Some races you enter with a plan. Others — like The Munga — you enter with a question.
Am I truly made for this?
For Hansie Joubert, that question has been answered more than once. A multiple winner of various Munga Grits, the Munga Sword Series, and, of course, the ultimate test of them all — The Munga — Hansie is no stranger to pain, perseverance, and the peculiar joy of voluntary suffering. He has built not just results, but a reputation: the quiet, consistent rider who meets the Karoo on its own terms, year after year, with humility and fire in equal measure.
It didn’t start with confidence. It started with disbelief. “When I first heard about the Munga,” Hansie recalls, “I thought it was madness. Maybe even impossible.” Like many riders, he and his cycling friends watched it from a safe distance, fascinated, intimidated, dissecting strategies they might never use. But in 2019, nudged by a friend, Jaco Ferreira, Hansie finally decided: now or never.
A torn calf muscle, three weeks before the race, forced him to defer to 2020. But the decision stuck. The seed was planted. “I’ve never once regretted it,” he says — and from then on, the Munga stopped being a race on his bucket list and became part of his bloodstream.
The Quiet Call of the Impossible
Hansie doesn’t preach philosophy, yet he lives by one: never give up, and never do anything half-heartedly. There’s nothing lofty about it, but there’s a kind of steel there, a principle forged through repetition and fatigue.
That same principle explains why he keeps coming back. “The Munga has become a lifestyle in our household,” he says. “I can’t imagine my life without some Munga-type race to prepare for.” The rhythm of preparation, the camaraderie, the structure — it seeps into who you are.
Ironically, for all its hardship, Hansie calls the race an escape. Before each start, he switches off his phone with quiet satisfaction, knowing that 1,100 kilometres of silence, dust, and peace await him. “It’s freedom,” he says. “There’s nothing else like it.”
Maybe that’s what keeps people like him coming back: the paradox of finding calm in chaos, peace in pain, and meaning in monotony. Out there, with nothing but your thoughts and your heartbeat, life becomes stripped down to its essentials, raw, real, and honest.
We Are Better Made Than We Think
Out on the endless roads, somewhere between midnight fatigue and sunrise resolve, Hansie discovered something simple but profound: we are better made than we think.
The Munga tests every layer of a person — the physical, the mental, the emotional. And when one of those gives way, you learn to draw strength from another. “We’re built for challenge,” he says. “It gives meaning to life.”
He doesn’t rely on mantras or quotes. “I just remind myself that I’m well prepared,” he says. “And then I do what needs to be done — keep riding.” There’s no bravado in that. It’s the quiet kind of strength that makes people like him dangerous to despair.
Rule 5 and the Voices in Your Head
Every rider eventually reaches the wall, that place where motivation dries up and discipline feels hollow. For Hansie, that’s when “Rule 5” kicks in: remember, this was your choice.
It’s a mantra of ownership, not punishment. When he fell ill before the 2023 Munga, he still lined up, hoping to push through. In Britstown, he had to stop. “It probably would’ve been wiser not to start,” he admits, “but I had to try.” That’s the heart of it, not the winning, but the trying anyway.
Whether it’s 1,100 kilometres or a personal crisis, quitting is rarely about the body. It’s about the voice in your head. The art, Hansie says, is to keep moving until that voice fades behind the sound of your tyres on gravel.
Respect the Race, and Yourself
Ask Hansie what advice he’d give to someone attempting their first Munga, and his answer comes without hesitation: “Respect the race.”
“Give yourself the best chance,” he says. “Prepare properly, and with a full heart.” You can’t fake your way through this. The Munga will find every weakness, physical and mental, and demand payment for it. But if you respect it — if you prepare, train, rest, and believe — you’ll not only survive it, you’ll come out richer for it.
“We’re built for challenge,” he says again. “If your preparation is good, you won’t damage yourself. You’ll expand yourself.”
That’s not just endurance talk. It’s a worldview.
The Finish Line Isn’t the Point
When Hansie crosses the finish line, he doesn’t crave applause. He wants people to see the story behind the moment — the dawn training rides, the meticulous nutrition planning, the sacrifices from his coach, sponsors, friends, and family. The finish is a punctuation mark, not the poem.
“I ride 100 percent for myself and for PVM, my main sponsor,” he says. “But I hope it inspires others to take on their own Munga, whatever that looks like.”
Because for him, the Munga adds value not just to his riding, but to his humanity. It’s not something you win. It’s something that reshapes you, like the wind reshapes the Karoo itself.
Your Own Munga
Not everyone will line up in Bloemfontein with a tracker and a dream, but everyone has a Munga of their own — that long, dusty road between where they are and who they hope to become.
Maybe yours isn’t measured in kilometres. Maybe it’s a fight for health, or balance, or belief. Maybe it’s a business, a broken heart, or a quiet battle no one else sees.
Whatever it is, Hansie’s journey offers a lesson: you are better made than you think. Respect the road, prepare with heart, take ownership of your choices, and when the moment comes — ride on.
Because the Munga, like life itself, doesn’t reward perfection. It rewards persistence.
And somewhere between the exhaustion and the sunrise, it reveals the best parts of what it means to be human.