The astute readers amongst the vast following that this blog has there are at least 4 regular readers out there will have noticed that there was no Sani2C race report. For that I apologise, and before I get down to this year's event, I'd just like to share the reasons behind why I didn't dare make that post. Unlike the previous year, I wasn't in great shape - a two week holiday in Paris combined with a bout of rather vicious Parisian flu meant that I went into the event quite short of form.
For almost 3 days I followed Little John on our adventure from the Underberg towards Scottburgh , relying on muscle memory and experience rather than fitness and conditioning. I rode as if each pedal stroke was my last, giving it everything I had.
To compound matters, I had discovered the night before we left for Sani2C that my bike was cracked. Literally - every pedal stroke could have been my last, and I was expecting a catastrophic life ending failure at any second. At the end of each stage I was both physically and mentally exhausted. But I was fine with that. That is what team racing is all about. Look closely for the crack With barely 20kms to go on day 3, after sticking to Little John's wheel like a remora suckerfish all race long, he sat up.
To talk to a "pro". My theory is that anyone riding anywhere near us can't be that much of a pro. While Little John was blinded by the stars in his eyes, the people we had been racing each stage were slowly gaining on us.
Had I suffered so much just so that I could witness Little John and his blossoming bromance with a B-grade pro? Like a rage-filled midget at a rock concert I finally snapped, and my mission wasn't to finish ahead of the B-grade pro or the chasing riders, but to ride Little John into the ground. To strike down upon him with great vengeance and furious anger. To crush his soul. With my legs on fire and my lungs screaming I mashed the pedals, each pedal stroke more violent than the last.
