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Before we get into this one an apology is needed, because I'll be leaving the main route here for a short diversion. As will be obvious from the cake pictured left, this last week has seen the arrival of a fairly major life event for me. Like the Arrivee of a good audax, a landmark that at one stage seemed impossibly distant has come and gone. Not one measured in kilometres this time though, but years, a haf century of them.

The actual birthday itself was a quiet one - time for family after a week away with work in the US. But in the style of Yoli's family a birthday is never just a single day - varying from anything to a weekend, a week, or even a month, depending on the ability to stretch things out and keep the party going. In my case, it was a week long affair - starting the Sunday before with a family lunch at Coseca. Rolling onto the actual day itself which unusually for me was spent at work but nicely book-ended with tea and cake in bed, and rounded off with an early dinner at 96 Winery Road. Early because Ben joined us.

Daddy, are we going to a restaurant?
Maybe it's odd for a 5 year to actually enjoying dinners out, but it's delightful for us. The one caveat being some form of play area to burn off some energy before we sit down and eat. After that, we're pretty much sure of a well behaved child and the surprised but relieved look of waiters and maitre d'. Again, there's a few caveats buried in there too - a couple of well chosen toys for the table, don't linger too long, and there must always be ice cream to end, or cake, or both.

So we come to the finale of my week long 50th - an actual piss-up in a brewery. Having worn out that phrase before and during the party, it's the last time I'll say it. Promise. But it's too good to miss out. The brewery in this case being Triggerfish of Somerset West. At one stage they could have been called a new craft brewery. But with so many recent startups, Triggerfish are now firmly established as a member of the old guard producing solid stalwarts of the burgeoning local ale scene. 

Yoli's project management skills came fully to the fore in organising said drink-fest. There were of course the core essentials of the venue, champagne, awesome food, even more awesome cake. But beyond the obvious were all sorts of little touches: the old photos strung up on the birthday banner, many of which I'd totally forgotten about; the disposable cameras and props for everyone to snap embarrassing and surprising pics of the event; and the jar of handwritten messages, something which I only discovered a read day later after the hangover had dulled down to just a raging headache. I'll lay claim to the pumping soundtrack, but that's the start and end of the work I did on the event (and yes, ok, Vicki, when we call it a mix tape there is no actual tape, but playlist really sounds so lame).

Did I mention the awesome cake at all? Talk about centrepiece - the Cup Cake Tarts outdid themselves on this one, capturing every aspect of Yoli's details to the letter: dual flags across the five and zero; the Dumm Weiss label and miniature bottles; me in cycle gear plus bicycle; and a full set of signposts - LEL, PBP, TB MTB, and RAM. That last one is the only slight hiccup, there's an A missing, and that's fine. In fact it's actually rather fitting, because it's not a goal that can really be talked about yet - only dreamed of.

And then we come to the last, and most important aspect of the party. The amazing gathering of friends who could make it along to celebrate with me. And that's really where my usual talent for excessive verbiage dries out. I have no words to sum up what their presence means to me, not just at the party but in our lives. The seven and a half years since we moved to South Africa have been an incredible ride so far, but I could not possibly call this place home without the friends and family who share it with us.

Thanks guys. Not just for the best 50th party ever, or the far too generous gifts, but for being part of the amazing adventure that is our lives. 

Not quite an Athlete

Those who have been reading this blog from it's early days will be aware of my irrational discomfort with certain names and terms. For some time this held me back from joining my cycling club, the Wannabees, simply because I was hung up over their name. There has been a recurrence of my foolishness over names more recently. On several occasions in the past few weeks I have been referred to as an 'athlete' in conversation. Hearing that word in reference to me quite literally makes me cringe - worse even than the sound of nails scraping down a blackboard. It seems such a disservice to those who  actually are athletes to use it to describe someone who spent 25 years sat at a desk in front of a computer screen and then accidentally chose to take up cycling. The term MAMIL (middle aged man in Lycra) seems far more apt in my case, even if it's harsh accuracy makes me just as uncomfortable.

The reason for mentioning this now is my visit to the torture machine pictured above. Around a week back I signed up with a cycling coach, Erica Green. Erica is the wife of Spook, who along with William has seen to all of my bike setup needs since the whole long distance cycling adventure started for me. As a world class cyclist and former Olympic mountain biker, Erica most definitely has earned the right to be called an athlete. Together with Spook, she now runs Daisyway Coaching, who rather handily for me are a based a few hundred meters down my road. I'm not sure Erica knew what to make of the type of cycling I do - it's quite different from mainstream mountain or road cycling. As our conversation deepened into longer term objectives, I sensed there may be an unspoken question in her mind about my sanity. She certainly wouldn't be the first person to think I may be mad, including me sometimes. Regardless of any doubts, Erica outlined a very professional and structured approach to assessing my needs and building  training plans  - exactly what I had been hoping for from the visit.

My motivation for adding a cycling coach to the help I already get from André with my gym work is simple - I want to improve my speed over distance. If I don't faff too much at controls, the speed I have now will be fine to complete PBP. Even with my sluggish plod around LEL enjoying the food and companionship at controls rather too much, I still crossed the 1230km distance at Market Rasen in under the required 90 hours. But PBP will be different, queues will be longer at controls, and purely for personal satisfaction I'd rather go into the event fitter, faster and better prepared than I was for LEL. I'd like to enjoy the ride more with less stress from time pressures. Being able to sustain a faster pace at the front of the bulge is the most effective way to do this. There are also longer term goals which I have in mind, but in good Audax fashion I'm not going to get ahead of myself by planning beyond the task at hand - the next control along the route, the next event, PBP.

So we come back to the torture machine, and my visit to the Stellenbosch University Sports Physiology Lab. As with buying a power meter (which will be the subject of a future post), I've thought about having my VO2Max tested in the past. Both have seemed rather extravagant though - lots more numbers and stats but with no real context. Now, as part of Erica's structured approach to my training they not only make sense, they're essential. To quote Erica (and others)

'we need to make sure your hard days aren't too easy, and your easy days aren't too hard'.

I must confess that along with hunger and thirst from fasting for the past 3 hours, I was also feeling rather nervous at what the testing would entail and reveal. Fortunately the first past of the test, body composition, was over quickly. It was pleasing to see my overall body fat is nicely low - helped I'm sure by drop of a few kilos from my recent switch to a Banting diet. Even more relieving was being able to quench my thirst, although there was a moment of panic in the lab tech's voice at what might be in my bidon. He was clearly relieved at my answer that it was plain water.

The testing itself was much quicker than I expected - it took almost longer to get the saddle mounted on the infernal pain machine. I was impressed they had the exact model and size I use - a Specialized Romin Evo, 143mm. The machine is initially set at a power of 80W for warmup, and you are instructed to spin above 80rpm. Coming from a regular indoor trainer, it's an extremely odd sensation at first. However fast you pedal, the power stays fixed. Initially it takes a couple of very heavy turns to get the big chain-ring turning - it felt like climbing a steep hill in a big gear. But as the cadence picks up, the pedals spin more freely. It's tempting to say it gets easier, but of course it doesn't. That's an illusion - 80W is 80W, it just feels easier pedalling at 90rpm than 1rpm.

After warmup came the second lactate check - a quick finger tip prick, and a drop of blood is sucked into a hand-held measuring machine, The first attempt before warming up had barely drawn enough blood to measure. But now my heart rate was up the blood flowed easily. The HR strap was already in place, and before the test proper a ventilation mask was attached to measure respiratory response. To describe it as uncomfortable would not do it justice - it was claustrophobic. I was about to be asked to push myself to the max, wearing a gas mask.

The initial level of the test started at 120W I think, and then hopped up to 150W. After this a further increment of 30W was added at around 3 minute intervals. During each interval came another stab at my finger to measure lactate levels. My tempo was comfortable at around 95rpm for the next couple of intervals. As the power increased it dropped a shade to between 90 and 92pm but was still steady. As we headed to 240W I could feel myself slowing and it became a struggle, and when it went to 270W the suffering really started.

Come on Robert, come on, let's complete this interval. Come on, 2 minutes more, half way there, 1 minute to go now, 30 seconds. Come on, come on, you're down to 80rpm, push now, fight for this, come on, just 15 seconds, 10, 5, ...... you're done.

The 80rpm threshold I had been warned ahead of the test was a key indicator. Once I couldn't sustain this cadence or my HR went too far over my predicted maximum the test would be finished.

I wanted to punch the lab tech during every screaming moment of that last interval, but it kept me going. I dug deep and buried myself spurred on by his words of encouragement. My heart was pounding at the end, I later found out we'd hit a max of 189bpm in that last 3 minutes, considerably above the prediction based on my age. I did mess up the heart-rate-recovery measurement by ripping off the mask too soon, a mistake I'll know not to make next time.

My nerves had been misplaced, the stats didn't come out too bad - I'm relatively fit for my age. The lactate threshold level was measured at 210W and my peak power 270W. What's interesting is the last FTP test I did myself gave an estimate of 220W. Given what a crude setup I have, I'm rather surprised this was within 5% of the properly measured level. My lactate heart rate level is considerably different to my last home test though - at 171 vs 153. I'm actually rather surprised it's higher not lower, given that all my recent rides and events have been long and low intensity.

The rest of the stats will now be assessed by Erica in devising a training programme for me. I'm fascinated to see how that maps out. One last part of Friday's lab test visit made me smile though. Towards the back of the test report is a categorisation of your VO2Max level on a colour coded 3D bar chart based showing fitness levels grouped by age. My current level is at the upper end of a rating termed as High - a nice royal blue colour on the bar chart. Just above it is a dark blue set of bars termed Athletic. So it seems in this case, my dislike of inaccurate names is justified, It says it there in blue and white on a properly measured report. I'm not an athlete, at least not yet. 

For the rest of you, it's an adventure ...

 "Just look back at the trailer every now and then to check all the bikes are still on"

And with those words from Laurence's we pulled away from his drive, bikes, kit and team of five all loaded. Five because as well as riders, our team also included Laurence's son, Thomas, who had volunteered as our team support driver. Or maybe he had been volunteered, either way he was an enthusiastic and welcome addition to the team. Initially it had seemed like a support driver was perhaps non essential, but as our planning took shape it became evident that he could be the difference between us finishing or not. And for even this first part, it meant an extra pair of hands to share the 500km odd drive to Willlowmore.

So many things can go wrong in the preparation for a ride - even arriving with a healthy team and a full count of bikes is filled with potential to end an event before it even starts. Laurence's comment was only half serious, but it highlighted how many moving parts have to work perfectly to get to the end of an event. Alarmingly, the B&B I had booked way back in January had closed but the owner Denise, an enormously friendly and helpful lady, had promised she would be re-opening for our team and also for a later booking she had for Karoo 2 Coast. I didn't doubt her words for one second, but I'd be lying if I claimed it hadn't caused me some concern initially. A solid farm dinner and comfy bed for the night would be just the tonic required for the night before our big adventure. And as we rolled up the drive it was clear this was exactly what we were going to get. Joley, one of Denise's neighbours greeted us and left us to get settled in our rooms as she worked on the food.

Verberg Herberg Inn may have been technically closed as a B&B, but it was still stunning and immaculately kept. It was also calm and serene, being around 18km away from the main N9 along a surprisingly well kept gravel road. The first stage of preparation was a success - we were all here, the accommodation was perfect, and we had already swung by Willowmore to register, collect our checkpoint boxes, and have an obligatory beer at the Royal Hotel. Dinner was short but pleasant, initially conversation was fairy lively but as the evening wore on pre-ride nerves started to build, at least for me anyhow. I found myself looking inward and mentally preparing for the ride. Laurence made a couple of valiant attempts to convince me to open the bottle of red wine standing on the table. With 3 beers already inside, I knew it was not the safest of ideas, and reluctantly declined. The checkpoint boxes were already packed, but we still managed a quick check and repack as we headed back to our rooms. I knew we'd recheck them again in the morning too, my mind now fully in going-over-ever-last-detail mode.

The night was chilly, but the bed was comfy with plenty of warm sheets. I did sleep, but in small bursts of at most a couple of hours at a time. I got out of bed every wake-up, and each time the air and floor were noticeably colder - if tomorrow night (or maybe it was tonight) was going to be the same temperature we'd need every stitch of the warm gear squashed down into the box for checkpoint #4. I probably managed about 4 or 5 hours of proper actual sleep by the time the grey dawn light started peeping through the curtains and I heard showers firing up in the other room and footsteps wandering up and down outside. The endless churning and reworking of our ride had at least highlighted one major mistake on my part. As well as the spare light, I had also stashed all the spare batteries in the box for checkpoint #4. We would be unlikely to actually need these this early in the ride, meaning we would then either have to carry them as extra dead weight, or leave them in the box rendering them unavailable for later in the ride. It could have been a fatal mistake, and as soon as Penny knocked on my door for milk, I dashed around to her room to retrieve the items and put them in my kit bag which we would see with Tom a further 35km down the trail at checkpoint #5.

Breakfast done, fresh coffee and soup in the flasks for later, we loaded up and rolled out somewhere around 7:30  - the last short stretch in a car until sometime in the small hours of the morning the next day. Our first mechanical was already waiting to be fixed on the trailer behind. I had lashed one of the bikes down too tight, which had pushed the tyre away from the rim, breaking the seal and causing all air to escape. Luckily it was my bike so I hadn't messed up someone else's ride before it started. Even more fortunate was that Laurence knew how to deal with tubeless tyres and after several pumps up to high pressure, bangs, knocks, and bouncy rides up the road, we had the bead reseated and sealed on the rim. I kept the tyre at high pressure though - it would be easier to drop the pressure later assuming the seal held than try and reseat the tyre again with a limited supply of bombs and a handpump. Whilst I was stressing over getting the tyre sorted, the guys were all kitted up, checkpoint boxes handed in, and we were ready to part company with Tom until sometime later that day. My estimate was we'd see him between 8 and 9pm at checkpoint #5, but all being rookies, we really had no idea what lay ahead.



"For a few of you this will be a race, for the rest of you this is an adventure"

Came the well practiced words of Wikus, the ride organiser, as he set us off at bang on 10am. We'd been standing around getting nervous for close on an hour by then so it was good to finally get rolling. The whole team together, all in great shape, and all looking mighty fine in the CSM team shirts that Vicki had got for us courtesy of her company. I'd mumbled something insignificant by way of an attempted team talk a few minutes earlier, but it was those words from Wikus that really set the scene and resonated in my head as we started off down the main street. Very soon we swung left to swap tar for dirt road. Although I'd ridden far further on a road bike, 230km on dusty, corrugated gravel was going to be a major test.

Initially we were all together, but where the trial forked left at the Uniondale turn a pattern emerged that would remain for the opening section of the ride - Penny and I riding a steady pace at the back and Vicki and Laurence were pulling strongly somewhere up ahead. There were times we rode all 4 together, but often we were split in 2 groups of 2. It didn't trouble me at all, I knew from our training rides we all rode very different paces, and I always expected to be the slower or slowest rider.  I also knew that if I went out too hard, I'd be struggling at the end. We regrouped many times though, and finally at 26km in we hit the top of Nuwekloof Pass, marking the end of the gradual climb we had been labouring up since the start. According to the profile, for most of the next 100km, the trail was predominantly downhill.

As we started the wonderful descent of the pass, the scenery became more rugged and stunning. High red and orange cliffs rising around us as the trail twisted and looped downward. It was fast, and at times bone-shakingly bumpy. I stopped for a moment to drop the pressure a tad in my tyres, and also switch my suspension into Trail mode, softening it from Climb, more efficient and less bouncy for the uphills but way too harsh for this stretch. Penny, being less experienced on the mountain bike, was rather more nervous on the descent, so I throttled back my speed to make sure she was coming down safely.

Eventually the trail flattened out at the bottom of the pass, and we found ourselves pulling into an unpleasantly strong headwind. I was concentrating hard on finding the smoothest line through the gravel, at times it was nothing more than a wheels width of stones flattened by riders in front. The bunches snaked across the road and back, the lead rider picking the easiest line and everyone behind following. Despite the wind the bunches were traveling pretty fast, and I was enjoying myself rather too much. Penny had dropped back, and I realised she probably had a point - we weren't even 50km into the ride, and this pace was too high to be sustainable. I geared back and Penny and I rode together. Her 26er was also not as optimum for pulling hard and fast over flat terrain as the 27.5 Vicki and I were riding or the 29er Laurence was on. That would even out though as the terrain and road became more lumpy later in the ride.

We really should have consulted our distance before taking a short pee stop. Hidden around a corner less than 500m up the track from where we pulled over, were Vicki & Laurence waiting for us to enter the first checkpoint. I had to laugh, they'd waited some minutes longer than needed if we'd only pushed on that short section around the corner. We were all together now though, and quickly topped up bottles, and grabbed some food. I made the immediate decision I was not going to worry about Banting foods for today, and grabbed one of the sandwiches on offer. Keeping my fuel topped up regularly seemed way more important than worrying about avoiding carbs.

Straight out of the checkpoint was a climb, not hugely long or especially steep, but definitely enough to test the legs. It seemed a long, hot and dusty 50km from there to checkpoint #2. For the majority of it though we rode together, Vicki had dropped back somewhat, and mentioned to Penny she had hit a bit of a low spot, feeling the early pace. We all backed off and took it steadily. Luckily the profile was mostly downhill. After what seemed like an age, we eventually passed Baviaanskloof police station, and a little beyond it came the gate marking the start of the wilderness section. We'd be in national park from here until Patensie at the other side of the kloof. The gravel road immediately gave way to a much narrower and rougher 4x4 trail, an early warning of the terrain that lay ahead.

We splashed through the first couple of river crossings, much shallower than typical for the time of year, still enough to wet the shoes and back though. We also navigated the first section where road and river bed were one and the same. I'd been rather nervous about these stretches - two long ruts of smooth, rounded river bed rocks, some of which were pretty large. The Giant Anthem came into it's own here though, the larger wheels rolling over them beautifully. I knew this would be the case with momentum, but what surprised me was how stable the ride was even when my speed dropped. Not once did the bike stall out or feel like it would grab a rock or topple - it just ploughed on rolling over every rock and boulder in it's path. By the time I powered up and out of the river bed, the gritted teeth had given way to a stupidly broad grin across my face - this was fun! I came up to Vicki and Laurence, and with Penny just behind we rode into checkpoint #2 together. Not before time too, we were all starting to run low on water by this stage.

Vicki had commented before the ride that checkpoint #2 was a sugar-only stop. She wasn't wrong - jelly babies, marshmallows, bananas, orange segments, coke. Carbs and sugar were all around. On the way to top up water bottles and backpack, I grabbed a couple of orange segments and a banana, and did also sneak down a couple of jelly babies. Laurence had retrieved our box, and we all topped up jersey pocket with snacks etc. Penny had also stashed a bottle of frozen milk in each box too, as a proper low carber unlike me this was one of her vital fuel sources. I vaguely remember her remarking it was still frozen. Keen to keep moving, Laurence chivvied us along, returning the box and ushering us back to our bikes. Exiting the checkpoint we collected the first sticker for our team token, a round disc of plastic on a lanyard which had to be conveyed to the end of the ride with all stickers attached to validate our passage. It was safely stowed in the top pocket of my Camelbak before we started off again.

Soft, deep sand, followed by another stiff climb - seemingly a theme for the location of the checkpoints. I knew the climb was not nearly big enough to be Baviaans Back, but as I puffed to the top I was kind of wishing I was wrong. Sadly I wasn't, and worse was to come before we did reach the actual climb. In a moment of silliness I pushed too hard in too big a gear on the smallest of ramps a little way down the trail and a sharp cramp shot through my left quad. A couple of kilometers further on the trail turned upwards for the climb proper, and my right quad was tightening in sympathy. This was not good - barely half way into the ride, and with all the big hills still ahead. On any normal ride, my spirits would have sunk at this point. Except this was no normal ride - it was a team ride, and Vicki was there just behind me. It was a great relief. She was more than capable of powering up the climb, but sensing my physical and mental distress, she had sat back and chaperoned me the whole way to the top.

Somehow, despite the tightness, neither leg seized fully - the slope was just shallow enough to be able to stay in a low gear and keep spinning lightly. I even passed a couple of 26ers on the last stretch to the top where Penny and Laurence were waiting. It was a worry though, MAC (Mother of All Climbs) lay ahead, which even without crampy legs would have been a test. For now though, we had a lovely fast descent down towards checkpoint #3. We hadn't seen much wildlife so far, although buffalo spoor was evident along the trail. Towards the bottom of the run down though a female kudu flashed across the trail. She was several meters ahead of Vicki, but at the speed we were descending, it was literally a couple of seconds from colliding with her. Gradually the light was fading, and shadows lengthening. Drifting smoke and the smell of braai meat announced our entry to checkpoint #3. Just in time to fit the lights we'd need for the rest of the ride.

We each collected coffee, sosaties, potatoes and other snacks, Laurence was rather miffed that he'd been flatly refused a second sosatie due to rationing for all the riders, whereas Vicki had managed to grab two without complaint. It took us some time to get all the lights and batteries mounted. Laurence's back light was rather patchy, so I attached my spare to the loops on his backpack. Exiting the checkpoint gave us our next sticker, and something of a surprise. One of the volunteers was pouring shots of Witblits. It was harsh, firey, and a great kick to the pants to get the next leg of the ride going.

We needed that shooter almost immediately. Ahead was my biggest fear going into the ride - another stretch of river boulders, but this time the riding surface was invisible under about half a meter of water. To make matters even more interesting, Laurence stood ready to take pictures of us as we rode down into the water. Nerved by the water, Penny almost immediately splashed a foot down. The temperature was starting to drop, and wet feet were the last thing I wanted. It was a long stretch as well - too long to just charge through and power out the other side. With no way of knowing whether you were heading for a big rock or a deep hole under the water there was nothing to do but hold your nerve and ride steadily through, hoping you had a good line. A couple of times my front wheel stuttered into, over or around some hidden obstruction, but somehow the bike just kept going until eventually we hopped over a short concrete lip, up and out of the other side of the river. Any idea of dry feet was gone though, the water was deep enough that my shoes were just as soaked as Penny's.

No sooner than we'd negotiated the water torture than we were onto the first of the Fangs - two short sharp climbs softening us up before the biggest hill of the day. I think I managed to ride the first of them, but part way up the second a short steep section with a sketchy surface was too much for the still crampy legs. Where normally I'd just have powered up to get over rougher terrain, the tightness in my quads simply did not make this a viable option. By the top of the second Fang the light was almost gone - riders all around were firing up lights, and we lit ours up too as the team gathered at the top. I knew Penny would be nervous descending in the dark, and so we all hung back a bit to give a better view of the trail from our combined lights.

The last rays of daylight had gone and it was fully dark as we started the Mother of All Climbs. All that we could see was a twisting ribbon of lights winding up and over themselves and seemingly right up into the stars. It was a simply stunning sight, and at the same time a rather daunting one. We still had to get up there! Initially both Penny and I were going well, but as the gradient pitched up and surface deteriorated we both dismounted more and more often, until eventually we were just walking. I wasn't surprised, or even unhappy really. My legs just did not have enough to spin up this section, but I was worried about how much time it would take us walking. This was a long long climb. Penny did point out that we weren't actually that much slower than our pedalling speed had been though, which made me feel better. We met up with Laurence and Vicki at one point, both of whom had managed to ride to that stage and had waited some time for us. The view was even more stunning from here - a wiggling line of white lights coming up the hill behind, and a matching line of red tail lights rising up ahead the other.

Laurence rode on but I seem to recall Vicki stayed walking with us for a while. Eventually we swung right past a parking spot, and the gradient eased. I took a rare glance at the distance screen on my Garmin. It was clear the checkpoint was still a couple of kilometers ahead. There was simply no point walking this section, so we all mounted and ground up the easier and flatter final part of the climb. Ahead was an initially confusing sight - a line of riders both coming and going along a path to the left. It was the panhandle turn into checkpoint #4. Laurence was grinning at the end of the short grassy track - clearly pleased with himself at managing to cycle the whole of the climb. I'd have loved to had the legs to do the same, but at that point in time only two thoughts were going through my head: MAC was behind us; and the legendary Bergplaas soup was waiting for us inside the checkpoint.

"Let's find a spot to sit and take a few minutes to rest here and gather ourselves"

It wasn't just the soup that was warm and welcoming. Our chief whip Laurence had suddenly mellowed, and everyone sounded very relieved to be able to linger and faff for a little while. Whilst we sat and sipped soup and coffee, two cups of each in my case, we also raided our final checkpoint box for the warm clothing we'd packed the night before. It was perfect timing, the sweat from the climb was already starting to become cold and clammy in the suddenly quite chilly night air. I even managed a quick call home, this being the one spot in the kloof to have a cell phone signal. In fact, I caught Henri first, Yoli's brother - the whole family were gathered for a braai. By the time Yoli herself came to the phone she was in a bit of a panic.

"What went wrong, why didn't you finish?"

I had forgotten I'd said there would be no cellphone signal and would only be ringing if I'd pulled out of the ride. Oops! Once the panic subsided, Yoli was very happy to hear about our great progress and what a stunning ride we were enjoying. A quick chat and goodnight with Ben was the perfect last tonic to get me up on my feet again and starting to kit up ready to ride. Laurence had also taken the chance to call Thomas and update him on our progress. It was already somewhere after 9pm, and there was still 35km to go until checkpoint #5. My estimate had been hopeless. I felt rather bad - Tom was going to be in for a long night supporting us.

"Oh crap!"

I'd made a potentially disastrous mistake. The mount for my spare front light was still empty - and Vicki had already returned our checkpoint box. What an idiot. Desperate to correct my mistake, I raced back through the crowds at the checkpoint and just managed to recover box #59 as it was being stowed back on the truck. I grabbed it, got the cable tie snipped, whipped out the light and batteries, and dashed back to get the box back on the truck. An immense sense of relief came over me as I got back to the bike, and we mounted up and rode out. At this stage I had no idea just how lucky I was managing to get our box back and retrieve the light.

Trans Baviaans had taken on something of a mythical status in my mind over the years since I'd first heard about it, the ride so far had already lived up too and exceeded every expectation I'd had of it. What was to to come next though totally blew me away. I knew the descent from MAC was steep, rough and twisty over the opening kilometers. It hadn't occurred to me though what a stunning view this would yield. The dark outline of the mountain was barely visible ahead, and the myriad stars of the Milky Way shimmered in the night sky above. In a weird sense of symmetry, hundreds of tiny lights were picking out the trail beneath diving around successive switchbacks. In a split second, we became part of that chain of earthbound stars. The track was rough, and potholed, and required a lot of concentration to spot riding lines over, through and down the ruts and rocky drops. It was an absolute blast - letting off the brakes and flying down the track, pulling a short sharp blast on the levers to wash off some speed ahead of the next bend, sighting a line through the bend, backing off the brakes, and feeling the bike surge smoothly around the small berms through the corner.

I joked to Laurence not to touch his brake discs for fear of melting his gloves. I'm sure with the speeds we were carrying and the sharp bursts of braking they would be riding pretty hot by now. I'd forgotten myself though, or rather my team. This was in places a tricky technical descent, and Penny had never ridden off road in the dark. I dropped back and as she caught up took up a somewhat slower pace so that she could follow my line and lights down the rest of the hill. It was over too soon. Even with my crampy legs, if we'd had the chance I'd have gone straight back up again for one more turn down the fairy-light roller coaster. Everyone had talked about how stiff a climb MAC is, but no one had mentioned what an absolute ripper it was to fly down.

Something I discovered on LEL was that I absolutely love night riding - I often have my best sections in the dark hours. Maybe it was just this, or maybe it was the magic soup at the last checkpoint - but as the trail leveled at the bottom of MAC my energy levels and spirits rose. My leg muscles may have had some residual tightness in them, but this was now my sort of riding - short rolling ramps, and long stretches of fast and steady cadence riding.  The pedaling felt effortless and we were motoring at last. For the first time also I was absolutely comfortable with our pace. It may have been fast, but with the experience of all those Audax miles, I knew what sustainable felt like. Our pace picked up even more was we hit smooth tar for the last kilometer or so to the next checkpoint.

I forget if Vicki's or Laurence's battery pack had started failing first, but by the time we pulled into checkpoint #5 both were running out.. Not only was Tom there wide awake and waiting for us, but his support immediately became essential at keeping our ride on track as we retrieved the spare battery pack from the trailer for one of the guys. Donating the battery pack from my light completed our set again, with me switching to the spare light we had so narrowly managed to recover from our crate at the previous checkpoint. As a precaution I also grabbed all of the extra batteries for my spare light - with a limited life of around a couple of hours, several might be needed. As we sorted ourselves out Tom told us a bit about his journey. We had ridden 175km to this spot, but the support drivers route had taken Tom around 500km to get to the same spot. Even with a detour into Jeffrey's Bay it was a startling difference in distance. His commitment to our support was such that there wasn't a hint of complaint in his tone describing the massive roundabout tour to reach us. As we chatted I sloshed back two more cups of coffee and stuffed down a white roll filled with chips. Definitely nothing low carb about my ride fueling plan now, but I didn't care. I was over my slight slump from earlier, and was loving the riding.

The checkpoint was bright and buzzing and in one corner a solo guitarist was belting out live music to complete the party atmosphere. It would have been all too easy to linger until the 3am closing time for the control and just enjoy the festivities. Our ride was far from done though, ahead lay 65km more riding including a substantially lumpy section known as the Never Ending Climb which would start almost as soon as we left the checkpoint.  According to the route profile, it looked like we would be climbing for a significant part of the next 30km. It was time to get started, and we rolled back out into the night, collecting the next sticker for our team token on the way.

Never Ending Climb was not inaccurately named. There were a couple of short flat or downhill sections, but mostly it was just a very long steady grind. At least my prediction that it couldn't possibly be that steep with it being so long proved to be largely accurate - aside from a few very short sections, the gradient was kind and it was easy to keep a nice light spinning cadence. My quads were extremely thankful of this. Somewhere en route to seeing Tom at checkpoint #7 there was something referred to as the unmanned checkpoint #6. I knew we were nearing it, and seeing a large orange red glow on the hillside to our left I mentioned to the team that maybe the checkpoint was up ahead. In between bouts of hysterical laughter, the guys pointed out to me that what I was looking at was in fact the pale glow of the moon rising up above the mountain side ahead. Oops! My distant vision with contact lenses is never brilliant, but even with trail dust and tired eyes it was a pretty epic mistake to make.

When we did eventually reach checkpoint #6 it was rather disappointing. A simple table planted at the side of the track, with an empty plastic container screwed to the top. There was no sign of the stickers which should have been inside for our team token. Clearly someone had miscounted, or stolen them. It was rather pointless really. The stop did give us a chance to look at Laurence's light though - the bolt holding the mount had sheared off. Digging down into my Camelpak we managed to find enough cable ties to make a temporary fix. The war of attrition on our front lights was not letting up - we were two battery packs down, and now a broken lamp. It took me a few minutes to figure out what we could do by way of a longer term fix. Then it came to me. I'd tossed my main light back into the trailer when it became redundant as we swapped battery packs around at the last checkpoint. We'd be seeing Tom again a short way down the trail. We could retrieve it again, and swap out Laurence's broken front light. Somehow we'd skate through another front light issue thanks to the stalwart presence of our backup driver down the road.

"When was the last time you rode past midnight into the next day"

I chirped at some stage as we freewheeled rapidly towards checkpoint #7. We were now well into the small hours of Sunday morning, and I was really starting to feel strong. I'm not sure if my exuberance and irrepressible chattiness was starting to get on the nerves of my team mates, but they were too polite to say anything. Instead they answered back that it was a first for all of them - Laurence went further that it was a day of firsts; longest time on a mountain bike; longest ride of any kind; and first ride spanning two days. He may have listed a couple more which I've forgotten. It seemed I wasn't the only one in good spirits.

Very soon the the slight glow of the lights of Jeffrey's Bay were visible as we rolled left into checkpoint #7. A little later on as we sat on hay bales eating delicious Jaffels, Tom was able to explain the strange alien red lights we'd been seeing to our right on the run down to the checkpoint. They were lights on the massive propeller blades of a huge wind farm on the hills around the town. We sat for a few minutes and savoured this last checkpoint. It was a small affair by contrast to checkpoint #5 had been back near Patensie. In place of the party spirit though, a tremendous warmth and spirit seemed to enshroud everyone there, riders and volunteers. None of us were quite sure exactly how far it was to the finish - estimates ranged from between 20 and 30km. But the fact remained, we were within striking distance of the end now. A couple more hours on the bike and, barring mechanicals, we would have completed the legend - our team would have ridden Trans Baviaans.

"Let's do this, let's finish this thing"

Laurence's words stirred us, and we kitted up and rolled down the grassy field into the darkness again. The path swung left and wound past some posts with automated flash cameras on them. Just around the corner the reason for this route out of the checkpoint became clear, it took us onto a farm track through a tunnel under the highway. The ride organisers had done an amazing job keeping us off tar and on trails, even on these approaches into Jeffrey's Bay itself.

For several kilometers we rode along, down and around a succession of farm tracks. Bizarrely it seemed for quite a while that not only were we not actually getting closer to Jeffrey's Bay, but we also seemed to be continuously riding along the same wind farm. I'm not sure if it was a trick of the mind from so long on the bike, or just that it was one humungous wind farm, but we did eventually leave it behind us. Not before one last evil climb though, the aptly named mini-MAC - steep, rough, but thankfully short. I took a run at the opening stage, and flashed past quite a few riders as I did, but I didn't quite have the legs to keep the momentum going and walked the last section. Sure enough, there was Laurence grinning again at the top. None of the climbs had beaten him, and this was most definitely the last one.

It wasn't the last test though. In one last effort to keep us off tar road, the planners threw us onto  10km of single track following the railway line into the town. I swapped out my front light battery for a fresh one and waited for Penny. I knew her battery pack could not have much life left in it, and the single track would not be here favourite section even in daylight. She rode in front of me the last couple of kilometers. I had to smile too. Despite doubting her abilities on technical sections, she was going well and it was one of the guys in front of her who actually fell off, swearing as he went down. Whereas Penny came through strongly and unscathed. Her light held out just long enough to see us back over the railway line, and onto smooth tar road for the final run home.

"You're there, you've done it, this is the end"

A welcoming confirmation from the marshal signalling our route into Fountains Mall. Across a short patch of grass, down a kerb, one left, one right through the car park, and there was the big red arch marking the finish. We adjusted our pace to match each other, lined up four abreast, and crossed the line together. The time was somewhere past 3:30am. We hadn't broken any records, and we were way over the time we'd contemplated when planning the event. We were also clearly at the tail of the finishers (someone mentioned to Vicki there were still 170 riders out behind us). None of that mattered one jot though. We'd had no punctures, no mechanicals that we couldn't fix, no accidents or injuries, and to cap it all off the weather had been sublime the whole way. The ride could not have gone better.  Everyone was smiling as the photographer snapped our picture. The smiles were still there as we sat on the kerb munching on Spur burgers and fries and reminiscing over the ride. I took a quick glance at the medal as we were sitting there waiting for Tom. It was just another medal, no bigger or more striking than any other on my shelf - but it was special all the same. This was a bucket list ride medal, setting it apart from most of the others, aside from perhaps DC and LEL.

After a short delay rousing him from a well earned nap, Tom arrived to haul our tired bodies back to the apartment which he had already checked us into and dropped our gear at.  Sadly the celebration would have to wait though - for two reasons in fact. Firstly was that my coolbag contained a now toxic explosion of burst beer bottles, leaking thawed out curry, and broken cool brick gel. The smell was overpowering and I quickly gave up trying to salvage any of it. The champagne had survived, but was warm. Before we had time to even contemplate whether we drank it anyway though, the lights went out.

"The power wasn't supposed to be going out until tomorrow morning" commented Tom

"Err, it is tomorrow morning" someone pointed out, possibly it was me

We had no torches or candles, and there was no one around to get any from. Clearly we were not meant to be partying tonight. We each showered off the caked on trail grime to the dim glow of our cellphones and crashed in our rooms. That wind farm may have been massive, but clearly it wasn't quite big enough.

We did get to celebrate though, later on Sunday when we arrived back at Laurence's house. I needed a lift from Yoli to get me and the bike home anyway, so I convinced her to bring Ben over so we could at least crack the Champagne Laurence's wife Chris also joined us, and there we sat, gathered around with drinks in hand and chatting about the ride and sharing the highlights. I'd imagined many things about Trans Baviaans over the years, and the ride had lived up to all of them. The aspect I had never considered though was that in every respect it was a team ride - everyone looking out for each other. Sitting there on Laurence's balcony in the cool evening air, it struck me how much greater the event had been because of that. An amazing adventure shared with a superb group of friends.

A bit of a Monster

Somehow, throughout the whole year so far I've completely forgotten to even mention a ride that has established itself as one of my main objectives for the year. In fact it's a significant bucket list ride in it's own right too, making it's omission from this journal an even greater oversight. So to avoid next week's blog entry appearing totally out of context, and the whole story of how came into being remaining untold, it's time for a rapid catchup.

Towards the end of 2013 I was still suffering a fair degree of post-LEL pain. With no road rides on the horizon to prepare for, it seemed rather pointless to keep punishing myself on the road bike. It was simply time to relax and enjoy riding purely for the fun of it again, and with this in mind one Friday afternoon in late November found me at the back of the garage digging a rather sad, dusty and neglected mountain bike. My hardly used Specialized Stumpjumper had been languishing there since the Audax bug had bitten. That needed to change. Some air went in the tyres, lube on the chain and it was ready to ride. At some point it also took a trip to William's to have the slime replaced, and a dropper seatpost fitted too.

The first few rides were simple orientation to the local club trails - great fun, a few spills, and in general a lot of smiles being offroad and in beautiful scenery again. No stresses or pressures to the riding, just simply enjoying being out on the bike. And then sometime in December 2013 the club announced their Monster ride. For the very brave, a loop around every stretch of the club's trails - around 90km in total. Even with my road endurance I knew that would way beyond me, so I opted for the mini-Monster - a slightly shorter version at 55km. It was still around double the sorts of distances I was normally used to riding on a mountain bike though. Unsurprisingly, the legs and lungs really felt it on the day - not to mention the fact that the last couple of hours were in the full heat of a summer scorcher.

One of the drawbacks with writing this so many months after the event is I don't really remember much in the way of details to the ride, or the names of those I rode with. I do remember our bunch started at a healthy 15 or 20 riders, but a slow attrition of riders saw us down to 3 or 4 finishing those last few kilometers together. I do recall a great spirit amongst those of us who finished together several hours later, and that the guys were Stellenbosch riders since we spoke about G-spot which I knew about but had not yet ridden. I also recall a spectacular and quite nasty tumble off the side of the trail and into the vines. The trail came downhill and swung left 90 degrees. I carried too much speed into the corner and took my eye off the line through the bend. The result was my wheels strayed off the flat trail, and lost traction as they slipped down the bank on the far side. It was fast, and painful, and left both legs bloodied and shorter of skin than I'd have liked.

Despite the injuries, the seed of an idea had been set - with the tail end of 2014 likely to involve a lot of time on the road bike qualifying for PBP, why not spend the first half of the year mountain biking rather than getting sick of riding the same road routes. By Christmas that idea had grown into a full fledged goal - instead of just a vague plan do more mountain biking, why not aim at a real challenge? Why not take on the daunting 230km Trans Baviaans 24 hour marathon - a race that had been on my bucket list pretty much since moving to South Africa. I mentioned the idea at the coffee stop on one of our Wednesday club rides, and the words were barely out of my mouth before Penny and Laurence had signed up to be part of the team. Initially Adele also showed some interest and our whole team was made up of Wednesday group road riders. When she later had to pull out there was no shortage of interest in a place for this prestigious and over-subscribed ride, and our spare team spot was snapped up by Vicki Mohr. We couldn't have wished for a better substitute - keen, fit mentally very tough, and a great personality to have on the team.

I must confess I wobbled a little in my commitment during the early months of the year and nearly pulled out. Not because of lack of interest in the ride, but the Joburg 600 DNF dented my confidence and for a moment I wobbled. I wondered if I was becoming distracted doing and risking my qualification for PBP. The successful UK 400 put all those doubts behind me though and I started really looking forward to the ride, and getting the team together to train for it. In fact, my enthusiasm was back to such an extent that it was time for an N+1 moment. Whilst Stumpy was a lovely ride, the 26er was never going to be the ideal tool for this type of ride. I needed no further excuse to go and buy the Giant Anthem 27.5 which I'd surveyed longingly several time on visits to Williams. I didn't even get a chance to name the lovely new ride - Ben beat me to it: Blou Wildebees or Beast for short.  It would have been a stroke of genius for anyone, but for a 5 year old it's quite remarkable. He barely took a minute to come up with the name too - and it even has the right colour in it!

So here we are, almost caught up. Trans Baviaans is around the corner. We have not trained that often as a team, but we're all pretty fit and strong. The rides we have had have gone well though, including an epic adventure day around Botelary Hills trails organised by Laurence. Eight months ago Yoli, Riku, Erie and the kids and myself were sitting at the campsite at Gariep Dam. I was tapping away on our little travel laptop, desperately hoping the 3G connection would last long enough to get our team entry submitted. Somehow it did, and somehow the time between then and now had gone. Tomorrow we would be loading up the car and heading off to Willowmore to take part in one of the greatest mountain bike adventure rides in the country.

Dusk Til Dawn

(aka East Anglia Isn't Flat)

It was around 9:30pm as I rolled out of the 4th control on the Asparagus & Strawberries 400. Wells Next The Sea had provided a warm fish and chip shop, a very welcome helping of pie and chips, and some stunning sunset views out over the mud flats to the North Sea beyond. Now, back on the bike, with 220km ridden, the long night time stretch across Thetford Chase lay ahead.

A few kilometers outside Wells I pulled over to the side of the road - a rickety gate stood lopsidedly guarding an otherwise nondescript muddy entrance to a farmer's field. The location may have been random but it had a very specific purpose. The sun was down and the light fading fast, a perfect time for a quick goodnight call home to Yoli before darkness engulfed my ride.

We chatted hastily about the ride so far - somehow I had messed up the live GPS tracker, so only the few photos and messages I had sent from earlier controls had kept her in touch with how the ride was going. I'd flown a long way from South Africa to do this ride. OK I'd used the excuse of visiting my mother and cousin Bron, but a significant factor was the opportunity to get a long Audax under my belt. The Cape Winter would soon close in and shutdown any local long distance rides, and I desperately needed to restore some confidence before PBP qualifiers started. Yoli would want to know the journey and time out to do the ride had been worth it.

The ride had started earlier in the day, a very wet 9am departure from Manningtree Station. Despite the inclement weather, a large gathering of riders were already on the station platform as Phil and I wheeled bikes down to where our controller, Tom Deakins, was dishing out brevet cards. We gathered ours, wound our way back out of the station, mounted up and headed off. I knew we wouldn't be in company for very long with our different riding speeds, but we managed some lively banter for the first 20km or so before inevitably the bunch started to fragment and I found myself slowly slipping backwards in the jettisoned tail. I made no effort to keep up - I had every intention of using as much of the time allowance as I needed to complete the 400km ahead.

The rain persisted for the majority of the first 56km to Ixworth control. With no cafe open, the village shop was overrun with fellow riders grabbing snacks and the all important till receipt containing date, time and location to mark proof of our passage. It had stopped raining briefly as I stood outside the shop eating a pork pie and drinking a strawberry milk - another resolution from the Joburg DNF was to eat and drink well at every control.

The weather gradually lifted along the next leg to Halesworth - at first becoming showers, and then drying up to a beautiful sunny day. The wind however was rather less pleasant. The route had swung east for this part of the ride, placing us almost directly into the wind, bringing my speed down drastically. A couple of times I hooked briefly onto the tail of a passing group, but on each occasion the need to conserve myself for the rest of the ride overtook the brief respite from the wind. I knew we'd swing north and then west again after the control, so I only had to survive these few kilometers of slog before getting a break and an easier run.

The route through Halesworth took us along a pedestrian precinct, and a veritable surfeit of pubs and coffee shops at which to take a break from the bike, fuel up, and gather the next receipt for our cards. It reminded me of collecting clues in a treasure hunt. I chose a cafe with a large number of other audax riders, and grabbed coffee and a toastie.  The food and drink took a while to arrive, and I sat waiting with a fellow rider named Richard. We'd ridden together for a short section on the run into Halesworth, and would also ride out of the town together for a few kilometers until our relative speeds diverged.

Solo riding was something I'd enjoyed on LEL, and it was a concious decision for the day to ride along at my own speed regardless of that meaning I would mostly be riding alone. I wasn't feeling hugely energetic, and there was still almost 300km to go. Any attempt to ride at someone else's pace would spell certain disaster later in the ride.

The section to Acle was a true delight - glorious weather, sublimely picturesque villages, and the ridiculously quaint Reedham Ferry carrying us across the western edge of the Norfolk Broads. The day had warmed enough to lose a few layers, and my South Africa shirt now being visible drew some interesting comments from the other riders crossing the ferry with me. I don't think many actually believed me that I'd flown over from Cape Town to do the ride, aside from Tom who knew differently having swapped emails with me during registration. There was also the usual mix of bemused looks from the car drivers we chatted too on the ferry when they discovered how far we would be riding. Audax distances just don't make sense to normal people.

Acle control was unremarkable - a small triangle of village green outside the local shop littered with fellow riders chatting, eating, and relaxing in the late afternoon sun, . It was pleasant but also sadly becoming actually littered by us as the bin filled to overflowing with empty sandwich packs and bottles. Each of us did our best to squash them down and limit the overspill. After collecting my receipt, I stuffed down a Thai chicken wrap and another flavoured milk before heading out again.

I'd been looking forward to reaching Wells all day - both for the mental lift of turning around half way and heading south again, and also for the chance to sit down to a hot meal. As it turned out, this leg of the ride proved unexpectedly hard. Although having no actual climbs, the East Anglian terrain had risen and fallen all day, and this stretch seemed to be one long continuous stretch of short but challenging rollers. With my Garmin displaying it's usual map and no distance indicators, I'd also mistaken the distance of the leg too. In my head I'd imagined it around 50 or 60km, but in fact it was closer to 80. By the time I reached Melton Constable this was beginning to play on my mind. I still wasn't really feeling that strong - any attempt to raise my effort level felt almost impossible. I knew it would be a mistake to slog on, so I pulled across to the village shop for a short break.

The storm clouds had returned - it had rained on me heavily before the stop, and was raining again as I stood outside the shop drinking a Powerade and eating a Snickers. I was wet already though, so standing in the downpour really made no difference to matters and the sugar rush was doing wonders for my spirits.

The remaining 20km or so to Wells was a shower dodging experience, the route seemed to follow an almost exact line under the break between the storm clouds and clear skies. At times I was on the wrong side of this line getting drenched again, at others I was bathed in a warm orange evening sunlight. I don't remember many details of the scenery along this stretch, but I vividly remember seeing a sign saying Wells Road. It was on top of the last roller, and as a result rather unnecessary. Ahead and slightly below me I could already see the houses of the port and the coast beyond. The negative feelings and doubts that had traveled with me for the first half of the ride to this point vanished immediately, and permanently. The mood of my whole ride changed there and then as I freewheeled down to the quay side and the welcome sight of the warm and inviting fish and chip shops. I used the cheapo lock to chain up my bike before heading in - not because I really believed I needed too, but more to justify carrying it on the ride.

Fish is a problem for me. Not as a general thing, I love it. But when it comes to Audaxing, it carries an unpleasant memory. It was the last thing I ate on LEL at Market Rasen before getting sick. Despite looking delicious, I simply couldn't bring myself to order it. There is no logic to this. The pie and sausage I ordered instead were probably loaded with things more likely to make me ill. But I had no desire to jinx my ride having just got my spirits back on track. A couple of local lads were in the queue behind me looking at all these odd people in wet and ragged cycle clothes. After asking me about our ride, one of them offered to drive me back to Manningtree for 60 quid. They weren't joking either. I was very glad for my improved mood - if I'd met them outside the shop in Melton Constable, I may well not have been able to resist their offer.

Soon after I was standing by the farm gate, quickly updating Yoli on the ride so far. I was glad to be able to genuinely sound in such good spirits as I delivered the edited highlights. It was a rather odd feeling. She would going to bed after our call, whereas I would be riding on through the night until she woke up again.

The change into thermals and a warm shirt at Wells was perfectly timed, but I was still rather chilly. It was a worry because I knew the forecast was for the night to grow much colder. The temperature was probably around 9C by this time but a low of 5C had been predicted. It had definitely been a planning error not to include leg warmers, even though I'd have struggled to fit them in my new saddle bag. The only option was to pick my pace up and pedal a bit harder to warm myself up from the inside.

Luckily the food from the Wells control was delivering plenty of energy to help me do that. Also fortunate was that the terrain became much gentler a few kilometers outside Wells, varying from slight undulations to almost totally flat. There was no wind either. All of this added up to a magic feeling of flying along into a tunnel of my own light ahead. In some ways it reminded me of the time-trial stretch into Moffat on LEL, but it was very different too. I vaguely remember the orange streetlight glow of the odd town or village on this stretch. My overriding memory though is riding alone, with long sections flanked by trees - wonderful damp woodland smell surrounding me, the silence of my thoughts only occasionally broken by a hoot or screech of an owl. At one point I'm sure I heard the distinctive call of a nightjar also.

It was a long and peaceful leg, but eventually I found myself circumnavigating an enormous airfield - even before the signs I recognized it as RAF Mildenhall. Unlike most things from your childhood though, this felt way bigger than I remembered. It seemed to take an age to cycle past the airstrip and all the various entry gates. The time taken was probably something of an illusion - I knew Barton Mills control was not far beyond, and the impatience of wanting to get there probably made the remaining distance feel greater than it actually was.

I rolled into the garage forecourt to a very welcome sight - other riders were inside. The control was more than just a receipt with a time. It was actually open. As well as food, there were chairs and warmth inside, and some company. I can only recall seeing one other rider on the previous - coming out of a farm gateway from a nap. I'm sure there were more, but it had been a very solitary section. Some banter would be very welcome, not least because we were now past midnight and the brain could do with some exercise.

We sat, and ate and chatted quite a while at the garage. The night outside was cold, and time was still on our side. There was little benefit in getting to Saffron Walden too early, and tales were told of a good breakfast cafe in a village beyond which would be just opening if we timed our departure right. One of our fellow riders brain was clearer than mine, and they bought a carton of milk to go in our coffees, all of which were black as the only option the over-stretched Costa Coffee machine was still able to serve up. Sometime in the small hours of the morning as we kitted up to depart, a couple in full party dress. It was hard to determine who's clothing was more out of place - ours or theirs. One thing I knew though, to paraphrase my mother, the girl would catch a death of cold dressed like that.

Somewhere along the next section, I think it was passing through Newmarket, we encountered more glammed up locals spilling out onto the streets as pubs and clubs closed. I remember fat pink thighs in too short skirts shouting at their beaus - maybe they were casting for a new show, The Only Way is Norfolk. At the traffic lights just beyond this were a couple of parked police vans, with bobbies standing alongside and around them. There didn't seem to have been any trouble though, The policeman were chatting and joking and asked us about our ride as we stopped waiting for the light.

The group I'd left the Barton Mills control with broke up after a while, or maybe I just slipped behind - I do remember leading the pace for quite a while but then feeling it was a little too quick, and dropping back. I didn't ride solo for long though. Just before dawn, I found myself riding with Richard again who I'd shared a table with for the lunch time stop at Halesworth. Seeing the sun come up again on the ride was rather special, realising that aside from a stop for snacks at the control, I had ridden the entire night through - a section of around 140km from sunset to sunrise. The dawn was still cold, in fact it felt even colder than the night. And there was still work to do - we wound our way through a number of small villages and long leafy lanes as the remaining kilometers to Saffron Walden counted slowly down. Richard was navigating from the printed route sheet, and it saved me from a nasty diversion up a muddy lane in the village of Linton - the proper route taking us around rather than over the hill in front of us.


Eventually we were in the outskirts of Saffron Walden, and I clearly remembered the directions having studied this part on the GPS map. We swung right into the town, and then left down to the market square. A handful of riders were there, some at ATMs getting receipts, and a couple sitting in doorways resting or catching a nap. Nothing was open though, it was cold, and the benches were still wet from the previous day's rain. Our controller Tom was one of those there, and whilst we paused for breath and chatted he confirmed details of the cafe they had stopped at for breakfast on a previous ride. It was around 40km further along the route in the village of Sible Hedingham. The time was now around 5:30am, so if we took it slow we'd arrive in almost perfect time. Tom also warned us that the ride had a sting in the tail, describing the final few kilometers as 'rather lumpy'.

Rather lumpy was an understatement. None of the hills were long, but they were short, sharp and very frequent. It was extremely tough on tired legs, and Richard's knees were starting to suffer with having no gears to help light the load. A few times he slipped back, but we caught up at the top of each hill. He called for a brief break alongside the road at one point, but collapsed to one side before he'd actually managed to stop and dismount. An attack of what Audax riders call 'the dozies' had overtaken him and he'd lost concentration, falling as he almost nodded off. The tumble had broken the brake cable clean out of the lever on the handlebar, and neither of us had the mechanical skills or clear enough brains to fix it. It wasn't as much of a disaster as it would have been for most riders though - as the fixed gear allowed Richard to use his pedals to control the speed downhill. Nevertheless we rested for a few minutes, took a drink, had some snacks, and enjoyed the views and the slowly warming sun of the morning. It was shaping up to be a beautiful blue early summer's day.

The short sharp hills continued, but as much as they toughened the route, they also added some interest and variety. Sible Hedingham on the other hand was something of a let down. We arrived in almost perfect time for the cafe to open at 8am, only to find they now opened later. Instead, I had a cup of machine hot chocolate, a bag of crisps, and a snack bar from the village garage opposite. Eating them whilst sitting on a wall outside the cafe wasn't quite the breakfast I'd been looking forward too. At least the garage sold Rennies, which was a massive relief to the pot of acid now slowly boiling up in my stomach. And a toilet, with a door that locked and toilet paper. I guess in hindsight, maybe I was a little harsh on Sible Hedingham. It had met pretty much every need of an over tired and hungry Randonneur with a severe case of reflux.

We rolled out of the village under clear blue skies and in great spirits - the stretch ahead was the last one, and however hilly it proved to be, it was also only 40km and we had 4 hours in hand. I get nervous so close to the end of a ride in case of a visit from the mechanical or puncture fairies, but despite a shaky start it really did look as if my UK 400 was not going to be a repeat of the Joburg disappointment. The remaining few kilometers rose and fell sharply, and our group swelled to three riders although I'm sad to say I can't remember the name of our new riding companion. It was mostly uneventful aside from one rather nasty shock.

Just before a notorious climb called Burnt Dick Hill, we rounded a corner to flashing blue lights, ambulances and fire engines. There was a wrecked car wrapped around a tree in the hedgerow. I kept expecting to see a mangled bike with one of our fellow riders injured or worse, but as the emergency crews signaled us through and we edged past there was none. It didn't quiet my nerves though. Even though no rider was down, the lane was very narrow and the thought occurred to me that the car had come around the bend at speed to find a rider and swerved into the tree avoiding them. We later learned that this was not the case either - the driver had had a fit at the wheel. A couple on an orange Tandem who I'd shared a table with at the Barton Mills garage came upon the scene soon after it happened, called the rescue services and waited until they arrived.

There was one last nasty sting in the tail. A steep hill back up to join the road into Manningtree. It seemed painfully unnecessary as it immediately dove back down into the town losing all the height we had gained, in this case on foot as Richard's knees had by now given up the fight. It didn't matter though. A few minutes later the three of us stood at the Barclay's ATM in the town getting our receipts - all stamped 10am. A bit later than I'd expected to complete the ride, but still two full hours in hand.

It had been a ride of firsts. Most obviously in distance (414km) and time (25 hours) it had been my longest single ride to date. But probably the biggest highlight was the new experience of riding right through the night. My first dusk til dawn and a successful return to Audax riding.

All photos by author.