As the cutoff for Stage 3 approached, I wandered over to the finish line not expecting the drama that was about to unfold.

Riders need to complete the stage in the allotted time which is set depending on the length and difficulty of the stage. Yesterdays monster had an 11 hour cutoff but today’s more modest 94km only qualified for 8 hours. If a rider missed the cutoff they are allocated a “blue” number board and can continue the next day, although you would not not qualify as an official finisher even if you do make it through to the end at Lourensford. Miss a second cutoff and you are not allowed to continue riding.

With about 5 minutes to go an team crossed the line. One of the rider’s faces was just a bloody mask. He had a big gash on his forehead and was clearly exhausted. So much so that he could not get off the bike and just fell over with his feet still clipped in. Immediately 2 medical staff were in attendance. And about 13 photographers. Including the TV cameraman who had rushed over to interview the unfortunate guy. I tried to take a photo (!?!) but there were too many other paparazzi in the way. Perhaps a good thing.

Then the countdown started. With just 20s to go a desperate solo rider came around the final corner. 15s – You need a bigger gear shouted the announcer. 10s – the crowd is clapping an whistling. With just 4s to go he made the line looking shattered. He stood with his bike looking forlornly back along the finishing straight. His partner not in sight. Quite an emotional moment.

Where, oh where, are you….

About 2 minutes after the cutoff another team rolled across the line. They were already blue boarded and can therefore not continue tomorrow. This is no ordinary team though. Both riders in the team are significantly disabled, each missing a limb – one an arm and other a leg – riding with prosthetics. How hard must that be?

Just a little further along you pass through the Woolworths refuel zone. Or rather, you don’t. Itt looks a lot like a war zone with muddy, bruised and blooded riders in collapsed on the grass in the shade of the bedouin tent wondering what on earth they have just done to themselves.

Then I wandered over to the medical tent. Every bed was full and there was a take a number system on the go. Riders being patched up, riders on drips for dehydration (it had been 40dC in the orchards on the slopes above Tulbagh), riders with there shorts around their ankles having the nether regions attended to, riders incoherent and unable to explain what the problem is. At the finish line I saw one rider holding his styrofoam cup of coke, but shaking so much it was splashing right out the cup.

These scenes of course were hours in the future as we set out from Saronsberg at 7am this morning. It was still positively chilly and we were all good to go. Mostly!

The route was of course up and down. As usual. With only 22km to go we entered a farm at the head of the Tulbagh valley called “Bergplaas”. (Mountain farm). Not a good sign! Why couldn’t it be “Vlakteplaas”. (Farm on the plain) It certainly lived up to it’s name – what on earth do they farm there? Slopes for other less advantaged farmers who would like a bit of interest on their farms??

We had a bit of a bio-mechanical issue. The past three days had taken their toll and about half way through Jayson hit a low. At last! I was very happy to back off a bit. Well, quite a lot really. So for about an hour I was able to enjoy the amazing views over the Tulbagh valley despite quite a number of teams slipping past. It didn’t last though and after the big climbs, he put the hammer down and we raced to the finish in a furious blur. Somehow when Jayson gets a sniff of the finish line the red mist descends. In fact, after leading past three team at a pace they couldn’t follow, I gave up the lead to recover. I missed the line around the next corner and looked up to see Jayson sprinting away! It took a loud and stern shout or three to rein him back! Poor form partner ;-))

Helmet hair. Stylish?