Stage 4

I cried when I finished the fourth stage of the Absa Capo Epic yesterday. I didn’t want to cry. Rita Duckworth, mother of Clayton my fellow Team Absa teammate, hugged me as I came over the line in nine hours, 49 minutes and a whole lot of pain. Then she cried. And I cried. Jesus wept. The relief of it all.

It was a day when heaven became hell; of being broken in a crash and breaking a chain. It was day when the Absa Cape Epic ground me down and picked me up, leaving me in a sobbing mess in the arms of Rita. Clay’s mum works for Absa. One day I’ll ask her what her title is, but it seems she is concerned mostly with keeping us happy and making us feel utterly special. All the emotion, the fear and the pain of the fifth day of the Absa Cape Epic came out as Rita hugged me and made me cry. When we untangled, Paul Kaye, the finish line announcer, asked me about the day. I spoke, but I can’t remember the words exactly. I know I didn’t swear. I’m sure I didn’t. I probably wanted to, but I’d already cussed up a blue storm over 103km and 2700-metres of climbing. It was supposed to be a little longer and 100-metres shorter in terms of climbing, but the organisers of the Absa Cape Epic can play silly buggers sometimes.

Today was a day when the 143km of the third stage, the queen stage of the Cape Epic, sat heavy on our legs. The third stage was always going to be tough, but getting through the next day was going to be tougher purely because of what had preceded it. It was pain. We flowed from the start, rolling through the rock ‘n roll centre of Caledon, our home until this morning, when we left headed for Oak Valley-Grabouw. Again, the foolhardy kicked hard and rolled through like they were riding the Cape Argus Pick n Pay Cycle Tour. Jack Stroucken, my partner, had no argument from me when he told me to sit back and save myself for the end.

But the end nearly came sooner than it should have. At the base of the Charlie’s Heaven mountain climb, not far away from where we saw three pigs rutting away in a mating dance that may catch on in Caledon, a traffic jam of riders formed. Some of them were Day Trippers, those who chose a stage of the Cape Epic and ride along for the day. It was slow going and one in front of me clipped a rock with his back wheel. My front wheel hit it and it kicked up into the air. The wind. Hell, the wind. It blew like hell on the mountain called heaven. A gust caught my wheel and pushed it over the edge of the cliff, and I flipped over my handlebars. I saw a rock heading towards my face and somehow managed to twist so I was only left with a scratch on it. My wrist hit down hard. Someone shouted “medic”, but I wanted none of that. I wanted to finish this damn thing and jumped up. Got on my bike and rode. My hand has a blue bruise; so, too, my index finger on my left hand. My left hip and upper quad is bruised. I have more scratches. I was sore. I was angry. And I rode in anger, which was a mistake. I blew. Badly. Jack told me to calm down.

Then Jack broke his chain just before we came down the hectic descent, and I began to panic more. Would we finish in time. Jack was calm. I was not. Jack works for Absa and can crunch numbers. I crunch words. He knew what we needed to do. The wind was the thing. At the last water point we were told the cut-off had been extended by 30 minutes. Relief surged through me, but we didn’t need it. Jack drove us home in the wind, riding strongly. Then we finished, coming in at the same time as Elana Meyer and Ernst Viljoen of Team Absa. Then I cried. Oh, how I cried. Three days left to go. I may cry again.

Kevin McCallum is riding the Absa Cape Epic as a part of Team Absa, the sponsor’s celebrity-media team. He is raising money for The Star Seaside Fund.