Do what you say you will do.

“After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.” – Nelson Mandela

Day 5 of pre-running the longest cross-country race course in the world had us with an initial goal to go from Loreto at race mile 831 to about mile 1000. The next day we’d finish to mile 1134. But that’s not how it turned out.

Tanner’s foot was still not well enough to ride on. The swelling was still there and the colors were coming out in deeper hues. Again, I felt bad. My son and riding partner was disabled. 

We set off on course and almost immediately we got to a hill climb so ridiculously steep and rocky… “Wake up! It’s me, Mr. Terrain, and I am here to kick your ass again!” Down into a long rocky river wash and then out onto a beautiful winding paved road. We switchbacked up over the mountains and the ascent brought beauty and cold air. I wondered if I needed my jacket, but it was too late. 

Chris Haines had told us a story with a cautionary warning. He said that a party of four racers from Sweden were riding this section of pavement and met disaster. What could happen on pavement? When a river crosses the paved road, you can make a bridge for the road – but that costs money. Here, they just let the river cross over the top of the road as a normal condition – a “spillway.” The water was about 25 feet wide and only two inches deep or so. Algae grew on the road surface and it was as slick as ice.

The first Swede went down, and the second and third went down trying to avoid him. Only one made it. When you crash on the road, it’s much different than crashing in dirt. There were broken bones and a concussion among them. “Be careful at the spillways” Chris warned. I told Rick and Santana, although I was sure Santana would know this already.

We approached the first spillway and I slowed, rolled through it touching neither the throttle nor any brake. There were four spillways over the next few miles as the same river meandered left and right of the road. Rick did not have such luck. He went through the first spillway okay and thought the warnings were overblown. On the second one, he went down on the pavement and slid 150 feet. His riding pants, very hard to tear, were ripped open at his thigh. He broke his foot in the incident, but he could still ride as it was small bones that were broken.

At this point, I was the only one of four of us who began four days ago who didn’t have a bad crash on this pre-run trip. I wanted to keep it that way.

The course kept crossing this wide rocky riverbed with rocks like bowling balls and watermelons. Then it opened up to sand whoops. Have you ever felt discouraged when you see the road ahead is long and difficult? 

I could see about three or four miles ahead – nothing but waves in the sand created by wheel action over many years. Up, down, up, down. Try to find a rhythm…get to the top of a rise and I could see another five miles of the same. Get to the top of the next rise…it went on for 80 miles. 

I got to the truck and waited. Eventually, Santana pulled up. Where’s Rick? He was between us. We waited and hoped we didn’t have to go back so many miles in those whoops to find him. Nearly an hour later he finally rolled in. He took a wrong turn but somehow figured it out.

The sun beat down on us as we ate some lunch. Santana had the idea that we’d finish pre-rnning the course today instead of tomorrow. Instead of stopping at a little town around mile 1000, we’d go on to the finish in LaPaz at mile 1134. That was a tall order. It would be 310 miles for the day.  Besides actually racing IN the Baja 1000, that would be the most I had ever ridden in a day. A deep breath of hot dry air… “Let’s go.”

As the course wound south, the terrain changed from time to time, as it does. When I saw the mile marker that said “1010,” I had to stop and take a picture. 1010 miles of this behind us. That was far. Very very far. While my body was exhausted, I knew I was getting better from all the “practice.”

I looked forward to seeing that sign again in two weeks…