live-cycle

From the moment I woke on saturday morning I knew I was going to bury myself on the final stage from Oak Valley to Lourensford, 60km with 1570 metres of climbing, this was perfect for me.

The organisers allowed us a later start – 8.30 – but the rain drumming on the tents woke everyone early.

The routine of the last 8 days followed it’s course only the actions becoming stiffer, everything took longer. Eating is a chore, sleeping is the only escape from the pain in my legs and even then I wake as muscles spasm.

I chivvied Dennis along, urging him to get a better slot in the start chute. He looked better today, brighter not so drained, he too could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

We posed for pictures in our Times jerseys, proudly standing behind our bikes as asecurity guard composed the shot.

Moving to our grid position for the race we exhanged nervous words with fellow athletes. Everyone wanted to finish inside the 7 hours – yes I used my fingers to work it out! To come all this way and miss the cut on the last day would be devasting.

The usual symphony of helicopters hovered overhead. The crack of the starters gun and a blaze of multicoloured Lycra swept from the start, the leaders going of at a frantic pace. A percussion like ripple snaked its way back along the start chute as riders locked into their pedals. We were moving, slowly at first, under the giant ABSA banners past children waving flags laughing with excitement. Wives and girlfriends pointed as they spotted husbands and boyfriends making their way onto the last stage.
Dennis and started cautiously, no need to crash at the start but soon we were into the fields and after a minor delay on the first small climb because of congestion we were free.

I sat on the front of our small train and started to push, I drove us up the first long climb of 22km without pause or hesitation. Every time I looked over my shoulder, there was Dennis, he had a slightly bemused look on face that asked why? We didn’t stop to eat, gels were sucked down as we bumped and bounced over the rough ground. I was on a mission and nothing was going to get in the way today.

From about 15km in everything hurt, my feet were on fire, calves were tight, my thighs screamed and my fingers were numb. The only thing that was hurting was deep inside me and I bullied and tortured the physical parts of my body, not giving any quarter to weakness.

After the long drawn climb a very steep descent had shoulders and wrists taking their turn to beg for mercy as we clung on to brake levers making our way to the valley floor through a quarry.

The dust was incredible billowing out from our tyres, brakes squealing another hairpin bend sent back wheels skidding and front wheels sliding onthe loose surface. This hellish descent had no let up, no place to relax and roll.

Eventually the bottom greeted us and the road turned up again, we pushed on legs furiously churning away as we went from60kph down to 6kph. The sweat started in earnest again. The source the river seemed to be somewhere near my left eye, the stinging never stopped, it ran round my eye over my cheeks, it dropped from my nose. Rivers were joined by tributaries as more sweat coursed down my back, it ran in streams along my arms running off my wrists and elbows like waterfalls. Looking over at Dennis he was the same.

At the first water point we ate, more gel and bananas, filled our bottles and camelbacks, lubed the chain and then pushed on. Spectators cheered our departure, our legs had stiffened during the brief stop. Onwards ever upward but only 30km to go.
There was obviously an untapped resource within me now as I found new energy. Driving us on my pedalling had become a metronome, bashing along at exactly 90 rpm never waivering, no matter what surface or incline the rythmn was the same.
At about 36km we had a compulsory portage. Climbing off our bikes we pushed them up Gamtoe pass, it was steep and strewn with boulders but etched in the rocks were parallel groves made by the Voortrekkers who originally settled here hundreds of years ago. It was bad enough walking and pushing a bike but imagine the hardship of driving a fully laden wagon over huge rocks in the burning unforgiving African sun. At the top the view was spectacular, there spread out before us was the western cape, green and lush, the ocean crashing waves on the golden sands down below us and the vineyards and fruit orchards stretching away into the distance, and on the horizon was Table Mountain where this all started. Cautiously we made the even more hazardous descent to the railway below us. Dennis raised the question ” why did the Voortrekkers haul their stuff over the mountain when the railway was so nearby and the road also seemed perfectly usable!” this bought belly laughs from several people including me. Twenty two kilometres to go and I started again, riding like the devil was chasing me with a poker of failure clutched in his hand. We were catching riders all the time, it was like pulling them in on a long rope. One by one they came back, with each one defeated I set about chasing the next, I became obsessed with it. Dennis grimly hanging on to me as I pushed, my body doubled over the bars, mouth gaping wide sucking at the hot air in gulps.
Into the last 5km I put the hammer down and jacked our speed up we were pushing 25-30kph in the last 5km and still I didn’t stop. As we passed a couple of riders they jumped on our wheels to get a tow, come with us or die trying I muttered to myself and pushed the pace further. I desperately wanted to switch into the big gear on the front but my left thumb just couldn’t push the lever. Every ounce of energy, every last part of my being was dedicated to making sure when I hit the line I had given my best.
The two riders who tried to join us blew up and dropped off the back. We hit the the finish line, I heard the announcer say ” the times boardman team are in” I reached over a shook dennis’s hand as we crossed the line, skidded to a halt and hugged each other. Through red eyes we acknowledged that we had really given our best today. Five hours and sixteen minutes for 60km not bad for two men over forty who work in an office.
We proudly recieved our medals ok stage, I must admit to feeling quite emotional the feeling swirling round in my head difficult to explain. We came to race, not to win, but to race what? Essentially I think we raced ourselves, we both struggled on different days, both helped each other through and came out the other side stronger.
Over our picnic we discussed doing it again, it was my first, Dennis says it is his last but it will always be The Cape Epic.

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 29th, 2009 at 4:49 am and is filed under Paul. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.