MTB (the mountain bike)

Those who know me will tell you that I am no mountain biker at all, I have always been a road cyclist and that is what I will always remain.

But when mountain biking first took off in South Africa years ago the name most synonymous with the sport was to me Hendrik Lemmer. I remember once we were to start a race and at the start line Hendrik showed up with a mountain bike. Back then ‘roadies’ frowned on this but, Hendrik being who he was, could not care less and he, as I recall, even did a sub three (under three hours) Argus Tour, a record that still stands of 2h 38min and that shut up most of the road cyclists.

Carinus Lemmer Hendriks’ brother, who was a roadie and track rider also took up the challenge later riding mountain bike.

Many years later just before leaving for Australia I moved back to Cape Town to train for 3months. In rain and sleet I trained each day becoming really, really fit.

Mark Florence had been asking me for a while to join him but I had no inclination. In the end I gave in. He had no mercy to say the least, for my first ever MTB ride as he took me through Tokai Forest in Cape Town and up on a two hour climb, well that’s how long it took me any way. We went up all the way to the the power station where one could see the whole of False Bay to the East and Hout Bay to the West.

I think Mark got a kick out of seeing me suffer, all those years on the road, he was now taking it out on me, it was pay back time and he was dishing out the pain. I must say I really thought I would fall all day but I only went down once over a tree trunk and into the mud. He of course, had a laugh. By the end of the ride all was well, but much worse was to come later.

A few days passed and I felt that the long MTB ride did my legs well. Then one morning he called me again. That morning a number of things happened prior to our ride that should have told me not to go but I did not listen to the messages. The day was overcast, ominous in fact. When I got to Mark’s house it was only a few minutes away from the forest. Ascending on the first climb we encountered a puncture.

Fortunately, it was still close to home, so we turned back and changed the complete wheel. On our second attempt Mark had another puncture, by now I was wanting to call it a day and I should have listened. We went on to a third puncture, eventually when we got to the top of the forest we turned for the run down the steep incline. Mark took me over a jump of about one and a half meters and I flew over it without even thinking, I could not believe it. Mark was ahead of me and I followed, on a curve around some shrubs I took the steep side as storm water had burrowed out a little trench in the mud and it had become hard in the sun.I don’t know what happened, on such a simple bend without any real obstacles I felt myself falling, between that thought and the moment I hit the surface I was thinking: ‘My wife is 18 000kms away and I am about to break something serious, she is going to be mad like a DraGon’.

I lay there not able to move, I managed to remove my helmet and down in the forest I could hear Mark calling after me.

My right wrist was shattered and the pain was unbelievable. In nearly three decades of racing down the steepest mountains in the world I have never broken a bone, I fell off my bike on numerous occasions without a helmet on, not breaking anything, and to me this was the worst thing in all my cycling days.

When Mark finally found me, he thought the same thing;

‘Gail is going to be mad’.fter X-rays the doctor just shook his head, he didn’t know how he was going to put that together, my bones were all over the place.
Before operating they first tried manually to help the bones to be aligned, and they did this without any morphine. Then to top this, the ignorant nurse could not find my veins, neither could they find my pulse, that has always been a problem; I had a naturally very low pulse.

Nurse Lynne Munisamy of New Zealand is going to have a hearty laugh when she reads this story. My wife was not angry one bit, Mark was very kind to me in arranging everything as I was in no mood to speak English.

I healed in no time, that being the blessing from cycling for years and looking after my body.

When I arrived in OZ, my wife, after many years of not cycling at all, bought herself a mountain bike, so did I. We continue to ride on and off in the forest and mountains of Brisbane.

These were my exploits on what we call today, the mountain bike.

In order of appearance: Carinus Lemmer, Mark Florence(Pantani) and Sebastian Engelbrecht

www.prendas.co.uk/details.asp?imgID=1396

“Only a few times in his life, perhaps never, does a rider push himself to the absolute limit, or ten-tenths as I call it. Most of the time you ride pretty close to it, say at about eight-tenths. Nine is really suffering. But ten is how you’d ride if to be caught meant disembowelment or the torture of the hooks, or to save your mother or children. It means to ride so that parts you never think of, such as your liver, your whole system, refuse to do any more. I’ve seen men try it. Sometimes they succeed, but mostly they finish in the ambulance. Usually they faint and crash at about nine-and-a-half tenths.”

Ralph Hurne, The Yellow Jersey

THE WIND, THE RAIN AND TORRID AFTERNOONS

Many years ago when I was still full of youth and went like a rocket still racing in Cape Town, Ian Gallard told me; “Sebastian we are going to have to do something about your descending skills and the fact that you get dropped in the wind all the time.”
I couldn’t agree more. When we went training, once we got to the summit of Chapman’s Peak, Ian would drop like a stone down the steep side and I would have to sit on his wheel like a fly on horse manure. He said we will train as hard as we go up, down. Thereafter I use to live for the downhill and Mark Florence and I had a saying; “after every up there is a down”. I was never again dropped going down a mountain and I mean never. In a particular race called the Anglo Dutch Roller Coaster Race, one of the most mountainous races in Cape Town at the time, going first over Constantia Neck, Chapman’s Peak, Kommetjie Hill, and the long drag up to Cape Point Reserve, Black Hill and then Ou Kaapse-Weg and on this occasion hard, pouring rain.

Two small break-away groups had formed ahead of the main peloton; I was in the second with David Cloete. Coming out of Simonstown, as we were about to take the left turn to ascend Black Hill, I assessed my position in the group and they seemed content to huddle together for warmth and so I made my move breaking away. Near the summit of Ou Kaapse- Weg David and about four others caught up with me again, over the top David took the lead and we dropped the rest. In torrential rain we descended at 80km/ph, I was sure that day that I would arrive in the first 10 positions but about 3kms from the finish some tall imbecile road right up my coccix, as an even more imprudent rider touched the wheel of the front rider and I came down hard.

It felt like I had internal bleeding, my lovely girlfriend Gail did the honours of sticking her fingers up my rear end and discovered all was ok, I would live to fight another day.

Another amazing descent I lived for was Franschhoek Pass near the village by the same name. One year I was racing there with Ian Gallard, the group had arrived together at the summit but Ian couldn’t and didn’t want to wait for anyone and just went right over accelerating immediately, I saw this and sat on his wheel. The descent down towards the dam is about 11kms long and I stand corrected, but it’s filled with switch-backs and if you loose it there, you off the side into some rocky crag.

I looked over my shoulder and all there was between us and whoever else was shear daylight.

Many times today when I think of that day, I shudder, I can’t believe that we had done such a thing on those treacherous roads.

By the time we got to Worcester it was 40degrees. I must admit I am a bit of a mountain goat and this weather suits me best although if it rains I wouldn’t care less.

After about 160kms covered with one mountain pass behind us, there was still two to go and 60kms to the finish line near Paarl. We begun a short steep climb of about 3kms and near the summit everyone reached for water and the heat was clearly getting to everyone. I slipped a gear and peddled as fast as I could. I looked over my shoulder expecting Wayne Stevens to chase me down or the young Wesley Swindale but they were looking at each other so I was on my own.

Once I reached the T-junction just before the lake I turned into a block head wind and as I went as fast as my legs could carry me, I thought they are sure to catch me before the long arduous climb back to Franschhoek. After a long while in the distance I could see Ian Gallard. If he caught me it would be a great help as his tall body could shelter me but I decided that I didn’t want anyone spoiling it for me that day, so I carried on.

Ian caught me after 1km of climbing and we still had ten to go. I got out of my saddle as often as possible and wondered why Ian was not coming to the front as he was an excellent climber. I would learn later on in the afternoon that had I gone just a little bit faster he would have been shelled out the back. He told me he was hanging on for dear life and hoped I wouldn’t pick up the pace. That statement, coming from such a distinguished, rider made my day. Wesley Swindale and Wayne Stevens caught up with us near the summit, they looked at me at the top, they were tired and felt the day belonged to me so I started the descent.

Here in the photo Ian Gallard, Wesley Swindale and I are seen just 3kms from the finish which was on a false flat. I did not win that day as the race rule went you had to finish in your team as it was a team event. We came tenth.

The 1998 Argus Pick ‘n Pay Cycle Tour was about to begin, I was 31 years old, my best ever Argus was 2hrs 44min over a distance of 105kms. I had decided that I would break my personal best record in 1998. I was lean, muscular and in my best condition in a long time. The weather was threatening with rain and I was to begin in group B #39. By the time we reached the University of Cape Town dark clouds were covering the skies, to me this meant that the race at the front would be slowed down and for me a better position. On the Blue Route Motorway the rains began, so I decided that I would go at 100% for 100% of the way, throw caution to the wind and make like I am Claudio Chiappucci without coming down like Ronan Pensec from the RMO team.

Traveling at 80km/ph from the the entrance to the Cape Point Reserve down the back stretch in one long single line hugging the right side of the road as if it was a mothers nipple, was a recipe for disaster, but we were going so well, having caught so many, I was having the race of a lifetime. When we turned left at the foot of Ou-Kaapse-Weg to head towards ‘Chappies’ (the climb of Chapmans Peak) my time was way under an hour and a quarter. About 2kms from the foot of the climb again on the right side of the road, the rider in front of me went down, I went down even harder, My expensive blue Swatch watch was impaled with a hole right through it, my thumb and middle finger had flesh missing and my lower right back was hurting really bad. They say the strongest and the best ride at the front, so it is, but on that occasion I would have preferred if I was a little further back in the peloton.

I got up from under the metal and bodies but the objective had been lost, I did not give up but time the most precious commodity in cycling was lost like tears in rain.

I crossed the line in just, just over three hours.

Unlike others I took not doing well very badly, the racing had been good up to a point but now it seemed any chance of me ever doing better than 2hrs 44min was gone forever.

I went to my sisters house packed my bags and went home to Johannesburg on Monday morning.

Later on in the year over a distance of 120km I did a time of 2hrs 15min, the fastest time ever for me over that distance in the Elite section, I was over the moon.

The wind, the rain and torrid afternoons that burned my skin brown like a farmer standing by the roadside, was all part now of a days work, I was unafraid, and what a days work my life had been up to now, the chapter was closed but my story was far from over.

BORDEAUX

Back to 1997, we continue with this third installment of The First Time I Arrived In Paris…

Well, well, well, its gets better all the time. Here I am sitting outside the station: Gare D’ Austerlitz, I left my place of abode this morning at 9:30am to Gare D’ Lyon, bought a ticket to Bordeaux for f330. Then took the Metro to La Defense, changed over at Chatelet and took the Port d’ Orleans train to Montparnasse. When I tried to board the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse) to Bordeaux they tell me, ‘can’t take my bike’.
Merde!
But I’m cool. Go to information. By now my train had left already. I met Lorenzo from Italy and he helped me at the change-over electric gates when my bike got stuck. Gosh! Was I worried that I’d miss the 11:15 TGV which I did anyway due to this problem of ‘no bike on TGV’.
I changed my ticket for cash and got a discount because I’m under thirty; f297 so I cycled to Gare D’ Austerlitz and booked my ticket. Thousands, ok, hundreds of young sheople just sitting on the floor waiting for departures were everywhere and the magic that only stations can provide could be felt flowing like gossamer threads from soul to soul.
My bag is so heavy.
It would have cost me f150 to pack my bike and send it to Bordeaux but then I’d only receive it in 3 days time…bad news. On this train my bike could go along with me.
But I can only leave at 23:56 in the evening and would arrive in Bordeaux Monday morning at 6:30.

At the moment I’m thinking of my la vie en rose – Gail - while writing this in front of the station in the Parisien sunlight.
Next to me my new mate Alejandro from Mexico sat reading quietly, he was on his way to Madrid at 22:00 hours.
This morning for breakfast I had 4 baguettes, jam and hot chocolate, ha ha ha!

Alejandro Gongora V.
Guadalupe
Tampica
Mexico

Now we wait!
Oh, before I forget, I just paid f2:50 for a pee/piss/urine. Can you believe that? Unbelievable!


Its 19:19 now, Alejandro and I have been sitting at the station all day. We were so hungry at lunch time we went over to MacDonald’s to buy lunch.
Many cyclists have passed onto the trains today, what can be better than July in Paris.
After running around like a blue spider exchanging more money and sending my velo ahead costing me f150 I was now on board my train to Bordeaux. I was sharing a Gushet with two young women and a guy, with feet that smelt like old Dutch cheese and Europeans acting crazy since they discovered I am from South Africa. But it was great to know that South Africans were so appreciated on the continent.

Sleeping on an ergonomic bed, the likes of which I had never seen or felt and interrupted time and time again by noise making Spaniards and the smell of weed drifting through the air I came to realize I was in good hands and for a moment I could not be blamed for thinking I was in Woodstock with a bunch of hippies.

07/07/1997: 08:45 in the morning, Bordeaux was bathed in lovely sunshine in the little that I have seen since I left the station was beautiful.
I was soaking up the sun in front of ‘A La Memoire Des Girodins Monument for a while. The women are pretty dressed in chic dresses walking on sidewalks to the max and all the cars looked brand new.
The Tour de France arrives here on the 12th July; maybe I’ll stay here for two days. I must go and find me an Auberge des Jeunesse.

Last night two Austrians and I chipped-in and came up with f80 for a Gushet. Then at about 1:30 in the morning the Controle comes by and gives us the boot. He sends us down a couple of carriages because the one we were sleeping in was reserved.
We did find a Gushet eventually and the sleep was needed.

I booked myself in a Ville de Bordeaux Aurberge de Jeunesse for f56 a night, I cycled 77.61km so far and the day was wonderful. I visited Eglise Notre Dame, the silence was breath taking, so too the paintings and the architecture.
I visited the local museum but it was closed and so was Cycles Gitane apparently the best shop in the district.
I also bought myself 2litres of Coke for f15, a sandwich f12 and a Banesto bidon (water bottle).
In Centre Ville everything was solde (sale) as all things are in France in July.

08/07/1997
Last night we had an interesting night, my room-‘mates’ are a lot of Ozzies and Kiwis. The Ozzies went out to drink; and when they got back they could barely walk. Then at about 3:30am one of these guys peed at the door on the floor. The next morning some folk were confused where they were and didn’t know if they were in the hallway or the men’s lavatory.
I think his name was Rick, he then tried to get in next to me and I pushed him off the bed and onto the floor.
In the morning he had nothing to say.

The weather in Bordeaux was perfect, I meandered around and marveled at this great city, then at lunch I met Celine Assuerus at the pizza café, she flirted with me and phoned around for directions to Pau, a 250km journey..one I would have to cycle tomorrow. She scribbled th directions on a small slender piece of white paper:

Qu 215
Direction D. 932 Langon
Mont De Marsan N.134
AFTER PAU

Celine Assuerus
Bordeaux

Later on in the afternoon I tried to pump my wheels and the connection to the pump broke, I cycled over to Gitane Cycles and these kind French gentlemen fixed my pump, pumped up my wheels for me, greased my chain and then invited me to watch the ‘Tour’ with them.
When we had watched the stage finish having been won by the great German Eric Zabel I thanked them for their hospitality and cycled down to the esplanade where I bought myself a drink.
Jerome Simone, the Frenchman, was caught only a few kilometers from the finish having been in a break for 38km.
At 7pm we all walked down to the supermarket and chipped-in for supper.

I ended my last night in Bordeaux arriving back at my room at 1:30am then having to carry a guy by the name of Ankur to his bed as he was drunk as ever and had no direction.
Well, what can I say it is Bordeaux; it is the wine district, delightful to the palette in more ways than one. Narrow cobbled lanes are filled with la-di-dah boutiques and pretty girls cycling in short dresses and high heels.

I shall remember it always.

FULL FLIGHT….

The sheer poetry in motion when a bike rider is in full flight is something to behold. The exhilaration mixed with undisturbed focus is something that is magical. In the 1992 Tour De France Britain’s Chris Boardman showed just how it’s done in the prologue.

When it was ‘Big Migs’ turn, he rode away from the whole peloton…up and over a climb with only Johann Bruyneel in tow and this on a day before a major time trial. It was the 1995 Tour stage from Charleroi to Liege in Belgium.

And of course my favourite in 1988 on Luz Ardiden, Pedro Delgado of Segovia from Spain, turned on the power from the legs of the world’s greatest climber and left the best of the rest as if they were standing still. In my opinion, nothing compares to seeing a cyclist in flight on a mountain stage. It is something so sublime, so powerful you can almost taste it.

Then the greatest climber of all time with 7 crowns to the KOM Jersey, the Maillot Espois; Richard Virenque of France on Mont Ventoux while being chased by the American, Lance Armstrong, was out in a break-away all day and still managed an attack leaving his rivals in the heat of Provence. Such talent as this Frenchman had is rarely seen and I suppose the only one who comes close is Federico Bahamontes of Spain in the earlier years.

We also see Thierry Marie on a 300km break-away riding at his best going on to win the stage and the Maillot Jaune in 1991 on the 6^th Stage dropping Lemond from first place. Miguel Indurain was to win his first of five wins that year.

I once watched Miguel Indurain and Pedro Delgado descend into St Etienne, they dropped everyone in their wake, to see such great cyclists move through slippery descents and chicanes is to say the least, moving.

But in the end, no matter who it is, we have all experienced this moment, the decisive moment, that moment of untouchableness. That moment when you look over your shoulder and all you see is the shaking of heads… and there is just no response because you are in full flight!

Photograph of Miguel Indurain courtesy of micaiahsellsout.wordpress.com/.../

All other photographs courtesy of my friends. Above Kevin Evans in the Giro Del Capo and below Mark Florence in the 94.7, both from South Africa

Some Trivia

There are 9 000 000 bicycles in Beijing.

That is more bicycles than all the Tours De France and Argus Cycles Tours put together.

That’s a whole lotta bicycles.

LE PREMIERE JOUR DU RESTE DE TA VIE

Sebastian and family above and Douglas and his family below

A single day can irrevocably change the course of one’s life, a cyclist above all others knows this far too well.To understand the love from another or the buoyant energy of a child is what changes this for a racing cyclist. And as the setting sun kisses the dark sacred night or as the sun gives way to the stars and the moon so it is when at last you no longer stand alone but your family stands besides you for the rest of your life.

It is in fact the first day of the rest of your life…

Continued Below...

John Cupido and his family on the left and below Mark Florence and his family

So when the time comes and the camera is dusted off and you pose for family photos and you're no longer racing, but still part of the sport, this connection never really ends as you begin to realize that cycling has always been about family and that your wife and child/children are its extension.

Mr and Mrs Ian Gallard

Your first child is the irrevocable change, its no longer just you, it is no longer just you and your wife or lover so this is just a tribute to those with whom I have had the pleasure of racing with and it brings a smile to my soul to see how we all have grown up.

ACCOUTREMENT

It would seem that cyclists are defined by things, not big things but little things, some elementary some not so simple. When I think of Sean Kelly in the old days, the Irishman could not leave the trappings of his toe-straps. It was something simple yet pure to his moment on the bike.

Lance Armstrong wore his yellow wrist band and his long black socks, if you take me for example I would never wear black socks, a cycling sock should be predominantly white. But hey, that’s just me.

My favourite things are: My first ever pair of Sidi cycling shoes, if it’s not Sidi, I don’t wear it.

My UCI License from the 1999 racing season

My pure sterling silver bicycle chain my wife bought for me

The silver ring with a DraGon entwined in a circle

My titanium Festina wrist watch which was a limited edition Tour de France 99

My Blue Festina time piece

The Oakley’s Mark Florence gave to me as a gift

And my platinum Oakley glasses.

With Indurain it was his trade mark casquette (cycling cap).

Here is a little anecdote…

Years back when I was racing I would wear my casquette, in rain, sun and the strongest winds, there I was with this thing on my head.

Later on the young ones came up to me, I think it was Christopher Walker who was the leader of the pack and they asked me how I manage to keep my cap on my head in such strong winds… I don’t remember what I told them but they thought it was cool and I loved my cap as in those ‘thank god’, we didn’t have to race with helmets.

Wayne Stevens of Club Peninsula was obsessed with his titanium bolts and sprockets as Ian Gallard obsessed about his white pee-pot helmet. Ian bought bikes, state of the art but he never changed his helmet. To me that was the funniest thing in the world and then there was Bernard Michel the owner of Soloped who raced without socks and would never ever use handle-bar tape and I think that takes the cake.

And of course this would not be complete without a story about Mark Florence. One year when I had returned to France and Mark and I were on the same team that year, I remember this one particular race we were in… As we had arrived on the umpteenth climb of the day, and a steep one at that, there in the middle of the road, in the middle of the bunch lie an expensive pair of Oakley’s. Mark stopped dead in his tracks, picked it up and continued racing all in one moment. Lol, cycling would be dull without Mark Florence, many would agree with me. Things…

I went to brush my teeth late the other night, just before bed. I dislike cleaning my teeth before bed; it feels like the governments poisoning me before sleep. There on the toothpaste my wife had a new gadget; a toothpaste squeezer, Accoutrement!

IL PIRATO

A young Mark Florence with Melchor Mauri

Mark racing in France

Below: John Cupido leading Mark up the climb of Chapman's Peak in

the Tour

It is a shame that Mark Florence (Pantani) never got the opportunity to meet or befriend Marco Pantani of Italy (the Italian Companisimo) because he truly loved this cyclist and we even called our Mark ‘Pantani’A bit of a dichotomy as far as

size was concerned, Marco was

small and skinny, Mark was tall and lanky and not small by any means. Be that as it may, he wore clothing like Marco, wore his bandanna like Marco and wore his hair yellow like Marco too, but one thing for certain though, Mark loved climbing but that is not how it started out……

One day after one of my favourite races of all time, the University of Cape Town Race, while chatting to the Soapex boys, I noticed someone was watching me. It was Mark Florence, eager to learn and more eager to kick ass he came over to me and started chatting. He was surprised at how I knew so many top riders and then asked what my position for the day was and was even more surprised. I showed him that I had placed fourteenth. The UCT event always will stand out as one of my favourites, I remember arriving there for the first time, never raced a day in my life, had toe straps and down shifters and my whole family including my girlfriend Gail February came to support me. Back in the day they would come to every race, later on they would just not come at all, they said I finished too soon and to fast for them to wake up that early. So in the end they would only come to the really big ones.

This race was special as it was just climbing and it had a kind of down hill end eventually ending in the narrow roads of the University. I always took a good placing and my lowest result there was fourth.

Mark Florence looked at me and thought to himself as he would tell me later on, “this guy is lying, he can’t be that good and I am going to whip his ass. ”When I left the race I cycled slowly home as it was only a short distance from where the race had ended. I invited him to ride along and since I rode so slowly he thought I really can’t be that good. But one thing I always remember David Cloete saying; “train to race, don’t race to train” LOL!! When it was time to turn off to my house Mark asked me if I lived with my parents, I replied no as I lived with my wife and daughter. The cat caught his tongue…surprise number two for the day. He assumed because I looked like his age, and because I was small and slender that I was a school boy. Surprise number three was that I didn’t live in an area where he had expected me to. I smiled within and looked forward to meeting him next time.

Through the grape-vine Mark had also heard at various High Schools of my exploits and it was interesting to know how everyone at those schools who happened to ride a bike wanted to beat me. Of course this was all news to me and I didn’t pay much attention to it. At the next race was surprise number 4, I started in a group before Mark and finished before him I still don’t think Mark quite understood. I invited him to train with us, with all of us. I dropped him in the deep end and so begun the life and times of ‘Pantani’. I told him if he was serious to “do everything I say or don’t do it at all”. Cycling was too hard a sport to do it half heartedly. He complained he had school, so I told him; ‘you will train every free minute you have, no clubbing, no parties, just school and cycling’.

On one occasion there was a local race and fund raiser for a certain organization. I got an invitation and I was thinking of winning this race, I invited Mark to join me and I suggested to him we could nail this race. Mark, never shy for a challenge and always wanting to win said “yes” immediately. Little did we know, another rider called Faizel (don’t remember his surname) on the verge of turning professional, and an excellent track rider, would be there too and he brought along his lieutenant; a young up-and-coming with great potential. When we got there, Mark was very surprised but I was ready as ever. The race begun and we went like steam trains right from the word go. Try as he did, Faizel could not ride away from Mark and I. We got rid of Faizels' right hand man early and near the end Mark started to fade, that was not good, as Faizel was a far more superior sprinter than me, mano mano… He kept looking over his shoulder thinking that I had gone off the back, he won the sprint but not in the glorious style he had hope for as I was right next to him on the line. It was beautiful, Faizel 1^st, Sebastian 2^nd and Mark Florence 3^rd.

From then on Mark raced every race possible, we became great friends, he became like a little brother to me. Mark loved to tease and set people up and he would forever do this to other riders from the suburbs who thought they could do me in. He would lie about my age, about my cycling and each time they would fall for it and then he would break it to them and add insult to injury by telling them that I was nearly twice their age and they got a beating for it too.

Another one of his pranks as he got stronger and more skillful was to ride up to a rider on a very difficult stretch of road especially in the mountains; he would start talking to the rider next to him. They, not knowing any better, would tire themselves by talking, then Mark would ride away from them. LOL!!!

One afternoon we were on Alpe D’ Huez, there were hundreds of thousands of people and we were watching The Tour. I was looking down the road and Mark said to me; “Seb, look across the road.” I looked across the road and there was this amazing blonde dressed in as little as possible in the heat of the afternoon, then he dropped the punch line “now look at her feet. "Being the foot man that I am he knew what my reaction would be and it was not good. So there you go, Mark the eternal Anansi.

The man with an issue of shoes:

John Cupido and Mark Florence on this particular morning decided to travel together to Stellenbosch. The race was an important one as it was a SACF event and it began in the newly developed sporting park against the hillside. When I eventually met Mark at the registration table, he looked down at my feet and realized he had forgotten his cycling shoes at home, and this was over 60kms away. In a previous story I told you about Johns driving and his orange Ford Cortina. Well on this morning he would prove again what a ‘speed demon’ he really was and we thank Michael Jackson for this appropriate term.

I seriously did not think that they would make it there and back, but to cut a long story short, by the time we were lining up and the ribbon was ready to be cut, Mark was standing beside me.

In another race, called “Paarl around the Mountain” something similar occurred only this time it was me. I remember clearly being with Mark Blewitt and Ian Gallard that morning. I was already mounting my bike when I realized I had no shoes on my feet but sneakers. Unlike Stellenbosch, Paarl was over a 100kms away from the Mother City. Ian said; “No use crying now, you going to have to race that way...” That race, unlike any other, was very fast as it was mostly flat, I had Look clipless pedals so you can imagine. And I knew this race would attract all the top riders, Willie Engelbrecht and his team was also present.

I can only say that I am lucky it was on flat roads with some small rolling hills, I placed 23^rd that day finishing in the bunch.

So that was the issue of shoes, but I still think Mark takes the prize.

Mark turns professional: After I had moved to Johannesburg Mark had begun to really take his cycling seriously. Mark’s biggest problem was staying focused, so I encouraged him to move up to Johannesburg as the racing was more serious and all the professional teams were racing and training there. I could see he had improved and so I suggested it was time to make a commitment and only concentrate on his cycling. I spoke to Owen Hannie of Lotus IBM and in no time Mark was riding for the Junior Team.

Soon afterwards he would ride his first major tour, The Giro Del Capo. The rest shall we say is his-story. I must add that he did look swell in the team colours that month of March.

The one thing I can say to Mark’s credit, he’s always cheerful, kinda reminds me of Jespers Skibby of Denmark. He’s always full of quirps and has helped me from time to time in races I had difficulty in.

The next time we meet, maybe we will be old men, we will think of these days, of the pain, the suffering, the joy and the happiness, the adulation, we will think of the sadness too and when we do, when we remember the way we were we will remember it with a smile.