Active Pursuit

“Your life is not going to be easy and it should not be easy. It ought to be hard.  It ought to be radical; it ought to be restless; it ought to lead you to places you’d rather not go”.  – Henri Nouwen

I was rolling. I had 1134.4 miles to go over some of the toughest terrain imaginable, and 48 hours to get there. If there were virtual gauges in my consciousness for rest, attitude, energy, physical fitness, and plan, the needles were all pinned at green. I felt great and my confidence was high.

Four blocks and two turns on city streets lined with fans, I dropped into the river wash for ten blocks to the east. Back out on city streets for a few miles, then onto a highway that was under construction. Then, “into the dust.”

I climbed the hills east of Ensenada. Campfires from fans dotted the way. The course rolled up and down. I settled in, finding a place at the intersection of fast, smooth and economy of human energy. Last year I held back in the beginning to save myself. This year, I was in better shape, and I wanted to go faster sooner to put miles behind me early.

A critical part of the race was already over – starting it. The road to the starting line is a long one. You need resolve as you navigate the uncelebrated hurdles and challenges. All that was over. The bike was between my legs and the bars were in my hands. We were moving – and it felt awesome.

The dirt road rolled and wound. Some parts were hard and slick with granules. Some parts were full of deep silt. An occasional lone rock to be avoided; just by an inch would suffice. I could see the lights of Ensenada below, which ended abruptly at the ocean.

Since the last race, some people asked why I was doing it, and told me I didn’t have to. I thought about it. It would be easier not to. A lot easier. But I want to go in the history books – the Ironman finisher born longest before the race. And in order to finish, I had to start.

So often we take ourselves out of the game because we think we can’t win – or can’t finish. When we do that, we ensure we won’t. I’m here now. All I have to do is keep going until I see a checkered flag. 

I passed a couple guys from my class, and a guy passed me. When someone comes up on you on a motocross track, you fight them off – taking the best lines and riding a wide bike. This wasn’t motocross. With 1100 miles to go (unless I was vying for a podium position or at the end of the race), you let them go. 

Taking the chance of making a mistake or spending energy unnecessarily is stupid in a survival race. They are stepping it up to pass you, and if you step it up even more to prevent it, the worst that can happen is you crash, and the best that can happen is you have to hold him off at 100% of your energy and ability for many miles – and that is not good to be riding on your edge for so long.

I descended the hills into Ojos Negros where I gave the kids stickers a few days before. I was doing 75 on an open gravel road and a bike came by me at 85. The black of the night was like being in space. There were my own lights illuminating a conveyor belt of earth’s textures flying under my wheels. Then another set of lights coming from a second flying object breaks the ink around me. Our lights join as a team, until separating again as he gets farther ahead. Being behind him, even 100 feet back, was like getting machine-gunned with gravel.

I passed the military checkpoint on the right and flew over roads that rolled up and down like the roads would through farmland in Iowa – almost like a roller coaster. I could see by the shifting lights on the horizon in front of me that another bike was coming up from behind. I didn’t want to be in his dust right here, so I rode fast and smooth to delay the event.

There were two of them, and when they went by I could see one of them was Jeff Benrud. He was a military special forces guy. For the last two years, he crossed the finish line first but didn’t win due to penalties. 

If you go off course, you can miss Virtual Checkpoints. These are 50’ – 100’ round spots that you must ride through or you get a 10-minute penalty. Picture Pac-Man consuming all the little dots along the way. You can’t see them of course, they are a digital creation on the tracker that race promoters follow your every step with. When you miss one, you don’t know it until the day after the race when your path over the course has been analyzed and verified by race officials.

If there is a shortcut to potentially take, the course designers will put enough VCPs along the course there to make it not worth it to take the shortcut. If you get lost, you can miss VCPs too.

Last year, Jeff crashed hard in the rocks and was knocked out cold for 20 minutes. He suffered a concussion and broken wrist. He doesn’t even remember finishing, which may explain why he missed enough VCPs to be penalized back to second place – for the second year in a row. This time, Jeff was in it to make the win stick.

I couldn’t see in the dust, as two bikes passed close together. I looked down and stayed between the left and right sides of the road and hoped for a crosswind.

I wondered how Tanner was doing ahead of me.

It was mile 40-ish, about 2:20 a.m., and I followed the course up into the hills where Tanner smashed his foot up on day one of pre-running. 

Less than 1100 miles to go.

Feeling good…