#7 Dreams require work

My hands started aching. I expected this, and I tried to save my right hand especially. This one you could never take off the throttle. For 30 hours or more, it had to clutch a grip that was attached to the end of a handlebar that would pull that hand when you accelerated or went uphill, push that hand when you braked or went downhill, and constantly vibrated it, often violently over rough terrain.

I knew my hands were the part of my body that would fail first. So we used foam grips, and a neoprene palm liner under our gloves to try to save them.

I emerged from the first 80 miles onto Rt. 1, and turned south 8 miles to El Rosario where my first van stop was. My crew held the big sign that read “714x.” A welcome sight.

After about 2 1/2 hours, I was 10 minutes behind my estimate of where I’d be. But I attributed that to the severity of the dust, which I did not account for. “Where’s Tanner?” I’d always ask when I saw my crew. He was 25 minutes ahead of me. Perfect.

My friends were getting their first taste of what this race adventure chase was really all about. They were excited to do anything they could to help. And they were a huge help. I looked forward to seeing them at each stop, and they looked forward to seeing me after sometimes interminable waiting, and wondering if something bad happened.

Trevor changed my helmet camera battery and memory card, and gave me clean goggles. Ralph was struck by how coated in dust I was. I would not see the van again for 122 miles – a long way. There was only one section between van stops longer – 125 miles. But that was later. One leg at a time.

My only concern was to get to the next place I had to be – the physical checkpoint one mile away. Then I’d have to stop at the Baja pit to get fuel a few miles after that. Then the next Baja pit. Then the next one, and then the van again.  

To remember what my goal was, I had written the mile marker numbers on white tape on my gas tank.  Black ink was fuel stops at Baja Pits. Blue was physical checkpoints, and red was the beloved van stops where I could see my crew, and get encouragement and food.

I sped away, weaving in and out of local traffic on the paved road for 1/4 mile. The roads are still open. The locals may or may not have any idea there was a cross-country race going on, and you had to be hyper vigilant around civilian vehicles.

Tanner pulled into a Baja pit and was one of three Ironmen side by side waiting for fuel at the same time. The winner and the second place finisher got served first. They fueled Tanner, but ran out of fuel from their quick fill jug. Tanner had to tell them “More!” They came with another jug with just a little in it. Still not full. The leaders sped away. “More!”  

You are responsible for how full your tank is. When they fill your tank, you have to look and make sure you are full. They had to run back to the drums and get another jug. Finally he was full, and sped away after the leaders.

At mile 150, Tanner passed 702x, and was in second place. Go Tanner!

This second section took us down along the Pacific Ocean. Blue water broke to snow white waves on our right – but you couldn’t look. Rocks appeared that could deflect your front wheel sideways and take you down at any moment, and you had to pay attention at every second.

The course took us on a rocky beach where there was only smooth round rocks the size of softballs to ride on – whooped out no less.  

There would be deep silt beds, deep silt uphills, rocky uphills, sandy washes, some peppered with rocks, dark gray volcanic rocks, and out onto a beach with pure white sand, dry and loose, where your wheels would sink a foot deep. A geological tour of the Baja California peninsula.

Knowing I was going to hit “The Wall,” I covered the left and right of my gas tank with white tape and wrote words on it, where I could see them while riding. These words could remind me of ideas, and thoughts to motivate me.  

One word I wrote was “Flow.” In the book by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, flow describes a state of optimal performance that some of us refer to as “the Zone.”  Unconscious high performance. The more I could lose myself in the Zone, the better. It was helpful early in the race, but later when you are severely distracted by pain, it would be very difficult.

When we pre-ran this section, there were three water crossings. Water is very scarce in the Baja desert, but this section was along the ocean – sometimes very close. The tides brought water into spots. One water crossing was 25 feet across, 20” deep, and on the other side the bank was straight up 24”. I didn’t know if we could make it up the bank. I recalled our extensive water crossings in South Africa where we rode 200 feet in 24” deep water successfully. But those exits were gradual.  

I went for it while Tanner watched me. I got the front wheel up the opposite bank, but the back wheel just spun and dug in, leaving the bike almost vertical – and stuck.  I was soaked by my own roost. A local with an ATV tied a rope to my forks and helped pull me out. I gave him a few dollars, which he didn’t want to accept at first. Tanner used the slot I made in the bank to get out of the water with great effort.

I was worried about this crossing now during the race. If I fell over in the water, my boots would fill up and my feet would be soaked for nearly 700 more miles. That would be a huge problem. At mile 165, I was relieved to see they piped it and covered it over with dirt. Why? Not to help us. A few UTV’s (side by side vehicles) and buggies got stuck there.

I had been riding for over 6 hours now with just a 10 minute break. I was around mile 200. The fun was well over, and things were starting to hurt – hands and knees in particular.

It’s easy to say we are going to do something. It’s fun making plans and telling everyone how you are going for something. Actually doing it is something else. But chasing big goals always breaks down to hard work and sacrifice. Sometimes suffering and pain are involved – physical or emotional. Keeping it all together when it gets tough, and being able to make the right calls under stress is important to be able to keep going.

Thinking about how hard it is, or how hard it will be, doesn’t help. Often “hard” is what happens compared to what you thought would happen. I expected pain, so I wasn’t surprised when it came. There is a time to be an optimist, and a time to be real.

Reality was starting to kick my butt…