Eight days of the Cape Epic — and what I found out about racing, partnership, and the body’s quiet capability.
The Cape Epic has been on my list for nearly twenty years. In March, I finally did it. Seven hundred and seven kilometres of mountain biking and 15,900 metres of elevation gain through the Western Cape over eight days; the self-described hardest mountain bike stage race in the world.
I should probably say that before December, I hadn’t ridden a mountain bike properly for about 18 years. Real mountain biking — technical trails, committing to terrain — only started again in December. I’m 48. I didn’t know if I was ready.
“Waiting doesn’t make you more ready. It just makes you older.”
MICHAEL KLEINWORT, FOUNDER
STARTING FROM SCRATCH
I’m not new to endurance. I’ve been running or cycling since my 20s, and I’ve done ultra-distance events. But mountain biking is different. The handling, the technical side, the way you read terrain. I started again in December, riding trails around the Cape and trying to rebuild those instincts. By March, I’d had a few proper weeks on the bike. That was it.
I didn’t know my technical level. I didn’t know what kind of trails they’d put us on. I didn’t know how I’d respond riding in a big group, at race pace, on terrain I barely knew. So I didn’t set expectations. That’s probably a defence mechanism. It also helps you get through it.
Cape Epic · stage racing through the Western Cape
Technical terrain · single track · Western Cape
WHAT I FOUND OUT
Quite a bit.
I found out I could handle technical riding. Not just survive it, but commit to it. The descents, the single track, the loose rock. I was quicker than I expected, mostly because I wasn’t overly cautious. At some point you have to commit. Trust yourself, trust the bike. Accept a level of risk. Hesitation is usually worse.
I found out my body could handle the volume. Eight days, six to seven hours a day, and I wasn’t breaking down. Tired, of course, but ready to go again each morning. You don’t really know that until you do it.
Riders climbing · Cape Epic stage
THE RACE WITHIN THE RACE
Cape Epic is raced in pairs. My partner came from the team I’m part of — someone I hadn’t ridden with much before.
We had different strengths, and I realised early on that the race I’d imagined wasn’t the one we were riding. The first couple of stages were frustrating. I felt like I was holding back more than I expected.
Then I worked out I could push him on the climbs — hand on his back — and from Stage 3 that’s what I did. Swapping arms, breaking it into small efforts, just keeping us moving. And when I pushed, he pushed harder too. It was almost like he clicked up a gear. We were suffering side by side on the climbs, working for the same outcome. You don’t see that often — most teams are just two individuals riding together. This felt different.
“The hardest part wasn’t the mountain. It was accepting that the race I’d planned wasn’t the one I was riding.”
MICHAEL KLEINWORT, FOUNDER
There was a real sense of kinship in it. And in focusing on his effort as much as mine, I found the thing I’m always looking for in endurance. That place where your mind quiets down.
Partnership on the trail · Cape Epic
WHY IT MATTERS
In that level of effort — when you’re fully committed, physically and mentally — everything slows down. Your head clears. There’s not much else that does that.
I want to know what I can do. Not what I could have done ten years ago, or what I might do with another year to prepare. What I can do now, with what I have. The body is more capable than we think, if you train it and look after it.
I went to Cape Epic with a twenty-year idea and a few months of proper preparation. I came back knowing one thing quite clearly: I should have done it years ago. I’ve signed up for 2027.
Stellenbosch · Western Cape
FROM THE HIMALAYAS TO THE CAPE
Thirteen years ago, I was trekking through the Kawa Karpo range in Yunnan, wearing a prototype I’d been working on for three years — a yak wool base layer. Over 5,000-metre passes, through a blizzard, into heat above 25 degrees. That’s how kora started.
I took six Halo tees to Cape Epic. Not for racing — that was all synthetic — but for everything around it. The flights, the time between stages, the evenings after six or seven hours on the bike. I wore two the entire week. They didn’t smell. They didn’t need washing. Just quiet comfort when I needed it most.
Pieces from our Freedom, Liberty, and Haven collections are built for movement, for warmth, for time spent out there. For me it’s always been about the full system — not just performance, not just recovery, but how it all connects. The effort. The transition. The moments in between. Cape Epic was just another place to test that.
Michael Kleinwort is the founder of Kora. He lives between Hong Kong and wherever the next start line is.He shares more from the journey on Instagram: @michael_kleinwort_kora
Cape Epic, Western Cape, South Africa, 2026