Through Swellendam’s early morning hue,

Eleven friends, a daring crew.

The “Mad Men” set out to conquer the race,

With grit and glory etched on each face.

 

Up Trudouw Pass, they began their flight,

A scenic path bathed in golden light.

Through Barrydale’s charm and Montagu’s grace,

The brutal climbs were no easy pace.

 

Effervescent Mitha, the surrogate guide,

Earned “Man of the Ride” with heartfelt pride.

Yet Arshad, the captain, with wisdom so fine,

Was the mastermind behind their shine.

 

Siraaj surged, besting his past,

While Ziyaad’s first effort was a standout blast.

Motor-mouth Bera, with banter on spree,

Nearly drowned the chatter of Mills with glee.

 

Zahid, so elegant, steady and grand,

Paired with Isco, the Silent Assassin’s hand.

Their power surged, their cadence flowed,

Their efforts lifted the team on the road.

 

But alas, not all saw the finish line—

Bash, Luqman, Mota, missed the climb.

Fazel pressed on, though near his brink,

While others soared, they stopped to think.

 

Six hours and fifty-one minutes flew,

202 kilometers conquered, the Mad Men crew.

A weekend etched with laughter and flair,

As plans for next year hang in the air.

 

To the climbs, the winds, the laughs, the cheers,

This race was a memory for the years.

The Mad Men’s bond, like pedals in motion,

Forever driven by endless devotion.