The Coronation Double Century of 2012 will go down as the most humbling event that I rode. Much will be spoken, thought and written and much more will be offered in explanation. But, it will go down as an ‘away hiding’ or a ‘fishing trip with no fish caught’ or a return with our ‘tail between our legs’ for a club like New Horizons.
It started off well with high team spirit. So much so that we spent the day before the race much more relaxed, perhaps too relaxed. In hindsight, the first sign of our arrogance and apparent invincibility. After months of training, riding and conditioning we thought that we just had to pitch. Perhaps, it being our last race for the year, one foot was already on holiday.
We waited for most team members to fly in from Johannesburg whilst enjoying coffee and samoosas. After reading Friday payers at the airport, we waited for Shahaad, who drove with the bikes from Johannesburg and Imtiaz who had to collect his bike in the city center. This gave us a chance to tuck into some of Bera’s delicious treats – kebab and puri, a must for all tours.
We headed to the famous Wembley Roadhouse, owned by Hoosain’s in-laws, for a late lunch. A delicious Cape akhni followed by Malay koeksisters, masala tea and falooda awaited us. “Carbo-loading, the Cape way”, a good friend responded to my tweet. We departed quite late for our destination called Bushmanspad, 30 km’s outside the start in Swellendam. The drive took around 3 hours as we navigated the late Cape Friday traffic. Despite it being tiring it was great fun as we sat in the combi verbally sparing, chatting and obviously snacking.
We arrived past 9pm and ended having a late meal of chicken and/or beef lasagna. I think I went to bed around 11pm after sorting out my drinks and setting out my kit. The Spitfire team still had to drive another 6km odd to their chalets. It turned out that they had no lights and the accommodation was much too rustic especially prior to such a long race. Some chalets were overrun with too many insects forcing two members to sleep in the car for the night.
Thankfully, most of our biological systems were working which greatly reduced the morning stress. I was up at 3:30am, just over 4 hours of actual sleep, rushing to be ready by our 4am departure. Ominously, which we only heard later in the day, Clive our driver was visited by a tokoloshi that night. According to Clive, the tokoloshi attempted to ‘gewurg’ (strangle, throttle) him. Freddie and Arshad who shared the chalet and a double bed in the adjacent room looked rather bemused. After supper that evening, the charming Doc solved the mystery. According to Ismail Mitha’s theory, it looked like Clive had slept looking at the painting in his room. It was a very large portrait of a stern-faced lady set in early 1900s. She must have frightened many in her day.
Most team members were late and we ended up leaving around 4:30 for our 5:30 start. We raced and in the process we got lost in the lovely vineyards of Bushmanspad and as luck would have it, we got stuck in mud with an awful smell emanating from the hard working engine. We dismantled the trailer that was holding our bikes and pushed the combi out into drier soil resulting in many of us being splattered with mud for our efforts.
Back on the road, Clive our official support vehicle driver, raced as we were now seriously late. He looked sleepy since the tokoloshi did not give him much shuteye. It appeared as if he was going to drive us into a nearby river but Arshad kept him focused.
The speed and/or the pounding the trailers took on the gravel roads and/or the poor design and/or construction of the trailer led to our next debacle. Imtiaz, who was sitting in the back seat with Hassan, calmly informed us that a rack of bikes had fallen off. We dismissed this as a prank until Hassan confirmed this all too calmly but a bit more firmly. We looked back and lo and behold, it had fallen off and it looked like it may have hit a car behind us.
We took a U-turn and saw Arrie who emerged from the car behind us carrying some debris. Fearing the worst, we dismounted. Miraculously, the entire rack had dislodged fully but landed firmly and upright with none of the bikes were scratched. Miraculously and luckily, the car behind which happened to be driven by Arrie was not even touched. Zunaid who was traveling with Arrie exclaimed “Thank God I was watching the road or we would have been toast”. Arrie was holding pieces of the carrier bracket. Interestingly, one of the bikes of the fallen lot belonged to Arrie and they could have easily and serendipitously have met with not so happy consequences. Perhaps, his bike, like a loyal dog, on seeing that his master was in the car behind, jumped off handlebar wagging.
Most of the Spitfire team had already left and they were close to Swellendam. They had a 6:14 start but we had most of the bikes. We moved the fallen bikes into the other combi and Zunaid’s hired car and placed the damaged carrier into the trailer. We reached Swellendam just after 6am and started quickly dismounting the bikes and readying ourselves. We left shortly before 7am with the last few teams, mainly pro riders. We had 4 hours until cut-off and we had to cover 115kms.
We barely cycled 100m and we heard a loud bang. Baroochi’s back wheel had a blow out (he also had a puncture during the 94.7 cycle challenge). About 9 riders stopped to help whilst the rest slowly rode on. Owen Botha, a friend of the club, raced to his car some distance away and found some replacement wheels allowing Baroochi to continue riding. “An act of kindness second to none” commented Eddie whilst the recipient referred to “the Owen who took Owen’s bike to help out the ouens in orange”. Such kindness inspired the group and they caught the rest of the team about 15-20mins later. By this time many teams if not all passed us.
We got into a peloton formation, two by two, and headed through the picturesque cape landscape. It was stunningly beautiful and we stopped after climbing the Tradouw Pass taking some pictures. I noticed what looked like a brown snake eagle gently move off its perch. A few kilometers later I saw a beautiful grey heron in flight. The camaraderie was joyful, fun with abundant friendship. Cycling takes and grows friendship to another level as we view the same beauty and suffer similar pains. Some say we cycle because we like pain and beauty alike.
As each kilometer passed, the weather first slowly then rapidly deteriorated. The howling, roaring Cape Easter came at us from the side. A few minutes later the raindrops started falling like little stinging pellets, a thousand at a time. It was almost like we were in full battle and the enemy relentlessly firing every weapon of its arsenal at us.
We were drenched to the bone, our fingers and toes numb with cold. The faster we rode, the slower it seemed. The big chain ring was relegated to being a relic of another era. Small chain in the front, topmost ring at the back allowed us to slowly cut through the wind. We tried many formations. Riding two by two, single file, single file with sub-second rotation and ended up riding singly in multiple groups miles apart. We were as fragmented and dangerous as the sub-atomic particles on collision in the Cern laboratory. Riding downhill required a Herculean effort just to move at 10kms at hour.
The peloton was disheveled and spirits were lower than low. Sometimes we had to stop to wait for others and sometimes to take a nature break. Even those most pious were not spared any mercy. Their urine was flung back at them making prayers a distant dream.
We soldiered on kilometer-by-kilometer – tired, hungry, cold and with our spirits ever declining. Comfort was a mere figment of our imagination with warmth something from another planet. The roaring wind was relentless coming at us from all angles. As luck would have it, this wind had no tail. A small tortoise swiftly crossed the road and many a rider felt that the tortoise was going faster.
Zunaid, Arrie and Eddie were marshaling the rear pushing and encouraging Bash, Mitha and Hassan. Zunaid recounted, “There was an incredible moment as we neared the top of the Op De Tradauw pass. A desperate voice announced on a loud hailer from the sweep vehicle that we had a few minutes to get to the top or we would miss the cut off. Suffice to say that I have never seen Bash, Mita and Hassen ride like they did to beat the clock and all pushing up the hill came to an abrupt halt. Eddie, Arrie and I would have paid good money to have that person announcing a few more times during the rest of the ride”.
The half way mark just never came. Neither did any respite. The landscape strangely became even more beautiful, a perfect contrast to our pain, suffering and growing numbness. The rocky mountains of Montagu spoke of beauty and timelessness of life whilst our pain talked of immediacy and the now. And, despite the pain, suffering, cold and numbness, I was clear that it beat my best day in the office.
Meanwhile time was passing much too slowly. The rain stopped but the wind did not get the message. Members at times almost clattered into each other and at other times uncontrollably wandered to the center of the road. We continued, slowly.
I was certain that there was a 100km stop but this did not happen. From then on it was pure punishment. Leg push, leg pull, stand up, sit down, hands on the drops, hands on the handlebar, anything just to take away the pain. Thankfully, the strong wind dried our clothes and the feeling in our hands and feet slowly returned. Many members wilted, some (Isco) had their chain broken and were picked up by the sweeping vehicles and in one case by a police vehicle, such was the merciless devastation wrought on the Orange Train.
We finally came into town and were stopped by a race official who judiciously informed us that we had missed the cutoff time. Dejected, we signed a non-indemnity form and had to painstakingly ride another couple of kilometers until our combi came into view with nary another team in sight. Such was our defeat – LAST (DNF).
Those who had already reached the combi, like comrades from many battles, handed out Wembley Roadhouse whoppers that were devoured in 2 or 3 bites. Some ravenous and larger members of the team ate up to 4 of these wonderfully tasting treats. Replenished, our spirit slowly returned with battle stories and banter traded – the lore of friendship.
Most had made their mind up many kilometers back that they were done, capito, finished. Some, very few, harboured small ambitions of continuing but were not strong enough to continue regardless. None were familiar with the route and any idea of continuing was hit back hard by the cold relentless rhythmless merciless wind. We were broken, humbled, with our tails firmly stuck between our legs. Our casualness, arrogance and foolhardiness were there for all to see. We were soundly beaten but our friendships emerged even stronger
It was cold and getting colder as our bodies deheated. Many huddled into the combi whilst others stood behind the combi as we waited for the other combi to return. We also had noticed that just one screw and several temporary cable ties were dangerously holding the hinges of the other carrier. When the combi returned, we quickly loaded all the bikes, huddled as best we could and carefully returned to our chalets for a warm shower and more Wembley Roadhouse eatery. As usual, we were spoilt on the food front. The stern woman looked disapprovingly from her perch whilst Clive quietly tucked into his steak sitting close to the warm roaring wooden fireplace.
We had completed 117.8km at an average of just over 21km per hour with a cadence average of roughly 70rpm. The temperature had oscillated from a high of 31degree to a low of 13 degrees and altitude from a low of 158m to a high of 788m. The maximum incline and decline was 10% (17%).
The New Horizon Cycling Club can boast many a good rider but all agreed that the 2012 Coronation Double Century defeated us. Many have already penciled their names for a return match hopefully wiser and definitely more humble. Despite our defeat, it was a wonderful weekend spent with friends sharing the same passion and enjoying the adrenalin even if just in defeat. We will be back.
