I slept. Actually slept. After three nights of tossing and turning in Montagu - between the heat, probably suffering from sugar overload as we felt we had overdone our nutrition somewhat, and whatever else was conspiring against us - I finally cracked the code. Half of one of Jeroen's sleeping pills, the ones he got prescribed in Montagu after his own rough nights. Best decision of the entire Cape Epic so far. I woke up feeling like a different person. The gut issues that had been lingering from days of all this race nutrition had also settled down - we'd both dialled back the nutrition a bit, and it seemed to be paying off.

For the first time this week, we both lined up at the start actually feeling good. Properly good. Stage 4 was 90 kilometres with just under 2,000 metres of climbing - on paper, one of the more manageable days. We arrived early again, positioned ourselves at the front of our batch, and got off to a strong start. Within the first 10 kilometres we were already reeling in back markers from the batch ahead. Everything was working. We were both riding well, feeling strong, moving through the field. After the disaster of Stage 2 and the long grind of Stage 3, this felt like we were really getting the race feeling we came for.

And then a rock decided once more not to mind his own business.

It happened on a narrow stretch of singletrack through the bushes. Flat terrain, nothing dramatic. I was sitting close behind Jeroen's wheel, maybe doing 20 kilometres an hour. A rock I never saw caught my left pedal and launched me sideways off the bike, straight into the bushes. I landed full force on my right hip and thigh. The rider behind me couldn't brake in time and clipped my ankle with his front wheel - that was fine, but the hip and thigh took a proper hit. The kind where you lie there for a second and think: this is going to be a problem. For a good minute or so I was producing a mix of noise that typically indicates somebody has proper pain. The bright side though: at least I didn't land on a Puff Adder 🪱

But here's the thing about crashes like this, especially during a stage race: if you stop, you're done. Your muscles seize up, the adrenaline wears off, and you'll never clip back in. So we made the call instantly - keep going. The first five or six kilometres were genuinely painful. Every pedal stroke on the right side sent a reminder and was coming up with swear words I never used before. I was in pain, but also frustrated about the incident in the first place.

What helped though, was our stage 2 experience. Ever since when we destroyed that rim and had to walk 16 kilometres to a water point - Jeroen and I have had this running joke. It started when I said something like "This is really like the last thing I feel like doing," and Jeroen replied: "Ja, we kunnen wel iets niet willen, maar we hebben geen keuze." Roughly: we can not-want as much as you want, but we don't have a choice. It stuck. And today it got a lot of mileage. Every time I groaned about the hip, every time the pain flared up on a climb, it came back out. At some point I was saying it to my own leg: je kunt niet willen wat je wilt, maar je gaat gewoon mee. You can protest all you want, but you're coming with us.

Eventually your body does what bodies do when you refuse to give them a choice: it finds a way to cope. The pain never disappeared, but it became something I could ride with rather than something that stopped me riding.

The first 30 kilometres or so had a lot of singletrack, which meant a lot of traffic. Slower riders funnelled into narrow trails, no room to pass, just patience and sitting in. But once things opened up after that, we had much more freedom to ride our own race. Whenever the route hit jeep tracks or farm roads, we could push the pace and start overtaking. The day got better from there.

Around the 60 to 70 kilometre mark, I started to struggle. The right leg wasn't cooperating the way I needed it to, and the cumulative fatigue of four days of racing was settling into my legs. That stretch was tough - just grinding, trying to keep Jeroen's wheel, knowing there was still work to do.

And then came the UFO climb. About 400 metres of elevation gain, properly steep. On fresh legs it would have been a solid effort. On day four, with a smashed-up hip, it was just suffering. Nothing pretty about it - just keep the pedals turning, don't look up, get to the top.

The descent from the UFO was something else entirely. Technical, rocky, fast. Loose rocks everywhere, sharp ones too — the kind of surface that punishes a moment of lost concentration. It was flowing and fun, but with Stage 2's destroyed rim still very fresh in our minds, we had to ride it smart. We wanted speed, but more than that we wanted clean lines. No risks, no stupid moves. Get down in one piece with both wheels intact.

From there it was a mix of smaller climbs on our way towards Greyton before the route opened up into a wide gravel road for the final stretch. Jeroen went to the front and absolutely buried it. I locked onto his wheel and we raced back into the village together. That's the stuff that makes a day.

Now I'm in the tent, icing my hip. It's properly sore. The kind of sore where you wonder how it's going to feel in the morning when you swing your leg over the bike. And tomorrow isn't just any stage - it's the Queen stage. 134 kilometres, 2,850 metres of climbing. The biggest day of the entire Cape Epic. Not exactly ideal timing for a banged-up hip.

My bag is stuffed with painkillers, so those will be earning their keep tomorrow. Another half sleeping pill tonight, because that trick is clearly working. Beyond that, there's not much else to do except rest, ice, and see what the body says in the morning.

Four stages down, three to go.

The chase must go on!