Adventure Quest Africa (2)
Leg 8: 60km Bike
Cindy Van Zyl / 03.09.2002
T7 – PC10: Lynedoch – Bergplaas
6:30 am: After a three-hour sleep our seconds treated us to the most amazing breakfast of scrambled eggs and fresh bread! Amazing how much hope and simple joy lie hidden beneath the white shell of a chicken egg…Marshal Luke allowed us to have breakfast in his headquarters, an old, abandoned, rat-infested pump house. But it was dry and felt like the Hilton’s president suite.
The rain had not yet let up and after breakfast we cycled off, wet, but full of cheer. Riaan suggested that we brush up on our boeresport skills, particularly egg-spoon, three-legged and sack races and of course tou-trek. We all agreed that we should at least buy one kettie for the team.
This was the monster bike leg that we have been dreading. Ahead of us lay 30 kilometres of non-stop climbing into the grey, snow-heavy clouds above. At a farm-shed along the way the Soutie called a halt and got a full bike service from a team of local farm workers. The rain had stopped; the smell of pine groves and the raw, wet earth was intoxicating.
Once again on route we had another flat tyre, passed numerous strange and isolated dwellings and had a good laugh at each other’s mud-streaked faces and ‘milo-stained’ pants – the disgrace of it!
Just before we started the mother of all ascents, we stopped for a civilised brunch. We lifted our bikes across a fence and revelled in the fact that this was going to be our last little portage. What a sad assumption to have made….
Soon the muddy road turned to sludge and then into a devilish trap of bewitched clay, which stuck to our wheels and shoes like glue. Within three meters ten kilograms of clay packed onto each of our wheels, preventing them from turning an inch! Our only salvation was to bathe our bikes in an iced-over water-puddle and then to portage them for as long as the clay prevailed. We balanced the bikes on our heads and later on our backs and later we wished that we didn’t have bikes at all.
As the road proved to be too slippery to walk on, we cut a straight line over the boulder-strewn mountains to our right. A local was trotting his pony along the muddy road and appeared very amused with our bizarre choice of route: “But his pony understands� was Riaan’s only comment.
After six hours of steep ascent the mountain levelled out. In the far distance delicate little impalas dashed across the fairy-white landscape and disappeared from sight. We were on top of the world. It was sheer delight to cycle on the flat plateau, our bike wheels breaking through the thin ice and splashing black sludge onto the white carpet of snow.
And then suddenly there was a downhill, just as Kobus promised! We slipped our bikes into maximum gear and began the wild descent. We roared down the mountain despite being blinded by the red grit that found its way with kamikaze-like precision into our eyes.
At the Bergplaas barn we punched PC10, had a bite to eat, changed a tyre and built our strength for the remaining 30 kilometres to Drennan.
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