2013 joBerg2C: Day 6 – Sounds and silence

Kamberg to Hazeldean Farm: 89km

So something happened in Glengarry. I woke up 10 times during the night to discharge lumpy chunks of phlegm. At our 5am wake up call I was barely able to talk. I think the clouds of dust Raoul and I chased through the day before, were now wreaking havoc with my throat. If Day 5 was a blur, Day 6 was a black hole of suffering…

Thankfully, it was also a day of open trails and lots of climbing. Open trails meant we could maintain a consistent tempo. Raoul was a metronome all day, climbing at a slow but even pace. I just hung onto his wheel. Not talking, just tapping it out as fast as my tight lungs would allow. Occasionally I’d raise my head from the handlebars to appreciate the expansive Drakensberg scenery on offer all around us, or to let Raoul know I was still alive.

It’s said that the most important part of any stage race is your choice of partner. Over the 90-odd kilometres we crawled through today, Raoul earned his stripes. It’s not often I need a push up a hill, but Raoul could see I was on the edge, and his support came at all the right times.

Despite being in a very dark place most of the day, I was still well enough to appreciate some of the noises that define mountain biking for me. These are my happy noises, and no matter how sorry for myself I feel, these moments remind me that all is good in the world.

The sound of singletrack. There are two distinct sounds here. First, in tight descending singletrack, if you follow someone well-matched to your pace, you can almost ride it blind. The mechanical whirring noise of a spinning freewheel, followed by sliding tyres, being buried into a hairpin turn, lets you know exactly what’s coming. The other noise is equally rewarding for me. Pinning singletrack ahead of your partner and losing traction in a tight corner, only to hear the exact same noise two seconds later. This means he’s seen your line, and is also on the edge, but trusting your judgment on line choice.

The sound of silence. Sometimes, the perfect conditions arise. A slight tail wind. A well-oiled chain. A hard pack trail surface. Boom. You are riding in silence. The wind not blowing past your ears. The bike not making a peep. The terrain free of rocks, gravel and leaves. It doesn’t happen often on a mountain bike, but when it does, it’s a certain kind of nirvana.

The sound of being beaten. This is only a pleasant sound when it’s your partner who is owning the descent! But when you are really pushing it as fast as possible, the crunchy noise of someone gaining on you in a descent, overtaking you, and continuing to blast away from you is a truly awesome sensation.

At the joBerg2C, I have had plenty of all of these sensations, and I am deeply grateful, even if I am in a world of pain and can only acknowledge the moment with a throaty grunt.

2013 Joberg2C: Day 5 – Chasing and cruising

Winterton to Kamberg: 96km

Yes, yes, I know. My last post from the trenches of the Old Mutual joBerg2C was three days ago. It really has been a battle out here. Ironic that it came a day after we had passed through the iconic battlefields of the Anglo Boer War.

Day 5 was a bit of a blur, a fun day of riding, but we were chasing hard all day, after I handicapped us by 20 minutes right at the start. The peleton rolled out of Winterton, tucked behind the now-familiar monster rubber tyres of the Massey Ferguson pace tractor. It was cold. Obviously. The pace was quick. As per usual.

As I tore across the grass sports field with Raoul, ready for the 15km sprint to hold onto the elite riders’ bunch. A rider swerved in front of me 100m from the start line and I was cut-off. I half pedaled and watched as my chain doubled up, and I pushed it through the front derailleur.

In seconds I knew this was going to suck. Literally. I soft pedaled, trying to get it to catch on the big ring… But it was no use. I couldn’t engage the big ring. With the rolling hills that lay ahead in the next 96km, I was going to need that big chainring. I called out to Raoul who was ahead, and after a quick roadside assessment we decided to head back to the start for a quick fix from the Trek mechanics.

Fifteen minutes later we passed through the start line again. Although the Old Mutual inflatable start arch was already deflated. Even the Massey Ferguson was coming back along the tar road as we hit the tar road for the second time. No point in panicking. The cards had been dealt. Now what do we do with them?

Eventually we passed the first backmarker. Raoul and I chatted as we rode. Our tactic was going to be one of self-preservation. Chasing back was going to kill us. Yes, we were now miles behind our peers – the teams with whom we had ridden the previous four days.

But here was a chance to hang out with the rest of the field. The early going was tough as neither Raoul nor I could enjoy the stunning singletrack we had heard about in race briefing. In order to maintain our usual pace we rode the alongside the well-worn route. Then we’d pull into a section of singletrack, chat to other riders and recover. It was hard going riding off the beaten path. Raoul was a champion, hanging tough in the stop-start singletrack, and then opening up his formidable flat-riding power when the route opened up.

By the end of the day I was impressed with our effort. We had systematically ridden to within 10 or 16 places of where we should have been. And the overnight stop at Glengarry was a stunning welcome after our day-long push. All in all stunning day of fairly relaxed pedaling.

2013 Joberg2C: Day 4 – Mind-blowing beauty and quiet power

Being stuck in a mountain bike race in deepest darkest Africa has many pros. One of the cons is that connection to the interweb is not very reliable. Hence my post from Monday’s stage coming though now… Day 5′s update will follow shortly.

Sterkfontein Dam to Winterton: 121km

It’s taken four days but the stars have finally aligned. And what a day to do it. Stage 4 of the Old Mutual joBerg2C is simply mind-blowing. The riding, the history and the scenery.

Raoul and I were last belting through the bush in this area racing the 2012 Singlespeed World Championships in October. It was an amazing event based in Winterton that celebrated the best in mountain biking. Camaraderie, beer, friendship, silliness. It was also one of the last times Burry Stander raced in South Africa.

We breathed it all in, all day and found some solid rhythm to come home charging. Over the past few stages Raoul has struggled to get to grips with the high-revving start to the racing each day.

You see, Raoul’s engine is of the diesel variety – slow to warm up, but unstoppable when it gets going. Did I mention that Raoul raced Ironman South Africa less than three weeks ago? Not? My bad. Well, he didn’t just race it he stomped a top-three placing in his age category.

And that takes some toll on your body, diesel or otherwise. Ironman rewards athletes with self-control. Raoul has told me before the 180km Ironman bike leg is like deflating a balloon. You spend months inflating it with diet, training and getting comfortable with your equipment. And yes, you can untie the knot on the balloon and release the air in a single burst. But, you’ve got to make it last. You’ve got 180km to cover. Before you tackle a marathon run. So let it out slowly. It’s about controlled, quiet power.

Mountain bikers tend to race like the finish line is round the next corner. All day. We start fast and turn it up until we pop. Not the smartest lot, I admit. I think it might have something to do with an inbred fear of missing out (FOMO). Mountain bikers are in search of the fabled ‘clear run’.  And the fear of not being the first person into the singletrack forest trail, or the super-fast descent, or technical climb makes us ride like dimwitted but energetic puppies.

Anyway, today we took a different approach. While I charged to the front of the bunch, Raoul bided his time, stoking the diesel. Watching the puppies run out ahead. Conserving. Quiet power.

We cruised through a few early climbs, some flat farm roads and even a fun singletrack traverse as oblique rays of sunlight bounced across our path. A climb onto a plateau marked the last stretch of Free State terrain we would tackle. We were still in touch with the same groups we’ve been riding with over the past days, but not burning ourselves out in the surging bunch.

I teamed up with Oli Munnik and dived off the plateau into a tight, precipitous descent into the rolling hills of Kwazulu-Natal below. Raoul chilled in the bunch. We regrouped at the base, both of us feeling strong.

And then, as Raoul likes to say, we played Pacman. Gobbling up riders from about the 70km mark. Through the lung-busting climb of Spioenkop, the hell-for-leather descent of the Red Bull Run on the other side, over the Little Tugela River in flood, and to the base of Puffadder Pass we ate into the bunch. Taking advantage of our good legs and slowly picking off teams.

The end result? Raoul was in full Ironman glory at the end of the day, towing a group of eight riders into Winterton in a timetrial blitz over the last 10km. We moved into 16^th Overall, and fourth in Sub Vets category. I think we might try this tactic again…

2013 Joberg2C: Day 3 – The buzz and the beers

Reitz to Sterkfontein Dam: 130km

Sitting in a beanbag, as a gentle breeze blows off the Sterkfontein Dam. The sun has lost all its fury, but still hovers above the horizon. I’m listening to the post-race banter from riders. Beer in hand. Mountain bikers of all strengths are collapsed in heaps around me. Some following the beer route. Others clutching milky mixing bottles of recovery elixir. Humour levels are running at an all time high, but I doubt any other group of human beings on the planet would find the chit chat funny.

I’m beyond that, my brain is happy to sip beer and tap on a keyboard. Nothing more. Occasionally I throw in a one-liner. Defintely not funny. An answer to a question about tomorrow’s route that lingers in the air for a moment too long. Then quickly the conversation moves on. War stories from today’s 130km trek from Reitz to Sterkfontein Dam are being told. Many of them involve a level of pain and introspection that comes with such a journey. All of them are told with a quiet satisfaction.

It’s comforting to know that 130km on a mountain bike hurts, no matter how long it takes you to finally dribble across the line. Pros and weekend warriors alike. My legs have a familiar buzz to them. They have been made to suffer today.

It started with a mad dash out of Reitz at 7am. Another absolutely freezing early start, but this time with the added joy of frost. Chasing the Massey Furguson pace tractor off the start line was the perfect antidote to the cold. Who knew an eight-wheeled tractor could haul at that speed!? When the tractor eventually pulled over the pace intensified and Raoul and I held the leading riders as they hit their straps. The legs were feeling good as bunches split and rejoined all morning on the rolling gravel highway.

Then, at a critical juncture, just moments after we left a tough grassy traverse, my waterbottle got jammed between my wheel and the frame. As I stopped to retrieve it and reinsert it I watched a well-organised peleton of fast riders pull away into the intensifying sun.

Stupidly, I had told Raoul to keep going. I would catch up. What I didn’t understand right then was that it would take over 20km of timetrialing on my own to reel the group in. 20km is a long way to conjure up evil thoughts. Unfortunately Raoul became the object of my attention. By the time I pulled up next to him and the group I had to hold my tongue, as I had built up a powerful tirade of abuse.

Of course Raoul wasn’t at fault. He was sitting in a strong group and it would have been pointless for us both to hurt in chasing back. But I was so deep in the pain cave that I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. My legs were hurting.

We cruised on with a front-row seat to the battle between the leading mixed teams. I was glad for the respite from pushing into the red They traded blows all day, pushing hard through a technical riverside singletrack, then attacking on a steep roller. It was beautiful to watch.

We let the mixed teams go a few hundred metres ahead as we soldiered on to the much-discussed Mount Paul, a new addition to the race at the 110km mark. The only thing that kept us pedaling up the steep singletrack incline, was the promise of a 4km timed Red Bull Run down the other side.  We blitzed the descent and the legs were suddenly feeling semi-decent. Pure adrenaline buzz.

Soon the reality of another 10km to the finish line had both Raoul and I pedaling squares. The smallest of pinch climbs towards the end nearly finished us off. The legs were now hurting. And the familiar buzz was settling in.

Hopefully it will disappear before tomorrow, as Day 4 of the joBerg2C is truly one of the greatest days of stage racing the world has to offer. Yes, its that good.

2013 Joberg2C: Day 2 [image gallery]

Images courtesy of Kelvin Trautman | Nikon

2013 Joberg2C: Day 2 – Freezing and flying

Frankfort to Reitz: 93km

Frankfort was freezing this morning. And early. 4.30am is just rude. Especially when the alarm clock is a man in the paper-thin tent next to you applying chamois cream loudly.

Did I mention it was cold? Cold enough to warrant three layers of cycling kit. Layer 1 was the mohair undershirt genetics have blessed me with – I am naturally hairy. Layer 2 was a mesh vest that would be a highly coveted fashion statement at a Mardis Gras. And arm warmers. Layer 3 was our WWF Rhino Raid jersey and bib shorts. Then came Layer 4, a sleeveless riding jacket that I discarded at the start. Stupid move that was.

As the bunch eased out of Frankfort behind our pace car – a massive Massey Furguson tractor – my eyes started to water, and my nose was running. The tears streaming down my face almost frozen to my cheeks. For a moment I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that for the second day in a row I lost my riding partner Raoul at the start. We really need to sort that out.

The only thing that saved me from the numbing cold was the frenetic pace of the lead group of riders the moment the lead tractor peeled off. As we skirted the Wilge Rivier and squinted into a rising sun, too low on the horizon to offer any warmth yet, the tempo increased. And with it the blood started to reach my extremities. By the time Raoul and I were reunited, about 20 minutes into the race, I was ready to go.

A couple of dusty open farm roads led into farm fields and then singletrack. It was great to be opening up the taps and tasting the racing after our neutral warm-up on Day 1. The first 60km was a blur, as we found ourselves in impressive company with the leading Mixed teams of Erik and Ariane Kleinhans, Yves Corminbouef and Jane Nuessli and Jarryd Haley and Catherine Williamson.

But all the bravado of hanging with some of the best female riders in the world, and their male partners, meant both Raoul and I were praying for the respite of the second waterpoint at 67km. Unfortunately we reverted to our leisurely approach from yesterday as the boiled eggs, koeksisters, Bar Ones and potatoes were proffered on trays. Our eagerness to relax and sample the wares meant we missed the bunch rolling out of the waterpoint. By the time we were done stuffing our faces our companions of the previous 20kms were a line of ants on the singletrack in the distance.

We chased hard initially but ultimately backed off, found our own rhythm and enjoyed the rolling farm roads to the start of the Red Bull Run – a timed 2km singletrack switchback descent at the 85km mark. The upside of not being able to hold the pace of the pro Mixed teams was we had the descent all to ourselves. I flew into the start and enjoyed a ripping descent through the trail, before boosting over a wooden bridge at the bottom marked the finish of the timed run.

It was still a solid 8km to our overnight stop, and we cruised through a wolf sanctuary and slogged up to the Reitz Showgrounds. What’s this? The Free State just doesn’t stop producing! Raoul just arrived at the media centre with a loaf of banana bread for Kelvin Trautman and I. A loaf! God bless good old Afrikaans hospitality. I need to carboload. So my post ends here…

2013 Joberg2C: Day 1 [image gallery]

Images courtesy of Kelvin Trautman | Nikon