An Epic Bond

When one of Parr Lamond & Associates’ partners Nic Lamond signed up to ride the 2009 Absa Cape Epic mountain bike race with his brother Simon he knew they faced a week-long test of endurance and will. He didn’t expect a lesson in the incredible power of teams…

The last stage of the 2009 Absa Cape Epic was only 60km long – roughly half the distance of each of the previous seven days’ riding. A reward for getting this far through the harsh terrain. A rolling jaunt through the shady pine plantations of Elgin and Grabouw, a short climb over the Gamtoe Pass into Lourensford Estate in Somerset West and a welcoming crowd waiting at the finish line to cheer the tired riders through.

My riding partner and I knew the course well and were feeling strong at the start. As the gun fired Team Songo.info Lamond Bros went hard out of the blocks, climbing like mountain goats and working our way into about 15th position with some hard riding. We were biting on the heels of the pro teams: those are the guys who get paid to do this!

Then, 12km into the ride my partner, my brother, my hero, Simon, went down hard on a loose gravel descent. Simon is like lightning down most hills, riding the finest line of speed and control. Most of the time he is just breathtakingly quick. This time it was different.

As usual, I was right on his tail, letting him pick the best way down the loose, eroded jeep track, intuitively mimicking his every movement. We moved as one. Then, in a split second he was sliding. He lost traction in a donga and his front wheel spat out of the hole. His bike bucked hard on the red earth as he fell. I slammed the brakes and skidded to a halt just beyond him.

As I looked back I could already see blood flecks through the dust and dirt on his elbow. It might hurt a bit, I thought, but the crash looked harmless enough, and I ran over to him to dust him off and get him back in the saddle. But Simon knew it was far worse...

He rose clutching at his knee and looked me in the eyes. "I think I've just ended this for us..." he whispered.  

He couldn't take either hand off his right knee. I wanted to offer a second opinion. When I saw the jagged gash running over his knee and exposing the patella I knew I was looking at our Cape Epic dreams evaporating.

Not sure how far the next spectators or race marshals might be I sprinted down the hill for help. Luckily a photographer was only a few hundred metres down the track, having just shot the leading bunch screaming through. When I appeared without Simon he knew we were in trouble and he radioed for a medic.

I got back to my brother to find him duct-taping his knee together! With one foot clipped to his pedal and his other leg dragging we pushed and pedalled him a kilometre to the next marshal point. A doctor arrived in a blaze of lights and jumped to Simon's side.

The doc was pretty straight: "You need to get to a hospital now," he told us. Simon responded by asking if they could stitch him. "Not here," came the reply as the doc busied himself with cleaning the gaping hole. He needed emergency medical treatment immediately. I watched the tears well in Simon's eyes and knew mine were doing the same.

And in that moment our focus changed. We weren't a team racing mountain bikes any more, we were a team looking after each other. "I want to do more of these with you,” I said. “And if that means we don’t finish this Cape Epic… so be it.”

I could see the force of what I was saying hit Simon hard. I was giving him permission to pull out of the race. We had battled through long days in the saddle, under an unrelenting sun. We had endured a broken chain, three blown tyres and nine punctures (seven of them on one day!). We had made 637km of the 685km course and we had toughed out all but the last few hundred metres of the 16 000m total climbing. We had screamed with joy and in pain, laughed and cursed together and forged an even deeper brotherly bond than I thought possible. As the stream of riders now poured past us shouting condolences it looked like we had reached the end of the line. 

Our despair must have been palpable. But as the doc quietly scoured out the dirt embedded in Simon’s leg I saw a change come over my brother. “If you clean this out and patch it up do you think I can make the finish line?” Simon probed. “I wouldn’t,” came the response.

But the question had softened the doc. Simon tried again: “I don’t feel any muscle damage. Can you clean it up and I’ll get it seen to in Lourensford as soon as we finish? I promise.”

A long pause as the doctor kept working…

45 minutes later, with no anaesthetic while they had irrigated and scrubbed the wound out, Si climbed back on his bike, gingerly clipped his right foot into the pedal and started slowly up the hill. I placed a hand on his back and pushed him. With a knee held together with butterfly plasters and gauze Simon and I started picking our way through the middle of the field. He was in obvious pain but we rode a wave of encouragement from fellow riders as we pushed on.

There’s something intensely intimate about sharing your first waking moments with a stranger for seven days in a row. And as we rode through the field we swapped war stories with some of the 1200 courageous riders who had soldiered through their own epic challenges all week. It was a great end to a magnificent week's riding. Together we had filed into the dining tent every night stacking our plates with food to replace the spent calories. We had showered together. We had lubed our bikes and bodies in full view of each other. And we were all each other's greatest supporters.

We rejoined this swollen river of riders at around 350th position and charged hard to the finish line: me pushing where I could, and Simon riding on pure heart. When we saw the ‘5km To Finish’ banner I heard a whisper over my shoulder: “Let’s go, boet.” I didn’t need any invitation to go harder. Simon slipped behind my back wheel and we paced out the remainder of the race at over 45km/h. We came 154th on that day. The finish line had never felt so sweet. That hug from my brother had never felt so deep.

I saw up close what the Epic can do. In a moment the thrill of pushing ourselves to the limit turned. It was only through deep understanding and respect for each other that we were able to change focus and finish what we came to do. And while Simon will probably tell you he rode the last 48km with a mangled knee so he could have four Epic finishes under his belt, I know he did it because I was with him…