I pulled up alongside him. Tanner was catching his breath after he stuck his foot out in a rutted uphill turn and it hit a rock. This pushed his toe upward, while the footpeg with the full weight of the forward moving bike comes behind the same foot and smashes him in the Achilles tendon, wedging his foot between said rock and footpeg.
We waited ten minutes for him to assess the damage. We were only ten miles into a 1134-mile course and Tanner was already hurt. Santana told him to ride if he could. One thing Santana had learned many times over countless tours, and many people being injured, is you can’t stop out here. There is nobody to help you. No regular vehicle can get here. You needing to be transported out would be a big problem.
Tanner soldiered on, albeit slower. I stopped to wait for Tanner to catch up and checked in with him. Was it something you could shake off or was it worse than that? He thought the latter. Oh boy.
We had to make San Felipe tonight. That was a long way. Could he make it?
I lead, following the GPS and the course markers – orange signs that were placed about every mile or at each turn. I tried not to get too far ahead of Tanner, which was difficult because when you pre-run you stay back, often way back, from the guy ahead of you to avoid the dust. Rick followed, and Santana pulled up the rear like a good guide would, to make sure nobody has an incident and is left behind.
Tanner said his boot was getting tighter. Not good. It was getting dark. Tanner and I have been riding together his whole life. Now that I think of it, I don’t think he’s been riding too much when I wasn’t around. I knew he was hurting by the way he was riding.
It was getting dark now and the course dumped us into a sandy wash that became a rhythmic whoops section. Up and down and up and down – thousands of times. Tanner fell further and further back. I slowed to wait for him and Rick and Santana went ahead to San Felipe where we’d spend the night. Tanner waved at me in frustration to go ahead. The pain was too much.
Mercifully for him, the whoops gave way to a graded road. Five miles of that and we gathered up to navigate the streets of San Felipe and follow Santana to the hotel. In our room, Tanner took his boot off. We both looked with great anticipation. What would we see?
“Uh-oh. That’s not good.” Not good at all. His ankle and foot were one big balloon. He couldn’t walk. We had to assist him to get around the corner to eat. He couldn’t put any weight on his foot at all. It turns out that the injuries we would both sustain so close to the race were not over.
We iced it down and hoped he could ride in the morning…