Trans Baviaans 2013

At 10 o'clock on a cold, windy morning in the sleepy hollow of Willowmore, one of the highlights on the South African mountain biking calendar gets underway - the Trans Baviaans. For The Night Time Ninjas, the race begins several months before, and I'm not talking about competing with other teams, I'm talking about the intra-team competition.

Trans Baviaans #10

The objective is to give the impression that you are the weakest link in the three man team, while doing everything in your power to ensure that you aren't. The only rule is "There are no rules". Anything goes - secret training, strategic alliances, double crossing, faked illnesses, false rumours, doctored Strava uploads. It's a mental game that has you secretly spying on teammates' training progress, inflating body fat percentages, and doing some extra training on the rollers in the garage where no one can see. Come the race weekend all that changes - the gloves come off, the secrets are spilled and you talk up your game to convince your teammates that you are in peak form, finely tuned and ready to race. In a three man team you don't have to be the fastest, but you certainly don't want to be the slowest.

Red sky at night?

Part of my pre-race psychological warfare arsenal is to book our accommodation in the Willowmore Primary School hostel. Apart from being convenient and central, it has several characteristics that tend to get to Old Man John. There is seldom hot water, and for a shower addict this is apparently quite a problem. The mattresses are thin, the pasta meal is oily and stodgy, the wooden floors are noisy, the rooms are cold, the toilets clog frequently, and there is always at least one team that has to wake up at 5 in the morning and walk around making a noise like a herd of Nguni cattle.

No one reads these

Captain Craig added to the warfare by suggesting that we ride in the now infamous HotChillee Epic kit. While both he and I like the tight fit, OMJ has a serious aversion to anything that a rugby prop forward can't fit into. Even having a new bike didn't prevent additional attacks on OMJ - it might be new, it might be light, and it might be a 29er (finally), but it was a Silverback. Amazingly, OMJ took this all in his stride. Perhaps he had made peace with his place in the team, or perhaps he had a bigger plan.

Trial run fitting into the tight top

OMJ still thinking we were pulling a prank on him

The Night Time Ninjas rolled into the start chute with 10 minutes to spare, quietly confident that we'd have a good ride, and secretly hoping to improve on last year's 6th place. For a long 10 minutes we sat in the cold wind and watched the rain approach as we listened to a local rendition of the National Anthem before we were unleashed for the 10th edition of the Trans Baviaans.

OMJ showing off the latest fashions. Someone please call StyleMan

I could watch OMJ trying to get his knee warmers equal for hours

As usual, the first hour is like a road race - it's hard and fast, with the bunch doing its best to whittle out the free loaders and wheel suckers. Forget about saving heart beats and keeping the legs fresh, if you want to reap the benefits of riding in the lead bunch later on you've got to do whatever it takes to make sure you don't get dropped, while keeping an eye on your teammates to make sure they are showing the same commitment. With 80kms done, things were looking good - there was a select bunch moving along at a decent pace with a very welcome tailwind making life rather easy. Checkpoint 2 was approaching, and shortly thereafter the hills would begin. The sense of calm that hung over the bunch was shattered when Captain Craig called me over and mumbled about something being broken. A quick scan of the scene didn't reveal much - he was in one piece, and from what I could see, so was his bike (to be fair, his bike is always in a state of brokenness, but nothing seemed exceptionally bad). It was when he hit a slight bump in the road and his rear wheel bounced a foot to the left that I realised what he had said - his frame was broken. The irony was that I'd broken the same make of frame a year previously in exactly the same place, except mine had been a slight crack, compared to the clean break that was staring up at Captain Craig.

The last known photo of Captain Craig and his working bike

Too many pies?

Briefly, for 5 seconds, my heart sank. Our dreams of a podium were as broken as Captain Craig's bike. With that realisation, it was time to make a decision. Much like the Navy SEALs, and as much as we like to mess with each other, The Night Time Ninjas obey the unwritten code of "Leave no man behind". Despite his protestations for us to stay in the lead bunch, OMJ and myself dropped off the pace to nurse Captain Craig to the next checkpoint. Perhaps we could salvage our race once we got there. Maybe we could repair the break, or find a spare bicycle. Upon reaching the checkpoint we quickly realised that his bike was beyond repair, and it probably wouldn't last another 5kms. Our only hope was to find a spare bike. While the checkpoint offered coke, marsh mellows and friendly conversation, spare bikes were in short supply. OMJ gallantly offered up his bike but Captain Craig refused. I'm not sure if it was because he'd accepted his fate, or because he didn't want to ride a Silverback, but after a prolonged goodbye, only two thirds of The Night Time Ninjas left the checkpoint, not knowing if we'd ever ride together again.

You'd think after all these years OMJ would look a little more racier

We were now officially unofficial finishers, our race was over, along with our aspirations of a good result. The only thing keeping us going was that this was my 10th Trans Baviaans, and that I had to finish before 10am on Sunday to remain in the small group of 3 riders who have finished all the Trans Baviaans events to date. We plodded along like a car running on 3 cylinders, tapping out a good tempo, but lacking the raciness that we usually exhibit. We were catching the back markers of the lead bunch, and while we weren't really racing them, it did feel good to move back up through the field. After leaving Checkpoint 2 in unofficial 18th place, we arrived at Checkpoint 4 in unofficial 10th place which only reinforced our feelings of what could have been.

I know he secretly likes the hostel

With OMJ doing his first Baviaans on a hardtail 29er, and Captain Craig making friends with the officials at Checkpoint 2, the responsibility fell to me to pick the lines down Combrink's Pass. Having spent 6 years following my teammates, the sudden responsibility lead to some rather interesting decisions, the more interesting of which would get a running commentary from OMJ behind. Somewhere down the pass I hit something and lost some air in my rear tyre. An on-the-go inspection seemed to indicate that the tyre was ok, and that it was holding air. It just wasn't holding as much air as I would have liked. With renewed determination to get to the checkpoint at Kondomo to sort out the wheel, the Surviving Night Time Ninjas put their heads down and rode like the wind. The 17 different weather websites that I'd frequented in the days leading up to Trans Baviaans had all promised a westerly to south westerly gale which would be a tail wind for most of the ride, so you can imagine our surprise when we found ourselves battling a nasty headwind for the 20kms leading into Kondomo.

Wind. Lots of wind.

As I filled my tyre with air, OMJ filled his belly with whatever he could find - coffee, oranges, banana bread, and jelly babies, all washed down by several swigs of water. We said goodbye to our ever faithful backup and hit the road, having slipped from unofficial 10th to unofficial 13th place. The short stretch of tar was a welcome relief, and my roadie roots came to the fore, towing OMJ to the foot of the Never Ender - a long, gentle climb that acts like a slow poison, slowly wearing you down bit by bit, till you long to be put out of your misery.

Our backup, passing the time taking self portraits

I am the holder of a rather dubious record at Trans Baviaans - I have ejected my stomach contents on 3 different climbs, in 3 successive years. This year I was hoping that I could finally break my run of gastric elimination. With two climbs to go, all signs were looking good, I'd been careful in what I'd eaten and my stomach felt settled. As we made our way up the Never Ender I was once again getting abuse from OMJ regarding my choice of line, the hardtail 29er doing his tender bum no favours. Trying my best to limit the grumpiness, I was picking smooth manicured lines up the climb when I heard a massive grumble from behind. Thinking I was in trouble again, I looked over my shoulder only to see OMJ saying goodbye to the remainder of his snacks from the previous checkpoint as they exited via his mouth. While I know how awful it feels to be in that situation, I couldn't have been happier that it wasn't me.

Pre race nerves catching up with me

I also have to blame OMJ for what happened next. Because of his dramatic emergency stomach purge, I was a little hesitant to fall victim to the same fate, and neglected to eat. As a result, I briefly had a bad patch where my legs deserted me and I was pedalling in squares. Thankfully, this was quickly remedied with some Dutch mini Stroopwafles - the legs came back with the top of the Never Ender in sight and the Depleted Night Time Ninjas were back on track to make the final checkpoint before sunset.

As we rolled into Checkpoint 7, I briefly flirted with the idea of a quick stop and a dash to the finish in an attempt to crack the 9hr mark. As unofficial finishers it really didn't make that much difference, and since OMJ had vowed retirement from competitive bike racing after this year's Baviaans, I thought he might want to enjoy the last 20 kms.

Along with OMJ, his shoes are retiring too

We finally turned our lights on, and headed off towards the lights of Jeffreys Bay. After a fast a furious chase, we hooked up with another team as we hit the tar for the long and arduous grind to the finish. I don't think there is a worse finish to a bike race in South Africa - an uphill tar drag into a raging crosswind for several kilometers. Add a teammate who can't ride in an echelon (like most mountain bikers) and it made for a long and frustrating finish after the beauty of the previous 220kms. The Vestigial Night Time Ninjas crossed the line in an unofficial 11th place, in 9h04, a bittersweet Pyrrhic victory.

Finishing faces (1)

Finishing faces (2)

As we sat there, eating our Spur burgers, our thoughts turned to our missing teammate. No one had heard a thing from him, and we had no indication as to where he was. Our only hope was that he would use his wit and charm and hopefully by some miracle find his way to Jeffreys Bay.

Our missing teammate, his broken bike, and his transport for the previous 9 hours

Just after midnight we got a call that he was at the finish. By now the temperature had plummeted, the wind was howling, it was pouring with rain - generally not a good idea to be outside. As we drove to pick up Captain Craig we passed countless teams, slogging it out in the foulest of weather up the ridiculous tar climb to the finish. These are the real champions of Trans Baviaans, the unsung heroes. The guys and girls who spend many more hours in the saddle, fighting the terrain, their bikes, on the limit of their fitness. It's darker, colder, windier, yet they're out there. And they'll be out there again next year. Just like me.

Sani2C 2013

The astute readers amongst the vast following that this blog has (there are at least 4 regular readers out there) will have noticed that there was no 2012 Sani2C race report. For that I apologise, and before I get down to this year's event, I'd just like to share the reasons behind why I didn't dare make that post.

Everyone loves a cyclist

As with the previous year, I rode Sani2C 2012 with Little John. Unlike the previous year, I wasn't in great shape - a two week holiday in Paris combined with a bout of rather vicious Parisian flu meant that I went into the event quite short of form. For almost 3 days I followed Little John on our adventure from the Underberg towards Scottburgh, relying on muscle memory and experience rather than fitness and conditioning. I rode as if each pedal stroke was my last, giving it everything I had. To compound matters, I had discovered the night before we left for Sani2C that my bike was cracked. Literally - every pedal stroke could have been my last, and I was expecting a catastrophic life ending failure at any second. At the end of each stage I was both physically and mentally exhausted. But I was fine with that. That is what team racing is all about.

Look closely for the crack

With barely 20kms to go on day 3, after sticking to Little John's wheel like a remora suckerfish all race long, he sat up. To talk to a "pro". My theory is that anyone riding anywhere near us can't be that much of a pro. While Little John was blinded by the stars in his eyes, the people we had been racing each stage were slowly gaining on us. Had I suffered so much just so that I could witness Little John and his blossoming bromance with a B-grade pro? Like a rage-filled midget at a rock concert I finally snapped, and my mission wasn't to finish ahead of the B-grade pro or the chasing riders, but to ride Little John into the ground. To strike down upon him with great vengeance and furious anger. To crush his soul. With my legs on fire and my lungs screaming I mashed the pedals, each pedal stroke more violent than the last. My sight narrowed, the red mist descended and all I saw was the road ahead - I completely blocked out the spectators, the other riders, and everything else. Time for Little John to feel my wrath and fury. As the finish line approached I stopped and waited - a minute went by, and then another, and finally Little John made an appearance. While we might have crossed the line together, the smiles were fake and the back slapping was hollow - the anger still simmered below the surface. So much so that I was scared of what I might write if I were to do a blog post. What a difference a year makes.

Annabelle, born after last year's Sani

Little John, so named because he was one of the last mountain bikers in South Africa still riding an increasingly unfashionable old school mountain bike with 26 inch wheels, had finally upgraded to a 29er. We needed a new name, and Captain Craig came up with Old Man John - OMJ for short. We once again made the trek up to Durban, staying over in Umhlanga before heading off to the Underberg, somehow managing to cram 2 bikes and our luggage into the back of a Ford Figo. Nothing like abusing a rental car! After the usual chores of registration, putting the bikes back together, and repacking our gear for the event, we got a good night's sleep in the warmer than usual Underberg. A later start than in previous years meant that we could take our time getting ready, and after we'd loaded our boxes onto the trucks, we went for a quick warm up ride. I thought this would be a good time to put my gloves on, only to discover that I'd pulled a super amateur move  - I'd packed in two left gloves. I had three options - ride with no gloves, ride with one glove Michael Jackson style, or try to get the offending left glove to imitate a right glove. I went for option 3 initially, first trying the glove on upside down. That didn't work, so I then tried inside out. Still no luck, so I eventually settled on option one. No gloves (on my hands at least - I still had them in my pockets).

It's a rental!

After a fast start, OMJ and I settled into a comfortable rhythm, doing our own thing. I was determined to be a good partner, and so let OMJ set the pace. I quickly discovered that OMJ and his new machine were having relationship issues. He was trying to ride it like his old bike, and the bike was protesting. It's a strong man's bike, demanding strength and power, and OMJ was trying to gently caress and tease it up the hills, and as a result his legs were taking a beating. From a neutral bystander's point of view, it was an interesting battle to watch, and for once, I couldn't be blamed for inflicting the pain. Not yet anyway.

Old Man slippers!

Sani2C is all about the rider experience, from the manicured trails, to the free swag, the endless lunches to the infinite supply of vanilla milks. The water points are no different. And this year I was going to make a point of enjoying them. President Kennedy was probably thinking of Sani2C when he made his famous "Ich bin ein Berlinner" speech. I'd eat so many jam doughnuts each day that I think I was beginning to look like a jam doughnut too. Sometimes I'm surprised they didn't have to chase me out of the water points.

OMJ getting intimate with  his new steed

While there is always a rather laid back jovial mood at Sani2C, there was a slight mood of trepidation at the MacKenzie Country Club as night fell after the first stage, the weather forecast for the following day promised rain. And while we're mountain bikers and can handle most adverse weather conditions, stage 2 of Sani2C is the one stage where you'd like the weather gods to play nice. It is the reason 5000 cyclists make the pilgrimage to the Natal Midlands for the opportunity to ride down into the beautiful, unspoiled Umkomaas Valley. A 40km downhill with breathtaking views and frightfully fast descents. Any overnight rain would change all that and turn the descent into the world's longest slip and slide - a mudfest on two wheels. After a delayed start we inched our way on toward the Umkomaas descent to discover that is was as slippery as a bar of soap in a Pollsmoor Prison shower. It wasn't an uncommon sight to come around a corner and see a cyclist lying in a heap. And I'm not just talking about us weekend warriors, I saw plenty of pro's (both A and B grade) having little lie downs in the mud.

We eventually got to the bottom of the Umkomaas valley, having spent a lot time time riding, walking, sliding, and slipping. I personally wallowed in the mud 4 times. From there on it was an uphill slog all the way to Joliviet Farm, our next overnight stop. That was fine for us seasoned 29er riders, but quite cruel and nasty for OMJ and his new steed. I was still being the good partner, riding on his wheel, going along at his pace. Resisting the urge to race. I was having issues too, of the mechanical kind, and after breaking a chain that took two seasoned mountain bikers an embarrassingly long time to fix, was stuck with just my middle and large chain rings for the rest of the day. Rather me than OMJ. And just to show that no matter how badly you think your day is going we came across Red John lying in a patch of grass looking rather sore and annoyed. He'd had a massive crash and dislocated his hip. To show just how tough the guy is he'd ridden 8kms out of the bottom of the valley, dislocated hip and all, to where he could be airlifted to safety. Huge respect.

Modern day post stage prep.

With the end of the stage almost in sight, OMJ was fading fast, and I was forced to apply the hand of shame. It feels so much better dishing it out than being on the receiving end, although the receiver can be a bit demanding now and then. A couple ups and downs later and we rolled across the line at Joliviet farm - wet, cold, and covered from head to toe in mud. Everything took longer than normal, cleaning the bikes, showering, drying kit, and by the time the chores had been done it was supper time. TripAdvisor has several recommendations for the best place to get a steak, such as here and here, but if Joliviet were to ever get listed, the juicy, tender steak they serve for dinner would get 4972 five star ratings (and 28 no star ratings from some very envious vegetarians).

Team mates having an afternoon nap

Our agreed upon objective for this year's Sani2C was to finish in the top 100 after stage two, and we'd made it - position 49. Farmer Glen had introduced another fantastic idea in that the top 2 seeded batches would only start at 11am on the last day. Compare that to having to get up at 5am for a 7am start. I do have one complaint though in that the riders from the C batch showed very little respect and made an incredible amount of noise, so while we didn't have to get up at 5am, we were rudely awoken at 5am by the racket the rabble were making. I'd like to suggest to Farmer Glen that at next year's event a special area is set aside so that the A and B batch riders can enjoy a late morning snooze in peace and quiet.

The scariest 800m of the whole event

After 2 breakfasts, 4 cups of coffee, several visits to the toilet, 3 warm up rides and a mid morning nap we were eventually off - heading towards Scottburgh for the final stage of Sani2C. OMJ was once again doing battle with his machine, riding his bike like it was a contact sport - arms, legs and head flailing all over the place. At this rate it would be a TKO in the 5th round! Since the final day is relatively flat and fast, I hopped on the front to set the pace and offer some shelter to OMJ. Initially this worked out quite well and we made good progress, but slowly the memories from the previous year came flooding back. While I never set out to intentionally rain down fire and torment on poor OMJ, I realised that with 20kms to go he was either going to kill me, or go and hide in a sugar cane field and not come out. Our race was done, and all that remained was to get to the finish in one piece.

The view at the finish

Farmer Glen's other innovation for this year's event was a crazy stupid long floating bridge over the Scottburgh lagoon, and out into the ocean. As a sufferer of Gephyrophobia this idea had given me countless nightmares and sleepless nights. The added pressure was that my wife had successfully navigated the 800m long, 80cm wide bridge without incident the day before. Farmer Glen's advice to the race snakes was to ride on inside of the corners, to look ahead, and keep the speed up. He got two out of three right, and I suspect that was on purpose. DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT TO RIDE ON THE INSIDE OF THE CORNERS ON A FLOATING BRIDGE. Much to his disappointment I didn't end up taking a swim in the Scottburgh lagoon, I did however came far to close for my comfort.

The Crazed Wombats successfully navigated the bridge and the stage and finished in 51st place overall, another Sani2C safely completed. While his bike and I abused him, OMJ was in fine spirits at the end, and word on the street is that he was spotted doing some secret training on the back roads in and about Hermanus. I suspect Trans Baviaans is going to be the scene of his revenge grudge match between both him and his bike, and him and I.

The Crazed Wombats

An Epic Tale

Not to be confused with this Epic Tale, this is an Epic Tale, HotChillee style.

Did you see those two guys up ahead who rode into each other?

Yeah - they were riding along quite happily until the guy on the left made a sharp right turn  into his buddy

Huh? Are you sure that is what happened?

Oh yes. Definitely the guy on the left's fault.

All I could think was that we'd moved up one place on GC

*Laughter*

Moral of the story - you never know who is about photographing your post race analysis.