Stage 7: Grande Finale - the other side of the fence

Today was the last day of the Cape Epic. Not my last day of racing - that was two days ago, at kilometer 111 of the Queen Stage. Today I was on the other side of the fence, and it turns out that's a much harder place to be than I expected.

We got up at 6AM at Darrel and Christa's. Darrel drove us to the race village together. I walked with Jeroen to the start chute at Coetzenburg in Stellenbosch, which was an amazing race village, and stood with him as he lined up for the Grand Finale. The vibe on those fields was incredible. You could feel the energy of hundreds of riders who had survived seven days of Cape Epic and were about to take on their last 58 kilometres. The speaker was driving the atmosphere even higher, and everywhere you looked there were people who genuinely couldn't wait to get going.

For me, standing there, it was truly painful. Being at a start line and not being on a bike - not lining up next to my teammate - is not something I was prepared for emotionally. And quite honestly, I don't think it is something you can prepare for. The rational part of my brain understood it completely: I pulled out for the right reasons, my body was done, the decision was correct. But the emotional part doesn't care about rational arguments at 9AM in the morning with a start gun about to go off.

Jeroen took off. I went back to Darrel and we sat down in the supporter stand to follow the pro race, which turned out to be an incredible distraction. Matt Beers and Tristan Nortje had started the day just 13 seconds behind the overall leaders, the Italian pair of Luca Braidot and Simone Avondetto. Halfway through the stage, the South Africans were a minute clear. The crowd around us was going absolutely mental - the prospect of a fully South African team winning the Cape Epic had people on their feet. It was genuinely thrilling to watch, even from a beer table in the supporters tent. And they did it — Beers and Nortje took the overall title in one of the most dramatic final-day comebacks the race has seen in years.

In the meantime, the entire Trippz team arrived. We have our annual off-site planned here in South Africa, starting today, and the timing was deliberate - combine it with the Cape Epic finish. It was wonderful to see everyone. They'd brought the works: flags, horns, noise-making devices of various descriptions, and a massive banner that read "Keep Chasing" with illustrations of Jeroen and me on it. That banner hit me harder than I expected. It was the most amazing thing, and also bittersweet in a way I hadn't anticipated. Because I realised that the person crossing the finish line to see it would be Jeroen alone. Not both of us.

We followed Jeroen on the tracker throughout the stage. As he got closer to the finish, the team moved to the fences along the final stretch, threw the banner over the railing, and made as much noise as fourteen people with horns and enthusiasm can possibly make. I'd taken my position at the finish line itself - ready to catch him once he crossed. Two cold cokes in hand, cleaning cloth, ready to take his bike. Ready to congratulate him with finishing the Cape Epic. And this last stage he gave everything, setting a 45th time in Masters had we still competed in that category (Jeroen is now an Individual Finisher, that does not get ranked)

And then there were a couple of truly hard minutes.

It all came together in that moment. Every early morning on the Kickr, every long training ride, every conversation about pacing and nutrition and whether we were good enough. Eight months of working toward one thing - crossing that finish line together - and here I was, standing on the wrong side of it. I was happy for Jeroen. Genuinely, deeply happy. He'd ridden through sleep deprivation on the prologue and Stage 1, through a broken derailleur on Stage 5, through seven days of relentless racing, and he'd made it. He deserved every metre of that finish straight. But in the same moment, it was heartbreaking that I wasn't riding it with him.

He came across the line. I got him his cokes, congratulated him. Then you're guided into a lane where a pro rider hands you your finisher's medal. I think that's a really nice touch, actually. Jeroen got his medal. I didn't get one. After that they steer you into the finisher's area where you pick up a goodie bag. Jeroen got one. I didn't.

It sounds trivial when you write it out. A medal, a bag. But in the moment, those small things carried the full weight of what I'd lost. And I wasn't ready for that.

I felt genuinely happy for Jeroen, and I supported him in every second of that final stage. We were a team for this race. We are a team. That hasn't changed. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't set me back emotionally. Once we got to our accommodation for the week with the Trippz Team, I withdrew to my room for about an hour afterwards, just to let everything settle. To process what the morning had brought. In a way, it felt disproportionate - this is an amateur event, two ordinary guys who set themselves a crazy goal. I never expected it could affect me the way it did. But it did.

After a good chat with one of my colleagues - who is also a close friend that I know from way before Trippz - I flipped the switch. Twenty minutes of honest conversation with her and the fog lifted. She was just the right person to talk to right there and then. And now I'm here, genuinely here, ready for what comes next: the Trippz off-site with the full team, celebrating five years of building something together, in South Africa of all places. The fact that this Cape Epic experience - even with its imperfect ending - is the reason we're all gathered here, in the Western Cape, makes it worth every bit of it.

The Cape Epic didn't go the way we planned. I didn't finish. That's a fact, and it will sting for a while. But Jeroen did. And the months of training, the blog, the journey we shared - none of that is undone by my not crossing a finish line. It just ended differently than the story I'd been writing in my head.

I'll take that.

And as a last few words - I'd like to say something to my wife, Astrid. You broke your hip with a super unfortunate slip in the street in January. But even that never kept you from supporting me (and us) in pushing the last efforts in pursuing ultimate fitness at the start line at Meerendal on the 15th. Yes, of course we had our arguments when training got prioritized once more over all other things that have to happen in a family by nature. But I've always felt the true support from your side in pursuing this adventure. I am genuinely grateful for that and you've reminded me so many times why it was you I wanted to marry.
And on this occassion, I can only speak on his behalf partly - but I am confident Jeroen feels the same about Marjolein. If you share your life with a partner, support from that side is probably as important as all physical effort you put into it. Thank you!

Cape Epic, until we meet again! We will Keep Chasing.