November

[Sweder]

OK, technically a December post, but as my last in Cape Town I'll lump it in here.

Learning from previous overheated experience I set off from our new digs in the Silvermist Mountain Lodge at 6.30. We'd spent the last two days driving all over the Cape peninsular, exploring deserted beaches sent straight from heaven and wonderful cafés and eateries in equal number. Our access to the Cape proper was via the toll road at Chapman's Peak. Having driven this 15 k stretch several times I realised this was an ideal running spot. Not only is the road shaded from the morning sun by the ridges of the Silvermine Nature Reserve, but the road up from Hout Bay provides a steady 4 k climb not dissimilar in gradient to my regular Blackcap run.

I parked at East Fort, one of two battlements built by the British Navy in the late 1700s to protect Hout Bay from marauders. As expected the toll road, running south from the bay through Chapman's Point to the wonderful misty beaches at Noordhoek, nestled in the shadows of the craggy cliff face. The early morning sun peeped over the cloud-hugged ridge, bathing the peaks of The Sentinel and the wonderfully named Karbonkelberg on the west side of the bay. The mini-range lounged in the dawn sun, looking for all the world like a monsterous Rhino wallowing in a giant lake.

Well rested, having bailed on my planned run up Signal Hill, I set off at a brisk pace, embracing the steady rise of the tarmac. The toll road wriggled along an increasingly precipitous ledge, climbing 4 kilometers from the toll booth at Hout Bay. I stuck to the right-hand side of the road, South Africans having the good sense to drive on the correctside of the road. Recently completed the tarmac providing a most tempting surface for my very much ON road Addistars. Infrequent motorised traffic meant hopping across the drainage ditch onto the narrow gravel path, separated from a substantial plummet to the sea-lashed rocks below by the occasional boulder. I returned to the comfort of the road at every opportunity.

Several cyclists offered the Southern Hemisphere equivalent of a Shearer (a Donald? a Pollock?? a Quentin Fortune???) as they hurtled down the hill at alarming speed. Cycling in South Africa is something of a national pastime and the Peninsular provides stunning scenery, clean air and plenty of testing climbs to suit riders of all abilities. Bi-peds clad in garish lycra inhabit all corners of the Cape.

Chapman's Peak is marked at the summit (around half way) by a rather apologetic painted wooden sign mounted on the rock face. Next to this is the more important notice - a running figure with a red bar through it; no runners beyond this point. The main reason for this is the lack of escape lane - the seaward side of the road neatly hemmed in by a sturdy low wall, the landward by millions of tons of rock face. Views of Hout Bay, Vulcan Rock (no sign of Spock) and the route down into Noordhoek stretched out before me. I confess to a pang of regret - I'd love to have plodded on to Chapman's Point to finish my run with a freezing splosh in the southern Atlantic.

Instead I turned northward, running easily back toward Hout Bay, Table Mountain the majestic backdrop, the bays' beaches enjoying the first fingers of sunshine. I stopped after 200 metres, setting up the phonecam for a couple of timed shots of my sweaty corpulence thudding down the road from the Peak - the evidence is cruelly displayed below.

In all 8.4 most enjoyable kilometres tucked away before 8 am, the mouthwatering prospect of breakfast in the treetops at Silvermist banishing all thoughts of an extended plod into Hout Bay. Now it's back to the Land of the Ice and Snow, my Sussex hills and my beloved furry companions.

I shall return, and I shall bring my runners - off and on road variety.