My race report... Enjoy... The yellow 'pain train' could be heard from afar, our off-road tyres humming with the intent of swarming bees in attack formation. The adverse weather conditions did little to unsettle our mettle, but rather it inspired the team to ride harder, pedal faster and keep our sub 6h30m goals alive. Some may ask why we chose to participate in a road race on mountain bikes? Well, why not? Our choice of weapon has nothing to do with ego, but rather validates our love for the trail – after all, this is where most of us met and where we spend most of our time. The biggest conundrum lay in whether to go the dual suspension or the hardtail route in terms of bike choice. For me the choice was obvious – my 9.6kg hardtail would serve me best, especially since the course offered a fair bit of climbing. On the day our arsenal comprised 8 dual suspension and 2 hardtail bikes with 80% of the team running 1x11 configurations. I decided to keep my regular trail drivetrain: a 34T front with 10-42T rear. This would pose a challenge on the down hills as spinning out was going to be inevitable but it was a risk I was willing to take. While the bulk of the team hail from Cape Town a few chaps made the commute down to Swellendam from Durban or Shark country as it’s often referred to – a strong bunch in their own right with engines that would later power our 'wattage cottage'. This contingent was made up of Andrew Cox (injured), Julian Bryant and Kevin Mackridge – rumour has it these men invented the Cape Epic. I **** you not. This would be the first time that most of us would meet face-to-face, but even so, the general banter and love for biking galvanised an almost instant bond between us. Stomachs filled with perfectly braaied chicken, sausage and roosterkoek, most of us went to sleep pretty early to recharge the batteries for the next day’s proceedings. It rained for most of the night. And it rained hard which had me picturing scenes from White Squall – I’ll admit I was pretty frightened as to what we'd see when we opened the door in the morning. Thankfully at around 3am the down pour abated, but we all knew we were in for a wet day in the saddle. Getting up in the morning is always the toughest part of the day. Amazingly the team needed little encouragement to rise and shovelled down our breakfasts (jungle oats, bananas and coffee was the order of the day), kitted up and performed whatever pre-race rituals were necessary. Our digs were located just 1.2km from the start and while this did give us some time to warm up, the drizzle quickly changed to hard rain. Ambling into the start shoots, the ‘nasty’ comments started from the road teams… ‘Who brings mountain bikes to a road race?’ ‘We do pal, and I assure you, we’re going to cane you later’ – I didn’t really say that but thinking it was a good enough retort for me. Distractions aside, we made our way to the start chute and set off to the sound of a man shouting ‘Go Go Go Go’… Literally 5 minutes later we experienced our first incident. Riaan somehow went over his bars, crashing to the ground in quite spectacular fashion, grazing his knees, lower legs and ego. He survived. After just 10km we started to chew up several road teams. I must admit, it was pretty cool and a great morale boost, seeing road teams almost 500m ahead look behind in fear of the thundering cacophony generated by our off-road tyres. Hier kom die geel trein! Tradouw pass loomed large – a 14 kilometre rollercoaster of ups and downs and lefts and rights that would pose the first real test for the heavier men in our team. As the lightest member in the squad (66kg) I moved to the front and tried to negotiate a steady pace, but that was soon short lived as screams from the bigger men indicated I’d better slow down. At this point there were riders everywhere and the team splintered into three groups. Somewhere in the chaos, Ubert our resident strong man and workhorse, punctured and had to bomb his rear tyre – this cost us over 10min, as well as what we’d later discover, the unofficial MTB win. (No hard feelings Ubert, we love you dude). Once our group re-gathered we rolled off again, this time the fast, sinuous descent gave our big boys a chance to shine with team members such as Ubert, Kevin and Julian hitting the downhill like men possessed. Ubert must have passed me at around 80kph, sitting on his top tube like Peter Sagan! It was a brilliant sight to behold but my 34T meant I’d have to pedal like a Guinea pig on a wheel to bring back the group – I’m sure my cadence was somewhere around 300rpm at times. To the delight of me and Riaan the pass soon flattened out and the pace started heating up. The rabble of teams swarming the road and general confusion in the bunch meant we’d lose Niel, Hermann, Jaco and Ubert in quick succession – Ubert was struggling with just over 1bar pressure in his rear tyre so you can imagine the drag and resistance. Speaking to our General, Rob Kitching, the decision was made to up the ante and continue to the first compulsory stop with 6 men, with the hope of one or two of our Rawson stragglers making it to the stop before we set out again. To our delight Jaco and Ubert rocked up just a few minutes behind us. We were back to 8 men and feeling confident but our sub-6h30m ambitions looked bleak as it had taken us 3h52m to reach this point. After refuelling the decision was made to put down the hammer and smash the segment to compulsory stop 2. This was our first real taste of the wattage cottage as Henk Blom started to pull on the front of our yellow train. We reeled-in road team after road team on this stretch and passed other MTB teams like they were standing still - laying down the pain and hurt to anyone brave enough to rent space in our cottage. This isn’t a free ride people, you need to pay rent or get out. We all took turns on the front dropping watt bomb after watt bomb, each of us working well together, ensuring our humming off-road concerto tortured the ears of the teams in front. Pulling into the second compulsory stop our two team managers, Morne Veer and Andrew Cox, looked somewhat perplexed. We’d smoked the 40km segment at an average speed of 37kph, this despite the powerful headwind. Most of our men were foaming at the mouth – I’m not sure if this was due to our will to keep mashing pedals or if some of the guys were bitten by rabid dassies out on the route? Either way, we were looking focussed and ready for the final slog to the finish line. Our chief adversaries, Team Gemini, also a mountain bike team, had passed us back in Montagu but we’d made up so much time they were only around a minute ahead. We quickly refuelled and set off once again – this time before Gemini and hoped this bold move would shake their morale and cause a bit of panic within their ranks. The team orders were simple. Push hard, drop more watt bombs, find a group of equal ability to save some energy and latch onto Gemini when or if they caught us. It was during the final 45km to the finish where most of the team began experiencing some sort of fatigue. For those that don’t know – after 170km your legs feel like lead and you pretty much develop symptoms not too dissimilar to that of the Ebola virus. It’s not a nice feeling at all. A couple of long climbs had our lighter men hit the front, blasting the inclines in an attempt to kick-start some kind of resurgence from the heavier workhorses. It didn’t work. They weren’t having any of it… I glanced back to see if anybody was with me, but all I could focus on was the orange wave also known as team Gemini. They were closing the gap quickly and a few of us decided to drop the hammer in an attempt to hook their wheels when they eventually caught us. It took a lot longer for them to catch us than I’d originally thought – I guess they also burned a few too many matches chasing us. The Gemini Sea of orange is a special thing, I must admit - a very well-oiled, well-trained menacing peleton of skilled and unbelievably powerful riders. Names such as Neil Van Tonder, Michael Potton and Hentus Baard decorate many Strava leaderboards in the Durbanville Hills area, but this is Swellendam and right now none of that means anything, besides I’ve got a faster Tiekiedraai Strava time than any of them (hahahaha). Looking at their team members it was evident they were also very tired at this point. The final few rollers were consumed in a fiery yellow/orange wall of mountain bikes, ridden by men who share a common passion and love – the love of riding bikes and suffering in unison. Approaching the final 500m, Julian and I looked back and saw we still had all 8 of our men somewhat intact. We decided to launch a (meaningless) attack up the final climb to the finish. While I knew the orange army had defeated us, I still wanted to be the first mountain bike across the line and pushed with every bit of energy and power I had left in the legs. The burn was incredible, but the elation of seeing the finish line and hearing those people cheer and scream, made me dig a little deeper. In fact, every one of our Rawson members put in an effort on that climb – we’d done it. Despite our heavy mountain bikes and burly man-mountain frames (not me of course, I’m the runt of the litter) we defeated the 205km course. This is the Coronation Double Century. Our Rawson team rode like animals, each one of them. And even though we lost a few men out there on the battlefield, we finished strong, narrowly losing to our rivals in a time of 6h33m at an average speed of 31kph. What a great event, what a great team. Men I’d go to war with – I’ll be back next year.
