A reminder of why suffering on a bike still matters
Gravel Burn Photographers
When Cape Epic founder Kevin Vermaak told me “you need to come and try Gravel Burn” during our Overnight Success episode, I sank in my chair. After three failed attempts at finishing his Cape Epic (well, to the best of my knowledge the pandemic in 2020 wasn’t my fault), the idea of another multi-day South African race seemed deeply masochistic. But Vermaak wasn’t inviting me back to the mountain bike race that had defeated me again and again. This was different: seven days, 800 km, and the endless gravel roads of the Eastern Cape’s Great Karoo.
The decision ended up being simple after a moment of consideration. The former Cape Epic team was launching the Nedbank Gravel Burn, and if their track record was anything to go by, this would soon become the biggest and best gravel stage race on the planet. Getting in on the first edition was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
I enlisted my old race partner Allan ‘Alby’ Iacuone and my neighbour and good mate Mark O’Hare, a South African who needed no convincing. But even as flights were booked and plans solidified, doubt was still in the front of my mind. After two years off the bike; sleeping in, eating what I wanted, and exercising haphazardly, did I still have what it took to get to the start line? Would I get ill again in the middle of South Africa? Was I willing to sacrifice my newfound comfortable and balanced life?
As it turned out, that comfortable life was missing something that had fulfilled me for decades.
Back down the rabbit hole
For the past six months, I threw myself into the forgotten world of performance. I hired coach Neal Henderson. I listened to all of Ronan’s Performance Process podcasts. I disappeared down rabbit holes about tire pressure, nutrition, aerodynamics, warm-ups, crank length: all the obscure one-percenters I probably wouldn’t implement but wanted to consider. Having a goal changed everything.
My objective was deliberately simple: get to the start line having done all the training and preparation I could (within reason). Everything before the starting gun was within my control. After that, I’d be at the mercy of the race.
Two days before the start, Mark, Alby and I arrived in Knysna with our preparation complete.
Factor Ostro Gravel, SRAM XPLR, Hunt 40 Limitless wheels, Vittoria Terreno T50 50/45 mm tires with inserts, and kilograms of gels, bars, and drink mix. Stage 1: A baptism by fire
The opening stage delivered a biblical introduction to Gravel Burn. Rain poured so heavily that if it had been stage 6 or 7, not starting would have been a consideration. We were drenched to the bone before leaving the neutral zone on pavement. Once we hit gravel, we wore dirt and grit from head to toe. As anticipated, the pace was insane as everyone was full of energy and had ambitions that most couldn’t keep. But you had no choice but to follow.
Alby and Mark rode ahead while I yo-yoed through groups, reconnecting with old friends from races past, and others I would later get to know even better. On the final climb, I forced myself to look up properly for the first time in 60 km. I took off my muddy sunglasses and the views were staggering. From this point on, I reminded myself of Ferris Bueller’s wisdom: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
Back at camp (itself a sight to behold) I stood dazed and confused with sand and mud covering every inch of my body, not even knowing where to begin with the clean-up. Eventually I realized that walking into the shower fully clothed was my best option. I handed my bike to the Specialized support crew and requested new brake pads after a new set had disintegrated in a single stage, despite minimal actual braking. It would be a busy night for the mechanics and bike washers (who ended up being some of the unsung heroes of the race).
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