The Second Crossing

“Let me embrace thee, sour adversity. For wise men say it is the wisest course.“ – William Shakespeare

I rode away from San Ignacio at 10:30 pm on a leg that I knew would take me most of the night. I felt good. Surprisingly good for being this deep into the world’s longest non-stop race. My physical preparation was paying dividends now.

I turned off the paved road into the desert yet again. There were fires along the course – people camping out and watching the race. The course rolled and turned in the hills, but it was far easier than the last 50 miles. I hear a truck and see lights coming up behind me. I pick a place to pull over and watch the dragon pass, populating the air with particles of airborne earth so effectively, you’d think that was why the machine was built.

I’d have to deal with passing trucks and buggies the rest of the race. This would slow me down significantly from the first half. I’d have to pull over to get out of their way, and then wait for the dust to clear so I could see and proceed. If there was no wind, a typical nighttime situation, it would take a number of minutes, and sometimes ten. Just when you get going, you see the lights of another one coming up behind you. This process gets repeated when the bulk of the pack is coming through, as your average speed suffers considerably.

I came to a river crossing – the same river crossing that had claimed Santana. It was about 60 feet across. This time it was night. There were crowds of people on both banks. This could only mean that there was drama here worth watching. The last thing I wanted to do was fall down in the water at night, submerged, with 40-degree air and being 157 miles from my truck. Now that I think of it, that could be life-threatening.

I stopped and asked a spectator, “Which line is good?” and I motioned with my hand. I couldn’t understand him. I asked again. He tried to help me, but I wasn’t confident he had been paying attention. A truck could take any line they want. But a bike had to miss the big boulders to stay upright.

When you have something tough to do, staring at it and telling yourself how bad it will be it won’t make it any easier. I didn’t hesitate any longer. I put the bike in first gear and put my calves up on the radiator shrouds, as is my water crossing technique to keep my feet dry.

The river received me without much protest at first. The water got deeper and deeper. The splashing from my front wheel licked the back of my boots on my outstretched legs. About 2/3 the way through, I hit something under the black water that knocked me off balance. Instinctively I hit the throttle to stay up. I altered my course to regain my balance and sprinted for the bank. I was about ten feet to the left of my original target when I got there, but I got there. Besides a little water in my boot, I was dry. 

I happily left the crowd behind and sprinted into the darkness.

I never was a quitter. When things got tough, I hung in there. When nobody expected me to win or finish or stick it out, I always did. If anyone can do it, I can do it. Maybe not at first, if I didn’t have the training or experience or knowledge, but if I wanted something, I’d pay the price.

I think too many people quit on themselves. In an age of instant gratification, where we find out if we win in minutes and go on to the next thing, persistence over long periods of time is a valuable quality. Sometimes you just keep going until everyone else goes home.

Finishing a project, even after you discover it is taking far longer than you expected or hoped, is what we need to do. Doing anything worthwhile means going deep into it. It means sticking with it through complexity and problems and when weeks turn to months or years. So long as it was a worthwhile endeavor in the first place, if you start, you finish. Finishing builds self-esteem and confidence. And life is a confidence game.

I pressed on. The excitement of it being on me, and the fans in San Ignacio, and now even the river crossing had faded. It was work again. It was cold. When I look behind me I could always see at least one set of racing truck lights back there coming my way. I had to keep looking to time when I’d pull over.

The course flattened out. The sand got deep. I shifted my weight back to lighten up the front wheel and gave it a healthy dose of throttle to push through the sand. 

Suddenly, “broughhhhhhhhh.” My engine quit. It took two seconds to understand what happened. 

I was out of gas.