"How is it going?" he asked enthusiastically
"Its just like Iraq." I answered.
We lived in Baghdad at the height of the US occupation - it was the best parallel I could muster. I had just been swept up by the support van after just 300km of riding and knew that my race was over. Severe ITBS had set in and despite walking up and freewheeling down the undulating Karoo landscape for over 15km, I knew I needed to stop. Its a terrible feeling. Not the excruciating pain, so much as the acceptance of continued motionless. Not cycling.
Iraq was amazing, grueling, life changing and terribly hard. When we had to leave prematurely, I also felt like there was so much more good we could have still done. So many more miles to be traveled. More dust. I fell in love with the culture, the landscape, the buried heritage and the relentless blustering heartbeat of the desert. Everyday was peppered by that wonderful question,"why would you do such a crazy thing?!"
It's just like Iraq, my love.
While sitting on the road, trying desperately to rip the left pedal off of my crank to convert my vintage road bike into a machine which would allow my injured leg to hang comfortably lame while I eeked my way to the finish, pedaling with one leg, I asked myself what I wanted to achieve.Really achieve.
I wanted to know cycling. I wanted to know the bike, the landscape and the heart required to truly love them both. That's when I stopped. Already way over my limit for pain meds, I cried with Stan on the roadside. The Overberg pass pretended not to notice as I unclipped my helmet.
Now to watch, carry, encourage and pray for everyone along the way hoping to find what they were looking for. The Tour of Arae continued for me from the front seat of the Green Mamba support van. And perhaps with some rest I could complete the last day. Perhaps.
I started Day 4 the following morning with the group and tried a 10km loop out of Merweville in a bout of sheer denial, but returned to the van grateful for the fresh air and the wise decision I had made the day before. Race Director Roelf and I continued on in the van, both making the most of this fantastic journey. Marking routes, taking pics, moving luggage and picking up other weary cyclists. I was determined to work as hard as if I had been on a saddle.
Cyclists make poor passengers. I got stuck in.
What a privilege it was to spend the remainder of the tour seeing the fighting, the fallen and the freezing. This week I'll be going through a series of experiences from this daring and delightful journey that was the 6 day Tour of Arae. From the gritty lessons of bike maintenance to the intrigue of racing to win. I hope this in some way bears witness to the making of these magnificent bicycles and the unmaking of every rider on this epic journey.
...I managed just one more kilometer on my bicycle during the Tour. Through the most grueling snow, sleet and hail, the last four riders entered Matjiesfontien as the sun made its departure on Day 6.
On hearing about their imminent arrival, we quickly grabbed bikes made our way up to the town limit to welcome them in and ride the last processional together. All the riders.
That was by far the hardest kilometer of the journey, but by far the most rewarding.
follow me on @contestedspaces
kirsten[at]bicyclecapetown.org
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