THE THREE PASSES RIDE,
Cape Town, South Africa

By Wandering Wazza
Whilst on holiday in Cape Town earlier this year I was accidentally involved in "The Three Passes Ride" …one of their main cycling events.

For those who have never been to the Cape, it is the Promised Land of African Cycling. A combination of smooth bitumen and awesome scenery.

Feeling suitably inspired, I decided to launch my 2001 Fitness Program.

However, some initial training was required. I referred to my pre holiday briefing from El Presidente . Specifically an extract from the Hefe’s Globe Trotting Address Book. The Green one that is. (As opposed to the Black One!).

Sure enough there was a cycling contact in Cape Town. I duly contacted Alistair’s mate, Gary Lyttle who organized a ‘gentle introductory’ ride into Cecila Forest on the slopes of Table Mountain (alias TM, alias 3000 ft). Gary had ridden 10 Argus Tours and assured me he was ‘unfit’.

The very next day I discovered what a master of understatement he was. Kitted out with serious downhill technology we powered up rocky, densely vegetated passes generously populated by ruts and loose gravel. Having reduced me to knee trembling jelly near the top of TM he took the short route home straight down. I wasn’t sure if he had a special clause inserted in my life insurance, but as we plummeted down I had several re runs of my life flashing in front of me. Or was that the back wheel? With my life, it’s hard to tell the difference. Strangely, we never went on another ride together.
Having experienced the trauma of mountain biking I decided that the familiarity of a street bike was more suited to a gentle aerobic foundation build up. Images of myself cruising alongside fields of green swam before my eyes…..

However a bike was required to realise this dream. I mentioned this vision splendid to my local friend Jono idly one evening.

To my surprise Jono (the exec) baled out a vintage Peugeot 10 speed with column shift and all. Jono had used it in previous Argus Tours in the better-spent periods of his youth.

To those unfamiliar with the Cape Argus Tour, it is a 120 km race held every year in March. Its massive geologic undulations are only exceeded by its beauty. It also happens to be either the biggest (in terms of participants) cycle race in the Southern Hemisphere or the World. In other words, A Significant Event.

However my thoughts weren’t on geologic undulations. With the help of Spanner and Oil Can I whipped Jono’s old treddly into tip top bike type shape and set off in the direction of Constantia. Home of Constantia Nek and the scene of many marathon highlights (and agonies) of my youth. From the Slater Newlands Training Base Constantia Nek proved to be an out and back affair of 45 minutes and I had the tremendous boost of zipping past what I assumed were Argus Tour "First Time Virgins". Riding in their tennis shoes. Helmets skew. And backsides wobbling uncertainly over the terrain of large shiny new saddles. Why did I ever take up running I thought? A run up to "The Nek" was a half morning affair to be followed by a good feets up for the rest of the day. By comparison the ride was a early morning whim done before toast and tea.

As the days went by I got in some rides of increasing rigour and started pushing the envelope of what could be offered without hitting the highways.

Then one sunny day I fatefully set off on casual solitary Sunday "Just Off To Get The Paper Dear" ride. You know those type of promises my friends? Said in good faith but totally without reference to reality. Or Capability.
We were then staying in Constantia near the aforementioned Nek, and I set off down to Tokai. Ahhh what a pleasure swooping down that Oak lined pass. A quick sortie down to Tokai and then back for coffee and muffins I thought.

However what was this? More cyclists?? Zooom … knocked them off in quick order. Then another bunch. Whoosh, make way for the Bandidos folks. Then more and more... And with numbers on their backs. What the heck??

I had met up with several hundred riders on "The Three Passes" ride. This happens to be one of the qualifying or training events for "The Argus" and those first time virgins abounded.

I wondered what "Three Passes" meant ? Certainly 3 hills to climb, but how far, how high? I thought I’d tag along a bit….

The ego continued to be fed. I think I had joined the nether parts of the ride and the lithe ferrety riders had long passed.

Consequently, I whipped past literally hundreds of riders. Boy did I feel good. With my Bandido outfit on, the flag was flying full mast.
After about an hour we arrived at Muizenberg. By then I had given up any pretence of turning back. This was too much fun.

It had to be a ride to the finish. However being a non-entrant I adopted the sneaky ‘lost my number’ profile and didn’t blow my cover with any "where are we going?" questions.

We cruised through Muizenberg, St James, Kalk Baai and Vishoek. The road follows the Indian Ocean fed False Bay and is truly spectacular. (Refer to the map attached

Simonstown loomed up and I heard mutters of "Red Hill" …

Red Hill ? "Surely not?!?" I thought…far and away too steep, only for 4 wheel drives or cars with large motors.

As fate would decree Red Hill it was. The gasps of the unfit now became punctuated by the rattling of derailleurs. Bottoms rose up and desperate requests sent to the hammys to come to the aid of cramping quads.

Fortunately I had been running regularly and I gave some silent thanks to my high grade Bandido condition as I really wound it up past the wannabees.

Every now and then some fellow would get competitive and try to keep up but there is no substitute for a couple of years of training and I almost felt sorry for them in their agony.

I don’t know how many switchbacks I went up but from about halfway up I started to hurt. I had got into a good rythem but eventually the size of the hill imposed itself on me. I remembered Jai O Mara’s words "You have to know how to hurt" … I don’t really know what that means but I assume it meant I’m a woes whose time has come. And now I must stand up to be counted as one of the hard men. So I kept at it. Switchback by switchback.

At the top it eased up a bit but there was a long gradual slope that took us over the edge. It seemed to take forever to finally feel that strain come off the thighs and get the chain back onto the big ring.

However the chain now became an optional accessory. The bike started to accelerate. Then swoop. Then the speed wobble enhanced by rising fear. Corners were coming up at a nasty speed. What I needed now was brakes. And plenty of them…

Soon enough I hit the bottom and the legs were called up for duty again. By this stage the field had really split up and I was riding on my own. I cruised thru a small place called Kameeldoring (Camel Thorn) and then another ocean stretch alongside the Atlantic with its mist and icy spray past a few houses collectively called Scarborough.

I cruised down into Witsand (White Sands) and then up the Slangkop (Snake Head) pass into Kommetjie. ‘Komm’ is one of the great surfing spots in South Africa where the point [Kom] meets the Atlantic swells. The surfies jump off the Kom and swim out thru swathes of kelp to get onto the back of those green monsters.

Going up ‘The Snake’, I met another band of hapless riders who suddenly had their legs full fighting off gravity.

Up and over Kommetjie and down along Noordhoek to Ou Kaap se Weg (The Old Cape Road) This road climbs up from the Atlantic to Silvermine and is about the highest paved pass in the Cape.

I could never understand why those old timers built that road when there is the perfectly traversable Sun Valley alongside it.

Selecting my lowest gear, with the sun now at its zenith, it made even less sense to me now. I kept my eyes peeled for water stations.

Looking back. When I think of the three passes, Ou Kaap se Weg was definitely the worst. It is not as steep as Red Hill, but it is longer. It comes to you unbidden and feared after 3 hours of hard yakka on the bike. It sits in a wind shadow and that cool Atantic breeze fades off. By then its near midday and it is HOT. Your cool moist jersey now starts to feel like a oppressive sweaty blanket.

Needless to say I suffered. Gone were the thoughts "Gee Whizz this place is pretty" or "I love riding a bike" or "Am I kicking butt today or what". Just a look up…. where am I going? …. then head down …and somehow get there. Repeated about a thousand times.

Well I got there and then another massive swoop down the other (much steeper) side of the pass. There was an ambulance attending to someone halfway down. Not a place to get unlucky on a bike.

The end eventually came after another climb over Wynberg Hill ("heck" I weakly thought "That’s FOUR passes!!" but perhaps Jai would have said it was ‘two mate’...in lowercase as well)

Four hours later I headed back up to Constantia…very slowly for a change. Fear of wife Dee’s wrath adding to my exhaustion. "Honey I’m totally stuffed" never seems to inspire the sort of behavior one likes in these circumstances.

Needless to say, the family lost an opportunity to go to the National Art Gallery that morning and I gained another infamous entry in the Warren Slater Journal of Chauvinism.

But that was four hours that I will always treasure as one of the truly great rides !!