A Tale of Two Cities. If any visitors to Cape Town missed the brief on how capricious coastal weather can be, Sunday provided a master class. Rolling out for #33 in 1C, it was clear and warm (Captain Conservative had a rain jacket in his pocket anyway, more on this later). Through-and-off on the front to make sure to be clear of the numpties down hospital bend - tick. Ditto for Paradise Motors, which nobody ever mentions, but generates new levels of pucker every year. And then, the 1D cats started streaming through, on a mission. Lots of them. Engage Plan B - use Edinburgh Drive to roll backwards, and crest in comfort to let the numpties go mad onto the Blue Route. Success, except the other half of 1D had other plans. Puckergland cramping by the time we slowed down to a simply dangerous speed. Why the hell do people ride this badly? Do we need to ask Zwift to run PSAs? What is there to gain getting to the front, from the back, through the middle on a 70km/h descent? *slides reading glasses back up nose and mutters into cocoa. Plan B: Hang off the back of the sh*tshow, with time to react. I wasn't the only sensible one, and we tutted to each other as 1C/D caught what turned out to be 1A/B around Millers. By now, the 'group' was monstrous. That we managed to get past the Guardian Angel cop car protecting the fallen Vets riders without adding to the melee was a miracle. Man, I never want to see that again. Onwards, down to Scarbs (who was the stunned rider sitting on the wrong side of the hay bales), through Misty Cliffs - how big were those waves? - and then the battle to regain some groups after ABCD split to shreds on Ocean View. The price of safety is missing these splits, but finishing in one piece feels kinda worth it. Been there, done that. Etc. Chappies was a blast. Suikerbossie was a blast - the kidlets were at the bottom with a big banner for dad, who didn't slow down but managed a wave. The descent to Camps Bay was fast and furious, the first full-gas efforts of the day hanging on to some uber-keen (and Uber-speed) H and J riders. Knick's Folly out of Camps Bay was a swine, as ever, but not nearly as bad as when we used to finish at the top of it. Clifton blurred, and with the main H bunch looming behind, a final 'attack' to hit the St Johns Helter Skelter first brought the 430am oats up one last time. And then, the finish, where I broke the self-imposed electronica blackout to see a glorious 2h58:58 - first sub3 since 2007, and definitely one for the wisdom of age rather than the power of youth. Big Yay. NOTE: zero commentary on individual good riders/bad riders/idiots (although I may have been the nominal gravel bike idiot in our group, spinning the 42-11 out everywhere). Because, to be honest, if you are tilting at the sub3 from the front groups, we all ride like idiots. Fight club, on wheels. Three hours of totally out-of-character aggression, swearing, bumping, pushing, not a smile in sight. PART II The above note is why, against government orders, I ride the second lap. Sharing the CTCT with thousands of people who should be hating the day, hating their bikes, hating their bums, hating the weather, hating their life choices. But they don't. The start up Nelson Mandela Boulevard was a tad lonely - KOM-Nicker Ross and I riding silently into the growing headwind, wondering if this was a good idea. By Wynberg Hill, we got into the back of the bunches (this is a loose term), so at least there was some company. Already, the day seemed to be proving long, but happiness prevailed. E-BIKE NOTE: I must have seen half the e-bike field on the second lap, and I saw no arseholedness at all, either from the e-bikers, or the regular pedal pushers. Happy harmony. Maybe these were the guys and girls who hadn't chipped their steeds (2h48 by an 80-year-old smacks of some dishonesty, doesn't it), and were equally shoulder-chip-less. Healthy banter, nothing more. The e-bikes were the least of the worries, if we want to finger a group for disorderly riding... the lack of experience and bike handling skills is unsurprisingly low, but this is what makes this bike race great. We can all give it a crack. The Second Lap Savages slid past the Jubilee Square feed station - the only one I found solid munchies of any form on the route, in the form of naked cream crackers. Instant parrot-cage mouth. Regrets, I've had a few... so I hoofed it after them to say hallo, and then returned to the solo mission. You guys are too nauseatingly happy, sometimes a bit of misery is called for. And was it on the way... a few drops on Smits, grey verging on dark in scars... where had summer gone? Where had the morning's summer gone? Chappies II was reminiscent of 1987. Raindrops the size of watermelons, and a ten-degree drop in temperature were not on the forecast, but Captain Conservative had his rain jacket, so he was warm. Finally found some food, in the form of a giant choc-chip cookie and the best espresso in Hout Bay at Dario's. Finished the cookie just before the top of Suikerbossie - Gaimon is onto something - and rolled into the finish with yet more happy faces in spite of winds that were now rivalling last year's. Gratefully grab a second medal (against the rules, I know), because bringing home one medal for two toddlers makes the second lap even more worth it. Some would say necessary. Happy, happy, happy. That is what this event is about, not us wanna-be pros. The second lap is the BEST thing any one frightening 3 hours can do - it takes you back to why you started this cycling lark in the first place. Thank you, CTCT, for letting us do it (and for Sparkie for letting us mess up his timing system). 17km home to Plumstead into that headwind; about those life choices. 33rd Tour done (the second lap doesn't count as 34. Dammit. 256km for the day, 4600 calories burned, happy chappie. Best. Day. Ever. Every. Year.
