Search the Community

In February 2021 I got to be part of small four-person team, led by race director Chris Fisher, that did a reconnaissance of the race route for the inaugural edition of the Freedom Circuit scheduled for April. This is that story. Words: Carlo Gonzaga Good photos: Llewellyn Loyd/Reblex Photography Bad photos: Riders “Kuphi isipaza? Kuphi isipaza!?” Warm greetings aside this will be the most often asked question of locals during the inaugural Freedom Circuit bike packing race scheduled for April 2021. This begs the question, ‘why do I need to know the whereabout of a shop for a bike race?’ The last 20 years has seen South African main-stream mountain biking culture grow up on a diet of multi-day stage races. These are world class events where a riders’ every need is catered for. I’ve seen inflatable swimming pools and pizza ovens in locations so remote I could barely get my bicycle there. Riding ranged from damn hard to easy, and almost always on well-maintained routes and tracks. Stage race fatigue birthed gravel riding events and its favourite tool, the gravel bike. These events are similarly well organised: manned waterpoints; 100% ridable routes and large fields. Great camaraderie and a real test of pure lower limb horsepower. Given the relatively fast riding speeds and numerous support stations, 100mile (160km) and 150mile (240km) events are within reach of average riders. The Freedom Circuit is none of these events. The Call I got the call from Chris Fisher in January asking me if I wanted to do a reconnaissance ride of the race route in February. My reply was simple – “count me in… for whatever”. I assumed this recce would be done at a leisurely pace and was a little surprised when I got a text message with the ride plan. Chris wanted to mimic the average riders experience and complete the longer 700km route in 100hours, 20 hours quicker than the five-day cut-off. He also wanted us to ride our bikes in race trim, with all our gear on board – clothing, power, bivvie, and food. When February rolled around the recce team had grown to include accomplished adventure racer Julia Fisher and veteran ultra-endurance cyclist, Mike Woolnough. My leisurely-pace ride had morphed into “I’ll be hanging-on-by-my-toe-nails-to-keep-up ride”. The objective was to lay down a perfect bicycle GPS route for use in the actual event in April; to explore some alternate routes; and to establish potential re-supply points for competitors in the actual race. If this picture doesn’t stir your soul, then you’re probably being shown this photo at your funeral. The Format At its core the Freedom Circuit is a self-supported event. There are two courses: a long course of 430miles (700km) and a shorter, 250mile (400km) course. Both have the same cut-off of five days (120hours). Riders will get a GPS route and have to stay on the route. So far so good. At this point the format diverges from the norm: while there are checkpoints where riders sign in, these points are not support stations as you may have come to know them. They will offer basic meals and rustic lodgings, but riders will need to pay for these just as if they were using commercial hotels or restaurants. Riders have to carry everything on them from the start. Clothing, water, food, and power. There is a list of mandatory gear designed mainly around safety and catering for the range of weather you’re sure to encounter. ‘GPS route’ you say? Don’t be fooled into thinking that you cannot get lost. I’ve seen many people utilise the wrong settings on their GPS and get woefully lost. I’ve also had a GPS fail on me 600km into a 1000km race. Bring a spare. The route traverses properly rural South Africa and you will only pass through two small towns – Underberg and Matatiele. You can choose to camp or use commercially available lodgings. The golden rule is that you may only use support that is available to all other riders. i.e., no outside or personalised support. Riders will be allowed to ride in pairs or small groups. Save for this localised concession the race is classified as self-supported. For the rest you’ll be left to fend for yourself using community taps to refill water; spaza shops to find coke and snacks; and the checkpoints for a more filling meal. “Kuphi isipaza?” You will thank me. Heart and soul For the purist bike-packer accustomed to Tour Divide-type rules, the localised differences may sound like anathema. I disagree - bike packing and self-supported style riding is about the spirit of adventure. It is about self-discovery. It is about putting oneself ‘out there’, opening yourself up to an experience that is potentially life changing. It is about reducing, for a few days, your life to the basic nomadic needs of eating, sleeping, and moving forward. There is an inner kid in you yearning to get muddy again. There is an inner 30-something wondering how to get out the office again. There is a wiser 45-year-old wanting to connect with herself again. That is what these types of events are about. The rules merely facilitate these journeys. On a 100 hour plan we got into CP2 at around 10:30 at night having ridden in the rain for four hours. A sense of humour is part of the mandatory equipment list. The terrain There’s an old phrase I enjoy repeating: “just as the spreadsheet is not the business, the map is not the terrain.” This rings true for the Freedom Circuit. It cannot be ridden on google earth. Trust me on this. You absolutely will push your bike. Sometimes for an hour at a time. When you see 14% on your GPS it’s likely the gradient and not your battery power. If you’re new to a GPS this is generally bad news. You will cross so may rivers you will need to start counting on your toes. Your belly button may even get wet. Mine did. When you finish the long course, you will have climbed the equivalent of Kilimanjaro two-and-a half- times (13’000m or 43000ft). Just under twice for the short course. Race director, Chris Fisher walking the talk. He wanted to ensure that he experienced the route as riders would and he rode every single (and then some) mile. The route covers iconic sections of the region. Names that when uttered at a local bar are sure to get you a free drink and a front seat on which to tell your stories. When your children hear these stories they will be reminded how you were their first hero. And still are. Traversing “The Vuvu Valley” you will track the Tina river on the valley floor for some 9km. Like the road of bones in eastern Russia the tracks on this valley floor are filled with a small piece of every rider that has ever come through here. I can barely type the words without getting a lump in my throat. Food at Mrs Kibi’s house. The most delicious potatoes I’ve had in some time. Once you’ve refuelled at Mrs Kibi’s house, you will wet your feet in the “Tinana” river. Thirty minutes later you will have carried your bike through what appears to be the eye of a rock needle. You will need to take photos as no-one will believe you. At “Black Fountain” you will follow the scars of cattle tracks that descend for 13km before you, once again, hoist your bike on your shoulders to scale the nasty ascent of “Koebung”. At this point you will curse the race director. If you don’t, you should. You will pass “Mariazell Mission” and negotiate the spectacular uphill single track of “Stations of the Cross” that draws you up as if on a ski lift. Julia Fisher crossing the Tinana. In case you’re wondering, Julia is not especially short. It’s the water that is deep. Yes, they are related. The blue skies, green hills and red wattle drag strips of the “Mpharane Ridge” will fill the reservoir of your soul. You will silently apologise for having said such nasty things about the race director earlier. You will follow ancient paths that join the “Three Villages of Queen Mercy”. Route directions pre-GPS included gems like “turn left at the outdoor bathtub after the blue house”. Tubs break and houses get painted. You’ll tip you helmet to Mr Rattray as you traverse Pleasantview Farm on the access road to the magnificent section through “Politique Kraal.” Here, your odometer will click through 600km and your altimeter will reflect over 10’000 metres ascent. If you pass here in the dead of night you should take a moment, turn off your light, gaze upwards, and reflect in wonderment on your journey. Not just this one. You will meet Mr Dalu Ncgobo who “sleeps with one eye open” at “Ntsikeni Lodge” waiting for riders to arrive. You simply being there keeps him and the lodge alive for yet another season. You will have stories. Stories that can only be earned, never bought. Some advice Having done this route in 100 hours I can tell you: It. Is. Hard. You will be broken at some point. You will wonder “why?”. If you want to avoid riding at night and get a good night’s sleep, do the 250-mile (400km) course. Doing the 430-mile route (700km) will force you into forgoing sleep, riding at night and having to, in Mike’s words, get a “wiggle on”. Community water taps will be your friend. This one is at the top of Black Fountain. Please don’t use a gravel bike. Even if you’re a masochist. Lower your expectations when it comes to amenities. Don’t be a ‘tjop’ (colloquial for idiot) just because you’re paying for something. After all, this is rural South Africa where every person you see likely lives off less than $1 a day. You won’t even have electricity at some of the re-supply points. One of them is a fully functioning school. Others are the actual houses of rural South African folk. Be nice and people will return the smile and be helpful. The trail and its people that eke out a living are sensitised to riders and ensure our safety. Don’t ruin that for future adventurers. A typical spaza shop. This one had frozen ice lollies which we jammed into camelbaks to cool the water! You’ll find cokes, crisps and perhaps some peanuts & bread. They don’t typically adhere to nutritional guidelines. Be focussed, but don’t miss the important stuff on the side of the track. Carry spares. There is definitely nothing resembling a bike shop on this route. Be self- sufficient. Spaza shops may not be open. Cokes may be warm. Taps may be dry. Rain may ruin a previously ridable road. You may not have cell signal. TIA (this is Africa). Early morning departures will be required whether you are doing the short or long course. Why Larry, why? When I recount stories like this I am, at some point, inevitably met with silence, followed by a hushed “but why do that?”. The question is fair, the answer complicated and highly personalised. I imagine my life as a canvas and each experience a dot on it. Some dots are larger, representing a greater influence on my life. Having children. Finding a soul mate. When I was younger these dots appeared disconnected. As I’ve got older, I understand that the dots are in fact joined. It is my job to ensure I place new dots on my life’s canvas. I want dots that are both large and spaced further apart from the existing dots. This broadens the canvas of my life and ensures I influence my future with positive, large dots. I ‘hit the wall’, on the base of the climb through Pleasantview farm. I could pedal no more. I had to stop, take a few minutes, and renegotiate a new deal with myself. I needed to remind myself about the ‘why’. Having completed a few of these events in the last two years I am reminded that my happiness no longer comes from things, but from doing things. I am reminded how much more, less, is. I am reminded that my happiness doesn’t exist somewhere in the future but comes from my past. Last, I am reminded that I am solely the author of my happiness. This, is freedom. [PS: Mike and I paid our own way. We have entered the 700km race in April. If we said anything nice about Chris or his race its not because he paid us. Onward!] There are only two formal grocery stores on route - Matat and Underberg. The latter is 34km into the race so not too usefull. Matat has a Steers. I ordered a few hamburgers there on Tuesday at 9am. I ate the last of those hamburgers on Wednesday at 4pm. Mike Woolnough posting his ascerbic updates on one of the whatsapp groups during our ride. A great travelling companion that rarely gets his feathers ruffled. Mrs Kibi's house is at Tinana. This is one of the CP's in the race. Mike Julia and Chris keeping the wall up. Food in these parts of the world is always seems to be just what your body wanted. There are no service points or "technical zones" on this route. You had better make sure you have lube for 700km and that you carry enough spares. We didn't have one puncture between us but had a couple of shoe issues. Bring cable ties and duct tape. Some of the rocky descents will shake your teeth loose. Change your brake pads before hand. You will use your stoppers regulalry. Have a camera handy. Stop and take photos. You will want to show folks sitting in their armchairs what you've accomplished. Make sure you smile. If you're not feeling it, fake it. Grumpy is on the 'leave-at-home' list.

Alex Harris fought through high temperatures and sleep deprivation to ultimately break the Race Across South Africa (RASA) record when he crossed the finish line in Wellington yesterday. Click here to view the article

Munga musings from a novice Part 1 of [unsure] Part 2 on post #33 (page 3) Part 3 on post #56 (page 4) The Race on post 121 (page 8) “Men Wanted for hazardous journey, small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful, honor and recognition in case of success.” Supposedly the text of a recruitment ad placed by Ernst Shackleton when assembling his team for his 1914 South Pole expedition. Those were the days when ships were made from wood and men from steel…and sheep had no reason to be scared. There is a likeness to The Munga. While not months of pain (the world does move faster in the 2000’s) the journey does appear to have its unfair share of hazards – corrugations like the waves of the south seas; enough dirt to fill that big hole in Kimberley; and wind. Not just any wind – this wind is apparently from hell itself. Hot and filled with vengeance it follows you around threatening to boil something. A little like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Last year it rained - in the Karoo. The days get over 50 degrees (not Fahrenheit, the other one) and when all you’ve got is a postage stamp sized buff even the Karoo gets cold at night. You are not assured of finishing: attrition rates are probably the highest of any race on the continent. In the 2016 edition the wind claimed the scalps of twenty percent of the field. Within 100km’s – that’s the first 100km’s. Terrifying stuff really. And, if you finish, you won’t find yourself arriving to thunderous applause from crowds on the grandstand. Nor to a refreshing Woolies branded soft drink and a nice cold towel. Instead, you’ll most likely only be greeted by a chap called Alex, standing next to his bakkie, who absolutely will clap you in. Oh, and you get a medal. If you happen to be the first soul that Alex claps in, you also get a piece of railway line as a trophy. “So, what made you enter?” This is normally asked with a side order of sarcasm and a hint of a chuckle. My response of late has simply been that I’m having a mid-life crisis. People chuckle some more, nod in agreement, and lower my perceived IQ a few points. My pedals stopped turning in anger in March 2010 roughly at the same time I crossed the finish line of my first and last Cape Epic mountain bike race. To be clear, I never raced, I participated. Role forward eight years and I had just clicked the pay button on internet banking – reference “MungaEntryFee”. At that point the longest I’d ridden my bike in one go was about 120km – which I’m sure was one of the stages in the Epic or the Cape Pioneer. I’d certainly never found a need to mount a light onto my bicycle, preferring sunlight to light my way. I’d certainly never had bags of clothing on my bike – the only time clothing has been on my bike was when I hung some over it to dry. Roll forward to October and it’s a little under two months to go until the sun is directly overhead in Bloemfontein and Alex Harris pats us on the bum and gives us all sorts of good wishes, knowing full well that wishes don’t convert into watts. By that point I will probably have done about 5600km in nine months of training. For some perspective, for the three months of December, January and February I totalled 48,5km. Like a good South African politician, a little knowledge can get you far. But a lot of knowledge can just make you **** yourself. To paraphrase US General Rumsfeld (he of Weapons of Mass Destruction fame): “there are known knowns, but there are also unknown unknowns”. As a newbie to endurance cycling and a Munga first timer I can say with a fair amount of precision that I don’t know what I don’t know, and the more I know what I don’t know the more I *** myself. The format The instructions appear easy to follow: be at the start in Bloemfontein for a 12pm start on a Wednesday late in November. Meet you at the finish in the Cape, hopefully before 12pm Monday, but definitely within 1100km. Make sure your phone is charged and you have at least 2.5 litres of water and a space blanket. You are also required to have a light “at the start” of the race. This implies no-one really cares if you do or don’t have it at the end or whether you like riding in the darkness or not. You should have a GPS as the route is not marked, and you must attach the tracking device you are given to yourself. Very importantly, you must check into, and ideally out of, five specific locations on route. If you do the math that puts these checkpoints about 200km apart, give or take of few kilometres. At 15km/h that’s thirteen plus hours of riding in addition to a few rest stops. There are other places to obtain water on route, but that’s about it. There are no stages. No breaks. 1100km, one-time-shoe-shine. And that’s the beauty (I think) of this race. You are treated like an adult. You decide when you stop, whether you sleep or not and whether you give up or not. Do not mistake these checkpoints for a ‘softening’ of the difficulty of the race. You see, at these points you will be beckoned by the alluring call of a warm shower, a spot to get horizontal and some home cooked food. You could even charge your phone and have a swim. There may or may not be a bike mechanic around to help you locate your sense of humour along with your missing seat clamp bolt, for example. These all appear like ‘amenities’ but instead they are designed with a Machiavellian sense of humour by Alex to test your fortitude to continue. Your willpower to continue will be tested five times. Each time you will have to consciously leave the comfort of the checkpoint and exchange it for the pain and discomfort of the next 24 hours of riding. Did I mention five times? Getting from ALPHA to ZULU Unlike Alice in Wonderlands’ yellow brick road the Munga road from the centre of South Africa to the Cape is littered with the aspirations and disappointments of those that started but did not get that final hand clap within the 120-hour time limit. No doubt many of these folks prepared damn hard. There is also no doubt that some didn’t get past having a little knowledge and thought they had it waxed. It appears The Munga does not suffer fools lightly. Through an abundance of luck, I have ended up meeting and riding with several past participants of The Munga. In these few posts I will endeavour to share what I’ve learnt from them to date and pay it forward, so to speak. I also hope to record my own mid-life crisis ramblings so when I’m old and senile my grandchildren will find evidence of my claims of accomplishing the impossible. How hard is hard? Unless you’re Julia Roberts this is the wrong question to ask about The Munga. On the face of it – just using the stats - The Munga looks eminently doable: 1100km. At about 7700m ascent and 9200m descent one could argue its actually downhill. You have 120 hours to do it in. You would not be laughed at if you were left with a quizzical look on your face wondering what all the fuss was about. And therein lies the genius of the course and its founder Alex Harris. Alex has done some hard stuff. Summited the highest mountain on each continent. Led expeditions up both sides of Everest. Walked across the south pole - dragging a 250kg sled. He can also cycle a bit, bagging some medals when he decided to try indoor track cycling and broke the record for the Freedom Challenge. Raced the Tour Divide three times – with his best being an average of 300km a day for 14 days – in a row! The latter is a 4400km race from Canada to Mexico, across some very big mountains. Context matters: If you ask an Australian about cold weather you should not take them seriously – if however, they tell you it’s going to be hot you should listen closely. Similarly, if Alex says it’s hard you should probably start taking notes. To get back to Julia’s question - consider this: in the last two years the winner averaged less than 20km/h moving average. In 2016, the top 10 averaged 17,5km/h. Those are not the speeds you’d expect from a ‘downhill’ route. Clearly, the stats don’t tell the whole story. Truth is, I haven’t figured out what makes it hard. It appears to be an alchemy of road surface, heat, wind, and lack of support that produces something harder than the sum of its individual difficulties. If you talk to Alex he knows what that alchemy produces – but he won’t tell you. Like Golum and those damned rings you will have to chase 1100km down the road to find the answer. I think Alex has figured out through his own experiences that the there is no measure for hardness of the human spirit and this is what I believe he is trying to capture. It is not about whether the Munga is longer; has more climbing; or has more or less support than other races. It is whether you can do it. Everyone I have spoken to from top 3 finishers to ‘just made the 120hour cut off’ don’t talk about their time. To a person they all say the Munga medal is the one they’re most proud of. To a person they say that the experience changed them. And to a person they all left physically broken. I am reminded of the Starbucks (the coffee sponsor for this event) mission statement – “to inspire and nurture the human spirit”. The greatest human endeavours arise from inspired moments and The Munga has all the promise to be one of those moments. (Part 2 is on page 3 - post #33 - further down) (Part 3 is on page 4 - post #56 - further down) Mzansi - 18 October 2018 Not the typical steed for this event: 3” wide black stuff and enough travel to earn you voyager miles. It's like riding my lounge suite and my rear end thanks me continuously. With all the equipment choices this is the slimmest you’ll see her… more on that in a following post. In addition to the main event, Alex arranges eight 'Mini Mungas' during the year. These range from six to twelve hour long rides with fellow participants. It's a great way to increase your options from 20 to 200 and contributes greatly to the move from knowing nothing to knowing enough to *** in your chamois. This was the longest ride I'd ever done. After that only had to figure out how to do that seven times in a row by race day. As part of my mid life crisis I also converted to a low-carb lifestyle in January and fully plan to do the Munga with next-to-no carbs. Just to make it harder, you see. Some stories on how riding without the red ambulance (coke) in a future post. One chap I heard about got such severe saddle sores that he was on antibiotics for a month after the race. That's like losing a limb. If you've never had cause to ask how to lube your arse I suspect that, like me, you've never ridden long enough. The ingredients below are part of a very special recipe, the source of which I cannot disclose, nor the ratios of mixing.

Friday 5th June, the first batch of riders set out from Pietermaritzburg, some seeking the coveted blanket that comes as the prize for completing the arduous 2,200km Race Across South Africa from Pietermaritzburg to Wellington, while others will be attempting the shorter 500km Race to Rhodes. Click here to view the article

Need some Hub help please. Got 2 guys & 2 bikes that need to get from Durban airport to PMB on Sunday for start of Freedom Challenge on Monday. Any helpers / ideas?