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.