I woke with a start. Bugger! I’d overslept. I knew that if I left Hadley by 04:00 I would be safely through the gate. However, after sharing a breakfast with Liehann at Hadley, I had decided to have a quick catnap and unfortunately woke 2 hours later at 05:45. Adrenalin coursed through my body as I flew out the door, figuring that I had blown my chances (‘the gate’, a new feature in the 2016 event, is 30 minutes on from Cambria, closes at 14:00 and only re-opens at 06:00). Two hours later, I’d started down the overgrown and rutted jeep track down to the Grootrivier. It is a spectacular descent that demands concentration and is a fitting prelude to the main attraction of this section. I was fired up by the challenge of making it through the legendary lost world of the Osseberg track, and still trying to pull off the gate cut-off! This would keep me in contention for a sub-13 day finish.
There was an urgency to every minute and after stashing all items in my dry bag, I lowered myself down the bank about 600m downstream of the first crossing (an attempted, but unsuccessful, short-cut). The river was waist deep here and I struggled to scramble up the steep opposite bank and through thick undergrowth to the faint track shown on the map. I resolved from then on to stick to the track, which was easier said than done. The following 2 hours were consumed in a focussed progression over a further 5 crossings. My nav was going nicely despite difficult path-finding and other obstacles such as the heinous cactuses which seem intent on attacking all who pass. Three crossings remained as I rounded the northern-most point of the track, and at 11:40 I was starting to believe that I would just make the cut-off.
I took a quick breather for some food before the final push, but as I put my backpack down I immediately noticed that the top pouch was unzipped and empty! My snacks and the all-important tracker were missing. The body blow floored me. In a state of panic, I charged back along the route hoping to find the tracker. At the 3rd repeated crossing close to a ruin, I found a chocolate bar floating forlornly in the river. A grid-search in the cold murky water revealed nothing except slippery smooth rocks as my fingers soon went numb. Still refusing to accept the loss I went further up the track to where I’d previously opened the zip for a snack, just in case. Nothing.
I yelled out in frustration! It was a despondently slow trudge onwards, and after crossing the game fence, I picked up cellphone signal to get a message out to race office and dot-watching family and friends. I was gutted and just sat in the sun for a while.
Day 1 was epic! 5000m of cumulative climbing over 200km of cycling in 15.5 hours from Pietermaritzburg to Ntsikeni. It was physically tough, but after getting over this intense start, the next couple of days went smoothly. I was navigating well and enjoying riding with Theo. However, my body took a beating with the long hours of riding. I battled with tendonitis in my right wrist and developed a chest infection, also known as ’freedom lung’. Riding with company was entertaining, but early out of Rhodes on day 4 our group blew apart in the light drizzle with Theo seizing the gap, Bruce riding steadily, and me lagging behind. I’d known from the start that this was the kind of event that could easily put best laid plans to waste. No plan can ably deal with the distance, the weather, illness, mechanicals, injuries, poor recovery, sleepiness, the difference in day-time vs. night-time speeds, sleepmonsters, navigation and the risk of getting lost or taking long-cuts. This all adds to the complexity of this beautiful challenge. I was happy to aim for a reasonable start, just roll with the punches, adjust the plan on the fly, listen to my body and enjoy the trail.
The three portages of Kapokkraal, Slaapkrantz, and Loutrebron went pretty well, although darkness engulfed me on the saddle between Loutrebron and Bontehoek. A tricky descent and a stop-start struggle through sandy farm fields and over and along multiple fences ensued. I eventually made it to the small town of Rossouw at around 8pm, where my wheels came off properly. The relatively easy 200m-over-10km-climb out of Rossouw felt like the 4th and toughest portage of the day! I wheezed, coughed, walked, and stopped my way up the climb over an eternal 3.5 hours. My chest was closing up in the evening cold air and felt like I was operating on half a lung. Moordenaarspoort was a welcome oasis as I dragged my sorry state inside after 23:00.
Day 5 dawned and it was bitterly cold. I remember stopping in the middle of the 392 district road across from the school at Swempoort and shoving my feet (shoes still on) into my backpack to try get my toes warmed up. I sent some photos and messages to family and friends. Being in contact from time to time is an interesting facet of the race. It is awesome to get messages of support which definitely boost energy and motivation. Also, sharing news of hardships and curveballs seems to draw a line under these so that you can move on. My day ended up ok as I reached Romansfontein at 8:30pm. Here the host family crowded around me in their kitchen as we chatted about the craziness of it all, between mouthfuls of delicious food. The hosting along the route is incredible and the personalities and their life stories are a rich tapestry. I felt criminally rude to be rushing through 2 stops a day and vowed that I’d be back for a more leisurely ride with enough time to really appreciate the fine hosting. Wishing my hosts goodnight I found an empty bed amongst the riders who were fast asleep. Apparently my bad chest and blocked nose combined to unleash some horrendous snoring. Sorry folks!
Disaster hit at 03:00 on day 6 when my bike light refused to switch on after the electronics failed. I was annoyed as it was something I couldn’t fix, and I had to make do with just a headlamp for the rest of the race. The light, 2 battery packs and charger were now dead weight. Bruce and I worked our way up Aasvoëlberg together and shared news from the trail. He chose the track over the high point while I contoured around left and we met again as he came hurtling down.
But luck and skill deserted me moments later as I strayed too close to a dry dead shrub which got stuck in between my derailleur and spokes. A working bike light might have helped to avoid this. The same could be said for better steering! The grating noise gave me the heads-up that it was not a pretty sight. Shit! Annoyance gave way to bewilderment. The hanger was ironically unscathed since I was carrying a spare. The XTR carbon cage holding the jockey wheels was in pieces, the main body of the derailleur had some damage and 2 spokes were dented, but ok (I don’t normally go for carbon parts but that’s how it came when I picked up my 2nd hand Niner a few months earlier). Attention to the minutest of details and opting for the more robust and reliable components should be the mantra in a race of this length but hindsight is an easy science. While wondering what I should do, the cold wind suggested an urgent escape from up high would be best, so I removed chain and derailleur, taped the cable down and freewheeled the 6km down to Magdala farmhouse. Here I found shelter behind a ruin and opted to nap my troubles away. I woke an hour later to daylight and set about creating a single speed.
The first 5km on the move was a sluggish ride as I experimented with different gearing ratios. A sudden appearance of riders behind me triggered feelings of comradeship and comfort that I was not alone in this challenge. Envy and false bravado soon followed as I realised I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them on my single-speed and that I was feeling down but didn’t want to show it. At that same time, I yearned for some sympathy, even if they couldn’t help. But Wait! They could indeed help me!! Ann and Grant casually mention that Brad is carrying a spare derailleur and as he and Scott pull up I strain to contain my excitement and relief, not wanting to jump to conclusions that he’d actually part with his prized spare. “So Brad, I hear…”
Brad’s an absolute gent and I’m very lucky to be back in business, for the day ahead at least. In the words of Steve Burnett: “Who the hell carries a spare derailleur??!!!! That's a lot of beer you owe him now. Good thing it was the right speed.“ The pie at Karoobos coffee shop in Hofmeyer with Scott is immensely satisfying, after which we ride together to Elandsberg and on to Newlands. On the way I stopped near a lone buffalo about 20m off the trail. I needed to check map distance to which Scott chirped “Do you think you can do that a little further along?” The Newlands stop was warm and festive and I enjoyed being a bit more social. I’d been in contact with Johann and Meryl at race office who kindly organised for a derailleur to arrive late morning at Newlands. I got busy stripping and cleaning Brad’s spare before passing out on the couch.
Johann, Meryl and Glenn combine to create a very effective race organisation team and ensure a fantastic race experience for all riders. Their live race coverage and fine spirit manifest as a sincere interest in how your race is going. Not to mention their resourceful problem-solving and managing the challenging logistics in a race where front and back of the field can be separated by more than 1000km! I was massively motivated to ride hard again by the time my replacement part arrived as promised. It was now just over 6 days into the race and 3 days had gone according to plan, and 3 days not so well! I’d lost about 2/3 of a day with chest trouble, the bike lights and the derailleur. At this point, I’d mentally checked out of racing Bruce, Theo and the trio of batch G riders Tim, Mike and Liehann, having figured I’d lost too much time. The major motivator was now a Saturday evening finish and I sensed this was under threat. The restriction of the Baviaans Reserve gate closing time (14:00) was looming large and consequently, Hadley by 04:00 on Tuesday was a key target. I was worried though that even making it through 4 sections in 1.5 days to Bucklands was going to be too tough, never mind getting through to Hadley.
Grootdam came sooner than expected after a quick “Hi-Bye” to Pierre on the approach to Skurftebergkop. The serenity of solo riding was starting to take a hold of me and I forged up the Struishoek portage in the dark after having made a complete mess of the start. I had passed the Grootvlakte buildings and ended up too far south - exploring animal tracks, thorny dongas, and climbing over a game fence before finally finding the riverbed and the road further up. The relief of being back on track half an hour later merged with the irritation of wasted effort and time. There are just so many opportunities to leak time on this race! The rest of the portage went well, but was definitely quite challenging and slow in the dark. I arrived in a drizzle at Gegun and noticed my front shock was locked out and had a damaged remote-lockout coupling-clamp which I guess was due to the portage or a fence crossing. It was 03:30 and some sleep would have been great but I was forced to trade this for fixing time. I needed to make a plan and I borrowed both Ann and Grant’s multi-tools while they got ready to leave after their sleep. The clamp was bent and wouldn’t stay seated. And without tension the shock defaulted to ‘locked-out’. I cursed the poor design – surely the failure mode should be an active shock? Duct tape came to the rescue as I eventually Mcguyver’ed the lockout into a fully tensioned and permanently active position. Throughout this ordeal I could feel that I was thinking, moving and problem-solving far too slowly. 2 hours whizzed by before I was ready to head out the door again.
A tough, hot and windy day of riding followed and included a nap under a thorny bush near Darlington Dam wall. The Gwaas valley was a definite low point for me - incredibly tedious and pretty ugly. The slow and bumpy track and the game fences were a real challenge and my pace and enjoyment only improved as I neared Kleinpoort in the cool early evening. Bucklands arrived soon enough after that and good hospitality and tiredness kept me there till 10pm. The final push to Hadley took longer than expected and I arrived after 02:30, buggered. 370km in 38 hours with two catnaps will do that to you. Liehann joined me in the kitchen on his way out and I opted for that ‘20 minute’ nap…
When you have too much time on your hands you do things inefficiently. The wait for the gate opening at Cambria provided some rejuvenation, although I could have used this time better.
At 05:30 the following day it was ‘once more unto the breach’ as I toured the Baviaanskloof with Grant and Anne to reach Willowmore after nightfall. It was then on to Prince Albert, a measly 160km of cycling through the night and into the following day. Up the dramatic Prince Albert Pass with it’s beautiful rock formations and into ‘Die Hell’. I was feeling strong, until a heavy sleepiness caught me unawares and I passed out midway through an eerily quiet solo dinner in Gamkaskloof. A short sleep morphed into a long sleep. Again. 11 days down and I still had 400km ahead of me.
After that I was on a home-bound mission. The next two days flew by incredibly quickly. Rouxpos for some famous waffles, Anysberg at pace, Montagu in the dark, McGregor in the early morning mist and arrival at Trouthaven after midday. So close to home, but Stettynskloof beckoned as a most fitting final obstacle. ‘Stettyns’ is the mother of all hike-a-bikes. It is a massively overgrown, protea-bush-infested kloof which claims everyone’s sense of humour, multiple items of gear and the odd bicycle. It’ll take you 8 hours in daylight to cover 10km, if you know what you’re doing.
At 2pm I rolled out of Trouthaven and headed into the kloof, chasing daylight. Most people start this section at dawn. I did not have that luxury and had just enough light to find my way through the over-grown boulder scree section, which to my mind is the crux. I battled to judge distance in the dark while working my way further up the valley and lost track of how many drainages I’d clambered through. My left big toe was in agony from the shoe upper pressing down hard on the nail bed with every step and I fixated on the thought of getting back onto rideable track again and ending the pain. The battle continued up the valley and feeling that the exit point was close, I crossed over the stream and started up the other side. My judgement was poor and I had gone too early. Pretty soon I was cliffed-out and battling to find breaks that would allow me to ascend a bit here, and traverse a bit there. It was a slog that dragged on for ages and yet felt so close to completion for much of the time. Some sketchy parts involved hoisting the bike up onto the steeply angled slope above, hoping it would stay, while clambering around it holding onto tufts of grass. These were the types of moves best done at night, when you couldn’t see how bad the exposure was.
Eventually at around 23:00 I topped out and then dropped about 50m again to the neck before continuing on the mapped route. The physical and mental shutdown had begun and I’d run out of food. It took a further very slow 5 hours to get through Fisantekraal, up Du Toit’s Kloof Pass and down through the mist to Diemersfontein. I can’t quite account for what happened during this time as it should have taken me closer to 2 hours. I was in a complete daze. Incredible relief washed over me as I finally crossed the line at 03:55 in 12 days, 22 hours. Having my girlfriend Didi, sister Kerry and brother-in-law Paul meet me at the finish was helluva special! Even more so considering how the last bit of tracking must have been like watching paint dry. A huge thanks to Johann, Meryl and Glenn for also welcoming me in and for the part they played in making this an unforgettable journey.
To the AR’ers out there, you will love this challenging explorative traverse of our awesome country!! Previous riders from the AR family have inspired many and include the likes of Martin and Jeannie Dreyer, Steve Burnett, Trevor Ball, Ugene Nel, Graham Bird, Tatum Prins, Chris and Julia Fisher to name but a few. I hope my story adds to this, convincing a few more of us to tackle the trail and enjoy the freedom. Come join the Clan of Blanket Wearers!
