The ABSA Cape Epic

The Cape Epic is a mountain bike stage race. Now an established part of the UCI Mountain Bike calendar, it attracts an international field of over one thousand riders, including the elite of world mountain biking. But also weekend riders like us, write Andrew le Cordeur and James Beaumont.

Part of a growing scene of endurance events like the TransRockies and TransAlp races, many say the Cape Epic is the biggest and best MTB race in the world. It is 886km long, with 15045 metres of vertical climbing.

Riders take part in teams of two, so it's all about teamwork and sharing the effort together. In this year's Epic there were 603 teams of two riders, including Olympic medallists Jose Hermida and Bart Brentjens, world champion Ralf Naef, Christophe Sauser and many others stars of the MTB World Cup. Other notable entrants included MTB god Tom Ritchey riding with Thomas Frischknecht for ProjectRwanda.org, a charity. But alongside these pro riders, amateurs take part, including two of us from the Kingston Wheelers.

Andrew mixes his road and MTB riding and James, for the past few years has been a road rider but raced MTBs in the past. The Cape Epic was a great motivator to train during those wet winter months. Whilst we obviously weren't aiming to win the race, if you're going to travel halfway around the world for such a big race, it's only fair to arrive in decent condition. To suffer faster.

So the miles and months flew thanks to a lot of long rides. Andrew, a South African, flew out to Cape Town first to start work there again and took time out to ride Cape Argus - Pick n'Pay Cycle Tour, finishing in a great time of 2.58 despite a puncture. James flew out a few days before the race, enough time to recover from the overnight flight and to appreciate the hot weather.


James (L) and Andrew (R) relaxing the day before the start

We made our way to the town of Kynsna, a seaside town popular with tourists that is always the starting point for the Cape Epic. It was here that we got the first taste of the race and the slick organisation behind it. Registering was easy, despite over a thousand riders, everything worked so well and the South Africans were so welcoming.

Stage 1 started well, we finishing 53rd on the first stage, despite starting from way back in the field. However, the next stage wasn't as good, when James took a bad fall early in the stage. Everyone crashes during a week long race like this but James flew off a small bridge to land upside down in a dry river bed, to the amusement of some. Luckily some reeds cushioned his fall but he picked up some injuries that would normally force you out of race but having travelled so far, you can't quit on day two and the team system of the race meant James didn't want to abandon Andrew for the rest of the week.

These injuries turned the next few stages into a slog, every pedal stroke hurt and it was about survival not racing and at times, Andrew offered plenty of encouragement and at times literally pushed James along. After a few days things picked up but our goal of being the first British team home and a top 50 place on the GC had gone.

I got plenty of injuries and ended up a regular in the medical tent, writes James. After my riverbed crash, I had some bad bruising on my left thigh and it felt as if my quad muscle was out of action. So I ended up using my right leg a lot more and coupled with a smash to my right knee, the compensation for my weak left leg gave me bursitis in the right knee. So I had a weak left leg and sore right knee which made me wince with every pedal stroke, not what you want in the middle of a stage race. Normally I'd have abandoned but having travelled so far, you don't quit and just aim to get to the finish each day, hoping things will clear up in time for the end of the race.

Then I got a saddle sore, an abscess the size of a grape which burst on Stage 3, leaving an open wound with no skin in one area where I was sitting. The chief doctor, a veteran of bike racing, was shocked I could even sit on the bike yet alone ride offroad. But having been through hell with my knee, I wasn't going to stop although the medics said they'd pull me out of the race if it got any worse.

Then with the saddle sore clearing up, I got a stomach bug. A lot of other riders had the same problems as me, there was a virus doing the rounds in the camp. I was vomitting and had diarrhoea on the morning of Stage 7, but as the bunch rolled out, I felt ok. But within minutes, I was crawling until I stopped at a waterpoint in search of a medic. They took my blood pressure - 90/60 - and advised that I quit the race since I was dehydrated. But once more, having been through the pain and suffering earlier in the week, I wasn't going to stop now and make my previous efforts in vain. I drank as much as I could from the water point, filled up my bottles and set off. Guys that Andrew and I had raced with on good days were also around with us, their palid complexions clashing with vomit stained kit. The day turned into a misery, I was weak and thinking of hot tea and my sleeping bag all day long, shivering at times despite sections where the thermometer was over 40°C. Luckily I made it to the finish, thanks to encouragement and support from Andrew and soon enough, I was back in the medical tent on a drip, testing off the scale for dehydration.

Later on a pattern developed. When James had an injury free day, Andrew would get a mechanical problem. For example, when we were on a for a fast ride, Andrew's BB worked loose or the rear disc stopped working. Almost everyone fell during the race and on Stage 6, Andrew had a bad fall. Going down a jeep track descent at speed, our wheels were in deep ruts created by the jeeps and suddenly Andrew's front wheel caught an edge of the rut, instantly the front wheel turned 90° and he flew up into the air, landing hard on the trail only for a rider to go over him. As he dragged himself off the trail, he noticed a giant bump on his left wrist. "Is it broken?" he asked and both were worried by the pointy bump on his arm. Yet it wasn't painful and Andrew had full mobility in his hand so the pair rode onto a waterpoint to see a medic and the good news was that it was just internal bleeding, the high heart rate from racing meant that the blood flooded out into his arm to make the bump.

Maybe the GC doesn't matter unless you're a pro battling for top honours but it was just nice to ride fast, to finish each stage feeling like you'd raced. And you wanted a reference point, something to aim for. But first or last, the Cape Epic is one of those events where you just want to take part and the race is just one part of it. Everyone has an adventure along the way.

The course takes in a mixture of graded gravel roads, jeep tracks and single track as it heads west across the Western Cape region, and there's hardly any tarmac. No amount of training on the muddy, chalky North Downs can get you ready for the dry terrain, the loose rocks and the sand. Part of the race visited the "karoo" - Afrikaans for desert - which was dusty and sandy and full of scrub and thornbushes. Each stage is hard, a typically 110km with a lot of climbing, including some hike-a-bike sections that slow your progress. Even the winners are on the bikes for four to five hours a day and further down the field, many battle to complete the stage within 10 hours a day.


Roadside encouragement

As hard as it felt, it was magical. We rode through game reserves, past elephants and giraffes and hopped over a cobra lurking on a sandy trail. With varied terrain, during the week we had spectacular views of mountains, river valleys, forests and vineyards. You could visit lush orchards one minute and then cross over a ridge and descent into a desert looking like the surface of Mars, with dry red rocks all around. Along the way thousands of farm workers and school kids lined the route, shouting encouragement at us: "Hou beene, hou!", Afrikaans for "hold legs, hold!".

Each day, there are three water and service points along the way and most riders stopped to take on water and get their dry chains lubed. In betweem these points, you were on your own and so had to make sure you had everything with you to ensure you could ride regardless of any accidents you'd get.

The weather was perfect all the time. Many had horror stories from the 2006 event which started under a downpour, riders crashing out on day one as their brake pads wore away within 50km. But the 2007 version was dry all week, we'd start in the early morning cool and finish in the heat. It was cold in the mornings, you'd wake up damp in your tent, the dew everywhere including your sleeping bag.


Where? Everything you need, including slick organisation

A day in the life
For the stages, you only take what you need for the ride, food and spares. Everything else, you pack into a sports bag and load this onto a truck before the start and by a logistical wonder, it's waiting for you when you cross the finish line each day. You finish, get your bike jet-washed and park it in the secure bike park, then get your bag and then it's off to pick a tent in the rider village. Like any property, it's "location, location, location" as even for one night everyone wants to be far away from reeking portaloos and rumbling generators. Tent picked, it's time to get a hot shower, to wash away the dirt and dust.


Tents with the showers in the background

Then you go and wash your clothes. We had extra clothing from Dauphin Cycles, meaning we didn't have to wash clothing each day, a luxury since when you've done a seven hour ride, hand washing your kit isn't appealing. Then you relax for a while, maybe check your bike. We didn't puncture all week, using tubeless tyres with sealant inside but we'd pick out thorns every evening from the tyres, and for those of you unfamiliar to riding in South Africa, these thorns are giant, the length of needles. Oddly the pros seemed to puncture all the time whereas us amateurs fared a lot better. James even rode past a hunched Christophe Sauser - the Specialized rider is perhaps the world's leading cross-country racer - who was busy fixing a puncture, to announce a little bit too audibly "I'm never buying Specialized tyres".


Great food in the evenings...

Soon it would be time for dinner. The food on offer great. Plenty of pasta of course but it was varied with rice and spicy dishes available too, even ostrich steak was on the menu. Dinner was then followed by the daily prize presentation, a chance for the elite riders to get their deserved glory and then the next day's stage would be presented. It was always good to sit down for dinner and to meet other riders. The biggest number of riders were South African but you'd meet people from all over the world: Swiss, Rwandans, Kenyans, Australians and Brazilians for example. We also met a few Brits of course, including Putney resident Michael Attenborough and Sussex's Richard Kyte, both from Bayeux Landscapes who ended up finishing the race 66th overall, the second British team on GC.

Dinner over and it would be dark and the temperature plummeted. You could hang out with the other riders for a bit, but most would head back to their tents, to get their kit ready for the next day and then turn in for the night. By 9.00 pm, the rider village would be very quiet.

The silence would be broken every morning before 5.00am by a loud truck horn used to wake the riders. This was the alarm to beat all others, as loud as could be, it would shake the valleys at dawn. With the stage start at 7.00am every day, this wake up call was needed but always felt too early. Time to get changed for the day ahead, then breakfast and finally to quit your tent, fill your pockets with bananas, bars and gels, then apply sunblock and finally pack your bag to load it on the truck. Then pick up your bike and head for the start line, ready or not for the day ahead.


...dust for breakfast

Each stage would stage with a giant peleton rolling out. Often you'd get a warm up as the race rolled out on tarmac roads for a few minutes. Then we'd hit a dirt track and the leaders would turn up the power, keen to distance any amateurs who might bring them down with a handling error. And so the race would begin, with the world's best battling it out at the front and lesser being shelled out instantly, everyone knowing that with a long day ahead, you had to pace yourself.

    
Ralph Näf wins stage 4 with teammate José Hermida, whilst others struggle to finish

The daily routine was easy. Like all stage races, you get lost in the routine and don't get distracted the usual things in life like bills to pay or food to cook. What made things even easier was the race organisation, everything you needed was there and it all worked so well. From good food to communications, it was all so slick and something the South Africans were rightly proud of. Behind the scenes, the Cape Epic is unashamedly a business and they work hard to make sure the riders, or customers, are happy. That said, whilst you pay an entry fee, the prices are kept down by the massive presence of sponsors who put a lot of money into the race.

Approaching the finish
The days went by and slowly you measured your progress. It was great to get to the halfway point after four days, a cheer went up at dinner when the announcer mentioned we'd made it this far. Soon enough the last day came and being a short stage, it flew past as riders knew there was no need to hold back and the finish was so close. The final day had a sting in the tale, we were told it was going to be 75km long, but a last minute change saw 5km added. But then as we raced to the finish, counting down the distance on our bike computers, we got to 80km and there was no sign of the finish. In fact, we had another 5km to go, which can take a while when you're offroad, especially if you'd just gone into the red. But the finish line soon came, a relief and an anticlimax at the same time, as it meant returning to ordinary life outside the Cape Epic.


I came, I saw, I got the t-shirt.

With the race over, all that remains are the good memories and a few scars. Both of us would do it again some time, but for those of us living in the UK, it's a big undertaking to fork out for air tickets, to train over the winter and to use up two weeks' holiday. Yet it's an event that's worth a thousand Marmottes when it comes to fun and experience, it's unforgettable.

Thanks to Dave Fleming at Cycles Dauphin for supplying us with energy food and clothing.

Are you going to be riding, if so, read a guide on what to do and what to pack.

We both rode Scott Scale hardtail bikes. You can opt for full-suspension but a mixture of old-skool tastes and the need for speed on the more open sections and on long climbs meant we went for hardtail bikes. There's not much in it. One area that is a must is to fit tubeless tyres and ride with sealant inside. You'd be passing the pros every day as for some reason they flatted a lot and later on, plucking thorns out of your tyre after the stage but the sealand worked wonders and neither of us got one puncture.