Desirable Difficulties and Simple Pleasures on the Freedom Trail - By Greg Fisher

“In our modern age, we yearn for authentic experiences where our courage must be summoned. One way we do this is by willingly under-taking extreme physical challenges. Through these experiences...we drop our pretenses, ego, and arrogance in favor of truth and transformation. We fulfill our intention to be authentic.” -- writes author Amy Snyder in the ultra-endurance cycling book “Hell on Two Wheels.” 

As I trudged up the steep rocky incline of a path, with my bike on my shoulder, the sun beating down on my neck, and my cycling cleats making irritating clanking noises as they collided with stones every time I took a step, I thought about how different this experience was from what I usually expect when I go out to ride my bike. I am mostly a “fair-weather” rider. I like to know exactly where I’m going before I head out (preferably with GPS to help guide me); I calculate precisely how long it should take; I examine the weather forecast so I can dress appropriately: if it’s likely to be too hot, cold, wet, miserable or dark, I usually opt for the indoor trainer instead. 

But here I was, late in just the second day of a planned 475km, 6-day race (read: ride) from Pietermaritzburg to Rhodes covering some of the gnarliest and most difficult to navigate terrain that one could imagine, as part of The Freedom Challenge Race to Rhodes. The previous day I had spent 11 tough hours on the trail, 3 of which entailed bushwhacking through the thick, overgrown, thorny brush at the bottom of the Umkomaas Valley and another 2 climbing the long, steep ascent out of that same valley. On this, the second day of my ride, having already spent 8 grueling hours on the trail, I still had at least 4 more to go to reach the second overnight stop at Ntsikeni Nature Reserve in the foothills of the Drakensberg in Southern KwaZulu Natal. And the path just seemed to keep going up; it felt like we had been climbing forever. Everything about what I was doing was tough, challenging, and uncomfortable. For a few preceding hours, I had been in a deep pain cave. Then all of a sudden I came to the realization that this is actually awesome - a real privilege: “I am out in the middle of nowhere, seeing parts of the country that almost all South Africans will never get to see, I am suffering a lot, but it is making me feel alive and focused. How can I reconcile this?” I wondered. “How can I feel so tired, so depleted, so uncomfortable, and so uncertain about what I still need to do, yet also so excited and engaged?” It was then, in my mental wanderings, that I was reminded of the concept of ‘desirable difficulties’ - the idea from learning theory, that suggests that when a task is extremely challenging and difficult, to the point that it is usually uncomfortable, it often generates new insight, perspective, understanding to the point of becoming enjoyable. Here I was experiencing this for real, with my bike, on the trail. The difficulties of the Freedom Trail - hike-a-biking, navigating; taking many hours to cover just a few kilometers; arriving at support stations after dark and then leaving before light; getting hungry, thirsty and tired - all made the experience rich, intense and, dare I say, fun. They prompted me to learn things about myself that I would not have otherwise learned. They engaged me, forced me to be present, and to focus on the task at hand. They made me feel alive! 

Coming to the realization that the extreme difficulties of the trail were actually quite desirable quickly and positively changed my perspective on the Freedom Trail experience. My fear of riding in the dark was transformed into a new challenge; the difficulty of hiking with my bike up sheer mountain slopes became an opportunity to overcome something really difficult; and I began to experience the pure joy of just riding in the most remote parts of South Africa. From that point onwards on the trail, I began to look forward to the difficulties that lay ahead as each represented a chance to learn, grow and engage more deeply with my surroundings. And there was no shortage of difficulties still to come. Having trudged into the second overnight support station, after 12 hours on the trail, just as the sun was setting on day 2, we woke up to cold rain on day 3. Setting out on our bikes in the predawn pitch black, with the raindrops clouding the light from our headlamps, and the cold biting through my gloves and socks necessitated that I seriously embrace the idea of desirable difficulties. By the time I reached the lunch stop at Glen Edward, I could no longer feel my feet or hands due to the combination of wet and cold. I peeled off my socks and gloves and lay on my back with my hands and feet stretched out to absorb heat from the farmer's anthracite heater in their living room, trying to thaw out. With some delicious soup in my system and some vague feeling back in my hands and feet, I set back out on the trail with my four other riding partners, who prior to the race I had never met, but with whom, due to this shared experience, I was quickly forming a strong bond. We made our way up and down mountains, through thick groves of wattle and across chilly rivers; we stopped for Coke and chips at a spaza shop in the absolute middle of nowhere and eventually, just as darkness was descending, we arrived at Masakala, a simple guest house in a rondavel in the middle of a rural African village. 

The Masakala guest house was not fancy by any stretch of the imagination: two wooden bunk beds per room, a single bathroom for all the guest staying there to share, a small spartan dining area with a pine table and chairs, and a tiny kitchen from where our hosts prepared food. We got a basic, yet comforting meal of meat, potatoes, and spinach and as I crawled into a warm bed that night with a full stomach, lying under the heavy Basutu blanket provided by our host, it struck me how, when out on the trail simple things are transformed into wonderful pleasures. Most people who partake in the Freedom Challenge are relatively well off: we have (or have had) good jobs: we can afford nice luxuries like a meal out or time away at a hotel when appropriate; generally we don’t want for much. If required to sleep in a bunk bed, or share a tiny bathroom with multiple other people, or have a cold shower in any other circumstance we would probably complain, but when out on the trail, no one complains. In fact, these simple things become wonderful pleasures in the context of the Freedom Trail. On my way to falling into a deep slumber that night, I realized that I need to be more grateful for what I have; I need to spend less time complaining and more time appreciating the simple pleasures in my life. The trail was revealing to me these authentic truths. 

The shorter day of riding on day 4 was a simple pleasure in itself, after 3 days of more than eleven hours on the trail, a day of only 8 hours was a treat. As was the sunshine when it eventually appeared that morning. We had set off in temperatures of minus 9 degrees centigrade before dawn, riding through frost ridden fields and floodplains. So when the sun eventually emerged from the east to warm things up and to reveal the beauty of the mountains surrounding us, the five of us were all extremely grateful, lapping up its rays like as though they were an addictive drug of sorts. The time ‘off’ at Malekgolonyane that afternoon was a treat: we sat on the patio in the afternoon sun, enjoying a Black Label quart or two, discussing nothing much that I can remember. Then suddenly we were awed by the arrival of the eventual winner of the race, Mike Woolnough. He had set out from Pietermaritzburg just 34 hours ago and covered the same distance it had taken us 3.5 days to cover. Mike dropped his bike on the front lawn, ate a quick meal, shared some wild stories from riding through the night, took a 15-minute nap and within 40 minutes of arriving at the support station he was back on his bike, heading for Rhodes. As he left, the five of us looked at each other, shell shocked by what we had just seen. The endurance, resilience, and commitment of these top racers is something we struggled to fathom and comprehend. Seeing it in person made it even more unbelievable than just hearing about it. 

On paper, day 5 looked quite easy; only 60 kms of distance to cover with some nice single-track descents along the way; lots to look forward to I thought. I was taken aback when one of the experienced riders in our group said we should budget 11 hours “What? That's not what the navigation narrative suggests and that’s less than 6km per hour” I argued. Lo and behold, he was right! Even though there were some epic single-track downhill sections that had all of us whooping and hollering, there were also some long, hot, difficult climbs through remote valleys and some really tricky, un-rideable descents off nothing less than a cliff face. So in the end, the eleven-hour prediction was pretty much spot on. At 4 pm we arrived at Vuvu, the overnight stop that is “famous” for its bucket showers, and home accommodations. We gathered at the local school where we got food to eat and hot water in buckets to shower. Then at around 7 pm, we were introduced to our local hosts who took us to their homes to sleep for the night. While I was skeptical and a little nervous of invading another family’s home, I was made to feel extremely welcome and comfortable, and I ended up having the best night of sleep of the whole trip -  a simple, yet extremely enjoyable pleasure.   

That good night of sleep was a godsend because, on the final day of the race, the major obstacle is Lehana’s Pass, one of the revered and highly feared sections of the Freedom Trail. Almost every person who has done this section of the Freedom Trail has a ‘Lehana’s story’. It is a historic donkey trading route up to Naude's Nek, the third highest point in South Africa. To state that there is a ‘route’ up Lehana’s is a gross overstatement. It’s just a very, very large mountain that one needs to scale with a bicycle. The so-called ‘route’ up is approximately 8.4 kilometers and takes at least 5 hours; assuming you get the navigation right (which many do not). The history of the race is littered with legendary stories of people getting stuck and lost on Lehana’s. Luckily by this stage of the race, I had come to seriously embrace the idea of ‘desirable difficulties’, and I was lapping all the ‘simple pleasures’ that the trail had to offer. The views as we scaled Lehana’s were nothing short of exquisite, the higher we ascended the further we could see; as we neared the pinnacle is felt like we were on top of the entire Drakensberg range. It was an effort just trying to take it all in. On reaching the summit, one of the members of our group reminded us that it was Father’s Day and all of us had a sentimental moment thinking about our families as we sat atop the world. The descent down to Rhodes from there was pure joy, as was the feeling of finishing this magnificent event. Yet the joy of finishing was coupled with more than just a tinge of real sadness to have to leave the trail and go back to real life. Yet the lessons of the trail are so important in real life: the lessons that difficulties foster learning, engagement and growth and that appreciating the simple things can create a whole new perspective. What more could I learn, I wonder, if I tackled the entire 2300 km of the Freedom Trail from Pietermaritzburg to Wellington, in the Race Across South Africa?

Freedom Challenge: The Ultimate Mountain Bike Adventure Endurance Event By Greg Fisher

“I am not a mountain biker!” Although I have enjoyed many endurance activities including running, road cycling, paddling and triathlons for the better part of my adult life, I don’t identify as a mountain biker and have never done a major, multi day mountain bike race. Mountain biking it too technical, too scary, too dangerous and the learning curve always seemed too steep for me to ever really embrace it.

However, I was forced to reconsider all of this when my brother took over as race director of the Freedom Challenge. As a show of solidarity and support, I entered The Freedom Challenge Race to Cradock (RTC) – a self-supported 575 km mountain bike race from Rhodes to Cradock in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. This is a shorter, less extreme version of The Freedom Challenge Race Across South Africa (RASA) – a 2300 km self-supported race from Pietermaritzburg to Wellington that happens in June and July every year [see the sidebar describing the full Freedom Challenge portfolio of events]. Having never done a multi day mountain bike race, or ridden at night, or fixed a tubeless tire, or carried a backpack while riding, or navigated using a map, I was woefully inexperienced for this event when I began preparing in late January for the race in March. My first mountain bike outing on Table Mountain was a jittery, erratic, puffing mess in which I dismounted my bike at least eleven times for what seemed like crazy inclines, declines, rocks, roots and narrow pathways. I came away from that scared, anxious and exhausted. A day or two later I came across a TED Talk on How to Learn Anything in 20 Hours. The essence of the talk by Josh Kaufman is that we can learn to be productively proficient in almost any skill with 20 hours’ of deliberate practice. To do this, the speaker said that we need to: (1) breakdown the skill we want to learn into its component parts, (2) learn enough to know when we are making major mistakes, (3) remove any and all barriers to practice, and (4) practice for at least 20 hours in a deliberate and focused way. I decided to apply this to mountain biking. This entailed watching many YouTube videos and listening to a variety of podcasts about the fundamentals of riding a mountain bike (and about fixing tires, lubing chains, navigation and packing light) [See sidebar for a list of useful video channels and podcasts]. I also committed to ride my mountain bike for at least an hour a day, for a minimum of 20 days in February. In each session, I focused on a specific, fundamental aspect of riding a bike (braking, foot placement, cornering, descending etc.). By the end of February, I had mostly stuck to my plan and although I was still extremely nervous about the upcoming Race to Cradock, I was at least able to get around the Table Mountain trails with only one or two dismounts; things had improved substantially. Additionally, and more importantly, I had really enjoyed the process of learning a new skill. I know that I am never going to be an exceptional mountain biker and I will likely never get any external reward or recognition for my prowess on a bike; but the intrinsic enjoyment I got from developing a new set of skills and improving day-to-day was incredibly satisfying. It generated energy and enthusiasm for an activity I had always kept at a safe distance. As I made my way to the start of the Race to Cradock in the tiny town of Rhodes up high up in the mountains near the border of Lesotho in the Eastern Cape, I was both fearful and excited. I was embarking on something different from anything I had done before, and I would draw on a new set of skills I had only very recently developed. Almost everything about the event was new and novel, and this made it both thrilling and terrifying.



Freedom Challenge events require that rider navigate their way along the trail with just printed maps and written narratives (GPS devices are strictly prohibited) and we carry all our clothing, spares, snacks and drinks on backpacks and in saddle bags. Riders are assigned to small batches of just 8-10 people each, and only one batch goes off per day. There are checkpoints (farms, cafes, lodges etc.) every 30-80 kms along the trail, and each checkpoint serves as a support station providing a meal to riders, and a bed to those wishing to sleep over for a night. Each rider decides how far they want to go each day; the racing snakes cover the 575km of RTC in just 2 days with almost no sleep; but the rest of us (mere mortals) ride for 4, 5, or 6 days with a decent night’s sleep in a farmhouse bed each night.

With all this as a backdrop, I set off with my seven new batch compatriots (none of whom I had met before) at 5am on March 18 th , 2019. We were all focused on making our way to Craddock along the Freedom Trail, 575 km away. The first thing that I realized immediately was how easy and fun it is to ride at night with decent lights. I was then struck by the exhilaration and beauty that come from riding through the transition from darkness to light as the sun emerges from behind a mountain. Having started in the pitch black we were soon confronted with glorious changing colors across the sky as the sun rose behind us while we cycled steadily and deliberately up the hill out of Rhodes.

An hour into the ride our batch splintered as riders of different speeds paced themselves to ride according to their capability and plan. With this came solitude; not the kind of solitude that one dreads, but rather the solitude that I often crave in my usual day-to-day hustle. I found myself on my own surrounded by some of the most magnificent mountains, vistas, plateaus and valleys. My sense of incompetence on a mountain bike gracefully disappeared as I was consumed by the awe of my surroundings and by the challenge of navigating my way from checkpoint to checkpoint. The Freedom Trail is a combination of dirt roads, rough jeep tracks and vague single-track cattle paths across framer’s lands. Most of it is rideable, but there are sections where riders need to dismount and push or carry their bike, due to steep inclines, declines or thick bush. Many parts of the trail need to be very carefully navigated; it is easy to get lost as one picks a way through the vast wilderness that the trail traverses. For this reason local knowledge and experience on the trail are a distinct advantage. Novices, like me, gain a lot of benefit from sticking with a trail veteran (or “blanket wearer” as they are called on the trail because the reward for finishing the Race Across South Africa is a Basotho blanket). I sometimes found myself pedaling harder than I should to stick with those who seemed to know where to go, or I patiently waited for others to catch me so we could navigate the tough sections together. I am eternally grateful to the blanket wearers in my batch – Ray Sephton and Charles Hughes – who so graciously and patiently helped me navigate the tough sections of the trail.

Once the adrenaline and excitement of the start of the race wore off; the reality of the task at hand started to set in: I needed to ride 575 km across really rugged terrain. To get through this, each checkpoint along the trail became an alluring destination; something to focus on. The intent was always to reach the next checkpoint, and to keep things exciting each checkpoint was distinctly different. Some checkpoints were large farmhouses with beautifully manicured gardens

and welcoming hosts who wanted to talk all about the details of the day, others were standalone farm buildings or lodges where riders were left mostly to their own devices, while another was a local pie shop where we stocked up on lamb and venison pies and washed them down with a cold Coke. The one thing that all the checkpoints had in common was great food – whether it was because of the excessive calories burned on the bike, or just the excellent Eastern Cape cooking – the food at each checkpoint tasted delicious and there was always more than enough to eat. Anyone who has done a tough endurance event knows the endorphin high that comes from finishing up a long bout of exercise and then allowing one’s body to rest. Its glorious! On the Freedom Challenge we got to experience that high every day. After arriving at a checkpoint late in the afternoon, after a full day of riding that started at 5am, we would shower, eat and sit around sharing stories about the trials, tribulations and challenges that we overcame out on the trail that day. Some people would enjoy a beer, others a chocolate milk, and others a copious amounts of cold water. But we were all in a great mood, with vague aches and pains from excessive exercise, and would all then go to bed early so we could wake up the next day and do it all again. This daily cycle of “wake up-eat-ride-eat-ride-relax-sleep” continued day-in and day-out. Even though the cycle was predictable, each day was interesting and varied, and the riding was diverse and challenging [see the sidebar describing the distances and riding terrain each day]. There were long strenuous climbs that were tough enough to bring back harsh memories of a road biking trip to the Pyrenees few years back; there were gnarly descents with tight turns, steep drops, and loose gravel that made me feel a little like Greg Minnaar for just a few fleeting moments (even though my riding style and speed were nothing even close to his); there were times when the only option was to hike with your bike on your shoulder, and there were some long flat stretches where I just had to grit my teeth and push on through, even though my back ached and my quads burned. All-in-all I found myself enjoying my mountain bike more and more as the days progressed, and by the end of day 5, I honestly wished that I could keep going. Even though my body was tired, my bike was starting to creek and my shoes were held together with cable ties, I longed for a few additional days on the trail. In the closing stages of the race I began to properly understand, for the first time, why people do the 2300 km Race Across South Africa. It got me thinking about whether I might soon embark on the full RASA pilgrimage. I ended the journey thinking, maybe, just maybe, “I am a mountain biker.”