A quote which exists in the far recesses of my mind goes something like “We always seem in such a hurry to get to our destination, we seldom take care to appreciate the view on the way”. Or something like that. Maybe I just made it up. Whatever; it’s pertinent.
To all the organizers of the 94.7: thanks for a fantastically organized event; it was slick like Magnum.
To Wook for organizing the awesome tight white tops: they were so well done it seems a shame to only bring it out for one occasion; so I’ll wear it on my next visit to The Doors.
To Khets “My Good Friend” Mazibook who said famously “come park at my house, the start is five minutes away”: forty minutes on a bike to the start says fuck you, you aren’t my friend anymore. No wonder I almost failed Accounting 101 under your tutelage.
To the guy who rode the whole way on a half-pipe BMX, with a Hansa man-sized can strapped to it, wearing a pink shirt and a scooter helmet: much respect you fookin’ nutcase.
To the guy who, when I was carrying my bike over my shoulder in search of a tyre-pump, chirped “you’re doing it all wrong”: thanks guy – without you I would still probably be wandering around Hyde Park or the general vicinity.
To the random guy on the side of the road who helped me sort out my flat tyre: you sir, are a gentleman and a scholar; fortunately I know someone who knows someone and will be able to track you down and hook you up with a couple of whatever you are drinking.
To the shaky old ricket whose legs looked like they were about to snap whenever pressure was exerted between his upper body and the pedals: I caught you having a sneaky cheroot half way up the Krugersdorp hill you old fox.
To my fookin bike for being buggered and partially engaging my brakes on that mammoth hill at the halfway point: I really was almost in tears you bastard.
To the rest of Team Munners: nice one lads and lasses. Munners would be the most stoked little human to know she had friends of such caliber – but then we know she already did. Shot for the concern when no one could get hold of us and we were taking it chilled; what you have to realize is that I’m a bit like a cockroach – I will survive most things. Sorry Gumpers and I were too slow to make the photographs.
To Smythers, Chini and Wook: I’m especially proud of you kids.
To Gumpers – my co-conspirator in training and raw athleticism: shot for the companionship bugger. Hope the ass injury from the great vibrator accident of ’01 didn’t hamper you too badly.
To my aching testicles and perineum: sorry lads; I really have no words to describe my grief for you.
To race number UU23154: shot for having my back guy. [ed note: I hang my head in shame].
To Ro’s hot, steaming outdoor shower at the end of it all: you were the perfect date.
To the guy who was playing Scotland the Brave on the baggies at the 10km to go mark: Sith agus Slainte Bha you ripper!
To those who didn’t believe: I am more stubborn than you can possibly imagine.
To getting beaten by all the girls in our team (3 thereof): It’s not about the winning or the losing, but the taking part. Cough. Cough.
To 6 hours 33 minutes and a handful of seconds: --
