The Double Century 2022

A well-known journalist once told me that it's the bicycle adventures that don't go according to plan that make for the best stories. And he's 100% correct. No one wants to read a race report where the highlight of 7 hours of racing is the tough decision between a vanilla or berry energy gel. And so, when SportsWorld Dennis invited me to join his rag-tag collection of bike riders for the 2022 Double Century, I jumped at the offer. This team had all the ingredients for an epic bike adventure!

Team Oryx

At the best of times, the Double Century is always a bit of a gamble, and rightly so. There is so much that can happen both in the build-up to the event, as well as during the 202 kilometres around Swellendam. Usually, the biggest challenge in the months and weeks before the event is trying to figure out at what level you need to be at, come race day. And it's usually quite easy to do this. Riding with Ben Swift means that you need to take a month off work, rent a cabin high up on the slopes of some remote peak in the Cedarberg, and get in as many high-altitude kilometres as one possibly can. Going for the Mixed win? You're going to need to convince the coach to give you loads of steady power intervals, some upper-body strength work for when the pushing needs to happen (and this isn't to push the ladies, this is to push the guys that the ladies have destroyed!), and some mental training in learning how to leave your ego at home, particularly when it's a lady pushing you up a hill.

James the Noob with the OGs

Like any team event, you don't need to be the fastest, but you certainly don't want to be the slowest, and this is where that athlete stalker tool called Strava comes in handy. Strava stalking your teammates gives you a good idea of where you fit into the hierarchy of the team. By and large, this is quite a simple exercise, but over the years I've learnt a few things to look out for. The teammates who upload everything to Strava aren't the real concern. They're an open book, and it's quite easy to see their fitness levels. It's those people who upload sporadically. Or upload rides without all the data. (Here's looking at you JP). What are these people hiding? What end of the fitness spectrum are they actually on? What mental games are they playing?

Team Oryx strategy discussions

Having the tough conversations

And then there are those people whose whole training strategy for the Double Century is basically just wishful thinking, and the hope that others have factored in some upper-body strength training. Sometimes it's work and family commitments that keep people off the bike, and sometimes it's illness. And then once in a blue moon, it's a broken hip while cycling at 10 km/h in a bike lane on a cycling holiday in Slovenia.

Google Translate of a Slovenian news article

RodKnee

Throw in a couple of other factors, like 2 teammates doing their first-ever Double Century (for comparison, Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip and I have over 40 Double Century events between us), the team never having ridden together before, and a forecast for some dodgy weather, and I was quite sure that Team Oryx were going to have an amazing adventure, and that this race report would just write itself.

It's just 202kms, right?

While I'm always a fan of adventure (the reason I ride with Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip so much), I did have another reason for wanting to ride with this team. Bike racing is about pushing yourself, setting ambitious goals, seeing how close you get to achieving them, and watching the progression over the years. It starts off with just wanting to enter the Double Century, to be ready to ride something like this. And shortly after that it's wanting to finish your first Double Century. And then it's wanting to finish in the top half of the field, and then under 7 hours, and then under 6 hours, and then get a top 20 result, a top 10 result, challenge for a podium position, improve on your podium position, and finally, go for a win. And yet, despite all the success we've had at the Double Century, there's been one achievement that's eluded us - the Charles Milner Medal. A medal that is awarded to each team that completes the 202 kilometres together as a team of 12. It sounds like everyone should have one of these medals, but this was the one medal that Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip and I have yet to add to our collection.

It's all about objectives

Race weekend snuck up on us, and before we knew it, the race strategy conversation had begun. This is the next area where things can go horribly pear-shaped very quickly. Having a strategy that works for everyone is challenging, but again, some advice I got years and years ago still rings true. I was lucky enough to get an entry for the 2007 Cape Epic, and while the race was tougher than anything we'd done before, many teams didn't make the finish not because they were incapable physically, but because somewhere between Knysna and Somerset West on a dusty patch of dirt in the middle of nowhere, two teammates had had a bust-up over something stupid. Maybe it was spending too much time at a water point, maybe it was riding a little too fast up a hill, or a little too slowly down a hill, but tempers had frayed and that was the end of the dream. Not only did teams not finish, but friendships were wrecked. And that's where Erica Green's advice came in - set objectives for the team. Not where you want to come or how well you want to do, but what sort of team you want to be afterwards. Do you still want to be on speaking terms with your partner? Do you still want to be friends? With that figured, everything else follows, including the good results.

Three kilometres in and the team is still together! (And smiling)

The Charles Milner medal captures that team strategy. We need to ride at the pace of the slowest guy. We need to look after the guy with the dodgy hip. We need to support and encourage the first-timers. We need to ride this race as a team. Twelve people aligned around a single objective.

Up, up, and away

Race day finally dawned on us, and no matter how many times you've lined up on a start line, there is always a nervous excitement in the air. Different riders express this in different ways. Some get quiet and contemplative, running through everything in their minds one last time. Some just soak up the atmosphere and revel in the challenge that lies ahead. And some just spend an inordinate amount of time visiting and revisiting the porta loos. Each to their own.

When the gun finally goes, everything just melts away, and it's time to get down to business. The first hour is usually spent just sussing out the team. Finding your place in the hierarchy, and figuring out what normal feels like. What pace are we riding at? How long are we spending on the front? Who is the best person to ride behind? That last one is crucial to a good ride. Pick a guy who forgot his deodorant and you're in for an unpleasant ride. Same applies to the guy with cycling shorts that have seen better days - no one wants to stare at see-through cycling shorts for 7 hours. And my worst - ending up behind the guy who's 3 feet tall and offers absolutely zero drafting benefit.

Always be a team player!

Just as Team Oryx had figured this all out, we hit the first climb. Nothing like a climb to expose those whose lack of Strava uploads had nothing to do with secret training, but in fact, just represented a lack of bicycle riding. We cruised up the climb as a team, the stronger riders diligently riding at the pace of those slower riders. As we crested the climb, I took my turn on the front, a little 15-kilometre pull to the bottom of the next climb. And in those 15 kilometres, the physical state of the team had changed quite a bit. It was here, at the bottom of the climb that The Hand of God made its first appearance. This isn't a sinister cheater move performed by a short South American, but rather a kind, caring, supportive hand resting on a rider's lower back, gently pushing that rider up the hill. Nothing signifies teamwork quite like stronger riders pushing weaker riders uphill. The Hand of God does however have a sinister cousin - The Vicegrip of Death - when a rider reaches out and grabs the pocket of another rider. While it looks very similar to The Hand of God, it feels like that rider isn't just holding onto your pocket, but has in fact climbed into your pocket, and you're now trying to cycle while carrying the weight of the rider on your back. And, with The Hand of God, you're in control - you can stop pushing whenever you want to catch your breath, stand out of the saddle, or change skinny cycling arms, while with The Vicegrip of Death you're completely at the mercy of the guy in your pocket, and sometimes it requires some very harsh words to get the rider to climb out of your pocket again.

Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic!

With the second climb behind us, I took another 32-kilometre turn on the front as we headed towards Montagu, and the first water point of the day. I think the team was having a good time, but whatever fun they were having behind me wasn't filtering up to the front. Nor were there a lot of offers from others to take a turn, which was ok. At least this way, I didn't have to endure deodorant failure or seethrough shorts, although it was like riding behind a 3-foot midget with no drafting benefit.

Like a Kirstenbosch Concert, but without the grass, or the concert

We rolled into the water point, and then something strange happened. Something that I've never seen in my 18 years of riding this race. People got off their bikes and SAT DOWN. Like we were on a picnic ride. Just without the picnic blanket, the pâté, and the MCC. Instead, we had Coca Cola and a secret stash of cramp tablets that got passed around. The cracks were starting to appear in Team Oryx's tough facade. Fortunately, the organisers give each team 30 minutes at the water point, and it was quite clear that we were going to use every second of those 30 minutes. I was just hoping that Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip was paying attention and would give me more leeway next time we sped through a water point at Trans Baviaans.

I've still got 4 minutes and 27 seconds of sitting to do

With 118 kilometres in the bag, we set off for the next stop. Fortunately, I had a couple of companions help out on my next 45km turn on the front, from a Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip, to Too-many-watts-Kris and Enthusiastic-Jack-Russell-JP. This section is all about keeping it together, and I've learned this lesson the hard way over the years, pulling an Eskom multiple times as my lights went out. I didn't want our newbies to experience that on their first Double Century - we have to save some action for next year.

When sitting in the dirt is more comfortable than a bike saddle

I usually start thinking about how to write my race report during the event, taking note of all the action. But as we cruised towards the next water point, I was starting to get worried. I didn't have anything to write about, for two reasons. The first reason that, by and large, we were having an uneventful ride, and secondly, whatever action was happening, was happening behind me, and I wasn't seeing it. But I knew my trump card lay ahead, and I hoped the final 40kms would give me enough to write a race report.

Yup. Team Oryx is still there

We rolled into the next water point, and once again Team Oryx enabled picnic mode, but with a few modifications. I don't think there was as much sitting down, but there did seem to be quite a lot of weeing. Much like the repeated visits to the porta loos before the race, it looked like the same thing was happening again. Was it nerves because of what the final 30kms had in store for us? Was it because of the panic slurping of too much juice in the hope of finding some extra energy for the legs? I don't really know, but it made for interesting viewing. And then the cramp tablets came out and were passed around again. With our 30 minutes almost running out, Team Oryx hit the road for the final slog to the line and that Charles Milner medal that awaited us.

What do you mean you didn't bring a chair?

On any normal day, the final 40 kilometres of the Double Century route would just be a lumpy bike ride between Bonnivale and Swellendam, but with 160 kilometres in the legs, those final 40 kilometres are a sufferfest, characterised by 3 nasty hills. It's on these 3 hills that your Double Century strategy is put to the test - if you've overdone it earlier, these 3 hills are a long and lonely escapade through the Valley of Despair. This is where teams fall to pieces. Where friendships are ruined and dreams are crushed. But Team Oryx had a plan - if you had extra watts to spare, use them pushing someone up a hill. It can be quite tricky figuring out who needs a push, and again, clear communication is key. Except when Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip tells you that he needs a push, and before you can change your mind, or change your gears, he's engaged The Vicegrip of Death and climbed into your back pocket once again.

The waiting must be killing Captain-Craig-of-the-broken-hip

There is a saying that adversity doesn't build character, it reveals it, and nothing sums that up better than the last 30 kilometres of the Double Century. Seeing a rider pushing a weaker or more tired rider up a hill is one thing, seeing a rider pushing a rider pushing a weaker or more tired rider up a hill is another. And Team Oryx revealed their character, conquering the hills as one. Inch by inch we ticked off the climbs until we had the final hill to the line remaining. A hill that passed in a blur as the finish line came into view. 

The Hand(s) of God appeared to me on a hill outside of Swellendam

Achievements in sport (and in life) come in many shapes and forms, and it's not always about winning or coming first. Sometimes it's about doing cool things and having an adventure with old friends while making new ones. Thanks to everyone in Team Oryx for a memorable bike ride around Swellendam, and for giving me the chance to add another special medal to my collection. 

You get a medal, you get a medal, you all get a Charles Milner Medal!

Lastly, while twelve people crossed the line together, two unsung heroes people made a ride like this possible. Thanks to Natie and Jodi for doing the thankless task of backup, for providing ice cold coke, some reassuring words, and the occasional shoulder to cry on. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Dennis Lamminga (@lamminga)

Trans Baviaans 2022

They say that half the challenge of any race is getting to the start line, and the other half is getting to the finish line. I don't think I ever really appreciated just what this meant until the 2022 Trans Baviaans race. Maybe it's because the world is still a little messed up, or maybe it's because I'm getting older (or maybe it's both), but riding bikes doesn't seem to be as simple as it used to be. Life seems to be throwing out curveballs, like the plot twists in an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

This still brings on bouts of PTSD

My journey to the 2022 Trans Baviaans began with a frantic email to The Coach, sometime in early June. While we've been together for almost 15 years, and she's worked miracles in the past, this time I really really needed her very best work. One of those "in case of emergency, break glass" kinds of training programs that I'm sure every coach has, just waiting for the right crisis to appear. And what was my crisis? Well, for the first time in forever, I'd gone on a summer holiday to Europe and NOT taken my bicycle along. I'd lulled myself into a false sense of security, as we'd been quite active, walking all over the place, but my first ride home revealed the panic - I could barely make the 17kms to work, let alone the 226kms through the Baviaans Kloof.

The Coach delivered. It was something that resembled my training programs of previous years, but upon closer inspection, I could see the subtle sprinklings of pain and torture staring back at me from the Excel spreadsheet. This is what I'd asked for, and now I needed to do my bit. Which is definitely the harder part - actually doing the training!

At any team event, you don't need to be the fastest in the team, you just don't want to be the slowest. Being the slowest is a guaranteed one-way ticket to Destination Doomed. In my panicked state, I thought my ticket to Destination Doomed was bought and stamped, with Captain Craig logging some impressive miles on Strava, and Snack Monster Mike spending far too much time riding his bike in his garage. I was going to be that guy. The slowpoke that everyone waits for. But then Snack Monster Mike informed us that he too was spending a month in Europe, and he too was not taking a bike along. And just like that, Snack Monster Mike was the proud new owner of a stamped ticket to Destination Doomed.

Snack Monster Mike. Snacking.

But, since we're nice people, and we have a certain standard to live up to (and, I really don't want to spend more than 12 hours riding Trans Baviaans!), Project "Get Snack Monster Mike Fit" commenced. And the best way to get fit is to commit to an event. In our case, that was Around The Pot - a gentle little gravel ride of 160kms through the rolling hills of the Swellendam Overberg. This should have been an easy ride, an adventure through the endless Canola fields of stunning yellows and golds. For about 25 minutes, this held true, until it started to rain, turning the hardpacked gravel into sticky slimy gooey mud. A race that was supposed to help Snack Monster Mike find some form turned into a race that broke Snack Monster Mike's psyche and soul, and 3 days after the event, I got the dreaded "We need to talk" Whatsapp. Snack Monster Mike was out. His excuses were a little bit feeble - he couldn't make Trans Baviaans because his kids were playing chess, his mother needs company, he's been away from home a lot etc. But we understood. Snack Monster Mike didn't want to be number 3. The slowest guy in the team. The guy with the ticket to Destination Doomed.

Snack Monster Mike is already thinking of how to get out of Baviaans

So, The Fuddy Duddy Buddies were down to two riders. But that's not the end of the pre-race tribulations. With Snack Monster Mike's late (and dubious) withdrawal, I was still confident that I had the upper hand on Captain Craig. And so was he. Until, with 10 days to go, I got sick. Not a slightly snotty nose and annoying cough kind of sick - an aching-body-kill-me-now-man-flu-from-hell kind of sick. The wise thing to do would be to laugh this whole adventure off, and try again next year. But that's not an option when you're one of two guys who have done every single Trans Baviaanns event. This is not how my 17-year streak ends. And so, I bought and stamped my own ticket to Destination Doomed - we weren't going to be racing this year, we were going to be surviving. One kilometre at a time.

Fields of Gold 🎵

You might think that this was the end of our misfortune in the run-up to the 2022 Trans Baviaans. And you would be wrong. Throw in a last-minute accommodation crisis, a broken rear wheel, and a front fork that's definitely making the local bike shop's Name and Shame Instagram feed, and you'll see why The Fuddy Duddy Buddies just wanted to start the race. Nothing else could go wrong. Right? Right!?

Over the years I've teased the race organiser Wikus for his low-budget public address system - I've lost count of the number of inaudible race briefings that he's mumbled out into the cold Willowmore morning air. But, like everything, change is inevitable, and Wikus has embraced technology. Not only does he have a PA system that is audible, but the race briefing is now also streamed on the INTERNET. Like it's 2008! If only Wikus would embrace technology when it came to providing an accurate weather forecast for the race. "Geen reen en n tailwind" (no rain and a tailwind) are words every cyclist wants to hear. Except, none of the 14 weather apps on my phone gave anything near a forecast like that. In hindsight, to be fair, Wikus was 50% correct with his weather prediction. Unfortunately, it was the wrong 50%.

Wikus and the new PA system

The only people more interested than cyclists in the weather forecast are probably pilots, and for the week leading up to the event, every decision about the race is filtered through the weather forecast. What to wear, what to eat, what to pack in your boxes, what lube to use, how hard to pump your tyres, when the backup driver should expect you, whether you'll be able to watch the rugby etc. Despite the weather forecasts from my 14 apps, I wanted to believe Wikus. Believing Wikus made for an easier ride. Believing Wikus gave me hope. The slightest glance at my weather apps just guaranteed my journey to Destination Doomed.

And the rain?

I like to think that I am a clever guy, but I know for a fact that there are at least 400 people more clever than I am. This year, 1215 people entered the Trans Baviaans Race. A whopping 200 sensible people didn't even make it to registration. They paid their entry, but just like Snack Monster Mike, had a list of reasons why they weren't even going to bother travelling to Willowmore. Of the people that made it to Willowmore and registered on the Friday, a further 100 wise individuals chose not to even start the race on Saturday morning. They'd paid their entries, booked and paid for their accommodation, gone to registration (and probably endured Wikus's race briefing), handed in their boxes for the 3 checkpoints along the route, eaten all the pasta carbo loading meals on offer, and then the next morning, upon looking at their weather apps, and more importantly, out of the window, decided that this whole Trans Baviaans thing was a kak idea. What. Absolute. Geniuses!

Smiles of fear and panic!

At 7am, those of us with lesser IQs rolled down to the start line. Why a 7am start? Well, when you get to the age of Captain Craig and myself, every opportunity to at least start with the Elites and Pros is one more year that we can deny our actual ages, and pretend to be young and fast all over again. That, and the fact that we'd rather pretend to be Elites than face the alternative - starting at the ungodly hour of 5am like the rest of the field.

We forgot Snack Monster Mike

With Wikus's "Geen reen en n tailwind" still ringing in our ears, we'd chosen our kit for the conditions that lay ahead. Normal gloves, an undershirt and a wind jammer with arm warmers should be more than sufficient. Except, the "Geen reen" part of the prediction was completely wrong. Fifty per cent is a pass, but it's still bad enough that your parents have "The Talk", and I'm quite sure there were a few cyclists that wanted to have "The Talk" with Wikus. It was pouring down outside, with very few signs of stopping any time soon. It was then we made a decision that probably saved our lives. We each grabbed a rain jacket. Better to have it and not need it than to not have it and need it. This was probably the most fortunate decision I have ever made in my life, and certainly prevented my trip to Destination Doomed from turning into a trip to Destination Death.

And they're off! The elite riders are underway. #TransBaviaans2022 pic.twitter.com/89agz02ZkT

— EcoBound (@EcoBoundEvents) August 13, 2022

The gun went at 7am sharp, and for about 13 seconds, The Fuddy Duddy Buddies were competitive. Elbows out, jostling for position in the bunch, fighting over which wheel to follow. Just 13 seconds. And then Captain Craig and I sat up and waved goodbye to the Elites and Pros, possibly for the last time in our racing careers.

Captain Craig still sees the funny side of things

It's hard to recount the next 4 hours. Words cannot describe the conditions, the emotions, the sensations. It wasn't long after the start that we started losing all feeling in our hands, our ears, our feet. Our hands weren't just cold, they were frozen. Completely numb. No feeling whatsoever. We would have to visually confirm where our hands were still on the handlebars, and that our fingers were indeed on the brake levers. We could not determine this by feel. Things we take for granted, like changing gears, or reaching for and drinking from our water bottles were impossible. It was bad. I've done some crazy things over the years, but I don't think I've ever been so close to my limit as I was on that cold and wet dirt road in the Klein Karoo. As I toyed with whether we were being brave or being stupid, rider after rider appeared from the front, having turned around and heading back to the warm comforts of Willowmore. With each rider that we passed, it felt like we were leaning more and more towards the "being stupid" side of the spectrum. While I didn't say it at the time, if Captain Craig had voiced a strong opinion about turning around, I don't think I would have put up too much of a fight.

It was way warmer than the -2C from earlier!

Cold hands are one thing. Mud-filled eyes are another. I'm quite sure I spent most of those first 4 hours gingerly peering out of one mud-filled eye as I tried to blink and wipe away the mud in the other eye. Forget about finding the smooth fast line on the dirt road, my only criteria while peering through one half-open mud-filled eye was to be ON the road. Anywhere on the road. Captain Craig figured out that if you look at your bottom bracket, the mud didn't fly up into your eyes. It still flew up, but instead of flying into your eyes, it covered your helmet and your hair, and you STILL couldn't see where you were going. But at least you could see. 

Selfie mud face

It's strange what thoughts go through your mind in conditions like this. I remember thinking that I know that I am an eternal optimist because even while riding with lumps of ice for hands and mud-filled eyes, I couldn't help but think - as kak as this mud was, at least this wasn't the sticky slimy gooey mud from the Around the Pot. Always a silver lining. I also remember, after looking at Captain Craig's mud-soaked face that I'd missed a trick. I should have called us The Muddy Fuddy Duddy Buddies.

Making time to take photos!

Apart from the mud and the cold and people pulling out around us, those first 4 hours weren't too bad. In previous years, those first 100kms have dished out a different sort of pain. A race snake, on the limit, tasting bile, about to pop sort of pain. A pain I'd gladly swap for some mud and cold.

The least grumpy I have ever been after 160kms

With the acceptance that my journey to Destination Doom was a sure thing, the way we behaved at waterpoints changed significantly. Gone were the Formula 1 style 6.45-second transitions that Captain Craig is so fond of, and in their place were the leisurely, take-your-time-to-enjoy-all-the-snacks style transitions that gave Snack Monster Mike his name. Fiddle and faf and eat and fiddle and eat and faf. It's a kind of racing (if you can even call it racing) that I haven't done in ages. The value-for-your-money sort of approach to bike riding. And obviously, if you are spending over an hour of your time at the waterpoints enjoying everything on offer, any expectation of a good result needs to be adjusted. Any team that drinks a beer at the halfway mark is certainly not that concerned with their overall time.

You can sit and eat snacks?

This ride was not about doing well. This ride was not about setting records. This ride was about survival. About keeping the streak alive. About enjoying the scenery. About indulging in the offerings at the water points. About having another adventure with Captain Craig. I would have been happy with a top 50 finish (actually, I would have been happy with just finishing, and having all my fingers and toes in working order). So you can imagine our surprise when we crossed the line in 9th place overall, and as the 4th Elite Men's team. The secret to this success wasn't about riding fast. It was about just riding. About persevering. About avoiding the guy collecting the tickets to Destination Doomed.

Congratulations @velotales! You're the last man standing. #TransBaviaans2022 #highlander @captaincraigSA pic.twitter.com/dDt38g1YzD

— EcoBound (@EcoBoundEvents) August 13, 2022

Of the 1215 people that entered, only 550 people finished. Just 215 teams. The 215 most hardcore teams you will find in South African mountain biking. This was an event where making it to the start was a challenge, but making it to the finish was a life-changing adventure. Will I be back? Of course - I am now the only person to have finished all 18 Trans Baviaans events, and I think I am well qualified to say that this is definitely the toughest edition of this fantastic event yet.

Trans Baviaans 2021

Part of the joy of riding bike races is writing the blog that follows, mostly because, whenever Captain Craig and I get together on bikes, the chances of dumb stuff happening is rather high. There is always a story to tell afterwards (actually, I usually have the outline of the blog post in my head before we cross the finish line). But, the 2021 Trans Baviaans was different. Boringly different.

Looking lean and mean

There is usually a bit of pressure in the week before any race, but I don't think other teams realise just how much pressure The Prancing Thunder Pixies are under. And I'm not talking about the "what's the weather going to do, what's our pacing strategy" kind of pressures - all teams experience that. I'm talking about the added pressure from the Media. While it's cool to get a mention in the local cycling media, it does put a lot of expectation on the team to perform. Especially when there is a new guy on board:

"The final elite men’s team to watch are The Prancing Thunder Pixies. Dane Walsh is one of the legends of the Trans Baviaans having taken part in every edition of the event, since it was founded in 2004. Throughout the 16 editions he and Craig Edwards have seldom been outside the top 10. Their real contribution to the race has arguably been their humorous accounts of the races, written by Walsh and published on his Velo Tales blog, though. Their stories read like a how-not-to guide for the Trans Baviaans. For 2021 they have roped in Michael Baker as a third partner in mis-adventure." by Seamus Allardice, Diverge.info

But, like any challenge, the team rallied around our reputation, and we felt we'd definitely be adding a chapter to our how-not-to guide for the Trans Baviaans. After all, it's what we did best.

The panic that the Media caused!

The 2021 edition of Trans Baviaans was just the 2020 edition that had been postponed five times. That's five times that we'd trained for a race. Five times we'd done the long and lonely miles getting the body ready for the challenge. Five times of trying to organise all the logistics of a point to point race on the other side of the country. It's safe to say that by the time the race came around, I had been approaching my training with a great deal of scepticism.

And then there were the COVID Consequences. Curfew, no mass gatherings, masks, temperature checks and plenty of sanitiser. While the postponements were tough on the riders, I am quite sure that the vast majority of Wikus's grey hair was from this past year.

The Prancing Thunder Pixies race strategy - lots of social distancing

Little chance of rain with skies like this

Race day dawned on a cold and chilly Willowmore. It's always cold and chilly in Willowmore, but this year was different. Firstly, the normal 10am start was gone, and instead, teams were able to start anywhere from 5am. The Prancing Thunder Pixies had a quick discussion and thought that a 5am start was a rubbish idea, and that an 8am start seemed far more respectable. The only catch being that we'd be starting in the Elite racing category. Anything for an extra couple of hours of sleep. The next thing made the 2021 Trans Baviaans different was the weather. Now, we've had bad weather in the past - wet, soggy and chilly conditions are part of this event. But we'd never had a cold front move through the Cape and dump tonnes of snow on any mountain higher than a molehill the day before the event. Social media platforms were clogged with messages about the Mother of All Cold Fronts as cyclists scampered to buy, borrow or repurpose anything that could keep them warm in the sub-zero temperatures expected on the start line.

"Dress warmly and avoid high mountain passes" and we chose to wear Lycra and climb several mountain passes!

Beautiful. And freezing!

I pretty much had all the cycling kit I owned on. Stuff that had been in my cupboard for ages that I'd never worn because it was never cold enough. Some of the stuff I didn't even know how to use, like booties and proper winter gloves. And an undershirt. And despite this, it felt like I was lining up on the start line in Willowmore wearing nothing more than my birthday suit. The icy wind cutting straight through the layers, chilling my soul.

SnackMonster Mike didn't get the memo about the team kit and helmet colour

And they're off! #transbaviaans pic.twitter.com/bhnYJOJbJp

— EcoBound (@EcoBoundEvents) August 28, 2021

The race eventually got underway and it was great just to be moving and generating some warmth. The pace in the Elite bunch was fast, but not stupid, although The Prancing Thunder Pixies were lurking towards the back of proceedings. In previous years, we'd have donated organs just to stay with the leaders to the second checkpoint - the shelter of the bunch outweighing the discomfort of the leg-ripping pace. But something strange happened this year. Perhaps it was the tailwind. Perhaps it was SnackMonster Mike's influence, or perhaps it was just old age making us wiser, but as a small gap between us and the bunch opened, we looked up, and in near unison gave each other the "it's not worth it" look. I was shocked, not only at "Hang-on-the-bunch-till-we-die" Captain Craig, but also at myself. Is this what maturing is all about? Is this what sticking to a pacing strategy looks like? Had 16 years of Trans Baviaans finally taught us something?

The Prancing Thunder Pixies hanging in the Elite bunch

And so, for the next 8 hours we just did sensible stuff. Mostly. Except SnackMonster Mike also hadn't received the memo on how The Prancing Thunder Pixies like to approach a checkpoint. It's a cross between a Formula 1 pitstop and a Black Friday sale. Every person knows what they need to do, when they need to do it, and how fast they need to be. Like a choreographed ballet unfolding in less than 2 minutes. Our aim is to get back out onto the road as soon as possible while fighting to get to the front of the queue for that cup of coke, sosatie, or potato before the other riders know what hit them. SnackMonster Mike, while riding his bike like he belonged in the Elite bunch, approached the checkpoints like a backmarker. To him, a checkpoint is like an oasis. An opportunity to explore the riches, sample the wares, and rest the tired body and mind. I'm not going to lie - having someone to take the attention from Captain Craig away from my checkpoint routine was a welcome change, but even I can only fiddle and dawdle for so long, with the end result being that each restart after a checkpoint was like starting the race all over again. (It's called coffee legs - named after the feeling in your legs after a stop for coffee on a ride - basically, pretty rubbish!).

The place at checkpoints where Captain Craig and I spent a lot of time waiting for SnackMonster Mike

Anyone who has read this blog before will know that I have one weakness at Trans Baviaans. Well, there are probably quite a few, like The Mother of All Climbs, or the single track at the end, but there is one that I have yet to reliably conquer - the mid-race vomit. I've had a couple of years where it's been close, only to succumb at the last moment. But this year I had a plan and I was going to stick to it, come hell or high water! And it was a rather simple plan. In order to avoid purging my stomach of its contents, I simply wouldn't put anything in. Nothing solid at least. What doesn't go in, can't come out. Previous experiences have always hinted at a purge following a checkpoint where I ate something. A potato, a sosatie, a pancake. And then all hell breaks loose. So my plan for 2021 was to have energy gels, energy drink, and coke. And if everything was going well, I'd spoil myself with some jelly babies later on. While Captain Craig and SnackMonster Mike more than made up for my abstinence at the checkpoints, I stuck to my mostly liquid diet with the commitment of a banter, except that I didn't tell everyone about it all the time!

My head might be down, but I am actually riding up the Mother of All Climbs

AND IT WORKED!

I survived Trans Baviaans without wishing I was dead. Without wishing for a priest to exorcise the demon from my belly. Without Captain Craig asking me if I needed a gel (it's his way of caring). This is a new experience for me and has completely shifted my view about what it means to suffer at Baviaans. Now, I was able to focus on the "riding bikes" kind of suffering, and not the "is my belly about to explode" kind of suffering. I will definitely be doing this again!

Other than that, Trans Baviaans was quite boring and uneventful. There was a moment when Captain Craig yelled out, and I immediately thought that he'd punctured, or broken a chain, or his bike, or himself. I'm not going to lie when I say that I was a little disappointed to discover that he'd only dropped his bottle. We had some more bottle action late in the race when Captain Craig's seat-mounted bottle cage came loose, and I imagined it falling into his back wheel and breaking spokes and stuff. But that didn't happen either. The only consequence was Captain Craig donated a bottle of juice to some locals.

The Prancing Thunder Pixies, being all mature and letting the bunch go

Without the usual trials and tribulations that we seem to attract, we were left having to deal with the rather mundane peaks and troughs that every rider experiences in a race like this. Those moments where you feel invincible, where pedalling is effortless and there is power for days. Only for that to evaporate and for the legs to rather resemble lumps of floppy spaghetti and for every incline to feel like the hill that you're about to die on. Because we were riding at our own pace, we were also able to talk to each other, and both SnackMonster Mike and I discovered that when Captain Craig says he is going through a "patch", beware. Captain Craig's patch, the moment in time where he is feeling flat, is ALWAYS followed by him leaving the "patch", which is when he'd rip the legs off SnackMonster Mike and I. This happened at least four times during the race. Four times where I secretly delighted in his suffering, followed by four times where I wished for something to go wrong, just so that I could have a break.

Right after a Captain Craig "patch"

And then it was done. Another Trans Baviaans in the bag. But not before the dreaded "Singletrack of Despair". It's probably not so bad, but I know that there is a beautiful tar road that we used to finish on, and no matter how many times I ride that singletrack, the roadie in me can't help but get a little grumpy.

A big thanks to Gary for doing backup, and to SnackMonster Mike for joining The Prancing Thunder Pixies. We promise to send the memo out next year if you promise to spend the year working on the picnic stops. (Business idea: Zwift, but for checkpoints and transition zones...)

Baviaans by the numbers

0 - the temperature on the start line, but also the number of mechanical incidents we had, and the number of times I vomited.

1 - the first checkpoint (non-compulsory) where SnackMonster Mike wanted to stop for a picnic, much to the disgust of his teammates.

3 - the temperature where my face loses all feeling, where the juice in my bottle gives me an icecream headache, and where I am unable to articulate words.

5 - the number of times we'd trained for this race.

7 - the number of gels I consumed.

8 - the number of minutes of our longest picnic stop

11 - the overall placing of The Prancing Thunder Pixies.

14 - the number of cups of coke I drank.

17 - the number of Trans Baviaans races I have completed.

22 - the maximum temperature, recorded as we climbed the Mother of All Climbs.

28 - the number of minutes we were stationary for, milling around at checkpoints.

36 - the size of chain blade we convinced SnackMonster Mike he needed in order to hang with the Elites.

61 - the maximum speed I hit as we dropped into the Kloof.

144 - my heartrate sweet spot as we climbed NeverEnder, with SnackMonster Mike setting the pace.

219 - the number of kilometres before I had a sense of humour failure as we turned on to the worst piece of single track in the world.

594 - the number of minutes it took The Prancing Thunder Pixies to finish the 2021 Trans Baviaans.

3825 - the number of kilometres I've done, racing Trans Baviaans over the years.

4226 - the number of calories I burned on my liquid diet. Eating is cheating!

6kms on the worst single track in the world, made worse by the mud

TransBaviaans 2018

It has been said that time heals all wounds, and on the Friday before the start of the 2018 TransBaviaans, I would have agreed with these wise words. But when we got to registration and realised that, in my 15th Baviaans, we would be starting in the unseeded cattle pen, all the disappointment and unhappiness from 2017 came flooding back. Hector the Memory Resurrector.

It's all laughs and giggles until you realise you're not seeded.

There are clearly two tiers at Baviaans, the race snakes and the rest. The race snakes get to start at the front, they get to hear the loudspeakers, the national anthem, and the race briefing. They get a clear run from the gun down an open road and off into the Baviaanskloof. Meanwhile, the unseeded are crammed into the back of a parking lot like cows in a pen. It's cramped, it's noisy, and it's smelly. Really really smelly. There is nothing as toxic as the contents of portaloo at the start of a bicycle race. And where are the portaloos situated? Amongst the riders in cattle class. And to make matters worse, there was a stream of blue toilet juice steadily leaking from one of the portaloos and pooling in the centre of the start pen. And it was in this very puddle of blue toilet juice that Captain Craig and I found ourselves as we waited for the start. We'd done our best to push our way as far forward as possible, much to the annoyance of those around us. Yes, - we were those guys. Captain Craig was even confronted by a Camelbak wearing fellow bike rider:

"Stop pushing through - we're competitive too"

to which he replied with a sly grin:

"Yeah, but not as competitive as us"

With much fanfare, the gun finally went off. There was shouting and cheering and the sound of motorbikes disappearing down the main road as they led the seeded riders off towards the Kloof. From our stationary spot in the blue toilet juice, we couldn't actually see any of this. For three minutes we imagined what was going on up front - the jostling for positions, the gnashing of teeth - as the race snakes set off for JBay. And finally, we started moving. A slow crawl at first, followed by a gentle Saturday cruise down through the back roads of Willowmore as we ducked and dived through riders. Masses and masses of riders. While we didn't realise it at the time, we were in for a definite salmon day.

I doubt anyone got service like this!

The conditions for TransBaviaans are a topic of conversation that starts several weeks in advance of race day. Both the conditions of the road surface, which can vary from glass-smooth, to as bumpy as a rural road in the Eastern Cape (oh, wait), and the weather conditions. While there isn't much we can do to prepare for the road conditions apart from grumble on social media, we certainly can prepare for the weather conditions. Captain Craig and I must have had more costume changes before the start than a beauty pageant contestant. A weather forecast of 3 degrees meant that we started in thick arm and knee warmers, an undershirt and a gilet, before switching to thin knee and arm warmers as the sun started climbing in the sky. Next to go was the undershirt. And soon the knee warmers were off completely, and we were applying sunscreen. (Mental note - next time apply sunscreen under the arm warmers too!)

Like most events that Captain Craig and I do together, we had formulated a rock-solid strategy beforehand. Given the fact that we were probably not going to get too much help from our fellow "competitive" riders from the cattle pen, we were going to ride at a steady pace, keep out of trouble, and just bide our time for the first 100 kilometres. And like most events that Captain Craig and I do together, as soon as the wheels start turning, the strategy goes out the window. We had targets to chase. So many targets. And Captain Craig was in a target-hunting mood!

I'd spent my days before TransBaviaans within 50 feet of a toilet at all times, and it was with this same determination and commitment that I stayed at least 20 feet from the front of any bunches that we found ourselves in. And when we weren't in a bunch, Captain Craig was doing all chasing. We'd reel a bunch in, Captain Craig would look over his shoulder and tell me that this was the perfect bunch - we could just sit in here. And then he'd disappear off the front and I'd have to chase him down. Over and over again.

Things you don't want to hear from your partner 2 weeks before your 15th @EcoBoundMTB #TransBaviaans: "I just broke my @wattbikeSA during power intervals"😱😟🔋⚡️💪 pic.twitter.com/YaVnDVybPn

— Dane Walsh (@velotales) July 29, 2018

Cyclists are shameless and chivalry in the peloton is dead. For kilometre after kilometre, as we chased onto a group containing the leading ladies, we watched as 15 guys wheelsucked the ladies, not offering a single turn on the front. I shamelessly joined the wheelsuckers at the back, while Captain Craig went straight to the front and took a few massive turns driving the pace - a knight in shining armour.

The next two hours flew by. The legs felt good. I was in control of my bodily functions, and the bikes were working perfectly. But the real start of Baviaans was about to begin. The climbing. First up was Baboons Back, a climb that sits perfectly in my Goldilocks zone. And it always helps when your partner is going through a bad patch. We made it over without too many issues, whizzed down the other side and flew through the next checkpoint. A highlight of TransBaviaans for Captain Craig is always the long river crossing that awaits just after Checkpoint 3. He's finished Baviaans 9 times, and he's ridden the river crossing 9 times without putting a foot down. So imagine my surprise when I look up and see him half submerged under his bike, absolutely soaked. Captain Craig living up to our team name of The Soggy Bottom Boys. (The Soggy Everything Boys).

Captain Craig, moments after a Soggy Bottom moment!

Our backup this year was once again Last Minute Charles, and on the road trip from Cape Town to Willowmore he'd asked us if we ever don't look forward to a bike ride. Particularly one like Baviaans. And my answer was yes. For me, it's usually the week before a big event that has me questioning my sanity, my love for bike riding, and my addiction for long bike rides. It's during this week that you recall the finer details of events. Not just the euphoria of finishing, or the sense of achievement after a good result. The other details - the searing pain in the legs up a steep climb. The discomfort of sitting on a saddle for nine hours. The corrugations rattling every bone in your body. The dust in your eyes. The infinite depth of the hole you're in when you're going through a bad patch. And yet, there I was, coming back for my 15th edition of this race. A cyclist himself, Last Minute Charles just smiled and nodded understandingly.

Back on the bike, we flew over The Fangs and started my nemesis - The Mother of All Climbs. While I've had some good years, I've also had some rather dismal ones. I have punctured going up this climb. I have walked up this climb. I have vomited all over this climb. And I have bonked spectacularly several times. I was determined that this year would be a good year. We both felt rather fresh. We were riding quite smoothly, and I thought we were climbing quite well. Until, for the second time that day, the leading ladies came flying past us looking fresher and smoother. We'd like to say that we were actively managing the gap between us, but the truth is that Sarah and Theresa dropped us like a sack of potatoes. Again.

Relive 'My 15th Trans Baviaans'

Undeterred, we made the checkpoint in good spirits (I'm always in good spirits if I can make Bergplaas without needing to vomit) and quickly went about our business. Lights, snacks, juice, and in Captain Craig's case, some new dry kit. As we hit the start of the downhill, we encountered our first real snag of the day. My light came loose as we went over a small bump and went flying into the bushes at the side of the road. A couple of hundred metres further and it would have gone flying down the side of a mountain - never to be seen again. A quick stop, a frantic search under the bushes, some running repairs and we were back on the go, continuing our descent, both literally and figuratively.

My son gave me a plaster before the race, and specifically chose the one with snails on. What's he trying to say?

My first bad patch started as we finished the descent, and like a limpet, I spent the next 10 minutes glued to Captain Craig's wheel, doing everything I could to find some energy and recover. And like a trooper, Captain Craig just sat on the front setting a solid steady pace. Just as my legs were coming back, Captain Craig's legs started to fade, and it was my turn set the pace while he frantically searched for some legs. We rolled into the next checkpoint a little battered and beaten, but aware that we had just one climb ahead of us. The NeverEnder.

Last Minute Charles was waiting for us at the checkpoint. And he had pancakes. I grabbed one, and with the grace of a diesel mechanic doing keyhole surgery, I stuffed that pancake into my face. This was going to get me over The NeverEnder! We filled bottles, got some lube and we were on the go again, only to be passed by the leading ladies. AGAIN. And again, I could say that we managed the gap, but by this time it would be an absolute lie. We had nothing. It was possibly this situation that triggered a series of events would have me questioning why it is I ride this race. Again.

One last hill to go.

As the ladies disappeared off into the distance, Captain Craig offered me a pancake. He'd taken two from Last Minute Charles, and could probably read my mind at that point. So I took it. And devoured it. But the thing is, I'm not a big eater when cycling, and here I was stuffing two pancakes into my belly. All went well as we climbed The NeverEnder. It wasn't easy, but we were making decent progress, despite the fact that I was starting to re-taste that second pancake more and more. But I'd done everything right up until then - I was still convinced that I would overcome this minor hurdle. How wrong I was. As we hit the top of the climb I started to think about a strategic vomit. A preemptive purge before things got any worse. And, as if by command, the floodgates opened.

There are two types of cyclists. Those that can do a snot rocket while riding and those that can't. I'd like to add a new category. The select few that can do a vomit comet while remaining on the bike. While I'm no expert in this, and I may have got a few stray splashes on my leg, I feel that my new found skill will certainly come in handy in future TransBaviaans events.

With my stomach now empty, my legs started to fade too, and my next challenge was to get the timing right as to when to take an energy gel. Take it too early, and it was going to come flying straight out again. Take it too late, and the full bonk would have arrived and my legs would have fallen off completely. I might have waited a little longer than absolutely necessary, but I wasn't in the mood for wasting a gel.

"HMMMMPH HMMMMMMMMMPH HMMMMPH"

We had planned a quick stop at the final checkpoint - quickly grab something to eat, turn on the lights, and speed off to Jeffrey's Bay. But, as is usually the case, our ability to stick to our plans let us down. While Captain Craig put on his quick attaching light, I was going to grab half a jaffle (you haven't lived until you've had a Checkpoint 7 jaffle!). I still had a bit of negotiating to do with the stomach demons, but the jaffle was going down a treat. I half expected to have to stuff my face and get out of there, but Captain Craig's light was taking a little longer than expected. So I had another half of a jaffle. And still Captain Craig struggled, grunting commands through the jaffle dangling from his mouth. I now know after the fact that

"HMMMMPH HMMMMMMMMMPH HMMMMPH"

means

"I need someone to shine a light on my bars so that I can get this bloody light attached".

After several teams had arrived and departed through the checkpoint (missing out on jaffles), we finally got going again, in our usual formation, Captain Craig on the front.

Number 10 and 15 respectively

All of a sudden I was seeing lights! Aliens?! Angels?! The end of the universe?! My porridge brain slowly tried to make sense of the bright light shining in my face as I did my best to not fall off my bike. I eventually figured out that I wasn't being abducted, but it was, in fact, Captain Craig's light that was now shining directly in my face! As I rode behind him. Captain Craig stopped and fixed his light, while I tried desperately to regain some sort of night vision. Some cursing and swearing later and we were on our way again, the lights of Jeffrey's Bay beckoning. And then we stopped again. For Captain Craig's light. And then we were going again. And then we stopped again. For Captain Craig's light, And finally, we were going again.

The last obstacle between us and beer on the finish line was the dreaded railway line. In my many years of cycling, every time there is a railway line involved, bad memories are usually made. Cape Epic 2010 Stage 1. Every 36One. Lost bottles and punctures outside Robertson at the Double Century. Every Cape Epic that finished over the Gantouws Pass. And well entrenched on that list is TransBaviaans. By the time we hit the railway line, my sense of humour has completely failed and I'm seriously considering another sport or hobby. Stand up paddle boarding. Birdwatching. Or freestyle crocheting. But Captain Craig is always solid on this section, convinced we can still catch the leaders if we ride fast enough, and while we missed the leaders by about an hour and a half, we did manage to catch one team that looked to be having a far worse day than us.

15 time finishers @velotales & Berend Maarsingh receiving a commemorative shield and a personalised @ciovitacycling soft shell jacket. pic.twitter.com/2e7YIFZG3I

— EcoBound (@EcoBoundMTB) August 12, 2018

We crossed the line to the welcoming sight of Last Minute Charles, warm clothes, a Darling Brew, and Spur burgers. Captain Craig had finished his 10th Baviaans, I had done my 15th, with The Soggy Bottom Boys finishing in 9h20 in 19th place. #Top20IsTheNewTop10. Will we be back? Most definitely!