5 Reasons Cape Epic is the Hardest MTB Event on Earth

Penning this title makes my skin crawl.  I'm a hypocrite. I am what I've judged for you see there are currently dozens of races claiming to be the hardest race in the world and they're schlepping their experience across the internet.  Their foolhardy claims akin to the fancy marketing surrounding those men’s athletic shorts I bought of Instagram a few years ago.  I too wanted tailor fit shorts showing off my proud quads with the all-too-handy elastic pocket for my personal device and keys.  What showed up on my step?  A flaming bag of dog turd complete with original packaging from Ali Baba.  I’d been duped.  So yes, I get it, I take it.  Toss your popcorn at the screen.  Launch squishy tomatoes at me the next time our paths cross.  I’m making a bold, dumb statement in hopes of getting your attention.  I’m a sellout.  

But… 

Am I?  

Better title: 5 Reasons Cape Epic is the Hardest MTB Event on Earth that I have done so far but this can change and I reserve the right to make those changes because this is my life and my blog and my story.  Choosing to continue reading releases me from your judging opinions. …and your tossed tomatoes.  

Reason #1: Every Day is a 1-Day Race

If you’ve followed the ABSA Cape Epic as a remote spectator you’d be accurate in thinking the media coverage and energy surrounds the UCI fields, both men and women, only.  Only now, after completing my second Cape, have I tuned into YouTube and watched both the recap videos and the storytelling video series.  The interviews, on-course footage, aerial footage, and storylines all follow the UCI fields.  In real life, in South Africa, at the real show, things are much different.  

The first race day, The Prologue, fires race teams onto course at 10 second intervals.  Once registered you give an estimated Prologue finish time which they cross-reference on your previous Epic Series results and/or your submitted race palmares (history of events).  Teams are shot onto course with the slowest riders going first.  In 2024 Amir and I gave our best guess at placement and in 2025 we used this system to our advantage in hopes of as clear a course as possible.  We went off only 10 teams or so before the UCI teams.  We managed to even pass a few and proudly meet our anticipated finish time.  Following the Prologue, teams outside the UCI fields are assigned corrals based on General Classification Rank.  Each corral features 50 teams.  Another measurement of your team’s success is how close to the UCI fields (which always start Men first, Women second) you can start.  C, D, E, and on until J or K.  Amir and I danced between C and D each year.  Corrals are then started in their own wave, utilizing chip time, at 10 minute intervals.  This helps keep a massive race of 750 teams from becoming a conga line at the hundreds of miles of amazing singletrack.    

Okay, you understand the format.  Here’s why it is so hard.

The countdown, call-ups (for category leaders), the acknowledgement from the announcer (they start to recognize exceptional performers or characters), the acknowledgment from the crowd, the start line music, the pomp, the excitement, all of it mirrors the environment for the UCI field starts.  Once your corral is called to the line it is as if your race is the only race of the day.  Imagine that setting!  The gigantic grandstands full of spectators, the iconic Cape Epic archway, and the pace vehicles are all waiting for your start.  Others are waiting as well.  Your fellow competitors are not just faceless people from all over the globe.  They are the people you’ve been rubbing elbows with in this year’s race.  Some are repeat warriors and their team kits are easily recognized as that team that can’t descend so we’ve got to be sure to get to the singletrack entrances before them. Or that team who doesn’t hold a straight pace line, Amir get ahead of that lunatic! And without fail that team that is just ahead of us in the GC, let’s attack them on the first climb. 

So here you are on Day 2 or on Day 6 or even on Day 8 and you’re tired legs, foggy mind, and sore hands are thinking that maybe today just needs to be an endurance effort to get through the 60 mile route with almost 10,000’ of elevation gain but yet the energy at the line consumes you.  The electricity busts through your logic brain and your emotional meter hits Level 10.  The bass from the speakers matches your heart rate.  The cheering crowd must be here only for you, for this moment, the race begins NOW!  “10, 9, 8”, the announcer starts.  “5, 4, 3”, as the crowd joins in.  When the countdown clock on the arch hits 1 the entire wave of racers click in and Amir and I jump out to the front and race the first 5 minutes like they are the last 5 minutes in our lives.  

With 16 stages now under our belts I can confidently say that it’s simply impossible for me to start a stage with any restraint.  Every day is a 1-day race.  Don’t get caught sitting on your hands at the start.  

Reason #2: He Expects More from You. 

He is your partner.  He is your teammate.  He is your responsibility.  He is your friend.  He is your right arm.  You are his left.  You are his liability.  You are his asset.  You and He.  He and You.  There is no I in Cape Epic.  

More specifically, there is no: 

“I am tired today and going to start off slower and ease into it.”

“I need a little break.  I am going to just sit a bit a the next aid station and get myself under control.”

“I should be enjoying this.  I’m in Africa after all!  I am stopping at the top of this ridge for a photo.”

“I’m doing well enough. I can give back a few minutes today and still hold my position.  Today I am going to soft pedal the climbs.” 

“I……”

“I……”

Human beings’ power to rationalize feelings into logic stands up near our two-piece windpipe that allowed us to make complex communication sounds, our surprisingly sensitive but oh-so-critical tail bones, and our advanced brains in our evolutionary growth to supreme mammal.  We can tell ourselves a story worth listening to.  We are right about everything, just ask us.  So when the going gets tough in a bike race our internal self-talk can make sense of everything from stopping for a pee to stopping for an eclair.  But not at Cape Epic.  

Self-talking “I-statements” can’t enter 2 brains at once so the thinking goes away.  The moment we created our Cape Epic team we became honorable to a 3rd entity, to our team.  After 2024’s Cape I outlined several moments in the race and made this declaration about team responsibility.  Take a read at that account for more content but as far as why it impacts the difficulty of Cape Epic in comparison to other MTB races I need you to understand that the bond built here feels stronger than those built there.  Maybe it’s because by the time I am on course with my partner we’ve already traveled a couple of days in the air, we’ve navigated so many logistics together, we’ve shared tight living quarters in an RV, we’ve been connected nearly every minute since trading continents and are living as extensions of one another more than in other travel-to events.  

This closeness combined with the guarantee that there will be a moment, or dozens of moments, where being alone in my weakness, insecurity, or honesty would be easier than sharing it with this guy I can’t get a minute away from means there can be no personal feeling.  Not fully personal.  I must share it all.  I must have no masks or boundaries.  Can you imagine how hard that is?  To be at the limit physically and must also press that same limit emotionally?  You’re not in this alone and that guy with the matching numberplate expects more from you because we all know that at nearly every moment, the triumphant and demoralizing, there is more to give.  You owe it to him and he to you.  

Reason #3: The Weather Makes no Sense.

Yes.  It will be hotter than you’ve ever experienced.  No, we don’t know when.  

Yes.  It will rain and the route conditions will change dramatically.  No, we don’t know when or where.     

Yes.  There will be wind.

Yes.  There will be blinding conditions but sometimes in the shade and sometimes in the sun and sometimes in the sun between the shade.  

Yes.  You will need that jacket and those lenses but probably not that jacket but you might want a vest or maybe arm warmers but not too warm because the sun will come out but it might not and if it does it might just be for a little bit.  

The weather cannot be predicted.  Therefore gear cannot be predicted.  One thing can be predicted: you’re going to be uncomfortable.  The upside?  It’ll only be for 4-7 hours.  

This final bit of streaming worry is how I solved the 3rd reason that Cape Epic is the hardest MTB race in the world.  Instead of trying to guess at the wild swinging weather patterns I just resolved to be uncomfortable and trust that it will end after we cross the finish line.  After this year’s Cape I’m confident this is the best solution.  It got hot this year and I was nuked by the time we hit the finish so I made hydration my single focus for the rest of the afternoon.  One day it pissed rain so hard that I learned of at least 8 new kinds of mud as it flung up my jersey and into my eyes.  At the finish I simply rinsed my shoes and set them aside as the “wet forever” pair and dried my face.  

By accepting that the weather will be glorious most of the time and down-right miserable some of the time the worry lifts and continuing becomes much easier.  That said, it’s not easy.   Just easier.  The weather menaces around South Africa without care for your soft attitude.  Instead of grabbing multiple jackets and rounds of gear options I just square up my shoulders and take it on headfirst.  Get tough.  This is the Cape Epic. 

Reason #4: You’ve Sold the Farm to Be Here.  Earn It. 

The most expensive MTB race event I’ve ever done.  The most expensive 2-week adventure I’ve ever been on.  The most prized little finisher’s medal I’ve ever hung around my neck.  It ain’t just the money I’m talking about here.  It’s the relationship assets, the work assets, the friendship assets, and the other-crap-I-like-to-do assets that I’ve burned in heaps in order to be here at the Cape Epic.  

There’s this recurring statement I say to my athletes when sharing some words of encouragement before their events: “Earn it.”  Whether they are racing a local weekend race or at their year’s main event I implore them to give back to the event what it deserves, their best.  Because Cape Epic requires more investment than any other event I’ve competed in, it means I must put back into it more than ever before.  This personal ledger system means I’ve got a lot of earning to do.  

You can’t buy experiences.  That’s the beauty of these endurance challenges.  Every marathoner has done a big thing - sub-3 hour runners and the last sucker to cross the tape.  When you never so much as walk more than a few miles in a given day, when someone pitter-patters 26.2 it’s a big deal.  It’s an earned experience.  

When you drop $10,000 on the total Cape Epic experience but aren’t guaranteed that official finisher’s medal, t-shirt, or name in the book of legends it’s a really really big deal.  The farm may have been sold to be on the list but the experience has gotta be earned with effort.  Damn, that’s a whole heck of a lot of earning to do.  

Reason #5:  There is No Hiding your Flaws.

The final and greatest reason that Cape Epic is the hardest event I’ve ever done on Earth is because every weakness in your skill set will be put on display and more than likely in the worst of ways.  Knowing this, as a competitor desiring their best Cape Epic performance, you’ve got to take a fine-toothed comb to your riding, gear, and abilities and find the snags.  

C’mon. Really?

Yes. 

Some examples to help clarify:

Leadville 100.  I’m a huge LT100 fan.  I race it often and will continue to for quite some time.  However, if you are not a gifted mountain biker but have an amazing cycling engine you can make up enough time on the climbs and flat sections to give back a wee bit of time on the 3 descents that highlight weak technical skills: Powerline outbound, Columbine and Kevins inbound.  Training for your best LT100 time should be focused on powering flats and scooting uphill as quickly as you can. 

Breck Epic.  Ah, my favorite event in the United States and a picture-perfect format and setting for a stage race.  Not a great climber?  Don’t have the lightest bike?  No problem.  So much of Breck Epic is nestled into amazing singletrack buried in the woods and if you’ve got some room to improve with your weight or climbing ability you’ll have plenty of time on the trail to let your love of MTBing earn you a few spots higher in your field.  Also, so much energy is put into keeping the right energy that you’ll be supported no matter your flaws.  Wait!  Is it a white-gloved event for anyone?  No.  You’ve got to be a BMFer.  But you don’t need to be a psycho about every tiny aspect of your event.  

Marji Gesick.  Hardest 100 mile MTB race in the US.  Not the hardest physically.  Just the hardest.  You’ve got to navigate, be self-sufficient, find some silly tokens, and simply finish.  But you don’t need your tool to be the sharpest in the effort-shed.  When events take on an adventure vibe while still being a race there is a little relaxing of the micro-vision.  To stay on course you have to get macro otherwise you’re 10 miles off course and thinking: “Damn you Todd and Danny!”

Now for Cape Epic… there is no hiding.  You need to be able to climb well and when reaching the top of a miles long ascent you’ve got to immediately turn hard right into a perfectly constructed ripper of an MTB trail.  It’ll have steep, fast sections into banked turns with perfect doubles, all the while rock gardens and drops are peppered in to keep the riding spicy.  

Got it, so you need to be able to climb and then rip downhill trails.  That’s manageable.  

There’s more.  

After crossing over a ridgeline, that hard left drops you onto a trail resembling a trail.  The super loose scree slips and slides until your front wheel grabs a rut that then goes directly down the face of the 2,000’ mountainside you just switchbacked up.  Too much front brake and you’re in one of those helicopters.  Too little brake control and you’ll end up somewhere in those ficus trees.  Hold on!  …but not too tight, this trail is really twisty. 

Okay, okay.  So wild riding and big climbs.  Hard but doable.  

Oh yeah, you’ve got to have high-level pack riding skills and understand how to not only hold the wheel in front of you but how to manage your speed, your turn at the front, and communicating all of this with other riders who speak several different languages.  That group road ride you’ve been shunning because it isn’t MTB and you’re no road-weenie?  If you want to do the Cape Epic well, grab those wonky pedals and skinny tires.  You can’t hide from group riding in South Africa’s untamed beast. 

Is that about it?  

No.  Not even close.  The only chance you have of being supremely confident in your ability to tackle the hardest MTB event on Earth (that I have done so far) is to be super honest about your riding and look for anything, any tiny thing, that you feel insecure about when out for a ride or race.  If there’s a blind spot in your advanced abilities you should spend some time rectifying how to open your vision a bit.  

What did I do for the 2025 edition?  I got stronger on the flats. 

While I have a respectable FTP which means I can hold good power, thus speed, on flat sections (side note: FTP is a personal measurement and comparing yours to another is silly, when it comes to flat terrain - that is terrain where skill and rider size are least important - FTP provides a great picture of strength) I am not particular fond of, or engaged by, flat riding.  My 2024 and 2025 partner Amir however must just love flat riding.  I mean some sort of elementary school love that has him asking his parents to take him to the mall so he can buy that cute girl in class an engraved charm bracelet kind of love.  In 2024 it drove me bananas.  We’d ride with pace on the climbs, we’d manage the super technical descents and then once we’d get to the flats, KABOOM!, he’d just want to pound it.  It made no sense to me.  The flats seemed to be the boring storyline to get to the next “Holy shit!” moment.  But there is some sense in getting those plot line flats done with quickly so in the lead up to the 2025 edition I spent a lot of time getting comfortable, and even engaged, with pounding flat miles at race pace.  

Full admission Amir, it was worth it amigo.  

The final reason Cape Epic is the hardest MTB race in the world is also a fitting close to why it should be on every serious MTB racer’s list of must-do’s.  In an untamed, dynamic, and challenging part of the world there is an event that will strip bare all you thought you were capable of.  It will shine a light on the areas you want hidden in darkness.  It will ask more of you than any other biking event before but then, just before you curl into a tiny ball and submit, the finish chute appears.  100’s of spectators rise from their stooped positions and the noise builds.  As you turn your face toward that partner who both motivated you and drove you mad with their silent cadence that seemed to whisper “give me more” a small grin crawls upon your face.  Your furrowed brow lifts just slightly enough for that last piece of dried mud to clear your vision and the distinctive arch grows large.  The finish line.  The release.  The salvation.  The hardest day turned week turned event in your life is closing around you and it feels like the warmest hug in the warmest kitchen from your favorite grandma.  She sees you for all of your strengths and your weaknesses.  She hears your outside voice and the inner.  But she loves you.  Unconditional.  And #untamed.  The hardest race in the world.  And you’ve done it.