The Swazi Frontier ~ founded by our good friend Brett Foss
Mountain Biking is a helluva thing! Having done the Swazi dice, I’
ve got people asking me why we do it and what’s it like etc. Cos we are usually pressed for time, the response is something like…”it’s a little bit technical, you have to know how to use gears, it’s a little bit tiring, there is the odd shot of adrenalin, quite a lot of pain, plenty falls, some bleeding, bruising, blunt force trauma, personality and friendship testing, its expensive cos bent parts need to be replaced…and so on.” Having delivered the overview, people then tend to ask…”so why do you do it again?” And the answer is always, “cos it’s the most fun you can have in your spare time.”
Swazi was just that, unhinged fun. Spanking it through mountains and tranquil snippets of Africa on overpriced pieces of tin is amongst the best experiences one can have. The beers at the end of each day (especially day three) are also right up there. But I digress.
How it started is that Warren (my partner) and I have recently retired from international rowing. Filling a gap like that takes some doing and in order to prevent ourselves from slipping into
over sized, couch dwelling
Pringle-gobblers, we decided we had to enter as many events as we could. Goals are important and fitness would be a spin off. Fossil has been nagging for years for the lads to play in the mountains with him (on bikes this time) and left
excuseless, we entered.
We had no idea what to expect, some of the mates were giving it the “you
okes are fit, you should win it.” Usually followed by some hysterical laughter, so who knows what that meant?
Night one needs special mention. About 50 Mountain bike nuts all sharing a converted horse stable, snuggling up to their newly purchased soft-tail (and by that I mean mountain bike with rear suspension). I don’t think there were any tail-gunners on tour, though one can never be too sure. The sound of tinkering with parts (again, bike parts) could be heard late into the night, mingled in with the tranquil sounds of flatulence and midnight Vietnam flashback fits, the scene was set.
Day 1
Superb! After the first in a line of Fossil’s briefs (the term “brief” being relative), that included talk of there being only 5m of track the whole day that is not
rideable, our falling, running and climbing skills were tested to the max. Basically what won the day for us was a dose of good luck and some chivalry. Having nipped over “Brutal” we were doing a bit of a fence hop. Being gentlemen, we waited for the pair behind us; last year’s mixed category winners, Karin and Mark, to offer some assistance with their bikes. This was fortunate because as became his trait, Warren had thrown away the navigation card and we were soon at a serious decision point. Left up some crazy angled hill, or straight? I interviewed Mark on the spot. “You done this before
bru?” “Yes I have,” he replied.” “You any good and do you get lost often?” He answered “We won last year and I’
ve never been lost.” “You are my boy!” I rejoiced and said to Warren, “we are going with this
oke.” And what a choice! Turns out we took the direct route as per the navigation card over Too Brutal, which should be renamed Baby Brutal. I’
ve seen steeper speed bumps in
Parkhurst. We ran up that, got to the top and some dude with an overabundance of Pepsi told us we were in the lead. I downed 1.5 litres of the stuff (cos I had inserted my
camelback bladder in upside down and ran out of lube before Brutal…there was a bit of thirst at this stage) and said to Warren….”We gonna win this thing.”
There was some major activity, wheel spinning and dashes of speed as we headed with enthusiasm towards a destination we hoped was the finish line. Being in a navigational vacuum at this stage
didn’t help, luckily Warren had remembered the name of the target town and a bit of local interrogation got us home. Unreal to have won day one. A complete fluke? Sure it was, but good humour.
Day 2
The previous night, having listened to Fossil for two more hours and being asked repeatedly “what’s this rowing again?” we were off. Warren and I had decided, in his words “to win this *&%$
ing thing.” We had gotten the taste and on Day 2 the gloves were off. Having navigated the slippery steps of death, we were comfortably with the leading pack going up a cheeky little forest hill. We were on top of our game saying stuff like “this mountain biking story is easy and we
aren’t even working, give me a real challenge, the Turbo Jockey (Paul
Cordes) and his goose (Yolande Speedy) are gonna pop any second I can tell” blah blah. Then came the downhill and the skills were found wanting. I
couldn’t believe the pace with which some of these
okes descend. Not wanting to relinquish our lead I decided “no brakes” would be the strategy. My cornering not being what it was at age 12 on a
bmx (Mongoose, silver front fork), turns out I failed to turn at upward of 50km/h and went spanking over the edge of the road. Tiny scenes of my life flashed before my eyes, as well as various items in quick succession; grass, sky, road, sky, bush, sky, rock...intermingled with sharp pains and acute disorientation. The experience came to an end to the cries of “
Rideeeer doooowwn!” as some guy shot past me. I’m sure I saw a grin on his face. Bas*&rd!
My partner was off down the hill, I got my stuff together, denying myself a health audit thinking it would add no value and resumed the chase. Every man and his dog came past me on the downhill. I had lost my
mojo and confidence was way, way down. I eventually made it to the bottom of the hill to find one angry partner. Some expletives and cursing and 20
mins of panel beating (turns out I had bent the back wheel in the fall and rode the hill with the brakes on) we were off. This time with the anger! We rode the valley like it was a
bmx track trying to make up the
aeon of time we had just handed over. This hurt, I think we ate all our smarties and had small amounts of juice left for the closing stages. We managed to find ourselves level with the Turbo Jockey and his hill eating wife with a few
Kms to go. This was a good sign, and we were back on track. Until
Wappo’s Steppes. I was a bit behind Warren and I saw him disappear completely from view. Next thing I saw was two wheels in the air, and Warren’s face planted squarely on what would be
Wappo’s Landing – the bit below the step. There was some wholesome language, unrepeatable here, even in a Hustler column, to which I replied “what the $&^% you doing down there
bru?” This took our sporting relationship to new depths. We then hit
BMX mode again to try and catch the Psycho Climbing Bike Couple from hell.
The last “little hill” took us apart. Hallucinating and hating life, Warren took an imaginary turn off and cycled into a fence. I think he was hoping like hell it was the
Pigg’s Peak off ramp. In the process he fell off the bike and, as usual, donated the map to the Swazi landscape. We rode on in anger. Then got lost, could not for the life of us work out where to find Orion
Pigg’s Peak Hotel. Interviewing a German on the road
didn’t seem to help and we eventually found our way to the finish.
All personality and humour was lost, until Les told us we were just a few minutes behind the mini matching couple in white. Things were better and we went for beers in the pool.
Day 3
Having called in a million favours to replace a back wheel and sprocket (thanks to Rob, Willy and Fossil for the help), day three was the decider. We had a 10 or so
minute lead and the game was on. A cute little hill cut the pack up nicely at the start, some pacey descents got us down through a dense forest incident-free. Peach section of riding though! The hints and tips Warren and I had picked up in the pub the night before were paying off and the cornering had improved dramatically. We were with the pack at the halfway mark and things were looking good for the
Osama B’s. Then Swaziland threw some proper climbs at the problem. At this stage the turbo jockeys got the jump on us, but were in view. Climbing was tough but sustainable while we were crunching numbers knowing we only had to be within 10
mins of these guys to win. Things were going according to plan until Mickey unleashed his Madness on some wanting bike skills. A little crash that induced cramp and a sprained ankle
didn’t help. Warren was screaming at me “What the &*(% are you doing?” continually…the pressure was beginning to tell. We made it through the insanity gorge only to narrowly avoid killing myself on a neat flower bed at the
Maguga Lodge entrance. Turns out we hung on to the lead, and it was beer time.
Prize Giving and dinner was a beautiful blur. Never had beer tasted so good and a dance floor been so inviting. Apart from a bit of abuse from
Wappo who brought our masculinity and sexual orientation into question, things were good. He seemed to have a problem with the amount of time we spent off the bike, pushing. He left me alone when I told him if he practices, one day he might be able to ride as fast as we walk.
Major congratulations to Les and Fossil for a top event! Big up yourselves. We will be back next year, there is no doubt. A top experience and peachy all round. Catch you all there in ’09.
Why travel half way round the planet and across countless time zones to ride a mountain bike in a place so far south of Australia you would be forgiven for thinking it was the Antarctic? So far south in fact, even the Aussies don’t consider Tasmania to be part of Australia? Short answer....I don’t know!!
Some closes shaves with immigration, the fun police and a handful of cavity searchers and our troubles were over.....the race was about to begin...well not really, but sort of.
