So on Saturday I finally undertook what may be described as a fairly accurate test run for the tour. I was still lacking a couple of things such as bike spares and maps, but with a bike weight of 44kg it was pretty much all there. I don't expect to go over 50kg, and what's 6kg, eh! The plan was to cycle with my mate Ben, who had the loan of my suitably old and crappy Peugeot racer, leaving early doors and then meeting the birds at the campsite early afternoon. We'd booked the campsite and plotted the route on Strava so ready to rock and roll. We were supposed to get away at 5:45am, but I think we left at around 6:15am rather. This didn't surprise me as I'd already experienced Ben's propensity to faff extensively in the mornings. Not an issue really, and it meant it was a bit lighter by the time we set off. Ben was clearly still not fully awake when assembling the bike as, after about 3km, we had to stop for him to realign the wheel. I gave him some stick for this, naturally, and informed him I wanted no more 'mechanicals' masquerading as break time. It was nice seeing the sun rise, and it was a lovely day already. I was testing out my expedition clothing and it wasn't long before the merino jumper went back in the pannier. The first 20km were pretty tough to be honest, and a strava cock up didn't help matters - routing us into dead-ends repeatedly. There were a lot of steep climbs and passing what may be described as the uglier side of Joburg. Things got a bit more interesting when we got to Tembisa - a big township on our way out of Joburg. There was a lot going on, with the taxi mini vans driving in their customary godawful fashion, accompanied by a cacophony of hooting. Why they insist on beeping all the time is beyond me; it's not like people stand by the road, not sure what to do, and then upon hearing a taxi horn, suddenly realise that they want a lift somewhere! We also cycled through a fair bit of sewage-y smelling water and around plenty of broken glass, but overall it was a pleasant experience. Highlights being having, 'You're strong' and 'Eish' (in an inspired tone) shouted at us. It meant a lot more to me as they weren't mincing about on Pinarellos. We also passed a herd of goats penned up on the side of the road next to a petrol station, which amused me rather a lot. My shout of 'You've got to be kidding!' seemed to pass Ben by without hitting the mark. I blame his city upbringing. It was either an impromptu market, or they were about to have a big old party and eat them all. I would like to have shared some photos with you, but I was still in progress mode, and waving an iphone about in a township is ill-advised, especially when your means of escape is a massive, unwieldy bicycle. We stopped for a brief spell at about 36km, but it didn't feel like we'd accomplished enough to hang around for long. General consensus was that what we'd done so far was pretty tough going, and at under 1/3 of the way, things were looking slightly ominous. So we pushed on and luckily things got easier. It wasn't long until we were pulling over for a half-way break. Here we ate a combination of cold pizza and chicken sandwiches. We were also visited by a nice lady offering us ice cold water for our bottles as she had seen us on the road and was out supporting her husband and her mates who were doing 100km. I wondered what kind of shape they were in to warrant a support car for that kind of distance, but she was very nice, and was a very pleasant treat. From this point the road was nice and smooth with a decent shoulder to keep out of the way on. There were a few trucks, but nothing like the 511 to Marakele I went on a few weeks back. I cheated a bit and hid behind Ben most of the time, which although aware of the fact that this wasn't an accurate representation of solo riding, I thought why not cheat whilst I can. It also meant I could go a bit faster and hold him up less. Very quiet on the roadkill front - passed one obliterated scrub hare, but it was so mushed up and un-carcass-like that wasn't worth photographing. However, when we got to about 94km and saw some ostriches by the side of the road, I decided it was time for a pic. I know people don't like to read very much these days - even such intelligent, erudite folk as yourselves, indulging in high-brow blog material such as this - so I was to be able to get a picture to break things up a little. They were a somewhat churlish bunch, spurning the camera and abandoning the fenceline as I was trying to get a shot. We stopped for some more snacks next door, in a pleasant church carpark. Here we discussed the good progress made since 36km marker, and the difficulty of naming different tree species. We got to Bronkhurstpruit shortly after that brief sojourn, and that is where the dirt track began. It started off as nice hard-packed dirt which, whilst a bit bumpier, wasn't really much different to tar. Here Tina came into her own a bit more, with the 35c tyres coping with the terrain better than Ben's Peugeot. We both commented that it looked a lot like Australia, despite neither of us being particularly qualified to comment, never having visited. There was a bit of eucalyptus about so had that feel to it. There were also lots of lovely flowers out - cosmos, of S American origin according to Ben the Botanist. They smelt pretty nice too, actually. I like to consider myself an equal opportunities blogger, so please see picture of said flowers below. We weren't on the dirt for that long when things began to unravel a little bit. Parts of the track were rather sandy so routing became a bit more interesting. I think we must have looked pretty drunk to the casual observer, wiggling all over the road and cursing and yelping indiscriminately (for my part at least). It's a rather unpleasant experience cycling on sand - you're just heading along nicely and then it's like someone has just grabbed your tyre and started yanking it about furiously. You've got to just try and ride it out, as overcorrecting would throw you off. In true touring style I had long since binned off the helmet, so the speed wobbles had an extra edge to them. I had wider tyres than Ben, but given Tina's weight we were more prone to sinking. The sand ruined our until-then respectable looking average speed, but it was good to test out some varied terrain and see how we fared. We made good time, and totalled 126km with about the last 26km on dirt, taking about 6 hours and averaging just under 22kph. We then arrived at camp to be greeted by suitably impressed gate officials and receptionists. We'd beaten the girls so had a chance to admire the taxidermy without being admonished by Chloe. The baby Rhino was rather sad looking, but it was the snakes and pickled warthog foetus in jars that really won the prize for most grotesque. I was saddened to be informed that none of it was for sale. Once the ladies arrived we picked a spot and set up camp. Then I decided to deploy some of my toys. Tent and sleeping mat were put up, as was the washing line. And I made cups of tea for the others on my MSR multifuel stove. Very exciting! The park manager also had a cute puppy called Jock who took a liking to Deerdre (sic) the Duiker. We then proceeded to drink a lot of booze and slapped a big old fillet steak on the braai. A very pleasant evening, albeit one not entirely representative of my tour. It would have been a bit of a tough sell to the ladies to drive out for a night of camping, with no alcohol, and pasta or rice for dinner though! I felt I'd remained true enough to the fundamentals of the tour for it to be deemed an accurate field test. We then went walking the next morning followed by cooking a full english on the wonder machine that is the Cobb. Things I Learnt from the Test Ride...- Tar beats sand, and to a lesser extent dirt, as a cycling surface. Expect closer scrutiny of routes and surfaces when I start touring properly.
- The stove is good, but bloody noisy. It also covers you in petrol no matter what you do. - Spare bolts for pannier racks are essential as one shook out on the dirt road on the way to camp - The stool is a pain to stow - thinking replacement with foam padding instead. - We had some rain so waterproof essential. I think I will take a poncho as better cover than a normal jacket. - It gets chilly - very glad I have now taken delivery of my luxurious (but lightweight) down jacket. - Most people on the road are nice, and love a bit of a 'ding' on the bell. - I need to find a comfier saddle, pronto - or wear a padded nappy some days. - The wing mirror needs moving in order to give me another handlebar-holding option.
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So on Saturday I decided that I would do a 'dummy pack' where I actually sat down and looked at all the stuff I was aiming to take, and then load it onto the bike. Above is the majority of the kit needed. I'm missing a few bike spares, and there will be a First Aid kit and some food to join it, as well as a camera and go-pro (thanks very much Toby) joining from the UK next week. Volume-wise it was OK, but once loaded up the bike and cargo came in at a rather daunting 45kg. That's more than I was hoping, but I suppose fairly in line with what was to be realistically expected. I think there is a bit of fat on the bone - for example the torch will probably not accompany the headlamp, and I shan't take 3 knives, even though I'd like to. I've since upgraded my trowel to a sturdier metal folding one, and got a very slim first aid pouch. Bike spares I think I'll just wing it with a spare tyre, spare tube (or maybe 2), patches, glue, spare cables and spare chain links. Oh, and some lube, haha. My King of the Mountains cap might get binned too, although I planned to put it on for special occasions when I was about to overtake someone on the uphill. There is also some paperwork and maps to add to the mix. I think closer to 50kg is going to be my fighting weight, so my swift progress with 38kg baggage has taken a blow. With that in mind, I decided to do a short ride to see how things went. The plan was to head to Walter Sisulu Botanical gardens with Chloe & Ben. I plotted a 35km route on backroads, and packed picnic stuff in my panniers.
The rest of the ride was pretty straightforward really. Some steep hills, some robots, and a rather boisterous driver in a Range Rover Evoque - a close pass and a beep for no reason, prompting the old middle finger treatment from Ben & myself. To be fair, he was probably rushing to his next hair appointment, but still no reason to honk us. We were back on track and going well until we came to a golf-course/housing estate that Strava had routed us through. I was keen to keep Chloe off the busy roads, but knew when we saw the fancy boom gates and a rather plump security guard, that we were likely to have problems getting through. It turns out the guard was called Victor, and he was as pompous as he was fat. Didn't catch his second name, but I believe it could well have been Jobsworth. Things weren't going well, and my attempts to make up names and addresses we were visiting made an unfavourable impression. I was close to getting the rage when a guy on a racer came by, so I flagged him down. Cue some spiel about cycling brethren and being impressed with his 85km average speed, and he agreed to give us an entry code. Alas, it wouldn't come through so we just entered under his fingerprint. After flashing Victor a sly smile we coasted through. The racer guy sped off and we turned the corner to another boom gate - balls! This one we just went up on the pavement and dodged though. A friendly wave and determination not to stop normally gets you past the average security guard. The estate was pretty surreal, like those big American estates where it's all the same and fake. Nice roads though. We then hit some busy stuff, which wasn't too bad, and got to the park. Chloe swiftly decided that a return cycle was off the cards (requests for uber vans were running through my mind as we went along a dual carriageway) so we put her bike in Kate's car so she could get a lift home. The next obstacle was getting the bikes into the park - not allowed as per the sign, along with guns, braais, booze and a lot of other things besides. It all got rather confusing with a lot of double negatives and pawing at my handlebars, but eventually we ascertained that the bike would not be allowed, and they must be handed over. We put them behind the ladies' loos in the end - a safe spot as they were still there upon our return.
The rest of the ride was uneventful and we zoomed home in about an hour. Good to try Tina out fully loaded and the main takeaway was that the difference between 38kg and 45kg is quite significant. The granny ring went from no use at all, to heavy usage. Very glad I got a triple ring on the front, that's for sure.
We'll start things off nice and easy, with a picture - the now obligatory mid-ride selfie. Whether a selfie-stick will make the pack list or not is still out for discussion...
We were supposed to be entertaining Friday night, so had Sunday as the cycling date given my anticipation of that evil scourge of body and mind - the hangover. As it turns out we didn't have people over - but plenty of beers and a curry took care of feeling rubbish on Saturday comfortably. Luckily England mauling the old Hairy Backs at Twickenham aided my recovery and by Saturday night I was quite excited at my first 'proper' cycle on Tina. I wanted to try and get a day's worth of distance in, and see how long it would take me. If you're a cyclist in Joburg, it's typical to just drive to a place called 'The Cradle of Humankind' and just do laps there. Think of it as a hotter, hillier Richmond park, where the game is fenced in rather than free range.
Anyway, the Cradle is a loop of about 30km, so the plan was for me to cycle from home (about 35km) and to meet Chloe at the Cradle where we'd do 2 laps together, have some grub at a biker cafe (the lycra rather than leather type) and then put the bikes on the back of the truck and drive home. I did a pre-cycle weigh in, and the bike came in at a rather daunting 36kg packed. So, I instructed Chloe to meet me at the cradle in 1,5 hour's time. We live quite high in Joburg, so it's a fairly downhill run to the Cradle, although it's not really flat anywhere in Gauteng. I would describe it as pleasantly undulating. My best run in on the racer is 36km/h so I was budgeting around 25km/h on Tina. I managed 23,6km/h to the meeting spot - not a bad start. I was expecting my reputation as a decent climber to be left in tatters, and my ignominy at being overtaken peaking at agonising levels. Thus, as I approached the last uphill into the cradle, generally where things start to get busy, and two okes on racers and full lycra, passed me on the downhill I wasn't too happy. One was on a Pinarello (which I hate) so all thoughts of not over-doing it and just keeping a steady pace went out the window; getting mugged off by a Pinarello is simply out of the question in my books. Anyway, I got on their wheels and stuck it out to the top, earning an "You're an inspiration" for my efforts. Bit gay, but I'll take it I guess. The second bit of excitement (and unfortunately Chloe wasn't about to confirm this) was some guy following me up the hill. I thought it was a bit of a dick move drafting someone on a tourer and 25kg of luggage when he was on a racer, and I was about to call him out on it when he said, "Are you that Guy from Carte Blanche?". I had no idea what he was talking about but thought, 'Yeh, I do what I want most of the time, in a carte blanche style'. Anyway, he thought I was some famous touring cyclist who was interviewed on CB (it's a TV programme) who had cycled all round the world. I toyed with the idea of assuming a world famous tourer (if there is such a thing) but details were very sparse so figured I would be found out quite quickly on that count. Such was his enthusiasm I felt pretty bad informing him that my celebrity status is only burgeoning, rather than fully fledged. Roadkill count for the 95km: 1 dog. A disappointing haul in many ways, but worthy of a photo. It was a rather stinky and strange photoshoot (I had to wait until lap 2 as a car was parked by it watching me on the first one). I then proceeded to meet Chloe and we set off on our ride. She hadn't cycled since the 94,7 in November, so she was quite brave (or I suspect foolish as she isn't great at judging distances) to take on 60km without any previous riding in the legs. She did very well, and we spent a fair while tootling along. Initially I was worried she might be stronger than me on the hills, which would have been a big problem for me, but luckily such apprehension was misplaced! I'm a proud man, and it was pleasant to be able to keep an eye on her in the wingmirror instead. She did call me a freak, which wasn't very nice - at best a very back-handed compliment - but better suffering slander on the hills that than losing going up them. We'd ride together until I found some mug who wanted to race, and then I'd sneak in behind them for a while. I pissed off a couple of Triathlon guys doing this, much to my glee. But these Tri guys are pretty useless on the hills, so not a bonafide feather in my cap to be honest.
I got heckled a fair bit, and it was quite fun to say 'Nairobi' when they were shouting at me where I was going with so much stuff. It's also nice to go at a more sociable pace and enjoy things a bit more. The first lap went fine, and following some gentle persuasion Chloe agreed to a second lap. In hindsight this was probably a mistake as the grumbles starting to set in. This wasn't helped by the heat (it was in the low 30s by now) and then she failed to unclip when stopping and fell over. This amused me rather a lot, but unfortunately the same could not be said for Chloe. I regret to inform you that I didn't get a picture, but as it was things were a bit frosty for a few kilometres, and I'm quite sure a picture would have extended the cold front! As fatigue set in, Chloe began to converse less, and in the end I took the hint and fed her the only snack to pass muster - a delicious custard tart. It wasn't terribly gratefully received, but it disappeared rather quickly. However, it seemed to have the desired restorative effect, and after being asked how much further, and how many hills were left (here I told her a few white lies) I left her to it as that way I could add some extra kms in. In the end Chloe had done a very commendable 60km and I managed just shy of 95km in 4 hours. It went pretty well and it gave me a good benchmark for route planning. I now know that, as long as the roads are decent, I'll be able to knock off 200km in a day if I have to, or fulfill my quota in half a day and chill for the rest. It'll all depend on where I'm heading and what's inbetween but it gives the option of a long day followed by relaxation and sightseeing rather than pedalling every single day. We had had a weekend away with friends, visiting the Marakele National Park in the Waterberg mountains planned for a while, and I decided, despite not having done a huge amount of riding due to lots of visiting family, to use it as an excuse to tackle a long ride and see how we go. The previous 3 weeks had mostly been spent eating and drinking lots, but I managed to get reasonably back in shape for Friday I think. I planned the route on Strava and then downloaded it to my Garmin so it would tell me where to go as I rode. Strava said 253km so I decided to do it in one go on the racer and my new front bag rather than the tourer. Firstly the garmin wouldn't let me "Ride" the route, despite it being loaded onto the device. Cue a lot of cursing at it at 5 in the morning. In the end, having driven there last year, I decided to just consult phone and wing it, rather than lose any more time. Because SA is a strange mix of busy roads and largely useless drivers, I wanted to get out of JHB before things got too busy. The 4:45 start turned into 5:20 by the time I had exhausted my extensive lexicon of swear words on the Garmin. This was going to be my longest ride ever: I'd done 190km in November, but that was racing the 94,7 in a bunch, and then escorting Chloe round in her later group. I felt fine after that, apart from a sore right arm from a bit of uphill pushing, so I was confident I'd be able to do it; it was just a case of how long it would take. I always had the option of being scooped up by Chloe in the support car when she left after lunch, so it was only pride as pressure, not necessity. I did 60km without a break, consulting strava every now and then for directions, and that's when the first hiccup came - the proscribed turning as per route was very much a dirt road, which is something best avoided on a road bike. I consulted a rather fat Afrikaner who'd just driven down it in his jeep and he advised against the dirt road, despite it having just been graded. After a banana and hard boiled egg, I decided to just get onto the main road (the R511) that ran all the way to Marakele. A misty start to the day, with sunrise over the Crocodile River just after Lanseria showing a bit of promise. iPhone doesn't really do it justice, but hey ho. I got onto the 511 about 10km before Brits (which is a bit of a dump really), and got my first taste of trucks. It was about 8 ish by then, so getting busy, and Brits itself, then the next 30km or so was pretty grim. There is a lot of Chrome and Platinum mining around Brits and Rustenberg (they form part of the Bushveld Igneous Complex FYI) so there are plenty of trucks about. They are mostly double trailers here, and I quickly realised that they don't like moving over for cyclists. I'd regularly get buzzed from rather close proximity even if nothing else was coming the other way. I think the UK close pass police would have had kittens, especially seeing as they have a habit of blasting you on the horn as they approach too. I'm not sure if it's a polite 'I'm coming up behind you so watch out' toot, but their general driving didn't exactly reflect courtesy so I began to assume it was a bit of a 'Get off the road' beep instead. Plus, it was fairly easy to hear a 30-tonne truck bearing down on you, even if it is from behind. You just have to keep your head down and hold your line - and then you give them the finger! I met a couple of friendly ones, which was refreshing, but I was also run off the road 3 times by the bastards overtaking into me. My strava morning ride was renamed 'Truckers are arseholes' in their honour. When it comes to leaving for the tour, I think I'll do a lot of dirt roads in SA as that won't be an issue on the tourer, and try to avoid the busier stuff. I'll also have a wing mirror on the tourer so no more casting nervous looks over my shoulder. Luckily this bad boy wasn't on the road as I think he would have squished me. This is parked outside Anglo American's Kumba Iron Ore mine in Thabzimbi, about 20km from Marakele. I struggled a bit between kms 95 and 130 and that was probably due to overdoing it a bit. When I'm doing a long journey, whether driving or biking, I don't like to stop until I've done the lion's share of it. Then I chill out a bit more once we're over the hump, as it were. I was using Garmin for speed and whatnot, with a Heart Rate (HR) strap, so I had a pretty good idea of how far I'd gone, and how fast I'd done it. The aim of the HRM is to use it to avoid cooking yourself - much better to have a fast second half or third than bury yourself early on and limp home. So my aim was to keep BPM at between 120 and 140, and not worry about the speed. At the 130km mark I stopped at some strange 'pad stal' (Afrikaans for roadside shop/services) and got my water bottles filled up and treated myself to some biltong and fig rolls. I don't think I'd eaten enough, and I hadn't stopped, so here I took off my shoes and had a bit of a lie down as my feet and back were giving me some trouble. I was back on the road again in about half an hour, and felt much better for the stop. Getting into the bush now. These signs alternate with a leaping Kudu and 'BEWARE'. The roads were quieter after my first big stop, and I got into a bit of a rhythm, sitting at about 30kph. By now we were very much in game country - either private reserves for tourism, or game farms for hunting and trophy breeding. I'd kept an eye out for wildlife along the way, but had mostly just seen dead stuff. Roadkill wise, I saw a side-striped jackal just on the outskirts of JHB, by Lanseria airport, then a mongoose a while later, and 3 dead snakes. People who know me are probably aware of my healthy interest in dead stuff. Some would call it an obsession, and Chloe certainly doesn't like my penchant for skulls and stuffed animals, but an attraction to the morbid is natural in my opinion. I passed a couple of interesting looking taxidermeries (sic) but unfortunately they fell in the first half when breaks were not on my agenda. I pedalled on filled with sorrow and pondered what stuffed delights might lay inside. I may start a feature on roadkill, documenting the demise of interesting wildlife across Africa. To be honest, given the truckers' conduct I was somewhat surprised (and relieved) not to see any cyclists along the route. My friend Ben surprised me in Jolene the Jimny at about 150km with a powerade, which I gratefully slurped down in about 2 mins and then threw back at him (with the lid off apparently). Like me, Ben views Friday as a day of leisure, rather than of work, so it was nice to see a friendly face after a good few hours in the saddle. He later reported that I was cheery, which may have been an overexaggeration, especially when he asked 'So do you think you are you going to make it then?' - that rankled somewhat, but I resisted the alluring call of his wing mirror for a couple of kms, and arranged to meet at 'a nice country pub' for lunch further down the road. Lunch with the de Kocks - thanks for the shade! As it transpired, there was precisely nowhere to eat between where I was and Thabazimbi (50km). I had deliberately packed all the food I thought I would need, partly to test out my fancy new handlebar bag, and partly for a bit of weight/self-sufficiency training. I know I'm not going to be able to make chicken, mayo, cucumber and mustard rolls every morning in the bush, but I thought it would be better to do things myself than stop at some grim services and smash a Wimpy burger or two. So with about 50km under my belt from main rest 1, and Ben texting to say that there was naff all further along the road, and that he was stopping at Thabazimbi for fish & chips, I passed a little bit of shade and pulled in. After lunch I calculated about 50 odd km to go so was pretty pleased with myself - although I did have a few miscalculations earlier in the route (working out I only had 70km left, doing 10km, and then realising I actually still had 70km left was a bit of a blow. One which I lay wholeheartedly at the feet of my maths teachers). Lunch was good (I make a pretty mean sandwich in my opinion) and after half an hour I got back on the bike. Yellow Lining it. Luckily the route wasn't too hilly - only 1300m ascent over 230km is pretty flat by my standards. But there were long stretches with not a lot going on. After lunch there wasn't a hell of a long way to go. But with 180km in your legs there aren't many easy kms to be honest. I was starting to push a bit harder as I was near the end now, but for my extra effort (by HR input), I wasn't really seeing much speed improvement. I was also thirsty, having polished off 4 litres of water and a powerade so far. I was planning on nursing my last half a bottle to Thabazimbi, 25km away, but by this time it was rather hot - 35 degrees according to the Garmin - so I demolished that rather quickly. A bogged down John Deere relieved a bit of the tedium, although seeing a JD stuck elicits the same feelings of horror that a stuck Defender does - it just shouldn't happen! It was a big fancy piece of kit with a power harrow on, and was up to it's axles. I decided not to stop and take a pic (mostly for the old man) but settled on some sound heckling as I sped (ish) past. 'Try engaging the diff lock!' was my gleeful barracking as I wafted by. The guy probably didn't appreciate advice from a 'blerrie rooinek' but I've got a few John Deeres, and Defenders actually, stuck in my time, so I felt qualified to comment. I stopped at some dodgy pesticide shop for a bottle refill where the water tasted pretty grim - I detected undertones of Roundup in there. Then, refreshed, I became involved in a bit of a battle with a school bus which would regularly overtake me unnecessarily close, and then stop further up the road to disgorge screaming children, seemingly into the middle of nowhere. The driver would then sit on his mobile phone for a bit where I would then overtake it again. This process repeated itself a few times but I decided a scowl and finger wagging to the bus driver would have to suffice in place of choicier words due to the juvenile witnesses hanging out the windows. He obviously had a lengthy reply to take care of as I left them behind after about 20 minutes. I made Thabazimbi in decent time, where I encountered this chap wobbling across the road. It's a small town with a fair bit of traffic so, inspired by the tally of roadkill thus far on the ride, I jumped off the bike and plucked him from the tar. They're rather funny things, and they walk in an odd jerky fashion, rather as if suffering from some reptilian nervous system disorder. The chameleon obviously felt capable of crossing the road itself, and puffed itself up, hissing at me in order to convey its sentiments. Now, I've been bitten my lizards before, which is more shocking than painful, but my chameleon knowledge made me bold - a sticky tongue couldn't do me much damage, I reasoned. I was also fresh on Instagram, and keen to be able to offer something other than a picture of a bike. Cue a rather jubilant photoshoot in the pouring rain, being heckled by mine workers passing by in the back of lorries. Due to the rain and touchscreen not getting along well, I only produced two pictures - I did attempt a selfie, but the bastard kept crawling up my arm behind my neck. I like this one purely because it looks so damn cross with me. Ennobled in his tail-curling outrage! The rest of the ride passed fairly uneventfully to be honest. The heavens opened in Thabazimbi for about 20 minutes, ruining my chameleon photoshoot, but then dried up. I demolished a previously untouched pack of winegums within about 5km, despite being almost at the park. I also gave it the beans for the last few kms, ending the ride on, I think, a wholly respectable 28,5km/h average speed - 230km in just over 8 hours pedalling time. I felt pretty decent at the end of it, all things considered, and pleased to have had a go. As it turned out, Chloe and the others encountered flash flooding and didn't get to the park until about 7pm. This is probably a bit of a long and boring post for a measly training ride, but I'm sure my blogging enthusiasm will wane over time, so stick with me and look forward to fewer words and more pictures. Cheers!
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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