No time to cry

My Munga 2021 story

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Standing on the start line of the Munga on 1 December, at noon on a typically warm summer’s day, was daunting to say the least. Having had the whole morning to finish packing and preparing my bike and kit had done little to subdue a creeping nervousness about tackling The Toughest Race on Earth.

Owing to some road closures, race director Alex Harris had added a detour that increased the distance of this single-stage MTB race from Bloemfontein to Wellington in the Western Cape to 1,154kms. This is substantially further than the advertised length of 1,000kms, and c.80kms further than last year’s version. It had crossed my mind, more than once, that this 154kms was at least an extra 8 hours of riding, while the 5-day cut-off time remained the same.

It is difficult in the face of a significant challenge like this to know if one has done enough training. While I had racked up many kms during the build-up to this race, including many hours of weight training with all my kit attached to my bike, there was a certain amount of doubt in my mind as to whether I had done enough. What is enough anyway?

One would be unlikely to attempt to do the full distance in training. So, while I had completed the Munga Grit in the Cradle in October 2021, that was only 515kms long. I say only rather flippantly as before completing the inaugural 2020 version of the Cradle Munga Grit, my furthest single-stage ride was 270kms. These are not short distances by most people’s definitions. Completing the 2021 Munga Grit came with its own challenges but was, nonetheless, a successful training event for full Munga. But it was only half the distance of the Munga! Welcome to the mind-bending distance recalibration that every ultra-endurance athlete has almost certainly come to terms with.

After the starter’s gun went off, it was time to put these doubts aside and get on with the task at hand. The race has 10 official water points (WPs) located roughly every 100kms and 5 race villages (RVs) located at roughly 200km intervals. My ride strategy was to break the ride down into the 5 segments between race villages, and then sub-segments between water points, reducing the ride into shorter mentally manageable chunks. I also wanted to try and ride throughout each night, while limiting the amount of time riding in the heat of the day.

My riding partner, Raymond Blake, and I (both sponsored by Carbon Bike Repair) quickly settled into a steady rhythm, largely ignoring the fast pace set by many of the other 170 riders we started off with, focussing instead on not over-exerting ourselves too early on. Doing this often means drifting backwards through the field and forgoing some groups that form in the beginning. This can feel a bit frustrating, but can often pay dividends later on.

We were meant to be able to get water at the Steunmekaar police station at just over 100km, but for some reason best known only to our police service, there wasn’t any water available. Thankfully some farms close to the road a few kms on did have water and so we paused to refill given the big gap to WP2.

We got to WP2 (30km west of Fauresmith) at around 21h30. Distance covered: 171km. Elapsed time: 9h30. It seemed like all we did was grab some food and refill bottles, but amazingly an hour had passed by the time Raymond and I finally left. We headed out into the darkness enjoying the cool evening temperature and the stars above our heads.

Our next stop was going to be RV1 at Vanderkloof at 224km. Unbeknown to me was that Vanderkloof isn’t just a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. It is home to the second largest dam (by volume) and boasts the highest dam wall in the country. So, I was a bit surprised when my Garmin started showing a large body of water on the map, which I couldn’t see in the pitch darkness around us. Shortly afterwards we entered what seemed like a deserted military base with high fences, large concrete structures, and a poorly lit road which narrowed down and then launched us onto the top of the dam wall.

It was particularly eery riding along the wall with a sheer drop on one side and a dark mass of water on the other side. And it was silent; no wind, no gushing water, no nothing. It was like being in a horror film waiting for something scary to happen… Well, nothing happened except that as we left the dam and its fortifications behind, we climbed a nasty little hill and then rolled into the sleepy and sleeping town of Vanderkloof. Oh yes, we had also crossed the Orange River, which meant we had left the Free State behind, and moved into the Northern Cape. Time check: 01h36, Day 2. Distance covered 224km. Elapsed time: 13h36.

It was never our intention to sleep at this race village, although I think the idea did seem particularly tempting for Raymond at the time. After some delicious pasta and chit chat with other riders I felt it was time to go. I had cooled down and was getting stiff. An hour had rushed past by the time we got going again and it took me a good half hour to warm up.

For most of the day we had been on lovely gravel roads, with a tiny bit of tar around Vanderkloof. Now we had entered the Rolfontein Nature Reserve (I had never heard of it before either) and were riding on a winding jeep track where some attention was required, not just from a navigation perspective, but also because the track was broken with ruts, rocks, and aardvark holes.

Alex had warned us about the holes these nocturnal animals dig out in search of ants and termites. Now Alex may be prone to some exaggeration at times, but he wasn’t joking about the size of these excavations! We dodged and jumped over a few that would easily have swallowed a full 29” wheel and have had space for the rider and some bags that would follow. Needless to say, it was not difficult to stay awake through this pock-marked area.

Shortly before we left the reserve, I spotted an aardvark. It was perhaps disturbed by our passing and lumbered off into the shadows, but not before Raymond confirmed the sighting. I was super excited by this rare sighting. I’ve spent many years scouring the veld looking for aardvark (and other animals) and have only had one distant sighting. And here was one only 15-20 meters away! Now, I realise that it was early in the morning, and after 14 hours of riding, but neither Raymond, nor the three riders who caught us while we had stopped, seemed to share my excitement. We pushed on.

As the adrenaline from aardvark-hole avoidance, and the thrill of seeing one, started fading the eastern horizon changed colour. My favourite time of the day was approaching. I have always loved being awake before dawn to watch the darkness slip gradually away and be replaced by an ever-changing mix of colours, shadows, silhouettes and clouds which, before you know it, work together to deliver the dawn of a new day. And what a spectacular morning it was!

It is amazing how one can feel one’s body becoming energized with the arrival of daylight. All of our circadian rhythms are slightly different, but from about 04h30 onwards I know I won’t have to worry about the sleep monsters anymore. With renewed energy, Raymond and I kept turning the pedals.

By the time we got to WP3 at 304km at around 07h45 (elapsed time: 19h45) I was nicely warmed up and keen to keep pushing on. The vetkoek with mince held my attention for some time and I washed these down with some fabulous coffee. Blissfully satiated I got ready to leave. On looking for Raymond I found him sprawled out on a well-used sofa. He wanted to rest for an hour or so and suggested I carry on without him. While we thought we might hook up again at RV2, it was in fact the last time I saw him during this event.

While I enjoy riding alone at times, there is nothing like some good company, especially when the road is long. I was joined a few kilometres on from WP3 by Wayne MacFarland. I had met Wayne at dinner in Bloemfontein on the night before we started, but we hadn’t had much chance to chat. We made up for that in the 40kms between WP3 and WP4; the distance flew by as quickly as the ground we covered in conversation!

I have a fond recollection of WP4. I was 343km into the ride and had been going for almost 22 hours. Although it was only 10h00 in the morning the day was getting warm and I really wasn’t looking forward to the 60km I had to cover to reach RV2. However, the toasted cheese and ham sandwiches and some Coke cheered me up immensely, and a quick dip in the nearby pool cooled me off. Suitably refreshed, I was on my bike after only a 30-minute stop.

Wayne wanted a longer break so I had set off alone into the growing heat and a stubborn headwind. I had an extra bottle of water and used it to wet myself intermittently as well as my buff. Before COVID I never liked wearing a buff, especially while cycling. On long gravel rides, however, I have come to enjoy this cheap and versatile accessory. It keeps the sun off my neck and, when wet, it does a wonderful job of cooling my neck too. In addition, I have found it super-useful to breathe through when conditions are very dusty. On hot days, particularly with a headwind, breathing through a wet buff seems to help prevent the sore and dry throat I would otherwise have developed.

The temperature continued to climb on the bleak road to Britstown and peaked at 38^oC according to my Garmin. I drank 6 bottles on this 60km stretch and used an additional two bottles to douse myself. I was hot and bothered by the time I rolled into to RV2 but only too pleased to be in the relatively cool confines of the Transkaroo Hotel. Time check: 13h30. Distance covered: 403km. Elapsed time: 25h30.

I used the time to have a blissful shower and about 90 minutes of sleep. After catching up with family and friends, and a few cups of coffee, I started getting ready to hit the road. It was in fact closer to 17h30 by the time we headed out into the late afternoon heat. Amazing how 4 hours had just disappeared!

Clinton and I met in 2012 on a 1,000km bicycle trip across Nepal, with Alex Harris, and have bumped into each other at various events in the years since. He is a Munga legend having completed all 6 of the Mungas held to date and 2 of the 3 Munga Grits. He fell and broke his wrist in the most recent Munga Grit in October and pulled out at the 400km mark after riding almost 100km with his broken wrist. 8 weeks later he was on the start line in an attempt to keep his name at the top of the Munga ranking table. And here he was at the 400km point riding into the sunset with me in tow.

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After a spectacular pink sunset, which my photos did not do justice to, Clinton and I switched on our lights and settled into a comfortable pace. Well, comfortable for me anyway – it was clear that Clinton’s wrist was causing him some discomfort and he often rode with only his left hand, or with minimal weight on his injured right hand. To make matters worse, Clinton’s light started to flicker, but was better when his front shock was locked-out (i.e. disabled). This outcome, while being good for riding in the dark, did not help with his wrist.

Thankfully WP5 wasn’t too far away and we resolved to fix his light there. It had started getting cold and the wind picked up a lot, so the shed that was WP5 was particularly welcoming. Between cups of coffee and food (more vetkoek!) I helped Clinton strip down and repair some of the wiring of his dynamo light.

Note to self: as I also have a dynamo light, pack insulation tape and a spare set of electrical connections. Using duct tape on thin electrical cables made for a sticky mess… but one that seemed to do the trick. After at least an hour of stoppage we set off with two functioning lights. Time check: 21h35. Distance covered: 440km. Elapsed time: 33h35.

We made steady progress despite the increasingly blustery wind. The temperature dropped quickly and we were cold by the time we were blown into Piet and Lola’s farmyard at about 01h00 on Day 3 (3rd of December). Distance travelled 485km. Elapsed time: 37h00.

We found some shelter in the generator room where another chap was trying to sleep under his space blanket. I couldn’t tell whether it was the wind or his shivering rustling the blanket. This was no place to hang around! After sorting out our bottles, some warm clothes and a bite to eat, we headed off into the darkness and the wind. The temperature dropped to 8 degrees but with the wind-chill it felt colder than this.

I don’t think Clinton believed me at first when I told him it was my birthday. Or perhaps he had to hold himself back from saying that there seemed to be better things to do than ride through a gale, at night, in the middle of the Karoo. It was certainly a novel way to spend my birthday! My present from The Universe was seeing a porcupine running next to the road (a sighting which was confirmed by Clinton).

After that though, the night became a bit of a blur. I know we joined up with Nico Coetzee (more about him later). I distinctly remember many bushes. Their shadows moved like porcupines of all shapes and sizes as our lights passed them. I could also swear I had seen a coiled-up snake next to the road. The others hadn’t seen it and we didn’t go back to check out this particular sighting. In retrospect it was clear that the sleep monsters were at work, introducing hallucinations into my foggy brain, while intermittently trying to persuade me to have a long blink… I nearly rode off the road a few times and eventually had to stop for a few minutes lest I did actually fall asleep and crash. Out came the headphones and dance music; with Armin van Buuren blaring at full volume I managed to get myself safely another 3km down the road before falling into WP6. Time check: 04h00. Distance travelled 528km. Elapsed time: 40h00.

WP6 is not really meant to be a sleep-over spot. However, the sheer demand from weary riders looking for a place to crash prompted the owners, who have hosted the Munga over many years, to build an extra wing onto their property. This was already full when we arrived, but extra mattresses were found and I had a wonderful 90-minute sleep on the floor in the lounge of the main house.

We woke at 06h00 and, with the sun already up, there was a high level of activity as riders emerged from various corners of the house and busied themselves with breakfast and moving preparations. After a second bacon and egg roll (don’t judge, it was my birthday after all!) and a double espresso, we saddled-up.

The wind had abated and it was great to be out in the fresh morning air. I felt good and was also riding into uncharted territory – every kilometre completed from now on would be the most I had even ridden. I had Johnny Clegg’s song African Sky Blue on my mind. What a great way to start the day!

Our next stop would be RV3 located just outside Loxton at 598km. While it would be tempting to rejoice at crossing the halfway mark, I knew that the mental halfway point was still a long way ahead of us. Little did we know quite what lay ahead…

But for now, the roads were excellent and Clinton and I made good progress. The 70km to RV3 passed without incident, although the detour through some farm tracks when a perfectly good bit of tar road went to the same place did stimulate some unprintable descriptors of Alex Harris.

The Jakhalsdans farm which hosted RV3 had really put together a fantastic stop inside one of their big sheds. I had possibly one of the best lasagnes I can remember as well as some excellent coffee. Clinton bought a spare light from the mechanic based there, just in case our repair job failed (it didn’t). He also bought me a present – a spare water bottle as I’d left one of mine in the dark at Piet and Lola’s farm. It was getting hot and so I was very relieved to be back to a full complement of 3 bottles. Time check: 10h30. Elapsed time: 46h30.

We had a tailwind for some of the 54km to WP7 which one should never begrudge, other than that it seemed to amplify the ambient heat and soon I was dripping with sweat. Thankfully we passed a reservoir with deliciously cool and clear water shortly after midday. Without this refill I would no doubt have been in trouble.

The shower was much needed and helped me reduce my core temperature. Sadly, the air-conditioner was struggling to cope with the heat and sleep was impossible. So we sat outside enjoying the breeze that blew between the two wings. This helped cool us down and dried out our washed cycling kit while we waited for the heat of the day to pass.

At about 17h30 we wrenched ourselves away from this little oasis and hit the road, this time heading for Fraserburg. A headwind was getting stronger. Clouds built in the west, making for a dramatic sunset. From about 10km out of Fraserburg we could see the street and house lights flickering lazily at the base of low hills. Like a mirage on the horizon, they simply didn’t seem to get any closer.

Fraserburg is not a big place. It is home to about 3,000 people, all of whom seemed to be safely inside on this stormy Friday evening, despite it being only 19h30. Distance travelled: 700km. Elapsed time: 55h30.

We stopped at Clinton’s favourite corner café and bought a few things we wouldn’t have found at the waterpoints: Stoney Ginger Beer, packets of crisps and even samoosas. These were devoured while we made use of the rare mobile phone signal to speak to our families. 45 mins later, with extra layers on, we headed out of town on the main dirt road towards Sutherland which was about 115km away.

Clinton had warned me about the section we soon found ourselves on at around the 715km point. While we had been on the R356 gravel road, which was like a tarred road, we had turned off this onto rough surface. For almost 30km we wound our way around various farm tracks, a steep downhill section with loose shale, a narrow gulley which would have been easily missed even in day-time, and lots of farm gates. This was accompanied by light rain that made the track more sketchy still.

The constant opening and closing of farm gates was an irritation that prevented one getting into a nice steady rhythm. It did, however, keep me awake as they seemed to appear out of nowhere, always heralded by a little reflective “Close the gate” Munga sign. Clinton’s injured wrist made getting on and off painful for him, and so it became my job to dismount, open the gate, let him through and then close the gate while he held my bike. If all the gates had been the same, with the same locking mechanism, this little routine would have become boring very quickly. However, I can safely say that there are no two gates that are the same between Fraserburg and Sutherland!

We got to WP8 at around 01h00 (Day 4) in heavy rain. Distance travelled 749km. Elapsed time: 57h00. It was lovely to venture inside to find a kitchen warmed by an old Aga. This venue had numerous tents in the garden, all of which were full. So, extra mattresses were placed in the kitchen and it was here that Clinton and I enjoyed some boerewors rolls and cooldrinks. On hearing that it had been my birthday, our gracious hosts even offered me some Old Brown sherry. I obliged heartily and then had a wonderful, warm, 90-minute sleep. We were roused by the arrival of a few other riders, and as the rain seemed to have stopped, decided to get going. The warm kitchen had thankfully dried my damp cycling shirt and so I packed away the dry base layer I’d slept in.

Soon thereafter we re-joined the R356, which really did beg the question ‘why were we made to take the scenic gate route’? More unprintable adjectives and names for Alex.

The bad weather did not dissuade the sleep monsters from tormenting me between 03h00 and 04h30. My unsuccessful attempts to strike up conversation with Clinton suggested that these same monsters were wrestling with him too. There was nothing for it but some more loud music! Soon enough the loud tracks from Def Leppard’s Hysteria album did the trick. Or perhaps it was my singing? Either way, the sleep monsters were gone.

Sadly, so was Clinton. Unfortunately, during this mental torture we had probably both been through, he had dropped back and his light, though visible, was some way behind. With the eastern horizon slowly getting lighter I decided to ride on and wait for him at RV4 in Sutherland. At some point, shortly after dawn, the R356 became a tar road. What bliss! But also what boredom. The sleep monsters came back, although daylight robbed them of their strength.

I had some patchy mobile phone signal and, as it was around 06h00, decided to phone my wife and then my parents. While these were relatively short conversations, they chased away the sleep monsters and brought me safely to the outskirts of Sutherland. I had now been going for about 66 hours and had covered 812km.

I could have stopped and slept here. It was a race village after all. However, the weather was cool with light cloud cover and no wind. Perfect conditions for riding. I had some pasta and coffee for breakfast, refilled my bottles, lubed my chain and got ready to leave. Clinton rolled in looking somewhat grey. I shuddered to think how sore his wrist must have been after what we had been through in the night. He wanted to rest up for a while and wished me well.

I was sad to leave him behind. We had ridden so easily together for over 400km. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him, and so I was grateful that his handicap had afforded me his companionship for best part of 40 hours.

After a fantastic descent dodging large holes and ruts in the road, I reached the valley that would lead to Ouberg pass. This pass would see us drop almost 700m in altitude. My kind of riding I thought excitedly. In my excitement I took a wrong turn up the road that the Munga Grit had come along, and by the time I realised my error and retraced my steps I had been passed by Nico. I caught up with him and shortly afterwards we came across Guy Jennings who was struggling to seal a puncture. We tried to help him, but it was only with the arrival of Daniel Paolses, who carried extra strong tyre sealant, that the tyre was successfully sealed. I do wonder whether Guy will ever be able to remove that tyre if needed…

Nico and I carried on together. In the intervening time the weather had changed dramatically. Dark clouds with thunder and lightning approached rapidly. Time check: 08h56.

The poor quality photo above was taken perhaps a third of the way down the pass in the pouring rain. What should have been an adrenaline-filled technical descent quickly become dangerously wet. Time check: 10h05.

Once off the mountain we were thoroughly drenched during the 15km before getting to WP9 at the Tankwa River Lodge. Lightning strikes and thunder-claps were all around. I pitied those attempting the pass behind us. The lodge at WP9 is a lovely place to spend some time. There is a pool and deck on which I could visualise drinking a cold beer on any normal day. Time check: 11h00. Distance travelled: 873km. Elapsed time: 71h00.

But this was not going to be a normal day.

I changed into my dry base layer and ate some pasta while chatting to our friendly hosts. About 20 minutes later there was a break in the rain and the sky seemed to get brighter. It felt like a good time to get moving. I toyed with the idea of wearing my warm base layer, then rejected the idea. While I was wrestling with my wet shirt, much to Nico’s amusement, we cheerfully bade our hosts farewell.

We followed the undulating road next to the Tankwa riverbed for some kilometres. We thought we had timed our departure well… we were very wrong. For the next hour we again got exceedingly wet.

We rode on. What else was there to do? For at least another hour it poured. We seemed to be climbing non-stop. With a slight tail wind, I was too hot with my rain jacket on, but too wet to take it off without getting cold again. Eventually the rain seemed to ease and then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone. We could hear a constant rumbling sound – it was rainwater rushing down the streams and rivers alongside the road and even across the road in front of us in places.

What we didn’t know, was that behind us, all of the water we had witnessed and ridden through, was converging near Tankwa River Lodge, resulting in a 100-year flood that for hours trapped some riders, including my friend Raymond, on the wrong side of the torrent. We climbed, oblivious to this development, and were thankful for the clearing sky in front of us.

The other problem with the Tankwa is that it is invariably very hot and bone dry. Given the earlier rain, I hoped to escape the heat, something I worried about beforehand as there are no water points on the 95km to WP10. With about 45km to go, it became clear to me that I was not going to be fortunate. The clouds disappeared, the temperature rose, and the wind blew into our faces.

Now, my current riding partner Nico is a hard man. I knew this because, while I felt quite smug at having ridden about 900km, I had learned that Nico had already ridden from Cape Town to Bloemfontein prior to the Munga start. That meant he had already covered over 2,000km! This fact played with my mind, particularly because he appeared to be so much stronger than me on the climbs. He was also a man of few words. I tried to converse with him in my broken Afrikaans and he humoured this despite his far better English. Our silences became more prolonged. More Penrose step torture followed. The sun was back out in force.

I don’t quite recall when it happened, but Nico dropped behind, and after some time was not visible behind me at all. Perhaps he had stopped for another “standing sleep”. He told me this had happened earlier today on the road to Sutherland. Those damn sleep monsters got to him too!
I was all alone in the Tankwa.

I joined the main road south, the one that eventually leads out of the Tankwa to Ceres. From here I had about 24km to WP10. While this should have been a relief, it was quite the contrary. I rode into a headwind with the temperature approaching 40 degrees. More concerning was that I was almost out of water. Time check: 16h30. Distance travelled: 944km. Elapsed time: 76h30.

I noticed a bakkie coming along the road towards me. It stopped and two people jumped out. A coolbox was lifted from the back and before I knew it, I had cold water and some Coke in my bottles. These kind folk were manning WP10 and had come back down the route offering water to all the riders. Pure happiness!

An hour later I was only 10km farther. The relentless wind tried to push me back to the Ouberg pass. I resisted, but the constant uphills and false flats gave me little respite. I even had to pedal on the few short downhills of the undulations to get to a speed above 10km/hour. I finished two of my bottles and was again concerned that I would run out of water in the remaining 15-16km given that they might take another 1-2 hours at my current rate.

I stopped briefly at a signpost with no sign on it. I was alone, on the road to nowhere. I wanted to have a little cry. But this seemed pointless….
This was no time to cry.
Nobody would see me.
Nobody would provide comforting words.
Nobody would care.
Time check: 17h37.

The time for self-pity was not now. Not here. There was nothing to be gained from stopping here, I told myself. Nothing for it but to keep pedalling. There was no mobile signal, so no calling family or friends. Just me, a wild landscape and never-ending hills.

I set off. Uphill, again. The wind was worse. It caused a deafening roar that meant it was pointless to put earphones in.

Now, I’m not a religious person. But on days when I’m out in the middle of nowhere, particularly when amongst mountains, I feel spiritually awakened. I feel at one with my surroundings, intensely focussed on the task at hand, and bereft of the everyday noise and stresses that can fill my mind. This was not one of those days.

Instead, my mind was filled with a song that wouldn’t go away. Joan Osborne was crooning “If God had a name what would it be…” and “What if God was one of us…” on repeat. “Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home…” “Yeah, yeah, God is great…” Round and round and round in my head. Some might suggest this was a religious awakening moment. I found it neither religiously nor spiritually uplifting.

I was suffering mentally and physically. I was in the dark depths of despair, self-pity and self-doubt. My body was tired and weakening due to prolonged effort and early stages of dehydration. I was all alone, just trying to make my way home. But, despite the tricks my Garmin seemed to be playing on my brain, I knew that each pedal stroke brought me closer to home. And so, I just had to keep pushing the pedals over, one small circle at a time: pedal… closer… pedal… closer still… pedal…

All bad things come to an end. The road finally ran out of hills and I saw the Tankwa Padstaal about 2km away. The wind howled and those few kilometres seemed to take ages to finish. But soon enough I parked my bike next to the shed that was WP10. It was the first time I’d been out of the wind in hours and my ears rang as if I’d been in a nightclub.

I had been so focussed on the road in front of me that I had barely noticed the darkening skies around me and the distant rumbling of thunder. No sooner was I inside the shed than it started pouring with rain. Time check: 18h50. Distance travelled 968km. Elapsed time: 78h50.

While my legs still felt ok, my mind was shattered. Some vetkoek and mince helped, as did a few cups of water with Coke. It seemed difficult to comprehend the array of weather conditions and emotions (mostly correlated with each other) that I’d experienced in the last 18 hours since I enjoyed some Old Brown sherry. The Karoo is meant to be hot, dry and windy. I’d had plenty of wind, but I’d also been cold, wet, hot, very wet, very hot and almost very wet again. I’d been elated, excited, cheerful, sad, joyful, scared, relieved, in deep despair and extraordinarily grateful. Meteorologists and psychiatrists would have had a field day indeed.

From the weak Wi-Fi signal at WP10 I learnt of the biblical floods 100km back in the Tankwa and the problems these were causing. I was therefore grateful for the roof over my head and the warm clothes I had on. I also bumped into another acquaintance, Justin Bark, who had arrived earlier in the afternoon with his two friends Leon Tobias and Mark Sack. They had wanted to set off around the time I had arrived, but the heavy rain had stopped them. We agreed to sleep for a while and review the conditions at 22h00.

I had some more vetkoek, messaged friends and family to assure them of my safety and improving well-being and drank plenty of water.

I was woken by Justin at 22h00. He told me it was still raining and that we should wait a bit longer. I surveyed the dimly lit hut – there were bodies everywhere. Clinton, who must have arrived after I’d passed out, was fast asleep next to me, as were two other chaps. There must have been 20 bodies strewn around the place. It was like a refugee camp! I asked one of the support staff if he would wake me once the rain stopped, and then crawled back under my blanket.

At around 23h30 I woke with a start. It was very quiet, and very dark in the shed. There was no rain beating down on the corrugated iron roof. For a few moments I thought perhaps everyone else had left without me. They were, in fact, soundly asleep. As was the chap who I had asked to wake me when the rain stopped. I couldn’t blame him – the support staff had been awake for two days since the leaders first came through here.

I got up and started gathering my things. While I had left them neatly at the head of my mattress, the newcomers had moved things around a bit, and it took some time to find all of it, particularly without waking the whole place up. I tried a few times to wake Justin gently, to no avail. A rigorous shake of the shoulder did the trick, and he was as bewildered as I had been a few minutes before. But he did get up, along with Mark and Leon. I also woke Nico who had also materialised while I was asleep. On waking Clinton, I was asked what the rush was? I said something about being worried about the time and the weather, to which he shrugged and rolled over.

At around midnight Justin, Leon, Mark and I headed outside. The car park was a mud bath and so our feet quickly got wet. The rain had stopped but we set off into a fine mist, with a gentle tailwind. It was 100km to Ceres and there was plenty of climbing involved. It took us all a while to warm up and once we had I was riding with Mark, while Justin and Leon had drifted up the road ahead of us. The road conditions were again very wet, muddy and sticky. I was also too hot with my jacket on, and yet too cold when I took it off. I resolved to keep the jacket on but unzipped.

Nico came past us without saying much and simply disappeared up the road in front of us. A hard man indeed.

Mark and I were well matched in terms of pace and the consistency thereof and we chatted easily about many things. But all good things come to an end too. I had repeated visitations from Joan Osborne as well as Jeff Buckley’s acoustic version of Hallelujah. It’s a great track, but there is a time and place, right?!

The sleep monsters made a valiant attempt to get me into the shrubbery along the verge. A rather nasty climb which started at around the 1,000km point required some keen attention and loud music. The 500m in altitude gained during the climb would have been difficult enough on a midweek coffee ride, but at 03h00 on a misty morning with a 1,000km in the legs… well, it wasn’t a pushover! I used my granny gear for a long time and had to zig-zag around to maintain momentum. This, along with the mist, made for a wholly disorientating experience.

The trio I had set off with had dropped me up this climb, but graciously waited for me at the top. We didn’t hang around and carried on riding. Not long after this the first signs of dawn appeared. As we descended, we moved below the mist and onto a tar road. We sped along getting cold from the speed, but carefree in the knowledge that the biggest climb of the ride was done, and that Ceres lay not too far away.

Shortly after this, another fast descent was rudely interrupted by my Garmin indicating an impending 90-degree left turn. My heart sank with the realisation that the route wasn’t going to follow the tar all the way into Ceres, but was going to take us on a longer dirt road detour via Eselfontein. More expletives for Alex.

RV5 was at the high school on the outskirts of Ceres. We were rather damp and muddy, but in high spirits. We‘d had a relatively good ride weather-wise from the Tankwa Padstaal and it was less than 100km to the finish. Time check: 06h20, Day 5. Distanced travelled: 1,065km. Elapsed time: 90h20.

Shortly after we arrived in Ceres the heavens opened and things got very wet. Thankfully we were enjoying breakfast and coffee at the time. We settled down on some spare mattresses and waited out the squall. 45 minutes later the rain abated and we prepared to leave.

I would love to say that the last 90km to the finish was a doddle, but that wouldn’t be true. While some of it was on tar roads through Mitchell’s Pass and the Nuwekloof Pass, the dirt roads after that were wet and sticky, and mostly uphill. The early morning cloud dissipated and was replaced by broad sunshine and humidity.

But it has to be said that the scenery was lovely and the company pleasant. Justin, Leon and Mark appeared to be stronger than me in those final kilometres, and yet waited patiently for me despite there being no reason for them to do so. Perhaps they waited because this was the Munga and we had all suffered in our own way to be where we were. Perhaps they were just grateful that I had woken them some 9-10 hours earlier. Slowly but surely, we got to the line at the Doolhof wine estate, about 5km outside Wellington.

I should not have been surprised that the finish was at the top of a hill. I must really challenge Alex to find a wine estate further up a hill than Doolhof, as there must be one….
But I digress – crossing the finish line was as delicious as the beer that I had shortly afterwards.

Time check: 13h33 on Sunday 5 December. Total distance covered: 1,154km. Elapsed time: 97h33.

From all accounts, it seems that we had a more pleasant ride to Ceres, and beyond, than those behind us. I suppose that is the outcome of the dice that one constantly rolls on an event like this. I had some bad weather and some good weather. I made the most of what was in front of me, and the times when I felt strong and awake. I couldn’t know whether my conditions were better or worse than those in front of, or behind, me. I am satisfied to know that they were probably different from mine. The Toughest Race on Earth had dealt out something for each one of us.

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Post-script:
Clinton Halsey finished his 7th Munga at about 16h00 on the 5 December. He remains the only person to have completed all 7 Mungas held to date.
Raymond Blake finished at about 23h00 on the 5 December after being delayed by the flooding in the Tankwa and by the heavy rain in the Tankwa and Ceres.

Thanks:
Thank you to Paulo Pinheiro from Carbon Bike Repair for your support and sponsorship. Thanks also for driving us to Bloemfontein. And then leaving us there.
It wouldn’t have been possible to do this event without the love and support of my family. To Toni, Alasdair and Ben, thanks for supporting my big audacious goal. Thanks also to my parents and friends who spent many hours dot-watching and sending encouraging messages.
To Clinton Halsey – you are the Munga Legend. You have inspired me to do the event and you define toughness by finishing it again, despite your handicap. Thanks for the many enjoyable miles together.
To the many farmers, their families, the paramedics and many other volunteers, thank you for the wonderful hospitality, food, conversation and other comforts on our journey from Bloemfontein to Wellington. Thanks also for the access to your farms, houses and water.
To Alex Harris – without you there would be no Munga at all. You have inspired me over the years with your various exploits and I’m glad to able to add the Munga as one of mine. I didn’t find much silence en route… but I did find companionship, suffering, inner strength and sleep monsters. For all of these I am indebted to you.

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Equipment:
Momsen Ultra Vipa carbon frame
Fox 32 Factory 100mm fork
SRAM XX1 Eagle 12-speed, gearing 36×10-52
Hope Mason X 29” hoops
Son 28 dynamo hub
Continental Race King 2.2 tyres
Zipp Vuka clip-on tri bars
Brooks C17 saddle
Revelate saddle and top tube bag plus a stem bag
3 x 0.75l water bottles, all in the frame triangle using a Lyne Holy Rail with dual-cage holder

Toolkit: multi-tool, tube, bomb x2, adaptors, tubeless plugs, chain quick link, derailleur hanger, tyre lever x2. Pump. 60ml bottle Stans No Tubes tyre sealant. Leatherman multi-tool. Small roll of duct tape.

Electronics: Exposure MaXx D MK13 or Revo dynamo front light with RedEye rear light, Garmin 830, Sinewave Cycles Revolution dynamo hub USB charger, 3 000mAh Cinq 5 smart battery. Phone with wired Bose waterproof earphones.

Nutrition: Carry a mix of Hammer raw bars, Farbars, ButtaNutt squeeze packets, salted peanuts and some droewors. At water points I ate almost everything on offer (except bananas).

Hydration: Mostly used Nuun tablets dissolved in water and an occasional Coke. Double espressos at water points.

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