Gate #60 – part 2

I bobbed through the boulders and whoops.  Very steep hill climbs were near and my self-talk was that I would eat them for breakfast.  6:45 am and you’re on a dirtbike in Baja California Mexico unleashing 50 horsepower on a silty rutted hill strewn with boulders…what could be better?

I talked in my helmet.  Partially because I needed a voice for support and entertainment, and partially because I had a voice recorder the guys put in my helmet.  I started calling my bikes engine the “Big and Nasty”. 

“Imma unload the big and nasty on this hill!”

I rode in “Eco-Sport” mode.  I wanted to go fast but I knew it was a long race and I had to be there at the end.  I got passed and was in third again.  I didn’t worry about it.  He was almost done with his turn.  I had to go the distance.  If I beat a team, as I did in April in the San Felipe 250, finishing second solo against two teams, it would be a big surprise.  We’ll see.  I’m riding my race.

I had been seeing this Ironman (solo) Rider every 50 miles at the gas pits.  He’d have his helmet off taking a break.  I’d get gas and pass him, only to have him pass me some miles later.  Then the next gas pit I’d see him again.  He was riding faster than me but seemed to be having issues with is endurance.

The course flattened out along the coast.  It was wide open along barbed wire fences that farmers put up to mark their fields (though how anyone grows anything here in this parched land…).  I see the Ironman’s dust in the distance ahead of me.  I decide to hunt him down and show him what a 60 year old Ironman can do.  I get closer.

There was an alternate line on the right.  The course was almost dead flat.  I open it up to about 75 mph to make my move on him.  I was almost side by side with him – that’s when I saw a farmer had plowed a trench about 2 foot deep with a berm of dirt on the other side about 2 1/2 foot tall.  Instinctively I lock both brakes but I know I will not have time to stop.

I would be a passenger when I hit it – I knew I was in trouble.  I slowed to about half the speed when I went in.  I thought I’d be thrown over the bars and rag doll out there.  I brace as hard as my arms and legs could – and hit the other side of the trench with great impact.  Shocks when through my shoulders – including the bad one.  Before I knew it I was on the other side of the berm stopped.  It was the “crash without crashing”.  It hurt as if I did crash.  

The Ironman’s dust line drew out into the distance without him knowing what had just happened 50 feet to his right.  I breathed through it, and restarted my bike.

The day before I was really worried that I had used up reserves of energy I’d need when I preran the 50 miles when my body wanted to rest.  I got three pieces of great advice that I keep repeating in my head.

My wife Marie said “Do your best”.

My son Tanner said “Ride smooth, keep going.”

My friend Jason Waldek, who is a rider himself, said “If this is your last solo motorcycle race, enjoy every minute of it.”

Pretty good advice for living – Do your best, go smooth, keep going, and enjoy the ride.

I emerged from the hills of Urapan on Route 1 – the Pacific side of Baja.  I saw my west side chase truck – Randy and Dean, and my video friend Jesse.  I woof down some calories and I’m off.  My competition just ahead of me.

I wound around the graded road switchbacks from Santo Tomas to the coast.  I round a turn and there it is – the gleaming Pacific Ocean right in front of me.  I race south.  Race fans scattered the course here.  I enter the little coastal town of Eridira.  If this was in the states the lots would cost millions.

I find the wash inland and see my chase again.  More calories.  Go.  At mile 125 there’s a steep hill climb that is really rough and boulder strewn.  Technical.  Big and Nasty goes to work.  Glad that is past me.

The miles are long miles it seems.  Various body parts take turns protesting the loudest.  I acknowledge the signals and keep going.

I hit the pavement for an 8 mile trip up the highway.  The first day of prerunning it was 110 degrees and the afternoon pavement made it seem like 125.  It was the hottest I have ever ridden in.  But this race day was cooler – thankfully.

I get to a place called the “Crossover Road”.  It’s a dirt road that connects the west side and Highway 1 near Colonet with Highway 3 in Valle Trinidad.  The course would follow the road for a while (easy) and then dive into the hills and some of the most technical challenging terrain of the course. 

Body is not happy.  Mind tries to convince body that were good.  Bring it.

More hills, more silty ruts, more rocks.  Branches slap my arms at turns when I have to lean in.  Some are cactus but most thorns have been knocked off by other race traffic – but not all.  I have KT tape under my jersey from my elbow to my wrist for this reason.

I get cross-rutted and go down on a rock on my bad shoulder.  Hurt.  Lucky.  If I had lurched another inch forward when I hit the ground my shoulder would have been in much worse shape against the rock.

Finally and mercifully, I emerge at Highway 3.  I turn north for a few miles and see my chase holding a big yellow sign “614x”.  I pull in and eat more calories.  I have 120 miles to go.  It’s late afternoon.  The sun is lower.

I see the Ironman rider I had been chasing all race.  He was sitting in a chair.  I knew that look.  He tapped out.  He would not finish.

Soon I would enter another chapter of the race.  Helicopters would come down and buzz me.  Bop, bop, bop, bop.  The most acute danger on the course was coming from behind….