(A long overdue post for reasons previously explained.)
As it approaches the enc of the tour, many of the riders question their ability to transition back into their everyday lives in the real world. German woman's race leader Gisi suggests that she could ride her bike everyday and live in a tent everynight forever. I like to think that this doesn't apply to me (looking back over the last few weeks, this showed itself to be true). I look forward to being connected 24/7, having easy access to clean, running water and sleeping in a bed. No doubt I'll grow to miss the adventures and experiences of travelling through Africa with time but the generational gap probably accounts for difference in opinion (or perhaps even just the vast difference in age). We are the internet generation - being surrounded in technology is the norm for us.
Our last week of riding contained shorter riding days - around 130 kilometres per day. The road was beautifully paved (a phrase that seems to have been overused on this blog) but the flat days of Botswana were clearly far behind us as we tackled roller after roller into prevailing head/crosswinds. After freezing our way from the border to camp, a caravan park in the town of Springbok, we were greeted by most winterly temperatures for the first time since I left England in January. As it approached zero degrees Celsius, most riders donned their heaviest jackets, hats and gloves. Crawling into my sleeping bag, I left my jumper, hat and gloves on until emerging into the chilly morning sleet (personally I swear it was snow but my meterology skills are apparently suspect).
The next day, riding south to a town called Garies, the cyclist Gods of Africa through yet another perilous danger and EFI threat towards me - my crank fell off. Fortunately, it wasn't a serious mechanical failure, merely caused by loose screws (quite how those screws worked themself out is a mystery) and was easily remedied. Unfortunately my rusty Park Tools multitool couldn't supply enough torque to tighten the screws enough and it fell off twice again. Regardless, I made it to camp and Paul (initially grudgingly and then) willingly helped me tighten them up, using a spare screw to replace one of the screws that had stripped. In other news, rider Erin (who was 4th in the women's race) received her first stage win - a superb effort and brilliantly timed with just two race days left.
Dinner that night was a gourmet event - tacos, burritos with refried beans and a thick, chocolatey dessert. Henry Gold (founder of TDA and visiting staff member for the last section) donated a few boxes of white wine. Remembering that I needed to take my malaria prophylactis and not having water to hand, I washed it down with wine - a severe error in judgement.
All I recall when I woke up was a vague image of trying to escape from my tent. According to Paddy, my campground neighbour, he woke up, alarmed at the sound of what appeared to be someone in danger. As he went to assist me (I was struggling to open my tent door - all he could hear was the continuous sound of a zipper), he heard me laugh and realised it must have been some sort of sleep-escape. Bizarre.
On the last day of the race, we had a surprise. More dirt! Our route to Cape Town in South Africa started off on a main highway (the N7) but at Garies we took a turn towards the coast before following it into the city. A good 70km of the day was dirt - we had breakfast at Wimpy's before making the fateful turn onto rough dirt for which we were not prepared. My skinny tyres sunk deeply into the sand and the first part before lunch was hard work trying to keep the bike from slipping out under me. The heavy wind and drizzle made it a miserable experience.
After lunch though, things improved considerably. It was much quicker and I must have averaged well above 30kmph. Once the dirt ended though, we hit the pavement and turned right into had been a considerable crosswind and was now a considerable headwind. This lasted for a few kilometres and we eventually ended up on another private road that followed the coast. A combination of the salt water spray and dirt being kicked up from the ground made it hard to see and I road a fair chunk of that part of the day with my eyes shut (or open and watering profusely). Towards the end of the dirt road, I stopped to take a photo and when on my bike and accelerating again, my shorts (three pairs, to offset the effects of a lack of suspension) caught on my saddle, causing me to veer left (while trying to disentangle myself) and stop dead in the sand. Thrown off my bike onto my recently healed knee, the wound opened up again and gushed blood onto my damp and sandy leg.
This was our first sight of the sea since Egypt and it reminded me wholeheartedly of why the British public who frequent the seaside are so terrible misguided. The campsite was dire and about 80% of the riders deserted to the hotel next door after arriving in pouring rain. The campsite was part of the beach and hence sandy - a lot of riders who did stay were flooded out of their camps overnight. I managed to stay dry in my tent and slept beautifully to the roar of the sea. It frustrated me that they held two riders meetings - one at the hotel and one at the campsite (why should they cater to the wusses?)., especially when Dave and I were trying to announce the results of the Decathlon: won by Gert of Indaba. (In other news, like Erin, Rick also went for it and won the stage. Unlike Erin though, he isn't 4th in the women's race.)
The day into Yves Fontein, the last campsite of the tour was a fairly bleak day (what's new) and I tried (on a non-race day, it must be said) to be the first rider into both lunch and into camp. This, I managed and I was proud to overtake all riders who rode from lunch too. That evening, we had a few celebrations - a prolonged rider meeting and another rider's birthday. I celebrated with a bottle of Amarula (the leftovers were donated to the hot drinks table the following morning - in such cold, even a cup of Milo needed some help).
The final day we woke up with damp and cold kit but it didn't matter. We rode, leisurely, to lunch at the beach, pausing only to fix the puncture that threatened Jason's EFI. At lunch we took photos - Table Mountain in the background and the Atlantic ocean behind us and we gorged - James had laid out a beautiful buffet of cheese, crackers and BISCUITS! After changing into my tuxedo (four months of continuous cycling requires a stylish arrival), and a few more photos, the convoy began.
