As you will have seen from Dennis’s post we both battled around the RVV or Tour of Flanders last Saturday. I think I can honestly say that this is one of those cycling events that is an absolute must for all enthusiasts of the two wheeled sport.

The belgians are passionate about cycling, the fact that on every single climb they stood in the rain crowded under small umbrellas to watch a bunch of amateurs tackle some of the most famous climbs in cycling classics is testament to their love of the sport.

The day was pretty wet, cold and windy, typical classics weather! We had opted for the 155km route which takes in 14 of the 15 climbs done by the pros the following day.  Those of you familar with the agonies of my earlier blogs will know how I seem to die a thousand deaths and enter some kind of delirious state every time I sit on my bike, will be surprised that I had actually prepared enough for this challenge!

Yes it’s hard, but no harder than riding round Kent and over the Downs – the only difference is the cobbles and I surprised myself here by taking a leaf out of my mountain biking days and sitting back and spinning up the climbs, allowing the front wheel to bounce under my numb fingers, the back wheel stayed firm on every climb. All the climbs make you ache, but they are short enough to allow you a good recovery between them.

I vowed I wouldn’t stop on any climb, and I apologise for the abuse I may have uttered at some hapless cyclists who were walking in my way as I battled up the narrow cobbled climbs but when I set my mind to something I just have to do it. The Pattenberg and Koppenberg are amazing to ride up, the latter is like a wall in the middle but is do-able. I rode shoulder to shoulder with a Belgian up it both of us urging riders who were pushing their bikes out of our way, as we crested the climb a loud cheer went as a hardy group of fans waved the yellow and black Flandrian flags.

My favourite climb of the day through was the Muur, weirdly it started long before the offical climb, it rises up in front of you gets steeper and steeper, then as you turn and see the church at the top it seems to get steeper, the cobbles here are like glass, I took the less crowded outside line and wove through more people pushing, the number of people on the Muur was astounding, the wall of cobbles matched by the wall of noise from the fans.

This is a truly clasic ride, unlike Dennis, I’d do it again on a road bike, without a camelback and in the rain!

For the technically minded of you – I rode a cervelo R3 with Sram Force compact chainset 50/34 and 11/28, I used the excellent Vittoria pave tyres. Finally a few nutritional facts – I’m a great follower of SiS and used their PSP energy drink and two Go gels, for the rest of my food I had home made flapjacks, which after some experimentation have proved to be the best fuel for me – recipe to follow shortly!

The following day watching the pros go up the Koppenberg, made me truuly apprecaite what great athletes they are, and what passion they seem arouse in the Belgians, who cheer every rider and urge them to greater speeds. Only at football matches in England have I seen such crowds and queues!

Here a few pix of the pros on the Koppenberg on Sunday

Eventual winner Cancellara leads Boonen up the Koppenberg

Garmin's David Millar struggles for traction on the Koppenberg

Lance Armstrong battles up the Koppenberg

After tonight our platonic marriage will be over, back to normality, where funnily enough half the people I meet think I’m gay!

On a separate thing I just way to say thanks to all of you who have been Reading this blog, left comments and supported us throughout the Epic. It has been fun in a crazy way.
Also I must say a huge thank you to our sponsors without whom this trip would have been beyond us: Greg at halfords bike hut, Andy at boardman bikes, Pete at SIS, Roger at Polaris, phil and Sharon at British cycling and the staff of Virgin Atlantic for getting us and our overweight baggage to Cape Town.
There will be more from us as we are already floating ideas of other events we could attempt.

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.

Dennis makes his way across the Wolfkloof

Then as I turned to remount my bike, I saw Dennis somersault gracefully through the air, landing on all fours, cursing.
I dashed down to him, his knees and elbow were bleeding, but not too badly. A quick spray of antiseptic and we were off again. Twenty minutes later Dennis obviously wanted more TLC as he crashed again, same manouver, head first over the bars, landing on his hands and bashing his knees again. Nurse Paul was quickly by his side checking he was ok. Yet again Dennis proved he is a tough as old boots, a quick shake, a drink and we were off again.
Through the water points we were steady then began the 18km climb.
This is where I slightly lost my mind. It’s kind of up to me to keep a check on our time and distance and keep Dennis up to date on our progress. I tried to remember the cut off time and couldn’t then I thought I was a two o’clock cut off. So I shouted back to Dennis we didn’t have long to make the cut. I pushed hard on the ups and the downs. A 2pm cut off meant we only had atotal of 7 hours riding today. I pushed harder, I didn’t want to miss the cut and lose our place on the final stage. Dennis kept asking how we were doing. “Badly, we need to push harder on the downhills, we are running out of time”

We raced through the beautiful Lebanon forest, a sinewy singletrack threaded us through the magnificent pine trees. We were jumping and weaving when Pssssssssst – Dennis had hit a root hard and the back tyre had blown yet again. Thyre changed we pushed on still harder, the pines towering over us. Out into the light and with 15km to go we had half an hour. I must admit I was driving our train a little too hard. My pulse rate was at 178, my legs were screaming, feet burning and my hands ahd gone completely numb.
We caught Mr and Mrs 15th anniversary who said they thought it a four o’clock cut off, well I must split the difference and go for three o’clock then I said to my self. Still urging Dennis onward like a relentless slave driver we flew over the Northshore (that’s logs to those who don’t ride) into the final forest at Oak Valley and we were motoring.

Riders through the dust

We crossed the line and collapsed both exhausted.
The announcer “Mike Mike” declared to the crowd that “The Times team are just finishing, well done guys you made it! These two are from Britain’s finest newspaper, two riders handpicked by Rupert himself!” I looked at Dennis, it turned out that the cut off was 4pm, so we actually finished with over an hour and half to spare – Sorry Dennis! I really must try and get the maths sorted!

I feel exhilirated by today’s ride. We hardly had to get off and push at all, we powered up some ridiculous hills over surfaces that seemed impossible to ride but we did it and were rewarded with a great singletrack finish and some extra time for relaxing.

Exhausted and exhilarated

Tomorrow is the last stage, about 60km, in some ways I’ll be sorry it’s over, but in others I’ll be glad to see the back of the evil that constructed this course.

Judging by some of your comments I think I will be getting some fake tan to sort out my unsightly lines!