A body in motion…

“A body in motion tends to remain in motion until acted on by an outside force.”

These hills were different. Up and down like other hills, but these were whooped out. Three-foot-deep waves, 12 feet from crest to crest. Waves up big slopes and down them again; and on side hills too. Like moguls on black diamond runs on a ski mountain.

When the terrain is turbulent, you try to make it quiet with grace and inner tranquility. If you fight what is, you will lose. So you go with it, and accept it, and don’t make it mean something it doesn’t have to be. You determine what it means.

When the front wheel hits the face of a whoop, you have two choices. You can push with your arms to resist the front end coming up at you. Of course, once it comes up all it will, it will go down again. You have another choice. You can tighten up as it pulls you down. This resistance will find your torso going up and down and up and down – using a lot of energy.

Instead, you can stop fighting. You can allow the handlebars to come up at you, and know and trust it will not come up forever and knock you off. You relax your arms and grip and bend your elbows in an act of non-resistance. With your elbows bent, you are prepared for when the front-end drops. No need to resist, just keep your arms relaxed and straighten your elbows out. You are using far less energy and your center of gravity is not going up and down very much at all.

Once in a while, when the whoops are spaced right, you can look ahead and use the face of a whoop to blip the throttle and jump completely over a trough, missing it altogether. When you do it right, it feels like a dance.

We can accept what is, or resist it. When we resist, it causes suffering.

Acceptance does not mean being satisfied or resigned to it. It just means recognizing it for what it is, and not resisting its existence. If we can do that, a lot of personal suffering will melt away inside many of us.

My first Baja Pits gas stop came at mile 50. “Baja Pits” is a service – a business that sets up gas stops along the course every 50 miles or so. You pay ahead of time, and you get an orange diamond-shaped sticker to put on your front fender that says, “Baja Pits.”

The pit itself consists of a small trailer and a 10’ square pop-up awning. A big 3’ x 3’ orange sign is set up in front that says, “Baja Pits.” You shouldn’t miss it, especially in the middle of a stark earth-tone desert. At some pits, they’ll put another sign a few hundred yards before the actual pits saying something like “Baja Pits ahead.” If you pull in and they see their big orange sticker on your front fender, they know you are a customer of theirs.

They have quick-fill gas cans and, combined with your spring-loaded quick-fill gas tank (no gas cap to screw off, just press the gas can against the cap), you can fill up in about 6 seconds. They’ll wipe your headlight and goggles off, offer you a water (not necessary with our hydration packs) or a banana, and ask you if you are okay. They’re volunteers and race fans, and happy to help you.

Baja Pits are important – very important. If you miss one, you’re done. Our bikes would go about 80 miles on a full tank, and the Baja Pits were spaced 45 to 55 miles apart, depending on where they could get access to and set up.

I pulled in, and in 30 seconds I was off again. It always felt good knowing I didn’t have to worry about gas for another 50 miles.

At mile 74, I met my van and team for the first time since starting. I took a few mouthfuls of food and gulped some chia I had floating in a water/hydration powder mix.

So far, so good. Both my team and I were encouraged.

“Where’s Tanner?” “He’s leading!”

I clicked the bike into gear and sped off into the blackness.

“I got your back son.”