THIS WEEK IN PRO CYCLING
The 'easiest' stage: a Cape Epic diary
A few locals from Barrydale, host of the finish of the fourth stage of the Absa Cape Epic, turned out to greet the riders slogging through the final kilometers of a long, hot day. The fans ran around in the nude, spraying each other with hoses in the sweltering South African afternoon. At least so I heard.
I didn’t even see them. By the time I rolled into Barrydale, I was so cross-eyed from the 121km journey that I could only picture myself stepping off of my bike. Not a fire, a free beer tent — and definitely not a gaggle of naked people — could sway me from that.
Before embarking on this Absa Cape Epic assignment I held unrealistic hopes of riding and covering the event simultaneously. Call it a pipe dream — I quickly saw that the Cape Epic leaves riders completely incapacitated after each stage. No amount of caffeine (or not-so-friendly encouragement from my editor) could have pried a race story out of me had I completed the monster 136km second stage from Uniondale to Oudtshoorn.
I like riding bikes as much as the next guy or girl, but I’m not insane. I chose to tackle one of the easier routes for my taste of the race.
In fact, I chose the easiest: the 121km fourth stage from Ladishorn to Barrydale. The race bible touted this stage as a rest day due to its fast, wide-open fire roads and paltry 1285 meters of combined climbing.
I also saw stage four as a chance to leave the stuffy media room for an afternoon. Like the Tour de France, the Absa Cape Epic finishes in a different town each day, meaning journalists and photographers are vagabonds, too, transferring from one media center to another. Unlike the Tour, the Epic houses its media in the libraries of middle schools, packed to the brim with wires and computers.
So it was a no-brainer to trade in the media vehicle for a mountain bike. Finding a rig was a different story. I came to South Africa two weeks ago toting a time-trial bike on which to race Ironman South Africa. I guessed that bike probably wouldn’t survive 75 miles of rocks and dirt.
Luckily, South African Swen Martin, a mainstay racer on the North American downhill scene, is at the Cape Epic working as a photographer, and offered up his 5-inch-travel Iron Horse. He and his wife, downhiller Anka Martin — who is racing the Cape Epic alongside American downhiller Kathy Pruitt — had spent the better part of a week shredding the trails around Knysna.
“You’ll probably have the heaviest bike out there today,” Martin told me before the race.
Sure, the bike was heavy duty — it needs to be to survive all that shreddin’ — and the tires were extremely fat. It wasn’t the weapon of choice for chasing wheels around on dirt roads all day, but if it would roll, I would take it.
I’m 6-foot-3, and Sven isn't, so I easily maxed out his seat post. My knees bobbed in front of me as I rolled out of the starting gate, and I apologized to my patellas and quadriceps in advance.
The organizers of the Cape Epic keep stage lengths in the 120-130km range (about 75-80 miles), and all stages begin with long stretches of paved or dirt roads. Speeds are high on these sections as more than 1000 riders separate into groups. At times the front groups hold the feeling of a road race — you can feel the testosterone in the air.
My pre-race game plan for the stage was simple: Lay off the gas. After all, as a partner-less rider, I had to start at the back of the entire field. I didn’t mind being lanterne rouge, and expected a long day full of photo-op stops, on-bike conversations and epic views.
That plan dissolved in a dense plume of dust as the group hit the first gravel sections. We were racing, after all, and the competitive bug instinctually bit me. Soon I sat locked and loaded on my borrowed ride, elbows out, kneecaps bobbing wildly, speeding past the masses. Having not raced close to 300km already, my fresh legs jumped with glee, and soon I was in the lead group, a stone’s throw from Thomas Frischknecht and Kashi Leuchs. The camera wasn’t coming out soon, and no one was talking. The entire group played the familiar road-race game: Chase the wheels, avoid the crashes (there were several) and hit the accelerator whenever necessary.
I passed by Greg Minnaar, South Africa’s downhill champ, who is riding his second Cape Epic in the mixed category.
“That’s not fair, Fred’s cheating with fresh legs!” he shouted after me.
“Beat it, Minnaar,” I thought. “Go ride your downhill bike.”
The dirt road slowly degraded into a jeep trail, and dotting the road were deep pockets of fine sand with the consistency of talcum power. Any wheel unlucky enough to pass over one of these land mines instantly lost traction or spun out, and rider after rider shot out of the group after encountering a badly placed sand pit.
This year, organizers opted to follow a more inland route than in previous years. The first stage left the sub-tropical ocean town of Knysna and finished in semi-arid Uniondale. Progressive stages have sent riders deeper into dry territory. Today’s stage started and ended in the desert.
Organizers also pushed the race’s date up a month to avoid the oncoming rainy season. March is late summer in South Africa, and the sun beats down from a cloudless sky as big as Texas. The road heats up early and by noon temperatures soar into the 90s.
I sneaked a few peeks up from my top tube as the group sped along the jeep trail. Treeless rocky mountains soared in the distance. Ratty, brown shrubs dotted the dusty valley floor. Visions of Albuquerque and Grand Junction sprung into my mind. That, and visions of me lying face down on the side of the road.
In my excitement to hold the pace, I had forgotten that I still had between five and six hours of riding on my plate for the day. The heavy bike creaked under my wobbly legs. My water bottles felt a bit light for the one-hour time check.
The front group was long gone when I decided to cool my jets. I took turns pulling with various pelotons of amateur riders, but always found myself yo-yoing off the back or dropping off entirely. My quadriceps began to burn. I looked at my clock — it wasn’t even 9 a.m. yet.
Minnaar and his partner rolled past. I stuck to the downhiller’s wheel, but it was no use. Turns out he can go uphill pretty quick, too.
By this time, the course had left the jeep trail behind, and we crunched along on successive hard rock climbs. Then the trail dropped back into the valley, and the powder returned. Only instead of appearing in isolated puffs, the deep sand filled long stretches of the double track. It was like riding in Fruita after a freak talcum-powder blizzard.
The bike did not like the loose stuff — the fat knobbies hovered over it, unable to cut a line. The weight flung the rear end around, or stopped the front wheel entirely. Soon I was riding through the bushes. A prickly thorn bush brought a halt to this nonsense, and I spent the next five minutes repairing a flat.
Easiest stage, my arse.
Of course the previous stages carried a combined 9000 meters of climbing. Still, many of the Cape Epic’s racers plugged away at stage four with god-like strength. Teams whizzed by me with ease, leaving me to eat dust.
I believe it was around kilometer 80 when my fuse finally blew — big time. My egg was not just cracked, it was frying under a merciless South African sun. My knees and quads were toast. My motivation was done, and I stopped for my photo ops. I will spare you the stream of expletives that bellowed from my mouth for the last 30km.
I crossed the line more than an hour down on the stage winners, Ralph Naf and Jose Hermida of Multivan-Merida. Good for them … all I wanted was a shower, some food and plenty of water.
So, with the easiest stage of the 2007 Absa Cape Epic under my belt, I can say with a straight face that I have absolutely no idea how anyone could ride eight days and stay sane.
But I suppose there are 1200 people who could prove me wrong.
