With Le Tour around the corner all eyes will no doubt be focussed on the roads of France. The usual racing hypothesis, analysis and politics will no doubt dominate many a conversation, be it in group rides and in coffee shops.
In tandem with the actual racing will see many a tour group following Grand Boucle. Cycling tour packages have become a popular concept, where organised tours varying in length and cost afford the cycling fan to see the racing up close combined with some serious mileage in and around the more spectacular regions of the Continent.
But what about shoestring travel on the spur-of-the-moment?
I was recently chatting to a friend of mine, a well-travelled fellow who has certainly lived his life to the fullest thus far. Shoestring travel and spontaneity have been recurring themes in his personal journey, particularly in his younger years pre-marriage and kids and career.
It was late December when this guy and two friends were sitting in a Rosebank pizza restaurant one Thursday evening. Varisty was over and summer was in full swing and all three of these guys were at a loose end for the next fortnight or so. What are we going to do they wondered, before one of them suggested flying to Kimberley and cycling back to Cape Town.
After arriving in the Northern Cape mining town the next day each with bikes and one small rucksack each, the trio had a good party at a local bar that evening before setting off on the long slog back to the Mother City.
In keeping with the triathlon fashion at the time, they cycled in Speedo swimsuits, averaging well over two hundred kilometres per day. Speeds were high and money was short; each guy had around fifty rands a day to spend on food and lodging, with one of the party actally losing his wallet at the airport. Where to sleep? Police stations and Good Samaritans' stoeps (read: verandahs). What to eat? Bread and any other food they could get their hands on within their budget. They even enjoyed braaivleis on the national highway just past Beaufort West at the invitation of a complete stranger. Are you hungry he asked? Starving they said.
Approaching the outskirts Cape Town in the evening dusk, they were stopped by a policeman inquiring about their lack of adequate lighting and suitable attire. Wat maak julle manne, he yelled. We've ridden from Kimberley they said and just want to get home so the cop obliged with a full escort back to the very same pizza house.
No plan, no itinerary, no back up vehicle with mechanical support. No real cycling clothes either. Just a few guys on steel bikes doing something crazy at a moment's notice, living in the moment all the while.
Who is doing this sort of thing these days?
Whilst society is undoubtedly a less safe place than the late eighties, it is also far more watered-down, it that is the right term. Tours have to be planned, schedules have to be adhered to, equipment needs to be top-end. Keeping up with Jones' often seems more important than keeping it fun. We just did things, related my friend before recounting his hitch-hiking through Europe and time spent working on an Israeli kibbutz.
And while it is easy to hark back to the good old days and get all nostalgic, a little bit of deprivation with touch of craziness can actually be a good thing at times.
Just for the hell of it.
Note: Names have been withheld although header image courtesy of arkimages.com
