Ben Swanepoel 6/21/23 Ben Swanepoel 6/21/23

My Bicycle history

Two wheels better than four.

A short inventory of my current and past bikes, their achievements and misadventures.

A few years ago while I was planning to have a custom bike build, I got to thinking about the role that cycling has played throughout my life and how, much like music, it has been the backing track to my decades on this earth. Of course it didn’t really start with me at all, my dad had his own cycling backtrack to a very different life. He was a track cyclist and I have this awesome photo of him in full flight taken around the 1940’s. That photo encapsulates the passion and spirit of road racing that was as present back then, as it is in todays top professional cyclists almost 80 year later.

My first bike was a "Cape-ads" special which my dad and I put together from bits and pieces, a frame for $1,50 and a set of wheels for $0.5 We hand painted it blue and to finish it off, my dad fitted it with an old Stermy Archer 3 speed gearbox. I loved the personal freedom that bicycle afforded me during a time in my life when everything was governed by rules and limitations. “Just going for a ride on my bike” was always met with a positive response and motherly concern regardless of the reality of what exactly that meant. What it did mean, was the freedom to head out on my own, to follow a route created in my own head, to turn left or right wherever I chose and more often that not, to journey clear around the Cape peninsula from Indian to Atlantic oceans, along some of the most scenic areas in the world, up and over iconic passes to arrive home well into the afternoon, sunburned, windblown and famished. All this as a mere 12 years old.

In Matric (Grade 12), I got my very first brand new bike, A red Armstrong 10 speed racing bike with white bar tape. I can still clearly see it in my mind's eye and recall the rubbery smell of its newness as it sat impatiently next to my bed on that night before my first ride on her. I swear I slept through that entire night with a huge grin stretched across my pimpled face. Now, many decades have passed me by. I am an adult with the same illusion of independence and self control as everyone else, yet the reasons for my continued and increasing passion and pleasure of cycling are still exactly the same as they were 50 years earlier as a shy 12-year-old boy from Plumstead in the Western Cape of South Africa.

As the waters of that endless river flowed under the bridge of my life, I went on to cycle the Freedom Challenge race across South Africa twice, winning it in 2006, cycled across the Karoo in 2007 and then completed two Ironman events in PE during 2008 / 2009. Between 2010 and 2014 I cycled long distances in Thailand, Laos, China and Malaysia and in 2015 my son and I cycled across Bhutan and on to Kathmandu in Nepal. Get this though, my Son did it on an unmodified BMX while I accompanied him on my mountain bike.

After seeing the Himalaya mountains for the first time in the distance during that trip, I went back to Nepal in 2016 and cycled from Kathmandu up near to the top of the Annapurna circuit at 4,300 MASL, again on my MTB. In 2020, with COVID19 having effectively shut down International travel, I did a country crossing of Laos. I don’t mention these things here to brag, but because for a very small and painfully unconfident boy from Plumstead South Africa, the road has been hard, and these are some of my very precious victories.

What follows here is an inventory of all the bikes I have owned

Enjoy the journey!

Cape-ads special

1979-1975 - School commuter and round and round the Cape Peninsula

This was my first bike, a "Cape-ads" special. (Cape-ads was the classified section of the Cape Argus evening newspaper we used to buy second hand anything’s during the time before electronic media)

My dad and I built it up from bits and pieces, a frame for $1,50 and a set of wheels for $0.5 We hand painted it blue and to finish it off, my dad fitted it with an old Stermy Archer 3 speed gearbox.

I loved the personal freedom that bicycle afforded me during a time in my life when everything was governed by rules and limitations. “Just going for a ride on my bike” was always met with a positive response and motherly concern regardless of the reality of what exactly that meant. What it did mean, was the freedom to head out on my own, to follow a route created in my own head, to turn left or right wherever I chose and more often that not, to journey clear around the Cape peninsula from Indian to Atlantic oceans, along some of the most scenic areas in the world, up and over iconic passes to arrive home well into the afternoon, sunburned, windblown and famished. All this as a mere 12 years old.

Armstrong 10 speed racing bike

1975 - 1977 - School commuter–Ou Kaapse Weg specialist–Around the Peninsula regular–Social life commuter.

Around 16 years old, I got my first brand new bike, a red Armstrong 10 speed racing bike with white bar tape. My dad was going to buy me a 5-speed lime green race bike, but the salesman convinced him to pay a little more for the Armstrong. It was a good move.

I can still clearly see it in my mind's eye and recall the rubbery smell of its newness as it sat impatiently next to my bed on that night before my first ride on her. I swear I slept through that entire night with a huge grin stretched across my pimpled face.

I put it into good practical use, as I cycled a daily 14km round trip commute to school and regular weekend and evening visits to my friend Gordon, who lived close to the school.

A round trip from Plumstead, over Ou-Kaapse-Weg, Chapies and back home via Constantia Neck, was a regular trip and must still be one of the world's most iconic cycling loops in terms of scenery.

Nishiki Altron -MTB

1997-2003 - Forest road and firebreak junky–Road tourer–First little Karoo tour.

Although a few bikes had come and gone between the 20 years from 1977 to 1997, they were “supermarket race bikes” and were only used for a very short while. This Nishiki was the first thoughtful purchase, and it came at exactly the correct time in my life.

We had just got back into Conservation after 5 years lost in the wilderness, and Mountain Biking was a new fad in the world. We were based on Nuweberg NR high in the mountains surrounded by forestry roads and tracks.

Through this bike, I explored, often with my children, the forestry roads and tracks around Nuweberg. We competed in a few local MTB races and cycled along the road to places like Villiersdorp, Garbouw, Koegelberg, and Kleinmond. It was a time of great peace and contentment.

In a moment of inspiration, I adapted a pair of school backpacks to act as touring paniers and conducted my first true cycling tour around the little karoo. It would be a nod to the future for me, but the timing was not yet right. We moved to De Hoop NR where I used it around the reserve and kept it all the way through our term here until we moved to Marloth NR many years later.

As a steel frame (Chromoly), even with no suspension, the bike was perfect for forest trails and long distance touring, and the color was just gorgeous.

Raleigh MTB Hardtail

2004-2005 - Marloth NR trails specialist – Freedom Challenge trainer

My son Dylan and I got new bikes soon after we moved to Marloth NR outside of Swellendam. The forest roads and mountain trails around Marloth were probably a little more technical, and we had great fun exploring them from right outside our front gate, always accompanied by our sheepdog, Zimba. It was not the best bike I owned, but it served its purpose well.

When I managed to get accepted as a participant for the Freedom Challenge, MTB race across South Africa, I naively thought I would do it on this bike. I did all my race training on this bike and for that purpose alone, she served me very well. I knew it was the wrong choice for the actual race though and even went to the pains of removing the name from the frame, so as not to embarrass myself in front of the other competitors.

Fortunately, at the last minute, I was sponsored a bike for the race. In retrospect, the bike would not have lasted until the evening of the first day.

Giant XTC 26’ Hardtail

2005 - 2005 - Joint 2nd - Freedom Challenge race across South Africa.

This was my introduction to the XTC, and it has become my go-to mountain bike ever since. Something about the geometry makes it the perfect bike for me, like a pair of well-worn boots.I used it on the Freedom Challenge race across South Africa, a 2,500km, non-stop, unsupported MTB race through some of the most amazing areas in South Africa. For 26 days I rode across the country on this bike and ended up coming in a joint 2nd place with Amy Mundy.

On the night I crossed the finish line, the race organizer took the bike away from me, and I returned to my sister’s house, sat on the bed and cried. I could very happily have turned around and started cycling back the way I had just come.

Giant XTC 26’ hardtail

2006 - 2012 - Joint winner of the Freedom Challenge race across South Africa – Across Karoo – Laos cycle - Malaysia cycle – China cycle.

After the first freedom challenge (FC), I was hooked. I went through a few secondhand bikes trying to capture the XTC fit, but it never worked. Finally, I got a sponsorship to do the race again during 2006, and could buy the new model Giant XTC just in time for the race.

After winning the FC alongside Cornell, I was addicted to endurance, riding 300 km’s in 24 hrs just to see if I could, then conducting my ride across the karoo. Later I moved to work in Laos, where I cycled long distance trips in Laos, Malaysia and finally across a sizeable chunk of China. After the China trip, she was tired and so I retired her to a family in Laos.

Peugeot race bike

2007-2007 - Ironman trainer

The freedom Challenge success unlocked a door to my self-confidence exposing me to an enormous range of possibilities. I sat in front of the TV one Saturday morning and watching the entire Ironman South Africa competition played out in Port Elizabeth. Although I had never been able to swim more than a few meters at a time, usually in a wet suit while surfing, I decided that this was it! I would do an ironman the next year.

To do this, I needed a road bike, so I begged my dad’s spare supermarket quality racing bike, did a few upgrades, and let the training begin. Before I changed it for a very secondhand race bike closer to the Ironman event, I practiced on this bike, completing many trips to Paarl or Hermanus from Swellendam, and a few 200km morning rides around the mountains where I lived.

It reminded me that not having the “best” of everything should never stop us from living our dreams or at least from focusing in on our goals.

Take what you do have, and go for it!

Cannondale CAAD 5 race bike

2007 - 2017 - Ironman South Africa 2008 and 2009 – All over Laos, Some Vietnam and Thailand.

Just before the Ironman event, I bought this secondhand aluminum frame Cannondale CAAD 5. A beautiful bike, although I always felt it was slightly too big for me. It had a solid, older model Shimano105 group set that was so well built and long lasting, it just never wore out.

I sold it to our Laos country director to fund a more endurance orientated race bike.

Giant XTC 27’5 hardtail

2014 - 2021 Extensive Lao touring – Bhutan country crossing – India (a small bit) – Nepal – Nepal again – Hiem resident.

When I came back from my China trip, it was obvious that the old XTC was on its last legs, so I replaced it with this bike, which I bought in Thailand. At the same time, I moved over to 27.5’ wheels, which made quite a difference in terms of average speed on a long trip. The bike has already had a full rebuild, which I did myself, converting it to a 1X drive chain. This bike, along with my previous XTC, has certainly taken me on some amazing journeys so far.

Besides many long-distance trips in Laos, in 2015, my Son Dylan and I cycled across Bhutan, into India and on through Nepal into Kathmandu. My son did that trip on an unmodified BMX! After seeing the Himalaya mountains for the first time in the distance during that trip, I went back to Nepal in 2016 and cycled from Kathmandu up near to the top of the Annapurna circuit at 4,300 MASL.

In 2021, I scraped the frame, and built the components over onto a new carbon frame. This “new” bike continues to be my primary ride up in Hiem when working on NEPL NP.

Colnago CX Zero

2016 - 2020 - Laos endurance riding

After I sold the Cannondale, I was looking for a light fast bike for weekend rides, with good endurance geometry, to do some single day long distance trips. I went through to Thailand with my mind already made up to buy the Giant Defy. Unfortunately, I had a quick peep inside the Colnago stable and the rest is history.

Like my XTC MTB’s, this frame fitted me like an old smelly sweater and immediately my riding improved.

I did a number of 200km day rides and saw my average speed pick up by quite a bit. I thoroughly enjoyed the riding experience on this bike.

Rainbow beach cruiser

2018 - 2019 - Broke my thumb

Someone gave me this cruiser in payment for a keyboard. It had a backpedal brake, and I thought it quite cute until a fall on it almost ripped the thumb off my hand and gave me a facelift.

On the way to work one morning, the front wheel slid out and my thumb caught between the brake lever. I was in hospital for a week in Thailand while they sowed my thumb back on. It's ok now, but with restricted movement.

I never looked at that bike again and gave it away to someone working on our house.

Mercer custom build steel frame cross bike

2018 – Current - Extensive Lao touring – Oman cycle trip – Lao country crossing – Commuter.

This is my once in a lifetime bike, a tribute to three generation of cycling in my family, my dad, my Son Dylan and I. It was quite by chance that I came across the website of a custom bike builder in Cape Town, David Mercer. He graciously accepted my project and build me this absolutely beautiful steel framed cross bike which I named “Southern Cross”

I researched and purchased all the components online from various suppliers and the wheel-set came from a small wheel builder in Thailand. I had to do all the project work remotely from Laos, including the color and design which had me coloring in sketches of frame sets. Altogether it was an 8-month process, and I finally collected the bike from David in Cape Town while on my annual home leave.

The bike has exceeded all my expectations in terms of its build quality and rideability. Its fast and comfortable, really has long legs. Unfortunately, COVID has restricted my ability to travel more internationally on this bike, but it has done its fair share of longer trips to Oman and also a country crossing of Laos in 2020. After a few years, I converted it to a 1X drive chain. Best choice ever.

Trinx X7 Elite 29’ MTB

2021 - 2022 - Commuter - Weekend warrior.

I bought this as a second mountain bike to use as a commuter and general ride around on weekends in Vientiane. Although its very much a budget bike from China, the components were OK, all Shimano, even with a scattering of DEORE.

The shock was pretty “shocking” though, and the brakes spongy and weak. I have now upgraded everything to XT level, and broke the bank on a “FOX Float” front shock that cost about double the original price of the bike! Its now a really great ride, and I am enjoying the longer legs of a 29’.

The components were built over onto my new MERCER frame in 2022 and the original frame and components sold off.

Giant XTC advanced

2021 – current - Hiem workhorse

I once read a book on philosophy 101 which provided a thought experiment regarding 2 boats exchanging planking during the voyage. The crew of boat A eventually completely rebuilt their boat from parts of boat B. At the end of the journey, the question is posed.

“ Is boat A still boat A or is it now boat B or even boat ‘C’?”

Well, this bike is a perfect example of the above experiment, and after using it for more than a year, I still don’t know the answer. It does have a new carbon fiber frame, a first for me. All the fittings come over from my previous bike, which are themselves, replacements from the original after I converted the bike to a 1X drive.

Its fantastically light and a joy to ride in the mountains. I currently leave it up in Hiem as my primary ride when working up on NEPL, which is around 2 weeks of each month.

Mercer – Lanky Leumar (Mackped)

2022 - Current - Signature 29’ hard tail steel frame mountain bike

After my experience with the development of my MERCER cross bike, I always dreamed of having a steel mountain bike frame made by David as my primary mountain bike. While not a fully customized build, the frame is 100% handmade by David and finished to my specifications. The frame is one of David’s signature frames. I decided to once again ask Jared to do the paint work (artistry) and gave him a design based on my Mercer cross bike design. I then built over all the components from the Trinx 29 and have ended up with the best mountain bike I have ever had the privilege of riding.

I now have my final quiver of steeds, 3 in total. This should be enough now, except that the mathematical rule of; n = +1 still applies.

Lets see..

Ben Swanepoel 6/20/23 Ben Swanepoel 6/20/23

My motorbike history

Two wheels good, four wheels bad.

A brief history of my motorbike life

Although I would never considered myself to be a “biker” in the traditional sense, when I look at my motorbike history so far, I realize that they have played an important role in my life, often defining the different stages of my life, or my state of mind at the time. They never changed who I was, but they certainly changed the way that I experienced life, and still do so today.

I think that due to the danger associated with riding motorbikes, one needs to remain in a hyper state of awareness, and this excludes or at least limits the “noise” of the worries and concerns of our day to day lives. This forced meditation must have some positive impact on our mental state, which explains why the hells angels were such gentle, accommodating folk, full of brotherly love and the joys of spring. Ok, so maybe I am only referring to myself, which is in any event, a better strategy when talking s**t like this. Maybe I can put it like this:

I don’t think I have ever started a motorbike journey without a feeling of nervousness and uncertainty, and I don’t think I have ever stopped at the end of the day without a feeling of deep satisfaction, achievement and contentment. There, that’s better.

What follows, is a brief history of my motorbike journey from the very first bike I owned, up until my two current bikes. Looking at the list now, I don’t think I can escape the label of “motorbike whore”, especially during 2009.

Enjoy the ride!

Yamaha RD200

1977-1979 (18 years old)

This was the first bike I ever owned. I bought it 2nd hand from my brother-in-law for R400 ($27 in 2021 terms). I was still in the army serving at 11 SNT base in Wynberg, before I go myself posted out to Grootfontein in Namibia. I would struggle to get it up to the power band, spluttering and smoking and almost choking off, especially on hill starts, but once you hit that power band she became as smooth as silk with almost unlimited acceleration. It was a joy to ride when you rode it hard, a real pain in the arse at low revs.

My friend and I crashed into an island at an intersection and landed on the grass with no serious damage, and in a moment of silliness, I turned the handlebars upside down because it looked cool. Maybe so, but it was almost impossible to control as your hands hit up against the tank, jamming the throttle wide open. I sold it once I came back from the army.

Honda XL 500S

1983 - 1986 (24 years old)

I bought this bike completely based on the skills of an excellent salesperson. Working in Cape Town, I phoned Honda centre to ask if they had any 2nd hand bikes, and after a brief conversation, the salesperson picked me up from my shop on a Honda CD 900F and took me to bike showroom. The Honda XR range (pro-link suspension) had just come out, and he was trying to sell the XR250 to me. Unfortunately for him, I saw a bunch of now redundent XL500’s on sale to make way for the new model. By the time he dropped me back at my work, I had bought one, R1,500 ($103 in 2021 terms) brand new!

I used it to compute to work, first in Cape Town, then out to De hoop Nature reserve when I joined conservation. Later, we moved to Springbok, where I drove it around the Hester Malan Reserve where I was stationed. It had a bit of a history, as my friend Steve wiped out on it on the way to a job interview in Cape Town. I broke a rib and put a hole in my leg on her while attempting to pull start her behind a Landrover on a gravel road. I also had a good solid fall on the gravel when I panicked and grabbed too much front brake on a winding corner on Hester Malan Nature Reserve. For many years after I sold her, I would dream that I found her standing in the garage of whatever home we were staying in at the time. I guess I really must have loved her.

Kawasaki. KDX 175

1991 - 1993 (32 years old)

This was a purchase out of necessity, a very cheap 2nd hand bike for me to commute to Salmonsdam Nature Reserve after we bought a house in Stanford town. The commute was around 15km’s on a dirt road, and as I got to know the road during the daily commute, I got faster and faster, sliding the back wheel out on the long loose corners.

One morning, as I came sliding around one of the narrower corners, I was met by a sea of sheep being herded from one camp to the other. With no escape on either side of the road, I hit the brakes hard and came to a forced stop about 5 rows inside the herd. The bike never ran smoothly, obviously having some serious issues, but it served its purpose in the end.

Yamaha FZR 400

2008 - 2009 (49 Years old)

So many years had passed between my last bike, that this bike represented the beginning of an entire new era in my life. After more than 20 years of marriage, my wife had just left with the children so they could complete their education in the city. Alone and with no transport, I had to figure out a way forwards. The answer eventually came through photography, and I started taking on some good photo work for a publisher of school and university books.

In a brief space of time I could pay off some of our immediate debt, and found that while I didn’t have enough funds for a car, I could afford an “ok” 2nd hand motorbike. I found this bike in Swellendam and quickly bought it. It was definitely not the right bike for me, but it opened up an entire world of possibilities. I could travel to Cape Town to visit my family, go for weekend rides. Hell, I even attended a few bike rallies in the local area. The bike was extremely difficult to ride, and even more difficult to maintain, so I developed a good relationship with the local bike mechanic. Almost impossible to start, then struggling at lower revs, only to come into her own at around 8000 RPM.

She was just too much of a racehorse, but it was a start. It awakened in me the possibility that I could still experience some level of freedom and independence, some individuality. In the end, I sold her because she was just too unreliable to be practical.

Yamaha FZR 1000 EXUP

2008 - 2009 (49 Years old)

I bought this bike from a guy who imported containers of 2nd hand bikes from Japan. The bike was in pristine condition and 100% original. I only kept the bike for a few months, because it was a death machine. The acceleration was so fantastic, so addictive, it was difficult for me to rein it in, and although I started every trip determined to take it easy, I would soon find myself at 200 km/h on a narrow Karroo Road frequented by small and medium-sized animals who loved to scurry across the road at a moment’s notice.

Like the FZR400, she was difficult to maintain, and my relationship with the local bike mechanic flourished during this time. It was with this bike that I came to terms with the fact that I am not a speed junkie. My imagination is too vivid not to see and feel the downsides of coming off at 200+ miles per hour. The racing position, the attitude you need to have to make the most of a bike like this, was just not in my nature. It was time to move on, so I quickly sold her at no financial loss to me.

Yamaha Tenere 650cc

2009-2009 (50 years old)

Now. Finally, I was on the right track. An off-road capable bike with enough power to go anywhere I chose. Warning, destiny ahead!

I never should really have bought her. I am not a mechanic, and I did not have the means or time for a project bike. I did my first longer off-road trips with her, and the experience cemented the understanding of what type of bike I should be looking for. She stayed with me for around 4 months before I sold her to a farmer who was restoring old bikes just like this one.

BMW 1100 GS

2009 - 2013 (50 years old)

After owning 3 bikes in less than 12 months, I was getting tired of messing around with bikes that were both wrong for me and so old that they needed constant attention. So I sold ALL my bikes and decided to look for one bike that was both fit for purpose and young enough to be reliable and mechanically sound. I went to see this bike in Riversdale, and it was in perfect condition, not a single mark, scratch, or blemish. With 55,000 km’s on the clock, and from the general condition, it was obvious that they had never taken the bike off-road.

The day I went to collect it was in the middle of a massive cold front, and the gusts of wind on the N2 back to Swellendam were terrifying, almost blowing me completely off the road on more than one occasion.

On this bike, a switch went off in my head and became an off-road junkie. I travelled around the country, seeking every dirt road I could find, using my GPS to discover areas I had never been to before. I found out that there were dirt roads running parallel to many of the main roads offering a completely different experience. There were trips to Naude’s Neck, Biviaansfloof, Sani Pass, across Lesotho, across the little karoo, big karoo, wherever.

It wasn’t always an easy bike to manage on the dirt. It was heavy and had a long first gear that forced you to attack any steep, rutted trail at high speed, to prevent it from choking off halfway up, due to low revs. Man, but she was a beauty to ride, especially when loaded with camera and camping gear on a long country road.

She was written off in the city when a lady turned across 2 lanes into her driveway without looking and forced me onto the pavement and into a lamp post stay. Even though I smashed into a garden wall with my head and body, I got up without a scratch. On the day of the accident, the bike had 85,000 km’s on the clock. In the space of 2 years, I had added 30,000km’s of some of the best riding I have ever done on a bike. It was truly a sad day.

Honda Dream EX5 100cc

2010 - 2018

This was my first bike after arriving in Laos, South East Asia. All of 96cc, a big change from a BMW 1150 GSA to be sure. I told my landlord I was looking for a bike, and within the hour this was at my door, and so I bought it. I didn’t know then, but the Honda Dream is one of the better “step thru bikes” as they call them here. An evolution of the iconic Honda Super Cub, they are very popular in Vietnam and known as true workhorses in Asia.

I made a fool of myself when on examining the weak headlight on starting (kick start only), I told them I would buy the bike only on condition that they replaced the battery. They diligently took the bike away and came back less than an hour later with the work done. To be honest, I couldn’t notice much difference in the headlight's strength. A few weeks later, I discovered that the Honda Dream does not have a battery!

It was a great bike for running around town, which I did in tee shirt, shorts, flip-flops and a peak cap…. as is the custom. I eventually gave it to my partner’s brother to use on their family farm.

Honda Sonic CBR125

2011 - 2013

The Sonic was one of the only models of bike in Laos that had regular motorbike controls. A CBR125cc engine, with clutch and 5 speed gear box, not the semi-automatic or fully automatic bikes that made up most of the bikes in Laos. My plan was to adapt one into a true off-road bike to use (as an example) by our forest rangers for patrols inside the national parks.

I ordered a pile of parts from Thailand and adapted it as best I could, with spoked wheels, enduro quality shock, off-road bars, knobby tires, stronger clutch and some other stuff. It worked in a fashion, although the achilleas’ heel was its ground clearance. While conducting bear surveys deep in the forest, the monsoon rains would completely cover the trails, turning them into rivers. Driving in those conditions was insane, as we would be brought up short and tumble over the handlebars every few 100m as the engine hit a submerged rock or tree root. I used it extensively in the field where it was light enough to half lift and carry across the many river crossings we encountered. I once drove it on broken muddy forest trails for about 60km without a clutch after the cable snapped.

It was good fun though, and if I lay down on the tank on a slightly downhill tar road, I could almost reach 120 km/h! I sold it for a proper off-road bike once I moved to Bolikhamsai Province.

BMW 1150 GSA

2014-2020

I really wanted to replace the BMW1100 GS using the insurance money from the accident. I found this bike on “Gumtree”, also in immaculate condition. I added a full set of hard paniers, new tyres, and nothing more was ever needed. Even more than the GS 1100, this bike looked and felt massive, although once underway, she handled like a butterfly. When I would come back from Asia on my annual home leave each year, it was always a shock to see it for the first time in my friend’s garage. It was with sweaty palms that I would climb aboard and start her up. But after less that a km down the road I would relax, and the smile would return.

For around 4 years, I came back home annually and took her on road trips to places like Namibia and the Wild coast, but then I got deeper into my cycling and only came down to visit my family, choosing to rent a car rather that commute on the BMW. A BMW 1150 GSA is not a good city commuter. Eventually I could no longer justify keeping her and had to sell her.

I believe that this was the best adventure bike of its era, and I feel so grateful and privileged to have owned one during my life. After this model, things have taken a more electronic path, a road I am quite happy to have bypassed.

Honda XR 250

2014 - 2020

After moving to my new position in Bolichamxai Province, I rented a “proper house” and the time felt right to get a motorbike with longer legs than the little Honda Dream, which was only ever meant as a town commuter. I bought this bike from a local expat in pretty good condition for bikes of this age. In Laos, motorbike’s engine capacity is limited to 250cc, although there are plenty of larger bikes around, albeit illegally. The Honda XR 250 and Honda XR 250 Baja are the most common off-road bikes found in Laos for use by foreigners, so spares and repair facilities are all readily available.

Because the roads in Laos are in fairly poor condition, the bike is more than adequate in terms of power and capability. Main roads are frequently broken up, under construction or run over with landslides. Besides, villages are clustered around the road, with communities living out their lives on the road verges. Dogs, children, cattle, pigs and goats all running from one side of the road to the other. Off-road conditions are great, but river crossings can be a limiting factor as they are often done using small village boats that could carry nothing bigger that a 250. From my experience, the average speed possible on most of the good Lao roads I have travelled is around 80km/h, and 40km/h on the dirt. I would not enjoy riding a GSA 1150 on these roads!!

The bike has proved perfect for these roads, and I seldom looked for more power, except on a few long straight roads on some longer trips. She was my commuter, adventure bike, cruiser, scrambler and touring bike, and she never let me down. I sold her for the same price I bought her, but I think it was a mistake. I should have kept her, but still have bought the XR 400, and the Kawasaki W800, and..and..and!

Honda XR 400

2020 - Current

When COVID-19 hit the world, Laos immediately, and correctly, shut down its international borders. This unfortunately put an end to international tourism, including bike rental and tour businesses. My good friend and Legendary GIS map developer, fearless trail rider and Ho Chi Mhin trail expert, Don Duval, also owned a small husband and wife bike tour company. For these tours, he had built up an assortment of trail bikes, mostly Honda CRF 250s, but also a few XR400s and several KTMs. With COVD 19 having basically stopped his tours dead in the tracks, he decided to sell off a sizeable chunk of his bike stock.

I originally went to him to see if I could buy a more street legal, (read boring) licensed bike, like one of his Honda CRF’s. I was tiring of paying the police every time I had to stop at a roadblock. After spending some time in Don’s workshop however, an evil fog descended on my brain, rendering me foolish and deliciously weak minded. Instead of the shiny smooth skin of a CRF, I drove away on one of his four precious XR 400’s. The bike was very “clean”, in that it had no battery, no electric start, no instrumentation, no indicators, no legal papers and no license plates.
I had to smile at the raised eyebrow I got from Don when I brought it back a few days later to show him my fresh additions. One very Chinese analog speedometer, two review mirrors and a carrier.

I have already done a few long trips up to Hiem, Sam Neua, Long Cheng, and the bike is just fantastic! A 400cc trail bike on Lao roads makes it easily comparable to a large adventure bike anywhere else. It’s also not much larger or heavier than the Honda XR250, so it still fits onto the local boats, and is reasonably manageable on river crossings or soft, slippery mud and clay. Only problem is that it’s still “watch out for those pesky police!” Let’s go riding.

Kawasaki W800 STD

2021 August - Current

Ever since I sold my iconic BMW 1150 GSA back home in South Africa, I have wanted to replace it with some form of larger displacement bike here in Laos. As most bikes over 250cc in Laos are illegally imported, they are difficult to find. After a while, I came across this bike at a reasonably good price and decided that the time was right.
The bike is different to the style of bike I am used to, but I have reached the stage in my thinking where I don’t always want to be riding alone on trails in remote areas wondering about the river crossing ahead or the condition of the trail after heavy monsoons. Sometimes, I just want to charge up my camera, throw a few bags over the rear rack, only having to worry about if I want to turn left or right and the next intersection. This is definitely the right bike for that mindset.

When I was researching the bike, I noticed that YouTube video reviews were divided into 2 major camps:

Young people's reviews– “She is slow and boring compared to……”
Older people reviews– “She has plenty enough power and is full of character,”

My review after a 400km ride in the mountains up to Hiem? - “Leave me alone! Can’t you see I’m having a blast?!”

BMW F800 GS

August 2022 - Current

In July 2022 I did a home trip home to introduce Mina to the joys of a Cape winter. During my trip, Dylan let me take his BMW F650 for a short spin, which must have slightly damaged my brain. I started having weird thoughts about owning an adventure bike again and travelling around the country with my son on his own adventure bike. Thoughts resulted in action, and with Dylan’s help we got this second-hand beauty.

As I had not taken any home leave during COVID, I was able to take a second trip home in October the same year. Dylan helped me fit out the bike for off road travelling while I was still in Laos. We did a fantastic trip across the Karoo, and the bike is now settled in Dylan’s garage awaiting the next trip.

Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21 Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21

PT 5 - Nepal 2016 - Final thoughts

Normally I like to spend a few days...

Packing up and heading home

Normally I like to spend a few days after a long cycle trying to absorb the experience and generally ease out of the touring mindset. On this occasion, almost immediately after unpacking my things and settling back into my hotel room, I start to feel restless. I take a long walk through town but it’s just not the same, the hooting, the incessant sales pitches, constant jostling of the crowds and threat of been knocked down in the traffic.

The façade of this trekking tourism area crumbles down around me and for the first time I see that its all an illusion, the traditional buildings, local dress, friendly conversations, colorful merchandise, fake, fake, fake. I know its an overreaction, a symptom of been exposed to the real Nepal for too long, but I can’t stay.

I go online and change all my flight bookings so that I can leave the following day. Later that evening I dismantle my bike but can’t remove one of the pedals, so it’s a really tight fit in the already slightly too small bike bag. The next day, we take off in the late afternoon and fly all along the Himalayan mountain range. I am on the wrong side of the plane, craning my neck to get a glimpse of the mountains when a couple on the correct side see me and offer to change seats for a while. I refuse politely for the required period then accept, jamming my camera up against the window.

There before me, rising above the clouds like a giant crocodile’s tail are the Nepalese Himalayan mountain chain, glistening white and spectacular in the diffused light of a late afternoon. After a brief spell, I go back to my seat and promise to send them a set of photos taken from the plane.

The sun sets, and dinner trolleys are rolling down each of the two isle.

In the final analysis

So now, after some time has gone by, I need to find the answer to two very important questions;

Did I chicken out over the pass?
Does it matter?

To take the first question first.
By the time I got up in the morning before the final push towards the pass, my headache had gone, so probably I would have been ok to have carried on. The weather was clear and expected to be good for the next few days, so chances were that although it would still have been extremely cold, it was unlikely to have turned critically bad. There were many groups of trekkers, guides and porters on the trail by this stage, so I wouldn’t have been completely alone over the pass if I did get into difficulty.

The shortness of breath during that night was definitely a problem related to gaining altitude too fast, but I could have gone back down to Manang and spent another day or two acclimatizing. So taking all that into account, I think I probably could have carried on and safely negotiated the pass, it could have been really cool. So, did I chicken out over the pass?

“Hell yes!”

On the second question;
Although I had heard about the pass before, it had never been a goal of mine to try to cross it on this trip. My intention was to get up close to the mountains just to see for myself what they would look like It was only after I spoke to people in Nepal that I considered it as a possibility and even on the trail when people would ask if I was going to do the pass, my answer was always along the lines of, “I’m just going to keep cycling until I stop, and if that’s the other side of the pass then fine, if not, then also fine” While the landscape and scenery on the Annapurna circuit was breathtaking and the riding just amazing, from a cultural aspect it was all but destroyed. Most of the villages have converted over to tourist towns, menus have been standardized at ALL the tea rooms and there is really very little left that could be called authentic. There are tourist check points, medical aid posts, purified water outlets, shops, movie houses and literally 1,000’s of trekkers, guides, porters, pack mules and now Boleros in an endless procession along the trail.

It was only while travelling in the areas outside of the trail, which was the larger part of the trip, that I was able to experience Nepal for what it really is, and appreciate the subtle changes in its culture and people as I moved between the highlands, midlands and low lying regions. There were no tourists on my route, no standardized accommodation or menu’s written in English, no route markers or check points. That’s what I really wanted to experience, that’s what Dylan and I had experienced during our Bhutan to Kathmandu cycle in 2015. So did it really matter that I didn’t go over the pass?

“Hell no!”

Bike, luggage and equipment

Bike.

GIANT XTC 3 SLX 27’5-inch hard tail mountain bike (2015) with MAXXIS CROSSMARK tires.

After a comprehensive service at Himalayan single track in Kathmandu, I suffered no mechanical or any other problems on the ride, only replacing the rear disc pads in Pokhara as a precaution. I had a single puncture, and the tires held air for the entire trip without even the need for topping up, which seemed a little silly really.

Luggage

30lt Deuter Trans alpine 30lt backpack.
Thule pack and pedal rear rack.
10lt dry bag.

As is my custom for this level of bike touring, I stuck with a 30lt backpack, but because the possibility of extreme cold existed, added the rear carrier to accommodate a dry bag full of bulkier clothing.

The quality of the Deuter pack is excellent and it was well balanced and comfortable on my back. There was plenty of versatility in terms of compartments to organize all my kit. I packed everything in separate dry bags or zip lock bags for added protection, but mainly because it makes organizing kit so much easier.

I had heard mixed reports about the Thule rack, mainly that the bolts worked loose and need tightening a few times a day. This was not my experience, although I checked each morning, everything remained secure.

I also had a small bar bag for my cellphone and daily cash, but a tear in the side pouch caused me to loose a camera battery and my lovely penknife given to me by my son Dylan after our Bhutan cycle in 2015. I replaced this in Kathmandu before returning home.

Camera equipment:

Olympus - OM-D M-E1 Micro 4/3 digital camera
GOPRO Session

M-ZUIKO lens - Standard zoom 12-40mm f2.8 (24-80mm f5,6 FF equivalent)
M-ZUIKO lens - 17mm f1.8 (34mm f3.6 FF equivalent)
M-ZUIKO lens - 25 mm f1.8 (50mm f3,6 FF equivalent)
M-ZUIKO lens - 75 mm f1.8 (150mm f3,6 FF equivalent)
SLIK Mini pro - table top tri pod

I struggled terribly with taking a decision as to which camera set up to bring on the trip and on the morning I flew out from Lao, I still had both my Canon 5D and the Olympus micro 4/3 sets lined up next to each other. My final decision to go with the Olympus was based on the rationale that due to weight considerations, I would not be able to take the range of lenses needed to justify taking a full frame camera in the first place. With the Olympus, I was able to take 3 prime lenses and a good quality zoom at half the weight and bulk of the Canon with only one decent prime lens.

In retrospect, I never really missed having a full frame camera with me and I honestly cannot complain about the quality of the images I brought back. It was the right decision.

The other stuff

For me personally, there is something special about travelling on a bike that’s free of luggage. Somehow the set up maintains within my psyche a “Hey, I think I’ll just go for a quick ride on my bike” frame of mind. for me, I have this style of touring down to an art form, with plenty of luxury items included in the mix, loads of camera equipment and separate clothing for the evenings. In fact, looking at the list of items I took with, its difficult to imagine how I fitted it all in, but it was completely manageable, even comfortable. There was nothing I didn’t use, other than the “insurance items” such as spares, first aid and contingency stuff.

In particular, the electronics section appears to be over the top, but every item was used on a daily basis and made it possible for me to keep in contact with my family and friends, check my routes and even enjoy nightly entertainment in the worst of conditions. (Black Adder and Flight of the Conchords)

Overall route statistics

Distance - 1,013 km
Average distance per day - 63 km
Highest milage in one day - 154

Total elevation climbed - 14,420
Ave elevation climbed per day - 901
Most climbing in one day - 1,658

Highest elevation reached - 4,232 MASL
Lowest elevation reached - 103 MASL

Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21 Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21

PT 4 Nepal cycle 2016 or "How I failed to cross the Thorong La, and does it really even matter?"

Once again my expectations of the day’s ride are out of sync with reality......

PT 3 - To Pokhara

LEDAR TO CHAME - 69 KM - 868 M CLIMBING - 4,230 MASL MAX ELEVATION

03:34..03:57. Gasp for breath, turn on the head torch, deliberate breathing. 4:30, get up. What to do, thoughts and doubts, I don’t think I can take another night like this, the guide said yesterday that it gets much colder at the top, everyone is asking where my cold weather gear is and I’m getting tired of saying ‘this is it”. I know I’ve ascended too fast, but its only one more sleep, only another 1000 m of elevation.

I walk around taking photos, all the trekkers are leaving, their porters laboring under the loads of eiderdown sleeping bags, jackets snow boots mittens. Soon its only me left. I make the call, I’m not adequately equipped, I’ve ascended too fast, I need to go down. My eyes are blurred with tears as I prepare to move off, and I can’t help thinking back to how I felt as a very small boy when I was not allowed to stay up and watch a movie with my older sisters. I feel alone. I know that if Dylan was with me we would talk it though and probably we would have carried on, I don’t know, maybe that would have been a bad decision. I turn the bike onto the trail and with a heavy heart, head back to Manang.

Now that I’ve made the call and am back on the bike, I feel a lot better, the ride back is even more exciting that the day before and I have to talk myself into taking it easy, its still extremely dangerous. Its also something of a “ride of shame” as I pass a continual stream of trekkers, all heading up. I hardly stop at Manang, just long enough to collect water and lunch before continuing on my way down. Looking back, there is so much I could have done differently, stayed to acclimatize longer, hiked up to the high pass, hiked around the mountains and glacial lakes for a few days, but a tremendous sense of failure drives me down. I descend until the rain starts falling, then carefully select a tea room from the dozen or so packed closely together. It’s the best accommodation of the entire trail so far.

CHAME TO SYANJE - 44 KM, 569 M CLIMBING - 2,700 MASL MAX ELEVATION

I imagine I will descend quickly, maybe in two days, but its taking me the same amount of time due to the technical nature of the trails. I don’t mind at all, the riding and the scenery are just spectacular. Waterfalls and raging rivers, roads that wind high up among the clouds and then drop away towards nothingness, their destination hidden in the morning mist.

I must have been at the front end of the trekking season when I came up, because now the trail is crowded with trekkers and groups of bikers, all either fully loaded with paniers or as part of a supported tour. Two French cyclists call out to me, “Hey did you just come over the pass from the other side?”
“Yes!” I hear myself responding, immediately regretting it, what on earth am I thinking!
“What was the condition of the pass?”
“Pretty average for this time of year” I call out, inwardly cringing as I speed away around the shelter of a welcoming bend.

Time and again, I have to recount my story as to why I am coming down, I tell the true story this time, which is difficult, because I hardly have it straight in my own head. Did I simply chicken out or was I been wise? I still don’t know really, maybe I’ll never know until I go back and try again. Either way, I finally settle on a blend of wisdom and personal uncertainty and have less of a struggle from then on.

I catch up with some filming and photos I didn’t get on the route up, its hot under the sun and freezing in the shadows. I make it to slightly beyond my planned destination and check into a sweet little guest house for the night, my last night on the trail. Its only that evening while having dinner that I realize I am at the same tea room where I had stopped on my way up and discovered that due to a tear in my bar bag, I had lost one of my camera batteries, the pen knife Dylan had given me after our Bhutan trip as well as the two small stones given to me at the start of the trail. The only item wasted, is the camera battery, as the stones returned home and I am pretty sure the knife is at this very moment been put to useful service by a porter or guide along the trail.

SYANJE TO DOME - 70 KM - 974 M CLIMBING - 1,243 MASL MAX ELEVATION

Another really tough day, and even though I descend from 1,240 – 428 MASL, I climb close to 1,000 m. The final section of the trail is full of running water and very broken up making for some tough going in the morning. I ride straight through the busy trekking base town of Besisahar and head for the main road junction at Dome. The heat is intense and the road offers only relentless climb after climb, yo-yoing between the river and the sky. I overdo it and end up with some worrying chest pains during the last few km’s of the ride.

Groups of local woman and children heavily made-up and looking absolutely resplendent in their bright colorful Saris stand in groups at every village and road junction, lighting up the landscape. On the road, buses, mini vans and Bolero’s filled to overflowing, hooting incessantly. I am now at a central time of the Hindu festival, Dashein, which runs from 1st to 18th of October, a time when all the local people return to the villages of their birth.

Finally arriving at Dome, I try to find accommodation and am directed to the Everest hotel. I ask to see the room, its bad, exceeding the acceptable low standards of other facilities ten fold, so I say no thanks and head back to the guest house I stayed at when passing through on my way in. It feels a lot like coming home, and I have a very pleasant evening with my hosts. My clothes are a mess, nothing remotely clean anymore, so I buy some soap and wash one full set of cycling gear knowing it will probably never dry by morning. I reflect on the journey I have had since leaving this same room 9 days ago, the things I have seen, the road I have travelled, the people I have met. Tomorrow I head for Pokhara and a few days’ rest.

DOME TO POKHARA - 70 KM DISTANCE - 704 M CLIMBING - 846 MASL MAX ELEVATION

Long distance cycling is about managing expectations, and most of my expectations over the past few days have been out of sync with reality. My expectation of the ride today is; very hot, very busy, lots of climbing, and this time I am spot on. Hard climbing in sticky humidity, insane, completely insane traffic but I am ready for it, so the km’s slide by in mental and emotional effortlessness. The approach to Pokhara is the normal craziness and all to soon I am booked into a comfortable hotel in the very heart of the tourism area near to the lake.

I can hardly contain my excitement, walking around the room with a huge grin, testing out the air con that works, the wi-fi that actually connects to the internet, the toilet that flushes and the hot water that eventually does flow from the tap with the red button on top. This is just all too much. Immediately on arrival, I pile 22 items of clothing into a laundry bag and haul it off to the hotel reception. I can’t stomach wearing my shoes another hour, so I race down the road and buy a pair of bright lime green flip flops, picking up two large cans of beer on the way home. I have not felt so relaxed in months.

I catch up with my video diary and realize that I still haven’t come to terms with not going over the pass. I need to find a different perspective or I am never going to break out of my negative thought patterns around this. It starts raining just as I set out optimistically for the sign I had seen earlier; “Pizza and Jazz”. No Jazz, but the Pizza and Long Island Ice Tea are amazing.

POKHARA

I’m out on the streets slightly ahead of the sun to take some photos and see what Pokhara is actually all about. There is a large lake surrounded on the south side by a small range of hills. Breakfast is full American with two large cappuccinos. Damn, it’s good. Most of the morning is spent taking care of business, the primary item on the agenda, find a bike shop. it doesn’t need much work, just a proper clean, degrease, and new rear brake pads.

A second item on the agenda is to find a clinic to remove some irritant from my eye which is driving me up the bedroom wall. After finding one and taking a brief look inside, I decide to stick with the wall climbing.

A third task is to buy a memory sick to back up all my photos and video which I do, paying with 5 X 1,000 Rupee notes. The shopkeeper carefully counts the notes and I go on my way. An hour later I step into a currency exchange shop, but I can’t find my $100 note. Its possible I left it in the hotel, although I was sure I had brought it with me. Thinking about it, the 1,000 Rupee and the $100 note are quite similar and realize then that I must have mistaken it for a 1,000 Rupee when buying the memory stick. Fortunately, the shopkeeper is only semi dishonest, and reluctantly hands me back the $100 which I see he has hidden under the cash register draw.

Later in the afternoon I discover the Pokhara waterfront, a small path leading all along the lake lined with local attractions on the one side, and small outdoor bars and restaurants for the tourists on the other. There is a local market and a small fun fair, groups of locals play gambling games. High above me twirling round each other in the late afternoon haze are dozens and dozens of hang-glides. I sit at a small table along the lake drinking Mojito’s and watching the Nepalese world go by. Dinner is amazing, as is my neatly folded pile of clean laundry waiting for me in my room when I get back.

Even after two days, I still don’t really get Pokhara, its not the crazy madness I have come to expect from all the Nepal towns I have visited, nor is it the jumble of tourism and local business that you see in KMD. It’s not rock and its not folk, maybe more like white reggae. Regardless, I have a wonderful rest during the two days and am more than ready to take on the second part of this journey which will include the central and lowland regions, before climbing once again to reach the Kathmandu valley.

Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21 Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21

Pt 3 - Nepal cycle 2016 0r "How I failed to cross the Thorong La, and does it really even matter?"

03:34..03:57. Gasp for breath, turn on the head torch, deliberate breathing.

PT 3 - To Pokhara

LEDAR TO CHAME - 69 KM - 868 M CLIMBING - 4,230 MASL MAX ELEVATION

CHAME TO SYANJE - 44 KM, 569 M CLIMBING - 2,700 MASL MAX ELEVATION

SYANJE TO DOME - 70 KM - 974 M CLIMBING - 1,243 MASL MAX ELEVATION

DOME TO POKHARA - 70 KM DISTANCE - 704 M CLIMBING - 846 MASL MAX ELEVATION

POKHARA

Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21 Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21

PT 2 - Nepal cycle 2016 or "How I failed to cross the Thorong La, and does it really even matter?

After a night of bad dreams and niggling uncertainty, I pack my bike,

PT 2 - Up to the Annapurna

BESISAHAR TO JAGAT - 29 km - 908 m climbing - 1,349 max elevation

After a night of bad dreams and niggling uncertainty, I pack my bike, lube up the chain and make a start. An official calls me over to a small office where I sign in at the first of many tourism checkpoints along the route. Almost immediately the rain starts, lightly at first but quickly increasing to a heavy downpour. The tar ends and the road becomes dirt, rock and mud and I’m shocked at the condition, rutted and striped of any surface conducive to riding a bicycle.

landslides threaten from above. A convoy of Boleros (Local Land Rovers) have stopped while rock and mud tumble down from high across the road ahead. They shout at me to stop, pointing above, so I pick up my bike and quickly run across the turmoil to safer ground. They follow close behind, engines screaming, tires struggling to find traction in the soup.

This is hard, harder than I ever imagined. I can hardly ride on the uphill sections due to road conditions and the load I am carrying, while the downhill sections are all but technically impossible. I stop short of my day’s objective by a few kilometers, and book into the first tea room I see, utterly spent. I prepare my bike for the next day’s ride but record on my audio diary that I don’t think its actually possible or feasible to continue like this on the bike, maybe I should just hike rather, its just too difficult.

By evening the rain has stopped, and after a beer and a good meal, I am feeling much more positive. Trekkers have starred arriving in the village, and I realize that I am over reacting, one of the negative symptoms of travelling alone. I decide to stop being a wimp and set a goal to play catch up with my original schedule the next day. I also realize that despite the large FREE WI-FI HOT SPOT signs displayed outside ever tea house, “WI FI connected” and “Internet Access” are entirely separate concepts.

JAGAT TO CHAME - 41 km - 1,412 m climbing - 2,725 MASL max elevation

Today I really put my head down and push hard to make up the shortfall from yesterday. Pretty tough going with loads of climbing and pushing. Slate cobbles have been laid over some of the steeper or wetter areas of the road, and its just not possible to ride on them at all. The weather is clear, no rain and the scenery is just stunning, huge waterfalls, some having bored great holes through the rock, spectacular. The road clings to the side of elevator cliffs where far below rage the peppermint waters of melted snow and ice.

I sign in at two check points during the day where my time and intended destination is recorded. The Annapurna trekking trail, and the jeep track I am following overlap quite a bit on todays route, so I encounter more trekkers, their guides and porters. Mostly, the foreign trekkers hardly acknowledge my greetings, but that’s cool, the guides and porters are always friendly and appear surprised at my progress and at the small amount of gear I am carrying.

I carry my bike up a really steep rocky section of trail and notice a guide watching my progress from above. When I draw level with him, he sais:

“That bike, that bike is actually your friend”
I nod and smile in agreement, but he continues.
“No, I mean, I have seen that sometimes you carry it and then sometimes you walk next to it and help it along, then sometimes it carries you”
He stops, thinking.
“That’s what a friend does, that’s why I say, that bike is your friend”

For the remainder of the trip, I am consciously much more careful and respectful towards my bike, how I handle it, where I put it down and what I expect from it. I know its silly really, but then maybe not.

I arrive at the village of Cheme quite late in the afternoon, booking into a really crummy tea house for the night. I always choose the very first tea house I come across, because after a days riding, even the shabbiest looks so inviting from the outside. Clearly I need to be more selective. Possibly one of the toughest day’s cycling I have ever done, definitely one of the most spectacular.

CHAME to MANANG - 33 km - 812 m climbing - 3,546 MASL max elevation

Altitude is now a clear and ever present factor to be managed and I do so quite well, avoiding sudden bursts of energy, maintaining a slow steady pace and rather walking up technical section I would normally power through.

Its also noticeably colder in the shade. Vegetation has changed from the lush tropical forests of the lower altitudes to Alpine pines and more open bare landscape where the massive faces of the Annapurna reveal themselves briefly from behind the cloud curtain. The final 6 km to Manang is all ride-able leading up a wide valley past an airplane runway which looks a little out of place in this desolate landscape. Apparently we are all meant to have a credit card with $2,500 available for helicopter extraction in the event of an emergency. From what I see during my stay, the rescue helicopter is called out on a daily basis.

I meet a very friendly Korean lady travelling solo (with a guide) who for some reason takes a liking to me and I endure endless selfies with her before heading on my way. For the first time of the trip, I am aware of just how alone I feel up here. I am the only solo person without a guide or porter, and the only cyclist I have seen on the trail so far. I check into the town of Manang, and race around trying to photograph the mountains as they sporadically poke out through the clouds.

Its difficult to contain the emotion I feel at looking on these mountains from so close. In terms of my life, my passion and my work, I suppose this really is my Mecca. By late afternoon, the town is filing up fast with trekking groups arriving in a continual stream. I share a dinner table squashed into the corner with a group of noisy French trekkers, and eat my meal alone.

MANANG - Rest day

I endure a bad night, short of breath and strange dreams. When I awake in the darkness, my mind is overflowing with irrational worries, the chief one being that I don’t have enough Nepalese Rupees on me. I play the record over and over in my head even though, like a full bladder, the solution is simple. When I do finally get up in the morning, I count my money and discover that I have more than enough to get me through to Pokhara, maybe even to the end of the trip.

Manang is an interesting town, ancient stone packed buildings and stables, but then sewn into the fabric of this cloth are small tightly packed restaurants, coffee shops, shops selling trekking equipment and even small tea room movie houses where they play endless reruns of popular mountain climbing movies. This is my acclimatization day, so I hike up to a small glacial lake quite a few 100m above the town. It feels fantastic to be hiking without the bike and I pace myself well in the thinning air now at 3,900 MASL. All around are the mountains of the Annapurna range towering frighteningly above me, their jiggered heads buried in the clouds. Its cold, colder that at any other time during the trip, rain starts to fall.

There are no working electrical sockets in my room, so I need to charge down in the dinning room which is impossible with the crowds of trekkers now filling up the town. I find a small coffee shop and charge all my electronics over a few cups of coffee and cinnamon rolls. Cell phone, camera, Gopro, power bank, kindle, Lap top.

I meet up again with my Korean fan who greets me warmly, a long lost friend, more selfies. By afternoon I am restless, bored, I want to move on now. I study and restudy my maps and elevation profiles. With great difficulty, sleep finally overwhelms my many concerns.

MANANG to LEDAR - 13 km - 650 m climbing - 4,230 MASL max elevation

It’s a beautiful morning, crisp clear skies, Annapurna III and IV just catching the first rays of sun. I cycle off onto the trail, pure single track. Its some of the most exciting off-road cycling I think I have ever done, right on the very edge, free air falling away to the raging rivers far below.

All around are huge walls of rock snow and ice, one particular slope, a terrifying jumble of massive ice slabs broken loose from their parent glacier. Within a few short hours I have already gained over 650 m of elevation reaching a height of 4,230 MASL. I stop at a small outpost called Ledar for some tea, I have a throbbing headache.

A trekking couple and their guide chat with me and are alarmed to hear how quickly I have gained elevation; 650 m is too much they say, and to have reached above 4,000 MASL in 3 days is also far too quick, they say. They say one must not gain more than 300 – 500 m per day. Other than the headache, I feel good and strong, but now I am not so sure what to do, so I decide to stop here for the night. Its only 9:30.

By 11 o clock it is bitterly cold, and I am freezing. I thought that layers, of which I have around 8, should be sufficient, but even with everything pulled on, including my shoes, I am numb with cold. I pull the blanket provided by the lodge over me and tuck it in all around me, but its just not enough. The small outpost is filling up with trekkers and their guides. I go down stairs, order dinner and immediately feel nauseous, taking an hour to force down half a plate of spaghetti.

I endure the worst night of my life, in the darkness and alone, I am buried alive, every breath a conscious effort, a fight. Time moves minute by minute, the glow of my cell phone reading 23:24…….then hours of struggle later, ….00:03. I have doubt. One conscious active inhalation, sleep, then suddenly awake with no air, sit up gasping, control the panic, alone, dark, doubt. Surrounding everything, the cold, not the normal discomfort, but a dangerous unknown monster, waiting to pounce and sink its teeth into my flesh. Clearly I am neither equipped or prepared for this level of cold, and apparently, the worst is still to come.

Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21 Ben Swanepoel 9/16/21

Pt 1 - Nepal cycle - 2016 or "How I failed to cross the Thorong La, and does it even really matter?"

During 2015 my son Dylan and I cycled across Bhutan and into Nepal....

KATHMANDU TO BESISAHAR

During 2015 my son Dylan and I cycled across Bhutan and into Nepal via West Bengal, finishing in the capital city of Kathmandu (KMD). Every now and then huge Himalayan peaks would reveal themselves to us, towering above the swirling clouds at impossible angles in the distance. I vowed then that one day I would take a closer look. In 2016, I did.

On my maps I find a road leading up onto the Annapurna trekking circuit on which I should be able to reach up to around 4,000 MASL. My plan is to take this road up to the mountains and spend a few days exploring the area after which I would return to KMD via the central and southern regions. The complete circle would be just over 1,000 km providing me with an excellent cross section of Nepal culture and environment. I would rely on guest houses and tea rooms along the way for accommodation and food, just as Dylan and I had done during our 2015 trip.

Preparations in Kathmandu

I spend a few days of final preparation in and out of the craziness of Kathmandu ticking off the final items from my "to do" list, sorting out my trekking permits, assembling and preparing my bike. As arranged, I drop my bike off at Himalayan Single Track for a quick check up, and oh boy, how fortunate that I do. They completely strip down my bike checking every minute detail and replacing a number of worn parts. Much later that day, I leave with a bike that is only now, capable of the trip I have planned.

Face to face conversations with people from the cycle shop lead me to revise my route, including a much larger section of the Annapurna circuit with the added possibility of carrying my bike over the Thorong La (pass) at 5,400 MASL, descending on the opposite side to the road of my original planning. I never actually say that I will go over the pass, but in my heart I can feel a sense of real excitement brewing. Based on these changes, I buy a pair of waterproof trousers and an extra long sleeve tee shirt. I will now definitely need the rear rack which I fit with a thick dry bag to carry the bulkier items of clothing. Finally, I tick off the last item on my list. I am ready.

KMD to MALEKHA - 100kn - 889m climbing - 1,828 MASL max elevation

The first day’s ride goes off well, following a route slightly inland of the main highway, winding through terraced rice paddies, so typical of this central Nepalese region. Navigating the sprawling suburbs of KMD is a challenge, and I follow blindly the thin line on my GPS as it pulls me through small cobbled streets and exploded street markets.

There’s a good deal of climbing followed by some very broken up and muddy downhill sections due to road works taking place. I’m still relatively unfit and as a result, suffer with cramps towards the end of the day. The first three days of a long ride are always difficult as you adapt mentally and physically to the new set of demands. My bike is a dream machine after its service and I nurse it through the muddy stretches, being sure to clean the drive chain a few times during the day and again in the evening.

While breakfast had been a western plate served against the stunning backdrop of the KMD valley, my lunch is by contrast, 100% local; rice, curried chicken, chili and dal, no utensils except for the grubby fingers of my right hand. The final 20 km along the main highway introduces me once again to the sheer madness of the Nepalese traffic, not quaint as in Vietnam or silly like Thailand, just lethal, as in juggling chainsaws. The road follows the river, but instead of remaining along the valley, climbs out at every opportunity. I am seriously overcharged for my hotel room, my own mistake for not checking the price first.

MALEKHU to DOME - 65km - 615m climbing - 450 MASL max elevation

Only 60km today, but it’s quite tough enough with 600m of climbing in energy sapping heat and humidity. Manic traffic completes the package although overall it’s pleasant enough, made more bearable with frequent tea stops along the route. By lunch time I have already settled into a small lodge / restaurant run by a lovely Nepalese family at the road junction town of Dome where I am able to catch up with washing and bike maintenance. I spend a frustrating few hours unsuccessfully trying to figure out how to convert my new pump to take a Pesta valve, eventually finding a work-around to solve the problem.

These towns are really something special, conforming very much to the picture I have in my mind of an ancient trading post. Full of color and character, the bright clothing of the Nepalese woman twirling between piles of merchandise and the fragrance of spices. These are the bazars found in almost every town, and they leave me with a feeling of excitement and awe, just to be gazing on such a scene.

My evening is spent within the peaceful warm company of the Nepalese family as they gather around my computer screen to glimpse something of life in Bhutan, Laos and South Africa. They give me two slivers of stone, one of slate, the other quartz, which they tell me is from their birth village, a village I will be passing on my way to Annapurna. Soon I will see for myself why there is such an intense and passionate connection between the Nepalese people and the towns of their birth. I fall asleep to sound of water softly gurgling below my window.

DOME to BESISAHAR - 44 km - 825 m climbing - 825 MASL max elevation

I wake to the sound of pouring rain and decide to sleep a bit longer, only to find out that the "rain" is actually the river running below my window. My rear tire is flat, so I replace the tube and clean up for breakfast, relieved that I had sorted out the pump the night before. Elevation will now replace distance as a measuring tool for a day’s progress. My route leads me away from the main highway so the road is small and winding, climbing steeply between rice paddies, waterfalls and swollen rivers. Tea stops are frequent and always shared with interesting local characters, the cinnamon spiced milk tea deeply refreshing even during the hottest part of the day.

I arrive at Besisahar around lunch time and look for a guest house. Accommodation is cheap at 300 Rupees, too cheap I think, so I walk across the road where I am asked 250 Rupees! I shrug my shoulders, go back to the first place, pay the 300 and check in. This will be standard practice throughout the Annapurna route, the only consideration is that you are expected to eat all your meals at the restaurant attached to the establishment and that’s where the overall price evens out.

The town is located at the end of the tar road, the beginning of the Annapurna trekking trail, and groups of foreign trekkers arrive throughout the afternoon. Lilly white spidery legs disappear into large clunky new hiking boots, North Face jackets and aluminum water bottles clipped onto webbing belts. They are for the most part sullen and unresponsive to my greetings. Maybe its because their journey from Europe to Besisahar is contained within the bubble of the tour group and they need more time to let go of their defenses. Traveling alone on a bike takes care of that transformation pretty much before morning tea on the first day. I repair the punctured tube from the morning, re check my gear and fall asleep to the light pattering of rain on the street.

Ben Swanepoel 9/8/17 Ben Swanepoel 9/8/17

Southern Cross

The story of Bens bike

Southern Cross

“The story of Ben’s bike”

The idea

What started out as a simple statement, one uttered almost daily by every cyclist regardless of discipline or ability, ended up as almost a year of delicious obsession along with all the associated agony and ecstasy. The statement?

“I totally need another bike.”

I already have a MTB and a 10-year-old road bike, but have found that touring on the MTB can be really slow, and the road bike is just too light for anything other than smooth unbroken tar, something not in ready supply here where I live in South East Asia.

I troll the websites, sifting through the sometimes questionable nuances contained in the different categories; endurance, cycle cross, adventure, gravel, all road, randonneur, monster cross. For the most part it’s a case of “same same – but different” but eventually I can capture the basic concept of what I am looking for in 2 similar bikes, the Ninner RLT and the Jamis renegade. Both are steel framed, fast gravel bikes, meaning they can accommodate wide tires, have endurance geometry but with a slightly lower center of gravity and tuned for stability. The problem with both, is that there is something missing. The “something” I decide, is personality.

So I start thinking about the role that cycling has played throughout my life and how, much like music, it has been the backing track to my decades on this earth.

My dad at full tilt on his track bike - 1940's

Of course it didn’t really start with me at all, my dad had his own cycling backtrack to a very different life. He was a track cyclist and I have this awesome photo of him in full flight taken around the 1940’s. That photo encapsulates the passion and spirit of road racing that was as present back then, as it is in todays top professional cyclists almost 80 year later.

Now, many decades have passed me by. I am an adult with the same illusion of independence and self control as everyone else, yet the reasons for my continued and increasing passion and pleasure of cycling are still exactly the same as they were 44 years earlier as a shy 12-year-old boy from Plumstead in the Western Cape of South Africa.

Dylan on his BMX during our trip across Bhutan and into Nepal

After seeing the Himalaya mountains for the first time in the distance during that trip, I went back to Nepal in 2016 and cycled from Kathmandu up near to the top of the Annapurna circuit at 4,300 MASL, again on my MTB. I don’t mention these things here to brag, but because for a very small and painfully unconfident boy from Plumstead South Africa, the road has been hard, and these are some of my very precious victories.

So I start to think about the idea of a custom bike, a bike that will be a celebration and a tribute to three generation of cycling in my family, and that’s when quite by chance I come across the website of a custom bike builder in Cape Town, David Mercer. David happens to live not too far from my family home, and very close to the merchant I once frequented during my dazed and confused years, but that’s another story altogether.

When I write my request to David, I don’t have a clue if he will be willing to undertake my project, what the process will involve or if I can even afford it. The easy part is that I don’t need to decide what bike I need, only what I want the bike to do for me. So I subject David to a long drawn out history of my families cycling history complete with photos, and a final statement which really should have put David off the project right from the start.

“It must be Stevie Ray Vaughn and not Eric Clapton, Evanescence and not Adele”

I don’t know, but I think one has to be a psychologist to be a be a good custom bike builder.

When David’s reply arrives, I am almost to nervous to read it, what if there are certain credentials needed, some or other unwritten “club’ membership, an elite this or that? Of course there is nothing of the sort, and he seams to have enjoyed the history and photos of my families cycling exploits. He outlines the basic pricing structure and then in more cautious tones points out that there will be a waiting period of around 6 – 8 months. Instead of been put off by this, I am sold. Firstly; from a financial point of view it gives me the time I need to save for the project, secondly; it confirms to me that this is a genuine custom process, not a semi- factory custom set up where you choose options from a website, and thirdly; it provides me with time to really explore and solidify my thinking around the bike design concept, components, paint scheme etc. I write back and ask David to please put me on the waiting list.

Its December 2016.

Right from the start, there are a number of challenges facing me. Although the Cape Province is my home, I live and work in the small South East Asian country of Laos (near Vietnam and Thailand) as a protected areas management advisor. Everything will need to be done remotely, including all my measurements, frame design detailing as well as ordering all the components and having them in Cape Town in time for the final build. My deadline to collect the bike will be in August, during my home leave.

I confirm with David that the bike will definitely be ready by then, pay my deposit and book my flights.

…and so the journey begins:

My design brief

“I am looking for a bike on which I can travel fast for many days or even weeks at a time over any road conditions, and take along some camping stuff if I want to…….oh, and it must look super damn awesome as well”

Functionally there are a few things I do know that I want;

Steel frame and fork – I could go with a carbon fork, but then why not just a full carbon bike and be done with it.
Endurance geometry – Not a racer, but also not a Surly.
Ability to carry light loads on a rear carrier and panier set. – I don’t really like anything on my bikes, but maybe one day I’ll want to take along a tent and some beer, who knows.
Frame and rims should support tire size 28mm - 45mm with adequate clearance for mud and gunk - For the “over any road conditions” part of the recipe.
Good climbing performance and gearing adequate for long steep assents. – Compact crank and at least a 32 cassette at the back.
Stable on long loose gravel descents. – Because peeling at speed hurts a lot.
Strong consistent braking under all weather and road conditions. – because peeling at speed hurts a lot.

I do loads of reading up and watching YouTube videos explaining the nuances of frame design and different geometries, but too often I get sidetracked by things like “Worlds top 10 funniest pogo stick fails”, so I end up leaving these details to David, who has a far better understanding of exactly how many cm from the ground, the center of the BB should be.

7 Months is a long time to wait though, especially for me who thinks that fidget hand spinners are the best thing since laser pointers. I go down many side alleys during the first few months, at one stage coming up with the idea of a modern version of my dad’s old track bike.

“Ben!...remember the deal…….no retro!”

Finally, after 6 months of painful waiting, I get an e-mail from David with a set of CAD drawings attached. I am over the moon, this is actually happening! David asks me to check out the geometry and let him know what I think, and what I would like changed.

“I’m not so sure about that stack ratio David”, yeah right! But I do have some input. I have a very comfortable endurance road bike I am currently riding, so I send David some measurements as a means of comparison. He makes some small adjustments and sends me an updated set of drawings. I’m happy if he’s happy and so the design is locked in.

The components:

Now this I can do something about, let the fun begin!

I have already decided that I will order all my components from international online suppliers due to the fact that I am earning in USD and thus enjoy a more favorable exchange rate than if buying in South Africa.

I search an online cycle store called “JensonUSA” who have an awesome range of components, and am soon populating and repopulating the shopping cart in simulated shopping sprees. SRAM red this and Thomson that, Chris King there and Cane Creek over here, carbon and titanium, and so that would be…………whaaaat!!!!, $6,500! Oh well, no problem, empty cart and start again.

Its great fun and the game goes on for months. It’s not just a game though, because along the way I am learning a lot about what makes a good component as apposed to what makes an expensive component. I learn the difference between flat mount and post mount disc brakes, solid and ice-tech brake rotors, 1X and 2X groupsets, ceramic v standard bearings, rolling resistance of wider tires, stiffness and compliance, aero V lightness, compact V standard. I have spreadsheets with pie charts and multi-colored bar graphs, specification comparisons, budget templates and exchange rates. Options, OMG there are so many, many, many options!

Finally, a month before the build is due, I have my basket ready for the till. Budget wise, its at the very limit of my resources:

SRAM FORCE 22
THOMSON seat post and stem
STELLA ITALIA saddle
SALSA cowbell handle bars
SRAM HYDRO disc brakes
CRISS KING BB and Headset
HOPE PRO HUBS and STANS no tubes wheel sets
MAXXIS Rambler 40mm tires
HOPE industry flat peddles

With my heart in my throat, I hit,” pay now” and boom, there it all goes swirling down the plughole. But actually it doesn’t go anywhere at all, because the next day I get a message that my order is on hold till I contact the accounts department. Great, I’m in Asia and they in the States, literally opposite sides of the world. After a few 2 am cyber- rendezvous, I am told that I need to get an 8 digit authorizing code from my bank before they can charge and ship my order. What? Where? How? When I phone my bank here in Laos, they don’t have a clue as to what I’m on about. Days pass.

I start searching again, ChainReactionCycles, half the stuff I need is out of stock. Evans Cycles UK, but they have a limited range of SRAM road group sets. Maybe, but what they do have is a massive special on Shimano Ultegra 22 speed. I wonder, does it really have to be SRAM? I love SRAM, but can I really justify spending the $700 price difference to get it, when in reality there is nothing at shabby about a Shimano Ultegra group set. Sure, its not as sexy, but it should all be covered in dirt half the time anyway.

I manage to cancel my order with Jensen who are very helpful and understanding, and soon I have a completely new basket full of goodies with Evens Cycles. This time, when I hit “Pay now”, its with a much lighter heart and everything runs like clockwork, no bank authorization numbers needed, hardly any postage charges. It’s the right decision, and I can even splash out on a carbon seat post while remaining within budget. Its almost unbelievable how quick and efficient their service is, and within 24 hours, my ever helpful and long suffering sister in Cape Town lets me know that the first package is waiting for her at customs. One package in the set of three takes a bit longer, but that’s thanks to our customs office in Johannesburg.

I feel really happy with my choices now, Italian cockpit, British bearings, and Japanese group set.

My final choice then:

SHIMANO 6800 Ultegra 22 speed group-set (11/32 cassette and 50/34 crank)
SHIMANO Ultegra flat mount hydraulic disc brakes
HOPE ceramic BB
HOPE XC Headset
3T stealth stem
3T alloy cycle cross handlebars
DEDA carbon seat post
STELLA ITALIA max elite gel flow saddle

Praphreut from Bok Bok cycles in Bangkok showing appreciation for the beer I brought them from Laos when discussing my wheel-set

I have made contact with an enthusiastic and talented couple of guys in Bangkok who are passionate about bike packing and cycle touring. They own a small bike shop named “BokBok Bikes” specialising in Surly bikes and touring equipment, and they also build wheels. On one of my trips to Bangkok, I take them a couple of Beerlao, and we discuss a wheel set for my bike. After some research and with their advice we agree on the following set up which will take a wide range of tire, from 28mm all the way through to 45mm.

The final wheel set then:

VELOCITY Aileron disc rims
HOPE Pro 4 Hubs, front and rear
32 spokes
Brass nipples

I arrange to collect them on my way through Bangkok in August during my home visit.

The color scheme

In terms of the overall project, this aspect has to be the least important, yet at the same time has the greatest potential to destroy the careful thought and craftsmanship that will go into the bike.

Once again, it’s months of soul searching coupled with a long series of lessons and learning. I download 1000’s of bike pic’s and finally discover a website called “100 brilliant color combinations”. Through this site I discover color combinations, RGB sliders and Hex color # formula. Initially I try to incorporate important bits of my life into the design, green and gold for my work in conservation, blue and white for my surfing and sailing. I then go “black” and later “bright tropical”…..aghh!! too much choice.

Eventually I print out a frame drawing from David’s CAD design and buy a few sets of color crayons and cocci pens to try out my main ideas. I’m coloring in again, something that I haven’t done since primary school days. I never realized just how therapeutic and creatively rewarding the process would be. My choice is reduced to three main color schemes and a simple design consisting of a slash running diagonally across the frame from the base of the fork up to the top of the rear wheel.

The three color choices, either of which would work fantastically well,

African sunset
Tropical fun
Bright and tropical

My final choice made a week before David starts on the frame, is African Sunset.

Tropical fun

Bright and tropical

My final choice made a week before David starts on the frame is African Sunset.

Frame and fork build

Once again there are “options” and the research and learning continues.

In an e-mail to me, David asks: “Do you want Lugs, fillet brazing, a combination of the two or bi-laminate joinery?”

“Would any of those be available in strawberry?” I want to ask.

After some research I realize that I have more chance of ending up with a great build if I leave this up to David than if I come in at a tangent with my own or someone else’s ideas. David has the concept for my bike in his head, probably before he ever picks up the grinder, so I leave these choices to him.

My research on the frame material David wants to use for the bike, Columbus Zona, states as follows: “This tube set produces a bike of moderate weight and notable strength with a compliant steel ride”. Sounds good to me.

So the conclusion of a chain of e-mails correspondence, results in the following frame details:

FRAME MATERIAL - Columbus Zona
RACK MOUNTS - Rear only
DISC MOUNTS - Flat mount
AXIL’S - Through axle’s front and rear
MUD GUARD MOUNTS - Front and rear
CABLE ROUTING – Internal for brake cables, external for gears
BOTTLE CAGE BOSSES - For 2 traditionally placed
MERCER HEAD BADGE - Polished brass
FORK - Straight blade, to accommodate flat mounts.
JOINERY - Lugs / Fillet brazing / bi-laminate - Builder’s choice.
FRAME BADGE - Brass

Bikes name

David explains to me that on every bike he builds, he attaches a brass plaque under the BB with the Nickname / Bikes name / owners name / stenciled onto it. Thinking that he means there is space for all three of the above options, I go for my favorite quotation:

“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost"

“Er….. no Ben, not an historical novel, just a word or two!”.

This is a bit more difficult; what can I do, combination of bits of my children’s names, my dog, family nicknames, cycling puns, I don’t know, something around exploration and adventure, the Southern Ocean, Orion’s belt, Southern Cross, hey!

“Southern Cross”

Elements of navigation and exploration, South Africa implied, and even a bit of a pun on the word "cross"

I like that a lot.

The build

I notice that on David’s website he has a blog page where he posts updates through Instagram of his current builds. Here I get glimpses of a frame filet, or detailing of a special dropout, sometimes even a completed frame. I also notice that there is usually a link to the owner’s Instagram account.

I don’t want to be left out, so before David starts on my build, I dust off my dormant Instagram account and dump a stash of my better cycling related and other photos into the account. Why? Well I wouldn’t go to a social event only in a pair of undies right?

Through axle's on Southern Cross - Photo - David Mercer

Living so far away from Cape Town, the daily posts on Instagram are my only link to the build process when it finally starts in July, I savor every photo update, look! a through axil, a fillet join, the lathe that made the through axle. Its more art than steel work really, ……oh and look, there’s a photo of David going on holiday with his family!

“Er, whaaaaaaaat! Oi! David! …the Southern Cross!....what about the welding and grinding and sanding of stuff!”

I don’t obviously say that, but I do think it for a short moment before another thought comes to mind. Imagine how much more relaxed and focused he’s going to be when he comes BACK from leave and continues to work on my bike! Ok then, breathe in the fresh air and don’t let the kids stress you out!

I think that been a custom frame builder must take a LOT of patience.

Final countdown

My completed front fork with though axel's, internal cable routing and flat mounts. Photo - David Mercer

Just when I have all but given up hope, “boom” Instagram post from David of my completed fork, resplendent in its rawness, through axil, flat mounts, internal cable routing, all in all, a work of art.

My sister drops off the last few components and David asks “Plain or Metallic finish?”

Not sure, mmmm, ah what the hang, let its light shine……” Metallic”

“Excellent choice” comes back the reply.

I’m getting the hang of this, what am I going to do when the project is finished, what options will I have then, what new riddles to solve, what choices to make?

T – 12

One of my rims had been damaged in transit, so now the Thailand wheel builder can’t build my wheel set. Ok no problem, build the rear as spec, and build the front using a test rim they have lying around. When I pass through Bangkok on the way home, they will rebuild the front with the spec rim which is already on the way from the manufacturer. Solved, next?

T - 11

The completed frame prior to painting. Photo - David Mercer

Finally, a full frame photo of Southern Cross all ready for her appointment with the painter. The detailing in one of the photo’s David posts is truly fantastic, a deeply scalloped side tacked seat cluster, and just peeking out, I can see the brass frame badge.

T – 10

Passing through Bangkok on my way to cape Town, I stop off to pick up my wheel set from Bok Bok Bikes, walking the 10km round trip through the hot steamy streets to their small shop, crammed to the gills with Surly bike frames, wheel building equipment and boxes of new arrivals. I could have sourced the wheels from Cape Town easily enough, but that’s not the point. These guys are passionate about cycling and they often close shop just to go cycling. They NEVER open early, but when they work, its usually till well past 11:00pm. They say they are the “vampire bike shop”.

When I get back to my guest house, I place the rims on my bed and take a photo. looking at the image later, I see that my rims have miraculously morphed into a minion, BANANA!

I’m think I’m finally getting the idea of what a custom bike is all about.

T – 7

Having finally arrived in Cape Town, I get to meet David when I go to hand over the wheels and the last few items for the build. Its fantastic to finally meet him, and he shows me around his workshop where he is currently working on his first full suspension bike.

My frame is still with the painter, and it appears from my conversation with David that the actual color scheme has turned out somewhat different to my original design drawings. I am a little concerned and remember the months of experimentation and painful indecision. Could it all have been for naught? Could I end up with an eyesore? Tomorrow I will find out…….

T – 4

Me, proud owner of one custom build and painted cross bike.

On Tuesday afternoon, David places the completed frame, freshly returned from the painter, into my hands. The craftsmanship is truly amazing, from the seamless fillet’s through to the sculptured seat stay cluster, the custom through axel-points and the internal cable routing. I turn the frame over and on the bottom of the BB is a brass plaque with the words SOUTHERN CROSS stamped out in bold letters.

The "Cape Rock Pigeon" painted up by Jared of BMC.

The painting is superb, the slight metallic paint creating a soft finish that appears to blunt any sharp features, creating more a molded form than a collection of individual tubes. Like David, the painter, Jared from BMC is an artist, and has added his own personal touch to the frame. Taking me out into the daylight of the garden outside the workshop, David tells me to look closer at the frame badge. I squint in the bright sunlight and there, with delicate artwork Jared has transformed the Dove (The traditional logo of Columbus Zona) into a Cape Rock Pigeon. It’s a small detail, but serves to pull together many of the individual elements creating the African sunset theme.

There is a slight problem though, in that the color scheme is different, by quite a long way, from my original design. It’s a bit of a “lost in translation” issue during the color coding conversions needed. The main noticeable difference is the top band of color which is now a definite orange, as apposed to the original burnt red. I think that overall, the color scheme still works, but there is a slight disappointment in that I loved that red, and would probably never have chosen orange for the top of the bike. I think its gong to be something that grows on me, and its certainly does not detract anything from the overall feel and context of the bike.

Its now a case of waiting for David to build up the bike and for me to take it for its first ride.

D- Day

Finally, Southern Cross dressed and rearing to go places.

Finally, the day has arrived, and it’s a cold day, much needed rain splattering on the windscreen. David welcomes me at the door, and there in the courtyard of his house stands Southern Cross. The first thing that hits me, is that this is a bike that means business, the wide tires, generous geometry and spacious cockpit lends an air of open spaces, gravel tracks leading into infinity under a star studded sky. Secondly, it is evident that the sum of all its individual components, frame design and color scheme have come together in such a way as to transcend any preconceived mental images that had developed in my mind, and now for the first time since seeing the fame a few days ago, the color scheme works perfectly, it all just makes sense.

Some of the beautiful detailing, here the deeply scalloped side tacked seat cluster.

David, takes time to go over the bike with me, carefully highlighting any component fit issues or areas that may need closer attention during use. I get the impression that he is as proud of Southern Cross as I am, and I feel a healthy sense of responsibility, not only to care for her, but to ensure that she is used as intended, as often as possible and in as many weird and marvelous places around the globe. I pack the bike up in the back of my car, and set out on the road.

First blood

D Day + 1

Its 5 AM and I am lying under a mountain of down in a guest house in Prince Albert, just at the foot of the Swartberg Pass, my chosen venue for Southern Cross’s first ride. The plan is to take a quick spin to the top of the pass, take a few photos, and then descend quickly before the forecasted heavy rains and snow made life at the top a touch unpleasant.

First blood along the base of the Swartberg mountains.

Unfortunately, my plans are not to be, due to a long term closure of the pass for repair after a flood destroyed a large section of the road. No amount of sweet talking can get me past the gate guards and so I have to abandon the pass for a not so unpleasant gravel grind all along the base of the Swartberg mountains.

Modeling in front of an old Karoo sheep shed.

As with any new bike, I ride out the first few kilometers with a multi-tool in my hand, making fine adjustments to my riding position, saddle height, bar rotation etc. Thanks to the DEDA double saddle clamp system, I am unable to level the saddle, but everything else is spot on by the end of the adjustment period.

So then, my top 3 first impressions:

1. Steel rocks as a frame material – I totally forgot just how compliant steel is, my last steel bike was a ridged fork mountain bike which I THRASHED around all the forest tracks of Nuweberg and Grabouw 22 years previously.

2. Cross bikes are very fast on downhill section. – OMG! There is just something very wrong about descending at high speed on loose gravel while your sweaty palms are wrapped around a frigging DROP BAR!

3. Southern Cross is a thoroughbred – Something about the geometry, the wide bars and slightly more slammed stem that I am used to, gives me the impression that she is galloping across the landscape, especially on an ever so slight downhill run, she has definite poise and grace, and a very willing response to the lightest touch of the whip.

D-Day + 10

After:

1 X Rental car self drive
1 X Domestic flight
3 X International flights
2 X Taxi’s
1 X Tuk Tuk
1 X back of a pick up

Southern cross is finally unbagged, re-assembled and leaning rather self consciously up against the window of my study feeling quite a bit out of place during a time of heavy monsoon rains and thunderstorms, gooey orange mud and luminescent green rice fields.

Southern Cross looking rather out against the background of Lao rice paddies.

She has survived the journey pretty well, although due to ignorance on my part, I managed to crunch up the washer on the rear through axel, not realizing there is a "lip" the washer needs to mount first. Nothing that a hammer and round file can’t rectify though, and so all is well that ends well.

Beginnings and ends

Looking at her in this new context, I have the distinct impression that like me, she is pinning, ever so quietly for the dry dusty gravel of the Little Karoo, blown like chalk across a starker landscape.

I am reminded once again of the realities of “living our dreams” and the reasons why so few ever realize them, for its not within the limited finances, lack of opportunities or fear of the unknown that they are found, but rather they are hidden within the subtle realities of what we will need to let go off, that whittles down the masses to the few.

Something that David said to me while we were chatting over the bike stuck with me like hot nylon to naked flesh.

“Looking into the future of my custom bike building business, I could go more exclusive and thus more expensive, but then that would cut out the people that would probably most benefit from having a custom built bike”

I am not sure that David fully understands the significance of what he provides to people like myself. For me, he provides the wings that allow me to sore within the rather selfish and sometimes unrealistic dreams that continually race around my head, but its really within these dreams that I find the very essence of my existence, the meaning I ascribe to the purpose of my breath.

Looking back over my life, I can’t help but draw parallels and notice connecting points between the life of my father, that of my Son and my own, like the warping of time and space to bring three different dimensions of the same universe to converge into a single energy and then, as if unable to contain our collective individuality, to explode outwards with an ever increasing and widening trajectory that was, is and will continue to become our own personal journey through life itself.

I think, that to be a true custom bike builder, one may just need to be a Philosopher.

Ben Swanepoel 8/30/16 Ben Swanepoel 8/30/16

Swannie's Little Karoo Cycle - 1949

Left Wynberg at 5 pm and arrived at Sir Lowry’s Pass 7.10 Pm. My legs were a bit wobbly but …

Swannie's Little Karoo cycle - 1949

Last month while rummaging through a box of my dad’s belongings during my home visit, I came across an old diary of a cycle trip he had done through the little Karroo as a young man. The pages were stained and yellowed with age. I remembered him showing it to me a few times when I was younger, but I never showed much interest then. With the help of my mom and sister Ellen, I have managed to decipher most of it and found it to be a lovely story of a young man on an adventure, not a world taming, record breaking feet of glory, but an adventure of the common man, similar in many ways to trips of my own.

The diary entries are from 1949, when he was a young man of 25 years old working his apprenticeship at Norton Motors in Cape Town. He and a fellow cyclist had been dreaming of cycling together through Europe, and this short trip was to be a test to see if they were up to the task. When his friend cancelled, my dad decided to continue with the Karoo trip and see where it would take him.

Route map and location of some of the main areas visited

Sunday 20th March (First page mostly unreadable)

Left Wynberg at 5 pm and arrived at Sir Lowry’s Pass 7.10 Pm. My legs were a bit wobbly but …. I felt exceedingly good …. and had a good ride. The bike went like a bird in spite of a weighty saddle bag and also a bag in front of the bars. There was a van on fire at …. anybody here …. nobody hurt …. Henry Brownings .… family ……..

I retired early and had a good night’s rest. How good and exhilarating it is to wake up in the morning and find yourself among all these beautiful mountains and countryside.

Monday

Left Sir Lowry’s pass at 9 am and travelled via Somerset West, Stellenbosch, over Hells Hoogte, Simondium. and then on to Paarl. By that time, it had already become unbearably hot and I decided to put on my cap! only to find that I had either left it at Sir Lowery Pass or lost it along the way. I thought of the toil up Baines Kloof and the definite need for some headgear and bought a cap at Paarl. I only arrived at “Nonna”, Mr Rabie’s farm at De Wet at 7:45pm after taking the wrong road at Worcester.

Distance travelled approx 90m (144km)

Tuesday

Spent a lovely day at the farm and spent some time at the wine kelders at
De Wet.

Wednesday

Left at 5:30am and got a 25-mile (40km) lift on a lorry owned by a Mr. De Wet. Arrived at Laingsburg 12:45pm after having a bit of trouble with front wheel spokes. Got a room at the Grand Hotel and spent the afternoon messing around with spokes instead of, as I felt inclined for, a good sleep. However, a couple of good meals and a good night’s rest put me on the road the next morning at 6:15 again.

Distance travelled 93 miles (150km)

Thursday

About 18-miles out of Laingsburg felt very tired indeed and thought of getting a train. Just then met a farmer Oom (Uncle) Piet Le Roux who was trekking for better pastures with his flock of sheep. He was very kind indeed and offered great chunks of boere (farm style) raisin bread and coffee which I must say, I greedily devoured. After spending about an hour with this Oom I arrived at Prins Albert St. at 11 o'clock. I hired a room at the Karroo Hotel and after a good meal tried to have a sleep which was almost impossible due to the intense heat.

I left again at 5:30pm and arrived at the dorp at 8pm after a ½ hour of grim time riding, riding in the dark on these badly corrugated roads with very loose sand at the sides and also the possibility of a snake or some other reptile parked in your path makes it quite an experience when visibility is just about nil.

Distance travelled 81 miles (130km)

Monday 28th March

Left Prins Albert at 7:15am and arrived at the Cango caves at 10:30, just too late for first expedition into caves and so had to wait till 12:30. After a very interesting trip through the Caves (only a personal trip to these caves can describe this wonderful works of nature) I Left again at 3:15 and arrived in Oudtshorn at 4:45. Spent the night at the Central Hotel and saw a bit of the town.

Distance travelled 43 miles (69km), this included Swartberg pass which is definitely breathtaking. Have never experienced a pass so steep and also so high above the surrounding Country. The road is narrow and extremely loose which necessitates for very slow descent, also having to stop at intervals to allow brakes to cool down.

Tuesday

Left Oudtshoorn at 7:15am arrived at De Rust 10am. Proceeded through Meirings poort and when midway, was picked up by lorry driver Mr. De Jager who brought me through to Klaarstroom. After a good meal with the De Jager family left on on last leg of the trip. At 12:30 pm and arrived back in Prins Albert about 4:45

Distance travelled 70 miles. (112km)

Back at Prins Albert I spent two lovely quiet weeks simply just eating and sleeping with occasional short cycle trips up the pass and also the near surrounding districts. One of my objectives was also to make a visit to a very queer and out of the way place known as the “Hell”. It is situated about 35 miles (56km) out of Prins Albert in the heart of the Swartberg mountains. It consists only of a small community of people mainly farmers who rely only on their land and stock for their living.

To reach the hell one has to walk along the bed of the Gamka river and pass through a very narrow poort. When the river is in flood or is raining fairly strong, the hell might then completely be cut off from the outside world for days or maybe weeks. Inside the poort the mountains, I believe, are still teaming with leopards and game. From the time one enters the Poort until the first farmhouse is sighted is about 15 miles and due to the inaccessible nature of the place only pack donkey’s or mules are used for transport.

This is what I had to listen to for many a quiet evening in Prins Albert when earnestly enquiring from well known characters how to get to the Hell. I was told that the people there were of a very wild, almost ape-like nature and would sort of tear you apart without the slightest fuss. Most people persuaded me not to attempt the venture, at least not unaccompanied. I abandoned the idea then but was quite sure that had my stay been longer, I would surly have gone there some time or other.

Road to "The Hell" only build after Swannie's trip

This is where I semi cursed the wheels of progress for only allowing a man 1/12 of a year holiday annually. Personally I think the world would still carry on if our annual leave were increased to 3 months so that we could fully appreciate this lovely country of ours. To be up before dawn in the unlimited spaciousness of the Karroo and breathing in the crisp fresh air makes one loathe to go back to the stuffy and bustling atmosphere of a city.

Tuesday 8th April

Left Prins Albert at 11:30a.m and set out for the station 28 miles distant. I was in high spirits
and absolutely as fit as a man could be. I must say that this was the way that I felt right through the course of my trials. I can’t at any time remember feeling down and out or depressed when thinking of my fairly big undertaking in hand, or also while experiencing several 5am rises. I thought this was understandable due to the perfect change in the air kind people, in fact everything as far as I was concerned.

The food that I had since leaving Wynberg was different to what I was used to, sort of rough and ready and also in greater quantities. For my part I could never eat enough and when I did happen to satisfy my enormous appetite was scolded upon by my very find hosts who wanted to know how I liked the sample and when I was going to get stuck in. Some of these “barrel” like farmers can really eat, and regard you with an air of amusement when having my comparatively small plate of rys, vleis and artapples (Rice, meat and potatoes) or if I should tell them what some people have for dinner in Cape Town.

After traversing a series of steps in the road I crossed the drift at Gamka River and from there, the road was comparatively flat and uninteresting. I preferred “steps” to long monotonous uphill’s as the speed carries you to the top of a short hill and from there level to be followed again by a short hill. In this way, height could be easily gained without getting overtired. I arrived at the station at 12 noon and I consider It a speedy ride though I did not intend doing any fast strenuous riding.

It’s understood that he loaded his bike onto the train for the trip back to Cape town.

Ben Swanepoel 3/13/16 Ben Swanepoel 3/13/16

Trans Karoo 2007

For the third time in less than an hour, I lay sprawled alongside my bike,....

Trans Karoo 2007

For the third time in less than an hour, I lay sprawled alongside my bike, a victim of the soft curry-powder sands of the Kalahari. Alone and despondent, under a charcoal sky, the fantasies of my adventure became reality.

Distance travelled: 8 km. Distance to go: 1 392 km.

Ever since, as a novice mountain biker, I had won the Freedom Challenge I had begun to suspect that in reality, the opposite of possible is not impossible, but simply “frigging difficult”. That the difference between average and amazing lay not in the chains of a double helix, but in hard work, detailed planning, careful preparation and, more importantly, passion.

And so, after shaking the sand from my ears, refitting the chain and adjusting my rucksack, I skidded, fell, cycled and pushed my way straight into the path of my first Kalahari sunrise.

I had always wondered about the Great Karoo, what I would find in its remoteness, what it would find in me. After many hours bending over piles of maps and squinting at Google Earth, I produced a bright purple line on my map running down the breadth of our country. Following only dirt roads and tracks, my route extended from Askham, on our border with Botswana, through the red sands of Gordonia, the plains and salt pans of Bushmanland, past the koppies of the Great Karoo and over the Swartberg Mountains, to exit the Little Karoo via the Langeberg Mountains, ending at my home in Swellendam.

The Freedom Challenge had taught me many important lessons; like how to travel light and how to keep motivated when covering ridiculous distances for weeks at a time, but it could never have prepared me for the immense mental struggle of riding day after day in country as flat as this. With no hill or valley to break my stride or change my pace, no distant mountains to play with my mind, every km was a mental marathon. I developed strategies to distract myself from any clue of distance and time, but inevitably my mind would continue its relentless countdown: 140 km ... 139 km ... 138 km. To maintain a reasonable forward speed you have to keep pedalling ALL the time.

I must confess that there were times when I gave in to the self-willed child within me, stopped the bike in the middle of the road and pounded the handlebars in utter frustration. Fortunately, the calm, disciplined adult me would gently take back the reins, and together we would set off towards the next km mark on the flat endless ribbon ahead.

So I moved steadily down the line: Askham, Swartstraat, Upington, Kenhardt.
Lying in my hotel bed at Kenhardt, covered with a mountain of down, I watched the weather reporter pointing to the general area of the Great Karoo where little animated rainclouds splashed raindrops onto my route. I drifted into dreamland with these rainclouds turning slow circles through my dreams. Tomorrow, I would be at Verneukpan.

Verneukpan fascinated me – a great saltpan sploshed on the map like a wet bird dropping. Maybe because it was the only real feature that stood out on a map between Askham and Fraserburg, or because it was where Sir Malcolm Campbell broke the land speed record. Either way, I was looking forward to riding over it.

At 5 am I stepped outside into a strong, cold wind, and headed off into the darkness. No friendly sunrise greeted me this morning, and the dawn revealed ominous low, brooding clouds in the direction I was heading. I just managed to gear up for the worst when the first icy drops started falling. By the time I reached the pan, large shallow lakes had formed in every direction. I had expected an easy passage across the vast flat plain, but I was very much mistaken.

The rain had turned the smooth expanse of the pan into a quagmire of thick porridgy clay that built up on my bike (and me) to such an extent that any hope of riding was dissolved. All moving parts jammed solid and the weight added to my bike by the build up of clay made it impossible to carry. Scraping off as much of the sticky porridge as possible, I hauled the bike on my shoulder, staggering a few meters at a time before either succumbing to the weight, or falling heavily onto the squishy surface. All things, even bad things, come to an end, and it was with relief that I finally placed my bike down and found that it was on firm ground. It had taken me four hours to move 2 km!

At the farmhouse on the opposite side of the pan, I listened to stories of speed attempts that had ended in tragedy here, how the vast flat plain can distort one’s perception of distance and size, and how people have got lost – disoriented by its vast expanse. I started to feel somewhat privileged that I too had been verneuked by the pan.

The next few days through Williston and on to Fraserburg were some of the coldest I have ever endured. Carrying the right clothing for the sub-zero temperatures I experienced each morning was a challenge, especially when my entire kit needed to fit into a single 28-litre backpack. Although unbelievably cold, the mornings were the best part of the day, and I revelled in the surge of adventure I felt, setting off alone into the dark unknown. Lost in a cold world, I would become vaguely aware of the pending sunrise, and then an almost unbearable cold snap would occur just before the dawn.

The appearance of the sun above the horizon always caused me to stop and celebrate the new sights and sounds around me. At that moment, everything about my trip would make sense, and I would understand exactly why I was out there.

From Fraserburg, the land underwent a dramatic change, and for the first time since starting the trip six days previously, I rode among mountains. I cannot explain just how wonderful it was to drink in the natural eye candy of the Nuweveld Mountains around me, steep slopes capped with granite, pools of ice along winding roads. Riding silently under a full moon, I soaked in the beauty around me. After hugging the “Steep Descent” signboard at the watershed, I poured water over my gears to melt the ice, and then allowed the large chainring to toss me off the escarpment where the last vast plain of the Great Karoo waited to lead me to Leeu Gamka. Looming cheerfully in the distance lay the Swartberg Mountains.

At Leeu Gamka, I collected my parcel containing maps, spares and other essential supplies which I had sent 'Poste Restante' (they just love it when you talk foreign!) to the local post office. This was one of two such parcels I had forwarded along the route, and the system worked well.

A good night’s sleep in Prince Albert assured me of an early start, and soon I was pedalling under a full moon towards the familiar Swartberg Pass. The scene around me was breathtakingly beautiful. A Land Rover edged past me in the darkness, and it was fascinating (although slightly alarming) to watch the headlights stitching their way through the hairpins higher and higher till they finally disappeared at an impossible angle above me.

I arrived at the top of the pass just after sunrise, and lay on my back with the Karoo and Nuweveld Mountains framed between my shoes. It was beautiful, and a little sad, as if reading the final chapters of an amazing book. With a last glance to the north, I turned my back and headed down towards the Little Karoo, and the Langeberg Mountains in the distance.

My final day from Calitzdorp to Swellendam via the Rooiberg was epic. Over 200 km of undulating dirt road and relentless headwinds awaited me. Leaving the small town of Van Wyksdorp for the final stretch, things began to get a little silly.
I developed a sharp pain in my knee that got worse as the day progressed. In sympathy, my bottom bracket (the one on the bike!) started developing some play, making a 'cluck, donk' noise which is slightly worse than a 'click, click' noise but not nearly as bad as the 'cluck, clang' noise. So if you happened to be lying in the fields on the side of the road as I came past, you would have heard something like:

'Cluck / donk / creak (knee joint) / $!&#*! Cluck / donk / creak / &!#*^!’

Anyway, the result of it all was a rather slow, painful passage along the northern slopes of the Langeberg. I made it through to Barrydale just as the sun set and with 44 km left, it was only the Tradouw Pass and its vagrant leopard that stood between me and my own bed. Both knees were complaining as I rode the last few km along the N2, with trucks, buses and cars whizzing past me. What a contrast from the vast open plains of Bushmanland and the quiet Karoo.

Just past nine, I ground slowly up the last steep section of dirt road that separates my home from the town of Swellendam. I lay on the cold grass outside my house, delaying the end of my adventure a little longer. Looking up at the towering shadow of the Langeberg, my mind drifted back to the moments that would for me always define this trip. The sweet coffee I shared with a farm worker, the generosity of the farming couple at Verneukpan and the sunrise over Bushmanland. In the dark silence, my mind explored the pools and waterfalls I knew were there in the lush ravines above me, and I thought ... 'It's good to be home.'

Ben Swanepoel 1/28/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/28/16

"A Series of Fortunate Events" (PT3)

Woke up to a crisp clear Karroo morning, and the prospect of an easy days ride ahead of us.......

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.

Ben Swanepoel 1/28/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/28/16

"A series of Fortunate Events" (PT2)

For the first time during the race, we overslept.....

Day 7 - Smuts Pass to Gunsteling

120 km
560 m climbing
12 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 7 - Advice for men
Make sure that you have had already your full complement of children before this race.

Fed up

For the first time during the race, we overslept. As an unwritten rule in our race relationship, I was the one to get up first and motivate Cornell to get out from under the warm down duvets, not easy after only a couple of hours sleep with temperatures below zero. On the other hand, I would start fading during the last 12km of the days distance when my mind would decide its had enough, push off and leave my body to finish. At this point Cornell was a master of encouragement, he would lift my spirits and get me to the end point. On this cold morning I didn’t even hear the alarm, just woke up when it was light outside.

We rode off in clear skies, thick frost coating the ground, ice clinging to the fence wire alongside the gravel road. Although cold, the riding was exhilarating, good dirt roads led us through vast open plains. At one point, while having a bite to eat alongside the road, we saw in the far distance, a horseman galloping towards us. Dressed in black and with his balaclava pulled low over his face, he created an imposing image as he galloped right past us heading for no place in particular.

Cornell had this thing about food. If a large plate of food is placed in front of him, (as opposed to being able to dish up small portions for himself), he loses his appetite, goes pale and sometimes throws up. On this day he was undone by the generosity of the friendly farm folk along the trail.
Arriving at our support station under a steep portage just as light was fading, we decided to quickly eat, and then push over the potage and on into the night. We enjoyed an extra-large cooked meal provided by the farmers at Elandsburg in preparing for a long cold night on the bikes, headed out up the portage accompanied by the farmer on his trail bike as evening fell. It was dark when we descended the bone jarring jeep track in the dark, I crashed out twice but with no damage to the bike or me.

The valley now in darkness, we studied the maps by torchlight for clues as to what lay ahead. It wasn’t long before we saw the headlights of a pickup searching around on the farm tracks looking for something. It was actually us they were looking for, as they had been tipped off by the previous farmer and told not to let us carry on as they were worried about us riding off into the night with seriously low temperatures forecasted for the area. Generally people don’t realize what you can accomplish on a bike, or at least imagine that you have no clue of the risks or dangers outside. We really wanted to move on, but there was no arguing so once again we gave ourselves over to rural hospitality.

We were taken to their farmhouse, given a room, which belonged to their children who were away at boarding school. We were then quickly ushered into the lounge where a HUGE steaming plate of farm fresh meat and potatoes waited for us. It was really only a few hours since our last meal, and I grinned to myself as Cornell politely tried to turn down the offer. In a typical South African farm kitchen, you eat what' on your plate or face serious consequences. I glanced at Cornell and watched him turn from red to white while he fiddled around the food with his fork. He made at least three trips to the bathroom. I had no problems, but then my friends always did call me “hoover” when we ate together.

Tucked into a warm bed, we heard news that the rest of the race competitors had been caught by the same storm we had experienced the previous day. Unfortunately they were caught high up in the mountains and really suffered for it. Two competitors decided to pack it in and abandoned the race at Rhodes. Quietly we thanked our luck and strategy for moving through the mountain section as quickly as possible, even though it was some of the hardest riding we had ever done.

Day 8 - Gunsteling to Cape Mountain Zebra National Park

150 km
660 m climbing
12 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 8 – Asking directions

Team up with one competitor from each official language group.They lied about English being a universal language, although it is useful when reading your cell-phone menu.
Compile a three-page list of recommended answers to the question “Is julle mal!” (are you *&%$ mad!?)
Disregard all directions ending with the words “you can’t miss it”.

Radio Fame

To compensate for been hijacked from our plan to ride on into the night the previous day, we made a 2am start. I can’t even begin to describe the intensity of the cold that early in the morning and a long steep downhill on route didn’t help much either. Around 4am we came to a small town and desperate for some warmth, walked into the only place that was open, the local police station where we pleaded with the duty sergeant to make us a mug of coffee. Although he complained that we were wasting his time commenting that "This is not a 7 / 11”, it was light hearted and soon we were sat on the hard wooden bench, warming our hands around mugs of steaming coffee as the radio cracked a report about a stabbing in the local shebeen.

We were hungry and dreaming of food when we finally reached the afternoon lunch stop, but the farmhouse was deserted. As is typical of rural areas, the house was wide open, but not a sole in sight. I must confess that we did sneak into the kitchen and raid the fridge of some fruit, but there was little else of food value. I thought of our double dinner the night before and wondered if it was not perhaps prophetic.

The rest of the day was lost in a haze of thoughts as the miles slid by. By late afternoon we had entered the Cradock Mountain Zebra National Park, and arrived at the campsite quite early. This was one of only two support stops from which we were not permitted to ride after dark, due to the rules and regulations of the Protected Area. We settled into the camp, did washing and serviced the bikes.

That evening we went to the camp restaurant and were busy eating when a lady at the table next to us leaned over and asked “Sorry to worry you, but are you the two cyclist who are currently leading the Freedom Challenge?” We were really taken aback, especially when they told us they had heard about our progress on a national radio broadcast! I did find myself grinning a little wider and a bit longer than normal.

Day 9 - Cape Mountain Zebra National Park to Van De Venterskraal

120 km
1 040 m climbing
14 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 9 - Cycle at 85% of your actual ability:
This race is a mental challenge, and is won or lost in the mind, not the legs! So if you are mentally challenged fill out an application form now! No seriously, it’s nothing to do with the legs.

The plains of Camdaboo

Leaving at dawn we cycled along winding park roads mindful of the “Danger Rhino” signs till we arrived at the appropriate dry riverbed marked on our maps where we exited the park through a hole in the fence. As a park manager myself, that felt a bit weird. On the other side of the fence we cycled, pushed, and carried up a short steep track where we were greeted with the vista of the vast plains of Camdaboo stretching out for as far as we could see. The downhill was exhilarating but not completely controllable as the surface was strewn with loose gravel and boulders. My disc brakes paid for themselves on this downhill alone. I can remember the single track to the main gravel road after the downhill as some of most exhilarating of the trip with loads of opportunities to get airborne. Maybe not the best idea with 30kg on your back and more than 1000 km to go!

Arriving at the next support station, a game farm, we shared a huge breakfast with the organizers of the race who were on their way back to Cape Town. It was great to see them and catch up with all the gossip from the rest of the field, the havoc wrecked by the storm in the Drakensberg Mountains, the accusation from the guesthouse in Rhodes where we “stole” a loaf of bread and the woes of those who dropped out of the race at Rhodes. Heading out from the farm, we tackled a long muddy portage up a mountain track, followed by a pleasant “pick your bike up onto your shoulder and hike down a trail” following a long deeply wooded valley, and also climb over a lot of barbed wire fences.

At the base of the hiking trail we were greeted by a makeshift signboard wired to a gate saying “Ben and Cornell, come inside for beer and biltong” We found out that this farmer had also been following the race on the radio, and knew we were heading his way. We felt it would be extremely rude to ignore his invitation, so filled up with coffee (no beers thank you) and left with a week’s supply of fresh game biltong, which we finished the same day.

We had reached the stage of the trip where your body is in a constantly energy deficit state and we (or at least me) unashamedly ate anything and everything we could lay out hands on. I recalled during the previous year’s race, where I had ridden off the track to a farm house, knocked on the door and asked the farmer if he could please make me a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches! He did, and I hardly even feel ridiculous at all.

It was still a long way to the next support station, but the riding was wonderful, Karoo farms, sheep (complete with working sheep dogs) and wind pumps all the way. I struggled the last 12km as normal, but with Cornell as my ever faithful coach, we arrived at a large slightly scary abandoned farm house, prepared earlier for out arrival with another monstrous farm meal designed for 5, devoured by 2.

Scary dreams that night.

Day 10 - Van De Venterskraal to Bucklands

155 km
580 m climbing
16 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 10 - Do not watch your bikes odometer
If a watched kettle never boils, then a watched odometer just never moves ahead fast enough. I found it best to select physical landmarks, such as far distant mountain ranges or other galaxies.

Game of Thorns

This, the 10th day of the race was for me a day dedicated to the “Tube God” and I personally littered the route with sacrifices and offerings. Puncture followed puncture as most of the route was lined with Acacia thorn bushes, 3 to 6 inches of multi-pronged nastiness. Impossible to avoid, growing in the track, on the shoulders, creeping across and lying in clusters everywhere a tire could turn.

As a result, it was a long frustrating day for both of us as Cornell waited patiently for me through my “tube god” sacrifices. Cornell had invested in tubeless tires for the race, and it was uncanny how well they worked. He would stop, wrench out a 4 inch spike imbedded to the hilt in middle of the tire which would then emit a small “psst” a split second before the tire sealed, spin the wheel a few times off he would go. I had thick plastic tire liners and slim, but I might as well have used party balloons for all the protection they afforded. I think the only thing that would have worked was if I had beat a ring of sheet metal around the outside of my tires.

Beside the punctures, we had to negotiate a number of portages and some pretty confusing navigation. This was game farm country, and every farm had high fences and locked gates. The fences were over two meters to stop Kudu and Eland from escaping. Both species, regardless of their weight will happily clear a 2 meter fence without a run-up. I have seen it first hand on one of the nature reserves I have managed, and recall that at the time my brain couldn’t quiet come to terms with the images been received from my eyes so it all looked very much like a movie in slow motion.

I felt a little uneasy as I knew game theft and farm murders were not uncommon in this isolated area, and all the farmers are heavily armed with hunting rifles and shotguns, and certainly not shy to use them. Climbing over the 2,5 meter locked farm gates (usually two gates tied end on end on top of each other) with a bike is quite an art and for the first time during the trip while helping Cornell with his bike I realized just how light his bike was! His frame was made of titanium, and what a difference the weight must have made during the portages and climbs.

Now already late into the night, we were negotiating yet another farm gate and making a fair bit of noise about it, when a light came on from the house next to the fence, and the next instant the quite of the night was shattered by a series of violent explosions as blasts from a high powered rifle sent bullets whizzing above our heads.

The hell with dignity and composure, we hollered at the top of our voices “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We are cyclists!, we are in a race!” as if that would actually have meant anything! Nobody answered us and we didn’t stick around for introductions, all I remember was that our riding average improved quite significantly over the next few km’s. Later that evening we were met by the farmer owners from our next support station. They had become concerned about us and came looking. Their offer of a ride for the last 15km to the farm was tempting, we had already done 130km and it was late, nobody would know or care really if we cheated these few km as we were now days ahead of the rest of the riders behind us.

Of course we didn’t, instead we rode in front of the pickup and used their headlights to light the way. The problem was that we felt a bit guilty at holding them up from a warm house and rugby match on TV, so we upped the pace and ended up riding the last 15km at a ridiculously fast pace, arriving at the farm completely spent.

Hospitality once again surpassed all our requirements, and we fell asleep well after midnight, warm, full stomachs and smiles all round.

Day 11 - Bucklands to Cambria

100 km
880 m climbing
13 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 11 – Beware the dotted lines:
Dotted lines on the map represent field trips. These field trips however have nothing whatsoever in common with field trips undertaken at botanical gardens or during corporate workshops.

Break a leg!

I lay sprawled out on my stomach on the steep boulder strewn slope, my bike lying upside down against a rock further down the slope, front wheel spinning aimlessly. A light rain had just started to fall, and an icy wind blew the drops under the hood of my rain jacket. I tried to sit up but as I moved my leg a stab of pain shot through me like an electric shock. We happened to be in one of the most isolated areas of the route and daylight was fast running out, thoughts that didn’t escape me. A cold clammy sweat broke over me and I fought back waves of nausea that threatened to engulf me.

We had left at daybreak that morning looking forward to what was one of the highlights of the trip, entering the Biviaanskloof wilderness area. This area is an amazing mountainous area full of wildlife including three of the big five, Leopard, Rhino and Buffalo. We entered not through the conventional route taken by tourists, but by a deserted management track snaking down into the very heart of the wilderness area, miles from civilization or park infrastructure.

The trip down into this kloof involved a climb over a rusted green gate and then following an abandoned rutted track which snaking steeply down to the river invisible in the distance below. It was beautiful and I was reveling in the realization that we were now so far ahead that we were not only heading for a win, but also a new race record.

With that sweet thought, I lost concentration just long enough for my front wheel to slip into a deep erosion rut running parallel in the track. The section was a very steep, and the bike was forced off the track and went plummeting uncontrollably down the mountain slope. Blurred boulders, laws of physics, over the handlebars, the dull sound of flesh smashing against rock and then all was quiet, except for the whistle of the icy wind through the brush. Cornell, who was slightly ahead of me rounded a hairpin bend in the road, said he heard something on the slopes above him and was surprised to hear me calling out to him. On closer inspection he found me lying in a heap among the rocks and vegetation. I was a bit put out when he raced up the slope straight to my bike and after examining it in what I thought was an unnecessary amount of detail, finally proclaimed in joyful relief “Its ok! Your bike’s ok!” But then who can blame a guy who has his priorities sorted.

My prognosis was not as good, and while we did decide that my leg wasn’t actually broken, I could not put any weight on it, nor could I complete a full revolution of the pedals without excruciating pain. The problem was that there was no help even close, and to go back would have been worse than going ahead. With the cold, rain and daylight running out, staying put was not an option. So we continued on the long decent to the river valley below, every km taking us further and further from any help or support. I found that I was able to pedal with only my right leg and still keep moving and so forward went.

Once down in the river we were confronted with a flooded road, and during the next few hours carried our bikes through knee and sometimes waste deep freezing water. I seem to remember that we crossed the river 9 times, some crossing being as long as a few 100 meters. This was real wilderness, absolutely beautiful and we saw species of game at nearly every corner.

The pain was severe, but worse was the realization that this could be the end of the race for me. We were still only half way into the race and now the really long distances were about to begin. I was not a happy camper. With Cornell’s constant encouragement and support we made it over the highest gate I ever had to climb and rode the last few hours to the guesthouse in the dark. I think that both of us realized that I would probably not be able to continue the next day, but none of us said as much. The route was going to be one of the toughest of the race with huge climbs and extreme distances to cover.

Cornell gave me some Myprodol, which was like morphine to me who never even takes as much as a headache tablet, and some arnica ointment to rub on my leg. It took about 15 painful minutes to get myself onto bed and my leg under the blankets and with a feeling of desperate disappointment; I fell into a deep sleep.

Day 12 - Cambria to Willowmore

160 km
1,460 m climbing
16 hrs cycling

Freedom race tip # 12 – Interact with the locals:
Taking the time to interact with the locals will enrich your experience of the race, help you to develop an understanding of the rich cultural diversity existing in our country, and open your mind to the local knowledge of the area.

For me, the common thread of local knowledge expounded to me throughout the route went something along these lines: “The turn off you are looking for is just at the top of the 20km downhill you have just come down”

Break a bike!

When I woke that morning I lay very still for a long time, not really wanting to face the decision I would need to make. While I didn’t know, I still had hope. Eventually I moved my leg, and it was as if a miracle had taken place during the night, Most of the pain had simply disappeared. I can’t express the elation I felt just knowing that I had been given an opportunity to continue, that’s all I ever really wanted. Disaster had once again given way to hope, hope to resolve. I was still in the game!

It is interesting that throughout the remainder of the race I suffered no ill from my leg other than a dull ache during the first day, but one morning a few days after the race was over, I woke to the same excruciating pain, which lasted throughout the day then disappeared. “Deferred injury”, weird.

Yet another epic days riding in all aspects with over 170 km of some of the steepest climbs and descents of the route as we traversed the length of the Biviaanskloof mountain range. My spirits were soaring, not only because of the rugged wilderness we were passing through, but for the sheer relief of been able to continue. This was it truly a gift, in fact a birthday gift to me sent one day early.

In contrast, Cornell, was having a day of real concern when he discovered to his horror that a hairline crack had developed in his bikes titanium frame just alongside the weld on the bottom tube. This was a serious situation, one that would have us both examining the crack at regular intervals during the remainder of the race debating whether it was getting worse or staying the same. Besides the physical risk to Cornell if the frame failed suddenly en route, it could put Cornell out of the race altogether. To reduce the risk of ending his race, Cornell managed to organize that his second bike be flown down to Cape Town where it could potentially be delivered to him on the trail in the event of total frame failure. We both prayed that this would not be necessary, as the 24hr time penalty for this level of intervention would put the race record out of his reach.

During the day I took stock of my physical situation. Sitting on the saddle had now become an awkward business, so I tried to stand on the pedals as much as possible. I would delay sitting down as long as possible, changing to a lower gear and keeping most of my weight on my legs. The problem was that my left leg, bruised in the fall would start to protest, and then my right knee which I injured in the Drakensberg would start giving in. Eventually I would have to sit down, trying to find the best position out of an unhappy blend of raw skin, welts and bruises. I would just settle down to the best of the worst, when some or other obstacle in the track would require me to stand up, and the whole unfortunate process would repeat itself over again.

It was also the day that I discovered I could sleep while riding a bike. On one particular section towards afternoon I found I was struggling to keep my eyes open. At this point the road was good dirt, wide and either level or trending slightly downhill. The pickups using the road had left two smooth compacted wheel tracks lined with loose gravel on either side. I noticed that when I drifted onto these looser sections there was different feel and sound and this formed the basis of my bike sleep strategy. So by building up speed or on a slow downhill I would center my bike in the smooth section, close my eyes and blissfully dose off until the bike wandered onto the shoulder where the different noise and vibrations would wake me from my snooze. I would re-center the bike and do it all over again. Many times I was able to re-center the bike without actually opening my eyes. I can’t imagine I ever dozed of longer that 15 or 20 seconds at a time, but after 15 or 20 minutes of it, I felt pretty well rested.

The last stretch to Willowmore was a long series of climbs, and we were well spent when we finally arrived in the dark at our support station in the town. Our work not quite done, we first underwent some “medical monitoring” conducted by two postgraduate sports science students who were using us to monitor the effects of extreme exercise on the body. They were quite astonished by the rapid weight loss we were experiencing as a result of the sustained efforts and rigors of the trip.

Despite eating like a weightlifter, I lost 7kg during the race.

Ben Swanepoel 1/26/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/26/16

“A Series of Fortunate Events” (PT 1)

Both water bottles on my bike were frozen solid,.......

My personal perspective of the 2006 extreme mountain bike race across South Africa, “The Freedom Challenge”

Finding the soul of South Africa

Both water bottles on my bike were frozen solid, the tube to my hydration bag standing out like a piece of ‘bloudraad” (fencing wire) next to my shoulder. My hands were dead, and acting like a propeller was no longer having anyeffect. My speech was slurred, and I stopped thinking. I knew we were in trouble, but all I could do was rest my head on the handlebars and drift off to sleep.

“There’s a light! come on Ben, lets go!” said Cornell, fumbling with the gate catch. We both scrambled up the hill in the direction of the light. In the doorway of a small mud hut, the silhouette of a lady danced and swayed in the flickering glow of firelight coming from inside her hut. We could almost feel the warmth, comfort and safety of the fire when the door slammed shut, the bolt sliding home with a loud “thunk”. Dignity thrown aside, we stood at the door knocking, begging and pleading to be let in, but no amount of self humiliation could entice her to open her door to the two alien creatures she had seen running towards her that dark morning, skin alive and glowing (reflective tape) life support system (rucksacks) and a single evil white eye shining out the middle of our forehead (helmet LED)! Peeping trough a crack in the door, I could see her standing in the middle of the hut, hands clasped protectively in front of her trembling with fear.

With a creak of well-worn hinges, a door from the neighboring hut opened, and a lady, unaware of our presence, stepped out into the dark to empty a bucket into the frozen air. We needed no prompting and discarded all manners as we pushed past her and headed like a magnet for the small wood-burning stove in the middle of the kraal. With eyes closed, we crouched next to the stove and held on to the hot stovepipe as if worshiping a strange idol.

At some stage through the haze I felt a wooden crate gently pushed under me, and sank gratefully onto the bare planks. Again and again small pieces of wood were pushed into the tiny stove, while not a word was spoken.
Slowly, the warmth and comfort of the fire began to thaw my mind and I became conscious of pairs of wide bewildered eyes staring at us from all around the circular hut. Looking around, I saw that we were in the middle of a hut surrounded by an extended family of about fifteen people of all ages, huddled under blankets, hessian bags, newspaper, and coverings of all sorts of materials. After a time, we got up stiffly, mumbled our thanks, walked on stiff legs out of the hut and back onto the frozen steel of our bikes. We learned later that an escaped convict had recently terrorized the very same community.

It was 4 am.

Though not a single word was spoken during the incident in the hut, I will never forget the understanding, courage, compassion and generosity shown to us by that lady on that cold morning high in the mountains.

I had once again, experienced the “soul” of South Africa.

The Freedom Challenge

The Freedom Challenge is an extreme mountain bike race across South Africa, stretching from Pietermaritzburg in Kwa Zulu Natal to Stellenbosch in the Western Cape. The 2,300km route consists of gravel roads, two spoor dirt tracks, single cattle tracks an numerous portages where no tracks, paths or trails exist.

The route has been designed to pass through as many areas of natural beauty as possible, incorporating a number of nature reserves and conservation areas. The race is run during the middle of winter over some of the highest mountain ranges in South Africa where cold fronts and snow storms are a certainty at some stage of the route.

Why?

From the moment I first heard about the race and studied the details I knew that this was my race, a package of every experience gained through my life up to that point, the familiar stained and frayed jersey you love to wear around the campfire.

•   It is unsupported, so once you start you are on your own in terms of decision making and basic survival.
•   It is not a team race, although you are permitted to collaborate.
•   It is nonstop, so although there are checkpoints at farm houses about every 100km or so, you choose if, when or where to stop, eat or sleep.
•   The rules manual is one paragraph long, a paragraph longer than the safety regulations.
•   No technical equipment such as GPS are permitted and the route is marked as a line on a series of orthophoto maps, low tech with high probability of getting lost on a daily basis.
•   The outcome of the race is reliant on the integrity of each competitor to diligently follow the route and the rules, not catch a lift in the back of a pick up or take one of many possible short cuts.
•   There is no prize money, the reward, a traditional Basutho initiation blanket, or a traditional whip with a maximum value of $30.

Bragging rights however, are pretty awesome.

Part 1

Day 1 - Pietermaritzberg to Allendale

105 km
1,980m climbing
11hrs cycling

Race tip #1: - Pack light:

It is amazing how generous some competitors became after the first day of the race, donating to the locals on a scale only exceeded by the National Red Cross Organization.

Start

This epic adventure started from the city hall in Pietermaritzburg as the church bell tolled 7am. Of the six of us who pedaled away on that Saturday morning, only four would cross the finish line in Paarl, some almost a month later.

Left to right; Greville Rudock, Geritt Pretorius, Andre Britz, Corness van der Westhuizen, Ben Swanepoel, Zolani Mtshali

The first day was a good introduction to the race, with some big climbs, a few short portages, river crossings and a jumble of forestry tracks. I planned to take it easy on the first day and only went as far as the first support station, 105 km from the start.

It was good to get going after so much anticipation, preparation and training, a bit like a scuba diver finally hitting the water and feeling the equipment and gear, so unwieldy on land, come into their own. It’s a tough first day but I felt relaxed and confident that I had a solid strategy to at least, break the record and didn’t heed the temptation to race after the guys running out front.

Meanwhile, on a very different strategy, Cornell Van Der Westhuysen, an architect from Johannesburg and an experienced long distanced cyclist blasted ahead to the first support station, stopping only for a quick bite before racing towards the second stop at Ntsikeni Nature Reserve another 90km away.

I enjoyed an excellent farm meal and settled in for an early night, fully aware that according to my careful planning and strategy, my personal race would begin in earnest at 1:30am, only a few hours away.

Day 2 - Allendale to Masakala

160 km
1,620m climbing
21hrs cycling

Race tip #2: - Obtain the handbook “Understanding Race Director language”:
For example:
•   “It will take you guys 45 mins to do that section, max.” = It’s going to be a long cold night under the African skies.
•   “Its do-able” = It can be done, as long as you are in a mode of transport that has an SAA sticker on the side, a day consisted of 48hrs, contour lines are measure in seconds, not meters, and all tracks marked on the map actually do exist on the ground.
•   "Tomorrows cycle leg is really a non event" = Tomorrow you will be cycling more than double your normal distance, as we could not find a suitable support station in the area. You will probably blackout from sheer exhaustion, and not remember a single thing about the day.
•   “Stettynskloof is going to kill you” = Stettynskloof is going to kill you. (see later)

Break Away

01:30 am saw me quietly dress and slip out into the crisp cold air, my secret betrayed as I almost ploughed headlong into a cow standing silently in the middle of the entrance road. It felt good to finally be alone, and for the first time this race felt real. Navigation proved a lot easier on this section than the previous year and before long I was on the winding forestry switchbacks leading up to the fist mountain portage to the Nsikeni Nature reserve.

On arrival at the lodge I was completely taken a back to find Cornell relaxing outside on the porch with no sign of preparations to move on. Over a quick lunch together, I heard how he had been caught by darkness the previous night while negotiating the portage, and had spent the night on the floor in a shepherds hut, waking during the night to the scurry of cockroaches covering the thin blankets given to him. Greeted to sharp stabbing pains in his knees that morning, the enormity of the race sunk in and he decided to abandon his original strategy and spend the day waiting for the rest of the competitors to arrive. was ready to move on, but after some discussion we realized we both had a very similar strategy in terms of actual distances and days, and decided to ride together at least for the next few days. In actual fact, we ended up riding together for the remainder of the race, the single best decision I made during the entire race.

For the rest of the day, we rode hard. The first few days of this race are incredibly difficult, mainly because your body is still adapting to the distances and sheer brutal effort that will soon become pare for the course. The only time I honestly thought about quitting was during those first two or three days.

I remember very little of that evening other than we struggled to find the village where our guest house was located. How we found it, what the rooms looked like, what we ate is still a mystery to me even though I can still easily recall every smell, taste and feeling of the remainder of the race.

Day 3 - Masakala to Vuvu

125 km
1,200m climbing
18 hrs cycling

Race tip #3: - Nutrition Come into the race a few kilograms over your ideal weight.

During the race eat everything and anything you can get your hands on. Steal food from kind trusting country folk, your competitor’s rucksacks, and out of farmer’s lands alongside the road. Bang on doors in the middle of the Karoo demanding peanut butter and jam sandwiches.
At support stations, sneak into the lounge under the cover of darkness and remove (completely) all fruit from the creative display on the coffee table. Do not feel guilty. Very importantly, stop this behaviour immediately on completion of the race.

Heading for the berg.

Mentally and physically, this was the hardest day of the race for me (other than Stetynskloof of course). My motivation levels faltered at the mere thought of the physical effort and pain I knew would be needed to complete the daily route, and I started doubting if I really did have the mental and physical stamina to make it.

At one point I think Cornell realized how I was feeling, and he made me eat a couple of energy gels in spite of my weak protests. It’s just amazing how often a shortage of food (fuel) caused my motivation to plummet. Within a few minutes I was a new person. Food, or lack of decent nutrition, was a major issue for both of us on this day, and we suffered for it.

We rode hard the entire day, trying to put distance between ourselves and rest of the field at this early stage of the race when we knew everyone would be suffering and struggling to adapt to the demands of a race of this nature. We both paid some “toll fees” for our efforts, I managed to crash off the path and injure my knee which has never completely recovered, and Cornell went over the handlebars straining his wrist.

Navigation during this section of the route is notoriously difficult, and later that night, in coal black freezing conditions, we lost our way and had to negotiate a steep cliff, only to come up against a strongly flowing river. After searching the bank for a way over, we came to a reasonably flat stretch of water about 20m wide, and started wading across. Halfway across the frozen water, the firm sand bottom gave way and with shouts of alarm we were both swallowed up to our thighs in porridgy quicksand. We literally had to throw our bikes across to the bank and somehow managed to get across to the opposite bank without falling headlong into the icy water. I do not want to think of what would have happened had we soaked our bodies, clothes and kit in that water, with the air temperature already well below zero.

A few hours later, and utterly exhausted from climbing impossibly steep tracks, an “angel” in the form of a Catholic Priest from one of the mission stations drove up to us out of the blue with news that our designated support station was deserted. He had been searching for us for hours to give us this news. It was now close to midnight as he started banging on doors, eventually organizing for us to sleep in a shepherds hut. Blankets were quickly loaned from a neighbor and a small shop opened for us where we bought bread, bully beef, baked beans and yogurt.

I will never forget looking at a shelf of the shepherds one room hut, noticed that he had only one knife, one spoon and one plate, yet he was so generous to us. everything he had, he made available to us. Somehow, I got the spare bed, and Cornell the floor.
It was well after midnight when warm, safe, fed and dry, we fell asleep trying not to think of the 1 000m high portage over the Lehana pass that waited for us the following morning.

Day 4 - Vuvu to Rhodes

50 km
1,160m climbing
10 hrs cycling

Race tip #4: - Standard toolkit:

If the farmer’s toolkit consists of “bloudraad and tang”, then the freedom challenge toolkit must consist of “duck tape and a multi tool”. I used duck tape to create a new sidewall for my tyre; Amy used duck tape to repair a competitor’s knee joints.

Other uses include:
Waxing your legs (stick on, rip off),
Pain killer (Sniff the sticky side)
Competitive advantage. (Tape your competitor’s bike to his bedpost, and then slip out in the middle of the night)

Lehana Pass

The Lehana pass portage was one of the highlights of the route. A 1 000m elevation hike over the Maluti mountains following an infamous trail used by cattle thieves to bring their stolen goods on hoof into Lesotho from neighboring South Africa. The trail joins the gravel road at the top of Naudes neck, at 2 500m one of the higher mountain passes in South Africa. During the previous years race I had suffered as the weather closed in, driving temperatures down into the minus, reducing visibility to a few meters while we scratched around blindly looking for the trail in the growing darkness. It was only with the help of some shepherds crouching in a storm shelter that we finally reached the gravel road, and which point our troubles had only just begun.
This year however, everything was different, the weather was crisp but clear, the trail plain to see in the clear blue skies and my body finally in sync with my mind. We had finally become a team.

In warm sunshine, we pushed, pulled and carried out bikes up the ridge with all the Southern Drakensberg falling below us. Soon we were over the ridge and absolutely flying down Naude’s neck, where ice still clung to the rocks on the shoulder of the gravel road.

We reaching our support station at Rhodes in broad daylight and decided to celebrate the first big landmark of the race at stay put. It really was a well-deserved luxury and we bought a handful of sweets at a local shop to celebrate. We washed clothes, cleaned our bikes and soaked in a hot bath massaging our spirits for the next leg of this amazing race across South Africa.

Day 5 - Rhodes to Loutebron

125 km
1,080 m climbing
16 hrs cycling

Race tip #5: - What spares to take with:

Due to the high degree of technical advancement made on mountain bikes over the past few years, selecting the correct spares to take on a race of this nature has become a science in its own right. Based on my own valuable experience, I would recommend that the following hi-tech, ultra specialist items be included in your spares list:

• One bicycle tyre (Any old one will do)
• One standard bike cable (Price R7.00)

The chill before the storm

Now well ahead of the rest of the field and feeling stronger every day, we set out to make the most of our hard earned advantage. Climbing out of a warm bed in the middle of a winters night at altitude is not the easiest, but my “Just like heaven” ringtone helped.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, as we were the only guests stupid enough to be enjoying a hearty breakfast at 01:00 am. We later heard we had been accused of steeling the extra loaf of bread that went missing from the walk-in pantry at pretty much the same time as we were having breakfast.

At 02:00 under a charcoal canopy punctured with pinholes of a billion pulsating stars we set off, totally overwhelmed by the spectacular majesty of a night sky in its fullest splendor. What we failed to realize, was that the temperature was already well below freezing, (reported later as -9 degrees) and that as we descended into the long deep valley it would drop even further.
The wind chill factor of freewheeling downhill at over 30km per hour would cause us the pain and agony that left us crouched on a crate with hands glued to the wood stove in the middle of the shepherds hut. One moment disaster and the next, relief, such is the pain and pleasure, passion and dreary slog of racing the Freedom Ride. It is an emotional roller coaster ride in every way.

Another 110km of gravel road, two mountain portages, a shredded rear tire, and one day’s music rations, filled the passing of the sun. Cornell had raced ahead, and I rode alone for much of the day which was very enjoyable. I did wonder if he had actually broken away from me to race ahead but I didn’t mind, I had a pretty good race strategy, I was on schedule, feeling strong and had the advantage of knowing from the previous year what was still to come. found Cornell relaxing at the next support station and as soon as I had eaten, we took on the next portage over the mountains via a firebreak into the next valley just as darkness fell. We were keen to do the next portage in the dark anyway, but once again found ourselves at the receiving end of the mercy of “angel’s”. This time in the form of Japie Smith and his wife, who refused to allow us to proceed, insisted on taking us into their home. We had only come to them seeking local knowledge, but ended up giving ourselves over completely to the warm hospitality of rural South Africa.

Drugged on the contentment of full stomachs, clean clothes and warm fires we listened to Japie’s exploits on his trail bike, which he has adapted into a hill climber, complete with a trucks flywheel as a rear sprocket!

His favorite trick is to invite the city hill climbing trail bike clubs to his farm on weekends to test their high tech machines, and then, wearing shorts, long socks, vellies and a bush hat, “chug a lug” up near vertical mountain slopes and slabs of rock alongside the ”official” smoothed out hill climb as if on a Sunday paper run. He said he had some photos in a magazine to prove it, but I didn’t need to see to believe, not with Japie.

Blissful sleep.

Day 6 - Loutebron to Smuts Pass

120 km
880 m climbing
14 hrs cycling

Race tip #6: - Map Pouch:
Have some system whereby you can keep your daily route maps handy. You want to be able to check them while on the move.
Actually know how to read a map.

Storm

Cornell is an amazing navigator, probably something to do with well-developed spatial orientation due to his work as an architect. He always knew exactly where we were, except for today when during the early morning portage, we inadvertently descended the wrong valley. Although we didn’t loose much time as a result, it bothered him for the rest of the day.

It was also the day that the storm struck.

It started fairly mildly that morning, covering us with an icy mist as we neared the top of the porterage. Descending, we broke out the clouds, and it looked to be a cool cloudy day for our 115km trip to Smuts Pass just past Dordreght. We got all excited when we saw a few snowflakes drifting lazily down onto our clothes, laughing as we thought how we would report that we “cycled in a snowstorm!” Half an hour latter, the clouds released a carpet of thick silent snow, blanketing the landscape, our clothes and th road ahead. For the rest of the day, we cycled alternately through gently falling snow, icy wind, or freezing rain. I loved it, an amazing experience, silent, muffled movement.

Stopping at a Police station in the small settlement of Rossouw to confirm our navigation, we were summery detained without trial by the Station Commander, having to serve a sentence of fresh coffee, and a huge cooked lunch of venison and potato salad. We eventually received a pardon, and left with a suspended sentence of sandwiches, biltong, fruit and too many other goodies to mention, or to find the space to pack!

With evening, came the cold, not just an unpleasant cold, a life threatening numbness. Because of the minimum space and weight we could afford, we only had cold weather clothes to keep us warm while we cycled hard. The moment we stopped, the cold became desperate. Stopping for more than a few minutes was not an option. Riding off into that dark cold night with not a single light or landmark was a matter of faith, not confidence, and I remember making a mental note of the position of a hay stack I saw flashing past my headlight, thinking that we could always take shelter among the bales. At about 10:00 pm, we finally saw a light in the distance and after fumbling around in the dark being misdirected by a well meaning shepard arrived at the support station, an old colonial styled lodge.

Our experience here, after the extreme cold and uncertainty of the days ride, can only be described as fantasy. I will never forget the incredible sense of inner warmth and peace we felt, sitting on the floor in front of the huge log fire, a plate of hot food in my lap. Around me, the comforting “buzz” of a family quietly busy with the normal things that normal people do in a million normal homes around the world.

Although late, we somehow found the energy to service and wash our bikes, wash clothes and prepare for an early morning start. Sleep beneath a mountain of soft down came easy and sweet.

Ben Swanepoel 1/23/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/23/16

Looking back

A cycling "misadventure" during my training for Ironman South Africa in 2008.

Cycling's "The one that got away"

One thing I have always thought about myself is that I am not competitive. I don’t know why, at worst its a fear of failure, at best, the belief in the simple cliché that: “winning is not always first place.”

I saw him quite a way in front of me as I turned my bike onto the national road near Swellendam in the Western Cape Province of South Africa for the final stretch of my semi-regular Sunday cycle. He was quite unaware of me as I quietly built up a good head of speed behind him. Leaning heavily on my acquired momentum, I coasted casually past him with my best “oh this is just my standard cruising pace” look. We grunted a greeting and I couldn't help but notice his bikes carbon frame, pro class components and his shaved oiled legs. He definitely wasn’t one of the locals, not that I am a regular roadie, just that my town is small.

He didn’t appear to be particularly phased by my obvious power and grace, and I pulled away from him unchallenged towards the turn off to the farm stall where they sell the finest coffee, the type that comes in polystyrene cups, is ten points off the sweetness scale and burns your fingers due to the ill fitting lid. Most of the local cyclists stop there and rest under the shade of the Eucalyptus trees, watching the Sunday traffic heading home to the city, leaving us in peace till the next weekend. It's always a pleasant rest after a long ride, just the recharge needed for the final 10km climb home. 100m short of the turn off, I made an unforgivable mistake,

I looked back.

Our eyes locked for no more than a mere moment but it was all that was needed, the message as clear as the whites of his eyes, he was not going to accept being overtaken by some middle aged local, cranking out on a collection of midrange cycling parts. The race had begun.

I ground past the turn off with soft thoughts of Coffee and Eucalyptus shade, a mind steeling up for noble battle, wisdom against youth, proven reliability against complex technology. This was not a fight against steel and muscle, but the defence of honor. I could feel his presence now as he hugged the vortex of my slipstream. I could hear his tires breathing with the ebb and flow of the tar. He was close, just saving himself as he plotted out a simple strategy to beat this simple man, but he knew me not, not the battles I had fought, the lessons l had learned. Twice, I felt him test me, turning on the power to bring his breath just behind my shoulder, and twice I passed his test.

The road climbing steeper now and I could feel the pain settling in, breath sharp and painful, lungs demanding more air, like holding breath for to long under water, and always his wheel just behind me, letting me do the work, waiting for his moment. I had to think now, but the pain fuzzed my brain, legs quivering, I dare not let it show. I longed to look back and see what state he was in, but my eyes remained glued to the road ahead, just far enough to dodge the cats-eyes on the yellow line.

As the road continued to climb, I remembered that while the last section appeared to continue to climb steeply, it was in fact a trick of the eye caused by the shape of the Langeberg mountain range, and that the road actually eased slightly and then leveled off up to my imaginary finish line just at the turn off to Swellendam town. I knew what I needed to do, but whether I had the strength was another matter entirely.
He had moved closer again, but this time I could sense a different rhythm in his stride. He was gathering himself for his move, I had to move first or it was done.

Without warning, I slapped a few gears up the rack, leaped off the saddle and started pumped with every last reserve left in my drained muscles. I thought I heard him cry out, but the flooding of endorphins had my senses focused only on the road ahead. Although he matched me, I could sense he was taking strain, he didn’t know that in a minute the road was going to ease. 30m – heartbeat echoing in my brain - 20m, picture fading to darkness. I felt him give one last burst, but it was too late, and at that moment he lost the race.

The road eased and as expected, I shot forward just managing to hold for the few 100m to our finish line. Standing in the pedals, I coasted, sucking air as waves of nausea flooded over me. It was time for us to be introduced,

I looked back.

Far below in the distance, the eucalyptus trees shimmered in the afternoon haze, fields of wheat, barley and rye, a few cows wandered aimlessly through the fields, children paddled nervously in the swallows of a small farm dam, but none of this rural postcard was responsible for the disbelieving look on my face, which was entirely due to the fact that within the length of that grey ribbon of tar reaching up to me from so far below was not a single solitary cyclist.

Leaning over the railing on the side of the national road between bouts of painful nausea, I consoled myself with two certainties: The first, that the coffee and the shade of the eucalyptus trees at the farm-stall are indeed very relaxing, and the second, that I am not in any way, the least bit competitive.

Ben Swanepoel 1/22/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/22/16

Low Tech?

Some thoughts on low tech travelling

Some thoughts and feedback on the "low tech" aspects of my 2015 Year end cycle - Paksan to Oudomxay.

CAMERA V PHOTOGRAPHIC EQUIPMENT

I only took my Olympus OM-EM1 mirrorless camera and a single fixed focus 34mm (full frame equivalent) lens. I really struggled with this decision, and was expecting to be often frustrated at not having a wider range. Normally, I would take a 24 – 90 zoom, as well as a 35mm, 50mm and maybe the 90mm primes.

I was so wrong.

I can only think of three occasions during the trip (video and stills) when I wished that I had a longer lens, that’s 8 days of traveling and shooting landscape, street, portrait, video, all the time. The freedom I discovered at NOT having a choice was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and my entire attitude towards filming and shooting along the route was light and uncomplicated. I never realised just how much pressure “choice” can actually exert on creativity, for me anyway.

I’ll still lug around all my cameras and lens with me when weight and space is not an issue, but in certain circumstances, where the journey or the moment is the most important focus, less is certainly a LOT more fun.

I shot 6 hours of awesome GOPRO action video at a useless 12fps because I didn’t check the settings before I left.

Smack!

SMART PHONE V STUPID PHONE

Before this trip, I bought the cheapest phone I could find and a new sim card to go with it, no camera, internet, Facebook, WhatsApp ….. oh it had a game loaded but I couldn’t figure out how it worked.

For the first day, I kept unlocking the screen to check for…..mm…..for…..well, that’s the thing, there was nothing to check? It felt quite quaint to use the “phone” function, something that had got lost and buried under whatsApp, WeChat, skype, facebook messenger, etc, etc, …….and SMS! Remember that?

Did I miss it at all?

Actually yes, I missed a lot of things, I missed having my music to listen to during the difficult times on the road, I missed having my photos to show and share with local people I met who were interested in my family and work, I missed checking my route on google maps A LOT, I missed the little bits of contact or sharing a trip photo with friends and family, I missed been able to ask people I know or Google for advice about the area, guest houses, best restaurants, symptoms of chest pain directly related to massive cardiac failure.

Was it a bad thing?

I don’t actually think so. I found out again that I have the same iTunes playlist of songs inside my head, but with superior earphones and that it’s also set to random, playing songs that I love one moment, and songs that I really am totally going to delete when I get the time, on the other. I had to describe people and places more than show, which made me think a bit more about the people I care about and focus more on the people doing the asking. I actually looked at my paper map and wrote down the names of the towns I would be passing through. I had to take my chances on whether or not the towns I passed through would have food, accommodation or shops and got surprised by some and disappointed by others.

But the major difference was that I wrote, actual real pen and paper writing. I wrote during coffee at breakfast and during a beer in the evening and before I went to sleep and once in the middle of the night. I wrote slowly and thoughtfully and at times and wildly and passionately sometimes near the end of a beer or two. I wrote on a plane, in a bus, on a tuk tuk, on a chair in a bed with a really sore head. You get the point.

After 8 days, without charging, the cell phone had only lost 25% of its charge……. now that is hilarious!

Facebook V Inside my own head?

Concerning Facebook, and here’s the thing, I realised again during the trip that only one half of the joy and fun and challenge that these trips or experiences bring me are for my own personal benefit, the other 50% is in sharing that experience with all of you. In some ways, it’s as if I have an obligation to scrounge through the garbage of reality to find the small precious or semi-precious stones that are always lurking there somewhere within every situation, usually under the wet fish, which is my attitude and then share them with you. So I probably will continue to share photos on Facebook and make out as if I am a hero, but maybe I need to add more whotos (word photos), wordscapes and pentraits along with the images…..but would anyone even bother to read beyond line 3? I usually stop reading after I see “click for more”

E-READER V BOOK

This is the one bit of technology I don’t mind defending. As many books as you like, crammed into a space the same size as an old square “Archie” comic, but lighter, with the ability to crank up the font size to granny mode without anyone even been aware of it and to top it all, a battery life that will outlast “The cruel sea”.

Win, win and win again.

Ben Swanepoel 1/20/16 Ben Swanepoel 1/20/16

2015 Year end cycle. - Paksan to Oudomxai (Laos)

My cycle trip up to the North of Laos from Paksan to Oudomxai during 2015 new year.

The Idea

So its December 26 2015 and I have decided to go on a nice week long end of year cycle trip up North. Never really seen these areas, so looking forward to some surprises along the way.
Also going to keep it "relatively" low teck on this trip for a change, no internet access phone, one single fixed focus lens, one battery, one memory card, ok...and an e reader.....and a GPS.

Not exactly NO tech, but definitely LOW tech by comparison.

Day 1 - 27 December 2015

Paksan to Namphaeng - 115 km, 650m accumulated elevation.

Pleasant relatively easy day along friendly roads, hot. The last time I travelled this section on my motorbike about 4 years ago, the tar sections were all dirt and the dirt sections all tar which points somewhat to the level of maintenance in relation to the construction of new roads.

I made an absolute rookie mistake of fitting the bike with a new saddle at the start of a long trip and struggled during the day to find the right settings. This mistake would cause me immense pain and suffering during the trip, almost causing me to pack it in altogether in the days to come.

Irrigated rice planting during the dry season on the way to Ban Thasi

Wooden suspension bridge provides access to a small village on the way to Namphaeng

Day 2 - 28 December 2015

Namphaeng to Phonsavan, 119 km distance, 1380m total accent

Poor saddle and wrong position wrecked my knee and gave me open blisters on the part of my body in contact with the saddle!. Not fun I can tell you. Both pairs of cycle shorts, vaseline and Nivia could not even prevent this. The day was a bit of a nightmare really, don't know how I managed to to get in, but I did. Grave concerns about continuing the next day, mainly due to my knee.

The route was ok, if a little dull with long hot climbs on wide tar road, not the best, but still great to be outside. Coming into Phonsavang I could see the mountains rising above the road in the direction i would be going the following day. Good diner at "Craters" the restaurant opposite the UXO (unexploded ordinance) headquarters in a town routed in the history of "the secret war"

Hmong girls dressed in traditional clothes for a local ceremony in their town.

Road side villages cling to ever eroding river banks.

Day 3 - 29 December 2015

Phonsavan to Ghot Lieng, Distance: 97.8 km, Total ascent: 1,714 m

Finally found the sweet spot with the saddle, and immediately felt the relief on my knee. As long i kept it in riding position it was fine, anything out of that arc was not. Sitting is still Agony.
Riding was good, loads of climbing and quite cold, with a low mist settling in towards the afternoon.

There was no guest house in the villages I passed, but a young guy offered for me to stay with him and his family for the night. They had just lost their father a month earlier and were still struggling to pick up the slack left by him. They did try to get me drunk on "Lao Hi" but only half succeeded.

Always a humbling experience to be saturated by the generosity and hospitality of people who can barley afford to care for their own needs. My personal motto in these situations:
"Rely on the kindness of strangers, but quietly leave double the normal guest house rate on the counter on your way out"

This guy insisted on showing me his "secret war" battles scars, and his papers of commendation for bravery.

Day 4 - 30 December 2015

Grot Lieng to Nam Nern, Distance: 42 km, Accent: 409 m

I know, I wimped out, but really, i just could not sit down without ccursing and i was worried about the sores getting septic. I decided to rest out the day after a short ride, mostly uphill, but with a welcome standup 18km downhill into the town of Nam Neum with its one brand new guest house.

The ride itself was really quite beautiful, wet and silently misty in the morning, men huddling around wood fires watching the woman work, the mist clearing as i dropped down towards the river. Small Hmong settlements, houses strung out like wooden beads clinging to the side of the road, life lived as much on the road as off.

After a breakfast that was not noodle soup, I slept for three hours solid before doing some washing and servicing the bike. Visited the chemist and stocked up on more plasters and vaseline.

Exhale.

early morning mist and rain high up in the mountains, just before the long downhill.

Day 5 - 31 December 2015

Nam Nern to Meung hein Distance: 67 km, Accent: 1,550 m

Fantastic ride today,hard work with lots of climbs but well managed, narrow winding roads and big vistas, ample reward for the climbing.

I left without breakfast to make an early start, and then struggled to find a village with someone prepared to make me something to eat. Ba-na-na! and crackers came to the rescue.
Thick mist forcing me to pack away the camera and haul out the rain jacket at times in the morning, but better than the searing heat and humidity of summer in these areas.

Arrived in Viengthong, the town of our (WCS) field office for the nam Et Paloy NPA. Its new years eve so most of the better restaurants are closed, but still found some good food at the bus station.

Quote of the day "Damn, this bum thing is a real pain in the ass"

Day 6 - 01 January 2016

Viengthong to Nong Khiaw

With only a limited number of days remaining I was forced to make up some distance by busing through from Maung hein to Nong Khiaw. This would give me a day to make it through to Oudomsay in time for my flight back to Vientiane.

Woke to a slightly slower Viengthong after their new years celebrations but did manage to find a decent breakfast spot. The bus only left at 12, so I rode around the town a bit and went to visit the NEPL PA office. The bus journey was a welcome change and hardly hurt at all.

We arrived in Nong Khiaw about 30 mins before sunset and was completely blown away by the dramatic beauty of the place, I just didn't expect it. I literally thew my gear into the first guest house I saw and raced around taking photos before the sun went down.

With so many restaurants to choose from I ended up having two dinners, steak at one, hamburger at the next. Damn! that felt better.

Day 7 - 02 January 2016

Nong Khiaw to Oudomsay, Distance: 114 km, Accent: 1,869 m

Got off to an early start in cool misty conditions. The first 30 km went quite fast, the dramatic scenery of the days before subsiding as we dropped down into the valley.

After the turnoff at Pak Moung, the road became wide, new, guttered and edged and ominously empty. A number of road construction stops later revealed the reason. I always managed to work my way past the string of cars, trucks and motorbikes to carry my bike over wet tar, duck under a swinging excavator arms or scramble through the bush at the side of the road.

The weather flipped from streamy to cold to rain throughout the day, the road climbing all the way till the last short blast into the city of Oudomxay. In actual fact, the trip really finished on the top of the mountain and it was with a vague sadness that I descended into the untidy, noisy outskirts of Oudomsay.

Day 8 - 03 January 2016

Oudomxay to Paksan

I had to run around looking for something I could use to make a box for my bike and eventually found a damp piece of cardboard. Was more tape than box, but it worked and got onto the flight back to Vientiane and survived the bus to Paksan.

All said, it was an amazing trip into areas of Lao I have never seen before. I loved the climbing again and the mountains and hill people. Definitely heading up that way again in the future

Probably the ugliest bike box I've made so far.

Short video of this trip