by Martin Freyer
I’m on my way, commuting back to work, as the gallery of memories from my time at the Tankwa Kuru flashes through my mind. That question pops up again: “What are we doing with the time we have left on Earth?” This was no ordinary bicycle race. No, this was something far deeper—etched into my mind and soul. The Tankwa Kuru Bicycle Race is unlike anything I’ve experienced. There’s no comparison. It blends racing and adventure in a way that awakens your inner competitor, yet somehow, the result doesn’t matter. It's three days of riding through surreal landscapes, surrounded by amazing people, feeling like a six-year-old again, racing down the driveway with unfiltered joy. Let me start from the beginning…
The Journey South
On Thursday afternoon, Dan Craven picked me up in his Land Rover—five Onguza bicycles strapped to the roof and loaded in the back—and we set off on our 1,500 km journey south. Dan and I share many passions, so two 15-hour road trips in one weekend felt like a privilege rather than a task. We wild camped for the night, just 500 meters off the main road on a jeep track near Steinkopf. The next morning brought us ‘koffie en beskuit’ in Springbok, and then it was onto the legendary R355 dirt road. Kliprand, Loeriesfontein, Calvinia—these Northern Cape towns feel like a time capsule from the 1970s, unchanged and quietly dignified. Eventually, we reached the Tankwa Tented Camp, registered, and geared up for the first event: the Airstrip Drag Race. Lined up on the northern side of the landing strip, we waited for the word “GO” as Sling aircraft buzzed past from behind. I launched forward on my road bike with 35mm tyres, legs firing, lungs burning—surely 400 meters couldn’t be this long. But the feeling of Tankwa gravel beneath my wheels was nothing short of magic. As the sun dipped behind the mountains, the camaraderie among riders settled in. No reception. No internet. Stars overhead. Fire-cooked meals and shared stories. The world back home felt far away—and that was the point.
Day 2: Racing, Russian G&Ts, and Stones
The second day began early, with riders gathered around the campfire at the start line. I had managed to snag a Vale Marino jacket from CIOVITA, perfect for those single-digit mornings before the sun crept into the valley. The stage was divided into timed segments designed to cover the more mundane sections. Naturally, a select group quickly formed during the first segment—those of us who couldn’t help but dig a little deeper. The vibe remained playful: racing friends to the next sign, joking about who was taking it too seriously, and relishing every moment of freedom on two wheels. Between segments, we cruised slowly—admiring the barren beauty of the Tankwa Karoo, regrouping, laughing, riding like it was just a Sunday coffee spin. Some standout moments from the day:
The wide-open pan, its vastness humbling
A water point overflowing with snacks, cheer, and gees
The iconic Coke fridge in the absolute middle of nowhere
We finished the day’s ride at the ‘cement dam,’ where more than a few riders braved a
dip—though perhaps slightly buzzed after visiting the mysterious Russian G&T ladies (where they came from or how they got there remains a mystery). That evening, however, the atmosphere shifted. We were invited to a sunset ceremony, dressed in white shirts and black ties. Each of us was asked to pick up eight small stones—one for every ten years of life. Then, we were told to discard one stone for each decade already lived. “Now look down,” they said. “See how many stones you have left. Think carefully about the time still in your hands.” As the Tankwa sun slipped below the horizon, silence settled over the group. No music. No noise. Just quiet reflection—on our lives, our futures, and what we really want to do with the time we have left. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
Day 3: The Ride Feels Different Now
The final day began like the others. Fresh air, a brisk morning chill, and the promise of more gravel. But, something felt different. We rode through the Tankwa Karoo National Park, past towering ridges and open plains. Oryx sprinted beside us, undisturbed by our presence. The only sounds were tyres on dust and wind in our ears. After the emotional clarity of the night before, the riding felt lighter, freer. The racing segments were just as fun—but there was something more grounded in our shared silence, our mutual understanding that this wasn’t just a race. This was a reminder. It’s that feeling, still echoing nearly a month later, that makes me want more of this. More adventure in unfamiliar places. More long drives to remote corners. More moments that wake up the soul.
As fellow participant Eeden Eekers so perfectly put it:
“Ride more.
Ride because you want to.
Because it’s needed.
Ride for the hell of it.
For the unknown.
The good times.
And moer koffie.
The end-of-race fines.
The heat haze.
The friendly faces.
Always pacing.
Let’s go racing.
Over gravel, good or unrideable.
Impossible?
Only until it’s not.
Dangerous?
Define it, first.
Get moving. Reconnect.
Get outside. Disconnect.
The Tanqua Kuru Bicycle Race.
Join us. Come explore. Ride more.”
Images by Max Sullivan
