The Swazi Extreme had been a burning ambition for a long time. Ever since I saw a write-up of it in the book “Adventure Racing” by Lisa de Speville and Jacques Marais, I had wanted to do it. A few years ago, as novices to the AR scene, my buddie Kobus and I had talked about it like runners talk about one day entering the Comrades and that day arrived when it was unexpectedly announced that the 10th SX would be the last. So, with permission from my darling wife Renate on whose birthday I would be racing while she was at home with our baby daughter, I excitedly phoned Kobus; he was also very keen and we set the wheels in motion.
The logistics and planning for a race like this is not to be underestimated. Team-mates, seconds, vehicles, canoes, food, tents, camping equipment, racing gear, leave from work and other commitments all need to be accounted for and then of course the main thing is one has to train, particularly since the date for SX was announced as winter was approaching and the only thing I was fit for was wine drinking.
I will spare you the details, suffice to say that the team format, support crew, logistics and even the team name varied widely until at midnight on 5th August 2010, the night before the race, Team Placement Partner had completely arrived at Nisela Safaris, Swaziland. The team consisted of Kobus from Joeys, myself from Cape Town, and supported by JP, Daniel, Jeanne and Yogi from Gabs, Botswana.
Kobus, myself and Daniel had made it in time for the race briefing the night before and two of us were suitably worried. The Swazi Extreme had always carried a fearsome reputation. Entrants, both returnees and newcomers, knew this was justified. We had entered the shorter “Sport” version for this reason, to try and stay within our ability. Billed as a 180k race, we were planning to go for compulsory checkpoints only, no optionals. But from terms race director Darron Raw used in the briefing: “extra value”, “change of strategy”, “no checkpoints are optional”, “longer than advertised” etc we knew we were in for some exercise. I slept with a heart rate of around 90bpm.
6th August 2010 6:00 am
Stage 1
Leg 1 – Trail run 13km
We’re off! Kobus and I give each other a high five as we finally set off. Anybody will tell you that the hardest part is getting to the start. We were to discover that the hardest part is in fact getting to the finish! Despite the whole field knowing that we were in for a few hundred clicks plus “extra value”, that didn’t stop the adrenalin fuelled bunch of lunatics with head torches and backpacks from taking off at nothing short of a sprint and settling on about 5 or 6min/k, either jabbering away or focused on some distant spot down the road like it was a time trial.
The first control point code was recorded with much jubilation, some teams discovered their lack of a writing instrument, but soon the field spread and Kobus and I found ourselves slowly working our way up it, perhaps guilty of too much enthusiasm. This was also evident in the way that myself and several others ran through the first patch of muddy water we encountered, just to see if control point 2 wasn’t lurking there. On finding it later at a much bigger dam we realised that it was true what Darron had said in the briefing about the maps being slightly outdated i.e. circa 19-voetsek. The dam, fence and canal we had just traversed were probably still a twinkle in the farmer’s eye when our maps were sketched.
The air was crisp but not icy and as the sun rose, the sweet smell of the lowveld grass and red dust permeated the mist. After cruising over some ploughed lands and past some sugar cane fields, we crossed a dry river bed and were relieved to see the Pro racers head up a mountain side to nail a CP which wasn’t on our list of things to do that day. We turned down the river towards our transition on its banks a few kays down, following animal paths between the sparse thorn trees, stopping once to take a crappy cellphone photo of the beautiful river bed with hippo tracks in the sand. You see, I had thought it wise to play it safe and condomise my cellphone for protection against dust and water, but the photos were useless. Always consider the optical properties of your condom such as refractive index. Any good manufacturer should be able to send you their spec sheet.
We arrived at the transition to discover that our novice seconds had a great deal of common sense and had done 99% of things right, all by themselves, with very little briefing from us. Incredible people. Little things, like tightening the clamp on the bike’s front wheel after re-assembling it, could come later. Oranges, bananas and lentil salad were swallowed whole and washed down with energy juice – we set off on the first bike section, knowing not that the lentil salad had plans for us.
Leg 2 – Mountain Bike 60km
It felt good to be in the saddle, covering distance a lot quicker than on foot. We quickly hauled in the team ahead of us and set ourselves a steady pace. The bike races and training seemed to have paid off. We were comfortably doing 35kph with little effort, feeling superhuman, but that’s because it was downhill. This feeling would come to pass.
We wound our way around the little thatch housed settlements on their haphazard roads, mostly unmarked on our map using the “discovery” method of navigating suggested by Darron. The Swazis were coming out of their houses and waving, calling to us: “Hau aaah yooo?”. They were a very friendly people, poor as dirt but not a beggar in sight and generally looked happy and welcoming in their kingdom. They were rich in other ways. I would have loved to have known what they thought of us sweaty people clad in funny clothes, helmets and backpacks, clutching maps, shouting out instructions and cranking up dust in their villages.
We portaged across a muddy river bed, slipping knee deep into the quicksand once, mistakenly searched for the CP around a pump house simply because it felt like it had to be there and eventually found it in a tree 200m away. On we cycled over a railway bridge and towards the riverside transition where our seconds would be waiting with replenishments.
Eventually arriving at the transition after 4 hours, our backsides felt like they had overstayed their welcome on the bikes. We were keen for the first bit of paddling action – a rare time in AR when your legs can rest.
Leg 3 – Paddling in canal, 12km
We grabbed the K2 by its handles, one at each end and rushed to the put-in. It was a bit of a rocky put-in and I was a little stressed. For starters, I hadn’t paddled a K2 for over a year. Secondly neither of us had ever paddled a river. Lastly I had never even sat in this particular K2. None of this seemed to bother Kobus and he expertly launched us straight into a bamboo bush 5m downstream of the put-in. After bundu-bashing (yep, you get to bundu bash during ALL disciplines on the Swazi X) our way through this minor inconvenience we set off down the canal at a leisurely pace, concerned more with trying to stay upright than gain on any hotshot paddlers ahead of us. At least our boat was experienced – it had the Dusi stickers to prove it. Our paddles were of the non-dusi variety but perfectly suited our skill level. With brand new splash covers and life-jackets we looked the part.
At least we thought we looked the part. Anybody following our progress closely, however would have cringed when we smacked the canoe’s bow straight into a concrete block placed by Darron in the river especially for this race on the inside of a tight turn, disguised as a flue. Once we established that we weren’t sinking, we discovered that the 200m flue was just wide enough that we could eventually manoeuvre the boat through it while pondering the forgiving virtues of fibreglass.
The lentil salad made its intentions known and a pit stop was made, the first of many.
We reached a sign on the side of the river saying “Get out”. We duly got out. After standing there like idiots thinking we were done, we realised that this was not the take-out and that we needed to portage our boat down the road alongside the canal. This was for a good reason – there was some sort of hydro-powered plant just around the corner and we would have damaged the turbines had we continued paddling. We hesitantly put back into a flue which felt ominously like it would lead to a huge drop off, but luckily it didn’t. That’s the thing about paddling. It doesn’t have the speed of biking or the exposure of some hiking routes, but it’s the possibility of unpreventable disaster that gets your mind going. The river will take where the river will take you. Under, over and through whatever. Nevertheless, we received a confidence boost by reaching the take-out unscathed and in good time. It was now late afternoon and time for a jog.
Leg 4 – Hike/run 8km
We set off at a brisk jog and stopped after 500m, as the Lentil Salad came into play again. We rendezvoused back on the road after 10 min and continued at a slightly less strenuous pace. What should have been a very short and sweet leg took another unexpected turn when the CP clearly marked at a very clear junction on the map, wasn’t there. We looked up and down the road and then headed off west in search of it.
After 2km, Kobus and his lentils disagreed yet again so we reasoned that I should make use of the time to go back and search some more, since we really, really wanted to remain official on this race. I jogged back and discovered the CP a few hundred metres east of the junction; presumably another case of outdated map. The map was starting to seem like a cheap imitation, an optional bit of paper which could only be useful when you have had well-travelled lentil salad. Since Kobus was back the other way, I had to pass the exact gate we had emerged from an hour previously where two racers were poring over the map pondering the exact thing we had been. I considered trying to ignore them but they looked up expectantly as I ran past. “OK, OK, the CP is 300m that way” I said to which they replied “Shot, we owe you a beer” and gleefully set off.
Rejoining Kobus we managed a reasonable pace down the dirt road to the first transition in the last glimmers of daylight. I let out a whoop of joy as we arrived, disturbing a massive kudu bull which bolted in the bush to the left.
Our seconds already had the tents pitched alongside the dam, inflatable mattresses inflated, braai coals glowing, and a suitable view of the action in the transition. We clocked in with Anita to be told we were the first pair to arrive and 6th overall. A cold shower, an expertly prepared steak and delicious pasta went down well. Kobus medicated himself with Imodium and beer. As we sat enjoying the company of our seconds on the hippo-dung strewn banks of the dam, we savoured our achievement for the day. We had klapped Day One of the Swazi. At this rate, it was going to be a doddle. The nice thing about staged races as opposed to continuous races is that provided you don’t get things wrong during the day, you are rewarded with sleep at night. Even some socialising and joviality isn’t out of place. Your body recovers a bit and you can actually end up stronger the next day than the previous. We liked this and decided that the thing to do was to go hell for leather from the gun to the flag and try and make it before dark again the next day.
That night, a squadron of hippos bullied their way into our seconds’ tents next door and snored and grunted so loudly that we thought we should call the ranger. They were gone the next morning though, leaving no trace.
Stage 2 – Saturday 7th August 2010
Leg 1 – Bike 13km
A quick bike leg saw us race to the put-in for the much anticipated (or feared, depending on your skill level) paddle down the river towards Mozambique. We would need to take full hiking packs with us because our seconds would not meet us at the take-out, we would be hiking out of that remote corner of Swaziland where RSA meets Swazi meets Moz. With me still struggling to wake up properly and get with the program, we arrived at transition to find that my shoes were still at the other camp and we didn’t have enough water with us for the hike. While Daniel arranged water, JP quickly jumped on his scrambler to race back to the overnight camp which had not been dismantled yet. This bought me some time to do my morning faffing, which Kobus very patiently tolerated without so much as a word. He just silently and amusedly watched me pack and repack my bag, waterproof it, then decide I needed to put something else in and repeat the process. When JP arrived with my shoes, I immediately put them on, then took them off again to put my gaiters on. Eventually we were the last boat in transition and all was quiet. I finally got my shit together and we carried the canoe down to the waters’ edge, a nice sandy gentle put-in this time. How ironic.
Leg 2 – River paddle 20km
We had just got our pesky splash covers on and not paddled half a click when a weir appeared in front of us. A local on the edge of the weir was demonstrating the international signal for “danger”, which is a random pattern of pointing, shouts and gesticulation. We decided that it would be best to portage. It turned out the correct decision because downstream, looking back, we saw a boat crunching cascade onto rocks. We wondered if any teams perhaps went over, perhaps in inflatables?
By this stage I was concerned. If that was the first 500m, what lay in store? If we had to portage every 500m, when would we finish? What were these “grade one and two rapids” like? We navigated our way through a small boulder cluster with some fast-flowing water, hoping that perhaps this was the extent of the rapids spoken of and taking some comfort that our splash covers worked and we could keep the boat upright by placing our paddles flat on the water behind us as we went through the shaky bits. This technique, combined with a bit of luck and Kobus choosing pretty decent lines had me feeling a little more confident. We were a far cry from that first paddle in a borrowed K2 on Emerentia a few years ago where we fell in after 100m much to the delight of the fishermen.
As we shot another presumably Grade 1 rapid, I let out a yelp of excitement. This was starting to be fun. The banks of the river started closing in and soon we were surrounded by densely shrubbed banks and sheer cliffs either side, glowing red in the morning light. A fish-eagle’s cry echoed down the valley. Some water fowl sunned themselves on a rock. We overtook a plastic kayak. Things were looking good.
Something grumbled up ahead.
It was a low, deep, rumbling sound that penetrated your body and gripped your spine. As we approached a rocky outcrop, we realised this was a substantially bigger hydraulic system and it was making it’s angry intentions clear by sucking us in at an ever increasing rate. We didn’t choose a line, it chose one for us. What followed was a lot of shouting, paddle slapping, rock punching, gurgling, spitting and hoping. We got spat out the other side to be immediately greeted by 3 boats, one of which was broken and two assisting, their occupants warm-heartedly cheering us on. Pleasant folk, AR people, even in the face of disaster. As we were carried past, somebody shouted out to look out for their backpack, which contained, of course, some important belongings essential to walking the 20 odd km to the transition. Luckily for them it had been perched on a prominent rock already by another team up ahead.
Bathed in adrenalin, we meandered down the river, shooting the odd rapid with ever more enjoyment until we encountered one particular instance where we saw a rock over the lip too late and smacked straight into it. Again, the trusty boat refused to break but rode up the rock and tipped over sideways, spilling Kobus out except for one of his legs, while I refused to take a tumble and propped the boat up sideways with my hand on a rock beneath the water. Kobus could not get out of the boat due to the force of the water, the bows were resting on the rock and the stern was trapped. I wasn’t keen on turning upside down with my splash cover on and going down the rapids inverted so this inconvenient and precarious pose continued for quite a while, as if waiting for a photo. Eventually Kobus managed to extract his leg. He then lifted the nose of the boat off the rock, grabbed the stern handle and we somehow managed to stabilize the boat from the back through the remaining rapids with Kobus in tow. We regrouped at a sandbank, tipped the water out and continued, considering ourselves fortunate.
After that, we encountered more and more sandbanks and kept getting stuck on them. We then devised the “ape-walk”: using our hands to lift the boat and move it forward while remaining seated, which I was particularly good at, but Kobus’s arms are shorter and he preferred to row in the sand, pretending that there was no water shortage at all. If sandbanks were longer, we had to get out and trudge, which we did at least 10 times, because we were very good at finding sandbanks.
We enjoyed all the lesser rapids after that with ever increasing enthusiasm and the end of the paddling leg came all too soon in a calm stretch of river at the Mozambique border. We might have overshot it, had there not been another boat ahead, paddling in our direction! It soon transpired that these Dusi champs (really) had been so quick to the mark that the marshal hadn’t even arrived at the take-out yet. Apparently they realised they were off the map when questioned in Portuguese as to their intentions in Mozambique!
Leg 3 – Hike 20km
Reluctantly, we wrung out our sandy shoes and socks and prepared for the slog out of there. We had been instructed to carry our life-jackets, splashies, helmets, gloves etc with us, so our backpacks were heavier than normal, making running difficult. We also had to make several stops for me to get more sand out of my shoes. Eventually I took out the inners and discovered that the sand grains had permeated every available crevice in my shoes and saturated my socks. Some slapping of shoes and socks on rocks ensued while the ever-patient Kobus stood munching on an energy bar.
The hike soon turned out to be far more scenic than I had thought it would be; despite being on a jeep track, it led through unspoilt wilderness and climbed all the way to the top of the undulating plateau, with views for miles. At one point we took a shortcut along a cattle track, which worked well, so we looked for more. We were within striking distance of the transition when we encountered another team consisting of Swazis. Thinking local knowledge rules, we mistakenly followed them as they took a “shortcut” – the result was a scenic tour of the rural villages and some pleasant conversation to pass the time while we waited for the correct path to make itself evident. We eventually caught sight of the transition and made a beeline for it, leaving the Swazis, who had again inexplicably hooked a sharp right, to continue on their travels. They did seem to be having fun.
Leg 4 – Bike 20k
We hopped on the bikes for some undulating riding on main dirt roads with a quick diversion through a rural village to nail some CP’s. Again the locals were very friendly and pointed us in the right direction. An uneventful ride took us to our pickup for the day at a school ground, where our seconds were waiting to take us our overnight destination in a field near Siteki. Arriving at the field, we discovered that there would be no showers, not even cold ones, but that was OK since we were rather weary in any case and after a lekker braai we hit the sack and passed out.
Stage 3, Sunday 8th August 2010
Leg 1 – Hike 17km, abseil and special task
The last day started again with a run down the road as everybody sought to finish the business. Soon the field split between those willing to chance it navigating through the rural villages (e.g. us) and those who would rather run the long way round on a good road. Our gamble paid off and after weaving our way through some perplexed people’s backyards, we rejoined the other teams near the front-runners. Unfortunately my penchant for shortcuts and bundu-bashing reared its ugly head again and I lead us down a valley on a small single-track which needless to say fizzled out into nothing but thorn bush. Somehow we managed to pick up the main trail again, though, and I navigated us with plenty of doubt but reasonable success to the much-anticipated abseil over the side of a cliff. Although the abseil itself was not that long, it offered exposure to a far deeper valley below, creating the impression that we could fly off for a few seconds of freefall. That was a nice touch. Also nice was the fact that there were 4 ropes, so not only were there no delays but Kobus and I could descend together.
Before descending, we noticed somebody coming to grips with the Special Task down below. A chap was standing on a rock on the edge of what looked like a large hole near the rim of the valley. He was being told to jump, but his brain was obviously telling him otherwise. The silly sausage, he should have known to switch that thing off before assuming the position.
Climbing out along a ledge we headed to the special task. Only one team member needed to volunteer, so after a brief negotiation I stepped up to the launch rock. Again, looking to the left one could see down the valley for miles, while a few stories down below the black water of a plunge pool beckoned. I had done higher jumps before, but I was somewhat out of practice. Feeling the wobbles coming on, I focused just long enough to step off the edge and then had time to think a bit before crashing into the water. That certainly got my adrenal gland re-booted and the climb out of the pool was slightly exposed too, with Kobus offering our safety rope just in case.
From there on we hiked up the valley to the transition for what we knew was the last stage of Swazi X, a long mountain bike ride. It was almost in the bag.
Leg 2 – Bike 76k
Packing plenty of water and snacks, we set off at a decent pace to complete the last leg of the race. Our route would take us east to the Mozambique border, then north for a bit and then west again to Siteki before the final push north to the finish venue at Simunye, where no doubt there would be trumpets and fireworks to celebrate our arrival, followed by a ritual banquet, a twelve gun salute and the main valve from the local brewery would be cranked open.
We were still cruising along nicely on a level path when out of the bushes to our right sprang a farm worker wearing a torn orange T-shirt and shouting at us to stop. Ahead there were cut bushes blocking the road. He spoke no English, but he convinced us that we needed to head sharply left, down a much less inviting side road. Was this a trap? Observing the tyre tracks, we noticed that some teams before us had already fallen for it. We decided to follow suit. The path became slightly more technical and we enjoyed a bit of rocky downhilling. It got worse and worse until I heard a crash and cursing behind me. Kobus, riding with caged pedals, had gone over the bars. No bones were broken and we continued, only for the same to happen again. Then it was my turn, sideways into a pile of stones and thornbush. We thought it prudent to push our bikes from that point downwards. The path degraded into a rocky scrambling descent which got steeper and more difficult until we eventually reached a beautiful, lightly forested river valley below. It was very quiet in the valley and the river was dry. It would have been easy to appreciate had the fact not remained that what goes down must come up.
Pushing our bikes up the other side, I felt really sorry for all the ladies on the race. It was a difficult task requiring a lot of energy, the pebbles we are loose and the heat in the valley was oppressing. When we finally emerged at the top after what felt like an age, we were quite drained.
When after several hours we clambered onto our bikes again, we were relieved to be back in the saddle. We cycled the pleasant dirt road on the plateau of the Lebombo mountains and eventually reached a farm gate. Kobus’s water was finished so we opened the gate and went in to consult the farmer. This remote farm was miles from anywhere. It seemed an unlikely place to find an old derelict farm house, but there it was, with green peeling paint, broken windows, a rooster clucking around, a black dog suckling a puppy in the barren yard. The farmer himself appeared a poor man in ragged clothes and an old cloth hat, but he greeted us with a smile as we asked him which way to Sitsataweni. His three small children eyed us curiously from their perch on a rusted drum. He pointed at the ground and his finger traced a path through his yard. We were on the road we wanted, it just so happened to lead through his front gate and out of the back gate. We asked about water. He hesitated, then threw a key to one of his three small children. I realised then that they must have had to carry the water up from somewhere far. Water was not something that just arrived at a tap. It was something to keep under lock and key. With relief Kobus accepted a refill of his water bottle and I offered the farmer an energy bar. He gracefully accepted with both hands and a small bow.
We fetched our bikes from the entrance gate and cycled through his yard. He and his wife and children were already standing at their rear gate, which he had opened for us, and as we waved goodbye, he took off his hat and humbly wished us well on our journey, we who had arrived uninvited on a weekend jaunt to ride through his backyard and replenish our water from his meagre stocks, were treated as guests by this poor family. I shed a tear.
We cycled on along a long straight road through fields towards a settlement in the distance. Arriving unexpectedly at a junction and a checkpoint, we found the two teams ahead of us in relaxed postures on the ground, enjoying a hard-earned break. Consensus was reached that the valley had been a trifle challenging. After sharing stories, we moved on.
During the race briefing, Darron had mentioned that the last 30k or so would be fairly easy, we just needed to make it to there. With this in mind we pushed on to Siteki and eventually crawled into the Galp filling station just before sunset. Our thoughts turned to the afterparty in Simunye and we headed down the road, just after our fellow racers arrived to replenish their stocks.
Looking for the junction off the tar road, a police van pulled up. “What are you doing?”
We explained that we were on a race.
“At night?”
We extolled the virtues of adventure racing
“What a crazy game you are playing. Anyway the road you want is that one”
And off we went. Little did we know that we would be back at the same spot 16 hours later…
A few kays down the road, by the light of our headlamps, we found the first CP and a marshal fairly, who told us that we were only the third team to pass that point. Bonus! A podium finish awaited!
As the night got blacker on a mild and moonless night, we followed the most obvious path. It wasn’t long, though, before the path ended in a field, so we turned around, only to see a stream of lights poring down the valley. We were not alone. After several discussions with other navigators we established that there was no clear highway through this valley. It was going to be a hit and miss affair, a case of testing several options. Rather than sticking with a group of about 12 racers, we decided to go back and test some other options we had passed earlier on. This was a mistake – in retrospect the light offered by 12 headlamps would have been a good reason to stick with the group.
We soon found a path that showed some promise, but after a few kays it spat us out into a grazing area populated by thorn trees. We tried several more times on various paths and eventually earned ourselves punctures, despite the slime in our tyres. Having fixed those, we were now alone in a sleepy, dark valley. A lone lamb slept under a thorn tree while we strategised. We decided to cross the river and try to find the optional checkpoints, which should be on the main route. We eventually found a route which looked very recently graded and checking it with a low-held torch revealed that it even had some vehicle tyre tracks on it. A highway! Gleefully we headed off down the road, which took us quickly and effectively up a parallel valley, unbeknownst to us.
Somehow, we were too far east, but we didn’t realise it because the shapes of the hills weren’t clear in the dark and behind the trees. Perhaps I wasn’t looking for the right things. Suffice to say, we had finally found a route which took us north and we were sticking to it.
By the light of our headlamps, we saw the path reduce from graded road to jeep track to single track to cattle path. We pushed on, believing we would emerge in the plains any moment. The cattle path narrowed. We pushed on. We reached a small, dry weir. We crossed it and pushed on. The cattle path disappeared. We pushed on.
Soon the thicket was too thick. Our skin and clothes were torn, we were tiring and getting low on water. We decided we must have missed a path and should head back to the dry weir. We backtracked, trying to stay above the thick bush in the river bed this time before descending into the river bed. Once in the river bed, we decided that the weir had to be either upstream or downstream. After exploring a little upstream, we found we could go no further due to dense vegetation, so we tried downstream, only to discover the same. Then we climbed out of the valley again to above the dense thorn bush. Dragging the bikes through all of this was becoming tedious. By the light of our torches we found some untraversably steep slopes ahead of and behind us. We needed to ascend or descend to get around them – we ascended because the vegetation was less dense.
By 1 am we had reached the point of despair. I sat down with the map and took a compass reading. It then dawned on me that our valley ran east-west and not north-south. We were sitting on a south facing slope, and since we could see no lights of Siteka down the valley, that meant that we had inadvertently backtracked up a tributary of the river into a different set of valleys! Shock and horror.
My altimeter told me we were at 400m. Because of the little water we had left and exhaustion, we figured that the next decision we made had to be the right one. We couldn’t risk wandering around on these steep slopes in an exhausted state at night. We also couldn’t bundu bashing with bicycles for miles in a valley with no water during the day. Thus we needed to have a Plan. We decided to sleep for an hour or so to rest and gain perspective, before coming up with The Plan. Putting on all our clothes, we pulled out space blankets and our “emergency shelter” – a large piece of tent fabric with foil laminated to one side, which I had specially commissioned for the race. I was overjoyed that we would have the opportunity to test it. Actually I wasn’t.
As we lay down on the rocky incline, we pulled some tufts of dry grass to provide some insulation and comfort. Even though we were far from comfortable, sleep came quickly. I awoke two hours later with a rock protruding into my back as I had slid a bit down the slope, and shivering from cold. Popping Super C’s, I pulled out the map again and pored over it. With my ample ears I listened to the sounds of the quiet night. Somewhere down the valley, a jackal’s call. A bat flitted past in my headlight. And to the left, the soft shshhhhh sound of a distant waterfall or perhaps a road. The map showed a road on top of the plateau to the east, running north-south. Switching off my headlamp and allowing my eyes to adjust, I could just make out the outline of the hills against the starlit backdrop. And perhaps the faintest of glows in the direction of what could be Siteka. I hoped to catch the glow of headlights but to no avail. I narrowed our position down to two possibilities, both of which allowed for an escape to the road on the plateau. Feeling a bit better now that I had a Plan, I lay back down and waited for dawn. Shooting stars were plentiful and the rumoured cold front thankfully never came, but I was not enjoying myself. Kobus, if he was worried, showed no sign of it. He just snored. We got some more sleep and eventually were awakened by the alarm on my watch. Yep, Monday was going to be another race day on the Swazi X for us. Day 4.
Stage 4 – Monday 9th August 2010
Exploratory hike
At dawn we executed The Plan. The Plan was to position the bikes in such a way that they were easy to find again, then abandon them and walk out in search of the road. If we found the road nearby, we would come back and get them, then ride out. Otherwise if not, we would eventually just stumble into the road and stop a passing car. Decorating the trees with helmets and bikes, we set off, wondering if we would ever return. Depending on how far the road was and how long our water lasted, we would make the call. We eventually climbed out into the delicious sunlight at 600m and 7h30. In the distance we could see the telephone poles alongside the road. Things were looking up.
I switched on my phone and discovered a 5 bar signal. I phoned JP, who told us that we weren’t the only team still out there. “It’s very technical” he said. Thanks, I hadn’t noticed. I then left a message on Renate’s phone. Then we descended again to get the bikes, which were at 400m altitude. After descending the wrong hill twice, we finally spotted the bikes below and got to them. A difficult slog up the mountain ensued, dragging the machines to the top through the grass and shrubbery. On reaching the road, we exchanged my front tube, lifted our bikes over the fence and set off towards town, much relieved to be riding smooth tar.
Bike to Siteka 9km
Cycling to Siteka, we decided we were going to stock up at the Galp again. Perhaps even try again. At the filling station, we bought water and energy drinks (still had food) and debated whether to give it another crack. I would probably miss my flight back to Cape Town and JP had already left back to Botswana, but there was one seconding vehicle left and my brother-in-law Laurent had just phoned to say that he had been waiting at the finish to surprise us. We surprised him by not showing up. He urged us to continue. Darron assured us, too, that since we were still official on this race with all the CP’s found, we should try and they would wait for us.
Bike to Simunye, Lap II
Off we went again, stopping en-route for another puncture. Down into the valley we went, carefully choosing the route under the pylons as we thought best. After some time, we found tyre tracks and followed those, only to discover they were our tracks from the previous night! As we contemplated backtracking and testing another route, my rear tyre got a puncture, adding to my slow front puncture. Having fixed that and proceeding again, Kobus then dismounted laterally into a thorn bush. It’s a sorry state of affairs when your good friend and team mate is lying bleeding in a thorn bush, still attached to his bike, and you ask belatedly “do you need a hand?”. It was an indication of the mental state we were in. The race adrenalin had long gone, people in the valley were going about their daily chores of subsistence farming on a Monday morning, there were no other teams and no more excitement, just two lunatics stuffing around on bicycles. Reality set in.
Bike to unofficial finish
Not even bothering to fix my puncture, we cycled back to the tar road, calling Laurent en-route to inform him of our decision. He offered to try and get me to the airport in time from the pickup at the side of the road. This was a good prospect, since I really missed my wife and daughter. We kicked a home-made soccer ball around at the side of the road with a local boy, while we waited. Laurent, Daniel and Yogi arrived in convoy in a cloud of dust. Laurent was exuberant in his congratulations. We had done enough in his eyes to warrant a celebration. It was great to see Daniel and Yogi too and a pity that JP and Jeanne had already had to leave. We chatted excitedly and had the closest thing to a shower in 3 days as Daniel poured water over us. Then it was all over and we left that spot on the side of the road where 4 days and 250km of racing had come to an end.
Finish
In the valley when we had decided to call it quits, Kobus and I shook hands and congratulated each other on giving it our best shot. There was mutual respect, earned long ago but re-affirmed. We had left nothing out there. We had come so close to finishing well, but ultimately had not finished at all. But that was OK, because we had got what we came for. Adventure.
Thanks to our sponsors, Placement Partner, for the entry. Thanks to JP, Daniel, Jeanne and Yogi for being fantastic support crew and the use of your vehicle and equipment too. Thanks to Aniek for the all the food and stuff you prepared and sent (we should have looked after the lentil salad better!). Thanks to Kobus Franken for the use of your vehicle. Thanks to Renate for letting me race on your birthday. And of course thanks to Darron and Anita Raw for the Swazi Extreme.
Author: Ronald Jessop | Swazi Xtreme SPORT, 6-8 August 2010