The Zambian National Championships
Monday morning, 9:30 a.m., World Bicycle Relief offices, Lusaka
I’m in the office this morning, arms burning from the African sun yesterday, a bit weary but definitely refreshed after a quiet afternoon and a long night’s sleep. Dave, our man on the ground here, is a fabulous cook, and the homemade chicken salad sandwich I had for dinner last night was a great compliment to the lunch at Sandy’s after the race …
Oh, and have I mentioned the coffee? What a way to wake up every morning. But more on that later …
The race yesterday was fantastic. On reflection, it really is exciting to see the hope that sport gives to the youth. The Zambian Cycling Association is fairly small – encompassing just the Lusaka region for now – but it is growing, and through various programs they are reaching out and providing an opportunity for kids to earn a bit of money, build their self-esteem, and offer them hope. Sure, there are challenges – we think we have a hard time with discipline, imagine sending a kid to a camp in Joburg when he’s never seen a McDonald’s before – but there are also successes: the young man who won yesterday earned money at the sprint, money for the win, and money for the use of his likeness on promotional posters. You should have seen the smile on his face at the end – he was so excited, because now he could continue his construction project on his home, and buy some blocks of cement.
(Here, you build only when you have money, so there are numerous partially-completed structures – you buy the land when you have money, put down brick when you have money, continue building when you have money, put a roof on when you have money. In between, the space sits dormant and vacant, or – in his case – you live in partially-completed homes. And a home, in this case, is converting a shack to a concrete hut, a major enterprise.)
Many of the kids race on bikes provided by their programs, and many more have bicycles that we might have seen 10 or 15 years ago. As you progress through the C’s and B’s, you work to make an impression on the selection people behind the teams, and that may earn you a spot on the A’s, with access to a nice bike. (Returned each day to the program, with group practices and races.) In fact, the kid who won was on a CR1 owned by his team, and although the component selection was low-end, that’s a pretty fantastic machine to be riding! (He has proven himself repeatedly, as evidenced by his performance yesterday – solo, he closed an 8-minute gap on the breakaway and then rode away to take the win by 2-3 minutes. He’s 22 years old, and it sounds like they’re going to send him to J’burg next year, a pretty incredible opportunity in its own right!)
So what about the race? It was funny, the similarities. The biggest difference is the police checkpoints you have to go through at each regional border. That, and the social nature of racing here – even on the road side. Groups of kids came riding in together, or drove in their microbuses with trailers on the back carrying bikes. Other than that, it was pretty much business as usual – the UCI commissar was in his own little world, registration ran late, the race started late (more than an hour, in this case, which was a bit much), and the kids jumped from the gun.
The racing itself was pretty normal – about 35 guys, including our composite team of World Bicycle Relief expats: Rick (the Zambian coach), Jesper from Sweden, and me. We were up against Finish Line (Rick’s real team that he supports), and Munali Coffee (THE team to beat), led by “Big Jesper,” the scion of the Munali Coffee family, a Zambian muzungu whose family has been here for 35+ years (he was born here, and we raced past the hills of his family farm) and who used to race downhill back in the day (against guys like Greg Herbold, Hans Rey, etc.).
With the downhill, cross-wind start, everything stayed pretty together in the beginning. No huge accelerations, but by 10km a Finish Line guy had gone off the front, with a small break forming behind him. He stayed strong, and for the first hour we grabbed back a couple of guys while more guys launched, until we hit the hot spot at 40km (I was 4th across the line, paying 3 deep), in Kafue [ka-foo-eh] and a break was established with the Finish Line guy, two of his teammates, and two other teams – but no Munali. Which meant everyone looked at each other, waiting for Munali to chase, and we sat up.
We covered 41.5kms in the first hour, and then only 30-some in the second – at times crawling at about 22kph. Eventually, we hit two really fast downhills that ended in short gravel sections – thanks to the rains, they were packed down, but the second one had an immediate uphill at about 10%! I drilled it on the downhill, wanting to get a gap to sag-climb the uphill – it worked, and the group only caught me 50m from the top … but then the strongest Munali rider attacked, splitting the group across the road in the wind as a semi-truck drove between us! I was just about done, and had to watch as his yellow and green kit disappeared up the road, putting 2 minutes on us in the first 3kms following the climb!
From there it was a series of tough rollers to the turnaround, and although a few attacks were launched, the group was pretty much together through the turn. We had fallen 8 minutes behind the now three-strong group of Finish Line guys, and the Munali rider was 2 minutes behind them and closing fast. We hit the turnaround climb hard, and then began the long slog back up toward Lusaka … it was going to be a very long 75kms, based on how my legs felt!
Rick was done, but our Jesper was still in the group with me, along with Big Jesper and his cadre of Munali riders. This included, incredibly, a young man (awarded Most Improved Rider of the Year later) with just one arm – the stump of his left arm rested on a TT elbow pad, and he drilled it just using his good right hand to shift. There was also Justin, No. 013, who I later learned worked in a sugar factory – he was wheezing and coughing the whole ride, and began to retch whenever the going got really tough: as it turns out, his lungs were so destroyed that he couldn’t breathe properly. So instead he churned a massive gear, and used his strength to stay with the pack. That’s dedication.
(I should note here that the better riders wore matching kit and had the bikes of the team’s program; the rest wore donated kit or older clothing that was mismatched and barely fit at times. This was even more evident in the B’s and C’s, so that I was racing everyone from a full-on Finish Line guy to a guy in Koga/Miyata MTB clothing.)
We got over the worst of the rollers and crossed a bridge at about 50kms to go – Big Jesper attacked, and I knew this was the time to go. I grabbed onto his wheel, with Justin right behind, and we drilled it – before long, the group was out of sight behind the hills, and we were rolling along with a good gap. Jesper did all the work, with Justin and I hanging on – I took a few pulls, but no sooner did I go to the front than Jesper would come right back around and carry us up the hill. Eventually we dropped down a long grade and crossed the railroad tracks outside Kafue, and began the long slog up the other side as we approached 30kms to go. I thought we had a gap at that point, but there were cars in the way – it turns out, the group caught sight of us on the downhill, and no sooner did I take a feed from the car than a Finish Line guy was snaking up the left side and almost taking me out! Whoa!
So then it was group together, with only three up the road – we reeled in everyone else. The attacks started flying, and it was all I could do to stay on the wheels as we climbed, and climbed, and climbed some more. Temps reached the mid-30s, and I was baking – I went through bottle after bottle of water, and even then just barely made it to the finish without cramping completely. Our Jesper got taken down with about 10kms to go, and finished up in the car. Then, the last 3kms were tough, a long, long steady grade with the pace slow enough to keep everyone together … I knew it was going to come down to a sprint, so stayed near the front … when it went, though, I had nothing in the tank! Big Jesper took 5th, with one of his riders just in front of him, and I rolled it in, spent and exhausted. And happy – it was great to see such an awesome group of supporters making sure that each rider got lunch, and that the prizes actually meant something.
I’m in the office this morning, arms burning from the African sun yesterday, a bit weary but definitely refreshed after a quiet afternoon and a long night’s sleep. Dave, our man on the ground here, is a fabulous cook, and the homemade chicken salad sandwich I had for dinner last night was a great compliment to the lunch at Sandy’s after the race …
Oh, and have I mentioned the coffee? What a way to wake up every morning. But more on that later …
The race yesterday was fantastic. On reflection, it really is exciting to see the hope that sport gives to the youth. The Zambian Cycling Association is fairly small – encompassing just the Lusaka region for now – but it is growing, and through various programs they are reaching out and providing an opportunity for kids to earn a bit of money, build their self-esteem, and offer them hope. Sure, there are challenges – we think we have a hard time with discipline, imagine sending a kid to a camp in Joburg when he’s never seen a McDonald’s before – but there are also successes: the young man who won yesterday earned money at the sprint, money for the win, and money for the use of his likeness on promotional posters. You should have seen the smile on his face at the end – he was so excited, because now he could continue his construction project on his home, and buy some blocks of cement.
(Here, you build only when you have money, so there are numerous partially-completed structures – you buy the land when you have money, put down brick when you have money, continue building when you have money, put a roof on when you have money. In between, the space sits dormant and vacant, or – in his case – you live in partially-completed homes. And a home, in this case, is converting a shack to a concrete hut, a major enterprise.)
Many of the kids race on bikes provided by their programs, and many more have bicycles that we might have seen 10 or 15 years ago. As you progress through the C’s and B’s, you work to make an impression on the selection people behind the teams, and that may earn you a spot on the A’s, with access to a nice bike. (Returned each day to the program, with group practices and races.) In fact, the kid who won was on a CR1 owned by his team, and although the component selection was low-end, that’s a pretty fantastic machine to be riding! (He has proven himself repeatedly, as evidenced by his performance yesterday – solo, he closed an 8-minute gap on the breakaway and then rode away to take the win by 2-3 minutes. He’s 22 years old, and it sounds like they’re going to send him to J’burg next year, a pretty incredible opportunity in its own right!)
So what about the race? It was funny, the similarities. The biggest difference is the police checkpoints you have to go through at each regional border. That, and the social nature of racing here – even on the road side. Groups of kids came riding in together, or drove in their microbuses with trailers on the back carrying bikes. Other than that, it was pretty much business as usual – the UCI commissar was in his own little world, registration ran late, the race started late (more than an hour, in this case, which was a bit much), and the kids jumped from the gun.
The racing itself was pretty normal – about 35 guys, including our composite team of World Bicycle Relief expats: Rick (the Zambian coach), Jesper from Sweden, and me. We were up against Finish Line (Rick’s real team that he supports), and Munali Coffee (THE team to beat), led by “Big Jesper,” the scion of the Munali Coffee family, a Zambian muzungu whose family has been here for 35+ years (he was born here, and we raced past the hills of his family farm) and who used to race downhill back in the day (against guys like Greg Herbold, Hans Rey, etc.).
With the downhill, cross-wind start, everything stayed pretty together in the beginning. No huge accelerations, but by 10km a Finish Line guy had gone off the front, with a small break forming behind him. He stayed strong, and for the first hour we grabbed back a couple of guys while more guys launched, until we hit the hot spot at 40km (I was 4th across the line, paying 3 deep), in Kafue [ka-foo-eh] and a break was established with the Finish Line guy, two of his teammates, and two other teams – but no Munali. Which meant everyone looked at each other, waiting for Munali to chase, and we sat up.
We covered 41.5kms in the first hour, and then only 30-some in the second – at times crawling at about 22kph. Eventually, we hit two really fast downhills that ended in short gravel sections – thanks to the rains, they were packed down, but the second one had an immediate uphill at about 10%! I drilled it on the downhill, wanting to get a gap to sag-climb the uphill – it worked, and the group only caught me 50m from the top … but then the strongest Munali rider attacked, splitting the group across the road in the wind as a semi-truck drove between us! I was just about done, and had to watch as his yellow and green kit disappeared up the road, putting 2 minutes on us in the first 3kms following the climb!
From there it was a series of tough rollers to the turnaround, and although a few attacks were launched, the group was pretty much together through the turn. We had fallen 8 minutes behind the now three-strong group of Finish Line guys, and the Munali rider was 2 minutes behind them and closing fast. We hit the turnaround climb hard, and then began the long slog back up toward Lusaka … it was going to be a very long 75kms, based on how my legs felt!
Rick was done, but our Jesper was still in the group with me, along with Big Jesper and his cadre of Munali riders. This included, incredibly, a young man (awarded Most Improved Rider of the Year later) with just one arm – the stump of his left arm rested on a TT elbow pad, and he drilled it just using his good right hand to shift. There was also Justin, No. 013, who I later learned worked in a sugar factory – he was wheezing and coughing the whole ride, and began to retch whenever the going got really tough: as it turns out, his lungs were so destroyed that he couldn’t breathe properly. So instead he churned a massive gear, and used his strength to stay with the pack. That’s dedication.
(I should note here that the better riders wore matching kit and had the bikes of the team’s program; the rest wore donated kit or older clothing that was mismatched and barely fit at times. This was even more evident in the B’s and C’s, so that I was racing everyone from a full-on Finish Line guy to a guy in Koga/Miyata MTB clothing.)
We got over the worst of the rollers and crossed a bridge at about 50kms to go – Big Jesper attacked, and I knew this was the time to go. I grabbed onto his wheel, with Justin right behind, and we drilled it – before long, the group was out of sight behind the hills, and we were rolling along with a good gap. Jesper did all the work, with Justin and I hanging on – I took a few pulls, but no sooner did I go to the front than Jesper would come right back around and carry us up the hill. Eventually we dropped down a long grade and crossed the railroad tracks outside Kafue, and began the long slog up the other side as we approached 30kms to go. I thought we had a gap at that point, but there were cars in the way – it turns out, the group caught sight of us on the downhill, and no sooner did I take a feed from the car than a Finish Line guy was snaking up the left side and almost taking me out! Whoa!
So then it was group together, with only three up the road – we reeled in everyone else. The attacks started flying, and it was all I could do to stay on the wheels as we climbed, and climbed, and climbed some more. Temps reached the mid-30s, and I was baking – I went through bottle after bottle of water, and even then just barely made it to the finish without cramping completely. Our Jesper got taken down with about 10kms to go, and finished up in the car. Then, the last 3kms were tough, a long, long steady grade with the pace slow enough to keep everyone together … I knew it was going to come down to a sprint, so stayed near the front … when it went, though, I had nothing in the tank! Big Jesper took 5th, with one of his riders just in front of him, and I rolled it in, spent and exhausted. And happy – it was great to see such an awesome group of supporters making sure that each rider got lunch, and that the prizes actually meant something.
I was surprised when we pulled up to the college where the race started to find a motocross track across the street. Another example of breaking down my preconcieved notions of "Africa."
This is one of the trucks used to get the racers to the start. We're still not quite sure how a "fishing team" operates, or how it came to be part of the bike scene!
Our first-ever World Bicycle Relief road team! Jesper, me, and Rick, with Rick's son Sebastian and his home-made World Bicycle Relief banner. Pretty awesome!
After the race, before awards, lunch with nshima and chicken, watermelon, and plenty of fluids on this 90+ degree day!
The Zambian Women's National Champion! The association is working to improve women's cycling, and at one race they had 20 women. Unfortunately, yesterday saw just one entrant. (Sound like home on our local scene?)
The C's podium. The B podium had to be nullified because none of the racers crossed the turnaround, saying they didn't see it. Vigilance is necessary the world 'round!
Most Improved Rider. Note that he only has one good arm -- and this guy was a hammer. He was incredible out there.
And ladies and gentlemen, your 2007 Zambian National Champion! (That's also his image on the banner behind.) What a race!
... and finally, Krispy Kreme has nothing on Sandy! Homemade donuts at the cafe/garden center/toy store/Italian sundries/ice cream/convention center/expat hangout. What an eclectic mix, but what an amazing chocolate shake!
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