An Epic Week - Riding the 2013 Cape Epic (Part 2)

Sometimes the kilometres seem to fly quickly by; at other times, you seem to be fighting for every meter, every turn of your wheels, every revolution of your cranks.

Macam Jamboree, but lagi big

If each stage is a Jamboree ride, then it is a seriously long ride. Then, considering the distance of each stage, water points are as good as start and finish lines in their own right (distances between them can be as short as 10km, or over 35km), especially for the amount of climbing one has to do. When the distance is short between points, you can be assured the section in going to be a hard one.

Brendan and me at the finish of yet another stage... dirty but happy!

We’re hanging in there and hearing the war stories accumulate around us. Tales of excitement, disappointment, enjoyment, and exhaustion abound in their various forms. We have seen and heard of broken bones and bikes, witnessed feats of utter teamwork and dedication to each other, and we have our fair share of receiving rude behavior out on the course. Most people here ride like gentlemen (and ladies), with fair acknowledgement of what they can or can’t do when the going gets tough; those that don’t, don’t usually last as their lack of etiquette and real MTB skills quickly shows up.

But the common adjective being thrown around is ‘HARD’. The race is hard and there is no mistake about it, it should be hard, if not it would not be the Cape Epic. The easy or recovery stages are hard in their own way, and anyone expecting otherwise is a fool.

Study the Terrain

The terrain is an entire subject by itself. There is a slogan on the Oakley vendor vehicles that say: “To master the trail, you have to study the terrain”. Truer words have never been said, and this applies particularly to the Cape Epic and its blend of terrain. Here, I talk about the 3 main sub-topics, considered essential reading:

Sand: Stage 1 was a shocking introduction to this obstacle. In its various forms, it can force bikes off their chosen line, or stop people completely so that they have to get off and walk. Pedaling through this is an exercise in brute force.

Speed: strictly speaking, speed is not a ‘terrain feature’, but the ‘freebie’ for tackling the climbs. One can gain speed fast, but it also proves the undoing of many teams, as crashes, injuries, and damaged bikes take their toll. In the Cape Epic, speed management is a constant series of calculations going on in my head. The usual tactic I utilize: to not expend excess energy to the point that there is nothing left to concentrate and steer the bike when it goes really fast.

Dust: The lack of rain is a blessing, but it gives rise to this very interesting aspect of riding – something not often seen in tropical climates. Combined with speed, it is a dangerous mix; a safe distance must be established between riders, as this stuff obscures the features of the trail. The worst obstacles that can be hidden in dust clouds are sand ruts in the apex of flat corners, followed by the odd rock lying in a pothole or rut that can easily throw one off-line or into an endo.

Stages 4 & 5

There are stages that play to different strengths of riders in the field. Stage 4 and 5 were such contrasting stages.

The former was 120km long and featured some steady-state long efforts on gravel roads (they call them ‘district roads’ here) and asphalt. Certainly a day for the power athletes who could do long efforts; there is absolutely nothing like that in Singapore, unless you sit on rollers or an indoor trainer and grind away for massively big sets in a heavy gear and/or lots of resistance on.

The latter stage was a shorty at 75km, but featured a very jagged elevation profile – short, steep climbs that ducked in and out of singletrack, with a fair bit of that consisting of technical, loose climbing on sandy, washed-out forestry tracks.

I find myself suffering on the fast road-bound starts, when everyone rides roadie-style, drafting and fidgeting in the peloton, and putting down the hammer early to establish a lead before the technical sections begin. Being fitter would allow me to do that, but I can’t, and poor Brendan has to wait for me on many of these long ‘pulls’ when the main bunch moves ahead, especially when the district roads get sandy and corrugated and the ‘resistance level’ goes up.

Instead, we play the game of patience – knowing that many riders lack the technical skill for the really steep climbs, especially those with larger-sized rocks, gravel bits and deep ruts. This is where we can overtake them, in particularly myself, who cannot make any powerful moves. Instead, I sit back, drop my elbows, and spin up, balancing front wheel control with rear wheel traction. When really needed, I can still pull off the short, sharp accelerations to overtake. I take advantage of being able read the lines and guide my front wheel through, skimming over rocky sections… instead of ploughing through on the edge of balance.

The descents are fun affairs. We make sure we are comfortable and go for it. We might have stressed out a few teams by tailing them too closely on the singletrack descents, but we know for sure that it is tiring to hear another team breathing down your neck. Extra energy from anxiety usually means the team, upon exit of the singletrack, dow not have the energy to gun it (whether it is putting in those all-important first pedal strokes for an acceleration downhill, or getting the jump for the next grind uphill).

A land of contrasts

Riding Stage 5 today left me with a particularly indelible impression: that of the stark socio-economic contrast in the region we passed through (Wellington). We rode through the cobblestoned driveways of wine estate manors, the occupants – the estate owners, their friends and families (with young children at times)- would be on the perfectly manicured lawns, sitting on deck chairs or the verandahs behind their hedgerows, raising champagne glasses while loud stereo music pumped from somewhere cheering us on. They were invariably whites.

Riding out of the gates of these sprawling estates, we would encounter kids in bare feet holding out their hands for hi-fives, tooting on vuvuzelas, or cupping their hands in a pleading movement asking for chocolates and sweets. Men gathered in groups in matching overalls (the farm workers), and women who would be standing just a little way from where their little cottages stood in the middle of the fields would be at the side of the farm roads too, all cheering us on too. They were invariably blacks.

I do not know what to think of this just yet, zooming through the region and actually experiencing such a contrast of supporter-ship, all while on a bicycle. There is disparity for sure: a working class and an elite class that exist side-by-side in this beautiful but harsh landscape. It is something that we acknowledge exists, and that we are thankful for being able to see it in such an epic mode of travel.