On Wynberg Hill, the first serious bump on the route of the Cape Argus Pick n Pay Cycle Tour, a young kid riddled out the chant that has become one of the most well-known sayings for cyclists around the country. “Hou, bene, hou!” The basic translation is “Hold, legs, hold!” but it is more than that. It is a musical mantra for riders, a beat to keep pedalling to.
And so the young boy banged it out. And then I rode past, in the path of a man from Austria in a hand-powered cycle. I was drafting a cripple, a man whose legs did not work so lekker, as a friend of mine who is as subtle as a slap in the testicles said. “Hou, bene, hou! Hou, bene…Jissus!” He saw the legs that did not work so lekker and he stopped. He checked it out for five seconds. “Hou, arms, hou!” That, right there, is the magic of the Cape Argus Pick n Pay Cycle Tour, a race that I believe just may be the greatest event in Africa, if not the world.
Of course this is something I have said before about other events, I think, but after 13 lucky years of riding in this event, I do believe it to be a race that attempts to cure, partially and in its own way, the ills of our nation and society, while bringing them to the forefront at the same time. It’s the people who ride the race, you see. The fat and skinny, the old and young, the black and (mostly) white, the elite and development riders, the debutants and those who have ridden each of the 36 that have been held. It is a truly South African binge of love, hardship, rich and poor, weak and strong.
Yesterday, through the fuzz of a carbo-loading session that began at the Vasco da Gama bar in Green point (which, sadly, will move to another venue soon), where the Castle draught was cold and the chicken livers so overcooked that they crumbled apart instead of yielding with knife slice. Three beers later, I felt I should continue my Cycle Tour tradition of visiting the Fireman’s Arms, a wonderful bar with extravagant beer prices to match, R30 for a Hansa is quite silly. I would stay one beer, I told myself in the way that those drinking alone do. Five beers and a lucky win for the Stormers later, and I made my way back to the Cullinan Hotel. But wait, I told myself, there was another game to come, and so I bought a bottle of wine from Lourensford from the hotel bar and reposed to my room.
The alarm went off at 4am. It wasn’t welcome. But I arrived at the start with my bike and was given a tracking device from, well, Tracker. They said it was to check on me along the route for logistics purposes. They also gave one to Sir Richard Branson, who was riding for Virgin Active-Unite. I was supposed to, but I’ve never been able to forgive him for Tubular Bells. I rode in Virgin Active kit, though; because there’s always a chance they’d mistake me for him.
No chance. I was rubbish. I started in “M” and was passed by two groups before the top of the first highway section, where a man in a hand cycle powered up beside me. It was Ernst van Dyk, the multiple Paralympic world champion. I shouted a howzit. “Kevin McCallum! They gave you a bigger introduction than me at the start,” he laughed. It’s hell being a legend I told him. “Come ride with us,” he said. I tried, but he rode me off, powering away, eventually winning in a sprint finish in 3.28. I sent him a BBM afterwards: “Legend.” He was.
It took 50km before the hangover had been forced out of me. The drinking and the utter lack of training will do that to you. Around Simonstown my legs woke up. The, er, strength returned. The will to find pain was there, and I dug a little deeper. I still went backwards on the climbs, but I’m a flat-track bully on the flats and powered through when I could. Chappies was smooth, although a man begged me to stop and help him with a puncture. I was glad to, but then he broke my new, uber-cool and not cheap Lezyne C02 adapter. I spun up Chappies, ground up Suikerbossie and then ripped the hell out of the descent into Green Point. I’m great on the rolling roads.
I pushed on in, finishing in a shade under four hours. A kid, a development rider, kicked hard at the end to help me get across. He had started 30 minutes behind me. His legs had held just fine.
Read full post