Gate #60 – Part 3

I climbed the famed “Goat Trail” to a high plateau.  I knew they must be coming soon.

Suddenly a red helicopter dove down in front of me.  Fortunately, I was in a place where I could get off the course.  I pulled over and looked back.  There was violence and speed.  The first trophy truck blew by me.  I knew the train would be coming.

I wait for the dust to clear enough to see and look back to make sure another truck is not behind in the dust.  If there was and he could not see me….well…

I press on.  Another helicopter.  This time I’m in a narrow section with berms on both sides.  I can’t just get off the course.  There are rocks and cactus and bushes along the sides…I spy an opening and slow down.  I turn the bars toward the berm and gas it.  I pop up out of the course rut and between two bushes.  Exactly two seconds later the screaming dragon goes by at about 70 miles an hour.  Two seconds….

This process is repeated for the next three hours.  It’s sketchy.  If this was my first race I’d be freaked out.

I raced to the little town of Ojos Negros where for the last 25 miles the bikes and the four-wheel vehicles would split.  I would not have to deal with race trucks passing me anymore – or their dust.  

I see my chase team for the last time.  The sun is going down.  I’m relieved to be riding “alone” now.  I rise up into these last hills.  I am in pain.  Standing – bad shoulder, traps, and hands hurt.  Sitting – butt hurts.

Up and down.  I unleash the Big and Nasty over and over to conquer each steep climb.

13 miles to go.  I get to the top of yet another steep descent.  Rain ruts form over time on the steep slopes.  I pause at the top to scan which line to take – left, right, or center.  I see tracks on the right.  I go right. A deep rain rut appears just to the left of my wheels.  It’s about 8″ wide and 16″ deep making it down the hill.  The surface my wheels are on starts pitching toward the rut.  “Ut oh, ut oh, UT OH!”  I feel my wheels sliding toward the rut as I descend down the hill.  I know it’s going to happen.

My front wheel drops 16″ into the rut and the whole bike stops.  My boots are straight up overhead, hands on the bars still.  As I am flying I think about how far I had come and how close I am.  “Not now!” 

I hit the ground flat, my backpack cushioning my back.  It knocked the wind out of me.  I assess the damage – and I’m OK!  I stand and gather myself.  The bike’s headlight beam cuts into the dust.  I muscle the bike up and out of the rut.  

13 miles to go.  I get on and ride down this hill to the next steep ascent.

Near the finish, the four-wheeled vehicles join again with the bikes for the last 3 miles.  This is where I started 15 1/2 hours ago.  The dust is ridiculously thick.  I can’t see – some places not for ten feet.  In places, I am literally duck paddling.

Finally, I turn a corner and see the timed finish.  Four guys there waving checkered flags and checking wristbands.  I pull into the lights and shut my engine down.  I have to take a couple of minutes before I ride back into town to the ceremonial finish. 

I had done it.

60.