I hadn’t ridden a Trans Baviaans since 2018 – I think. It might have been 2019, but I’m not really sure. After a few years have elapsed it doesn’t really make that much difference. As long as its far enough back in your memory to forget how much you suffered going up MAC it’s time to ride Baviaans again.
Words by Seamus Allardice
Photos by Llewellyn Lloyd/Reblex
When EcoBound made a limited number of solo entries available for the 2024 Repeat and my schedule aligned I knew I couldn’t miss the opportunity. Most (read: normal) people have more fixed calendars, they can commit to events a year in advance. But with work cropping up haphazardly at times, I struggle to pin personal adventures down more than two months in advance. This made finding a partner hard, plus I quite enjoy cycling alone – especially on ultra endurance rides.
Knowing what you’re in for helps.
It’s a bit of a loner thing. But it’s also a case of knowing that I have the miles in me. If I ride my pace, deal with the lows as they come, and grind it out I’ll finish. It certainly won’t be fun at times, but I’ll get it done. Subjecting someone else to my self-inflected suffering isn’t necessarily fair though.
The primary reason it would be unfair on a teammate was my horrific lack of training. In June I embarked on a three-day bikepacking trip through the Overberg, but a broken derailleur hanger meant I only did 250 of the 320 planned kilometres. Then the winter swells rolled into the bays and beaches of the Cape, and I went surfing. Or it snowed and I went hiking. Fortunately, I did one ride in July and noticed I’d broken a spoke on the rear wheel of my mountain bike, so at least my bike went for a service before setting out for the Baviaanskloof…
At least my bike was ready!
For the week in before the Repeat I based myself in Jeffreys Bay and surfed my heart out. Staying on Supertubes, for a kid (read: old man) from the Cape, is a treat and I spent as much time in the water as possible. Which just continued my perfect Baviaans prep. The only thing I managed to do right is not cut my feet to ribbons on the rocks getting in or out of the surf. Though I did achieve two pretty spectacular Kook Slams moments on Sunday evening and Monday morning after the ride.
With little to no fitness preparation I would be relying almost exclusively on experience and perseverance. I had a solid plan of action too: get in a good group early on, do as little work as possible for the first 100 kilometres, then survive until the finish. On race day the first two went out the window and the third was a bit more literal than I’d have liked.
Here’s the Strava map from my Trans Baviaans Repeat. You can click on it to view the full activity.
Trans Baviaans Repeat Day
Part one of my grand scheme relied upon starting well up in the field. To do so I checked in at 9:15, well ahead of the 10:00 start and made my way to the 4th or 5th row of the grid. I didn’t want to be too eager, but I certainly didn’t want to get caught at the back of the 1 200-rider strong pack.
With 20 minutes to the start, a fellow next to me realised his front tyre wasn’t holding air and his tyre sealant must have dried out. I thought I could help – because I had seen a bottle of Squirt Tyre Sealant in the Trans House (which belongs to the Race Organisers, the Van der Walt family). So, I abandoned my prime spot and went in search of tyre sealant.
The Repeat start. 1 200 riders setting out for the Baviaanskloof.
Sadly, it turned out the bottle of sealant I had seen earlier was simply an industrial sized bottle of Squirt Chain Lube. Ooops. Now his tyre was still flat and I was out of place. I thought I would be able to sneak, under the guise of “media duties” in from the side taking a video of the start and then falling in near my original self-seeding.
But the Cycling South Africa Commissaire had other ideas. He initially threatened to disqualify me for not starting from within the chute. Until I convinced him I wasn’t in fact racing and was working on the event from the bike. That worked until Charl Kemp, who was supporting his wife Roxy rather than taking photos of the race, suggested a bit too loudly that I sprint off in front of the group. The commissaire didn’t see the funny side of that, or my assertion that I’d probably just fall over in front of the group while trying to video with my phone in one hand and my GoPro in the other. He forcefully reasserted his threat to disqualify me, and rather than argue the point I joined the back of the field.
A family photo for the Trans Baviaans organisers, the Van der Walt family.
Once the shot fired and the fast riders sped off, I waited impatiently as the rest of the field eased their way out of the start chute. It was like watching paint dry or pouring molasses, there was no great rush. Clearly, I was among riders whose plan didn’t involve freeloading to the Reserve.
Gradually – trying not to be obnoxious about it – I picked my way through the field towards the mid-pack. By the time we exited the first jeep track section and turned on the Baviaanskloof gravel road, after 7 kilometres, I was among riders of a relatively good pace. Still, I was a bit too amped up and I, foolishly, pushed on; climbing towards the Roof at a faster speed than I should have.
Climbing to the highest point of the race, the Roof.
The advantage of this was that I managed to catch a nice group descending the Nuwekloof Pass and through Die Sleutel into the Baviaanskloof proper. For the next 20 kilometres I buzzed along, fording river crossings with my companions and generally enjoying the experience. At the first check point, at Vero’s after 52 kilometres, I was well pleased with my progress. A quick chain lube and a nature break were all I needed, as I was keen to cover ground while the going was good.
It took me 10 kilometres or so after Check Point 1 to catch a group again, but I wasn’t too concerned. The road surfaces were excellent and after the brief flurry of small climbs after Vero’s, the course trended downhill nicely. It’s easy to feel good there!
Nuwekloof Pass is one of the most beautiful sections of an exceptionally scenic route.
When I joined a group, I was going so well I decided to be magnanimous and do my share of the work. This was probably my second mistake. The secret to success in the Trans Baviaans lies in wheel sucking for the first 100 kilometres. Never let anyone tell you any different.
It is however easier said than done. Unless you are in the top 50 or so, there are some very strange group riding tactics on display at Trans Baviaans. Expect riders to surge when they do their turns. One team mate to inexplicably dart off up the road. Nobody to ride in anything resembling a pace line. And for someone from the middle of the group to attack coming out of every water crossing.
A classic Trans Baviaans group riding formation.
Never will you see two neat lines, with riders peeling off and cycling through efficiently. Nor will you see anyone flick an elbow to indicate that they need you to take over on the front. Every new pace setter will have to power up alongside the group and then the previous pace setter will have to jump across the strip of small rocks, lined up by the tyres of the farmers’ bakkies which drive the road, to latch onto the new workhorse. I am convinced that if you have the patience, you will be able to ride from Check Point 1 to Check Point 2, a full 41 kilometres, behind a single rider. He’ll mutter under his breath occasionally, but he won’t ask or indicate for help.
Pulling senselessly is a matter of great personal pride. Apparently.
There were 63 river crossings on the 2024 Trans Baviaans course.
After 93 kilometres I reached Zandvlakte. I’d let my group go in the final couple of kays to reset and slow down ahead of the check point. Again, my plan was a quick in and out. Lube my chain, grab a snack from the aid station and hit the road for the Reserve. With a hydration pack and a 2-litre bladder I had no need to top up that just yet. But I did go 50/50 coke and water in my bidon.
7 or so kilometres later I went through the western gate of the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve. And the surface when from a relatively smooth gravel road to a dual track. Like the road through the farms, the Reserve road was in good condition for the 2024 Trans Baviaans, especially the first section from the gate to Smitskraal.
Check Point 2, at Zandvlakte, was the first place I stopped properly.
By this point we had crossed about half of the 63 river crossings Zane Schmahl had warned riders of in his race briefing. At a crossing which was flowing strongly I stopped to fill up my hydration pack’s bladder. Upon removing it from my pack I realised I didn’t actually need to fill it, because I still had 500 millilitres or so of fluid in it. But I’d been struggling to get good sips for the last half an hour, so I filled it anyway.
With all the river crossings there was ample water to fill bottles in the first 140 kilometres of the route.
O-Shucks, I Lost an O-Ring
With the bladder filled I plugged the hose back into it and slotted it into my pack. Slinging it over my shoulders I couldn’t help but notice it was leaking. So, I took it off and checked the connection between the hose and the bladder. It was secure, but a squeeze of the bladder revealed that the connection was leaking.
This isn’t my first hydration pack rodeo. I knew instantly what was wrong. I’d lost the o-ring which seals the hose/bladder interface. Despite looking for ten minutes or so I could, obviously, not find it in the long grass where I had laid my pack down before removing the bladder.
In the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve the roads got rougher and the landscapes more rugged.
The time loss wasn’t too much of a concern, but now I was worried about how I was going to complete the remaining 110 kilometres with just a small bidon on my bike. I figured I could leave the hose out of the pack and decant fluid from the bladder into my bidon, but that was going to slow me down significantly.
I spent the next 13 kilometres, which included the ascent of the Baviaans Back worrying about that.
The Baviaans Back is the first major climb of the route.
Descending into Smitskraal, at the 123 kilometre mark, I realised I could fix my problem with insulation tape. While a mechanic was replacing a derailleur for some more luckless soul, I raided his tool box for a roll of tape and sorted my problem out. Though the leaking had stopped it was far from easy to get anything more than a dribble out of the now constricted hose. But it was better than the alternative!
Dropping to Smitskraal from the summit of Baviaans Back is one of the most exhilarating sections of the route.
“Sosaties! Wors! Blink Potte, Blink Potte Toe”
I had intended on blowing through Check Point 3 too. Plans need to be flexible however. So, I extended my stay, got lured in by the shiny pots and the braai meat. Smitskraal is famous for its “blink potte,” sosaties and wors. After one of each I was ready to take on the Langwater…
And it certainly was long. In January we had done a bikepacking trip through the Baviaanskloof and driving against the flow of the Langwater had been a rather stressful experience. This time around it wasn’t nearly as deep as the 70 centimetre, max-Hilux-wade height. It was still knee deep in places though and around 100 metres long.
The braai at Smitskraal is unmissable, even if you’d like to rush through Check Point 3.
On the far side a Working on Fire team awaited with more Squirt Chain Lube and with that applied it was time for the climbing to begin in earnest.
n Blink Pot.
Langwater wasn’t as deep as it had been in January. But it was still long and knee deep in places.
Squirt Chain Lube applied after the Langwater prepared riders for the assault on the Fangs and MAC.
The Bite of the Fangs
Baviaans Back might be the first serious climb of the route, but the first Fang is the place where you know exactly how your Trans Baviaans is going to go. It’s not overly long. But it’s crazy steep. Kicking up to over 10% it features interlocked brick paving on the steepest pitches, and – worse – the cement transition from gravel to paving produces a step which requires an explosive effort to conquer.
I rode the entirety of the first Fang in granny gear. Repeating a mantra which would tire, freshen, and tire again over the next 90 minutes… “just keep spinning, just keep spinning.”
Climbing the Fangs will reveal how the rest of the Trans Baviaans is going to go for you.
Any assault on the Fangs and the Mother of All Climbs is a battle of inches. And one of small victories. Every steep pitch you conquer is a win. Every time you don’t put your foot down you gain confidence.
Clearing the first Fang I achieved the no walking goal and pushed on gaining some momentum on the descent which followed. The second Fang is slightly easier, in my mind, but the descent is the roughest section of the route. Again, I cleared the climb without putting a foot down. Which is only remarkable because of the almost stationary speed I maintained throughout.
The descent of the second Fang was the roughest section of the entire route.
On the descent of the second Fang, I was forced into the rougher right hand side line. With a train of riders descending cautiously on the left I opted for speed and the right lane. This nearly ended in disaster when a donga stretched into my path on the steepest section. Having been on the brakes due to the obstacles before it I was faced with a snap decision, stop completely, and wait for a gap in the train to cross into the left. Or I could let off the brakes and try to clear the donga. I opted for the second, but didn’t quite make the jump.
I cased the lip of the donga with my rear wheel and immediately knew I’d knocked it too hard to avoid damage. Fortunately, I had run my tyres a bit harder than ideal that morning, to reduce my rolling resistance and for added safety in just such a miscalculation. A few revolutions of my tyre made it clear that my rim was intact and the tyre was not punctured. The clicking of loose spokes was a concern however.
My rear wheel, post-race.
When the road levelled out and began to climb, I stopped to survey the damage. It took me two further stops to find a second broken spoke and wrap both firmly around their still intact neighbours. Then it was onwards, upwards, inexorably climbing towards the summit of MAC.
MAC attack.
Mother of All Climbs
As is pretty much always the case, the Strava segments for MAC are misleading, inaccurate or bizarrely cropped. The “MAC proper FULL” segment excludes the final 3 kilometres, which average an agonising 3.6%. From the bottom, near the Doodsklip Campsite, to Bergplaas MAC is 11.7 kilometres long and gains 543 metres in elevation. That averages out to roughly 5%, but that is very deceptive. There are long stretches, especially between kilometres 6 and 8 where the gradients are at 10% or above. And the surface requires constant focus, because concrete strips provide an easier path on the steepest sections. Though riding on them when exhausted is a double-edged sword, wobble off your line and you’re in trouble.
Climbing on the concrete strips is the only way to conquer the MAC.
If you can stay on the straight and narrow the whole climb is readily ridable. Which is what I did. Painstakingly slowly. I don’t know how long it took me, but I can attest that riders who stopped to wait for their partners or who pushed briefly came by me at times. I don’t think I overtook a single rider, only the walkers. It was dire.
The views, with the sun sinking low over the Baviaanskloof Mountains was beautiful however. That made the suffering slightly better every time I mustered the strength to look up and to my left. Eventually I rounded the turn at the information point and started the endless drag to Bergplaas.
The final drag to Bergplaas is the real tough part of MAC.
That 3 kilometre, 3.6% gradient, stretch is my least favourite of the entire route. I’d rather ride the infamous Train Track singletrack or the new Mentorskraal finish again before doing that. Check Point 4 is hidden from view and it feels like the you’re grinding through purgatory. Then suddenly you summit a little kick and there the turn off to Bergplaas is.
I limped up the access road and was happy to see mechanic Jamie Loots. Sadly, Jamie didn’t have any spare spokes but he managed to neaten up my road repairs. With his assurance that my wheel would hold, as long as I didn’t break another spoke, I set off into the heart of the check point for multiple mugs of soup, and a fresh base layer.
One of my pre-race goals was to reach Bergplaas before sunset.
The Practicalities of Trans Baviaans
I was told, when I did my first Trans in 2016, by Heleen Rossouw that I only needed one CP box and that the box should go to Check Point 4, at Bergplaas. It is advice I’ve followed on the next two occasions I’ve ridden the event and I can confirm it works. Anything extra is overkill if you aim to finish in 14 hours or less. Maybe if you are taking longer than that you might want a box at Check Point 3, but honestly, I feel supporters at Check Point 5 are more important than anything you can put in a box.
You only need one CP Box for Trans Baviaans and you only need it at Bergplaas. Arguably.
I started with my Extreme Lights Endurance+ light and battery on my bike. And as I mentioned before, with a hydration pack on. Because I was doing updates from the course, I put a power bank and a charger cable in a top tube bag, along with the bike light battery, and I topped that off with three gels. The rest of my on the bike nutrition, my phone and my GoPro were in the font pockets of my hydration pack. In the back pocket of the pack, I had a space blanket and a lightweight jacket.
Because of the heat I had decided to forgo waterproof socks, as well as leg or arm warmers for the first 140 kilometres. I did however pack a long-sleeve base layer top, fresh socks, leg warmers and a fresh lightweight jacket into my CP 4 box. I also put a restock of on the bike nutrition products and a sachet of Enduren hydration mix in my crate.
Starting with your bike light on your bike is the way to go.
At Bergplaas I decided that while it was probably cold enough to warrant the long-sleeve base layer and to put the jacket on that I wouldn’t be needing the leg warmers. I must confess, putting on fresh, dry, socks, after 60 water crossings was one of the highlights of my day. There were a few moments when I briefly felt the chill on my knees in the next 6 hours, but overall, I was glad I didn’t layer up too much before setting out.
Preparing for the long, long, night.
The Long, Long, Night
I’m not sure if I reached Bergplaas before sunset, but I certainly left as the last light was fading. In previous years I’d started and even completed the Big Dipper Descent, of Combrink’s Pass, with the last rays of light illuminating the road. This time, as soon as I dipped below the ridgeline and started dropping towards the east it was fully dark. The train of headlights and tail lights below was eerily beautiful. As was the row of lights following down behind me, when I reached a switchback and could look back up the mountain.
Proof that I made it to Bergplaas before last light, if not entirely before sunset.
The soup at Bergplaas is a real life saver and prepares you for the chilly Big Dipper descent.
With a belly full of soup and rejuvenated by my stop I pushed on for the next 35 kilometres, ticking them off at a decent speed. It was only after turning off the tarmac and starting the trundle towards Neverender that I began to slow. Rolling into Check Point 5, at Andrieskraal, my pace was back to a crawl.
Not having supporters at CP 5, after 8 or so hours in the saddle is tough. I’m fortunate in that I had friends there and could talk some kak for 10 minutes or so, until Llewellyn Lloyd and Andrew Robb had to get back to work, photographing and videoing the event. Then it was just me and myself again…
Descending at night is always more thrilling.
I dragged myself back onto my bike and up Neverender. It’s a 12 kilometre long drag, which averages just 2%, but there are steeper sections in it too. Mostly though it’s just a grind worthy of its name. It only ends at the unmanned Check Point 6, which the organisers always threaten to move but never actually do.
At CP 6 a woman, who had been riding within 100 metres or so of me for the previous half an hour, asked where Neverender was. I told her we’d just climbed it and she seemed relieved. That was nice.
A least I wasn’t this broken at CP5. But it was close.
Checking out and hitting the road takes some mental fortitude after 8-10 hours in the saddle.
The next 7 kilometres to Zuurbron and Check Point 7 were pretty easy and downhill, except for the nasty climb from the culvert to the check point. Again, I didn’t walk. The small victories were adding up. Having indulged in two chip rolls and a coffee at Andrieskraal I hadn’t eaten anything on the bike between kilometres 175 and 200. Though it didn’t seem to be a problem. In the tent at Zuurbon I wolfed down two Jaffles, sat in a plastic chair staring into the opposite wall for far too long, then braved the darkness once more.
The first 16 of the final 21 kilometres were pretty great. Though my 6 year old bike light battery was starting to die and I was having to nurse it home on low beam. I switched it to bright for the decent to the base of Mini MAC and for the sweeping descent to the turn off to the new last 5 kilometres. I’d heard mutterings from the Race, the weekend before, that the Mentors run it was tougher than the Train Track singletrack.
The jaffles at Zuurbron are a Trans Baviaans staple.
Initially I didn’t believe it. The route climbed up past, or perhaps through, a grave yard and there were lots of lights just up ahead. “That must be Mentors,” I thought. Then it went through a massive culvert, under what I later realised was the N2, and started a grassy track to nowhere. A big drop was followed by a nasty climb and eventually I rounded a bend and the sound of Brundle’s voice burst into my ears.
I wish I can say the master of ceremonies and music spurred me into a sprint. I could say it, but it would be a lie. I barely changed the cadence, navigated a couple of changes from grass to paving and back to grass, and rolled across the line. Not entirely broken. Not completely harrowed. But close.
It took me 14 hours and 7 minutes to complete the Trans Baviaans Repeat, though my moving time was just 12 hours and 6 minutes. Most of the stationary time was very necessary though.
14 hours and 7 minutes after leaving Willowmore. It took me into tomorrow to finish. I’d hoped to avoid that. But I’d made peace with finishing after midnight about an hour previously, so even that wasn’t overly disappointing.
I then had to wrangle a bike rack out of the back of my bakkie, which caused me to cramp for the first time. Eating my post-race Spur burger took me nearly an hour too. Though I must admit I felt nearly 20% human after forcing it down.
Kook Slams
After a few hours sleep, prize giving and farewells to the crew I thought a surf would do me good on Sunday evening. It was glassy and 3-4 foot at Supers. Paddling out I realised my energy levels weren’t what they needed to be to navigate the speed of Supertubes but I snagged a couple of fun waves and didn’t embarrass myself. Thinking I’d play it safe and drift down to Tubes for a last few before sunset I paddled down after my second wave, which was potentially my wave of the week even, and enjoyed another half an hour in the water.
When it came time to get out, I misjudged the Point keyhole badly and ended up being washed against a big rock, dinging the nose of my board. It was embarrassing, but not tragic. The next morning, however, was full kook of the day.
Supers on Sunday, post Trans Baviaans.
Waking up at first light I paddled out the lower Supers keyhole as the sun rose. The swell was still 3-4 foot but there were long lulls between the sets. It should have been an easy paddle… Except it wasn’t. After easing through the keyhole, I got caught on a shallow section of reef as the water rushed back out to sea, draining dry under me. I heard the sickening crunch of fins and could only hope I hadn’t knocked any out.
Once out the back I checked the damage to see one fin pushed deep into the lower deck of my board, the fin box compressed into the foam. It hurt just to look at. The damage was done however and there were waves to be had so I stroked into a runner at Tubes and tried to make the best of a bad situation.
The parting shot from JBay.
On the bottom turn I felt the fin bend sideways and I knew it wasn’t going to hold. So, I kicked out and reassessed my options. The only viable one was to catch a wave out.
Aiming for an early exit, I paddled for a smaller, inside wave, only for it to close out on me as I started to take off. Exhausted from the night before I was slow to my feet and slower in reacting. Over the falls I went with the lip. As I hit the water in front of the breaking wave I felt my leash pop. Now I was tired and swimming. Somehow, I managed to get to my board before it washed in over the rocks.
The Jbay tax…
But now I had missed the keyhole. Without the energy to paddle out and back up the point, against the rip, to it I had to lamely force my way sideways, in shallow water, over jagged rocks, as waves broke over me repeatedly. To make matters worse the International Age Group Knee Boarding World Champs had just started and the judges were calling over the public address system for all surfers to get out the water. Eventually I washed/scrambled out in front of 100 knee boarders, 20 photographers and a bunch of onlookers, thoroughly humiliated.
On the positive side it helped me forget the pain of climbing MAC. I guess I’m about ready to enter Trans Baviaans again then…
Post Repeat bike check.
I guess I’ve forgotten MAC enough to ride Trans Baviaans again.
