VII. God bless, God speed and Goodnight

How does one sum up such a trip? Where do you even begin on a journey with so many emotions, thoughts, prayers, insights, people, characters, geographies and landmarks? I’m not sure I have the words to elicit the feeling as I crested the last hillock to look upon Cape Town in the shadow of the great Table Mountain. Nor could I relay the triumph I felt as cars and trucks joined in with their horns in my celebrations. Finally, through all these accounts and my trifling; the words have failed me.

This insurmountable moment now forever in my memory is starkly in contrast with the PTSD flashbacks I have of the handful of days it took me to get to Cape Town from Springbok (and where the last update left from). It was much the same as the last half of my trip - with more terrible luck. I begun to joke with myself (uh oh marbles in check) on what could be the next thing to go wrong. How original could God get? Did he still have his magic touch? I was to be bitterly surprised with our creators creativity in keeping me at the pits of bike related misery. I will be brief...

Day 1 (90km) after my restart from the fall I took in Namibia (see last edition). Having watched England lose the first test in the rugby, I set off from Springbok encountering the great hills that characterise the Northern Cape of South Africa. Great cycling with strong down hill sections. Oh wait. You’re enjoying this? Chain breakage - clean snap. Boom. Net result: pushing the bike up a few hills and free wheeling down to Garies. More fun.

It was there I met some incredibly kind hearted and very drunken Afrikaners, who helped me remake the chain out of my old/spare. All done with a hammer and nail. After a few hours going late into the evening we fixed it and they put me up for the night with their parents. Meeting salt of the earth Saffers was an experience, their life is hard and tough with constant daily battles against the land and government. How's it? Bru. No surprise that this lot are two up in the rugby. Extreme, resilient people. They told me of the pain and suffering they have had inflicted on them by the government, who look to break their spirit and push them off their farms. Farm murders have been described as a genocide and the press repress it; unless, to say the white farmer murder rates have dropped. This put my small dramas into perspective.

(https://africacheck.org/factsheets/factsheet-statistics-farm-attacks-murders-sa/)

(a typical lunch on my final day)

Day 2. 140km. Wind pushing me backwards all day as I went through the long gorges of SA’s wine county drinking it all in on my penultimate day's cycle. After a couple of punctures I realised that my tyre had been gored and needed replacing with my other already battle worn spare. This then shortly split, fortunately it had the legs to make it to Clanwilliam. I spent a couple hours with a mechanic as we upgraded a few well worn bits of bike equipage to give me a smooth arrival to Cape Town. It was then a sprint to Citrusdal, with the light fading and the night coming in. A long day capped off with a can of tinned peach slices that I had been saving for my final night on the road. I consider tinned peaches the pinnacle of luxury and for the last night, I hunkered down with the can, nostalgia all in a syrupy haze.

Day 3. The last push. 170km. After the upgrade in Clanwilliam, the Dominica of old and I were reunited for a final spin into the Mother City. The first hour on this last morning, I climbed a good thousand feet, this plus the other collective climbs from the few days before - I was to enjoy the profit of so much toil. The sweet payoff from the sweat of all those yesterday’s. It was an incredibly memorable sweaping down into the Velds and thinking of all those who had also travelled through this historic, migrational and tumultuous patch of land. I tried to keep some semblance as the warm air slowly turned into that distinctive sea breeze with Table Mountain appearing in my vista. It was a beautiful day of reflection, meditation and obviously intense perspicacity with the world. I had finally penetrated the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity and then forgotten it all, when I finally made it to the outer suburbs of Cape Town.

(One of the highlights of shuffle, Paul Simon's Graceland was also bellowed out)

I had been humbled countless times. Nearly countless - 2 and a half falls, 5 stitches, 1 concussion, 1 new helmet, 5 new tyres, 2 chains, half a handlebar, 6 spokes, 2 speedometers, 1 water bottle, 4 smashed screens (phone cracked twice, laptop and camera), 1 sleeping mat lost (sorry Alec), and finally a broken wrist... Smite Me, Almighty Smiter...

With all this in mind, I set off from Nairobi, Kenya on the 13th April 2018, in no more or less than, but exactly 60 days ago and now with over 6000 kms covered; finally, I breezed into Cape Town.

After nearly 500kms of cycling on a my gammy wrist since Namibia, I went to the Cape Town Mediclinic for a check up, bad news - broken. My body and mind had been working separately to get me to the finish line.

I have since been on ‘oliday in the glorious city of Cape Town celebrating. The place, at least to me, has the spirit of Tortuga as well as the landscape of a tropical island. There is even a large cannon that goes off at noon each day and this along with the Dutch colonial architecture makes the place feel like a set of Pirates of the Caribbean. Out to sea, there are waves still crashing against ancient shipwrecks laid to rest by the Cape of Storms.

Trekked up Table Mountain climbing Skeleton Gorge; passing many who had turned back saying they lost the path, or their nerve. Quickly, I realised this was not a hike but a summit. After about 3 hours of climbing and scrambling up steep cliffs and wet ladders. I made it to the cable car on the other side of the mountain to find that it had shut due to Atlantic winds, piss poor visibility due to a table cloth of cloud I was now stuck in. Trapped up there in a threatening mixture of the Dead Marshes and the Hound of the Baskervilles, thick fog sent me in circles round and round. After a tantrum, then a settlement to break into the gift shop for the night, after that over an hour of searching for the nearest gorge to take me back down. Eventually found the route down a steep stair. I spent 5 hours getting up and down, my legs are still feeling tortured as I write this on my phone in the airport. Hamstrings still twanging.

Thankfully, after emerging out the deadly cloud I took witness of Cape Town in all its glorious splendour, making it worth the trauma... I even stumbled across a couple ‘enjoying the scenery’, who then picked me up on the road and took me back to town. They were, of course, devout believers and after a quickie prayer in the McDonald’s carpark at the top of Longstreet. Clearly their chastity had been forgotten on the heady heights of Table Mountain.

Cape Town and the surrounding area has to be one of the top destinations in the world. It has got it all. It is a hectic party town with good grog and spicy tun tun. I highly recommend all things Capetonian.

It has been a heck of a ride and many of my readership will be wondering how will I return to a pedestrian life? Firstly, for those who have made it this far - you will be able to find me at The Sun in Clapham at 01800 20.06.18 - approximately 45 minutes cycle from the Tower of London.

Secondly, to combat the real world I will be joining a church of some kind, with religion’s competitive spirit in Africa I have not yet decided on which denomination. There are just too many of the Lord’s servants on the continent to choose from. So it’s a toss up between the Pentecostals and the 7 day Adventists... Or go old school with Lutheranism.

In all seriousness, it has been a pleasure keeping the few of you (if that), who read this, interested in my safari. I would like to thank all my generous sponsors and supporters - I never truly thought myself alone, but this was really due to many of you. There are great number to thank, who helped me personally along the way - both, black and white, great or small. I am indebted to one and all.

This is me signing out one last time. God bless, God speed and goodnight.