Day 13 - Willowmore to Prins Albert
160 km
280 m climbing
10 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 13 – Saddle sores
Never, and I mean never, examine the part of your body in direct contact with your saddle.
Those strange lumps, bumps and nodules had probably been there your entire life anyway.
Birthday blast
I woke up to a crisp clear Karroo morning, and the prospect of an easy days ride ahead of us. Our minds were now so well tuned to this type of riding that we now considered 160km day “easy” as there were no portages and very little climbing. The entire day only involved something like 300m of climbing. I had to wait for the post office to open as I had sent some “non penalty earning spares” to this town, so Cornell decided to go on ahead and we would meet up in Prince Albert later that evening.
I go a bit of a birthday treat when I opened the parcel and found that Jan (Kings Cycles in Worcester) had thrown in a couple of energy bars for me, no charge! It was a wonderful day's riding, perfectly clear skies, easy navigation, and good dirt roads except for a section of soft sand and corrugations. Running from just outside Willowmore all the way to Prince Albert, the Swartberg mountain range rose increasingly higher above the Karroo plains.
On stopping to open one of the many farm gates along the route, I had to smile, written with a stick in the ground was a message “Happy Birthday Ben”. Bless Cornell! He blasted through like a roadrunner to complete the days run in 8 hours. I took a more leisurely pace arriving just as daylight faded.
We were taken to a restaurant just outside the town by the local guesthouse and had a great dinner. The “easy” day had made us feel a bit wimpish, so we decided to restore balance to our universe with a 3am start the next morning.
Day 14 - Prins Albert to Hartland
110 km
1,920 m climbing
14 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 14 – Avoiding punctures in the Karroo.
They lied to us about tyre liners stopping thorns.
Use slime, tyre-liners and when going through the Karoo, beat a strip of sheet metal around the outside of the tyre surface.
To Hell and gone
I say this about almost every day, but THIS was an epic day, 160km, the Swartberg Pass, down into Hell, out the ladder portage” long unrideable sections of track and a final blissful downhill to Hartland farm. The Swartberg Pass is just awesome, 15km of unbelievably steep hairpin bends stitching its way almost vertically to the top of the Swartberg mountain range. First gear, and on some of the hairpin corners it was difficult to keep the front wheel from lifting off the ground. We reached the crest while it was still dark, dawn finally catching us on the long winding road to “The Hell”.
The Hell was a small completely isolated community living deep in the mountains, with the only access being a donkey track clinging to the side of a near vertical cliff at the far end of the valley. Sometime in the early 1900’s some guy tried to bring a car into the valley, to show the people what a car looked like. By dismantling the vehicle and lugged pieces of it up boulder strewn riverbeds with donkeys, ropes and pulley systems for almost a year, the parts all arrived at Die Hell, where they were assembled into a somewhat battered version of its original self. There were however no roads in the Hell, only donkey tracks, so after been admired by the locals with the appropriate ‘oh’s and ah’s”, the car rusted into a pill of junk, sections of which can still be seen today.
Actually the thinking around this entire escapade was not unlike the idea of taking a car to the moon during the Apollo missions! “Hey I know, why don’t we take a car to the moon and cruise around a bit” “The hell” is currently a rustic tourist destination run by CapeNature, the conservation organization I was working for at the time. It’s still very isolated , as the only way in or out is via a bad 4X4 track leading into the village, a track that during rains and snowstorms becomes impassable. In this case, the road to “Hell” is not paved with good intentions or anything else for that matter.
A few descendants of the original villagers still reside in the valley operating small shops, restaurants or providing services for the tourism facilities. Many of the original houses are being restored or preserved as cultural museums.
We arrived in Die Hell around lunch time, and stopped at a rustic restaurant appropriately named “Devils Kitchen”. Here we met the owner; an old timer descended from the original families. He builds traditional handmade piano accordions which he exports by considerable demand to customers in Germany. We were treated to a recital accompanied by the mournful howls of his old faithful sheep dog lying under his bamboo chair.
As is probably true in the afterlife, getting into Die Hell, although difficult enough proved to be far easier than getting out. Shouldering our bikes, we tackled the almost vertical old donkey path known as “Die Leer” (The ladder) gaining almost 1 000m of elevation in about 3 km of switchbacks, an interesting experience made easier by daylight and beautiful blue skies. The previous year I had tackled this portage at 2am under a freezing moonless sky.
The remainder of the day involved a long rough jeep track that proved virtually impossible to ride followed by some of the smoothest dirt roads I have ever experiences, and a final sweet unbroken, never have to pedal, 20km descent to a very well equipped support station at the Hartland farm.
Day 15 - Hartland to Montagu
165 km
960 m climbing
11 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 15 - Bring along your sense of humour.
Don’t worry too much about bringing it into Stettynskloof, you are welcome to use mine, I left it in a riverbed halfway up the Kloof.
On Home Soil
As a conservation manager employed by CapeNature, the Provincial agency responsible for protected areas and mountain catchment areas in the Western Cape, it was strange to be routed through areas so familiar to me. I can’t say it was particularly delightful as it signified to me the beginning of the end of this amazing adventure, and in the frame of mind I was in, I would rather have turned the bike around 1 meter from the finish and headed back to Pietermaritzburg! It was all very familiar, dirt roads I used regularly to travel between sites, paths from which we had fought wildfires, Nature Reserves managed by friends and colleges, towns and restaurants I frequented.
It was a long slog, but at this stage of the race who’s watching the speedometer. 165 km across the Little Karroo from the Swartberg Mountains in the North, through the Anysberg Nature Reserve, down the long Ouberg Pass and into Montagu, a peacefully village nestled at the foot of the Langeberg Mountains. We were not to be passing through any towns during this day, so a lunch was to be prepared for us at Anysberg Nature Reserve offices. On arrival we couldn’t locate anyone at the office so although we were in serious need of fuel, burned directly through to Montagu, more than 60 km away. I learned later that we had missed an excellent lunch due to some impatience from my part.
It always amazed me how directly and obviously the quality and or quantity of the nutrition taken during the day affected my performance on the bike and more importantly, my mental state. I came to realize that times of feeling mentally low or physically week were more a product of poor nutrition than of physical circumstances, and all it took was some food and a warm drink to be miraculously rejuvenated, physically and mentally.
We arrived in Montagu at dusk, sat on the pavement outside a local mini mart and wolfed down huge oily helpings of deep fried chips, aware of but immune to the frowns of disapproval from locals out to buy their weekly lottery tickets.
Day 16 - Montagu to Trouthaven
150 km
940 m climbing
17 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 16 - Surviving Stettynskloof
Do not actually carry out any of the threats you made in the Kloof. Avoid making life-changing decisions while still in the Kloof.
It’s not your bikes fault.
It is the race director’s fault.
Overberg
Sunday morning saw us on the road by 3 am navigating through small alleys and backyards of the many wine farms in the valley. The dawn stained sky illuminated the dirt road as we moved towards McGregor, arriving in the yawning town just in time (we hoped) for breakfast.
It became amusingly obvious that we were nearing the land of plenty when we were unable to get a breakfast or even a cup of coffee merely due the incorrect position of a thin line of tin moving around the face of the clock. The lady managing the coffee shop was very friendly, standing protectively in front of the steaming coffee machine explaining how sorry she was that it was only 7:30, and she was unable to serve us before the long hand of the clock moved around to the magical number of “8”. We both chuckled as our thoughts drifted to the shepherd high in the mountains who gave us his bed at midnight and his neibour who thought nothing of opened his small shop at that hour so that we could buy a few tins of food.
We didn’t really have the time to watch the long hand do its thing, so we headed off to the first portage of the day, stomachs growling in protest.
Arriving in Casra, we were treated to a huge brunch by the owners of the guesthouse whose culinary skills are legionary in the small community. The mountain of food placed in front of Cornell had him in a cold sweat within the first fork fills and he picked at the pile with long teeth. The lady was actually quite pissed off, standing with hands on hips as she glared at Cornell “How do think I must feel, I have feelings you know”! I had no problems and happily wolfed down a few extra helpings to restore good relations.
The crack on Cornels frame had been getting slightly worse as the kilometers had passed and had now progressed almost entirely around the frame. Using a rusty reinforcing bar, some cable ties and a lot of ingenuity we created a brace for the frame, as an emergency measure should the frame fail. At best, it would give him a few seconds to slow down if the worst should happen. The next portage went well and it was great to see a small herd of Gemsbok roaming free on the plateau at the top of the climb. A long downhill saw us well into the Overberg and soon we were riding along the base of the Hottentots Holland range of mountains, the last massive barrier separating us from the bustle of the city, manager's, telephones, targets, and budgets.
The track eventually brought us into the grounds of the Brandvlei Prison, and it was a bit strange to break into prison, and leave through the main security gate complex unchallenged. I really struggled during the last 20km as we plowed into a strong headwind. Thanks to Cornell's encouragement, we reached the start to the Dwarsberg kloof and rode the final winding road to the Trouthaven lodge.
It was our last night of the race, and having done the race before, I fell into a nervous fitful sleep mindful of the nightmare that waited for us the following day.
Day 17 - Trouthaven to Finish
50 km
800 m climbing
15 hrs cycling
Freedom race tip # 17 - Winning
It isn’t there; it’s all in the journey.
Enjoy and live within every km you cover, you will be day dreaming about the next one from the morning you wake up after the finish.
Stettynskloof
The final day of the Freedom race can be summed up by a single word “Stettynskloof” To the uninitiated it is merely a word printed on a map, to the Freedom Challenge racer “Stettynskloof” represents an altered state of being. Reading back over my notes immediately after race it is interesting to see just how much my state of being was altered at the time and how this is reflected in what I wrote down at the time. In other words, “forgive the psycho mumbo jumbo”
The gravel road from the Trouthaven guest house winds steeply along the mountain side. In the dark of the early morning the steep unguarded drops to the river below keep you tight up against the mountain side of the road as you wind your way up to the dam. This day, due to regulations by officials, is the second of only two days on the route you are not permitted to travel at night.
Arriving at the dam wall in darkness, we started preparations, removing all unnecessary equipment from the bike and dismantling it into three pieces, frame, front and rear wheels. The trick was tying it all together and somehow fitting it onto the back of a 30lt rucksack. I struggled with my configuration as it consistently tumbled over my head causing me to crash headlong into the bush and boulders. After a short while, I gave it up as a bad job, reassembled my bike and pushed pulled and later threw it up the kloof as I had done during the previous year’s race.
During the 2005 Freedom Challenge, looking up the valley. The exit point is the small saddle far in the distance.
Stettynskloof is a deep ravine running from the dam wall to the top of the watershed over 9km away. There is no path, no trail to guide your way, only the silhouette of the saddle on the horizon in the distance. Between you and the saddle are 9 000 meters of dense bush, deep rivers clogged with impenetrable vegetation, boulders and gullies. It will take you the entire day, from before sunrise to beyond sunset to reach that saddle.
Every one of those 9 000 meters are designed to test the very essence of your soul. They will twist your ankles, wrench the bike from your arms, smash your shins against rock, claw at your skin and clothes, imprison you in a vice like grip while you dangle helplessly in vegetation too deep for your feet to reach the ground.
They will trip you up and send you and your bike tumbling, they will sap every ounce of your energy, and then frustrate you to such an extent that you will lose the mental battle and give in to a choking anger so intense that your throat will constrict, making it impossible to breathe without an audible rasp, not from pain but from sheer frustration.
At that point you will lose control, and fight the kloof wildly throwing your body headlong into solid walls of bush, slamming your bike over and over into an impenetrable tangle of thorn brush in sheer frustration, not caring that you are making absolutely no impact. This will drain you of any reserves you had left and leave you trembling and week as you realize in panic that despite your efforts and skills to have got this far in the race, you are not going to made it out of the kloof, not just today, but ever. You have been utterly defeated. t is at this point that you are finally broken, humbled but also humiliated. No matter how good your technical skills, age, physical condition or mental state, you are brought to complete brokenness. What happens beyond this point will be your ultimate test, your rite of passage and all your Gods and mentors, heroes and villains stop, look down on you to watch and see.
Then if you accept the fact that without the help of your fellow man you are weak, without the help of something or someone bigger than “you” you are nothing, then from that red fog of defeat and brokenness will emerge a small voice, a mere whisper emerging from the red fog of brokenness. “Go forward, not for you, but for those that could not finish, go forward, not for the win, but for the dreams of every person that has helped you get to this point, go forward, not to break the record, but for your sponsors sitting at a desk from 9 to 5 living their dreams through you, go forward.”
And you care no longer of the long shadows, or the chill creeping into the evening air, or the saddle still so far ahead of you, you will just go forward, but there will be a calmness in you, and your movements will be efficient and deliberate and you will emerge as if from a dream to realize that the saddle is a lot closer than you thought, the vegetation lower, the ground firmer.
You will cross the last river and rise out from the ravine up a near vertical slope one crawling clawing step at a time. You will lift your bike up above your head and plant it on the steep slope above you, dig in your shoes and take one slippery step up. If you are lucky then the slope will hold and you will progress one meter forward. You will repeat this until you are finally at the top of the saddle. I remember Cornell climbing back down the last meters of the slope to life my bike from my arms even though he was likewise exhausted.
We sat on the saddle and gazed back in the distance to the valley and the dam wall, all now in the shadow of nightfall. In reality this was the end of the freedom race; the psychological finish line had been crossed.
The last 30km to the finish in Paarl was a blur of cement tracks, a long tar assent, and a final fast but loose forestry track to the finish line on the grounds of a wine farm in the Paarl valley. small group of enthusiastic but “tired of waiting” supporters cheered us over the line. I searched eagerly but in vain through the small group of faces for my wife or children. My sister Ellen was there, she had always been my number one supporter. Some photos were taken, a speech or two given, we were each presented (draped actually) with a traditional Basotho initiation blanket by David Waddilove, the organizer of the race, and then it was all over.
That night as I sat safely on my bed at my sister’s house in Paarl, I realized with some alarm that I had no more maps left in my pouch for the next day, that there was no next day. There was no Cornell in the bed next to mine, no bikes stuffed into the room, no rucksack to pack, no maps to study, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss. I am not ashamed to say that I wept like a baby before finally falling asleep.
My race may well have been run, but my journey had only just begun.
Afterthought
Many people have asked me why I didn’t break away from Cornell during the last few days and go for a win, although it was rather a question of why Cornell had not as I am under no illusion as to who the stronger rider of our team was. The truth is that Cornell and I discussed this matter a few nights before the end of the race. We had come to respect, trust and rely on each, probably in different ways and for different reasons. Both of us came to the conclusion that it would be an honor and a privilege, (not a strategy) to finish the race together and I am so grateful that we did.
For me personally, I had achieved the goals I had set for myself at the beginning of the event, to win the race and to break the race record. I could go back to my sponsors with pride at what we had achieved together. We were right to feel proud, we had certainly both worked consistently hard, giving our very best all the time. We had made good decisions, and had managed to keep highly motivated for the duration of the race. All this is true, but in reality these were not the real reasons for our success.
- We made it over the last high altitude portage within a few hours of the snowstorm that wreaked havoc among the rest of the field.
- During all my trips over the handlebars, neither my bike, nor my body sustained any race stopping damage.
- Although we nearly did, we didn't actually fall headlong into the icy river with all our kit during the night when the temperature was already below zero.
- The cough and chest cold I picked up in the Drakensberg never developed into the flu.
- Cornell's bike frame, though seriously cracked, actually held out to the end of the race.
- So many "angels" in the form of shepherds, farm workers, farmers and even a priest who spent the best part of his night looking for us in the high Maloti mountains to provide shelter for us, watched over us and gave us help exactly when we needed it.
I recall a conversation we had while having breakfast at Willowmore during which a guest asked us if we enjoy doing these "macho races" We thought quite a bit about this and came to the conclusion that an event of this nature actually doesn’t favor the “macho” attitude.
The Freedom Challenge will not highlight your strengths as much as it will expose your weaknesses. You will need to remain humble, or you will be humbled. Every single day you will be tested to a point where you will need to reach beyond your own abilities, and then there’s still the question of the “angels” and fortunate events.
The Freedom Challenge – Where is it in 2013?
In the 7 years since my last race on the freedom challenge it is evident that time does not stand still, and this is true of the Freedom Challenge. I always knew it would, but there was something romantic about doing a race so big, so silly, so extreme, that only 6 people would consider it. During my race, one person dropping out the night before saying that it was irresponsible of the organizes to run it at all!
Entrants
2006 - 6 entrants
2013 – 53 entrants
In 2013 there were 53 competitors with the start staggered over a period of a week during which batches of about 20 competitors (including riders from the shorter “ride to Rhodes” mixed into the groups) are started. Unlike the dreamers that made up the competitors in my race, the races now see some of South Africa’s top sports men and woman.
Race record
2006 – 17 days 18 hours
2011 – 12 Days 15 hours
The route is still very much the same with small variations from year to year.
Stettynskloof is still part of the course but in a much milder form. There is a walking trail running the full length of the kloof, I know because one of my firefighting teams cut it. The kloof burned through a few years ago cleanly removing all the dense vegetation that made the going so tough. Even though, competitors still find this leg to be one of the toughest of the race.
Regardless of the changes, the Freedom Challenge is still a remarkable race requiring every competitor to reach far beyond his or her own personal limits and abilities. Stories of the race have a strong common theme, almost spiritual in the attempt to explain or even understand for themselves what they have been through, how it has changed them.
There is no doubt that in this race, through this journey, you cannot be the same person you were when the clock struck 7 in Pietermaritzburg however many days previously. You cannot escape been repeatedly whacked over the head by the beauty of the landscape, the hospitality of the people all along the route, the suffering you never thought possible to endure or the strength that bubbled up from deep within you.
You will truly have touched the “heart” of South Africa, discovered the soul of mountain biking. You will find freedom.
