Sponge Machine

Ja it was an interesting morning. Met up with A and H at Melrose Arch and did a tough cycle session: 5 minutes hard, 3 minutes easy, repeated 5 times. Hard may sound matter of fact, but the hard sessions maxxed out at 170 (for me at least).

What's interesting is when you are on the bike and you start to push above a 140 HR, the sweats starts to squeeze out, then drip. So you essentially feel like you are squeezing your own sponge tighter and tigher; wringing your body of its sweat, metabolising the fat, making the engine rid itself of blubber.

Getting up at 4:30am tomorrow for a cycle outdoors. Going to be cold and dark. Brrr.

Fietstoer: Oh ja, I heard that the fietstoer is having some drama. They were in Burgersdorp recently. Trailer broke off, and I think the one truck is sukkeling. And a cold front is moving over now.

Vasbyt

You know you're suffering from acute sleep deprivation when getting up, and getting dressed in the morning is as difficult and mentally exhausting as a Trigonometry Exam. This morning was the second morning in a row that I left home chronically sleep deprived, and as it would turn out, I'd pay a fairly hefty price later in the day.

A, H and me left Houghton at about 5:30am and headed towards Bronkhorstspruit - that's the Pretoria side of Johannesburg. These guys both work at high levels at Standard Bank so we talked [in confidence] a bit about Billiton firing the bank for a comment someone made. We had an idea to better deal with load shedding - have an sms system in place that alerts particular regions (it just so happens that networks are based on regional infrastructure too) - via sms - that they are about to exceed their capacity. People in that area can then respond immediately to this direct communication.

Anyhoo, A and H went off to do their 146km race just before 7am. I did the 107km |(which, unless my HR is faulty, turned out to be just under 104km).
On the very first hill I felt cold and tight and stiff, and the guys pulled away right away. A group of us chased them, but they slowly drifted away. Then at about 20km or so, if not sooner, two teams - guys in orange and guys in red, white and black - all with deep rims, all in good shape - cruised by us at high speed. I jumped on, and so did another guy in a white Eskom shirt. We motored. For a short while we all took turns working together - this is the beauty of cycling. It looked and felt like a team time trial, and those rims all parting the wind like blades.

Riding in this group I realised how hard the first bunch were going - the bunch that pulled away on the first climb. We sucked in the ladies bunch, and kept right on going. I think we only caught the bunch we'd lost in the 1st kim at 50km - this was with very strong riders.

I was feeling good at this point, and it felt especially good to be the first rider to connect with the bunch. The guys made a few stabs, but in the end I put in the last effort. And as I say, at that point I was sitting pretty.

When I reached 60km I said to the Eskom dude that I was fast approaching my endurance limit - that in the next few km I'd have to start gritting my teeth. Even I didn't have any idea how true that was. If you'd been watching from above in a helicopter it must have looked quite interesting, if not funny. I'd cruise down on the downhills ahead of the pack (this is the original spoedvark bunch fortified with the time-trial team) and so build momentum up the drags, which I was finding to be getting tougher and tougher. Then on the drags almost all the guys would slowly drift by me, but by the time we reached the top, I'd be at the back, but still in touch.

I don't know how many times it happened, but it happened a lot. I realised once again just how much heavier I am than these guys. I mean there's no way it's just a question of being more aero on the downhills.

At about 70km I just couldn't stay in touch, and then I went backwards badly, and quickly. Up until then my average was about 36km/h. On the HR graph you can see my heartrate starts to slip downwards at this point, and at the same time, there is a constant upward climb. My legs just couldn't handle it; and I couldn't figure it out. Am this freaking unfit? The last 10km were a nightmare. A muscle on my inner left leg was threatening to pull, and that is very very eina. I used my easiest gears for the last few kilometres and limped home in 3:03. Averaging 33.9km/h (in other words, with fewer uphills, I did this slower than the Argus.

It was only when I arrived home that I noticed my seatpost was about 2-3cm lower than it should have been. See, I'd taken my bike in to the bike shop for a service, and the guy must have removed the seatpost to clean it. He'd put it back a lot lower. I only picked this up when I got home - my legs totally wasted. It's some consolation that the last 30km of vrotness wasn't due to lack of fitness, but my muscles trying to figure out how a racing bike had suddenly become a knee buckling BMX.

A had an incredible ride. He broke away at 50km (with 100km to go) and stayed away with 4 or 5 other guys. Quite amazing how strong he is. H came in about 10 minutes after A - and wryly thanked him for making the ride so tough.

More cycling news: Fietstoer is at Burgersdorp right now. Maritza had a pretty nasty fall on a downhill. She says her whole left side has dark blue bruises. And the rider behind her basically rode over her. I said she must put ice on the bruises, when the skin is cold massage till it is warm, and repeat a few times. Just gets more blood into the tissue to accelerate tissue restoration.

Also spoke to Lizaan - shame she has laryngitis. Not nice to start off and your voice is gone. I know, I had the same problem last year. But it got better.

We're thinking of going down to do the Kimberley to Bloem ride, end of May I think - 180km. Need to start getting the basics right in the meantime, like enough shuteye.

Bicycling Article

Top 3 Story

My Tri-Nations story sent to Ohmynews has made the top 3 (most popular stories for the week.) My story in reporter (about The Hub) also made the top 3 recently.

I think Ohmynews, based in Korea, has a disproportionately large audience of expat Aussies, Kiwis and South Africans. My hit counter for these stories is already well over the 1000 mark. So going to keep sending them rugby stories.

There's also a Fietstoer Photo on reporter.co.za today. To see it, go here:

https://www.reporter.co.za/community/Default.aspx?Page=RP21P64967

Inflorescence

Day 8
Malmesbury – Darling – Langebaan

I have good memories of Malmesbury. The food was great, we slept late, and my partner Lizaan and I had a fun time running through suburbia raising money. Sally had decided to skip the stage to Darling (based on bad roads) and use the time to raise money in Malmesbury instead. Since we’d already skipped a stage, I was determined to ride this stage, and so I tried to get a small bunch of riders to ride with me. Danie volunteered, but then we were told that the road was in a horrendous condition etc etc. What could I do?

With the whole sunny morning at our disposal, Lizaan and I walked from house to house. I had my camera with me, so was able to take some photos of a very cute three year old.

At our last stop we were invited in and given cooldrink which meant we missed our ride back to the Rendezvous Point. Lizaan was fun to hang out with too, strong opinions and not afraid to express them. I called Sally to tell her why we’d missed the bus and she said we should meet her at the Bokomo Factory. I said fine, until I realized it would involve another 45 minutes of walking. I called her to try to get her to meet us somewhere closer but got no answer.

We caught a quite ride in an old yellow pickup to the tall white church, and from there we walked towards the distant Bokomo factory. As we got around the church an old woman waved at us. She was in tears, and told us a story of how she found her husband with another man, and then he beat her. Lizaan hugged her and then went to buy her some food. I sat awkwardly with her, asking her what she was going to do and where she was going to go. I was quite relieved when Lizaan returned, and then we each took turns saying a prayer. Part of me felt good about what was happening, but another part felt like we were being conned.

Sure enough, at the KFC, while Lizaan was in the loo, I saw the same old lady walk to her mates under a tree. She seemed okay from where I was standing. She said she needed the money urgently to get home, but she seemed in no hurry now. And since a swarm of us had raked through Malmesbury, and our mission was clear, I felt she had traded on using God’s name to get some extra money. Her tears though, did seem real, so I can’t say for sure.

We ate KFC burgers while we walked on towards the Bokomo factory, and once we were almost there I glanced at my phone again: 5 missed calls from Sally. Damn! My phone had been on silent. Hers had probably been on silent too.

The roads were no worse than the road into Veldrif, and such a scenic road too, lined with what looked like Rhododendrons in places. We did hit some potholes head on, and several times I expected the wagon we were hauling to come flying alongside us like an overenthusiastic skier, before shattering in an explosion ofg dust and debris. Somehow it hung on, bouncing behind us.
When Lizaan, Sally and I arrived at Darling, everyone was eating. The weather was so hot it was stinging. I ate a nice curry lamb, and swallowed massive amounts of water.






Then, finally, we got on our bikes for the last 60-something kilometre stage. But now the wind pushed us firmly back.

Lizaan and I rode nicely to start off with, but as I grew tired, I sought out other riders to shelter behind, and then noticed that she was unwilling to ride closer than 1.5-2metres behind the back wheels of riders in front. Given the strength of the wind, this became really frustrating. When we turned onto a main highway, we had the company of two other riders, and we worked well together for at least 20km.

There were some painful long drags, into the wind. At one watering point the news filtered through that one of the riders had been hit a glancing blow. Of course, we had no idea how serious it was, but judging from how one of the cars tore away to provide assistance, we were worried.

Now we were part of a big train of around 14 riders, 7 on each side, and my strength was slowly but surely being sapped because Lizaan was riding just out of the slipstream, and with her body catching the wind like a sail. I kept trying to goad her just another half metre so we could cruise with the rest, but then she would pull on her brakes, and so I was forced to push her hard into the wind, with this train tantalizingly just ahead of us.
In a moment of maddened exhaustion, we even decided to overtake them, and finally arrived at the garage on the turn off to Langebaan. We had 10km to go. I saw San Marie at one point and then felt my ire rising. I had been riding the whole day with no puncture kit, thanks to her, despite her assurances that she would replace what she had used.

When we arrived I realized we were in the middle third. Someone bought 2 litre Cokes for us, and we all bombarded our systems with excess sugar for this last section. We finally got going, into a very strong headwind. Now I really pushed to stay in touch. The road was really narrow, and cars were zipping by us all the time. Then suddenly, just behind us, there was a pile-up. It seemed like half of our entire group went down, and they stayed where they were until they were out of sight. Once again I felt like I was being tested to my very limit, on this last day. I couldn’t keep in touch with the others on the blind rises, so we had to slow down to Lizaan’s pace, but once over we drove hard and in the final drag pulled up beside PJ and Dot. PJ wasn’t impressed. He said something about: “You should know by now…” The idea was just to reunite, not to pass them, and I didn’t want to reunite at the back and then fall off again – all that hard work for nothing.

Next moment we saw Sally standing with a red flag on the back of the bakkie and pulled off. She looked really flustered. We’d wait here.

Sally said a rider had been hit, but very lightly. A car had stopped though, and then been hit by an approaching car, coming from the opposite direction.
We could see the sea, and had, we guessed, not far to go at all now. It was a long wait. At one point San Marie stood next to me and I said: “I’m glad I didn’t get a puncture today, because if I did, I would have had to wait for help. You said you were going to replace what I gave you yesterday, why can’t you just do what you say? It’s seems like you just expect people to give give give and all you do is take take take. You don’t even say thank you.” I didn’t like being at the end and feeling irritated, but she was standing right next to me…so I moved a bit further along.
I was even more irritated when first Lizaan and then Sally came to me, asking why I was ‘fighting’ with SM!

We finally got going again, climbing, climbing, and then stopping again, until a big vista, filled with the soothing sea, spread out below us. When I got to the bottom I didn’t hang around (they wanted a photo with the bus in the background), I went straight to the beach. Just felt like my own space. It was a lovely view, very unexpected. Reminded me of ‘The Gray Havens’ in Lord of the Rings. The far off gray hillside, a mist moving over, the pale white sand, and the lolling of seawaves on the shore. More a lakeshore, it seemed, than a seashore.


Time: 2:41
Distance: 61km
Average speed: 22.6km/h
Kcal: 1930
HR 123/150
Temperature: 22/30/38


I was huddling on a blanket, chewing on something when they others arrived. I snapped off a few pictures (the first of which I used in my Exhibition, and sold it), soaked up the celebrations, and then tried to outrun the cold mist that was rolling in, and softening the sun into cold cotton.



Lizaan got herself ready fairly quickly, and it just so happened that Andre, PJ and I pushed Lizaan up that terrible climb. It was during this piece that I realized how little Lizaan was actually working. Like the harder we pushed, the less she pedaled. Andre said afterwards, on his last pedalstroke he felt one of his muscles pull. I was also at my limit (though I’d turned my HRM off at this point).

We sailed down to our lodgings for the night. Jean, JP and a few others and myself quickly found a nearby house to shower in. Was nice to sit in the lounge and chill. I reflected suddenly that all those hours sleeping late and collecting money in Malmesbury ought to have been invested here. We really neededto have arrived earlier in Langebaan, to soak it all up, especially since we were leaving well before the crack of dawn. Our time to celebrate – in daylight on the beach – couldn’t have been much more than half an hour.

After some singing, and eating, and finding a room, I went for a walk on the beach. For a moment I thought I was walking with someone, but it must have been my imagination. It was spooky on the beach. The yellow sulfur lights lit up large ghost ships, and tall pieces of timber poked vertically out of the water, perhaps to guide the Ferryman through the fog. I sat down for some wine, and then walked back.
The waters around my feet suddenly glowed blue, and splashed in pale or bright blue arcs about my feet. I played alone in the light of this shallow water, in the gloom of the fog. Once again I imagined someone beside me, but there was no one there.

Total Time: 36H35
Total Distance: 845km*
Average Speed: 23.1km/h

*(I have only ridden one Fietstoer so far – BFN – Hartenbos, where we rode the full 1000km)

DamDuik!

Day 7
Dwarskersbos – Hopefield – Malmesbury

The day started with a sort of haunting cold and haze. It was odd to be so cold, when we knew it could get up to the mid thirties (Celcius) by noon. We began to move out, a train of cyclists, silently stirring up the heavy morning mist.

My partner had been Andre’s partner during the Ladysmith to Barrydale stage. They’d ridden well together so I was anticipating a nice, steady ride. As it happens, after an initial roadside refreshment (outside Veldrif), while Lize huddled nearby on the ground in a blanket, trying to sleep, Andre shot away with his new partner, on a long, flat roads.

I took my partner with me on very long surge and then finally caught him. I think I told my partner at this point: “This is the first time I’ve ridden the first stage anywhere NEAR the front.” Although I suppose with Ize, over those crushing windblasted climbs near Hermanus we were at the front, but then the majority gave up that day. My partner said she’d ridden at the front every day. Fair enough.

I’m not sure what it was but there didn’t seem to be a helluva lot to talk about. My partner thought my Steve Hofmeyr husky voice was my own, not a sore throat that wouldn’t give up. That was okay since there was a strong sense of the Tour approaching its end, and wanting to really absorb these last few moments and scenes. It’s amazing how blabbing all the time can also cheapen and demean a situation that is, in itself, graceful and elegant.

We pulled away nicely, the four of us, so that the dots behind us completely disappeared behind us. But we ended up doing a 30km loop – a circle – meaning we looped right back towards Veldrif, based on some other riding we’d missed somewhere en route. Andre and I were complaining that this didn’t make sense because in terms of the distance we were supposed to be covering, and our next stop, we simply couldn’t be on the right road. When we finally reached the next water point, Chrisna jumped out with a big sign: APRIL FOOL. We were not amused. I wasn’t. The good sensations evaporated at that point for me – I didn’t feel like I had the luxury of energy on Day 7 to be riding an extra 30km on another 110km + day in this heat. 140km after all is a lot further than 110km, it has additional fuelling implications (including needing extra salt) especially when you have 600km of Mountain Passes and all the rest in your legs from the previous 6 days. Moan moan, I know, but that’s how we felt.

I was slightly in observer mode, so I noticed my own irritation and wondered what to make of it. Was it normal? When PJ pulled up he was fuming. He said what we were all thinking: “SHIT! It’s easy for us to do an extra 30km if you’re not doing it.” The point was it’s never easy to be motivated when a distance keeps getting further, and you don’t know where you are going. (Ironically, that sentence appears to be the scenario the world faces in terms of Climate Change, and Peak Oil – our species is going to struggle to remain motivated as everything gets more and more difficult, and unknown – unpredictable – to endure, then survive).

But back to the ride. I was feeling good about health, although I was still not healthy. What I mean is, by Day 7 I realized I would definitely be finishing; for many of the preceding days it looked very, very ominous. This is because, once again, I’d started another Fietstoer (to God’s Window) with a slight cold, and on that trip I rapidly deteriorated, until my cold had consumed me, and the infection turned into a secondary ulceration of my throat (all that constant exposure; the cold wind being breathed in and blowing against my face). Finally a cowboy scarf I was wearing (around my neck and over my mouth) was blown by a sudden gust straight down into my chain, which snapped the derailleur. That same night someone said they had prayed that God stops me from riding. And so for one whole day I didn’t ride, and I remember in that one day how my health flooded back. But the lesson I learned was this: know when to give up, because sometimes you must.

So what was interesting about this Fietstoer was that this time it was about NOT GIVING UP, and investing in inner resources – keeping the Faith. I started in a much sicklier state, and common sense suggested: give up and go home now. And yet somehow I had prevailed. As I said, I felt Sally praying for me combined with staying away from any sugary foods and drinks seems to have helped a lot. And getting enough sleep after two nights of 4 hours total. The sleep thing was crucial. It comes down to discernment: knowing when to give up, and then being in a similar situation but things somehow turning out differently. So I think one has to allows be aware of what you don’t know, being aware of Possibility.

We spent a long time at the watering point, so that a lot of other riders caught us, and so another surge was necessary. We closed a gap, but some other riders got away, and shortly before we reached them, one of the riders, a girl, fell, and fell hard.



She had a small mob around her, so we rode on, at a gentler pace, quietly into Hopefield. It was a strangely named place, after the frustrating additional 30km, but it was great to arrive, and we did so in the leading string.

In Hopefield I remember feeling very sweaty and grotty. I just wanted to get into a swimming pool. It was incredibly hot and sticky, and after the morning’s ride:

Distance: 86km (instead of 56km)
Time: 3:37
Average speed: 23.7km/h
Kcal: 2347
HR: 117/161
Ascent: 240
Temperature: 10 minimum, 20 average, 31 maximum.

…it was hard to imagine getting on the bike again when we felt so hot, clammy and tired. That extra 30km was bugging everyone.

We sat in a small lounge area and chatted, and at a certain point I left for the loo. It was while I was on my own, walking through the churchyard in the insufferable heat, and feeling uncomfortable with the idea of another 60km, that I felt energy well up. GET IT OVER WITH!
As we got ready to ride ideas and tactics and visions popped into my head like so many dancing thought bubbles on a comics’ page.

And so we headed to Malmesbury. The wind was a factor, but less so than it could have been on the West Coast. And so, I stretched my legs on the first steep climb, with the silver guard rails guiding us upward. I pulled slowly away, saw no response, then settled into a rhymn. I remember Annetjie did something here, she got herself quite a lead, but then we stormed past. Not sure how long it was, perhaps 5 or 10km, I kept a sizable gap on what was obviously a chasing bunch, with riders organizing shifts. But unlike the Porterville stage, I knew Andre would be there as well as PJ. But I followed the same strategy – I sat up on the climbs, and then floored it on the downhills. It was on a major uphill that I realized, I was going to need a breather. So I sat up. Perhaps I could ride 20km with them, and then shake them off in the final third. It wasn’t long after we’d consolidated that San Marie got a puncture. We all stopped and I gave her my tube, as well as my CO2, Andre did the honors inserting the tube. We were stuck for about 2 minutes, and as we got ready to go, another rider (involved in the crash earlier in the day) that had dropped off earlier, joined us again. It was an odd twist, me allowing myself to integrate and now being stuck here, donating my gear to fix a girls puncture in the sun. I might have been more goedgesind – umm…happy to give…except I had specially gotten permission for San Marie to ride (I’d specially spoken to Sally on San Marie’s behalf and so an exception was made – there were already too many girls riding) but no thank you, and that was still irking me. Would I get a thank you for giving her my CO2 and tube?

Still, I was impressed with San Marie’s riding, she’d been superstrong on Franschoek Pass, but whenever girls ride with guys, they almost never work in front, and if they do, it’s a token effort. If they did do as much as we did, they’d fall out very quickly. But it’s interesting to see what a difference sitting in a slipstream can make; you’re able to stay with riders on a completely different level.

Having said that, I was determined to shake this group. I put on another 10 or so attacks. That’s a lot. I was like: guys, I am going to attack you around the clock, and they were like: he’s going to attack again, brace yourselves. I thought someone might come with me, especially Andre, but each time they simply closed the gap and then hung with me. Then, much later, in the final 15km, Andre and San Marie attacked, a good hard one on a very steep section. That was where I was able to prove my mettle – not only to them, but to myself. After all, I’d been left for dead on Franshoek Pass, so apparently I couldn’t climb? I was hurt in the beginning, obviously my legs had worked the hardest all day, but I took a breather with the runner’s up, while the steep hill bit into everyone the same. And then, my heartrate stabilized, and I slowly moved up, caught Andre and San Marie, and then pulled ahead so they had to put everything on the line to stay in touch. That was an amazing moment, the infliction of suffering and then bearing it out.

PJ pulled an attack at some point too – but the nice thing was, we were now putting big amounts of energy on the table, and each time big servings came back. One rider was bearly hanging on, in fact he was falling off completely and then coming back during intermissions. I liked this game because even though I was getting tired, I wasn’t weakening, and I felt they were. If they felt stronger than they did, why insist on working in a bunch each time to close a gap, and work together? Without a bunch platform to prop up my effort, I was just as strong, and that’s a great position to be in.

Andre spotted a cement dam right at the side of the road, and there was no hesitation: DAMDUIK! We abandoned our bicycles and our clothes. It was my first, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. The roads, with us on it, were cooking! Funny hollow sounds echoed out of the cement dam, and soon, other riders joined us.

Erna took a photo and then joined us, and not long after that, we were cycling again in high spirits, dry as a bone in the searing heat.

I’m not sure if it was good luck or bad, but we thought we were faced with a final monster climb, the final decider, when we saw the bakkies and the bus hovering in a dusty roadside clearing. Here we had to stop and wait for everyone else. We waited for around 90 minutes. Even my partner had ridden the second shift. Some people said they would rather cycle than sit in a hot bus all day.

Time: 1:59
HR: 152/169
KCAL: 1681
Temp: 32/33/38
Average: 31.6km/h
Distance: 52.2km

What remained was 5.6km into Malmesbury in 37 degree heat. And one final challenge. While still on the hill, we were laughing and joking about the attacks, and some people were saying that they had it all under control. So I said, let’s do one last uphill race, a sprint to the top of this hill, ending at the junction with the Highway.
So we stepped up the gears, and brought our banquets of energy to the table. I got there first.

There was a deep and terrible chasm, where the highway fell down into a valley and there, nestled in the dry desert mountains, was Malmesbury, shining white steeples and sparkling roofs, like a lake of silver roofed humanity on some dusty, desolate planet.

In one of those roofs San Marie got herself locked into a bathroom, and Jean broke the door down to get her out.

It was a beautiful day, filled with extremes, and stories. On our last day, the next day, we would turn back towards Langebaan, but reach it on a different road.



Some of the above images courtesy Erna Nel

Supertube

Andre going into blitzkrieg puncture fixing mode.

A man who is trampled by an elephant is a man who is blind and deaf - African Proverb

Sally

Day 6

Tulbach – Dwarskersbos

It happened again at Tulbach, that thing that struck terror and shame into my heart. My heart folded itself inside out, and then hid under itself. At Tulbach, once again tables and shares were moved aside to make a dancefloor. As the girls and boys made themselves available, I crawled as far inside my sleeping back, and then wormed my way into the darkness of the stage behind the curtains. Unfortunately, nature called at one point, so I had to skulk from the stage to the toilet. I saw 5 of the prettiest girls wheeling around, while everyone else appeared to be doing what I was doing (under the guise of being tired/sick etc.) Finally, romantic hearts singing, while others choked and sputtered, the lights were killed and we all drifted off to sleep.

I don’t know what it is about dancing. I’ve had a lot of fun in the past, I mean I can count it on…one…half of one hand. Dances seem to me elaborate setups designed to inflict magical pain, shame and embarrassment. Truth be told, it’s probably my main motive for never getting married (I’d be expected to dance at my own wedding, in front of everyone, wouldn’t I?). I can’t even say I can’t dance, although technically I’m sure I can’t, since I been known to dance adequately enough (when sozzled on red wine). I’ve been to the occasional sokkie (nose involuntarily shoots forward). I remember one informeel with Sharon Heath.

So I think avoidance of reality was why, when we headed out that morning, I was taken by complete surprise when PJ bellowed “AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHH.” Everyone started yelling, and then the guys pulled away, and then it clicked: “AArrgghh” was thje suffic for: “STAAAAK” (which means strike). Oh yes,we’d been told the previous evening we were striking, but until now, about to head up a steep incline out of Tulbach, I’d forgotten.

I rode back with mixed emotion. I was fully kitted out, since 5:30 am and now it meant undressing again and loading bikes. Somehow it seemed worth it. I could do with a bit of sleep on the bus.

Once the bus got going I ended up chatting, and some chick on the bus who was really tired kept giving me black looks for talking a lot (and keeping her awake). After about 30km we encountered a big troop of baboons on the side of the road, and shortly after that we caught up to the girls. The bus driver did a really stupid thing at this point: he wanted to make a big show of overtaking the girls (with us guys on board), and so, even with a car approaching ahead, he used the speed and momentum and just kept going. It drove the oncoming car, whose tires tore a smoky smear on the tar, into the veld, and the bus then pushed hard left, forcing the girls to abandon the road as well. Crazy!
I was one of the first to disembark and run alongside the approaching ladies, pushing them, taking the odd photo and so on.

At Porterville we got off the bus and ate omelets. While waiting for the girls I took some more pictures, and then had the brilliant idea to load all my memory stick pictures onto a CD (at a local Link Pharmacy).




I followed all the instructions, and finally the disk popped out and the screen said: Transfer Complete. It was only when arrived at the office that I discovered the disk was blank. But from that point on, one by one, I deleted the pictures on the memory stick.

We left Porterville through an attractive avenue of tall bluegums on a hill.

The girls then suddenly peeled away, just as we had, and then I put on the gas a little bit. Before long I had a gap on everyone, and I was enjoying the rampy road: it would climb in small half egg climbs and then drop down again. I noticed that behind me the guys were definitely working together, so I employed an old trick. I found a very long, hard climb, and took it very easy on it. As I got to the top, Danie caught me, having obviously expended a lot of energy to close the gap. I took a turn behind him, and then kicked again. Pretty quickly we were back to the original gap, and I managed to hold it until Porterville. PJ said to me afterwards, “Why did you ride like that?”
“I just felt like it,” I said.



The maximum temperature was 33 C, with 310m of ascending (in just 25km).
We sat on the pavement beside a church at the top of a very steep hill and ate sandwiched and squeezy-packet-cooldrinks. The next stage would take us to the sea again.

For Dwarskersbos, I started off last, and after cruising down the steep descents, kicked again, in the first 5km, up a steep curving incline. From there it was a very interesting ride, in terms of the riders – the landscape was very dull, and the roasts terrible, and the wind even worse. Andre was riding hard to reach me, and I went very hard to test his resolve. But once we were together, we worked together. I felt much stronger than that first day, which was also windy, when it was just the two of us. Quite far into the stage, probably after 20km, PJ joined us. He did so shortly after the bakkies his girlfriend was driving passed us, so I couldn’t help thinking they’d provided him with a slipstream.
Having said that, JP also caught us at a certain point while we were taking in fluids and eating some chips. He stayed with us for about a minute before falling off again.

At one point PJ starting weakening, but I think from not drinking enough water. I also told him to empty one of his water bottles: he was just pushing unnecessary weight into a headwind, and if one got thirsty there was always a water point no more than 15km away. And then he felt better.
I did another kick on a steep downhill at around 69km. Andre called me from behind to say PJ was in trouble – apparently his short bars had slipped and he’d almost fallen. And then suddenly we were in Veldrif.



We rode together, past Joan’s house, and then went to the bridge at an intersection and left our bikes against a jetty. I bought myself a beer, the others got cokes. We sipped them while standing with the icy turquoise water soothing our hot toes and weatherbeaten legs. That was one of the highlights of the trip. Still hungry, and noticing that no one had arrived yet, we went to a nearby restaurant and ordered some chips.


We sat there eating, watching the boats floating on their moors on the Berg river.

Later on we joined the bus and cycled towards a church, and then there was one more piece to do, from Veldrif to Dwarskersbos. Now since all the cyclists were together, and it was just a 10km stretch, the guys started testing each other. I think Annetjie started it, and then some other riders, and then I shot to the front with Andre. We quickly made a gap, but Danie and another guy hauled us in. I kept up a very hard pace, but they still hung on. Then I waved them through, and after giving them time to do some work, kicked hard. Andre came along too, and that was it. They didn’t catch us again. Was a lot of fun.
Maximum temperature: 34 C
Kcal: 2479 (+876 of previous stage)
Average speed (against the wind): 29.1km/h
Ascent: 250m over 78km

Dwarskersbos was interesting. A place I’ve never been before. It was a wonderful way to end the day, walking on the beach in a low key area where you can be yourself.

At about sunset Sally and I went to Joan to discuss what we’d be doing the next day. That, in itself, was also a charming experience. Sally also loved Joan’s garden, the view over the Berg and the house. I couldn’t help seeing another Sally from then onwards.

Glimpses of the Tour

Circles in the sand (on the last day)

Yolande putting on a brave face just outside Hermanus. My feet were burning at this point!

Sharing the road with the Epic guys...towards Barrydale

Andre and I, sparring outside Oudsthoorn.

Above images courtesy Erna Nel.