Results sheets are usually the clear facts of racing. The first person was the winner, and everyone else just didn’t manage it that day. What a results sheet lacks is a story, a compassionate link to what all the individuals went through in any given race. Although we often only care who won, and who we can regard as being the best on the day, it is unfortunate that a results list can sometimes recognise who may have just been the most lucky. But that’s racing.
The Absa Cape Epic is one of the most challenging Mountain Bike races in the world. It has been labeled the hardest, but personally I think there are too many different factors involved in comparing mountain bike races to say one is clearly the hardest. That said, how hard the Cape Epic hits you day after day in terms of terrain, climate and depth of field is second to none. Will Hayter and I have the terrible history of not finishing the Cape Epic as a team. We would not be alone in this – countless people don’t manage to finish due to illness, mechanicals, or not making the time cut-offs. Their number boards will be cut off, and they will not finish the Cape Epic. But that’s racing.
In 2011, Will Hayter and Mike Hogan tangled in a now fairly popular video, ending the race for both of them. Along with Mike’s team mate, Thomas, I rode the last two stages in a mixture of disappointment and sorrow. To that point, the race had served up so many challenges. Will had low days, and I’d probably had more than him, but we got each other through. Crossing the line solo towards a team mate in a sling wasn’t part of the plan. But that’s racing.
Last year, it was all meant to be. Although there were echo’s of 2011 with Will blowing gaskets in the heat on the first two days, he came on strong and by Stage 3 I was grovelling on his wheel. But a persistent niggle in my left knee from before the race turned into overbearing pain and a forced abandonment halfway through Stage 5. Pulling out on Will was not an easy choice, and waiting in Lourensford to see him finish I knew the pain that Will had felt last year. I wasn’t alone, others were there with injuries, and each had their story to tell. Whether through bad luck or others incompetence, their race was over. But that’s racing.
And so this year – I’ve done what I can to be prepared, and Will has certainly gone above and beyond in his preparations. He flew out early to acclimatise, and has nailed his training and, just as importantly, his tapering. We’re on bikes built for the Cape Epic, riding new Bianchi Methanol 29 FS bikes built up with reliable and serviceable parts. And despite me being a little underdone compared to Will, things were going ok. We were aiming for a top 30 finish in Men’s, and after stage 1 we were sitting 30th. That’s two days out of six, but we were in the right place and knew it would be tough work. What we hadn’t factored in was illness. Waking in the early hours of Tuesday morning with a need to evacuate my tent and then a lot of fluid, I was in no shape to get on a bike before the 7am start. With frequent amenities use and lying shivering in the foetal position taking up the rest of my day, Will powered on alone, starting his journey to Lourensford as an unofficial finisher. Or an Outcast, as the jersey that the Cape Epic provides to UCI riders is labeled. Will can race in the A block, but cannot change the results. He may not help a group or other riders. But that’s racing.
Having now sat out two days of racing, and endured rolls of toilet paper, multiple sachets of Rehidrat, a drip, various tablets, antibiotics and minimal food, I’m starting to feel a little better. The fever has gone, as has the nausea. So I had entertained ideas of being a ‘blue board’ rider. Those who have missed cutoffs or not finished stages can still be in the race – just not actually recording results. They’re out of the facts, and off the results sheet. But they still get the experience, and can join in the last block at the start. Having now found out that I can’t do so, as I have missed two stages, is really gutting. I get it – I haven’t finished the race. I’m not a finisher, as I couldn’t complete the course. But being stuck on the sidelines for another four days is just cruel. There are countless friend who I would love to be riding with, but I’m not even allowed on course with the people who are doing battle with the cut off each day. Yeah, that’s racing – but right now it seems overly harsh for a race in which the vast majority are amateur competitors.
And so for the coming days it seems I will be on the sidelines – unable to ride on the trails that have been prepared for the race, and unable to ride with my friends from the USA, France, England, South Africa – and a whole range of other places. You don’t really capture all that in a ‘DNF’.