5mQ3LU/VSV7HDklX-I/AAAAAAAADb0/1_-d9uYLMYc/s1600/11-DSC06790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e0vyc5mQ3LU/VSV7HDklX-I/AAAAAAAADb0/1_-d9uYLMYc/s1600/11-DSC06790.JPG" height="200" width="182" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A bike shop?</i></td></tr>
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Miraculously, the roads to Hofmeyer were hard and fast helped by the still present tail wind. We formed an efficient echelon and in no time, we were at the pie shop. Pie, salad, chips, coffee and coke. The owners were kind enough to also provide us with a hosepipe to get rid of more of the mud.<br />
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Fueled up and shoved along by the wind, we reached the Elandsberg portage, notorious for catching people out. It had its claws ready again this year but not for us. The track was so well defined from the gate, I had trouble believing we were right but fragments of memory popped up and some Google earth images lodged in my head finally convinced me.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vsai69MKfHU/VSV7HHhoiSI/AAAAAAAADb4/ojy5W_RRj8k/s1600/DSC03561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vsai69MKfHU/VSV7HHhoiSI/AAAAAAAADb4/ojy5W_RRj8k/s1600/DSC03561.JPG" height="108" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tiger line to jeep track after the fence line</i></td></tr>
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Once again, we had no problems and we picked up the jeep track that would lead us to our next support station at the base of Elandsberg. We arrived in great spirits to be greeted by an enormous boerbul called Jasper. We gave the bikes another wash and also washed his <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lFB-KH9m5VI/VSV7EOfY1gI/AAAAAAAADbc/n-VUaOA_plc/s1600/08-DSC03535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lFB-KH9m5VI/VSV7EOfY1gI/AAAAAAAADbc/n-VUaOA_plc/s1600/08-DSC03535.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
slobber off us then piled into the tea.<br />
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I had begun to feel the effects of the previous four days and my legs were heavy with lactate. Despite propping them up, they were uncomfortable and I would pay the next day for not having done a good stretch and a bit of massage.<br />
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Race leader, Alex Harris finally caught us and impressed us with his efficiency. He checked his race box, selected his snacks, ate his meal and blew out again in an incredible 15 minutes. I snagged his unwanted Niknaks.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amNOX2yy1GE/VSV7F4lD2HI/AAAAAAAADbs/FVZFnEWFAp4/s1600/09-DSC03537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amNOX2yy1GE/VSV7F4lD2HI/AAAAAAAADbs/FVZFnEWFAp4/s1600/09-DSC03537.JPG" height="151" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Almost at the support station</i></td></tr>
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The best dinner of race was served up - chicken curry and plenty of it. Then we all fell into bed to the sounds of another storm brewing, catching up to us and then venting its fury. Warm and dry, I spared a brief thought for two riders who were expected to arrive in the next couple of hours - Mike Woolnough and Casper Venter.<br />
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Elandsberg saved its spite for the two of them and you can read about it <a href="http://mikewoolnough.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. The tale of Mike and Casper's race is extremely entertaining and gives one another perspective.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(If you click on the pics, you can view them as an album and in larger format)</span></i>Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-78525188725298413712015-04-07T19:58:00.000+02:002015-04-07T19:58:42.009+02:00The Big Ride<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hz15w4CFOBo/VSQUeldcpoI/AAAAAAAADX8/Yy1ckBKakSc/s1600/01-DSC03447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hz15w4CFOBo/VSQUeldcpoI/AAAAAAAADX8/Yy1ckBKakSc/s1600/01-DSC03447.JPG" height="115" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>No caption needed</i></td></tr>
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The night before the ride began, my sleep was packed with restless dreams about what was to come. (Not quite as bad as Carl who dreamed he could not navigate past the first turn-off!) Slaapkrantz was heavenly, a little lie down in the afternoon and a full eight hours of sleep.<br />
<br />
Krantzkop changed all that. We had heard there was a rider from the batch behind who would make his way to us - doubling up the first two stages. We calculated that he would arrive around midnight.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0INLGurOYq8/VSQUeyyqTwI/AAAAAAAADYA/C4MtOOUcS3Y/s1600/02-DSC03449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0INLGurOYq8/VSQUeyyqTwI/AAAAAAAADYA/C4MtOOUcS3Y/s1600/02-DSC03449.JPG" height="112" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ghost riders</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now the farmhouse is a thick walled building with springy wooden floors which creaked incessantly as we walked throughout. There were three bedrooms, two of which had four beds in them. This late arrival would have to sleep in one of them making it a lottery as to who would get disturbed. To add to that, we left the outside light on making the rooms rather bright throughout the night.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jcxc9zBU17w/VSQUi6Z2RpI/AAAAAAAADYc/3-qJ_DmeW9w/s1600/05-DSC03482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jcxc9zBU17w/VSQUi6Z2RpI/AAAAAAAADYc/3-qJ_DmeW9w/s1600/05-DSC03482.JPG" height="119" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On track</i></td></tr>
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I tossed and turned. Every little noise sounded like a rider arriving and I lay there ears straining expecting a hesitant push on the door to the room. Gritty eyed, I eventually got up at 3:30am for a 4:30am departure. In the subdued early morning conversation, it appeared we'd all been affected by the expectations!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eOlcDucE6kE/VSQUjB6sjFI/AAAAAAAADYg/THKbo1f4_n8/s1600/06-DSC03483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eOlcDucE6kE/VSQUjB6sjFI/AAAAAAAADYg/THKbo1f4_n8/s1600/06-DSC03483.JPG" height="106" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Endless gates</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our hosts had left pre-cooked oats, boiled eggs, bread, jam, cheese and the like for our breakfast. They stayed off the property and like all good sensible people, they refused to come and cook for the early morning lunatics.<br />
<br />
I tried, I really tried to turn the oats into something that did not jam my throat like wet concrete. The boiled eggs might as well have been sponge balls for all the ease at which I tried to eat them. I should have copied Leon and eaten leftover lasagna. It was early, I was tired and in truth, not very hungry.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lmoyppxDs64/VSQUe19HbMI/AAAAAAAADYE/qI9mW3Znbxk/s1600/03-DSC03463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lmoyppxDs64/VSQUe19HbMI/AAAAAAAADYE/qI9mW3Znbxk/s1600/03-DSC03463.JPG" height="83" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Early morning mists</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We finally switched off the outside light realising that no other rider was going to arrive before daylight and we left in the utter dark, pierced only by our bike lights.<br />
<br />
We cruised through the next sections despite the dark with only a minor glitch at a farm which was quickly rectified. The pre-dawn mist and ghostly light was just enough to negotiate some final fences before we hopped onto a farm jeep track and rode towards the N6 tar road close to Jamestown.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3VLexl-xpu4/VSQUkJs9SBI/AAAAAAAADYs/3OQgs0UeuQg/s1600/07-DSC03485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3VLexl-xpu4/VSQUkJs9SBI/AAAAAAAADYs/3OQgs0UeuQg/s1600/07-DSC03485.JPG" height="128" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Breakfast again</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was time for some breakfast. My mind still thinks of Freedom riders as some sort of mutant version of hobbits. Before 12:00, we've had about six breakfasts.<br />
<br />
I was looking forward to this stretch. Four of us had slept out at a farm called Gouevlei in 2009 and it would be good to see the terrain without wind, driving rain and snow. The other part of my mind dreaded the section to Brosterlea. I had the feeling it would prove to be endless and undulating.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QUedw9AE--Y/VSQUnXJjdLI/AAAAAAAADY8/4Bj-0A4TRDA/s1600/08-DSC03489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QUedw9AE--Y/VSQUnXJjdLI/AAAAAAAADY8/4Bj-0A4TRDA/s1600/08-DSC03489.JPG" height="114" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On the way to Brosterlea</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The newly graded section was soft going but after the nth hill, it eventually hardened up and made the riding a little quicker. I was feeling so tired at this point. So I set my sights on not falling below 10km an hour and pedaled onward. I remember being absurdly pleased at staying at around 12km an hour.<br />
<br />
About 12km from Brosterlea I saw one of the riders riding back towards me which was surprising as none of us had felt the need to retrace steps. Usually we waited at some point.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Vk5LeOQqGs/VSQUl8nTF6I/AAAAAAAADY0/JcZ_yVqmLx0/s1600/09-DSC03496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Vk5LeOQqGs/VSQUl8nTF6I/AAAAAAAADY0/JcZ_yVqmLx0/s1600/09-DSC03496.JPG" height="85" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Panoramic vistas</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqcK5Ncrg9c/VSQUqcswVoI/AAAAAAAADZU/eXceGsncDIQ/s1600/12-DSC03499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqcK5Ncrg9c/VSQUqcswVoI/AAAAAAAADZU/eXceGsncDIQ/s1600/12-DSC03499.JPG" height="112" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'Rare' sighting of sheep</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was Jonathan from Batch A who had fallen ill and stayed at Brosterlea to recover. The big man had picked up some virus of sorts and was simply unable to push his bike, let alone ride it. He was now rejoining the race and would see whether he could stay with our Batch. It was great to add a riding buddy to the mix and he kept me company, stopping only to photograph a headless puffadder.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5Mr6s02vstE/VSQUzCTo5_I/AAAAAAAADaU/xF9EDTcAGTI/s1600/20-DSC03475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5Mr6s02vstE/VSQUzCTo5_I/AAAAAAAADaU/xF9EDTcAGTI/s1600/20-DSC03475.JPG" height="112" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Company of hobbits</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I struggled into the farm feeling terrible. Shoes off and I padded into the lounge and dropped to the floor. I remember fiddling in my pack trying to get organised - for the life of me, I don't know what I was doing but there may have been a cup of tea involved.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VhDUQ-otqEM/VSQUyQWEytI/AAAAAAAADaE/mvxjE7dUQvs/s1600/19-DSC03480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VhDUQ-otqEM/VSQUyQWEytI/AAAAAAAADaE/mvxjE7dUQvs/s1600/19-DSC03480.JPG" height="84" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's a gate...again</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The curry and rice was served with aplomb and I smashed two servings. I also scaled some leftover sun tan lotion from Annie. Not to eat... I remembered to lube my bum which had taken some strain on the 18km stretch. And so it went on. A jumble of activities without any coherent plan.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YSQfv54y1Aw/VSQUpRgU1II/AAAAAAAADZM/Yml-vKA2Hko/s1600/10-DSC03497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YSQfv54y1Aw/VSQUpRgU1II/AAAAAAAADZM/Yml-vKA2Hko/s1600/10-DSC03497.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Weltevrede water</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CkDKMZzmeZI/VSQUgdJ-2qI/AAAAAAAADYU/zPl72bPbUdA/s1600/04-DSC03486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CkDKMZzmeZI/VSQUgdJ-2qI/AAAAAAAADYU/zPl72bPbUdA/s1600/04-DSC03486.JPG" height="103" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The style</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yet when we hit the road for the next stretch, I was a different person. We blew through the Emdale farm section and this was a real highlight of riding. It was interesting, technical and such varied terrain. Then it was onto the Stormberg portage.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3bsV1sPKlUI/VSQUsxn5_BI/AAAAAAAADZc/k2PhZX729cU/s1600/13-DSC03500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3bsV1sPKlUI/VSQUsxn5_BI/AAAAAAAADZc/k2PhZX729cU/s1600/13-DSC03500.JPG" height="137" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Historic Blockhouse</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This we negotiated easily finding one of the styles quickly and descending down to the blockhouse in quick time. While those who had not seen this piece of history explored it, a train came through giving us a couple of blasts as it shot through.<br />
<br />
Vegkoppies was negotiated and we seemed to just be moving really smoothly through section after section. A short break as we left the tar, with a bit of a top up on Allsorts and it was onto the gravel road again. On this section a bakkie came roaring up to us and we were greeted by Race Director, Glenn Harrison and his passenger, Robbie McIntosh who had withdrawn due to illness.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6NLM5rhjbPs/VSQUvHCaehI/AAAAAAAADZk/hIq0ESJ-9Yg/s1600/14-DSC03510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6NLM5rhjbPs/VSQUvHCaehI/AAAAAAAADZk/hIq0ESJ-9Yg/s1600/14-DSC03510.JPG" height="128" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beautiful veggie garden and smiles</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A brand new farmhouse, still in the stages of construction provided us with a top up of water before we hit the final stretches before Romansfontein. We had a quick catch up on the race news and were particularly interested in the progress of the guys racing to Cradock. Glenn predicted that Alex Harris would join us for breakfast in Romansfontein and I expected Mike Woolnough (now teamed up with Casper Venter) to catch us at Elandsberg.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LLbXDg-j1rY/VSQUv0weEkI/AAAAAAAADZs/FmR4xxxBYNA/s1600/15-DSC03512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LLbXDg-j1rY/VSQUv0weEkI/AAAAAAAADZs/FmR4xxxBYNA/s1600/15-DSC03512.JPG" height="200" width="159" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jonathan hanging in</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Nothing ever works out the way we think on this race.<br />
<br />
Jonathan was hanging in and on the last stretch, we fell a little behind the others. I can now announce that for the first time and probably only time, I towed him.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X3Qbhp7_sTQ/VSQUxhqjl9I/AAAAAAAADZ8/rXIiYO1mlxA/s1600/17-DSC06776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X3Qbhp7_sTQ/VSQUxhqjl9I/AAAAAAAADZ8/rXIiYO1mlxA/s1600/17-DSC06776.JPG" height="121" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Always time for a snack</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As we finally reached the turnoff to Romansfontein, the rest of group were waiting. Only 800m from the farmhouse, they still chose to wait. It just epitomises the spirit of the group and the nature of the riders to take these adventures.<br />
<br />
We had ridden 130 km and it had been wonderful.<br />
<br />
<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-79754412949477358532015-04-06T15:28:00.000+02:002015-04-06T15:28:00.642+02:00Three portages and a storm<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v3PUwaBDhcg/VSJ0tg4sFeI/AAAAAAAADWo/XCd6LNhuc2Y/s1600/15-DSC03437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v3PUwaBDhcg/VSJ0tg4sFeI/AAAAAAAADWo/XCd6LNhuc2Y/s1600/15-DSC03437.JPG" height="108" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Early morning above Slaapkrantz</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now we had a day behind us, we all felt a little more comfortable as a group. Stewart and Annie had established that I did not particularly want to ride alone and I had established that they were happy to ride with anyone else. We had a laugh at the courtesies and assumptions and the group decided to tackle the next morning's three portages as a unit. Then we'd decide on the strategy for the rest of the stage.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b42-H1r5AJI/VSJ0nlR9xKI/AAAAAAAADVo/obI4C3VTETE/s1600/06-02-DSC03435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b42-H1r5AJI/VSJ0nlR9xKI/AAAAAAAADVo/obI4C3VTETE/s1600/06-02-DSC03435.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's always a fence</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Life is so easy when living out of a small backpack. The shirt I wore that evening was my riding shirt for the next day. My shorts had been washed and sun dried and that was it. Day One repeated - no frills, no fuss.<br />
<br />
We left at 5am reckoning it would be light by the time we needed to do serious navigation. It was warm and when we reached the hike-a-bike section, we were all sweating profusely. It would get worse!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C98ti8NUweU/VSJ0zG0ADXI/AAAAAAAADXU/drALoVTBf6s/s1600/21-DSC03349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C98ti8NUweU/VSJ0zG0ADXI/AAAAAAAADXU/drALoVTBf6s/s1600/21-DSC03349.JPG" height="123" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Contouring</i></td></tr>
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The gradient got steeper (registering 34% at times) and the path narrower and more rutted. I had my bike on my back and it was no easy feat preventing the bike from hooking the stringy bushes and trying to place my feet directly in front of each other - it's hard to balance that way. Try it. (I now know why models mince down runways, they are trying to keep their balance as they cross feet in front of the other.)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z-gpL0gGuoY/VSJ0utiTzQI/AAAAAAAADW4/4gpznOOEtX0/s1600/17-DSC03440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z-gpL0gGuoY/VSJ0utiTzQI/AAAAAAAADW4/4gpznOOEtX0/s1600/17-DSC03440.JPG" height="105" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Portents?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We reached the top as the sky lightened, took a breather then tackled the next section. We opted to contour around and it was easy and quick, picking up a path which virtually took us to the jeep track.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J5E_4kgM0ck/VSJ0zleMb-I/AAAAAAAADXc/c6Mq6Qya5Hk/s1600/22-DSC03359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J5E_4kgM0ck/VSJ0zleMb-I/AAAAAAAADXc/c6Mq6Qya5Hk/s1600/22-DSC03359.JPG" height="107" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Descending from Slaapkrantz portage</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we rounded the corner, there was a spectacular weather front over the mountains in front of us. We needed to make sure we were ahead of it on the next two portages. With Slaapkrantz safely negotiated and no errors, it was on to Loutebron. The real struggle for me on this section was matching the map and the surroundings. The old adventure racing maxim "Always know where you are on the map" was not playing out and I was loathe to commit until I was sure. Fences had appeared that were not on the map and the route plotted on the map did not fit the terrain.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UoCjL5fgliU/VSJ0myfMAHI/AAAAAAAADVg/UWbSZaPZvok/s1600/07-DSC03383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UoCjL5fgliU/VSJ0myfMAHI/AAAAAAAADVg/UWbSZaPZvok/s1600/07-DSC03383.JPG" height="118" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beginning Loutebron</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Stewart and I studied the maps and watched the other riders disappear over the crest. Eventually we decided to follow and see where they went. Relief. They swung towards the spur we had identified and all was right with the world...until we reached the path and hiked our bikes up another steep jeep track. Swinging bikes up and onto backs creates for some interesting niggles and stiff muscles. Sweating again, we eventually summit-ted and ran straight into a fence.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wz3DwvluDrU/VSJ0hiHWNoI/AAAAAAAADU4/cMpHE0NnLo8/s1600/02-08-DSC03449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wz3DwvluDrU/VSJ0hiHWNoI/AAAAAAAADU4/cMpHE0NnLo8/s1600/02-08-DSC03449.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Loutebron farm house way below</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCBF8DF04A0/VSJ0oBhLLqI/AAAAAAAADV0/o57J7zAVF4I/s1600/08-DSC03396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zCBF8DF04A0/VSJ0oBhLLqI/AAAAAAAADV0/o57J7zAVF4I/s1600/08-DSC03396.JPG" height="168" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Snack rewards on reaching the top</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Going back to basic nav eventually sorted us out. Align the map, use the compass and while doing this, turn 360 degrees. The jeep track showed itself where it had snuck across some grass. Gotcha!<br />
<br />
We barreled along until we reached the split that would lead us to the saddle and the treacherous descent to Bontehoek. There is something very special about sitting at the top of the world, looking back on what you've negotiated with a bicycle. Riders who refuse to pick up their bikes and hike can never aspire to these views and the deep rooted pleasure at pushing through physical boundaries and limitations.<br />
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P9En3_aLaP0/VSJ0xc0dmuI/AAAAAAAADXI/MlHFdddlkp4/s1600/19-DSC03455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P9En3_aLaP0/VSJ0xc0dmuI/AAAAAAAADXI/MlHFdddlkp4/s1600/19-DSC03455.JPG" height="190" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Promised snack and water break at Bontehoek</i></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HKBY41ZKb3o/VSJ0yxEU1BI/AAAAAAAADXQ/pwSSm0QHIIA/s1600/20-DSC03458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HKBY41ZKb3o/VSJ0yxEU1BI/AAAAAAAADXQ/pwSSm0QHIIA/s1600/20-DSC03458.JPG" height="124" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; text-align: center;"><i>Secret valleys</i></td></tr>
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Finally we reached the district road and set off for lunch at Moordenaarspoort. I had come off the mountain feeling incredibly upbeat and happy. Within minutes, my head did itself in and I plunged right down into a cesspit of negativity. I couldn't change into granny gear (an absolute necessity) and when I manually forced it, it clattered so badly, I thought my chain wouldn't last. Close to tears, I fiddled with the cable adjuster which made no difference whatsoever, The rest of the group had disappeared up the road and I was on my own.<br />
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Finally I had the good sense to prod at my derailleur and sort of straighten it - at least that's what I think I did. It probably only needed millimeters of adjustment but it worked. My head did one of those spinning thingies and my happy mood was back. To add to it, the group waited for me at the junction and off we sped to Roussouw.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-02I9uDpXPJc/VSJ0pSSsXLI/AAAAAAAADV8/RG4vDOne96c/s1600/10-DSC03408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-02I9uDpXPJc/VSJ0pSSsXLI/AAAAAAAADV8/RG4vDOne96c/s1600/10-DSC03408.JPG" height="120" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Welcome lunch stop</i></td></tr>
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Moordenaarspoort was so close and already I was disinterested in my snacks. The only thing I was enjoying were the Licorice Allsorts. I had not remembered that 7km of the 14km to lunch were uphill and severely so. But then again, the next 7km were downhill and fast. Life and the race were peachy.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dPwG6r_pV0A/VSJ0opolGZI/AAAAAAAADVw/w8vt2k7J7Yk/s1600/09-DSC03410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dPwG6r_pV0A/VSJ0opolGZI/AAAAAAAADVw/w8vt2k7J7Yk/s1600/09-DSC03410.JPG" height="183" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Riding into the storm</i></td></tr>
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Thick butternut soup, several fresh rolls layered with butter filled the spot. Anke - all of 7 years old - had painstakingly prepared a gift for Annie and I. A book of drawings and stickers. I'll have to post pictures of that too. It survived the next few days of rain and sun and is safely back in Johannesburg with me.<br />
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Dark clouds were looming in the distance and it seemed that we would ride away from them as we left the farm. The wind picked up and one could see the distant hills slowly disappear behind a veil of grey as the rain took hold. I'd been counting the time between lightening and thunder and it was definitely getting closer. A mere 7km from Moordenaarspoort, we were well and truly caught.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_4vg2wqjc4/VSJ0k3fqvkI/AAAAAAAADVQ/VFproIvopjY/s1600/04-13-DSC03467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_4vg2wqjc4/VSJ0k3fqvkI/AAAAAAAADVQ/VFproIvopjY/s1600/04-13-DSC03467.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lashing rain and winds</td></tr>
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It was a sudden, violent onset of lashing rain, storm winds that threatened to knock us off our bikes, lightening and great peals of thunder. The rain gear was hauled out and we briefly contemplated continuing which would have been into the storm's teeth. There were some farm buildings off to our right so we scampered down the hill trying to hold a line as the wind and rain buffeted us, almost unseating me. An empty barn was our salvation and we waited out the worst of the storm shivering but sheltered.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vq_HV8yDszI/VSJ0qNLlUjI/AAAAAAAADWI/BTZy-bPDFUo/s1600/11-DSC03412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vq_HV8yDszI/VSJ0qNLlUjI/AAAAAAAADWI/BTZy-bPDFUo/s1600/11-DSC03412.JPG" height="166" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Barn</td></tr>
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As we'd anticipated, the storm moved on and we ventured out again, our sights set on Krantzkop, 30 odd kms away. But all had changed.<br />
<br />
From hard packed dirt roads, we now had soggy spongy tracks to negotiate. In the forty minutes of rain, the roads had become soft and forgiving, sucking our tires into the mud. Nowhere was easier.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SQIrYAMihbs/VSJ0rCc_a-I/AAAAAAAADWQ/V6r-MaNpKWg/s1600/12-DSC03418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SQIrYAMihbs/VSJ0rCc_a-I/AAAAAAAADWQ/V6r-MaNpKWg/s1600/12-DSC03418.JPG" height="200" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storm's aftermath</td></tr>
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Weather especially violent weather can be exhilarating. The suddenness of the storm, the massive squall that accompanied it and now its aftermath of rivulets is part of the game. It's a fundamental part of riding this event and it's to be embraced in all its difficulty and its beauty. Somehow, between all of us, we found some rhythm and managed to power our way through the mud, the pools of water and still find something epic about our adventure.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c26rzuqXIso/VSJ0rSiLeyI/AAAAAAAADWU/4sfd9aCCee8/s1600/13-DSC03424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c26rzuqXIso/VSJ0rSiLeyI/AAAAAAAADWU/4sfd9aCCee8/s1600/13-DSC03424.JPG" height="108" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still smiling</td></tr>
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As we hit the district road some 6kms from our destination, we were all astounded at how we were only managing a speed of 12km/hour on a slight downhill. Needless to say, we opted to walk the short climb up the nek.<br />
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The turnoff to Krantzkop came quickly. Too quickly for Craig who shot past and ended up at the farm at the bottom of the hill. It was quite comical seeing him way below us, puzzling out how we had got to the farmhouse.<br />
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Once we were all ensconced, the guys built a large fire and all our wet gear steamed quietly as we ate our fill and prepared for the Queen stage of the event. One hundred and thirty kilometres to Romansfontein.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4j4QaqYXosU/VSJ0mFcoxXI/AAAAAAAADVY/oF-9xpgBStc/s1600/05-14-DSC03469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4j4QaqYXosU/VSJ0mFcoxXI/AAAAAAAADVY/oF-9xpgBStc/s1600/05-14-DSC03469.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>After the storm</i></td></tr>
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-60666498645989090592015-04-05T14:21:00.000+02:002015-04-05T18:03:23.305+02:00Kenako!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mx2ENg8hjs4/VSEYTWrRttI/AAAAAAAADTQ/AIOnwWo4qmc/s1600/08-01-DSC03398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mx2ENg8hjs4/VSEYTWrRttI/AAAAAAAADTQ/AIOnwWo4qmc/s1600/08-01-DSC03398.JPG" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Let's get started</i></td></tr>
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Finally 4am arrived. I gathered my few belongings, tossed the half empty tog bag into Carl's car and went for a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs. At 4:50am, I was ready. So ready to start and see if everything would come together.<br />
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It was pitch dark and chilly. One layer of windproofing was enough to start because there are many climbs on the 13km out of Rhodes before a big descent. Eventually every one assembled into a rough line. A group photo was attempted but with no ambient light, it was never going to work that well.<br />
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Then it was 5am and we left.<br />
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For the uninitiated, Day One is about 105km with a k*k load of climbing - most in the first 70km. I recorded 2022m of ascent and over 1340 on the way to lunch at Chesneywold. But that was still to unfold.<br />
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Carl had said from the beginning that he hoped to get to Moordenaarspoort (most of Day Two) in one go. That left the rest of us which ranged from a five day strategy to a seven day strategy (Craig the ringer).<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-93L4MYE3lL8/VSEYNZFKFmI/AAAAAAAADSg/ZPJV8srw2Tg/s1600/02-04-DSC03411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-93L4MYE3lL8/VSEYNZFKFmI/AAAAAAAADSg/ZPJV8srw2Tg/s1600/02-04-DSC03411.JPG" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bokspruit</i></td></tr>
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The lights rapidly disappeared into the dark in front of me and were soon small fireflies in the distance. I was determined to be conservative for the first two days and I pushed the immediate negative thoughts deep down. So what if I was at the back....again. So what if I rode the whole way on my own. I had prepared for this.<br />
<br />
And so I chugged along. The first positive reinforcement came when I found the climbs out of Rhodes comfortable. I was certain I would be reduced to pushing early to manage my legs. This was a vast improvement on my memories of RASA.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1NzmpCB8qAI/VSEYNMPwLCI/AAAAAAAADSc/QLPZ_JJYWoI/s1600/01-03-DSC03409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1NzmpCB8qAI/VSEYNMPwLCI/AAAAAAAADSc/QLPZ_JJYWoI/s1600/01-03-DSC03409.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Golden valley</i></td></tr>
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The sun filled the valleys with golden light and I was compelled to stop and take photos. It was part of my mission. I wanted to record the ride and take as many photos as I could without giving up too much time. The other part of my mission was to get to the support stations in daylight.<br />
<br />
I stripped off my windbreak layer preferring to be a bit cold. There were enough climbs to counter any chill. The layers of mist along the river were surreal and all of a sudden, I was descending into the mist and cold and gloom wrapped around me. Stones and debris flicked up on my legs and I frequently checked to make sure my bottle of spares hadn't worked its way loose.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y4XcR-Wv3Eg/VSEYN1iVpUI/AAAAAAAADSk/WlUF8BCYsME/s1600/03-06-DSC03416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y4XcR-Wv3Eg/VSEYN1iVpUI/AAAAAAAADSk/WlUF8BCYsME/s1600/03-06-DSC03416.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Annie & Stewart</i></td></tr>
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As I emerged from the mist, I came across Annie and Stewart and discovered they were also photo fanatics. So a number of the pictures in this blog are courtesy of this great couple.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BNp12YLmS3Y/VSEYWZ-AnAI/AAAAAAAADT4/JCIEJ_Nia5Y/s1600/13-DSC06722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BNp12YLmS3Y/VSEYWZ-AnAI/AAAAAAAADT4/JCIEJ_Nia5Y/s1600/13-DSC06722.JPG" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Emerging from the mist</i></td></tr>
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We exchanged a few words and I wanted to check my saddle height for some reason. Those bits of debris had been the lid of my spares bottle popping off and my chain breaker and my tube puncture repair kit bouncing out. My multi-tool and plugs were thankfully still there.<br />
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I shoved the remains into my pack (more weight) feeling quite disconcerted at losing stuff. The chain breaker could be a problem and being the lurker at the back of the field, mean't no one would be passing me until a day later. My imagination began to run riot.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TEvBVZJH6oQ/VSEYQt8ADXI/AAAAAAAADS8/_oA51pmBAss/s1600/05-08-DSC03421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TEvBVZJH6oQ/VSEYQt8ADXI/AAAAAAAADS8/_oA51pmBAss/s1600/05-08-DSC03421.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Snacks on the go</i></td></tr>
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We agreed to meet at the end of the road for a snack break. From then, we swopped places frequently. I would plod along and catch them having a break, then they would catch up and pass me. On some of the bigger climbs I made sure I walked a bit to keep my conservative plan in place.<br />
<br />
As we descended once more into a valley, I simply had to slam on the brakes at the sight of mist, dew and early morning sunlight which took my breath away. Not for the first time, I wished I was a better photographer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MYiqBbuPWX0/VSEYPCQ4UbI/AAAAAAAADS0/JPgDhHyaAw0/s1600/04-07-DSC03418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MYiqBbuPWX0/VSEYPCQ4UbI/AAAAAAAADS0/JPgDhHyaAw0/s1600/04-07-DSC03418.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Spectacular!</i></td></tr>
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By the time we reached the turnoff which would take us to the farm of Chesneywold, something every rider salivates and looks forward too, we were pretty much riding as a small unit.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fj45LZWPBrQ/VSEYXXaXKBI/AAAAAAAADUE/0ajyG6v6Ouo/s1600/14-DSC06729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fj45LZWPBrQ/VSEYXXaXKBI/AAAAAAAADUE/0ajyG6v6Ouo/s1600/14-DSC06729.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Saving the legs</i></td></tr>
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All of us were a bit unprepared for the next five kms which seemed to be as tough as anything we'd done so far. The climbs were sharp and reduced all of us to pushing and the descents too short to help much.<br />
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The downhill that I vaguely remembered eventually materialised and we bolted all the way down to the farmhouse getting some good rhythm and looking forward to the meal and meeting up with Minkie, legendary host.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3cdbCHm8hU/VSEYSgqvxAI/AAAAAAAADTE/uT_xhVUt174/s1600/06-09-DSC03425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_3cdbCHm8hU/VSEYSgqvxAI/AAAAAAAADTE/uT_xhVUt174/s1600/06-09-DSC03425.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dwarfed by the scenery on the way to Chesneywold</td></tr>
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As we arrived, there was a helluva racket from cows that were squashed into a corral. There was also much activity in the fields around with farmhands herding recalcitrant cows towards outbuildings. The bellows were hardly quietened by the thick walls of the farmhouse either. As we turned into the driveway, Leon and Craig were just leaving.<br />
<br />
It emerged that Coen and Carl had raced on ahead and formed an alliance to get to Moordenaarspoort. Leon bemoaned the effort he'd put into staying with them until he backed off and found Craig a more sensible partner.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k6JIuThWnI0/VSEYZS73t8I/AAAAAAAADUM/Cho5XuVXPsE/s1600/15-DSC06733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k6JIuThWnI0/VSEYZS73t8I/AAAAAAAADUM/Cho5XuVXPsE/s1600/15-DSC06733.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chesneywold - refreshed and ready to go</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
They left for Kapokkraal and we made ourselves at home. I made a rough repair for my tool bottle and put it back on the bike. I hoped that was the last of my technical issues. As we left, we had a brief chat to Minkie who told us they were weaning the calves from their mothers, hence the racket. It would last the whole weekend, she said. I was glad to be leaving.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cg0_-dktyFE/VSEYVKO16XI/AAAAAAAADTs/meUdMFlljS8/s1600/11-DSC03298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cg0_-dktyFE/VSEYVKO16XI/AAAAAAAADTs/meUdMFlljS8/s1600/11-DSC03298.JPG" height="120" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Downhill to Chesneywold</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From there, the three of us rode off to Kapokkraal, a challenge I was looking forward to. It was years since I'd been there and I wanted to see if my navigation would stand up to the first challenge. I had prepared well on my navigation, making copious notations on my maps and studying Google Earth. I had also run through my route choices with Glenn a month or so before, so I felt I should be okay.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjf6LddC8D4/VSEYTAanNPI/AAAAAAAADTI/FEgqFXcHOi8/s1600/07-10-DSC03426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjf6LddC8D4/VSEYTAanNPI/AAAAAAAADTI/FEgqFXcHOi8/s1600/07-10-DSC03426.JPG" height="160" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I know where I am</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was the part that I looked forward to the most in these types of races. On the way to this point, the nav had not been difficult at all but I made sure I got my brain attuned by constantly matching natural features such as rivers, gorges and hilltops to the map.<br />
<br />
I was ready.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZtlmFw5h_uA/VSEYWPIV8BI/AAAAAAAADTw/z8lpQC3Ur3Q/s1600/12-DSC03302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZtlmFw5h_uA/VSEYWPIV8BI/AAAAAAAADTw/z8lpQC3Ur3Q/s1600/12-DSC03302.JPG" height="148" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Snack break before Kapokkraal</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Another snack break and I was envious of the enormous slab of nougat that Stewart and Annie shared. This was the beginning of my sugar cravings for the week. Unfortunately, Annie was struggling with nausea and it was becoming harder for her as the day wore on. By the time we reached the famous shed with a bicycle on it, I had forged ahead and began the task of navigating the portage.<br />
<br />
It looked a lot higher and tougher than I remembered but after so many years, one simply can't expect things to remain the same. So despite the patchy snatches of memory, it was down to common sense and the map. It was surprisingly simple to get to the saddle and once over, it was the search for the so-called Old Wagon Trail.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cuyX5zwqj28/VSEYT7DEcbI/AAAAAAAADTY/w4w33exQn_k/s1600/09-DSC03304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cuyX5zwqj28/VSEYT7DEcbI/AAAAAAAADTY/w4w33exQn_k/s1600/09-DSC03304.JPG" height="123" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Almost at the portage</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I believe it's time to change that part of the narrative. It should be the search for animal trails. I dropped down a level, picked one of the numerous trails and descended off the mountain. As I reached the bottom, I was surprised to see Leon and Craig in front of me. I had caught them.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WW4lYfp-eu4/VSEYUbS2DtI/AAAAAAAADTc/MBYjNECNGh8/s1600/10-DSC03321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WW4lYfp-eu4/VSEYUbS2DtI/AAAAAAAADTc/MBYjNECNGh8/s1600/10-DSC03321.JPG" height="200" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Slaapkrantz</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They waited for me, gave me a top up of water, then we rode helter skelter for Slaapkrantz. Ten kilometers of exhilarating technical downhill. We arrived at 15:00, well pleased with the day's ride.<br />
<br />
I was thrilled at the portage and the ease at which I had done it - completely on my own. It's hard to describe the satisfaction of this achievement. It validated my ability to navigate and it gave me huge confidence for the tricky sections still to come.<br />
<br />
<b>Rooky Mistake - not really</b><br />
<br />
I have to mention the water issue. I decided to freeze the water in my camelbak knowing that it would defrost within an hour or so of starting. I also froze the juice in my bottle. The bottle defrosted quickly enough but not the water bladder. For the first couple of hours, I rode as if I had a brace on my back which made it somewhat difficult to lean forward over the handlebars!<br />
I arrived at Chesneywold over 6 hours later and it was still frozen solid. I left it in the sun while we ate and tried to break it into segments which made bending forward easier but very little effect on the block of ice.<br />
When I eventually caught up to Leon and Craig, I thought I had run out of water and so begged some off them. To my surprise, their water was ice cold - delicious.<br />
Err, no. There was still ice in my water bladder, roughly nine and half hours later! Needless to say, there was no more freezing of water.</div>
Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-5920349226232058422015-04-05T10:21:00.004+02:002015-04-05T18:06:17.854+02:00Hours to Launch<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gfm5ddnyaW0/VSDtWJpaVnI/AAAAAAAADRs/ntkSmd_PD1U/s1600/DSC03382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gfm5ddnyaW0/VSDtWJpaVnI/AAAAAAAADRs/ntkSmd_PD1U/s1600/DSC03382.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bokspruit - it would be dark when we passed through</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The lack of choice through disciplined packing is remarkably liberating.<br />
<br />
All of Batch B arrrived in Rhodes within half an hour of each other, to a warm greeting from the race organisers, Meryl and Glenn.<br />
<br />
Leon and Coen had driven up from East London, Annie & Stewart from Centurion, Craig is currently based in Ghana which left Carl from Pretoria East and myself from Johannesburg.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f8-WAX2v138/VSDu3p5GmRI/AAAAAAAADSA/p1iXVqI8JSo/s1600/DSC03384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f8-WAX2v138/VSDu3p5GmRI/AAAAAAAADSA/p1iXVqI8JSo/s1600/DSC03384.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Underweight Santacruz</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We spent an hour or two prepping bikes and the one thing that stood out for me was how underdressed mine was. The only weight on my bike was the bottle with spares beneath my saddle. The other bikes had an array of bags on handle bars, saddles and top tubes.<br />
<br />
The debate on where to load weight is one that continues to vex Freedom riders. In the end it is always a personal choice and I had no need to regret mine over the next five days, especially when scaling fences.<br />
<br />
To my horror, I had left my charger cable for my GPS behind. Let me point out quickly that there were no routes loaded on it. It was merely my speedometer and I wanted to record the routes to see where I had gone in the great expanse of the Karoo. (I cannot tell a lie - I also wanted the data for my Strava challenges! There I admit it)<br />
<br />
But without a detailed distance measuring device, I was in trouble.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5nPivjtH6AA/VSDtVQ5PP5I/AAAAAAAADRk/R5JM0q-_BQk/s1600/DSC03386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5nPivjtH6AA/VSDtVQ5PP5I/AAAAAAAADRk/R5JM0q-_BQk/s1600/DSC03386.JPG" height="147" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ready for action?</i></td></tr>
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Luckily Craig had a cable and Glenn had a spare. Disaster averted. (Note: I had wondered whether I should take a battery operated speedo just in case but decided against it. If it had been RASA, I would not have the GPS at all but just a reliable old fashioned speedometer.)<br />
<br />
Lamb was served up for dinner but Meryl took pity on me and organised a chicken schnitzel.<br />
<br />
There was short race briefing and we would all meet in the morning for a 5am departure.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K08R9skEOyg/VSDtuuDi0kI/AAAAAAAADR0/hw1XHmTOPIY/s1600/DSC03391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K08R9skEOyg/VSDtuuDi0kI/AAAAAAAADR0/hw1XHmTOPIY/s1600/DSC03391.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The soul of mountainbiking indeed</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-22702358481206458872015-04-05T09:42:00.000+02:002015-04-05T18:03:47.692+02:00Back TrackingUnsupported is a bit of a misleading title. The race is semi-supported with a chain of support stations along the route where you are guaranteed a meal, a shower and a bed and a whole lot of love. You are also entitled to send a 2 litre box ahead with extra snacks and other items you may need. eg batteries<br />
<br />
The unsupported bit is the where you carry all your own personal requirements - clothes, spares, gizmos. This can end up being rather heavy if you are not absolutely ruthless in what the bare minimum requirement should be.<br />
<br />
March is wet, possibly cold, possibly baking hot. It is the Karoo after all.<br />
<br />
I had turned the clothing issue over and over in my mind and went for bare minimum. Experience showed that so long as you were moving, you would be warm. As I only planned to double up on the last day, I shouldn't have a problem with extra warmth.<br />
<br />
My North Face pack - a relic from 2009 RASA - was hauled out and it was like welcoming an old friend. Next came all the water proof bags and the basic items of clothing, spares and chargers that I thought I would need.<br />
<br />
The bag with snacks but no water eventually weighed in at 4 kilograms. Not bad. It would be interesting to see how everyone else had packed as all the riders had to have done a Freedom Challenge event - either RASA or Race/Ride2Rhodes.<br />
<br />
My backpack was ready a week before the event. My bike was serviced, new tires put on and I was ready. I was also nervous.Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-52652018789559198082015-04-02T17:28:00.000+02:002015-04-05T18:04:02.656+02:00Race2Cradock RamblingsI like to have some quiet time after an event to absorb what has passed. I wish I had taken the time to stop our group before we reached Cradock and just have that moment when you are still and focused on the enormity of what has just gone down.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wv6H3IhXpYc/VR1ScSt_frI/AAAAAAAADO8/lVDE7D4oIpo/s1600/DSC03361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wv6H3IhXpYc/VR1ScSt_frI/AAAAAAAADO8/lVDE7D4oIpo/s1600/DSC03361.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Backpack and Bike - nothing else needed</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But I didn't, and I didn't manage to find my own moment to reflect. So here I am, hoping that by jotting down thoughts and experiences from the five days, I'll be able to internalise my adventure and the intensity of the experience.<br />
<br />
My erstwhile riding partner Rob, instead of falling off his bike onto his head (as he usually does), managed to twist his knee moving boxes. He did such a good job that an operation was required to fix the damage. So, there I was, contemplating riding 600km on my lonesome.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oaKzu46S3iM/VR1cahyPKeI/AAAAAAAADQw/GE4E7sc0Lhw/s1600/Packed%2Band%2Bready.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oaKzu46S3iM/VR1cahyPKeI/AAAAAAAADQw/GE4E7sc0Lhw/s1600/Packed%2Band%2Bready.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Packed to the roof.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Had this happened last year before Ride2Rhodes, I think I would have bailed. I just wasn't that into doing that route for the 4th time. When I heard about this potential event, I was immediately entranced with the idea. A "new" section and one which had race demons all over it. I had covered most of the section in 2009 and then again in 2011 but had never strung it together properly. Now was my chance.<br />
<br />
The loss of my riding partner was a blow but I was still excited about doing the route. At last I had some riding mojo - something I had missed for a couple of years.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hbcE38G3gvA/VR1dSAwRr_I/AAAAAAAADRE/ISy9Uu8L5fo/s1600/DSC03368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hbcE38G3gvA/VR1dSAwRr_I/AAAAAAAADRE/ISy9Uu8L5fo/s1600/DSC03368.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>The Karoo approaches</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My build-up was different and risky. My training strategy was two hard sessions in the week and fun, recovery rides on the weekend. As a result, I was scrounging ride buddies all over who would be happy to ride slowly with me. I was worried about my lack of distance riding with a max of 90km in the three month build up. I had to put my faith in my very part time coach who kept reminding me that by my ripe old age, I had accumulated more than enough base. So I put my faith in his programme and hit the wattbikes hard then played on the weekends.<br />
<br />
It was with some trepidation, nerves and excitement that I headed off to Rhodes with <a href="http://www.makingtrackz.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Carl Scholtz</a> to prop up Batch B.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaSxZNHG6u8/VR1hYUj-MLI/AAAAAAAADRU/xyDDWaWLL98/s1600/DSC03365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DaSxZNHG6u8/VR1hYUj-MLI/AAAAAAAADRU/xyDDWaWLL98/s1600/DSC03365.JPG" height="183" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Weight off the back but the portages?</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DYMHuh1VFes/VR1dOf_CBMI/AAAAAAAADQ8/8hi8sJe96SQ/s1600/DSC03378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DYMHuh1VFes/VR1dOf_CBMI/AAAAAAAADQ8/8hi8sJe96SQ/s1600/DSC03378.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The "bokkie" - the only clues outside of maps and narratives</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u></u></span><a href="http://www.makingtrackz.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"></a>
Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-90171864014494270282014-10-06T20:05:00.003+02:002014-10-06T20:07:33.925+02:00Vuvu to Rhodes including Lehana Pass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_1684969773"></span><span id="goog_1684969774"></span><br />
<span id="goog_1684969773">This day is not long in distance but the route encompasses a 5km hike over the Maluti mountains with about 100m of ascent. If the wind blows or the weather is averse, it is extremely tough.</span><br />
<span id="goog_1684969773">We made halfway before the wind came up and managed to keep to the lee of the mountain but about 800m from the landmark blue container, a rain squall came through freezing us. </span><br />
<span id="goog_1684969773">Such are the myriad challenges of this event but finishing down the switchbacks and flying the last 10kms into Rhodes with the wind at our backs was a fitting end to a great adventure. </span><br />
<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-83858322659414992712014-10-03T13:46:00.001+02:002014-10-03T13:46:57.302+02:00Day Five: Ongeluksnek to Vuvu<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-18756260575826461612014-10-02T09:50:00.000+02:002014-10-02T09:50:23.384+02:00Day Four: Masakala to Ongeluksnek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-34618794952330972832014-10-01T13:03:00.001+02:002014-10-01T13:03:20.887+02:00Day Three: Ntsikeni to Masakala<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Santacruzrulzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07919667122485733291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3779850398904118799.post-84011141273351815562014-09-30T08:49:00.001+02:002014-09-30T09:02:46.326+02:00Day Two: Allandale to Ntsikeni<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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