Category: Uncategorised

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!

—-

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.

For a while, it looked like our good luck with winter riding weather had broken: the roads were wet, and my front lights picked out a fine drizzle as the four of us pedalled out from our 5am rendezvous at Waterstone. Joining our trio of riders from the previous 255km (myself, Penny Olivier and Henri Meier) was fellow London-Edinburgh-London (LEL) entrant, Emmerentia Jacobs, now recovered from an injured foot and eager to get some kilometres under her wheels.
 
We were still splashing through puddles and picking up road spray a couple of hours later as the dawn light crept over the mountains around us, and Franschhoek rose up out of the darkness ahead. It hadn’t rained, and the early morning sky was clear, but it was cold. My right foot was slowly becoming a numb icy block, and it was a relief to see the pass ahead. With Helshoogte already behind, this would be the second of four climbs Henri had in store for us on the route he’d planned. Somewhere around 40 minutes later we were all at the top, my arrival being predictably last. The exertion of the climb had warmed me nicely, but the sight of Emmerentia beginning to shiver from waiting so long made it obvious that the descent was going to drain the little heat we’d generated on the way up. Despite the cold the view was just too good to waste, so we stopped and had a quick snack looking out over the valley waking up below.

The descent was two things – exhilarating; and freezing. It’s hard to imagine a more wonderful stretch of tarmac, twisting and winding as it dives down the mountainside. Only a handful of cars broke the rhythm of whirring hubs as we sped down, views of the valley and Theewaterskloof dam gradually opening up as the pass unwound before us. By the time we’d run out of freewheeling I was seriously cold though. The stretch into Villiersdorp became something of a slog for me, and shifting gears had become a challenge with a useless frozen stump for a right hand. It was a great relief to see Henri veer off across the road for a welcome cafe stop to lift flagging spirits. The effort of the climb, together with the loss of body heat from the descent had sapped way more energy than I’d expected – or dressed for! Mental note to listen to Yoli next time when she says put on thicker layers.

Nicely warmed up from hot chocolates and coffees, the third climb of the day began almost before we’d left the outskirts of town. It turned out to be a bit of a disappointment though – from the Villiersdorp side it’s hardly more than a hill.  The long fast run down towards the Brandvlei dam did at least seem slightly more worthy of the term “pass”.  As we pedalled on into the valley the scenery went from merely marvellous to sublime: to our left the Franschhoek mountains had a light dusting of snow on the highest peaks; a much heavier cap of white sat on top of the Matroosberg towering up behind Worcester in the far distance; and in between a gold and red autumn carpet of vineyards lined the road leading towards them.

Even with the coffee stop and wonderful views, I was still struggling. With bizarrely opportune timing, the words “I could murder a coke” had hardly left my lips before Penny and I dropped over a small hill to see Henri and Emmerentia pulled over at a padstal. Henri tried to wave us on, but he was out of luck – I ignored him and headed straight to the counter for some fuel.

Coke and water is rather old-fashioned and out of favour compared to modern energy drinks, but on long rides it seems to help me push on through a low patch, without any bad stomach to plague me later in the day. It worked here too – our speed picked up considerably, and by one o’clock we were past Worcester, and heading out of Rawsonville in to the Slanghoek valley looking forward to a lunch stop.

Unfortunately Henri’s favoured spot was hosting a wedding, and after passing a few other closed wineries, our next choice of Opstal stop wasn’t serving food. They had coffee though, and stunning views, both of which were good enough to make us linger for an extra cup as we ate snacks and sandwiches from our bags and back packs.

Slanghoek valley had one last treat in store for us before the final big climb of the day. Since seeing a road flooded sign some kilometres back we’d debated whether we’d be able to ride through to the R43. On reaching the ford before the end of the road we had our answer. The road was flooded for sure, but only to a depth of a few centimetres. Like kids stomping around in wellies, we pedalled and splashed slowly along the submerged concrete spans, dodging sizable holes that could easily have sent us for an icy bath. Sadly we weren’t quite slow enough for Henri to have time to snap a photo of the fun we were having wading across. The image will just have to live on in our memories of the ride.

Crossing the Breede for the fourth and final time of the time of the day, the mighty Bains Kloof lay directly in our path. Despite having climbed it from the other side a couple of months back, and Emmerentia’s assertion this was the easier side, I was more than a little daunted. Although my legs still felt strong, my energy levels really could have done with a nice hot plate of food at that last stop. We made good and fast progress initially, but gradually the gradient picked up. It never got especially steep, but the road wound up and on and up. There was very little traffic as the afternoon shadows gradually closed over the narrow cleft of the pass. The only sounds accompanying us up the climb were natural – babbling cascades of water splashing across the road and rushing down into the swollen Wit river to our left, the roar of it’s waters gradually softening as we steadily rose ever higher up the side of the valley.

Rounding what I thought was one of the last corners, my spirits took a nasty knock – the road disappeared ahead, higher and further than I remembered. I was running out of steam when I felt a friendly helping hand in the small of my back. Henri had been snapping pictures of us coming under the rock arch, and had clearly seen my shoulders sag. I’d like to think I would have made it just fine solo – I was also immensely glad I didn’t have to find out.

The top of the pass was a sight for sore eyes and legs. After a very welcome stop for breath, we started the rapid snaking adrenaline blast down towards Wellington. This side of the pass was warmer, still bathed in the remaining rays of the late afternoon light. A pair of black eagles wheeled and mewed overhead, mobbed by a solitary crow presumably protecting family or territory. Dropping down towards the town of Wellington, the smell of fynbos gradually gave way to eucalyptus as the landscape switched from open mountainside to the wooded lower stretches. A patchwork of Boland farms and wineries lay below us, and somewhere just beyond the distant horizon lay home. Although now only around 65km away, all of us knew the route too well from fun rides to think of it as easy – a challenging procession of rolling hills, tough on any day, but with 200km behind us and the first breaths of south-easter beginning to blow it would be no easy final chapter.

After topping up water, snacks, and in Penny’s case full cream milk at a nearby garage. We rolled out of Wellington and started the last leg. Somewhere around Klapmuts the sun blazed it’s last few golden rays and sank slowly behind the rolling fields. At Henri’s call, we stopped and hastily swapped lights around so everyone was well lit front and back and rode on. The dark closed in around us gradually taking away the scenery and views of the day. We were a little floodlit cell of riders again, slowly counting off those last few testing ramps – Wiesenhof, Remhoogte, and finally Koos de Vaal. Henri’s route had been every bit as glorious as it had looked on paper, and as tough. With 268km on my Garmin by the time we got back to Waterstone, it had been the longest and most strenuous ride of the endurance training rides so far, and by far the best. A massive thanks to Penny, Henri and Emmerentia for helping create such a memorable day riding through what must be some of the most stunning scenery anywhere in the world.

Photos by author and Henri Meier

There’s no getting away from it, with shorter days and colder mornings as we head into winter, it’s becoming progressively harder to leave a warm bed and pedal off into the dark. I do at least have a solid excuse for the madness though – if I don’t train, LEL will be an impossible task. Penny and Henri don’t have that motivation. Their only reason to drag themselves from the comfort of home at 5am on a cold and foggy Saturday morning was to come out and support me. But still they were there, and with smiles and enthusiasm.

Dark riding was something new for Penny, and I know she had been a little nervous, especially with the fog. Having Henri ride safety on his scooter for the first 50km was a great boost though, as were the superb array of front lights we sported. Between my Edelux and Lezyne, and the MagicShine Penny had the road ahead was positively floodlit. By the time we looped back just short of Jonkershoek gate, the nerves had gone and Penny remarked how wonderful it was riding on empty and peaceful roads in the quiet of the early morning. Henri wasn’t enjoying it quite so much behind, sat static on a scooter, he was feeling the cold without the exercise to generate some warmth.

A dim, misty dawn was breaking through on the last stretch back to Somerset West, pale and serene. The 7am group of Wannabees riders passed us just after we’d climbed back up Koosie. I’d miscalculated our time and turned us around prematurely though, and with no incidents on the return leg we were back at Waterstone half an hour early for the second, main loop of the day. Whilst Henri whizzed off to swap scooter for bicycle, Penny and I made for the warmth of the BP garage cafe. Shedding layers as we sat down to hot chocolates and coffees, I was surprised how wet I was – a combination of the effort of exercise inside the cold weather gear, and the damp fog that had persisted through our early riding. At least we were inside, and the staff of the garage didn’t seem to mind us propping our bikes up inside to ensure we had something to ride for the second lap.

All to soon we were back out again, and Henri was waiting in the car park, now sporting full cycling gear. At 8am we called it, no other riders had shown so we started off again now three riders against the cold. With the fog still thick, we abandoned the original plan of taking the Kuilsrivier road and up over Vlaberg, choosing instead to head back inland again towards Stellenbosch where the fog had been much thinner. Fortunately the weather was confounding the forecast, and once over the Lord Charles hill we were greeted with a stunning blue sky morning across the winelands. We were quickly through Stellenbosch, and heading up Helshoogte. The guys took it very easy on me and my extra heavy bike, and we span up slowly and easily in light gears. And after a brief stop for snacks, we sped down towards Pniel. As we descended so did the cold and the mist, and the sunglasses we’d broken out at the top of the hill were soon stashed back in pockets.

At the T junction beyond Boschendahl, Henri suggested we take the longer Drakenstein route to Paarl, and catch up our missing kilometres earlier rather than later in the day. It was a good call in terms of overall ride strategy, but it was also an uncomfortable diversion as we bumped and bounced along the dreadful corrugations. So much for a new road surface, they really shouldn’t have bothered, the old tar was a far nicer cycling experience. It occurred to me as we finally left the ghastly bone shaking section behind us that I hoped they didn’t revert Die Burger back to this route now that two years of roadworks had gone, leaving behind their excruciating excretia.

Paarl brought with it both a reminder of last month’s Monster Reloaded, and also the familiar and welcome site of the Spa stop we’d used during DC training. Henri and Penny headed to grab the coffees, and I ducked inside to stock us up on water and grab a Full Cream Milk for Penny – one of her allowed energy sources, being on a no carb regime. Having no such dietary strictness, I devoured a hot cross bun, and half a peanut butter sandwich.

The coffee hit the spot, and we all decide to lose our jackets and head out again through Paarl in jerseys and arm warmers. It was still chilly though, and for the first kilometre or two it felt like we may have made a mistake. But the Boland and Swaartland winelands are generally warmer than the coastal region behind us, and that coupled with the renewed effort of cycling, it wasn’t long before I started to feel warm again, and the damp from earlier slowly dried out. The Monster had taken along this exact same route, but it looked different in daylight, and in reverse. With no need for water or fuel, Wellington came and went without a stop, and we battled out against a freshening North Wester towards Riebeek Kasteel. Coupled with a succession of steady rollers, it made for a fairly strenuous section of the ride. At some point Henri suggested I duck behind and draft a while. We did alternate a few times, all of us taking up our share of the workload. But I couldn’t sit behind being towed, it would defeat the whole point of me training, so quite often I found myself moving to the front.

I’d imagined we’d go straight through to Malmesbury for our next stop, but just past Hermon, Henri called
out to stop for a snack, as luck would have it he did so alongside a padstaal I’d noticed coming the other way on the Monster. So with wheels scrunching along the gravel drive, we ducked in for coffees, cokes and a snack. The owners were extremely friendly, and I made a mental note that this could be a nice lunch stop on my planned outride to Yzerfontein in July.

Back on our way again, the majestic and slightly daunting climb of Bothmaskloof lay ahead of us. It’s not particularly steep, or particularly high, and I’ve done it a number of times before with no problem. But even so, it looks no less challenging as you steadily grind up the opening slopes, with the long sweeping curve of the climb in full view ahead. It was no surprise to see the guys gradually edging ahead, as I geared back to my granny ring. Even in my lowest gear, the climb wasn’t easy on tired legs, and I found myself alternating sitting and standing to haul my juggernaut up the pass. The guys waited for me just before the summit, which also meant we could enjoy the stunning views back down into the valley we had spent the last hour or so cycling through. It was a good call, because although scenic, the views once over the pass are considerably less impressive.

The descent towards Malmesbury was fast and glorious, even the few rolling sections hardly seemed to trouble our pace. It was clear by now though that we were against the clock in terms of daylight hours for the rest of the ride. Just before reaching the town the road crossed over the track of the AMARider 100 miler mountain bike race. We paused briefly and cheered a couple of tailenders along as they rode under the bridge, but didn’t see any of our club mates who were riding. Soon after we were in Malmesbury and headed to the Engen garage to quickly top up on water, and put some fuel in our bodies before the last stretch home.

Whilst stopped, we had picked up a call from Adele with a somewhat confusing message that they’d be joining us. As we rode out of town, the meaning became clear. After a family ride, they had driven out to cheer us on. It was great to see some familiar faces and get words of encouragement as they drove alongside us for a while. With late afternoon shadows lengthening though, we had to bid our goodbyes and step up the pace. Luckily now the North Wester was at our backs, and the road surface was some of the smoothest tar we’d ridden all day. We fairly sped along. I lost count of the number of times I looked down in surprise at seeing my speedo clocking 30km/h, 35km/h, sometimes more. Later, when I looked on Strava, it turned out we’d averaged 25km/h for the whole 50 kilometres, and set the 9th fastest time recorded for that stretch of road. Not bad for a trio of riders with 200km in their legs. And that average speed included stopping to mend a puncture when Henri picked up a thorn in his rear tyre. Who knows, we might even have made top 5 but for that!

“Stellenbosch in daylight” had been Penny’s request, and we did one better than that. We made it by sunset, and still had a few rays of daylight as we headed out of Stellebosch for the last familiar kilometers home. It was fully dark by the time we reached Koosie for the second time of the day, and with both Henri and Penny’s front lights now dead, it was down to mine to light the way. Luckily, with a bit of foresight I’d swapped the Lezyne battery at the Engen in Malmesbury, and we had plenty of light for that last, short but steady climb of the day. I remarked as we climbed which of our times would be fastest, this, or the first loop at 7am. Something I still need to check.

With nothing more than the blast down the R44 left, Henri sped off into the distance. Clearly his night vision was better than ours, and we descended with a still fast, but more measured pace, guided by the shared pool of light. Back in Waterstone car park, the Garmin read 256km – Henri’s early detour had done the job and we were back on quota for the day. Somewhere out on the R304, we’d crossed 200km, making this Penny’s longest ride to-date, the satisfaction now evident from her broad smile. Perhaps the biggest achievement from my side was finishing feeling fresh and strong: my lower back pain and elbow pain that I’d started the ride with hadn’t affected the ride, or got worse; and the numb hands from the last ride seemed to have been cured, perhaps by the lower tyre pressures, or maybe just the conditioning of being now more used to the distance.

The real difference on the day though was the company. Riding along with good friends and lively conversation had made this ride a pleasure, rather than just a gruelling challenge. A timely confidence boost in my preparations for LEL. A huge thanks to my awesome club mates for that.

Photos by author and Peter Nolan