I’ve never been to Africa before, although I’m not sure Cape Town counts as “Africa”. One thing I noticed is that everyone here is very skinny. I also noticed that the meal proportions served at restaurants are very modest. That shows the difference between prevention and treatment when dealing with obesity; whereas in the United States we are taking the approach of eating our way through to the other side, in Cape Town they are simply not getting fat to begin with. Interesting tactic, I wonder if there’s anything to it.
The people here are skinny skinny, not fat skinny like I am. Nothing like sitting at a beach overflowing with 20-somethings with zero body fat in swim trunks and bikinis to make you realize that you’re an old fat fuck. But I digress.
I also never imagined that I would regret not bringing my bike to Africa. In fact, I regret not bringing two bikes to Africa; on the flight from Johannesburg to Cape Town, I spied with my little eye many a twisty gravel road snaking their way over mountains in the desert. Gravelbone abounds, provided one isn’t taken down by a cobra or a rhino or a tiger or an elephant or a leopard. Especially that last one, there’s no outspeeding those.
Driving the spectacularly undulating, winding roads down to the Cape of Good Hope was a study in how to build the perfect road for Cycling. People here also don’t drive very fast, so the lack of a shoulder doesn’t even seem suicidal. Whats worse is the multitudes of skinny riders making excellent use of the riding bounties to be had. Climbone abounds.
I’m a bit angry with myself for not bringing my bike(s) or even my Cycling kit, but I intend to rectify the situation by ordering double-portions of food and looking for fitness in the bottom of wine bottles as I am given to understand you can find the solution to loads of problems there, like fortune cookies for alcoholics.
In any case, Cape Town now holds a prominent place on my list of places to ride. I’ll be buggered if I’m not bringing my bike next time.