A L’ORIGINE

I was born somewhere in the South, Port Elizabeth, no, that's not in England, its in Africa, a stones throw away from the Atlantic, warm with summer sunshine filled with stars in evenings blue. Though I must say I have never been to Avignon, aaah, I would have liked to have visited Avignon. I have vague recollections of Avignon from a past life, but it would have been sweet to visit her once again in this life.

When I started out I was skinny and no good. My friends invited me for a ride as I had been promising them that I would for a long time. My 1979 Parisian blue Carlton 12 speed Super Chicane was terribly abused by a spray shop in the suburbs of Cape Town.

If I don’t forgive them now it would be karma, so this beautiful velo was spoilt to a horrible dull sky blue without any decals.

My father had no extra money to redo this horrible carnage. If my grandfather were alive he would have surely restored the colour to its former splendour.

After all it was he who bought me this bicycle as a gift one December and died later on in the evening at repose.

So finally with toe straps and Bernard Hinault Patrick shoes which Evadne Orange gave me as a gift I set off up the road with my friends who had been moaning for months for me to join them. They wanted to give me a beating I suppose, and that they did.

I will recall them for you, David Martin, Brent May and Kenneth Felix. The latter being the leader of the pack. He was good, and he made you know it.

A little bit about Kenneth Felix

I could equate Kenneth Felix to Sean Kelly of Ireland, this dude, he wore toe straps and wore original black cycling shoes the way they did in the old days. His bicycle frame was taller than was his actual body height and it was devoid of any trimmings that was not needed.

There are a few people in my cycling career who really paid attention to my racing, Kenneth was one of them.

I also remember training with this three-some on other occasions, Kenneth would cry merde! when everyone was going to slow as it tired him too much he said. When I remember this now, its just so funny and it brings a smile to my face.

So back to the subject at hand... after just a few kilometers of flat road we hit the first climb of Constantia Neck. Everywhere you go in Cape Town there are mountains and up hills. I was left in the dust and under the shade of trees as I reached the top out of breath and humiliated.

So this humiliation carried on for a few rides.

Then I said to myself, I will ride every mountain, every hill, I will never get off my bike unless I die doing it and am to be carried off it, and no mountain will break me.

From then on every day, in glorious emulation, I trained for all that it was worth.

On the following ride I meandered at the back waiting for the road to tilt skywards.

Half way up the climb I said to the fellows; “I’ll wait for you at the top.”

They looked at me as if I had just escaped from Falkenberg (a mental institution in the local area). So I left them, I never looked back, and for the next twenty years I would wait for them at the top.