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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