Cape Town!

Crossing the border into South Africa and seeing the first sign for Cape Town, the ending of this journey was starting to become very real.  A few days ago we hit the coast and dipped our toes (only our toes mind, it was absolutely freezing) in the Atlantic Ocean.  We hadn’t seen the sea since Safaga in Egypt, a good long four months ago.

You’d think as the miles stacked up and the finish line got closer the riding would become easier, but although Africa provides the setting for the longest bike race in the world (that’s the one that we just did by the way) apparently that’s not the continent’s raison d’etre, so unfortunately the roads and terrain don’t ease to sympathise and congratulate our arrival at our destination.  The final riding days were still demanding.

We spent the final few days skirting the coast line, and unbelievably the penultimate afternoon caught our first glimpse of table mountain (at least on this occasion geography complied with an iconic feature to demarcate our finish line).  We rubbed our eyes – in both disbelief and somewhat overwhelmed with the emotion.

The actual ride into Cape Town was fantastic.  We stopped at the beach for obligatory photos with our bikes in the air, champagne guzzling and some general jubilation – this was our private celebration amongst the riders, whilst our common bond still held us tight and before our arrival would begin the steady dissipation of the norms we had built around us (acceptably smelly clothes, rushing to queue for any food on offer, uninhibited discussion of bowel movements for example).

 

Having being truck bound for far too long due to the crevice in her leg, as you can imagine, nothing was going to stop Lizzie cycling in the convoy into town.  We gathered and rode as a pack happily chatting for the last 30kms, straight towards Table Mountain and into the waterfront where a spectacular crowd of well wishers were waiting for us.  Flags were waved, medals were given out and we clapped until our hands hurt.  

How does it feel to get to the finish line of a trans-continental bike ride?  We’re not sure that we know yet.  There is utter pride, in ourselves, in those who we rode with and each of their achievements.  There is relief – we made it, the pressure is off.  There is exhaustion, of the body and the mind.  There is sadness, for the end of the most beautifully simple life style; to leave the pleasure of the road and the sights it takes you to; to part with the friends that we’ve made; to say good bye to the excellent crew who kept us heading on the right road, nursed us, kept us fed, kept our bikes working, and generally kept us smiling.      

   

It’s going to take some time to work through it all.  And whilst we are doing that, we can dream up the next adventure…..

Wind - The Proof!

After our blog on the wind the other day, we were riding through Namibia (into a headwind, naturally) and saw this sign, which we wish had come a week earlier so we could have included it with the post!

Battered Bikes

To get from Windhoek to the border with South Africa, we have taken an off-road route in order to avoid the main highway and the screaming traffic going at 120km/h. This has meant we have seen some beautiful desert and sand dunes. Sadly, we don't think our bikes will thank us.

The cracked rim on one rider's bike - he had to ride the
rest of the day with no front brake as it has to be disengaged
to allow the wheel to go round. Brave man...

As we have mentioned before, off-road tracks often become corrugated by the heavy cars that rush up and down them, causing some severe jolts that our bikes take the brunt of and our bodies take whatever is left. Ali lost his sixth bottle cage of the trip to this stretch of corrugation and water bottles were shaken out countless times. In order to stop the bottles falling out, Ali took his MacGyver-esque skills to fashion a sling out of an old inner tube, which has worked surprisingly well. Although when the actual bottle cage cracked they became entirely redundant...

The now redundant 'inner tube sling' (it
sounds like a cocktail)

Blazing Saddles Series 7 - The One with the Elephant

The seventh and penultimate sectional video is now up on YouTube. Enjoy the Watchmen-inspired music. Click here to watch it.

Last Leg - Lost Leg

As a group of riders we have all come here for different reasons, but there is one goal which nearly all riders aspire to at the start of the trip – the elusive E.F.I (Every F@*!ing Inch).  Achieving E.F.I (and never seeing the inside of the truck) is said to be a matter of good health, a robust bike, a strong mind and, most importantly, luck.  The tour is a machine which waits for nobody, the miles are already set, the camps picked, the water pick ups arranged.  This preordained and unrelenting pace hovers over all of us and puts a pressure on riders who might otherwise flex their plans to listen to the needs of their body; typically just under 25% of any group achieve E.F.I. 

After a serious bout of vomiting and diarrhoea Ali lost his E.F.I in Ethiopia, spending a day and a half in the truck.  Other than one further day off in Botswana with a fever he has ridden on through all other ailments since that point.  Until Windhoek, Lizzie was one of just four girls who retained the status pushing through each kilometre day after day.  With one last stretch from Windhoek to Cape Town the end almost in touching distance.  However, it was not to be.

Two days prior to Windhoek a bad saddle sore had developed and a fever was taking hold, with her temperature over 40 degrees. A group of fellow riders, knowing her commitment to the challenge, heroically formed a group around her, setting a steady slow pace and sheltering her from the wind, they pulled her the 160km in to the rest day.  A trip to hospital and a malaria test later, it transpired that the saddle sore was the cause of the fever and a small abscess was removed under local anaesthetic.  Having thought that her E.F.I was in tatters it was with pleasant surprise that Lizzie tentatively placed her battered behind on her saddle to ride out of Windhoek and in to the desert.

By lunch the bubble was burst.  If we give Lizzie’s left thigh a value of 1, then after the 60km to lunch her right thigh was at least equal to, if not greater than 1.5 (and not due to a growth of heavily defined muscle as we joked about before we set off).  The medic recommended it was time to get off her bike. We’ll spare you the in’s and out of all that followed, but a return to Windhoek, six days in hospital on an IV drip of antibiotics, an operation under general anaesthetic to remove a further abscess and a gathering of dead tissue and the insertion of some material in the leg to ‘drain’ it later, things are finally moving in the right direction.

Having missed out on the majority of Namibia, Lizzie rejoined the group at the border with South Africa.  With two deep open wounds it looks unlikely that she’ll be able to ride the remaining miles to Cape Town.   Testament to her commitment to the tour, her first words upon waking from the anaesthetic were ‘can I get back on my bike?’

Unsurprisingly, not being able to ride the bike changes the very nature of the trip.  It’s hard being around camp and listening to people discussing the intricacies of a road which I haven’t ridden.  Seeeing the sunrise bumping up and down out the window of the truck is nothing like pedalling along next to it and feeling the warmth increase on your skin as it thaws out your fingers.  But there are also positives – not doing 6 – 8 hours of exercise everyday means that I am left with a substantially greater amount of brain power at the end of the day, enabling me to actually string a sentence together and admire and absorb what I am seeing.  This is not the end of the trip as I envisaged, but it doesn’t in any way erode the satisfaction I have over what I have achieved.  

Contrasts

One of the highlights of our trip has been the really understanding and experiencing the contrasts between countries. This has rarely been better exemplified than from moving from Botswana to Namibia.

As we have mentioned in the blog on Botswana, it was very flat, with long, straight roads and little by the way of scenery (although the odd bit of wildlife did spruce it up sporadically). In terms of mental resilience required to cycle for six hours a day there, it was high on the list.

Botswana - long, straight roads. Tough going...

Namibia could not be more different. As we approached Windhoek, the mountains stretched out either side of us, providing great eye fodder. Since we have left Windhoek and headed out off road into the Namib desert, it has just got better and better; this reached a pinnacle with what cyclists can only dream of - arriving at a huge peak without having to climb. We don't know how it happened. We were just riding along, on relatively flat roads, when suddenly the world opened up around and below us and we were given the most spectacular views. May it continue to Cape Town...

Namibia - stunning scenery, interesting roads, and best of all:
a climb-free descent!

 

Some amazing photos

We've been meaning to post this link for a while but have only just gotten round to it! For anyone who wants to see some amazing photos by a professional photographer on our trip, click here.

James has been capturing life on the trip with some absolutely breathtaking photos that put ours to shame.

Please enjoy them!