I have been Mountain Biking for about three years having migrated from years of canoeing having suffered a bad back injury. Due to my injury and I guess my mental state I have avoided the competitive side of Mountain Biking, I have found myself taking enjoyment out of being able to ride more of the technical sections than most of the field ( I guess you could call this being competitive) but up until now I have not worried too much about my time or finishing position in a race. However, something changed on my ride on Saturday let me set the scene.. My son and I decided to do some training for the Sabie Experience and we rode early morning from my house to Groenkloof. The morning air was filled with fresh smells after the previous nights rain, the humus smell in the forest sections was particularly strong. The trails at Groenkloof are simply awesome after a bout of rain and we were really enjoying ourselves with the odd puddle or mud patch forcing us to change our lines from the normal, effectively creating what felt like a brand new route. When we reached Onion hill I was telling my son how it was a mere bump compared to Mamba switchbacks, I was extolling the virtues of a slow steady pace as it is well known that the Mamba strikes three times and then I saw him, my competitor... He was a about 50 meters ahead of us clearly at home in this environment, a sponsored athlete, sponsored by Shell nogal. He had a leopard skin motiff outfit ( not to be confused with the Cheetah that chased me at Klapperkop earlier this year). He was in great shape clearly eating more vegtables than protein not exactly lean but powerfully built, his leather beaten skin evidence of his many hours in the sun, this was his terrain he was the master I, was the intruder. Our eyes locked as he glanced backwards, his black eyes narrowed into slits, reptilian in appearance. With a curt nod of his head he laid down the challenge. "Go for it Dad, I'm on your six" yelled my son, I nodded back, challenge accepted. For those of you who don't know Onion hill it is about 1 km long and has a variable gradient of between 5 and 10% ( Mamba averages10%). We were about a third of the way up with my son lagging about 20m back I set off in pursuit, I knew that I had to be patient, if I set off to hard I might blow, game over. I set a steady pace but so did my competitor he had a steady rhythm, he knew what he was doing. The distance between us remained static I had to do something, I decided to change up a gear, the X0 gripshifts working a dream, smooth even under pressure. I could see the gap closing but I knew that I couldn't hold this pace all the way up the hill. My lungs were starting to com[plain, my legs burning but my mind was focussed. This was what I had been missing for the last 4 years, the competition, the heat of battle, win or lose I was back! A couple of 4x4 vehicles came up behind us but my son held them back and pointed towards our mortal combat, they held back, grins all over their faces as they decided to watch the spectacle unfold infront of them. I could almost sense the desperation in my competitor his backward glances were a dead give away. I knew I had him, all I had to do was maintain my pace, it was faster than his, but my legs... and suddenly I could feel my back. Ignore it I told myself, focus on the pace don't slack off. In an instant it was all over, my leathery skinned competitor suddenly veered off to rest in the shade of a thorn tree. I stopped to check if he was okay, I mean a win is a win but what is a contest without a competitor. He seemed fine, a bit embarrassed and withdrawn, in his shell so to speak. I could understand his pain, afterall if you compete it's about winning there is no other option. My son and I continued on our journey the 4x4's stopped to check on my competitor clearly this was something unique for them too. We stopped at the kiosk on our way out and chatted to the rangers who told us that this guy and his team mates are often spotted in the area especially on the wet trails, they seem to come out and train after the rain. They gave me his name, Stigmochelys Pardalis, must be a foreigner training for the Epic, maybe a Czech who knows. Anyway, do you guys think that this little episode justifies my signing up for Strava?
