The WCAD guys are the rainmakers of the AR scene in the Cape, in more than one sense. They have grown the sport from a few scrappy sporadic events into a well-run, well-attended series. And they have the uncanny ability to produce the perfect storm for race day as reliably as clockwork.
It was thus no surprise that the small field of 13 teams that lined up at 4am on the start-line for the 110km offering that day were by and large fairly seasoned and knew the drill when it came to cold, wet and windy conditions.
We set off on the bikes for a fast and flat dice to the hike transition. Dirk and I, enjoying the camaraderie of the start and the comfort of being in the herd, followed blindly into the night trusting that the lead sheep knew exactly where they were going, which unfortunately they didn’t and soon we were all dispersed and hunting around for the first CP. After some to and fro we finally came to our senses, retraced and nailed CP1, having wasted at least 15 mins but at least becoming reacquainted with the map. Then we headed into the prevailing Westerly, located CP2 and arrived at Transition 1 in what appeared to be 7th place judging from the disturbing number of bicycles already there.
After grabbing some grub and changing to trail shoes in the pre-dawn glow, we set off on a hike which we were quite excited about, through the Hottentots-Holland mountains. The sun was just rising as we nailed the first CP and the veld flowers glowed pink and yellow – it was worth stopping for a quick photo. Then we set off at medium pace along the base of the mountain before heading up and over a saddle, where our motives were questioned by wind-swept rain of the highest quality. I must confess that for a period of about half an hour I was not having much fun at all. Make that an hour. Or maybe two. It was clear that on any other day one would be spellbound by the natural beauty up there, the magnificence of the veld, the contours of the valleys, the gurgling of the streams and the numerous spectacular waterfalls. However, by the end of that stage we were drenched, ‘waterproof’ jackets and all (non-Capestorm!) and ended up running the second half both to speed its demise and to keep warm.
Arriving at T2, the Nuweberg forest station, we were greeted by a packed transition, with everybody cracking wry jokes about the weather and nobody keen to leave. Since all the nice cosy spots in the limited space of the wooden building were taken, there was nothing much to do but switch to cycling shoes, re-supply, re-inflate my back wheel (slow puncture) and get back on the road. There was no point milling about in the rain and we knew what we were in for next.
You see, we were very fortunate in that we had done a little training exercise on the Groenland Mountain six weeks prior. We were amused on receiving the maps to discover that the top of that same mountain happened to be the site of a checkpoint. So armed with the knowledge that we were in for a relentless climb over loose rocks, followed by an arm-shaking descent over a rutted and eroded jeep track, we cranked towards the hill while suffering the wind-chill of our ‘wetsuits’.
Dirk and I were still debating whether to climb over or under the gate to Groenlandberg when a pack of young guns arrived, bristling with enthusiasm. Then somebody from across the road told us the gate was unlocked. Three or four teams poured into the reserve for what promised to be a race-within-a-race to the top that would bust our lungs and burn our legs. As the horrors of the condition of the track revealed themselves to the peloton, we found ourselves at the front and soon dropped the pack as we climbed into the mist, making good use of what was now a tail-wind for assistance. Some walking and pushing and cursing was done along the way, but we reached the top and clipped the CP very pleased with our time.
On the way down, Dirk went into maniac mode and I was riding way out of my comfort zone just to stay with him, concentrating like hell. Something loomed up ahead ? it was Organiser Chris and Photographer Chris, armed with camera and video. No time to talk, in a flash we were past them, but I thought I heard Chris say “You’re lying 2nd!”.
I was still trying to digest that possibility when I saw Dirk up ahead catching up to another team and them all stopping for a group chat a little further on at the crest of a rocky rise. I recognized Tim and Kelly, aka Team Olympus. Now Tim has raced at the elite level of the sport and we were looking at the team that had been dominating the series. What strange circumstances could have led to this odd meeting? I enquired how many teams were still ahead.
Tim’s gracious reply I won’t forget easily: “Nope, this is it. Welcome to the sharp end of the field!”
It was surreal. Team Parallel is well acquainted with the Blunt End of the Field. Now here we were exchanging pleasantries at The Sharp End of the Field. A sudden rush of blood to the head. Adrenalin glands in overload. We set off downhill just ahead of them, re-energised. A few clicks later we were caught on a gentle uphill rather casually by Tim and Kelly as if they were on a Sunday cruise. Clearly far stronger.
Dirk and I decided that at the very least we needed to try and stay with Olympus in the hope that maybe we could actually secure 2nd place ahead of the chasing pack. Obligingly, they didn’t seem averse to riding with us for a while. We soaked up the experience. It was nice to be in the company of a pro, like Tim.
The Sharp End wasn’t at all like I thought it would be, all frantic and shouted instructions and panic. No, that stuff is for rookies. This was like the eye of the storm. Here at this end it was calm and efficient, businesslike, ideal routes and continuous easy motion. No fuss. No tracks to follow – choose your own route. It was fun. I could feel the gap to the chasing teams growing and it felt good. Olympus and us stayed in touch from one CP to the next but the elastic never broke. I think they were being nice. I learned a lot in those 30 minutes or so that we raced with them.
Then the unexpected happened. I looked back and they were gone. Mechanical, I thought. Whatever, it was time to put down the hammer. And how does one put down the hammer when you are poked? You call over your team mate, tell him to ride like hell and grab onto his backpack, that’s how.
Pulling into the final transition, it was clear from the look on the faces assembled there that Team Parallel was not the expected team. But surprise turned to encouragement as the underdogs were screamed at to get their asses in a boat asap and start paddling, which is what we did. In the back of our minds we reckoned that Olympus, being the pros they are, would have a slick K2 lined up for the occasion and would cruise past us in a flash. This never happened and the reason became clear when we encountered them on the water, going the other way (we went anti-clockwise to take advantage of an initial and final tail-wind on the triangular course, or something like that): they were also on a Synergy like us. Synergies have only one speed: dead slow.
From that position, geometrically speaking, unless we sank our boat or did something stupid, it was ours to lose. With crashing waves, clashing oars and shouted course corrections we splashed our way towards the jetty as fast as we could, the worst paddlers ever to lead a race.
Arriving at the shoreline, we hopped out and Dirk immediately went into cramp in both calves. Overdosed on adrenalin I dragged the boat single-handedly at a jog, deserting poor Dirk to hobble his way to the finish arch using his paddle as a crutch. Pure teamwork. But all of that was forgotten as the paparazzi snapped pics of us, fireworks exploded in the sky, interviews were granted and we were ushered into a life of fame and fortune.
Author: Ronald Jessop | WCAD #5, Theewaterskloof Dam | Team Parallel (Dirk Schreuder and Ronald Jessop) | 12 October 2013