ANOTHER VOICE murray swart Back in that saddle again

IT’S THAT time of year again when cyclists from near and far make their pilgrimage to the Mother City. The Cape Town Cycle Tour, better known by many simply as “the Argus”, is something to experience as it offers an opportunity for all shapes and sizes to dust off their metallic steeds, slip into some spandex and put the pedal to the metal, albeit for the first and only time in 12 months.

For some, winning matters; yet these motivated souls generally get the early start times among the top seeds and have conquered the course well before many a mere mortal has made it to town to even begin their struggle.

Others do it for a good cause and dress for the occasion, putting fashion before function, pretty before practical and sparkly before streamline, for whatever reason.

Apart from their outrageous outfits, these charitable types are also easy enough to find as they tend to be the first to start pushing their bikes, 20km in, mumbling something about how doing the Argus on a BMX, in a chicken suit, seemed like a good idea at the time. What they usually neglect to mutter, even in their internal utterances, is that said time was at a braai, at 2am in the morning, in the dead of winter, six couch-coddling months ago. in the saddle time, but on the day it was forgetting to rehydrate that eventually proved my downfall.

However, I like to view failure as a learning experience and by the time I arrived for last year’s event, I had learned the value of H2O and that even the picturesque Chapman’s Peak is a sight for sore eyes 90km in.

Sadly, Mother Nature again put her foot down for what should have been the 50th edition of the event and for the first time ever, having a state-of-the-art steed seemed to be disadvantageous.

With gale-force winds channelled through head-on down the initial straight, lightness became a liability as it was the literal weight, stemming from the absence of wealth, that ensured that all but the amateurs were airborne.

Before I could even make my way to the start last year, the message came through that 2017’s instalment was off the table, leaving me with this year’s version 2.0 of the 50th edition to complete my first.

Once again, I haven’t trained, but this is not the only reason why I would be surprised if I reach Greenpoint Stadium.

In fact, I would be surprised if I am able to reach the start of my fourth without being instructed to turn around and go home.

Something tells me Mother Nature again has other plans for the Mother City.