Old Jozi

I had the pleasure of being up in Johannesburg for a few days on business. Now to a Capetonian, that statement would make little or no sense, because no bona fide Capetonian could even conceive of the idea that a visit to Johannesburg might be a pleasure. But even after having lived in the Mother City for six plus fifteen years, nearly half my life, I would not regard myself as a true-blooded Capetonian. I am despicably undecided in my allegiance to our provincial sports teams, going so far as to voice outright my opinion that if the game is good, I don't really care whether the Stormers or the Sharks win. I do not take my holidays in the Western Cape - in fact I have never even seen the Big Five in our local game reserve, preferring as I do to visit th real bushveld and see the big five hundred. Worst of all, I don't wish to declare political independence from Pretoria, which I still regard as the country's capital. I could give more examples, but those would be enough to get me turfed out of most Cape Town clubs or pubs, with a stiff clip on the ear to send me on my way.

So it is that, much as I love Cape Town (and I really do), a visit to the real Africa where I grew up and spent the other half of my working life, is often a breath of fresh air. For all Jozy's problems, it is still a fascinating and wonderful city. I flew in on Wednesday evening. It was a public holiday - Human Rights Day to be precise, and the radio had been full of program's remembering Sharpeville. In Cape Town when I left it was hot, steamy and frankly unpleasant. I boarded the Mango flight clad only in teeshirt and shorts. Our pilot told us that the second half of the journey and the descent were likely to be bumpy, as there were a number of large thunderstorms around Johannesburg. Not the kind of news a traveller relishes, but I felt strangely excited. I miss the highveld storms of my boyhood. We lived in a house near the top of the Observatory ridge and would quite often experience lightning strikes or near strikes and deafening rolls and claps of thunder as the almost daily summer storms rolled by us, often more than once. Herself tells me she hated them. To this day she will not willingly stay in houses with corrugated iron roofs, because the noise of the hail on her roof as a little girl terrified her half to death. I somehow missed that apprehension and always found them very exciting. So it was that as we began our descent and then final approach, and wheeled over the veld as sheet lightning flashed in several quadrants at once, I felt inexplicably both excited and at peace.

We landed in rain and had to make a bolt for the bus. It was surprisingly cold and I donned my hoody as soon as I was able. I had a headache, presumably to do with the 16km I had run in the heat that morning, or possibly something to do with the beer I had in Cape Towb airport, but whatever the cause, I had an acute sense of humour failure in the car rental office, somewhere around the 12th signature and got rather grumpy with the young lady thereafter. They gave me a Hyundai i10, which turned out to be a really nice little car - may just buy one! I somehow navigated my way to herself's childhood home in Highlands North where her mother, brother, brother's fiancé and brother's fiance's daughter were awaiting my arrival. It being Granny's birthday, we celebrated with pork schnitzel, beer, sweet white wine, red cabbage, roast potato and spinach, followed up by generous helpings of chocolate ice cream. Delightful.

The next morning I rose at 630 - an unusual luxury, and had a quick dip in the pool. The water was "fresh". I then drove myself across town to the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Rosebank, following the way I remembered from many years ago - 11th Avenue, Glenhove across the M1 and on to Oxford Street. I am not sure when last I visited Rosebank but it would be an understatement to say it has changed a lot. It is barely recognisable, what with the Gautrain station and all. Having said that, I think they have done a nice job. It is what it sets out to be - an upmarket shopping Mecca.

I won't go into the rather mundane details of the meeting, which went on for 2 days and was a good meeting, as meetings go. Th food was excellent and I ate and drank altogether too much. On the Thursday evening there was a "gala dinner" scheduled for 7 pm. I had about 2 hours to kill, so took a walk through the Mall. It was one of those glorious late summer highveld afternoons, with the sun just sinking over Northcliff and the sky literally golden. I know that cynics would say it is the Jozy pollution which does it, but it doesn't detract from the beauty, even if that is so. I climbed up to a suitable view site on the top floor of a parking garage and spent a few minutes just taking it in. I had a 360 degree view, but particularly pleasing was the view to the West, and to the south, when the late sun was picking out the Hospital and the Parktown and Houghton Ridges, with the Hillbrow Tower and the city buildings in the background. Say what you like, they are splendid in their own way.

Last night we had a Braai at my brother in law's house, out in Midrand, in the north. He lives in a freestanding house, but within a security complex - a very common arrangement in Johannesburg, for obvious reasons. It was a warm windless night and we sat around the pool chatting as the wors and chops sizzled on the Weber and the twilight turned to dark. Jupiter and Venus hung bright in the Western sky, just above the horizon, then disappeared. It was idyllic. I tried to picture the Braai happening at that same moment at home in Cape Town - the princesses and their boyfriends were having one. The wind would be howling, folks would be reaching for their sweaters, doors would be slamming ... Come on: let's give Johannesburg its due. Our weather stinks!

The last bit of pleasure was this morning. I got up early and, feeling rather guilty about my over eating and lack of exercise, took myself for a walk through the suburbs. In the end I walked 7.5km in about an hour and a quarter. My route took my up Kallenbach Drive and back down Sylvia's Pass, which for those who don't know are roads on Linksfield Ridge. The view from the former, looking out over the northern and eastern suburbs is quite stupendous, especially at 7 am. There are still patches on that ridge which look like they did before the miners came in 1880. I loved it.

So here's to the Grand Old Lady. You may not be the Mother City, but don't let anyone put you down - you still have class and a lot besides.

Highveld sunset over North Cliff, Johannesburg, from Rosebank

 Parktown Ridge, with Hillbrow in the background, from Rosebank

 Orange Grove and the Northern-Eastern suburbs, from Linksfield Ridge

Orange Grove and the Northern-Western suburbs, from Linksfield Ridge.

You can see Rosebank and Sandton on the horizon. 

Cycling the Argus

I am not sure what possessed me to do it - perhaps a realisation that the clock is ticking and that every year it would be harder to do so, but this year I decided to enter the Pick n Pay Argus Cycle Tour 2012, or "The Argus" as I think most Capetonians and entrants tend to call it. The race has a number of claims to fame. I believe it is the largest timed cycle race in the world, with over 35 000 entries. It is 110km long and the route takes in some of the most spectacularly beautiful scenery imaginable, including and probably most famously Chapman's Peak Pass, with its sheer cliffs below and above. Given all that it is, I suppose a better question would be why have I not been riding it every year.

I rode the Argus in 1983, as a UCT student and I think I finished in 4 hours and 20 minutes. In those days the race was ridden in April, so it was cooler, and there were less than 20 000 cyclists as I recall, so the going was easier - one left Cape Town fairly early in the day, even if one was unseeded. Also, the race finished in Camps Bay, at the football ground - which would be impossible now - and it was consequently about 10km shorter. That year I rode a very heavy and rather under-geared "racing bike", which I had bought from a school friend in the 70's for the princely sum of 55 rands. It did the job. I repeated the exercise on the same bike in 1988, by which time I was qualified and working in kwaZulu Natal. I drove down for the race with a few friends. The bike had been kept at my parents home and I literally picked it up, pumped up the tyres and rode it the next day. I don't remember my bum touching the saddle before the actual race. I think my time that year was something over 5 hours. I do recall having to walk up the dreaded Suikerbossie Hill.

So I guess I had all that in mind when I saw an advert for the 2012 race and decided, on the spur of the moment, to enter. I mean how difficult could it be?! I knew that I was half marathon fit as a baseline and blithely imagined that running 21km in 3 hours would be about as difficult as riding 110km in 7 hours. I no longer possess the racing bike I rode in 1988 - it got lost somewhere in the intervening 24 years. I have two bikes - one is the electric Ezeebike about which I have written before - clearly wouldn't be able to use that. The other I call "the skadonk" - it is a sort of mountain bike-road bike hybrid, which I took off a friend for R500 a few years ago and which has sat rusting in my garage since then. It weighs about a ton, makes funny noises when you pedal and sports a "pompa pompa" horn. I rather like it, and it is quite comfortable, but it certainly isn't built for speed or anything approaching speed. I thought that it would be good enough for 7 hours.

About a month before the race I took it out for a test ride one afternoon and managed to get it over the Glen Cairn expressway, with a great dealing of huffing and puffing and not a few expletives. It was making some odd noises which I didn't recognise as having been in its previous repertoire, so I took it to a friend who knows someone who services bicycles and he said he'd have it looked at. The guy greased a whole lot of moving parts and fitted a new sprocket and it seemed to be going better when I got it back. Then things took an unexpected turn - my friend decided he wouldn't be able to do the race himself and offered me his bike which is a rather magnificent "Giant". You can pick it up on one finger, it makes hardly any noise at all, goes like the wind and is really a pleasure to ride. What could I say? - I was very grateful and accepted. The pedal clips were a challenge and in the end I decided not to use them, but I got the hang of the bike's other eccentricities and soon felt comfortable riding it. Well, perhaps comfortable is not quite the right word. After my first ride I experienced numbness in my perineum and scrotum which lasted a few days! The same thing happened after my second ride, so I went into Sportsman's Warehouse and blew the last of my Christmas money on a pair of padded riding shorts and a padded seat cover. I cannot say that these solved the problem but they certainly helped. I also bought some riding gloves as my thenar and hypothenar eminences on my hands felt numb and sore and ready to revolt, and again they helped some but did not solve the problem. In defence of the salesman, he did warn me that this would be the case.

When the great day finally arrived I was, predictably, ill prepared and not a little anxious, but I think I knew I could at least finish. I had been allocated to group OC, starting at 9.48 am and the fourth last group to leave. Large groups of riff raff, to put it bluntly. Not sure what the parking would be like, I drove through impossibly early and parked at the UCT Graduate School of Business, which is comfortably close to both the start and the finish, and was free for me as I still have a UCT parking sticker. I carefully offloaded the magnificent machine from the rack and sorted out all the bits and bobs that go on it, went to the GSB loo about three times in 30 minutes, and finally took a very slow trundle across to the starting pens in Adderley Street. Of course there were cyclists simply everywhere - cyclists of every size and shape and colour, in conventional gear, in fancy dress, in very little dress at all. Bicycles of all types as well. Quite a few tandems, but also some unconventional cycles. It really was a most colourful and pleasing sight. The weather at this stage was perfect - not a cloud in the sky, and just comfortable. No wind. This would later prove a problem, but at 8 am it was lovely. I watched a few groups depart and then made my way across to the OC starting pen. There were some portaloos nearby with a long line of ladies in waiting, but no gentlemen, which was puzzling. Then I spotted the reason - there was an open French style male urinal nearby, a four berth, so to speak, with all users facing the centre and just enough low walling to make it legal. I stepped up to the plate and did my thing, feeling a little sheepish as the line of women was only about 2m away. The chap facing me noticed my expression and said encouragingly "Well, think about it, you'll never see any of these people again in your life"!

I joined our group's queue and soon we were being herded slowly in the direction of the starting line. They were using both sides of the Heerengraght and releasing groups alternately, which seemed a sensible idea. We had the obligatory music (I was glad to note that we have progressed from "Chariots of Fire") and the countdown, and then we were off. I saw a colleague at the start, gave her a hug and then lost her, and didn't see anyone else I recognised the entire race - such was the size of the field. By now it was hot and there was still no wind, which did not augur well. We trundled up the Eastern Boulevard, raced down Hospital Bend and puffed our way up Edinburgh Drive. Our legs were still fresh and strong and so, although it was tough, I'd didn't hear much complaining. On down Wynberg Hill and a long flat pedal to the end of the M3. So far so good.

The next challenge was Boyes Drive. I had heard horror stories from other riders so was expecting the worst. The old race went along Main Road, but with all the roadworks, this has been impossible since 2008 and so we are now stuck with Boyes. As it turned out, it went ok. I didn't have to walk and in fact quite enjoyed it. Then the steep descent into Kalk Bay, with the danger of mass pile ups. Fortunately none in our group. I had arranged to meet herself and the princesses in Fish Hoek. They were there, along with a number of other Fish Hoek faithfuls who raised a resounding cheer as I cycled up - very heartening. We had a small challenge getting through the riders to meet but managed to avoid causing any major disruptions. I was severely scolded for not drinking more, given two fresh bottles of cold juice, 2 bananas and a chocolate and sent on my way, still feeling good. That feeling carried me through Glen Cairn into Simonstown and it was coming out of Simonstown that I hit my first snag. As I have said, the weather was getting hotter and hotter and there was scarcely a puff of wind. Some well meaning spectator on Simonstown Main Road was very kindly hosing passing cyclists down with his garden hose. Very welcome. Unfortunately he hosed my face which had the effect of washing a good deal of sunscreen from my forehead into my eyes. I spent the next 10km trying to get it out. My eyes watered so badly that I had to slow down, keep left, take my sunglasses off, wipe my face with my shirt - I tried everything, but it was really only when we got over the top of Smitswinkel and I could get some speed up and some wind in my face that the situation improved.

The ride past Scarborough and Misty Cliffs was superb - there was a slight sea breeze which, if not exactly cool, was at least a breeze, and I think we all felt better. Then it was the toil up and over the hill to Ocean View, so more sweat and more sunscreen in the eyes. This time I took my glasses off and dropped them, losing the nose piece in the process. Down on Kommetjie Road someone stopped suddenly in front of me and in the process of jamming on anchors I managed to do something to my chain and had to stop and fix it. I was getting increasingly irritable and dis-spirited -and of course the day was just getting hotter. I saw herself and princess firstborn again in Sun Valley. I must have looked like crap because they looked worried. But I said I was ok to go on, refuelled and said I would see them later. The next hour was frankly diabolical. As soon as I hit the first uphill of Chappies I got a vicious cramp in my left calf muscle. I tried to ride through it but was forced to stop and dismount. Then the chain came off again. I walked the first section, feeling depressed. Chappies has a short downhill before the main incline and I cycled this, but once again, as soon as I hit the incline, the cramps returned. I quaffed volumes of fluid but it helped nothing. In the end I walked most of Chappies. The sun baked down on us. There was an accident up ahead and so eventually everyone was walking. We were not a happy bunch of campers!

At the top of Chappies was a refreshment station and for the first time I made use of it, drinking quite a lot but also allowing the kind gentleman to pour cold water over my head. It felt heavenly. Then there was a very long freewheel down into Hour Bay, which would have been wonderful, but by now there was a warm wind in our faces, presumably a berg wind, and my bum was so sore that I literally had to shift position every few minutes to avoid it rejecting me. But the scenery was grand and the company spirited and somehow we made it. The ride through Hout Bay and up the dreaded Suikerbossie was purgatory defined. The locals were wonderful, but it did little to lessen the pain and the fatigue. I heard later that the temperature was 42 degrees Celsius - some have questioned that, but I can believe it. After what seemed like an eternity we reached the top and gratefully began the 10km freewheel into Camps Bay. Or at any rate that is what I did. There were many who came whizzing past, pedalling furiously. I lived in Camps Bay for three years and knew what was in store, so was happy to let gravity do its thing.

At the end of Camps Bay beach is a stiff and nasty little climb to Clifton - not much if you are fresh but quite challenging after 100km. Somewhere around Bantry Bay I began to get my sense of humour back with the realisation that I had only about 5km to go, and that "this too will pass". I actually enjoyed the ride along Beach Road Sea Point, maybe because by this point I could in fact no longer feel my bum! Suddenly we were at the finish and someone was shouting at us to keep going and not stop, someone was giving me a medal, someone a Coke. The chap next to me congratulated me and I him. He said this was his 23rd Argus, and expressed the opinion that this had been the worst. He was referring to the weather. I believed him.

I made my way to the traffic circle and found a shady spot under an overhang. Foolishly, I sat down with my back to the wall, and sent out some sms's and tried to make a few calls. The networks were so congested that this proved challenging but I did eventually succeed. After about 20 minutes, I thought I had better be going. I tried to straighten my leg and let out a cry of pain as my thigh muscles went into spasm. A fellow cyclist saw me and made some sympathetic gestures, said something about this happening to rugby players as well. Thanks for nothing! Somehow I eventually managed to get up and hobbled the 200m or so to my car, loaded the bike up and drove slowly home. Family and friends were full of congratulations and sympathy. My body felt like I had been run over by a truck, but mentally I felt good - I had finished in 5hours 39 minutes, which meant averaging just under 20kph over a difficult course in very hot weather. I later learned that I had come in the 22000's out of the 33000 who finished the race, which I think is not too bad with no training and for a fiftyish year old amateur. Will I do it next year? - I may. Chances of getting that sort of weather two years running must be fairly slim. Lastly I must say that the race organisation was absolutely superb, so well done to the race committee and everyone else. I think the Argus is an institution of which the City can rightly be proud.

Now for the 2 Oceans ....

 The Miracle Machine. Truly a thing of great beauty...

The Kink sms'd me after the race and said: 

"Well done on finishing. Did it come out easily?!"