The Day Our Mountain Biking Music Died

I never really understood Don McLean's American Pie - the words make sense to me, but I never connected with the emotion of the song. The deep sense of loss that Don McLean experienced when learning that Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens had died in a plane crash. While he never knew the early rockers on a personal level, they were very part of everyday American life when they were cruelly snatched away.

But now I get it. Things were never going to be the same from that day forward. Yesterday, cycling, and in particular, mountain biking in the Western Cape lost its soul, with the tragic accident that claimed Meurant and JP's lives.

For more than 30 years, Meurant has been the custodian of mountain biking, reminding us why we ride bicycles in the first place. Legendary for some of the most iconic events on our calendar for equal measures of gees and toughness, Meurant was uncompromising in his vision for what mountain biking should be.

Meurant Botha - 2006

Many mountain bikers have Meurant, Arina and Dirtopia to thank for the bike riders they are today - their vision and passion built the community and culture that is Western Cape mountain biking, from the early days of the Dirtopia Mountain Bike Festival, the insanely tough Dirtopia 24hr series, The 100 Miler, and more recently the Spur MTB League, and I am certainly one of those riders.

Meurant and I weren't friends and we didn't hang out together, but I always felt I knew Meurant, what he stood for, what he believed in, what he loved. Just as it's possible to gain insight into artists like Van Gogh, Dali, or Banksy from their work, every Meurant Botha event or trail held telltale insights into the man, and this is how I got to know Meurant and Arina.

Meurant and I - 2017

It was by accident that I fell in love with 24 hour racing, and this is where I got to know Meurant, and he is why I fell in love with 24 hour solo racing. Relationships are formed on shared moments, common understandings, and mutual passion, and while Meurant and I stood on opposite sides of the candy tape, we shared an obsession with racing, suffering, and pushing the limits.

A mid race sundowner - 2016

They say that the only person you race in a 24 hour race is yourself. That's not true. You race yourself and the trail in front of you, and while I never raced Meurant on a bike, I raced him in my head. Over and over and over again. Lap after lap after lap. I felt I knew Meurant just by riding the trails he built.

The toughest competition - racing the trail builder - 2016

And then there were the fleeting interactions, often intimate, often with each of us at our most vulnerable. Interactions that gave insight into the man, interactions that echoed the mental image I had built up in my head, interactions that made him real.

Meurant watching the racing and suffering - better than Netflix! - 2020

My relationship with Meurant and Arina spans 20 years, and while he is no longer with us, he will continue to live on in my head, his legacy living in the trails he created, the lives he touched, and the memories he made.

As we mourn the loss of both Meurant and JP, we remember not just what we've lost, but what they gave us. They leave behind a community stronger for having known them, trails that will continue to challenge and inspire us, and a culture of mountain biking that celebrates both the joy and the grit of riding. Every time we clip in, every time we push ourselves beyond what we thought possible, every time we gather as riders to share our passion, we honor their memory. The day the music died for Western Cape mountain biking, but the song they wrote will play on forever in the hearts of those who ride.

Keep riding Meurant.