Last post of the year

My training log for 2012, according to Strava, stands at 5,713km and 292 hours out on the road. At just over 100km a week, that's not a huge mileage compared to what really dedicated riders might put in. But at probably five or six times the distance I've covered in previous years, it does represent a pretty big increase for me.

There's a lot more hidden beneath that headline number though, as anyone who has followed this blog over the past twelve months will have realised. This time last year, I had invested in my first decent set of road wheels, and with them had managed to put in my first sub-4 for a 90+km race. Beyond that though, my cycling aspirations were hardly different from any previous year: stay fit; ride a good Argus; and then do some mountain biking through the winter until the road season started again. And then I stumbled across a short forum post on The Hub, and everything changed.

I could hardly have imagined reading that post would lead to such an active and memorable year of cycling, which included me spec'ing and building a complete new bike, joining a cycle club, undertaking my two longest rides to-date (The One Tonner and the DC), and finally crossing the line of Die Burger with an even bigger smile than last year's sub-4 when I stopped the clock at under 3 hours.  this year, whereas the previous year. None of those had been remotely in my cycling goals for the year when 2012 started, which I guess bears strong testamony that even in this digital multimedia age, the power of words to inspire and motivate remain as strong as ever. Those few short sentences in an inocuous forum posting literally changed the course of my year.

Hidden within the wonderful cycling moments from the last year, there are also quite a few smaller, but no less significant events. Since Jolly has been finished, I've only suffered cramps on one brief stretch of one ride, and that was after pushing myself way above my training levels. I always felt that my annoyingly persistent cramps were a sign of a general lack of fitness and practice, and I'm happy to say that seems to have been proven to be the case. Training harder, coupled with a bike that fits me properly, seems to have banished that particular suffering to the darkest depths of over exertion. Nutrition is something I've continued to learn and understand better, and specifically the need to look at what I'm eating when off the bike, as well as making sure I have the right sort of fuel when out riding. Taking more care to up my calorie intake during more intense training periods, and especially in the recovery hour after a tough ride also helped eliminate a bad sequence of bonking on rides, at least for now anyhow.

I had hoped to get one last ride in for the year today, but family commitments and a nasty chest cough sadly saw me scrapping that idea and canceling my alarm clock. So here I am at my desk instead, remembering some of the highlights of a great year of cycling, and looking forward to what lies ahead in 2013. Certainly, everything that I have learned about cycling and myself this year makes me feel confident that when LEL entries open on 5th Jan, I'll be at my PC ready to try and book my place. Well as confident as anyone can be about entering a 1,400km ride having completed nothing longer than 202km previously.

Last race of the year

I look forward to Die Burger each year - it's the last organised ride, follows a wonderfully scenic route, and is also a seeding ride for the Cape Argus. One final chance at getting an earlier start time for the big finale to the summer cycling season. Originally when planning to do the DC, I'd foolishly assumed I would skip Die Burger this year, with it being just one week later. When the entries opened however, I just couldn't imagine not taking part. So I bargained one last weekend of racing from my long suffering partner, Yoli. Not that she complained much, since she haggled an early, and more extravagant than usual birthday present - a nice shiny Kenwood mixer which now takes pride of place in the kitchen..

I normally struggle to use the term "race" when describing organised bike rides, because in truth the term "fun ride" better sums up the spirit I and many other riders enter and ride them with. For the first time though I feel at least a little bit justified in calling it a race. Not because I'd be up front racing for honours, but lining up in start group E put me only a few groups behind the real racers, and would mean fast bunches to improve the chance of a decent time. Better still, in amongst those fast riders were six fellow Wannabees, from our DC team and training rides: Adele, Alita, Desiree, Elizna, Peter and Theunis.

As we chatted to wile away the time until our 06:12 start, it became clear that I wasn't the only one hoping for a good time: Adele had done a 3:08 the year before, and was looking to improve her time, even if only by one minute. I'd set myself a target of 3:15, but I didn't mention the fact that I was really hoping for a faster time - having spent most of the typically sleep interrupted night before dreaming about a first sub 3 time. It seemed outrageously arrogant to mention it when this race last year was the first time I'd managed a sub 4, with a time of 3:48. So I kept quiet on my real ambition.

Pacing Die Burger is very tricky. It starts with an initial lung busting 6.5km climb almost immediately off the line. The risk with going out too hard at this, the only real climb of the day is not leaving enough fuel in the tank for a testing 40km of rolling hills back from Wellington at the end. Each of us had our own ideas on race tactics, so we had agreed not to try and ride as a group but rather follow our own pace. As we set off though, Alita and Elizna were both around me and we stayed largely together over the opening ramps of Helshoogte Old Pass. As the road wound and pitched up the wonderful wooded hillside, Alita's climbing pace was a little stronger than I wanted to go at this early stage, so I sat back into a steady climb. Elizna was also obviously concerned about pushing the pace too much, and we exited the old pass and crossed the last few metres of the climb together.

Looking down at my Garmin, I was glad I'd only mentioned my 3:15 target in the start chutes. The split given in the race pack at the top of Helshoogte for a sub 3 was just 19 minutes. We were already 3 minutes slower than that with 85kms of riding still ahead. Dwelling on it wouldn't help though, so I shifted to my big plate on the front, stood on the pedals and rapidly worked through to small cog on the back as we picked up the pace and sped into the descent. Wind rushing past us as our speed crossed 60km/h, I shouted across to Elizna that we needed to find a bunch for the stretch into Paarl after the downhill, which would be a fast section but also likely to be into the wind. It wasn't looking promising though, with no obvious groups around us.

After the short incline before the run down through Pniel it struck me we were gaining very slightly on a bunch some way ahead. At just that point a guy clad in white, on a white bike came past only slightly faster than us. With three of us now, we could probably catch the bunch ahead - so I pulled alongside and shouted across that if we worked together we could chase them down. The next few kilometres were a painful, lung and thigh busting blur as we ignored the opportunity for a nice easy free-wheel through the village, and instead charged at full speed towards the tail of the group ahead. Slowly, as we alternated turns between myself, Elizna, and white-clad-cycle-guy, we reeled them in metre by metre, and as the road flattened past Boschendal we finally caught them. I was impressed with how quickly Elizna ignored the temptation to sit at the back of the bunch, and immediately hopped into the thick of it in the middle. She'd clearly learnt a lot from our recent rides about the horrible concertina affect at the rear of groups, and sensibly gone for the typically steadier pace towards the front.

As we swung left onto the R45, I was having a few concerns over just how much energy and muscle power I'd burnt up, with a long ride still ahead. I knew it was the right move to ensure we kept a good speed up until Paarl, but I was suffering way harder than normal for such an early stage of a ride. That was when I realised that for the first time I was experiencing the real difference between riding and racing - pain. On fun rides, when it hurts, you sit up and take it easy. But not today, I was already hurting, but with no intention of backing off I bit down hard onto my lip, rode harder, and stuck with the bunch. At least the reward was there to see, our pace was improving and not far ahead I could see another large bunch which we were slowly overhauling. I presumed we were hunting down the tail of a slower bunch of C and D riders.

We caught them around the right turn onto the R101, and as we headed towards Paarl circle chaos ensued. This wasn't a bunch any more, but a full on Peloton - everywhere around me were riders, literally hundreds of them. Negotiating the right turn around the circle was a nervous, potentially ride-ending affair, with at least ten riders abreast sweeping around the circle at a crazily fast speed for the number of riders and tightness of the bends. At least the clock was more promising - we hadn't slipped back, and were still only 3 minutes off the official sub 3 split time of 55 minutes at the circle. Desiree also now joined Elizna and I, having clearly had a good run down from Helshoogte - it was great to have a chat with friends as we headed through Paarl and towards the pretty vineyard lined section around Klein Drakenstein. 

This stretch of Die Burger has been a bad patch for me in previous years, it's slightly uphill and always seems to suffer with the wind. This year was no exception, and as Elizna kicked to stay in the bunch to help battle the wind my legs just wouldn't respond - in the blink of an eye, I was dropped. In a few minutes I'd gone from being surrounded by a ring of racing riders, to riding completely alone along a leafy lane between wineries. If this were a fun ride, I'd have been delighted to enjoy the serenity with just one or two riders around me. But I was gutted. The clouds looming over the mountain were heavy and grey, the wind was freshening into my face, and despite my average speed being close to the 30km/h needed for a sub 3, I was currently battling to even make 25km/h. It felt like less than half way in my race was already over. Regardless, I pushed on, catching the occasional glimpse of the bunch ahead, tauntingly close still but way too large a gap to be closed solo.

One thing I have learnt from past rides though is that when you get dropped from your bunch, dial back a gear, get some strength back into your legs, and be ready for the next bunch coming through. And sure enough, the first riders of that bunch started to pass me just before the last rise of Sonstraal Road as it swings left back towards Paarl. For one brief moment, my fun ride mentality surfaced and I considered letting them go past rather than throwing myself back into the pain of a race. But I hadn't lost much time and a decent time of just over 3 hours was still very possible. So I picked up the cadence, and stuck myself firmly in the middle of the group. The next moment, as if to confirm my decision, Adele came past me with a "heya Rob", followed by Peter just a few riders back. I stood and pumped up the short incline, and we charged down the long, extremely fast run down into Paarl.

The rapid sequence of left and right turns switching through the back streets of Paarl were challenging, the group splitting and sprinting with each turn, making for a thigh burning couple of kilometres trying to stay in touch. Heading out towards Wellington though, somehow I was still there, now alongside Peter and chatting away. The pace was still uncomfortably fast, but enough endorphins were flowing through my veins now to dull some of the pain. The Garmin was smiling back at me too - our pace now having crept to 29.9, tantalisingly close to the magic 30.6km/h level that would revive the sub 3 dream.

Skirting Wellington, we swung left onto the R44, and the second half of the ride. Initially the now fairly strong North Wester was a crosswind, but after the gradual climb up to Windmeul, the road swung south and we felt a welcome extra push of the the wind at our backs. The long climb out of Wellington had fragmented riders, different climbing abilities and speeds splintering the group, leaving small shards of riders dotted ahead and behind as far as you could see. With no obvious bunch to join, and a sequence of rolling hills and short fast descents ahead, I decided to just put my foot down and go as hard as I could solo. It was breathless stuff, but the kilometres started to evaporate rapidly with each surging ramp, and racing descent.

I was a little nervous approaching the last rollers into Klapmuts. At this point I have started to cramp on every previous Die Burger. By now, I was holding nothing back and pedalling flat out - quads burning, and mouth open sucking in lungfuls of air to keep the engine going. I was passing riders too, and not just on the downhills: I joined and pulled away from at least two small groups on the uphills too. Despite the pain, I was loving it - my average speed had now crossed the magical 30k/h barrier, faster than I'd ever averaged before, and it wasn't just because of drafting a faster group doing the work. I started to dream again - just 0.5km/h more and the sub 3 was still on. But the cruel thing about average speeds is they get harder to improve as time and kilometres move on, the distance behind creating a heavier and heavier anchor dragging you back. Knowing this, I told myself that I should easily beat 3:15, and that would be more than good enough as a result.

Although the bunch had broken up, and Adele was far ahead by now, Peter and I obviously ride at a similar pace, and spent most of the R44 passing each other regularly, exchanging words of encouragement as we did. Even with the work rate and fast start, the rolling hills were now behind without any hint of cramps developing. I started the second to last hill of the day, Wiesenhof, with Peter just ahead of me - and soon pulled alongside him. Rather than pass though, I rode alongside and we chatted to the top, the main topic being the motivational thought that there was only one more, relatively small, hill to go before the finish.

Crossing the top, I had lost track of split times and resorted to a quick mental calculation: there were something like 13km to go, including long stretches of fast riding, and just over 20 mins left on the clock. This was going to be close, very close. That realisation was all the incentive I needed, I stood up, stamped a frantic burst into my pedals, and tore into the downhill. The only thoughts that went through my head as we flew over those final kilometres was "don't get a puncture, don't get a mechanical, stay on the bike". I've never been a fast descender, and the speed terrified me at times. On my first Die Burger down this same stretch of road I saw first hand what happens to a rider when a front wheel or fork breaks and they go over the bars at 60k/h. It's a sobering sight, and wasn't one I could shut out of my mind as we hurtled along.

The relief as we swung the last left turn onto the R301 was enormous. The clock was reading 2:54, and we were almost there - less than 2km, and 6 minutes in hand. I started to dream again, and shouted across to Peter that we had a chance of a sub 3 here. He looked back at me in surprise, clearly unaware of how close we were to such a fast time. But as I stood to sprint the last stretch, the legs had nothing to give - they were dead and lifeless, and I was forced to sit and labour my way up the nasty short uphill from the turn. The top crawled into view, and I hit the big blade one last time, it seemed to take an age to get back up to speed, and the last sweeping bend seemingly endless. Peter passed me and I saw him pause, clearly conflicted with a sub 3 a few metres down the road, but also not wanting to drop me behind. I shouted across to him "go for it Peter, get the sub 3". I heard the words "thanks .... ", and something else that I didn't quite catch as he pulled away and made for the line ahead. Everything hurt - the tank was empty, the legs were gone, but the finish was there. I hauled myself out of the saddle, and launched the bike towards the big blue, Die Burger arch spanning the road, and a welcome release from the pain.

The last race of 2012 was over, and just beyond the timing mats were Desiree, Adele, and Peter - huge smiles, hugs and congratulations all around as they had all gone under 3 hours. I didn't want to look down, just in case, but I needn't have worried. The Garmin smiled at me one last time - 2:57. Even allowing for small differences between my clock and the official one, I'd done it. My first sub 3, and despite many previous rides, my first real race. Just to round off the ride nicely, we found out later that both Alita and Elizna had also gone under 3 hours as well - Alita being particularly pleased to have bounced back strongly after a disappointing DC.

The final irony of my faster riding was the smartness of Yoli's bargaining - I was home before 10am, hardly making a dent on our Sunday. I knew the DC training had exacted a heavy price on our weekend family life over  the last six months, so that Kenwood felt like a fair trade for such a memorable final event of 2012.



Photos by Capcha Photography

Double Century

Looking at the hill profile above for the Double Century (DC), you'd be forgiven for thinking that all the hard work is getting over those two hills in the first 63km and that it's all downhill after that. If you look more closely at the last 40km, you'll also spot what old hands at the DC refer to as either 'Dolly Parton' (two big  bumps) or the "Three Bitches" (depending on how you count them). On this year's DC however, it was the weather that delivered the most painful blows, eclipsing by far anything the route itself could throw at us.

The morning was still dark as our team gathered in front of the Caltex garage in Swellendam, hastily pinning race numbers on each others backs, dropping coolbags full of supplies in the trailer now hitched to Peter's car, and making last minute checks of  our bikes. Despite two late withdrawals, somehow we were a full complement of 12 riders free-wheeling down Station Street to our start chute. A rag tag bunch maybe, with a few of us meeting for the first time on the morning, but at least we were all there and ready to go - something not every team had managed, as riders rushed around us late to join their teams, some even missing their start time completely..

As our team shuffled towards the start mats, I felt a little overwhelmed - unsure how I'd got nominated as team captain when we had a number of riders with past DC experience, at least five of whom had done the ride many times in the past. Suddenly the few words of team talk I had in mind seemed rather pointless when we had guys who knew far more than me about the course ahead, the perils of starting out too hard, and the need to eat well early in the ride. I think I mumbled something about us having done the hard part by getting to the start line trained and ready, and all we needed to do now was pedal to the end. As it turned out later, I needn't have worried - those experienced guys would be a great asset to us on the ride, far more so than any words I could have come up with.


We crossed the start line with Ralph up front, I don't recall who was alongside him. Before we fully left the town, Jack and I took up the reigns upfront. The riding was easy with the freshening wind on our backs, and we flew along that first stretch of the N2 highway to the left turn for Suurbrak, and the start of a very welcome and long stretch of closed road to make the cycling much more relaxing. I settled into myself over those opening kilometres, my worries about being captain fading away as we worked our way into the ride.

Tradouw Pass certainly lived up to expectations in terms of scenery, a truly stunning stretch of road winding through rocky gorges, across mountain streams, and climbing up fynbos clad mountainside. The sky was dark again now though, this time with heavy grey clouds, the wind picking up considerably as we crested the pass, and threaded our way through the water stop. A few of our riders immediately regretted picking up water bottles when confronted with an acrid taste of plastic flavoured water on their first sip - clearly the organisers had not bothered to wash out the new bottles, something I had spent the previous evening doing for all 12 of our event supplied bottles. Ralph shouted a warning across to all of us about the speed of the upcoming descent, and with that in mind we whizzed down the other side.

Having studied the route profile many times, I'd somehow got the impression that the Op de Tradouw climb came almost immediately after Tradouw Pass, but with my Garmin only showing 35km it was clear that we had a quite a few kilometres before the second big climb of the day. They passed fairly quickly, and although crossing some fairly picturesque and rolling farmland, there are only a few fragments of this part of the ride which stick in my memory. One of these was Danie's regular warnings that The Beast was just ahead, and to keep our pace steady. Another was a bizarrely apt farm sign for 'Quads' - at this point many of us would gladly have stopped in for some replacement quadriceps ahead of the big hill, if only that had been what they were offering.

I started to feel a little complacent as we ground our way up Op de Tradouw. Jack had told us to ignore the false tops until we saw a row of pines come into view. The road twisted it's way up and we followed it slowly, Ralph regaling us with an endless stream of jokes and one liners which did a superb job of taking our minds off the work. And before we knew it, Jack's landmark trees came in to view and the "big climbs" of the day were all done. Both ahead and behind us though, the day's real troubles were only just getting started.

Behind us, our last minute substitute Darren was struggling and had dropped off our group, Clayton having spotted this dropped back to help him up the hill. We learnt later that Darren was not fully over a bout of flu, and had still being having jabs until a day or two before.

Ahead of us an even more ominous threat was building - no longer sheltered by the hill we had been climbing, the full force of the North West wind blasted us, now whipped up into a full on gale. Prior to the race I'd imagined the 63km feed station would be a welcome relief after the big hills, and a place to gather breath and look forward to easier kilometres ahead in the middle of the ride. The reality though was very different - sure, we did have some nice cold energy drinks (in clean bottles) and snack bars to restock with, but with rain now starting to fall, the kilometres ahead felt anything but easy. Sure enough, within minutes of starting off again, Marc was blown right across the road and almost into the ditch - the crosswind picking up his deep dish wheels and chucking him around like a rag doll. That fast descent was a scary section for many of us, but Marc was literally battling to stay on his bike and in the ride.

By now, the rain was heavy, very heavy. The decision earlier that morning to leave my jacket at home now didn't seem such a good one - I wasn't especially cold, but I was soaked through. We were also now short of firepower to battle the ferocious cross and headwinds too. Clayton had suggested I took the lead group on ahead to the support stop in Ashton, and he'd help Darren along who was still struggling. Danie, and Ralph had also dropped back to help out too, so the workload up front fell largely to the remaining big guys in alternating turns: myself, Styger, Jack, Chris, and Marc when the wind allowed.

Sadly, none of us would see Darren again until after the ride. As we took the left turn just before Montagu and headed towards Cogmaskloof, Danie, Ralph and Clayton rejoined us with the news that Darren had realised he was not going to be able to finish and pulled out. It was a blow to lose a team-mate already, just halfway into the ride. The DC had become a minor obsession for me over the last few months of training, and I knew Darren would be no less disappointed not to have completed the ride. It only occurred to me later that being down to 11 riders, also meant we wouldn't qualify for a Charles Milner medal for completing the ride as a full team.

Cogmaskloof is a flat gorge that starts by dipping down through a short tunnel dynamited through an archway of rock, and then meanders between neighbouring mountainsides before opening and dropping you out onto the farmlands around Ashton. Through this stretch the wind was directly into our faces, making for very slow progress. To combat this, our experienced riders showed the rest of us how to set up a rolling echelon - a continuous loop of riders where the outside of the loop has riders heading up to take the front briefly until the rider behind them passes and takes over. The inside column is lead riders who are passed slowly dropping back relative to the outside column. As the tail of the outside column passes the last rider, a call of "last rider" goes out, and the last rider of the inside column goes across the bottom of the loop and starts to make way up the outside again. Aside from being a mesmeric and remarkably pleasing formation to watch, the echelon also helped us maintain a much faster pace against the strong headwind than we would have been able to do in normal dual or single line formation.


Once through the kloof, there was a short pacey blast through the outskirts of Ashton, and down  the main street, followed by a left turn across the railway tracks and the timing mats into the neutral support zone. It immediately became clear what others had told me about us having a top support crew Peter and Adele when we saw our team car - coolboxes all laid out, bikes and water bottles taken from us as soon as we pulled up.  Those few minutes off the race clock were very welcome to grab a breather and a bite. In my case, I took a fresh energy drink bottle for my bike, stuffed another packet of new potatoes into my pocket to replace the one eaten earlier, downed a chocolate Sterrie Stumpie and hastily scoffed a peanut butter sandwich.Without such good team support, we could have messed around in disorganized chaos, but with an efficiently managed stop done we were under-way quickly, my belly already complaining about being too rapidly stuffed with too much food and drink.


As we left the stop, it was suggested we take another quick stop after the circle in Robertson. I was a little doubtful of this initially, being only 20km ahead it seemed way too early to be considering another stop. Swinging out of the neutral zone though, it became clear what a good call it was. Any thoughts that we might have seen the worst of the wind vanished as we were instantly shredded by vicious gusts directly into our faces. We briefly tried to setup the echelon again, but it was obvious it wouldn't work - Elizna and Desiree being lighter riders got blown backwards as soon as they joined the outside column, and simply couldn't pedal through the gale to reach the front. We fell back to two lines of riders, with the bigger and heavier riders, myself included, up front to shield the light riders so they could keep up. It took well over an hour until Robertson came into view, the gruelling battle to get there revealing the wisdom of calling for that next stop so soon.

Swinging left at the circle was like having the brakes taken off the bike, the strong wind suddenly now at our backs, pushing us effortlessly along to the waiting team car. The shortest of stops, just a quick swig of coke and Black Cat bar and we mounted up again. Cycling now in sunshine and with the wind behind us, we flew along, my Garmin ranging between 35 and 40km/h for long sections of this stretch.We rode through a purple, Jacaranda lined lane, passing the vineyards of Van Loveren and De Wetshof, where Yoli and I had gone winetasting a few years back with her family.


The kilometres were clocking up nicely now, even with a quick coke stop at the water tables by the right turn towards Bonnievale. My Garmin was soon reading 160km, which was significant not just because it was the longest distance a number of us had ridden before, but also because it meant the start of the much feared "last 40km" of the DC, and our date with continuous rolling hills, and ultimately Dolly herself. No sooner had we started the first of these rollers than Theunis fell off the back of our group. I let the others press on ahead and dropped back to chat with him. One look across, and I could see he was in severe pain even before I heard him say "my knees are killing me, you go on ahead, I'll hold you guys back". The team car pulled alongside and Adele said "we'll help him, you go up to the others".

I stood on the pedals, and quickly caught up with the back of our group - I wasn't happy though, we'd lost Darren and now Theunis was battling and looked close to giving up. I knew the ride meant as much to Theunis as it did to me, and I also remembered from the One Tonner that he had a lot of grit too, and quite possibly would be able to battle through if we helped him. As a team though, we had to all be happy to do that and accept a slower finish time as a result. I sprinted to the front of our group and let Ralph and Clayton know Theunis was struggling, and then dropped back to chat with Desiree, who as Theunis' partner both needed to know, and also could give me her view on whether she thought Theunis would be able to finish if we helped him. Desiree's words to me were along the lines of "if we leave him to soldier on alone, I think he'll probably quit, but if we help him I'm certain he can finish". That was all I needed to hear, so I called a stop and we waited for the team car and Theunis.

As we stood briefly by the car, I did offer that if a fast six wanted to push on ahead for a time, no one would complain, but not one of our rag tag bunch was interested - despite some of us hardly knowing each other, everyone rallied around to help Theunis and give him encouragement and support to finish. And that help was needed as those remaining 40kms unfolded, revealing a painful and continuous sequence of sharp ascents, and short fast descents. Desiree's prediction proved solid though - Theunis kept going, and going, if anything getting stronger as we pressed on.

A few of us dropped back to give moral support on those climbs, until finally we started at the bottom of the first of Dolly's bumps, with rain falling heavily again now. In the bottom of the following descent was the much fabled "portage section" - supposedly we were supposed to carry our bikes along a section of dirt road to get around a massive crater where the R60 had washed away in recent floods. In practice, we skidded and slid through most of it, briefly using our road bikes to tackle something more suitable for mountain bikes. Exiting the dirt section onto a slippery descent on wet tarmac I called across to Desiree and Theunis to be careful of skidding as we sped down into the dip, and the start of the last of Dolly's bumps. The rain was now sheeting down, at some point it turned to hail, although to be honest I forget exactly where - I was so wet by now it was hard to remember. We stopped briefly to try in vain and unlock Theunis' front brake which was binding, but having failed and with the top so close, we rode on.

The top of the last bump came into view, and there waiting in a narrow shaft of sunlight between the rain clouds, the whole team stood patiently waiting. Knowing there was almost no more work to be done, I heard Theunis say "I'm going to make it" - possibly the best words I'd heard all day, and ones which will stick in my mind for a long time. "You were going to make it when you got back on 40km ago and kept pedalling" I said in reply, and as we passed the team I shouted across "What are you guys standing around for?". Ralph's natural wit undamaged by 190km of cycling came back sharp as a pin "Becasue we can't ride".

And with that - the DC was all but done. A short dash down the descent, followed by a sprint up the last steep kilometre, and our 11 remaining riders crossed the line together. Sadly, the cold and rain washed out any idea of sitting around drinking beers and exchanging war stories, and instead we all dashed for warm food, dry clothes, and some comfort. In a bizarre way, I'm glad of the harsh weather - it made for a memorable DC and brought out the best team spirit imaginable, a team I'm proud to have been called the captain of.

A short account written for the team and club can also be found here.

 

All photos by Peter Nolan.

NRG

NRG = No Relying on Gel ....

It doesn't really mean that at all of course, at least anywhere outside my weird imagination. Reading the letters aloud does sound like the word "Energy" though, which is the real subject of this article, and something the above mnemonic helps me keep in mind.

Before that though, let me say I have nothing against any brand of energy gel, from Gu through Hammer and all the many other options. I've used them a lot, perhaps almost too much, in the past and my reliance on them may have obscured other factors I should have been paying attention too in my riding. But they can definitely have a place a riding energy plan, as long as you understand that place and have the rest in balance.

If you've been reading this blog from the start, then you'll know about my first great bonk when trying to ride on water alone. After that I entered my "second phase" of training and riding, where I understood the need to supplement my energy before, during and after riding.  During this phase, I tried a number of different drinks and sachets, but the overall approach on a race day was always the same:

• ~500ml of energy drink in car on way to a race
• Gu at the start (later on I swapped this for a Hammer Gel)
• Energy drink in 1 bottle on ride, sometimes in both
• More gel's spaced out during ride
• Occasional snack bar, banana if I felt like it

During training days, I just usually took one energy drink bottle, and one plain water - and a snack or two.

By now, experienced cyclists and nutritionist are probably laughing their backsides off, or cringing silently. You see there is a one vital elements their missing - Real Food. If you ride long enough even stubborn headed mules like me eventually learn this, or someone tells you. Unless you have an iron constitution, no amount of supplements can make up for a lack of real food and eventually your body ceases to be impressed by all the liquid carbs being thrown at it and starts to complain in painful ways. Anything from stomach cramps to things indescribably worse to deal with on a bike ride, with chemical toilets once every 30km or so if you're lucky.

In fact, the real food approach isn't really something new to me either - I took new potatoes on my first Argus, and they were one of the nicest things I ate on the day. But in amongst the training I've had a tendency to look for solutions in energy drinks, or tinker with extra bars or gels rather and overlook carrying plain and simple stuff to eat.

A few weeks ago though I was forced to step back and re-assess. I bonked badly on a couple of training rides leading into the One Toner, struggled over the last 50km of the race itself, and then had my worst bonk ever at the end of the following DC training ride. I'd had a slight suspicion of suffering a bug, but nothing ever really surfaced. So rather than blaming a mystery illness, or falling back on the all too easy "over training" explanation, I put the spotlight on my nutrition. A number of people, including Penny and Andri had suggested it as a possible cause, so it definitely seemed worth a look.

Almost as soon as I started to focus on this, one glaringly obvious thing jumped out at me. Since June I've increased my normal training level massively, tripling and more my training kilometres from previous years, not to mention the gym sessions. But I was eating exactly the same during the week. The nett effect, I suspected, was that although the 10kg I'd dropped was definitely weight I could afford to lose, it also seemed that my training was burning calories I wasn't putting back, leading to fatigue at the end of longer rides

With not many weeks to correct things before the DC, I attacked the problem on multiple fronts. The first part being to eat a lot more during the week - big bowl of ProNutro or muesli before I hit the coffee, and then both mid morning and mid afternoon feeds in between normal meals. The second part of the attack was packing twice as much food on rides, the extra food being potatoes bananas, and low GI health bars. And not just taking this along, but making sure I actually ate them rather than coming home with them untouched in my jersey. In addition to what was packed, I also bought and ate snack bars, and chocolate milks at our midway stops too. The last change was to stuff my face at the end of a ride too, making sure to put in plenty of fuel to replace what the ride had burnt up.

The bizarre thing is that despite eating a lot more, I'm also now perpetually hungry - I just seem to have become an eating machine. Yoli has started calling me her 'ruspe' (Afrikaans for caterpillar). But at least so far, the results have been good - no more bonks, and finishing training rides with something left in the tank. The DC this weekend will be the real proof though. I have to confess to being nervous as hell at the prospect of my first 200km ride, even with better training and eating of recent weeks, I am all too aware that the last 50km will be completely unknown territory for me. Here's hoping I'll have the energy on the day.

Four Passes

 

'It's going to take a week for this smile to fade'

That was my comment to the rest of our bunch, but mostly to myself as we regrouped at the top of the last short climb on the R44 climb, a short ramp which I think of as Yonder Hill but is also referred to as Koosie by some of our riders. We had just completed what must be if not the best, then certainly one of the top 5 circular cycling routes in the Cape, and one that has been on my bucket list for almost as long as I've been cycling in South Africa.

There are several reasons why it had languished on my list for so long. Firstly, at 130km long and just shy of 2,000m climbing, it is not a route you can do without a level of fitness that I've been a long way short of in previous seasons. Second is safety, there are a number of fairly narrow stretches especially from Grabouw through to Theewaterskloof which make it less than ideal to ride alone. But probably the biggest factor is weather. Sir Lowry's Pass, the first of the four, is a long and not especially hard climb but it snakes up a section of mountainside that is referred to locally as the Wind Factory. What can be a light south easter down in Strand or Somerset West can be howling a gale up through the pass, making it potentially lethal to cyclists who can be all too easily blown into the path of cars and trucks travelling up the pass.

To mitigate the safety aspects we called a 5:30am start to our ride, just after dawn and early enough that traffic should be light through the early sections. Even with that though, we'd also said we would only make a definite decision to ride the route if the wind was very light. That was the part I'd had least confidence in, fully expecting us to be slogging off towards Stellenbosch on one of our usual routes. But for once, the weekend weather favoured us with an almost totally wind-still morning - something very rare for Spring in the Cape. So as we rolled out of Watersone car park nothing could suppress the smile on my face or the lightness of my spirits. We were 12 riders, 9 from DC team 4 plus Penny, Des and Dylan from DC team 3 - just the right sized group, and a great mix of personalities to enjoy the route with.

I hadn't really expected much from Sir Lowry's pass - more a case of getting it out of the way so we could get over to the scenic parts through Grabouw and the Groenland mountains. It's a fairly big climb but the gradient isn't especially steep, but what makes it lack appeal is being a double lane busy highway - as a cyclist you don't feel you belong there, small and vulnerable alongside the noisy trucks, buses and smokey old taxis and bakies labouring past. In the magic of the early morning though it was a serene and peaceful climb. Only a handful of vehicles passed us, and the crisp morning air was still filled with the smell of fynbos, not yet overwhelmed by hot tarmac, rubber and truck fumes. The journey up was a welcome surprise but nothing compared to the breathtaking views from the top, the whole of the Cape Flats and False Bay lay stretched out below bathed in a warm orange glow by the first long, low rays of the morning sun.

After a fast free-wheel down the other side of the pass we cycled directly into the sunrise on the short stretch of N2 before our turn off into Grabouw. The town was still mostly sleeping as we sped through, a few souls here and there on the street but the usual bustle of the busy little agricultural town was yet to get under way. At the other end of the town our long downhill from the pass finally came to an end with a sharp little ramp up to the left turn towards Theewaterskloof dam and Villiersdorp. Heading out of town you can almost feel the pace of life slow as the road rolls and winds through an almost ridiculously picturesque patchwork of vineyards and orchards. At some stage a few kilometres beyond Elgin the landscape changes again, and achieves the seemingly impossible feat of becoming more beautiful still. Rolling hills and farmland give way to mountainous crags, fynbos and forestry.

Without realising it, we were lucky enough to have brought along our very own tour guide. And as we shifted gears to begin the climb up through our second pass of the day, Ralph regailed us with a stream of interesting facts about the areas we were cycling through, only a few of which I'm embarassd to admit stuck in my memory.  One I do remember though is that the pass is in fact called Viljoens Pass, and not Grabouw Pass which I've always referred to it as. Another was that the road forms a divide between two different management entities: the forestry to the left coming under MTO (Mountain To Ocean); and the predominantly fynbos clad mountainside to the right coming under the management of Cape Nature. Sweeping around a long bend at the start of the pass, you leave the last of the farms behind and all that you see in front is the glorious mountainsides ahead of you - it hardly seems to matter who is managing them, they are both jawdroppingly beautiful.

As with all climbs, the pass fragmented our group, stronger riders relishing a heart pounding race up the climb, and the rest of us, well let's just say we enjoyed the scenery on the way up. Just short of the summit we paused to regroup by a dam to our left. With hardly a breath of wind to break it's surface, the water was a serene mirror, reflecting the clump of pines fringing the lake, and open mountain beyond. I was born near the Lake District in the UK, and some of my ancestors from way back come from there also. Some deep part of me seems to be rooted in that heritage, because for the brief moments we stopped in this place, surrounded by the quiet of the mountains, I was home.   

The summit just a few hundred meters up the road beckoned though, and on we rode. And as we crested the top, the views across the farmlands of Vyeboom and the massive expanse of Theewaterskloof dam were astonishing. We raced down the snaking downhill and dogleg bends to become part of the tapestry below. Our group became so heavily split up by our different descending speeds that we only caught up with Wiehahn some 20km down the road at the Theewaterskloof bridge -  Penny describe him as taking the low flying route. At some point on this long stretch to the bridge across the dam Yoli also passed us in our car laden with ice, drinks and snacks for our midway pit stop. It was a very welcome site, but I felt a little guilty she'd be waiting around for us, having slightly miscalculated our average speed.

In the end, she had turned back from our planned meet point to find a much more pleasant spot shaded by trees. The detour meant she didn't have to wait too long until she saw us battling up the road against a suddenly strong northerly wind that had made the last few kilometres much more arduous than the ride so far. That was the first real stretch where we rode as an echelon, taking turns at the front so that no one worked against the wind for too long.

It was a delight to see them waiting for us, Ben hopping up and down excited to see dad cycling with his friends, and then suddenly becoming shy and hiding behind Yoli's legs when everyone drew up close. Cold drinks, ice, snack bars and bananas went down with gusto and after a quick delay getting Theunis's bike on the rack so he could head home early, we were on our way again all too soon. It was tough to leave them as Ben's mouth turned into a sad frown and his lip started to quiver. I had fully expected he would want us to stay and play, but that didn't make it any easier to turn back to face the road ahead and pedal on.

The positive part was that ahead lay what must be one of the most scenic tarred passes  to ride in the whole of the Western Cape - Franschhoek Pass. A winding gem of a road, lined both sides by quaint stone walls, fynbos, and towering mountains. Even the occasional scream of motorbikes also out to enjoy the road didn't detract from the sheer beaurty of the 8km climb to the summit. It isn't actually as steep as the road up on the Franschhoek side, but it's longer, and the regular blasts of the north wind made it no less difficult. Marc was battling a tad, suffering the combined effects of a half marathon the day before, and stomach cramps from too hastily downing a chocolate milk. I had no desire to rush my first ride up this glorious pass, so was only to happy to drop back a shade and pedal up with him. In the end, we were probably only a few minutes behind the rest of our group, and the relaxed pace allowed plenty of time to savour every moment of the climb.

Gathering again at the top, it was great that Styger got a chance to enjoy the view over Franschhoek valley which had been shrowded in cloud and mist on last week's climb up from the town below. It would have been a shame if he'd ridden to the summit twice in two weeks, and not got to stand and enjoy the vista which must be on thousands of postcards home every year from tourists visiting Franschhoek and its winelands.

For the remainder of our ride we rejoined our familiar route home via the final of the four passes, Helshoogte, and then through Stellenbosch and home along the R44. A long held dream fulfilled, and with my extra training this year, a much less challenging ride than I had expected. I even had the legs for one last quick sprint up Yonder Hill at the end, predictably though Penny and Wiehahn both caught and passed me just before the top. One day maybe I'll have the legs to keep up the pace over those last few meters. For today though, I was content - the four passes ride had not disappointed for one second. A truly awesome ride.



All photos taken from Wannabees site.