Friday morning, disaster strikes—I get the call. My bike won’t be back in time for the weekend cycle! What now? Roger is off on a boys flying weekend away, living his best life, while I sit here, faced with a weekend of no exercise. Unacceptable.

I immediately text my walking friends to organize a Sunday stroll in the Valley. But what about Saturday? Panic sets in. Chatting to a friend, she kindly volunteers to go on a hike with me. We settle on the Black Mamba at Crossways, a nice 5km route we’ve done before. Sensible choice, right?

Wrong.

Because somewhere between Friday night and Saturday morning, my brain decides that “sensible” is overrated. As we drive to Crossways in the early morning light, I casually drop the suggestion: “Let’s try the Cairn Loop instead. It’s 12km.”

She agrees. We are clearly both suffering from poor decision-making skills.

The Adventure Begins
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we start our journey—armed with water, snacks, and an unhealthy level of enthusiasm. The first 4km is a pleasant jeep track climb, with stunning views and a strong wind that makes us feel like we’re in an action movie. Cyclists and hikers pass us, all of us pretending we are far fitter than we actually are.

Then we reach a gorgeous dam, and the path turns into a shady, blissful single track. Life is good. Then, the mountain arrives.

The next 2km are steep. Very steep. So steep that we adopt a new hiking technique:

Walk five steps.
Stop.
Gasp for air.
Question our life choices.
Repeat.

Luckily, the clouds are still out, saving us from melting into puddles of regret. Every time we stop (which is often), we turn around to take in the incredible view—rolling green hills, towering mountains, farmlands stretching out towards the distant sea. The suffering is justified.

The Peak of Glory (and Suffering)
Finally, we reach the top. Victorious. Conquerors of the Cairn Loop. We collapse onto a rock, nibbling on nuts and dates like true wilderness survivors. A well-earned break.

Then comes the descent.

“Going down will be easier,” we foolishly think. Oh, sweet summer children.

The path is rocky, uneven, and at times, requires us to abandon all dignity and slide down on our backsides. We pass another group happily climbing up, still full of energy. They do not yet know what awaits them.

As we continue, my energy levels hold up, but my feet start screaming. The uneven ground is murder. My humor disappears. All I can think about is flat, even terrain—the dream of solid ground.

A Mental and Physical Betrayal
At the 11km mark, we reach the dam again. I check my calculations. This is not a 12km hike. This is a 15km hike.

Excuse me, what?

The realization is soul-crushing. I had mentally prepared for 12km. I was ready for 12km. But now? I am betrayed. Betrayed by my own planning. But there’s only one way out—keep moving forward.

The last few kilometers are pure struggle. The sun is now blazing, the clouds have abandoned us, and every step feels never-ending. As we pass late starters heading up towards Purple Cow, I think, “Better you than me, buddy.”

Finally, the car appears. The sweet, glorious car. Air conditioning. A seat. A place to rest my poor, abused feet.

Victory, Steri Stumpies, and Future Nicky’s Problem
Feeling accomplished (and slightly delirious), we head to the Windfarm for lunch and a well-deserved cold Steri Stumpie. As I sip my drink, reality hits me.

I have another walk tomorrow.

How will I survive? My friend reassures me: “A short 5km will be good for your muscles.”

That, I decide, is Future Nicky’s problem. Present Nicky is going to sit back, relax, and enjoy this moment of victory.