Chapter Thirteen – Hounds

Larry Janesky: Think Daily

“A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the 100th.  If I have to fall, may it be from a high place.” – Paulo Coelho

It was silt.  Deep and wide.  It wasn’t there when we pre-ran – not here.  When I came through the fence and saw it I was shocked.  It looked like a minefield; like a scene from a long war.  Race vehicles had tried to avoid it during pre-running so they went to the left or right until those lines were destroyed.  They went wider and wider until it became an ocean of silt.

Picture baby powder a 16” deep.  Under that baby powder are ruts in the harder substrate you can’t see.  Now ride a motorcycle in it.  Your eyes see one surface, but the bottom of your tires see a completely different one. 

My mind and body were counting on going strait, but the bike followed a rut to the right.  Down I went in the silt.  One good thing is landing in it is mostly a soft landing unless you get tangled up with the hard parts of your bike.  You look like a powdered donut getting up.  Hopefully your bike didn’t inhale so much silt and clog your air filter and stall out.

Two locals ran out to help me.  There were big crowds watching this silt field because it was right alongside the road where everyone was pitting and there was good access.  They told me to go left.  I did because staying on course was not an option.  The alternate route was horribly chewed up also.  I picked through bushes and silty mounds and rocks.  Without me noticing the change, it got dark suddenly and my headlights were cutting through pitch black night.  I knew I had 13 hours of darkness to deal with starting now.

I was picking through wondering “if this is what the route around the silt looks like, I can’t imagine how bad the course line was”.  I was going maybe ten miles an hour.  I had to get out of this.  I wondered how far to the right the course was.  I looked at my GPS and whenever I saw an opening between the brush and rocks that went right, I took it.  Eventually I figured I’d find the course again. 

Suddenly a hear a roar to my right.  It was 900 horsepower bombing through the silt and making it ever deeper.  I guess the trucks were not 89 miles behind me after all.  Here they were.  I knew what this meant.  That truck was the leader in a parade of them.  In my experience, in general the first 30 to pass me would be very aggressive.  Then they’d keep coming in a steady stream of violent dusty interruptions to my race plan.

I popped out of the wild onto the course.  It was silty ruts – a bikers least favorite terrain.  It’s not so much you couldn’t twist the throttle and make it through – it was keeping your balance while you were in it that was the problem.  I couldn’t see well.  The dust hanging in the still air illuminated by my headlights was a problem.  And I knew it would be all night.  I prayed for wind, but the wind never came.

I had three headlight switches.  One high beam quad LED cluster which I shut off.   One low beam cluster with a yellow lens – this was the best for the dust.  Finally there was one small LED strip to fill in close. 

The silt yielded to a bit easier going.  Oh wait, no…it’s back.  Damn.  I see headlights coming up behind me.  I try to find a spot to pull over, but I’m in a deep rut and there are berms on both sides.  I scurry ahead looking for a place to get out of the way.  As he passes I’m blinded by dust.  Once the wind of his machine is gone, it just floats there in front of me – designed to frustrate.  I wait.  I proceed very slowly, but prematurely.  I stop and wait another 30 seconds.  I try again.  This would go on most of the night.

When you can’t see, it’s not a matter of “toughing it out” or “digging deep”.  You can’t see!  I had made up my mind not to ride where I cold not see.  I was experienced in this way.  But you can’t finish a race when you are not moving.  I knew that this was the worst race conditions I would see.  To survive “the parade” (of trucks coming through) was the price I must pay for clear air later.  I knew it was coming but did it have to begin just as night did? 

It was a path I had chosen, and I could not complain.

“Action illuminates the next step”

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