There is nothing like an early morning bicycle ride with friends. I’d be on my bike at 4am riding towards Berea where I’d meet up with Mike Bell. We’d hit the road in earnest, arriving at the beachfront just as the sun was putting in a spectacular appearance over the ocean. Our eyes were filled with amber light in the crisp early morning breeze, and we’d turn our wheels towards Umhloti and start flying. Bums in the air and heads down to make serious time and get miles on our legs for whatever upcoming race was our next commitment, we’d push hard racing against the clock.
As kindred spirits, we meandered up and down the brutal hills, our lungs settling down and our legs finding their zone where our bodies moved like well-oiled machines, propelling our bikes onward. There was no time to stop because we had to still get to our normal day jobs, and we also wanted to beat the grim morning traffic.
We’d reach Umholti, but with no time to linger, we headed back home. The sun was sharpening in our eyes as it mustered its strength for the new day, and upon turning homeward, we invariably hit a stiff headwind which made us earn our way up every hill. Our legs pumped like pistons to beat the breeze. Heart rates rising, we gripped our handlebars with bowed heads in determination. The wind seemed to have a palpable sense of fun, buffeting us about for a while till it got bored and decided to swoop off on its way towards the north. We’d start these rides in the predawn light and end the rides as the world came alive and the sun was already owning the sky. Climbing off our bikes we’d start our day with a ready-made sense of achievement. How could the day not be a good day to be alive?
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