Where the pros come to play
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| What Brendan's shirt said... |
As mentioned in an earlier blog post, the Cape Epic has
attracted, and continues to attract the world’s best cross-country riders. This
year is no exception - winners of World Championships, Olympic medals, and
World Cups attend – along with the dedicated stage race specialists, the
multiple winners, the folks who have also ridden and triumphed at other
fearsome and epic MTB events like the Transalps, the Transrockies, the
Crocodile Trophy, and the Iron Bike. Furthermore, it is a non-Olympic year: the
focus of many of these athletes is unlike 2012 for London – we get the elites
in droves, and we, the mere mortals in our droves, are not disappointed.
Humility and playfulness in equal measure from these folks
is not something one usually expects, but we see it with our own eyes and hear
it down the grapevine. Erik and Ariane Kleinhans, the indomitable Mixed duo
this year (winning all but one of the stages), were sitting next to Brendan,
Kate and myself at a dinner table in the evening on Monday (Stage 1). They are
reserved and make light banter with us and several other punters and supporters,
but they rise with poise when their names are called to claim their spots as
the day’s stage winners and the Mixed category leaders jersey. It is a jersey
they do not relinquish for the entire duration of the event.
In contrast, Jose Hermida is the showman, slight of figure
with a wide grin on his face, and a mischievious air about him. The ‘little
guy’ as Brendan refers to him as. This little guy has appeared on the covers of
the Merida catalogs and posters, and was famously pictured sporting a porn-star
moustache when he raised his XC bike over his head as World Champion in 2010.
The emcee summons Jose nightly up on stage, where - to much applause as he
launches into a nasally Spanish accent - he recounts his trials and
tribulations at the front end of the race, drawing regular laughter from the
audience.
Hanging around the GoPro tent at the end of stage 6, I
overhear the main camera-tech gushing about XCO World Champion Nino Schurter’s
antics and how he was playing with the GoPro mid-race – taking it out of the
protective housing and holding it low to the ground WHILE riding. The cam-tech
also mentions footage of a tailwhip that Nino pulled off that got excluded in
the GoPro daily highlights edits. The cam-tech vows to include it for a
subsequent edit. And sure enough, a day later, in the comfort of a hotel room
back in Cape Town, I do see it on Youtube (1:33) – a figure clad in the distinct white with
rainbow highlights that only a World Champion is allowed to wear in official
competition, roosting his rear wheel off a waterbar, the wide-angle camera lens
capturing 3 other bikes close by who made up the elite group he was descending
with.
Stage 6 – Digging Deep
The ‘queen stage’ of the world’s most high-profile mountain
bike race, boasts the intimidating numbers: 99km with 2950m of climbing
squeezed in. It is the last true test of our race. Settling into the climbs
early on the stage is expected. Most of our peloton steers clear of a lanky guy
with the number ‘3’ (denoting the number of times he has finished the Cape
Epic) on his bib, riding a distinct Merida 26” dually. No matter, he is
reckless – overtaking and wobbly in his line selection. He gets elbowed/pushed
back as the trails head skywards and we and others pairs of riders try to put
safe distance between him and themselves. Sustained climbing sections soon
spreads the entire field wide open. After some major descending, what we do not
account for is the baffling headwinds in the relatively flat middle section of
the route.
The beauty about the Cape Epic is that the mind becomes
accustomed to hunting for the most efficient wheel path. Where the eyes look, the brain processes as
whether it is a ‘go’ or ‘no’, and the subsequent decision steers body and bike
accordingly.
The worst are the sand stretches. The ruts carved by
previous riders only suggest, but give no firm indication that the riders
before rode through without being forced to walk. Reading these lines is of
limited use, and the best we hope for is an acceleration and keeping the weight
off the front wheel to prevent it digging in and coming to a standstill. The
high-speed corrugations (tractor tire marks?) are not much better, as we are
often riding the district roads at a decent speed. There are lines of decent
passage on these roads, usually at the sandy shoulders, but sometimes, one can
see bike tread lines in the centre of the road. What do you do when you want to
switch lines? Endure the vibrations from the corrugations, of course. The
switches we try to do fast; at times we switch back and forth across the broad
district roads because the ‘clear lines’ are just a tad too sandy and draggy to
hold a decent speed.
Other teams catch up on us on these district road stretches;
an unspoken negotiation takes place as slower riders – me included usually –
hold the best line in the firmest sand. The faster guys, impatient to get ahead
before the next technical singletrack or climb, push ahead, usually overtaking
wide on the other side of the road. Once they do that, I seldom look up to see
whether they cross back over to the ‘optimal side of the road’. Often, we take
our cue from groups we see far in the distance – they stay left, we stay left,
and so on.
‘You just died in the last 20 minutes there, mate’ beckons
Brendan as the winds and corrugations take their toll on my pace. The effects
of a swig of caffeine I had at the last water point seem to be fizzling out. At
my teammate’s behest, I guzzle more caffeine and carbs and chase it down with
diluted sports drink. This is the point I have to dig deep. This is the fight
for every meter.
Falling behind guys who are fitter but technically less
proficient is what scares me the most – having to follow their pace through the
singletrack or be similarly boxed out on the descents with limited chances to
overtake. Through gritted teeth, I pray we do not meet up the 3-timer and his
26” Merida, swerving all over the place and threatening to take out a few
others with him.
More climbing. Water point 3 looms into view, and the
much-welcomed blackboard with ‘Shut Up Legs’ scrawled across it by Kate lurches
into view. Between frenzied refills of ‘half-and-half’ coke/water and sports
drink/water, chain re-lubes, and cramming boiled potatoes, banana cake and chips
into our moths, we ensure that Kate gets a sweaty hug from us both.
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| We told them legs alright...! |
Most water points are like that, but we diffuse the chaos by
talking through what we want to do before actually entering. Everything from
pee-breaks, camera adjustments, shock tweaks, sunglasses cleaning and food
menus get a run-down and brief-back. No faffing.
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