The Absa Cape Epic is an annual eight-day mountain bike race held in the rugged Western Cape region of South Africa. It’s been running for nearly two decades and is often referred to as the ‘Tour de France’ of mountain biking. It boasts a stacked professional UCI category and is broadcast globally with some of the best coverage in the sport. Over the eight days, 1,500 riders (or 750 pairs) take on approximately 650km, with a mixture of singletrack, gravel, and a small fraction of tarmac, with a total elevation gain of 16,500m, which is almost the equivalent of two Everests, to give you an idea of just how epic this event is.
I jetted off to South Africa in early March from Melbourne, about a week before the event. I had an array of connecting flights to get to my final destination, Cape Town. I was actually relieved, amongst the long-haul travel fatigue, to see the box containing my bike precariously thrown onto a trailer of bags as I boarded the final plane, evidently bound for the same destination. I’m always impressed when international travel goes to plan, and how all the chaotic moving parts somehow (mostly) work together to get bikes, gear, and bodies to where they need to be.
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Going In Blind | Welcome to Africa
Beyond the basic knowledge of the event and how hard it was going to be, I admittedly didn’t know much about South Africa or the terrain I’d be riding through. I was amazed by the striking, rocky outcrops that seemed almost Jurassic-like — if a pterodactyl flew over one of the peaks, I’d think, yeah, that checks out. The granite and sandstone mountains contrast with the wildly expansive ocean that cradles Cape Town. It’s truly incredible, and relatively quiet given its beauty.
I learnt a lot from the local South Africans, who have built industries around supporting this event, and how the country is navigating the legacies of its past. Travelling abroad, particularly to developing countries, really makes you appreciate the privilege of doing something like this. Most people couldn’t dream of flying internationally, let alone with a fancy bike just to do a race.
The opportunity to race in this epic event came at the end of 2024. I was in the US at the tail end of the season and caught up with Canadian and fellow MAAP athlete, Haley Smith. We spoke briefly about how we wanted our 2025 seasons to look, and Haley mentioned she had Cape Epic in her sights. To my delight, she asked, “Actually, would you want to do it with me?” and nearly six months later, we were at the start line of this iconic event together.
Pair racing brings a whole new dynamic to mountain bike racing. It’s unsurprisingly a lot easier to only disappoint yourself, but the satisfaction of succeeding together, or overcoming something really hard as a team, is inimitable. Looking down the barrel of eight really challenging days was certainly intimidating.
I’ve done MTB stage races before, but never at this calibre. I had to trust that the accumulation of all the random, hard things on a bike I’ve done over the years would help prepare me not only physically, but to mentally get through each day. There were so many hidden logistics beyond just the racing itself that added to the pressure cooker of fatigue, expectations, and stress that an event like this brings.
Cape Epic is a major operation, with a huge event village set up and packed down across three different venues as the race moves through the Western Cape. The standard entry includes tented accommodation, a bike wash crew, bike servicing both on-course and at the village, and full medical support, including doctors, nurses, and a small army of field medics. For those staying in the village, all meals are catered, and there’s a post-race nutrition zone, or the ‘recovery tent’, where riders can freely choose from a selection of meals, snacks, drinks, and refresh themselves with towels. It’s an epic operation for an epic race.
Most of the professional field, and even many amateur riders, now opt to stay outside of the village accommodation. A lot of resources, particularly for professional outfits, go into performing well at this event, given its prestige and exposure. Mitigating illness and optimising recovery is a major focus to get through the week and still be able to access that extra 1%.
Mountain bike racing, but in a sauna
The conditions themselves are incredibly challenging. It’s the tail end of summer, with temperatures still reaching the 40s. The trails are largely exposed and incredibly dusty. After the prologue, which was a 27km time trial in what felt like a sauna, we were driving out of the event village, and I looked at the field of tents baking under the sun. I really couldn’t imagine what it would be like recovering and preparing for the next day, zipped up in a tent with your race partner, from the depths of a nylon sack, with next to no reprieve from the heat or the rain. Honestly, if you get through this event while camping, you’re a complete legend in my eyes.
After the prologue, we were sitting just outside the top 10, and before the mass start of Stage 1, I felt a mix of nerves and anticipation.
How hard would the top contenders push the pace? What would the terrain and technicality be like?
We’d pre-ridden tiny slices of the 650km course in the days before, but most riders race this event blind. It was chaos on the descents. You just had to hold on and read the body language of the riders ahead, with helicopters roaring overhead. We reached the first feed zone still with a dozen teams, and the soigneurs looked manic as they tried to find their riders among the bedlam.
I told myself that finishing each stage was a milestone to celebrate. It was really special to be doing this alongside someone, especially someone like Haley, who is incredibly accomplished, experienced, and humble.
To my surprise, the first two days were spent with Haley on the back foot. I had a few extra days in Paarl before the Canadians flew in from their sub-zero temperatures. Imagine a couple of people walking out of a cool room, with their eyelashes frozen — that’s pretty much the conditions they had been living in to build towards this race. The heat really took its toll on Haley the first couple of days, and I could tell she wasn’t herself.
The adaptation came, and by day three (or stage two), Haley was motoring, despite us both becoming a little unstuck in the oppressive heat.
Thankfully, it was a fraction shorter, as we both really struggled towards the end of the stage. We knew we had miscalculated our cooling strategy when we were chugging cold water and tipping it all over our bodies by the first checkpoint. The heat of this stage played its role, and by the morning of day four, my stomach was letting me know it’s thoughts on this whole situation. I couldn’t take on anything for the first couple of hours, which would ultimately impact us as the week went on. It’s insane how much you need to fuel during this week, and once you fall behind, it’s incredibly challenging to catch up.
Battling your inner demons and struggling to eat
Despite being on the back foot with nutrition, Haley and I were familiar with the trails around Paarl, and we absolutely loved ripping the singletrack. The riding was incredible, with endless berms and flow, winding through wineries, perched at the base of Paarl Mountain. Our confidence in the singletrack continued to become our strong suit, and by the fifth day, which was primarily singletrack, we found ourselves still fighting for a podium halfway into the stage.
We hit the main climb for the day, and my wheels started to come off a little — perhaps the underfueling from the day before, or perhaps just the toll of the 15+ hours of mountain bike racing we already had in our legs. You know you’re going slow when you pretty much make eye contact with a huntsman crawling along the ground (or whatever giant, South African spider I almost rolled over). The cracks were widening, but it seemed like most teams were starting to feel the week, and we rolled in a respectable sixth place.
I’ve recently been dealing with low-level panic attacks. I’ve only had a couple in the last 6 months, and the third one arrived during the Queen Stage (day six, stage five).
Despite a minor combustion that we put down to fueling, we had otherwise worked and communicated really well together and finished the stage in a favourable position. Every day brought a new opportunity, and we felt like we could build on that confidence and try again on the Queen Stage.
But the next morning, I knew something was off. I was riddled with nerves — worse than at any point in the race so far, despite already being days deep into this thing. On the early morning drive out to the start, I couldn’t shake the spiralling that was building in my mind — even when Haley’s husband Andrew Lespy (who was also racing) requested Fitness by Lizzo as his hype up song, to lighten the mood. The pressure we put on ourselves is crippling. It puts the top riders in the sport who thrive on this pressure and shine, day after day, in a whole new light.
The Queen Stage was a test of our pairing. Haley was trying her best to understand what was going on.
“Is it your legs? Is it fueling?”
How do you articulate to your race partner, when you’re days deep in fatigue, that you’re drowning with anxiety and can’t remember how to swim.
The rain had arrived, the climbs were steep and many. We were trudging through muddy culverts. Crouching low so our helmets didn’t scrape along the dripping, concrete ceiling. This was my worst day. I did my best to try and channel the strength I’ve gained over the years.
Travelling and racing abroad, riding across Australia — all these isolating, challenging moments build resilience. You have to learn to just keep going. I reflect on privilege a lot, and I really do feel like racing is often the epitome of privilege. Being able to choose our suffering.
I kept telling myself I chose to do this.
We reached the final climb of this beastly stage, and it was like a war zone of bikes and bodies, pushing up the steep, muddy climb. The mist was swirling around us high up on one of the rocky peaks between Paarl and Lorensford. I definitely had a moment of ‘Wow, this is so beautiful’, combined with ‘… this is so savage and we still have TWO more days of this brutality to get through’.
Finding rhythm and making up ground
We chipped away at the week, and despite our personal battles, we were slowly moving up the ranks as we learned how to best optimise our pairing. I went from feeling intimidated by the calibre of the event, questioning if I was even tough enough to make it to the end, to feeling like I could actually race this thing amongst some of the world’s best marathon MTB riders.
The final stage was shortened and delayed due to heavy winds and rainfall, likely factoring in safety, as extracting anyone from deep within that course would’ve been impossible in those conditions. From the comfort of our car, we looked at the field of tents flattened from the night’s storm, most with plastic draped over their tops. I again thought of all those poor bastards getting through this epic event, in one of those tents.
This final stage brought together everything Haley and I had been through that week and showcased what we had learned about each other. Given the shorter stage, the pace was absolutely on fire. It was like doing an XCO, but on the eighth day of marathon racing. I really had to grit my teeth — literally, as I finished the stage with mud splattered all over my teeth.
In the closing 10 km, we could see the race leaders. Sofia Gomez Villafane was pushing Annika Langvad towards one of the crests. This race had taken its toll, even amongst the world’s best. Haley continued to push the pace as we passed the race leaders, and I hung on with everything I had. We could see third and fourth place up ahead, and there was a small part of me that couldn’t believe a podium was in reach with kilometres to go.
How epic is the Cape Epic?
Every day brought its challenges. The god-awful early wake-ups and trying to force down an unreasonably large breakfast. The sweltering heat, the rain, the mud, and the pure physicality that was required to get to the finish line of each day.
Finishing an event like this brings a mixture of emotions: relief, accomplishment, exhaustion, and a strange sense of loss that it’s all over. For most, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to push themselves across incredibly challenging terrain and conditions.
Doing an event like this in a pair was special, and having an extended crew of Haley’s Husband Andrew Lespy, who was also racing with ex-pro road cyclist Rob Britton, our South African soigneur Liske Scholtz, and my housemate Fraser (who decided handing out water bottles and following a few mountain bikers around South Africa would be an excellent “holiday”) has left us leaving South Africa with memories and experiences that will last a lifetime.
Despite all my talk about how challenging it would’ve been to do this zipped up in a tent, I do feel like I missed an element of camaraderie that would’ve come from staying in the village, with hundreds of other athletes. Everyone battling to get through this insane event together, and the tireless crew that keeps this wild operation running. Now that I have crossed the iconic Cape Epic off my list, I can truly confirm, it is epic — and I’d love to get the opportunity to do it all again.
Photos: Michael Chiaretta/Cape Epic, Dom Barnardt/ Cape Epic, Sam Clark / Cape Epic
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