After what felt like a very long build-up, it’s suddenly over. Three days of riding some of the best trail networks this country has to offer and strangely, that’s what stays with me most. Not the suffering. Not the exhaustion. Not even the endless hours in the saddle.
By Joanne Badenhorst (Average Jo)
Just the trails. The cool, flowing, beautifully built trails.
I’ve almost forgotten about the relentless climbing, the portage up Iconic, the sore knees, aching back and tired shoulders. Even the broken sleep, courtesy of the midnight symphony of snorers in the race village, somehow feels insignificant now.
Because when I close my eyes, I can still picture Bon and I flowing along the singletrack together.
Cruising down Umko Drop. Rolling through switchbacks, bridges and perfectly sculpted berms. One section of trail blending seamlessly into the next. Every piece of singletrack has a name, most of which I honestly can’t remember anymore, but together they create something incredibly special. Each stage feels thoughtfully stitched together, like a story unfolding kilometre by kilometre.
And if you slow down enough to really notice it, sani2c takes you through some remarkable landscapes too.
Rolling hills. Dense indigenous forests. Endless plantation forests. Hand-built trail stretches for kilometres through sugar cane fields, coastal bush, forgotten railway tracks and contours that somehow keep you riding for days while touching very little tar. The amount of work, vision and passion behind this route is honestly hard to comprehend. It feels less like an event route and more like a moving piece of art.
Somewhere during those three days, I found myself appreciating that more and more. Strangely, it became the perfect distraction from the very self-inflicted suffering of riding over 80 kilometres a day.
This Average Jo isn’t particularly fast on the climbs. I’ll never be the strongest rider in the field. But I can hold my own on the singletrack and descents and, more importantly, I get to experience moments like this.
“I get to do this.” That became my mantra somewhere along the route. And it’s amazing how such a small shift in perspective can change everything.
Because the truth is, sani2c is hard. It tests you physically, mentally and emotionally. But it also gives back so much in return.
The race villages alone are part of what makes the experience so memorable. Everything feels thoughtfully considered. These stop-overs, the places of recovery, rest and refuelling, somehow make hundreds of exhausted riders feel welcomed, nurtured and cared for. Each venue’s catering is run by one of the many charities or fundraising organisations the event supports every year, which adds another layer of meaning to the experience. There are a few optional extras on site that require taking your wallet out, barista coffee, physios, massage therapists and the occasional celebratory beverage, but almost everything else is included in your entry.
Meals. Bottomless tea and coffee. Rusks, fruit, crunchies, juice stations and snacks that somehow appear exactly when you need them most.
Then there’s the accommodation. Your entry includes the standard canvas tent setup with mattresses for you and your teammate. Spacious enough. Practical enough.
But as an Average Jo, I know my limits. Mentally and physically, I need a proper bed. So I can highly recommend the standard luxury tent upgrade. Two actual beds. Mattresses. Bedding. A duvet. Pillows. A lamp. A small table. Plug points. Trust me when I say: budget for this now and thank me later.
Yes, I get to do this. But this Average Jo also appreciates a few creature comforts. And maybe that’s part of the beauty of sani2c too. It somehow manages to cater for everyone, from elite racers chasing podiums to ordinary riders simply chasing the finish line and the experience itself.
I’m just an Average Jo. But I get to do this. And there’s really nothing average about that.
Of course, none of it would have been possible without my village.
My husband Sean and my boys, Cade and Kalon, who endured the tired, stressed and sometimes emotional version of Average Jo during the build-up. Thank you, my Bardy Boys, for the patience, support and encouragement through every early morning, every training ride and every moment of self-doubt.
To my coach, Sarah Marê from The Threshold, and my riding partner, Bonita Needham, when I look back now, I realise the two of you believed in me long before I fully believed in myself. That belief carried me more than you’ll probably ever know.
And then, of course, there’s the bike.
Massive thanks to the incredible team and family at Complete Cyclist. Being able to ride a Specialized Epic 8 Pro was both a privilege and an honour. Having their tech support at the race villages also gave me enormous peace of mind and kept me calmer than I probably deserved to be.
Thank you too to Ciovita for the last-minute kit upgrades, including the rain jacket that thankfully stayed packed away and to Biogen SA for fuelling both the build-up and the event itself. The newer light-flavoured Cytogen has become a firm favourite.
Looking back now, it really was a special journey from start to finish. There were days during the build-up where I felt very far below Average Jo. Even a few weeks before the event, I genuinely wasn’t sure I would make it to the finish line. But somehow, everything came together. Every day we crossed the line filled with gratitude, relief and joy.
Because we didn’t have to do this. We got to do this.
