I was also committed. My day had started off reporting on the performances of the elite winners and I started later than expected once I’d filed podcasts, pictures and tweets. All this reporting had made me thirsty and thankfully I was able to meet up with sports writer, Kevin McCullum, for a beer at Forries just 9km into the race.
But I was determined to soak up the atmosphere of this remarkable Cape Town Cycle Tour and emerged onto the route with the sweep bus just behind me. I was warned that if I didn’t stay ahead of the bus, I’d be put in it and be a DNF on the shortest Cycle Tour in history.
I had to fight hard into the south easter to beat the 11.30am cut-off at halfway and I made it through with seconds to spare and a virtually empty road in front of me. I was officially last.
Then I spotted Maggie. Riding her 26-inch Silverback mountain bike, she was struggling at the back of the race and look destined to get swept up by that bus.
We spoke briefly and I asked if I could help her up the hills. She nodded… almost resigned to the reality that she wouldn’t finish but happy to accept help.
We huffed and puffed our way up the reverse side of Edinburgh Drive, sometimes with my hand on her back and, more often, on our own power.
But together we started to catch others. Second last, third last, fourth last…
We whizzed down the descent on the other side and she buried herself on that brutal climb up past the Kirstenbosch turn-off. At times she had to stop and walk, as her feet started to cramp from the effort of a running shoe holding itself on a flat pedal.
I looked at my watch: 10km to go and 45 minutes to do it but there was still Hospital Bend to come. We dove down past UCT, a surprisingly quick descent that I normally do in car on my way to work every morning. But today it belonged to us, two cyclists fighting to reach the finish.
“Don’t touch those brakes,” I told her. “Let’s get as much speed as we can for the climb.” She leant over, getting more aerodynamic and didn’t, for a moment, even finger those brakes. She was committed.
As we hit the climb I leaned in, hand on back, as we used the momentum of the descent to make our way up the Bend as far as possible. As the speed ran out she pushed the right gear lever in, urging the chain up the cog to the granny – the goal here was to keep pedalling!
“Drink some water. Take a break. You’re gonna get there,” I urged, but not sure I was convinced of that myself.
After walking for three minutes, she eventually threw her leg over her bike and started riding again. “It’s just 400m and then you’re over the top,” I told her.
Together we crested the hill and watched the city open up in front of us. But it was going to be tight and there was no room to relax. We headed down into town, through the city and she gutted out the final climb up into Green Point before finally crossing a virtually deserted finish line.
Maggie had never finished a race before Sunday and to be part of her journey, made this one of my most memorable.
Thanks Maggie. See you next year.
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