The ABSA Cape Epic: Not Just a Physical Challenge

I’m still dreaming of bikes whizzing past me, skiddy gravel corners, looming mountains and apple orchards.

I was lucky enough this year to be given a chance to ride as much of the Epic as I wanted to, with the Epic Trippers. With this package, people who have husbands and wives, boyfriends or friends who are riding the Epic, join in to ride part of each stage, as well as ensure they’re at some of the waterpoints and finish lines to cheer on their loved ones. Only now after riding with the backmarkers do I truly understand the Epic.

To be honest, I think I understand more of the real Epic than Burry and Christoph do, because they have never witnessed what goes on at the back of the race (which is what I endeavoured to explain to them at dinner in the race village!).

As the days went on I began to understand that the Epic is not just a physical challenge, but an intellectual, emotional and spiritual one too. On Monday when Lucy and I came down the most hectic rocky mountain descent either of us had ever attempted and came across her husband, Lee, cramping, I saw firsthand the physical agony many of the riders endure. Without discussion, Ricky (one of the Epic Trippers’ organisers), Lucy and I joined Lee’s partner Craig to ride behind Lee for the next few kilometres, silently willing him on and witnessing helplessly when the cramps came back. I became aware of the enormous struggle going on for both partners as they faced the fact this might be the end of their Epic and the turmoil for Lucy, unable to make this better for her husband, obviously knowing full well how much had gone into preparing for this event. Lee’s humility in joining the Trippers when he was unable to continue racing touched me deeply, what a gesture of love for Lucy so she could continue experiencing her adventure

The Trippers shared the devastation when Jeannette’s husband missed the cutoff on Tuesday. An evening of shattered dreams. Then Tim’s partner, Robbie McIntosh, had to pull out the next day and for them, the dream of an Epic finish as a team, was over. On Wednesday I cried openly when Songo, the cycling hero of thousands of children and young adults in Kayamandi, and his young partner, Sipho came over the finish line in the twilight, 3 minutes after cutoff.

During stage 2, I came across a rider near the back, vomiting from the exertion, his concerned partner standing by. Maybe it was dehydration, maybe he hadn’t trained enough, who knows? All I know is I saw a man giving the Epic his best shot and it wasn’t enough. An hour or so later, the same guys came past me and I stopped to cheer loudly, only to hear the ill rider still gagging. How far is this man prepared to push himself I wondered?

As the days passed, I began to be aware of the stories of those riding around me. Suddenly these weren’t just 2 cyclists in matching lycra zooming past, but men and women who’d put their lives on hold, had sacrificed time with their partners and children and friends, had missed parties and celebrations to get enough sleep, had done their best to prepare themselves physically and emotionally for the journey that is the Epic. And sometimes in a moment, the Mountain Biking Gods (as Nic likes to call them) are not appeased and a wheel buckles, a collarbone snaps and a cramp seizes and it’s over.

When I think about what the riders who completed all 707kms of the Epic endured, I feel like my 300kms of riding doesn’t amount to much. Then I remind myself that I only put in 2 months’ training, largely consisting of midmorning rides out to Fishhoek for a swim and a bit of singletrack in Tokai, which is nothing compared to the 15 to 20 hours of riding every week for 6 months that many of the backmarkers put in to complete their first Epic. I found 5 hours a day on the bike, tackling mountain climbs and steep descents with sharp corners, with Epic riders hot on my tail, pretty challenging. But it does not compare to what I have witnessed of those riders who spent up to 11 hours on a bike, sometimes vomiting and cramping, to cross the finish line in tears, only to get up and have to ride the next day. Those are my heroes.

I ride away from this week as enriched by the physical beauty of the countryside we travelled through, as I am by the emotional and spiritual voyage I shared with every one of those riders.