2009 Absa Cape Epic Rant

Yesterday the Absa Cape Epic pedalled into Cape Town, to be precise - my neighbourhood amidst much pomp, carbon, titanium, aluminium and circumstance. One of the most gruelling mountain bike races known to man was about to start on the slopes of a sooty funeral pyre that was once called Table Mountain. I decided to watch the hundreds of courageous men and women granny gear their way past my house, whilst my kids waved with the enthusiasm of Tour de France groupies.

Two years previously I photographed the vicious prologue in Knysna, and this year I was treated to an equally impressive visual feast albeit from a different perspective. After an hour or so of watching these lycra skinned athletes parade past my house I came to a possibly generalised conclusion of sorts – a certain undeniable character-type proliferates at the Absa Cape Epic. I must have seen over 300 cyclists huff by my front gate and not one of these self-entitled over-privileged corporatists acknowledged the waves and support we gave them. Take note, they were not racing, so I’ve been running over the figures in my head and remain somewhat perplexed by the entire episode. How much energy is expended in lifting one’s hand from a handlebar to wave, or moving one’s facial muscles to smile in acknowledgement to the support offered by two kids and one adult? Then it dawned on me, an epiphany of biblical proportions – the sheer intensity and monumental challenge of the Absa Cape Epic precludes any need for these puffed-up off-road pigeons to show civility to us mere mortals, to us simple proles on the periphery of a dusty odyssey that is way beyond our physical and mental comprehension. These clipless übermenschen might share the same physical space as us, but they exist in a superior parallel dimension. It’s an elitist existential plane where everyone who doesn’t own an 85k plus titanium hardtail and a corporate sponsor, is relegated to that distant galaxy where mass-market bikes and ill-fitting helmets are de rigueur.

Well experience has taught me that certainly not all Absa Epic riders pedal blissfully unaware into the above generalisation, but based on yesterday’s carnival of egos, there’s no way I’m bothering with following this year’s race. I’ll leave it those who own the obligatory SUV and Lifestyle magazine subscriptions. However, something was still bothering me, and then I swatted it like a mossie in the wee hours. I wondered what the many gardeners manicuring the lofty hedges, domestics dragging out the bagged detritus of suburbia and pram-pushing nannies thought of the fanfare on a crisp Autumn morning under the smouldering slopes of Table Mountain.

And I’m still wondering what they thought of the Absa Cape Epic…