Mr Muffin was due to start his 20th Argus Cycle Tour one hour before me, so to while away the time before entering my starting chute I took refuge from the hurricane in a sleazy cafeteria. The type with greasy tables, cracked tiles and the sign that says ‘Credit only given to people over the age of 70 accompanied by both parents’.
The coffee was good though. As was the people-watching. A bepimpled teenager in cycling shorts and a pink tutu ordered and ate a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich with chips. I wondered if he would vomit on Hospital Bend or if he’d be able to hold it in until Wynberg Hill.
This chap needed directions to his chute. Must be related to kachasu with that dead animal getup.
He obviously found his way as the good folk at Cape Town Daily Photo discovered (bottom left).
On my way to the start I noticed that Bartholomew Diaz was rather smugly enjoying the post-dawn plight of lycra-clad windswept humans clinging desperately to their steeds.
That white thing in the background is Table Mountain.
About 600 of us were in the PB group. We should have set off at 8:48, but because so many riders in earlier groups were blown off their bikes in the Hertzog Boulevard windtunnel, our start was delayed to 9.37. Of the 73 start groups, only 2 made it through the first 100m without anyone crashing. Charming.
I spent six hours in the saddle looking for Matt Damon and Francois Pienaar. As did loads of poppies on the side of the road, with badly made signs saying “MATT DAMON! FREE MASSAGE HERE!! NO JOKES!!!!!!!!
Finally, the finish.
And the beer tent. We call it Compost Corner. Because you just stand in one place and drink till you get vrot. Late Final, the best party band in Cape Town, was playing. Loudly. Thousands of shattered cyclists bopped, waved their beer bottles and sang along to Creedence, ZZ Top, Pink Floyd, Queen, Bruce Springsteen, Dire Straits and Katie Perry. They even sang Happy Birthday to Mr Muffin.
The Good: The people in Cape Town are amazing. Despite seriously grotty weather, the roads were lined with spectators, cheering every passing cyclist. They were as sunburnt, windblown and exhausted as we were. But they were still there at three in the afternoon, drinking beer, smiling and waving tatty banners. Thank you.
The Bad: I can’t believe how many cyclists were listening to iPods and talking on cellphones while cycling in very dangerous conditions. Do they live in this world?
The Ugly: I have a cold sore on my kisser. I feel like Oprah on Botox. I make Mick Jagger look like a thin-lipped viper.
Next year? I’ll be back. Wouldn’t miss it.
Oh my goodness!!! Looks like a lot of fun! Thanks for sharing those great details. Even the cold sore stuff, hehe.
I hope all is going well with you. I look forward to your posts.
Thanks Michelle. I look forward to reading the whole of Monarch…holding thumbs for you!
LOVE that t-shirt. Hilarious. And well done Dusts!
Yeah Dolce, I wish I had the courage to wear shirts like that. Takes me back to the days of bumper stickers.