Job half done

My 5 year old son Ben loves those spot-the-difference quizzes you find in kid's magazines.  It wouldn't take him long to tell you what was missing from the bottom brevet card on the right - it's only half filled out.

Sadly the incomplete brevet card is mine - above it is my good friend Henri's, with a full set of signatures for the controls on the Joburg 600km audax ride.




Maybe the bad omens had been there from the start - Henri had rung me earlier the day before to say we'd been put in Room 13 at the hotel. We'd joked about unscrewing the number and turning it upside down to properly observe Rule 13. In truth though, my failure to complete the 600 had nothing to do with bad luck and everything to do with poor ride management.

Gathered in the car park of the Lido Hotel were a band of 10 riders, including Michelle and Nigel whom I had met briefly on LEL. Gillian had also been on the email list, but had pulled out due to illness. It was also nice to meet some fellow Hubbers in the flesh - GaryvdM, Speed Racer and Underachever - we'd exchanged a number of messages in the build up to the ride.. The Lido had been a pleasant surprise the evening before, smarter than I had expected and the food wasn't bad either. My views on it at 3am were a little less positive - during the night it had lived up to it's reputation as a party venue and what Henri termed the "doof doof" music had kept many of us from a decent amount of sleep. 

Rolling out of the Lido, we took two quick rights and almost as soon as we hit open road the pace started to feel fast. Henri commented as much as we flew down the pitch dark roads out of south Joburg and towards the first control in Heidelberg, The morning was wonderfully cool and fresh, and the riding very pleasant. Despite the pace, it felt natural and good to be sticking with the group of riders. In the dark I had little idea really where we were - I knew our route from studying the map, and could see the track lit up on my Garmin, but that aside I was riding along in a bubble. Small patches of scenery were picked out in the spill off flare of our lights alongside each side of the road, but no real details to stay in the memory. One thing that was noticeable was how quiet the roads were, and how the few trucks that did come upon us seemed to wait behind until they could pass with a decent clearance. It was a refreshing change.  Crossing the N3 highway an we rolled into the sodium lit streets on the outskirts of Heidelberg. Somewhere along this stretch I'd become unhitched from the main group and found myself peering ahead to see the directions they were turning to reach the control. Eventually I rolled into the BP garage only in fact a few seconds behind, but already bikes were parked and the guys were inside with control cards.

I rushed in, got my card signed, and rushed out with a 500ml water to top up my bottles. A little warning alarm was starting to ring in the back of my head, it was telling me the pace was too high. In hindsight now, I can count two other mistakes at that first control over and above the pacing: my hydration was about half of what it should have been for a fast 60km stretch; and my refueling was woefully short. What I should have done was stopped for 20 minutes, rested a bit, eaten some real food, and drank plenty too. Easy to say now. What I actually did was to snack on an energy bar, wash it down with surplus water from the bottle, and ride out with the group. On unfamiliar roads, in the dark, the safety of sticking with the group drowned out the inner voice of reason.

Despite the pace, I was really enjoying the riding - dawn broke as we crested the hill out of Heidelberg. Henri mentioned this was where Joberg2C start as we passed the gates of Karan Beef, the highest point on our route for today. Long stretches of the roads along this section of the ride to Villers were lined with carpets of pink and white flowers - Cosmos Michelle informed us, an alien plant brought over in horse feed during the Boer War. I took the front to show willing by doing my share of the work a couple of times, but in truth I was barely managing to hang on to the bunch, so it was more of a token gesture. Over the last few kilometers to our second control of the day, the Vaal Truck Stop, I was becoming further unhitched. By the time our wheels crunched onto the gravel of the car park and wove through the parked lorries I was probably half a kilometer behind the main group. Henri had dropped back to stick with me, and was now rather concerned about the harsh surface on our tyres.

I was very relieved when some of the guys ordered food, and resisted the few lurking outside wanting us to ride on immediately. Henri and I joined them in cheese sandwiches, in my case washed down with the remains of a coke, the rest of it having been dumped into my water bottle. I was feeling quite refreshed as we rode out maybe 15 minutes later, and in fact the riding now seemed easier. We crossed back over the N3, sped down the descent to the Vaal river, and entered the town of Villiers as we crossed the bridge.


The town was a picture of faded former glory. Judging by the grandeur of some of the buildings, it must have once been an important town. Now though, many of the shops and buildings looked closed and empty. We rode through the largely empty streets, and over a short stretch of road out of town that was so badly degraded it was barely more than a dirt road. Swinging right onto the main road at the end of town we started along the last 20kms or so to our half way point for the day, the town of Frankfort. The road pitched up to the first of what would be a continuous stretch of rollers from here to the control. Already the group was splitting up, and I decided it was time to accept the inevitable and sit up and ride my own pace. It was a decision I should have made 100kms back in truth, but it was now necessity more than choice. Henri stuck with me - we'd already chatted about letting the group go, so I wasn't surprised. It was a relief to still have some great riding company.

The Highveld scenery may lack the drama of Cape mountains and coastline, but it was considerably more interesting than I had expected. There were a lot of long, rolling stretches, but the riding was far from unattractive. A barn here, a windmill there, and all along dotted buildings and wildlife to draw the eye and mind away from the steady toil.  It was much more pleasant riding than I had been preparing myself for. The outskirts of Frankfort were soon in sight, and I was beginning to look forward to a stop and some proper food.

Bump ... pause ... Pfft

I knew the moment my front wheel hit the stone that a puncture was inevitable, and luckily had already washed some speed off before the tyre ran fully flat. I called out to Henri, he was only a few meters ahead but moving fast and clearly my cry of "mechanical" was lost on the wind. I pulled over to change the tube. It was over a year since I'd had to fix a flat, but at this point in time it wasn't really a chore, I was glad of the rest. I did a cursory skim around the inside of the tyre, but I knew there'd be no spike in there - it was clearly a pinch flat and not something sharp which had caused the puncture. The new tube was in before my phone rang, and by the time Henri had turned and got back to me I was already re-seating the wheel in the front fork.

We were sufficiently behind the main group by the time we rolled into town that some of them were already finishing off drinks and snacks and getting ready to head out. Frankfort also felt a little faded from the previous time Yolandi had driven through some years back. To be fair, today was a public holiday and much of the town was closed, and I was starting to become fatigued, so I perhaps wasn't looking through the most positive eyes. I would have killed for a restaurant for a sit down and plate of hot food. Instead, there was just an OK store with a limited choice of packaged offerings. I briefly looked at the pies and hot dogs, but despite being hungry I didn't have the courage to brave them. It wasn't easy to ascertain whether they were today's or even this week's. In the end Steri Stumpy, bananas, and water was about all I remember buying - maybe there was something more substantial in there I forget.

Eddie had met us at the turnaround point - and I was glad to replace the inner tube I'd used, and also grab some more snack bars from my drop bag in his car. He also signed our control cards before we swung back and started the leg back home for today. It was only 40km back to the Vaal Truck stop, but it felt like 100. My energy was now running low, and without noticing it, I think this was also where I began to slip into a serious lack of hydration. The rollers just seemed to rise and fall endlessly, but eventually we crossed the Vaal again accompanied by some local kids riding on squeaking rusted bikes and staring at us curiously. They stopped and waved goodbye as the road rose back up out of the river vale and swung towards the N3 crossing. Cramps had been lingering on the last couple of rollers, but with careful pedaling and mental games, I'd managed to distract myself from allowing them to actually sieze up. But they were hard to keep at bay over those seemingly endless last couple of kilometers. Eventually we were crawling up and over the highway and crunching back through the dusty car park past the dozing trucks to the cafe at the control.

I apologised to Henri, but explained that I needed to sit down for some proper food and at least two cups of hot tea. It shouldn't have taken us long really, but the service was quite slow, so by the time we rolled back out again we'd been stopped around 45 minutes. We still had plenty of daylight though, and would be in good time for an 8 or 9pm arrival back at The Lido for dinner and some sleep. This next stretch would be a tough one though - 75km of steady climbing back up to Heidelberg, and into a headwind. The tea and boerie roll had revived me considerably, but I already knew I was going to struggle. The earlier pace was beginning to take it's toll. We'd planned for a half way stop, but I had to pull over at around the 30km mark for a quick drink and stretch.

Barely back on the bikes we noticed a bike parked at a garage and Kenneth heading back towards it. We dropped our pace and soon he came up alongside us. He and Gary had been leaving the last control as Henri and I rode in, so clearly something major had gone wrong. It transpired that his stomach was suffering, and Gary had ridden on solo. We stuck together over the long slow ascent back up to Heidelberg - Kenneth was riding more strongly than me, but clearly struggling to a degree also. The smoking chimneys of the power station that had flown by earlier that morning seemed to take an age to reach and go past. Eventually we swung back onto the main road into Heidelberg by the Karan Beef entrance again. I made the mistake of thinking we were almost there, but in truth we were still a few kilometers from the control which lay the other side of the town. By the time we were less than one kilometer to I had to pull over, apologizing to Henri once more. The tank was completely empty, and almost nothing was powering my legs. It took me several minutes to be able to get back on the bike, and we fairly crawled the last stretch to the control. I was done.

Sat back in the BP garage with both Henri and Kenneth we discussed options as I downed two cups of sweet coffee, took some Rennies, and tried to force some food down. No amount of chewing could convince my throat to actually swallow much though without wretching to bring it back up. Maybe I'd be able to recover in an hour or two, but it just wasn't worth the guys holding up their ride to find out. I urged them to go on without me, and gave Eddie a quick call to let him know they were on their way over the last stretch back to the Lido for dinner. My Mum and Dad used to call these short calls Scotsman's - a little ironic since Eddie is in fact Scottish.

Sitting there alone in the harsh fluorescent light of the garage cafe I contemplated my options. If I could recover, it would mean riding a stretch of more than 60km solo, in the dark, well below full strength, and past some slightly dubious areas. The alternative was to bail, just a few hours ride away from a hot meal and dinner, a desperately disappointing end to my Joburg aduax adventure.  I surveyed the shop for anything that might help. More than once my eyes fell on the Powerade and Energade bottles in the fridge, but I couldn't convince myself they would do more than make me vomit. I drank more water and coffee and tried to eat a pie and chips. However slowly I ate though it just wouldn't go down. I'd been at the garage a couple of hours, and it slowly dawned on me that despite having plenty of time in hand, I simply was not getting nearly enough energy back into my system fast enough to have any realistic chance of carrying on safely. I rang Yoli, and then Eddie, and my ride came to a disheartening end.

Whilst sitting on the kerb waiting for Yoli I texted Henri with an upbeat message urging him to complete the ride. During the day as he'd started to see me weaken and falter he'd made a few comments about not being able to finish, but I knew he was strong enough to make it if he rode his own ride. The rest of that evening I was still barely able to eat - but at least I managed to start getting my fluids topped back up. The first pee I took back at our friends house was almost the colour of tea. This was the point I realised that as well as bad pacing and nutrition, the thing which had really sapped me and knocked me down as lack of hydration.  That also made sense of why I wasn't recovering at the garage - food and rest will usually sort out energy issues, but dehydration takes a lot longer to recover from. It was only when I counted back on what I had drunk during the ride that I could clearly see how poor my drinking regime had been. It made me wonder if the Powerade would have helped, but it would probably have been too little too late.

Around 2pm the following day I was delighted to get a text from Henri saying he had finished. A
great achievement - his first audax, a distance of 600km, more than double his previous longest ride. I wasn't sure which emotion was stronger - happiness that he had completed the ride - or disappointment that I had not. My second audax had ended in failure and I had no one but myself to blame. The road to PBP just got longer and harder. Definitely a weekend of mixed feelings, and harsh lessons.

 In the end, Yoli's perspective on the ride was perhaps more insightful than my own:

"This needed to happen. You needed to make these mistakes and learn from them so that you don't do this on PBP"

A tale ot two Arguses

I've just run my fastest ever 1.7km

Those were the few words Yolandi could manage to gasp at the end of Ben's junior Argus ride on Saturday.

We needn't have worried about him being nervous to ride with 700 young kids in the 4 to 5yr old group. Our little practice session the day before had paid off and once he got going, he rode strongly, refusing every water stop and pedaling with determination to the finish. Hard to imagine where he might get that from. Yolandi, being the runner in the family, got the duty of running alongside him - which turned out rather a tough challenge in itself. Ben exited the finish chutes proudly wearing his medal and clutching a big goodie bag to his chest. It was a perfect first junior Argus for him, and a special moment for both Yoli and I as parents. Although I was still looking forward to my own ride, it was hard to imagine how much more fun it could be than the morning we'd had helping Ben take part in his. As we drove out of the military base I was already looking forward to next year, when he steps up to the 2.5km circuit and parents get to ride along with.

The next morning started with two familiar ingredients: the cold dark wait in the start chutes thanks to my improved seeding; and the blasting gusts of wind ripping around the city center. Neither were welcome. The cold was at least kept at bay by the gilet I'd grabbed whilst leaving the house - a piece of last minute decision making I was extremely glad of watching Jack and Danie shivering alongside me. By the time we shuffled to the start area we were joined by John, Peter and Sue also. There were also other club riders in the parallel start group across the road divider. It felt good to be in my Wannabee jersey and part of this large extended family of riders.

Whilst chatting earlier, Jack had commented that a sub-4 would be a good time in this wind. Even before the wind I hadn't been expecting or aiming at a sub-4, and it certainly wasn't in my mind as we got underway. My legs felt pretty good though, and somehow I stayed in contact with Jack, Danie and John. Up Mandela Boulevard, over Edinburgh Drive, even racing down the blue route - somehow I was managing to hold my place in the bunch at the head of our start group. Holding my nerve was also required as our speeds topped 60km/h in the blustery conditions. Part way down this scarily fast section we passed the wreckage of an L group crash lay - 20 riders or more, broken bikes and bloodied bodies strewn on both sides of the road with medics in attendance. It was a stark reminder of the dangers of speed, proximity and inexperienced riders in such large bunches. Worrying wouldn't help though - doubt is an unwanted distraction from the need to hold a steady and strong line and intense focus on what is going on around and in front.

I was pretty sure I'd get dropped somewhere from our bunch - the pace was significantly higher than my recent training. What surprised me was that I hung in there so long - past Muizenberg, and on through Kalk Bay and Fishoek. In the end it was a lack of concentration that saw me 10m off the back. Dropping down to beach level where the road dips in to Black River before Simonstown I'd sat up and relaxed to stretch. At that instant a blast of wind cut through the bunch, severing me from it's tail. The gap was no more than 5m, but I was slow to respond. By the time I'd got myself out of the saddle and pumping, it had grown a couple of meters more. I held it at around 10m for a long way, but I just didn't have the firepower to close it with such a strong headwind. At some stage I realised that I wasn't actually alone - I was actually pulling a small chase group with me. I slipped to the side to let reinforcements through. A tandem and a solo rider came through and I tucked behind them. Even working together, the group ahead slipped slowly further and further out of reach.

Accepting my bunch was gone, I sat up and enjoyed the lead in to Jubilee Square - always a bustling and fun part of the ride. It was still fairly quiet though - the larger fun ride groups were still behind us, and at only 35km into the ride, anyone aiming for a time would not be making a planned stop this early. Somewhere along the road to Smitswinkel, the head of the next start group came through and I tucked in and rode with them over the climb. I needed a quick shot though, and pulled in for a rapid coke before the descent to Misty Cliffs. My garmin had been hovering around the 28km/h average speed mark, significant because it is the essential number for a sub 4. I wasn't really thinking much about it though - it still seemed highly unlikely, even with the strong wind now pushing us nicely from behind as we swung across and back up the other side of the peninsula. It didn't matter, I was going well and enjoying the ride immensely.

With several windy Arguses under my belt , I knew the Sun Valley stretch towards Noordhoek was deathly when the South Eastern blows. Immediately we turned the sharp right after the run down from Slangkop I started looking for a group to tuck into. A likely bunch of 5 or 6 riders was just ahead. With a short standing burst I managed to latch onto the back of them. It was worth the effort - our speeds held well about 25km/h despite the wind. I can't honestly remember a previous Argus where this stretch as seemed so pleasant - by the time we turned out of the wind, our group had grown to 20 or more like minded riders, battling the wind as a cohesive bunch.

Chappies and Suikerbossie were a delight as always - a sweaty straining one, but no less glorious for the effort required to crest them. The only thing missing was cramps. Over the top of Chappies, my average was down to just over 27, and back up above 28 again at Hout Bay. It still didn't occur to me that the sub 4 could be possible until I started the fast run down to Camps Bay. My average speed was well off the 28km/h, but I had more than half an hour in hand. I knew from split times, that 30 minutes is the vital number at the top of Suikerbossie for a sub 4. It suddenly dawned on me that it might be on, and with this in mind I threw caution to the wind and charged down the hill.

I left nothing in the tank over those last few kilometers, and by the time the line came into sight I was minutes under the magic target. In fact so many minutes, a PB also looked possible too. I nearly threw that away though with a rookie mistake - mistaking the foot bridge for the line, I sat up and immediately cramped. There was 500m to go still, and it was a battle with the tight muscles to get pedaling again when I realised this. Crossing the line, the clock stopped at 3:50:33 - a whole 4 seconds faster than last year. A PB is a PB though, and in the wind too. A huge smile spread across my face. But even with the unexpected success, my smile wasn't nearly as big as Ben's had been wearing his first ever cycling medal the day before. The only remaining thing needed was a beer with my fellow Wannabees to swap stories how we'd all got on. A perfect end to a perfect Argus weekend.

'Twas the night before Argus

There's not a lot you'd expect to be able to say about a ride you've ridden six times previously and written at least a couple of blog posts about. But the truth is, every year is different. For a start, this year will be my son Ben's first Cycle Tour - ok, at the age of 5 he's still seven years away from riding his first full Argus. He does get to take part in his first Junior Cycle Tour this year though, and with no training wheels on his lovely 16" bike either. A proud moment for both of us as parents.

As if that weren't enough to take my focus off the main event, this year pretty much all of my thoughts and training have been working towards my first South African Audax - a 600km ride in Johannesburg that will hopefully serve as my PBP pre-qualifier. That's assuming of course I can complete it. The first of my 200km training rides created some doubts, but the most recent one in February was much more reassuring, and more realistic with considerably less climbing as will be the case for the Joburg route. Even with the confidence though, comes the uncertainty of riding at altitude, on long featureless roads with little in the way of scenery to keep the mind fresh and alert.

Preparing for such a tough mental and physical endurance test has left the Argus to take care of itself as something of a routine ride this year - no real speed training, or even thoughts of attacking a personal best time. So I'll be lining up and starting on Sunday without any real solid plan in mind. I'm not eager to plod slowly around and treat it as just a fun ride. Realistically though, I probably don't have the pace in my legs at present to really attack it and race for a time. On the day, it'll really come down to making it up as I go along - see what the weather and route conditions are in terms of bottlenecks and bunches, and judge as I go. In a way, that takes the pressure off, but of course that presumes I don't care about my time at all. And that could never really be the case for an Argus. Having achieved a sub 4 once, it'd be a shame not to be able to do it again.

A brand new day is dawning

Another Saturday, another 3am gathering of mad buggers at the BP garage next to The Lord Charles hotel. This time the we were three - joining Henri and I was Grant Cox, fellow randonneur and LEL rider. No need for gilets today, even at this early hour the day was already warm - with a promise of hotter and windier conditions for later in the day. Introductions and formalities aside, we headed out.

Our route may be starting out along familiar roads, but Henri had devised an exciting and inspiring variation beyond the 80km water stop in Villiersdorp. Instead of heading out towards Worcester, we would be doubling back to the start of town, swinging left along Theewaterskloof Dam, and after crossing the dam wall we would be climbing up and out of the bowl of mountains and into the golden rolling pastures of the Overberg.

We had to get there first, and as we left Franschhoek behind and started the long haul up the pass, I wasn't feeling all that sure I would. Labouring up the climb, I was even contemplating bail out options - wouldn't it be better to turn back at the top? It would be much quicker for Yoli to come pick me up, and I was sure somewhere would be open for coffee whilst I waited until a slightly more civilized hour to call her for help. I shook my head and focused on the road ahead, with barely a quarter of our distance covered it was going to be a very long day if I started dwelling on thoughts of defeat. The road was steep, and yet again I'd left my crawler cassette at home. The wind was strong too, and getting stronger as we rose up the mountain. Fortunately, once we rounded the first dogleg beyond La Petit Ferme, aside from the occasional buffeting from the side, it was mostly at our back, giving a gentle and welcome push up the climb. The moon shone high and bright to the left, so much so once again we could switch off headlights and enjoy the tranquility of the morning. Doubting myself here would serve no purpose, so alternating standing and sitting, I ground on up.

Somewhere close to the top it occurred to me that maybe I was low on fuel. The Muesli jar was almost empty and perhaps the Squirrel Pillows (or whatever Ben's breakfast cereal was called) which I'd topped up my bowl with didn't quite have the same energy value. Rounding the final dogleg was a battle, the wind was blasting straight down the last stretch of road to the top, and trying to turn into it like wrestling an angry gorilla. I slogged onward up into a blanket of fog that was scudding across the neck of the pass. To the right I could just make out the normal viewpoint stop through the gloom - it was empty. The guys must have decided to stop over the top - a good call giving the damp and cooler air. Easy to get a chill after working up a healthy sweat. And sure enough, red blinking lights appeared as the crest of the hill fell away ahead.

"Mother F...er" I exclaimed, too tired to bother finding less profane language to describe how I was feeling.

Grant echoed my feelings - Henri smiled in amusement, way too fresh and cheery. At least the two significant climbs of the day were behind us, and ahead lay a long blast down to that water stop, and a new and unexplored stretch of road. We charged down the pass towards the dam, the first grey light of the dawn gradually rising up to meet us as we sped down. I wobbled into the first corner, half an uneaten energy bar wedged in my left hand. Probably not the smartest move when wrestling a strong wind, tight corners, and rapidly increasing speed. I jammed it in my mouth, planted both hands firmly on the bars and leaned left through the bend. Ahead I could see Grant's tail light just about to negotiate the next turn, and Henri's front light already exiting the loop of road. As we raced down, I'd see them again and again, but the lights became less obvious as the light started to pick out the shapes of them on their machines.

The descent freshened my legs, the food was beginning to have an effect, and a stop for Grant to fix a puncture was the final part of the lift I needed to my spirits - a brief pause to admire the stunning fynbos clad mountains all around us. Somewhere shortly after we got underway again I took a turn on the front, nothing like putting some work in to banish negative thoughts. It felt great, and I was happy to tow the remaining 10km or so into Villiersdorp. We maintained a decent pace and the town was soon coming into view, ringed with towering cloud topped mountains silhouetted against a deep blue sky . It was going to be a stunning day. On the outskirts of town a small boy started to run alongside us on the far side of the ride - as we picked up pace so did he, racing us to the junction we would come back to after our stop. He stuck with us, not falling back at all. It would have been impressive for anyone, but this kid was sprinting barefoot on loose gravel, and he was smiling and waving the whole way too.

The Shell garage was open, at least, but it's provisions were somewhat on the meager side. They had the essentials though - coke and water in my case. The coke serving a dual purpose of caffeine replacement for my usual morning coffee, and energy supplement for the rear water bottle. I'd managed to stick to plan and drain both bottles by the time we stopped - an attempt at staving off my usual hydration issues on what was forecast to be a fiercely hot day. I also forced some food down too - I wasn't hungry, and it was a struggle to eat, but I had to try and avert my other failing of not eating enough and running out of gas.

We didn't linger - more than half the ride lay ahead still, and adventure lay ahead. My concerns about the road were soon alleviated. The surface was good, and it was reasonably wide. Traffic was picking up, but most of it gave us plenty of room as it passed by. The road rose and fell as it meandered along the eastern side of the dam. I heard a curse from Henri, he was stopping and dismounting behind me.

"Mechanical!" I called ahead to Grant.

"Sorry for an unscheduled stop so soon" Henri apologized as he quickly located and removed the wire that had pierced his tube. 

"Surely this is just your scheduled puncture stop" I joked back

"True" Henri smiled "I have had one on every ride so far. What's wrong with your tyres, you don't seem to get them?"

"Just luck I think" was the best I could come up with.

It had never really occurred to me where the actual wall was for Theewaters Dam, but the unasked
question was soon being answered as the road swung left across it. Leaving the large expanse of water behind, we began what I assumed was the climb up and through the mountains. Henri's promise of not being as long or steep as Helshoogte proved spot on. What he hadn't mentioned was how darned pretty it was - perhaps not wanting to spoil the surprise. Farmland pastures gave way to pine woodlands and finally fynbos at the summit. Beyond lay a treat: the Overberg. Having enjoyed this scenic delight on many road trips up the east coast I was thoroughly looking forward to seeing it at cycling speed.

As it happened, cycling speed was not much less the driving speed for the first couple of kilometers. My Garmin was reading around 65km/h on the long descent from the top of the pass. The change in scenery was dramatic - the green and rocky slopes giving way to the brown and gold of rolling farmland. That was another accurate prediction from Henri - the last of the significant hills may be out of the way, but ahead was a steady sequence of rollers, each of them tall enough to test the legs and see granny rings brought into use. The sagging spirits from before daybreak were gone though - and even a slight tightening of my outer thigh was not enough to diminish the smile. I mentioned it to Henri and asked him to check my leg extension - I'd had a niggle that maybe my cramps were due to over extending my legs and had lowered my saddle a shade before Wednesday's club ride. Perhaps I'd gone too far though? He put my concerns at rest though - no indication of being either bunched up or of over extending my legs.

"I don't want to tempt fate, but don't they usually put masts at the top of hills" I mentioned to Grant, nodding to the cell tower and antenna on our left. "Maybe this is the last roller before that long run down to the N2 Henri mentioned."

There was a long descent over the top, but it wasn't quite the last, there was one small final rise to negotiate before we could relax. Henri point out a pair of kites high across the field to our right. And as if to acknowledge our interested, one of them proceeded to drop down and fly beside him for quite some distance. Riding just a few meters back, I could see the bird clearly looking down at him as it glided along. It was clearly curious, or perhaps it had learned that humans often jettison edible morsels - kite's are scavengers after all.

Too soon our Overberg Scenic Tour came to an end as we swung right and joined the busy traffic of the N2. A smartly dressed couple were waiting for a taxi beside the road.

"Sorry, we've got no room left on here" Henri and I commented simultaneously by way of greeting as we passed. They both smiled and laughed as we whizzed by.

The run down to the Botrivier turn was fast, which was a relief. Even with a wide yellow lane, the traffic was heavy. Riding along a major highway amongst trucks and speeding cars is never much fun, but at least this was brief. We were soon turning left towards Hermanus and our next stop of the day. A padstaal at the Shell garage a couple of kilometers after the turn. I guess today's filling station of choice would be Shell - no one could claim us of being inconsistent on our fuel stops.

One of many ornamental features on their stoep was a rusting bicycle with no tyres.There was an obvious comment to be made about being glad that wasn't our ride for the day - but being obvious didn't stop us all remarking on it any way. Inside was something far more important - hot chicken pies. Hot as in just baked too, not hot as in warmed in a micro-wave but with soggy pastry. They were delicious, and quickly devoured, along with a chocolate milk and a further top up of coke in my rear bottle. The pies had been lovely and salty - so I left out the electrolyte tablet this time, and went plain water for the other bottle.

"Flat and fast from here now eh Henri?" I queried as we rolled out refreshed.

I forget his exact reply, but it definitely contained an added tip that it might be worth learning to love the heat as well. He wasn't wrong, the day was starting to warm up properly. Less than a kilometer down the main road and we met up with our right turn onto the coast road towards Kleinmond and home. Familiar routes, and a definite sense that the horses were beginning to smell the stable, it was a good feeling. Even better was the slight breeze we ran into too - just enough to brush away the worst of the heat without being strong enough to affect our speed. Rather less pleasant was the roadworks which started at the junction - loose, sticky, tar covered gravel strewn over a long Stop-Go section. All of us commented on the trashing this would be giving our tyres, it was hard to keep them clean even with regular hand and foot wiping and alternating sides of the one-way lanes as traffic allowed.

Somehow none of us punctured, and the roadworks came to an end before we rode through Kleinmond high street. A beautiful day and a lovely little coastal town - it felt great to be out riding. Exiting the down and swinging down and through the loop past Kogelberg Nature Reserve we really started to motor. Our pace picked up considerably and we fairly charged through Betty's Bay, through yet a further stretch of roadworks, out of town and up the short incline to Pringle Bay. It was a struggle to remember a club 100 where we'd taken that stretch of road faster, and we weren't slowing down either. The final rise up and over to Rooi Els was a blast - something got into my pedalling around a third of the way up, my cadence picked up effortlessly, and I found myself shifting up repeatedly. It was one of my least favourite uphill stretches and I was simply flying - the last time I;d looked down my Garmin was reading 30km+ and I'd sped up since then. Before long I passed both Henri and Grant, knowing they'd give me some stick for suddenly surging ahead. In that moment it didn't matter, the crest was in sight and I was experiencing first hand what I've seen referred to as No Chain - pedaling so effortless that it's as if the bike had no chain attached. On any ride it would have been a joy, with 170km already on the clock it was an unexpected delight.

Henri got his own back on the descent to our final water stop, whizzing past me with a whopping 72km/h showing on his bike computer. No surprise that spirits were high as we pulled into Rooi Els and made for the local shop to top up supplies. More water for me, and another Coke - on any normal day that would be a sugar overload, but today it was keeping the engine purring along. No signs of distress from the legs either.

"How far home from here?" Grant queried as we rolled out again.

"35km to Lord Charles" was my reply. There'd be no discounts on our full 200 today,

Those remaining kilometers flew past. Familiar stretches of road, but no less beautiful on such a
glorious day. A couple of times along that last stretch we chatted about a possible coffee stop at the end, but as we left Strand behind us and made for home a better idea lept into my head.

"There's nothing to say this has to be a circular route now we've done our full 200" I called across to the guys.

"I like your thinking", Grant needed no further hint, catching my meaning instantly.

So as we came up to the robot we swung left into Paardevlei and made for Trigger Fish brewery. Some ice cold locally brewed beers would make a far more fitting end to a perfect ride.

All photos courtesy of Henri Meier

ToS 2014

The Greatest, Most Difficult, Most Prestigious Grand Tour of a Mythical Country in the Whole Wide World.


A lot has changed in Sufferlandria since last year's tour. It now has it's own website and a citizens exam. There's a range of local produce, and of course new videos. Thankfully some things haven't changed though, such as Grunter von Agony's commitment to misery and suffering. So it was clear that the 2014 tour would be longer, tougher, and yes, involve more lava.

Stage 1 was a true piece of evil genius. What could be so bad about a simple 1 hour test? Well, ordinarily nothing - you just beat yourself into a pulp, slide off the bike into a sweaty heap, and when you have regained enough strength, smile at your improved FTP. No such smiling this time though, that increase (8.5% in my case) would ensure that the 8 remaining tour stages would have their suffering levels upgraded by the same percentage. Evil. Genius.

"You could just back off a little and not give it everything" was Yoli's comment.

Luckily GvA was out of earshot - I suspect those words were close to treason, and as the partner of a citizen of Sufferlandria I'm sure the full force of the nations laws would be brought down on her.

With epic bad planning, we were away on both Saturday's of the tour. Not much of a problem at the start because I could get Stage 1 done early due to Sufferlandria's peculiar 50 hour day at this time of year. I knew it was going to catch up with me later in the week. I was rather complacent over Stage 2, what could be nicer than a couple of hours in the indoor trainer on a Sunday. It turns out almost anything would have been nicer than ISLAGIATT with an 8.5% uplift in target power. Seriously, anything, even towing a bull dragging an anvil backwards up a hill. It was as serious battle to keep the power on over the last climbs and the flat race to the finish. Worse was yet to come though, much much worse.

Some very tough stages lay ahead, and Monday was clearly my best window to get into the breakaway, get a day ahead of the pack, and at the same time create the needed clear day for the following Saturday. Best window, but not easiest by any means - the task involve a 5am start to thrash out Stage 3 (Revolver) , and an evening attack on Stage 4 (Hell Hath No Fury). Those alone were bad enough, but in the middle I also had my weekly core strength session with Andre, my trainer. Revolver was rough, it always is. And barely woken up legs did not help any. But it's a quick death, a rapid succession of bullets from a firing squad. The pain is soon over. HHNF is another matter - one of the best and toughest videos, and one I avoid unless I've been seriously bad an need the pain. I didn't need the pain, especially with a 2 hr stage the day before and 45 minutes of gunfire to the legs that morning. But I got it anyway, The Monster and her friends made sure of that.

Tuesday brought with it one of two stages I was genuinely fearing - Stage 5 a double header of Extra Shot and The Wretched. As someone on the Facebook forum said, there is no warmup, Extra Shot is the warmup. A warmup at a threshold of 9/10, what evil and twisted sadist could come up with such a thing. Ah yes, GvA, that's who. It hurt like hell, and then it was time to switch videos, and hurt like hell some more. Wretched was more like "wretching" by the end. The tour was properly underway now - day after day of punishment. The organizers were doing a good job at giving some hint at what a Grand Tour feels like.

Some truly insane part of me had planned to do the usual Club 100km on Wednesday, and then Stage 6 later that evening. There was nothing spare left in the legs to contemplate that, not without giving A Very Dark Place less than 100%. And less than 100% is simply not tolerated, not on this tour. The cave was deep, and the hole just kept getting deeper and darker. Stuff the cobbles, and Cancellara, I just couldn't slog along trying to keep up, I had to lead out the break, get out in front, it was going to be tough so it might as well be tougher. Despite being shattered, I was rather pleased with the effort - 8th rider to complete the stage. In the break now for sure, and only 3 stages left.

Only 3 stages to go - almost there! Not even close. Stage 7 was a Sufferlandrian monument to misery. Angels and The Hunted back to back. No rest in between, only time allowed was to switch videos. Two water bottles sat beside the bike, and an energy bar. The fluids would be enough, especially with an electrolyte tab in one. The energy bar was purely there for show. It would do nothing real to help get over the wall ahead, apart from maybe lift the spirits a bit. On their own, each of the allocated videos are tough. Add the 8.5% extra power needed, and they'd be a real challenge. Put them back to back, and what lay ahead was 2 hours of probably the highest intensity I've ever experience on a bike. On anything for that matter. My performance on Angels wasn't bad, especially considering the stages already done - a very close match to the target power curve. The Hunted was another matter entirely - one long struggle from start to finish. I rode it, I kept up, and it came to an end. I can't really say much else, can't even remember much else to be honest. Just a fear of dread that I was dropping back, and an ocean of pain trying to hang on.

Hard to say if I enjoyed Stage 8 because it was the last but one, or because I was getting stronger, or even because it's so well designed that as it gets tougher so you are building up speed and strength. Regardless of the reason, it was a breeze, and absolute blast. Every one of the four course was a painful but rewarding dish of delights. I've never failed to rip the power off the chart on the last of the time trial segments, and even with the new FTP and 7 stages before I shredded the chamois. Eight down, one to go, and Monday's double header meant a rest day tomorrow too. What a feeling.

What a feeling - after a Saturday and Sunday morning of camping, fun, and drinking, I really needed 64 sprints on the trainer in one hour. No really, that's exactly what I needed. It was at least an excuse to ride Violator, which I've owned since release and never ridden. For some reason the rapid sprints never appealed to me. They should have, it was awesome. The first two sets of sprints I totally crushed, but the third was a real battle. The accumulated effect of the previous segments and the miniscule rest periods between sprints made if very tough. But it was over quickly - too quickly in a way.

All too soon I was wiping sweat off for the last time this tour, and looking at that 9th Stage cup turn orange on the web page indicating the completed tour. Last year's was fun and hard. This year's was even more fun and even harder. The Facebook community was also way more active, adding to the sense that we were all really racing together, accomplishing something rather special. Who on earth rides 364km on an indoor trainer in a week? Who spends 12 hours pedaling indoors going nowhere when it's sunny and perfect cycling weather outside? A Sufferlandrian, that's who.