I had been a spectator at the infamous 2009 Cape Argus Tour of Storms when my friend Dominic had asked me along as moral support when his cycle compadrés had backed out at the last minute. I had been there at the start where placards swirled in the wind and anything not lashed down was fair game to the elements. I had seen the pain displayed on the contestants’ faces along the route as they made their deals with God and I waited for my friend to make a well-needed pitstop. And yet despite all this, when Dom had finished, along with the indisputable pride I felt about my lifelong friend’s amazing achievement in his debut race, there was an envious twinge on my part - of missing out on something very special. So I wasn’t really surprised that a year later I found myself in a back of a Cape Town cab the day before the next Argus, recci’ing the route.
Yes he had persuaded me and another friend to do the race with him. That required us buying bikes and learning the ropes, the language, the retail opportunities and the muscle-ache. I was slow off the mark as originally I was not sure I could commit to the South African jaunt so I started the trips to bike shops and the training only six months before the Argus. Tim, however had a few months on me and had overcome a broken collar bone and various cleat mishaps by the time I was in the game. What that meant for me was training around London in winter plus any other opportunities that came along. My coldest, darkest moments were around New Year in St Ives so when I eventually found myself in South Africa, I was taken aback by the welcoming warmth.
Dominic had warned me off taking a cab and seeing the route but I am glad I did as it would help me on the actual day. Yet I admit I did feel like Richard Dreyfus in Jaws when he sees the shark for the first time and tells Quint that they will need a bigger boat. When I saw Chapman’s Peak and Suikerbossie, the hardest hills after 70 of the 110km, I despaired that my training had been inadequate. I needed a bigger bike, bigger calves and cleverer gels.
But you know what? I did ok – in fact much better than I had ever hoped. Sure, there was the nervous talk the evening before. Then there was the banter that we would give Lance a run for his money - though we really knew he would be back having his second breakfast by the time we reached our first pitstop. But I was here with my two best mates and it was the very day I had been joyfully boring my friends and family about for the last six months. And I knew that the Cape Argus Tour is a very special event. My mental state was good; I was here to enjoy it and I did.
Don’t get me wrong – it was really tough in parts for me. Those 50kph winds can hit you unexpectedly when coming downhill or just grind you down on the flat. The hills were steep and carried on much longer than I wanted. Yet, considering I had opted for pedal clips rather than cleats, I held my own and was surprised that more experienced, more muscled cyclists than me were in trouble at various points on the way to the top.
The thing that helped me was Dom had decided he wanted to race as a group rather than pursue his own goal. At the start I needed this as I used him as a marker to keep a higher pace going. It was also more fun to stop at the refreshment areas and share the pain and enjoyment. We lost Tim early on as he needed to keep going rather than stop at the top of Boyes Drive and at some point around the 75km mark, Dom and I lost each other. Left to my own devices and starting to feel the wind and the distance, I went into a temporary decline. I pulled into a pitstop, regrouped by taking some Class A gels and was ready for those two killer hills.
Having trained most of the time on my own in England, what I loved was the riding with other people on the Tour, sharing a few breathy sentences as I connected with them up the hills. Whether it was the girl in the Mount Ventoux trophy jersey (chapeau, mon amie for that achievement), the guy from Putney or the Keighley Cycling Club veteran, we were battling it out together and I got energy from those encounters. It was also the absolutely amazing support along the roadside from the Capetonians. They brought their sofas out to the roadside, were barbecuing, playing soundsystems and very gratefully were creating “cycle-through showers” with their garden hoses. This is why the event is so special – because it is not just about the race, it’s about community, it’s about celebrating the amazing landscape and it’s about having fun outdoors. I got so much energy from all this and tried to reciprocate by returning the children’s high-fives along the way, saluting the supporting families and shouting comments of enjoyment and gratitude.
The other shouting I did was to get me up Suikerbossie and maintain a (for me) phenomenal pace for the last 15 km. I was not sure when we had actually set off so mistakenly I thought I might make it under 5 hours so I drove myself in the last sprint. This meant shouting like a madman to myself, grunting loudly so people knew I was coming through and whooping as I knew I was going to finish. Yes, finish – finish the Cape Argus Tour, be able to say that I had conquered Chapman’s Peak, the coastal winds and everything - and, ultimately, feel all the training had been worth it. Yes, I did it.
I loved it – one of the great experiences. That’s why I feel a little listless now afterwards. That’s why I have signed up to a 112km ride this weekend...
