"A Series of Fortunate Events" (PT3)

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.

“A Series of Fortunate Events” (PT 1)

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.