The Epic battle waged on the front lines

The spectators were screaming as the mountain biker approached the finish line.

The rider, pumping his pedals as hard as he could, was 10 seconds away from finishing Stage 1 of the Absa Cape Epic. The only problem was that the official with the gun was nine seconds away from pulling the trigger, marking the official end of the day's stage.

Nine. Eight.. Seven. The cyclist, 52-year-old Johannes "Hein" Prinsloo, put the hammer down. He had climbed on his bike nine hours and 59 minutes earlier as the 1200 riders embarked on an adventure across the Western Cape. Six. Five.

It had taken the first team just 4 hours 47 minutes to complete the course. They had already given interviews, showered, had massages, eaten and sat in ice baths. Four. Three... Two... And with one second to spare, Prinsloo crossed the line. The crowd roared. Prinsloo had completed the 113km ride in nine hours, 59 minutes and 59 seconds - the closest shave in Epic history.

The next person across the line was another Hein. But Hein Venter was 16 seconds too late. Venter's board was removed and replaced with a non-finisher's blue number board - the mark of shame. The two Heins hugged.

The Absa Cape Epic, in its twelfth year, has become the most prestigious mountain bike stage race in the world.

It is a tale of two Epics: at the sharp-end of the race, the world's best riders fight for podium positions.

This year's race has been dominated by Team Investec-Songo-Specialized's Swiss mountain biking legend Christoph Sauser and his partner, Olympic gold medallist Czechoslovakian Jaroslav Kulhavy. Kulhavy is one Czech that won't bounce. He's the Bruce Springsteen of mountain biking, The Boss.

At the blunt end of the race are the die-hard adventurers, desperate to show the world they're tough enough to "Epic". But in order to Epic, they have to make the cut-off every day for eight days of brutal mountain biking, a 739km journey from Table Mountain to Durbanville.

Life became increasingly bleak for the backmarkers on Wednesday as they made their 128km journey from Elgin into Worcester. The official with the gun stood on the finish line. The heat had put the woes into Worcester. The 10-hour cut-off had been extended by 30 minutes, and, with just one minute to go, Candice Marsh and teammate James Schuurmans entered the stadium. Would they make it?

Marsh and Schuurmans sprinted and, with 30 seconds to spare, crossed the line and collapsed. Two broken bodies lay on the ground about 10m apart, and both had dissolved in a puddle of tears. Then Marsh leopard-crawled to Schuurmans and lay on top of him. It seemed only a crowbar would separate them.

"How was that?" event announcer Mike Finch asked Schuurmans as he got up.

"It was ... It was.... It was..." Schuurmans searched for a word to sum up the last 10 hours 29 minutes and 30 seconds of his life. He eventually settled on "terrible". Nevertheless, yesterday he and Marsh got back on their bikes and set out to conquer another day of the Epic.