The Big Ride

No caption needed

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.

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.

Ghost riders

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.

On track

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!

Endless gates

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.

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.

Early morning mists

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.

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.

Breakfast again

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.

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.

On the way to Brosterlea

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.

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.

Panoramic vistas

'Rare' sighting of sheep

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.

Company of hobbits

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.

It's a gate...again

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.

Weltevrede water

The style

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.

Historic Blockhouse

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.

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.

Beautiful veggie garden and smiles

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.

Jonathan hanging in

Nothing ever works out the way we think on this race.

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.

Always time for a snack

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.

We had ridden 130 km and it had been wonderful.

Three portages and a storm

Early morning above Slaapkrantz

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.

There's always a fence

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.

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!

Contouring

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.)

Portents?

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.

Descending from Slaapkrantz portage

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.

Beginning Loutebron

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.

Loutebron farm house way below

Snack rewards on reaching the top

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!

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.

Promised snack and water break at Bontehoek

Secret valleys

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.

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.

Welcome lunch stop

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.

Riding into the storm

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.

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.

Lashing rain and winds

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.

The Barn

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.

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.

Storm's aftermath

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.

Still smiling

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.

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.

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.

After the storm

Kenako!

Let's get started

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.

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.

Then it was 5am and we left.

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.

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).

Bokspruit

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.

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.

Golden valley

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.

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.

Annie & Stewart

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.

Emerging from the mist

 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.

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.

Snacks on the go

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.

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.

Spectacular!

 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.

Saving the legs

 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.

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.

Dwarfed by the scenery on the way to Chesneywold

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.

 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.

Chesneywold - refreshed and ready to go

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.

Downhill to Chesneywold

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.

I know where I am

  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.

I was ready.

Snack break before Kapokkraal

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.

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.

Almost at the portage

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.

Slaapkrantz

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.

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.

Rooky Mistake - not really

 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!
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.
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.
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.