SANDSTONE, SWEAT AND SUZUKI

There’ll be suffering, but great views to go with it. Which is one of the reasons why, when he runs, Adrian Burford prefers to hear the crunch of gravel underfoot.

GETTING there, they say, is half the fun. And with midday Saturday approaching, ‘getting there’ the day before seemed to be the only fun of the Heritage Day long weekend so far.

While the drinkers of the Rainbow Nation were no doubt eagerly anticipating the sun and the yardarm making each other’s acquaintance, I had nothing to look forward to but more pain. My knees were throbbing, sending signals shooting to my brain express delivery with each step down the Pyramid. To add to it, my throat was parched, my shoulders ached, I could feel a hot spot on the outside of my left heel morphing into a blister and my digestive system… well, it felt like it was going to explode in an eruption of too many multicoloured gels and carb-rich liquid.

But there aren’t any Portaloos on the ring of sandstone peaks which surrounds Moolmanshoek and nor are there clapping promo girls dispensing icy water sachets and neatly sliced pieces of banana. Here, the only option is, even though it is so dry and hot that one’s sweat barely has time to bead on your brow before it evaporates.