Cycling team’s fighting spirit shines through

In the heart of Hartswater, around 1,141 metres above sea level, a small but determined team of cyclists dared to take on a monumental challenge: to cycle an unfathomable 450-kilometres to the town of Clarens, at an altitude of 1,816 metres, in just one day.

Yet, the aspirations of the Skema 2 Sea cycling team extended beyond personal feats and glory; their aim was to rally support for a local hero, 18-year-old Jan Roux, who is locked in a courageous battle against myoepithelial carcinoma (MECA) a rare form of cancer.

The call for assistance had echoed through the small town, generating a wave of support. As a human being and in my capacity as a journalist for the DFA, I felt an immediate pull towards this cause. To me this was a story that needed to be shared, a testament to the strength of community bonds.

A quick word with my editor resulted in the DFA becoming a proud media partner for this extraordinary expedition.

Upon arriving at the starting point on Monday January 8, the air buzzed with activity despite the relentless downpour that drenched the cyclists before they even started their trek.

However, the crew seemed almost oblivious to the rain as their meticulous planning, preparation and determination for this daunting trip were evident.

Amidst the whirlwind of action, William White, the chairperson of Skema 2 Sea, took a moment to extend heartfelt thanks to everyone involved in making the Clarens Ultra a reality. Each cyclist stood poised for the colossal journey ahead, unaware perhaps, but unintimidated of the herculean challenge awaiting them.

Before our departure, a heartfelt prayer was offered, encompassing not only the individual riders and support crew but also extending to encapsulate the entirety of the challenge ahead.

Then the wheels started rolling as the team set out from Hartswater, eyes set on Clarence, a distant town near the Eswatini border. One could not be blamed for being a bit skeptical at this point, but I was committed to covering the action, whether they succeeded or failed, every gruelling metre of it.

The team had set markers for themselves; a timetable to ensure that they kept up the pace. Christiana was their initial milestone, just 46 kilometres away.

The rain persisted as they pedalled onward, the setting sun casting an ominous hue on their journey. Another 43 kilometres further on lay ahead to Hertzogville, where the road conditions deteriorated drastically. Waterlogged potholes turned the path into a hazardous trail, demanding not just strength but agility.

The team had to be on the alert here. They were not cycling on a road; they were cycling on what was left of the road. I was sitting in the back of one of the support vehicles and realising the peril that the conditions posed, I found myself assisting the cyclists. I would call out warnings to them about hazards on the treacherous road ahead.

“Keep to the left … stay in the middle on this part … now get to the right,” I called trying to assist. However many times I had to call out “It’s a F*** up!” And this alerted them to the fact that the entire width of the road was pockmarked with what looked like bomb craters.

Hertzogville allowed the team a quick supper break of 40 minutes, a brief respite amidst the relentless push which allowed a moment for them to catch their breath and attend to minor bicycle issues.

At the restart, the team suffered a sudden blow. One of the cyclists took a tumble. It was such an impact that I felt the thud rumble through the vehicle I was in, and he fell about 25 metres away from where I was … hy het hard geval.

I had a big fright and feared the worst as I leapt from the vehicle and ran to the fallen cyclist. By the time I got there, all the other cyclists were around their fallen teammate like a herd of buffalo protecting their own. Miraculously, the injuries were superficial, with only some scratches on his leg; testament to their resilience in the face of danger and the spiritual hand of protection over them ‒ I recalled the prayer of a few hours earlier.

As the hours bled into the early morning, the biting cold clawed its way through layers of clothing. Inside the support vehicle, I could only imagine the cold and fatigue settling into the bones of these valiant cyclists. If I was rethinking my decision to ride along, how were they feeling, I wondered.

The town of Theunissen marked the team’s halfway point.

We all sought refuge at a guesthouse named Anders@Koppiesvlei just before daybreak, aiming for a quick shower and a two-hour power nap to rejuvenate the tired cyclists.

Despite my weariness, drifting into sleep was an uphill battle as three roosters were engaged in an epic showdown, each vying for the title of the ultimate ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’ king.

Seeing as I couldn’t sleep anyway, my exhausted brain pieced together what was happening outside. It was as though a seasoned patriarch rooster had taken it upon himself to tutor the younger ones on the finer points of early morning crowing.

Initially, there’d be this delicate ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’, followed by what seemed like an instructional session: “No, no, no, listen closely, it goes like this …” Then there’d be an explosive “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!”

I got the impression he was showing off.

This symphony of competitive crowing persisted until the break of dawn. And just when the sun began its ascent from the horizon, a donkey decided to join the morning chorus with a hearty “HeeeHaaa, HeeeHaaa”. This effectively ended my hope of any further sleep.

Resuming at 7am, the cyclists pressed on to Winburg, their next checkpoint. To my my mind, they could just as well have called the town Wind burg, because fierce headwinds had the team visibly straining against nature’s forces.

Stops for rest, nutrition, and necessary bodily care became more frequent as they eclipsed personal records and ventured into unknown cycling territory. None of them had ever done more than 300 kilometres, and by this point they were in unknown territory; would their bodies and mental strength hold? It was anyone’s guess.

Senekal, Paul Roux, Bethlehem ‒ each town brought steeper inclines, sapping the cyclists’ reserves. In Bethlehem, exhaustion etched lines of weariness on their faces. Amidst the strain, I caught a glimpse of William White ‒ his determination was a singular force propelling him forward, despite the evident toll the journey had taken.

You could not read any emotion in his face. It was as if his soul had left his body. I even shouted from the back of the car, “William, are you OK?” He just gave me a thumbs-up and a smile. It was then that I truly comprehended the immense courage driving these individuals.

When you are not belting down a national road at speeds exceeding 100km/h, you notice and appreciate more things along the way. In a charming roadside spectacle, a group of Brahman cows galloped along a fence keeping pace with the passing cyclists.

Initially lazily standing near the roadside, these cows were infused with an unexpected burst of energy, as they galloped alongside the cyclists in a synchronised dash.

The cyclists enjoyed their four-footed cheerleaders, and they were stunned that the cows seemed to be responding to what was being shouted at them, “Come on, come on boys”. And the cows obliged.

What began as a spontaneous sprint by a few bovine soon transformed into a delightful procession. The sight was nothing short of captivating as other cows, seemingly inspired by their peers’ spirited dash, swiftly joined the impromptu race.

Together, they mirrored the cyclists’ pace, exuding an infectious sense of freedom and joy. Their enthusiasm persisted until the inevitable obstacle ‒ a fence ‒ brought an abrupt halt to their exuberant run. Nonetheless, for that fleeting moment, these Brahman shared a spirited camaraderie with the cyclists, adding an enchanting tale of unexpected companionship on the road.

It brought a welcome respite to the team’s toil, and provided a welcome reset before the final, daunting push.

Clarens loomed on the horizon, signalling the imminent end to this massive endeavour. But one final obstacle lay in the path of the Skema 2 Sea team ‒ an energy-sapping climb that seemed deceptively gentle from below soon revealed its true magnitude as the team ascended. The team had to dig deep, they could not allow this final hurdle to stop them; not when they were this close to their goal.

The relief upon reaching the peak was palpable. I could see the pain and suffering that each cyclist went through when they eventually stopped. A collective sigh of relief and achievement reverberated through the air.

I could not help but get emotional, battling to hold back the tears because travelling with the team along the journey, and reaching that top was as if we had all finished the journey.

Yet, despite having climbed the hill, they weren’t quite done; a final 20 kilometres remained to be conquered.

The clock ticked past the 24-hour mark as they arrived in Clarens. Yet, the timing was inconsequential in comparison to the monumental feat they had achieved.

Cheers erupted as families and friends welcomed the exhausted but triumphant cyclists. In the heart of Clarens Square, bicycles were triumphantly hoisted overhead ‒ a symbol of defiance against the odds they had conquered. It was a special moment for everyone who was there.

The following day, conversations with the cyclists revealed their internal struggles and the unity that bound them through the gruelling journey. Thoughts of surrender were met with silent prayers for one another and a silent pact to persevere and keep going.

William White concluded the Clarens Ultra by saying, “A big thank you to all the cyclists, support crew, family, and friends who supported us along this journey.”

He said that the challenge was initially unknown to all, and they only realised what they achieved once they stopped in Clarens. “We will only see the impact it had on Jan Roux at a later stage. We want to thank each and every person who donated towards this cause, because without them, it would not have been possible,” White added.

For me, as a journalist, it was a privilege to bear witness to the Skema 2 Sea team’s odyssey. Through visual narratives captured in videos and photos, I had the honour of narrating their saga ‒ a testament to the extraordinary strength of community, resilience, and unwavering support for a cause larger than themselves.

This unforgettable experience will forever be etched in my memory ‒ a poignant reminder of the power of the human spirit and camaraderie.