...

One of the major factors helping so many people to finish such a long and difficult race is the crowds. All along the route, there are spectators cheering the riders. In some places things are taken to an extreme and people have loud music playing, or even improvised bands. There are spontaneous cheerleaders and amateur water points. There are hoses pointed at cyclists for cooling off. There are local kids offering a « push » up steeper hills. Everybody is clapping and encouraging. Some seem amazed and others even have a look of deep sorrow on their faces, as if thinking « What pain, how can you martyrs endure that? »

All of this is very helpful when the going gets tough and while I couldn’t do much for my legs other than slow down for a while, I boosted my ego with smiles and you can do its and found it much easier to pedal efficiently to the loud beat of Eye of the Tiger.

There were also many official refreshment stations along the course but I tried to avoid them for fear of losing my rhythm. That might have been a mistake. At the bottom of the road out of Simon’s Town towards the top of Smitswinkel Bay, second major climb of the route, my left quad tightened dangerously and I had to stop for a minute to stretch. I kept singing to myself in Dory’s fishy voice: « Keep going, going, going... »

Climbs, however, were where I could more or less keep up with the pack. Bunches tended to disintegrate and everyone slowed down to acceptable individual comfort, or rather pain levels. The mountain bike was then at ease and I never once had to stand up from the saddle. The pleasant thing about the Smitswinkel Bay climb is that a typical southeaster usually abates just before the final stretch and even becomes a tailwind, a blessing all and all even though it also suddenly becomes much hotter.

The top of that second climb marks the psychological half-way point of the Tour. Over 60 km remain but there is a sharp direction change towards the north and riders enjoy a fantastic extended downhill ride to recover. So I sat back in the saddle after reaching my modest top speed and watched everyone rush past me once again. I wondered how my teammate was doing and whether he was ahead or behind me.

At Misty Cliffs, with some 50 km to go, things improved for a while. Out of any tall trees’ protection, we finally felt the tailwind, a very welcome little extra push in our tired backs. The local troop of Chacma baboons was also on site and a few were sucking happily on discarded energy gel packs. There was a moderate climb above Kommetjie and then the long hot straight line towards Noordhoek with what felt like a strong crosswind, or even a bit of headwind again.

The next challenge was Chapman’s Peak Drive, third steep climb of the course. I decided to do my single stop just at the bottom, to replenish my two bottles and briefly rest my legs before climbing. The Drive has the most stunning views of crashing waves down below and far into Hout Bay, however by then I was having to dedicate full attention to my breathing, to pampering my derailleur, to the tired riders around me and the sharp bends.

Chappies, as the locals call it, wasn’t so bad, except for maybe the last 200 meters where I’d really had it and began experimenting with my French swearing repertoire. But I skipped the refreshments station at the top, banking on the long descent into Hout Bay to perk up.

After Hout Bay, there isn’t much rest until the next and final climb, Suikerbossie - a long, straight and sizzling hot road which is where many meet their Waterloo. You get there with about 90 km in your legs and the climb hits you hard. However, it also has one of the highest spectator/supporter concentration and many garden hoses appear, aimed at the road, held by kind souls who politely ask you if you want a splash as you go by. The crowd is roaring, music plays loud, and riders suffer together, in a contrasting silence, sharing pain and hopes. Many give up, though, and walk their bike up the hill. You try not to look at them and be tempted, keep your eyes on the road ahead, avoid the swirling guy next to you and aim for another 20 pedal turns. And then another. Suikerbossie, it seems, will never end.

But it does. Reaching the top, I took a deep panting breath. The suffering was over. « After Sugarbush, » had said Henri, « it’s all downhill ». He hadn’t counted on the wind. With 15 km to go and running on empty, I was thrown, along with everyone else, into Eole’s fury. Here’s what sport Columnist Kevin McCallum wrote about that stretch of the 2010 Tour: « The wind was a funny, vicious beast, bouncing off the cliffs and slowing you from 50km/h to 20km/h in the space of a corner... »

But the end was at last in sight, or rather around the corner and out of sight. All that remained was a slow dash through Camps Bay, rounding Lion’s Head, into Sea point and finally Greenpoint. My neck had been cramping for hours already and forced me to stretch it every 30 seconds, looking down at my pedals and losing precious sight of the road. Wrists were hurting and I had to alternatively shake them wildly. My butt was so sore it was finally getting numb. But standing up on the pedals felt like heaven on a bike.

Then the road narrowed, riders being channeled into the finish line, two guys in front of me suddenly slowed down to lift up their arms in victory, I passed them on the left because I didn’t give a damn, there was a blurred camera pointed at us, the blue arch flashed by, I felt the slight bump of the final mat, and that was it.

I had finished the Argus. 110 km. Two wheels. A helluva lot of wind. Quite a show. Pain. Relief. I looked down at my timer: 5 hours and 20 minutes. To quote Lafontaine, je jurai, mais un peu tard, qu’on ne m’y prendrait plus.

I got off the bike, carefully - a collapse after the finish line would not have been that glamorous, took a few hesitant steps, life coming back to my legs in spikes of nervous conflict, and grabbed a cold Coke before exiting the arrival pen. I think that was the most satisfying Coke I’ve ever had. It was hot. Some people looked pooped, others quite casual. Many were arranging pick-ups on their cell phones, or maybe just reporting being alive. I looked around hopelessly for Henri and then proceeded with our pre-established plan: we were to meet back at the car.

Which meant, ironically, that I had to get back on the bike and pedal some 3 or 4 additional kilometers to our parking spot, in traffic this time. That wasn’t funny. Or maybe it was. I got there first, called home to report in and inquire about Henri, learned that he was just behind me. He had gotten serious cramps before Suikerbossie which cost him about 20 min. for a massage, and had finished in 5:49 - or just about the same biking time as me. At age 77. Henri cycles for his health, not out of passion. He laughs "I love cycling because I know when I come home in the morning after a training run that the worst part of the day is behind me."

Two years ago, with no wind, he finished in 4:30 hrs. Last year took much longer in the insane wind, but he did finish whereas half of the participants didn’t. He only trains for the Argus because he has to and just for a few months before the event. He’s my hero.

We got into the car, stories came up, experiences were compared, exclamations flew out loud, the wind was condemned. We were both a little shaky. I think we both felt rather humbled by the incredible fitness we had witnessed all around us and yet immensely proud on our very modest level. We both wanted a beer.

And maybe were we a little sad, too, in a deeply secret place, way beyond the overwhelming relief: we’d bagged the 2010 Cycle Tour. Now what?

Interesting facts:

• The Cape Argus Pick n’ Pay Cycle Tour, in its 33rd year, is said to be the largest timed cycling race in the world. It was the first cycling event worldwide to incorporate a comprehensive EMP (Environment Management Plan); the International Cycling Union now requires all events under its auspices to have a similar plan. Every year, around 150 individuals from disadvantaged communities ensure that the Cycle Tour route is returned to its former pristine condition. They aim to clear the 65 cubic metres of rubbish generated by the Tour’s 35,000 riders and its supporters within 36 hours, in order to comply with the Cycle Tour’s EMP. And as two-thirds of the route runs through a National Park and World Heritage Site, the Plan also looks at every other environmental impact the Tour could have – from noise pollution, helicopter flight paths, fire risks, traffic management and structural safety on route. The Tour contributes to various charities and community programs via the Claremont Rotary International and the PPA (Pedal Power Association.)

• Some guys do the Tour on a single wheel.
  

• There were 93 injuries.
  

• Malcom Lange, winner of the race at 2:39:55, said that Lance Armstrong who finished 9th at 2:40:04 - that’s 9 seconds later - supporting his teammate Daryl Impey (3rd), might have underestimated the wind. Then I think I misunderestimated Lance.
  

My father-in-law Henri has done it four or five times. He’s 77. When Marie and I managed to delay our departure from South Africa to the 19th of March (the Tour happening this year on the 14th), I suddenly had the silly idea of riding along, for the experience if nothing else. Henri agreed. He said the spectacle was incredible. He would lend me his training mountain bike, we had an extra helmet, and biking shorts are cheap. It sounded nuts.

Now, remember that I am no cyclist. Me, I run. All it takes is a pair of running shoes and traffic is never an issue. A bike, on the other hand, feels like a clumsy tool I am forced to adjust to and which causes all kinds of pains and aches. But I do like a challenge and always enjoy a chance to ridicule myself.

So I said yes. Marie and I were about to embark on our road trip and I had just injured a leg; it was doubtful that I would get much training done while away. I would thus be left with 2 weeks before the Tour to launch into serious biking and adapt to my machine.

Back from the road, I did 3 rides in a week, ranging each from 60 to 70 km and covering most of the actual route so that I would be somewhat familiar with the difficulties to come. Then I rested. Two days before the event, I finally had the bike fitted with slicks instead of the good old off-road tires.

My limited training hadn’t allowed much timing extrapolation but I was looking at a minimum of 5 1/2 to 6 hours to finish, possibly more depending on the wind and heat. For humbling reference, in normal weather over 20,000 people finish the Tour in sub-5 and some 13,000 in sub-4. My strategy was simple. Once under way, just keep going. Minimum number of stops, no rushing, no sprints, and above all, STAY AWARE OF OTHER RIDERS. Lots of people out there, Murphy’s Law would be begging to prove itself.

The Cycle Tour, most often referred to as « the Argus », is an incredible feat of pure organizational genius. 35,000 cyclists are released in groups of 600 at two-minute intervals from two lanes into which alternating stalls are fed. The real racers like Lance go first, obviously, and for them it is a true race. They will finish it in about 2 1/2 hours. Regular repeat participants are then seeded according to their previous race time. The rest follow. Each rider is equipped with a mandatory chip that allows precise individual timing. People are also given the option to wear their number prominently on helmet and bike, so that race photographers can identify them and put the pictures for sale. All 35,000 of them.

According to the tradition, Henri and I carbo-loaded for a few days and had pasta on the last two nights. On the night before the event, everyone was nervously watching a forecast that predicted gusts of up to 65km/h. In 2009, hurricane-strength winds had turned the Cycle Tour into an incredible ordeal, with occupied portable toilets being blown off at the start line and racers reporting having to stand up and pedal hard into the wind on downhills so steep they normally would have been free-wheeled at speeds above 60 km/h. That race was deemed the hardest Argus ever.

So on Sunday March 14th, when we got up at 5:30 AM (and much earlier for some), it turns out that about 6,000 cyclists of the registered 35,000 looked out their window, saw some wind already blowing, and elected to stay in bed. As for us, we drove the Kombi to Henri’s work parking downtown and rode our bikes from there to the start. An incredible coincidence had placed us in the same start group pen, FF, which would be let out at 8:02 AM. We were on site at 7:30, worked our way to the pen and waited for departure. We were both carrying two 1 L bottles of Powerade and a special high energy/recovery mix, and had 5 energy gels each, to be sucked on every hour. I had attached my G10 to the handlebars but didn’t really expect to be able to take pictures during the ride.

The departure of the Argus is probably the most impressive stage. Up to 35,000 people are channeled to twin start lanes in the most extraordinary display of Swiss-like efficiency. The start area is shaped like an inverted T, or rather 2 L’s standing next to each other with the left one mirroring the right. Got it? There are pens on each side of the vertical branches and some more along double rows at the bottom. Riders are released from the top, in packs of 600, every 2 minutes, using the 2 lanes alternatively so that when a group goes, 600 more people immediately move forward to the line, filling the gap, while the opposite side is being readied to go.

I watched all this with my jaw hanging, carried forward by the human flow, hardly able to believe I was actually there, and quite worried about the fact that I indeed was. There were a lot of strong-looking riders around me and many, many road and competition bikes. My mountain bike was going to have a hard time keeping up, and my legs an even harder time. Henri was smiling, still impressed by the show, seemingly confident at this stage since there was no turning back.

The wind had delayed departures a touch but organizers were catching up and keeping us informed over the loudspeaker that also announced every start. When our group was told to prepare, with some 45 seconds to go, I glanced at my Forerunner incredulously: it was 8:02 sharp. In a last-second impulse, I wished Henri a good ride and chickened out of the peloton’s core, sliding with my bike to the side fence. I was worried about mass collapses in the infamous wind tunnel just past the start line and decided to let the 600 people go first. My time would only begin once I passed the timing mat anyway.

But the start was uneventful. I later learned that my pen had only held 480 riders. It took less a 30 seconds for the whole group to get moving and there weren’t any falls. Race organizers with megaphones were cautioning cyclists to take it easy, to be careful, it was very windy. Everyone gave their legs a warm up and tried to settle into a rhythm. I had long lost sight of Henri.

The Argus route leaves Cape Town towards the east veering around Devil’s Peak. It then heads south all the way to Cape Point along False Bay and then traverses to the ocean side and comes back up to town. It features 4 major climbs and a series of smaller ups and downs.

The wind was blowing from the south-southeast. It nailed us as soon as we had turned the corner around Table Mountain and were facing the first serious climb up Edinburgh Drive. Most spirits must have taken a beating right there. I know mine did.

A couple of guys on a tandem, arguing loudly with each other, hit me from behind. The first contact was the frontman’s helmet on my elbow. I looked backed, startled. They somehow recovered but as they were passing very close, lost balance again and fell right on me. I was so pumped up that I braced myself strongly and leaned into them, and that must have saved us all because nobody collapsed. They regained their upright position again and pressed on, still yelling at each other, without any apology or acknowledgment of any kind. From then on, I knew it would be chacun pour soi.

I’m still not sure how strong the wind actually was. 50 to 60 km/h gusts would be my guess for the later part of the route. Early morning must have been better. But the Blue Route, a long stretch on a highway cruising along Constantia, wasn’t as much fun as I had expected. Marie and her mom had come to see us off and were standing on a highway overpass, some 15 km into the Tour. They never saw me coming despite my waving in advance, but at the last minute, Marie managed to shout « Vive la France! »

La France definitely needed some encouragement. The problem with a mountain bike is that the gears are fit for steep uphills but on flat roads, I ran out of gears much before everyone else. All I could do was free-wheel when possible, but my top speed never matched that of most bikes - except maybe in extremely steep descending sections where safety became the main moderator.

At the end of the flat Blue Route, the Tour climbs above Muizenberg onto Boyes Drive. It then winds along the coast in and out of small towns in what should have been an easy ride with only short hills. With the headwind, however, it felt - as Henri put it later - like a single, 20 km-long climb. When the road came close to shore, sand blasted at us furiously and by the time we had gone through Kalk Bay, Fish Hoek and Simon’s Town, my left quadriceps was giving up and threatening to go on strike, a cramp looming. That had never happened on the training rides. I had 69 km to go.

 [To be continued...This is part 1 of 2 - read part 2 here]

Some might remember that in early 2009, Marie and I set out for a memorable road trip up the West Coast of South Africa, into Namibia’s incredible Namib Desert, across to southern Kalahari and back to Cape Town. I then wrote a series of 9 stories around the common theme Roasted in the Namib; they are regrouped here for sequential reading (yes, I thought of everything...)

Similarly, this year’s upcoming trip report should feature some 10 stories along with plenty of supporting photography. My current theme Cartwheels over Lesotho was inspired by the acrobatic driving style required for such expedition and also by the sobering fact that our Lesotho experience remained fast and superficial but was quite aerial.

In the coming weeks, look for tales of dirt roads and torrential rains, of camping kleptomaniacs and good-hearted traffic cops, of wine bottles hidden by a riverside, of game grazing freely on rolling hills and of wonderfully lush lands, of stars and satellites drawing perfect skies, of solitude and silence and peace, of unsettling poverty and proud herders, of hairy mountain passes and differential lock, and of all the small traveling links that glue all these together.

For now, though, here are a few simple panoramas to illustrate the many faces of the land we explored. At times hot and dry and harsh, later lush and green and soft, the South African landscape never ceases to amaze me. Voyez plutôt:

If our last trip to Namibia had been dominated by the color red, this one, to our surprise, was incredibly green. The area we visited had received unusual amounts of rain. The scenery reminded me of Zion and Arches at times, and at others evoked Scotland or Hawaii.

In the meantime, with the Argus on March 14th, I am going to have to train hard. I went for a first - and I mean literally first in 3 years - bike ride this morning, 70 km in total towards Cape Point. It stung. Biking definitely uses different muscles than running does. The Argus is going to hurt. Alleluia.

So stay tuned for road pictures, for stories of starry skies and foggy high plateaus, for zebras and antelopes, for the lushest of mountains behind walls of rain, for sunshine and sunsets and sunflowers, and for the goofy tales of two traveling addicts and a Landcruiser.

The 12 Apostles trail run was 18 km long and took 3:20 hrs, starting steeply above Llandudno, following the top of the Apostles on the back of Table Mountain, cutting across to the reservoirs, joining the jeep track, descending to the Constantia Nek, on to Cecilia and down the green belt. I called it the Good Faith run because I was afraid my strength might betray me somewhere around Judas Peak, a very steep and a rather exposed climb on which I walked up, as with all other uphills, pacing myself for what unknown might lay ahead...

In Cape Point, I was dropped off by Marie all the way down at the final parking lot below the lighthouse and ran back north with the Cape of Good Hope at my left, pushing on across the long plateau to the junction to Olifantsbos where I indeed turned left and went on to the end of the road, a 20 km run on paved surface that took 2 hours flat, in an increasing heat that was rapidly nearing the forecast 29°C, but with fantastic scenery, memorable waves on the west coast, the fynbos everywhere and ostriches, bokkies and probably a Cape Cobra along the way. We then had a recovery picnic down by Bordjiesdrif Beach. Perfect.

I have come pretty close to running my 100 km in the last three weeks (96 km in fact), mostly on trails, and that makes me very happy as the summer was rather bad and I needed to get back on track. [End of bragging]

[Update: Besides, as it stands tonight, I have to cancel the morning bike ride (see below) because I seem to have injured my right quad. How I could have injured such a large and strong muscle and done so running rather slowly on an even and relatively flat road is beyond me. It just goes to show that training, despite all the joking and bragging, is a very serious and methodical thing and should be approached accordingly, or else.]

In the news, I have now foolishly signed up for the Cape Argus Pick ‘n Pay Cycle Tour on March 14th. It’s 108 km in total and is said to be the largest timed bicycle race in the world. 35,000 people of all sizes and shapes will be on the starting line. I won’t be racing, of course, just trying to finish. But the route is magnificent and I’ll be riding in the inspiring company of Marie’s father Henri, who at 77, still bikes the Argus every year. Hell, if Lance Armstrong can win a race on one testicle - and he might since he will be there - I should be able to at least finish mine with two.

But before that Marie and I are borrowing the Landcruiser for our beloved yearly road trip, destination Lesotho, a small circular mountain kingdom completely surrounded by South Africa. I’m afraid it is extremely poor but we hear it’s also very pretty. We’ll stop in the Karoo and many beautiful places along the way. There should be lots of pictures and stories to come. But be warned, this blog will be taking a break during our trip. Back in 2 weeks or so.

Until then, cool runnings!

Oh, and here are a few snapshots from the runs above...

Four years later, South Africa is hosting the 2010 World Cup. The first match will be played on June 11th at Johannesburg’s 95,000-seat Soccer City Stadium. The rest of the tournament will be split between 9 South African cities. Five of these have built a brand new venue for the occasion, led by Durban and its impressive 70,000-seat stadium which features a cable car to the top of a 106-meter high arch suspended over the field. The arch was given double legs on one end that join into a single footing at the other, symbolizing the country’s new unity.

Second on the list of major accomplishments is Cape Town’s new stadium, having been built on the site of the old Green Point Stadium. It will seat 68,000 spectators for the 8 games to be played there during the Cup. It features a 9000-panel glass roof to allow sunlight in, a semi-transparent facade and, last but not least, 500 toilets and 360 urinals...

Last Saturday, February 6th, a first rugby match and second game ever was played at the stadium. Organizers, working in stages, had raised the attendance limit to 40,000 people. They just about filled the place. We were there.

For most spectators, us included thanks to Marie’s dad whom we joined for the outing, this game opposing the Stormers to Boland was basically just an excuse to go visit the venue. The event was a trial, a test run at 2/3 capacity aiming to assess the readiness of the city and the stadium’s functionality in large crowds. It would seem, to my lasting surprise, that they both passed the test with flying colours.

Apart from the yearly Cape Argus bicycle race that rallies 35,000 participants, Cape Town isn’t used to big crowds. The Green Point stadium merely held 18,000 rugby fans. There isn’t much parking available downtown. Until now, there was no need for it. So rather than build massive amounts of parking space around the new stadium, planners decided to spread the load and make visitors park further out. They would then ride buses to the game.

If that theory had been explained to me in detail before testing it, I would have laughed and prepared for the worst. There was no way to carry that many people back and forth in a timely manner. Chaos would surely ensue. Fights would erupt. We would miss the game.

I would have been wrong.

We parked underground at the Artscape Theater. When we emerged from the lot, a light crowd was flowing to the left and we simply followed. Many buses were parked nearby. They were requisitioned from the Golden Arrow fleet that normally mostly services the townships. Drivers sit in an armored booth but the buses are squeaky clean. We lined up behind some two or three hundred people, curious to see how this was going to unfold. A lot of staff was on hand, wearing fluorescent vests and holding various helpful signs: Queue Here, Standing Passengers Allowed, etc. But were they volunteers?

In less than 5 minutes, we were aboard our bus. It had gone so fast we could barely believe it. The bus took off along with 4 others - they were sending off waves of 5 buses every 5 or 6 minutes. More buses were arriving behind us empty and waiting their turn.

The drive to Green Point took some 10 minutes. Traffic lights were being controlled locally by the police who waved the buses through. At our destination, we followed the crowd once again and walked a half a kilometer to the stadium which finally appeared in all its glory from behind some low buildings. I had only seen it from Table Mountain. It is quite impressive. The security and police presence was even more impressive.

The only slow-down of the day happened at the gates where people initially queued up in an orderly fashion but eventually started jumping lines. The process was slowed down by a brief security check of each admitted spectator and a pat down that, given the huge relative cost of the stadium, might have been much more efficient if fancy metal detectors had been on hand - even though they were probably searching for booze as much as weapons.

We then had to look for the green section, the stadium being divided in 6 color zones. Panels or maps would have helped greatly. But they might be on their way, as some details still seem to be a work in progress. The stadium’s periphery is superbly wide and aerated. Even with a 40,000 attendance, the crowd never became unbearable.

We found our seats and sat down with friends of Marie’s dad. I immediately jumped on my G10 and began taking hand-held panoramic shots of the inner stadium. The public was thrilled, not so much by the perspective of the game than by the grandiose new toy the city had finally given them. They momentarily forgot that their tax money would be paying for this long after the Cup had left for different shores and a gigantic wave began to circle the stadium.

Soon the match began. Being French and having been raised playing football, I had a little trouble accepting the facts that a rugby ball is voluntarily deformed and that one player’s hands on said ball carried across the final line is a heroic act rather than the sacrilege I am used to, but in the end, I came to the conclusion that hundreds of years of divergent evolution must have created such drastic differences in the way people chase balls for the utter glory of it.

The sun shone straight down on us for most of the game and while I was blessed to have brought a baseball hat out of sheer confusion about the event, we were not so fortunate as to have thought of sun screen, and we watched the game with our sweaters over our heads in a typically African shade seeking ritual.

In a stroke of genius, Henri decided we should leave a bit early to beat the final exodus back to our car. The game was going along well and our favourite local team was beating the boerewors out of their visitors. They would eventually win 47-13.

We headed for the exit, surprised to see many others had had the same idea. Boarding the bus back didn’t take much longer than it previously had, but by the time we were rolling towards the city center, a huge line had formed behind us and people on the bus were whistling incredulously at the human snake that now stretched back all the way to the stadium gates.

We counted the buses on site, plus the ones arriving behind them, and all the empty ones we saw on our way to the drop-off point. Best guess, 50+. It was all quite impressive. We got to our car, drove off, and looked at each other. The whole thing had been mostly glitch-less. In and out without a scratch. The new Cape Town Stadium was holding its own and it appeared it would handle a 70,000-people game without flinching too much.

And that would be really nice. Cape Town needs the good publicity. South Africa needs the good publicity. After the country woke up from its terrible nightmare last century, it was slowly rehabilitated into the world scene, reappearing shyly on maps while embargoes were lifted; tourism slowly came about and the past was painfully shoved under the dirty carpet of History.

But it seems to me the country has since then been struggling inwardly with its own new identity and never managed to achieve total recognition. Crime remains incredibly high and social issues are as pressing as ever. The shadow hasn’t yet passed. To brighten things up, attention from the outside could probably do a lot of good. The touristic and economic boosts a worldwide event such as the FIFA World Cup can yield are incredibly powerful. But this is a double-edged sword, one that can make or brake a country’s reputation.

While it is one thing to hold the Cup in an accessible, high-tech and popular country like Germany, it is quite another to hold it at the southern end of Africa, far from just about everywhere in the world, in a country that in most people’s mind still carries the stigma of Apartheid, that is kept on the watch/warning list of many foreign offices and who’s white minority mostly ignores football for rugby.

The South African 2010 FIFA World Cup, to me, is a major gamble. I hope it’ll work. Everybody here deserves it.

The 2 CV wasn’t only driven by Inspector - pardon me, Chief Inspector Clouseau. It’s actually one of France’s most iconic cars ever built. Its production began just after WW2 and the car was literally meant to encourage a popular switch from horse driven carriages to the automobile.

The 2 CV (as in deux cheveaux vapeur, or two steam horses) was a brilliantly designed and very innovative mechanical jewel, but in a minimalistic and economical way. It was light, very easy to repair, had an independent soft suspension and high clearance that allowed some off-road driving, and it didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

Of course, with these attributes, it was also a little fragile. I distinctly remember putting a nice dent into a side panel with a poorly aimed shoot of my childhood football. It also had nasty flap-up windows which, when open, threatened one’s fingers in tight curves. But even with production ending in the late eighties, many 2 CV’s have managed to survive and are being lovingly maintained and cared for. With such a simple design, one would think they could last forever.

Kalk Bay is a quaint little seaside town built around a small fishing harbour, visited by whales in the winter and home to the fantastic Harbour House restaurant and also the much more simple Olympia Cafe, where I was thrilled to finally find my favourite spinach polenta back on the menu.

I’ve been hoping for the weather to turn winter-like and for a freakish storm to hit the coast because waves hitting the pier and lighthouse in Kalk Bay are an incredible spectacle. I’m afraid my wishes won’t be granted. We’ll have to come back.

Either way, a 2 CV is always a happy sight.

They seem to favour the bright green livery no matter what they stand on and I’ve only seen a few individuals choose a darker shade of green while holding on to a higher branch with less leaves. I’ve still got to find one in full tones of brown.

The way their eyes move is fascinating; the entire eye socket can pivot in a full 180 degree motion, obviously independently. No actual feeding observed yet, but I wonder how much our presence alters their behaviour. The chameleons certainly don’t like the proximity of a camera. I’ve stopped taking close-ups and now shoot with the camera on macro but fully zoomed in, which gives me an actual distance of a foot or two to the subject.

They seem to prefer the sunny side of the little trees they hide in, but that could be very subjective. There is no way to keep our observation rigorous unless we are going to seriously track individuals on an hourly and then daily basis, which we can’t afford to do unless we put a serious dent into our other casual activities like sleeping, running and dining...

But I’m having fun and the chameleon quest helps me forget about pity issues such as global warming or the FIFA ticket sales.

Here are more pictures, probably the last, but also the cutest...

Anybody with valuable information about the species and an iron-clad reference letter can apply here for conditional Constantia location disclosure.