Day 7 - Smuts Pass to Gunsteling
120 km
560 m climbing
12 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 7 - Advice for men
Make sure that you have had already your full complement of children before this race.
Fed up
For the first time during the race, we overslept. As an unwritten rule in our race relationship, I was the one to get up first and motivate Cornell to get out from under the warm down duvets, not easy after only a couple of hours sleep with temperatures below zero. On the other hand, I would start fading during the last 12km of the days distance when my mind would decide its had enough, push off and leave my body to finish. At this point Cornell was a master of encouragement, he would lift my spirits and get me to the end point. On this cold morning I didn’t even hear the alarm, just woke up when it was light outside.
We rode off in clear skies, thick frost coating the ground, ice clinging to the fence wire alongside the gravel road. Although cold, the riding was exhilarating, good dirt roads led us through vast open plains. At one point, while having a bite to eat alongside the road, we saw in the far distance, a horseman galloping towards us. Dressed in black and with his balaclava pulled low over his face, he created an imposing image as he galloped right past us heading for no place in particular.
Cornell had this thing about food. If a large plate of food is placed in front of him, (as opposed to being able to dish up small portions for himself), he loses his appetite, goes pale and sometimes throws up. On this day he was undone by the generosity of the friendly farm folk along the trail.
Arriving at our support station under a steep portage just as light was fading, we decided to quickly eat, and then push over the potage and on into the night. We enjoyed an extra-large cooked meal provided by the farmers at Elandsburg in preparing for a long cold night on the bikes, headed out up the portage accompanied by the farmer on his trail bike as evening fell. It was dark when we descended the bone jarring jeep track in the dark, I crashed out twice but with no damage to the bike or me.
The valley now in darkness, we studied the maps by torchlight for clues as to what lay ahead. It wasn’t long before we saw the headlights of a pickup searching around on the farm tracks looking for something. It was actually us they were looking for, as they had been tipped off by the previous farmer and told not to let us carry on as they were worried about us riding off into the night with seriously low temperatures forecasted for the area. Generally people don’t realize what you can accomplish on a bike, or at least imagine that you have no clue of the risks or dangers outside. We really wanted to move on, but there was no arguing so once again we gave ourselves over to rural hospitality.
We were taken to their farmhouse, given a room, which belonged to their children who were away at boarding school. We were then quickly ushered into the lounge where a HUGE steaming plate of farm fresh meat and potatoes waited for us. It was really only a few hours since our last meal, and I grinned to myself as Cornell politely tried to turn down the offer. In a typical South African farm kitchen, you eat what' on your plate or face serious consequences. I glanced at Cornell and watched him turn from red to white while he fiddled around the food with his fork. He made at least three trips to the bathroom. I had no problems, but then my friends always did call me “hoover” when we ate together.
Tucked into a warm bed, we heard news that the rest of the race competitors had been caught by the same storm we had experienced the previous day. Unfortunately they were caught high up in the mountains and really suffered for it. Two competitors decided to pack it in and abandoned the race at Rhodes. Quietly we thanked our luck and strategy for moving through the mountain section as quickly as possible, even though it was some of the hardest riding we had ever done.
Day 8 - Gunsteling to Cape Mountain Zebra National Park
150 km
660 m climbing
12 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 8 – Asking directions
Team up with one competitor from each official language group.They lied about English being a universal language, although it is useful when reading your cell-phone menu.
Compile a three-page list of recommended answers to the question “Is julle mal!” (are you *&%$ mad!?)
Disregard all directions ending with the words “you can’t miss it”.
Radio Fame
To compensate for been hijacked from our plan to ride on into the night the previous day, we made a 2am start. I can’t even begin to describe the intensity of the cold that early in the morning and a long steep downhill on route didn’t help much either. Around 4am we came to a small town and desperate for some warmth, walked into the only place that was open, the local police station where we pleaded with the duty sergeant to make us a mug of coffee. Although he complained that we were wasting his time commenting that "This is not a 7 / 11”, it was light hearted and soon we were sat on the hard wooden bench, warming our hands around mugs of steaming coffee as the radio cracked a report about a stabbing in the local shebeen.
We were hungry and dreaming of food when we finally reached the afternoon lunch stop, but the farmhouse was deserted. As is typical of rural areas, the house was wide open, but not a sole in sight. I must confess that we did sneak into the kitchen and raid the fridge of some fruit, but there was little else of food value. I thought of our double dinner the night before and wondered if it was not perhaps prophetic.
The rest of the day was lost in a haze of thoughts as the miles slid by. By late afternoon we had entered the Cradock Mountain Zebra National Park, and arrived at the campsite quite early. This was one of only two support stops from which we were not permitted to ride after dark, due to the rules and regulations of the Protected Area. We settled into the camp, did washing and serviced the bikes.
That evening we went to the camp restaurant and were busy eating when a lady at the table next to us leaned over and asked “Sorry to worry you, but are you the two cyclist who are currently leading the Freedom Challenge?” We were really taken aback, especially when they told us they had heard about our progress on a national radio broadcast! I did find myself grinning a little wider and a bit longer than normal.
Day 9 - Cape Mountain Zebra National Park to Van De Venterskraal
120 km
1 040 m climbing
14 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 9 - Cycle at 85% of your actual ability:
This race is a mental challenge, and is won or lost in the mind, not the legs! So if you are mentally challenged fill out an application form now! No seriously, it’s nothing to do with the legs.
The plains of Camdaboo
Leaving at dawn we cycled along winding park roads mindful of the “Danger Rhino” signs till we arrived at the appropriate dry riverbed marked on our maps where we exited the park through a hole in the fence. As a park manager myself, that felt a bit weird. On the other side of the fence we cycled, pushed, and carried up a short steep track where we were greeted with the vista of the vast plains of Camdaboo stretching out for as far as we could see. The downhill was exhilarating but not completely controllable as the surface was strewn with loose gravel and boulders. My disc brakes paid for themselves on this downhill alone. I can remember the single track to the main gravel road after the downhill as some of most exhilarating of the trip with loads of opportunities to get airborne. Maybe not the best idea with 30kg on your back and more than 1000 km to go!
Arriving at the next support station, a game farm, we shared a huge breakfast with the organizers of the race who were on their way back to Cape Town. It was great to see them and catch up with all the gossip from the rest of the field, the havoc wrecked by the storm in the Drakensberg Mountains, the accusation from the guesthouse in Rhodes where we “stole” a loaf of bread and the woes of those who dropped out of the race at Rhodes. Heading out from the farm, we tackled a long muddy portage up a mountain track, followed by a pleasant “pick your bike up onto your shoulder and hike down a trail” following a long deeply wooded valley, and also climb over a lot of barbed wire fences.
At the base of the hiking trail we were greeted by a makeshift signboard wired to a gate saying “Ben and Cornell, come inside for beer and biltong” We found out that this farmer had also been following the race on the radio, and knew we were heading his way. We felt it would be extremely rude to ignore his invitation, so filled up with coffee (no beers thank you) and left with a week’s supply of fresh game biltong, which we finished the same day.
We had reached the stage of the trip where your body is in a constantly energy deficit state and we (or at least me) unashamedly ate anything and everything we could lay out hands on. I recalled during the previous year’s race, where I had ridden off the track to a farm house, knocked on the door and asked the farmer if he could please make me a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches! He did, and I hardly even feel ridiculous at all.
It was still a long way to the next support station, but the riding was wonderful, Karoo farms, sheep (complete with working sheep dogs) and wind pumps all the way. I struggled the last 12km as normal, but with Cornell as my ever faithful coach, we arrived at a large slightly scary abandoned farm house, prepared earlier for out arrival with another monstrous farm meal designed for 5, devoured by 2.
Scary dreams that night.
Day 10 - Van De Venterskraal to Bucklands
155 km
580 m climbing
16 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 10 - Do not watch your bikes odometer
If a watched kettle never boils, then a watched odometer just never moves ahead fast enough. I found it best to select physical landmarks, such as far distant mountain ranges or other galaxies.
Game of Thorns
This, the 10th day of the race was for me a day dedicated to the “Tube God” and I personally littered the route with sacrifices and offerings. Puncture followed puncture as most of the route was lined with Acacia thorn bushes, 3 to 6 inches of multi-pronged nastiness. Impossible to avoid, growing in the track, on the shoulders, creeping across and lying in clusters everywhere a tire could turn.
As a result, it was a long frustrating day for both of us as Cornell waited patiently for me through my “tube god” sacrifices. Cornell had invested in tubeless tires for the race, and it was uncanny how well they worked. He would stop, wrench out a 4 inch spike imbedded to the hilt in middle of the tire which would then emit a small “psst” a split second before the tire sealed, spin the wheel a few times off he would go. I had thick plastic tire liners and slim, but I might as well have used party balloons for all the protection they afforded. I think the only thing that would have worked was if I had beat a ring of sheet metal around the outside of my tires.
Beside the punctures, we had to negotiate a number of portages and some pretty confusing navigation. This was game farm country, and every farm had high fences and locked gates. The fences were over two meters to stop Kudu and Eland from escaping. Both species, regardless of their weight will happily clear a 2 meter fence without a run-up. I have seen it first hand on one of the nature reserves I have managed, and recall that at the time my brain couldn’t quiet come to terms with the images been received from my eyes so it all looked very much like a movie in slow motion.
I felt a little uneasy as I knew game theft and farm murders were not uncommon in this isolated area, and all the farmers are heavily armed with hunting rifles and shotguns, and certainly not shy to use them. Climbing over the 2,5 meter locked farm gates (usually two gates tied end on end on top of each other) with a bike is quite an art and for the first time during the trip while helping Cornell with his bike I realized just how light his bike was! His frame was made of titanium, and what a difference the weight must have made during the portages and climbs.
Cornell's titanium frame bike
Now already late into the night, we were negotiating yet another farm gate and making a fair bit of noise about it, when a light came on from the house next to the fence, and the next instant the quite of the night was shattered by a series of violent explosions as blasts from a high powered rifle sent bullets whizzing above our heads.
The hell with dignity and composure, we hollered at the top of our voices “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We are cyclists!, we are in a race!” as if that would actually have meant anything! Nobody answered us and we didn’t stick around for introductions, all I remember was that our riding average improved quite significantly over the next few km’s. Later that evening we were met by the farmer owners from our next support station. They had become concerned about us and came looking. Their offer of a ride for the last 15km to the farm was tempting, we had already done 130km and it was late, nobody would know or care really if we cheated these few km as we were now days ahead of the rest of the riders behind us.
Of course we didn’t, instead we rode in front of the pickup and used their headlights to light the way. The problem was that we felt a bit guilty at holding them up from a warm house and rugby match on TV, so we upped the pace and ended up riding the last 15km at a ridiculously fast pace, arriving at the farm completely spent.
Hospitality once again surpassed all our requirements, and we fell asleep well after midnight, warm, full stomachs and smiles all round.
Day 11 - Bucklands to Cambria
100 km
880 m climbing
13 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 11 – Beware the dotted lines:
Dotted lines on the map represent field trips. These field trips however have nothing whatsoever in common with field trips undertaken at botanical gardens or during corporate workshops.
Break a leg!
I lay sprawled out on my stomach on the steep boulder strewn slope, my bike lying upside down against a rock further down the slope, front wheel spinning aimlessly. A light rain had just started to fall, and an icy wind blew the drops under the hood of my rain jacket. I tried to sit up but as I moved my leg a stab of pain shot through me like an electric shock. We happened to be in one of the most isolated areas of the route and daylight was fast running out, thoughts that didn’t escape me. A cold clammy sweat broke over me and I fought back waves of nausea that threatened to engulf me.
We had left at daybreak that morning looking forward to what was one of the highlights of the trip, entering the Biviaanskloof wilderness area. This area is an amazing mountainous area full of wildlife including three of the big five, Leopard, Rhino and Buffalo. We entered not through the conventional route taken by tourists, but by a deserted management track snaking down into the very heart of the wilderness area, miles from civilization or park infrastructure.
The trip down into this kloof involved a climb over a rusted green gate and then following an abandoned rutted track which snaking steeply down to the river invisible in the distance below. It was beautiful and I was reveling in the realization that we were now so far ahead that we were not only heading for a win, but also a new race record.
With that sweet thought, I lost concentration just long enough for my front wheel to slip into a deep erosion rut running parallel in the track. The section was a very steep, and the bike was forced off the track and went plummeting uncontrollably down the mountain slope. Blurred boulders, laws of physics, over the handlebars, the dull sound of flesh smashing against rock and then all was quiet, except for the whistle of the icy wind through the brush. Cornell, who was slightly ahead of me rounded a hairpin bend in the road, said he heard something on the slopes above him and was surprised to hear me calling out to him. On closer inspection he found me lying in a heap among the rocks and vegetation. I was a bit put out when he raced up the slope straight to my bike and after examining it in what I thought was an unnecessary amount of detail, finally proclaimed in joyful relief “Its ok! Your bike’s ok!” But then who can blame a guy who has his priorities sorted.
My prognosis was not as good, and while we did decide that my leg wasn’t actually broken, I could not put any weight on it, nor could I complete a full revolution of the pedals without excruciating pain. The problem was that there was no help even close, and to go back would have been worse than going ahead. With the cold, rain and daylight running out, staying put was not an option. So we continued on the long decent to the river valley below, every km taking us further and further from any help or support. I found that I was able to pedal with only my right leg and still keep moving and so forward went.
Once down in the river we were confronted with a flooded road, and during the next few hours carried our bikes through knee and sometimes waste deep freezing water. I seem to remember that we crossed the river 9 times, some crossing being as long as a few 100 meters. This was real wilderness, absolutely beautiful and we saw species of game at nearly every corner.
The pain was severe, but worse was the realization that this could be the end of the race for me. We were still only half way into the race and now the really long distances were about to begin. I was not a happy camper. With Cornell’s constant encouragement and support we made it over the highest gate I ever had to climb and rode the last few hours to the guesthouse in the dark. I think that both of us realized that I would probably not be able to continue the next day, but none of us said as much. The route was going to be one of the toughest of the race with huge climbs and extreme distances to cover.
Cornell gave me some Myprodol, which was like morphine to me who never even takes as much as a headache tablet, and some arnica ointment to rub on my leg. It took about 15 painful minutes to get myself onto bed and my leg under the blankets and with a feeling of desperate disappointment; I fell into a deep sleep.
Day 12 - Cambria to Willowmore
160 km
1,460 m climbing
16 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 12 – Interact with the locals:
Taking the time to interact with the locals will enrich your experience of the race, help you to develop an understanding of the rich cultural diversity existing in our country, and open your mind to the local knowledge of the area.
For me, the common thread of local knowledge expounded to me throughout the route went something along these lines: “The turn off you are looking for is just at the top of the 20km downhill you have just come down”
Break a bike!
When I woke that morning I lay very still for a long time, not really wanting to face the decision I would need to make. While I didn’t know, I still had hope. Eventually I moved my leg, and it was as if a miracle had taken place during the night, Most of the pain had simply disappeared. I can’t express the elation I felt just knowing that I had been given an opportunity to continue, that’s all I ever really wanted. Disaster had once again given way to hope, hope to resolve. I was still in the game!
It is interesting that throughout the remainder of the race I suffered no ill from my leg other than a dull ache during the first day, but one morning a few days after the race was over, I woke to the same excruciating pain, which lasted throughout the day then disappeared. “Deferred injury”, weird.
Yet another epic days riding in all aspects with over 170 km of some of the steepest climbs and descents of the route as we traversed the length of the Biviaanskloof mountain range. My spirits were soaring, not only because of the rugged wilderness we were passing through, but for the sheer relief of been able to continue. This was it truly a gift, in fact a birthday gift to me sent one day early.
In contrast, Cornell, was having a day of real concern when he discovered to his horror that a hairline crack had developed in his bikes titanium frame just alongside the weld on the bottom tube. This was a serious situation, one that would have us both examining the crack at regular intervals during the remainder of the race debating whether it was getting worse or staying the same. Besides the physical risk to Cornell if the frame failed suddenly en route, it could put Cornell out of the race altogether. To reduce the risk of ending his race, Cornell managed to organize that his second bike be flown down to Cape Town where it could potentially be delivered to him on the trail in the event of total frame failure. We both prayed that this would not be necessary, as the 24hr time penalty for this level of intervention would put the race record out of his reach.
During the day I took stock of my physical situation. Sitting on the saddle had now become an awkward business, so I tried to stand on the pedals as much as possible. I would delay sitting down as long as possible, changing to a lower gear and keeping most of my weight on my legs. The problem was that my left leg, bruised in the fall would start to protest, and then my right knee which I injured in the Drakensberg would start giving in. Eventually I would have to sit down, trying to find the best position out of an unhappy blend of raw skin, welts and bruises. I would just settle down to the best of the worst, when some or other obstacle in the track would require me to stand up, and the whole unfortunate process would repeat itself over again.
It was also the day that I discovered I could sleep while riding a bike. On one particular section towards afternoon I found I was struggling to keep my eyes open. At this point the road was good dirt, wide and either level or trending slightly downhill. The pickups using the road had left two smooth compacted wheel tracks lined with loose gravel on either side. I noticed that when I drifted onto these looser sections there was different feel and sound and this formed the basis of my bike sleep strategy. So by building up speed or on a slow downhill I would center my bike in the smooth section, close my eyes and blissfully dose off until the bike wandered onto the shoulder where the different noise and vibrations would wake me from my snooze. I would re-center the bike and do it all over again. Many times I was able to re-center the bike without actually opening my eyes. I can’t imagine I ever dozed of longer that 15 or 20 seconds at a time, but after 15 or 20 minutes of it, I felt pretty well rested.
The last stretch to Willowmore was a long series of climbs, and we were well spent when we finally arrived in the dark at our support station in the town. Our work not quite done, we first underwent some “medical monitoring” conducted by two postgraduate sports science students who were using us to monitor the effects of extreme exercise on the body. They were quite astonished by the rapid weight loss we were experiencing as a result of the sustained efforts and rigors of the trip.
Despite eating like a weightlifter, I lost 7kg during the race.