Then I try riding again. But it’s not long until I stop once more. Where is my will to keep going? I can't find the motivation that usually allows me to ride through the long nights whatever the conditions and terrain. I sit down. This situation is all too familiar. How many times have I been there? Fighting the fatigue to slowly progress on a rough climb in the dark and cold of the night? Too many to count.

Earlier this year, I had found myself doing this multiple times in Canada and the USA in order to secure a win on the Tour Divide. A couple months ago, I was doing it again to retain my title at the Silk Road Mountain Race in Kyrgyzstan. Barely recovered from Tour Divide, pushing until I couldn't push anymore and having to lie down on the side of the road, too exhausted even to inflate my mattress and get into my sleeping bag.

“Why do I keep finding myself in these situations?”

I'm sitting down now, close to the top of this pass and I start questioning my life choices. Why do I keep finding myself in these situations? It's neither pleasant nor sustainable. I need to make a change.

It's around 2am on day one of the Rhino Run that I decide that I'm not going to race it. I'm going to ride it. I'm going to enjoy it and see as much of this course as possible. But I'm not going to push my limits to battle at the pointy end. Why would I do that? After winning two of the hardest and most prestigious bikepacking races in a matter of two months, I feel like I have nothing to prove. But most of all, I feel like I need a break.

“Too many times in my career, I’ve missed out on beautiful landscapes because I was riding through the night to win a race”

I'm happy to be in South Africa. I had a great day on the bike, enjoying ever-changing scenery in a place where I've never been before. Too many times in my career, I’ve missed out on beautiful landscapes because I was riding through the night to win a race. I don’t want a repeat of that here.

I get back on my bike and resume riding at a leisurely pace. In the next few hours, I get caught by five different riders. I'm at peace with my decision and I don't feel the urge to push harder to match their pace. At the end of the day, I'm in 9th position, already far away from the leaders. I make it to the town of Greyton and check into a hotel. I set my alarm for 4:30am. I may not be racing the fastest guys in the race, but I still have to catch my flight, which means averaging 250 km a day. That's not race pace, but it’s not touring pace either. It's what you may call fast touring. Over the next few days, I keep pushing hard during the day and sleeping 6 hours at night. Or at least I try to. 

“Despite the fatigue, something in my brain is not willing to let go of the race.”

It's one thing to tell myself I'm not racing. It's another to have my body and mind actually conform to this decision after so many years of competing at the highest level. My biggest problem is falling asleep at night. Despite the fatigue, something in my brain is not willing to let go of the race. Maybe years of conditioning my body to function on little to no sleep during these events prevents me from getting the rest I need. Then there are the resupply stops. Again, old racing habits die hard. I can't help but make efficient resupplies in gas stations and shove the food into my mouth as fast as possible. 

Letting go is harder than I thought. As the race goes on, riders that were ahead of me drop out. It's not surprising - the course is very demanding and the warm weather makes it even harder on the body. Without significantly speeding up, I find myself progressing in the rankings. I can't completely silence the racer in me and like the hound that smells blood, I make my fast touring a bit faster. But it's not just the thrill of the chase that gets me to push the pace. As we progress further up north and get closer to Namibia, the race changes. The opportunities to sleep indoors when night comes become few and far between. It's not just about catching my plane anymore. Oftentimes now, it's about covering the 300km that stand between two hotels. On the fifth night, I have no choice but to bivvy in a ditch, which makes this feel much more like a race than a tour. 

Quite often, I find myself sharing the road and an accommodation at the end of the day with my friend Max. We've shared quite a few start lines in the past and he has the same approach as me for this event. We cross the Namibian border together and try to think of what is the best way to proceed from here. While northern South Africa is sparsely populated, southern Namibia is almost completely devoid of people. If we hit a town too early, then bivvying is pretty much the only option for later on. 

“Our best bet, if we want to avoid sleeping in the ditch, is to cover 370 km in one go”

On the first Namibian day, a fierce headwind saves us from the dilemma that arriving in a town before dark represents. After my shortest and slowest stretch since the start, I catch Max in Rosh Pina where we treat ourselves to a steak dinner and a beer. After all, we’re not racing, so why not enjoy some downtime? For the next day, our best bet, if we want to avoid sleeping in the ditch, is to cover 370 km in one go. Getting up at 2am, we set off for a day of full-on racing in what is supposed to be a fast tour. I make quick work of the first 160 km as they're paved. Max catches me as I'm resupplying before setting off for this massive stretch with absolutely nothing but sand and Oryx. While so far we had made sure to never purposely ride together, this time we decide to stick together for safety. It's 40°C in the Namibian desert and if you overheat, there will be no car to pick you up and take you somewhere where you can cool down. 

“After 60km of fast rolling gravel, we make a left turn and enter hell”

After 60km of fast rolling gravel, we make a left turn and enter hell. Fierce headwinds, sand, corrugations, hopelessly straight roads that disappear in the horizon. Just a hostile and empty desert as far as the eye can see. Never-ending uphill false flats mean we struggle to average 12 km/h and the ensuing downhill does not allow for more than 20 km/h. 25 hours after starting our day, we make it to the Kronenhof Lodge, completely exhausted. No one is there and we fall asleep on couches in the reception. A couple of hours later, the manager finds us and gives us the key to a room. 

At this stage of the race, we are in 4th and 5th position. To get a shot at the podium, we would need to get going after another couple of hours of sleep. But I don't care about third place. I'm even contemplating taking the day off and spending the entire day plus one night in the beautiful place that is Kronenhof. In the end Max and I find a middle ground. We wait out the hottest hours of the day and leave the lodge at 5pm. We ride until 2am then bivvy for a couple of hours on the side of the road. The sand that we've been fighting all day has one advantage - it’s quite comfy to grab a bit of sleep on. 

“While there's always a lot of satisfaction in winning, I'm happy I ended up not pushing as hard as these guys.”

A couple of days later, we reach the finish a few minutes apart. Max gets 4th place and I take 5th after approximately 10 and a half days of riding. The first and second placed riders (Abdullah Zeinab and Kevin Benkenstein respectively) arrived two days earlier after putting on a great show for the dotwatchers. I know what they've been through. And while there's always a lot of satisfaction in winning, I'm happy I ended up not pushing as hard as these guys. 

In the end, I had the chance to ride in one of the least populated countries in the world, witness some beautiful scenery, spot some exotic wildlife, experience the kindness of the Mzansis and the Namibians and spend some quality time with a good friend. I also had the opportunity to squeeze in a couple of epic pushes on a legit hard course, which is something that, weirdly enough, I enjoy, even if I was not ready to do it for 8 straight days. 

“These bikepacking adventures are so rewarding that the satisfaction of living them to the fullest can replace the accomplishment that represents finishing them first.”

As ultra-racers, we keep pushing the limits of what we thought was humanly possible. Event after event, it's a physical and mental ordeal that takes its toll. To dig so deep, one needs an unalterable focus, a supreme drive, a determination that very few people are able to summon, a clear goal and the undying will to pursue it. Without these mental resources, the machine that is an ultra-endurance athlete's body cannot unleash its full potential. This is what I have understood by riding the Rhino Run. But these bikepacking adventures are so rewarding that the satisfaction of living them to the fullest can replace the accomplishment that represents finishing them first. 

This stunning collection of images was shot by Rae Trew-Browne | Outlaw Media