Bicycling Magazine editor and popular South African cycling industry figure, Tim Brink, passed away on Thursday, 1 August 2024. Despite a courageous fight, he lost his longer-than-expected battle with cancer. He was 56. Tim was my friend. I find it hard to write about people close to me that have gone. But for some reason, writing about Tim was easy.
By Sean Badenhorst
It’s fitting that the last time I rode with Tim was one of my longest rides ever – the 205km Double Century event in 2019. We were on the same 12-rider team and, both being quite fit and strong, were tasked with helping push the weaker riders in the latter part of the race to ensure everyone finished. Tim was kind like that. He loved seeing others find joy in riding bicycles and achieving their goals.
Tim loved long rides. He’d sometimes ride from Cape Town to Knysna while his family drove there. Actually, he loved all rides and for a whole year (actually longer), he rode for at least an hour – every single day. He got more value out of his Strava membership than most. As a cycling media editor, Tim got to test ride hundreds of bikes over the years. It didn’t matter what bike it was; it was the ride that mattered. That should be a lesson to all of us.
I first met Tim in November 2002 when he collected me in his rather ragged VW bakkie from the Cape Town airport. I was about to start my job as the editor of the new South African edition of Bicycling Magazine and Tim would be my Deputy Editor/Marketing Manager (budgets were tight back then too).
Obviously, Tim and I shared a love of riding bicycles and we also shared a love of puns, silly humour, sarcasm, dark humour and speculating which pros were likely doping. Tim was genetically gifted in that he could classify a 500ml Coke, a large bag of Ghost Pops and a bag of Chuckles as a meal and not gain any weight. He was also a fantastic writer, who managed to make complicated topics easy to understand.
Some of my biggest, most guttural laughing fits were because of Tim. So sharp, so ridiculously quick witted and so intelligent. Tim probably could have pursued any career path, but he chose one that ensured he got paid to ride bicycles. Tim loved riding and writing and he made the most of that. Tim usually owned a full spectrum of bicycles, including a unicycle and a recumbent. He was the most inclusive bicycle guy I know. Any bicycle was valuable to Tim. If he saw an old bicycle, he would immediately call out and complement its good bits and not get hung up on the bad bits. He was like that with people too. He would quickly establish someone’s best qualities and fully appreciate them for that.
Our four years of working together at Bicycling Magazine really cemented our friendship. I lived in Johannesburg and Tim lived in Cape Town. I’d spend about a week per month in Cape Town almost every month, for four years. We rode mountain bikes together. We rode road bikes together. We spent a whole morning once riding up and down Table Mountain road for a Bicycling Magazine TV advert. Carving our way downhill on our road bikes, looking composed and quick and then riding slowly back up, mostly on our back wheels – because it was just more fun.
Tim did the first Cape Epic and we both did the second one in 2005 – with different teammates, but in the same group, so we spent a lot of time discussing our suffering and trying to meet a Bicycling Magazine deadline from hotel rooms at a time when Wi-Fi wasn’t really a thing yet… My suffering because of a lack of preparation and Tim’s because he was trying to keep up with a guy who was used to challenging for overall podium places.
Tim agreed to do that particular Cape Epic with a pro racer from the USA, Todd Helmick. Tim was like that. He’d find a unique story angle no matter what. The more challenging, the better because the story would be good. That year, he wrote a diary for Bicycling Magazine about his training to race the Cape Epic with a pro. He incorporated power training and always told me it was the future despite my conservative preference to train and race by feel. He was right of course. But while he understood the value of power measurement, Tim also appreciated the importance of riding by feel.
That wasn’t all he appreciated. Good coffee was always a good idea. Mostly Vida. Always an Espresso.
After our initial respective stints at Bicycling Magazine (Tim took over from me as Editor for a while after I left), Tim was one of my most valued contributors on TREAD Magazine when print media was still king. He’d need a nudge to get it all through by the deadline, which I always told him was earlier than it was and it would come through needing little, if any editing. Crisp, insightful, engaging copy that just flowed. A dream contributor and someone that added value to my TREAD brand at the time.
Tim was also the editor of Ride Magazine for a while and his last job was as editor of Bicycling Magazine. Essentially, Tim went from being a colleague to becoming a rival to me in the small South African cycling media space. But it was always a friendly rivalry, knowing that we were both adding value to our readers in our different ways.
After that 2002-2006 early stint at Bicycling Magazine, I didn’t see Tim very often. But when I did it was a highlight. I always felt really comfortable around Tim. As you probably know – how people make you feel is what you remember most. The last time I saw him was at the 2023 Absa Cape Epic. Neither of us were riding it. I was there as a guest of Toyota doing the Epic Trippers experience and Tim was there to soak up the Cape Epic vibe. He was even skinnier than his usual skinny self and his skin was paler than it usually was. But unmistakably present was the sharp wit and the naughty glint in his eyes.
We didn’t speak for long, but in those few minutes Tim did somehow remind me of the time, 20 years before, when, on an all-nighter to meet a magazine print deadline, we opened a corked bottle of red wine in his office, with a fork and a shoe.
Tim knew then that he would likely lose his battle against Stage 4 bone marrow cancer, but he didn’t let it change his character or crush his spirit. As it is with us humans, I expected I would see Tim again. I didn’t. But in recent months we had some frank WhatsApp chats. We spoke about the fragility of life and the value of time. His chemo treatment, cycling, of course; and we also spoke about our kids. Tim became a dad a lot later in life than I did so his three kids are all quite young. He said that his biggest regret would be that he won’t see them grow up.
I haven’t met Tim’s kids, but I do know, through his social media posts, that they are avid readers. I hope they get to read all the wonderful things people have been writing about Tim on social media following his passing. It’s clear that he made an impact on many, many people. What a great legacy. What a special human.
I have been reading, with fondness, some of Tim’s articles that we published in TREAD Magazine years ago. I thought it would make sense to finish this tribute to Tim by including this excerpt from an article he wrote about riding the Red Route in Knysna.
Thanks for being you, Tim. You made a great impact on my life and I will forever treasure that.
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By the time we hit the fabled singletrack, the pecking order for the day has been established, and I dive in, up the little hill, and left into the glorious, canopied trail that waves its magic wand every time you ride here. The early-morning light is struggling through, shafts penetrating as the sun tries to get at the permanent mud puddles the forest harbours through winter. Getting dirty on a bike is just about the best thing in the world, when you are doing it, and today is no exception. Behind me I can hear the gang, finally out of their foul moods, whooping and laughing as they slip, slide and ride.
And then I hit my first spider web. And another, and a third. Spit, spit, swat-swat, spit. So unnecessary. Dear god, let the monster that built these be watching from a nearby tree, not my tonsils. Suddenly in roadie mode, I feel the urge to yell a warning of impending danger to the gang behind. But what is the point: the man at the front is the one who clears the trail for the rest. So, the man at the front down-ages to six again and carries on trail blazing, just humming the whoops now.
Even as a six-year-old, in a short while it struck me how privileged we are to ride bikes, and to ride mountain bikes, and to ride mountain bikes in places like this. And to be the first to experience this trail this day – not just from my happy group, but the first human to head down that trail for the day, that is pretty special. – Tim Brink
