I should have known better. I mean, I am old enough to spot a con a mile off, and I also know that the good con artist usually insists on buying the sucker a beer to get his guard down. But Jean Paul was so good at it that I did not notice the approach until he had the hook firmly embedded in my flesh, barb and all. You just gotta admire a pro when he is at work.

It started with me leaning on the bar of the Flat Tacky, something I seem to be doing quiet a bit of these days. (Maybe Im just taking the edge off my Comrades training, maybe I was just born thirsty). Anyway, the beers were flowing, and I stupidly just kept pouring them down my throat without a care of where they came from or who was paying. Look out, sorrows, here comes another. Then Jean Paul started explaining about this all expenses paid holiday, a nice and restful break away from it all, in the millionaires paradise of George and Knysna. Sure thing, Im in. I need the rest. Heck, who wouldnt have said yes?

The next thing I know, there I was crammed into Carolines little automobile with my knees next to my ears, heading for the "holiday". And I thought that Californians liked V8 powered Supercars! What is normally a two hour trip in my Korean masterpiece sports car (with 4x4 abilities), turned into a leisurely five hour drive in Carolines Japscrap. And somewhere along the line I found myself designated driver, driving a carload of somnambulant athletes. Anyway, suffice it to say, we got there. Eventually. In due course. In one piece. Being the thinking type, I thought to myself that it may be a good idea to find out what I was supposed to be doing here, but nobody could give me any more info, besides a loose: "You know, second us and stuff like that." The sporting event that I was seconding, I found out to be a leg of the Old Mutual Adventure Racing series, which is an event where a team of four competitors, of which one has to be a girl type, have to remain within earshot of each other whilst completing a course that included mountain biking, river swimming, abseiling, hiking, getting lost, etc. Our team was even better than most we had TWO girl types! Each team needed seconds (like me) who have to assist at some of the change overs, like when they swap bicycles for the wet suits or something. But nobody could tell me anything more, because nobody knew. You see, the organizers have this way of saying: "Ive got a secret, and Im not telling you!" You get told little drips and drabs of what you need to know, just before you need to know it. Friday night 21H00 was the briefing, and we were told then that the whole thing starts on Saturday morning. At 04H00. Cant tell you where, its a secret. Oh, all right, we are starting at Saasveld College in George. The convoy leaves here (here being a camping site in Wilderness) at 03H00. Be in it.

Our team consisted of Jean Paul van Belle (who somebody made the leader), Dougy Hey of Celtics, Caroline Brawner, owner of tiny cars; and Kim Hooper, expatriate Celtics member visiting the country for a bit. The seconding team was made up of Desiree Hey, master chef, and Douglas Rossouw, failure at all trades who made up the teams requirement for dumb muscle. It was that kind of team. Des hit the kitchen at once, and made up several days worth of sandwiches and all sorts of goodies, which would be refrigerated until required. In our mobile fridge. Yes, we had one. It was that sort of team. The team all had spelt out there various dietary needs well in advance and each little bag was marked clearly with a persons name. It was that sort of team. Caroline is a vegetarian and cant eat meat. Kim has been spoilt by America and will eat chicken, but not red meat. Neither of these two will eat a lot of things that one would consider harmless, unless one has been educated by America. Yellow cheese is not good, its got colorants in it. Etcetera. All complaints are referred to the FDA. Also, Kim has this idea that eating is bad perhaps she got this from watching daytime TV? Jean Paul will potentially eat anything, but he does not know when he wants what. So, when you expect him to eat a cooked pasta meal that you have slaved over a hot stove for, he will politely ask for a sandwich. Dougy was the only uncomplaining diner but only because Des had him trained over a long period and I suspect that he did not dare get fussy. Good work, Des!

Anyway, Friday night we did not get much sleep, what with preparations and the early convoy start, but we thought we would catch up later. So there we were at 04H01, watching the departing cloud of dust and making our plans. We had to get outta there real fast, because the first leg was a circular trail run, whereafter the teams needed to leap on their bicycles (all neatly laid out for a start) and pedal of to where we would be waiting at coordinates this and that on the map, 15km away. Also, we had to rush out of there to drop the Japscrap off somewhere safe, as the rest of the journey would be completed by the seconds in Dougy Heys Landy. And they let me drive it!

A word about said Landy. Dougy is an incorrigible tinkerer and gadgeter. And he has had carte blanche with his Landy for some time now, and he has fitted this thing OUT. On the roof, a roof rack with collapsible tent. Fitted all over the show outside, all sorts of useful things like gas bottles, spare wheels, spades. At the back, a little tap incongruously peeps out, all that you can see of a 65 liter water tank. You cant see the long range fuel tanks, but they are there. The bench in the back can get rearranged into a comfortable (ask me) bed. Extra lights, extra storage space, a fitted bottle opener and the Piece de Resistance a built in fridge! We also had 200 Amp Hours of extra battery power, which meant that we could run all of the lights we needed in the bush, all night long without switching off the fridge and still have more than enough juice left to swing the mighty Landrover engine at startup time. In short, this vehicle was fitted out to be a seconds first choice seconding vehicle. (I like that line). All of it is powered by a 2.5 liter turbo diesel engine that gave a delightful whistle as the revs came up, and that took us where we wanted to be when we wanted to be there. Sommer great.

Anyway, the team pulled in to where we were waiting for them at about first light. We had just got the camp set up and water boiled, so we fed them, readjusted what we were going to give Jean Paul, urged Kim to eat more, and begged Caroline not to play with her vegetables. Then we clothed them and pushed them into the river for the river leg. The river was a good challenge, as it was overgrown at parts and rocky in parts and wide and deep in parts to force swimming. Sometimes running on the bank was the only way to go, which would kill the team with heat stroke (wet suits, remember) and other times swimming would be the way to go (hypothermia) so they were assured of a fun time at all times.

In the mean time, back at the home front, Des and myself packed up and headed the Landy (I got to drive again!) out towards Knysna for a bit of last minute shopping, having been assured by the organizers that this leg would take nine hours. We mooched our way back to the next change over point at this and that coordinates of the map, drove past the necessary turnoff seventeen times because it did not look significant enough, and eventually we rocked up three hours early. We thought. And there were the first teams, emerging dripping and blue from the cold from the river. Our plan had been to serve pasta to the diners, but clearly we had to replan as they would be here soon, so very quickly we set up camp, cooked up soup and sandwiches (four different types see dietary needs above) and waited. And waited. And waited. Hours later, our team pulled in, cheerfully frozen but still giggling about Jean Pauls fall onto his butt somewhere Out There. It was that kind of team. They ate their way through the supplies like a herd of locusts (except for Jean Paul who made some minor adjustments to the menu and Kim who was watching her figure) and changed their kit into cycling gear and leaped onto their bicycles for the next leg with the same allacrity that Batman and Robin display when leaping into the Batmobil! And roared off in a cloud of dust, leaving the Home Front to pack and somehow figure out how to get the wet stuff dry. So we packed away, and gingerly headed for point this and that on the map. And I got to drive the Landy again!

About packing. Our team was the team with the highest average age, which means that all of them were old enough to know what they like, and to bring it with. All of it. We had 17 plastic crates in the Landrover, that needed to come out at every stop, and then get back in before we leave. Dumb muscle required. The bicycles were a special hoot. How do you pack four bicycles onto one Landrover? Easy. Two on the roof (with Des handing them up) and two on the tailgate mounted bicycle rack. Dead easy. Now repeat this exercise a couple of times, with rapidly diminishing reserves of sleep tossed in. And oh, yes do it in the middle of the night, when everything is dripping wet.

We arrived at the next point, pitched two tents, set up camp, laid on a meal and paced up and down. The other teams arrived, and then our team arrived. It was that sort of team. We fed them, and since it was now the middle of the night, we tucked them in for sleep and spent an hour or two preparing quietly for tomorrow. Then we also went to sleep for a short hour or two. Then Des and myself quietly got up, quietly cooked up four different breakfasts (with only free range eggs, etc.) and then gently woke the team up and gently sent them on their next way a 40 kilometer hike. And then the Home Front packed up camp, broke down two wet tents and generally got things squared up, which took two and a half hours! And I got to drive again!

We arrived at point this and that on the map for the next changeover and pitched both tents and hung out all of the wet stuff of the night before. Some of the other teams had been through already, but one or two of the more fancied teams had already bailed from the race. Others were lost hopelessly, but managed to find their way to us. Then one of the top teams came back our way, and the word spread: After the next two changeovers (which were at the same place!) the route comes back the way we had come already! This blew the minds of some other teams members, this pointlessness of the whole thing, and Des and myself decided that we needed to "protect" our teams minds from this news. Then all the other teams left, and our team arrived. It was that sort of team. As we fed them, and rearranged the menu, and urged Kim to eat a little more, and wondered about Carolines diet, and patted Dougy on the head for being a good boy, we gently told them the news, and it did not faze them one little bit! THAT was the sort of team it was!

At this point we were starting to know what our team was about a little bit. At every change over point, us seconds had ample time to suss things out. Other teams had sponsorship, and lithe young bodies, and carbon fiber bicycles, and jacked up seconds, and trailers and and and. But they never quiet had the same attitude as our bunch. Sure, we were last, but we never considered bailing. Imagine bailing after all of that? Our bunch always laughed, and even the race officials remarked to us what a grand team we had. Which actually reflected badly on some of the other teams, but imagine seconding or officialing a bunch of assholes?

Anyway, our bunch leapt on to their bicycles, and were out of there. The Home Front had to rush to get all the things done, as the team was on a relatively quick 25 km cycling leg, and we rushed off to get to point this and that on the map. And they still let me drive! We hurriedly set up camp, pitched the tents, laid out the sleeping gear, and waited. And waited. Our esteemed team leader was allowed one navigational error, and this was it. In his defense, the easiest route to do this leg was simply to follow the N2, but the organizers had stipulated that the teams had to push their bicycles anywhere within 200 meters of the N2, so the quickest route turned out to be through the bundus on a navigational exercise following outdated maps. Eventually, they showed up and got changed for the next leg a short night hike of 13 km, with a 140 meters abseil down a gorge in the middle of this leg.

By the time they returned from this lot, Des and myself had had our showers, made a fire, had a braai and made the next days sandwiches. The team arrived, we fed some of them some braai-ed meat, some of them had some smoked chicken salad, and some of them some carrots and stuff. Then we tucked them in to bed for a short snooze. And we also had a snooze. Briefly.

A note about sleeping: The organizers start the clock at the start of the event on Saturday morning, and stop the clock as each team finishes at the end of the race on Monday evening. If teams want to waste time sleeping, hey thats their business! One of the hotshot teams thought that if they hurry up and quickly finish the event, they dont need to sleep, and they should finish on Sunday way ahead of everybody. They thought that they could handle a night or two without sleep. Good plan, but guess which team got hopelessly lost and fired off all their pencil flares without being seen by anybody, then scaled a cliff or two accidentally and eventually blundered into the correct checkpoint in a state of confused exhaustion? Yep, them!

It was still the middle of the night when we woke the team up with their customized breakfasts, made a minor adjustment to Jean Pauls fare, surreptuously pushed Kim to eat more, wondered how Caroline could eat that crap, gave Doug a grateful look for being so unspoiled, and sent them off on there bicycles. Then we broke camp a bit quicker and got that satisfied feeling that one gets when one is getting good at a job. We rushed off to the next checkpoint, pitched tents and hung stuff to dry, rustled up some food, and chatted with the other seconds. Ashley was a comely young lady who had somehow ended up being the only second to a team of four. Fortunately, the representative for Cathay Pacific, who was one of the sponsors, took pity on her and helped her where he could. In fact, I even saw him washing the bicycles at one stage! Another team had three hooligans as seconds, and if you ask me I would have said that one of them was an apprentice boilermaker at Iscor, one was an ex-recce soldier and recently reformed hobo, and the third one has just been released from prison. At every camp, they were getting drunker and rowdier and behaving like the lower strata of society. We were eventually to find out that they were all final year medical students. Go figure. Bedside manner gets taught in the final month at varsity, I guess. Then of course, there was the circus team. Ringmaster in this circus was a blond young lady who had the gift of comedy and was a born clown. She had this knack of winding up everybody around to a state of hysterical laughter, and just making life a lot funnier. Eventually, they all left and then our team came in. It was that sort of team. We fed them their personalized meals, made an adjustment here and there to a certain members meal and packed them off. Then we packed up even quicker than before and headed for the Saturday cheer of Knysna for some more shopping. Des made my day by buying me an ice-cream, and we headed into the bush to point this and that on the map, where the other seconds were waiting. It seemed like most of the remaining teams had got lost again, and were out there for anything up to fourteen hours. When one of the back marker teams wandered in, having covered the leg in five hours, the word spread: CHE ATING! But, unknown to the bulk of the field, there was a hiking trail that was not marked on the map that cuts the leg from 36 km down to 25 km that teams could quite legally take if they knew about it. Our mob also knew about the trail, and pulled in after 5.5 hours, after wasting time on a photo shoot in the jungle. It was that sort of team.

Next leg was a 21 km cycle ride down Phantom Pass, followed by a 17 km canoodle on Knysna Lagoon. So, we had to once again pack like hell, and rush off in order to get to the bicycle / canoodle changeover before our long suffering team. I got to drive again, and we got there just in time to lay out the needed equipment for the canoodle leg in the darkness. Other teams took fifteen minutes for this changeover, but we thought that we could do it in less. Our team arrived, farted around for an hour and then left just in time to catch the incoming tide for their downstream paddle thus doubling the effort required. It was that kind of team.

But, the good news was that us seconds were just about done with our duty. The end of the canoodle leg featured an assisted changeover, and we set off towards the hotel which was the end point of the whole thing, for a long awaited beer, bath, beer, meal, beer, beer, beer, beer, etc. And we waited. And waited. And waited. We then went for a snooze, and the organizers phoned us when the team had finally emerged from the mudflats to start their last leg: A dry land hike up to the hotel, which to them was just a map reference point, was to take one hour. They arrived 90 minutes later, having detoured to "attack" an "installation" in a caravan park armed with Kims canoodle paddle. It was that kind of team. Time? 02H30 on Tuesday morning! And Zirk and Karo, the organizers were there, wide awake and smiling as they handed out the medals, T-shirts and hats that all finishers got. And guess what, they also gave the seconds medals and stuff! At this point, I started to realize- these people know what is what around here!

I found this experience something like going to the army interesting, but never to be repeated. For the first time in my life I will happily wear a T-shirt for a race I did not actually run. I proudly plonkled the medal in that shoebox I have in the back of the cupboard where my medals go, right next to the Comrades medals. It was not easy, being the second on this thing. In fact, it could have been quite kuck, except for the fact that our team was such a pleasure to be with. Louis Lamour wrote a cowboy book called: "To ride the river with", or something like that. The book extols the virtues of a certain kind of cowboy who exhibits many positive attributes required in the kind of person one would like to experience a tough and hazardous experience with in short, the kind of person one would "Ride the river with." Our team had all the necessary qualities. They were that kind of team.

Jean Paul, I must warn you that I am on to you. I will not be conned by you again. But the club is full of connable people who will easily be better seconds than me. Try any of the following:

Pete and Colette van Eck, Margaret Harrison, Brian and Karen Bothma, any one of the Olde Bullets, Ian and Lesleen Raath, Jim and Terri Harwood (make sure Terri comes along), Sandi Meredith, DJ Price, Andy and Nikki Campbell, Martin and Lianne Rohland, the list goes on and on.

And for goodness sake give Neville and the Firemen a miss. They drive a great big fire engine every day of their lives they wont appreciate the Landy!

© Douglas Rossouw