My race ended with a bang and a whimper

Chief Sports Writer Kevin McCallum reflects on his ill-fated Cape Cycle Tour.

It ended, as it was probably fated to do, with a bang and a whimper. On the right-hand side of the road through Kalk Bay, some 25km into the Cape Town Cycle Tour, the rear wheel on my borrowed bike blew spectacularly, the sidewall tearing apart and rendering it un-fixable. For the first time in 15 Cycle Tours, I did not finish. It was a weird and sad feeling.

Perhaps it was meant to be. I had nearly not got out of bed after a week of illness. But I started, felt better than I thought I would. A sweep vehicle arrived five minutes after I had tried to repair the tyre, blowing another tube in the process. The sweep bus driver was the son of a friend I had ridden the Coronation Double Century with in November. We got to talking. He asked how many I had done. I said it was my 15th. My new friend said I shouldn’t feel so bad, but it still did: bad, and good, and wrong, but right.

He dropped me off at another, larger sweep bus in Glencairn to continue his trip around the peninsula, looking to help the unlucky and encourage the rest. Allen and Cyril, volunteers from Rotary, who are partners with Pedal Power Association in the organisation of the Cycle Tour, greeted me as I got on board. It was 10am. They were under instructions to wait until 12.15pm for others forced to abandon. Would I like to share some of their food, they asked. I’d really like a beer, I said. Allen pointed across the road to a group of shops in Glencairn. There were two over there. I will see you at 12.10pm, I told them.

The Viper Lounge is next door to the Pizza Khaya. Two old fellas were sitting outside the pizza joint, one with long white hair in a ponytail and a beard almost as long. The other looked like an old surfer. The pizza menu had three pizzas with boerewors as a topping. One was called the ‘Daaris Salami’. But I wasn’t hungry, I was thirsty. The Viper Lounge is described on Zomato as a ‘biker bar for everyone’. It was just that. I got a few looks as I walked in. Perhaps they don’t get many men in lycra walking in their socks most days. They served cold beer and they kept it coming. A man called me by my name. I asked him how he knew my name. “It’s on the back of your race number. How was your ride?” It was over almost just before it started. He commiserated and turned back to his breakfast cider.

I had a fair number of beers that morning and as the clock ticked towards noon, the race that ended with a bang and then a whimper seemed a long time ago.