The Munga

The Munga is a 1155 km non stop race across the heart of South Africa in the middle of their scorching summer.  It has been on the radar for a long time, but I kept telling myself “one day”..  

That one day came on Dec 1st 2021, in large part thanks to Lachlan Morton.  Lachlan and I had gone on a training ride in Cape Town together on November 26th, he was in town on holidays with his wife, preparing for the Munga. I was on an extended stay in South Africa, finishing up some dental work, then planning on racing the Desert Dash in Namibia Dec 10th before heading home for the holidays. During our  ride we overheard some travellers from the UK mention they just arrived into town that morning, and were immediately notified they were now stuck due to panic travel bans set out by certain countries.  

That afternoon I went to the dentist, who still couldn’t fix my tooth due to an infection, and by the time I came out, the options to return to Canada had all but closed.  Lachlan, flying to America, found one of the last tickets out through Ethiopia, and made it home.  Having flash backs to March 2020 in Nepal, being stranded for many months, I could see the writing on the wall and decided I better find a way to keep busy.  Some arrangements were made, Lachlan offered his Munga entry to me, and on November 30th I was suddenly headed on a flight to Bloemfontein in the middle of South Africa.  It was a whirlwind and pretty soon it was 11am on Dec 1st, the race briefing was over, and it was just 1 hour before the start of the non stop 1155 km race across the Karoo.  There was no time to think what was happening as I was busy mounting TT bars on my Kona Hei Hei, organizing gear in my Apidura bike packing bags and looking for a headlamp as someone ran off with mine at the race start.

I never found the headlamp, but otherwise was ready to roll as nearly 200 of us suckers took off into the heat of the midday African sun.  Coming off a month of minimal riding, 2 different rounds of antibiotics to fix tooth infections, and 6 dental appointments, the engine was in less then top form but I figured being rested may be an advantage.

The pace was pretty quick from the start, I started at the back of the bunch and moved my way forward to the lead group just in time for the first water point at KM 60.  At this point we were down to 6 riders.  The next water point on the cue sheet said KM 111, I figured that meant it was 51 km away, quite a ways in 40 degree heat, but with my 2L USWE hydration pack and 2 water bottles I would be fine.  At KM 100, 4 of the leaders stopped at a sketchy water tank to refill their bottles, another rider and I opted to keep going, wondering why those guys were being so paranoid about water.   A little later I realized the KM 111 on the cue sheet, meant Water point #2 was 111km from the last point!  It was still 60 km away, I was out of water, and right then realized this might actually be how it was all going to end.   Stranded in South Africa due to random Covid travel rules, trying to ride the Munga in 40 degree heat with no liquids across the barren Karoo outback.  It was a sinking feeling knowing I probably had about 10 km of riding left in the legs until I’d pass out in the heat and the vultures would close in. Luckily I found a truck driver up ahead who donated some water to my lost cause, then rolling along easy, waiting for the group of 4 from behind to catch up, eventually rolling with them to Waterpoint #2.  

The water points during the race were pretty cool as they were all stationed at farmer houses with the locals catering to us.  There were mattresses outside to rest on, hot meals, liquids, and even a few medics on hand.  My body was in a world of hurt, mostly heat stroke I figured, but my chest was also really tight, as I could only take in shallow breaths.  Leaving the water point I rode 3 km then realized the condition was getting worse.  Riding into the African night like this seemed suicidal so I rode back to the checkpoint to get checked out by the doctors as the engine had never experienced anything like this in 15+ years of racing. They were concerned and suggested I pull out, but being stubborn I opted to try and ride 50 km further to the first race village.  It was a slow ride, but I made it. Here the doctors re-checked the body and told me to shut it down.  The system was in no condition to continue, so I decided to listen to them and went to bed.  This was one of the low points in my racing career, lying in a noisy South African bunkhouse, heat stroked, a tight chest, and stranded in the middle of South Africa during a pandemic.  Their was no easy way out. The organizers even told me that to pull out at this location would be a headache as we were actually in the middle of no where.

In the morning the body felt a tiny bit better so I opted to continue a bit further, telling myself to ride 20 minutes, and then reassess. Taking off with a young African rider we soon found ourselves riding across a game reserve as the sun rose to start another mystical African day. It was amazing with monkeys and a warthog running about, and then we noticed 3 black and white weasels fighting in the nearby bushes. My new friend freaked out and fell over, and then the weasels went after him. I threw my bike in between and squirted the little bastards with my water bottle, chasing them away as my friend got back to his feet. We continued a bit further and pretty soon I noticed the chest was feeling alot better and opted to give it a shot to ride the 180 km to the next race village in Brittstown.

The ride to Brittstown was pretty rad, going through some desolate landscapes, highlighted by one little random town, a couple oasis water points and some pretty cool desert like terrain. The body was actually rolling pretty good this day probably passing nearly a hundred riders, slowly moving my way up from near dead last to around the top 60.  Arriving in Britstown in the mid day heat at 2 pm I found a great race village in a hotel complete with swimming pool, AC rooms, and a 5 star buffett. At each of these race villages all the riders must sign in, and then sign out once they’re done. I noticed the top racers were in and out in 10-15 minutes. My goal had been to just get to the race village so I could catch a ride back to Cape Town easier, but the body was feeling pretty good again and the concerning chest problem was all but gone. I weighed the options and figured I might as well ride the Munga out, as who knows when or if I would get a chance to be back this way. I did have a race in Namibia called the Desert Dash coming up soon after on Dec 10th, which I was hoping to have a decent shot at, so I figured if I just rode the Munga during the day, then rested at night, it may just work out into an ok training camp.

With a plan made, I started eating food, and sleeping in Britstown, getting ready to head out in the evening again once the heat and wind both died down. It was a great afternoon, 2 naps, 3 plates of food from the buffett as I tried to catch up on eating after not eating for basically 24hrs, and even enjoyed a nice swim in the hotel pool.

At 5:30 I saddled up, signed out, then took some flack from the camp organizers for diddle daddling around camp for so long. I chuckled, took the fun abuse, then took off into a tough stretch of riding. The first 40 km was into another beautiful African sunset, through some rough farmer roads, into a stiff headwind. The hour before the sunset was always tough as we’d be riding straight into the blinding sun. Just as dusk settled in was a water point. I quickly stopped refilled the bottles, grabbed a few eggs and beef jerky and headed onwards into what would be one of the toughest 80 km rides of my life. As darkness hit, the headwind only seemed to pick up, hitting a maze of dirt roads, going through about 50 farmer gates in the next 5 hours. These gates were a headache as each one seemed to have a different latch to open and close them. One gate I couldn’t figure out so just threw the bike over. Then I ran into a problem as the $100 light I bought from a bike shop in Cape Town before the ride, which promised 4 hours of headlight on high setting and 8 hours on low, only lasted 1.5 hours on low setting. What a piece of garbage. Luckily my friend Thinus had loaned me another light, which I popped on as it seemed to work pretty good. The only problem was after 2 hours it started to indicate it was also dying. The plan to recharge it on the fly from my battery pack wasn’t an option as the light wouldn’t work as it was charging. Man did I miss the Radical lights I have back in Canada and use for 24 HR races. Concerned about my light, I would ride a slow pace with another rider for an hour, leaching off his light while I turned mine off to charge.

Eventually I had to pick up the pace, crossed my fingers the light would last, and tried to pin it to the next water point 30 km away, it took nearly 2 hours in the insane headwind, but I would roll in there around midnight, to find about 20 bikes leaning outside, as cracked riders were sprawled out all over the poor farmers house. I couldn’t believe how friendly the farmers were, putting up with all of us smelly, cracked and pretty hallucinogenic racers. After a feed of freshly cooked scrambled eggs and jerky, the farmers led me to their living room where I found a mattress and passed out till 4am. It was a rough sleep with racers coming and going, and the alarm clock at 4 was a true enemy, but the goal was to get going before the wind and the heat of the day sunk in.

Rolling out of camp into the dawn of another African day was spectacular. A couple hours in I hit some pavement and had a huge tailwind, with a sign saying it was just 10 km to go until the next town, Luxton, where the 3rd race village (and breakfast) was suppose to be! Wow, what a treat I thought to knock some km off. Suddenly my garmin started beeping at me not even 1 km later telling me to turn off onto a tiny farmer track which did a u turn and went straight back into the headwind! You gotta be kidding me. The next 20 km was brutal, with headwind, probably another 10 gates, and some sandy terrain as it seemed we just did circles beside the highway. Eventually I got out of the maze and was spat back out onto the highway, which quickly turned to gravel and a headwind as I rolled into Race village #3 in Luxton. This village was the best one as it was at in a farmers barn with hay bales set up as beds, and picknic tables inside with a large African lady cooking rice and eggs. It was a great pit stop for breakfast, and a quick wash, before I got back on the saddle as my goal of reaching the next race village in Sutherland by dark, over 200km away wasn’t going to be a breeze.

The next stretch of riding was rough, heading into a massive headwind towards Fraserburg on a pretty large corrugated gravel road. Leaving with Jurgen, a friend I had met on a bike race in Bhutan years back, provided some nice chit chatting before I set off ahead. The first highlight of this ride was seeing the road moving in one spot as millions of crickets were crossing. This must have gone on for 100ft, as I did my best not to squish too many of the little guys but there wasn’t really any option as they were everywhere. The second highlight of the ride was reaching the mid way waterpoint which was at a couple of Air conditioned cooled containers on a farmers piece of land. There were beds in one, which made the perfect escape from the mid day 40 degree heat. With the Desert Dash in Namibia on my mind, I opted for an afternoon siesta to catch up on some sleep, but eventually had to pull myself out of bed to head back out into the heatwave. The next 50 km to the town of Fraserburg was brutal. Hot, huge headwind, corrugations and straight roads. Hitting Fraserburg I found a stray of bikes lying on the sidewalks as riders were either passed out on the cement in the shade, or inside a rough looking coffee house grabbing chips and coffee. The chips and coffee hit the spot, then I wandered into a nearby grocery store grabbing bananas, jujubes and yogurt for the road ahead. This was another tough spot to leave, heading back into the relentless heat and headwinds of South Africa.

The next section was pretty rad as the track followed some winding farmer roads through the countryside. It reminded me alot of the old Crocodile Trophy in Australia. It was slow going but entertaining riding. I stopped at one shady spot to eat my yogurt which I was craving but was in for a shock as it turned out to be a tub full of shredded Ginger. What the hell. Anyways, dissatisfied, I would keep rolling, eventually arriving into another water point, 50 km short of my destination of Sutherland. This stop I kept pretty quick, wanting to use the last of the daylight to get as close to Sutherland as possible before darkness set in. This section the body was on fire, passing a pile of riders, rolling into Sutherland around 10 pm. This was a great stop at what they call “the white house”. Shower, food and then the host led myself and another rider to an amazing hotel room. I thought finally, I should be able to get a proper sleep from 11 pm to 5 am. Unfortunately the other rider didn’t get the memo with his alarm clock going off just after 2 am. These “rest” nights at the race villages were turning into a disaster as not many other riders seemed to be on the proper rest program. Unable to go back to sleep, I eventually started rolling again by 4am across a pretty cool plateau before reaching the infamous Ougberg descent. It was a pretty massive descent into the Tankwa Karooo desert below. It was nice to finally open the suspension up on my Hei Hei and let’re rip. Up to this point in the race the full sus seemed a bit overkill, as my Kona Libre gravel bike with the Fox RAD fork and 2.1 Maxxis Pace tires would be the ticket for this race. Once down the descent I hit some rolling hills for a few km to a sweet little oasis in a river valley. Here I was fully cracked for some reason and passed out on the farmer’s couch for an hour before forcing myself to get back onto the saddle before the real mid day heat rolled in.

What laid ahead was one of the toughest 100 km of my life as a massive headwind moved in, along with a proper rainstorm, slowing down progress to about 8-12 km an hour as we rode down straight roads as far as the eyes could see. Here I met a great South African Bru, Lauren, from Johanesburg. We rode together for a while contemplating the meaning of life. I soon realized I was out of food and nearly out of water with over 30 km still to go to the next water point. I figured I better try to pin it to kill as many KM as possible before I was right out of fuel. Getting within 10 km of the Waterpoint before running out of everything was a minor success but soon I was starting to crack pretty good. Thankfully a vehicle rolled up beside me with a couple looking at me in a concerned way. They had apparently done death marches like the Munga themsevles in years past, and knew the struggle we were in, and had a cooler full of snacks and drinks. What a saviour they were! Now on a sugar high, I could rip the last few km to Tankwa Padistel, the only store within probably a few hundred km in the Tankwa desert. Here at the water point were a slew of riders passed out. I also passed out, dreaming of being anywhere else than in the middle of a desert with a 50 km stretch of flat straight corrugated road into a massive headwind on deck.

Attempting to get to Race village #5 in Ceres for the night, I opted to head back out into the death march in the mid day heat at 3 pm. First off I stopped at the Tankwa Padistel and bought 10$ worth of wine gums to fuel the journey. One of the challenges I was having during the Munga was finding enough food to eat as most the food was gluten based. Being gluten intolerant, my diet basically relied on eggs, dried jerky, energy drinks and potatoes if they were around. With thousands of calories of Wine gums in my pockets, I charged ahead into the headwind, 3 hours later, finally turning a corner into the mountains to get out of the desert and onto the homeward stretch towards Ceres. I thought the worst was behind me, when suddenly a massive storm moved in out of nowhere just around dusk. The temperature dropped, and soon I found out that Africa does get cold. Linking up with Frank, another friendly comrade in the Munga death march, we opted to duck into an African workers camp to hide out from the storm for a while. There were 10 of us in the small hut, huddled up to a fire. We were trying to make a plan, my mind was still on Desert Dash, so I was keen to shut it down for the night, get a proper rest, then head out in the morning to tackle the final 140 km to the race finish. The other factor was the race KOM started in about 5km, with $200 on the line. I figured going for it in the rainstorm after a long day wouldn’t be the best tactic and wanted to hit it fresh. The problem was we couldn’t stay with the Africans as their hosue was already over flowing with people, but thankfully they called their boss, who ran the farm, and he drove over to pick us up. Frank hopped in the truck, I motorpaced behind and soon we were at the Farmers house, where he had a couple beds waiting for us. He also pulled out a bottle of wine and some cheese which was a great treat as we hung out until 10:30 pm before heading off to bed. It was an amazing 6 hour sleep, arrising at 5, on the bikes by 6 and soon we hit the bottom of the KOM. Here I waved goodbye to Frank, took down a Gel, and sent all the energy left in the legs into that 3 km piece of road. It felt good to open the engine up, later on I would find out my time of just over 11 minutes, was over 6 minutes faster then 2nd place. It was nice to know the legs still had some power left in them!

The following stretch was awesome, hitting a fast paved descent towards Ceres, eventually rolling onto some dirt roads we had raced in the Cape Epic back in October, before rolling down the main street of Ceres, finding the last Race village at a small sports stadium. It was cool to be back in town after spending the first few nights of the Epic here back in October. Here they had a small fire lit, coffee and some soup, These race villages and waterpoints throughout the Munga sure became our best friends! With just 90 km to the finish, I kept this stop brief before heading out on the last stretch of the Munga through a couple mountain gorges, through some open plains and eventually into the town of Wellington. Here I found the last 3km of the race going down a wet gravel road into the mountains towards the DoolHof Wine estates.

Coming around the corner I saw the finish line to the Munga, what a relief after the last 1155 km of riding through some of the toughest conditions I had ever faced. At the finish line, race organizer, Alex Harris was there to greet all the finishers. He is an accomplished ultra endurance cyclist himself and sure knows how to put on a great event. Thanks for putting on such a memorable race Alex, I can only imagine how much work and organizing it is to pull this one off.

At the finish, Jurgen and his wife invited me to their deluxe camp for a shower, a sleep and then a bottle of wine. It was a great way to cap off what was the toughest 4 days of riding in my life. The original thought was I’d finish sometime on friday evening, and then have a full week to recover before the Desert Dash. Now being Sunday afternoon, with the Dash starting friday afternoon , time was limited. A great bru named Thinus thankfully drove me back into Cape Town so I could get back to base camp at Adi’s house to reorganize and hopefully get a bit of rest before flying off to Namibia on Wednesday. Monday morning was the final round of dental appointments to fix my teeth, it was a success, monday afternoon was spent drinking ginger shots, ice bathing, and riding with Jeans Biermens, a friend from Belgium. Tuesday was spent packing and getting a Covid test. Wednesday was travel day, as I would finally be leaving my basecamp at Adi’s after a very nice 3 weeks stay. Was I ever lucky to get a chance to ride with and get to know Adi at the Wines to Whales back in November. He and Lazuras looked after me during my time in Cape Town as I dealt with dental appointments and a rough round of antibiotics to kill off an infection. Adi had invited me to join his team for a double century road race a week before the Munga but unfortunately the body was in no shape to ride after a tough week of antibiotics and illness.

With the travel restrictions still being tight, the plan was to head to Tanzania after Namibia, to get out of the red listed countries. After 14 days in a green listed country like Tanzania I would no longer be a Covid concern by internatioanl travel bans and would be able to return to Canada. What a crazy World we live in these days. With this being the plan, I had to lighten my load so left a spare wheel and one suitcase at Adis, to fetch at another time, and took off to Namibia Wednesday afternoon for the Dash. I would be joining the RDX team as a guest rider since their solo rider couldn’t make it.

The body certainly wasn’t feeling ready to race another 393 km non stop race but I had my fingers crossed the system could get some good rest once landing in Windhoek and be ready to roll by Fridays race start at 2:30 pm… Thursday the body miraculously felt quite good, Friday it felt like hell when I woke up. Stay tuned for the Desert Dash recap. Over and out from Africa.