There is so much that happens before and during the Epic that I’ve taken a week or so to gather my thoughts. Here is my race report, as told from the perspective of a backmarker. This is my own personal opinion, and I have been on Bikehub for long enough to know that my will not share my views. I am one voice out of 1350 people that entered this year, and many more who have done many other Epics.
Last year was my first. I was subbed in six weeks prior, so I felt very underprepared and extremely nervous. I ended up finishing alone after my partner had to withdraw after Stage 2 (heat-related), so it was a tough solo journey. I knew I wanted to do it again. After watching the route launch last year, I was determined to ride this year’s Epic. It’s exactly what I believe the Epic should be: proper mountain biking on rough farm and jeep tracks where 4x4’s can barely ride, spiced up with long transition stages and a bit of playtime on trails here and there. If I have to pick between trails and farm or jeep tracks, I’ll pick the latter every time.
I got an entry in October, which is when proper training started… only to crash at Eselfontein and break two ribs. That setback meant about a month off the bike (and missing W2W). From December, training consisted of five rides a week, aiming for 10–14 hour weeks, starting at around 2,000m climbing per week and ramping up to no less than 3,000m. Pre-Epic races were Attakwas, Imbuko, and then a fun CTCT.
To set expectations: we had three goals as a team, in this order: finish, have fun and don’t start in the last batch (which I did most of last year… and it sucks to be honest). So I am by no means a racing snake, but more of a diesel engine. Endurance is my thing, not racing.
Prologue: Fun day. I enjoyed the new route on the farm and the support was great. We started early-ish (between 8am and 8.30am), so we missed the worst of the heat. Already there were several heatstroke casualties later in the day.
Stage 1: Tough, hard day, but very satisfying. The remoteness and scenery were mind-blowing. I honestly wish this stage could become a standalone race (someone pleeeeaaasseee make it happen). The only issue was long waiting periods at the first singletrack about 20km in. The level of technical skill in the back bunches is, in my opinion, generally quite poor. It got very hot later, which had me seriously worried (PTSD from Paarl Mountain last year), but I managed to get through it. Quite a few more people fell out due to heatstroke.
Stage 2: This day rivalled Stage 1 for scenery. Absolutely incredible. There were some very steep, sketchy descents, but overall an amazing route. The section through African Game Lodge was out of this world. I felt sorry for anyone not used to rugged terrain. This day could end your Epic quickly. Weather was near perfect, with even a quick 5-minute shower up Ouberg Pass to cool us down.
Stage 3: Wow, what a day. Perfect conditions for us late starters. Probably our best day of the week… but we burnt too many matches (as I would discover the next day).
Stage 4: Another pearler of a route, just a pity I had absolutely no legs. The UFO climb looks scarier on paper, and the descent was super fun.
Stage 5: What a privilege to ride from Greyton to Stellies without touching tar. What a stage. We got lucky with the weather again. The Oak Valley mud was bad but still rideable — unlike Lourensford last year. That said, I do think organisers should consider contingency routes for heavy clay sections. For backmarkers, the pace drops to walking speed and you can lose a lot of time quickly. On a 134km stage, I’m not sure there’s real value in forcing riders through unrideable mud if it can be avoided.
Stage 6: A steep start up Botmaskop with lots of traffic and walking, but from WP1 onwards, things opened up and it turned into a really fun day.
Stage 7: Still a tough final day and the tank was close to empty. But Jonkershoek is always a treat. I loved the route — except for that moment when they take you past the village and add another 15km… but that’s Epic.
What didn’t quite work from my perspective:
Cut-offs: They really need to fix the cut-off calculations. On at least two occasions, we reached a water point with less than 30 minutes to spare, yet still finished the stage well over an hour ahead of max stage time. On the Queen Stage, we were 1–2 hours ahead of WP cut-offs but only made the finish by a minute. That doesn’t make sense.
Water Points: Most stages were well planned — but the Queen Stage felt off. One WP3 only had Between official WP1 at Houwhoek (KM52) and Idiom (KM98) there was a very small WP which only had water, oranges, and date balls which was not sufficient at all, so basically the gap was between KM52 and KM98 which is a massive gap. I’m convinced some riders got cut because they ran out of fuel.
Suggestions for improving the amateur experience:
My main criticism after my first ACE last year was nobody tells the story of the amateurs, or backmarkers. Yes, I am biased because these are the people I have been riding with two years in a row, but I really believe this is the true story of the Epic. The race is not just about the pros, yet all the focus is on the pros. I kind of get it, but I think they are missing something (although I am sure they would say the race still sells out each year, so clearly there is still enough amateur interest, which I understand). Out of 675 teams that started the prologue, only 61 were elite (40 men, 21 women). That means ~614 amateur teams, so roughly a 10:1 ratio. Yet the media coverage ratio is basically 10:1 for the pros vs the amateur rider. Do more to celebrate the amateur riders at the evening dinner and prizegiving to make the race village feel more like it is the melting pot for amateurs (which it is, because all the pros either stay off-site or in a campervan, so the evening dinner I would argue is 99% amateurs who mostly care about their own race and not much about what is happening at the front…….or at least that’s my view and every amateur I met view). Have prizes for the last team to finish the stage, or oldest person to complete the stage, or tell a comeback story or have a daily “grit award” or whatever, but make it more engaging for the amateur rider AND tell their story on the various media channels.
Reward and recognise people for entering the race, even if they don't finish the race. On the race number bib thingy they currently show how many Epics you’ve finished, which is very cool. But why not also show how many you’ve started? Entering and starting this race is an achievement on its own.
Finishing a stage at the Epic is (for some stages) harder than almost any other single stage race, so also reward people with a medal for finishing each stage. Design a medal that has eight slots, and for each stage finished you get a unique medal with that stage number on, that slots into the bigger Cape Epic medal, so that by the time you finish the Grand Finale, you have a complete 8/8ths medal that you’ve built stage by stage.
The route this year was fantastic, but I really dont see the point in making the last 3km as hard as possible. Reward the person for getting to that point and make the last few kilometers a run into the finish (I know the organisers and pros will disagree with me on this one, so that’s fine). Also, please please please get the 10km and 5km to go boards correct. On three stages this year the actual route was two or three kilometers longer than advertised. It doesn’t sound like much, but a 140km day that becomes a 142km day, or a 87km day that becomes a 90km day really sucks.
Will I do it again? Yes, for sure. It is a huge challenge to overcome, but the camaraderie and humanity that you witness at the back of the field is what will make me do it again. To see people with prosthetic legs fighting to keep going is so inspiring. Or to ride with people in their 60s and 70s who have done more than ten Epics puts things into perspective if you are battling on any given day. Everyone at the back supports everyone else and want their fellow riders to make it. People stop to help if they see someone on the side of the trail or offer a quick joke or words of encouragement to cheer everyone up.
Right. That’s me.