The Cape Rouleur 2013

I was lucky enough to have wangled an invite to HotChillee's African adventure - The Cape Rouleur, and for once, instead of riding bikes, I'd traded in my lycra and cycling equipment for a black HotChillee crew T-shirt and a race radio. As a rider, my natural inclination had always been that those who can't ride, crew. What a rude awaking I was in for.

My only previous experience of working at a bicycle event happened 18 years ago. I was given a red flag, a bottle of water and a high viz vest and dropped off in the middle of nowhere at the quietest intersection in South Africa with explicit instructions to control the traffic. While I like to think I did a great job of simultaneously waving my flag and looking for motorists, the truth is I'm quite sure that intersection would have been fine without me. I can't even recall actually seeing a car other than the one that came to collect me several hours later. With this in mind, I was a little nervous about crossing over to the "other" side again.

Look closely - a chain ring grease mark on the leg of a pro.
Glad to see that they're human too ;)

A certain cycling magazine editor out the back of the bunch - evidence that the Cape Rouleur isn't just plain sailing.

The Cape Rouleur attracts riders from all over the world, about 120 people from differing backgrounds, fitness levels and experience. To ensure that things run (mostly) like clockwork there are in excess of 40 crew members on hand, and they are ably directed by the "separated at birth" twins of Hazel and Jane - often from the dark recesses of the Bedouin tent. Every aspect of the cyclists' well being is considered, both on and off the bikes. There is always a plan A, at least a plan B, and often a plan C, D and E. What often appears to be random chaos is in fact a finely choreographed stage production, each person doing their bit to make The Cape Rouleur a memorable event for all the participants.

My view into the peloton for 4 days

It doesn't get better than this

A crew member's day begins in much the same way as a cyclist's does - at the crack of dawn with an early breakfast and the promise of a daunting day ahead. Instead of pulling on tight, figure hugging Lycra we don our black shirts and baggy shorts and go into crew mode. As a crew member you never really have one particular role apart from the well being of the cyclists - one minute you could be erecting branding banners and the next you're emptying rubbish bins or mixing energy drink. And wearing the black shirt isn't without it's occupational hazards - I encountered things that nothing in my 17 years of bike riding had prepared me for - rose thorns in my fingers, a sunburnt left arm, and various other aches and pains from carrying, lifting, pulling, pushing and hoisting objects from one place to the next.

Me - on a mission, with my radio

Me - unpacking musettes, with my radio

Me - watering some cyclists, feeling rather lost without my radio

My appreciation for the amount of planning, self sacrifice and dedication that goes on behind the scenes was growing with every minute. I'm the first to admit that I'm a selfish cyclist - things must happen as I decree, and I've always expected race organizers, marshals and volunteers to jump to my every whim and desire. And they often do. As cyclists, we believe the crew members can solve any problem, conjure any required accessory into existence or know the answer to any question. We expect it.

My office and officemate (Vincent) for 4 days

To add to the complexity of the organizational effort behind The Cape Rouleur, the Cape summer had offered up some exceptionally fantastic weather. If you were on a beach. Under an umbrella. In an ice suit. With temperatures in excess of 40C and not a hint of the Cape's notorious South Wester blowing, a large contingent of riders who just a few days previously had been training in sub zero temperatures were going to need some extra special attention. They say the next World War will be fought over water, and judging by the riders clamouring to ensure their water bottles got refilled before our stock ran out, the first skirmishes might already have been fought.

The amazing ThinkBike marshals

Apart from my new found appreciation for the people who organise and manage events, I now have the utmost respect and admiration for the ThinkBike motorbike marshals that escort us riders during road race events. Previously, I'd always considered them to be bullies, patrolling the white line like vicious guard dogs with no understanding of the dynamics involved in racing bicycles. Working with them to ensure the safety of the cyclists opened my eyes to the role they perform, and the professionalism with which they do it. And while they might look like big scary bikers on big scary bikes, off the bikes they're a fantastic bunch of people with a wealth of knowledge and experience when it comes to managing and anticipating the sheer random nature of motorists on South African roads - all in the name of safety for us cyclists. It takes guts to stand in front of an irate motorist at an intersection who will be inconvenienced in her Sunday morning shopping quest. It took quite an adjustment on my drive home to actually have to think about the traffic around me - such was the job that they did.

The annual BlackShirt convention

While I am glad I got the opportunity to see the other side, it's not a place for everybody. My only hope is that my fellow BlackShirts and I did indeed make the Cape Rouleur a memorable event for all those who participated, and I look forward to seeing many of them back in sunny (and preferably not as hot) South Africa next year.  I will take away a new sense of appreciation for the dark art of event planning, and I promise to always say please and thank you to the crew members and bike marshals who go out of their way for my enjoyment of the event.

Oak Valley 24hr 2013

My wheels were barely stationary after another gruelling 24hr mountain bike adventure at Oak Valley when I got a call from no other than Oprah Winfrey. The same Oprah who is notorious for her battle against loosing weight, who made couch jumping a national pastime, and more recently extracted the confession that was a non-confession from Lance Armstrong. It turns out that Oprah got some really good publicity from the whole incident, and with Phil and Paul stumbling their way through Tour de France after Tour de France, she has an eye on a career change, wanting to become the new voice of cycling. Be warned - wherever there is a cycling story to be told, Oprah will be near at hand.

The other Lance, and a baggy wearing single speeding 24hr pro

My support's supporter's setup. Riding/chilling in style.

Once the niceties were out the way, we got down to the hard questions about 24hr racing. The first thing Oprah wanted to know about was what exactly motivates a person to want to sit on their bicycle and pedal round and round for 24 hours. It's a good question and I'm not really sure what the motivator is? Fear? Glory? Honouring Rule 5? The possibility of a pair of Dirtopia socks? If anything, it's a great day out, just a guy and his bike, riding some really great trails in a beautiful part of South Africa.

In the zone

After that rather non-committal answer, Oprah changed tack and tried to delve into the racing strategy of a solo 24hr bike rider. Some guys like to go super hard from the gun and build up a lead as soon as possible. I prefer the other approach - more tortoise and less hare. Get into a rhythm and tap out a tempo, ignoring the goings on of all those around me. In fact, I place a moratorium on all race info for the first 6 hours. And of course I have my secret weapon in the form of my pit bitch and wife. DislocatedMTB has a definition of a pit bitch: "someone who wants an excuse to feel part of an event, but can't be bothered with all that painful riding". I tend to prefer the following: "someone who takes over the brain work, looks after the nutrition and hydration, and can give the competitors and their support crew the evil eye".

8hrs in and things were starting to hurt

Moving along, Oprah then enquired about the route. Oak Valley is probably the best 24hr course that South Africa has got to offer. It's got a little bit of something for everyone, from the first timers to the seasoned regulars, the gentlemen racers to the hipster singlespeeders. With around 80% of the course being hallowed single track, the fun factor is maxed out all the way. That's not to say there isn't any suffering. A Dirtopia event just wouldn't be the same without a bit pain and anguish. Meurant, the course designer, is as sadistic as the riders are masochistic - a match made in heaven, or possibly the fires of purgatory. The first half of the lap is a slow, twisty, single track meander up the side of a mountain, which is then followed by a blisteringly fast descent, through narrow shoulder hugging thickets of trees, down near vertical dips, over blind descents and around tight hairpin bends. Mountain biking at its very best. With only 220m of climbing per 11km lap, the course is relatively easy. But after 16 hours of riding, each lap felt like an ascent of Everest with no oxygen, and no Sherpa's to carry your stuff.

Night stretching, deserves a quiet night

Some night action

Getting back into the swing of things, Oprah wanted some nitty-gritty, "teary eyed Lance"-like descriptions of the racing, the human emotion, the tactics and the drama. As I thought of dying puppies and failed learner's licences, trying my best to conjour up some tears, I described the racing from the small view that I had of it. It's always a fast start - months of training finally being let loose, and the toughest thing is actually trying to slow down. The race isn't won in the first 6 hours, but it certainly can be lost. Throw in some temperatures approaching 40C and looking after your body becomes way more important that trying to build a lead.

Breakfast time - FutureLife shake and coffee

Time to get back out on the bike

While the solo riders are slugging it out in slow motion, like punch-drunk heavy weight boxers, the team riders are ripping up the course, putting in faster and faster times as the field spreads out over the lap. As a solo rider this creates another thing that we have to watch out for - rapidly approaching race snakes from the rear. Think of pantechnicon trucks racing Formula One cars through narrow country lanes. Fortunately most mountain bikers are quite considerate and the hills were filled with the cries of "Track please", followed by an appreciative "Thank you".

The end is almost is sight

By the time midnight came around the racing in the solo categories was pretty much sewn up - the exertions of the opening hours having caught up with several competitors. Now it was time to ride conservatively, take as few risks as possible, mark the competition, and hope that any last minute back room mechanic jobs would last till the end of the race. In the teams section the racing was as frantic as it had been all day, if not worse. With most competitors heading off to bed, lap times were improving as the race snakes had clear runs at the course, in addition to having learned every inch of the track. The competition in the teams category would go right down to the wire as the riders duked it out for glory, clocking some impressive laps times on some very tired legs.

Last lap of the 2013 Oak Valley 24hr

Sensing no big revelations or confessions, I could see Oprah wanted to end the interview, and my suspicions were confirmed when she got to the point and asked about distances, stats and results. I'd managed to complete 30 laps, totalling 330km with 7100m of climbing. I'd also burned 18 200 KCal (the average male my height and weight requires 2700 KCal per day) - 6 times the daily average. I'd managed to retain my title, once again pipping Hentus Baard into 2nd, with the clean Lance rounding out the podium. A carbon copy of 2012.

24hrs worth of snacks

Oprah's eyes finally lit up. The stats and numbers clearly grabbing her attention. There was a short pause before she looked me in the eye, and rather tentatively asked, yes or no, if I took drugs to survive the rigours of 24hr racing. I almost fell off my chair. I wasn't expecting that question, and I don't think Oprah was expecting my answer.

Yes.

I quickly started to explain that I'd taken two Panado tablets at around sunset as I had quite a headache from the heat. But it was too late. Oprah sensed a turning in the interview and asked if there was anything else I wanted to confess. Scratching my head, confused at how the conversation had become so confrontational so quickly, I slowly started nodding my head. Looking Oprah in the eye I told her that deep down I am a roadie at heart, and I love lycra, skinny tyres, shaved legs and clean bicycles.

And just like that the interview was over.

Rider and support - the perfect team

The podium - same as last year - flanked my Meurant and Vissie

 Thanks to Chris Hitchcock for the photos, and TrailTag for keeping all those who couldn't make the event updated on the action

Double Century 2012

Team Sky might have popularised the term "marginal gains" in cycling circles, but there was no way that our rag-tag team consisting of triathletes, mountain bikers and race snakes had the time or the patience to apply the principal. After the almost year we had last year we opted for the lesser known program of "monumental advancement" and found ourselves two professional bike riders and a top notch sponsor.

The guys, posing as Team HotChillee for the 2012 DC

We're not talking local South African professionals and all the baggage that comes along with them, we're talking real professionals. Professionals who have Cav's phone number on speed dial, who can name the climbs of the Giro d'Italia in order of meters climbed, and have their own Wikipedia pages. Enter the Downing brothers - Dean and Russell. Along with entries like The Critérium International, An Post Rás and the Giro d'Italia on their palmarès, Russell won the Fun Ride World Champs (aka The Argus) in 2005. These were guys that we could use. The rest of the team remained mostly the same - Hector (The Hulk), Chris (The Quiet One), Jarryd (The Kid), Craig (The Captain), Warren (The Village Person), Trevor (The Beast), Andy (The Silver Bullet) and myself. We also welcomed back Zayin (The IT Guy). Apart from the Downing brothers, our only new recruits were Lance (The Legolas Look-alike) and Jason (The Portable Pit Crew).

Let's do this!

To complete the look, Captain Craig had used his connections and got HotChillee on board as the team sponsor. Not only would we ride fast with our pro's, we would look fast as well. And in a last minute surprise, The Beast produced a well stocked packet of PowerBar goodies which the team disseminated like vultures around a carcass. Three monumental advancement tick boxes ticked.

The new secret weapon of death

Aero wine drinking, as Dean hangs his head in shame

The team meeting the night before the race was a chaotic affair. The race strategy got more and more complicated and outlandish as the beer and wine flowed and by the time dinner was finished no one really knew what the plan was. As I understood it, the strategy was to ride as fast as possible to the neutral feed zone at 110kms, have some snacks and a leg stretch, and then ride as fast as possible to the finish. Nothing like a simple plan. I just hoped we had the legs to convert the plan into action.

Red sky in the morning, shepard's warning

Team HotChillee were allocated a 6h58 start time although I don't think many people slept past 5h30. There was a sense of excitement and nervousness filling the air, amongst the various other noxious gasses and smells swirling around the guest house. This was our year, the year we'd show the local racing scene what our unlikely looking team was made of. As we made our way to the start line, I was forced to confront my fear of Andy's time trial helmet - the helmet that had single handedly scarred my psyche so badly and put me in a place I never wanted to find myself in ever again the previous year. And this year there was another helmet of death. Talk about desensitisation therapy.

Last minute scheming and strategising

Standing on the start line, our rag-tag collection each went through their pre-race start line routine - some guys get quiet and introspective, others obsessively check and recheck their equipment, while others spend an inappropriate amount of time inside the porta-loo's. Each of us trying to get into the zone for the sufferfest that lay ahead. As if riding 205kms in a straight stripe huddled over your handlebars at 35km/h for just under 6 hours isn't tough enough, Mother Nature decided to get in on the mix with some of the worst weather the Double Century has ever seen. Gusting winds, rain, and hail - not what you'd expect in summer in the Cape.

The Beast and the Baby Beasts

Lance led us off from the gun and proceeded to put each and every amateur member of Team HotChillee into the hurt box. We were flying along at speeds of 50km/h through the streets of Swellendam, bouncing over speed bumps and slicing around corners. It was around about now that I had my first thought of bailing - the guest house was only a couple of kilometres away. I could be back in bed in 10 minutes. Just as suddenly and as violently as the speed began, so it ended. Lightning Lance went from being on the front one second, to being out the back the next. I only realised that we were down to 11 HotChilleeans about twenty minutes later.

Being fast trumps looking like an alien (or a Village Person wearing a shower cap)

The next hour proceeded rather uneventfully, if riding along at an average of 45km/h can be called uneventful. Dean and Russell were already showing their class and had slotted into our way of doing things, just a little bit better. Where the amateurs were taking one to two minute turns on the front, the Downings would do anything from five to eight minutes on the front, always with a smile, and always at a pace the rest of us could keep up with. As soon as the climbing started we lost Zayin, leaving just 10 riders and 150 kilometres to go. We were starting to look like Team FrostyFresno as I had recollections of last year's race.

Lance gapping the team in the start chute already

The Downing brothers might have raced through some of the most beautiful scenery in Europe, flanked by cycling mad tifosi, but I doubt they've ever ridden up climb as scenic as the Tradouw Pass with only baboons looking on in bemusement. At the top of the pass we took the left turn towards Montegu, and into the howling wind that we'd been dreading for the previous week. We slowly inched our way to the top of Op de Tradouw pass as we huddled together, dodging branches, livestock and compact European cars that were being whipped passed us by the gale force winds. And just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, it started raining. Our rented pro's seemed to be having a ball - it was like a summer's day in the UK for them, but for the rest of us the weather was as terrifying as Captain Craig's moustache.

Team HotChillee reforming in the snack zone

It was around this time that The Beast had his near death experience. I was lurking at the back of our little chain gang going down a particularly fast hill in the pouring rain when I saw a Downing brother quickly shoot out of the line to the right, revealing The Beast in the process of negotiating the biggest speed wobble I have ever seen. It was more like the Earth below The Beast had given up under his power and was wobbling all over the place like a bowl of jelly. The Beast claimed to have the faces of his kids flash before his eyes, and was quite prepared for the monstrous crash we all thought was coming, but somehow he convinced the Earth to return to it's usual orbital rotation and averted the crisis. To be perfectly honest - I think I saw the faces of The Beast's kids - it was that bad. To make matters worse, I think we lost Chris The Quiet Guy in this incident too. He's so quiet that it's difficult to be sure - he could have been missing for half an hour and we'd never have known.

Life giving Coca-Cola

It was another mundane 30kms before Team HotChillee had some excitement again. In the blink of an eye, our pace line disintegrated and there were 6 guys up ahead, and Captain Craig, Warren The Village Person and myself off the back. I wasn't too bothered as it wasn't long and we'd be at the checkpoint where we'd be able to regroup but Warren miscounted and thought there were only 5 riders up ahead. I was rather puzzled when he took it upon himself to cross the gap, donating a kidney in the process. His disappointment on recounting later must have cracked him mentally, when we next saw him at the check point he was a quivering wreck.

And then there were 7

Captian Craig and I rode a steady tempo into the checkpoint and rejoined the team as they grazed on snacks and stretched their legs as Jason, our backup driver, looked on. The Beast was adamant that we have some of his raisins, and given his size, no one refused. The Downing's were looking calm, relaxed and comfortable, while the rest of us were wondering how we were going to survive the next 90kms. Twenty minutes later and Team HotChillee left the feed zone with 11 riders - our next target being the circle at Robertson, and more importantly the welcome tailwind that it would bring.

Echelon riding the Dutch would be proud of

The Downing brothers were champs on this next section - sitting on the front, tapping out a tempo that had the rest of us fighting for wheels, and still had enough energy to give Robbie Hunter a jibe or two as we stormed passed him. I was sitting in 7th wheel in the pace line, revelling in the security of knowing that I was safely nestled in the middle of Team HotChillee. Until I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing. Five minutes after leaving the check point and and we were looking like Team Not-So-HotChillee. I had flashbacks of last year's race where we'd been in a similar promising position until we ran out of riders. We had 70kms to go and just 7 riders, but at least we had a tail wind.

The Beast, calling in the reinforcements

I gave Jarryd The Kid the sign that I was watching him - he was not going to pull a sneaky on me this year. I was starting to take strain with the increased pace, and my calves felt like they were the new residence for a family of mice. I could feel them running up and down under my skin, making nests and burrowing tunnels. My stomach was also acting up - it felt like a witch's cauldron slowly bubbling away, filled with energy bars, gels, coke and The Beast's raisins. With 50kms to go I silently threw in the towel, sat up, and watched the remaining HotChilleeans disappear off up ahead. And then something funny happened, in the 5 minutes that I'd taken it easy for, the mice had packed their bags and left, the cauldron had settled down and I felt quite good. So I chased. And I chased. On my own. Back to my team. With some directeur sportif like encouragement from the team car I got back onto our bunch. I knew the good legs wouldn't last, and so made it my mission the get The Beast of the several small rises that lay ahead, along with Dean and Russell.

That's a bicycle, not a farm gate. Well, not a big farm gate.

The mice did return from their vacation just as we crested the last of the small hills, and although Captain Craig did his best to keep me in touch with the rest of the team, I was done. With 25kms to go I threw out my parachute, waved good bye and called the team car over for some juice. If I thought my legs were in a bad state, seeing Warren hobble and stumble as his legs cramped up gave me a good laugh. And he'd been sitting in the car for 2 hours. I stopped for some life giving coke, had a chat with the water point marshal and set off on my way, wheel sucking a team like my life depended on it. And then it happened again. My legs came back. I waved good bye to my new best friends, and with the wind now firmly behind me flew up the last little climbs like they weren't even speed bumps in my way, finishing 4 minutes behind my team.

Post race pizza, champage and analysis with The Dirty Dozen, the 6th all women's team.
Oh, and a boring rugby game blaring away in the background.

Team HotChillee finished 4th in a time of 5h42, living up to the start line announcer's dark horse tag. The rag-tag collection of riders had beaten several of the more fancied teams and at the same time had fun. Dean and Russell are consummate professionals, and great guys. Our local pro's and pro wannabees could certainly take a leaf out of their book.

While we just missed out on a podium place, there were several prizes that members of Team HotChillee won outright:

• Fastest average speed in the Swellendam city limits
• Earliest dropped rider
• Greatest height difference between the tallest and shortest riders
• The quietest cyclist in the Western Cape
• The only guy with a time trial helmet to get into a car
• A climber who got dropped on the climbs
• The nicest, strongest, bestest pro's

Hector The Hulk - exhausted after a long day out

As is customary, we finished off the weekend with an easy ride on Sunday, racing up hills, flying down dales and generally just messing about, before enjoying a hearty breakfast and then making the long trip back to reality. You can bet your bottom dollar that we'll be back again next year to give it our all, to have fun, and enjoy the time out on our bikes. Who knows - perhaps that elusive podium place is within our grasp.

Someone call The Style Guy!

I'm the king of the world

Of course it's rideable!

Warren, concerned his dirty shorts will give him a dodgy rash

Lance striking a pose