Tummies full and mellow Karoo vibes absorbed , we arrived in the hamlet of Prince Albert , an oasis in the literal middle of nowhere . The huddle of 19th-century buildings was already buzzing with riders enjoying sidewalk drinks , some back from riding to the base of the pass to shake off the last traces of city stress and get into the mood . The composite field of roadies being adventurous on gravel bikes and MTBers trying something different knowing they wouldn ’ t be in the lead pack , meant that nobody , barring a few gravel grinding elites , was stressed about race form or strategy .
After two years of race postponements due to covid and a flood , we were stoked to simply enjoy the unique experience of a Saffa crown jewel . That relaxed mood was echoed by laidback race organiser John Swanepoel , a tech engineer who retired to Prince Albert but typically couldn ’ t keep his entrepreneurial spirit still . He loves to ride bikes and bring people to his precious , peaceful , picture-perfect place , and so the Swartberg 100 was born .
Custom-built hot showers and fireside koffie & condensed milk rekindled my amp factor at dawn after a cold wintery night sleeping solo in my enormous glamping tent , provided by John on his small boutique olive farm 800m from the race start in town . Riders kraaled together in the main street and the stoke was real . Paul Valstar got the gees going before we headed out on a long , fast , tar road watching the sun rise to illuminate the mountains .
After 50km of bunch splitting , heart pumping , low flying we headed off road into the relative silence of earth crunching below our tyres , listening to goats rip thorn trees on the roadside . Then we entered the magnificent Meiringspoort . The Swartberg mountains are amongst the
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