Escape

There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes to where life is not painful. – Fernando Pessoa

I tried to pull up again, but there was no way. There were hundreds of needles in me that were still very much attached to the cactus. I’d have to rip them all out at once to stand up. These needles have a hook-like action. They don’t want to come out easily.

A few months ago, I was looking at a photo of Tanner from last year’s race. “What’s that on your side?” We’re always trying to figure out the best way to carry things. We test fanny packs and holsters and all kinds of things when we pre-run. You can’t really attach anything to the bike because the vibration and violent up and down movement will loosen it and you’ll lose it. Your body and head are the things that move the least.

A backpack is good, but you have to take it off to get anything out quick, and it can be an ordeal. (I can tell you there was no way to get my backpack off in this prickly situation.) I tested an awesome adventurer fanny pack, but in the heat it’s a bit claustrophobic. So I copied Tanner and got a little belt pouch from Home Depot. If you wear O’Neal riding pants, which I did this year, there is a belt that you can slide the pouch on.

I put the pouch on my right hip so I can grab things quick with my right hand. As luck would have it, my left hip was buried in the dirt, but my right hip was up. I unzipped the pouch and right where I had left it was a small pair of wire cutters. I carried them to cut wire ties, or to cut barbed wire out of my wheels or brake calipers.

I reached down under my left arm and began snipping away at the fleshy part of the plant. I separated it from the rooted part. I managed to get up and lift the bike up. I look on the back side of my arm and see green plates of the cactus still stuck to my arm via large toothpick sized thorns. I began cutting the thorns with the wire cutters one by one. I was able to release one of the plates and went to work cutting the thorns from the next. Then the third. Then the forth.

There was a lot in me. I had landed in a big angry plant. I reached behind my shoulder blade and could feel another one on me back there. I could barely reach and couldn’t see, but managed to feel around and cut the needles with my small wire cutters. Finally, the last plate fell off of me.

I could feel a myriad of needles sticking out of my skin through my jersey. I could not see them well as many of them were around the back side of my arm. When I touched them they poked my hand. I reckoned I was 20 miles or so from the van. Could I ride like this? If my muscles expanded and contracted and moved around with needles in them, would it be insufferable pain and discomfort? Let’s see…

It was a doable plan. Now I just needed to get to the van to get help. But I knew what was coming up and it was not good.

Some terrain is just really, really hard on a motorcycle. The deep silt whoops changed to a narrow river wash with tree branches hanging over it from both sides. Embedded boulders poked up 12” from the night time sand. Turns every 30 feet. Add all this together…

I passed a guy who was struggling in it. I looked at his number – an Ironman. He followed me. I knew it was for moral support. We came up on another bike struggling who had then stopped in front of us. We both pulled up to him and stopped. It was another Ironman. “Are you ok?” His voice was discouraged and frustrated. “Yeah,” he said while he was shaking his helmet “no.” “This sucks!” the other one said. Then he yelled some expletive over the sound of three engines in the night. I nodded in agreement and got going again. They both attempted to follow and stay with me, but I pulled ahead and lost them.

A rider from Norway, who had raced and won his class in the Dakar rally three times, another incredibly tough race, came to Baja this year. When he saw the Baja 1000 course on race day he said it was the most miserable terrain he had ever seen and said he would NOT be back! “I’m out!”

“When you’re going through hell, don’t stop!” – Les Brown

Suddenly the course turned up a rocky hill. Don’t let off the throttle. Holy smokes this is steep! But I knew the next hill was the worst. Down the rocks now. Dark. Two-foot vertical drops. Rocks. Down. Another ½ mile. Here it comes…

If I was a race fan and there was any place along the 1134-mile course I could camp out and watch, it would be this place. The uphill is so steep and full of rocks – I mean full of rocks – I mean no dirt, JUST rocks, that it must be an incredible spectacle and entertainment to see any type of vehicle try to ascend this angry slope. This was stupid dangerous.

My wheels danced off the rocks altering my direction every few seconds, but I kept my balance and held the throttle open, with my finger on the clutch ready for anything. I saw faces on the ledges to my left temporarily illuminated by my headlights. I avoided the biggest boulders that would surely cause a crash. Up, up, up, I felt like I was in a pinball machine bouncing around. How high can this hill be? My jersey pulled against the needles sticking out of me.

Mercifully, I got to the top. A few more miles to the military checkpoint and I start looking for my van.

I am so relieved that section is over. I had ridden every mile of this course in pre-run. It was one of the two worst parts of this entire course. I scanned the vehicles alongside the road, looking for a white van or the yellow 714x sign.

I knew I was still ahead of schedule, even though I had lost some time. I was excited, stressed, encouraged, and exhausted.

There they are! I pulled in. “Guys. I got two problems…”