Just Keep Pedalling

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.

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

Lest the picture create the wrong impression, the last few weeks since the Monster has involved a decent amount of training. The midweek club rides have always included a social coffee stop midway though, and with our regular venue in Betty’s Bay closing down we’ve switched our allegiances too Pringle Bay nearby. Hence the scones.
 

With not many weeks left until LEL, I’ve stepped up my training regime to six days a week: two core strength sessions at the gym; two 5am stints on the indoor trainer; and two road rides. Although in fact, with family commitments, the Saturday road ride has also been traded for an indoor trainer session on a couple of occasions. The hardest part by far about the road rides though is getting up in the dark and cold to put in an early stint before the club rides. So much so, in fact, that to-date I’ve managed it exactly once, on last Wednesday’s club ride. It did at least mean I got a decent 150km ride in.

I’ve also managed to largely overcome my lack of GPS navigation skills – or at least understand better the limits of the eTrex 30, and how to work with them. I’m still a little conflicted whether to go with a Route based  approach, which has the benefit of prompting me and lighting up at junctions, or a Track based approach which lacks this but shows on screen the exact planned ride with no chance of the devices auto-routing sending me down a motorway. I suspect I’ll err on the side of safety and go with the latter.

Another nice mental boost came this week too. The Sufferfest released their latest video, specifically designed to ease the boredom of power tests. It worked too – on the final 20 minute section where FTP is tested I pushed myself deeper into the red zone than ever before. The reward was there for the effort – since it’s last assessment in November, my FTP has lifted from 171w to 211w (with my LTHR rising from 138 to 152). That was way more improvement than I was expecting, but it’s a double edged sword. Every indoor session now gets scaled up by that same factor, meaning the known and loved sessions I’m used too will become significantly tougher.

The extra training is taking it’s toll though – with some significant aches and pains developing. I’ll be going in to Saturday’s 255km ride with a very sore lower back, a painful elbow, and some lingering knee pain. I guess that’s good preparation though – it’s not like getting up to ride on day 3 or 4 on LEL is going to be any less painful.

As always – sessions are logged up on Strava.

All photos by author.

With ASG cancelling the official Cape Monster event, and Emmerentia suffering an unfortunate stress fracture to her foot, it had seemed like my first 300km ride would be done solo. So it was a great relief to be kitting up in the car park of Paarl Mall at 5am with 3 fellow riders, and the rare luxury of a backup vehicle and drivers.

Even before we rolled out onto the side streets of Paarl, it was evident that Andrew and Brendon, were capable of a considerably faster pace than I was aiming for, both of them being 3 hour Argus riders. Sure enough, after a couple of wrong turns and an early puncture for Brendon, we left the lights of town behind us and the blinking tail lights of the guys ahead slowly shrunk as the gap between us grew. Fortunately it was clear Pete was happy with a steadier pace, and we settled into a comfortable cadence. It was good to see that my lighting was passing it’s first real test – the combination of the Edelux dynamo powered light and the Lezyne Super Drive on it’s lowest beam setting threw plenty of light for us as we rode out into the dark of the morning.

Rather less impressive were my GPS skills. Despite spending time plotting routes and waypoints, the eTrex hadn’t done any of the things I’d hoped for – not one turn indication, no lighting up and beeping on junctions, clearly I had some learning to do. With a long day ahead of us the last thing I felt like doing was adding  delays by tinkering with technology.  I did my best to ignore the annoyingly mute screen, and fell back on my memory of the route and Carinus and Janine in the backup vehicle confirming our directions through the first few turns. We were quickly through the deserted streets of Wellington and out onto the dark and winding lane leading to the first big climb of the day, a monstrous and majestic 35km up and over Bains Kloof Pass. Predictably I dropped back from Pete early on with the extra weight I was carrying, but rather surprisingly after the first few kilometres of climbing without really trying, I found I’d caught back up and we were riding together again. Equally surprising was seeing groups of runners looming out of the dark, not exactly what you expect to find on a remote high pass in the early morning.

Conversation ebbed and flowed as the road twisted and wound up the hillside, and as we reached the long final straight to the summit a dim grey dawn light began to push back the darkness and reveal a stunning vista across the cape winelands to our left. With almost perfect timing, we reached the summit just as the sun was coming up, making for a perfect photo stop.

Sadly that would be the last we would see of the sun for a while – the run down the other side of the pass was as cold as it was exhilarating. The damp mist we ran into at the foot of the pass clung around chilling us until Tulbagh when the sun was finally warm enough to drive it away. With around 70km on the clock, we decided to stop for a quick snack and leg stretch. I fished my phone out of the Ortlieb bar bag to text Yoli on our progress. With my earlier technological woes, it was good to find other parts of my setup that were working to plan. The dynamo had kept the cache battery and phone fully charged, despite running Endomondo for the whole ride so far. And because of having enough power to run this, Yoli had been tracking our progress live since part way through our climb up Bains Kloof. What was truly bizarre, was that through these little miracles of modern technology, Yoli had also “seen” the same runners we had, who clearly must also have also been running Endomondo.

Starting out again, we immediately headed through the very scenic Nuwekloof pass – seeing the old pass and railway line to our left, it was fairly evident to see where it had got it’s name. Once through the kloof, we turned off right into Gouda, stopping briefly with Carinus and Janine to fill water bottles and grab supplies before heading on towards Porterville.  Pete had mentioned some pain in his legs at our first stop, and it was clear by now he was beginning to struggle – he battled along for the next 20km, before pulling over to discuss whether he should turn back. As we chatted, we were confused to see Andrew and Brendon coming up behind us. It transpired they had taking a wrong turn into Tulbagh, and racked up a considerable detour before getting back on course. Andrew suggested that we push on another 40km for lunch in Piketberg before deciding. Initially this seemed ok, but after a nasty little incline just before Porterville, Pete made the difficult decision to turn and head back. With around 120km in the bag, he would still end up clocking a very respectable 219km by the time he was back.

The day was getting warm, and after the cheery bustle of a busy Porterville, the road to Piketberg was dull, hot, and rolling. The road surface was rough too, so I was beginning to get grumpy and disheartened as the first glimpse of town came into view. The featureless landscape crawled by, and I hardly seemed to be making any progress toward the distant buildings, despite the reassurance of a few road signs that were were not so weathered or battered that you could still make out the slowly reducing distance to lunch. By the time I pulled into the service station both water bottles were empty, and my spirits were almost as drained. With the clock reading just 145km, it was worryingly early to be in such low spirits and harbouring some serious self doubts. Some time off the bike did revive me, as I topped myself up with food and drink and restocked the bike with supplies.

Words of encouragement from Janine helped pick me up as well, but the stop was over too soon and I was back on the bike heading out of the dusty, charmless service area and on to the busy N7. The Cape-Namibia Route sign at the roundabout brought a smile – a memory of a lovely camping holiday a couple of years back. We’d driven this same route, and had breakfast at this same service stop. I resisted the temptation to turn right and ride the 500km to Springbok, and instead swung left and headed for home.  It was a relief to have reached the northernmost point of the ride, and to know that every pedal-stroke put more kilometres behind than ahead, but the going was far from easy. The downside of having driven this route was knowing that after the brief free-wheel down from Piketberg, the 25km to Moorreesburg was one long sequence of massive rollers. Slogging up each rise, trucks and cars thundering by, I felt small, alone and insignificant. I’ve never dropped to such a low whilst cycling, I began to seriously doubt whether I could finish the ride, and LEL started to seem a ludicrously distant and unattainable goal. Faced with the prospect of quitting, I went back to basics, dropped into easy gears, only looked one peak ahead at a time, and stuck at the task trying to shut out the mutinous voice inside.

The wonderful inevitability of cycling is that if you can keep pedalling, you can cover any distance – and sure enough, despite my misgivings, the agricultural town of Moorreesburg eventually lay beneath me as I crested the last of the rollers.  I was glad to see the back of the N7 as I turned left towards Riebeeck, and even gladder to see the support vehicle parked just ahead. Resisting the temptation to vent a torrent of misery, I chose a more refrained “the legs are good but the tank is feeling a little empty” when asked how I was doing. Andrew had got lost again, ending on a dirt road back to Gouda, and was just disappearing ahead as I stuffed my face with food and gulped down Coke until I felt vaguely human again.

With 180km on the clock, and around 80km still to go I abandoned my “no energy drink” plan and put some Cadence Classic in my rear bottle before setting off. I’m not sure if that made the difference, or the change of scenery on this quieter more peaceful road, but my spirits lifted and I was enjoying riding again. At 200km I stopped quickly for a banana and to let Yoli know I’d hit the magic double century mark. It was great to see several “keeping going, we love you” messages waiting for me in return. Thankfully she had forgiven me for being out all day riding on our anniversary, and also leaving her to battle the school fete alone. It’s easy to forget our whole families ride these rides with us in the time they give up for us.

The afternoon shadows were lengthening and I was smiling inside. The views were insanely pretty on the outskirts of Riebeeck West, vineyards either side of a flower lined, freshly tarred section of perfectly smooth road. The kilometres were slipping by quickly again, the pace picking up with my improving mood. It was a welcome change to be riding through quaint villages, and the nearby Riebeeck Kasteel was also a delight to ride through, with people milling between shops, cafes and wineries.

Beyond Riebeeck I was back on familiar roads, and for the first time in quite a few kilometres it struck me that I was actually going to complete this ride. Carinus and Janine topped me up one last time, and departed for dinner in Paarl, having checked I knew the remainder of the route back. I couldn’t resist the temptation to snap a road sign just outside Wellington which seemed to celebrate nicely how far I’d come and how little there was left to do. I stood for quite a few minutes enjoying the moment, and the late afternoon light before mounting up for the final stretch.

My tummy was beginning to feel decidedly crampy, and the energy drink really wasn’t working any more. So I stopped in Wellington at a winkeltjie for a coke, and for the first time ever I found myself riding on an old classic “coke and water” mix in my bottle. This was the trusted fuel of many cyclists before the popularity of modern energy drinks. It worked too. I didn’t break any speed records on those last few kilometres into Paarl, but I wasn’t flagging either. One last moment of glorious irony found me in those final stretches – the GPS woke up, and started telling me where to turn. I was less than 3km from home, and knew exactly where to go, and now, when I needed it least, the technology decided to give me a helping hand.

The total distance for the day was 260Km, which I had ridden in 12:40. By starting in Paarl rather than the planned start of Allee Bleu for the official event, we were always going to be a little short of the full 300km, and I have to say my legs were thankful for that as I pulled up to the car. I could probably have made the extra 40km, but that was irrelevant. The day had  served it’s purpose in testing me and the equipment to it’s limits. I was extremely happy with the time, it was significantly quicker than I had expected and way above the pace I’d need or be aiming for on LEL.

Most importantly, I’d managed to keep pedalling through a seriously low patch and complete my longest ride to date. Hopefully it gets easier from here!

All photos by author .

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Less than 24 hours to go until the Cape Monster Reloaded. The original event did not get enough entrants and was cancelled at the last minute, so the ride on Saturday will be an informal edition, with just a handful of us riding. 

The distance of the modified route will now be a bit under the original 300km. It’s hard to tell exactly how much shorter it will be – Garmin MapSource is saying around 270km, whereas MapMyRide and Google are saying 255km. Either way, it will be a long day in the saddle and even though I think I’m prepared, that doesn’t stop me being nervous. There’s a couple of climbs along the way, and some nasty rollers to test tired legs towards the end. The weather forecast looks like it should be a glorious Cape day, but also could be quite hot (predicting 31C high). So dehydration and fatigue from the heat could be a factor in the afternoon too. I guess nobody said this Audax lark would be easy – Rule #5!

For around a year, Jolly has been been hiding her true colours – skipping along the kilometres, with lean and light equipment. But that was only ever half her design brief. Barely noticeable in her lines are forks with enough clearance for wide tyres and mudguards, and a frame that will take a plethora of other accessories made for endurance over speed.

But last weekend the waiting was over – it was time to finally start emptying the large box of components that had slowly been accumulating beside my desk for the past few months of researching and planning. After three weeks off riding over Easter, piling on totally the wrong sort of kilos, it was the perfect task to get me back into the cycling spirit. Although, after all the waiting, I was both excited and nervous to see whether all the parts and ideas would fit and work together as a whole.

First up was wheel and drive-train changes, and fitting the mudguards.Off came the light Velocity A93 wheels, and back on went the heavier duty Mavin Open Pro wheels. Although this time I get to try out the additional front wheel built with the SON Dynamo Hub. At the rear was the same Hope Pro3 Hub wheel, but with a new Ultegra 11-28 cassette, and new chain for good measure. I struggled to get the chain length right, and after speaking with William I may remove one link.

The mudguards were a significantly trickier task, taking much longer than I had expected. The Sheldon Fender Nuts, sourced from the US at great expense and complexity, fitted ok but seemed to throw the mudguard into totally the wrong shape, pushing the front down onto the tyre, and sticking the back section way too far from the wheel. Although less than ideal, I reverted to mounting the guard on the brake side of the fork crown. Even in this position, the stays required hacksawing down to get a pleasing profile with the guard following the circumference of the wheel. Overall, it set me back an hour or more on what I’d expected would be a reasonably quick stage of the refit.

After a break to take care of weekend chores and spend time with the family, I started fresh again on the next stage of the transformation – wiring the electrical system. This stage I expected to be fairly complex, so approached it carefully and cautiously, intent on taking it slowly and getting it right first time.

The first part was mounting the Edelux light to the fork crown, and the B&M e-Werk voltage regulator to the frame, and running both their cables down the right front fork to the dynamo. Each spade connector for the dynamo needed to have wires for both the light and e-Werk attached, and I’d decide to solder as well as crimp them for good measure. The wiring for the troubled me as it was attached direct into the light, leaving no room for error. And sure as nuts, I nearly messed up and stripped it too short – salvaging my mistake with a small extension soldered to the earth side of the cable. Minor hiccup out of the way though, I was quite pleased with how tidy the wiring looked once the heat shrink covers were in place, and a small amount of insulation tape to bridge the open gap where the two sets of wires came together.

The next stage of the electrical system was the rear light also powered from the dynamo. This proved a relatively simple process as the cabling runs as a spur from the front light, taking advantage of the built in voltage overload protection circuit of the front light. I had originally intended to run the cabling along the down tube, but couldn’t achieve a tidy result clear of gear cables, so I opted instead to go along the top tube. It took quite a few wraps around the seat stay and back up the mudguard stay to lose the excess cable length so I could use the pre-wired spade connectors rather than having to strip and wire my own.  The end result looks about as neat as I reckon is possible given that some cable ties are inevitable with nothing else to attach the wiring too.

 
The final stage was luggage and navigation tools, starting with re-fitting the Ortlieb handlebar bag and the bar extender for GPS and light. Also onto the handlebar went the old-school wired Sigma BC 1605 bike computer. Although hardly latest technology, this forms a vital part of my navigation strategy. Without a reliable distance reading, the printed route-sheet will be worthless as a backup to the GPS for keeping me on track.

With the front luggage sorted, the Altura expanding seat post pack could go on the rear. At only 5L of luggage space, this could be considered minimalist by Audax standards. With two bag drops, in theory I should be able to travel fairly light, but despite that I still have doubts if I’ve compromised too far in terms of packing space. A hasty packing trial after the final fitting was all done did at least prove that the major items of clothes and spares went in, albeit with very little space spare and still items on my list that I was planning to include.

All in all, my nervousness seems to have proved unfounded. Everything fitted on the bike, and so far at least after one 100km trial ride, seems to work reasonably well together. Jolly has joined me in adding some kilos, around 3.5kg to be exact, bringing her up to around 11.5kg with bags unloaded. Out on the road though, the weight isn’t really that noticeable except in the hills. I was sceptical of the benefit of the 11-28 cassette, but it was a delight to have one extra gear to help me spin that weight easily up the steepest sections of Helshoogte.

With three months of preparation time left, the bike is ready for LEL – now it’s time to get myself in shape physically and mentally too.

All photos by author.

You’d think with five previous Arguses under my wheels there’d be little noteworthy about this year’s race, but even before the race began pretty much everything was already different. My first ever single letter seeding (Q) and offered a tantalising prospect of a first sub 4 hour time. The much earlier start time also resulted in me rolling into a dark Cape Town still wearing it’s pre-dawn shroud. The dimly lit street of empty parking bays with hardly a soul around suddenly didn’t feel like a good place to be unloading an expensive road bike alone. In previous year’s I’d usually been hunting the last free bay in this road as long rows of cars disgorged their riders and bikes. So I wound my way back to the main road, and found a parking bay with at least a few fellow riders around and a friendly parking guard who introduced himself as Ben. As I pedalled down Somerset Road towards the start area, I wondered if he’d still be there when I got back.

It was still dark when I reached the start area, visited the least offensively smelling portaloo I could find, and shuffled into my start chute, after some minutes wandering around seemingly finding every lettered chute except my own. Fortunately, being ever the obsessive planner, I was in plenty of time and ended up close to the front of our group. The cool dark morning was a refreshing change to the usual routine of hunching down over the bike desperately seeking out some sliver of shade to hide from a roasting sun. Rather less welcome was the nauseous bloated feeling that gradually welled up as we waited. Too late, I realised I’d broken a cardinal rule of races – I’d changed something without trying it. I had eaten Future Life for breakfast before a ride, and it had given me great energy, so it never occurred to me that drinking it as a shake would be any different. But the extra cup or so of milk now sloshing painfully around my tummy was doing nothing to settle my nerves and make me optimistic about being able to keep up a fast pace.

“Everybody say Hoopla!”

The starter’s familiar battle cry began to ring out at regular intervals as successive groups ahead of us got their race under way. Before long we were also rolling slowly forward, following the advancing green tape held by the marshals allocated to our group. With just one group (M) between us and the line, an odd and rather magical thing happened: I found myself staring beyond the riders ahead and the fiercely bright spotlights down the mouth of the start tunnel ahead of us. A dim grey dawn spilled through the tunnel, lighting it’s angular sides, it’s rays also picking out a few lone scraps of paper fluttering on the rising breeze. All sound seemed to fade away, there were no riders around me, I was alone – just me and the road ahead. For a moment, time and space seemed to expand and I wasn’t just looking at a few meters of tunnel, it felt as though I was literally looking at the whole ride ahead of me, the far side of the end was the finish line itself. My nerves settled down, and some inner voice was finally able to make itself heard – “you’re going to do it“. I’ve heard of 100m sprinters talk of focusing down their lane to visualize the finish, but haven’t experienced first hand what they actually meant.

I’ve never crossed the mats and started up the rise towards Hospital Bend with such a feeling of confidence in my ride. It was ludicrous really. Quite apart from the ever present chance of a mechanical messing up your time or worse, part and parcel of the Argus is massive bunches of riders, some of them inexperienced, creating a significant risk of a ride ending accident. As if all that weren’t enough, I was hoping to knock at least 35 minutes off my past best time, on what now looked set to be a windy day. Confidence at this stage seemed a foolish and dangerous feeling to be riding with. But it was there – I was pedalling easily, the pace was good, and the tightness in my legs was no worse than normal for the early stages of a race.

Once over the first real climb of Edinburgh Drive, the pace picked up and still with my fellow Q group riders we barrelled full tilt into the descent. There were a few scary moments as we overhauled some slower recumbents and parent-and-child tandems from N, and the odd straggler from M, but the bunch was disciplined and my speedo was nudging up to 50km/h for much of the charge down the Blue Route. There was just one small problem – my bike sounded like it was going to fall apart. What started as a small creak at the start, had been amplified by the bad road surface into Muizenberg and was now a loud and rapid knocking. It sounded like we were being strafed by machine gun fire, perhaps from the naval base just ahead. A quick assessment revealed two things: my bike hadn’t yet fallen apart; and stopping to find it would certainly waste time, and may not alter the chance or point at which it did fall apart. It was hard to ignore, but I knew the only practical policy was to ride as hard as I could until I either saw the finish line, or something gave way beneath me.

My average speed through Simonstown was still around 31km/h, and it was tempting to dream of a 3:30 time, but at Millers Point we came upon an impassable plug of riders stretching far ahead and spanning the full width of the road. There was just no way to get past without risking a crash, and so we dawdled along for what seemed like an eternity, sometimes only just above 20km/h. It wasn’t until the first proper ramps of Smitzwinkel took their toll on slower riders, and the plug broke up allowing me weave through the debris and pick up the pace again. I couldn’t recall the split time for the top of Smitzwinkel, but my average speed had dropped to around 29km/h as we crested the summit. I was fairly sure the fleeting chance of a 3:30 had already gone. It wasn’t a bad feeling to be honest. I knew that sort of time would be at the limit of my ability even without the Argus’ other challenges – that elusive sub 4 had really been my main aim for this year’s ride.

The fast and relatively easy riding across the top of the peninsula and before the descent into Misty Cliffs gave me some thinking time too – why had the knocking suddenly appeared today, when it wasn’t there on my loosener ride yesterday? Crap! I’d committed that cardinal sin not once but twice – I’d changed something. I don’t normally ride with a CO2 bomb. I don’t seem to get many punctures, and can fix them quickly even with a pump. But I figured with a tough target time, maybe a bomb could save a couple of minutes and squeezed one in my already tightly packed saddle bag. As the only thing on the bike I’d changed, it had to be the cause. Sure enough, grabbing it with a hand under my seat immediately silenced the clattering. A couple of mad thoughts went through my head: could CO2 canisters explode if banged repeatedly? and if not, could the banging find a weak spot on my Titanium seatpost? Neither seemed likely, but now I knew what was causing the noise the prospect of riding the remaining 50km in peace and quiet was too tempting. At the start of the descent into Scarborough, I stopped, quickly removed the offending bomb into my jersey pocket, mounted up and was on my way again. Despite the minute or so lost the silence, as the saying goes, was golden!

We’d been battling squally and unpredictable winds for most of the ride, but on the long stretch through Ocean View we get the full force head on. This is my least favourite stretch of any Argus, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed a nice sized bunch slowly overhauling me, so I latched on as they came past and they quickly pulled me up to the group in front which I’d been just failing to catch for the last few hundred metres. My speedo was showing somewhere around 2:40 as we passed through Noordhoek onto the start of Little Chappies. I did remember the splits for the top of Chapman’s Peak – it’s pretty easy, around an hour earlier than your finishing time at these sorts of speeds. So clearly a 3:30 was now gone, but the sub 4 was very much still on. I figured that crossing the top in the next 10 minutes would give me leeway to make it even if I picked up a puncture over the closing stages. I’d gone about as far into the cave as I felt I could so, reassured on my progess, I backed off a little before the lights went out. Dropping a gear I span easily up Chappies and must confess to feeling a little smug with my pacing as I started to roll down the descent with exactly 2:50 showing on the Garmin.

Through Hout Bay and up the dreaded Suikerbossie there really wasn’t much left – the wind had died, and it was a hot and painful slog for legs that were beginning to threaten the cramps which have blighted previous Arguses. Fortunately, barring mechanicals, the summit is really the end of the Argus – the remaining 18km aren’t completely free-wheeling, but no one gives up and fails once they start the glorious downward rush into Camps Bay. As with Chappies, it’s also an easy split too – around 30 minutes or less to go to the finish. The Garmin was reading around 3:20. Holy Shit! The sub 4 really was still on. The last few Km passed in a flash – a couple of Wannabees club riders passed me on the way down, the last being Annemieke who I chatted with for a while until she pulled away. I was going well enough at around 35km/h, and without much extra zip in the legs was content to just keep steady rather than race for the line. I sat up and looked around over that last 2Km, enjoying the views and savouring the crowds and the atmosphere, hoping to remember this moment for a while – the day I rode my first Argus in under 4 hours. It had been a lot harder than I imagined, but at no point on the way around had I doubted that I would do it. Rounding the last bend, the real finish line came into view, confirming the prophecy of it’s earlier apparition – the clock stopped at 3:50.

After sharing a couple of quick beers and war stories with friends from the Wannabees, I headed back to my car. Ben the car guard was still there, patiently waiting for in the hot sun. I’m sure he would still have been there hours later as the last few finishers reached their cars too. Feeling in top spirits, I doubled the tip I’d normally give, loaded up the bike and headed home to celebrate properly with my family.

All photos by author.