Month: July 2013

I’m hoping that in just under two weeks time I won’t be writing another entry with the same title, but used in a cycling sense – “to pack”, meaning to quit, to bail, DNF (did not finish). Banishing such thoughts from mind, I’ll quickly sum up my last weekend of preparation, which largely consisted of piling tons of stuff onto our dining room table, dismantling my bike into it’s box, and then shovelling said piles into the spaces around the frame.

In fact, the whole process took far less time and was much easier than I’d expected – much to Yoli’s amusement, as she’d predicted I was being my usual overly pessimistic self about the scale of the task. Ben was also quite pleased that his pleas of “come play Daddy” got a result in a couple of short hours rather than taking the whole weekend.

First task on the agenda was the all important process of shirt selection, pictured above. The shirt for each day being carefully chosen to represent a key aspect of my preparation:

• South Africa – goes without saying really, my adopted home and the place all this madness started.
• Hildebrand Pebbles – one of the two charities I have been riding for, and the shirt which has been on my back for all of the longer training rides.
• William’s Bike Shop – built, advised on, and serviced Jolly and the wheels, and generally kept me on the road
• Wannabees – my awesome club mates who’ve supported, and sometimes quite literally pushed me through all the training rides
• SufferFest – need I say more. I’m sure by the time this shirt goes on, I will reached the required level of self inflicted pain to be called a true Sufferlandrian.

 That job done, photographed, and posted to Facebook, next up was getting all the kit out and double checking it against my list. It seems bizarre that despite covering the whole of our dining room table, by conventional Audax standards I am actually travelling pretty light. For all those who have seen me riding these last months and asked (or joked) about whether I had beers, coffees, or bricks in my saddle and bar bags, at the foot of this article is the complete kit list which can be seen laid in the photo.

The final task was the one most concerning me – disassembling Jolly and packing her into the box. My fears were unfounded though, the step-by-step video offered by BikeBox Alan really was just that. Aside from one small panic where the handlebars seemed like they wouldn’t come off, it all came apart and packed in a dream. Predictably the mudguards wouldn’t really go in the box safely, so those went in my suitcase. But even with my odd arrangements of bag mounts and bar extenders, the handlebars didn’t seem to foul anything as the case closed up. Of course the proof of my packing will be in a few hours time when this flight to London lands and I see whether anything shook loose or broke in transit.

And all of a sudden, I find I have little more to say. The preparation is done, and the ride is less than a week away. After a tearful farewell to Yoli and Ben at the airport, I’m sitting here with complimentary drink and snack in hand. I’m nervous and excited all at the same time, and I’m missing them both like crazy. I realise I’ve already forgotten to take the first of the “en route” photos for this blog, which was meant to be me at the airport checking in my lurid greeen bike box – the colour specifically chosen so that I wouldn’t miss it, and no one could sneak off with it (I did mention I’m a pessimist). Hopefully it’s a few feet below me somewhere and I can at least snap a picture arriving at the other end. Jolly has picked up something like 10,000km in her inaugural year and a bit. Despite being probably five times what Merry did in each of the preceding five years, it now doesn’t feel like nearly enough. In truth though, it’s only short by 1,418 kilometres. And for those final few, it will up to my legs to do the talking now.

Click here to move on to the pre-prologue – the day before the big day!

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It was a remarkably fitting end to the weeks and months of training. The last of the rollers lay behind me, and ahead was one long straight run down to the end of the road where the R315 meets the sea in the small coastal town of Yzerfontein. For the first time in the last fifty or so kilometers since parting company with Emmerentia and Henri on the outskirts of Malmesbury I could sit up and enjoy the stunning west coast scenery, bathed orange in the rays of the late afternoon sun dipping towards the watery horizon ahead.

We had made a much faster time to Malmesbury, our 11:30am arrival was two hours sooner than I had predicted to Yoli. The strong northwester that was forecast had only materialized after our coffee stop in Hermon as we crested Bothmaskloof – perhaps we’d been sheltered by the low line of hills, or maybe it had just been slow to blow up. Either way, as a group of riders we’d been largely untroubled by the headwind we were expecting. But, as if to throw me down one last test before LEL, by the time we said our goodbyes and Henri and Emmerentia turned back towards Somerset West, the wind was now in full force.

It was hard to enjoy the glorious rolling landscape when every rise of the road combined with the headwind to drag my pace back to a crawl, at times barely making 10 Km/h. Not knowing the road, and with nowhere to hide from the wind it would have been all to easy to become dispirited and simply stop – especially with the temptation of Yoli somewhere behind me in the car. Fortunately, the overriding lesson learned from the past long rides was how to keep going, one crank turn after the next. And sure enough, despite the slow pace, eventually the town of Darling came into view.

Tired and sore from hunching over the handlebars, I slumped down and drained two quick coffees in succession – even adding sugar for extra energy, even though I don’t normally take it in coffee. It was a great relief to see Yoli’s smiling face as the last of the second cup went down. With just 25km or so to go, there was no way I was going to accept the offer of a lift – although I did welcome the offer of some supplies grabbed from the nearby Spa.

Initially, the road after Darling was much like the stretch before, except even more undulating and potholed without the wide and smooth new tarmac surface. But after a couple of big rollers, there it was, the sea, the setting sun, and the end of my training for LEL. In Yzerfontein I swung left towards Pearl Bay and the beach house we were staying in. For one all too short kilometer I enjoyed the tailwind that Henri and Emmerentia would have enjoyed surfing all the way back to Somerset West.

The final distance for the ride was around 180km, although it had felt much further. With the Sunday and Wednesday rides, the total for my last week of training was a rewarding 420km. It felt good to be able to relax as I sat soaking in the bath, beer in hand, and reflect on the great rides we had done, and the truly amazing winter weather and scenery we had been blessed with.

All photos by author.