The Gauntlet

The course wound left and right and left and right. Ruts from the four-wheeled vehicles dominated the path – one on the right and one on the left. These ruts were 12” to 18” deep. This means there was a hard berm in the middle as high, and the shoulders of the course were that high too. Up on the shoulder were cactus and hostile brush, often hanging over the course.

A motorcycle needs to lean to turn. If you are in the right rut, you can turn left ok because you lean over the middle of the course. But after every left, there is a right turn. Now you are in the wrong rut because you have to lean toward the shoulder and cactus of every variety, like Stegosaurus tails, preventing you from leaning that way. You had to jump the berm to get in the outside rut. This was no easy feat in many places. You’d get your front wheel up the berm and falling into the opposite rut, while your rear wheel tracked the old rut. With great skill, you can be successful most of the time. But a 99.9 percent success ratio had me crashing three times – once pretty hard.

It was a crash I knew I would have avoided had I been fresh. When I went to pick up my bike, I knew my strength was waning. The front wheel was up on the high shoulder against a tree. The rear wheel far lower down in a deep silty rut. I stood alongside the bike and heaved it up. When I got it vertical, I dropped my helmet down on the seat and tried to catch my breath out of the 100-degree air that was filled with my own dust. Sweat stung my eyes inside my goggles.

Around here, Jeff Benrud crashed in the silt and the handlebars slammed his knee brace. He thought he had broken his leg.

There were miles of this kind of road. No civilian vehicle could ever make it through. I’m fighting for every 100 yards now…and I have hundreds of miles to go.

I remounted and got out of my awkward position before any truck or buggy ran me over. I had water, and I was grateful for it now. I had learned a trick from one of the other guys. When you reach for your hydration tube hanging over your shoulder, the first swig is as hot as the air. But when you are done drinking, if you blow the fluid back into the bladder it stays cool on your back.

I push on. I am proud of my performance because no one part of my body gave up before other parts. I wore down evenly. But now, all parts were diminishing.

The course crossed a rocky riverbed. I pulled over and got off. Just for a couple minutes. A buggy approaches and storms by.

Rick Thornton, my pre-run buddy, got Rhabdomyolysis – a condition caused by extreme physical exercise where the muscles break down and result in clogging the kidneys. Rick saw yellow like he was looking into the sun. He withdrew from the race and was taken to the hospital.

The course opens up wider and turns left. I look ahead and I’m astonished. I knew this area would be silty from looking at it during pre-running. But this was sheer mass destruction. From a barbed wire fence on the left, 150 yards wide to a line of trees and pipe organ cactus on the right, it is a sea of silt. When a vehicle sees silt ruts, the best option is to take a virgin line around it. When everyone does that, there are no virgin lines left. They take existing lines and take their chances. Mash the gas pedal down and don’t stop. There are dig holes where race vehicles have been stuck. It looks like a trench warfare zone.

I study the scene and figure out the best strategy. I choose extreme left along the barbed wire fence. I jump over a big sewer pipe to get there – only to find it was as deep and shot as the field. I have little choice now that I am in it and cut across the whole field of deep ruts to go extreme right. I make it, and go what may have seemed off course, picking my way very slowly through the cactus trees – anything to avoid the motorcycle eating landscape to my left.

I judge when the landscape must have changed and emerge from the desert “forest” and re-engage with the course. This is real work now. The course has more gauntlets coming. A steep hill climb – narrow and twisty. More silt ruts. I recall why I hated this section so much.

Then the course drops into a rocky riverbed – not to cross, but to follow. Bowling ball size rocks, and nothing but them (no dirt) tests a motorcycle. Bump, bump, bump, bump – forever. Two men are standing ahead on course. Something’s up. As I approach, they point to the right, and up. I turn to follow the course and immediately go up a very steep hill climb hidden in the trees. It’s very steep and very long and twists and turns. Do I have the energy for this?

Back down as steep as it went up, and back into the riverbed. More variation. I see an Ironman bike and rider taking a break on the side of the riverbed. I keep going. 

In a right turn, I catch my right pinky on a branch that had been sawn off, and it rips it back. It felt broken, but I didn’t want to stop and look. My glove was ripped, and blood soaked through. There’s nothing I could do. I don’t really need a pinky to ride. Keep going.

I am struggling now…