When the Absa Cape Epic comes to town

They came. They saw. They conquered. That, in a nutshell, is a salute to the Absa Cape Epic. As the Cape Epic ‘26 passed through Montagu for stages 1 & 2, it revealed more than elite racing—it highlighted the power of place, people, shared experience, and what happens when a global event meets a local small town in the Klein Karoo. 

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Up until a few months ago, the Absa Cape Epic meant nothing to me. I knew it was a big deal — I just didn’t get it. 

And then it came to our town.

As the Epic ’26 entourage rolled into Montagu for stages 1 & 2, a festive buzz took hold—yellow and black bunting lining the streets as the hype built.

And then something else happened: one of the cyclists checked into our Airbnb. Now I was paying attention.

A world within a world

Trying to describe the Cape Epic coming to town is harder than I expected. 

But the closest I can get is this:

It’s a village within a village.

A world within a world.

A hyper-focused bubble that is all-consuming.

Not just for the riders — but for the support teams, families, organisers… and, for a few days, even for the towns that host them.

The adjectives - untamed, relentless, brutal, gruelling, unforgiving - aren’t hype. They’re real. 

Walking into the Cape Epic race village, you realise that this isn’t like any other sporting event.  

It’s a fully functioning ecosystem, running at an intensity that’s hard to explain unless you’ve seen it for yourself.

The scale of it — especially the behind-the-scenes logistics — is extraordinary.

A big event in a small town

For Montagu, hosting stages 1 & 2 of the Absa Cape Epic isn’t something that happens often. Much like snow falling in Joburg, it comes around once in a couple of decades - so when it does, you show up.

You stand on the sidelines. You take it all in.

Although Montagu has always been on the map, this is a different kind of visibility. For a few days, our platteland dorpie was seen through a global lens. 

The world was watching.  

Helicopters tracking the action.

Drones sweeping across the mountains, vineyards, and valleys.

Camera crews capturing every angle.

Zoom lenses locking onto grit, emotion, disappointment, and victory.

This isn’t just an endurance mountain biking race — it’s something else entirely; impressive and slightly surreal.

A quick reality check

Here’s what I didn’t fully understand at first: The race may come to our town, but the riders aren’t here for the town. They’re not tourists.

They’re here to ride.

To race.

To compete.

To push themselves to their absolute limits.                                   

To face the beast at every stage.  

They come for the terrain - the climbs, the descents, the dust, the heat. For the challenge. For the test of both physical and mental endurance.

Each rider is completely locked in.

And yet… for a couple of days, our town becomes part of that story anyway.

Maybe not in the way we expected. But in ways that matter.

My take? We got to share our mountains, our trails, our streets, our Klein Karoo hospitality, and our village.

And somewhere in that overlap - as something global brushes up against something deeply local - the ordinary becomes part of the extraordinary.

What happens on the ground

Beyond the helicopters, the headlines, and the spectacle, there's another side to the story. 

As stages 1 & 2 unfolded, the Cape Epic became part of my daily rhythm. 

Early mornings at the start line, drawn in by the quiet anticipation.

Riders passing in timed batches, a low, synchronised hum — like a swarm of bees.

Spectator points where cyclists tore through the trails at speed.

The finish line, where dust, exhaustion, and triumph settled on every face.

Day 1, watching the top three Elite Women's teams step onto the podium. 

Snapping photos. 

Just watching, 

Those are the things that stayed with me and connected me - even in a small way - to what the Cape Epic is really about.  

It takes a (race) village 

Before the 2026 Absa Cape Epic,  I was a complete novice.

If you had mentioned Nino Schurter, Matt Beers, or Candice Lill to me, I would have drawn a blank. Who?

But no more. 

Having been slowly drawn into the epicentre of the Cape Epic as it took hold of our town, something shifted. 

Those names - and many others - have become part of the story unfolding around me.

Waking at sunrise for the start. Wandering through the race village in quiet awe. Getting swept up in the energy of it all.

Somewhere between the early mornings and the dust trails, I got it.

As a spectator, watching stages 1 & 2 unfold, I started to see it.

The commitment.

The discipline.

The resilience

The guts and the glory.

The teamwork - riders not just alongside each other, but for each other.

Not just teammates. Lifelines. 

And behind them, an entire support system in constant motion. 

Nothing about this is casual. Nothing is done alone.

Even as a spectator, it's visceral. 

A town, briefly changed

Part of the Cape Epic's magic lies in the places it passes through - and how those places respond. 

As Montagu prepared for stages 1 & 2, there was a shift in the town itself as the community showed up. 

School children’s artwork lined Kohler Street, adding colour and pride. 

Church Street came alive with a three-night pop-up food market, bringing people together. 

Shops, restaurants, and coffee spots stretched their hours, making space for this moment.

A Monday night event saw the 2025 Cape Epic Scott-SRAM yellow jersey auctioned for R25 000 — in support of Montagu Trails, the very trails that the race came to experience.  

It wasn’t one big gesture. It was all the small efforts, layered together, that made it feel like the whole town was part of it.

And for a few days in March 2026, the main topic of conversation in Montagu wasn’t the weather. 

That alone says a lot. 😉

What stayed with me

It’s hard to define community spirit - and just as hard to measure the impact of the Cape Epic coming to our town. 

It doesn’t arrive all at once or announce itself loudly. 

It shows up in shared moments, small interactions, in the way people come together without even realising it.

I didn’t expect to be as affected as I was.

But as the race village packed up and moved to Greyton, I was left with a genuine sense of respect — for the athletes, for what they take on, and for everything behind the scenes to makes it possible. 

It's epic. 

It's inspiring. 

And I'm grateful to have had a front row seat - right here, in my town.

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Written by Leanne Johnson