Four years ago, after a rather dismal showing at a 24hr race, the idea for
The Big Day Out was born. Inspired by a
birthday ride that Richie Porte and Cameron Wurf did, we wanted to do something just as memorable. As is usually the case, the other half of the "we" was my trusty co-accomplice - the "always up for a bike ride" Captain Craig. Our objective that day was to ride further than we'd ever gone before on a single bike ride. And that meant 361 kilometres.
We failed. On the road from Malmesbury to Durbanville our plans fell apart as we wilted in the heat and persistent head wind, and with empty bottles we were forced to take a shortcut. While we still rode 335 kilometres in temperatures fit for cooking turkeys, we knew we'd be doing this again.
The following year was even less successful, with a broken derailleur scuppering our plans at just 200 kilometres. In the meantime, we'd undertaken a few new races, and 361 kilometres was no longer good enough to achieve our initial objective. We needed to go further. And we needed additional reinforcements. Enter the ominously named Halfway Robertson - another sucker who just loves to ride bikes.
In
2016, we finally achieved our goal - 369kms in a little over 14 hours of bike riding. It was hot. It was windy. It truly was a Big Day Out. As elated as our little trio was, at the back of our minds we knew that somehow we'd have to raise bar for The Big Day Out 2017.
 |
| I felt somewhat under prepared |
For a ride that started out as an ad hoc adventure, it's become a rather serious endeavour. There is a committee, a constitution, and various rules and guidelines about what constitutes a Big Day Out (our reference is always Ritchie Porte's Birthday Ride). Planning starts several months before, with talk of new route ideas, new inductees, and new challenges. And for 2017, we were going to back to our roots. We were going to attempt to emulate Porte and Wurf - 400kms in a single day.
With the route settled on, all we needed was the perfect day for riding bikes. And this is where members of the committee differ in their interpretation of the word "perfect". Captain Craig and Halfway Robertson would prefer a cool, windless day, possibly with a few clouds in the sky, and an afternoon breeze (obviously a tailwind) that picks up as the legs start to fatigue. On the other hand, I like it hot and windless. The hotter the better. And as the Big Day Out Benevolent Dictator for Life, I get my way.
Our day started at 5am in the cool dark air of the Southern suburbs of Cape Town - nervousness and trepidation lurking at the back of our minds about the challenges that lay before us. Our first obstacle - to safely navigate the infamous bike lane and get out of the city in one piece. And almost as if Murphy was watching us, right at the most dangerous section of the bike lane, I punctured. Just 12 kilometres into our adventure. While I sorted out the puncture, my companions, armed with bicycle pumps and multi-tools, stood guard, suspicious of all passersby! Thankfully, it wasn't long before we were on the road again, all our limbs and possessions intact.
The first challenge of the day was not a physical one, but rather a mental test. It's been said that a surefire way to crack even the toughest of minds is to have them ride up the West Coast road. Career criminals have been known to succumb, melting into quivering wrecks still within sight of Koeberg nuclear power station. But this didn't deter us as we fought the monotony and boredom of the West Coast road, slowly inching towards Yzerfontein. Our determination resolute. Just as our spirits were starting flag, and conversation had deteriorated into a series of grunts and groans, the turn off to Darling appeared.
And with the change in direction turn came some hills. And some turns. And almost immediately our mood picked up. Conversation started to flow again, the legs had some new found energy, and our bums sighed in relief. Before long, Darling rolled into sight and had our first of many refreshment stops for the day. A quarter of the ride done - a measly 100 kilometres.
 |
| The open road |
Back on the road we set our sights on our next milestone - brunch at Riebeek Kasteel. By now the honeymoon phase of the ride was over. The witty banter had dried up, we were freewheeling the downhills, and our only focus was to knock off the kilometres, one by one. We'd been a bit sneaky with the route planning - avoiding any and all hills for the first quarter, but that was about to change. The first of many passes awaited us - Bothmanskloof Pass. This is not an iconic pass, and particularly from the side that we were riding it from there was nothing spectacular about it, except the the road went up. And as the road went up, so did the temperature, hitting the low 30s - an ominous sign given that it was just 10:30am. We crested the climb in no time and coasted into town, brunch awaiting.
 |
| The Babalas burger |
The Babalas burger in Riebeek Kasteel hit the spot, restoring not only our energy levels, but our mojo too. No matter which way you looked at it - 240 kilometres to go was still a sizeable challenge. With a slight bit of reluctance we remounted our steeds, and set off for our next objective - Wellington. Our last leg before the real challenges of the day began.
By now, the body was running on autopilot, trying to be as efficient as possible. Big efforts were a thing of the past, and now it was about using as little energy and exertion as possible to propel the bike forward. A welcome tailwind came as a double edged sword - on the upside, a great way to knock off the kilometres a little bit quicker, but on the downside, both giving us a false of our strength and robbing us of a cooling breeze.
As we gulped down ice cold cokes in Wellington, our core temperatures dropping slightly, and our energy supplies returning to more normal levels, the locals couldn't help but give us strange looks. Who were these strange creatures riding bikes in the midday sun with temperatures in the uppers thirties? Not only did we receive peculiar looks, we also got a lot of unsolicited advice, the most common being "You should really be riding early in the morning to avoid the heat". Obviously we got more peculiar looks when responding that we had in fact started at 5am, and that we were riding from Cape Town to Somerset West, the long way round.
 |
| Hot hot hot |
The halfway mark of our adventure was Bainskloof Pass, a magnificent 12 kilometre climb on twisty winding roads. The countryside looked like a moonscape due to several recent fires, and to add the the other worldly feeling, the temperatures were peaking in the lower forties. We inched our way up the climb, passing baboons chilling in the shade that knew better than to venture out into the midday sun. And yet, there we were, slowly but surely climbing the hill, shirts open wide, looking for anything to cool us down. Although we didn't mention it at the time, I don't think the irony was wasted on us when Halfway Robertson started showing signs of weakness near the halfway mark. Thankfully, help was at hand in the form of a welcome mountain stream. Something primal overcame Warren, as his gaze locked onto the stream and it's enticing waters. In a single fluid movement, he parked his bike, removed his shirt and cleared a barrier wall, before making a beeline towards a mini waterfall. Sitting in a pool, with water gushing over his head, it was probably the most content I have ever seen him. I am quite surprised that we managed to somehow coax him out and back onto his bike!
Captain Craig might have been struggling on the climbs, but put a piece of twisty downhill in front of him and he's off like a fat kid on a waterslide - nothing can stop him! As we watched him disappear in the distance, Halfway and I did our best to not keep him waiting at the bottom for too long. A quick refill of bottles and it was back into the routine of knocking of the kilometres. We might have been over halfway, but we still had a long long way to go.
 |
| Even the locals thought we were mad |
Instead of heading straight to Worcester and Rawsonville, we took a detour through the Slanghoek Valley, because, believe it or not, it's not that easy to find 400 kilometres of rideable, safe roads in the Western Cape, without doing some silly loops and diversions. The downside of this particular detour was two-fold. The first being the infamous Slanghoek climb. While not a long hill, it is a testing hill, and that's on fresh legs. After 9h30 in the saddle it's just another straw on the camel's back. The second downside was purely mental. The roads were covered in sticky grape juice from the recent harvest. Picture riding in treacle. This was too much for Halfway who crumbled like a house of cards on a windy day, convinced his bike, or his legs had given up the ghost, and he was doomed to spend the remainder of his life in the Slanghoek Valley.
 |
| Must. Keep. Pedalling. |
After picking up the shattered pieces of Halfway's psyche, we limped into Rawsonville and our designated lunch stop for the day, the gourmet establishment called Nikki's Take Away. In the year since our previous visit, the menu had been massively expanded and so we settled on the newly added Miss Piggy burger. If regret was a taste, I now know what it would taste like. And I tasted that regret for the remainder of the Big Day Out.
With the Miss Piggy burger sitting uncomfortably in our bellies, we set of for Villiersdorp, and the toughest leg of the whole ride. The memories from Big Day Out 2016 still haunted us, and while we secretly hoped that we were a year older, a year wiser, and a year fitter, we feared the worst. And rightly so. As we turned the corner behind the Brandvlei dam we were greeted with a searing headwind. And for the second time that day Halfway cracked. Partly due to the heat. Partly due to the Miss Piggy burger. Partly due to the the very nature of the Big Day Out. We all took a moment to gather ourselves as Captain Craig did his best rendition of a pep talk. Some promises were made. Some lies were told. Anything to keep us going.
 |
| Make it stop |
Fortunately, we knew about a hidden oasis from last year's adventure. There are no loungers, no chilled beverages. Just a tap under some oak trees. But at 6pm on this particular Wednesday evening, with temperatures still in the mid thirties, it was all we needed. While not quite the waterfall from earlier, it didn't stop Halfway from pulling a similar move as he submerged himself under the flowing water once again. We took our time at this unofficial stop, refilling bottles, replenishing the energy levels, and trying our best to "keep our shit" together. Twenty kilometres to Villiersdorp, with the Elandskloof Pass standing between us and our next stop. This is what the Big Day Out had come to, a series of 20 kilometre slogs, and we had just 5 more to go.
As the sun started dipping low in the sky, the temperatures finally dropped below 30C for the first time in ages, and the mood started to improve. We were still tired, and our bums and legs still ached, but the setting sun marked a new beginning. The next chapter in our Big Day Out story. The wind abated, the light softened, and our minds cleared. For the first time that long long day the end was almost in sight. Just a short 80 kilometres to go.
We hit the bottom of Franschhoek pass in the fading twilight, and a realisation hit us. This is why we do these crazy adventures. This is why we torture our bodies. This is why we ride bikes. Three guys, in the middle of nowhere, with not a car in sight, surrounded by mountains. For that minute, nothing else mattered. Pure cycling nirvana. And then reality gatecrashed our little man moment as we realised that we still had to get over the mountain in front of us.
 |
| Homeward bound |
My enduring memory of the climb, done in almost complete darkness was the smells. The unique smell of fynbos. The sweet smell of blossoming flowers. The smell of crisp clean mountain air. And occasionally a combination of Captain Craig, Halfway and myself, our deodorant having failed us a long long time ago. We eventually crested the climb, and for the second time that day Captain Craig transformed into a downhill maniac. Like a magician's assistant, he vanished. His tiny little commuter light doing little to light the way. In complete contrast, I was crawling down the hill so slowly that it felt like I was riding with one hand on the centre line, feeling for the cateyes, like a blind person reading his way down the hill.
 |
| Mountains ahead |
Patiently, my fellow accomplices waited at the bottom for me, before we set off once again. With the sun well and truly set, it fell to Halfway Robertson to be our man with the light. Much like Captain Craig, Halfway has a history of light failure during epic events, and we hoped that night would be an exception. We had 60 kilometres to go, but we weren't counting in kilometres any more. We had 5 more challenges ahead of us. The soul destroying Helshoogte Pass, and then 4 bumps on the road to Somerset West.
 |
| He might be half a National Tandem Champ, but he's still a funrider. |
While normal people were enjoying dinner in the fine restaurants in and around Stellenbosch, we were still plodding along, one pedal stroke after another - 3 guys, out on bikes. It felt surreal. Like we were observing normal life from a distance. Removed from reality. And I'm quite sure everyone else thought the same thing about us - 3 guys, on bikes, removed from reality!
 |
| Not just signal, but we almost lost the will to live near Purgatory |
My wife, along with Captain Craig's, had been eagerly following our progress all day, hurrying us along when our stops got too long, and offering encouragement when things got slow. And with 20 kilometres to go, she couldn't bare the tension of watching the live tracking any longer. She bundled our son into the car and they came to find us, pulling up behind our sorry little peloton and offering a valuable backup to Halfway's light. My wife was in her element, hazards flashing, escorting 3 tired adventurers for the final part of their journey. My son didn't exactly share the sentiment, and after a quick wave hello, nodded off to sleep, bored by his father's outlandish idea of fun.
Those final kilometres were filled with emotion. And we're not the emotional types. But so much goes through your mind. The sheer scale of 404 kilometres. The adventures we'd had. The places we'd been to. The good bits. The bad bits. The Miss Piggy Burger. And then the thought of returning to reality the following day hits you. Elation mixed with sadness. But for this one day, we were rock stars!
 |
| Rock stars |
 |
| Halfway having a moment. |
